((Mike Maszer continued from Come & See))
Talk about disaster.
Just when Mike and his group had a nice and firm plan, the Lighthouse was suddenly declared a Danger Zone. Being in the middle of the woods, with absolutely no orientation point, Mike could either go east and let his head explode, or he could go elsewhere and end up God-Knows-Where. What was worse, during the trek, he managed to lose his allies somehow. He didn't know if he was too fast and deaf enough to lose Erik, Max and Fatty and not hear any of their's complains about it, but he know that he screwed up. Big time.
And that's precisely why I shouldn't be a leader, even of a tourist group.
"Kurwa jego mać..." Mike cursed in his native language.
Finally, he decided to continue east. Others were going there as well (at least Mike hoped so), and there was a chance, the collar on his neck would give him a warning signal that he's too close to the Danger Zone, before it would go off.
------
Almost one day later, Mike managed to reach the edge of the Danger Zone. As he predicted, the collar warned him with a few beeps, that he was too close to his destination, so he took a few (about... 100) steps back, just to be on the safe side. As he still had some time before another announcement, the Pole sat down on the ground, opened the daypack and started munching his bread. Or rather, after two days and no good packaging, the bread shaped rock.
About half an hour later, the rock was gone inside Mike's stomach. Back in Poland, Mike was known for his enormous appetite, even though he didn't look like it. Moreover, he would rather die than try to eat that bread after a few another days, so he had to make the use of it while he still could. On the plus side, his soccer and capoeira trainings learned him how to save water, so he still had about a half of his bottle after he quenched his thirst. He COULD feel the slight sour taste in it though, so he knew it will be rotten in a few days as well. In this kind of company, the tasteless-looking crackers were probably going to be his best friends for the next few days... Assuming he will be alive by then.
Mike put the source of the fresh water on the list of 'Things to find', and stared at the Lighthouse, visible from the distance. So close, and yet he couldn't go there. It was almost as frustrating as the lack of his companions nearby. With his mind clouded in grim thoughts, Mike closed his eyes and entered the realm of the dreams.
-------
The already familiar, annoying sound coming from the speakers, woke Mike up. For some reason, Mike was more affected by that 'Danya' guy being a giant douche, rather than people being killed. Since he remembered, even during major tragedies, claiming live of hundreds of people, Mike never even blinked. He felt so normal, he actually asked himself a few times if he's not a heartless bastard by any chance, but then he concluded he just cannot emotionally care for someone he doesn't even know. And that was probably the case here as well, as he didn't recognize absolutely anyone from the death list. Deep inside his mind, there was this small thought, trying to force him to think about what will happen when Erik, or Max (or Fatty but he still didn't even know his name), or anyone he knew from the school earlier, like Cisco, will appear on the list. Then, another thought, going something like 'Fuck it, we're going off this island!' kicked the previous one somewhere on the orbit.
Mike listened, as another 21 students didn't make it out, and paid special attention to the Danger Zones announcements. As he predicted, Lighthouse was clear now. He stood up, threw off every part of the forest flora which got stuck on his body over the night, took his things, and finally stepped forward.
This time, his collar remained silent, and Mike left the forest to enter the rocky cliff. Mike obviously knew that Lighthouses were supposed to be big, but even though, he still lost a few seconds contemplating it's size. Then, he scanned the area. Still no sign of any of his allies. A scary thought invaded his mind, that they decided to change route, and Mike would be alone again, and this time it didn't want to go away that easily. He opened up the daypack, took yet another sip of his water and waited.
Searching For Clues
Day 3, minutes after the announcement.
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Yossarian†
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Searching For Clues
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Pigeon Army†
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((Max Neill continued from Come & See))
The eardrum-raking hiss of the speakers was a sound Max was quickly growing to fear.
It had been around a day since they had set out for the Lighthouse, and they would have gotten there sooner had Danya not decided to play dirty. Danya had to be able to see and hear everything on the island; it didn't make sense for him not to have that information. He must have heard them talking about their plan, Max reasoned. He had to have.
Unfortunately for Danya, this only steeled Max's resolve. If he's trying to stop us, we have to be doing something right. It's the only explanation.
Max and his crew had gotten separated over the course of the night - something that worried Max to a great degree, especially considering he wasn't sure how it had happened. He was sure that they'd find their own ways, however, and if they didn't, well, he'd just have to go and find them, wouldn't he? He had eventually found the lighthouse, however, which was good sign. Not such a good sign was the beeping of his collar as he'd approached it. A hair's breadth away from panicking, Max had scrambled down the path he'd climbed up, thankfully getting out of the dangerzone before his collar decided to stop beeping and start exploding.
In light of the restrictions on his destination, Max had taken good advantage of his twenty-four lazy period. He'd had a solid, if uneasy, sleep, the ground under him immensely uncomfortable and his mind plagued with thoughts of paranoia and death. He had washed his face in the sea and changed out of his dirty, disheveled clothes, into a new blue shirt and some tidy jeans; for a split second, Max was thankful to the monster running the show for leaving his clothes in his bag. At least they had been allowed that much.
Now, with the darkness hanging in the air, slowly dissipating as dawn approached, the speakers were hissing. Max, nibbling on his increasingly stale bread, was ready and waiting.
Max noted the deaths, the killers, what had happened and why. People he knew had been cut down by others, other familiar names. The number of dead classmates was rising with every second, and Max would have been telling bald-faced lies if he had said he wasn't affected by it. He liked his school, the people in it. He could've happily stayed in the company of the majority of them forever, so friendly and interesting it was. It was a community that Max had tried his damnedest to maintain, to keep happy and cordial. That this community - the community that had elected him to represent it at its highest level - could so easily turn on each other, all in the name of selfishness and terrorism?
That hurt Max more than any bullet could.
The announcement came to an end, the smug voice of Mr Danya finishing up by announcing the new dangerzones. The infirmary, the key, the mansion. Not the lighthouse.
With that, Max pulled himself up off the ground, dusted off his jeans, and made his way into the rising sun. The forest canopy grew thin quickly, and soon enough Max had stepped into a tree-less expanse of cliffs and grass. He glanced around the area - he couldn't see anyone he knew, and that was an issue. He clambered up a small cliff ledge to get a better vantage point. Scanning the space below him, his eyes fell on someone he recognised, down by the treeline on the other side of the tiny peninsula.
"MIKE!" he yelled out as loud as he could, not scared of anyone hearing else hearing him - after all, nobody would be in the area so soon.
The eardrum-raking hiss of the speakers was a sound Max was quickly growing to fear.
It had been around a day since they had set out for the Lighthouse, and they would have gotten there sooner had Danya not decided to play dirty. Danya had to be able to see and hear everything on the island; it didn't make sense for him not to have that information. He must have heard them talking about their plan, Max reasoned. He had to have.
Unfortunately for Danya, this only steeled Max's resolve. If he's trying to stop us, we have to be doing something right. It's the only explanation.
Max and his crew had gotten separated over the course of the night - something that worried Max to a great degree, especially considering he wasn't sure how it had happened. He was sure that they'd find their own ways, however, and if they didn't, well, he'd just have to go and find them, wouldn't he? He had eventually found the lighthouse, however, which was good sign. Not such a good sign was the beeping of his collar as he'd approached it. A hair's breadth away from panicking, Max had scrambled down the path he'd climbed up, thankfully getting out of the dangerzone before his collar decided to stop beeping and start exploding.
In light of the restrictions on his destination, Max had taken good advantage of his twenty-four lazy period. He'd had a solid, if uneasy, sleep, the ground under him immensely uncomfortable and his mind plagued with thoughts of paranoia and death. He had washed his face in the sea and changed out of his dirty, disheveled clothes, into a new blue shirt and some tidy jeans; for a split second, Max was thankful to the monster running the show for leaving his clothes in his bag. At least they had been allowed that much.
Now, with the darkness hanging in the air, slowly dissipating as dawn approached, the speakers were hissing. Max, nibbling on his increasingly stale bread, was ready and waiting.
Max noted the deaths, the killers, what had happened and why. People he knew had been cut down by others, other familiar names. The number of dead classmates was rising with every second, and Max would have been telling bald-faced lies if he had said he wasn't affected by it. He liked his school, the people in it. He could've happily stayed in the company of the majority of them forever, so friendly and interesting it was. It was a community that Max had tried his damnedest to maintain, to keep happy and cordial. That this community - the community that had elected him to represent it at its highest level - could so easily turn on each other, all in the name of selfishness and terrorism?
That hurt Max more than any bullet could.
The announcement came to an end, the smug voice of Mr Danya finishing up by announcing the new dangerzones. The infirmary, the key, the mansion. Not the lighthouse.
With that, Max pulled himself up off the ground, dusted off his jeans, and made his way into the rising sun. The forest canopy grew thin quickly, and soon enough Max had stepped into a tree-less expanse of cliffs and grass. He glanced around the area - he couldn't see anyone he knew, and that was an issue. He clambered up a small cliff ledge to get a better vantage point. Scanning the space below him, his eyes fell on someone he recognised, down by the treeline on the other side of the tiny peninsula.
"MIKE!" he yelled out as loud as he could, not scared of anyone hearing else hearing him - after all, nobody would be in the area so soon.
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Killer_Moth†
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((Quincy Jones cont'd from Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows... ))
He wasn't sure how far he'd walked. Tiffany was out of sight now, but he'd kept going for a little while to make sure. Finally, he found himself a place against a likely looking tree. He faced it, unzipped, and began to relieve himself.
Just as he was letting a satisfied sigh at the pressure on his bladder lessening, he was jolted by somebody shouting "Mike" nearby. Great, that meant he had company. Which meant probable danger. Or at least somebody else who would try to latch on to him, slow him down. Right now, there were two things he wanted. He wanted to know where Felicia was, and he wanted to get back to Tiffany, and her gun. He wished he'd brought it with him, but knew that she needed it more right now.
Still, maybe he could find something from the guy nearby, looking for Mike. He kept low through the bracken as he made his way towards where the sound came from. No point in announcing his presence if he didn't have to.
He wasn't sure how far he'd walked. Tiffany was out of sight now, but he'd kept going for a little while to make sure. Finally, he found himself a place against a likely looking tree. He faced it, unzipped, and began to relieve himself.
Just as he was letting a satisfied sigh at the pressure on his bladder lessening, he was jolted by somebody shouting "Mike" nearby. Great, that meant he had company. Which meant probable danger. Or at least somebody else who would try to latch on to him, slow him down. Right now, there were two things he wanted. He wanted to know where Felicia was, and he wanted to get back to Tiffany, and her gun. He wished he'd brought it with him, but knew that she needed it more right now.
Still, maybe he could find something from the guy nearby, looking for Mike. He kept low through the bracken as he made his way towards where the sound came from. No point in announcing his presence if he didn't have to.
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Yossarian†
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"Oh, thank goodness..."
Mike sighed with relief, as he heard someone shouting his name. He felt like his good mood was going back... Until he turned toward the voice, and noticed only one person, Max. That meant Erik and the Fatty were still missing. Not good at all.
"Max!"
Mike waved his hand toward his companion and shouted back. One quick dash later, he was already starting at Max's face.
"So good to see you... How that happened?" Mike immediately got on a topic. "I lead the way, suddenly I turned back... And no one's there. What happened, why didn't you tell me I'm walking too fast? And Where's Erik and... And what's the fat guy's name anyway?"
Mike sighed with relief, as he heard someone shouting his name. He felt like his good mood was going back... Until he turned toward the voice, and noticed only one person, Max. That meant Erik and the Fatty were still missing. Not good at all.
"Max!"
Mike waved his hand toward his companion and shouted back. One quick dash later, he was already starting at Max's face.
"So good to see you... How that happened?" Mike immediately got on a topic. "I lead the way, suddenly I turned back... And no one's there. What happened, why didn't you tell me I'm walking too fast? And Where's Erik and... And what's the fat guy's name anyway?"
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Pigeon Army†
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Unsure of whether Mike had heard him or not, Max went to yell again, but there was no need - the Polish boy turned and waved in his direction. A small smile spread across Max's face, and he waved back. The Polish boy jogged over to him, apparently just as happy to see Max as Max had been to see him.
"So good to see you... How that happened?" Mike asked in his broken English. "I lead the way, suddenly I turned back... And no one's there. What happened, why didn't you tell me I'm walking too fast? And Where's Erik and... And what's the fat guy's name anyway?"
"I don't know, eh," Max offered unhelpfully. It felt weird to be in a position where he had nothing of any substance to contribute, but that wasn't the primary concern now. Two members of their crew were missing, and that had to be solved. "I think we got broken up in the woods during the night. It's hard to see in that forest with no light."
Max glanced around the area, his brow furrowed and his eyes furiously working to pinpoint any movement in bushes and trees. He couldn't see anyone yet - no Erik, no other guy. "Ah well," Max said, attempting to lighten the mood, "at least they know where to find us."
He looked back up at the lighthouse, looming above them at the top of the hill like some sort of gothic fortress. "We should probably head up there. Get a better view and try and find the cameras."
"So good to see you... How that happened?" Mike asked in his broken English. "I lead the way, suddenly I turned back... And no one's there. What happened, why didn't you tell me I'm walking too fast? And Where's Erik and... And what's the fat guy's name anyway?"
"I don't know, eh," Max offered unhelpfully. It felt weird to be in a position where he had nothing of any substance to contribute, but that wasn't the primary concern now. Two members of their crew were missing, and that had to be solved. "I think we got broken up in the woods during the night. It's hard to see in that forest with no light."
Max glanced around the area, his brow furrowed and his eyes furiously working to pinpoint any movement in bushes and trees. He couldn't see anyone yet - no Erik, no other guy. "Ah well," Max said, attempting to lighten the mood, "at least they know where to find us."
He looked back up at the lighthouse, looming above them at the top of the hill like some sort of gothic fortress. "We should probably head up there. Get a better view and try and find the cameras."
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Killer_Moth†
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Quincy stalked towards his target, doing his best to keep low, quiet, and out of sight. He figured that he could grab him, see what information he had on Felicia, and get out. Hopefully, if he put on enough of a bluff, he'd get through at least one encounter without anybody trying to latch onto him.
Damn thing would be easier if he had a weapon, but he could bluff. Hopefully, whoever it was would be badly armed as well, or failing that, he would get enough of a jump on him and catch him unprepared. If he played his cards right, he could even get a decent weapon out of it. Yeah, make this a stick up job.
He was approaching the figure. Just then, he noticed a second person join him. Damn. This had to be the mike he was looking for. Oh well. Quince figured that on an even fight, he could easily take anybody in the school, and if he took one of them out in the first attack, then he could handle the survivor.
He steeled himself and jumped suddenly, aiming a fist at the first figure, letting loose a solid roundhouse blow at his head. Then, he steadied himself, turned to the second and said in his most menacing voice "Tell me where Felicia is!", hoping that the plan would come off as well as he had hoped.
Damn thing would be easier if he had a weapon, but he could bluff. Hopefully, whoever it was would be badly armed as well, or failing that, he would get enough of a jump on him and catch him unprepared. If he played his cards right, he could even get a decent weapon out of it. Yeah, make this a stick up job.
He was approaching the figure. Just then, he noticed a second person join him. Damn. This had to be the mike he was looking for. Oh well. Quince figured that on an even fight, he could easily take anybody in the school, and if he took one of them out in the first attack, then he could handle the survivor.
He steeled himself and jumped suddenly, aiming a fist at the first figure, letting loose a solid roundhouse blow at his head. Then, he steadied himself, turned to the second and said in his most menacing voice "Tell me where Felicia is!", hoping that the plan would come off as well as he had hoped.
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Yossarian†
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So, it turned out everyone got lost in those woods. On one hand, that was good, because that meant he wasn't the only one to fail, and for some reason it made him feel a bit better. On the other hand, they failed as a team. In theory, every single one of them could handle the job, but a good teamwork would make it much easier. Bad teamwork though, could only hamper their chances to get off the island. Just like in this case, as they could either lose Erik and Fatty completely, or they can wait for them and waste even more time.
As the explanation time was over, Max suggested checking out the lighthouse immediately. Mike felt a bit skeptic about this plan, at least not without some modifications.
"Yeah, and what if Erik and Codename: Fatass appear here as we will check this thing? They might think we decided to change the plan as the lighthouse became a Danger Zone, and just go away before we'll manage to get down."
Mike thought about it for a little while and came up with an idea.
"You know, and what if we would split up right now? You would not move a single inch from here, and wait here for the missing members of our team, while I'll be checking the lighthouse. That way we won't lose ourselves forever and we won't waste any-"
"MAX LOOK OUT!"
Mike spotted a nearby silhouette a second too late, and before Max could do anything, someone's fist punched him in the face.
What the hell? What was that all about?
The situation reminded Mike of the local jocks back in Poland, who were capable of beating the living crap out of someone, just because he had long hair, looked funny, made one unnecessary gesture, or simply because the jocks felt like it. While the attacker didn't look like one (no tracksuit or clean-shaved head), he definitely looked menacing. He wasn't taller than Mike, but his physical posture clearly told the world that he was a regular gym customer. Since his punch looked a bit more professional than a simple street-style, Mike assumed, the guy was a boxer.
And that was a terrible news for the Pole.
Sure, he trained capoeira for a few years already, but... Come on. Capoeira? Against boxing? Unless he will be able to trip the other guy's legs to take him down to the ground quickly, his face will become a bloody mess in a few seconds. Nevertheless, Mike had to at least try to defend himself. He quickly changed his position into a base capoeira stance, ready for a strike to dodge, but instead of making a follow up attack, the guy simply demanded some information about location of someone named Felicia. Obviously, Mike had absolutely no idea where was she, or even WHO the heck was that 'Felicia', so he said just that to the attacker.
"I don't know! I don't even know who is she! You could just ask without throwing your fists like that, you know?"
As the explanation time was over, Max suggested checking out the lighthouse immediately. Mike felt a bit skeptic about this plan, at least not without some modifications.
"Yeah, and what if Erik and Codename: Fatass appear here as we will check this thing? They might think we decided to change the plan as the lighthouse became a Danger Zone, and just go away before we'll manage to get down."
Mike thought about it for a little while and came up with an idea.
"You know, and what if we would split up right now? You would not move a single inch from here, and wait here for the missing members of our team, while I'll be checking the lighthouse. That way we won't lose ourselves forever and we won't waste any-"
"MAX LOOK OUT!"
Mike spotted a nearby silhouette a second too late, and before Max could do anything, someone's fist punched him in the face.
What the hell? What was that all about?
The situation reminded Mike of the local jocks back in Poland, who were capable of beating the living crap out of someone, just because he had long hair, looked funny, made one unnecessary gesture, or simply because the jocks felt like it. While the attacker didn't look like one (no tracksuit or clean-shaved head), he definitely looked menacing. He wasn't taller than Mike, but his physical posture clearly told the world that he was a regular gym customer. Since his punch looked a bit more professional than a simple street-style, Mike assumed, the guy was a boxer.
And that was a terrible news for the Pole.
Sure, he trained capoeira for a few years already, but... Come on. Capoeira? Against boxing? Unless he will be able to trip the other guy's legs to take him down to the ground quickly, his face will become a bloody mess in a few seconds. Nevertheless, Mike had to at least try to defend himself. He quickly changed his position into a base capoeira stance, ready for a strike to dodge, but instead of making a follow up attack, the guy simply demanded some information about location of someone named Felicia. Obviously, Mike had absolutely no idea where was she, or even WHO the heck was that 'Felicia', so he said just that to the attacker.
"I don't know! I don't even know who is she! You could just ask without throwing your fists like that, you know?"
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Pigeon Army†
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"Yeah, and what if Erik and Codename: Fatass appear here as we will check this thing? They might think we decided to change the plan as the lighthouse became a Danger Zone, and just go away before we'll manage to get down."
Max almost reprimanded Mike for his name for the pudgy boy, but it wasn't a concern right now - Mike had his heart in the right place, he was sure, he just had a problem expressing that. Instead, Max directed his energy towards the task at hand. "I guess I'll just stay down here."
Mike started talking, latching on to the idea and running with it. Max nodded along, letting the boy work it all out for himself before kicking into gear. It's not likeCRACK
Max toppled to the ground, his head colliding with the loose rocks. His golf club fell with him and feebly clattered across the earth, out of Max's reach. Both sides of his head were in immense pain, like his head had been forced into a vice that was being progressively tightened. His ears were ringing and his eyes were bleary, desperately looking for whatever had attacked him. Over the low hum of his ears, he could just make out a guy's voice, asking about 'Felicia'. Did he think they knew where she was? What could possibly make this complete stranger know that?
Max rolled onto his back, small globs of blood on the rocks marking where his head had just been. He had no idea where his weapon was, and he could just make out his assailant - it wasn't someone he recognised, which was peculiar. Max recognised almost everyone. He would have had to have gone out of his to not be recognisable.
"Look," Max said, his voice slightly slurred with the headache pounding through his head, "I don't know who you're looking for, but just get out of here, please. We don't know anything, so don't be a dick and just leave."
It was the first time Max had called anyone a dick in a good long while - not since 2007, at least. When he said it, the baggage of the word - the implications and the insinuations - clung to his teeth and reluctantly dribbled out with it. The word was loaded with scorn, years of disdain for people who tested his patience and made his job difficult for no reason other than that.
He was their representative. They elected him. They weren't meant to be like this. Difficult.
Max almost reprimanded Mike for his name for the pudgy boy, but it wasn't a concern right now - Mike had his heart in the right place, he was sure, he just had a problem expressing that. Instead, Max directed his energy towards the task at hand. "I guess I'll just stay down here."
Mike started talking, latching on to the idea and running with it. Max nodded along, letting the boy work it all out for himself before kicking into gear. It's not likeCRACK
Max toppled to the ground, his head colliding with the loose rocks. His golf club fell with him and feebly clattered across the earth, out of Max's reach. Both sides of his head were in immense pain, like his head had been forced into a vice that was being progressively tightened. His ears were ringing and his eyes were bleary, desperately looking for whatever had attacked him. Over the low hum of his ears, he could just make out a guy's voice, asking about 'Felicia'. Did he think they knew where she was? What could possibly make this complete stranger know that?
Max rolled onto his back, small globs of blood on the rocks marking where his head had just been. He had no idea where his weapon was, and he could just make out his assailant - it wasn't someone he recognised, which was peculiar. Max recognised almost everyone. He would have had to have gone out of his to not be recognisable.
"Look," Max said, his voice slightly slurred with the headache pounding through his head, "I don't know who you're looking for, but just get out of here, please. We don't know anything, so don't be a dick and just leave."
It was the first time Max had called anyone a dick in a good long while - not since 2007, at least. When he said it, the baggage of the word - the implications and the insinuations - clung to his teeth and reluctantly dribbled out with it. The word was loaded with scorn, years of disdain for people who tested his patience and made his job difficult for no reason other than that.
He was their representative. They elected him. They weren't meant to be like this. Difficult.
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Killer_Moth†
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The punch was solid, connected well. The first guy went down nicely. Good, that left just one to contend with. He'd be on his guard, but Quince knew it wasn't going to be a problem. He could close range and start punching before he could get any weapon out.
The second boy, Mike, had adopted a fighting stance, but it looked clumsy and nervous. Even better, the attack had shaken him, so he would be off balance. He was speaking in some kind of accent, Russian or German, something like that. Claiming he didn't know who Felicia was, never mind where.
The first boy, Not Mike, was lying on the ground, blood streaming from his head where he'd hit it against a rock. Nothing serious, but enough to put him out of action. Quince glanced down at him for a second, trying to keep his eyes on the more obvious opponent, and knew exactly what he would have to do. He went into full fight mode, up on the balls of his feet, and stepped nearer to the prone figure.
"Either you know where she is or you don't! If you don't tell me, you're useless! You know what's happening! Kill or be killed! I gotta take you guys out. Nothing personal." As he spoke, his voice descended from a shout to normal speech. His heart rate slowed. He'd half anticipated this moment since he'd arrived on the island, found out what was expected of them. The only shock was how easy it was.
He raised a foot up and brought it down sharply towards Not Mike's windpipe. He would leave it there until Not Mike was dead. Looking up at Mike, he gave the foreigner the only chance he would get. "Run."
The second boy, Mike, had adopted a fighting stance, but it looked clumsy and nervous. Even better, the attack had shaken him, so he would be off balance. He was speaking in some kind of accent, Russian or German, something like that. Claiming he didn't know who Felicia was, never mind where.
The first boy, Not Mike, was lying on the ground, blood streaming from his head where he'd hit it against a rock. Nothing serious, but enough to put him out of action. Quince glanced down at him for a second, trying to keep his eyes on the more obvious opponent, and knew exactly what he would have to do. He went into full fight mode, up on the balls of his feet, and stepped nearer to the prone figure.
"Either you know where she is or you don't! If you don't tell me, you're useless! You know what's happening! Kill or be killed! I gotta take you guys out. Nothing personal." As he spoke, his voice descended from a shout to normal speech. His heart rate slowed. He'd half anticipated this moment since he'd arrived on the island, found out what was expected of them. The only shock was how easy it was.
He raised a foot up and brought it down sharply towards Not Mike's windpipe. He would leave it there until Not Mike was dead. Looking up at Mike, he gave the foreigner the only chance he would get. "Run."
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
Son of a bitch!
Mike shuddered all over his body at the sight of a boot stomping on Max's windpipe. The situation was bad. Really, really bad. Never mind the difference between their strength. Mike was more terrified (although he did what he could to hide that feeling) by the fact, he's standings against a psycho. This guy could talk all day about 'kill or be killed' rule, and say things like 'nothing personal', but if he's willing to kill another person in cold blood - he's was psycho in Mike's eyes. And not that 'ax crazy' type, who is often beaten by his own craziness. No, this was a stone cold psycho, like a serial killer from some kind of a thriller. Extremely dangerous, unpredictable, but also unlikely to make a stupid mistake.
And then, Mike was given a choice. Run while he still could. A second later, a billion of contradicting thoughts crashed on the edge of Mike's mind, before they finally started flowing, and forming into an internal discussion.
-------
I need to run. I'm going to die if I won't.
No! I cannot just leave Max like that. He's my friend.
Screw him, I know him only for 2 days. He's not worth risking my life.
Then who is? If I won't save him, I won't be able to look anyone in the eyes ever again.
At least I will be able to see anything. I will be alive.
Living in shame, full of regrets.
Fuck, this guy is much stronger than me.
He's also out of balance, due to stepping on a moving person right now. I can take him down now.
But if that won't work...
Game over, man.
-------
Mike made quick dash forward, and made an attempt to trap the attacker's leg (the one standing on the ground) between his own two. If that would work, the only thing left to do, would be to go down, support his falling body with one hand, and bent his legs to make the enemy lose his balance and fall to the ground with Mike. If all would work well, Mike would had the upper hand, as he probably knew a few more tricks about fighting on the ground than an average boxer.
The plan was good and really well though for an amount of time it was created in. It had one con though. A serious one.
Too many 'if's.
Mike shuddered all over his body at the sight of a boot stomping on Max's windpipe. The situation was bad. Really, really bad. Never mind the difference between their strength. Mike was more terrified (although he did what he could to hide that feeling) by the fact, he's standings against a psycho. This guy could talk all day about 'kill or be killed' rule, and say things like 'nothing personal', but if he's willing to kill another person in cold blood - he's was psycho in Mike's eyes. And not that 'ax crazy' type, who is often beaten by his own craziness. No, this was a stone cold psycho, like a serial killer from some kind of a thriller. Extremely dangerous, unpredictable, but also unlikely to make a stupid mistake.
And then, Mike was given a choice. Run while he still could. A second later, a billion of contradicting thoughts crashed on the edge of Mike's mind, before they finally started flowing, and forming into an internal discussion.
-------
I need to run. I'm going to die if I won't.
No! I cannot just leave Max like that. He's my friend.
Screw him, I know him only for 2 days. He's not worth risking my life.
Then who is? If I won't save him, I won't be able to look anyone in the eyes ever again.
At least I will be able to see anything. I will be alive.
Living in shame, full of regrets.
Fuck, this guy is much stronger than me.
He's also out of balance, due to stepping on a moving person right now. I can take him down now.
But if that won't work...
Game over, man.
......
......
......
......
......
......
......
......
Fuck it...
......
......
......
......
......
......
......
Fuck it...
-------
Mike made quick dash forward, and made an attempt to trap the attacker's leg (the one standing on the ground) between his own two. If that would work, the only thing left to do, would be to go down, support his falling body with one hand, and bent his legs to make the enemy lose his balance and fall to the ground with Mike. If all would work well, Mike would had the upper hand, as he probably knew a few more tricks about fighting on the ground than an average boxer.
The plan was good and really well though for an amount of time it was created in. It had one con though. A serious one.
Too many 'if's.
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Pigeon Army†
- Posts: 232
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:17 am
"Either you know where she is or you don't! If you don't tell me, you're useless! You know what's happening! Kill or be killed! I gotta take you guys out. Nothing personal."
He doesn't even care.
He doesn't even care.
Violence had long been a last resort for the old and the stupid. This was a stance Max had doggedly maintained throughout his life, even in the face of his gun-mad uncle trying to take him out on hunting trips in order to "make him a ma-yun." In an environment where you were still building relationships and learning how to interact with everyone, violence was unnecessary - indeed, even harmful in the long run. Max had been pushing this line every day of his presidency at Bayview. Hell, that was the reason he'd started several anti-bullying initiatives at Bayview, to ensure that none of this pointless bickering escalated into something more aggressive.
As the large boy started panicking, babbling on about how he had to 'take them out', it struck Max that all of it had been for nothing.
It hadn't been easy to ignore the announcements, but Max had found himself, time and again, rationalising that it wasn't really happening - Danya was just playing with them, or they were simply in an extended trust exercise, or something like that. Now, though, the fruit of Danya's womb was allive and kicking right in front of him. A student had lost his mind to the pretenses of terrorism. It was heartbreaking, both in the boy's genuine concern for the girl being twisted in such a way, and in how it revealed to Max just how transient, how temporary all of his work had been. Nobody would have remembered his anti-bullying initiatives come university; nobody would have remembered the Student Council President who made their years at Bayview all possible. The first sign of freedom, they were gone. He had never made an impact.
Then, without warning, the large boy's boot came crashing down on his neck.
Max wasn't a doctor, but if you had asked him what would happen if someone stomped on your windpipe, he would have guessed that it would kill you pretty much instantaneously.
Max wasn't a doctor, though.
The force of the boot crushed his fragile trachea, and all of a sudden Max's laboured breathing turned into sharp, futile gasps for air. Nothing was going in, and everything was leaking out. Every second was a second Max was moving closer to death. His hands scrabbled for something, anything, to get the boy's boot of his foot, but that too became futile fast, his hands doing little more than flapping, appropriately, like fish out of water.
Max's eyes bulged. Was it with realization of what was happening, or with a lack of oxygen? Who knew. Max had no time for pontificating on minutiae. All he had time to do was regret. Regret that he'd never told his parents what they meant to him before he left. Regret that he'd never seen his friends since the bus trip. Regret that he'd spent all these years trying to help his fellow student, only to have it thrown back in his face.
Regret that he hadn't gotten up sooner.
Max let out a final, harsh gasp, and stopped regretting.
B097 - MAX NEILL: DECEASED.
He doesn't even care.
He doesn't even care.
Violence had long been a last resort for the old and the stupid. This was a stance Max had doggedly maintained throughout his life, even in the face of his gun-mad uncle trying to take him out on hunting trips in order to "make him a ma-yun." In an environment where you were still building relationships and learning how to interact with everyone, violence was unnecessary - indeed, even harmful in the long run. Max had been pushing this line every day of his presidency at Bayview. Hell, that was the reason he'd started several anti-bullying initiatives at Bayview, to ensure that none of this pointless bickering escalated into something more aggressive.
As the large boy started panicking, babbling on about how he had to 'take them out', it struck Max that all of it had been for nothing.
It hadn't been easy to ignore the announcements, but Max had found himself, time and again, rationalising that it wasn't really happening - Danya was just playing with them, or they were simply in an extended trust exercise, or something like that. Now, though, the fruit of Danya's womb was allive and kicking right in front of him. A student had lost his mind to the pretenses of terrorism. It was heartbreaking, both in the boy's genuine concern for the girl being twisted in such a way, and in how it revealed to Max just how transient, how temporary all of his work had been. Nobody would have remembered his anti-bullying initiatives come university; nobody would have remembered the Student Council President who made their years at Bayview all possible. The first sign of freedom, they were gone. He had never made an impact.
Then, without warning, the large boy's boot came crashing down on his neck.
Max wasn't a doctor, but if you had asked him what would happen if someone stomped on your windpipe, he would have guessed that it would kill you pretty much instantaneously.
Max wasn't a doctor, though.
The force of the boot crushed his fragile trachea, and all of a sudden Max's laboured breathing turned into sharp, futile gasps for air. Nothing was going in, and everything was leaking out. Every second was a second Max was moving closer to death. His hands scrabbled for something, anything, to get the boy's boot of his foot, but that too became futile fast, his hands doing little more than flapping, appropriately, like fish out of water.
Max's eyes bulged. Was it with realization of what was happening, or with a lack of oxygen? Who knew. Max had no time for pontificating on minutiae. All he had time to do was regret. Regret that he'd never told his parents what they meant to him before he left. Regret that he'd never seen his friends since the bus trip. Regret that he'd spent all these years trying to help his fellow student, only to have it thrown back in his face.
Regret that he hadn't gotten up sooner.
Max let out a final, harsh gasp, and stopped regretting.
B097 - MAX NEILL: DECEASED.
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Killer_Moth†
- Posts: 259
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 8:22 am
((All GMing pre-approved))
Shit. Mike made a move for him, going for his legs. If he'd had both feet on solid ground, then he could probably have dodged it. Mike was good, but telegraphed his moves, and they were too flashy to be much use in a real fight, but they were good enough to throw Quince. He felt the other boys legs around his own, and his knee buckled. His other foot pushing down on Not Mike's throat (had he stopped breathing?), didn't supply enough balance, and he tumbled.
He rolled with the fall, enough to keep him from any serious injury, but still ended up on his back. He rolled a little to get away from his first victim, allowing himself some freedom. Normally, he wasn't used to having to fight from down here. When boxing, the fight stopped to allow him to get back up, or to let the count go. Now he was fighting on a different plane, more akin to the roughhousing he had done with his brother, or the all out brawling he'd done on the schoolyard.
He was half clambered up as Mike came towards him again, his arm heading towards Quincy's head. Given their current positions, it had a good chance to connect. That wouldn't do. He threw his body round to the left, bringing his right fist in a wide arc to connect with where he anticipated Mike's head to be. The blow connected well and solidly. About time he got a break in this fight.
As Mike staggered, Quince got back to his feet swiftly. The other boy was dazed by the blow. Good, this gave Quince the best opportunity he had at the moment. He danced round his opponent and aimed a few jabs at the back of his head. Mike was already dazed, and the new blows sent him sprawling. He lay prone at Quincy's feet, blood trickling from a wound in his head. Quince looked down at him, finished, breathing heavily. "I told you to run."
There was no point in staying here much longer. He quickly surveyed the area, noticed a golf club lying nearby. Good, this was something he could use in future. He picked it up. There was little point in raiding the bags, anything useful he already had, and didn't want to be weighed down. Now it was time to get back to Tiffany, make sure that she was ok. And if he met anybody else, they'd be in for a fight too.
((Quincy Jones returns to his regularly scheduled programming in Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows...))
Shit. Mike made a move for him, going for his legs. If he'd had both feet on solid ground, then he could probably have dodged it. Mike was good, but telegraphed his moves, and they were too flashy to be much use in a real fight, but they were good enough to throw Quince. He felt the other boys legs around his own, and his knee buckled. His other foot pushing down on Not Mike's throat (had he stopped breathing?), didn't supply enough balance, and he tumbled.
He rolled with the fall, enough to keep him from any serious injury, but still ended up on his back. He rolled a little to get away from his first victim, allowing himself some freedom. Normally, he wasn't used to having to fight from down here. When boxing, the fight stopped to allow him to get back up, or to let the count go. Now he was fighting on a different plane, more akin to the roughhousing he had done with his brother, or the all out brawling he'd done on the schoolyard.
He was half clambered up as Mike came towards him again, his arm heading towards Quincy's head. Given their current positions, it had a good chance to connect. That wouldn't do. He threw his body round to the left, bringing his right fist in a wide arc to connect with where he anticipated Mike's head to be. The blow connected well and solidly. About time he got a break in this fight.
As Mike staggered, Quince got back to his feet swiftly. The other boy was dazed by the blow. Good, this gave Quince the best opportunity he had at the moment. He danced round his opponent and aimed a few jabs at the back of his head. Mike was already dazed, and the new blows sent him sprawling. He lay prone at Quincy's feet, blood trickling from a wound in his head. Quince looked down at him, finished, breathing heavily. "I told you to run."
There was no point in staying here much longer. He quickly surveyed the area, noticed a golf club lying nearby. Good, this was something he could use in future. He picked it up. There was little point in raiding the bags, anything useful he already had, and didn't want to be weighed down. Now it was time to get back to Tiffany, make sure that she was ok. And if he met anybody else, they'd be in for a fight too.
((Quincy Jones returns to his regularly scheduled programming in Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows...))
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
((Timothy Skula continued from Come and See))
Timothy was not known for being the fastest person in Bayview. As the gang walked towards the lighthouse, Timothy was starting to lag behind. It wasn't his fault that he was carrying more weight than everyone else. He was just big-boned after all! He tried to say something but the fucking Pole wasn't listening. He seriously did want to catch up, his plan relied on these dudes.
By the time the first day had ended, he had lost all three of the jocks. Why were they always faster than him? He tried his hardest...sorta...and he didn't get anything. He was never as fast as those assholes. He couldn't even catch up with them while they were walking.
"This fucking sucks."
Timothy's already terrible day got worse when that lame-ass Mr.Danya's rang out through the island. He really was like Jigsaw and the Jokers' illegitimate offspring. He gleefully listed off all the people that had died under his sick little game. Not to mention all those crazy fucks that had started to play. It was all getting real now. He really did have to get his ass off the island, he could be next!
The one piece of good news that he found was that the lighthouse was a danger zone. If anything, that bought him some time to catch up to the jocks, it wasn't like they would be changing plans, they were all dead set on that idea, they wouldn't be letting a danger zone stop them. They'd just wait a day! And that day would be all he needed to catch up.
The trip was mostly uneventful, he managed a little shut-eye and ate some more of that crappy bread before making his way over. He didn't run into any killers though, so Timothy counted his lucky stars
He was almost there on the third day and once again the fat-ass that kidnapped them all listed off more names. That made it what? Forty? Fifty? Timothy shuddered at the thought. He hoped that the others were alright, if only so that he could get off this hell hole!
It was then when he saw some guy dart past him as fast as he possibly could. He blinked for a moment trying to place a name and a face, but it didn't stick. He wasn't concerned though, he wasn't part of their group so what did it matter? He had his meal ticket to look out for.
He climbed up the hill and for once, he was held speechless...
Max and Mike were lying down on the ground. Max wasn't moving and he could hear a groan from Mike.
Reality was starting to kick in again, and a panic filled his voice.
"Oh my god. Mike? Max? Are you alright? Speak to me dudes! C'mon speak to me!"
Timothy was not known for being the fastest person in Bayview. As the gang walked towards the lighthouse, Timothy was starting to lag behind. It wasn't his fault that he was carrying more weight than everyone else. He was just big-boned after all! He tried to say something but the fucking Pole wasn't listening. He seriously did want to catch up, his plan relied on these dudes.
By the time the first day had ended, he had lost all three of the jocks. Why were they always faster than him? He tried his hardest...sorta...and he didn't get anything. He was never as fast as those assholes. He couldn't even catch up with them while they were walking.
"This fucking sucks."
Timothy's already terrible day got worse when that lame-ass Mr.Danya's rang out through the island. He really was like Jigsaw and the Jokers' illegitimate offspring. He gleefully listed off all the people that had died under his sick little game. Not to mention all those crazy fucks that had started to play. It was all getting real now. He really did have to get his ass off the island, he could be next!
The one piece of good news that he found was that the lighthouse was a danger zone. If anything, that bought him some time to catch up to the jocks, it wasn't like they would be changing plans, they were all dead set on that idea, they wouldn't be letting a danger zone stop them. They'd just wait a day! And that day would be all he needed to catch up.
The trip was mostly uneventful, he managed a little shut-eye and ate some more of that crappy bread before making his way over. He didn't run into any killers though, so Timothy counted his lucky stars
He was almost there on the third day and once again the fat-ass that kidnapped them all listed off more names. That made it what? Forty? Fifty? Timothy shuddered at the thought. He hoped that the others were alright, if only so that he could get off this hell hole!
It was then when he saw some guy dart past him as fast as he possibly could. He blinked for a moment trying to place a name and a face, but it didn't stick. He wasn't concerned though, he wasn't part of their group so what did it matter? He had his meal ticket to look out for.
He climbed up the hill and for once, he was held speechless...
Max and Mike were lying down on the ground. Max wasn't moving and he could hear a groan from Mike.
Reality was starting to kick in again, and a panic filled his voice.
"Oh my god. Mike? Max? Are you alright? Speak to me dudes! C'mon speak to me!"
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Yossarian†
- Posts: 182
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 4:35 am
The first part of the plan worked surprisingly well. Mike always feared, that all the techniques he perfected during the years of practice will turn out to be pretty much useless in any future combat situation, when the opponent wont be constantly changing his body's balance like in Capoeira. Anyway, the guy went down, and now Mike got the chance to make a follow up. He could do several things he learned from his instructor: Ground & Pound, armbar, maybe even chokehold. Whichever the option he should pick, Mike had to close the distance between him and the aggressive guy and-
*WHOOP*
Mike, concerned too much about his own action, failed to spot the right hook coming right at him. The blow coming from the ground didn't pack as much power as the normal one, but it was still enough to stagger him for a few seconds of additional beating. He noticed the blurry shape changing position, and then he felt a barrage of shots coming at the back of his head. Unable to do anything, Mike just fell on the ground and lost the contact with the Earth for a while.
---
"Oh m... Mike? ...ou alri.... peak... ...es! C'mon eak... ...e!"
Mike groaned in response to the words he could barely hear. He felt a terrible pain in his head, but that was a good thing. That meant he was still alive at least. He touched the back of his head to check the injury, and quickly learned that it was a terrible idea. He hissed in pain, and completely forgot for a while to keep speaking in English.
"Aua... Boli. Boli. O kurwa, ale boli..."
After a bit of a struggle, the Pole finally opened his eyes to see the exact same rocky area around the lighthouse. He also noticed his bag lying nearby and someone's feet. As he looked a bit up, he recognized the fat guy from his group.
"Tabletki przeciwbólowe..." He mumbled. "Są w plecaku, podasz mi je?"
Thanks to the clearly confused (and scared) face of the fat guy, Mike finally realized he was speaking in a completely alien language for everyone else on the island.
"Uhm... Sorry. I meant... Painkillers. They're in the bag. Can you give them to me? My head hurts like a bitch."
And then it came to him, why he was beaten up in the first place. Before the fatty could do any move, he quickly stood up, forgetting about the pain for a few seconds, and grabbed the shirt of his companion.
"Oh my God! That guy... Attacked us for no good reason at all. We tried to put up a fight, but... Max? What's with Max? Is he alive?"
Mike knew the answer was lying just behind his back, but he was just too scared to look there.
*WHOOP*
Mike, concerned too much about his own action, failed to spot the right hook coming right at him. The blow coming from the ground didn't pack as much power as the normal one, but it was still enough to stagger him for a few seconds of additional beating. He noticed the blurry shape changing position, and then he felt a barrage of shots coming at the back of his head. Unable to do anything, Mike just fell on the ground and lost the contact with the Earth for a while.
---
"Oh m... Mike? ...ou alri.... peak... ...es! C'mon eak... ...e!"
Mike groaned in response to the words he could barely hear. He felt a terrible pain in his head, but that was a good thing. That meant he was still alive at least. He touched the back of his head to check the injury, and quickly learned that it was a terrible idea. He hissed in pain, and completely forgot for a while to keep speaking in English.
"Aua... Boli. Boli. O kurwa, ale boli..."
After a bit of a struggle, the Pole finally opened his eyes to see the exact same rocky area around the lighthouse. He also noticed his bag lying nearby and someone's feet. As he looked a bit up, he recognized the fat guy from his group.
"Tabletki przeciwbólowe..." He mumbled. "Są w plecaku, podasz mi je?"
Thanks to the clearly confused (and scared) face of the fat guy, Mike finally realized he was speaking in a completely alien language for everyone else on the island.
"Uhm... Sorry. I meant... Painkillers. They're in the bag. Can you give them to me? My head hurts like a bitch."
And then it came to him, why he was beaten up in the first place. Before the fatty could do any move, he quickly stood up, forgetting about the pain for a few seconds, and grabbed the shirt of his companion.
"Oh my God! That guy... Attacked us for no good reason at all. We tried to put up a fight, but... Max? What's with Max? Is he alive?"
Mike knew the answer was lying just behind his back, but he was just too scared to look there.
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GregTheAnti-Viking†
- Posts: 267
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 6:10 am
Timothy began to breath rappidly. His hands began to quiver and he was babbling something that even he didn't know what he was saying. The Polish kid still had his eyes closed and wasn't moving. Blood was trickling out of his face and running down his cheek.
Mike was mumbling in a language that he didn't understand. Was it Polish? Was it German? Was is gibberish? How the hell should he know!
"Dude, speaking fucking English man! Are you ok?"
He finally began to open his eyes however and Timothy could feel the rush of air coming out of his lungs. The dude was alive! His chance out was still alive! Thank the lord!
Timothy couldn't hide the supid grin on his face. The dude was alive! The dude was alive! He asked for painkilles, they were in his bag. Where was his bag? He whipped his head back and forth and finally found the bag thrown on the ground. He zipped it open and rifled through his bag until he found a clear baggy with a lone pill inside of it. That was a painkiller right? Why would their be only one though? Was the athletic dude some sort of junky? None of that mattered now though. He had to check that Max dude next or else they weren't going to get out of here.
"Dude here's a pill for you," he said, tossing the baggie over to his body, "I'll check on Max."
He ran past his companion and looked over the political wannabe. He looked terrible; his face was bloodied and his neck was red.
"Max! Dude! Max wake up! You okay bro?"
Timothy knelt down and tapped his face trying to get him to wake up. But it wasn't working. The fear was starting to creap into his stomach once again. He wanted to get out of here. They wanted to get out of here!
"Max! Speak to me dude! I'm not fucking kidding! Wake up!"
Mike was mumbling in a language that he didn't understand. Was it Polish? Was it German? Was is gibberish? How the hell should he know!
"Dude, speaking fucking English man! Are you ok?"
He finally began to open his eyes however and Timothy could feel the rush of air coming out of his lungs. The dude was alive! His chance out was still alive! Thank the lord!
Timothy couldn't hide the supid grin on his face. The dude was alive! The dude was alive! He asked for painkilles, they were in his bag. Where was his bag? He whipped his head back and forth and finally found the bag thrown on the ground. He zipped it open and rifled through his bag until he found a clear baggy with a lone pill inside of it. That was a painkiller right? Why would their be only one though? Was the athletic dude some sort of junky? None of that mattered now though. He had to check that Max dude next or else they weren't going to get out of here.
"Dude here's a pill for you," he said, tossing the baggie over to his body, "I'll check on Max."
He ran past his companion and looked over the political wannabe. He looked terrible; his face was bloodied and his neck was red.
"Max! Dude! Max wake up! You okay bro?"
Timothy knelt down and tapped his face trying to get him to wake up. But it wasn't working. The fear was starting to creap into his stomach once again. He wanted to get out of here. They wanted to get out of here!
"Max! Speak to me dude! I'm not fucking kidding! Wake up!"
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