It was getting late, and despite the fact that it was the middle of summer, a cool, almost chilling breeze drifted across the island and graced the skin of Whitney Acosta and Ricky Callahan. The two hadn't journeyed far, and really, it was almost like they had never left. They'd ventured away from the school building hours before at Whitney's suggestion, and all they had found on the rest of the island had been death. It seemed like no matter how far they ran, they couldn't escape the stench of death that was slowly closing in around them.
"They aren't here..." Ricky muttered, throwing Whitney from her thoughts.
"Who?" she responded confusedly.
"The people who were fighting," he replied quietly, "Neither body is here. It's surprising."
Whitney's eyes cast around her surroundings. There were tons of corpses around -- some she recognized, some she didn't, and some of them were completely unidentifiable from their injuries -- but none of them were new. A wave of relieve passed through her body and she let out a light sigh. Nobody had died. It was both a blessing and a curse. The truth was, no matter how long they seemed to be stranded on this island, Whitney couldn't bring herself to wish death and disaster upon anybody, no matter what the circumstances surrounding it may be. Still, the simple fact remained: she didn't want to die. In order for her to live, other people had to die. All the remaining contestants -- they all had to die.
"I wonder what happened...?" Whitney inquired hesitantly, unsure of whether or not she really wanted to hear Ricky's response to the question.
"They're probably both dead," he stated flatly and shrugged his shoulders in nonchalance.
"What makes you think that?" she pushed, despite the fact that she didn't want to know.
"You do know that it's down to a few of us, don't you?" he asked harshly, almost catching her completely offguard, "I don't know if you caught it or not, but we're in a killing game here. The sad truth is, I'm probably the only person on this island who wouldn't shoot you in the face point blank right now. You shouldn't think of anybody else as anything more than a monster, because that's all they are."
Whitney stopped walking and stared dumbfoundedly at her companion. Ricky had been through a lot throughout the course of the game, and he hadn't quite been the same since the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Eric's death occurred, but never in a million years would she have thought that words so cold could come out of Ricky's mouth. Ricky noticed that she stopped and turned to face her, his expression completely blank.
"What is your problem?" Whitney spat out suddenly, her hands reflexively moving to her hips.
He didn't say anything in response, and the lack of reaction angered her even more than the initial words had. She shook her head in frustration and stepped toward him ever so slightly.
"I don't get you at all. First, you come to my rescue like you're some kind of hero, and in the middle of everything, your best friend dies, and ever since then, all you've done is blame yourself and talk about what a bad person you are. You tell me you're in love with me, and then you... you turn into this. You aren't even Ricky anymore. I don't know who you are, or what you are, but I don't like it. I get that the game does things to people, okay? I get that it's getting down to the line, and I understand that you're going through some emotional things right now, but don't you think I am too? Don't you think the people who were here before, the people who were fighting for their lives, don't you think they were having some emotional issues too? What gives you the right to think that you're the only person who has feelings? What makes you think you're the only one on this island capable of being upset, or offended, or whatever? I don't appreciate you talking to me like I'm completely clueless. I get what's happening, okay? I've been here through this entire game, I've nearly died countless times, I've done things I'd never have imagined I could do too, so stop thinking that it's only you!"
Ricky's lips pursed together lightly and he furrowed his brow. Whitney couldn't tell if he had been taken offguard by her verbal assault on him or if he had been anticipating it all along. His eyes closed for just a moment, and then his line of vision set directly on her. When she looked back at him, though, he hardly seemed like Ricky. His gaze was cold and almost hollow, when at one time it had been bright and kind. In a way, the look frightened her.
"You're so god damn naive," he stated flatly, "And you don't get it. I'm not getting out of this game alive. I'm eliminating myself from the competition so that YOU can win. You, Whitney, not me. How do you think it feels to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you're going to die? I'll never see my parents again, I'll never see my brother again, and the last thing I remember thinking about my brother was that he was a spotlight stealing little prick. I'll never get to show him that I think anything differently, because I'm going to die here, and I'm doing it for you. And all you can do is look at me and chastise the things I say and do. You don't get it at all."
"Then play," Whitney shot back angrily, "Play the game, go home, do all the things you want to do... or are you going to give me another speech about how you can't ever go home because you're a worthless shell of a person now? I didn't make your decision for you, Ricky. You made the decision to protect me of your own free will, and if you don't want to do it anymore, don't. I'm a big girl. Don't feel obligated to "send me home", and stop acting like I owe you some big show of gratuity or something. What am I supposed to do? Do you think I WANT you to die? Of course I don't! Stop acting like I put you in a bind to begin with, because you put yourself there, and it had nothing to do with me."
"It had everything to do with you."
Whitney groaned in frustration and crossed her arms across her chest before quickly turning her back to Ricky. Ricky sighed angrily and shook his head.
"Think what you want," Whitney uttered quietly.
"You really don't know anything," Ricky spat back, "If you knew half of what you thought you did, maybe you'd understand. But whatever, I don't expect you to."
"You can't see past yourself long enough to think about other people."
That comment caused Ricky to wheel around and glare angrily at the blonde-headed girl, whose back was still turned to him.
"What... the... hell?" he choked out angrily, "I don't think about anybody but myself? I could just let you die."
"Then do it, Ricky," Whitney shot back, "If it would make you feel like more of a man, do it."
"I don't know what I was thinking," he retaliated, "You're a pain in the ass. If I'd have known you in school half as well as I do now, I'd have never liked you at all. I wish I'd known what a waste of time you were."
She still wouldn't turn around to face him, but now it was for an entirely different reason. The words that spilled from his mouth in anger stung horribly, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the tears currently rolling down her face. Ricky simply sighed exasperatedly before heading toward the school building nearby.
"Are you coming or not?" he asked, though it really wasn't much of a question as he continued walking toward the school.
Whitney didn't respond, but instead quickly attempted to wipe the tears away that were flooding down her cheeks and followed quietly in tow.
Redemption
Redemption
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.
From: Carry Stress in the Jaw
The compitition was winding down. Four left. That was it. They were down to the finals. She had to keep going until then. Mariavel Varella, aka Female student #25, walked twoards the school building slowly. She realized with a bitter irony that their final battlefield would be the place this entire ordeal stemmed from. The school.
She looked at the destroyed building with a bemused look on her face. She wondered if the others had arrived yet. Bryan was most definatly on her tail. The other two. They were the ones from the hotel. After she'd killed the boy that reminded her so much of Grant, she'd fought them briefly. Amusing. She knew she'd have to deal with them quickly. If Bryan arrived before she'd finished them off, he would only be aiming at her.
Marfiavel jogged up to the entrance to the building and quickly slipped inside. She scrounged around for her flashlight and turned it on quickly. She walked into one of the many hallways. She didn't want to go to the place Lavvy had died, so she turned and headed in the opposite direction.
"Now.... where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are... Hehehe." She smiled darkly and began her search.
The compitition was winding down. Four left. That was it. They were down to the finals. She had to keep going until then. Mariavel Varella, aka Female student #25, walked twoards the school building slowly. She realized with a bitter irony that their final battlefield would be the place this entire ordeal stemmed from. The school.
She looked at the destroyed building with a bemused look on her face. She wondered if the others had arrived yet. Bryan was most definatly on her tail. The other two. They were the ones from the hotel. After she'd killed the boy that reminded her so much of Grant, she'd fought them briefly. Amusing. She knew she'd have to deal with them quickly. If Bryan arrived before she'd finished them off, he would only be aiming at her.
Marfiavel jogged up to the entrance to the building and quickly slipped inside. She scrounged around for her flashlight and turned it on quickly. She walked into one of the many hallways. She didn't want to go to the place Lavvy had died, so she turned and headed in the opposite direction.
"Now.... where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are... Hehehe." She smiled darkly and began her search.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Mitsuko2. 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 Carry Stress In the Jaw))
What he wouldn't have given to just go back to the beach.
"There you are," Bryan snarled under his breath, more tears surfacing as he spotted Mari heading into the school. His grip tightened on the Agram in one hand and the hatchet in the other as he pumped his legs as fast as he could. Mari had been dead wrong in assuming that he'd take his time getting there.
He was just close enough to take a shot, but he needed both hands to aim the SMG with any accuracy. As Mari was about to dissappear from sight, Bryan reared back and hurled the axe as hard as he could in her direction. It missed by quite a bit of course, shattering an adjacent window and definitely alerting her to his presence. Not that he was going for stealth anyway. Fuck that. No reason to play it quiet now, not when he had nothing left to lose. He shifted the Agram to a right-handed position and killed the safety as he raced up the stairs and followed her into the school.
"YOU'RE DEAD, MARI! DEAD!"
What he wouldn't have given to just go back to the beach.
"There you are," Bryan snarled under his breath, more tears surfacing as he spotted Mari heading into the school. His grip tightened on the Agram in one hand and the hatchet in the other as he pumped his legs as fast as he could. Mari had been dead wrong in assuming that he'd take his time getting there.
He was just close enough to take a shot, but he needed both hands to aim the SMG with any accuracy. As Mari was about to dissappear from sight, Bryan reared back and hurled the axe as hard as he could in her direction. It missed by quite a bit of course, shattering an adjacent window and definitely alerting her to his presence. Not that he was going for stealth anyway. Fuck that. No reason to play it quiet now, not when he had nothing left to lose. He shifted the Agram to a right-handed position and killed the safety as he raced up the stairs and followed her into the school.
"YOU'RE DEAD, MARI! DEAD!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.
It seemed like days had passed since they had entered the school building and situated themselves in one of the few rooms that remained completely in tact, but in all actuality it had only been a few hours at most. Despite the fact that they were sitting roughly ten feet away from one another, neither of the two students occupying the classroom had said a word to one another since they had entered the building. As a matter of fact, neither of the two students had barely glanced at one another. Instead, Whitney's attention was focused on the window, although she couldn't see outside through the closed blinds. Ricky's attention had been fixated on the door for eons now, he'd barely blinked in anticipation of an attack.
Whitney let out an audible sigh and closed her eyes. Danya's announcement had been chilling, to say the least. Maybe it was the fact that he had out and out addressed all of them by name that had gotten to her, or maybe it was what he had said. Ricky himself had said over and over that he planned on eliminating himself to send her home, but it had been a quiet thought only expressed between the two so far. Hearing somebody else say it -- somebody like Danya -- it sounded like such a big deal. Anyone dying was a big deal to begin with, especially when they were getting murdered or committing suicide, but Whitney had been so wrapped up in herself and in the game that she had barely had time to sit and think about just how much of a sacrifice he had planned on making for her.
His life, the only one he had to live.
Life was such a precious thing, and something that no human should have the right to take away. And yet, thinking back on it now, she was astonished at how many people she had seen barely a week ago were now dead. Matthias, Vesa, Sam, Eric, Gail, everybody she had known was gone. Everyone, that is, except for Ricky. As she looked over at her companion, she couldn't help but grimace. Everyone else was dead and gone, they were the only two left from Franklyn -- essentially all one another had, and they were at each other's throats... all because of this game. Whitney shook her head, but still couldn't find a voice to speak.
"They'll be here soon..." Ricky muttered, more to himself than to Whitney.
"I wonder if anyone else has died...?" she inquired quietly.
"Probably," he responded flatly, "I'm sure the others have already run into one another, unless they're holed up in a classroom like we are. We should head out soon, regardless. If we just sit here, eventually, they'll come to us, and they'll have the advantage. This room's small, it'd be hard to fight in. By now, everyone's probably armed to the teeth anyway. So... we'll wait in the background long enough for whoever's left to kill each other, or at least hopefully get wounded in the process... then, we'll pick off the winner of that fight."
"Okay..." she replied hesitantly.
"Just one more fight," he responded, giving the blonde-headed girl a half-hearted smile.
"Yeah..." she parroted, "Just one more."
Ricky was silent for a moment, and he clenched his eyes shut as if in heavy contemplation. Finally, his attention turned to Whitney once again and he cleared his throat.
"Whit..." he spat out all of a sudden, focusing solely on the other student sitting in the room, "When you get out of here, I want you to do something for me. I want you to go to my parents' house, give 'em my jersey, and tell 'em that I love them, and I'm sorry... tell Matt I don't hate him, tell them everything I've told you, because I want them to know it."
Ricky slid off the red Adidas jersey he'd adorned since the very beginning of the game, revealing a discolored and bloodied white t-shirt underneath. He folded the shirt neatly before sliding it into her pack and sighed lightly. She couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head at that very moment, but he didn't seem willing to share. Perhaps it was better that way, Whitney was lost in her own thoughts as well. She barely answered his request, just gave a solemn nod in response. If she really made it to the end like Ricky kept promising, she'd go see his family, and Matthias's, and Vesa's... she just couldn't even fathom how it would feel to go home at the moment, and she had no idea what she could even say to her own family, much less the families of her deceased friends.
"It's quiet," he commented, his eyes still fixating themselves on the doorway, "Maybe the quietest it's been since we got here."
"Yeah..." she responded, "It's peaceful, I guess... it's just really eerie. It won't stay quiet. A gunshot... or somebody screaming... it'll break the silence."
"Mmhm."
Whitney sighed and rose from her seated position on the top of one of the multiple desks in the room. She didn't gather her belongings, instead, walked up to the window seal and peered out the closed blinds. There was no one in sight. It would be daylight soon, probably the start of their final day on the island, and at the end of it, someone, maybe she, would be going home. The other three would be dead, and it wouldn't matter who was killed first or what they had done, it wouldn't make them any less dead. Being so close to the end was overwhelming, and she had a million thoughts running through her mind. She couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking the same things.
"I really need some air," she stated finally, "I'm just going outside for a minute, I'll be right back."
"Alright," Ricky replied nervously, "But be careful."
"I'll be fine," she smiled before exiting the room and leaving the Callahan boy in the darkness.
Whitney let out an audible sigh and closed her eyes. Danya's announcement had been chilling, to say the least. Maybe it was the fact that he had out and out addressed all of them by name that had gotten to her, or maybe it was what he had said. Ricky himself had said over and over that he planned on eliminating himself to send her home, but it had been a quiet thought only expressed between the two so far. Hearing somebody else say it -- somebody like Danya -- it sounded like such a big deal. Anyone dying was a big deal to begin with, especially when they were getting murdered or committing suicide, but Whitney had been so wrapped up in herself and in the game that she had barely had time to sit and think about just how much of a sacrifice he had planned on making for her.
His life, the only one he had to live.
Life was such a precious thing, and something that no human should have the right to take away. And yet, thinking back on it now, she was astonished at how many people she had seen barely a week ago were now dead. Matthias, Vesa, Sam, Eric, Gail, everybody she had known was gone. Everyone, that is, except for Ricky. As she looked over at her companion, she couldn't help but grimace. Everyone else was dead and gone, they were the only two left from Franklyn -- essentially all one another had, and they were at each other's throats... all because of this game. Whitney shook her head, but still couldn't find a voice to speak.
"They'll be here soon..." Ricky muttered, more to himself than to Whitney.
"I wonder if anyone else has died...?" she inquired quietly.
"Probably," he responded flatly, "I'm sure the others have already run into one another, unless they're holed up in a classroom like we are. We should head out soon, regardless. If we just sit here, eventually, they'll come to us, and they'll have the advantage. This room's small, it'd be hard to fight in. By now, everyone's probably armed to the teeth anyway. So... we'll wait in the background long enough for whoever's left to kill each other, or at least hopefully get wounded in the process... then, we'll pick off the winner of that fight."
"Okay..." she replied hesitantly.
"Just one more fight," he responded, giving the blonde-headed girl a half-hearted smile.
"Yeah..." she parroted, "Just one more."
Ricky was silent for a moment, and he clenched his eyes shut as if in heavy contemplation. Finally, his attention turned to Whitney once again and he cleared his throat.
"Whit..." he spat out all of a sudden, focusing solely on the other student sitting in the room, "When you get out of here, I want you to do something for me. I want you to go to my parents' house, give 'em my jersey, and tell 'em that I love them, and I'm sorry... tell Matt I don't hate him, tell them everything I've told you, because I want them to know it."
Ricky slid off the red Adidas jersey he'd adorned since the very beginning of the game, revealing a discolored and bloodied white t-shirt underneath. He folded the shirt neatly before sliding it into her pack and sighed lightly. She couldn't help but wonder what was going through his head at that very moment, but he didn't seem willing to share. Perhaps it was better that way, Whitney was lost in her own thoughts as well. She barely answered his request, just gave a solemn nod in response. If she really made it to the end like Ricky kept promising, she'd go see his family, and Matthias's, and Vesa's... she just couldn't even fathom how it would feel to go home at the moment, and she had no idea what she could even say to her own family, much less the families of her deceased friends.
"It's quiet," he commented, his eyes still fixating themselves on the doorway, "Maybe the quietest it's been since we got here."
"Yeah..." she responded, "It's peaceful, I guess... it's just really eerie. It won't stay quiet. A gunshot... or somebody screaming... it'll break the silence."
"Mmhm."
Whitney sighed and rose from her seated position on the top of one of the multiple desks in the room. She didn't gather her belongings, instead, walked up to the window seal and peered out the closed blinds. There was no one in sight. It would be daylight soon, probably the start of their final day on the island, and at the end of it, someone, maybe she, would be going home. The other three would be dead, and it wouldn't matter who was killed first or what they had done, it wouldn't make them any less dead. Being so close to the end was overwhelming, and she had a million thoughts running through her mind. She couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking the same things.
"I really need some air," she stated finally, "I'm just going outside for a minute, I'll be right back."
"Alright," Ricky replied nervously, "But be careful."
"I'll be fine," she smiled before exiting the room and leaving the Callahan boy in the darkness.
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.
((and Adam makes his Endgame V2 debut!))
As soon as Mariavel Varella heard the shattering of glass in her immediate viscinity, the playful feeling that she had disappeared completely. The glass served as a wake-up call, and something in her brain clicked into place; something that hadn't been there before. She knew that if there was a time that she would need to hold it together, now was it.
Four left, Mari. Bryan, and those two lovebirds from before. And if the glass is any indication, Bryan's hot on my trail...
This newest revelation caused her to pick up the pace, trying to ignore the dull throbbing that coursed throughout nearly her entire body. It was one thing to be fighting for one's life with a single injury, but Mariavel had been wounded many times, and the notion of pain was one that she was almost beginning to come to terms with. Nonetheless, her new, quicker pace down the hallway of the school building was causing her a mild discomfort. There was no time to stop, no time to look back.
Behind her lay the past...violence in every direction...
...from her father's beatings...
...to her recent experiences being raped...
...to all the murder she'd been privy to...
...there was nothing good behind her. Nothing good, at all. And in the truest sense of the word, behind her lay Bryan Calvert.
And Bryan was out for blood. Hers, more specifically.
So the only way to go was forward. Mariavel once more tried to speed up her path down the hallway. The corridor took a winding turn to the right, and ahead of her, she saw some stairs. In hindsight, when she'd been of a more sound mind and body (that first one was debatable in itself), she might have seen the illogic of trapping herself on the second floor of a building while a man was chasing her with murderous intentions, but her half-baked brain saw very little choice in the matter. Maybe she'd find those other two students and be able to deal with them before Bryan could get to her. Perhaps, they'd get in the way, and she'd be able to use them as meat shields or something.
What other choice do I have?
With only the slightest hesitation, Mariavel pushed the doors that led to the upper level of the school building forward and gingerly dragged herself up the flight of stairs that lay in front of her. The stairs went forward for a few feet and then gave way to a landing, and another set of stairs that curled up opposite of the first stairway, leading to the top. As she paused at the second landing, she turned off her flashlight. The darkness enveloped her, but that would be better than giving herself away. Removing the pistol she had from her pocket, she readied herself for whatever might come her way.
The doors at the top of the stairs were slightly heavier than the ones at the bottom, and Mari looked eagerly for any sign that the upper level hadn't been breached yet. As she pushed through the doors and into the corridor, she heard a faint scream, sounding like a male voice cursing someone. She knew full well that it was Bryan Calvert cursing her, which meant that he'd be that much more dangerous, but she couldn't help but suppress the feeling of a giddy laugh. Bryan was so angry, it was adorable.
What was he thinking? Was he an idiot? Him and Tori, even if they made it to the end, would never have been able to escape. What was he going to do, get there, and then say 'Sorry, hun, you and I just aren't going to work, I have to kill you?' How would he have lived with himself? I bet he hasn't even thought of it at all. So pitiful...
Creeping down the hall, Mari was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost let out a yell as a shadow emerged from a room on the corner of the hallway in front of her. In a state of near-panic, Mari assumed a defensive posture, held the pistol out, and quickly squeezed three rounds off towards the shadow without even thinking.
There's no room for friends...only targets...
As soon as Mariavel Varella heard the shattering of glass in her immediate viscinity, the playful feeling that she had disappeared completely. The glass served as a wake-up call, and something in her brain clicked into place; something that hadn't been there before. She knew that if there was a time that she would need to hold it together, now was it.
Four left, Mari. Bryan, and those two lovebirds from before. And if the glass is any indication, Bryan's hot on my trail...
This newest revelation caused her to pick up the pace, trying to ignore the dull throbbing that coursed throughout nearly her entire body. It was one thing to be fighting for one's life with a single injury, but Mariavel had been wounded many times, and the notion of pain was one that she was almost beginning to come to terms with. Nonetheless, her new, quicker pace down the hallway of the school building was causing her a mild discomfort. There was no time to stop, no time to look back.
Behind her lay the past...violence in every direction...
...from her father's beatings...
...to her recent experiences being raped...
...to all the murder she'd been privy to...
...there was nothing good behind her. Nothing good, at all. And in the truest sense of the word, behind her lay Bryan Calvert.
And Bryan was out for blood. Hers, more specifically.
So the only way to go was forward. Mariavel once more tried to speed up her path down the hallway. The corridor took a winding turn to the right, and ahead of her, she saw some stairs. In hindsight, when she'd been of a more sound mind and body (that first one was debatable in itself), she might have seen the illogic of trapping herself on the second floor of a building while a man was chasing her with murderous intentions, but her half-baked brain saw very little choice in the matter. Maybe she'd find those other two students and be able to deal with them before Bryan could get to her. Perhaps, they'd get in the way, and she'd be able to use them as meat shields or something.
What other choice do I have?
With only the slightest hesitation, Mariavel pushed the doors that led to the upper level of the school building forward and gingerly dragged herself up the flight of stairs that lay in front of her. The stairs went forward for a few feet and then gave way to a landing, and another set of stairs that curled up opposite of the first stairway, leading to the top. As she paused at the second landing, she turned off her flashlight. The darkness enveloped her, but that would be better than giving herself away. Removing the pistol she had from her pocket, she readied herself for whatever might come her way.
The doors at the top of the stairs were slightly heavier than the ones at the bottom, and Mari looked eagerly for any sign that the upper level hadn't been breached yet. As she pushed through the doors and into the corridor, she heard a faint scream, sounding like a male voice cursing someone. She knew full well that it was Bryan Calvert cursing her, which meant that he'd be that much more dangerous, but she couldn't help but suppress the feeling of a giddy laugh. Bryan was so angry, it was adorable.
What was he thinking? Was he an idiot? Him and Tori, even if they made it to the end, would never have been able to escape. What was he going to do, get there, and then say 'Sorry, hun, you and I just aren't going to work, I have to kill you?' How would he have lived with himself? I bet he hasn't even thought of it at all. So pitiful...
Creeping down the hall, Mari was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost let out a yell as a shadow emerged from a room on the corner of the hallway in front of her. In a state of near-panic, Mari assumed a defensive posture, held the pistol out, and quickly squeezed three rounds off towards the shadow without even thinking.
There's no room for friends...only targets...
The door swung shut behind him. Bryan came to an abrupt halt and panted heavily as he peered into the poorly lit hallway in front of him, just barely able to see the covered forms of Lavender Heart and Shae Arnav in his peripheral vision. There was no time to let his eyes adjust though. She was getting away, goddamn it. Without another moments hesitation Bryan barrelled forward, following the curve of the hallway with the Agram raised.
Mari wasn't waiting around the bend, of course. Bryan shouldered his way furiously through the stairwell door as it was easing slowly shut, and he ignored the loud crack it made against its own creaky hinges as he raced up the stairs sputtering death threats between heavy breaths.
'Can't let her get away. Won't. Not this time. Oh God, Tori...' He felt another surge of hot tears slide down his cheeks as the tempest of thoughts making shit out of the inside of his head returned once again to his lost companion. He grasped at the railing as he rounded the corner on the landing and channelled that anger into more relentless energy as he made short work of the final stairs to the top. The door in front of him looked heavier, and Bryan put a generous amount of energy into his frontkick to open it.
Immediately shots rang out. He squeezed the trigger on the SMG in welcome reaction, the loud pop of speeding 9mm death pebbles no longer striking any fear into him at all. Bring it on, bring it the fuck on. He was the berserker. He was the hellbent viking motherfucker who would tail Mari down the Leviathan's throat if he had to. A similar crack issued from the Agram, but in quick succession. Bryan emptied the whole fucking magazine down the hallway at her as he practically marched straight forward, enraged and a little confused but undeniably driven by the gut hate he felt for Mariavel.
"SUCK ON THIS, BITCH!!' he bellowed half-crazed over the hail of gunfire.
Mari wasn't waiting around the bend, of course. Bryan shouldered his way furiously through the stairwell door as it was easing slowly shut, and he ignored the loud crack it made against its own creaky hinges as he raced up the stairs sputtering death threats between heavy breaths.
'Can't let her get away. Won't. Not this time. Oh God, Tori...' He felt another surge of hot tears slide down his cheeks as the tempest of thoughts making shit out of the inside of his head returned once again to his lost companion. He grasped at the railing as he rounded the corner on the landing and channelled that anger into more relentless energy as he made short work of the final stairs to the top. The door in front of him looked heavier, and Bryan put a generous amount of energy into his frontkick to open it.
Immediately shots rang out. He squeezed the trigger on the SMG in welcome reaction, the loud pop of speeding 9mm death pebbles no longer striking any fear into him at all. Bring it on, bring it the fuck on. He was the berserker. He was the hellbent viking motherfucker who would tail Mari down the Leviathan's throat if he had to. A similar crack issued from the Agram, but in quick succession. Bryan emptied the whole fucking magazine down the hallway at her as he practically marched straight forward, enraged and a little confused but undeniably driven by the gut hate he felt for Mariavel.
"SUCK ON THIS, BITCH!!' he bellowed half-crazed over the hail of gunfire.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.
There was no time to say anything, no time for any quip of any kind, for as soon as the shadow swung out in front of Mariavel, it was very apparent that she'd made a very serious and potentially fatal mistake. The shadow istelf was nothing but a door, and to shoot at the door gave a very firm indication that indeed, there was another player standing in the hallway, in open sight of whomever might want to blast away in her general direction. With none of her bullets making any kind of an impact on the person (Bryan, it undoubtedly had to be Bryan) who was coming out of the doorway, Mari made a dive for the floor as the spray of bullets cut ribbons into the space where she'd been standing only seconds before.
As another shadow broke off from the door and began to make its way down the hall towards her, Mari squinted as she backpedalled on the floor and saw that the shape of the shadow's head had absolutely no hair on it - whomever was coming towards her was bald, confirming the assumption she'd made before.
Bryan Calvert had joined the party.
She needed no other confirmations, but his utterance as he fired his gun down the hall settled the debate once and for all, and Mari decided at that very moment that it was time to go on the defensive. She'd made a lot of mistakes during SOTF. That much was a fact. She'd killed people who might have been friendly, burned bridges that she might have been better off leaving intact. But here she was, in the final four. So what if Bryan Calvert was mad at her for killing his girlfriend? He needed to get over it, or he'd end up dead...unless...
The loud CLICK as Bryan ran out of ammunition was the opening that Mari needed. Bryan was being careless, that much was a fact. It was also a fact that he was her biggest competition left alive, and to survive, she'd have to do whatever it took to throw him off. So Mari did the first thing that came to mind as she fumbled around on the ground for her pistol.
"Awww, what's the matter, Bryan? Did I kill your sweeheart before you had the chance to do her in yourself? Come on, hun, what'd you think was going to happen? You had no chance of getting out alive! Did I ruin all your plans? Were you going to take what you needed from her one last time before you ended her life? Or maybe that was why you killed Seth - you were too jealous of him having a prettier girl than you had!"
Scrambling to her feet, Mari backed towards the corner of the hallway that went the opposite way down the hall. There wasn't much in the way of ammunition left in the pistol, maybe a clip or two left, and Mari knew that in order to last another little while, she'd have to make every shot count.
"Come on, Bryan! You and I, we aren't so different at all! You killed people too, you know! It's only fair, right? You killed Seth, I killed Tori! You couldn't have expected me to sit back and do nothing! It's not my fault that you think you're so much of a ladies man that you'd ever have a chance with me! You aren't the first man on the island that's wanted to have his way with me! I bet if I let my guard down, you were going to try and rape me - might as well strike while the iron's hot, right, Bry?"
Squeezing off a single shot, Mari stuck her head back behind the corner of the wall. Some of the things that were coming out of her mouth didn't even make sense, but it didn't matter. All she needed to do was get Bryan so angry that he'd screw up, and then that'd be that.
I need him so mad that he'll want to rip my throat out with his bare hands, and then me and the late Mr. Ovechkin's pistol can have our fun...
As another shadow broke off from the door and began to make its way down the hall towards her, Mari squinted as she backpedalled on the floor and saw that the shape of the shadow's head had absolutely no hair on it - whomever was coming towards her was bald, confirming the assumption she'd made before.
Bryan Calvert had joined the party.
She needed no other confirmations, but his utterance as he fired his gun down the hall settled the debate once and for all, and Mari decided at that very moment that it was time to go on the defensive. She'd made a lot of mistakes during SOTF. That much was a fact. She'd killed people who might have been friendly, burned bridges that she might have been better off leaving intact. But here she was, in the final four. So what if Bryan Calvert was mad at her for killing his girlfriend? He needed to get over it, or he'd end up dead...unless...
The loud CLICK as Bryan ran out of ammunition was the opening that Mari needed. Bryan was being careless, that much was a fact. It was also a fact that he was her biggest competition left alive, and to survive, she'd have to do whatever it took to throw him off. So Mari did the first thing that came to mind as she fumbled around on the ground for her pistol.
"Awww, what's the matter, Bryan? Did I kill your sweeheart before you had the chance to do her in yourself? Come on, hun, what'd you think was going to happen? You had no chance of getting out alive! Did I ruin all your plans? Were you going to take what you needed from her one last time before you ended her life? Or maybe that was why you killed Seth - you were too jealous of him having a prettier girl than you had!"
Scrambling to her feet, Mari backed towards the corner of the hallway that went the opposite way down the hall. There wasn't much in the way of ammunition left in the pistol, maybe a clip or two left, and Mari knew that in order to last another little while, she'd have to make every shot count.
"Come on, Bryan! You and I, we aren't so different at all! You killed people too, you know! It's only fair, right? You killed Seth, I killed Tori! You couldn't have expected me to sit back and do nothing! It's not my fault that you think you're so much of a ladies man that you'd ever have a chance with me! You aren't the first man on the island that's wanted to have his way with me! I bet if I let my guard down, you were going to try and rape me - might as well strike while the iron's hot, right, Bry?"
Squeezing off a single shot, Mari stuck her head back behind the corner of the wall. Some of the things that were coming out of her mouth didn't even make sense, but it didn't matter. All she needed to do was get Bryan so angry that he'd screw up, and then that'd be that.
I need him so mad that he'll want to rip my throat out with his bare hands, and then me and the late Mr. Ovechkin's pistol can have our fun...
The Agram locked; it was out of ammo. Bryan had been ready for this of course, seeing as there had only been one magazine available. He quickly dropped the SMG to the floor with a clatter and grasped at the SPAS-12 over his shoulder, walking quickly down the hallway towards his fallen opponent. It was hard to tell if Mari had been hit or not, but even if she was that wouldn't be a signal to let up. There was no signal. There was no escape for Mariavel Varella.
'Shouldn't have listened...you bitch, I should've fucking killed you back there without a second thought.' Bryan's agonizing regret was bad enough without knowing that he'd had the chance to stop her and made the absolute wrong decision. That's where mercy got you. Fuck that. Now everything was ruined.
Mari was thrilled with what she'd done from the sound of things. Bryan's forehead burned as she mocked him, and his pace quickened. "Shut up," he snarled, but she kept talking, pushing harder and harder until he was sure the twitching vein on his head would burst. The notion that Bryan was just using Tori spurred another pointless response.
"SHUT, THE FUCK, UP!" he barked, feeling almost light-headed. He didn't even know what he was going to do anymore, just that there wouldn't be anything left of her when he was done. Mari even had the balls to bring up Seth, and the worst part of that was knowing what his best friend had said to him as he'd died.
"Seth wanted me to kill you, you stupid cunt!" Bryan belted at her furiously as she retreated behind the corner. He fired reflexively and missed; he couldn't focus, not with his brain feeling like it was about to explode. Mari started spouting-off more shit, justifying Tori's murder in a way that made his blood boil. A bullet whizzed by his ear, and he stepped quickly into the nook of an adjacent doorway to get out of the line of fire and pump the shotgun. He bolted across to the other wall and behind an identical cover with a better angle, throwing the shotgun around that corner and firing again.
'Shouldn't have listened...you bitch, I should've fucking killed you back there without a second thought.' Bryan's agonizing regret was bad enough without knowing that he'd had the chance to stop her and made the absolute wrong decision. That's where mercy got you. Fuck that. Now everything was ruined.
Mari was thrilled with what she'd done from the sound of things. Bryan's forehead burned as she mocked him, and his pace quickened. "Shut up," he snarled, but she kept talking, pushing harder and harder until he was sure the twitching vein on his head would burst. The notion that Bryan was just using Tori spurred another pointless response.
"SHUT, THE FUCK, UP!" he barked, feeling almost light-headed. He didn't even know what he was going to do anymore, just that there wouldn't be anything left of her when he was done. Mari even had the balls to bring up Seth, and the worst part of that was knowing what his best friend had said to him as he'd died.
"Seth wanted me to kill you, you stupid cunt!" Bryan belted at her furiously as she retreated behind the corner. He fired reflexively and missed; he couldn't focus, not with his brain feeling like it was about to explode. Mari started spouting-off more shit, justifying Tori's murder in a way that made his blood boil. A bullet whizzed by his ear, and he stepped quickly into the nook of an adjacent doorway to get out of the line of fire and pump the shotgun. He bolted across to the other wall and behind an identical cover with a better angle, throwing the shotgun around that corner and firing again.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.
As Mari'd been hugging the wall, she felt very thankful when the blast from Bryan's shotgun came and blasted into the floor halfway down the hall, sending wood-chips splintering all over the walls. Cursing to herself, Mari took a few steps back into the hall, and leaned to the right, firing a few shots back at where she assumed Bryan had been standing. His words, however, bit into her sharply.
Seth...he couldn't have said that...could he?
Staggering a little as Bryan's words impacted her, Mariavel's attitude took a turn for the worse. Now instead of hurling insults at Bryan to take him off his game, she hurled even worse epithats at him, to hurt him like he'd just hurt her.
"You're WRONG, Bryan! Seth would NEVER have said that! I heard the announcement! You fucking killed him - YOU DID! What did you do, wait until his back was turned before you put a bullet in it? That's just like you, Bryan...no honour, just a major case of penis-envy! Like I said before, hun, you didn't have a chance with me...ever! You couldn't have thought that killing my boyfriend might have me wanting to play with little Bryan, did you? Come on!"
Backpedalling a little more, Mari squeezed off another round towards the end of the hallway. Behind her, she heard a soft set of voices, likely in a room down the hallway. Silently cursing to herself, she knew that right now, it'd probably take a miracle to keep her out of the crossfire that might ensue. These might be her last minutes, but if they were - she was damn well going to go down swinging. For Lavvy, for Grant...for everyone.
"You know, it's your fault, Bryan! It's your fault that Tori died! Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance!? If you'd killed me instead of acting like the macho, he-man that you wanted Tori to think you were, she'd still be alive, and you wouldn't have to worry about poor little old me anymore!"
Mari stopped for a moment, before firing off one more string of words at Bryan, hoping they'd hurt as much as any bullet might.
"You may as well have pulled the trigger, Bry! Tori's blood is on your hands, and I hope that you can live with that for the rest of your life! Even if you do kill me, and you do get out - you'll ALWAYS have to live with how you failed to protect her!"
Finally, Mariavel took a step backward, and that miracle that she'd been wishing for, well, it certainly got delivered. The spot where Bryan's shotgun blast had hit the floor had weakened the already battle-wrought structure and had caused the floor to become precariously unstable on the exact spot that Mariavel was about to move back on to. As she stepped back onto the spot, she had literally no time to even think before the small section of floor collapsed underneath her, and she was sent plummeting down to the first floor, landing on a conglomerate of chairs and desks. The pain that she felt once she impacted against the floor was intense, but Mari had the sense to pull herself up and drag herself off to the side of the classroom. Her ankle was killing her, again, but with any luck, it might not be broken this time.
And if it is, I'm a sitting duck...
Wincing as she pulled herself up to a half-standing position, she heard a door slam upstairs, and wondered how, with everything that she'd done while here in Survival of the Fittest, that fate could still decide to throw her a bone like the one she'd just recieved.
It's utterly magical, I tells ya. Just fucking magical. But now, Mari, now, we wait.
Seth...he couldn't have said that...could he?
Staggering a little as Bryan's words impacted her, Mariavel's attitude took a turn for the worse. Now instead of hurling insults at Bryan to take him off his game, she hurled even worse epithats at him, to hurt him like he'd just hurt her.
"You're WRONG, Bryan! Seth would NEVER have said that! I heard the announcement! You fucking killed him - YOU DID! What did you do, wait until his back was turned before you put a bullet in it? That's just like you, Bryan...no honour, just a major case of penis-envy! Like I said before, hun, you didn't have a chance with me...ever! You couldn't have thought that killing my boyfriend might have me wanting to play with little Bryan, did you? Come on!"
Backpedalling a little more, Mari squeezed off another round towards the end of the hallway. Behind her, she heard a soft set of voices, likely in a room down the hallway. Silently cursing to herself, she knew that right now, it'd probably take a miracle to keep her out of the crossfire that might ensue. These might be her last minutes, but if they were - she was damn well going to go down swinging. For Lavvy, for Grant...for everyone.
"You know, it's your fault, Bryan! It's your fault that Tori died! Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance!? If you'd killed me instead of acting like the macho, he-man that you wanted Tori to think you were, she'd still be alive, and you wouldn't have to worry about poor little old me anymore!"
Mari stopped for a moment, before firing off one more string of words at Bryan, hoping they'd hurt as much as any bullet might.
"You may as well have pulled the trigger, Bry! Tori's blood is on your hands, and I hope that you can live with that for the rest of your life! Even if you do kill me, and you do get out - you'll ALWAYS have to live with how you failed to protect her!"
Finally, Mariavel took a step backward, and that miracle that she'd been wishing for, well, it certainly got delivered. The spot where Bryan's shotgun blast had hit the floor had weakened the already battle-wrought structure and had caused the floor to become precariously unstable on the exact spot that Mariavel was about to move back on to. As she stepped back onto the spot, she had literally no time to even think before the small section of floor collapsed underneath her, and she was sent plummeting down to the first floor, landing on a conglomerate of chairs and desks. The pain that she felt once she impacted against the floor was intense, but Mari had the sense to pull herself up and drag herself off to the side of the classroom. Her ankle was killing her, again, but with any luck, it might not be broken this time.
And if it is, I'm a sitting duck...
Wincing as she pulled herself up to a half-standing position, she heard a door slam upstairs, and wondered how, with everything that she'd done while here in Survival of the Fittest, that fate could still decide to throw her a bone like the one she'd just recieved.
It's utterly magical, I tells ya. Just fucking magical. But now, Mari, now, we wait.
((Sorry 'bout the delay, I'm feeling... a bit better.))
The hallway was dark and desolate, and even though Whitney knew that her companion was just behind the door she had just exited -- almost within arm's reach -- she couldn't help but feel a cold chill as she gazed down the vacant hallway. The sound of rapid gunfire echoing from somewhere in the vicinity should have scared her back into the classroom from which she had emerged, but the fact was, she had become so accustomed to the sound that after the initial burst, it barely phased her anymore.
The shots sounded close by, but then again, this was the final playing field for this round of Survival of the Fittest. Of course they were going to be nearby. They only had half of a school building and the minimal area surrounding the building to fight in, so it was only natural that the other two players were somewhere in the building. Only now did she realize how much danger she might have been in.
She didn't want them to keep fighting, she didn't want anyone else to die. And yet, she knew that if she interfered in the battle, it would probably result in her death along with the two other competitors'. Part of her wanted to locate who she could only assume to be Bryan Calvert and Mariavel Varella and attempt to stop them, but the announcements -- particularly the ones entailing Mariavel's kill count of something like twelve students.
The number of deaths Mariavel had "scored" on the island, so to speak, was only rivaled by one other student this time around -- the one she happened to be fighting right now, Bryan Calvert. Two of the biggest killers on the island were facing off right now, and she couldn't help but think that Ricky was right. This time, only one of them would come out of the battle alive.
We never even had a chance, did we? They just keep fighting... keep killing, because they think it's the only way to run the game. I guess that maybe it is... maybe it's what we have to do to survive... but I can't believe that. I believe that people are good inside, even people who've done the most wretched things. This game, it's taken everything and everyone away from all of us, and of the few of us that are left, who has anything left to live for? To go home to? And yet, we're still fighting, still trying to survive, because in the end, I guess that's human nature. Even if we've lost everything, we continue to strive for survival, because even though Danya's managed to take everything else away from us, we still have the most valuable thing we can possess right now -- our lives.
She should've known better than to stand out in the open like she was, but she didn't want to go back into the classroom -- not yet. She knew how dangerous it was outside, but right now, it didn't matter. She could barely think, she could barely breathe. She was mentally and physically exhausted. The game had taken its toll on the blonde-headed girl in every sense of the word, and right now, all Whitney wanted was a breath of fresh air. The horrific smell of rotting corpses overwhelmed the entire island, and the stench itself was almost unbearable. The school, too, reeked of blood, sweat, ash and smoke, and it was a sensory overload for her. Sitting in the dark room, seemingly waiting on their imminent doom, it was almost more than she could take.
Why can't we just go home?
Whitney let out a trembling breath and closed her eyes for a split second. The gunshots seemed like they were getting closer, like maybe they were on this floor of the half blown-up building now. There was no doubt about it, they were close. The problem was, Whitney didn't seem to realize just how close they were. She was grossly overestimating the distance between herself and Bryan and Mariavel, and she was barely giving it a second thought.
Suddenly, the gunfire seemed to instantly cease, and a loud crackling noise, like the sound of breaking wood, echoed out from somewhere down the hallway. For a moment afterward, things were quiet. Whitney's curiosity piqued, and she wondered what had happened, who had died now? She couldn't bring herself to go find the other two competitors, though. Instead, she stood there, gazing through the opened blinds of the school building and out into the dark night.
The hallway was dark and desolate, and even though Whitney knew that her companion was just behind the door she had just exited -- almost within arm's reach -- she couldn't help but feel a cold chill as she gazed down the vacant hallway. The sound of rapid gunfire echoing from somewhere in the vicinity should have scared her back into the classroom from which she had emerged, but the fact was, she had become so accustomed to the sound that after the initial burst, it barely phased her anymore.
The shots sounded close by, but then again, this was the final playing field for this round of Survival of the Fittest. Of course they were going to be nearby. They only had half of a school building and the minimal area surrounding the building to fight in, so it was only natural that the other two players were somewhere in the building. Only now did she realize how much danger she might have been in.
She didn't want them to keep fighting, she didn't want anyone else to die. And yet, she knew that if she interfered in the battle, it would probably result in her death along with the two other competitors'. Part of her wanted to locate who she could only assume to be Bryan Calvert and Mariavel Varella and attempt to stop them, but the announcements -- particularly the ones entailing Mariavel's kill count of something like twelve students.
The number of deaths Mariavel had "scored" on the island, so to speak, was only rivaled by one other student this time around -- the one she happened to be fighting right now, Bryan Calvert. Two of the biggest killers on the island were facing off right now, and she couldn't help but think that Ricky was right. This time, only one of them would come out of the battle alive.
We never even had a chance, did we? They just keep fighting... keep killing, because they think it's the only way to run the game. I guess that maybe it is... maybe it's what we have to do to survive... but I can't believe that. I believe that people are good inside, even people who've done the most wretched things. This game, it's taken everything and everyone away from all of us, and of the few of us that are left, who has anything left to live for? To go home to? And yet, we're still fighting, still trying to survive, because in the end, I guess that's human nature. Even if we've lost everything, we continue to strive for survival, because even though Danya's managed to take everything else away from us, we still have the most valuable thing we can possess right now -- our lives.
She should've known better than to stand out in the open like she was, but she didn't want to go back into the classroom -- not yet. She knew how dangerous it was outside, but right now, it didn't matter. She could barely think, she could barely breathe. She was mentally and physically exhausted. The game had taken its toll on the blonde-headed girl in every sense of the word, and right now, all Whitney wanted was a breath of fresh air. The horrific smell of rotting corpses overwhelmed the entire island, and the stench itself was almost unbearable. The school, too, reeked of blood, sweat, ash and smoke, and it was a sensory overload for her. Sitting in the dark room, seemingly waiting on their imminent doom, it was almost more than she could take.
Why can't we just go home?
Whitney let out a trembling breath and closed her eyes for a split second. The gunshots seemed like they were getting closer, like maybe they were on this floor of the half blown-up building now. There was no doubt about it, they were close. The problem was, Whitney didn't seem to realize just how close they were. She was grossly overestimating the distance between herself and Bryan and Mariavel, and she was barely giving it a second thought.
Suddenly, the gunfire seemed to instantly cease, and a loud crackling noise, like the sound of breaking wood, echoed out from somewhere down the hallway. For a moment afterward, things were quiet. Whitney's curiosity piqued, and she wondered what had happened, who had died now? She couldn't bring herself to go find the other two competitors, though. Instead, she stood there, gazing through the opened blinds of the school building and out into the dark night.
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.
Another hail of gunfire returned his way, and Bryan ducked back against the door. He pumped another shell out, but he'd already lost count of how many he still had left. It didn't matter, really. He had a nagging feeling of impending death that would have had him playing much more cautiously if Tori had still been there to protect. His ticket was most likely going to be punched. Soon. So fuck everybody. Fuck Danya, fuck Wilson, and at this moment fuck the fucking fuck out of Mari.
Her torrent of insults and false accusations let him know she was still there, but now he could hear quick steps getting farther away. Was she running out of ammo? Bryan poked out from behind his cover and quickly advanced farther to the crook in the hallway when it became obvious that Mari was trying to escape.
'Keep running Mari, you fuckin' slag, you're not going anywhere.'
There was another 9mm waiting for him; it clipped the wood and brick near his head, splintering and powdering and getting shit in his eyes. He blinked quickly and rubbed a palm against his already watery and now immensely irritated eyes. Mari finally found the right words to match his devestating exclamation, but it was something that he was already half-convinced of. It was his fault that Tori had been killed, there was no getting around it. They'd come all this way just so he could fuck it all up with a stupid mistake. Of course, chasing one's mistakes with a shotgun ultimately changed nothing, but Bryan wasn't thinking entirely straight seeing as Tori was dead and Mari was fucking getting away.
"...You failed to protect her!"
Bryan felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach and displace his gut rage upwards as Mari delivered the bottom line the way only a bipolar serial killer psychobitch could. He could taste acidic bile at the back of his throat, and desperately held back vomiting up his recent shitty diet of nothing and crackers and water and more nothing as he stepped out half-crazy and half-blind from behind his cover to take a shot.
Mari dissappeared through the floor.
"The fuck--!?" Bryan scrambled backwards as he felt the supports underneath his feet suddenly give, and managed not to get pulled down with her. It appeared the school was fucking falling apart at the seams after that explosion had tore it a new one. Bryan got quickly to his feet after a moment to stare in disbelief at what had just happened, peering down into the darkness without the slightest clue as to whether Mari was alive or dead or undead or redead or what.
She hadn't stuck around as far as he could tell; although he couldn't see much he heard hastened footsteps. Of course. It would've been too fucking easy if she'd cracked her skull on the floor and died, wouldn't it.
"Dammit." Now he didn't even know where she was.
Bryan loaded the rounds from his pocket into the SPAS-12 and began making his way down the increasingly dark hallway, looking for a stairwell. The notion that Mari was either low on or out of ammo seemed pretty solid; she would probably try to jump him if anything.
'You fucking try it, bitch.' He wouldn't admit it, but the situation he was heading into was much worse than the previous one and he wasn't half as confident. It was much darker, and she had a bunch of melee weapons at her disposal, any of which could be used to kill him before he even knew she was sneaking up behind him. Or lurking in one of the classrooms. Or around the corner.
Even though he'd been preparing himself for a surprise attack Bryan still felt a sudden chill run up his spine as he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of blond hair shimmering with a sliver of moonlight that just barely cracked through the curtains. He was caught off-guard and didn't have time to think, just to pull the trigger and fire at what could only be Mariavel.
Her torrent of insults and false accusations let him know she was still there, but now he could hear quick steps getting farther away. Was she running out of ammo? Bryan poked out from behind his cover and quickly advanced farther to the crook in the hallway when it became obvious that Mari was trying to escape.
'Keep running Mari, you fuckin' slag, you're not going anywhere.'
There was another 9mm waiting for him; it clipped the wood and brick near his head, splintering and powdering and getting shit in his eyes. He blinked quickly and rubbed a palm against his already watery and now immensely irritated eyes. Mari finally found the right words to match his devestating exclamation, but it was something that he was already half-convinced of. It was his fault that Tori had been killed, there was no getting around it. They'd come all this way just so he could fuck it all up with a stupid mistake. Of course, chasing one's mistakes with a shotgun ultimately changed nothing, but Bryan wasn't thinking entirely straight seeing as Tori was dead and Mari was fucking getting away.
"...You failed to protect her!"
Bryan felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach and displace his gut rage upwards as Mari delivered the bottom line the way only a bipolar serial killer psychobitch could. He could taste acidic bile at the back of his throat, and desperately held back vomiting up his recent shitty diet of nothing and crackers and water and more nothing as he stepped out half-crazy and half-blind from behind his cover to take a shot.
Mari dissappeared through the floor.
"The fuck--!?" Bryan scrambled backwards as he felt the supports underneath his feet suddenly give, and managed not to get pulled down with her. It appeared the school was fucking falling apart at the seams after that explosion had tore it a new one. Bryan got quickly to his feet after a moment to stare in disbelief at what had just happened, peering down into the darkness without the slightest clue as to whether Mari was alive or dead or undead or redead or what.
She hadn't stuck around as far as he could tell; although he couldn't see much he heard hastened footsteps. Of course. It would've been too fucking easy if she'd cracked her skull on the floor and died, wouldn't it.
"Dammit." Now he didn't even know where she was.
Bryan loaded the rounds from his pocket into the SPAS-12 and began making his way down the increasingly dark hallway, looking for a stairwell. The notion that Mari was either low on or out of ammo seemed pretty solid; she would probably try to jump him if anything.
'You fucking try it, bitch.' He wouldn't admit it, but the situation he was heading into was much worse than the previous one and he wasn't half as confident. It was much darker, and she had a bunch of melee weapons at her disposal, any of which could be used to kill him before he even knew she was sneaking up behind him. Or lurking in one of the classrooms. Or around the corner.
Even though he'd been preparing himself for a surprise attack Bryan still felt a sudden chill run up his spine as he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of blond hair shimmering with a sliver of moonlight that just barely cracked through the curtains. He was caught off-guard and didn't have time to think, just to pull the trigger and fire at what could only be Mariavel.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.
Footsteps.
Shouting.
Gunshots.
They all stopped, and nothing followed except for an eerie silence. Silence... the absence of noise. The silence was, perhaps, the most horrifying noise of all.
Is that it? Are we the only two left now?
Whitney's eyes scanned the area surrounding her for any sign of the remaining two contestants. She listened intently, searching for a sound, some sort of noise to signify that one or the other was still alive and still a threat. But, there was nothing. Just quiet. Her body tensed up as she thought she heard the faint pitter-patter of footsteps along the old wood flooring, but she couldn't see anything through the poorly illuminated hallway. She let out a trembling sigh of relief and tore her vision from the darkened hallway that she had been staring down.
And then, something interrupted her trail of vision. A figure, tall, masculine, the only feature that she could make out was a bald head gleaming in the darkness... and the barrel of a shotgun, pointed directly at her. She didn't have time to think, she didn't have time to react. Just as quickly as the boy had spotted her, he had pointed the barrel of the gun directly at her and pulled the trigger. She didn't even have time to scream or attempt to dodge the hail of buckshot that was suddenly hurdling toward her.
A searing pain entered her stomach, her arms, her legs, every region of her body suddenly felt like it was being burned from the inside out. An anguished scream erupted from her mouth and all of a sudden, she felt her legs collapsing from under her, unable to hold her weight any longer. Whitney clutched at the curtains nearby in an attempt to keep herself on her feet, but the shoddy curtains and the curtain rod on which they sat were torn from the wall and clattered to the ground as she fell.
...Ricky...
An eruption of choked coughs racked her entire body as the coppery metallic substance filled her mouth. She could barely recognize the figure in the distance, though the gleam of the moonlight now oozing through the school building's window revealed who her attacker had been. Bryan Calvert. That's who the boy standing in front of her had to be. Countless times throughout the course of the game, Whitney had been shot at, nearly impaled, or almost eliminated in a variety of gorey and horrifying ways, but now, even though she was lying in a pool of her own blood, she didn't feel angry. Just sad.
"Huh..." she sputtered out as her blue eyes fixated on Bryan Calvert. She fought to push the tears back that threatened to pour from them, but to no avail, "Didn't... see that one coming."
Blood poured from her wounds, soaking into her shirt, her jeans, drenching the floor around her. The buckshot had done its intention, and the only time Whitney had left was the time before the inevitable blood loss ended her life. She tried to fight back the tears again. Part of her wanted to at least try to sit up, to convince herself that she could simply walk off the damage that the bullet wounds had done, but her body was racked with so much pain that she couldn't even move, let alone attempt to sit up.
"Must be... Bryan..." she uttered with a sad smile, "Too bad... couldn't have met... better... circumstances."
Another cough burst its way from her throat, taking a line of dark red blood along with it, and Whitney wheezed to breathe.
I'm sorry, Ricky. I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry I was so reckless... didn't mean to go and get myself killed. But now you can go home... you can survive, go see your brother, tell him you're sorry for yourself.
Meanwhile, the door to the classroom nearby shot open and slammed against the wall, and through bleary vision Whitney's eyes raised up to notice the figure of Ricky Callahan, pistol pointed directly at Bryan Calvert. Ricky's eyes frantically searched the hallway before him. He saw Whitney, lying on the floor, barely conscious from the blood loss she had sustained, and further down the hallway, he saw Bryan, standing there, shotgun in hand. Ricky fought back panicked tears as he exited the room, pistol set directly on the other boy.
"What the hell did you do?!" Ricky spat out angrily, his whole body shaking visibly in a fit of frustration, remorse, and anguish, "What the HELL did you DO?!"
Shouting.
Gunshots.
They all stopped, and nothing followed except for an eerie silence. Silence... the absence of noise. The silence was, perhaps, the most horrifying noise of all.
Is that it? Are we the only two left now?
Whitney's eyes scanned the area surrounding her for any sign of the remaining two contestants. She listened intently, searching for a sound, some sort of noise to signify that one or the other was still alive and still a threat. But, there was nothing. Just quiet. Her body tensed up as she thought she heard the faint pitter-patter of footsteps along the old wood flooring, but she couldn't see anything through the poorly illuminated hallway. She let out a trembling sigh of relief and tore her vision from the darkened hallway that she had been staring down.
And then, something interrupted her trail of vision. A figure, tall, masculine, the only feature that she could make out was a bald head gleaming in the darkness... and the barrel of a shotgun, pointed directly at her. She didn't have time to think, she didn't have time to react. Just as quickly as the boy had spotted her, he had pointed the barrel of the gun directly at her and pulled the trigger. She didn't even have time to scream or attempt to dodge the hail of buckshot that was suddenly hurdling toward her.
A searing pain entered her stomach, her arms, her legs, every region of her body suddenly felt like it was being burned from the inside out. An anguished scream erupted from her mouth and all of a sudden, she felt her legs collapsing from under her, unable to hold her weight any longer. Whitney clutched at the curtains nearby in an attempt to keep herself on her feet, but the shoddy curtains and the curtain rod on which they sat were torn from the wall and clattered to the ground as she fell.
...Ricky...
An eruption of choked coughs racked her entire body as the coppery metallic substance filled her mouth. She could barely recognize the figure in the distance, though the gleam of the moonlight now oozing through the school building's window revealed who her attacker had been. Bryan Calvert. That's who the boy standing in front of her had to be. Countless times throughout the course of the game, Whitney had been shot at, nearly impaled, or almost eliminated in a variety of gorey and horrifying ways, but now, even though she was lying in a pool of her own blood, she didn't feel angry. Just sad.
"Huh..." she sputtered out as her blue eyes fixated on Bryan Calvert. She fought to push the tears back that threatened to pour from them, but to no avail, "Didn't... see that one coming."
Blood poured from her wounds, soaking into her shirt, her jeans, drenching the floor around her. The buckshot had done its intention, and the only time Whitney had left was the time before the inevitable blood loss ended her life. She tried to fight back the tears again. Part of her wanted to at least try to sit up, to convince herself that she could simply walk off the damage that the bullet wounds had done, but her body was racked with so much pain that she couldn't even move, let alone attempt to sit up.
"Must be... Bryan..." she uttered with a sad smile, "Too bad... couldn't have met... better... circumstances."
Another cough burst its way from her throat, taking a line of dark red blood along with it, and Whitney wheezed to breathe.
I'm sorry, Ricky. I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry I was so reckless... didn't mean to go and get myself killed. But now you can go home... you can survive, go see your brother, tell him you're sorry for yourself.
Meanwhile, the door to the classroom nearby shot open and slammed against the wall, and through bleary vision Whitney's eyes raised up to notice the figure of Ricky Callahan, pistol pointed directly at Bryan Calvert. Ricky's eyes frantically searched the hallway before him. He saw Whitney, lying on the floor, barely conscious from the blood loss she had sustained, and further down the hallway, he saw Bryan, standing there, shotgun in hand. Ricky fought back panicked tears as he exited the room, pistol set directly on the other boy.
"What the hell did you do?!" Ricky spat out angrily, his whole body shaking visibly in a fit of frustration, remorse, and anguish, "What the HELL did you DO?!"
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.
Bryan's heart nearly stopped as his opponent fell, pulling the curtains with her in a subconscious effort to stay on her feet. Moonlight flooded through the windows and was momentarily blinding given that his eyes had adjusted to the darker and darker hallways of the school. Bryan threw a hand up and blinked a few times in quick succession, breathing heavily and trying to let the adrenaline settle.
...
Something was very wrong, because that wasn't Mari. She had blond hair, yes, but she was dressed differently and when she sputtered a few words she sounded nothing like her. Bryan had never seen this girl before in his life. With the realization that this wasn't the intended target he should have made some effort to help her (even though it certainly would have been in vain), but instead he stood there absolutely nonplussed. Was this really happening, or had he completely lost it?
She said his name, which caught him a bit off-guard and he took a step back as if he'd been suddenly shoved, but after a second the heavily worn--nearly stripped--cogs began turning in his brain and it made sense. She might have been guessing, but she'd tagged him through the announcements. There were four left, and even though he hadn't been paying attention at the time he could easily do the math now. Himself, Mari, this girl and...
...who else was there?
A door shot open down the hallway and he wheeled around on his aching heels in surprise as another stranger appeared with a pistol drawn. Bryan wasn't sure what to expect, but his hands had become very accustomed to pumping and raising the shotgun when in doubt. The other boy screamed at him with an all-too-familiar brand of raw anger, and instantly it became clear what he'd just done. Bryan shot another devestated glance at the figure dying on the floor and then back at what could only have been her protector.
Crushed, Bryan couldn't bring himself to answer the other boy's painfully simple question, although he tried. Nothing came out but a kind of stuttering that took him all the way back to gradeschool. Likewise he felt vulnerable and ashamed, unable to justify the murder of one more stranger. Even though this time it had been under mistaken identity, even though it had been so easy before to pin it on the game, or on protection. Even though he wasn't even playing the game anymore. Killing Mari was outside of the game. Wasn't it? It was so hard to recognize what was and what wasn't part of that fucking game anymore.
"I--I'm sorry, I didn't...mean to..." was his reply, which left so much to be desired mentally played back to him that he knew there was no way the other boy would understand. It dawned on him that as far as adapting to the game went he was back to square one, all the way back to Dan-fucking-Birch with his big gaping chestwound and bloody entrails seeping onto the floor. He might as well have been looking Birch straight in the face instead of whoever the hell this was. All the same he kept the shotgun raised; his internal defence mechanisms were down, but that wasn't to say that his externals weren't.
...
Something was very wrong, because that wasn't Mari. She had blond hair, yes, but she was dressed differently and when she sputtered a few words she sounded nothing like her. Bryan had never seen this girl before in his life. With the realization that this wasn't the intended target he should have made some effort to help her (even though it certainly would have been in vain), but instead he stood there absolutely nonplussed. Was this really happening, or had he completely lost it?
She said his name, which caught him a bit off-guard and he took a step back as if he'd been suddenly shoved, but after a second the heavily worn--nearly stripped--cogs began turning in his brain and it made sense. She might have been guessing, but she'd tagged him through the announcements. There were four left, and even though he hadn't been paying attention at the time he could easily do the math now. Himself, Mari, this girl and...
...who else was there?
A door shot open down the hallway and he wheeled around on his aching heels in surprise as another stranger appeared with a pistol drawn. Bryan wasn't sure what to expect, but his hands had become very accustomed to pumping and raising the shotgun when in doubt. The other boy screamed at him with an all-too-familiar brand of raw anger, and instantly it became clear what he'd just done. Bryan shot another devestated glance at the figure dying on the floor and then back at what could only have been her protector.
Crushed, Bryan couldn't bring himself to answer the other boy's painfully simple question, although he tried. Nothing came out but a kind of stuttering that took him all the way back to gradeschool. Likewise he felt vulnerable and ashamed, unable to justify the murder of one more stranger. Even though this time it had been under mistaken identity, even though it had been so easy before to pin it on the game, or on protection. Even though he wasn't even playing the game anymore. Killing Mari was outside of the game. Wasn't it? It was so hard to recognize what was and what wasn't part of that fucking game anymore.
"I--I'm sorry, I didn't...mean to..." was his reply, which left so much to be desired mentally played back to him that he knew there was no way the other boy would understand. It dawned on him that as far as adapting to the game went he was back to square one, all the way back to Dan-fucking-Birch with his big gaping chestwound and bloody entrails seeping onto the floor. He might as well have been looking Birch straight in the face instead of whoever the hell this was. All the same he kept the shotgun raised; his internal defence mechanisms were down, but that wasn't to say that his externals weren't.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.
One second...
Ricky could barely control the unadulterated anger that was coursing through his veins. His heart was throbbing rapidly that it seemed as though it would burst from his chest at any given moment, and every moment that went by seemed like an eternity. He watched the bald-headed figure counter his own armed stance with one of his own, pointing the barrel of the shotgun at Ricky. The frantic look on the other contestant's face belied the fact that he was currently armed with a shotgun, not to mention the fact that he had just gunned down the one person that Ricky had spent every moment of the entire game in some vain attempt to protect. The gun in his hands trembled and he couldn't seem to keep it focused on the other student in front of him.
Even in the end, Callahan, you're a failure. You've failed everybody you've ever come into contact with. You fell short of your parents' expectations, you let Matt take the spotlight away from you. You weren't there for Eric, you weren't there for Jackie, or Kayla, or Gail, or John, or anybody you said you'd protect. You looked them in the eyes, told them you'd be there for them, told them that you'd all escape this hellhole... what does that make you, Callahan? I'll tell you what it makes you. A liar. A worthless fucking liar.
"You're SORRY?" Ricky choked out, fighting back tears, "That's all you can fucking come up with? You're sorry."
Coward.
Ricky's gun didn't move. He knew the other contestant, one he had tagged as Bryan Calvert by now, was still clenching the shotgun between his hands, but the fact was, Ricky didn't care anymore. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear, all he felt was this gut-wrenching pain that wouldn't cease. All he could hear were the brutal words that kept ringing though his ears, calling him a loser and a coward, reminding him of the fact that he'd failed everybody, and now Whitney was dying. They had come so far, and one more time, he had let his guard down, and one more time, someone important had been taken away from him.
Huy, Anna, Vesa, Matthias, Eric, Whitney, Gail, Jackie, Kayla, everybody... everybody...
"Give me one reason I shouldn't pull the trigger..." he choked out in a crackling voice, "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now..."
Because you don't have that right, Callahan. You're barely a man, let alone man enough to play God. So you'll do nothing, just like you always do. You'll bow your head down and walk away, you'll leave her to die, because in the end, you're too nice for your own good... always were too nice for your own good.
"Do you think that shotgun scares me?" Ricky shot out quietly, still fixating on the other boy, "Because I hate to tell you this, but you're wrong. I never had any intention of getting out of this game. I don't deserve to go home. Neither do you. Neither does that fucking blonde bitch that's running around somewhere, probably waiting to jump out of the rafters and slice us in half with a damn machete. Know why, buddy? Because the fact is, we're all murderers. We all KILLED people, and do you know who you just killed? The one... fucking person that I've done nothing but try to protect since I woke up in this god damn place. The person I was willing to give my life for so she could go home... so what the fuck do I have to lose by you pointing your shotgun at me? You might kill me, motherfucker, but I'll take you with me."
Whitney's vision was fading in and out fast, and the world around her looked blurry and hazy, like it was nothing except a dream. At this precise moment, Whitney wished that the entire game was just one horrible nightmare, and she would've given anything to have woken up and shot up from her bed in the next instant, but the pain coursing through her entire body told her that this wasn't a dream, no matter how hard she wished for it to be. She could just barely make out the figure of Ricky Callahan, pistol pointed directly at the forehead of the person who had shot her.
"Don't..." she choked out painfully, 'causing the hispanic boy to drop his attention from Calvert and turn to his dying companion, "Don't kill him."
Ricky's eyes widened and he couldn't hide the startled expression that overtook his features.
"But..." Ricky started, and all Whitney could do was offer him a sympathetic smile.
"Nobody else... needs to die. I don't... wanna watch anyone else get killed."
"But..." he burst out again, obviously torn between obliging the dying girl's wishes and blasting a bullet through Bryan Calvert's forehead.
"It's not worth it... what good would it... do? For... revenge?" she couldn't fight back the tears pouring down her cheeks, she had long since stopped trying, "Won't... change anything. Gotta just... let go."
Just let go...
Ricky's eyes clenched shut for a moment and he dropped his hands. He looked directly at Bryan Calvert -- a look of pure hatred, ignorance and disgust. Ricky shook his head and turned his back on the boy with the shotgun, moving over to his dying friend and leaning over her bullet-ridden body lying on the ground. He shook his head disheartenedly and his trail of vision moved back to Bryan Calvert. She was right. Nothing he did right now would change anything. Whitney was dying, and nothing was going to bring her back. This game had made Ricky Callahan feel helpless numerous times, but this was the first time he felt like there was nothing left except sorrow and despair. He looked down at Whitney, then up at Calvert one more time.
"Just go," he spat angrily, "Just get the hell out of here. Don't worry, we won't meet again."
Ricky could barely control the unadulterated anger that was coursing through his veins. His heart was throbbing rapidly that it seemed as though it would burst from his chest at any given moment, and every moment that went by seemed like an eternity. He watched the bald-headed figure counter his own armed stance with one of his own, pointing the barrel of the shotgun at Ricky. The frantic look on the other contestant's face belied the fact that he was currently armed with a shotgun, not to mention the fact that he had just gunned down the one person that Ricky had spent every moment of the entire game in some vain attempt to protect. The gun in his hands trembled and he couldn't seem to keep it focused on the other student in front of him.
Even in the end, Callahan, you're a failure. You've failed everybody you've ever come into contact with. You fell short of your parents' expectations, you let Matt take the spotlight away from you. You weren't there for Eric, you weren't there for Jackie, or Kayla, or Gail, or John, or anybody you said you'd protect. You looked them in the eyes, told them you'd be there for them, told them that you'd all escape this hellhole... what does that make you, Callahan? I'll tell you what it makes you. A liar. A worthless fucking liar.
"You're SORRY?" Ricky choked out, fighting back tears, "That's all you can fucking come up with? You're sorry."
Coward.
Ricky's gun didn't move. He knew the other contestant, one he had tagged as Bryan Calvert by now, was still clenching the shotgun between his hands, but the fact was, Ricky didn't care anymore. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear, all he felt was this gut-wrenching pain that wouldn't cease. All he could hear were the brutal words that kept ringing though his ears, calling him a loser and a coward, reminding him of the fact that he'd failed everybody, and now Whitney was dying. They had come so far, and one more time, he had let his guard down, and one more time, someone important had been taken away from him.
Huy, Anna, Vesa, Matthias, Eric, Whitney, Gail, Jackie, Kayla, everybody... everybody...
"Give me one reason I shouldn't pull the trigger..." he choked out in a crackling voice, "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now..."
Because you don't have that right, Callahan. You're barely a man, let alone man enough to play God. So you'll do nothing, just like you always do. You'll bow your head down and walk away, you'll leave her to die, because in the end, you're too nice for your own good... always were too nice for your own good.
"Do you think that shotgun scares me?" Ricky shot out quietly, still fixating on the other boy, "Because I hate to tell you this, but you're wrong. I never had any intention of getting out of this game. I don't deserve to go home. Neither do you. Neither does that fucking blonde bitch that's running around somewhere, probably waiting to jump out of the rafters and slice us in half with a damn machete. Know why, buddy? Because the fact is, we're all murderers. We all KILLED people, and do you know who you just killed? The one... fucking person that I've done nothing but try to protect since I woke up in this god damn place. The person I was willing to give my life for so she could go home... so what the fuck do I have to lose by you pointing your shotgun at me? You might kill me, motherfucker, but I'll take you with me."
Whitney's vision was fading in and out fast, and the world around her looked blurry and hazy, like it was nothing except a dream. At this precise moment, Whitney wished that the entire game was just one horrible nightmare, and she would've given anything to have woken up and shot up from her bed in the next instant, but the pain coursing through her entire body told her that this wasn't a dream, no matter how hard she wished for it to be. She could just barely make out the figure of Ricky Callahan, pistol pointed directly at the forehead of the person who had shot her.
"Don't..." she choked out painfully, 'causing the hispanic boy to drop his attention from Calvert and turn to his dying companion, "Don't kill him."
Ricky's eyes widened and he couldn't hide the startled expression that overtook his features.
"But..." Ricky started, and all Whitney could do was offer him a sympathetic smile.
"Nobody else... needs to die. I don't... wanna watch anyone else get killed."
"But..." he burst out again, obviously torn between obliging the dying girl's wishes and blasting a bullet through Bryan Calvert's forehead.
"It's not worth it... what good would it... do? For... revenge?" she couldn't fight back the tears pouring down her cheeks, she had long since stopped trying, "Won't... change anything. Gotta just... let go."
Just let go...
Ricky's eyes clenched shut for a moment and he dropped his hands. He looked directly at Bryan Calvert -- a look of pure hatred, ignorance and disgust. Ricky shook his head and turned his back on the boy with the shotgun, moving over to his dying friend and leaning over her bullet-ridden body lying on the ground. He shook his head disheartenedly and his trail of vision moved back to Bryan Calvert. She was right. Nothing he did right now would change anything. Whitney was dying, and nothing was going to bring her back. This game had made Ricky Callahan feel helpless numerous times, but this was the first time he felt like there was nothing left except sorrow and despair. He looked down at Whitney, then up at Calvert one more time.
"Just go," he spat angrily, "Just get the hell out of here. Don't worry, we won't meet again."
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.
Bryan stood there with an expression of mental anguish plastered on his face as the other boy flipped his lid. Rightfully so, considering he could relate so well to his predicament. He shut his eyes, becoming aware of the dried tears on his face as he tried to shut out the wave of anger directed towards him. Hadn't he been through enough already? Couldn't he of all things have this, his revenge? What were the fucking odds, anyway; why did these mocking little fuckups keep haunting him?
There was a familiar ache at the front of his head, a burning around his ears. Bryan felt his brow tighten and a very low, almost inaudible hiss at the bottom of his throat as he breathed out a little heavier. That was enough. He didn't need this. As justified as it was, Bryan couldn't handle being on this end of the anger. This guy was pushing the wrong person. If he wanted, he could shut this fucker up with the pull of a trigger. Might catch one himself if he did, but anything was better than dealing with this faggot. Fuck him. Fuck that broad dying on the ground, too.
"...so what the fuck do I have to lose by you pointing your shotgun at me? You might kill me, motherfucker, but I'll take you with me."
'So be it,' Bryan thought to himself, infuriated at everyone including himself and having nothing more to lose anyway. He understood that if both he and the other boy with the pistol were killed then Mari would go home. He was willing to risk it though; he'd go through a sea of these pissant motherfuckers to avenge Tori. His finger became tighter on the trigger of the SPAS-12, the barrel pointed between the other boy's eyes. He was pushing the wrong fucking person.
The dying girl interjected. Bryan had half-a-mind to shoot her for insisting on being in the wrong place at the wrong time, even though he knew full well that it couldn't have possibly been her fault. He didn't care. He was angry, and it was easier to be angry at people than at the cruel hand of fate. Still, as she spoke all he could think about was what Tori would have wanted. He wished he could've had another chance, more than anything, but the fact remained that taking revenge on her killer wasn't going to bring Tori back.
The boy told him to take his leave. He hesitated, feeling a surge of anger rising. But it died down. Without a word Bryan finally turned his back on the two, starting off down the hallway towards another stretch of darkness. He owed them that much.
There was a familiar ache at the front of his head, a burning around his ears. Bryan felt his brow tighten and a very low, almost inaudible hiss at the bottom of his throat as he breathed out a little heavier. That was enough. He didn't need this. As justified as it was, Bryan couldn't handle being on this end of the anger. This guy was pushing the wrong person. If he wanted, he could shut this fucker up with the pull of a trigger. Might catch one himself if he did, but anything was better than dealing with this faggot. Fuck him. Fuck that broad dying on the ground, too.
"...so what the fuck do I have to lose by you pointing your shotgun at me? You might kill me, motherfucker, but I'll take you with me."
'So be it,' Bryan thought to himself, infuriated at everyone including himself and having nothing more to lose anyway. He understood that if both he and the other boy with the pistol were killed then Mari would go home. He was willing to risk it though; he'd go through a sea of these pissant motherfuckers to avenge Tori. His finger became tighter on the trigger of the SPAS-12, the barrel pointed between the other boy's eyes. He was pushing the wrong fucking person.
The dying girl interjected. Bryan had half-a-mind to shoot her for insisting on being in the wrong place at the wrong time, even though he knew full well that it couldn't have possibly been her fault. He didn't care. He was angry, and it was easier to be angry at people than at the cruel hand of fate. Still, as she spoke all he could think about was what Tori would have wanted. He wished he could've had another chance, more than anything, but the fact remained that taking revenge on her killer wasn't going to bring Tori back.
The boy told him to take his leave. He hesitated, feeling a surge of anger rising. But it died down. Without a word Bryan finally turned his back on the two, starting off down the hallway towards another stretch of darkness. He owed them that much.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Cyco. 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.