((Continued from: The Dead Ought Sleep Forever))
Ever since tearing away from the badlands surrounding the mansion on the southern portion of the island, Sera Wingfield had travelled without destination nor purpose. She didn't know where she was going, how she was going to get there, or what she was going to do when she arrived, but the one thing that she did know was that it was statistically harder to hit a moving object. Somehow or another, she had maneuvered her way through the darkness and wound up in the dirt driveway of an old ranchhouse at the base of a small mountain range.
Besides the audible chirping of crickets and the occassional hoot of an owl nestled in a nearby tree, the place around her was almost eerily silent. Her footsteps seemed to echo out into the night, the loud crunch of shoes against dirt and rock throbbing in her ears every time she moved.
Somebody like Sera Wingfield didn't get scared very often, but the entire premise of this "game" was absolutely horrifying. Each creak was a monster waiting to lunge, the rustling of leaves signified a killer in the bushes. It was a sensory overload, and it was all just too much. During the waking hours of this game, Sera had been far too perplexed by the entire ordeal to fully realize what was going on. Now, perplexed wasn't even the word.
Sera was genuinely afraid. Wide eyes scanned the area in front of her over and over, searching for something she'd missed before. Her imagination was running wild with the sounds of the outdoors, and even the wind rustling through the trees sent a chill up her spine. It hadn't been so bad in the daylight. At least when it was light outside, she could see what horrors the island held. Now, they were covered in a veil of darkness, and that fact made this game in and of itself all the more sinister.
Behind her, the bushes rustled slightly, causing the blonde-headed girl to spin around, her designated flail at the ready for whatever might pop out.
"Who's there?" she inquired shakily.
Almost to her relief, the only response her call got was the mewl of a stray tomcat climbing out of the bushes. She eyed the ragged creature disgustedly, but in a game like this, a mangy cat was a lot better than any alternative could have been. Turning her back on the cat that continued its cries of hunger, Sera began her approach toward the seemingly empty house. Every few moments, the blonde would turn around, searching in the darkness for somebody... anybody. Part of her wanted to find somebody... another member of the living. Then again, Sera couldn't help but think that unless she found somebody trustworthy... somebody like Ali or Carmen... that the first person she encountered might be her last.
Silence and Solitude
Open to Anybody
Silence and Solitude
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
((Continued from The Sands of Time))
As Adam blasted his way through the brush, his mind raced as quickly as his feet were. In a contest, one might think that Adam were a rather well-coordinated individual, especially if one could gauge how quickly a person were to think.
Of course, there was no possible way that anyone could know that, so to any kind of common observer, Adam Amato was simply motoring through the forest, taking very little care or heed to the branches that were in front of him. Ever since he'd left the church, Adam's adrenaline had been running fast, and hard.
There are so many people on this island who just wanna fuckin' kill each other and willingly submit in to this, but where the fuck are the people who want to get out? Where is everyone who's saying 'fuck this and everything that it stands for'? I'm so fucking torn. If everyone seems to be half-bent on playing this sick game, then what the fuck am I doing? Do I let myself fall into things, and play to survive, or just become Mr. Avoidance?
Letting his eyes glance down onto the pistol that he held clenched in his hand, Adam found that he hadn't really taken time to study it all that much. Sure, he'd seen that it had a scope, and could likely fire at long distances, but he hadn't really taken a good look at it to see what it was capable of. He found himself thinking that he'd probably want to do that before he got any real use out of it.
IF I even get any real use from it...if I even fuckin' want to...
Frowning, Adam saw that he was approaching a bit of a clearing. While he couldn't see what was behind the bushes, he didn't pay it much thought, and simply picked up speed and clomped even quicker towards the clearing, sending a few small animals scurrying for cover. As he erupted from the bushes, Adam immediately regretted his impulse, as it seemed that he wasn't alone. As he landed, he immediately backpedalled, his weapon coming up and pointing at the lone figure that lingered in front of him. As she turned to see him coming, Adam instinctively pointed his pistol at her and screamed a direction that amazed even him.
"FUCKING STOP RIGHT THERE!"
Taking a big gulp, Adam's heart raced as he held the pistol steadily aimed at the girl in front of him. She didn't appear to be a threat - though, how would he know who was and who wasn't? These were his peers, any friend could be waiting to kill him.
As his mind took hold and he realized what he was doing, he cursed and quickly lowered the weapon, looking at it as though it had a mind of it's own. Holding up a hand at the girl, as though he were telling her to stop, Adam spit out an apology.
"Fuck, I...I'm sorry. I'm a little jumpy. Shit...look, I'm not playing this fucking game, okay? I just...fuck, I don't know who's out to kill me and who isn't, you know?"
Shivering a little bit, Adam looked at the obviously surprised girl and waited for her to say something. Anything would do.
As Adam blasted his way through the brush, his mind raced as quickly as his feet were. In a contest, one might think that Adam were a rather well-coordinated individual, especially if one could gauge how quickly a person were to think.
Of course, there was no possible way that anyone could know that, so to any kind of common observer, Adam Amato was simply motoring through the forest, taking very little care or heed to the branches that were in front of him. Ever since he'd left the church, Adam's adrenaline had been running fast, and hard.
There are so many people on this island who just wanna fuckin' kill each other and willingly submit in to this, but where the fuck are the people who want to get out? Where is everyone who's saying 'fuck this and everything that it stands for'? I'm so fucking torn. If everyone seems to be half-bent on playing this sick game, then what the fuck am I doing? Do I let myself fall into things, and play to survive, or just become Mr. Avoidance?
Letting his eyes glance down onto the pistol that he held clenched in his hand, Adam found that he hadn't really taken time to study it all that much. Sure, he'd seen that it had a scope, and could likely fire at long distances, but he hadn't really taken a good look at it to see what it was capable of. He found himself thinking that he'd probably want to do that before he got any real use out of it.
IF I even get any real use from it...if I even fuckin' want to...
Frowning, Adam saw that he was approaching a bit of a clearing. While he couldn't see what was behind the bushes, he didn't pay it much thought, and simply picked up speed and clomped even quicker towards the clearing, sending a few small animals scurrying for cover. As he erupted from the bushes, Adam immediately regretted his impulse, as it seemed that he wasn't alone. As he landed, he immediately backpedalled, his weapon coming up and pointing at the lone figure that lingered in front of him. As she turned to see him coming, Adam instinctively pointed his pistol at her and screamed a direction that amazed even him.
"FUCKING STOP RIGHT THERE!"
Taking a big gulp, Adam's heart raced as he held the pistol steadily aimed at the girl in front of him. She didn't appear to be a threat - though, how would he know who was and who wasn't? These were his peers, any friend could be waiting to kill him.
As his mind took hold and he realized what he was doing, he cursed and quickly lowered the weapon, looking at it as though it had a mind of it's own. Holding up a hand at the girl, as though he were telling her to stop, Adam spit out an apology.
"Fuck, I...I'm sorry. I'm a little jumpy. Shit...look, I'm not playing this fucking game, okay? I just...fuck, I don't know who's out to kill me and who isn't, you know?"
Shivering a little bit, Adam looked at the obviously surprised girl and waited for her to say something. Anything would do.
The silence that the abandoned ranchhouse offered was quickly decimated by the sound of running feet, causing Sera to spin around and glance in the direction from which the noise was coming. Much to her horror, the moment she turned to look, a figure burst from the underbrush surrounding the ranch, brandishing a gun.
"FUCKING STOP RIGHT THERE!"
She normally wasn't one to follow orders, or do something just because someone else said to, but this guy was holding a gun and didn't look like he was just messing around. She still held the flail in her hand, staring almost blankly at him as he barked the order toward her. They say that during times of intense crisis, this little thing called a fight or flight instinct was supposed to kick in. It didn't. Instead, Sera simply stood there, her eyes wide as saucers, staring at the indvidual who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
Just as quickly as he had burst from the bushes and pointed his weapon at her, he lowered it to the ground and suddenly spat out an apology. Sera simply didn't know how to react to the circumstance she found herself in. Instead, she just continued to stare at the young man, half dumb-founded at the entire scenario. Had he been hostile, she'd surely have been dead by now, but at this point, she wasn't thinking about that.
"Um..."
Great, I'm dealing with bi-polar boy. He goes from a raving lunatic to a snivelling coward... just my luck.
It wasn't often that Sera Wingfield was speechless. This, however, was an exception. Sera continued to stare at the other individual, and couldn't help but find it almost humorous that somebody of this boy's stature and physique found her physically imposing in the slightest. She had been paranoid from the start of the game, but honestly... what could she possibly do to this boy? He probably had a good fifty, probably more like seventy-five pounds on her, and he was wielding a gun. She looked toward the flail in her hand, then back to the boy, and actually cracked a smile, then began laughing.
Is he serious?
"And how, pray tell, am I going to kill you?" she inquired lightly, "With this? All five feet of me is going to come over there and knock you in the head with... with this? Even if you're a horrible shot, I think you'd manage to hit me at least once before I got that far... and if not... well, I'm pretty sure you could break me in half, so taking this thing away probably wouldn't be too much of a problem."
Sera continued to laugh. She knew it wasn't appropriate, and that it was probably sending the wrong signal to not just this person, but anyone nearby. Still, she couldn't help but find the situation somewhat funny. The entire scenario had been awkward at best, and any sense of pretense that Sera might've put up had been shot down when he'd terrified her out of her wits only moments before. Now, she just looked at him, and occassionally back to the flail, finding it hysterical that somebody so much bigger than her could actually find her intimidating.
"This is all so stupid," she stated, the grin never leaving her lips, "I can't believe people are buying into this, you know? It's really, really lame. This contest is getting to people and making them all weird and paranoid. My God, look at you. You're scared... of me."
After a moment, her laughter subsided, and the grin, too, eventually faded away. What else could she even say about this "program"? Perhaps she should've been a bit more careful. In a way, she was standing there making fun of the not-so-stable boy that just happened to have a gun. It wasn't wise on her part, but Sera simply relied on the assumption that her small frame and looks would probably put this boy at ease. It worked for others, why should this one be any different. It was only then that another thought occurred to her.
"Sorry," she stated simply in an attempt at apologizing for her behavior, "Who ARE you anyway?"
She knew everyone at Bathurst High School. Everyone. Sera eyed the boy up and down once again in an attempt to assess him, but it wasn't ringing any bells. He wasn't a bad looking boy by any means. He seemed to be in quite good shape, almost as if he were tailor-made for sports, so surely he participated in athletics. Still, there was nothing but a big gap where the boy's name should be. She could only surmise that he didn't go to Bathurst. So then... what did that mean?
"FUCKING STOP RIGHT THERE!"
She normally wasn't one to follow orders, or do something just because someone else said to, but this guy was holding a gun and didn't look like he was just messing around. She still held the flail in her hand, staring almost blankly at him as he barked the order toward her. They say that during times of intense crisis, this little thing called a fight or flight instinct was supposed to kick in. It didn't. Instead, Sera simply stood there, her eyes wide as saucers, staring at the indvidual who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
Just as quickly as he had burst from the bushes and pointed his weapon at her, he lowered it to the ground and suddenly spat out an apology. Sera simply didn't know how to react to the circumstance she found herself in. Instead, she just continued to stare at the young man, half dumb-founded at the entire scenario. Had he been hostile, she'd surely have been dead by now, but at this point, she wasn't thinking about that.
"Um..."
Great, I'm dealing with bi-polar boy. He goes from a raving lunatic to a snivelling coward... just my luck.
It wasn't often that Sera Wingfield was speechless. This, however, was an exception. Sera continued to stare at the other individual, and couldn't help but find it almost humorous that somebody of this boy's stature and physique found her physically imposing in the slightest. She had been paranoid from the start of the game, but honestly... what could she possibly do to this boy? He probably had a good fifty, probably more like seventy-five pounds on her, and he was wielding a gun. She looked toward the flail in her hand, then back to the boy, and actually cracked a smile, then began laughing.
Is he serious?
"And how, pray tell, am I going to kill you?" she inquired lightly, "With this? All five feet of me is going to come over there and knock you in the head with... with this? Even if you're a horrible shot, I think you'd manage to hit me at least once before I got that far... and if not... well, I'm pretty sure you could break me in half, so taking this thing away probably wouldn't be too much of a problem."
Sera continued to laugh. She knew it wasn't appropriate, and that it was probably sending the wrong signal to not just this person, but anyone nearby. Still, she couldn't help but find the situation somewhat funny. The entire scenario had been awkward at best, and any sense of pretense that Sera might've put up had been shot down when he'd terrified her out of her wits only moments before. Now, she just looked at him, and occassionally back to the flail, finding it hysterical that somebody so much bigger than her could actually find her intimidating.
"This is all so stupid," she stated, the grin never leaving her lips, "I can't believe people are buying into this, you know? It's really, really lame. This contest is getting to people and making them all weird and paranoid. My God, look at you. You're scared... of me."
After a moment, her laughter subsided, and the grin, too, eventually faded away. What else could she even say about this "program"? Perhaps she should've been a bit more careful. In a way, she was standing there making fun of the not-so-stable boy that just happened to have a gun. It wasn't wise on her part, but Sera simply relied on the assumption that her small frame and looks would probably put this boy at ease. It worked for others, why should this one be any different. It was only then that another thought occurred to her.
"Sorry," she stated simply in an attempt at apologizing for her behavior, "Who ARE you anyway?"
She knew everyone at Bathurst High School. Everyone. Sera eyed the boy up and down once again in an attempt to assess him, but it wasn't ringing any bells. He wasn't a bad looking boy by any means. He seemed to be in quite good shape, almost as if he were tailor-made for sports, so surely he participated in athletics. Still, there was nothing but a big gap where the boy's name should be. She could only surmise that he didn't go to Bathurst. So then... what did that mean?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
((Continued from Where Rationale Means Little and Life Means a Lot))
"I believe that he is the man who is going to relieve control of his firearm and you are the exquisite young woman who will simply either a.) Smile as she runs away or b.) Screams as she runs away and no you cannot pass go and I would prefer if you do NOT collect 200 dollars." Brandon said calmly, he was coming from the southern side of the island so one would assume he had been moving rather quickly, although to be honest he had made sure to include a few pages of notes –including a deep in-depth analysis of his own odds are with the gun (even going so far as to fire three shots about two miles from this destination and then cut down the range of said shots by 25% and he assumed that was his range, said range was only about 30 yards, but hopefully it would be fine, he had committed Danya's Saiga-12 guide to memory) and had decided that as of right now he could make use of the gun in ways that Jonathan Michaels could not, he would play SOTF in a way that would surprise many, he would play it via intelligence.
About five minutes ago he had wrote another chapter in his SOTF book and in that chapter, it's title was the difficulty in gaining partners and playing an honest game without inherent vilanny AFTER you've killed. He also explored the difference in playing strategies this time around and that we may be most successful with an Amanda Jones-esque type strategy, since most people had seen last game and are already focused and determined that they cannot get out without killing. Yes, in that case playing with minimal kills and great alliances would be the best decision since you could fight said kills.
But, let's wait for a moment if Brandon wanted to recreate the famous six, if he wanted to combine the right amount of variables with general militant squad like theories on how to keep them in line, could he? Would he? Maybe for the first question and yes for the last one, so of course you might be wondering why exactly he came out with the intimidating front? Two obvious outcomes fight or flight. The two would either decide to stand their ground and deal with him or they would attempt to fight him in which he would just have to eliminate them via shotgun blast. Brandon's eyes narrowed as he observed the pistol that the boy had, if he relinquished it, well it could be the answer to the long ranged weaponry he needed and for the girl...
Brandon didn't falter, that was an odd thought...but after sizing her up he came to realize that the physique he had been admiring was actually semi-useful, lean like it could be used for gymnastics, agility combined with the long distance fighter and the close ranged tactician....
Perhaps I am slightly less attuned to the thought of letting a group of this potential go by...now if only we could get Miss Sarah Dao...
"I believe that he is the man who is going to relieve control of his firearm and you are the exquisite young woman who will simply either a.) Smile as she runs away or b.) Screams as she runs away and no you cannot pass go and I would prefer if you do NOT collect 200 dollars." Brandon said calmly, he was coming from the southern side of the island so one would assume he had been moving rather quickly, although to be honest he had made sure to include a few pages of notes –including a deep in-depth analysis of his own odds are with the gun (even going so far as to fire three shots about two miles from this destination and then cut down the range of said shots by 25% and he assumed that was his range, said range was only about 30 yards, but hopefully it would be fine, he had committed Danya's Saiga-12 guide to memory) and had decided that as of right now he could make use of the gun in ways that Jonathan Michaels could not, he would play SOTF in a way that would surprise many, he would play it via intelligence.
About five minutes ago he had wrote another chapter in his SOTF book and in that chapter, it's title was the difficulty in gaining partners and playing an honest game without inherent vilanny AFTER you've killed. He also explored the difference in playing strategies this time around and that we may be most successful with an Amanda Jones-esque type strategy, since most people had seen last game and are already focused and determined that they cannot get out without killing. Yes, in that case playing with minimal kills and great alliances would be the best decision since you could fight said kills.
But, let's wait for a moment if Brandon wanted to recreate the famous six, if he wanted to combine the right amount of variables with general militant squad like theories on how to keep them in line, could he? Would he? Maybe for the first question and yes for the last one, so of course you might be wondering why exactly he came out with the intimidating front? Two obvious outcomes fight or flight. The two would either decide to stand their ground and deal with him or they would attempt to fight him in which he would just have to eliminate them via shotgun blast. Brandon's eyes narrowed as he observed the pistol that the boy had, if he relinquished it, well it could be the answer to the long ranged weaponry he needed and for the girl...
Brandon didn't falter, that was an odd thought...but after sizing her up he came to realize that the physique he had been admiring was actually semi-useful, lean like it could be used for gymnastics, agility combined with the long distance fighter and the close ranged tactician....
Perhaps I am slightly less attuned to the thought of letting a group of this potential go by...now if only we could get Miss Sarah Dao...
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Adam was startled a little by the arrival of a newcomer just seconds after he'd stopped and essentially threatened the girl in front of him. She'd sarcastically responded to his threat and subsequent sheepish apology, leaving frustration as the latest to enter the orgasm of emotion that was surging throughout Adam Amato's mind. Seconds before the other boy had entered the area, Adam had glared at the girl as she mocked him for being 'afraid of her'.
"Hey, fuck off! I AM afraid of you, I'd be an idiot not to be. I don't know who the hell you are, and I don't wanna die, so pardon me if I'm a little wary. But...I know that it's not the best thing to wander around sticking a gun in people's faces. You don't want to accept my apology? Fine, then. Don't think I'll be offerin' up another."
As he'd scowled at her, he saw that she'd attempted to offer up some sort of apology. Adam didn't appreciate being mocked, but a friendly face would be any kind of solace in this situation. Letting his shoulders drop, he'd barely got his own name out of his mouth before the other boy had interrupted.
When the voice had interrupted the conversation, Adam had again found himself in the position where he had a gun pointed at another human being. It was likely to some, an enviable position, and Adam did have the passing thought to be glad he wasn't on the other side of the barrel. However, he knew that if anyone pressed him, pulling the trigger would be a whole different battle. As the boy's words sunk in, Adam's freaked-out expression soured and turned to an incredulous frown.
"Sorry, did I just hear you properly? Did you...you just say that I was about to relinquish my weapon to you? The fuck are you thinkin', man? Doing that'd be a fuckin' death knell for yours truly. Look at you! You're the one covered in blood! So why don't you drop YOUR fucking weapon - and while you're at it, you can drop your wallet and give US two hundred dollars for us having to listen to some lame-ass Monopoly analogy!"
Adam's anger grew. This boy seemed cocky, and the fact that he was covered in blood was unsettling. The fear in the pit of his stomach was telling him that this was not a person that he wanted to associate with, for doing that might mean certain death. Grasping a sliver of control over himself, he aimed the gun squarely at the chest of the newcomer.
"Well? What the fuck are you waiting for? Drop your pack, get down on your knees, and put your fucking hands above your head! I'm not going to tell you again, Uncle Pennybags. GET GOING!"
"Hey, fuck off! I AM afraid of you, I'd be an idiot not to be. I don't know who the hell you are, and I don't wanna die, so pardon me if I'm a little wary. But...I know that it's not the best thing to wander around sticking a gun in people's faces. You don't want to accept my apology? Fine, then. Don't think I'll be offerin' up another."
As he'd scowled at her, he saw that she'd attempted to offer up some sort of apology. Adam didn't appreciate being mocked, but a friendly face would be any kind of solace in this situation. Letting his shoulders drop, he'd barely got his own name out of his mouth before the other boy had interrupted.
When the voice had interrupted the conversation, Adam had again found himself in the position where he had a gun pointed at another human being. It was likely to some, an enviable position, and Adam did have the passing thought to be glad he wasn't on the other side of the barrel. However, he knew that if anyone pressed him, pulling the trigger would be a whole different battle. As the boy's words sunk in, Adam's freaked-out expression soured and turned to an incredulous frown.
"Sorry, did I just hear you properly? Did you...you just say that I was about to relinquish my weapon to you? The fuck are you thinkin', man? Doing that'd be a fuckin' death knell for yours truly. Look at you! You're the one covered in blood! So why don't you drop YOUR fucking weapon - and while you're at it, you can drop your wallet and give US two hundred dollars for us having to listen to some lame-ass Monopoly analogy!"
Adam's anger grew. This boy seemed cocky, and the fact that he was covered in blood was unsettling. The fear in the pit of his stomach was telling him that this was not a person that he wanted to associate with, for doing that might mean certain death. Grasping a sliver of control over himself, he aimed the gun squarely at the chest of the newcomer.
"Well? What the fuck are you waiting for? Drop your pack, get down on your knees, and put your fucking hands above your head! I'm not going to tell you again, Uncle Pennybags. GET GOING!"
"Ummm....I... I..." Brandon stuttered, for once he was not ready with an answer and this...well guy just caught him totally off guard. He paused for a few seconds and brought his hands up to his face, obviously extremely deep in his own thought, he looked up at Adam Amato (of course he did not know his name at this point) and prepared himself to speak again, only to stop and bring his hand back up to his face. The look of perplexedness was quite obvious and the short Brandon Cuthbert looked at him quite uneasily.
"Excuse me, but I do not really know how to...well say anything to the guy who just called me Mr. Pennybags..." Brandon Cuthbert then looked at him again and found himself continuing to pause and be unready, if one where to be in the mind of Brandon Cuthbert at this very moment you would find things moving extremely quickly, but things usually did for him. He continued to stare at Adam Amato, still keeping his hands on the shotgun.
"Look, I'll be frank...I was...I was not expecting you to react that way." Brandon said plainly deciding that for once that a well planned strategy was not really the best for a situation like this, "To be honest I was expecting you to comply...as you can see by just looking at Me." He paused "Or I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you do...I really am a bit young and a bit frazzled and I promise if I came off as arrogant, for it was not my intention...I just want to feel like I have some power over the situation..." Brandon said truthfully (meaning not sadly) and was a bit shocked at his own realness.
I suppose that I am just shocked, combined with the two kills and of course this rather strong presence...hmmm... I've never been at a loss for words and been so...well lost. Perhaps this is a humanizing situation for me...but I don't know, I feel this tug in my stomach that this guy is going to...shoot me. Is that tug fear? Well, that is an emotion I do not recall...I've never been nor have I had a reason to...I suppose this makes me more comfortable that I still have a streak of sanity and I'm not some sociopathic monster...
Or maybe I am, while Freud's theories are outdated he did have a theory about denial...
"Excuse me, but I do not really know how to...well say anything to the guy who just called me Mr. Pennybags..." Brandon Cuthbert then looked at him again and found himself continuing to pause and be unready, if one where to be in the mind of Brandon Cuthbert at this very moment you would find things moving extremely quickly, but things usually did for him. He continued to stare at Adam Amato, still keeping his hands on the shotgun.
"Look, I'll be frank...I was...I was not expecting you to react that way." Brandon said plainly deciding that for once that a well planned strategy was not really the best for a situation like this, "To be honest I was expecting you to comply...as you can see by just looking at Me." He paused "Or I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you do...I really am a bit young and a bit frazzled and I promise if I came off as arrogant, for it was not my intention...I just want to feel like I have some power over the situation..." Brandon said truthfully (meaning not sadly) and was a bit shocked at his own realness.
I suppose that I am just shocked, combined with the two kills and of course this rather strong presence...hmmm... I've never been at a loss for words and been so...well lost. Perhaps this is a humanizing situation for me...but I don't know, I feel this tug in my stomach that this guy is going to...shoot me. Is that tug fear? Well, that is an emotion I do not recall...I've never been nor have I had a reason to...I suppose this makes me more comfortable that I still have a streak of sanity and I'm not some sociopathic monster...
Or maybe I am, while Freud's theories are outdated he did have a theory about denial...
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
And just as suddenly as it had been simply Sera Wingfield, standing confusedly in front of a paranoid and gun-wielding Adam Amato, the tides had once again turned. Almost as if out of nowhere, another student -- no, not a student, a child -- much younger than both Adam and Sera emerged from the woodlands surrounding the mountain ranch, toting a... a shotgun?
No way...
Sera couldn't decide what was more awkward... the fact that a kid, definitely no older than thirteen at the most but more likely in his pre-teens, had just emerged from the woodwork, that he was holding a shotgun, or that he seemed to be sizing her up. She didn't have long to ponder on the thought, however. As quickly as the newcomer had dropped onto the scene and demanded Adam's weaponry, Adam had flown off the handle again, more or less demanding that the newcomer play by his rules, drop the shotgun, and hit the ground.
Something tells me I'm definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dealing with one of them was one thing... Adam could've been disarmed and let his guard down given enough time... maybe... but these two together... this is bound to be bad. I don't want to see which one is the better shot.
Sera mentally braced herself for Adam's threats to be the only provocation the blood-covered boy needed in order to fire. Much to her surprise, however, the child seemed taken aback by Adam's aggression toward him, and toward the way the situation seemed to have turned. She continued to watch on, too transfixed by the situation to turn tail and run, as she should have, and not ignorant enough to jump into a potential gunfight with only a flail for protection.
The tense stand-off was suddenly interrupted as a melodic tone blared from the island's public access system, signifying the start of the third day on the island. The noise took Sera completely offguard, and she found herself looking up to the sky in search of the device radiating the noise. A prolonged hacking followed before Danya finally made his precense known for the second time in the past three days. She barely focused on the list of the dead, nor the list of the killers.
Something deep down inside her, however, told her that the young boy standing in front of her was the twelve-year-old child that Danya praised so highly in the announcements. Surely there weren't that many children running around the island, right? So this little boy, this had to be Brandon. Something about that horrified Sera. The fact that this boy, a child, nothing more, had murdered not one but two people in the past day made her blood run cold.
"You," she stated quietly, her tone of voice almost accusing in nature, "You're that boy, aren't you? You're Brandon. You're the one who killed Jonathan Michaels and Christian Cohen."
She had known them, to some vague extent. Not known them as in been friends with them, but knew them in that both were athletes at their respective schools. From what little she had seen of Jonathan Michaels at Hobbsborough -- and it had honestly not been much, with the sort of lifestyle the celebrity lived -- she knew that despite being quite short, maybe even shorter than herself, Jonathan Michaels was a physically imposing person, and definitely not one to be messed with. Yet somehow, this child had managed to eliminate Jonathan, and Franklyn's star basketballer, from the game.
There was one horrifyingly simple fact that flaunted itself in Sera's face as she looked at the blood-covered boy standing in front of herself and Adam. Behind all pretense and appearances, this boy was a murderer. His unassuming and would-be innocent appearance (if not for the fact that he was covered in the blood of his victims) truly belied his true nature. So now, the ball was once again out of Sera's hands, and it was between Adam and Brandon. This scenario could play out one of three ways. She could run and leave Adam to either kill or be killed by this boy; she could assist Adam in fighting this child and hope that together, the two of them could overpower his shotgun; or she could make an attempt at forming a shaky and at best uncomfortable alliance with the two boys.
This looks bad from every angle... today's just not my day, is it? Why, God? Why couldn't I just run into some brainless ball of muscles that'd sacrifice life and limb for a pretty face? Why'd you have to stick me with probably the only two people on the island who wouldn't fall for the damsel in distress ploy? You're going to make me earn this victory, aren't you?
Sera just smiled an uncomfortable smile.
No way...
Sera couldn't decide what was more awkward... the fact that a kid, definitely no older than thirteen at the most but more likely in his pre-teens, had just emerged from the woodwork, that he was holding a shotgun, or that he seemed to be sizing her up. She didn't have long to ponder on the thought, however. As quickly as the newcomer had dropped onto the scene and demanded Adam's weaponry, Adam had flown off the handle again, more or less demanding that the newcomer play by his rules, drop the shotgun, and hit the ground.
Something tells me I'm definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dealing with one of them was one thing... Adam could've been disarmed and let his guard down given enough time... maybe... but these two together... this is bound to be bad. I don't want to see which one is the better shot.
Sera mentally braced herself for Adam's threats to be the only provocation the blood-covered boy needed in order to fire. Much to her surprise, however, the child seemed taken aback by Adam's aggression toward him, and toward the way the situation seemed to have turned. She continued to watch on, too transfixed by the situation to turn tail and run, as she should have, and not ignorant enough to jump into a potential gunfight with only a flail for protection.
The tense stand-off was suddenly interrupted as a melodic tone blared from the island's public access system, signifying the start of the third day on the island. The noise took Sera completely offguard, and she found herself looking up to the sky in search of the device radiating the noise. A prolonged hacking followed before Danya finally made his precense known for the second time in the past three days. She barely focused on the list of the dead, nor the list of the killers.
Something deep down inside her, however, told her that the young boy standing in front of her was the twelve-year-old child that Danya praised so highly in the announcements. Surely there weren't that many children running around the island, right? So this little boy, this had to be Brandon. Something about that horrified Sera. The fact that this boy, a child, nothing more, had murdered not one but two people in the past day made her blood run cold.
"You," she stated quietly, her tone of voice almost accusing in nature, "You're that boy, aren't you? You're Brandon. You're the one who killed Jonathan Michaels and Christian Cohen."
She had known them, to some vague extent. Not known them as in been friends with them, but knew them in that both were athletes at their respective schools. From what little she had seen of Jonathan Michaels at Hobbsborough -- and it had honestly not been much, with the sort of lifestyle the celebrity lived -- she knew that despite being quite short, maybe even shorter than herself, Jonathan Michaels was a physically imposing person, and definitely not one to be messed with. Yet somehow, this child had managed to eliminate Jonathan, and Franklyn's star basketballer, from the game.
There was one horrifyingly simple fact that flaunted itself in Sera's face as she looked at the blood-covered boy standing in front of herself and Adam. Behind all pretense and appearances, this boy was a murderer. His unassuming and would-be innocent appearance (if not for the fact that he was covered in the blood of his victims) truly belied his true nature. So now, the ball was once again out of Sera's hands, and it was between Adam and Brandon. This scenario could play out one of three ways. She could run and leave Adam to either kill or be killed by this boy; she could assist Adam in fighting this child and hope that together, the two of them could overpower his shotgun; or she could make an attempt at forming a shaky and at best uncomfortable alliance with the two boys.
This looks bad from every angle... today's just not my day, is it? Why, God? Why couldn't I just run into some brainless ball of muscles that'd sacrifice life and limb for a pretty face? Why'd you have to stick me with probably the only two people on the island who wouldn't fall for the damsel in distress ploy? You're going to make me earn this victory, aren't you?
Sera just smiled an uncomfortable smile.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
To say that Brandon was surprised at Sera's question would be an obvious understatement, no Brandon was shocked, appalled, generally terrified. He stared at her as her face quickly contorted into Jonathan Michaels' the same Jonathan Michaels that had talked to Brandon honesty and had given Brandon general insight into the mind of a killer? Did it help that Brandon got thrown headfirst into that world less than five minutes later? No, it didn't, but Brandon just stared at the face of Jonathan Michaels as a fit of rage overwhelmed him.
"FUCK YOU!" Brandon screamed, he had forgotten all tact and the insight he had just minutes before and simply stared at the face of Jonathan Michaels who now had a rather femine body (if Brandon had been a few years older the "Fuck You" sentiment might have had meanings he was unaware of), "Even now you torment me, you prevent me from getting over you! The dead don't even remain truly dead in this game; they continue to mock those that had no choice BUT to kill them. So FUCK YOU Michaels, FUCK YOU and your fucking sexist male dominated retarded ass and I hope you rot in hell!" Brandon looked at Jonathan Michaels who now had the face of his mother.
His mother looked accusingly at him, but he pictured her comforting him and he soon found the tears rolling down his cheeks, at twelve years old Brandon really had no...no tears. He never cried when he was younger, he never cried when he fell down as he got older, he would willingly face every test and challenge, but now? As he stared at the face of his mother, she had a tender look in her eyes as she almost welcomed him into her arms.
Brandon found himself running towards his mother, he recalled when he was younger and he would get into fights with his father, he would spend the days hugging his mother. She would run a hot bath for him and would put a wet towel on his face, call him the smartest boy in the world and tell him that one day he would solve all the worlds' problems, but now? Now things just felt so horrid. Brandon blinked his eyes and realized that he was running towards the girl whom had just asked if he was Brandon Cuthbert, stopping about one foot from her he felt the shotgun move back as if it had hit her in the stomach –although a sharp pain in his own hip suggested otherwise-; Brandon stared straight ahead only to notice his head was right at chest level.
He quickly found himself shaking his head and looking up at her, his face was red with tears and his voice was weak, but he managed to mutter a phrase.
"Yeah...I'm Brandon Cuthbert..."
A note in his notebook, right when he met Michaels said this: When you kill someone, you immediately feel confronted with guilt and every face you see automatically becomes the face of the person you kill. "I see Chad in you..." Mr. Michaels had said...these hallucinations are curious and may suggest Mr. Michaels is suffering from a severe form of PTDS of course it could be hallucinations due to his substance abuse. If I do find another killer I will have to question him about these hallucinations.
Brandon already knew enough about these hallucinations provoked by guilt and remorse: They where bad.
"FUCK YOU!" Brandon screamed, he had forgotten all tact and the insight he had just minutes before and simply stared at the face of Jonathan Michaels who now had a rather femine body (if Brandon had been a few years older the "Fuck You" sentiment might have had meanings he was unaware of), "Even now you torment me, you prevent me from getting over you! The dead don't even remain truly dead in this game; they continue to mock those that had no choice BUT to kill them. So FUCK YOU Michaels, FUCK YOU and your fucking sexist male dominated retarded ass and I hope you rot in hell!" Brandon looked at Jonathan Michaels who now had the face of his mother.
His mother looked accusingly at him, but he pictured her comforting him and he soon found the tears rolling down his cheeks, at twelve years old Brandon really had no...no tears. He never cried when he was younger, he never cried when he fell down as he got older, he would willingly face every test and challenge, but now? As he stared at the face of his mother, she had a tender look in her eyes as she almost welcomed him into her arms.
Brandon found himself running towards his mother, he recalled when he was younger and he would get into fights with his father, he would spend the days hugging his mother. She would run a hot bath for him and would put a wet towel on his face, call him the smartest boy in the world and tell him that one day he would solve all the worlds' problems, but now? Now things just felt so horrid. Brandon blinked his eyes and realized that he was running towards the girl whom had just asked if he was Brandon Cuthbert, stopping about one foot from her he felt the shotgun move back as if it had hit her in the stomach –although a sharp pain in his own hip suggested otherwise-; Brandon stared straight ahead only to notice his head was right at chest level.
He quickly found himself shaking his head and looking up at her, his face was red with tears and his voice was weak, but he managed to mutter a phrase.
"Yeah...I'm Brandon Cuthbert..."
A note in his notebook, right when he met Michaels said this: When you kill someone, you immediately feel confronted with guilt and every face you see automatically becomes the face of the person you kill. "I see Chad in you..." Mr. Michaels had said...these hallucinations are curious and may suggest Mr. Michaels is suffering from a severe form of PTDS of course it could be hallucinations due to his substance abuse. If I do find another killer I will have to question him about these hallucinations.
Brandon already knew enough about these hallucinations provoked by guilt and remorse: They where bad.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Sera hadn't expected that.
"FUCK YOU!"
It seemed she had struck a nerve. Though, the more Brandon continued talking, the more apparent it became that he wasn't yelling at Sera, but rather, at Jonathan Michaels... a student who no longer existed... a student who had died by Brandon Cuthbert's own hand. She found herself momentarily wondering if murdering someone truly had that sort of effect on a person, or if Brandon was just leading down them a road of mind games.
Just as suddenly as Brandon had exploded in a fit of rage and anger, he broke down, tears forming in his eyes. The strange and distant look and his eyes was almost chilling from Sera's point of view. She didn't see Brandon for what he was -- a twelve year old little boy thrown into a terrible program and forced to take the lives of his competitors. Instead, Sera saw a shotgun-wielding killer, covered in the blood of his victims.
In the next instant, Brandon was running toward her, but it wasn't the sort of run one would expect someone wielding his designated weapon to perform. He didn't look like he was running toward his next kill. Rather, he looked scared, upset, and alone. He stopped right in front of Sera, and it was the first time she noticed how flushed his face had gotten from the tears that continued to roll down his cheeks.
Sera Wingfield suddenly found herself at a loss. She had never been good with children, even being the eldest of three girls. Her sister Rebekah had only been a year behind her in age, and the girls had been best friends growing up. Her younger sister, she barely saw, or associated with. So now, as Brandon stood in front of her, she really had no idea how to react. Should she hug him? Hold him? Attempt to comfort him? It wasn't really her place to do that.
Besides, for all she knew, Brandon could have a knife or something concealed somewhere. This could all be just an ingenius ploy to eliminate her before he took Adam down. Sera's subconscious paranoia wouldn't allow her to console the twelve-year-old standing in front of her, even if she had known how. Instead, she simply looked to Adam for assistance, even knowing she would probably find none.
How did you do it? Why did you do it? What would persuade you, someone so young, to give in to this game? The questions ran through Sera's head but couldn't seem to make their way to her mouth. Brandon had said something quite curious earlier about Michaels "forcing him into killing him", and it made Sera all the more inquisitive about the incident. Still, from what little she had known of Christian Cohen, he didn't seem the type to provoke someone into murder. Michaels, absolutely. Chris? Probably not.
"Uh..."
What did they want from her, anyway? What was she even supposed to say? She didn't have comfort and solace for him. The fact remained, regardless of circumstance, that he had killed two people in the past day. That fact was irreversable, it wouldn't ever change. Brandon Cuthbert had started down a long and winding path to damnation... at least, that was how Sera felt about it. Still, she almost couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for this little boy. He had already been through so much.
"FUCK YOU!"
It seemed she had struck a nerve. Though, the more Brandon continued talking, the more apparent it became that he wasn't yelling at Sera, but rather, at Jonathan Michaels... a student who no longer existed... a student who had died by Brandon Cuthbert's own hand. She found herself momentarily wondering if murdering someone truly had that sort of effect on a person, or if Brandon was just leading down them a road of mind games.
Just as suddenly as Brandon had exploded in a fit of rage and anger, he broke down, tears forming in his eyes. The strange and distant look and his eyes was almost chilling from Sera's point of view. She didn't see Brandon for what he was -- a twelve year old little boy thrown into a terrible program and forced to take the lives of his competitors. Instead, Sera saw a shotgun-wielding killer, covered in the blood of his victims.
In the next instant, Brandon was running toward her, but it wasn't the sort of run one would expect someone wielding his designated weapon to perform. He didn't look like he was running toward his next kill. Rather, he looked scared, upset, and alone. He stopped right in front of Sera, and it was the first time she noticed how flushed his face had gotten from the tears that continued to roll down his cheeks.
Sera Wingfield suddenly found herself at a loss. She had never been good with children, even being the eldest of three girls. Her sister Rebekah had only been a year behind her in age, and the girls had been best friends growing up. Her younger sister, she barely saw, or associated with. So now, as Brandon stood in front of her, she really had no idea how to react. Should she hug him? Hold him? Attempt to comfort him? It wasn't really her place to do that.
Besides, for all she knew, Brandon could have a knife or something concealed somewhere. This could all be just an ingenius ploy to eliminate her before he took Adam down. Sera's subconscious paranoia wouldn't allow her to console the twelve-year-old standing in front of her, even if she had known how. Instead, she simply looked to Adam for assistance, even knowing she would probably find none.
How did you do it? Why did you do it? What would persuade you, someone so young, to give in to this game? The questions ran through Sera's head but couldn't seem to make their way to her mouth. Brandon had said something quite curious earlier about Michaels "forcing him into killing him", and it made Sera all the more inquisitive about the incident. Still, from what little she had known of Christian Cohen, he didn't seem the type to provoke someone into murder. Michaels, absolutely. Chris? Probably not.
"Uh..."
What did they want from her, anyway? What was she even supposed to say? She didn't have comfort and solace for him. The fact remained, regardless of circumstance, that he had killed two people in the past day. That fact was irreversable, it wouldn't ever change. Brandon Cuthbert had started down a long and winding path to damnation... at least, that was how Sera felt about it. Still, she almost couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for this little boy. He had already been through so much.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
((I'm taking Adam and Brandon over for this post, because Sera's been in limbo for far too long.))
She stood there just a moment longer, just trying to absorb it all. Somehow, she had found herself in some pretty sorry circumstances. Here she was, seemingly bound to this twelve-year-old mental nutjob who had gunned two people down. For whatever reason, he was turning to her for comfort for his actions. Perhaps even worse was Adam, who had stood by silently and done nothing but look on at the scene for quite a while now. Adam made her even more uncomfortable than Brandon, because the truth was, she had no idea what he was capable of, what he could do.
At first, she had tried to convince herself that the people here were "good" people. The fact remained, they had bought into the game. Brandon proved that when he pulled the trigger on that shotgun. And Adam? Adam didn't have to prove it. Adam proved that he was hostile and capable of murder the moment he brandished that gun not only toward Sera but toward Brandon as well. Adam was a wild card, to be sure. He had a bad temper and a firearm, and somebody like that was not someone that Sera wanted to deal with.
So there's definitely no need to get cozy. Not with these two.
So then, what to do? The gears in the back of Sera's mind began turning, and she began to formulate a plan. Something told her that simply walking away from these two would be easier said than done. So, there was obviously only one thing to do, and it was something that Sera was very, very good at. Ruthless manipulation. Her arms fell around Brandon Cuthbert's shoulders and she pulled him close to her, leaning down slightly to rest her head over his shoulder. From Adam's angle, it might've looked like Sera was finally showing the child some sympathy, but from Sera's...
"You're a murderer."
It was low, quiet, and completely out of hearing range of Adam Amato. Simply perfect. Brandon's eyes widened slightly at the accusation.
"W-what?" he breathed out quietly.
"You killed Jonathan. You killed Chris. If you're looking to me for sympathy, I'm sorry, but you won't get any. Jonathan didn't 'force' you to kill him. He didn't make you pull the trigger. You killed him of your own free will... didn't you?"
"No!" Brandon started, "I--"
"You what?" she retorted quietly, "You murdered them. Both of them. In cold blood. I don't care if you're alone and scared. They're dead, and nothing changes that fact. Nothing brings them back. They're dead, and they died by your hand. That makes you a murderer, does it not?"
Brandon fell silent. His face was turning red again, just like it had moments ago when Sera had first accused him of murdering Jonathan and Christian. Sera was taking a big risk here, but so far, it was all going as planned. A sly smile crossed her face and she released Brandon's shoulders before stepping away from him slightly.
"Why should we trust you, Brandon? So you can kill us, too?"
Those accusing words... Brandon saw Jonathan Michaels again. He saw his mother again. He saw the face of Christian Cohen again. No matter how he justified it, the fact remained, he HAD murdered two people.
"Murderer."
"No!" Brandon shouted at the top of his lungs. At once, the shotgun that had been hanging harmlessly by his side was at the ready, pointed directly at Sera. That was all the provocation Adam Amato needed.
"PUT THE MOTHERFUCKING GUN DOWN!"
Adam's words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Just as quickly, however, Brandon swung around, his shotgun still at the ready.
"Put it down or I'll pull the fucking trigger! I'm not messing around with you, kid!"
Brandon simply stared at Adam, his shaking hands continuing to hold the shotgun level with Adam's torso. Sera took a few steps to the side, watching the scenario unfold closely. She had to admit to herself, even under these circumstances, she loved laying schemes and watching them unfold. This is what she had expected to happen. Adam versus Brandon. Before even Adam realized what he was doing, he pulled the trigger. A pained scream erupted from Brandon's mouth as the bullet from Adam's Redhawk pierced his shoulder. Brandon reflexively pulled the trigger on the shotgun, and a spray of buckshot went flying.
What Sera hadn't expected was for a piece of that buckshot to come into contact with her calf, sending her plummeting to the ground in pain. The buckshot tore through Adam Amato, tearing muscle and searing flesh. It tore through his entire body, making it shake and convulse as it impacted. Sera's eyes widened as Adam fell backwards. With the apparent threat gone, Brandon dropped his shotgun to the side and cradled his shoulder. Brandon wasn't used to experiencing pain, and this sort of pain was almost too much to bear.
He closed his eyes and clinged his shoulder tight, trying to lessen the pain. When he turned his back to Adam and Sera, Sera saw her opportunity. It took every ounce of strength that she could muster to crawl over to where Adam lay sprawled out, but she managed to do it. She immediately went for the Ruger Redhawk that had been tossed into the air when the shotgun blast had done Adam in and pointed it toward Brandon Cuthbert's back. She wasn't an expert marksmen by any means, but with what little distance there was between herself and Brandon, she didn't have to be.
Brandon spun around at the sound of a gun firing. Before the young boy even knew what hit him, the bullet Sera had fired pierced his chest and caused him to fall backwards onto the ground. Sera pulled her leg up toward her, still writhing from the buckshot she had taken to her calf. Things had gotten a little out of hand, to be sure, but it was done. Somehow, maybe it was all the self-manipulation Sera had undergone in her mind, she didn't feel guilty. Even a little. It had been justified, right? Brandon Cuthbert had killed three people. Jonathan Michaels, Christian Cohen, and now, Adam Amato. He was a murderer, and so, she had done the island a justice in getting rid of him.
The closest pack in reach was Adam's, and so Sera grabbed it. He was dead, he sure didn't need it anymore, right? Removing the first aid kit Danya had issued them from inside of it, she proceeded to sterilize her wound with alcohol before wrapping it tightly in some of the provided gauze. It hurt like hell, of that she was certain. Still, she couldn't just crawl up and die. She had to go on. She had to survive... by any means necessary. It took her a while to stand up. Her leg was shaky and felt like it was moving of its own free will. She had to find somewhere out of the pouring rain to rest. She rose from the muddy ground and snatched all three daypacks, making sure to pry the shotgun from Brandon's cold, dead hands before heading away from the ranchhouse. She couldn't stay here, even though it was the closest shelter.
Bye-bye guys. Thanks for the good time... or something like that. At least I have something to remember you by.
Wasn't that the truth? The shotgun might not provide Sera with much use given her size and small stature, but Adam's gun would prove to be invaluable. At least she DID have the shotgun, even if only for intimidation factor... or perhaps collateral. She'd have more time to plan it out later, though. For now, she just had to find somewhere dry to rest.
BOY #11 - ADAM AMATO - DECEASED
BOY #48 - BRANDON CUTHBERT - DECEASED
((Continued elsewhere.))
She stood there just a moment longer, just trying to absorb it all. Somehow, she had found herself in some pretty sorry circumstances. Here she was, seemingly bound to this twelve-year-old mental nutjob who had gunned two people down. For whatever reason, he was turning to her for comfort for his actions. Perhaps even worse was Adam, who had stood by silently and done nothing but look on at the scene for quite a while now. Adam made her even more uncomfortable than Brandon, because the truth was, she had no idea what he was capable of, what he could do.
At first, she had tried to convince herself that the people here were "good" people. The fact remained, they had bought into the game. Brandon proved that when he pulled the trigger on that shotgun. And Adam? Adam didn't have to prove it. Adam proved that he was hostile and capable of murder the moment he brandished that gun not only toward Sera but toward Brandon as well. Adam was a wild card, to be sure. He had a bad temper and a firearm, and somebody like that was not someone that Sera wanted to deal with.
So there's definitely no need to get cozy. Not with these two.
So then, what to do? The gears in the back of Sera's mind began turning, and she began to formulate a plan. Something told her that simply walking away from these two would be easier said than done. So, there was obviously only one thing to do, and it was something that Sera was very, very good at. Ruthless manipulation. Her arms fell around Brandon Cuthbert's shoulders and she pulled him close to her, leaning down slightly to rest her head over his shoulder. From Adam's angle, it might've looked like Sera was finally showing the child some sympathy, but from Sera's...
"You're a murderer."
It was low, quiet, and completely out of hearing range of Adam Amato. Simply perfect. Brandon's eyes widened slightly at the accusation.
"W-what?" he breathed out quietly.
"You killed Jonathan. You killed Chris. If you're looking to me for sympathy, I'm sorry, but you won't get any. Jonathan didn't 'force' you to kill him. He didn't make you pull the trigger. You killed him of your own free will... didn't you?"
"No!" Brandon started, "I--"
"You what?" she retorted quietly, "You murdered them. Both of them. In cold blood. I don't care if you're alone and scared. They're dead, and nothing changes that fact. Nothing brings them back. They're dead, and they died by your hand. That makes you a murderer, does it not?"
Brandon fell silent. His face was turning red again, just like it had moments ago when Sera had first accused him of murdering Jonathan and Christian. Sera was taking a big risk here, but so far, it was all going as planned. A sly smile crossed her face and she released Brandon's shoulders before stepping away from him slightly.
"Why should we trust you, Brandon? So you can kill us, too?"
Those accusing words... Brandon saw Jonathan Michaels again. He saw his mother again. He saw the face of Christian Cohen again. No matter how he justified it, the fact remained, he HAD murdered two people.
"Murderer."
"No!" Brandon shouted at the top of his lungs. At once, the shotgun that had been hanging harmlessly by his side was at the ready, pointed directly at Sera. That was all the provocation Adam Amato needed.
"PUT THE MOTHERFUCKING GUN DOWN!"
Adam's words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Just as quickly, however, Brandon swung around, his shotgun still at the ready.
"Put it down or I'll pull the fucking trigger! I'm not messing around with you, kid!"
Brandon simply stared at Adam, his shaking hands continuing to hold the shotgun level with Adam's torso. Sera took a few steps to the side, watching the scenario unfold closely. She had to admit to herself, even under these circumstances, she loved laying schemes and watching them unfold. This is what she had expected to happen. Adam versus Brandon. Before even Adam realized what he was doing, he pulled the trigger. A pained scream erupted from Brandon's mouth as the bullet from Adam's Redhawk pierced his shoulder. Brandon reflexively pulled the trigger on the shotgun, and a spray of buckshot went flying.
What Sera hadn't expected was for a piece of that buckshot to come into contact with her calf, sending her plummeting to the ground in pain. The buckshot tore through Adam Amato, tearing muscle and searing flesh. It tore through his entire body, making it shake and convulse as it impacted. Sera's eyes widened as Adam fell backwards. With the apparent threat gone, Brandon dropped his shotgun to the side and cradled his shoulder. Brandon wasn't used to experiencing pain, and this sort of pain was almost too much to bear.
He closed his eyes and clinged his shoulder tight, trying to lessen the pain. When he turned his back to Adam and Sera, Sera saw her opportunity. It took every ounce of strength that she could muster to crawl over to where Adam lay sprawled out, but she managed to do it. She immediately went for the Ruger Redhawk that had been tossed into the air when the shotgun blast had done Adam in and pointed it toward Brandon Cuthbert's back. She wasn't an expert marksmen by any means, but with what little distance there was between herself and Brandon, she didn't have to be.
Brandon spun around at the sound of a gun firing. Before the young boy even knew what hit him, the bullet Sera had fired pierced his chest and caused him to fall backwards onto the ground. Sera pulled her leg up toward her, still writhing from the buckshot she had taken to her calf. Things had gotten a little out of hand, to be sure, but it was done. Somehow, maybe it was all the self-manipulation Sera had undergone in her mind, she didn't feel guilty. Even a little. It had been justified, right? Brandon Cuthbert had killed three people. Jonathan Michaels, Christian Cohen, and now, Adam Amato. He was a murderer, and so, she had done the island a justice in getting rid of him.
The closest pack in reach was Adam's, and so Sera grabbed it. He was dead, he sure didn't need it anymore, right? Removing the first aid kit Danya had issued them from inside of it, she proceeded to sterilize her wound with alcohol before wrapping it tightly in some of the provided gauze. It hurt like hell, of that she was certain. Still, she couldn't just crawl up and die. She had to go on. She had to survive... by any means necessary. It took her a while to stand up. Her leg was shaky and felt like it was moving of its own free will. She had to find somewhere out of the pouring rain to rest. She rose from the muddy ground and snatched all three daypacks, making sure to pry the shotgun from Brandon's cold, dead hands before heading away from the ranchhouse. She couldn't stay here, even though it was the closest shelter.
Bye-bye guys. Thanks for the good time... or something like that. At least I have something to remember you by.
Wasn't that the truth? The shotgun might not provide Sera with much use given her size and small stature, but Adam's gun would prove to be invaluable. At least she DID have the shotgun, even if only for intimidation factor... or perhaps collateral. She'd have more time to plan it out later, though. For now, she just had to find somewhere dry to rest.
BOY #11 - ADAM AMATO - DECEASED
BOY #48 - BRANDON CUTHBERT - DECEASED
((Continued elsewhere.))
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