((Marco Stonecastle continued from Final Third Foul))
The warehouse had only lost its danger zone status a couple of hours prior to Marco's arrival, who was feeling borderline depressed when he turned up. The events at the docks still haunted him, even though it had all happened over a day ago. Phil, dead. Jimmy, a killer. Jennifer, abandoning them all. Alex, revealed as a traitor.
The announcements over the course of the day and just that morning only made things worse for the blond-haired boy. The Huskies were splitting apart, bit by bit. Three (four if he counted Dan Kensrue) were now dead and three of the remaning hockey payers had done the unthinkable; they'd murdered other people. There was no chance of the team having a happy reunion, and Marco was having a hard time accepting that fact. They were people he thought he could trust.
'Trust... look what happened when I trusted people. One of my friends died and we grouped up with a psycho or two,' Marco bitterly thought. He'd decided to go it alone, teaming up with no one, not if he couldn't trust anybody on the island. That was one problem solved, but that still left him with a predicament. One that concerned the major objective of Survival of the Fittest.
Marco just couldn't bring himself to kill anyone. Ever since he'd found out about his father and the horrific act he'd done, he'd vowed never to turn out like him. Murder was quite out of the question. Then there was his bright idea of trying to protect the group from coming to any harm. That had failed in quite possibly the most spectacular fashion ever with the death of Phil.
So he couldn't kill and couldn't prevent the killings. He was useless, there was no place in the game for him, and he knew that all too well. All he was doing was delaying the inevitable. 'So why not speed things up a little?'
He looked up at the building standing before him, staring at the roof to gather the height of it. It was quite tall, easily two or three storeys high. 'A fall from there would be fatal, wouldn't it?' he wondered. A smile creeped on his face as an idea formed in his mind, causing him to chuckle at how he never thought of it sooner. It would be so simple; he'd find a ladder or something leading to the roof of the warehouse, and then he'd just launch himself right off the structure to his death. It would be quick, probably painless (if it was, the pain shouldn't last that long anyway) and he'd at least deprive one of the many players of a kill. It was a win-win situation.
He approached the warehouse at a quickened pace and started to walk parallel to one of the walls, seeing no sign of a ladder or stairwell. "C'mon, there's got to be a ladder around here somewhere," he grumbled under his breath, turning the corner of the building.
Breaking Down the Wall
Private thread
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JamesRenard†
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Breaking Down the Wall
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((Maxwell Lombardi continued from Out and In))
It had only been half a day since he'd left the mansion far behind him, and Maxwell was already missing the comfort of having a roof over his head.
He'd been moving north all night, mainly sticking to the shadows in case he came across anyone unawares. Whilst he was making sure to be a stealthy as possible in order to not attract unwanted attention to himself, the young Brit nevertheless managed to move through the woods and across the island at a quick and steady pace. No point meandering in one area when there might be more people in another, right?
However, despite his intentions, the closest thing to a living person Maxwell had come across since he'd left Clio was the charred corpse of what used to be Francine Moreau. Apart from that... Rather unfortunate encounter, Maxwell had yet to find another target to add to his slowly growing list of successful kills.
Funny. Whenever I've stopped off somewhere, I always seemed to get swarmed by a large number of unwanted guests with severe deathwishes. And yet, whenever I've gone looking for people on my own accord its inexplicitly rare that I ever actually find anyone. Just my luck I suppose...
Eventually, Maxwell settled down on the outskirts of the woods and took a break, allowing himself an hour or two's worth of sleep to keep his energy up. He would have slept for longer if the sun hadn't decided to rise at the worst possible moment and rudely awaken him. After unsuccessfully trying to get back to sleep, Maxwell eventually gave up and decided to have a quick breakfast of water, stale bread an a quick swig from his waterbottle filled with wine before heading out. Feeling the sweet taste of red wine pour down his throat was something that brought a shiver of joy to the youthful killer. After all, he'd been forced to settle with lukewarm water for the past couple of days. Sure, he'd rather drink it out of an expensive glass, but you'd have to be an idiot to not take the opportunity to drink something which actually has some flavour on this godforsaken island.
Once he'd finished his breakfast, Maxwell quickly began to make his way northward again. An hour or so later, the morning announcement kicked in to keep him up to date about how his peers where doing. It was the same old same old, nothing particularly special or surprising. Twenty-five less members of the competition to worry about. A couple of players increased their kill count, including a certain Reiko Ishida and Nick Reid. And once again, the BKA was wasted on some brat by the name of Jimmy Brennan. Otherwise, not much else was different. Well, may as well add this "Jimmy" fellow to the list of BKA winners with a shiny weapon I could put to good use... Once I pry it from his dead hands that is.
On his way, he stopped for a second as he spotted a settlement in the distance. Most likely the town mentioned on the map. He was strongly tempted to waltz in and see if he could shake things up a notch, after all there was bound to be plenty of people there. Then again, it would only take one asshole to announce his presence to the town and have them all gang up on him. He wasn't exactly popular with the rest of the island after all, with six... No, seven (Heh) kills to his name. So instead of going in to investigate, the young Brit simply shrugged and carried on.
A couple more hours later, Maxwell found himself standing before a large warehouse. He'd of been curious of what could be stored within it, or if it was actually accessible at all, if it wasn't for the fact that by this point after travelling almost nonstop for several hours Maxwell wanted nothing more then to take a breather.
And, sure enough, the first thing he did as he reached the building sit down and lean his back against the wall, breathing steadily as he caught his breath. He opened his bag and took a nearly empty water bottle out of it, taking another glug of water to keep his energy up. As he sat there alone, his thoughts went back to the day before, when he and Clio spoke to one another about their experiences on the island. He couldn't help but miss her company at that moment. After all, the chances of meeting someone else on this island who he could have a civilised conversation with was practically nil. That, and the fact that they had...... Well..........
No, put those thoughts out of your mind right now Maxwell. It was an act of passion, nothing more. Nothing less. You have to keep yourself focused on the game. Keep your focus on surviving this through to the end. After all, any second some bastard could catch you off guard when you least suspect it...
It had only been half a day since he'd left the mansion far behind him, and Maxwell was already missing the comfort of having a roof over his head.
He'd been moving north all night, mainly sticking to the shadows in case he came across anyone unawares. Whilst he was making sure to be a stealthy as possible in order to not attract unwanted attention to himself, the young Brit nevertheless managed to move through the woods and across the island at a quick and steady pace. No point meandering in one area when there might be more people in another, right?
However, despite his intentions, the closest thing to a living person Maxwell had come across since he'd left Clio was the charred corpse of what used to be Francine Moreau. Apart from that... Rather unfortunate encounter, Maxwell had yet to find another target to add to his slowly growing list of successful kills.
Funny. Whenever I've stopped off somewhere, I always seemed to get swarmed by a large number of unwanted guests with severe deathwishes. And yet, whenever I've gone looking for people on my own accord its inexplicitly rare that I ever actually find anyone. Just my luck I suppose...
Eventually, Maxwell settled down on the outskirts of the woods and took a break, allowing himself an hour or two's worth of sleep to keep his energy up. He would have slept for longer if the sun hadn't decided to rise at the worst possible moment and rudely awaken him. After unsuccessfully trying to get back to sleep, Maxwell eventually gave up and decided to have a quick breakfast of water, stale bread an a quick swig from his waterbottle filled with wine before heading out. Feeling the sweet taste of red wine pour down his throat was something that brought a shiver of joy to the youthful killer. After all, he'd been forced to settle with lukewarm water for the past couple of days. Sure, he'd rather drink it out of an expensive glass, but you'd have to be an idiot to not take the opportunity to drink something which actually has some flavour on this godforsaken island.
Once he'd finished his breakfast, Maxwell quickly began to make his way northward again. An hour or so later, the morning announcement kicked in to keep him up to date about how his peers where doing. It was the same old same old, nothing particularly special or surprising. Twenty-five less members of the competition to worry about. A couple of players increased their kill count, including a certain Reiko Ishida and Nick Reid. And once again, the BKA was wasted on some brat by the name of Jimmy Brennan. Otherwise, not much else was different. Well, may as well add this "Jimmy" fellow to the list of BKA winners with a shiny weapon I could put to good use... Once I pry it from his dead hands that is.
On his way, he stopped for a second as he spotted a settlement in the distance. Most likely the town mentioned on the map. He was strongly tempted to waltz in and see if he could shake things up a notch, after all there was bound to be plenty of people there. Then again, it would only take one asshole to announce his presence to the town and have them all gang up on him. He wasn't exactly popular with the rest of the island after all, with six... No, seven (Heh) kills to his name. So instead of going in to investigate, the young Brit simply shrugged and carried on.
A couple more hours later, Maxwell found himself standing before a large warehouse. He'd of been curious of what could be stored within it, or if it was actually accessible at all, if it wasn't for the fact that by this point after travelling almost nonstop for several hours Maxwell wanted nothing more then to take a breather.
And, sure enough, the first thing he did as he reached the building sit down and lean his back against the wall, breathing steadily as he caught his breath. He opened his bag and took a nearly empty water bottle out of it, taking another glug of water to keep his energy up. As he sat there alone, his thoughts went back to the day before, when he and Clio spoke to one another about their experiences on the island. He couldn't help but miss her company at that moment. After all, the chances of meeting someone else on this island who he could have a civilised conversation with was practically nil. That, and the fact that they had...... Well..........
No, put those thoughts out of your mind right now Maxwell. It was an act of passion, nothing more. Nothing less. You have to keep yourself focused on the game. Keep your focus on surviving this through to the end. After all, any second some bastard could catch you off guard when you least suspect it...
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JamesRenard†
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As soon as he turned the corner of the warehouse, Marco saw a boy sitting down against the wall. He stifled a gasp and immediately ducked back round, out of the person's view and pressed his back tightly against the brickwork. 'Who the hell is that?' Marco thought, slowly edging towards the corner again and taking a peek. He squinted his eyes and adjusted his glasses to get a better look at the stranger. Brown haired with red streaks, wearing a distinctive white jacket and trousers. Marco's eyes widened. 'No way... Maxwell?'
Marco quickly ducked round again, his breathing quickening as the realization sunk in. Maxwell Lombardi, the Brit who'd been a bit of a dick in school, the Brit who'd now killed several people over the past few days. 'Holy shit, holy shit, it is him, it's fucking Maxwell Lombardi! Oh crap, I gotta get out of here...' Marco started to slowly make his way away from the building, but stopped and turned back to face the corner of the building Maxwell was located behind.
"Wait a minute... what am I running for?" he whispered.
Marco had originally come to this place with the intention of dying. Why, when there was a prospect of being killed by someone else, was he chickening out now? Marco trekked back to the wall and bent down, thinking hard. Maxwell... how many times had his name been read out in the announcements? Five, six? Far too many to keep count of. He was a mass murderer, that was all Marco needed to know, and he'd only continue to keep killing. Someone needed to stop Maxwell, before another innocent student died at his hands.
'I could stop him,' Marco thought, glancing towards the corner, suddenly wondering how that thought had managed to get into his head like that. Stopping Maxwell essentially meant killing him. Killing. Murder. It was an action that Marco had always viewed as barbaric. His dad had killed someone whilst committing a robbery, Jimmy had killed Phil in an act of savagery. 'This... this is different though. Yeah, it's not like Maxwell doesn't deserve it. Yes, yes, it's only one death to save countless others! It'll be a service to everyone on the island!'
He unzipped the duffel bag, slowly in order to keep the sound to a minimum, and retrieved the candelabra. 'Run out there, a quick whack to the head, make sure he's dead,' Marco mentally planned with a grin on his face, 'and then, find that ladder and take a running leap off the building.' He stood up, abandoning the bag on the ground and approached the corner of the warehouse. Taking a quick look, he could see Maxwell still sitting in the same spot. 'Here goes,' he thought.
Marco dashed around the corner and charged towards Maxwell with heavy footsteps, the candelabra gripped tightly and raised high in his hand.
Marco quickly ducked round again, his breathing quickening as the realization sunk in. Maxwell Lombardi, the Brit who'd been a bit of a dick in school, the Brit who'd now killed several people over the past few days. 'Holy shit, holy shit, it is him, it's fucking Maxwell Lombardi! Oh crap, I gotta get out of here...' Marco started to slowly make his way away from the building, but stopped and turned back to face the corner of the building Maxwell was located behind.
"Wait a minute... what am I running for?" he whispered.
Marco had originally come to this place with the intention of dying. Why, when there was a prospect of being killed by someone else, was he chickening out now? Marco trekked back to the wall and bent down, thinking hard. Maxwell... how many times had his name been read out in the announcements? Five, six? Far too many to keep count of. He was a mass murderer, that was all Marco needed to know, and he'd only continue to keep killing. Someone needed to stop Maxwell, before another innocent student died at his hands.
'I could stop him,' Marco thought, glancing towards the corner, suddenly wondering how that thought had managed to get into his head like that. Stopping Maxwell essentially meant killing him. Killing. Murder. It was an action that Marco had always viewed as barbaric. His dad had killed someone whilst committing a robbery, Jimmy had killed Phil in an act of savagery. 'This... this is different though. Yeah, it's not like Maxwell doesn't deserve it. Yes, yes, it's only one death to save countless others! It'll be a service to everyone on the island!'
He unzipped the duffel bag, slowly in order to keep the sound to a minimum, and retrieved the candelabra. 'Run out there, a quick whack to the head, make sure he's dead,' Marco mentally planned with a grin on his face, 'and then, find that ladder and take a running leap off the building.' He stood up, abandoning the bag on the ground and approached the corner of the warehouse. Taking a quick look, he could see Maxwell still sitting in the same spot. 'Here goes,' he thought.
Marco dashed around the corner and charged towards Maxwell with heavy footsteps, the candelabra gripped tightly and raised high in his hand.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Maxwell should have learnt by now to stop tempting fate.
The moment Maxwell heard the heavy footsteps of Marco charging at him with a candelabra, he knew that had mere seconds to get out of the way. Just as Marco swung his "weapon" at Maxwell's head, the young Brit quickly dived into a roll just in time as the candelabra clanged against the warehouse wall. Scrambling to his feet, Maxwell was quick on his toes as Marco recovered and preceded to try and hit Maxwell again, to which he narrowly dodged. Marco swung his weapon several more times, each missing Maxwell by mere inches. The young killer eventually managed to land a single kick at Marco's side, only to jump back when Marco swung his weapon in a wide arc.
Taking a fighting stance, Maxwell wiped a bead of sweat from his head as he assessed the situation. Okay, what the hell just happened? One minute ago, I was resting quite happily against a wall, when suddenly this... This fucking TANK just burst out from nowhere!
He looked pass the intimidating brute in front of him at his TEC-9, which he'd left unattended by his bag back by the wall. Evidently as it seemed, taking this brute on in hand-to-hand combat would be a doomed fight. But not even a tank like this man could survive a bullet to the chest. Only problem now was how to get past him...
At first, Maxwell tried to see if he could ran past the left of him, only for Marco to sidestep and take another sweep which Maxwell barely dodged. Then he tried running around the right of him, only for the same thing to happen. Marco apparently seemed to have cottoned on to what Maxwell was trying to do, and considering his strength and the fact that his reach was much longer then Maxwell's, this put him a very difficult situation indeed.
And Maxwell just couldn't help but smile. This was going to be interesting...
After a minute had passed of the two of them standing there in a miniature stand-off, Maxwell feigned to the left, only to then go and attempt to trip Marco up. However, as his leg collided with Marco's, the young Brit's face went pale as he realised that it had barely fazed the taller student, who preceded to take another swing at him. Maxwell dived out of the way fast enough to dodge the the candelabra... But not fast another to dodge the back-hand Marco inflicted upon him with his free hand that sent Maxwell flying onto his back.
Ack! Bastard! That actually HURT! How dare you... How dare you swat me aside like some kind of INSECT! Don't you have any idea who I am?!?
He scrambled to his knees, propping himself up onto one leg as he scowled viciously in Marco's direction. Trying to kill Maxwell was one thing... Actually physically hurting him on the other hand was another thing altogether. He was already planning on killing this tool at the first chance he got, but now that just wouldn't be enough to satisfy him... He wanted to make this bastard pay harshly for even daring to lay a hand on him. And simply killing him would be far too merciful.
His eyes turned to his gun once more. He was in a much better angle to dive for it now, seeing as Marco had knocked him over to the left side of him. However, before he could even move, Marco had already dropped his candelabra and dashed as fast as he could for Maxwell's gun.
Oh no your fucking NOT!
Launching himself from his position, Maxwell dived for the gun as Marco lumbered after it. Whilst the brute had made a good start, Maxwell was much faster than him and managed to get to the gun in time, elbowing Marco between the eyes as he scrambled to a standing position.
HA! Now the fun can really get starte...... Wait, what on earth is he doing?
Maxwell couldn't help but stand there perplexed as the brute who had kept on the edge began to stumble about as if he couldn't see anything. It took a while for the young Brit to figure out what exactly was going on, but as soon as he spotted the large pair of black glasses on the floor, all the pieces fell into place...
A sadistic smirk appeared on Maxwell's face.
So, he's blind as a bat without his glasses eh? Oh, I am going to have a lot of fun with this...
Moving silently so as not to draw Marco's attention too early, Maxwell positioned his foot above his glasses and whistled.
"Looking for these?" he said, before stepping down on the glasses and crushing them underneath his foot. The young Brit quickly sidestepped out of the way as the inevitable counter-attack happened, the blonde-haired brute running right past him. Quickly yet carefully gathering up the shards with his hands, Maxwell whistled again to draw his prey's attention.
"Here, why don't you take them back?" he said, waiting for Marco to run towards him before throwing the shards into his face and sidestepping to the right. Maxwell almost laughed as Marco cried out in agony, his big clumsy hands desperately trying to swipe them from his face. It was surprising, really, how quickly the tables had turned. At first Maxwell was fighting for his life... Now he was simply having fun at this brute's expense.
Anyway, best wrap this up soon before something unexpected happens...
Maxwell decided then that he would lecture this big lug for a while longer before delivering the killing blow. However, before that, he had to make sure that he wouldn't be able to get away... So, without so much as a moment's hesitance, Maxwell whipped out his pistol from his jacket pocked and shot Marco in the knee caps.
"You know, its funny really. I only just remembered that I had this gun on me the whole time. Imagine if I had remembered sooner, BEFORE you had the audacity to hit me back there."
As he spoke, he circled the fallen brute like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Still, not much I can do about it now is there? What's done is done... I would have granted you a quick and painless death if you hadn't of acted so hostile. But you had to go ahead and play the hero didn't you? Try and take out the top player on the island, avenge all those pathetic imbeciles who tried the exact same thing with similar results. Then again, maybe you're just another player like me looking for an extra kill to add to your slowly growing list. Honestly, I don't give a damn what your intentions were. All that matters is that you tried to kill me, so instead of a bullet to the back of the head, you get this..."
On that note, Maxwell aimed his Glock at Marco's lower back and fired three times.
"There, enjoy slowly bleeding to death...."
And, to add further insult to injury, Maxwell delivered one final kick right into Marco's face.
The moment Maxwell heard the heavy footsteps of Marco charging at him with a candelabra, he knew that had mere seconds to get out of the way. Just as Marco swung his "weapon" at Maxwell's head, the young Brit quickly dived into a roll just in time as the candelabra clanged against the warehouse wall. Scrambling to his feet, Maxwell was quick on his toes as Marco recovered and preceded to try and hit Maxwell again, to which he narrowly dodged. Marco swung his weapon several more times, each missing Maxwell by mere inches. The young killer eventually managed to land a single kick at Marco's side, only to jump back when Marco swung his weapon in a wide arc.
Taking a fighting stance, Maxwell wiped a bead of sweat from his head as he assessed the situation. Okay, what the hell just happened? One minute ago, I was resting quite happily against a wall, when suddenly this... This fucking TANK just burst out from nowhere!
He looked pass the intimidating brute in front of him at his TEC-9, which he'd left unattended by his bag back by the wall. Evidently as it seemed, taking this brute on in hand-to-hand combat would be a doomed fight. But not even a tank like this man could survive a bullet to the chest. Only problem now was how to get past him...
At first, Maxwell tried to see if he could ran past the left of him, only for Marco to sidestep and take another sweep which Maxwell barely dodged. Then he tried running around the right of him, only for the same thing to happen. Marco apparently seemed to have cottoned on to what Maxwell was trying to do, and considering his strength and the fact that his reach was much longer then Maxwell's, this put him a very difficult situation indeed.
And Maxwell just couldn't help but smile. This was going to be interesting...
After a minute had passed of the two of them standing there in a miniature stand-off, Maxwell feigned to the left, only to then go and attempt to trip Marco up. However, as his leg collided with Marco's, the young Brit's face went pale as he realised that it had barely fazed the taller student, who preceded to take another swing at him. Maxwell dived out of the way fast enough to dodge the the candelabra... But not fast another to dodge the back-hand Marco inflicted upon him with his free hand that sent Maxwell flying onto his back.
Ack! Bastard! That actually HURT! How dare you... How dare you swat me aside like some kind of INSECT! Don't you have any idea who I am?!?
He scrambled to his knees, propping himself up onto one leg as he scowled viciously in Marco's direction. Trying to kill Maxwell was one thing... Actually physically hurting him on the other hand was another thing altogether. He was already planning on killing this tool at the first chance he got, but now that just wouldn't be enough to satisfy him... He wanted to make this bastard pay harshly for even daring to lay a hand on him. And simply killing him would be far too merciful.
His eyes turned to his gun once more. He was in a much better angle to dive for it now, seeing as Marco had knocked him over to the left side of him. However, before he could even move, Marco had already dropped his candelabra and dashed as fast as he could for Maxwell's gun.
Oh no your fucking NOT!
Launching himself from his position, Maxwell dived for the gun as Marco lumbered after it. Whilst the brute had made a good start, Maxwell was much faster than him and managed to get to the gun in time, elbowing Marco between the eyes as he scrambled to a standing position.
HA! Now the fun can really get starte...... Wait, what on earth is he doing?
Maxwell couldn't help but stand there perplexed as the brute who had kept on the edge began to stumble about as if he couldn't see anything. It took a while for the young Brit to figure out what exactly was going on, but as soon as he spotted the large pair of black glasses on the floor, all the pieces fell into place...
A sadistic smirk appeared on Maxwell's face.
So, he's blind as a bat without his glasses eh? Oh, I am going to have a lot of fun with this...
Moving silently so as not to draw Marco's attention too early, Maxwell positioned his foot above his glasses and whistled.
"Looking for these?" he said, before stepping down on the glasses and crushing them underneath his foot. The young Brit quickly sidestepped out of the way as the inevitable counter-attack happened, the blonde-haired brute running right past him. Quickly yet carefully gathering up the shards with his hands, Maxwell whistled again to draw his prey's attention.
"Here, why don't you take them back?" he said, waiting for Marco to run towards him before throwing the shards into his face and sidestepping to the right. Maxwell almost laughed as Marco cried out in agony, his big clumsy hands desperately trying to swipe them from his face. It was surprising, really, how quickly the tables had turned. At first Maxwell was fighting for his life... Now he was simply having fun at this brute's expense.
Anyway, best wrap this up soon before something unexpected happens...
Maxwell decided then that he would lecture this big lug for a while longer before delivering the killing blow. However, before that, he had to make sure that he wouldn't be able to get away... So, without so much as a moment's hesitance, Maxwell whipped out his pistol from his jacket pocked and shot Marco in the knee caps.
"You know, its funny really. I only just remembered that I had this gun on me the whole time. Imagine if I had remembered sooner, BEFORE you had the audacity to hit me back there."
As he spoke, he circled the fallen brute like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Still, not much I can do about it now is there? What's done is done... I would have granted you a quick and painless death if you hadn't of acted so hostile. But you had to go ahead and play the hero didn't you? Try and take out the top player on the island, avenge all those pathetic imbeciles who tried the exact same thing with similar results. Then again, maybe you're just another player like me looking for an extra kill to add to your slowly growing list. Honestly, I don't give a damn what your intentions were. All that matters is that you tried to kill me, so instead of a bullet to the back of the head, you get this..."
On that note, Maxwell aimed his Glock at Marco's lower back and fired three times.
"There, enjoy slowly bleeding to death...."
And, to add further insult to injury, Maxwell delivered one final kick right into Marco's face.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. 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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JamesRenard†
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'Fuck. Fuck, that smarts. FUCK!'
Marco had not expected Maxwell to turn the tables so quickly, and it was all because of his stupid glasses. One minute they were being used to help him see, now they'd just been used to harm him instead. One stray shard of glass, instead of being brushed off his face like the rest, was instead pushed deeper into his skin. His hands were slightly cut up during the effort as well; it felt like he'd been given several paper cuts, tiny nicks in his flesh but they HURT. 'Goddammit Maxwell, where the fuck are you?!' Marco furiously thought, turning blindly in every direction for the blurry white figure.
There was a gunshot, and Marco's right knee literally exploded a mere millisecond after. That was swiftly followed by a second loud crack, his left kneecap blown to smithereens before he could register what the hell had just happened. Marco howled out in pain, pain that was much, MUCH more intense than what he experienced during the hockey accident all those months ago. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto his stomach like a felled tree. As his chin hit the ground, one of his braces tore free from his teeth and dug into his cheek and gums, drawing blood. Marco moaned and tried to lift himself up from the ground, panic washing over him when he realised that he couldn't feel nor move anything below his thighs. 'Oh shit, oh shit, this ain't goo-'
Three more gunshots. Three more bullets that pierced his spine and internal organs. Three more reasons for Marco to cry out louder in agony. The entirety of the lower half of his body went dead. As he writhed as best he could on the floor in the middle of a growing puddle of blood, his mind was buzzing, thoughts flying through his head. 'No...! Maxwell can't win! This isn't fair! Maxwell doesn't deserve this! I was supposed to stop him from killing, not become his next victim!'
"It's... not fair..." Marco quietly groaned in between shallow, rapid breaths, a small amount of blood trickling from his lips. Tears welled up, stinging his eyes. He couldn't put a stop to Maxwell's killing spree, and now he was going to pay the ultimate price for his failure.
The last thing he saw was a white and black blurry shape zooming straight into his face - he could've sworn it was a hockey stick that was about to make contact. Unbearable pain coursed through his nose and mouth as whatever it was struck with full force, breaking cartilage, bones and a couple of his teeth. And then everything went black.
Slowly but surely, 'The Wall' was finally brought down.
B146: MARCO STONECASTLE - DECEASED
176 STUDENTS REMAINING
Marco had not expected Maxwell to turn the tables so quickly, and it was all because of his stupid glasses. One minute they were being used to help him see, now they'd just been used to harm him instead. One stray shard of glass, instead of being brushed off his face like the rest, was instead pushed deeper into his skin. His hands were slightly cut up during the effort as well; it felt like he'd been given several paper cuts, tiny nicks in his flesh but they HURT. 'Goddammit Maxwell, where the fuck are you?!' Marco furiously thought, turning blindly in every direction for the blurry white figure.
There was a gunshot, and Marco's right knee literally exploded a mere millisecond after. That was swiftly followed by a second loud crack, his left kneecap blown to smithereens before he could register what the hell had just happened. Marco howled out in pain, pain that was much, MUCH more intense than what he experienced during the hockey accident all those months ago. His legs gave out and he collapsed onto his stomach like a felled tree. As his chin hit the ground, one of his braces tore free from his teeth and dug into his cheek and gums, drawing blood. Marco moaned and tried to lift himself up from the ground, panic washing over him when he realised that he couldn't feel nor move anything below his thighs. 'Oh shit, oh shit, this ain't goo-'
Three more gunshots. Three more bullets that pierced his spine and internal organs. Three more reasons for Marco to cry out louder in agony. The entirety of the lower half of his body went dead. As he writhed as best he could on the floor in the middle of a growing puddle of blood, his mind was buzzing, thoughts flying through his head. 'No...! Maxwell can't win! This isn't fair! Maxwell doesn't deserve this! I was supposed to stop him from killing, not become his next victim!'
"It's... not fair..." Marco quietly groaned in between shallow, rapid breaths, a small amount of blood trickling from his lips. Tears welled up, stinging his eyes. He couldn't put a stop to Maxwell's killing spree, and now he was going to pay the ultimate price for his failure.
The last thing he saw was a white and black blurry shape zooming straight into his face - he could've sworn it was a hockey stick that was about to make contact. Unbearable pain coursed through his nose and mouth as whatever it was struck with full force, breaking cartilage, bones and a couple of his teeth. And then everything went black.
----
What Maxwell didn't count on was that the kick to Marco's head had, spurred on by the previous trauma the boy had received during the hockey accident, knocked him into unconsciousness rather than just dealt him a painful blow. As a result, Marco no longer felt any of the pain Maxwell had inflicted as his body slowly bled out, something he would have been eternally grateful for had he been capable of conscious thought. So he just lay there, unmoving and dead to the world until he eventually succumbed to his wounds. Slowly but surely, 'The Wall' was finally brought down.
B146: MARCO STONECASTLE - DECEASED
176 STUDENTS REMAINING
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler JamesRenard. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
The young killer stood there for a moment to take on board what had just happened.
It seemed as if it was only a minute ago that he'd been wandering across the island searching for his prey... And now, here he was, admiring his handiwork with a satisfied grin on his face. Toppling over a tank of a man like the one before him wasn't exactly an easy task... At least, not at first anyway. After the brute had lost his glasses, he'd gone from a dangerous opponent to a living punching-bag within seconds. In a way, defeating him if anything had been TOO easy in the end...
Nevertheless, Maxwell was satisfied. This man had tried to kill him, so he repaid the favour. He just so happened to have a little more fun with it than Marco did, thats all.
And yet... Something about the image before him didn't seem right. There was something off about the brute which made Maxwell uneasy. Moments ago, the brute had been moaning and mumbling underneath his breath. Now though, he remained silent and didn't seem to be moving an inch apart from the subtle movement of his lungs breathing in an out. At first, Maxwell assumed that perhaps he was just accepting his fate like a man. And yet...
Wait, is he... Unconscious? Jesus, I didn't think I kicked him THAT hard! Damn it all...
The young Brit felt anger brewing within him as the realisation that he'd been robbed of delivering the brute a slow and painful death like he'd intended. He was still a dead man, that was obvious, but now he wouldn't be conscious enough to realise it. That thought alone irritated the ambitious young killer beyond belief...
Bastard... Oh well, it was my own damn fault for getting carried away. He probably would have tried to remove his own collar so he could die more quickly or something anyway. Besides, the end result is still the same. He's dead, or dying anyway, and i'm not. So who honestly gives a damn about petty details like that?
The young Brit gave out a loud yawn. Now that the adrenaline from his fight with Marco had run out, he was beginning to feel tired again. He needed some well deserved rest, especially after tackling a beast like Marco all by himself. More specifically, he needed to get some proper rest in a proper bed rather then another five-minute break underneath a tree like he had been doing since he'd left the mansion far behind him. And as it just so happened, there was a nice looking town just a few miles back in the direction he came from...
Hmm, it could be a warzone out there. Then again, i'm sure if I barricade myself in nicely I could allow myself a decent amount of rest. Besides, once i'm fully rested, I could go back into removing the surrounding competition without having to rely on my adrenaline to keep myself awake. Yes, I like the sound of that...
On that note, Maxwell threw his pack over his shoulder, cocked his gun, and headed for the residential district with an ambitious smirk on his face.
((Maxwell Lombardi continued in No Crying Allowed))
It seemed as if it was only a minute ago that he'd been wandering across the island searching for his prey... And now, here he was, admiring his handiwork with a satisfied grin on his face. Toppling over a tank of a man like the one before him wasn't exactly an easy task... At least, not at first anyway. After the brute had lost his glasses, he'd gone from a dangerous opponent to a living punching-bag within seconds. In a way, defeating him if anything had been TOO easy in the end...
Nevertheless, Maxwell was satisfied. This man had tried to kill him, so he repaid the favour. He just so happened to have a little more fun with it than Marco did, thats all.
And yet... Something about the image before him didn't seem right. There was something off about the brute which made Maxwell uneasy. Moments ago, the brute had been moaning and mumbling underneath his breath. Now though, he remained silent and didn't seem to be moving an inch apart from the subtle movement of his lungs breathing in an out. At first, Maxwell assumed that perhaps he was just accepting his fate like a man. And yet...
Wait, is he... Unconscious? Jesus, I didn't think I kicked him THAT hard! Damn it all...
The young Brit felt anger brewing within him as the realisation that he'd been robbed of delivering the brute a slow and painful death like he'd intended. He was still a dead man, that was obvious, but now he wouldn't be conscious enough to realise it. That thought alone irritated the ambitious young killer beyond belief...
Bastard... Oh well, it was my own damn fault for getting carried away. He probably would have tried to remove his own collar so he could die more quickly or something anyway. Besides, the end result is still the same. He's dead, or dying anyway, and i'm not. So who honestly gives a damn about petty details like that?
The young Brit gave out a loud yawn. Now that the adrenaline from his fight with Marco had run out, he was beginning to feel tired again. He needed some well deserved rest, especially after tackling a beast like Marco all by himself. More specifically, he needed to get some proper rest in a proper bed rather then another five-minute break underneath a tree like he had been doing since he'd left the mansion far behind him. And as it just so happened, there was a nice looking town just a few miles back in the direction he came from...
Hmm, it could be a warzone out there. Then again, i'm sure if I barricade myself in nicely I could allow myself a decent amount of rest. Besides, once i'm fully rested, I could go back into removing the surrounding competition without having to rely on my adrenaline to keep myself awake. Yes, I like the sound of that...
On that note, Maxwell threw his pack over his shoulder, cocked his gun, and headed for the residential district with an ambitious smirk on his face.
((Maxwell Lombardi continued in No Crying Allowed))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fiori. 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.