Recommended Listening
B091 Phillip Ward Start
"Mother. Fucker."
Phillip Ward kicked the heavy grey duffel bag in annoyance. The zipper was stuck and he had spent the last ten minutes trying to force it open. It had been about half an hour since he had awoken and hazily got his bearings. The field of logs and sparse foliage hadn't provided him with the most secure location to awake in and a part of him was glad no one had come across his sleeping body. The heat had woken him up from his gas-induced slumber and Phil had, unlike many of his class, vividly remembered the events of the night before. He had been quick to make a decision, which was to find anyone from the hockey team and stick together. No one else really could be trusted, plus from the weight of the bag he was pretty sure he was packing some heat. The rules made a sick kind of sense to the broad shouldered boy. In fact it seemed to him like they were very close to the rules of real life, make sure you don't get picked on by picking on others. He had witnessed the full effect of the taunts and jibes of the students of Bayview and knew that kids weren't nice. They were Son-of-a-bitch-rat-arse backstabbing cunts and apart from the team, none of those traitorous little shits could be trusted either in getting out of this place or otherwise.
One of the Kronwell's would know what to do, and once the team were together they could get the hell off this island.
"Yeah." Phillip spoke out loud. "Nik'll know what to do. Find Nik."
Glaring at the the bag briefly he took another glance around at his surroundings. Despite the relatively clear view he hadn't seen any other students yet which was a good thing. When a branch snapped nearby he had almost pissed his pants and was ashamed to say that he yelled out "please don't kill me" as quick as he could while falling over. Not that he would tell anyone that. Having reassured himself that he wasn't in any immediate danger he gave another forceful tug at the zipper, which finally gave way.
"Yes you son of bitch, come to Phil. What do we have here?"
Kneeling down Phil chucked the first aid kit aside and grabbed a chunk of bread and biting in to it with gusto. After all the physical work of opening the bag he was hungry and boy did he need to eat. Stuffing his face with the ration he finally pulled out a set of cat claws which he stared at in disbelief.
"What the fuck are these?" Mouth half full Phil willed himself to swallow before continuing. "Where is my goddamn gun?! I'm not fucking wolverine."
Still, if this was one of the weapons he could of got worse, plus Phil knew how to close distances quickly so it wasn't all bad. He paused for a second and mentally reigned himself in. He wasn't seriously thinking about killing his classmates was he? Well it wouldn't be that hard.
"It'd just take a quick stab, and they don't really deserve much better." Phil mumbled to himself, trying to rationalise his thoughts. "Plus I'm only doing it because if I didn't they would do it to me." He straight away recalled the short video of the boy stabbing the girl in the back that Danya had shown the class and nodded to himself.
"I'd only do it if one of those punks pulled any shit though, I ain't no murderer. Just hurt em so they can't come after me. Yeah."
Jamming his gear back in to his bag Phil hoisted the whole thing on to his left shoulder, sliding one cats claw on to his left fist before looking around and deciding on where to start looking for others.
"Just in case," he told himself "just in case."
Everybody's Changing
B091 Start - THREAD CLOSED
Everybody's Changing
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ifnotwinter†
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Dominic had awoken some hours earlier, curled on the broad stump of what he suspected had earlier been a magnificent old-growth ceder. Surprisingly, his first thoughts had been of the tree - some deep part of him angry at its sacrifice. Rapidly, however, he was reminded of where he actually was, as the black eye of a camera turn to track his movements. Since then he had wandered in a daze, unable to wrap his mind completely around the concept that he, Dom Stratford, was actually in Survival of the Fittest.
It was incomprehensible. That students would kill each other, that such a thing was even real, that he had been picked...he had roamed silently around the stumps and logs for what felt like several hours, trying to understand, moving slowly through stages of wishing he were dead, wishing for a student to kill him, and believing with wild abandon that he might somehow be able to leave the island. He had occasionally glimpsed other students, but had hid from them, desperately fearing conflict.
As time wore on, however, he became numbed. For lack of anything else, he was quietly sticking his anti global-warming stickers onto trees within clear view of the cameras when he noticed the bulky shape of another student standing some distance away.
He hesitated. So far he'd stayed away. But - sooner or later, he was going to have to see someone, right? And maybe they'd be willing to find a way out with him. And then - they could find others, others who would help, and...and maybe...
Before he really knew what he was doing, he was loping towards Philip, suddenly filled with a wild hope.
"Hey! Hey, you!"
It was incomprehensible. That students would kill each other, that such a thing was even real, that he had been picked...he had roamed silently around the stumps and logs for what felt like several hours, trying to understand, moving slowly through stages of wishing he were dead, wishing for a student to kill him, and believing with wild abandon that he might somehow be able to leave the island. He had occasionally glimpsed other students, but had hid from them, desperately fearing conflict.
As time wore on, however, he became numbed. For lack of anything else, he was quietly sticking his anti global-warming stickers onto trees within clear view of the cameras when he noticed the bulky shape of another student standing some distance away.
He hesitated. So far he'd stayed away. But - sooner or later, he was going to have to see someone, right? And maybe they'd be willing to find a way out with him. And then - they could find others, others who would help, and...and maybe...
Before he really knew what he was doing, he was loping towards Philip, suddenly filled with a wild hope.
"Hey! Hey, you!"
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((Tiffany Baker continued from The Worst Gun in the Game))
Trees everywhere. Whichever way Tiffany looked, there were always more trees. She could not understand how some people could find spending time out in place full of trees to be fun. This was worse than the only time Peter brought her along on one of his hiking trips. At least then there were other people there to talk to while hiking. The silence of the woods had kept Tiffany on edge, as she looked for other people.
Suddenly, the surrounding trees gave way to fallen logs and large tree stumps. At least it's a change of scenery, Tiffany thought to herself as she stepped over a particularly large log. She walked a bit farther, before deciding to take a break on a tree stump. A water bottle was procured from the daypack and she took a few gulps of water from one of the bottles of water. Not that she needed the refreshment, but at least she was doing something besides walking.
Then she heard the voices. She couldn't see who it came from, but she definitely heard it. Packing up her things, she tried to pick out the direction from which it was coming from. About a hundred or so yards away, she could make out a short stocky boy standing by a mess of stumps. At the distance, she couldn't tell who it was though. She needed to get closer, to figure who that was and whether or not she could trust him. Maybe he could help her find Peter.
She tried to make her step light as she weaved between tree stumps, taking care to keep her head down so as to not get noticed. Along the way, she passed a few stumps that had some stickers on them although she didn't pay them much mind.
It wasn't until she had gotten closer that she saw the wicked looking claws that the boy was holding. The last thing Tiffany wanted was any sort of conflict, and weapons were a good lead-in to conflict. She stopped and started to slowly back away so she could observe for a little while longer. With all her focus spent on the boy in front of her, she missed the fallen branches behind her.
The loud snap of a breaking branch under her feet threw Tiffany into a state of panic. She had found it funny before how those sounds were so loud in movies. It wasn't funny now. She dropped her bag and ran behind the nearest stump and curled up behind it to hide. Maybe nobody heard. Hopefully nobody heard.
Trees everywhere. Whichever way Tiffany looked, there were always more trees. She could not understand how some people could find spending time out in place full of trees to be fun. This was worse than the only time Peter brought her along on one of his hiking trips. At least then there were other people there to talk to while hiking. The silence of the woods had kept Tiffany on edge, as she looked for other people.
Suddenly, the surrounding trees gave way to fallen logs and large tree stumps. At least it's a change of scenery, Tiffany thought to herself as she stepped over a particularly large log. She walked a bit farther, before deciding to take a break on a tree stump. A water bottle was procured from the daypack and she took a few gulps of water from one of the bottles of water. Not that she needed the refreshment, but at least she was doing something besides walking.
Then she heard the voices. She couldn't see who it came from, but she definitely heard it. Packing up her things, she tried to pick out the direction from which it was coming from. About a hundred or so yards away, she could make out a short stocky boy standing by a mess of stumps. At the distance, she couldn't tell who it was though. She needed to get closer, to figure who that was and whether or not she could trust him. Maybe he could help her find Peter.
She tried to make her step light as she weaved between tree stumps, taking care to keep her head down so as to not get noticed. Along the way, she passed a few stumps that had some stickers on them although she didn't pay them much mind.
It wasn't until she had gotten closer that she saw the wicked looking claws that the boy was holding. The last thing Tiffany wanted was any sort of conflict, and weapons were a good lead-in to conflict. She stopped and started to slowly back away so she could observe for a little while longer. With all her focus spent on the boy in front of her, she missed the fallen branches behind her.
The loud snap of a breaking branch under her feet threw Tiffany into a state of panic. She had found it funny before how those sounds were so loud in movies. It wasn't funny now. She dropped her bag and ran behind the nearest stump and curled up behind it to hide. Maybe nobody heard. Hopefully nobody heard.
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"Hey! Hey, you!"
Phil whirled around at the sound of Dom's voice echoing across the semi barren field, studded with stumps and small clumps of bush. The somewhat pudgy boy was loping towards him with all the grace of a wounded hippo. Phil's immediate thought was that of panic, that Dom was coming to kill him with... bumper stickers?
A breath of air rushed out of his lungs as Phil realised he had the leg up here. Moving purposefully towards Dom he growled "Don't you move fatty."
Pointing the claw at the boy he began to stride towards him. Phil fell back to his old ways. Something safe and comfortable.
"Whatcha got in the bag tubby? I might consider letting you live for a while if you hand over your food and anything else you got in there."
Of course it was entirely unlikely that Phil would follow through, but better to gain any advantage he could and make sure he was in control. If he didn't he'd be in trouble. He shuddered at the thought of him breaking down. Bullying was a coping mechanism, one that had worked well in the past and he wasn't going to change what wasn't broken.
Still advancing menacingly towards Dom Phil heard a loud snap of a branch, echoing slightly across the area. "Fuck," he said in shock as hesitation crossed his face. Whoever was lurking out in his periphery might be playing, worse, they might have a gun and seen him as a threat. Phil paused, now uncertain, his routine interrupted just as if a schoolteacher had happened upon the scene and he was about to receive a stern telling off.
Phil whirled around at the sound of Dom's voice echoing across the semi barren field, studded with stumps and small clumps of bush. The somewhat pudgy boy was loping towards him with all the grace of a wounded hippo. Phil's immediate thought was that of panic, that Dom was coming to kill him with... bumper stickers?
A breath of air rushed out of his lungs as Phil realised he had the leg up here. Moving purposefully towards Dom he growled "Don't you move fatty."
Pointing the claw at the boy he began to stride towards him. Phil fell back to his old ways. Something safe and comfortable.
"Whatcha got in the bag tubby? I might consider letting you live for a while if you hand over your food and anything else you got in there."
Of course it was entirely unlikely that Phil would follow through, but better to gain any advantage he could and make sure he was in control. If he didn't he'd be in trouble. He shuddered at the thought of him breaking down. Bullying was a coping mechanism, one that had worked well in the past and he wasn't going to change what wasn't broken.
Still advancing menacingly towards Dom Phil heard a loud snap of a branch, echoing slightly across the area. "Fuck," he said in shock as hesitation crossed his face. Whoever was lurking out in his periphery might be playing, worse, they might have a gun and seen him as a threat. Phil paused, now uncertain, his routine interrupted just as if a schoolteacher had happened upon the scene and he was about to receive a stern telling off.
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ifnotwinter†
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Dom's somewhat desperate forward flight was halted as the figure - now recognized as Phil Ward - pointed at him with suspiciously...pointy fingers. That looked more like claws then fingers. For a moment of frantic hope, he found himself holding his breath and waiting to wake up - this had to be a dream. The next moment though, he sagged, and stopped in his tracks, recognizing the blades that were protruding from the larger boy's fingers. The hope ran out of him like water, leaving only a faint and hopeless despair that was all too familiar.
He was no stranger to bullies. He would always remember the downbringing of Monty Pondsworth, but as amazing and strangely hypnotizing as it had been, it was one moment of very, very few. He'd been shaken down for money more than once, but it still struck him as bizarre that here, on an island, in the throes of a deadly game, there was still a hierarchy of teenagers.
Bizarre, but somehow...comforting? It felt as familiar as pulling on his old hoodie, and he felt himself automatically slump into himself, reaching for his bag. The rations were tossed quietly in Phil's direction, before he set the pack back down and shrugged one shoulder, still not looking Phil in the face as the bully advanced. "That's all I've got. I guess the weapon was supposed to be the stickers. Or something."
He hesitated, unsure of what to do next, but was almost instantly interrupted by the sound of a branch snapping. Sucking his breath in tightly he turned, almost tripping over himself in his effort, mind suddenly filled with pounding thoughts of panic, thoughts of oh god oh god I am going to die I am going to die I AM GOING TO DIE.
"Who's there?"
He was no stranger to bullies. He would always remember the downbringing of Monty Pondsworth, but as amazing and strangely hypnotizing as it had been, it was one moment of very, very few. He'd been shaken down for money more than once, but it still struck him as bizarre that here, on an island, in the throes of a deadly game, there was still a hierarchy of teenagers.
Bizarre, but somehow...comforting? It felt as familiar as pulling on his old hoodie, and he felt himself automatically slump into himself, reaching for his bag. The rations were tossed quietly in Phil's direction, before he set the pack back down and shrugged one shoulder, still not looking Phil in the face as the bully advanced. "That's all I've got. I guess the weapon was supposed to be the stickers. Or something."
He hesitated, unsure of what to do next, but was almost instantly interrupted by the sound of a branch snapping. Sucking his breath in tightly he turned, almost tripping over himself in his effort, mind suddenly filled with pounding thoughts of panic, thoughts of oh god oh god I am going to die I am going to die I AM GOING TO DIE.
"Who's there?"
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Tiffany thought she could be brave, like Angelina Jolie in that Tomb Raider movie. Well, minus the shooting guns and beating up people part. But now that she was seeing what could really be a student murdering another, well cold feet would be an understatement to what she was feeling.
She wanted to stand up and tell them to stop fighting. She wanted to tell them that what they were doing was wrong, and that they should work together. She wanted to be brave.
There was a voice calling out to her. She recognized the voice to belong to Dominic Stratford. He was a nice and gentle guy. She remembered him talking about the times he had volunteered at the animal shelter. A nice guy like him didn't deserve to die. Someone needed to stop this.
But she was alone and afraid. There was someone here threatening to hurt Dominic. If she stood up, she'd be killed too. She didn't want to die. She just wanted to find her friends.
Tiffany curled up in the shadow of the tree trunk. If she didn't move or say anything, maybe the boy with the claws would just leave her alone.
And Dominic would be dead.
Merciful God. I'm sorry I couldn't be strong for him.
She wanted to stand up and tell them to stop fighting. She wanted to tell them that what they were doing was wrong, and that they should work together. She wanted to be brave.
There was a voice calling out to her. She recognized the voice to belong to Dominic Stratford. He was a nice and gentle guy. She remembered him talking about the times he had volunteered at the animal shelter. A nice guy like him didn't deserve to die. Someone needed to stop this.
But she was alone and afraid. There was someone here threatening to hurt Dominic. If she stood up, she'd be killed too. She didn't want to die. She just wanted to find her friends.
Tiffany curled up in the shadow of the tree trunk. If she didn't move or say anything, maybe the boy with the claws would just leave her alone.
And Dominic would be dead.
Merciful God. I'm sorry I couldn't be strong for him.
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Phil grinned as Dom chucked the bag over to him. Dumping his own so he would have a free hand he narrowed his eyes at his victim "Yeah thats what I thought." The branch snap was probably just a small animal or something. No one had come out to reprimand him, or shoot him. Striding forward Phil grabbed Dom by the scruff of the neck with his spare hand and pushed him back, making the boy fall over just out of sight of Tiffany's hiding place.
"Ya got a big mouth kid and you're lucky I'm such a nice guy. Anyway else would'a run you through." Phil gave the prone form of Dom a swift kick. "You get the hell outta here. If I see you again you're dead meat. Got it?"
Phil snarled again and swiped his claw across Dom's face, mere inches from his nose. Seeing that the boy was sufficiently cowed he spat and turned away, yelling in to the clearing.
"I'm fucking in charge now and where the *fuck* is everyone!"
Stomping back to the two duffels he unzipped Dom's emptying the contents on the ground, kicking away the book and hurling the torch at the still shivering form of his classmate after removing the batteries and stuffing them in his pocket.
"Here you corpse, a little something for your troubles." Phil laughed as he stuffed Dom's rations in to his own bag as well as the medkit.
Getting ready to move off and pulling out his map he stopped for a second, staring near Tiffany's hiding place. Phil squinted. Did he just see somebody moving? He paused once more waiting for a sign to confirm that he did see something. Waiting a few seconds he saw no more movement. So he shrugged and turned away, looking back down at the map and thinking about where to go.
He wasn't the best with geography so this was going to take awhile.
"Ya got a big mouth kid and you're lucky I'm such a nice guy. Anyway else would'a run you through." Phil gave the prone form of Dom a swift kick. "You get the hell outta here. If I see you again you're dead meat. Got it?"
Phil snarled again and swiped his claw across Dom's face, mere inches from his nose. Seeing that the boy was sufficiently cowed he spat and turned away, yelling in to the clearing.
"I'm fucking in charge now and where the *fuck* is everyone!"
Stomping back to the two duffels he unzipped Dom's emptying the contents on the ground, kicking away the book and hurling the torch at the still shivering form of his classmate after removing the batteries and stuffing them in his pocket.
"Here you corpse, a little something for your troubles." Phil laughed as he stuffed Dom's rations in to his own bag as well as the medkit.
Getting ready to move off and pulling out his map he stopped for a second, staring near Tiffany's hiding place. Phil squinted. Did he just see somebody moving? He paused once more waiting for a sign to confirm that he did see something. Waiting a few seconds he saw no more movement. So he shrugged and turned away, looking back down at the map and thinking about where to go.
He wasn't the best with geography so this was going to take awhile.
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ifnotwinter†
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Dom barely had enough time to start to squirm backwards before Phil had him by the scruff, fingers painfully tight over his collar and neck. He couldn't stop himself from yelping, scrambling to stay on his feet and failing miserably as Phil shoved him backwards. He landed hard on the ground, head snapping back and rebounding off the ground hard enough to make him momentarily see stars. Reflexively, he started to curl into a ball as Phil continued to taunt him.
With the boy's final comment, Dominic looked up - and jerked back just in time to avoid a claw across the face. The movement overbalanced him again and he toppled for a second time, unable to crawl away as Phil sunk a kick into his side. Tears squeezed involuntarily out of his eyes, chest heaving as he struggled not to cry. He had barely been physically bullied - he was generally inoffensive enough to avoid the worst of the angry teenagers, and the simple feeling of another human being inflicting pain - deliberately, at that - was enough to make awkward sobs start to force themselves from his throat. As Phil stomped away, he curled a little tighter around his aching ribs, tears, snot, and dirt mingling into a smeared mess over his face.
He barely moved as the flashlight bounced off his back, uncaring. Repeating in his head, now, was the slow and painful realization that this was it. This was how it was going to go. He wasn't strong - he wasn't the fittest. He would never be. The island would be where he would die, surrounded by students who were suddenly realizing they could indulge their wildest urges.
Part of him wanted to join him, screamed for blood, cried out to be allowed to be the bully, for once. But he knew he couldn't. That person...that person was not him, would never be him, could never be him. He would be the victim, the same as the tiny animal victims he had cared for so many times. Sometimes they'd lived.
Sometimes they'd died.
He was going to die.
Beyond shame, beyond embarrassment, beyond caring, Dominic Stratford buried his dirty, tear-stained face in the dust and cried. For himself, and for all the students, and most of all Dominic cried because he was going to die here, and that was just the way it was going to go.
With the boy's final comment, Dominic looked up - and jerked back just in time to avoid a claw across the face. The movement overbalanced him again and he toppled for a second time, unable to crawl away as Phil sunk a kick into his side. Tears squeezed involuntarily out of his eyes, chest heaving as he struggled not to cry. He had barely been physically bullied - he was generally inoffensive enough to avoid the worst of the angry teenagers, and the simple feeling of another human being inflicting pain - deliberately, at that - was enough to make awkward sobs start to force themselves from his throat. As Phil stomped away, he curled a little tighter around his aching ribs, tears, snot, and dirt mingling into a smeared mess over his face.
He barely moved as the flashlight bounced off his back, uncaring. Repeating in his head, now, was the slow and painful realization that this was it. This was how it was going to go. He wasn't strong - he wasn't the fittest. He would never be. The island would be where he would die, surrounded by students who were suddenly realizing they could indulge their wildest urges.
Part of him wanted to join him, screamed for blood, cried out to be allowed to be the bully, for once. But he knew he couldn't. That person...that person was not him, would never be him, could never be him. He would be the victim, the same as the tiny animal victims he had cared for so many times. Sometimes they'd lived.
Sometimes they'd died.
He was going to die.
Beyond shame, beyond embarrassment, beyond caring, Dominic Stratford buried his dirty, tear-stained face in the dust and cried. For himself, and for all the students, and most of all Dominic cried because he was going to die here, and that was just the way it was going to go.
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[Boy #61 - William Hearst. Start.]
He'd been up for a while now.
He was alone out there, that much was obvious; He hadn't heard or seen anyone yet, and certainly didn't mind it. The last thing he wanted was someone coming across him, crying as he was; He hadn't moved far from where he woke up, only enough to pull himself up against a large stump and curl up, silently soaking the sleeve of his shirt. He had his arms wrapped around his head, trying desperately to keep his ears covered and his eyes sealed shut; After what he saw in the auditorium, after what he heard, he didn't want to see where he was or listen to the gunfire that he just knew was going off in the distance, to the screams and the shouting of his classmates. His mind had run with the idea of Survival of the Fittest, and any confidence he had in his classmates, in his friends, went out the window when he heard the first distant crack of gunfire or distinctive sound of an explosion. He had simply curled up and cried, shutting out the world as best he could.
But he didn't have any tears left.
His throat was sore and dry, the choking feeling having long before come about as everything seemed to climb up in his throat; He felt sick to his stomach at times, but strained to keep everything down. His eyes were bloodshot and stinging, his cheeks stained with the evidence of his break down; Beneath his eyes and around them, his skin was red and still wet. But he didn't have any tears left to shed, no matter how hard he tried or how desperately he wanted them to come. He had gone through the gasping for breath, the shuddering and the sobbing; He had gone through with cursing the world and everything in it, especially this damn show and the people who ran it. But now, there was little left and little point in continuing; For better or worse, he was stuck there, and no amount of crying would take him away from that reality.
He was now, for better or worse, a 'cast member' of Survival of the Fittest.
He was quiet now; No tears fell, his breathing had finally eased, and he started to think about his situation instead of trying to run from it. He knew that his life was now on the line, that much was certain; He'd seen the show, heard the rumors and listened to his classmates drone on about specific 'characters' before. He didn't want to accept the truth that it was real then, just like everyone else, but now? Now he had no choice; He was now a participant in Survival of the Fittest whether he liked it or not, and he would have to fight for his life. If he wanted to survive, he would have to question what distance he was willing to go; He would have to question which lines he would cross and which ones he wouldn't, and he had to acknowledge that his life was in his hands. If he wanted to survive, he had to make his own path.
He didn't realize that he had started moving, that he was no longer curled up and cutting himself off from the world, until he heard the zipper on his personal bag; His throat was sore and horribly dry, and he needed a drink. For a school camping trip, he had packed well. Extra clothes, personal snacks and drinks, even a couple books; But for the most part, his bag was a mess, missing many of his belongings. He noticed his cellphone was gone, and that someone had taken his watch for whatever reason; He liked that watch, and would likely miss it, but it hadn't been sentimental. It was just a nice watch; Stainless steel finish with a relatively wide, segmented band and a hefty weight to it. It was a really nice watch, and even now he could remember when he got it and why, how much he spent on it and how he had worked for weeks to get the money.
A fit of coughing brought him out of his thoughts, and he pulled a somewhat warm bottle of juice from his bag; He didn't mind the temperature, but a cold drink certainly would have been preferred. But it was a drink, and that was what he needed now; He didn't continue coughing, and his throat felt significantly better now, so it served its purpose. Slipping it back into the bag, he turned his focus to the other bag that sat nearby. The writing on it, and its proximity to him when he awoke, told him that it was his; He didn't want to open it, but his hands were acting against his better judgment as they pulled the provided provisions closer.
But he didn't expect to find what he did.
From within the bag, out fell his assigned weapon. A Kel-Tech P11 handgun; He discerned the name from the included manual. It was heavy in his left hand as he picked it up, and his fingers struggled to close around the grip. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head; shaking off his ambivalence about the weapon. He slipped the gun into his right hand and took a deep breath before closing his fingers around the grip. It didn't feel so heavy any more; Either in his hand or in his mind, it felt lighter than he was comfortable with. But it was his to use, his to defend himself with and his... to fight with.
But could he really do it? Could he really fight for his life, even against his friends? Against those he spent much of his daily life with, and those he loved?
I have to... right?
"That's right."
He held the weapon out in front of him, taking aim at a stump a few meters away. His eyes shot from the stump to the weapon, and then to the booklet in his left hand; He didn't know when he picked up the manual, or even when he opened it, but his eyes began to scan the pages. When he was finished with one, he flipped to the next; No matter how much he wanted to stop, no matter how much he wanted to curl back up and go back to separating himself from reality, he couldn't stop reading.
He checked the safety.
He located the magazine release.
He pulled back the slide.
"That's right..."
The manual was put down, and his hands curled around the grip; his right tightened around the weapon, his left cupping it from the bottom. His aim wasn't steady; Far from it, he could feel his hands trembling even now, even with both of them firmly upon the weapon.
Now the safety.
He flipped it off.
"That's right..."
Now, down the sights.
He leaned his head and closed one eye; He stared down the sights of the weapon, lining up the dots. It seemed so much simpler than he had wanted it to; He wanted it to be complicated, to give him an excuse to throw it away and rationalize his lack of need for the weapon. But it was simple.
You just aim...
"...and fire."
He couldn't believe what he was doing in that moment; It seemed so unreal, so slow and calculated. He felt his fingers tighten, he felt the trigger give way; He watched the hammer suddenly click back. He watched it suddenly disappear from its position, and he jumped as it cracked loud in his hands; His ears rang as the sound of the weapon going off was louder, far louder, than he had expect. It kicked in his hands, and when his focus returned, when his sight shifted from the gun to the stump he had taken aim at, he could see the splintered indentation he had made.
I... I fired a gun.
He had done just that; his mind reeled as he realized what it meant, as he realized that the gunfire was the very reason he had curled away from reality. But now he had fired a weapon. In his mind, he had cemented the fact that he was willing to fight for his survival, that he was willing to use his weapon if it came down to it; His trembling hands and his tear stained cheeks, his bloodshot eyes and his speeding heart all spoke differently as he sat there. He was frozen in place for a moment, not sure if he should remain there out of fear or out of uncertainty, but as time slowly clicked by, he body and mind began to ease.
I didn't hurt anyone, I didn't shoot at a person.
He tried to rationalize the firing of the gun now as he put the manual away, as he reached into the bag and pulled from it one of the extra clips. He didn't know why he put it into his pocket, or why he kept the gun out, but as he zipped the bags back up and finally pulled himself up onto his feet, he knew one thing.
He couldn't stay there.
It wasn't safe to sit in one place for as long as he had, and it wasn't safe to have made so much noise. He didn't know where to go or what to do, but the gun in his hand was the only thing he had going for him. He didn't know where his friends were, and without the gun, he probably wouldn't have a chance of surviving his first encounter with the unknown.
He remembered the map and compass, and pulled them out of the bag before he slipped the both of them unto his back. He may not have had much going for him, but he knew how to read a map; He knew what to look for in landmarks, and how to use the compass. But for now, there was little in the way of landmarks; He was surrounded by stumps and logs, dead trees and a decent layer of sawdust and leaf litter. He could see the mountain in the distance, the towering feature of the land looming above; But could he really climb it alone?
I have to... right?
"That's right."
He chose a direction, and slipped the map into a pocket; He had his destination in mind, now he had to reach it. So, he began walking. He didn't care where he was headed for now, as long as he was gaining ground and making an effort; As his distance away from where he had awoken began to grow, slowly, his pace quickened. He fell into a routine and rhythm with his steps, moving over logs and around stumps with gradually increasing speed and ease. Before long, he was making a decent headway.
Until he noticed the figures in the distance.
He'd been up for a while now.
He was alone out there, that much was obvious; He hadn't heard or seen anyone yet, and certainly didn't mind it. The last thing he wanted was someone coming across him, crying as he was; He hadn't moved far from where he woke up, only enough to pull himself up against a large stump and curl up, silently soaking the sleeve of his shirt. He had his arms wrapped around his head, trying desperately to keep his ears covered and his eyes sealed shut; After what he saw in the auditorium, after what he heard, he didn't want to see where he was or listen to the gunfire that he just knew was going off in the distance, to the screams and the shouting of his classmates. His mind had run with the idea of Survival of the Fittest, and any confidence he had in his classmates, in his friends, went out the window when he heard the first distant crack of gunfire or distinctive sound of an explosion. He had simply curled up and cried, shutting out the world as best he could.
But he didn't have any tears left.
His throat was sore and dry, the choking feeling having long before come about as everything seemed to climb up in his throat; He felt sick to his stomach at times, but strained to keep everything down. His eyes were bloodshot and stinging, his cheeks stained with the evidence of his break down; Beneath his eyes and around them, his skin was red and still wet. But he didn't have any tears left to shed, no matter how hard he tried or how desperately he wanted them to come. He had gone through the gasping for breath, the shuddering and the sobbing; He had gone through with cursing the world and everything in it, especially this damn show and the people who ran it. But now, there was little left and little point in continuing; For better or worse, he was stuck there, and no amount of crying would take him away from that reality.
He was now, for better or worse, a 'cast member' of Survival of the Fittest.
He was quiet now; No tears fell, his breathing had finally eased, and he started to think about his situation instead of trying to run from it. He knew that his life was now on the line, that much was certain; He'd seen the show, heard the rumors and listened to his classmates drone on about specific 'characters' before. He didn't want to accept the truth that it was real then, just like everyone else, but now? Now he had no choice; He was now a participant in Survival of the Fittest whether he liked it or not, and he would have to fight for his life. If he wanted to survive, he would have to question what distance he was willing to go; He would have to question which lines he would cross and which ones he wouldn't, and he had to acknowledge that his life was in his hands. If he wanted to survive, he had to make his own path.
He didn't realize that he had started moving, that he was no longer curled up and cutting himself off from the world, until he heard the zipper on his personal bag; His throat was sore and horribly dry, and he needed a drink. For a school camping trip, he had packed well. Extra clothes, personal snacks and drinks, even a couple books; But for the most part, his bag was a mess, missing many of his belongings. He noticed his cellphone was gone, and that someone had taken his watch for whatever reason; He liked that watch, and would likely miss it, but it hadn't been sentimental. It was just a nice watch; Stainless steel finish with a relatively wide, segmented band and a hefty weight to it. It was a really nice watch, and even now he could remember when he got it and why, how much he spent on it and how he had worked for weeks to get the money.
A fit of coughing brought him out of his thoughts, and he pulled a somewhat warm bottle of juice from his bag; He didn't mind the temperature, but a cold drink certainly would have been preferred. But it was a drink, and that was what he needed now; He didn't continue coughing, and his throat felt significantly better now, so it served its purpose. Slipping it back into the bag, he turned his focus to the other bag that sat nearby. The writing on it, and its proximity to him when he awoke, told him that it was his; He didn't want to open it, but his hands were acting against his better judgment as they pulled the provided provisions closer.
But he didn't expect to find what he did.
From within the bag, out fell his assigned weapon. A Kel-Tech P11 handgun; He discerned the name from the included manual. It was heavy in his left hand as he picked it up, and his fingers struggled to close around the grip. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head; shaking off his ambivalence about the weapon. He slipped the gun into his right hand and took a deep breath before closing his fingers around the grip. It didn't feel so heavy any more; Either in his hand or in his mind, it felt lighter than he was comfortable with. But it was his to use, his to defend himself with and his... to fight with.
But could he really do it? Could he really fight for his life, even against his friends? Against those he spent much of his daily life with, and those he loved?
I have to... right?
"That's right."
He held the weapon out in front of him, taking aim at a stump a few meters away. His eyes shot from the stump to the weapon, and then to the booklet in his left hand; He didn't know when he picked up the manual, or even when he opened it, but his eyes began to scan the pages. When he was finished with one, he flipped to the next; No matter how much he wanted to stop, no matter how much he wanted to curl back up and go back to separating himself from reality, he couldn't stop reading.
He checked the safety.
He located the magazine release.
He pulled back the slide.
"That's right..."
The manual was put down, and his hands curled around the grip; his right tightened around the weapon, his left cupping it from the bottom. His aim wasn't steady; Far from it, he could feel his hands trembling even now, even with both of them firmly upon the weapon.
Now the safety.
He flipped it off.
"That's right..."
Now, down the sights.
He leaned his head and closed one eye; He stared down the sights of the weapon, lining up the dots. It seemed so much simpler than he had wanted it to; He wanted it to be complicated, to give him an excuse to throw it away and rationalize his lack of need for the weapon. But it was simple.
You just aim...
"...and fire."
He couldn't believe what he was doing in that moment; It seemed so unreal, so slow and calculated. He felt his fingers tighten, he felt the trigger give way; He watched the hammer suddenly click back. He watched it suddenly disappear from its position, and he jumped as it cracked loud in his hands; His ears rang as the sound of the weapon going off was louder, far louder, than he had expect. It kicked in his hands, and when his focus returned, when his sight shifted from the gun to the stump he had taken aim at, he could see the splintered indentation he had made.
I... I fired a gun.
He had done just that; his mind reeled as he realized what it meant, as he realized that the gunfire was the very reason he had curled away from reality. But now he had fired a weapon. In his mind, he had cemented the fact that he was willing to fight for his survival, that he was willing to use his weapon if it came down to it; His trembling hands and his tear stained cheeks, his bloodshot eyes and his speeding heart all spoke differently as he sat there. He was frozen in place for a moment, not sure if he should remain there out of fear or out of uncertainty, but as time slowly clicked by, he body and mind began to ease.
I didn't hurt anyone, I didn't shoot at a person.
He tried to rationalize the firing of the gun now as he put the manual away, as he reached into the bag and pulled from it one of the extra clips. He didn't know why he put it into his pocket, or why he kept the gun out, but as he zipped the bags back up and finally pulled himself up onto his feet, he knew one thing.
He couldn't stay there.
It wasn't safe to sit in one place for as long as he had, and it wasn't safe to have made so much noise. He didn't know where to go or what to do, but the gun in his hand was the only thing he had going for him. He didn't know where his friends were, and without the gun, he probably wouldn't have a chance of surviving his first encounter with the unknown.
He remembered the map and compass, and pulled them out of the bag before he slipped the both of them unto his back. He may not have had much going for him, but he knew how to read a map; He knew what to look for in landmarks, and how to use the compass. But for now, there was little in the way of landmarks; He was surrounded by stumps and logs, dead trees and a decent layer of sawdust and leaf litter. He could see the mountain in the distance, the towering feature of the land looming above; But could he really climb it alone?
I have to... right?
"That's right."
He chose a direction, and slipped the map into a pocket; He had his destination in mind, now he had to reach it. So, he began walking. He didn't care where he was headed for now, as long as he was gaining ground and making an effort; As his distance away from where he had awoken began to grow, slowly, his pace quickened. He fell into a routine and rhythm with his steps, moving over logs and around stumps with gradually increasing speed and ease. Before long, he was making a decent headway.
Until he noticed the figures in the distance.
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Tiffany took a few long slow breaths to calm down. Silence surrounded her, threatening her calm. Are they looking for me? What happened to Dominic? There wasn't any way to find that out, not from where she was sitting. She'd need to take a look.
A few more deep breaths to steel herself for what she was going to do next. Then, she turned and slowly poked her head over the top of the tree stump to take a peek at what was happening. What unfolded made her throat seize up in horror. From her vantage point, she could see the shorter boy with the claw shove the larger one down behind another tree stump.
Then he raised the claws and swiped down.
Tiffany couldn't watch. She dropped back down behind the cover of the tree stump and closed her eyes. I just watched someone murder a good person, and I didn't even try to stop him. Tears started to well up in her eyes as her memories of Dominic flooded out. Dominic bringing in a cat from the animal shelter to middle school. Dominic putting up posters for the sophomore play. She was ashamed to not remember anytime she actually spoke to him directly. But now he was dead and the world had lost another good person to this sick game.
God, please have mercy on him.
Tiffany sat there for a few moments, wiping away the stray tears that rolled down her cheek. She couldn't cry. The other boy might still be around to find her. As she wiped them away, she caught sight of another boy emerging from nearby. He was moving quickly and nimbly over the logs and between the stumps. He seemed to be moving with a purpose.
And he was holding a gun.
The paralyzing fear gave way into primal terror. Tiffany screamed for her life.
A few more deep breaths to steel herself for what she was going to do next. Then, she turned and slowly poked her head over the top of the tree stump to take a peek at what was happening. What unfolded made her throat seize up in horror. From her vantage point, she could see the shorter boy with the claw shove the larger one down behind another tree stump.
Then he raised the claws and swiped down.
Tiffany couldn't watch. She dropped back down behind the cover of the tree stump and closed her eyes. I just watched someone murder a good person, and I didn't even try to stop him. Tears started to well up in her eyes as her memories of Dominic flooded out. Dominic bringing in a cat from the animal shelter to middle school. Dominic putting up posters for the sophomore play. She was ashamed to not remember anytime she actually spoke to him directly. But now he was dead and the world had lost another good person to this sick game.
God, please have mercy on him.
Tiffany sat there for a few moments, wiping away the stray tears that rolled down her cheek. She couldn't cry. The other boy might still be around to find her. As she wiped them away, she caught sight of another boy emerging from nearby. He was moving quickly and nimbly over the logs and between the stumps. He seemed to be moving with a purpose.
And he was holding a gun.
The paralyzing fear gave way into primal terror. Tiffany screamed for her life.
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Phil jumped in surprise as the loud BANG echoed across the semi-barren field. Someone out there had a gun. Spinning around he tried to locate the shooter in vain. There was nothing out there. Maybe they were far, far away, or maybe he had just imagined it.
"Get a grip Phil, you ain't scared of some pussy wielding a gun, they ain't gonna know how to use it correct like anyway."
Turning back to the map, but glancing up occassionally to make sure no one appeared out of thin air, and that Dominic was still curled in to a ball. He laughed cruelly when he saw that Dominic was still a shivering mess. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Just as he finally thought he had his bearings he heard Tiffany's blood curdling scream and turned. Someone had just killed a girl, and they're coming this way! Probably the same person who had shot before.
Usually when fight or flight kicked in Phil's response was to fight, but this was different and he was terrified. Deep down Phil was a coward at heart. Someone had a gun and they weren't afraid to use it. And someone who could sneak well too since he hadn't seen anything. Whirling around to try and locate the source of the scream Phil spotted the silhouette of William in the distance.
He didn't even think about going back for Dom or trying to see if the girl was still alright he just ran blindly away from the figure as fast as he could holding desperately on to the two duffel's with a white knuckle grip.
((Phillip Ward continued in Where is My Mind?))
"Get a grip Phil, you ain't scared of some pussy wielding a gun, they ain't gonna know how to use it correct like anyway."
Turning back to the map, but glancing up occassionally to make sure no one appeared out of thin air, and that Dominic was still curled in to a ball. He laughed cruelly when he saw that Dominic was still a shivering mess. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Just as he finally thought he had his bearings he heard Tiffany's blood curdling scream and turned. Someone had just killed a girl, and they're coming this way! Probably the same person who had shot before.
Usually when fight or flight kicked in Phil's response was to fight, but this was different and he was terrified. Deep down Phil was a coward at heart. Someone had a gun and they weren't afraid to use it. And someone who could sneak well too since he hadn't seen anything. Whirling around to try and locate the source of the scream Phil spotted the silhouette of William in the distance.
He didn't even think about going back for Dom or trying to see if the girl was still alright he just ran blindly away from the figure as fast as he could holding desperately on to the two duffel's with a white knuckle grip.
((Phillip Ward continued in Where is My Mind?))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. 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.
-
ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
With his face in the dirt, body curled protectively in on itself, Dominic had no real concept of time. His ribs hurt with a dull, bruised pain, his chest feeling tight with the effort of the wracking sobs forcing their way out of him. He bit his lip, trying to hold them back but they burst from him with greater force, making him keen softly into his palms. He had no idea what to do, where to go, how to handle this. No option presented itself. There was no solution. He would lie here, he knew with certainty, crying until some student finally put a bullet in his-
A sharp crack echoed across the felled forest, stopping Dominic's breath in his throat. For long moments he didn't dare breathe, not moving as he heard Phil talking to himself in a confident tone. Had that been a gunshot? Phil didn't have a gun, did he? Was it someone else? His breathing sped up, crossing the line into hyperventilating as he frantically navigated the pathways of his mind. Should he stay? Should he go? What was going on? Who was shooting? How was this happening, why was this happening, why God why was this happening to him?
And then a scream, electric, cutting through the air. As with the gunshot before it, Dominic froze, the single thought repeating itself in his head being simple, just one word.
Who?
Phil was running. He could hear the crashing noises. Phil was running away and he was here, and someone was screaming. Someone was being hurt. Someone was being hurt, maybe killed, and here he was, crying behind a stump. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. He was a useless, cowardly waste of space. He knew it. There was a girl being murdered and all he could do was sit and feel sorry for himself.
No.
The clarity of the thought was almost terrifying. Time seemed to slow as his body, seemingly without input from the brain, unfolded itself, pushing up from the ground. Fingers grasping at a nearby branch, half-rotten but better than nothing. Toes digging in, sending him forwards, running, branch out in front of him. The scream. It had come from right...
There.
Dominic threw himself behind the stump like a pudgy, dirty avenging angel, tears and dirt mingling on his face in a disgusting mask, rotting tree branch held at the ready and eyes wild. Still crying, tears carving down the brown tracks, still breathing too hard, hand still shaking on the wood, but for what felt like the first time in his life, Dominic Stratford was standing up against the bullies.
The only problem was, all he could see was Tiffany.
A sharp crack echoed across the felled forest, stopping Dominic's breath in his throat. For long moments he didn't dare breathe, not moving as he heard Phil talking to himself in a confident tone. Had that been a gunshot? Phil didn't have a gun, did he? Was it someone else? His breathing sped up, crossing the line into hyperventilating as he frantically navigated the pathways of his mind. Should he stay? Should he go? What was going on? Who was shooting? How was this happening, why was this happening, why God why was this happening to him?
And then a scream, electric, cutting through the air. As with the gunshot before it, Dominic froze, the single thought repeating itself in his head being simple, just one word.
Who?
Phil was running. He could hear the crashing noises. Phil was running away and he was here, and someone was screaming. Someone was being hurt. Someone was being hurt, maybe killed, and here he was, crying behind a stump. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. He was a useless, cowardly waste of space. He knew it. There was a girl being murdered and all he could do was sit and feel sorry for himself.
No.
The clarity of the thought was almost terrifying. Time seemed to slow as his body, seemingly without input from the brain, unfolded itself, pushing up from the ground. Fingers grasping at a nearby branch, half-rotten but better than nothing. Toes digging in, sending him forwards, running, branch out in front of him. The scream. It had come from right...
There.
Dominic threw himself behind the stump like a pudgy, dirty avenging angel, tears and dirt mingling on his face in a disgusting mask, rotting tree branch held at the ready and eyes wild. Still crying, tears carving down the brown tracks, still breathing too hard, hand still shaking on the wood, but for what felt like the first time in his life, Dominic Stratford was standing up against the bullies.
The only problem was, all he could see was Tiffany.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ifnotwinter. 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.
A glint of light caught his eye, a reflection off of metal. He couldn't see who was holding it, or even what it was; The sole silhouette above the stumps was a person though, that much he was sure of. They were moving, and even if he couldn't make out who it was or what they were doing, he felt a chill run down the length of his spine and back again. A mix of fear and relief began to fill his mind, and he had frozen in his steps. The thought of calling out came to him, the desire to be with someone, anyone, was moving to the foreground of his thoughts; At the same time, he dreaded being with someone more than being alone. He knew what he was thinking, he knew how he felt and he knew exactly what he was going to do; He couldn't ever say the same of another person, no matter who it was. He didn't know how others had reacted to the situation, or how they would handle the realization that their lives were in danger at all times; He didn't want to think about it, about the potential horrors that could be caused or the lives that could be lost.
And most of all, he wanted nothing to do with any thought, any possibility however slight, that he might be killed by someone he knew, someone he trusted, or... someone he loved.
But before he could do anything besides stand there and stare at the silhouette, a new noise beyond the silence and the sound of the world around him filled his ears. A sound that gripped him with more fear and dread and panic than even his own worries, than even the thoughts in his head or the horrors he had imagined when he awoke. A single sound that had been so horrifying, so terrifying to William that it caused his knees to become weak; his resolve collapsed, his will to keep walking disappeared, as he struggled to remain standing in the face of apparent danger.
Someone had screamed.
He didn't know who had done it, or why; But the piercing sound was close, it was too loud to have been from further away. He didn't move, frozen in place, unsure as to what he should do now; His hand trembled, his fingers wrapping tighter around the grip of the gun in his hand as he looked down at the weapon he held. The gun in his hand still felt lighter than he thought it would, still loomed with the same terrifying connotations and unbelievable power that it had when he fired it the first time, just moments earlier.
My gun...
"That's right..."
He had power. He had the means to protect himself, to fight for his life if it came down to it; But what about others? What about his classmates who were alone, like he was? Who didn't have a weapon or a means to fight back, who didn't have any way of protecting themselves from those who did; Those who didn't stand a chance against the ones that he knew would participate in this game, the ones who were likely to die. What about them? What could he do?
I could help.
He had a choice to make in this world, in this place of chaos and despair; Did he fight for himself, or did he fight for others? Would he retreat from the unknown, from the dangers he perceived all around him? Or would he stand up and face his fears, and use his new found power to rid himself of these ever present horrors?
Before he knew it, he had made his choice.
He was moving again, resuming his pace forward, towards the silhouette in the distance and the source of the scream; He didn't know when the silhouette had started moving, started retreating from sight as fast as it possibly could, but that didn't stop him from continuing onward. He didn't know what he was going to do once he reached his destination, or even what he would do when he ran into someone else; He honestly didn't want to think about it until it was absolutely necessary, trying with all his strength of will to keep his mind from wandering, to keep it from fabricating scenarios. He focused on his feet, on the direction he was headed and the horizon in front of him; But his eyes caught more movement in the gradually decreasing distance.
Wait.
Something else, someone else, was moving now; Faster and larger than he had expected, still unsure as to who it was, but they had something in their hands. It wasn't metal they were holding, or even something with the silhouette of a dangerous weapon; From the distance that William stood at, it looked like... a stick? As he came ever closer, closing the distance with purpose and determination, moving over scattered logs and stumps that stood in his path, he could make out the figure much better; And it wasn't a lone figure that he made out, it was two. Neither looked to be much of a threat, not to him at least; One held a branch, and the other held nothing, not even a bag was within William's line of sight.
Is that...?
He stopped moving as soon as he felt he was close enough, standing roughly forty feet away from the two of them; The dirt stained boy with the branch, and the girl against the stump. He couldn't make out who exactly they were, but that didn't stop him from calling out, not after he had come so far; He wasn't going to back down, not now.
"Are you two alright?"
He didn't make a demand, he didn't simply shout a greeting; He wanted to know if they were okay. The reason why escaped him at this moment, unsure of why he chose that question or why he was concerned; Every thought he had earlier, of people being threats and of the fear that gripped him when he awoke, or the potential need to use the gun in his hand, it all slipped away when he saw the two of them. They were just as scared as he was and for whatever reason, it eased his mind to see that; Even when he saw the tear stained tracks on Dominic's cheeks, it made him feel... safe.
He wasn't alone anymore.
And most of all, he wanted nothing to do with any thought, any possibility however slight, that he might be killed by someone he knew, someone he trusted, or... someone he loved.
But before he could do anything besides stand there and stare at the silhouette, a new noise beyond the silence and the sound of the world around him filled his ears. A sound that gripped him with more fear and dread and panic than even his own worries, than even the thoughts in his head or the horrors he had imagined when he awoke. A single sound that had been so horrifying, so terrifying to William that it caused his knees to become weak; his resolve collapsed, his will to keep walking disappeared, as he struggled to remain standing in the face of apparent danger.
Someone had screamed.
He didn't know who had done it, or why; But the piercing sound was close, it was too loud to have been from further away. He didn't move, frozen in place, unsure as to what he should do now; His hand trembled, his fingers wrapping tighter around the grip of the gun in his hand as he looked down at the weapon he held. The gun in his hand still felt lighter than he thought it would, still loomed with the same terrifying connotations and unbelievable power that it had when he fired it the first time, just moments earlier.
My gun...
"That's right..."
He had power. He had the means to protect himself, to fight for his life if it came down to it; But what about others? What about his classmates who were alone, like he was? Who didn't have a weapon or a means to fight back, who didn't have any way of protecting themselves from those who did; Those who didn't stand a chance against the ones that he knew would participate in this game, the ones who were likely to die. What about them? What could he do?
I could help.
He had a choice to make in this world, in this place of chaos and despair; Did he fight for himself, or did he fight for others? Would he retreat from the unknown, from the dangers he perceived all around him? Or would he stand up and face his fears, and use his new found power to rid himself of these ever present horrors?
Before he knew it, he had made his choice.
He was moving again, resuming his pace forward, towards the silhouette in the distance and the source of the scream; He didn't know when the silhouette had started moving, started retreating from sight as fast as it possibly could, but that didn't stop him from continuing onward. He didn't know what he was going to do once he reached his destination, or even what he would do when he ran into someone else; He honestly didn't want to think about it until it was absolutely necessary, trying with all his strength of will to keep his mind from wandering, to keep it from fabricating scenarios. He focused on his feet, on the direction he was headed and the horizon in front of him; But his eyes caught more movement in the gradually decreasing distance.
Wait.
Something else, someone else, was moving now; Faster and larger than he had expected, still unsure as to who it was, but they had something in their hands. It wasn't metal they were holding, or even something with the silhouette of a dangerous weapon; From the distance that William stood at, it looked like... a stick? As he came ever closer, closing the distance with purpose and determination, moving over scattered logs and stumps that stood in his path, he could make out the figure much better; And it wasn't a lone figure that he made out, it was two. Neither looked to be much of a threat, not to him at least; One held a branch, and the other held nothing, not even a bag was within William's line of sight.
Is that...?
He stopped moving as soon as he felt he was close enough, standing roughly forty feet away from the two of them; The dirt stained boy with the branch, and the girl against the stump. He couldn't make out who exactly they were, but that didn't stop him from calling out, not after he had come so far; He wasn't going to back down, not now.
"Are you two alright?"
He didn't make a demand, he didn't simply shout a greeting; He wanted to know if they were okay. The reason why escaped him at this moment, unsure of why he chose that question or why he was concerned; Every thought he had earlier, of people being threats and of the fear that gripped him when he awoke, or the potential need to use the gun in his hand, it all slipped away when he saw the two of them. They were just as scared as he was and for whatever reason, it eased his mind to see that; Even when he saw the tear stained tracks on Dominic's cheeks, it made him feel... safe.
He wasn't alone anymore.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Dr. Nic. 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.
Oh God, I'm going to die.
There was a gun. Just like the one she'd thrown away. Maybe it was that gun, come back from where she'd tossed it to take revenge for being abandoned. Or maybe it was one of Danya's creeps, come to kill her for not trying to kill people.
Tiffany couldn't think straight. She kept imagining the vividly painful ways in which she would be dying on the island. Shot in the heart. Shot multiple times. Sliced up by knives or claws. With each thought she curled up more, trying to hide herself from the horrors her mind was bringing up. Maybe if she curled up enough, they'd ignore the fact that she'd screamed loud enough to be heard a mile away.
A voice pierced through her panicked thoughts. She recognized it from somewhere. Tiffany had a knack for knowing people's voices, something that she could put to good use now. It took only a moment to identify the source: William Hearst. He was a good friend of Peter's, and they went on hiking trips occasionally. She didn't know William very well personally, but she trusted Peter to not be friends with bad people.
She slowly raised her head up and saw William, holding the gun and much closer than where she had first seen him. Relief washed through Tiffany, unclenching her muscles from the tightly curled position she had taken. William wasn't going to hurt her, even if he did have a gun. He probably didn't want to kill anyone either. She was safe.
"William," she called out, "I'm ok-" A large shambling form lumbered up from beside her. Her gaze darted over to it and panic took over again. Dominic Stratford stood there, holding a large stick in a threatening position. But Dominic was dead. She'd seen the other boy kill him with those scary claws. Corpses didn't walk, not unless it was a....
"Zombie!" She screamed and scrambled toward William. William was safe. Dominic wasn't. Zombies were never safe. God forbid she let one bite her.
There was a gun. Just like the one she'd thrown away. Maybe it was that gun, come back from where she'd tossed it to take revenge for being abandoned. Or maybe it was one of Danya's creeps, come to kill her for not trying to kill people.
Tiffany couldn't think straight. She kept imagining the vividly painful ways in which she would be dying on the island. Shot in the heart. Shot multiple times. Sliced up by knives or claws. With each thought she curled up more, trying to hide herself from the horrors her mind was bringing up. Maybe if she curled up enough, they'd ignore the fact that she'd screamed loud enough to be heard a mile away.
A voice pierced through her panicked thoughts. She recognized it from somewhere. Tiffany had a knack for knowing people's voices, something that she could put to good use now. It took only a moment to identify the source: William Hearst. He was a good friend of Peter's, and they went on hiking trips occasionally. She didn't know William very well personally, but she trusted Peter to not be friends with bad people.
She slowly raised her head up and saw William, holding the gun and much closer than where she had first seen him. Relief washed through Tiffany, unclenching her muscles from the tightly curled position she had taken. William wasn't going to hurt her, even if he did have a gun. He probably didn't want to kill anyone either. She was safe.
"William," she called out, "I'm ok-" A large shambling form lumbered up from beside her. Her gaze darted over to it and panic took over again. Dominic Stratford stood there, holding a large stick in a threatening position. But Dominic was dead. She'd seen the other boy kill him with those scary claws. Corpses didn't walk, not unless it was a....
"Zombie!" She screamed and scrambled toward William. William was safe. Dominic wasn't. Zombies were never safe. God forbid she let one bite her.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. 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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ifnotwinter†
- Posts: 295
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 5:22 am
The entire tableau seemed frozen in front of Dominic's eyes. William Hearst stood there, gun in hand, staring at him. Tiffany was in the act of scrambling away, mouth open as she screamed something he couldn't understand. But she was scrambling towards William like he was her savior, which - which didn't make sense because he had a gun and there had been a gunshot and he had shot his gun at someone and maybe killed them and why was Tiffany trying to be with him? Was she playing too?
The thoughts swirled in his head, confusing, frantic, the net result making him stand stock-still, staring at the two people in front of him. Dominic Stratford, who never did anything without a plan, had no idea what to do and no thoughts currently coming. His thoughts just kept returning, over and over, to the gunshot and the boy in front of him. Tiffany was so near, now. So near to the gun. Was that the plan? Was the boy going to shoot her? Had he already tried?
No. He couldn't let that happen. He was going to stand up to the bullies, he knew he was. He had to. This was his chance to shine, to be someone other people would be proud of, to protect people the way he had protected his little sister Abigail for so long. He raised the chunk of wood, taking a deep breath.
He could do this.
He took a step forwards. The wood was heavy in his hand, time oozing past as slow as cold molasses. He could feel every grain against his fingers, could feel the dampness on his cheeks, the tight-clenched knot of his stomach. Everything was all at once too clear and too blurry, too bright and too dark.
He could do this. He knew he could. He had to. He had to fight...
(unbidden, worming its way into his head and nudging past his other thoughts; Abigail. Holding his hand and smiling at him. Big brother, who made the monsters go away. Big brother, who told his little sister to never ever fight other people, that violence was not the answer)
He could do this.
He could.
He couldn't.
Dominic dropped to his knees, the makeshift weapon falling next to him. Raising his hands above his head, feeling new tears start down the tracks of the old ones, he stared up at William Hearst, voice breaking and stuttering as he tried to speak.
"Please - please, don't. Not her. Not - you can. You can - you can kill me. If you have to. But let her go, please, God, let her go." Better him than her, his mind repeated, over and over. This is the real way to win. To beat the game. Save another. Go in her place. Go in her place.
"Please..."
Anguish in his voice, his eyes, but, unwanted, invasive, behind the rush of everything else
if there's anyone listening, please, please
I don't.
I don't want to die.
The thoughts swirled in his head, confusing, frantic, the net result making him stand stock-still, staring at the two people in front of him. Dominic Stratford, who never did anything without a plan, had no idea what to do and no thoughts currently coming. His thoughts just kept returning, over and over, to the gunshot and the boy in front of him. Tiffany was so near, now. So near to the gun. Was that the plan? Was the boy going to shoot her? Had he already tried?
No. He couldn't let that happen. He was going to stand up to the bullies, he knew he was. He had to. This was his chance to shine, to be someone other people would be proud of, to protect people the way he had protected his little sister Abigail for so long. He raised the chunk of wood, taking a deep breath.
He could do this.
He took a step forwards. The wood was heavy in his hand, time oozing past as slow as cold molasses. He could feel every grain against his fingers, could feel the dampness on his cheeks, the tight-clenched knot of his stomach. Everything was all at once too clear and too blurry, too bright and too dark.
He could do this. He knew he could. He had to. He had to fight...
(unbidden, worming its way into his head and nudging past his other thoughts; Abigail. Holding his hand and smiling at him. Big brother, who made the monsters go away. Big brother, who told his little sister to never ever fight other people, that violence was not the answer)
He could do this.
He could.
He couldn't.
Dominic dropped to his knees, the makeshift weapon falling next to him. Raising his hands above his head, feeling new tears start down the tracks of the old ones, he stared up at William Hearst, voice breaking and stuttering as he tried to speak.
"Please - please, don't. Not her. Not - you can. You can - you can kill me. If you have to. But let her go, please, God, let her go." Better him than her, his mind repeated, over and over. This is the real way to win. To beat the game. Save another. Go in her place. Go in her place.
"Please..."
Anguish in his voice, his eyes, but, unwanted, invasive, behind the rush of everything else
if there's anyone listening, please, please
I don't.
I don't want to die.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ifnotwinter. 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.