((Margaret tweedy continued from Sadist))
Margaret was back to where she once belonged. For the first few days she was content to wait in no-man's-land and allow the other students to work things out among themselves. She knew how to avoid the traps that littered the main area of the island, having read up on them in her spare time. Once she even tried to make one herself, although it failed to catch anything and was poorly crafted. Nevertheless, she endured, for a time, and then Quincy had to come and ruin everything.
Now she found that she could no longer wait for the end to come; she had to find it herself. She reminded herself of the two people that she wanted to find.
Melina Frost, the bitch-queen of Southridge High, needed killing. It was as simple as that. Disregarding her disgustingly regal attitude at school, she had killed two people. That was no coincidence. Margaret would love to eliminate someone as bourgeois as her, though she supposed that she would be content to hear her name called on the announcements again, as a victim this time.
Opposite her was Brad Kavanagh, and damned if Margaret couldn't help feeling sorry for the guy. The last time she saw him, he was mourning that Serenity girl, and he looked like hell warmed over. It wasn't fair that he got out of prison in time to be kidnapped any more than her own situation.
Margaret sat down on a tree root and took a carefully measured sip of water from a bottle in her daypack. What she did for the rest of the day could seal her fate for the rest of the game.
Manhunt
Manhunt
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((G54 Start))
I've known this for quite awhile now, but just to make sure my head is in the correct place: there was nothing magical waiting for me in life. I was never going to be famous. My name was never meant to be written large on the roster of people who-do-things. I tried drama club but couldn't act as well as anyone particularly famous. I went for business management and while I'm good with numbers, I don't think I would care for looking over a company that's like all the other companies. I even looked at auto mechanics but that seemed too complex for the likes of me. So when I actually thought about it, if by the (unlikely) slim chance that I was supposed to survive, I would just waste it away flip-flopping. Surely there were others who were more deserving of winning (some of whom have perished).
That was why I, Anna Kateridge, decided it best to stay in one area of the dense jungle (of which I spent a day traversing in an attempt of find others, efforts that were more or less in vain) and do absolutely nothing. I've spent four (or was it five? I've lost count now) days sitting under a makeshift tent only using my blanket and some length of string, accomplishing nothing other than sitting, reading a few books I brought along and eating.
Some people would most likely call me crazy that I would take such a laid back approach to the situation, but nevertheless I thought it was a perfect plan. If I'm meant to survive, then I will surely survive. If I'm meant to die then most likely I will. There's no fooling fate, if your time comes your time comes. People should not be afraid of death and take extra precautions to keep it away, because that's just how fate works. If we stop the gears of fate just once, then everything would self collapse. Fate is the same as time, they both give you enough time to get what you need to done. And, as far as I know, no one has or can escape time. After all, it delivers us all to the same end.
But, alas, I suppose I was meant to do something. The moment where I officially entered the game was just a few hours ago. I heard voices to the east of where I had been sitting, and being the curious creature I was, I turned my head to investigate. Not by much mind you, just enough to look at the figures crossing my right side while still enabling me to look at my book.
Two figures. It was raining rather hard, so I couldn't make them out perfectly but I had this feeling that they were panicking. I squinted my eyes, but only to have a better glimpse at their heads exploding one after another. Yes, I was rather disgusted and disturbed, but moreover I felt confused. Had they been stupid enough to pull on their collars? Everyone here would know that 'pulling' on the collars was a very unintelligent thing to do, even I knew that. After setting my book down on the ground, I went after to see what had happened...
... only to find that I was more confused than ever. They're collars had blown up, but I heard more explosions. The rain was loud but I could still make out some kind of message being played over the PA systems. Explosions? Sounded like these girls had no hand in their untimely demises, and for a minute I pitied them. Until I remembered that fate was the one who brought us here and fate was the one who would bring us to the everlasting end that is death. So I stopped feeling sorry for them and continued on.
One of them had a piece of string with weights tied to each end. This confused me. Was this supposed to be a weapon? It certainly looked heavy, although after picking the weapon up after some time of thought it was much lighter than I had given it credit. Then... there was another one, but it didn't confuse me as much. Firstly I turned to the first page and saw the name "Darnell Butler", and then I drawn my own conclusions.
"Ahh, so these are the files about all of us? Quite useful, in my opinion."
I turned to my number, Girl 54, just for the sake of curiosity.
Then... I really didn't understand what was going through my mind, but I felt the NEED to go. To leave the area I was in. My gut feelings had never let me down although to be truthful I was questioning it this time specifically, so I did as it told me. I picked up the girls stuff, transferred it into my own dufflebag and walked away with all that I needed. Not much, mind you. All I truly needed was my pocket umbrella, which no one had ever thought to take out. It wasn't a weapon by any means, but I was still surprised to see in there on day one.
It really didn't take long before I heard another boom. It certainly didn't sound like the boom I had heard, but it stuck out as fairly odd nonetheless. It didn't appear to be that far away neither.
It certainly is a shame that Reg Robson died. Such a shame a real shame. We were never friends, but he was nice. Then again that's what I say about alot of people.
Why was there a... something sitting right next to Reg? That was rather odd, very very odd. Was it marking some sort of grave? It didn't make sense to me at the time, but now that I thought about it, THAT was supposed to be his grave. I feel dreadful that I took the unused sword, but another man's trash is another man's treasure.
The camo shirt that had been given to me certainly came in handy. The sword (I couldn't remember it's name) looked dirty, as it should have being stuck in the ground for no reason clear to me. The shirt certainly cleaned off much of the dirt and grime that had coated the steel, though saying it was spotless was pushing it quite far. It was heavy, but not enough for it to be a burden. Problem was, there was nowhere to let it sit. No sheathe or whatever they call it. The bag that I was carrying on by back had to suffice, thereby making it much heavier but still light enough that I could still carry it around.
That's when I saw it. A camera. Well, a broken one, splattered on the ground like some poor dead raccoon that had been run over by a car. Then I saw another one not to far away. And another one. And another one. Someone, or something, had been actively destroying the cameras in the dense forest. I began to wonder who would do such a thing, but then it hit me.
An idea.
Anna Kateridge (Female Contestant no. 54) was probably one of the few people who had not heard the fifth announcement. Apart from the screams of girls she had never known, she had no idea what happened or why it had happened. That's why she had thought that destroying cameras around the island was an original idea, and that no one had actively set out to do so other than a few bad apples in the bunch. The katana, while being rather hefty, was perfect for detaching the cameras from their spots in the trees. She was tall and the katana was long enough to knock things down, and the Meteor Hammer was perfect for the cameras that she just couldn't reach.
She had destroyed sixteen cameras by the time she reached the girl sitting on a tree root, a girl she didn't notice at first.
Anyone would think Anna was tempting the grim reaper by actively destroying the cameras, but she didn't think so. Even had she known about Neil's plan or had heard the announcement, she wouldn't hesitate.
Why? Because, simply, Danya would lose money if he blew up collars. Anna was holding Danya up for ransom in a way. But Anna didn't know this, so she didn't put much thought into her actions. SOTF apparently hadn't changed her at all.
Anna noticed Margaret sitting there all by herself, and shot her a surly smile that seemed more laidback than Anna was acting. She waved to the girl, giving her a look that said "Oh. Hello." and continued walking away. On her way out, Anna struck another camera at about her eyelevel, slicing the lens off completely. She smiled. You would think they'd make these cameras a little bit more durable, but I guess not. Pity though, I never thought they would be this easy to destroy. Maybe the people who kidnapped us have a small budget since they must've waste alot of it on kidnapping us. Oh, I'm rambling in my head again, oh bother. I have to learn not to do that anymore.
(Continued elsewhere...)
I've known this for quite awhile now, but just to make sure my head is in the correct place: there was nothing magical waiting for me in life. I was never going to be famous. My name was never meant to be written large on the roster of people who-do-things. I tried drama club but couldn't act as well as anyone particularly famous. I went for business management and while I'm good with numbers, I don't think I would care for looking over a company that's like all the other companies. I even looked at auto mechanics but that seemed too complex for the likes of me. So when I actually thought about it, if by the (unlikely) slim chance that I was supposed to survive, I would just waste it away flip-flopping. Surely there were others who were more deserving of winning (some of whom have perished).
That was why I, Anna Kateridge, decided it best to stay in one area of the dense jungle (of which I spent a day traversing in an attempt of find others, efforts that were more or less in vain) and do absolutely nothing. I've spent four (or was it five? I've lost count now) days sitting under a makeshift tent only using my blanket and some length of string, accomplishing nothing other than sitting, reading a few books I brought along and eating.
Some people would most likely call me crazy that I would take such a laid back approach to the situation, but nevertheless I thought it was a perfect plan. If I'm meant to survive, then I will surely survive. If I'm meant to die then most likely I will. There's no fooling fate, if your time comes your time comes. People should not be afraid of death and take extra precautions to keep it away, because that's just how fate works. If we stop the gears of fate just once, then everything would self collapse. Fate is the same as time, they both give you enough time to get what you need to done. And, as far as I know, no one has or can escape time. After all, it delivers us all to the same end.
But, alas, I suppose I was meant to do something. The moment where I officially entered the game was just a few hours ago. I heard voices to the east of where I had been sitting, and being the curious creature I was, I turned my head to investigate. Not by much mind you, just enough to look at the figures crossing my right side while still enabling me to look at my book.
Two figures. It was raining rather hard, so I couldn't make them out perfectly but I had this feeling that they were panicking. I squinted my eyes, but only to have a better glimpse at their heads exploding one after another. Yes, I was rather disgusted and disturbed, but moreover I felt confused. Had they been stupid enough to pull on their collars? Everyone here would know that 'pulling' on the collars was a very unintelligent thing to do, even I knew that. After setting my book down on the ground, I went after to see what had happened...
... only to find that I was more confused than ever. They're collars had blown up, but I heard more explosions. The rain was loud but I could still make out some kind of message being played over the PA systems. Explosions? Sounded like these girls had no hand in their untimely demises, and for a minute I pitied them. Until I remembered that fate was the one who brought us here and fate was the one who would bring us to the everlasting end that is death. So I stopped feeling sorry for them and continued on.
One of them had a piece of string with weights tied to each end. This confused me. Was this supposed to be a weapon? It certainly looked heavy, although after picking the weapon up after some time of thought it was much lighter than I had given it credit. Then... there was another one, but it didn't confuse me as much. Firstly I turned to the first page and saw the name "Darnell Butler", and then I drawn my own conclusions.
"Ahh, so these are the files about all of us? Quite useful, in my opinion."
I turned to my number, Girl 54, just for the sake of curiosity.
So I at least had a chance. I had never had someone call me interesting. Not once. I felt giddy, but only of a moments notice.Anna's Profile wrote:Hmm...this one's an interesting case. We rarely get people who literally don't care if they live or die, but this one doesn't look like the type to kill her peers either. That, coupled with the pathetically low pain tolerance, lack of physical ability, and the fact that I doubt she'll be willing to put in the effort to use her clothing to blend into the surrounding jungle, and I get the feeling she'll just lay down and die. Pity, too. These types always have potential.
Then... I really didn't understand what was going through my mind, but I felt the NEED to go. To leave the area I was in. My gut feelings had never let me down although to be truthful I was questioning it this time specifically, so I did as it told me. I picked up the girls stuff, transferred it into my own dufflebag and walked away with all that I needed. Not much, mind you. All I truly needed was my pocket umbrella, which no one had ever thought to take out. It wasn't a weapon by any means, but I was still surprised to see in there on day one.
It really didn't take long before I heard another boom. It certainly didn't sound like the boom I had heard, but it stuck out as fairly odd nonetheless. It didn't appear to be that far away neither.
It certainly is a shame that Reg Robson died. Such a shame a real shame. We were never friends, but he was nice. Then again that's what I say about alot of people.
Why was there a... something sitting right next to Reg? That was rather odd, very very odd. Was it marking some sort of grave? It didn't make sense to me at the time, but now that I thought about it, THAT was supposed to be his grave. I feel dreadful that I took the unused sword, but another man's trash is another man's treasure.
The camo shirt that had been given to me certainly came in handy. The sword (I couldn't remember it's name) looked dirty, as it should have being stuck in the ground for no reason clear to me. The shirt certainly cleaned off much of the dirt and grime that had coated the steel, though saying it was spotless was pushing it quite far. It was heavy, but not enough for it to be a burden. Problem was, there was nowhere to let it sit. No sheathe or whatever they call it. The bag that I was carrying on by back had to suffice, thereby making it much heavier but still light enough that I could still carry it around.
That's when I saw it. A camera. Well, a broken one, splattered on the ground like some poor dead raccoon that had been run over by a car. Then I saw another one not to far away. And another one. And another one. Someone, or something, had been actively destroying the cameras in the dense forest. I began to wonder who would do such a thing, but then it hit me.
An idea.
Anna Kateridge (Female Contestant no. 54) was probably one of the few people who had not heard the fifth announcement. Apart from the screams of girls she had never known, she had no idea what happened or why it had happened. That's why she had thought that destroying cameras around the island was an original idea, and that no one had actively set out to do so other than a few bad apples in the bunch. The katana, while being rather hefty, was perfect for detaching the cameras from their spots in the trees. She was tall and the katana was long enough to knock things down, and the Meteor Hammer was perfect for the cameras that she just couldn't reach.
She had destroyed sixteen cameras by the time she reached the girl sitting on a tree root, a girl she didn't notice at first.
Anyone would think Anna was tempting the grim reaper by actively destroying the cameras, but she didn't think so. Even had she known about Neil's plan or had heard the announcement, she wouldn't hesitate.
Why? Because, simply, Danya would lose money if he blew up collars. Anna was holding Danya up for ransom in a way. But Anna didn't know this, so she didn't put much thought into her actions. SOTF apparently hadn't changed her at all.
Anna noticed Margaret sitting there all by herself, and shot her a surly smile that seemed more laidback than Anna was acting. She waved to the girl, giving her a look that said "Oh. Hello." and continued walking away. On her way out, Anna struck another camera at about her eyelevel, slicing the lens off completely. She smiled. You would think they'd make these cameras a little bit more durable, but I guess not. Pity though, I never thought they would be this easy to destroy. Maybe the people who kidnapped us have a small budget since they must've waste alot of it on kidnapping us. Oh, I'm rambling in my head again, oh bother. I have to learn not to do that anymore.
(Continued elsewhere...)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
Margaret watched the strange new girl pass her by with a raised eyebrow, flinching when she destroyed a nearby camera. What could she possibly be thinking? Did she not hear Danya's open threat to S.A.D.D. several minutes ago?
Then again, he did phrase it rather vaguely. There could be loopholes out there. Would he really risk ruining the entire program to teach these boys a lesson. This seemed more like a game of chicken than an ultmatum to Margaret. And what if someone from outside the group, like this girl presumably was, took up the task instead?
It didn't matter. Margaret had already wasted too much time sitting around doing nothing. Every second she delayed was an extension on Melina Frost's life that she most definitely did not deserve. Margaret stood up and walked around the tree, carefully making her way through the rest of the jungle to her destination.
The going wasn't easy. She had to step over seven tripwires and around five suspicious-looking mounds of dirt. Prickly bushes and vines kept scraping her skin; they didn't break it, fortunately, but they still annoyed Margaret to no end. Speaking of annoyances, she had to constantly keep an eye out for other things to avoid stepping in, from mud puddles to fecal matter to human brains.
Wait a minute.
Margaret stopped walking and noticed a headless corpse not three feet away from her current position. It was a female body, somewhat fit, with an olive skin tone. Desperate to avoid having to look at it for more than she needed to, Margaret closed her eyes, then opened them again to look for her daypack. She found it next to the corpse's stump of a neck; taking a deep breath, she reached down and picked it up, but not before accidentally touching the corpse's gaping wound.
She felt herself throwing up in her mouth, and quickly grabbed the bag so she could get away from the body. Once she made it, she forced herself to swallow again; regardless of whether or not it helped, she was loathe to waste the water she just drank.
Ignoring the burning in her mouth and throat, she opened the daypack and scanned for useful items. She didn't find much. While the food and water were practically untouched, the weapon itself, the most vital ingredient to success in the game, was just a vial of clear fluid. She guessed that it was some sort of poison, which worried her; she didn't know how she could possibly apply it. Nevertheless, she transferred everything to her bag, then read the lettering on the side so that she might know who had unwittingly aided her.
The body used to be Melissa Diaz, whom Margaret had a casual acquaintance with. She appreciated Melissa's straightforwardness, but the two of them had little else in common. Melissa was an ordinary middle-class American who had always lived in a completely different world from Margaret.
But not anymore. SOTF had made them equals.
"Sorry 'bout this," she muttered to the body as she zipped up her bag. "Hopefully yer better off than y' were yesterday." She trudged off a bit more somberly than before, and tried to prepare herself for whatever awaited her outside the jungle.
((Margaret Tweedy continued in The Beginning is the End is the Beginning))
Then again, he did phrase it rather vaguely. There could be loopholes out there. Would he really risk ruining the entire program to teach these boys a lesson. This seemed more like a game of chicken than an ultmatum to Margaret. And what if someone from outside the group, like this girl presumably was, took up the task instead?
It didn't matter. Margaret had already wasted too much time sitting around doing nothing. Every second she delayed was an extension on Melina Frost's life that she most definitely did not deserve. Margaret stood up and walked around the tree, carefully making her way through the rest of the jungle to her destination.
The going wasn't easy. She had to step over seven tripwires and around five suspicious-looking mounds of dirt. Prickly bushes and vines kept scraping her skin; they didn't break it, fortunately, but they still annoyed Margaret to no end. Speaking of annoyances, she had to constantly keep an eye out for other things to avoid stepping in, from mud puddles to fecal matter to human brains.
Wait a minute.
Margaret stopped walking and noticed a headless corpse not three feet away from her current position. It was a female body, somewhat fit, with an olive skin tone. Desperate to avoid having to look at it for more than she needed to, Margaret closed her eyes, then opened them again to look for her daypack. She found it next to the corpse's stump of a neck; taking a deep breath, she reached down and picked it up, but not before accidentally touching the corpse's gaping wound.
She felt herself throwing up in her mouth, and quickly grabbed the bag so she could get away from the body. Once she made it, she forced herself to swallow again; regardless of whether or not it helped, she was loathe to waste the water she just drank.
Ignoring the burning in her mouth and throat, she opened the daypack and scanned for useful items. She didn't find much. While the food and water were practically untouched, the weapon itself, the most vital ingredient to success in the game, was just a vial of clear fluid. She guessed that it was some sort of poison, which worried her; she didn't know how she could possibly apply it. Nevertheless, she transferred everything to her bag, then read the lettering on the side so that she might know who had unwittingly aided her.
The body used to be Melissa Diaz, whom Margaret had a casual acquaintance with. She appreciated Melissa's straightforwardness, but the two of them had little else in common. Melissa was an ordinary middle-class American who had always lived in a completely different world from Margaret.
But not anymore. SOTF had made them equals.
"Sorry 'bout this," she muttered to the body as she zipped up her bag. "Hopefully yer better off than y' were yesterday." She trudged off a bit more somberly than before, and tried to prepare herself for whatever awaited her outside the jungle.
((Margaret Tweedy continued in The Beginning is the End is the Beginning))
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.