((Maxwell Lombardi continued from Requiem for a Rock Star))
You just couldn't resist, could you? You just HAD to go ahead and kill him before you could interrogate the bastard about Tabitha's whereabouts...
Maxwell Lombardi was still mentally berating himself for being so impulsive as he made his way deeper into the mines, Kevin Harding's death at his hands still fresh in his mind. Despite the fact that he'd told himself over and over again that he was trying to look for the girl who'd killed Clio, and that applying his "shoot first, gloat later" tactic wouldn't be particularly useful when it came actually finding someone specific, the ambitious young killer just couldn't resist the perfect target Kevin made with his back turned. That being said, not only had he lost a potential clue by killing the bastard too early, but the kill itself wasn't anywhere near as fun as it should have been. It had been too easy this time, compared to some of his previous victories, which greatly lessened the thrill he usual felt as he delivered the killing blow.
Now that he really thought about it, the thrill of the hunt itself had by this point wasn't anywhere as exciting as it had been for his first couple of kills. Back when he killed Augustus by the beach, it had been an completely new experience for him. The adrenaline rush he felt as he choked the blonde imbecile to death was unlike anything he'd ever dreamed of back then... Now though, killing people had somewhat lost its initial charm.
Not that he still didn't enjoy it nevertheless. Far from it in fact, he had absolutely no intention of stopping whilst he was ahead... Its just that murder had gone from being a special treat into being a relatively common occurrence.
Still, as Maxwell made his way past the numerous wooden buildings that made up the mines, his bloodied javelin hanging limply by his side as he stepped over the debris which littered the area, the young killer couldn't help but feel a foreboding sense of deja vu. As if he'd already visited this abandoned place in the past, before he'd even decided to play the game in the first place...
It didn't click at first, but eventually Maxwell realised this was the same mine where he'd first woken up to find himself on the island.
My my... It must of been almost an entire week since i've been here, and yet it feels as if it were only yesterday that I'd left with the intention of tracking down Reiko for some kind of naive team-up. Good god, its embarrassing thinking back on it now how much of an idiot I'd been back then.....
A smile appeared on his face as he thought back to the first day he was on the island. Back then, he'd been a naive fool who honestly felt that there was some other way off the island. That they could somehow remove the collars or something, fight back against the system and win despite all the odds. Now though, such an idealistic idea sounded ridiculous to him. Liz Polanski was proof enough that removing the collars simply made you enemy No1, not to mention the fact that even without the collars there was practically no way to physically get off the island apart from winning. And in order to win, everyone else had to die.
And as Maxwell by this stage had already proven without a doubt, that last detail didn't bother him in the slightest.
Hmm, lets see... I wonder if theres anyone in that large wooden building?
With his recently acquired javelin at the ready, which by this stage was proving to be a very useful weapon, Maxwell entered the building slowly. It was somewhat dark, mostly thanks to the fact that it was now official night, but Maxwell resisted the urge to to take out his flash light. No point in revealing his location to any of his fellow players, especially seeing as he sincerely doubted that anyone would spare him given the opportunity. He HAD solidified by this point that he was someone to be reckoned with, especially seeing as the number of his surviving enemies was greatly outnumbered by the number of people who'd died painfully by his hands.
Eventually, the young Englishman happened across what looked to him like some kind of changing room, along with a couple of rusty showers which Maxwell guessed used to belong to whoever used to work there. It wasn't exactly the most exquisite set of showers he'd ever come across, but considering the fact that it had been ages since he'd had a proper wash, the young killer was more then a little tempted to try them out himself...
Well, i'm fairly certain that I'm the only soul here, after all I DID just check this place from top to bottom. I suppose a little wash never hurt anyone...
After closing the door behind him and blocking it with his javelin, making sure that it'd stop anyone from simply barging in through the door unannounced, Maxwell undressed himself and turned on one of the showers. Unsurprisingly, the water was cold. No matter, all Maxwell needed was a quick wash to get all the dirt and ash off him. Besides, after a while, he barely even noticed it.
As he looked over his body, Maxwell was reminded of all the times he had been inches away from death. There was the large bruise in the middle of his chest where Reiko had rammed into him, the numerous bruises from his fights with Daniel, and most recently the scars on his left shoulder and hand which had been caused by that girl with the blue highlights in her hair.
That girl... How glad Maxwell was that he'd managed to kill her back at the sawmill. The insipid bitch had proven to be quite troublesome, putting up much more of a fight then the ambitious young killer had expected her to. Still, she wad dead now, so it didn't matter anymore. What DID matter though was that Clio's killer was still out there somewhere. Probably misusing the weapon she'd been blessed with thanks to the idiots who vote for the Best Kill Award. That fact in particular made the whole thing even more frustrating.
In many ways, Maxwell was beginning to miss the femme fatal otherwise known as Clio Gabriella. They only ever met once, but within that short amount of time she became the only human being on the entire island who Maxwell genuinely liked. Not to mention the incomparable evening they spent in each other's company... So to hear that she'd been killed the next morning was something the young Englishman had yet to fully get over, no matter how many times he told himself that it was an inevitable outcome.
Oh well, at least I can take solace in the fact that its not too late to respect her memory... By tearing this "Tabitha Gweneth" apart limb from limb, that is.
Once he'd washed all the blood and dirt from his body, the young Brit dried himself off on a towel and put his clothes back on, with the exception of his white jacket. At that point, he took the chance to simply lie back on the bench, looking up through a hole in the ceiling as the night sky above him. It was at that point as he stared up at the stars, laying on his bag with his bag acting as a temporary cushion, that he realised just how tired he was despite the cold. He HAD spent the entire day on the move after all, and this was the first time that he actually got the chance to take a break all day.
All right, just a brief nap.... Couldn't hurt, could it?
As he fell fast asleep, the ambitious young killer failed to notice the fact that there were in fact TWO entrances to the changing room...
Cruel Justice
Private (What a surprise!) CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING
Cruel Justice
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storyspoiler†
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(Alice Boucher and Sarah Atwell --> Tactic Static)
And now they were back in the mine.
There were rickety wooden buildings above them, a badly tended-to road. Grass was growing between her feet. By some unspoken agreement, she and Sarah had managed to avoid seeing Brock Mason; Alice still dreaded stumbling on his corpse, his eyes wide, glassy, accusing--or else rotting. Growing filth and maggots. No longer human. A piece of meat.
Mama, Papa, I don't want to end up like that!
She'd realized, somewhere along the way, that she'd been praying to her Mama and Papa. Treating them like what she figured people treated God like--thinking about what they'd say, bargaining with them, making excuses, and finally begging them. She wondered, idly, why she'd started to do that. Maybe they were her conscience, her sanity. Maybe if she wasn't looking to them, she'd go just as batty as Sarah had been.
But Sarah had her own voices in her head. They were just wrong.
So that was no comfort.
...moving right along, we had Theo Behr take a dirt nap, with Rachel Gettys being the one to put her to bed. God probably told her to do it or something...
Yes. A lot of people probably had voices in their heads.
They were looking, scanning the mines. A corpse--was that Brock?--below them. But no sign of movement. No Maxwell Lombardi, in his poorly-cut suits one would hope a fellow European would at least have the presence of mind to find a better tailor. She was letting nastiness filter into her mind to distract herself. The problem with Sarah going suddenly, startlingly sane, was that she wasn't so much to worry about anymore--which meant that Alice's overactive imagination could suddenly engage at full tilt. Not to mention all the hideous self-reflection I've been doing. There was nothing particularly comforting about that either.
Plus, sane or no, Alice reminded herself, she should still keep an eye on Sarah, in case she went back to cuckooland after not finding Maxwell Lombardi. The mine was quiet, dust settled. Surely Lombardi, if he had been here at all, had moved on long ago.
Besides, I'm almost certain Mike Moretti was lying. He wanted to get rid of them. That was understandable. But it still irritated her. If nothing else, Sarah was buoyant on the fact that Maxwell had been spotted here, and she might throw some kind of violent, newly-insane-again scalpel-wielding tantrum should he not appear.
And if he does appear?
Alice didn't want to think about that.
Scalpel-wielding. Sarah was wielding the scalpels again. Alice had kept the gun, but she'd asked for the small blades back as soon as they'd left the beach; they wouldn't be much for self-defense, but she could wield them better than any other weapon--the garrote wire, the heavy sword, or the laughable storage key that had been her original draw.
"And," Sarah had said, quietly. "I want to use them on him."
Irregardless of her newfound lucidity, that was a profoundly disturbing statement. There was a reason Alice still wouldn't give her the gun.
Although I suppose if she goes insane, I could just shoot her.
But that was wishful thinking. Alice knew she wouldn't shoot her.
We committed a crime together. It ties us.
Blink. Back to the real world. Sarah was pointing at the crumbling houses going up the ridge, leaning haphazard on the broken road.
"How do you want to search?" There was some sobriety in Sarah's voice. Alice couldn't tell how much of a comfort it was.
Maxwell Lombardi isn't here. But they'd have to delay for a search, just to be sure. Then maybe they could rest in one of these ugly houses. Alice was tired.
"I'll take the houses on the right." There were fewer houses on the right. Alice wanted to sit down and rest. "You ought to search the ones on the left."
Sarah nodded.
And they were off.
And now they were back in the mine.
There were rickety wooden buildings above them, a badly tended-to road. Grass was growing between her feet. By some unspoken agreement, she and Sarah had managed to avoid seeing Brock Mason; Alice still dreaded stumbling on his corpse, his eyes wide, glassy, accusing--or else rotting. Growing filth and maggots. No longer human. A piece of meat.
Mama, Papa, I don't want to end up like that!
She'd realized, somewhere along the way, that she'd been praying to her Mama and Papa. Treating them like what she figured people treated God like--thinking about what they'd say, bargaining with them, making excuses, and finally begging them. She wondered, idly, why she'd started to do that. Maybe they were her conscience, her sanity. Maybe if she wasn't looking to them, she'd go just as batty as Sarah had been.
But Sarah had her own voices in her head. They were just wrong.
So that was no comfort.
...moving right along, we had Theo Behr take a dirt nap, with Rachel Gettys being the one to put her to bed. God probably told her to do it or something...
Yes. A lot of people probably had voices in their heads.
They were looking, scanning the mines. A corpse--was that Brock?--below them. But no sign of movement. No Maxwell Lombardi, in his poorly-cut suits one would hope a fellow European would at least have the presence of mind to find a better tailor. She was letting nastiness filter into her mind to distract herself. The problem with Sarah going suddenly, startlingly sane, was that she wasn't so much to worry about anymore--which meant that Alice's overactive imagination could suddenly engage at full tilt. Not to mention all the hideous self-reflection I've been doing. There was nothing particularly comforting about that either.
Plus, sane or no, Alice reminded herself, she should still keep an eye on Sarah, in case she went back to cuckooland after not finding Maxwell Lombardi. The mine was quiet, dust settled. Surely Lombardi, if he had been here at all, had moved on long ago.
Besides, I'm almost certain Mike Moretti was lying. He wanted to get rid of them. That was understandable. But it still irritated her. If nothing else, Sarah was buoyant on the fact that Maxwell had been spotted here, and she might throw some kind of violent, newly-insane-again scalpel-wielding tantrum should he not appear.
And if he does appear?
Alice didn't want to think about that.
Scalpel-wielding. Sarah was wielding the scalpels again. Alice had kept the gun, but she'd asked for the small blades back as soon as they'd left the beach; they wouldn't be much for self-defense, but she could wield them better than any other weapon--the garrote wire, the heavy sword, or the laughable storage key that had been her original draw.
"And," Sarah had said, quietly. "I want to use them on him."
Irregardless of her newfound lucidity, that was a profoundly disturbing statement. There was a reason Alice still wouldn't give her the gun.
Although I suppose if she goes insane, I could just shoot her.
But that was wishful thinking. Alice knew she wouldn't shoot her.
We committed a crime together. It ties us.
Blink. Back to the real world. Sarah was pointing at the crumbling houses going up the ridge, leaning haphazard on the broken road.
"How do you want to search?" There was some sobriety in Sarah's voice. Alice couldn't tell how much of a comfort it was.
Maxwell Lombardi isn't here. But they'd have to delay for a search, just to be sure. Then maybe they could rest in one of these ugly houses. Alice was tired.
"I'll take the houses on the right." There were fewer houses on the right. Alice wanted to sit down and rest. "You ought to search the ones on the left."
Sarah nodded.
And they were off.
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Sarah wasn't a hundred percent sold on splitting up but in her current state she didn't even argue as Alice moved off to the right carefully opening the wooden door. Sarah stood still for a second. Although she had avoided the corpse of Brook her eyes continually had wandered towards the area where she had, in effect, forced the boy to commit suicide. Things were a little hazy now. Sarah was aware of what had happened, what she did.
Eve
Miranda
Brock
Chris
The images briefly played through her mind. But they were foggy; as if she was watching another person perform the acts. In actuality her mind had separated the events from conscious thought. Sarah would not of been able to handle remembering such imagery in detail and as such her brain had taken it upon itself to distance the girl from the heinous acts she had previously performed.
Everything simply felt a little bit blurry. She knew she had to make up for what had happened, make things right, find Maxwell but apart from that Sarah wasn't quite sure of what she was doing or why. She had handed off the tapes to Violet and when she had done so she felt as if she had given away a part of herself. Something dark, lurking beneath. The voices no longer bothered her, instead a thick white fog had settled over the girl's thoughts. Over the last few hours she had been led by Alice more than anything. Her reliance on her stalwart companion had become surprisingly large and now with Alice gone she simply felt detached. Her statements were focused on her new sole objective and her short discussions with the French girl conveyed that to the fullest. Their trek to the mine had been filled with such statements.
"I'm going to slowly carve out his eyes, one by one."
"Then when I finish peeling the skin from his fingers I'll start on his toes"
Sarah had remained adamant that Maxwell would be at the mine, despite some (admittedly halfhearted) protests from Alice. The two had moved at a relatively quick pace and Alice had returned to Sarah her tools, although had deftly managed to hold on to the rest of the weapons. Whether for her own ends or to simply keep Sarah from using them the girl didn't know. Separated, Sarah had briefly considered asking for the sword but Alice had already moved away.
Walking over to the first door to the left Sarah carefully pried open the heavy wooden portal. The door, like the building itself was large, probably a storage area of some kind or quarters for miners to sleep. Stepping in she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. A large plain room, devoid of anything interesting, doors running along the side. Someone had graffiti-ed one of the closest ones and Sarah stepped closer to have a look.
In thick black marker someone had written "Don't Go" above the stenciled "Changing Rooms" and had drawn a line through "Rooms" replacing it with baby. If Sarah was thinking straight she would of smiled but she wasn't. Instead she turned to step away when she heard the snort from inside.
The girl froze before returning to the doorway. Squeaky clean hinges moved effortlessly as the she peeked through the gap in to the room. A small area with two doors and a figure sleeping in the dark. Sarah felt a rush of blood engulf her senses and her hands twitched readily by her side. Gritting her teeth she forced the feeling away until it became a dull roar in the background
No, we don't murder any more. We make this right.We find Maxwell, and then we kill him. Once that is done we can...
What was she going to do after she killed Maxwell? She didn't know.
Regardless she moved quickly to the figure's side and peered in the dimly lit light to catch a glimpse of their face. As she leaned over she almost squeeled in excitement. Before her, helpless and prostate before her was the one thing she was looking for.
Maxwell Lombardi.
This was it, her chance to make everything right. She fumbled for her scalpel, clumsy in her anticipation for what was to come.
First I need to cut him so he can't run, no, wait yes, no, stop him from fighting, where is Alice? I dont' need her right now, I probably could use some tape though. Why isn't there rope near by? That is a huge spear maybe I should put Maxwell's head on it, would that be going too far? No this is good, focus Sarah this is it. This is it.
Her thin metal instrument now firmly in hand she breathed deeply in. She would make her first cut just below the neck on the boy's back. Although she was no doctor, her previous 'experiments' with Eve demonstrated just how effective at paralyzing someone a cut like that was. Touching her finger to the blade to test it sharpness Sarah raised the tool to the dim light one last time before her work began and she bent down for her first cut.
She smiled softly and returned her gaze to the sleeping Maxwell and as she did so her heart sunk.
Maxwell's eyes snapped open.
Eve
Miranda
Brock
Chris
The images briefly played through her mind. But they were foggy; as if she was watching another person perform the acts. In actuality her mind had separated the events from conscious thought. Sarah would not of been able to handle remembering such imagery in detail and as such her brain had taken it upon itself to distance the girl from the heinous acts she had previously performed.
Everything simply felt a little bit blurry. She knew she had to make up for what had happened, make things right, find Maxwell but apart from that Sarah wasn't quite sure of what she was doing or why. She had handed off the tapes to Violet and when she had done so she felt as if she had given away a part of herself. Something dark, lurking beneath. The voices no longer bothered her, instead a thick white fog had settled over the girl's thoughts. Over the last few hours she had been led by Alice more than anything. Her reliance on her stalwart companion had become surprisingly large and now with Alice gone she simply felt detached. Her statements were focused on her new sole objective and her short discussions with the French girl conveyed that to the fullest. Their trek to the mine had been filled with such statements.
"I'm going to slowly carve out his eyes, one by one."
"Then when I finish peeling the skin from his fingers I'll start on his toes"
Sarah had remained adamant that Maxwell would be at the mine, despite some (admittedly halfhearted) protests from Alice. The two had moved at a relatively quick pace and Alice had returned to Sarah her tools, although had deftly managed to hold on to the rest of the weapons. Whether for her own ends or to simply keep Sarah from using them the girl didn't know. Separated, Sarah had briefly considered asking for the sword but Alice had already moved away.
Walking over to the first door to the left Sarah carefully pried open the heavy wooden portal. The door, like the building itself was large, probably a storage area of some kind or quarters for miners to sleep. Stepping in she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. A large plain room, devoid of anything interesting, doors running along the side. Someone had graffiti-ed one of the closest ones and Sarah stepped closer to have a look.
In thick black marker someone had written "Don't Go" above the stenciled "Changing Rooms" and had drawn a line through "Rooms" replacing it with baby. If Sarah was thinking straight she would of smiled but she wasn't. Instead she turned to step away when she heard the snort from inside.
The girl froze before returning to the doorway. Squeaky clean hinges moved effortlessly as the she peeked through the gap in to the room. A small area with two doors and a figure sleeping in the dark. Sarah felt a rush of blood engulf her senses and her hands twitched readily by her side. Gritting her teeth she forced the feeling away until it became a dull roar in the background
No, we don't murder any more. We make this right.We find Maxwell, and then we kill him. Once that is done we can...
What was she going to do after she killed Maxwell? She didn't know.
Regardless she moved quickly to the figure's side and peered in the dimly lit light to catch a glimpse of their face. As she leaned over she almost squeeled in excitement. Before her, helpless and prostate before her was the one thing she was looking for.
Maxwell Lombardi.
This was it, her chance to make everything right. She fumbled for her scalpel, clumsy in her anticipation for what was to come.
First I need to cut him so he can't run, no, wait yes, no, stop him from fighting, where is Alice? I dont' need her right now, I probably could use some tape though. Why isn't there rope near by? That is a huge spear maybe I should put Maxwell's head on it, would that be going too far? No this is good, focus Sarah this is it. This is it.
Her thin metal instrument now firmly in hand she breathed deeply in. She would make her first cut just below the neck on the boy's back. Although she was no doctor, her previous 'experiments' with Eve demonstrated just how effective at paralyzing someone a cut like that was. Touching her finger to the blade to test it sharpness Sarah raised the tool to the dim light one last time before her work began and she bent down for her first cut.
She smiled softly and returned her gaze to the sleeping Maxwell and as she did so her heart sunk.
Maxwell's eyes snapped open.
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It was at that point that Maxwell finally woke up from his nightmare to find himself staring at a hole in the roof, still lying down on that very same bench with his bag propped up as a makeshift pillow.
To say that it had disturbed him deeply would have been something of an understatement. Why on earth, out of all the things he could have been dreaming of, did he have to dream about killing his best friend with the same causality that he would any of the other meaningless cads who stood between him and freedom? What did it mean? Did it even HAVE a meaning beyond his subconscious deciding to freak him out for no apparent reason?
Whatever the case, all Maxwell knew was that he couldn't dwell on it now. Not when he had much better things on his mind to be considering, such as how he was to somehow find Tabitha Gweneth on this godforsaken island before somebody else beat him to the punch. Or, even better, what he was going to do to her once he had the slut all to himself...
On the subject of sluts, rather then dwell on the image of Darren lying twisted and bleeding, the young Brit decided to try and go back to sleep thinking back to the night which he and Clio had spent in each other's arms. After all, he couldn't think of a better way to distract his thoughts from such disturbing imagery.
For half an hour or so, it looked as though he'd fallen completely asleep. His awareness of the outside world had almost completely disappeared, and his thoughts had calmed to the point where he was on the edge of unconsciousness...
...And then, something didn't feel right.
He couldn't tell at first, but over time, it quickly dawned to Maxwell that something was out of the ordinary. That the empty silence that had been there previously was disrupted by some sound which he couldn't quite make out. As if the room he was in was suddenly not quite as empty as it had been a few moments ago.
It took him some time to figure out what exactly it was, but as the ambitious young killer slowly awoke from his state of half-consciousness, it became all too obvious what the problem was.......
......Maxwell was no longer alone.
His eyes snapped open, and sure enough, staring back at him with a manic grin was some girl wielding a scalpel in her hand.
"CHRIST!"
Quickly on reflex, Maxwell managed to kick the girl away from him as he rolled onto his feet, a sudden adrenaline rush waking him up completely to deal with this new threat. A part of him wondered how she'd managed to get in without knocking down the door, seeing as he sure that he'd barricaded the only way in... At least, he assumed it was the only way in anyway. Damnit Maxwell! You should have been more thorough next time looking for all the damn exits...
After quickly recovering from being knocked down by the Maxwell, the strange girl charged forward once again with the scalpel in her hand, desperately swiping at his neck in an attempt to cut him. However, Maxwell proved to be faster than she'd expected, easily dodging out of the way of her blade numerous times as she attempted slice his jugular open. Eventually, the young Brit was forced to push her against away as he took several steps backwards, his hands raised as he adopted a defensive pose.
For a moment, the two of them stood there staring at each other, with barely a couple of metres between them. For the first time, Maxwell managed to get a good look of the girl who'd woken him up and attempted to kill him. She was surprisingly attractive, considering the fact that she'd just tried to kill him and everything, although there was something about her that unnerved him. It wasn't the hateful scowl on her face, which if anything Maxwell found to be somewhat cute, but the peculiar look in her eyes that cause him to be especially wiry. There was something not quite right about them, as if she wasn't entirely sane. Which, given the circumstances, was a very likely possibility.
Whether or not she was sane or insane, the fact still remained that for whatever reason this girl wanted him dead. And worse of all, she was standing between him and his jacket, where his gun was still safely holstered in the inside pocket. A part of him was tempted to just run at her and pry the bloody scalpel from her fingers, or push her aside so he could grab his gun and finish her off quickly... At the same time, though, a part of him knew that if he did that there was a very real possibility that he could end up getting seriously injured in the process. There wasn't any point in acting reckless and getting a punctured lung after making it THIS far in the game.....
Damnit, who the hell IS she? If only I knew her name, or whether or not she's already played, then perhaps I could use it to my advantage...
Maxwell's eyes darted about, trying to spot some kind of defining feature that would give her identity away. It was times like this that the young killer wished that he'd learnt more about the competition before going on the trip, after all the number of people whose names he actually knew of beforehand was extremely limited. He knew of the several other English students that had attended Bayview, such as Edward Belmont, but most of them were probably dead by this point. No, from the looks of things, there was no way he'd be able to tell her identity...
...And then he noticed the video camera.
He only saw it for a second, a brief glance to his right, but there was no denying the fact that there was a camera lying a few feet away from him. In all the confusion, the girl's bag had fallen onto the floor spilled some its contents, including what could very well be the vital clue he was looking for.
A video camera... Damnit Maxwell, think! Has the announcements mentioned anything about a video camera? Or someone recording footage, or anything like that? I could have sworn that there had been at least ONE kill recorded on a camera on the announcements...
Eventually, as he racked his mind trying to figure out where he had heard a video camera being mentioned on the announcements, it suddenly clicked. One of the announcements. One of the earliest in fact. His memory was somewhat hazy about it, but he was damn sure about several of the most important details.
"Our...... kill was one for the..... Sarah Atwell... because she filmed it herself! Take a bow, Eve... Sarah's creative masterpiece... At least your mommy got on tv, right?"
A smile formed on Maxwell's lips. A sly, malicious one at that. One that showed very well just how confident he was. So... Could THIS be Sarah Atwell? The very same girl who'd robbed me of my prize all those days ago, back when I just started playing along to this stupid game. I could just be jumping to conclusions, of course. After all, just because she happens to have a video camera and an intent to kill doesn't mean that she's instantly the same girl.
Then again, there is ONE way I find out whether or not this is the case...
"Well... Seems as though i'm in quite the sticky situation, aren't I? My guess is that only one of us is going to walk out of here alive... Isn't that right, Sarah?"
The look in her eyes gave the girl away almost instantly. Maxwell was right on the money, this WAS Sarah Atwell. The very same Sarah Atwell who merely days ago had recorded herself committing murder on camera. If he was lucky, after all of this was over, he might take a look at the footage himself to see what she'd done in order to earn her little Best Kill Award.
For now though, he'd continued to psyche her out. Get her to drop her guard so he could go for his gun. In order to get within reach though, Maxwell began to slowly walk to his right, with Sarah doing the same in order for them to keep their distance from one another. The resulting imagery was quite striking, with the two players circling one another like two gunmen in a spaghetti western, waiting to see who would make the first move.
And all the while, Maxwell continued to taunt her.
"Don't look so surprised, the camera gave you away. I have to say though, I feel somewhat honoured being in the presence of a fellow player as infamous as Sarah Atwell. The girl who recorded her little murder on camera for the entire world to see and marvel at... My, its almost a shame that I'll be forced to end your little reign of terror so early."
He was beginning to near closer the his jacket now. Within a few moments, he'd finally get the chance to grab his gun and end this charade quickly before she decides to charge at him again. Patience Maxwell... It won't be long now.
"Still, I have to say, you haven't been particularly busy recently have you? I can't remember the last time I heard your name mentioned in the announcements. Either you've not been particularly lucky for the past few days, OR... You've gotten soft."
He gave her an especially wicked grin as he said that.
"Still, as I was saying... Its an awful shame that by the end of all this, one of us is going to wind up dead. Then again, perhaps this is all part of fate's cruel design. Unless i'm mistaken, we both started playing at around the same time, so maybe we've been destined for this confrontation since the very beginning."
Just a few more feet now...
"But before that happens, may I ask... How did it feel, back when you committed your first kill? Did you enjoy it? Did you feel a sense of superiority when you had someone completely at your mercy? Did you relish the moment when you finally committed the killing blow, knowing that it meant that you were now one step closer to getting off this godforsaken rock?"
This was it. By this stage, the two killers had made semi-circled around one another so that Maxwell now had his back turned to his bag. All he'd need to do now was act fast so he could grab it before she could get anyway near him...
"Still... If theres one thing I know for certain, its that-"
"Hey kids, it's Uncle Danya!"
Oh for fuck's sake...
Once again, Danya's voice boomed out across the island, informing the inhabitants as to what had happened to their classmates the day before. It was the same old deal. Such and such killed her, whatshisname killed him. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary...
...Nothing, except, then the fact that it omitted to mention the girl he'd left to die in a fire.
Wait... No, that can't be right. I killed TWO people that day. The bitch and her friend, Cassidy whatshersname. I was SURE that she was dead... I left the slut to burn in a fucking FIRE for god's sake! What does this mean?!? Either, she's taking a REALLY long time to die, or..... Or..........
......She's still ALIVE!?!
To say that it had disturbed him deeply would have been something of an understatement. Why on earth, out of all the things he could have been dreaming of, did he have to dream about killing his best friend with the same causality that he would any of the other meaningless cads who stood between him and freedom? What did it mean? Did it even HAVE a meaning beyond his subconscious deciding to freak him out for no apparent reason?
Whatever the case, all Maxwell knew was that he couldn't dwell on it now. Not when he had much better things on his mind to be considering, such as how he was to somehow find Tabitha Gweneth on this godforsaken island before somebody else beat him to the punch. Or, even better, what he was going to do to her once he had the slut all to himself...
On the subject of sluts, rather then dwell on the image of Darren lying twisted and bleeding, the young Brit decided to try and go back to sleep thinking back to the night which he and Clio had spent in each other's arms. After all, he couldn't think of a better way to distract his thoughts from such disturbing imagery.
For half an hour or so, it looked as though he'd fallen completely asleep. His awareness of the outside world had almost completely disappeared, and his thoughts had calmed to the point where he was on the edge of unconsciousness...
...And then, something didn't feel right.
He couldn't tell at first, but over time, it quickly dawned to Maxwell that something was out of the ordinary. That the empty silence that had been there previously was disrupted by some sound which he couldn't quite make out. As if the room he was in was suddenly not quite as empty as it had been a few moments ago.
It took him some time to figure out what exactly it was, but as the ambitious young killer slowly awoke from his state of half-consciousness, it became all too obvious what the problem was.......
......Maxwell was no longer alone.
His eyes snapped open, and sure enough, staring back at him with a manic grin was some girl wielding a scalpel in her hand.
"CHRIST!"
Quickly on reflex, Maxwell managed to kick the girl away from him as he rolled onto his feet, a sudden adrenaline rush waking him up completely to deal with this new threat. A part of him wondered how she'd managed to get in without knocking down the door, seeing as he sure that he'd barricaded the only way in... At least, he assumed it was the only way in anyway. Damnit Maxwell! You should have been more thorough next time looking for all the damn exits...
After quickly recovering from being knocked down by the Maxwell, the strange girl charged forward once again with the scalpel in her hand, desperately swiping at his neck in an attempt to cut him. However, Maxwell proved to be faster than she'd expected, easily dodging out of the way of her blade numerous times as she attempted slice his jugular open. Eventually, the young Brit was forced to push her against away as he took several steps backwards, his hands raised as he adopted a defensive pose.
For a moment, the two of them stood there staring at each other, with barely a couple of metres between them. For the first time, Maxwell managed to get a good look of the girl who'd woken him up and attempted to kill him. She was surprisingly attractive, considering the fact that she'd just tried to kill him and everything, although there was something about her that unnerved him. It wasn't the hateful scowl on her face, which if anything Maxwell found to be somewhat cute, but the peculiar look in her eyes that cause him to be especially wiry. There was something not quite right about them, as if she wasn't entirely sane. Which, given the circumstances, was a very likely possibility.
Whether or not she was sane or insane, the fact still remained that for whatever reason this girl wanted him dead. And worse of all, she was standing between him and his jacket, where his gun was still safely holstered in the inside pocket. A part of him was tempted to just run at her and pry the bloody scalpel from her fingers, or push her aside so he could grab his gun and finish her off quickly... At the same time, though, a part of him knew that if he did that there was a very real possibility that he could end up getting seriously injured in the process. There wasn't any point in acting reckless and getting a punctured lung after making it THIS far in the game.....
Damnit, who the hell IS she? If only I knew her name, or whether or not she's already played, then perhaps I could use it to my advantage...
Maxwell's eyes darted about, trying to spot some kind of defining feature that would give her identity away. It was times like this that the young killer wished that he'd learnt more about the competition before going on the trip, after all the number of people whose names he actually knew of beforehand was extremely limited. He knew of the several other English students that had attended Bayview, such as Edward Belmont, but most of them were probably dead by this point. No, from the looks of things, there was no way he'd be able to tell her identity...
...And then he noticed the video camera.
He only saw it for a second, a brief glance to his right, but there was no denying the fact that there was a camera lying a few feet away from him. In all the confusion, the girl's bag had fallen onto the floor spilled some its contents, including what could very well be the vital clue he was looking for.
A video camera... Damnit Maxwell, think! Has the announcements mentioned anything about a video camera? Or someone recording footage, or anything like that? I could have sworn that there had been at least ONE kill recorded on a camera on the announcements...
Eventually, as he racked his mind trying to figure out where he had heard a video camera being mentioned on the announcements, it suddenly clicked. One of the announcements. One of the earliest in fact. His memory was somewhat hazy about it, but he was damn sure about several of the most important details.
"Our...... kill was one for the..... Sarah Atwell... because she filmed it herself! Take a bow, Eve... Sarah's creative masterpiece... At least your mommy got on tv, right?"
A smile formed on Maxwell's lips. A sly, malicious one at that. One that showed very well just how confident he was. So... Could THIS be Sarah Atwell? The very same girl who'd robbed me of my prize all those days ago, back when I just started playing along to this stupid game. I could just be jumping to conclusions, of course. After all, just because she happens to have a video camera and an intent to kill doesn't mean that she's instantly the same girl.
Then again, there is ONE way I find out whether or not this is the case...
"Well... Seems as though i'm in quite the sticky situation, aren't I? My guess is that only one of us is going to walk out of here alive... Isn't that right, Sarah?"
The look in her eyes gave the girl away almost instantly. Maxwell was right on the money, this WAS Sarah Atwell. The very same Sarah Atwell who merely days ago had recorded herself committing murder on camera. If he was lucky, after all of this was over, he might take a look at the footage himself to see what she'd done in order to earn her little Best Kill Award.
For now though, he'd continued to psyche her out. Get her to drop her guard so he could go for his gun. In order to get within reach though, Maxwell began to slowly walk to his right, with Sarah doing the same in order for them to keep their distance from one another. The resulting imagery was quite striking, with the two players circling one another like two gunmen in a spaghetti western, waiting to see who would make the first move.
And all the while, Maxwell continued to taunt her.
"Don't look so surprised, the camera gave you away. I have to say though, I feel somewhat honoured being in the presence of a fellow player as infamous as Sarah Atwell. The girl who recorded her little murder on camera for the entire world to see and marvel at... My, its almost a shame that I'll be forced to end your little reign of terror so early."
He was beginning to near closer the his jacket now. Within a few moments, he'd finally get the chance to grab his gun and end this charade quickly before she decides to charge at him again. Patience Maxwell... It won't be long now.
"Still, I have to say, you haven't been particularly busy recently have you? I can't remember the last time I heard your name mentioned in the announcements. Either you've not been particularly lucky for the past few days, OR... You've gotten soft."
He gave her an especially wicked grin as he said that.
"Still, as I was saying... Its an awful shame that by the end of all this, one of us is going to wind up dead. Then again, perhaps this is all part of fate's cruel design. Unless i'm mistaken, we both started playing at around the same time, so maybe we've been destined for this confrontation since the very beginning."
Just a few more feet now...
"But before that happens, may I ask... How did it feel, back when you committed your first kill? Did you enjoy it? Did you feel a sense of superiority when you had someone completely at your mercy? Did you relish the moment when you finally committed the killing blow, knowing that it meant that you were now one step closer to getting off this godforsaken rock?"
This was it. By this stage, the two killers had made semi-circled around one another so that Maxwell now had his back turned to his bag. All he'd need to do now was act fast so he could grab it before she could get anyway near him...
"Still... If theres one thing I know for certain, its that-"
"Hey kids, it's Uncle Danya!"
Oh for fuck's sake...
Once again, Danya's voice boomed out across the island, informing the inhabitants as to what had happened to their classmates the day before. It was the same old deal. Such and such killed her, whatshisname killed him. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary...
...Nothing, except, then the fact that it omitted to mention the girl he'd left to die in a fire.
Wait... No, that can't be right. I killed TWO people that day. The bitch and her friend, Cassidy whatshersname. I was SURE that she was dead... I left the slut to burn in a fucking FIRE for god's sake! What does this mean?!? Either, she's taking a REALLY long time to die, or..... Or..........
......She's still ALIVE!?!
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.
-
storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
At first, it was easy for Alice to be nonchalant.
No one was here. The emptiness was palpable in the old mining buildings, here covered in grey dust. A quarter shined behind the counter in a building that Alice thought had to have once been a depot. She picked it up. It was an American quarter, the eagle on one side, the slightly shinier American president on the other. George Washington.
It was funny, the things she thought about when she was alone. She would never see French money again. Never any more euros, or the Francs she had saved; she, always xenophobic, had kept a habit of saving Francs even after the money changed. She had run her fingers through the Francs, even until the day when she had left France, loving the silver coins, loving the riches that she possessed. She had even taken some to the United States, kept them in her pocket with her, touched them as absently comforting souvenirs.
She wished, very very badly, that she had brought some Francs to this camping trip. Even horrible Euros would do. The things in her bag were--generic. Globalized. American, monochrome Apple products and white shirts and long black skirts. She hadn't been planning to play up her--foreignness this trip. She had wanted to make an American friend, a real American friend, the kind of friend like she had in France, that she was close to, that she could watch over and whisper with. Mama and Papa would be so proud of her if she made an American friend.
The rest of the buildings were equally, if not more dusty. Filthy. Grey-brown cracked wood, splintering, warped by intermittent water damage. Maxwell Lombardi was a Brit. He wouldn't be caught dead--to use a rather nasty idiom--spending time in a place like this.
On the other hand, he was the sort of person who wore a suit to a camping trip. Perhaps he was an idiot.
Unlikely. You don't kill that many people by being--
No. You kill that many people by being unscrupulous. Killing people was easy. They turned their backs, they didn't see it in you, not until it was too late.
An idiot was quite capable of doing it. And a man with a gun could just shoot fast and be done.
It was too quiet here.
Alice didn't like quiet. She'd spent her life living in metropolitan areas, close and loud, full of movement even at night. The stillness was beginning to unnerve her. Sarah should be crunching on the gravel. Someone should be shouting at the sight of her. There ought to be some kind of noise.
It made her uneasy.
No. Keep searching. She went through the rooms a bit quicker, to get to the end, to sit down, to calm herself. Her legs made noise against the floor wood. It wasn't too quiet now.
It was good. It was good. She had a gun in her hand. She could, if she chose, become one of those distant killers on the island, like the fabled Lombardi, never going for the gory intimacy that got one a Best Kill Award, but lighting up whoever she came across with Brock Mason's pristine gun.
Yes. That's right. Maxwell Lombardi should be scared of her. How many bullets did he have anyway? He must be nearly out. Surely if she took him by surprise, she could murder him before he saw her. But she'd been banging doors open--if he was here, he'd surely heard.
Overactive imagination. Maxwell Lombardi wasn't here. It was too quiet. Too, too quiet.
But no. Even when she stayed still, let her ears adjust, she couldn't hear Sarah searching. That meant sound must not carry as she'd thought around here.
The bag was heavy. She sat down with it. The sword was still inside, the falcata, Eve Walker-Luther's, which she'd taken away from Sarah. Sarah only had her scalpels--a semi-relief for any poor student who encountered Sarah while she was searching.
She should go find Sarah. Check on her. Splitting up hadn't been a good idea. She felt uneasy.
Yes. It was certainly too quiet here.
I sent Sarah out with only a pair of scalpels.
Mike Moretti--the look in his eyes--he'd wanted to kill her. She'd tortured people to death. There must be others who wanted to exact their own form of cruel so-called justice on her.
I should have stayed with her.
There was no need to let her imagination go astray. Likely, Sarah had found as few people as she had.
Don't shout. Don't panic.
But go through the houses. Go through the houses Sarah's been to. Just in case.
No one was here. The emptiness was palpable in the old mining buildings, here covered in grey dust. A quarter shined behind the counter in a building that Alice thought had to have once been a depot. She picked it up. It was an American quarter, the eagle on one side, the slightly shinier American president on the other. George Washington.
It was funny, the things she thought about when she was alone. She would never see French money again. Never any more euros, or the Francs she had saved; she, always xenophobic, had kept a habit of saving Francs even after the money changed. She had run her fingers through the Francs, even until the day when she had left France, loving the silver coins, loving the riches that she possessed. She had even taken some to the United States, kept them in her pocket with her, touched them as absently comforting souvenirs.
She wished, very very badly, that she had brought some Francs to this camping trip. Even horrible Euros would do. The things in her bag were--generic. Globalized. American, monochrome Apple products and white shirts and long black skirts. She hadn't been planning to play up her--foreignness this trip. She had wanted to make an American friend, a real American friend, the kind of friend like she had in France, that she was close to, that she could watch over and whisper with. Mama and Papa would be so proud of her if she made an American friend.
The rest of the buildings were equally, if not more dusty. Filthy. Grey-brown cracked wood, splintering, warped by intermittent water damage. Maxwell Lombardi was a Brit. He wouldn't be caught dead--to use a rather nasty idiom--spending time in a place like this.
On the other hand, he was the sort of person who wore a suit to a camping trip. Perhaps he was an idiot.
Unlikely. You don't kill that many people by being--
No. You kill that many people by being unscrupulous. Killing people was easy. They turned their backs, they didn't see it in you, not until it was too late.
An idiot was quite capable of doing it. And a man with a gun could just shoot fast and be done.
It was too quiet here.
Alice didn't like quiet. She'd spent her life living in metropolitan areas, close and loud, full of movement even at night. The stillness was beginning to unnerve her. Sarah should be crunching on the gravel. Someone should be shouting at the sight of her. There ought to be some kind of noise.
It made her uneasy.
No. Keep searching. She went through the rooms a bit quicker, to get to the end, to sit down, to calm herself. Her legs made noise against the floor wood. It wasn't too quiet now.
It was good. It was good. She had a gun in her hand. She could, if she chose, become one of those distant killers on the island, like the fabled Lombardi, never going for the gory intimacy that got one a Best Kill Award, but lighting up whoever she came across with Brock Mason's pristine gun.
Yes. That's right. Maxwell Lombardi should be scared of her. How many bullets did he have anyway? He must be nearly out. Surely if she took him by surprise, she could murder him before he saw her. But she'd been banging doors open--if he was here, he'd surely heard.
Overactive imagination. Maxwell Lombardi wasn't here. It was too quiet. Too, too quiet.
But no. Even when she stayed still, let her ears adjust, she couldn't hear Sarah searching. That meant sound must not carry as she'd thought around here.
The bag was heavy. She sat down with it. The sword was still inside, the falcata, Eve Walker-Luther's, which she'd taken away from Sarah. Sarah only had her scalpels--a semi-relief for any poor student who encountered Sarah while she was searching.
She should go find Sarah. Check on her. Splitting up hadn't been a good idea. She felt uneasy.
Yes. It was certainly too quiet here.
I sent Sarah out with only a pair of scalpels.
Mike Moretti--the look in his eyes--he'd wanted to kill her. She'd tortured people to death. There must be others who wanted to exact their own form of cruel so-called justice on her.
I should have stayed with her.
There was no need to let her imagination go astray. Likely, Sarah had found as few people as she had.
Don't shout. Don't panic.
But go through the houses. Go through the houses Sarah's been to. Just in case.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler storyspoiler. 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.
((All GMing approved))
Sarah said nothing in response to Maxwell's jibes but they hit home none the less.
Did you enjoy it?
Completely at your mercy
She had enjoyed it. It had given her a rush she had never felt before, but now she was different. She was better. She would show him. A cold rage had flooded through her and only a high pitched ringing ran through her ears. The muffled sounds of Danya's announcement flowed through her the names unheard through the thin veneer of cautiousness that Sarah displayed as she circled Lombardi waiting for an opportunity to strike. She had played it wrong and she should of just killed him then.
Maxwell's eyes went wide.
Sarah lunged.
Sarah had no idea how to fight. She was fuelled only by her anger, her rage. Her heart was beating at a thousand miles per hour, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Something in the back of her mind yelled out to her. This was all or nothing, the last, final attempt to make things right. If she failed now there would be no second chances. No redemption. The scalpel flashed in front of her, extended to the very limits of her reach. Maxwell was stronger, faster, she needed to kill him fast. The boy's shocked expression turned at the last moment to one of surprise jerking back at the last second as the blade scored him across the face. A thin spray of blood spurted away from the retreating boy as he held up his hand to wipe away the blood. There was a little bit of pain and he couldn't really see out of one eye but that could just be the blood.
Or it could be the eye itself.
Maxwell's trademark sneer returned to his face as he looked up at Sarah. "oooooh, kitty's got claws." The boy was almost next to his jacket and more importantly the gun concealed within. "A pity that's all you're car..." Maxwell dodged again as Sarah came at him, screeching in a high pitched yell slashing wildly with the tiny blade. Untrained and outclassed. Maxwell's Muay Thai training instinctually took in to effect, sliding through the whirling blade and close to the frantic girl. A swift knee to the head sent Sarah reeling back, her nose a bloodied mess. Stumbling she looked back up at Maxwell who had casually bent down to retrieve his jacket as if assuming the fight was over. No. Fucking. Way.
Sarah charged once more. "You bastard! You're going to die! You're the one who enjoys this. I hated this. I hate this game, I hate this island and I hate you."
Almost nochanlantly Maxwell pulled the gun from his bag and whipped it up in front of Sarah. "uh, uh, uh Sarah, you're in the big boys leagues now. I wouldn't want to further ruin that pretty face of yours now would I?" The girl screeched to a halt and stood stock still. Her face visibly contorted in rage, blood streaming down from her broken nose. Maxwell grinned again. "Now why don't we put down that little toy of yours and we'll see if we can involve some... justice."
Sarah shuddered at the word. She wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was how Maxwell had twisted the word as if it was something repulsive or maybe it was that manic glint in his eye. Something Sarah had only seen once; her reflection in the water when she cleaned herself after killing Eve. It terrified her more than anything in her life. The scalpel clattered to the ground, her hand limp and nerveless.
Maxwell took a few steps forward and Sarah a flash of metal before her vision blurred. A sickening crunch accompanied the blow as Maxwell backhanded the girl with his gun. "Normally Sarah I would just shoot you and be done with it but I feel your exploits deserve a special kind of recognition. Don't you?"
"Fuck you Maxwell, Clio did everything you did better. You take pride in your kills but you're just a sick little mummy's boy. Got everything you want back home; someone's going to take care of you and it won't be pretty. Go to hell." Maxwell was already in a foul move from the gash to his face. He should have been more cautious. Still it could have been much worse. However this latest insult hit a little too close to home. Maxwell flung his gun back to his jacket, rage welling.
"You little cunt."
The boy leapt atop Sarah his fists whirling down again and again. Sharp spikes of pain lanced up through Sarah's body as the punches contacted with her already weakened body. First her face then her ribs then her stomach then back to her face. A jarring snap rocked her face as Sarah felt her jaw break under the impact of Maxwell blows. Her vision was blacking out and the pain was almost becoming too much. Then it stopped.
"Well. My apologies. I seemed to of gotten carried away there." Sarah's vision came back in to view. Maxwell stood over her tucking in his shirt. "I simply don't know what came over me. Now then, where were we?" Sarah tried to open her mouth to spit a retort at the boy but the pain silenced her and she simply winced. She could only watch as Maxwell calmly bent down to the scalpel picked it up and strode back over to her. "We can't have you leaving now, not when the fun's about to start can we?" Sarah spasmed as Maxwell rolled her over and deftly sliced at the girl's ankles. The pain flooded her senses. Maxwell then went for the camera Sarah had left in her bag.
"Well I know that everyone's watching but one more angle couldn't hurt could it? After all you've done this yourself haven't you? I'm sure it was absolutely delectable and you would want me to feel that same power wouldn't you Sarah?" Maxwell was unrelenting in his perversion and Sarah could only feel more horrified at the sick parody that Maxwell was enacting. She couldn't speak or offer a retort to his jibes and this only left her more terrified as Maxwell finished setting up the camera and returned to her.
"Let's begin shall we?"
The next few minutes were fairly surreal. The thin probing cuts on her chest. Maxwell first peeling away her shirt, then her jeans. The stabbing excruciating pain as he plunged the blade deep in to her stomach.
And twisted.
She screamed. Despite the overwhelming agony of doing so she couldn't hold it back. Every nerve was on fire as pain coursed over her. The new spikes had stopped however, giving Sarah a moment of respite, if you could call it that. "Sarah." Maxwell began, an evil glint in his eyes. "There is one thing that you didn't or couldn't do to Eve that I have a fairly... large interest in performing." Sarah looked at him in confusion for a second and then it dawned on her. She tried to grab for her collar, to pull it before Maxwell could perform his deed. She didn't have the strength.
She tried to mumble. "No. Please, no. Please"
Maxwell didn't stop. "Despite these new imperfections I gotta say, you still look completely fuckable you little slut." With a jerk Maxwell ripped Sarah's underwear off her smiling slyly as he did it. He stood up again grabbing the buckle of his own pants. Sarah didn't want to see this she closed her eyes.
"F...f...fuck you."
"Oh I assure you, you're the one who will be getting fucked here."
BANG
The wooden post next to Maxwell's head evaporated in to a fine mist of splinters as the bullet passed straight through.
BANG BANG
Another two whizzed through the air, one making contact with the boy ripping through the side of his arm.
"Va te faire mettre! Manges la merde." Alice yelled as she stood in the doorway with Brock's pistol smoking in her hands, her fingers tense on the trigger. Maxwell yelled out in anger and he dived for his belongings as another bullet sunk itself in to the woodwork barely an inch above his head. This was one fight he did not intend to get caught in for long. Rolling to the jacket Maxwell yanked out his own pistol, firing off at Alice in return while making a sprint to the door.
BANG
The glass mirror next to Alice shattered as the girl ducked behind the door frame to avoid the deadly bullets. When she peeked back all she could do is watch as the rear door to the changing rooms swung closed.
((Maxwell Lombardi continued in Intermission))
((Strongly Recommended Listening))
A thin gasp of air left Sarah's lungs and she struggled for breath. The sharp stings of the wounds Maxwell had inflicted on her were numb. Instead, her whole body ached. She tried to tilt her neck from where she was lying so she could catch a glimpse of her would be saviour. As she struggled to turn, her breath came out in ragged gasps. Tiny, short breaths, each one desperately pushing out in time to her violently beating heart. Sarah Atwell knew she was hurt. Hurt badly. Her vision was swimming and she couldn't quite open her eyes as much as she wanted to. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask a question between the uneven heaving of her lungs.
"Alice? Is... that you?" she queried. The few words she uttered took their toll on the girl and she knew she didn't have long. A sense of deep dread flooded through her. A cold pitiless terror that one gets when contemplating their own demise, that primal dark horror of not existing, falling in to the maw of an endless void. Her heart constricted involuntarily, overwhelming all her thoughts. Hollywood had always told her that someone's last thoughts were of their loved ones, some last perfect goal, a calm white light. This was nothing like that, no last minute recollections, no memories pouring back as she faded away. Sarah's thoughts were consumed by the abject terror of simply not being.
"Alice." She called out once more. She hadn't seen the girl but she hoped it was her. She needed someone, anyone. She was so scared. Terrified beyond belief. "Alice. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please. Help me. Please."
please
please please please please
A warm feeling encompassed Sarah's back and she groaned slightly as Alice put her hand underneath the girl to prop her up. The French girl seemed to be saying something but Sarah couldn't make any of it out. A dull ringing seemed to have flooded her ears and welling tears obscured her vision. Her breaths were shallow, slowing now. The rising of her chest was almost imperceptible aside from the shudders of the girl's sobs.
Everything seemed to have gone quiet, even the ringing noise. Sarah was dimly aware that people would be watching this; her parents, her friends. She didn't want them to see this. She didn't want to go out like this.
"I don't want them to see Alice. I don't want them to see. Not like this. Not like this." She knew she looked horrible. Pale and bedraggled. Everything felt so cold. She wanted her mum she wanted her mum to tell her it was all going to be alright, that it was all just a bad dream.
"It's dark now isn't it? Can't you turn on the light mum? Why won't you turn on the light mum?" Her vision had dimmed to a pinprick and Sarah reached out as if grasping for someone to hold. "Mum. Why won't you hold me mum? Why aren't you here" All around her was a great darkness. Something clasped her hand. "Mum. Do you remember the day my cat died? Mum?" A murmur. Sarah couldn't tell what it was. "There was this pain in my heart that day that I had never felt before. Remember. The vet let me hold her before they pressed the needle in. When I left her she gave me this look of profound betrayal as if I had been the one to kill her. I couldn't go back in. Promise me mum. Promise me you won't leave me like that. Don't let me go."
Her terror was back.
That all encompassing fear.
Another murmur, the faintest whisper in the endless dark.
Sarah felt the cool metallic feeling of something slide in to her neck.
Then she was gone.
G037 Sarah Atwell - DECEASED
((Strongly Recommended Listening))
The television crashed to one side as Caleb Atwell flung the screen off its stand. "Bullshit. This is fucking bullshit. I'm going to find those fuckers and put a bullet in each one of their skulls."
"Caleb." Ashleigh called out to her son.
He didn't hear, storming out of the room in his combat fatigues. The boy had been recalled from active duty when the news had gone out and he had watched fuming. Watched every horrifying second that was on air. Every moment of the last few days of his sisters death.
Thomas Atwell held his wife Ashleigh tight as he watched his only daughter exhale her last, the television now dark. At first he had been horrified and what his little girl had done, watching in shock as she killed. His little baby who never wanted to hurt anyone was a sick killer. Almost twice he had turned the television off and more than once he had got enraged phone calls from others, calling his daughter a whore, a murderer and worse. But now he felt nothing but a great sadness welling up inside him. Ashleigh could only sob in to his chest as Sarah had spoken her last words and Thomas could only hold her tight. Both felt a gaping hole in their hearts where their daughter once was.
Ashleigh looked up at Thomas. "We weren't there for her Tom. We weren't there."
Thomas gritted his teeth. "We couldn't be Ash. We couldn't be."
"Tom?"
"Yes Ash?"
"Don't ever let me go."
Sarah said nothing in response to Maxwell's jibes but they hit home none the less.
Did you enjoy it?
Completely at your mercy
She had enjoyed it. It had given her a rush she had never felt before, but now she was different. She was better. She would show him. A cold rage had flooded through her and only a high pitched ringing ran through her ears. The muffled sounds of Danya's announcement flowed through her the names unheard through the thin veneer of cautiousness that Sarah displayed as she circled Lombardi waiting for an opportunity to strike. She had played it wrong and she should of just killed him then.
Maxwell's eyes went wide.
Sarah lunged.
Sarah had no idea how to fight. She was fuelled only by her anger, her rage. Her heart was beating at a thousand miles per hour, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Something in the back of her mind yelled out to her. This was all or nothing, the last, final attempt to make things right. If she failed now there would be no second chances. No redemption. The scalpel flashed in front of her, extended to the very limits of her reach. Maxwell was stronger, faster, she needed to kill him fast. The boy's shocked expression turned at the last moment to one of surprise jerking back at the last second as the blade scored him across the face. A thin spray of blood spurted away from the retreating boy as he held up his hand to wipe away the blood. There was a little bit of pain and he couldn't really see out of one eye but that could just be the blood.
Or it could be the eye itself.
Maxwell's trademark sneer returned to his face as he looked up at Sarah. "oooooh, kitty's got claws." The boy was almost next to his jacket and more importantly the gun concealed within. "A pity that's all you're car..." Maxwell dodged again as Sarah came at him, screeching in a high pitched yell slashing wildly with the tiny blade. Untrained and outclassed. Maxwell's Muay Thai training instinctually took in to effect, sliding through the whirling blade and close to the frantic girl. A swift knee to the head sent Sarah reeling back, her nose a bloodied mess. Stumbling she looked back up at Maxwell who had casually bent down to retrieve his jacket as if assuming the fight was over. No. Fucking. Way.
Sarah charged once more. "You bastard! You're going to die! You're the one who enjoys this. I hated this. I hate this game, I hate this island and I hate you."
Almost nochanlantly Maxwell pulled the gun from his bag and whipped it up in front of Sarah. "uh, uh, uh Sarah, you're in the big boys leagues now. I wouldn't want to further ruin that pretty face of yours now would I?" The girl screeched to a halt and stood stock still. Her face visibly contorted in rage, blood streaming down from her broken nose. Maxwell grinned again. "Now why don't we put down that little toy of yours and we'll see if we can involve some... justice."
Sarah shuddered at the word. She wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was how Maxwell had twisted the word as if it was something repulsive or maybe it was that manic glint in his eye. Something Sarah had only seen once; her reflection in the water when she cleaned herself after killing Eve. It terrified her more than anything in her life. The scalpel clattered to the ground, her hand limp and nerveless.
Maxwell took a few steps forward and Sarah a flash of metal before her vision blurred. A sickening crunch accompanied the blow as Maxwell backhanded the girl with his gun. "Normally Sarah I would just shoot you and be done with it but I feel your exploits deserve a special kind of recognition. Don't you?"
"Fuck you Maxwell, Clio did everything you did better. You take pride in your kills but you're just a sick little mummy's boy. Got everything you want back home; someone's going to take care of you and it won't be pretty. Go to hell." Maxwell was already in a foul move from the gash to his face. He should have been more cautious. Still it could have been much worse. However this latest insult hit a little too close to home. Maxwell flung his gun back to his jacket, rage welling.
"You little cunt."
The boy leapt atop Sarah his fists whirling down again and again. Sharp spikes of pain lanced up through Sarah's body as the punches contacted with her already weakened body. First her face then her ribs then her stomach then back to her face. A jarring snap rocked her face as Sarah felt her jaw break under the impact of Maxwell blows. Her vision was blacking out and the pain was almost becoming too much. Then it stopped.
"Well. My apologies. I seemed to of gotten carried away there." Sarah's vision came back in to view. Maxwell stood over her tucking in his shirt. "I simply don't know what came over me. Now then, where were we?" Sarah tried to open her mouth to spit a retort at the boy but the pain silenced her and she simply winced. She could only watch as Maxwell calmly bent down to the scalpel picked it up and strode back over to her. "We can't have you leaving now, not when the fun's about to start can we?" Sarah spasmed as Maxwell rolled her over and deftly sliced at the girl's ankles. The pain flooded her senses. Maxwell then went for the camera Sarah had left in her bag.
"Well I know that everyone's watching but one more angle couldn't hurt could it? After all you've done this yourself haven't you? I'm sure it was absolutely delectable and you would want me to feel that same power wouldn't you Sarah?" Maxwell was unrelenting in his perversion and Sarah could only feel more horrified at the sick parody that Maxwell was enacting. She couldn't speak or offer a retort to his jibes and this only left her more terrified as Maxwell finished setting up the camera and returned to her.
"Let's begin shall we?"
The next few minutes were fairly surreal. The thin probing cuts on her chest. Maxwell first peeling away her shirt, then her jeans. The stabbing excruciating pain as he plunged the blade deep in to her stomach.
And twisted.
She screamed. Despite the overwhelming agony of doing so she couldn't hold it back. Every nerve was on fire as pain coursed over her. The new spikes had stopped however, giving Sarah a moment of respite, if you could call it that. "Sarah." Maxwell began, an evil glint in his eyes. "There is one thing that you didn't or couldn't do to Eve that I have a fairly... large interest in performing." Sarah looked at him in confusion for a second and then it dawned on her. She tried to grab for her collar, to pull it before Maxwell could perform his deed. She didn't have the strength.
She tried to mumble. "No. Please, no. Please"
Maxwell didn't stop. "Despite these new imperfections I gotta say, you still look completely fuckable you little slut." With a jerk Maxwell ripped Sarah's underwear off her smiling slyly as he did it. He stood up again grabbing the buckle of his own pants. Sarah didn't want to see this she closed her eyes.
"F...f...fuck you."
"Oh I assure you, you're the one who will be getting fucked here."
BANG
The wooden post next to Maxwell's head evaporated in to a fine mist of splinters as the bullet passed straight through.
BANG BANG
Another two whizzed through the air, one making contact with the boy ripping through the side of his arm.
"Va te faire mettre! Manges la merde." Alice yelled as she stood in the doorway with Brock's pistol smoking in her hands, her fingers tense on the trigger. Maxwell yelled out in anger and he dived for his belongings as another bullet sunk itself in to the woodwork barely an inch above his head. This was one fight he did not intend to get caught in for long. Rolling to the jacket Maxwell yanked out his own pistol, firing off at Alice in return while making a sprint to the door.
BANG
The glass mirror next to Alice shattered as the girl ducked behind the door frame to avoid the deadly bullets. When she peeked back all she could do is watch as the rear door to the changing rooms swung closed.
((Maxwell Lombardi continued in Intermission))
------------------
((Strongly Recommended Listening))
A thin gasp of air left Sarah's lungs and she struggled for breath. The sharp stings of the wounds Maxwell had inflicted on her were numb. Instead, her whole body ached. She tried to tilt her neck from where she was lying so she could catch a glimpse of her would be saviour. As she struggled to turn, her breath came out in ragged gasps. Tiny, short breaths, each one desperately pushing out in time to her violently beating heart. Sarah Atwell knew she was hurt. Hurt badly. Her vision was swimming and she couldn't quite open her eyes as much as she wanted to. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask a question between the uneven heaving of her lungs.
"Alice? Is... that you?" she queried. The few words she uttered took their toll on the girl and she knew she didn't have long. A sense of deep dread flooded through her. A cold pitiless terror that one gets when contemplating their own demise, that primal dark horror of not existing, falling in to the maw of an endless void. Her heart constricted involuntarily, overwhelming all her thoughts. Hollywood had always told her that someone's last thoughts were of their loved ones, some last perfect goal, a calm white light. This was nothing like that, no last minute recollections, no memories pouring back as she faded away. Sarah's thoughts were consumed by the abject terror of simply not being.
"Alice." She called out once more. She hadn't seen the girl but she hoped it was her. She needed someone, anyone. She was so scared. Terrified beyond belief. "Alice. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please. Help me. Please."
please
please please please please
A warm feeling encompassed Sarah's back and she groaned slightly as Alice put her hand underneath the girl to prop her up. The French girl seemed to be saying something but Sarah couldn't make any of it out. A dull ringing seemed to have flooded her ears and welling tears obscured her vision. Her breaths were shallow, slowing now. The rising of her chest was almost imperceptible aside from the shudders of the girl's sobs.
Everything seemed to have gone quiet, even the ringing noise. Sarah was dimly aware that people would be watching this; her parents, her friends. She didn't want them to see this. She didn't want to go out like this.
"I don't want them to see Alice. I don't want them to see. Not like this. Not like this." She knew she looked horrible. Pale and bedraggled. Everything felt so cold. She wanted her mum she wanted her mum to tell her it was all going to be alright, that it was all just a bad dream.
"It's dark now isn't it? Can't you turn on the light mum? Why won't you turn on the light mum?" Her vision had dimmed to a pinprick and Sarah reached out as if grasping for someone to hold. "Mum. Why won't you hold me mum? Why aren't you here" All around her was a great darkness. Something clasped her hand. "Mum. Do you remember the day my cat died? Mum?" A murmur. Sarah couldn't tell what it was. "There was this pain in my heart that day that I had never felt before. Remember. The vet let me hold her before they pressed the needle in. When I left her she gave me this look of profound betrayal as if I had been the one to kill her. I couldn't go back in. Promise me mum. Promise me you won't leave me like that. Don't let me go."
Her terror was back.
That all encompassing fear.
Another murmur, the faintest whisper in the endless dark.
Sarah felt the cool metallic feeling of something slide in to her neck.
Then she was gone.
G037 Sarah Atwell - DECEASED
Epilogue
((Strongly Recommended Listening))
The television crashed to one side as Caleb Atwell flung the screen off its stand. "Bullshit. This is fucking bullshit. I'm going to find those fuckers and put a bullet in each one of their skulls."
"Caleb." Ashleigh called out to her son.
He didn't hear, storming out of the room in his combat fatigues. The boy had been recalled from active duty when the news had gone out and he had watched fuming. Watched every horrifying second that was on air. Every moment of the last few days of his sisters death.
Thomas Atwell held his wife Ashleigh tight as he watched his only daughter exhale her last, the television now dark. At first he had been horrified and what his little girl had done, watching in shock as she killed. His little baby who never wanted to hurt anyone was a sick killer. Almost twice he had turned the television off and more than once he had got enraged phone calls from others, calling his daughter a whore, a murderer and worse. But now he felt nothing but a great sadness welling up inside him. Ashleigh could only sob in to his chest as Sarah had spoken her last words and Thomas could only hold her tight. Both felt a gaping hole in their hearts where their daughter once was.
Ashleigh looked up at Thomas. "We weren't there for her Tom. We weren't there."
Thomas gritted his teeth. "We couldn't be Ash. We couldn't be."
"Tom?"
"Yes Ash?"
"Don't ever let me go."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Fanatic. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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storyspoiler†
- Posts: 152
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:16 am
The whispers.
"It will be alright. It will be alright. I promise you, Sarah. I will not leave you."
She was speaking in French. She could not speak English now. Surely Sarah would understand. Alice's Mama had said these words to Alice, once, long ago. It was a lie, it was always a lie. But it was a good lie.
Sarah's throat was bloody. Alice had put the scalpel into it.
You are dying, you are dying.
Sarah had been pale, almost as a corpse. A moment ago, she had been shivering. Now she was still.
Why did he do this to you?
Her stomach had been torn open. Alice knew from the movies what a stomach wound did to you. Acid, dissolving the things inside you. Painful and slow.
Sarah had been crying.
My friend, my friend. My American friend.
There were arguments that could be made. The French, undoubtably, were already making them. Whether Sarah had gotten her redemption. Whether Alice should have left her, left her to die as Eve had died, because that was justice that great virtue, French and American alike, justice rearing its ugly head.
She is a person. You cannot do this to her.
She had been broken, and then she had been fixed. Tried to fix herself with the scalpels in her hands. You should not have done this to her.
Maxwell had overpowered her. He had beat her with his hands.
Why is this fun? Why does he find this fun?
Scalpel in her throat. She had shot him, shot him so many times. But Sarah, she had slit Sarah's throat with a scalpel. Cut the carotid arteries and the jugular vein. She had tried to make it smooth and deep, but her hand trembled. The cuts were jagged now.
But instant. She could die fast.
If there is nothing on the other side, you shouldn't be afraid of it anymore.
She had whispered her words, her mother's words, strange, abstract comforts in French. Replies to her questions I will never leave you. And lies everything is going to be alright.
I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you.
And now she was shivering, her knees dirty from the blood in Sarah's throat. Thud, thud her own heart was beating. The blood hadn't gushed after Sarah's heart had stopped, it was quick, it was instant, I need to give you more. And Alice was still, and her skirt was filthy, and she was shivering, shivering, and it rocked her frame, it hurt, and she wanted to cry, she wanted her mother, she wanted her father but no one was here find me, find me.
Everything hurt.
Sarah, my friend.
Her skin had been tough, the skin and the muscle. She had torn through them and used all her strength. Fast, like peeling off a band-aid. It hurts less that way.
Sarah had shivered once, and then had been still.
Alice She had called out. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please help me.
It's going to be alright. I promise you. It's going to be alright.
We committed a crime together. It ties us.
Two scalpels. Two scalpels lined up by Sarah's throat.
I should have helped you. I should have known.
But Sarah couldn't forgive her. There was no one to apologize to now.
Far too easy to become a killer...
The blood was caking under her nails already.
(Alice Boucher continued in Wishing Well)
"It will be alright. It will be alright. I promise you, Sarah. I will not leave you."
She was speaking in French. She could not speak English now. Surely Sarah would understand. Alice's Mama had said these words to Alice, once, long ago. It was a lie, it was always a lie. But it was a good lie.
Sarah's throat was bloody. Alice had put the scalpel into it.
You are dying, you are dying.
Sarah had been pale, almost as a corpse. A moment ago, she had been shivering. Now she was still.
Why did he do this to you?
Her stomach had been torn open. Alice knew from the movies what a stomach wound did to you. Acid, dissolving the things inside you. Painful and slow.
Sarah had been crying.
My friend, my friend. My American friend.
There were arguments that could be made. The French, undoubtably, were already making them. Whether Sarah had gotten her redemption. Whether Alice should have left her, left her to die as Eve had died, because that was justice that great virtue, French and American alike, justice rearing its ugly head.
She is a person. You cannot do this to her.
She had been broken, and then she had been fixed. Tried to fix herself with the scalpels in her hands. You should not have done this to her.
Maxwell had overpowered her. He had beat her with his hands.
Why is this fun? Why does he find this fun?
Scalpel in her throat. She had shot him, shot him so many times. But Sarah, she had slit Sarah's throat with a scalpel. Cut the carotid arteries and the jugular vein. She had tried to make it smooth and deep, but her hand trembled. The cuts were jagged now.
But instant. She could die fast.
If there is nothing on the other side, you shouldn't be afraid of it anymore.
She had whispered her words, her mother's words, strange, abstract comforts in French. Replies to her questions I will never leave you. And lies everything is going to be alright.
I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you.
And now she was shivering, her knees dirty from the blood in Sarah's throat. Thud, thud her own heart was beating. The blood hadn't gushed after Sarah's heart had stopped, it was quick, it was instant, I need to give you more. And Alice was still, and her skirt was filthy, and she was shivering, shivering, and it rocked her frame, it hurt, and she wanted to cry, she wanted her mother, she wanted her father but no one was here find me, find me.
Everything hurt.
Sarah, my friend.
Her skin had been tough, the skin and the muscle. She had torn through them and used all her strength. Fast, like peeling off a band-aid. It hurts less that way.
Sarah had shivered once, and then had been still.
Alice She had called out. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please help me.
It's going to be alright. I promise you. It's going to be alright.
We committed a crime together. It ties us.
Two scalpels. Two scalpels lined up by Sarah's throat.
I should have helped you. I should have known.
But Sarah couldn't forgive her. There was no one to apologize to now.
Far too easy to become a killer...
The blood was caking under her nails already.
(Alice Boucher continued in Wishing Well)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler storyspoiler. 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.