Where is My Mind?

[Zabriel†]

Owen could not recall a time when he'd ever had such a headache upon waking up. What's more he felt dirty. His eyes fluttered open and he slowly sat up to look around. He appeared to have been dumped rather unceremoniously in a garden of some kind. Taking a moment to brush himself off, he tried to remember what had happened before finding himself here.

First I was on the bus...then I must have fallen asleep. After that...sweet God... It hit him like a wrecking ball. Everything came flashing into his mind at once. Waking up tied to a chair in a "classroom". The voice on the PA. The chaperons, all dead. He knew where he was.

Like many he'd willed himself to believe that it was all some show with great marketing, a whole alternate reality game. Kind of like that lonelygirl15 show. Nobody knew that it was a show for such a long time. But, here he was. He didn't have the luxury of doubt anymore. The game was real. Every minute he was on this island he was in danger. Especially when he was out in the open. He looked down. On either side of him he found a bag. One he recognized as his own "bag of holding", which he'd filled with clothes, snacks, and a few other things he thought might come in handy. The other was a bag that he didn't recognize, but he'd seen the show before. Owen knew that this was his issued daypack. He decided to wait to look at what he'd been supplied with until he got a little bit of cover. It didn't take him long to spot the nearby hut, which he set out for immediately.

Not bothering to knock, Owen opened the door and was relieved to find the hut unoccupied. It was modestly furnished, but it was enough to allow Owen a little bit of comfort and privacy while he examined his supplied bag. He mentally ticked off each item before pulling out his supplied weapon for a closer look. It was a wooden sword. He'd seen one before, but it was bigger than the one he held now. He wracked his brain for information, and came up with it's name.

"Bokken." Owen had a younger friend that was obsessed with swords. Owen looked it over. His friend had told him a few stories about these things beating katanas in combat. But that was mostly due to the fact that katanas were brittle. Still, it was a pretty solid weapon, and he'd be able to defend himself pretty well if he could figure out how to use it.

He'd practice later. First he wanted to figure out where he was on the island. He took his map out and began to study it, first attempting to pinpoint his own location, and then just getting a general feel for the island. He saved Mr. Danya's Guide to Survival for last. He was fairly certain there wouldn't be any useful information in it, but he figured he might as well read it. Then use it for kindling. He allowed himself a small smile.

There we go. The manual is useful after all.

[Killer_Moth†]

B026 Start

Bobby had been awake for some time. He was not at all happy about the situation that he found himself in, but was determined for the moment that he wasn't going to let it get to him. He was in a kill or be killed situation, but he knew intrinsically that killing wasn't an option for him. Still, he wasn't going to sit around and make a target of himself. After all, there were bound to be people out there who weren't going to kill him, who needed help, guidance. People who were scared, even more so than him. People he could help.

His backpack secured, he had been walking for about half an hour. Trying not to move too fast, keep the weight off of his knee. Thankfully, when whoever had given him the extra equipment, they'd been kind enough to leave his knee brace. He'd already fitted it. He doubted that he'd need it right now, but he'd rather it was in place if he needed to do anything strenuous unexpectedly.

His equipment was nothing to get excited about. Supplies, first aid, a book on survival supplied by the chief terrorist. He suspected that all the class had been given similar materials. There was also a spray can marked as containing liquid nitrogen. He had already tested it on a tree, and the contents did seem to be labelled correctly. At any rate, it was a very cold liquid, that he had no desire to touch. He was uncertain what use he could make of it, beyond as a threat if he needed to defend himself.

He walked towards the small cottage, as it seemed a likely place where he could find shelter, also somewhere others were likely to head towards. Maybe he could get a group together, pool resources, and survive until help arrived. After all, it had to. The government must know this was real, even if it was presented as a TV show. And given how long it had been running, they must have some solid leads. No-one lasted this long without making mistakes, and there were people who could capitalise on those mistakes.

His collar itched, but he resisted the urge to scratch. There was no point. He couldn't take it off, so he may as well get used to it. And if he interfered too much, maybe it would explode. His throat dry from that thought, he reached the cottage. The door was open. Bobby considered this for a moment. There was almost certainly somebody inside by now. If he just walked in, he risked scaring them into attacking. But if he announced himself, he risked ambush.

He placed his trust in God and in his classmates, and knocked three times on the open door. "Hello? Anybody in here? It's Bobby. Bobby Barron. I'm not here to hurt anybody. Can I come in?"

[Zabriel†]

Owen looked up from the booklet. It actually had some pretty important information in it. Most notably the information about the time limit and danger zones. He remembered a few things from the scattered occasions he'd watched the show, but the time limit wasn't sticking in his mind. For a moment, Owen considered the possibility of everybody refusing to play. Sure they'd all die, but it would send a powerful message wouldn't it? But of course it couldn't happen. People valued their own lives too much. Even the people who started out with high ideals and hope might eventually give into fear and begin to play.

Even I might play. If it means I can go home, maybe I'll play.

Owen heard a knock and chewed his lip. Of course he'd run into other people. He just thought he might have a few more minutes alone. As he allowed the name to register, he answered shakily. "Yeah. Come on in. It's just me in here."

He rubbed his forehead, still aching a little bit. He knew he hadn't brought any medicines along with him, but hadn't he been given a first aid kit? He opened it up and was pleased to find a bottle of pain reliever. He opened the bottle and broke the seal, tilting it until a single pill fell into his hand. Owen popped the pill into his mouth and picked up one of his issued water bottled. He took a mouthful of water and swallowed, making a slight face as the pill went down. He never had cared much for pills, but it was better than letting his headache go on. In a few minutes he'd be feeling better, and that was all that mattered just then.

[Killer_Moth†]

Having received his answer, Bobby pushed the door open further and entered. Staring up at him from the centre of the room was Owen Rothschild. Not a boy he was close with, but not somebody he was aware of as having reason to hate him. He shared a few classes with him, and had seen him around the golf course a few times, back when he still played.

He smiled at him. "Hey Owen. Glad to see it's you. Anyone else here yet?" He genuinely was. He'd been worried it was going to be one of the less stable classmates, or someone twitchy prepared to shoot him and be done with it all. Bobby was deliberate in keeping his actions open and towards Owen at all times as he moved into the small room, and took a seat.

As he sat down, he surveyed the room. Owen had clearly only been here a short time, looking over what Danya had supplied. "I guess the first question should be 'Are you ok?' We're in some real trouble here, but I think we can get through it. So... How are you holding up?"

[Fanatic†]

((Phillip Ward continued from Everybody's Changing))

Phillip Ward had been running for quite some time now and all things considered he was nearing the end of his stamina. He was never a long distance runner, preferring to do short bursts of skating, crushing anyone who got in his way then spending the rest of the game intimidating others with the threat of it happening again. Given this pattern in his life this is exactly what he did when he arrived at the groundskeeper's hut after fleeing the scene in the felled forest.

The run had given him a bit of time to calm down, to rationalise his actions. He had run away only because the guy had a gun and was shooting.

"I ain't no coward, just smart is all." Phil said to himself as he neared the door. The thing was swinging open and he could see the forms of Owen and Bobby in the small room. No guns there, and Owen the little geek of the centuary was holding a toy sword of all things. He almost burst out laughing, this was too easy. Bobby wasn't even holding anything. Grinning to himself he took a breath and strolled in, tossing the duffels to one side just outside the building.

"Sup Nerds." He said as he brandished his claws. "You're going to be chucking me your duffel's right about now, and put that stick away geek or someone's going to get hurt, and it *ain't* gonna be me."

After that run Phil was just itching for a fight, he hoped that little Owen would try something just so he could smack him down. Phil had at least 60 pounds on the guy, and most of that was pure muscle. Bobby was a little taller but Phil knew exactly how to deal with tall guys, especially one with a stuffed knee, plus with his claws he was feeling pretty confident.

"So you wanna come at me ya punks, or you going to avoid having your heads smashed in today and chuck me your gear. Along the floor now, I've seen you little dweebs and your movies, no bag throwing at me - running away for you. I'll have whatever weapon you got too."

[Zabriel†]

"I'm doing alright. Under the circumstances. Speaking of, you might want to get your weapon out, just in case. Besides, I like to know what I'm dealing with." Owen looked at Bobby appraisingly. He knew a little bit about him. He was in one of those Christian groups, and his parents definitely had money. He was also beautiful, in almost a girlish way. But he was also nice. He'd heard a rumor about a mole, but he didn't make too much of it. That was about all he really knew.

The door swung open without warning. The one thing keeping Owen from chiding the boy for walking in without knocking was the fact that he hadn't knocked himself, even though it'd been empty when he walked in. And the fact that he'd started in on them before Owen had a chance to say anything anyway.

Owen didn't care much for people who liked to throw their weight around. Those claws looked pretty lethal, but only if he knew how to use them. True, it wasn't much different than using one's hands, but Owen was quick, and pretty good at not getting hit. Plus he had Bobby. It was also true that he didn't know what Bobby had for a weapon, but unless it was one of those joke weapons it would help. The one thing Owen knew is that he wouldn't be surrendering his bag. Phillip would probably just kill them anyways. Even if he didn't, they needed that stuff.

"So that's what you're doing. Going around and taking other people's supplies? I bet you're even telling yourself that it's not that bad. You're probably even keeping their maps so they don't know which way to go. You done this before? Probably. You're all the same. People are dying because of you. That make you proud you little bastard? They'll die just the same as if you'd killed them yourself."

Owen glanced at Bobby, trying to send the message that he needed his help. I am tired of this shit. We need to teach him that he can't do this...besides, if he dies...that's another day we've got to figure things out.

[Stark†]

((G104 Charlotte Cave: Start))

It wasn't that she'd planned on using it - after all, she'd told herself from minute one that she wasn't about to face her family a murderer - but as she rummaged through the duffel bag, Charlotte felt lied to. Granted, it wasn't as if she could expect a terrorist cell that kills high school students, by all appearances, for laughs, to be terribly trustworthy, but not issuing a weapon was a death sentence no matter how you looked at it. Sighing in frustration, she zipped it back up and checked her own bag. Clothes were all still there, as were her cigarettes. Her lighter, however, had apparently been confiscated. It was as if they'd gone and singled her out or something. The least the bastards could have done was to take the Newports, too. Having them there and not being able to smoke them was just torture. She leaned back against the back wall of the hut, her face buried in her hands. Nothing about this made sense.

Just as the sorrow began to overtake her, however, she heard a stir coming from the other side of the wall. Voices of her fellow students. Quickly, but careful not to make any sound, she snuck her way around to the entrance. She peered around the corner, spotting Phillip Ward brandishing a wicked looking cat claw and issuing threats. Another voice coming from inside almost seemed to be egging the thug on. She had to think on her feet if she wanted this settled peacefully. Slowly, carefully, she stepped behind Phil, raising a finger over her mouth and giving the two boys, who she now recognized as Robert Barron and Owen Rothschild, a wink, before pushing her right index and middle fingers to the back of his head. She knew people only fell for this trick in the movies, but it might just confuse him long enough to disarm him.

"Drop yours first," she instructed him, a slight but noticeable grin on her face. If this works, she mused, I will kick myself in the face.

[Killer_Moth†]

Bobby smiled at Owen. It was nice that he'd found somebody friendly. He was about to tell him that he in fact had kept his weapon in his jacket pocket, so he could get at it easily enough, when the door swung open.

Philip Ward. He recognised him from the Hockey team, and had always regarded him as a friend. They'd never been close, but enough so that they said 'hi' in passing. And now, he was here, brandishing what seemed to be some kind of Martial Arts Weapon. Still, it didn't look like it had a long range, and probably couldn't be thrown. Not with any real accuracy anyway.

Owen was trying to antagonise Phil. Not the best plan, but it made sense. Make him angry, and he'll make a mistake. Bobby was just worried that that mistake might end up with somebody getting hurt. "Guys, none of us here wants this. Do we? Phil, you don't really want to hurt us. Just calm down. Think about it. We can work together here. We can last this out. Sooner or later, somebody will come and rescue us."

He could tell that Owen wasn't approving of this tactic. He wanted Phil taken down. He edged his hand closer to the canister in his pocket. He didn't want to bring it out. At the moment, it was an 'Ace in the Hole'. But at best it was a bluff. He knew that he could never fire it at Phil. What if it hit him? What if it killed him? Phil only wanted their stuff, he wasn't really threatening them. He just hoped his words got through.

Then the wild card came into play. He knew it was a large class, and it made sense that other people would head towards structures. That Charlotte was trying to help was kind of her, but he worried about her. Not only was she within range of the claw, but her gambit was foolish. Nobody would believe fingers as a gun. Not when placed against flesh like that. The most that she could hope for was to panic him. That meant-

He slipped his hand quietly into his pocket and around the spray can. He just hoped that things would calm down before he had to bring it out.

[Ruggahissy]

((Sally continued from Feeling Kind of Anxious))

Sally skidded down the last bit of the hill. She had reached the bottom and even better, there was a cottage up ahead.

Finally, civilization. Maybe I can rest up a little. Guess it would be too much to ask for air conditioning. I'm starting to sweat, that's totally unacceptable.

She stumbled slightly, but caught herself and finally began walking on flat ground again. Sally stopped, removed her necklace, put it in her dress pocket, brushed out her dress, raked through her hair with her long finger nails and started forward once more. Her bag was far too heavy to begin with. She had long since dumped the bag she had brought with her full of clothes and now all she remained with was the duffle and items supplied to her by the terrorists. Against her better judgment she even held onto the violin.

I remember where I dropped my bag. I can go pick it up again when I get off this stupid rock.

Sally approached the cottage, but from a window she could see movement. Slowly, she peered into the window to see what was happening inside.

Looks like four people. That Phillip guy, Charlotte and two people I don't recognize. Charlotte, she's always had such pretty hair. Best wait to see who emerges victorious.

Sally leaned against the window with her elbows on the sill, looking in. She placed the violin and the bow on the sill next to her.

I guess I can kind of see why this show's such a hit.

[Fanatic†]

((GMing Approved by Stark))

Phil froze as Charlotte pushed the finger in to the back of his neck.

She's got a fucking gun and she's going to blow my brains out! He thought to himself. That little bitch.

He wasn't too happy with the turn of events but there was nothing he could do, especially when he was held at gun point, the warm fleshlike barrel pressed up against his head.

Wait.

Warm? Fleshlike?

That wasn't a gun at all; she was trying to make a fool of him! Well Phillip H. Ward wasn't anyone's fool, and he would show her! A thin smile spread across his face as his body relaxed and then tensed, ready to make a move.

"Charlotte. You little dyke, you really shouldn't mess with me."

Phil spun around, swiping at Charlotte with his claws. The girl managed to jump back slightly, tucking in her stomach thanks to her time in the ring, but she didn't anticipate the extra reach that the claws provided the bully. A thin wet sound echoed slightly across the room as Phil's claws tore through the midriff of Charlotte's shirt and sliced the skin of her belly, sending a thin spray of blood across the immediate area. It was a shallow wound, not much more than a paper cut, but from an outsiders point of view it looked a lot more graphic than it actually was.

"Cause you're going to get cut bitch!"

Stepping to one side, pointing one claw at Charlotte and the other in the direction of the two boys Phil started to rant.

"Now get the fuck out of here you cunt, you two make any sudden movements and I'm going to jam this in your throat."

The situation was spiraling out of control for the hockey player, not that he ever had it. He wasn't prepared to do anything drastic just yet but the red rage had started to take a hold of him and he was having trouble thinking clearly. Having stepped fully in to the room he had left enough space for the two boys to bolt if needed. Phil wasn't the fastest kid in Bayview but if anyone came at him, god damn it there would be blood, and it wasn't going to be his.

[Super Llama†]

{{continued from Feeling Kind of Anxious}}

Tears were streaming down Petrushka's cheeks for the second time today. That image was back in her head again: The dead boy falling off of the fence, his killer approaching, probably to add a few more victims to his repertoire. She didn't get too good of a look, but that didn't matter. She was there, in person, watching somebody die.

The shock had soon sent her into a full-on panic attack. She could probably stop running. By now, she'd probably lost the killer if he was following her. But she just couldn't will herself to stop. She could easily just keep running, on and on, until she collapsed from exhaustion, as if she could just run away from it all. From the island, from the killing, all of it.

Unfortunately, she finally lost her balance coming down a hill, and took a hard tumble, her bag and the snowshoe she was carrying flying free as she even skidded a few feet, her head pounding and her arm aching where she landed on it. She laid there for a few moments, panting heavily, her lungs on fire. She wasn't exactly the kind of person who could run a marathon like she just tried to do.

Finally looking up, she saw the girl from the cliff, standing by a nearby cottage and looking through the window. Getting up, she wobbled a bit, drained from all the running, as she went over towards her, leaving her pack and snowshoe for the moment. "It...it's you..." She said, rather stupidly. Of course it was her. She even still had the violin.

Hearing voices coming from the cottage, she decided to look through the window as well, only to bear witness to a standoff, with a boy with some kind of clawed weapon threatening a pair of other boys, and a girl behind her holding up the clawed boy with...her hand? Unfortunately, the boy didn't seem to fall for her ruse, and wheeled around, raking the claws across her stomach. Petrushka winced, and shut her eyes at the sight. "это происходит снова..." She said, realizing that she just ran away from a killer, only to almost run right into another, potential one. How could so many people just turn on each other so quickly?

Unfortunately, as she watched the fight, she did a pretty horrible job of hiding herself while doing so, and could be seen right through the window.

[Zabriel†]

Owen slowly gathered his things and eyed the widest route to the door. If he timed it just right he could make it out. He tightened his grip on the sword and played his escape plan over in his head. It might mean sacrificing one of his new companions, but that was a price he could pay. Maybe if he hit Phil as he ran by, or even just swung at him he'd be able to distract him long enough for her to punch him and get away. Or maybe he'd just kill her and take her things. But Owen couldn't think about that. He just needed to get out of there, and get his hands on something scarier than a wooden sword. The sword was good for defense, but really he needed something he could intimidate people with so they'd go away.

Gotta move... Owen was quick. He could make it. But he waited. Phil was distracted, but not distracted enough. Owen wanted all of his attention off of him. Then it'd be a quick hit and run. He knew he could do some damage with the sword, but it would be limited while he was still carrying two packs. As soon as he was able to get a moment to sort things, he wanted to try to merge as much as he could into his own bag, and leave what he didn't need behind. Having a single bag to carry would help a lot. It just wouldn't help now. He cast one last look around the room as he prepared himself mentally and physically to run the gauntlet.

[Stark†]

((GMing approved by Fanatic))

She hadn't expected him to buy it. The only thing that needed to be bought was time, and in that respect, she was successful. She put herself knowingly in harm's way, so she was able to dodge the swipe. Well, enough of it, at any rate. It still stung like crazy, superficial though the wound was. There was no time to think about that, though; in fact, there was no time to think about much of anything. She needed to clear the doorway to provide an escape route for Bobby and Owen. The bell had sounded, and the fight was underway. The title was at stake. All of a sudden, once the adrenaline was flowing, Charlotte was no longer on an island. She was in the ring, and once Charlotte was in the ring, she was an entirely different person. No, she was no longer even a person. She was a bull, and the whole world was a sea of red. It was time to go for a knockout. Her specialty.

Before Phil knew it, the stampede was on top of him. Charlotte unleashed a flurry of blows to his chest and abdomen, each one packing the full force of the reigning title holder's rage. At Phil, at Danya, at a world that refused to accept her for who she was when she gave her heart to it and asked nothing else in return. At everything that was and ever would be. Deep down, in the darkest parts of herself that she refused to acknowledge, ever-smiling, ever-giving Charlotte Cave resented this sick world, and once the adrenaline started pumping, all that hatred unloaded itself on whoever was unlucky enough to be standing in front of her.

Perhaps the most unsettling part of all this was that that ever-present smile only grew wider.

As Phil began to realize fully what was happening to him, he steadied his feet and resumed taking swipes at her. But Charlotte was ready for them now. And she was fast. She bobbed and weaved, almost as if she saw each swing coming, and continued her barrage. Out of the corner of her right eye, she caught a glimpse of the two boys eyeing the exit. The smile faded from her face, as, for one brief moment, she remembered why she was really fighting in the first place. She turned her head and shouted to them, "What are you waiting for?! Leg it!" She turned her attention back to Phil.

The moment wasn't nearly brief enough.

She tried to dodge, but the blades pierced her skin just along the right side of her nose. From there, they just scraped along the exterior of her skull, moving further to the right. It took only a fraction of a second. It felt like an eternity. The centralmost claw carved through her skin. Then her tear duct. Her retina, cornea, iris, pupil. Then all these things in reverse on its way back to the skin, finally leaving her face halfway to her ear. Three distinct, parallel red lines marred the redhead's face, which now profusely leaked blood and vitreous humor, as she stumbled forward, past Phil, into the corner and onto her knees.

For the first time in a long, long time, Charlotte Cave could not smile. She could only scream.

[Killer_Moth†]

Bobby let his hand move away from the canister in his pocket. Things were going badly, and all his hopes of talking Phil down were dashed. It was all so futile. That thought alone was enough to raise an anger in him against the whole situation. An anger that he hadn't felt for years. Not since his injury. An anger that he needed to release.

No, not release. Direct. He could control his emotions. He could use this. He could find a way to get them all out of this mad situation. He saw Owen eyeing the door. It was the best possible escape route. All they needed was an opening.

That Phil and Charlotte were attacking each other mercilessly seemed to give the best opportunity. Despite Phil's warnings, sooner or later he'd have to give Charlotte his full attention. Bobby didn't like the plan. A lot of it relied on the fight, and he felt bad about putting Charlotte in danger like this. Still, she had essentially volunteered for the job, and with any luck he could get Owen out safely.

He winced with each blow, trying not to turn his head at the blood that was flying. He needed to keep an eye on it, see how he could be of most use to most people. And then it came. A savage blow right across Charlottes face. Barron pushed down the rising nausea, determined to get out. He lowered his head, drew his shoulders tight, made certain his backpack was secure, and ran full tilt at Phil. He felt impact as his left shoulder made contact with something.

Screaming "Run" at the top of his lungs, hoping he could be heard over Charlottes anguished yell, he kept running. He had deflected himself now, using the force of the impact to direct himself towards the door. His knee was burning with the effort, but that would soon subside, he prayed. What seemed like an eternity after he had started moving, but could only have been moments later, he found himself outside, miraculously upright and in one piece.

He stopped briefly. Intending to keep on moving, he drew himself up instead as he saw the two girls standing outside. He hissed at them. "Move. We need to get away from him." He looked at the door, anxious to get moving, praying that Owen and Charlotte would follow soon, that he would know he hadn't abandoned them.

[Ruggahissy]

Sally's eyes widened as the metal cut through Charlotte like a knife through premium clarified butter. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp, but under her fingers her mouth still twitched into a smile. With her empty hand she gently gripped the old wood of the window frame and squeezed.

Well, that's what you get when your game plan is to run up against an agitated boy with claws.

She was so concentrated on the action on the other side of the window that she hadn't noticed when another body appeared by her side. Suddenly a voice intruded on her space. "It...it's you..." followed by something in what she assumed was Russian.

The smile melted from Sally's eyes, leaving something like surprise and horror in its place. A guttural scream from inside grabbed her attention and forced her head back in the direction of the cabin in time to see Charlotte become the perfect candidate for a monocle.

She grabbed her violin and bow, let her body collapse on itself and fell to the porch of the cabin, pushing herself close against the outer wall just below the window sill.

If he heard her....if he heard this commie bitch and he turns around, hopefully all he'll see is ONE girl.

Even more of a disappointment to her was the appearance of one of the boys running out of the hut.

Really, Phillip? You couldn't just off the boys on their way out?

This threw a kink into her plan to wait the fight out and then go in and recover whatever supplies were left. If he killed just Charlotte he'd probably take everything and there'd be nothing left to scavenge. Why did plans have to be complicated by people?

"Move. We need to get away from him."

"Worry about yourself," she snapped, still angry that he had emerged alive. What nerve.

Even though he didn't have the decency to die, he had somewhat of a point. With her bag slung over her shoulder and her violin in one hand and bow in the other, she crawled to the edge of the porch, careful that she was low enough not be seen through the window, and slipped behind the left side of the cottage. Sally leaned ever so slightly to see who would exit next.