Citation: Thread title quoted from George Orwell's classic novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four.
((Alan Rickhall continued from Inevitability.))
It had always been a personal disability in Alam's case, that he could never find anyone when he needed someone; all he needed to find was one person who was willing to kill him and that was it, done, favour over, they could get back to their murderous onslaught and probably forget that Alan even existed. Now he was tired, holding Jimmy's knife for days was starting to back Alan's wrist ache. In the distance, he saw something, at looked like a small building, alone in the middle of what seemed like no-where. There had to be some sort of chair to rest on there.
Throwing the door open, he looked into the empty room and saw Jimmy standing there, everywhere, hundreds of him reflected again and again, all around him, smiling at Alan. Alan screamed a covered his eyes, trembling with tears. He peeked through his hand and saw nothing but himself, trembling, pathetic looking and feeble. He picked up Jimmy's knife which he had accidentally dropped on the floor in shock and walked over to one of the mirrors, staring himself in the eyes. It would be here that he would wait for his dealer in death, it would only be a matter of time. Naturally they would have to kill him, if they were to survive on this island you would have to kill for some reason, and pride and honour seemed like pretty good reasons to do so. Alan had grow to hate people without honour.
To Die Hating Them, That Was Freedom
[PRIVATE]
To Die Hating Them, That Was Freedom
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((Joe Rios continued from Endings and Beginnings))
Joe kept a steady pace.
He walked on, even when he felt his feet starting to blister. An entire day and another set of announcements had passed since he'd butchered a man. Memories clicked in his mind as he finally realized who the man was.
Mike Maszer. A nice guy overall. Definitely not deserving of the torture he'd undergone at Joe's hands. He forced back tears of guilt. No showing fear or emotion that might make his comeuppance less likely in the end, he thought.
A small building in the distance.
People. A pause. Rest. Finally.
The door wasn't quite closed, confirming his guess. Joe breathed deeply and broke into a brisk run towards it.
A calculated gamble.
"OH YEAH!!!!!" he shouted as he twisted his body and his shoulder made contact, knocking the edifice off of its hinges.
Another pause. Joe blinked. He had been expecting a larger group, but instead, only one person, who he recognized as being Alan Rickhall. A drama geek, and not someone who was likely to take him down.
Not ideal, but I'll deal with it, Joe thought. A knife gleamed on the floor, reflected in all of the mirrors in the building.
"Well, motherfucker? You gonna kill me or do I have to take you down too?" he said, before breaking out into a mad laugh. He hoped Alan wouldn't realize that it was faked; he was in no laughing mood, but figured he'd need to come off as utterly insane before Alan would actually do anything, so it was worth a try.
Joe kept a steady pace.
He walked on, even when he felt his feet starting to blister. An entire day and another set of announcements had passed since he'd butchered a man. Memories clicked in his mind as he finally realized who the man was.
Mike Maszer. A nice guy overall. Definitely not deserving of the torture he'd undergone at Joe's hands. He forced back tears of guilt. No showing fear or emotion that might make his comeuppance less likely in the end, he thought.
A small building in the distance.
People. A pause. Rest. Finally.
The door wasn't quite closed, confirming his guess. Joe breathed deeply and broke into a brisk run towards it.
A calculated gamble.
"OH YEAH!!!!!" he shouted as he twisted his body and his shoulder made contact, knocking the edifice off of its hinges.
Another pause. Joe blinked. He had been expecting a larger group, but instead, only one person, who he recognized as being Alan Rickhall. A drama geek, and not someone who was likely to take him down.
Not ideal, but I'll deal with it, Joe thought. A knife gleamed on the floor, reflected in all of the mirrors in the building.
"Well, motherfucker? You gonna kill me or do I have to take you down too?" he said, before breaking out into a mad laugh. He hoped Alan wouldn't realize that it was faked; he was in no laughing mood, but figured he'd need to come off as utterly insane before Alan would actually do anything, so it was worth a try.
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Alan heard a noise and turned away from his reflection, standing in the doorway, he saw a student, he looked like the sort of person who had killed and turned to Danya, he saw the same murderous glint in his eye that Alan had saw in the eye of Jimmy's killer. Alan actually smiled. "I guess you're here to kill m-"
"Well, motherfucker? You gonna kill me or do I have to take you down too?"
Alan stopped in his tracks, Alan hadn't prepared for this. He looked at the boy in disbelief. "Me kill you? But I'm the one asking you to kill me, I want to die. So kill me, or I'll kill you." Alan thought for a second as he realised the paradox he had created and smiled. "Very well, looks like we're both at a bit of a situation; we both want to die at someone else's hands, but it's clear that only one of us can come out dead. So what I propose we do, is this." Alan clenched Jimmy's knife. "You've got your weapon, I've got mine, we both stand here, in the middle of this room and we wait for the other to kill them. Whichever one of us folds and attacks first will lose, the other person, gets what they want and dies. Rather simple." Alan walked to the centre of the room, staring at the boy in the eyes, knife in hand. "Up for going out with a little game... If, of course, you feel you can win."
"Well, motherfucker? You gonna kill me or do I have to take you down too?"
Alan stopped in his tracks, Alan hadn't prepared for this. He looked at the boy in disbelief. "Me kill you? But I'm the one asking you to kill me, I want to die. So kill me, or I'll kill you." Alan thought for a second as he realised the paradox he had created and smiled. "Very well, looks like we're both at a bit of a situation; we both want to die at someone else's hands, but it's clear that only one of us can come out dead. So what I propose we do, is this." Alan clenched Jimmy's knife. "You've got your weapon, I've got mine, we both stand here, in the middle of this room and we wait for the other to kill them. Whichever one of us folds and attacks first will lose, the other person, gets what they want and dies. Rather simple." Alan walked to the centre of the room, staring at the boy in the eyes, knife in hand. "Up for going out with a little game... If, of course, you feel you can win."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Limisios. 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.
((GM permission gotten from Limisios.))
Joe blinked again.
Definitely not ideal.
"Well, then. I guess it's on," Joe said, much calmer. Not only did Alan call his bluff, but it turned out they were in the same position. Joe reached back and took his scythe in hand.
But I'll manage.
For what felt like hours, the two stared at each other, Alan with his knife, and Joe with his farming implement.
Soon it became clear that Alan was not going to budge. Joe hadn't planned to either, but he supposed it was better to get this over with and find someone else who might be a little more willing.
"Looks like I lost this little game, Alan," Joe said. A swing, and the scythe cut through the air towards Alan's belly.
Joe blinked again.
Definitely not ideal.
"Well, then. I guess it's on," Joe said, much calmer. Not only did Alan call his bluff, but it turned out they were in the same position. Joe reached back and took his scythe in hand.
But I'll manage.
For what felt like hours, the two stared at each other, Alan with his knife, and Joe with his farming implement.
Soon it became clear that Alan was not going to budge. Joe hadn't planned to either, but he supposed it was better to get this over with and find someone else who might be a little more willing.
"Looks like I lost this little game, Alan," Joe said. A swing, and the scythe cut through the air towards Alan's belly.
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"Well, then. I guess it's on."
The boy took his position in front of Alan and met his gaze; they both stood in the middle of the room, a million copies of themselves were pasted over the mirrors as they replicated the psychological battle that was taking place. Alan brandished his knife as his opponent did the same with his own weapon. Never before had he thought in his time on the island, that it would actually end like this, to be competing with a murderer for the divine right to die. And that was a right that Alan wanted so badly. In all honesty, he hadn't thought very much about actually killing anyone else, he would have assumed that the first wild-eyed stranger he saw would only be too happy to off poor, feeble Alan at the bat of an eyelid. But this way was certainly more interesting, it was all a question of mind games, Alan quickly worked out that because the game was being played in silence, the eyes were everything, if Alan showed signs that he was about to lose it, whether it be through a nervous blink or a twitch of his hand, then his opponent would surely pick up on that. But on the other hand, as he stared into the boys own eyes, Alan didn't know if he was going to move.
The gaze held for several minutes in silence, Alan's throat grew drier by the second. He wanted to think of Zoey or Jimmy or Danya; but he couldn't, all he could think about was what was about to happen. Alan was beginning to tire, standing upright for so long really was murder on your ankles. A bead of sweat trailed down Alan's arm and onto the blade of the knife. Was the boy going to fold? He must be, he was a turned, a psychotic minion of Mr. Danya, you couldn't put a plate of meat in front of them and not expect them to ravage it limb from limb, no matter how much you restrain them. He was about to take a swipe at Alan any second now... Any second now... Any... Second... ... ... Now!
The time still hadn't come! Alan had completely lost track of how long the duel had been going on for, possibly about five, maybe ten minutes. Alan's stomach started to clench, the thought was creeping up on him, a toxic thought that he had worked hard to keep out of his brain until now, a murderous thought. Alan tried to keep the very idea of killing this boy out of his tiny brain. He was the one with honour, he was the one who had his sanity, and he bet, that if he was watching, he was the one that Mr. Danya wanted to see torn apart from everything he believes in. This was Alan's trial, he had to resist the temptation of turning into one of them. To loose everything he had worked so hard on this island to maintain. he had gone this far wandering through the island like a lost penguin and not do a thing. Just wake up, wander the island a bit and scream at the sky. Wouldn't it be so much easier if he had just snapped at the beginning, just gone apeshit crazy and killed everyone before they turn, that would have been the polite thing to do. That would have been the right thing to do. You might even say that that would have been the honourable thing to -"
"Looks like I lost this little game, Alan,"
He's won? HE'D WON! He had made it through the dessert of his mind and resisted temptation. And now he was- OH SHIT! The blade flew into Alan's chest, piercing through his ribs and dispensing blood everywhere, pouring out of his mouth as he slowly quivered, falling to the floor, the sythe slipped out from his shirt, blood spreading across it like a polluted lake. He looked up to the boy. "It's been a pleasure playing with you... I hope... I hope that you find a way to put yourself at peace." The room around him was getting dark. With all the force remaining in his arms, he slowly picked up the photograph of him and Zoey, it had fallen out of his pocket and onto the floor. He picked it up and held it with both hand over his face. tears fell from his eyes. With his last ounce of strength, he began to tear the photo slowly from the top. "Goodbye... Friend...". He only managed to tear the photo halfway before it slipped out of his bloodstained hands and onto his punctured chest and he was completely engulfed by darkness.
B024 - ALAN RICKHALL: DECEASED
The boy took his position in front of Alan and met his gaze; they both stood in the middle of the room, a million copies of themselves were pasted over the mirrors as they replicated the psychological battle that was taking place. Alan brandished his knife as his opponent did the same with his own weapon. Never before had he thought in his time on the island, that it would actually end like this, to be competing with a murderer for the divine right to die. And that was a right that Alan wanted so badly. In all honesty, he hadn't thought very much about actually killing anyone else, he would have assumed that the first wild-eyed stranger he saw would only be too happy to off poor, feeble Alan at the bat of an eyelid. But this way was certainly more interesting, it was all a question of mind games, Alan quickly worked out that because the game was being played in silence, the eyes were everything, if Alan showed signs that he was about to lose it, whether it be through a nervous blink or a twitch of his hand, then his opponent would surely pick up on that. But on the other hand, as he stared into the boys own eyes, Alan didn't know if he was going to move.
The gaze held for several minutes in silence, Alan's throat grew drier by the second. He wanted to think of Zoey or Jimmy or Danya; but he couldn't, all he could think about was what was about to happen. Alan was beginning to tire, standing upright for so long really was murder on your ankles. A bead of sweat trailed down Alan's arm and onto the blade of the knife. Was the boy going to fold? He must be, he was a turned, a psychotic minion of Mr. Danya, you couldn't put a plate of meat in front of them and not expect them to ravage it limb from limb, no matter how much you restrain them. He was about to take a swipe at Alan any second now... Any second now... Any... Second... ... ... Now!
The time still hadn't come! Alan had completely lost track of how long the duel had been going on for, possibly about five, maybe ten minutes. Alan's stomach started to clench, the thought was creeping up on him, a toxic thought that he had worked hard to keep out of his brain until now, a murderous thought. Alan tried to keep the very idea of killing this boy out of his tiny brain. He was the one with honour, he was the one who had his sanity, and he bet, that if he was watching, he was the one that Mr. Danya wanted to see torn apart from everything he believes in. This was Alan's trial, he had to resist the temptation of turning into one of them. To loose everything he had worked so hard on this island to maintain. he had gone this far wandering through the island like a lost penguin and not do a thing. Just wake up, wander the island a bit and scream at the sky. Wouldn't it be so much easier if he had just snapped at the beginning, just gone apeshit crazy and killed everyone before they turn, that would have been the polite thing to do. That would have been the right thing to do. You might even say that that would have been the honourable thing to -"
"Looks like I lost this little game, Alan,"
He's won? HE'D WON! He had made it through the dessert of his mind and resisted temptation. And now he was- OH SHIT! The blade flew into Alan's chest, piercing through his ribs and dispensing blood everywhere, pouring out of his mouth as he slowly quivered, falling to the floor, the sythe slipped out from his shirt, blood spreading across it like a polluted lake. He looked up to the boy. "It's been a pleasure playing with you... I hope... I hope that you find a way to put yourself at peace." The room around him was getting dark. With all the force remaining in his arms, he slowly picked up the photograph of him and Zoey, it had fallen out of his pocket and onto the floor. He picked it up and held it with both hand over his face. tears fell from his eyes. With his last ounce of strength, he began to tear the photo slowly from the top. "Goodbye... Friend...". He only managed to tear the photo halfway before it slipped out of his bloodstained hands and onto his punctured chest and he was completely engulfed by darkness.
B024 - ALAN RICKHALL: DECEASED
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Joe was stunned.
He had figured it was going to get easier after the first time he shed blood, but the only ease he had encountered was that he didn't have the urge to vomit. Joe chalked this up to the less gory death Alan had gotten.
Alan had wanted to die. While Joe supposed that it was still technically murder, it was much more justifiable.
Joe stood up. There was a camera right above one of the mirrors, on the wall. It had seen everything that had happened in the past few minutes.
Silence. Joe turned towards the camera and cleared his throat quietly.
"Looks like your game's starting to fuck itself over, Danya. I'll bet you didn't want anyone to go willingly, did you? When your captive audience is faced with shit like this, you know what they're gonna do? They're just gonna turn off their TVs and find something else to do."
Joe looked down and smiled.
"As you just saw if you're watching this, I'm not the only person who's going against your little game. You see, what I've realized is, there's no real winner in this. There's a survivor, yeah, but if he made it there by playing along, he's lost too; he's probably alienated or killed everyone that gave a shit about him, and gave you some good material on top of that. There are only two ways that someone can really win; first off, they can just get lucky and survive because no one else wants to kill them. That's so statistically unlikely that it borders on impossible; out of 200 kids you nicked, I can't think of a single truly likable one that's still alive or sane. Cisco's lost his mind, I killed Mike in a fit of rage, Alan just asked for me to kill him, and you took my Rose from me."
The smile was gone from the large Hispanic boy's face as he remembered how Danya had mocked Rose. His expression was now tranquil anger.
"The other way is if everyone goes along with my idea, and the survivor is simply someone who neither got killed nor got the courage to off himself. This is a pipe dream too, but..."
Joe glared directly at the camera.
"I think it's worth a shot, you sick fuck," he said, calmly.
Joe bent down and shut Alan's eyes. A quick tug removed the scythe from Alan's chest; it had gone straight between two ribs and only hit soft tissue. With his newfound clarity of thought, he noticed that the knife he had seen was no knife, but in fact another polearm. He chuckled at the coincidence and set to work. A series of slashes of the scythe removed most of the naginata's handle, leaving only a small grip and a large, serrated blade. He put the scythe away, picked up the sawn-off naginata with his right hand, and left the building.
((Joe Rios continued in Gravemakers and Gunslingers))
He had figured it was going to get easier after the first time he shed blood, but the only ease he had encountered was that he didn't have the urge to vomit. Joe chalked this up to the less gory death Alan had gotten.
Alan had wanted to die. While Joe supposed that it was still technically murder, it was much more justifiable.
Joe stood up. There was a camera right above one of the mirrors, on the wall. It had seen everything that had happened in the past few minutes.
Silence. Joe turned towards the camera and cleared his throat quietly.
"Looks like your game's starting to fuck itself over, Danya. I'll bet you didn't want anyone to go willingly, did you? When your captive audience is faced with shit like this, you know what they're gonna do? They're just gonna turn off their TVs and find something else to do."
Joe looked down and smiled.
"As you just saw if you're watching this, I'm not the only person who's going against your little game. You see, what I've realized is, there's no real winner in this. There's a survivor, yeah, but if he made it there by playing along, he's lost too; he's probably alienated or killed everyone that gave a shit about him, and gave you some good material on top of that. There are only two ways that someone can really win; first off, they can just get lucky and survive because no one else wants to kill them. That's so statistically unlikely that it borders on impossible; out of 200 kids you nicked, I can't think of a single truly likable one that's still alive or sane. Cisco's lost his mind, I killed Mike in a fit of rage, Alan just asked for me to kill him, and you took my Rose from me."
The smile was gone from the large Hispanic boy's face as he remembered how Danya had mocked Rose. His expression was now tranquil anger.
"The other way is if everyone goes along with my idea, and the survivor is simply someone who neither got killed nor got the courage to off himself. This is a pipe dream too, but..."
Joe glared directly at the camera.
"I think it's worth a shot, you sick fuck," he said, calmly.
Joe bent down and shut Alan's eyes. A quick tug removed the scythe from Alan's chest; it had gone straight between two ribs and only hit soft tissue. With his newfound clarity of thought, he noticed that the knife he had seen was no knife, but in fact another polearm. He chuckled at the coincidence and set to work. A series of slashes of the scythe removed most of the naginata's handle, leaving only a small grip and a large, serrated blade. He put the scythe away, picked up the sawn-off naginata with his right hand, and left the building.
((Joe Rios continued in Gravemakers and Gunslingers))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Sean. 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.