((Bobby continued from: Soulless))
Bobby almost fell through the storehouse door, slamming into it and dropping onto his knees on the inside. Since the graveyard, this had been the very first building Bobby had come across, and he was more relieved to see it than he could say. He had enjoyed no more than a couple of hours sleep over the past three days, and it really didn't help that he had been involved in psyically demanding fights no fewer than four times already. Bobby was about ready to drop dead from exhaustion.
The building offered a measure of security to him. There was a body sprawled out on the floor but at this point Bobby really didn't care. He shuffled across the room, avoided the dead body and headed into the small office on the opposite side. Hopefully, lying down, he would be able to remain unseen.
Bobby ducked down, and sure enough, couldn't see out into the building itself. Of course, that might have been a danger - after all, it meant he couldn't keep watch. But he was willing to forgo that for a chance to sleep. After a moment's consideration, Bobby moved a chair inside the office to a position behind the door. Anybody opening it would be sure to mke quite a clamour and wake him up. As added security, Bobby lay down underneath the desk, virtually impossible to see from anywhere except inside the officer itself. Bobby kept one hand on his carbine even as he settled down, priming it and laying it alongside him before lying back.
He was asleep in moments.
Point of Collapse
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
What kind of a sick joke is this?!
It was dark, cramped, and upside down. That was all Bill Ritch knew about his newfound location. That, and he was crammed inside it along with a small bag and what seemed to be a tent. As his conciousness returned, he remembered that he was recently captured, and forced onto the SOTF Program. There was probably more to it than that, but the resulting headrush he experienced when squirming upright knocked all coherent thoughts from his mind.
"Mmmfgmm... This... is... not good..."
Bill shook his head. His eyes raced from side to side. He could see brown, dark walls closing in around him. Fear overtook his body and he started to shake in fear. It was now he realized he was sweating profusely. His muffled voice was barely audible to even him.
"Oh... oh GOD!"
His hands started beating at the walls of this room, their sausage-like fingers prying at whatever they could get ahold of. Now the boy began to scream, as loud as he possibly could. Someone... someone had to help him!
"OH CRAP, HELP ME! I'M STUCK IN HERE! HEEEEELP! SOMEONE!! SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF HERE!!"
But... but this was SOTF. There were always psychos on the island. Powerplayers, villains, whatever you wanted to call them... they were out to kill! The crate he found himself in now jumped and bumped as he thrashed inside.
"HELP! I'M TRAPPED IN A BOX! DON'T KILL ME! PLEASE, DON'T KILL ME! KILL THE BOX! KILL THE BOX!! AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!"
KILL THE BOX!
For a moment he stopped thrashing, but still shook as he rummaged through the daypack to find his weapon. Something, anything to get him out of here... A utility knife! As quickly as the heavy-set nerd could, he cut through what he guessed was cardboard, slashing and sawing his way through it. Light seeped in through the tear in the box, and Bill pushed and tore his way out.
The fresh air burst into his lungs as he breathed sharply in exhaustion. He closed his eyes and lay on the cold floor. The Utility knife found it's way into Bill's pocket, it's blade now safely retracted. But he felt something... something wet... It was on his left hand.
Bill gasped at the sight. He had touched a pool of blood, which had seeped from the body that lay in front of him. It's head was mangled and hung onto it's neck by a thread. It had numerous cuts all over it, and it was missing one of it's hands and... it's genitals.
"Oh... nooo... no no no no... this is bad. This is very, very bad.."
He was at a loss for words. They had done it again. They had taken another group of students, and put them on another island, in another interation of this... sick... thing... they called a game...
On second thoughy maybe I don't want to put that knife away...
The yellow box cutter was gripped in his large hands, the blade extended and he clutched the knife close to his chest. Was there anyone here? Were they already watching him? Did they have a gun, or a crossbow, or an axe, or a bomb or... or... were they just planning to kill him with their bare hands? Ripping and tearing and...
"Ugghhhh... whatche..ghhh... fuck!"
The large boy got off the ground and bounded away, running at full speed away from the body...
And into the storehouse's large, metal door.
It was dark, cramped, and upside down. That was all Bill Ritch knew about his newfound location. That, and he was crammed inside it along with a small bag and what seemed to be a tent. As his conciousness returned, he remembered that he was recently captured, and forced onto the SOTF Program. There was probably more to it than that, but the resulting headrush he experienced when squirming upright knocked all coherent thoughts from his mind.
"Mmmfgmm... This... is... not good..."
Bill shook his head. His eyes raced from side to side. He could see brown, dark walls closing in around him. Fear overtook his body and he started to shake in fear. It was now he realized he was sweating profusely. His muffled voice was barely audible to even him.
"Oh... oh GOD!"
His hands started beating at the walls of this room, their sausage-like fingers prying at whatever they could get ahold of. Now the boy began to scream, as loud as he possibly could. Someone... someone had to help him!
"OH CRAP, HELP ME! I'M STUCK IN HERE! HEEEEELP! SOMEONE!! SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF HERE!!"
But... but this was SOTF. There were always psychos on the island. Powerplayers, villains, whatever you wanted to call them... they were out to kill! The crate he found himself in now jumped and bumped as he thrashed inside.
"HELP! I'M TRAPPED IN A BOX! DON'T KILL ME! PLEASE, DON'T KILL ME! KILL THE BOX! KILL THE BOX!! AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!"
KILL THE BOX!
For a moment he stopped thrashing, but still shook as he rummaged through the daypack to find his weapon. Something, anything to get him out of here... A utility knife! As quickly as the heavy-set nerd could, he cut through what he guessed was cardboard, slashing and sawing his way through it. Light seeped in through the tear in the box, and Bill pushed and tore his way out.
The fresh air burst into his lungs as he breathed sharply in exhaustion. He closed his eyes and lay on the cold floor. The Utility knife found it's way into Bill's pocket, it's blade now safely retracted. But he felt something... something wet... It was on his left hand.
Bill gasped at the sight. He had touched a pool of blood, which had seeped from the body that lay in front of him. It's head was mangled and hung onto it's neck by a thread. It had numerous cuts all over it, and it was missing one of it's hands and... it's genitals.
"Oh... nooo... no no no no... this is bad. This is very, very bad.."
He was at a loss for words. They had done it again. They had taken another group of students, and put them on another island, in another interation of this... sick... thing... they called a game...
On second thoughy maybe I don't want to put that knife away...
The yellow box cutter was gripped in his large hands, the blade extended and he clutched the knife close to his chest. Was there anyone here? Were they already watching him? Did they have a gun, or a crossbow, or an axe, or a bomb or... or... were they just planning to kill him with their bare hands? Ripping and tearing and...
"Ugghhhh... whatche..ghhh... fuck!"
The large boy got off the ground and bounded away, running at full speed away from the body...
And into the storehouse's large, metal door.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler AtomicWaffle.
Urgh... what the hell? Who shouted?
Bobby was roused from an uneasy sleep unceremoniously. He didn't know how long he had slept for, but thanks to his rude awakening, Bobby wasn't feeling all that refreshed. However, since he was catching up on about three nights sleep all at once, that was perhaps understandable. Bobby only caught about the tail-end of what was spoken, but from what he gathered, there was not some kind of mortal combat going on inside the Storehouse, rather somebody was trapped. In a box.
He considered remaining where he was for a few moments, the guy sounded like an idiot, and stupid people went down hard in SOTF, Bobby had seen that already. Tyson, for example, had made the mistake of gloating whilst he held Bobby at gunpoint, a mistake, in the end, which had been fatal. On the other hand... if this moron kept blundering around bawling his idiotic head off, then undoubtedly other people would be attracted to Bobby's little isolated cave, which at the moment, he really didn't want. The fewer encounters he experienced in the game the better... less weight on his mind.
Bobby thoughtfully removed his scalpel from a pocket, then looked at it for a few moments. Punishment, Bobby considered, was once again required. 'Kenurton' and that other poor bastard who he had dug up to loot, and whoever the hell the guy who he had narrowly missed being shot and killed by. Three more marks against him. Deliberation over, Bobby brought the scalpel up, and added two cuts alongside the other three on his right cheek, and another to the cluster on his left cheek. That made seven: Straton, Tyson, Wolfe, Ric, CorpseA, Kenurton, hippy. He might not have killed all of them, but he had done enough.
Bobby knew that he was bleeding again, but didn't much care. The cuts were only small, they would clot in time - he was hardly going to bleed to death from a few cuts on his face. There were quite a few of them, that was true, but Bobby had taken care of them as best he could, even if he hadn't covered them over. Besides, Bobby was sure infection was going to be the least of his worries - when you had to contend with being shot at, that kind of thing was decidedly secondary...
Irritated still, Bobby got to his feet and kicked the office's door open with a huge boot. He saw a nerdy looking sort lying on the floor, he appeared somewhat dazed. What could have happened? They were the only two people there, as far as he could see, unless somebody had snuck in somehow... in which case Bobby would have seen them by now, or heard them. Either that, or it was self inflicted, and the idiot was so damn stupid he'd decked himself.
The boxer took two steps forward to close the difference, brought out his carbine and pointed it at the student with both hands firmly around it to improve his accuracy. He hadn't hit anything with it except when at literally point blank range, so his aim was highly in question.
"Okay..." Bobby murmured. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't put a hole in your head," he knew that he should really be shooting first and asking questions later, but Bobby found he just couldn't pull the trigger and fire. His third kill had been an exception... but only because that guy had fired at him first, and he had been immensely pissed off at the time.
"Your answer will probably be irrelevant by the way," Bobby added, after a moment or so. "I'm going to kill you anyway."
Bobby was roused from an uneasy sleep unceremoniously. He didn't know how long he had slept for, but thanks to his rude awakening, Bobby wasn't feeling all that refreshed. However, since he was catching up on about three nights sleep all at once, that was perhaps understandable. Bobby only caught about the tail-end of what was spoken, but from what he gathered, there was not some kind of mortal combat going on inside the Storehouse, rather somebody was trapped. In a box.
He considered remaining where he was for a few moments, the guy sounded like an idiot, and stupid people went down hard in SOTF, Bobby had seen that already. Tyson, for example, had made the mistake of gloating whilst he held Bobby at gunpoint, a mistake, in the end, which had been fatal. On the other hand... if this moron kept blundering around bawling his idiotic head off, then undoubtedly other people would be attracted to Bobby's little isolated cave, which at the moment, he really didn't want. The fewer encounters he experienced in the game the better... less weight on his mind.
Bobby thoughtfully removed his scalpel from a pocket, then looked at it for a few moments. Punishment, Bobby considered, was once again required. 'Kenurton' and that other poor bastard who he had dug up to loot, and whoever the hell the guy who he had narrowly missed being shot and killed by. Three more marks against him. Deliberation over, Bobby brought the scalpel up, and added two cuts alongside the other three on his right cheek, and another to the cluster on his left cheek. That made seven: Straton, Tyson, Wolfe, Ric, CorpseA, Kenurton, hippy. He might not have killed all of them, but he had done enough.
Bobby knew that he was bleeding again, but didn't much care. The cuts were only small, they would clot in time - he was hardly going to bleed to death from a few cuts on his face. There were quite a few of them, that was true, but Bobby had taken care of them as best he could, even if he hadn't covered them over. Besides, Bobby was sure infection was going to be the least of his worries - when you had to contend with being shot at, that kind of thing was decidedly secondary...
Irritated still, Bobby got to his feet and kicked the office's door open with a huge boot. He saw a nerdy looking sort lying on the floor, he appeared somewhat dazed. What could have happened? They were the only two people there, as far as he could see, unless somebody had snuck in somehow... in which case Bobby would have seen them by now, or heard them. Either that, or it was self inflicted, and the idiot was so damn stupid he'd decked himself.
The boxer took two steps forward to close the difference, brought out his carbine and pointed it at the student with both hands firmly around it to improve his accuracy. He hadn't hit anything with it except when at literally point blank range, so his aim was highly in question.
"Okay..." Bobby murmured. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't put a hole in your head," he knew that he should really be shooting first and asking questions later, but Bobby found he just couldn't pull the trigger and fire. His third kill had been an exception... but only because that guy had fired at him first, and he had been immensely pissed off at the time.
"Your answer will probably be irrelevant by the way," Bobby added, after a moment or so. "I'm going to kill you anyway."
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
((Will and Christian continued from Clock Tower))
"Your threat is irrelevant, by the way. I've got a gun to your head."
As Will half-carried Christian away from the Lookout Tower, a barrage of terrible, dreading thoughts peppered the surface of his brain. Where were they going to exactly? To what end? It's futile to try and survive, the only two that surived the game before did so by chance. Even then, Adam got thrown back into the game, what's to say that he'd actually surive what happened afterward? Either Christian or he would die if one of them were to escape the competition and...
Well... Christian... he wasn't in good shape. Occasionally he'd be coherent for a while, then fall back in between conciousness and unconciousness. If it was blood loss, or just the shock of what was happening, Will wouldn't hazard a guess. He'd hoped he would be able to find somewhere where he could get some better medical supplies... Sitches, bandages... things that wouldn't have worn out or expired. As they passed by Will wondered if maybe there were some medical supplies in the Storehouse by any chance.
And now, as he walked to the Storehouse, Christian limping beside him, he almost lept as a massive crashing sound came from inside. The Colt King Cobra revolver occupied his right hand, his left arm around Christian, holding him so he wouldn't fall to the ground.
It seemed someone had ran into the large metal door of the Storehouse, and the force had caused it to open a small bit. Will sneaked inside, careful not to make any noise, and slid Christian over into the corner of the room, shielded by the few shelves that remained standing. The room was a mess. Shelves had been knocked over, crates were strewn everywhere, and there were two bodies on the ground. The first was obviously still alive, and the one who had hit the door as Will walked into the Storehouse... The other... well... he could BARELY tell that it was Troy McCann, despite his head having more or less severed from his body, and his genitals... were only bloody shreds hanging from in between his legs. Will knew it was Gabriel's handywork, and Will felt a sudden warm, fuzzy feeling inside that Gabriel was blown apart into a fine red mist.
He watched from the shadows as another student brandished a rifle and pointed it at the barely concious boy on the ground. His method of intimidating the boy on the ground, and most likely gaining some sick pleasure from it; well... it seemed a whole lot less intimidating as Will pointed his personal savior, the .357 Magnum "hand cannon" that no doubt would keep him alive in this competition, and hopefully get him out of it. Well, and his delightfully clever mind.
"Drop the gun and get down on the ground, or I will kill you."
"Your threat is irrelevant, by the way. I've got a gun to your head."
As Will half-carried Christian away from the Lookout Tower, a barrage of terrible, dreading thoughts peppered the surface of his brain. Where were they going to exactly? To what end? It's futile to try and survive, the only two that surived the game before did so by chance. Even then, Adam got thrown back into the game, what's to say that he'd actually surive what happened afterward? Either Christian or he would die if one of them were to escape the competition and...
Well... Christian... he wasn't in good shape. Occasionally he'd be coherent for a while, then fall back in between conciousness and unconciousness. If it was blood loss, or just the shock of what was happening, Will wouldn't hazard a guess. He'd hoped he would be able to find somewhere where he could get some better medical supplies... Sitches, bandages... things that wouldn't have worn out or expired. As they passed by Will wondered if maybe there were some medical supplies in the Storehouse by any chance.
And now, as he walked to the Storehouse, Christian limping beside him, he almost lept as a massive crashing sound came from inside. The Colt King Cobra revolver occupied his right hand, his left arm around Christian, holding him so he wouldn't fall to the ground.
It seemed someone had ran into the large metal door of the Storehouse, and the force had caused it to open a small bit. Will sneaked inside, careful not to make any noise, and slid Christian over into the corner of the room, shielded by the few shelves that remained standing. The room was a mess. Shelves had been knocked over, crates were strewn everywhere, and there were two bodies on the ground. The first was obviously still alive, and the one who had hit the door as Will walked into the Storehouse... The other... well... he could BARELY tell that it was Troy McCann, despite his head having more or less severed from his body, and his genitals... were only bloody shreds hanging from in between his legs. Will knew it was Gabriel's handywork, and Will felt a sudden warm, fuzzy feeling inside that Gabriel was blown apart into a fine red mist.
He watched from the shadows as another student brandished a rifle and pointed it at the barely concious boy on the ground. His method of intimidating the boy on the ground, and most likely gaining some sick pleasure from it; well... it seemed a whole lot less intimidating as Will pointed his personal savior, the .357 Magnum "hand cannon" that no doubt would keep him alive in this competition, and hopefully get him out of it. Well, and his delightfully clever mind.
"Drop the gun and get down on the ground, or I will kill you."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler AtomicWaffle.
((Waffs, there's no way Will could be where he was without being spotted))
Bobby paused for a moment, and chuckled.
"You must really think that I'm some kind of moron. You're standing directly in front of me and you thought you could catch me cold? There isn't much good hiding when you pick a spot which is virtually in plain sight," although he had been taken up with the kid on the ground, Bobby's attention had quickly snapped to the other guy who had somehow entered the storeroom - lugging another person with him no less. And with Bobby's attention had come the carbine. "Well looky here, we got ourselves a good old fashioned Mexican Standoff," a grin came onto his face, splitting the cuts again. Bobby distinctly felt the blood trickling down his face. "I'll tell you this the nice way shall I? If you don't want a bullet in your head, I would suggest you left. Now. I'm not in the mood for a fight. I came here to sleep, but so help me, you push me, and you're dead, and you're friend along with you. One chance is more than I've given anybody else so far, so I strongly advise you to take it!"
He really didn't want a fight, truly and honestly. This was probably about the only time Bobby would ever be willing to let a target slip away from him. Quite frankly, he didn't give a damn about the gun the other guy was holding. Obviously the range wasn't a great deal in the confines of the storehouse, but Bobby didn't doubt it would be more than enough to throw the aim of an inexperienced shooter off entirely. He was no marksman himself, but in that sense, the carbine gave him an advantage. A more stable weapon, a longer barrel, it could be put to the shoulder, making aquiring a target easier. The revolver the other was packing probably had more firepower than Bobby's carbine, but it didn't matter. A hit at this range was going to do some serious damage.
Bobby was glad of the reassuring bulk of the kevlar he was wearing. It wasn't exactly discreet, but the fact it was underneath his shirt would be enough to prevent a casual observer from spotting it. Of course, Bobby really didn't want to rely on the vest - getting hit by his own carbine had stung enough without having to contend with a more powerful weapon. Kevlar wasn't a magical suit of invincibility armour after all, merely good protection. Hopefully the guy threatening him would either be smart... or go for the larger target.
The boxer shuffled back slightly wear he was stood, trying to maximise the distance between the two of them. In a firefight, his opponent would have an intial advantage, since the carbine was bolt action. However... reloading for the revolver would be much slower, the trick would be in surviving the opening fussilade. Was it even a six shot the guy was using? Bobby dimissed the thoughts and remained focused on the other.
"What's it gonna be? Easy or hard?" Bobby shrugged, at least, half shrugged, with his left arm, a very small movement. "You choose,"
Bobby paused for a moment, and chuckled.
"You must really think that I'm some kind of moron. You're standing directly in front of me and you thought you could catch me cold? There isn't much good hiding when you pick a spot which is virtually in plain sight," although he had been taken up with the kid on the ground, Bobby's attention had quickly snapped to the other guy who had somehow entered the storeroom - lugging another person with him no less. And with Bobby's attention had come the carbine. "Well looky here, we got ourselves a good old fashioned Mexican Standoff," a grin came onto his face, splitting the cuts again. Bobby distinctly felt the blood trickling down his face. "I'll tell you this the nice way shall I? If you don't want a bullet in your head, I would suggest you left. Now. I'm not in the mood for a fight. I came here to sleep, but so help me, you push me, and you're dead, and you're friend along with you. One chance is more than I've given anybody else so far, so I strongly advise you to take it!"
He really didn't want a fight, truly and honestly. This was probably about the only time Bobby would ever be willing to let a target slip away from him. Quite frankly, he didn't give a damn about the gun the other guy was holding. Obviously the range wasn't a great deal in the confines of the storehouse, but Bobby didn't doubt it would be more than enough to throw the aim of an inexperienced shooter off entirely. He was no marksman himself, but in that sense, the carbine gave him an advantage. A more stable weapon, a longer barrel, it could be put to the shoulder, making aquiring a target easier. The revolver the other was packing probably had more firepower than Bobby's carbine, but it didn't matter. A hit at this range was going to do some serious damage.
Bobby was glad of the reassuring bulk of the kevlar he was wearing. It wasn't exactly discreet, but the fact it was underneath his shirt would be enough to prevent a casual observer from spotting it. Of course, Bobby really didn't want to rely on the vest - getting hit by his own carbine had stung enough without having to contend with a more powerful weapon. Kevlar wasn't a magical suit of invincibility armour after all, merely good protection. Hopefully the guy threatening him would either be smart... or go for the larger target.
The boxer shuffled back slightly wear he was stood, trying to maximise the distance between the two of them. In a firefight, his opponent would have an intial advantage, since the carbine was bolt action. However... reloading for the revolver would be much slower, the trick would be in surviving the opening fussilade. Was it even a six shot the guy was using? Bobby dimissed the thoughts and remained focused on the other.
"What's it gonna be? Easy or hard?" Bobby shrugged, at least, half shrugged, with his left arm, a very small movement. "You choose,"
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
"Well you know, I like it hard."
Will sarcastically replied, suprised that the boy who now aimed the rifle at him was actually able to turn at the exact moment he had walked out from behind the shelves. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to walk right in front of him, though at this point "behind him" had become "in front of him" and it was a rather uncomfortable situation to be in. He cautiously sidestepped over to Bill, and closer to Christian.
"Ooh, one of those 'I'm going to go kill everybody' types. You're really frightening, I mean, marking your skin with little tallies? You're a real badass Of course, Mr. Generic Psychopath, I'll gladly turn around and leave. Who the fuck do you take me for?"
He cleared his throat, the large revolver still held to bear against the other boy's rifle. Will's glasses eerily reflected the cold metal of the gun in the dim light.
At the other end of the room, Bill Ritch started to get up off of the ground. And failed. He slid off of his hands and onto the cold floor. In frustration he shook his large head, and looked up to see Christian Rydell standing above him. At first he looked okay, a slight smirk breaking his almost constant stoic expression. But as Bill's vision returned to focus, he could see Christian held one arm over his stomach, blood staining his pale hands. "Get up" he spoke softly to Bill. He was about to ask why Christian whispered, but saw Will Si...something... and another boy locked in a Mexican Standoff of sorts, Will pointing a large handgun at the other boy's head as he had a rifle pointed at his own.
"Do not want..." Bill remarked quietly. How they were going to get out of this was a bit of a conundrum in and of itself. Ideally, Bill thought, he'd like to get out of there with his mutual friend Will intact. It wasn't that he enjoyed his company, but to have a strong ally, someone with a firearm at least, was one thing he desperately needed at this point. Bill stood up and took a step towards the two gunmen.
"H-Hey, you! Choadlicker! Yeah, i'm talkin' to ya! Just leave us alone, and you won't get hurt, 'kay asshole?"
Oh, i'll show him! I'll show him the true Bill Ritch, champion utility knife fighter! Yeah!
With a mean grin on his pudgy face, Bill brandished the box cutter menacingly. Unfortunately the blade wasn't coming out. Will glanced at him with a look on his face that spelt 'What the fuck are you doing?'
"Oh yeah, you... err-" Bill paused to awkwardly crank open the blade "-Y-y'like that, dontcha, bitch? Huh? HUH? You wanna go, huh motherfuck-"
"Bill, I honestly appreciate the effort, I really do, but... shut the fuck up."
Will sarcastically replied, suprised that the boy who now aimed the rifle at him was actually able to turn at the exact moment he had walked out from behind the shelves. Of course he wasn't stupid enough to walk right in front of him, though at this point "behind him" had become "in front of him" and it was a rather uncomfortable situation to be in. He cautiously sidestepped over to Bill, and closer to Christian.
"Ooh, one of those 'I'm going to go kill everybody' types. You're really frightening, I mean, marking your skin with little tallies? You're a real badass Of course, Mr. Generic Psychopath, I'll gladly turn around and leave. Who the fuck do you take me for?"
He cleared his throat, the large revolver still held to bear against the other boy's rifle. Will's glasses eerily reflected the cold metal of the gun in the dim light.
At the other end of the room, Bill Ritch started to get up off of the ground. And failed. He slid off of his hands and onto the cold floor. In frustration he shook his large head, and looked up to see Christian Rydell standing above him. At first he looked okay, a slight smirk breaking his almost constant stoic expression. But as Bill's vision returned to focus, he could see Christian held one arm over his stomach, blood staining his pale hands. "Get up" he spoke softly to Bill. He was about to ask why Christian whispered, but saw Will Si...something... and another boy locked in a Mexican Standoff of sorts, Will pointing a large handgun at the other boy's head as he had a rifle pointed at his own.
"Do not want..." Bill remarked quietly. How they were going to get out of this was a bit of a conundrum in and of itself. Ideally, Bill thought, he'd like to get out of there with his mutual friend Will intact. It wasn't that he enjoyed his company, but to have a strong ally, someone with a firearm at least, was one thing he desperately needed at this point. Bill stood up and took a step towards the two gunmen.
"H-Hey, you! Choadlicker! Yeah, i'm talkin' to ya! Just leave us alone, and you won't get hurt, 'kay asshole?"
Oh, i'll show him! I'll show him the true Bill Ritch, champion utility knife fighter! Yeah!
With a mean grin on his pudgy face, Bill brandished the box cutter menacingly. Unfortunately the blade wasn't coming out. Will glanced at him with a look on his face that spelt 'What the fuck are you doing?'
"Oh yeah, you... err-" Bill paused to awkwardly crank open the blade "-Y-y'like that, dontcha, bitch? Huh? HUH? You wanna go, huh motherfuck-"
"Bill, I honestly appreciate the effort, I really do, but... shut the fuck up."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler AtomicWaffle.
((Bradley Armstrong continued from: Everything's Just Wonderful))
The noises the four boys were making, though muffled, managed to carry through to the outside area, causing Bradley to take pause. Alright. Let's see if I can get a peek inside without them noticing.
He crouched down low, holding his branch out to the side, and slowly crept up to the window. He peeked into it, trying to hide as much of his head as possible. Alright, let's see what we got here... Yes! I found Bill and Christian! Maybe if we put our heads together we can think of something. Then there's those other guys... who are they again? I think I saw the thin one with Bill, but that black guy...
He blinked and pushed his glasses up to his face. Oh shit. They're fighting. He ducked underneath the window and tried to collect his thoughts. Bruiser versus three nerds, four if I get involved...
Bradley's thoughts were interrupted by the blaring crackle of Announcement #3, causing him to jump a bit. "SON OF A BITCH!" he yelped, immediately covering his mouth in shock. As he looked around the outside for people who would hear him, he listened to the announcement with a bit of confusion. Danya... couldn't be here? What the hell? What kind of organization is he running, anyway?
The noises the four boys were making, though muffled, managed to carry through to the outside area, causing Bradley to take pause. Alright. Let's see if I can get a peek inside without them noticing.
He crouched down low, holding his branch out to the side, and slowly crept up to the window. He peeked into it, trying to hide as much of his head as possible. Alright, let's see what we got here... Yes! I found Bill and Christian! Maybe if we put our heads together we can think of something. Then there's those other guys... who are they again? I think I saw the thin one with Bill, but that black guy...
He blinked and pushed his glasses up to his face. Oh shit. They're fighting. He ducked underneath the window and tried to collect his thoughts. Bruiser versus three nerds, four if I get involved...
Bradley's thoughts were interrupted by the blaring crackle of Announcement #3, causing him to jump a bit. "SON OF A BITCH!" he yelped, immediately covering his mouth in shock. As he looked around the outside for people who would hear him, he listened to the announcement with a bit of confusion. Danya... couldn't be here? What the hell? What kind of organization is he running, anyway?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.
((Oliver look at the area map, Bobby didn't have to turn, because there was absolutely no way Will could be behind him, so enough sly little knocks in your posts.))
"Save it for somebody who gives a fuck," Bobby told Will bluntly, inwardly preparing himself for a fight. "Psychopath I'm not, logical I am. I don't expect you to understand me, I don't want a badass 'rep'. It's about living, pure and simple. You've got your way, I've got mine," that was really it. He wasn't some kind of depraved lunatic who took pleasure from murder (although recent events made him wonder) he was out there simply to live and keep on living. "And I take you for a hopelessly stupid individual,"
Bobby didn't really like the situation, it would be pretty much a three on one tussle, and armaments aside, whenever the numbers game was played, you didn't want to be on the losing side of the equation. For some reason though, being called a psychopath struck a nerve. He was not Nathanial Harris, he didn't mutilate others for the sake of causing pain or making it 'memorable' Bobby didn't consider himself to be crazy, just a guy taking one option in a whole plethora of bad options.
His line of thought was interrupted as the boy he had previously been aiming his sights at decided to pick himself up and make a general fool of himself. Bobby inclined an eyebrow, maintaining his aim on Will, just as the other was doing to him.
"I have to say your threat has made me nothing less than abjectly terrified," Bobby told them, his voice dripping sarcasm. "There are, of course, few things more frightening to one equipped with a gun than a knifeman standing a good few metres away from them," nevertheless, Bobby carefully shuffled back a couple of steps, still keeping the carbine trained on Will. Directly to his left was the shattered window, and boxes were still strewn all around. Bobby knew that this would be one hell of a place for a firefight - all kinds of cover and awkward positions to take up...
Suddenly, the third announcement decided to start, and moments afterward, Bobby caught a cut off yelp from outside the window. The boxer rolled his eyes. This was becoming more complicated by the moment. He already had three people to deal with, four would be almost too much, even if two were strictly limited to melee, and one of those appeared injured. Two shooters though... and he would be in trouble. Bobby continued to slowly back away in order to increase distance and hopefully break the standoff.
"Save it for somebody who gives a fuck," Bobby told Will bluntly, inwardly preparing himself for a fight. "Psychopath I'm not, logical I am. I don't expect you to understand me, I don't want a badass 'rep'. It's about living, pure and simple. You've got your way, I've got mine," that was really it. He wasn't some kind of depraved lunatic who took pleasure from murder (although recent events made him wonder) he was out there simply to live and keep on living. "And I take you for a hopelessly stupid individual,"
Bobby didn't really like the situation, it would be pretty much a three on one tussle, and armaments aside, whenever the numbers game was played, you didn't want to be on the losing side of the equation. For some reason though, being called a psychopath struck a nerve. He was not Nathanial Harris, he didn't mutilate others for the sake of causing pain or making it 'memorable' Bobby didn't consider himself to be crazy, just a guy taking one option in a whole plethora of bad options.
His line of thought was interrupted as the boy he had previously been aiming his sights at decided to pick himself up and make a general fool of himself. Bobby inclined an eyebrow, maintaining his aim on Will, just as the other was doing to him.
"I have to say your threat has made me nothing less than abjectly terrified," Bobby told them, his voice dripping sarcasm. "There are, of course, few things more frightening to one equipped with a gun than a knifeman standing a good few metres away from them," nevertheless, Bobby carefully shuffled back a couple of steps, still keeping the carbine trained on Will. Directly to his left was the shattered window, and boxes were still strewn all around. Bobby knew that this would be one hell of a place for a firefight - all kinds of cover and awkward positions to take up...
Suddenly, the third announcement decided to start, and moments afterward, Bobby caught a cut off yelp from outside the window. The boxer rolled his eyes. This was becoming more complicated by the moment. He already had three people to deal with, four would be almost too much, even if two were strictly limited to melee, and one of those appeared injured. Two shooters though... and he would be in trouble. Bobby continued to slowly back away in order to increase distance and hopefully break the standoff.
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AtomicWaffle†
- Posts: 230
- Joined: Sun Jan 27, 2019 6:55 am
((Tad bit of GMing was discussed))
And away we go... Will thought to himself as the announcement came on. It was a risky move he planned to take, yes, but a neccessary one. Hmph. Neccesary.
He stared at the back of the room, at Christian, who now stood leaning against the wall of the storehouse. His clothes were tattered, blood covering most of his front. His bony legs shook as he tried to stay up. It looked sickening. Pathetic.
Over to Bill, his eyes strayed. He never liked the nerd, and was nice to him on the principle that he was Christian's friend. Nothing more. The fat, sweaty boy stood at Bobby's side, boxcutter at the ready. Not that he could do any harm of course.
"Yeah... you're right, I guess." Will said calmly. He noticed with a small amount of glee that Gabriel was, in fact, completely and utterly dead. Wouldn't want that little... well... big... prick coming back and slaughtering him.
"To be brutally honest... Bobby, right? I just want to get my friends out of here, and, y'know... i'm not a violent type of-" almost in mid sentance, Will did a small spin on his heel, pulling out his shortsword with his free hand and slashing at Bobby. Not to hurt him badly, just a brief distraction. He ran and cowered from the gunfire he knew was coming, and grabbed Christian away from the scene. He could hear Bill's hurried footsteps and knew that he had done the smart thing and fled the Storehouse as well. Though smart was a relative term, and he proceeded to run in the opposite direction to Will. At this point he couldn't bring himself to care for anybody except the severely wounded boy who was literally in his arms.
Will pushed himself, running through the trees and desperately hoping to evade anybody in persuit. He hoped to make his way past the Swinging Bridge, near the Graveyard and around the Chapel Dangerzone. In all likelyhood people would be avoiding that area, and he might get a spare moment to tend to Christian's two wou-
Wait... There weren't just two wounds anymore. In horror Will stared down at Christian's shaking body, blood running down his hands. Several large... gashes, he could only describe them... ran down his legs and another large one on his midsection. Blood flowed slowly from these new wounds. Bullets grazing most likely. They needed to be stitched up, maybe cauterized if he didn't have a choice...
Bill, on the other hand, was now running as fast as his wide legs would take him. He puffed angrily under his breath, rambling about how much of an annoying little retard Will could be. What was he thinking? Knock the guy's gun away? They could've been killed! They would've been killed had that announcement not came on at that exact time! Now Bill missed the whole thing. Who was to say he wouldn't run straight into a dangerzone, or another door, or something...
"This.... isn't... as... fun... as... the.... RP... site.... aww... I was... rolled this month... too..."
Bill couldn't take it any more. Why did running have to be so damn tiring? He coughed heavily, wheezed, and collapsed in the Jungle.
((Bill continued elsewhere))
((Will + Christian continued in The Only Way Out))
And away we go... Will thought to himself as the announcement came on. It was a risky move he planned to take, yes, but a neccessary one. Hmph. Neccesary.
He stared at the back of the room, at Christian, who now stood leaning against the wall of the storehouse. His clothes were tattered, blood covering most of his front. His bony legs shook as he tried to stay up. It looked sickening. Pathetic.
Over to Bill, his eyes strayed. He never liked the nerd, and was nice to him on the principle that he was Christian's friend. Nothing more. The fat, sweaty boy stood at Bobby's side, boxcutter at the ready. Not that he could do any harm of course.
"Yeah... you're right, I guess." Will said calmly. He noticed with a small amount of glee that Gabriel was, in fact, completely and utterly dead. Wouldn't want that little... well... big... prick coming back and slaughtering him.
"To be brutally honest... Bobby, right? I just want to get my friends out of here, and, y'know... i'm not a violent type of-" almost in mid sentance, Will did a small spin on his heel, pulling out his shortsword with his free hand and slashing at Bobby. Not to hurt him badly, just a brief distraction. He ran and cowered from the gunfire he knew was coming, and grabbed Christian away from the scene. He could hear Bill's hurried footsteps and knew that he had done the smart thing and fled the Storehouse as well. Though smart was a relative term, and he proceeded to run in the opposite direction to Will. At this point he couldn't bring himself to care for anybody except the severely wounded boy who was literally in his arms.
Will pushed himself, running through the trees and desperately hoping to evade anybody in persuit. He hoped to make his way past the Swinging Bridge, near the Graveyard and around the Chapel Dangerzone. In all likelyhood people would be avoiding that area, and he might get a spare moment to tend to Christian's two wou-
Wait... There weren't just two wounds anymore. In horror Will stared down at Christian's shaking body, blood running down his hands. Several large... gashes, he could only describe them... ran down his legs and another large one on his midsection. Blood flowed slowly from these new wounds. Bullets grazing most likely. They needed to be stitched up, maybe cauterized if he didn't have a choice...
Bill, on the other hand, was now running as fast as his wide legs would take him. He puffed angrily under his breath, rambling about how much of an annoying little retard Will could be. What was he thinking? Knock the guy's gun away? They could've been killed! They would've been killed had that announcement not came on at that exact time! Now Bill missed the whole thing. Who was to say he wouldn't run straight into a dangerzone, or another door, or something...
"This.... isn't... as... fun... as... the.... RP... site.... aww... I was... rolled this month... too..."
Bill couldn't take it any more. Why did running have to be so damn tiring? He coughed heavily, wheezed, and collapsed in the Jungle.
((Bill continued elsewhere))
((Will + Christian continued in The Only Way Out))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler AtomicWaffle.
After the announcement was over, Bradley got back up, but he was surprised to see Will and Christian taking off in one direction and Bill running in another. He looked between them for a few seconds, unsure of whom he wanted to pursue. Bill or Christian? Bill or Christian? Which is it?
As he stood there, he caught a glimpse of Bobby Jacks. Gah! Gotta get away from him! He picked up his tree branch and ran off in the general direction that Will and Christian went. Please let me catch up to them...
((Bradley Armstrong continued in The Earth Isn't Humming For You))
As he stood there, he caught a glimpse of Bobby Jacks. Gah! Gotta get away from him! He picked up his tree branch and ran off in the general direction that Will and Christian went. Please let me catch up to them...
((Bradley Armstrong continued in The Earth Isn't Humming For You))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.
((Feh, this won't be good. Just wanna get this wrapped up))
Bobby was taken offguard by Will's sudden movement, and as such, started shooting perhaps a little later than he otherwise would have done. Nevertheless, he scored several clear hits - although more shots seemed to hit the boy Will was carrying than the man himself.
He stopped after his quickfire volley, breathing heavily. Bobby noted that, although he had failed to take out any of the opposistion, he had managed to work the bolt mechanism on the carbine very quickly indeed whilst firing. Although it didn't compare to even semi-automatic fire, the increase in the rate was at least a comfort.
Rest ruined, but uninjured, Bobby decided it would be best if he just left the scene.
((Continued in Sadist))
Bobby was taken offguard by Will's sudden movement, and as such, started shooting perhaps a little later than he otherwise would have done. Nevertheless, he scored several clear hits - although more shots seemed to hit the boy Will was carrying than the man himself.
He stopped after his quickfire volley, breathing heavily. Bobby noted that, although he had failed to take out any of the opposistion, he had managed to work the bolt mechanism on the carbine very quickly indeed whilst firing. Although it didn't compare to even semi-automatic fire, the increase in the rate was at least a comfort.
Rest ruined, but uninjured, Bobby decided it would be best if he just left the scene.
((Continued in Sadist))