Bryan had enough time to lower his arm. Then there was a blur of movement on his periphery and Bryan barely braced himself before 200-something pounds crashed into him and took him clean off his feet. Take your eye off one brother and the other pounced; like a pack of wolves.
The thought ran through his head and a second later the two of them hit the ground hard. Bryan's duffle had cushioned the impact a little, turning a possible back-cracker into something slightly more manageable. Slightly. Hard edges dug into his back, but he'd felt a squashing sensation, like something--or several somethings--inside the bag had been crushed by his bodyweight.
A meaty paw slapped down onto his head. Another grasped for the gun which he'd somehow kept a grip on.
Bret had position and Wyatt was approaching, no doubt. Bryan wasn't much for wrestling, but being pinned underneath was never going to work out. He had a free hand.
Rather than trying to pull away with the gun, Bryan pulled it inward, towards his open hand. He clenched that fist and flailed out his arm, pretending to be trying to hit Bret. He didn't come close, and that he wasn't really aiming was about the only reason he could stomach even feinting to punch someone. Still, the arm was mobile, and with a twist and roll of his hips, he swung the rifle inwards, across his own body, gripping the barrel with his other hand, the weapon across himself and wedged awkwardly between him and Bret, the two of them each grappling for it. His original grip slid, grasping stock and guard. Who was it pointed towards? It was horizontal, probably noone, but Bryan couldn't exactly turn his head to check.
If he didn't have a football player sitting on his chest, Bryan might have taken a deep breath. He didn't, but his finger was still on the trigger.
"I think--you should--leave," he growled around Bret's hand.
Time to Play the Game
B002 Start
(Mackenzie Baker continued from Early Bird)
Deciding to go for the manor house had been a stroke of genius on Mackenzie’s part. She’d always been a fan of nature hikes and it had been a gorgeous day for it. Following the path up to the manor had offered some amazing unobstructed views of the nearby scenery. If she hadn’t been stuck on the murder island, this would have been a fun place to...
Her thoughts were interrupted as she rounded a bend and came face to face with a chaotic brawl. One boy was laid out flat and another was being menaced by a hulking pair of boys: the Carters. She recognized them immediately, and from stories she’d heard...No, this was the game’s fault. They wouldn’t be hurting people like this without being under pressure. Not even them.
Almost without thinking, she fumbled around for the saber in her bag. “Bret! Wyatt!” she cried, “Stop it! Please!”
She’d had a chance to see the Carters from a distance. They were great athletes, but Wyatt could be a bit...rude to people. Still, they’d never done anything to her. If she could reason with them. Maybe she could calm them down, bring them back to their senses.
That being said, she was still keeping her distance, walking up next to Morgan’s prone form and keeping her hand in her bag. What had they done to him? Why had they done it? He wasn’t moving. Was he breathing? She couldn’t tell at a glance.
That the terrorists could make someone do something this horrific...they had a lot to answer for.
“You don’t have to do this,” she begged, gesturing to Bryan, pinned underneath Bret’s form. “You can’t let them control you!”
Deciding to go for the manor house had been a stroke of genius on Mackenzie’s part. She’d always been a fan of nature hikes and it had been a gorgeous day for it. Following the path up to the manor had offered some amazing unobstructed views of the nearby scenery. If she hadn’t been stuck on the murder island, this would have been a fun place to...
Her thoughts were interrupted as she rounded a bend and came face to face with a chaotic brawl. One boy was laid out flat and another was being menaced by a hulking pair of boys: the Carters. She recognized them immediately, and from stories she’d heard...No, this was the game’s fault. They wouldn’t be hurting people like this without being under pressure. Not even them.
Almost without thinking, she fumbled around for the saber in her bag. “Bret! Wyatt!” she cried, “Stop it! Please!”
She’d had a chance to see the Carters from a distance. They were great athletes, but Wyatt could be a bit...rude to people. Still, they’d never done anything to her. If she could reason with them. Maybe she could calm them down, bring them back to their senses.
That being said, she was still keeping her distance, walking up next to Morgan’s prone form and keeping her hand in her bag. What had they done to him? Why had they done it? He wasn’t moving. Was he breathing? She couldn’t tell at a glance.
That the terrorists could make someone do something this horrific...they had a lot to answer for.
“You don’t have to do this,” she begged, gesturing to Bryan, pinned underneath Bret’s form. “You can’t let them control you!”
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The feeling from seeing Bret storm out of nowhere and drive Bryan to the ground... that always brought a smile to Wyatt's face.
Receivers who actually knew how to run often felt the pain of having Bret introduce them to the ground. A pussy like Bryan, Wyatt knew he didn't have the slightest of chances. Bryan might have had a gun but he probably had no idea how to use it. Hell, the thing probably wasn't even loaded. Bret seemed to have the situation under control, though the struggle for the gun was a lot less clean than he'd have liked. There was an awful lot of flailing, like a panicked animal.
Wyatt had been giving it the ol' jobber job toward the dogpile, upgraded from a leisurely walk when his brother told him to get the bag away from Bryan. Priorities changed, as Wyatt was getting a nasty feeling that they often would, when Bryan fought tooth-and-nail over control of that gun. Now it was still less than likely that a coward like him would use a gun on anybody, even somebody assaulting them, but this was starting to become a gamble on the life of his only brother.
Another kick to the head it was, then.
"BRET!" Wyatt hollered, hurtling into a full-tilt run. The gun wasn't pointed at anything yet, but its positioning was making him more nervous by the second. He adjusted the path he took towards Bryan, judging that a straight-shot might end up with the rifle pointed at him, and if the trigger got yanked in the struggle with the safety off, he might catch a bullet to the leg, the head, or worst case scenario, the dick. At that point, there's just no sense in living. Curving around to Bryan's head, Wyatt made his approach with booming footfalls.
No warning, no threats.
He was just going to stomp this fucking kid's face in if he had to, in order to make him drop that gun.
And who the fuck just called his name?
Receivers who actually knew how to run often felt the pain of having Bret introduce them to the ground. A pussy like Bryan, Wyatt knew he didn't have the slightest of chances. Bryan might have had a gun but he probably had no idea how to use it. Hell, the thing probably wasn't even loaded. Bret seemed to have the situation under control, though the struggle for the gun was a lot less clean than he'd have liked. There was an awful lot of flailing, like a panicked animal.
Wyatt had been giving it the ol' jobber job toward the dogpile, upgraded from a leisurely walk when his brother told him to get the bag away from Bryan. Priorities changed, as Wyatt was getting a nasty feeling that they often would, when Bryan fought tooth-and-nail over control of that gun. Now it was still less than likely that a coward like him would use a gun on anybody, even somebody assaulting them, but this was starting to become a gamble on the life of his only brother.
Another kick to the head it was, then.
"BRET!" Wyatt hollered, hurtling into a full-tilt run. The gun wasn't pointed at anything yet, but its positioning was making him more nervous by the second. He adjusted the path he took towards Bryan, judging that a straight-shot might end up with the rifle pointed at him, and if the trigger got yanked in the struggle with the safety off, he might catch a bullet to the leg, the head, or worst case scenario, the dick. At that point, there's just no sense in living. Curving around to Bryan's head, Wyatt made his approach with booming footfalls.
No warning, no threats.
He was just going to stomp this fucking kid's face in if he had to, in order to make him drop that gun.
And who the fuck just called his name?
Two people called his name and that was unexpected.
Bryan putting up such strong resistance was also unexpected.
Bret was quickly losing patience with the whole exercise.
"I don't want to kill anyone, just give me the gun." He snarled.
Bryan putting up such strong resistance was also unexpected.
Bret was quickly losing patience with the whole exercise.
"I don't want to kill anyone, just give me the gun." He snarled.
"No."
Rapid footsteps, pounding towards them.
Bryan pulled the trigger, and there was an earsplitting bang, inches from his face.
Rapid footsteps, pounding towards them.
Bryan pulled the trigger, and there was an earsplitting bang, inches from his face.
If she'd been given enough time, Mackenzie would have registered disbelief that she was being ignored entirely, that they were going right along without even acknowledging the words she said. But before the thought could even form in her head, the bullets started flying, and all thoughts went running for the hills.
Mackenzie didn't notice that Bryan had a gun. She didn't even see the gun go off. In the movies, they always light up with a loud RAT-A-TAT and the bullets go whizzing through the air. All she heard was a sharp crack, and something...just SOMETHING flying past her head. Her eyes went wide like dinner plates and she realized that she was screaming and scrambling along the ground, incoherent and unreachable. All lofty thoughts she had, all dreams of being a big hero just evaporated, leaving her with one overwhelming, overbearing thought:
Run.
RUN!
This was too much. She couldn't handle this. She was a rich white girl from a sheltered background in a gated community in friggin' Chattanooga, and she'd never been shot at or attacked in her entire life. She didn't even feel herself plant her legs under her and take off at a full sprint back down the hill. She wouldn't fully comprehend what had happened until she had run for close to five minutes.
(Mackenzie Baker continued...somewhere)
Mackenzie didn't notice that Bryan had a gun. She didn't even see the gun go off. In the movies, they always light up with a loud RAT-A-TAT and the bullets go whizzing through the air. All she heard was a sharp crack, and something...just SOMETHING flying past her head. Her eyes went wide like dinner plates and she realized that she was screaming and scrambling along the ground, incoherent and unreachable. All lofty thoughts she had, all dreams of being a big hero just evaporated, leaving her with one overwhelming, overbearing thought:
Run.
RUN!
This was too much. She couldn't handle this. She was a rich white girl from a sheltered background in a gated community in friggin' Chattanooga, and she'd never been shot at or attacked in her entire life. She didn't even feel herself plant her legs under her and take off at a full sprint back down the hill. She wouldn't fully comprehend what had happened until she had run for close to five minutes.
(Mackenzie Baker continued...somewhere)
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Nobody controlled the Carter brothers.
Nobody told them what to do, or what to wear. They could think they were better, from their safe perch on this dumpster fire of an island... if they were even on the island, come to think of it. Well, they better get ready to bow to the REAL masters of this game, just like Bryan was about to. It had finally sunk in what had been shouted at them, but Wyatt couldn't afford the time to even glance in the girl's direction. He had a mission to make sure they both came out of this encounter alive, at least make it to the next day, and nothing was more important than that. Don't look at it like a whole game. Just one day at a time, one encounter. A quarter, all the way down to a play. Just succeed at every play and you win the game.
Most importantly, no matter how much he really wanted to tie up loose ends, he wouldn't kill anybody. Not just because Bret had said not to... wouldn't be the first time he didn't listen to something Mr. Brawny-man down there had said. No, it was because he was right, and it was the smartest thing to do. People took one look at two muscular, athletic twins who actually put stock into their bodies and the only thing they could think of was 'meatheads'. They were just meatheads with no skills, no way to make it in the real world. Well what about now? What when the 'real world' was full of people trying to kill you?
Survival of the Fittest? Yeah man, no fucking contest, they were the fittest ones here. Both in body, AND in having their shit together. So yes, he was going to try not to kill Bryan. But that didn't preclude kicking him so hard he couldn't remember his own name anymore.
The gunshot nearly made Wyatt skip a step. He couldn't remember the last time he was dumb enough to be near a firearm without proper ear protection, and so his body had forgotten just how goddamn loud those things were. His ears were ringing; he could only imagine what Bret's were like. And despite what Wyatt told his body to do, he seized up in uncertainty. You hear a gunshot like that, you wonder. You wonder, 'okay, I heard a noise, but what about the bullet?' He didn't feel anything (and was certain the gun wasn't pointed anywhere near him, but logic be damned right now), so he wasn't hit. Bret seemed to be okay, as was Bryan (we'll fix that in a second). Then there was a shriek, mixed in with the ringing so well that at first, Wyatt wasn't sure he'd heard it at all. But instinct had him jerk his head to the side as far as his thick neck would allow.
Wouldn't you know it, that was Mackenzie Baker... and it looked like she was hurt.
"YOU DUMB COCKSUCKER!" Wyatt roared, clearing the rest of the distance between himself, Bryan and Bret. Bret's hand was slightly in the way but that was more of a hindrance than an outright complication, and not nearly to the degree that it faltered Wyatt from his next move: stomping a mudhole into Bryan's head, neck, shoulder, collarbone... shit, anywhere his foot could reach, until he let go of that gun.
"LEGGO 'FORE YA SHOOT SOMEBODY ELSE YOU DUMB CUNT!"
Nobody told them what to do, or what to wear. They could think they were better, from their safe perch on this dumpster fire of an island... if they were even on the island, come to think of it. Well, they better get ready to bow to the REAL masters of this game, just like Bryan was about to. It had finally sunk in what had been shouted at them, but Wyatt couldn't afford the time to even glance in the girl's direction. He had a mission to make sure they both came out of this encounter alive, at least make it to the next day, and nothing was more important than that. Don't look at it like a whole game. Just one day at a time, one encounter. A quarter, all the way down to a play. Just succeed at every play and you win the game.
Most importantly, no matter how much he really wanted to tie up loose ends, he wouldn't kill anybody. Not just because Bret had said not to... wouldn't be the first time he didn't listen to something Mr. Brawny-man down there had said. No, it was because he was right, and it was the smartest thing to do. People took one look at two muscular, athletic twins who actually put stock into their bodies and the only thing they could think of was 'meatheads'. They were just meatheads with no skills, no way to make it in the real world. Well what about now? What when the 'real world' was full of people trying to kill you?
Survival of the Fittest? Yeah man, no fucking contest, they were the fittest ones here. Both in body, AND in having their shit together. So yes, he was going to try not to kill Bryan. But that didn't preclude kicking him so hard he couldn't remember his own name anymore.
The gunshot nearly made Wyatt skip a step. He couldn't remember the last time he was dumb enough to be near a firearm without proper ear protection, and so his body had forgotten just how goddamn loud those things were. His ears were ringing; he could only imagine what Bret's were like. And despite what Wyatt told his body to do, he seized up in uncertainty. You hear a gunshot like that, you wonder. You wonder, 'okay, I heard a noise, but what about the bullet?' He didn't feel anything (and was certain the gun wasn't pointed anywhere near him, but logic be damned right now), so he wasn't hit. Bret seemed to be okay, as was Bryan (we'll fix that in a second). Then there was a shriek, mixed in with the ringing so well that at first, Wyatt wasn't sure he'd heard it at all. But instinct had him jerk his head to the side as far as his thick neck would allow.
Wouldn't you know it, that was Mackenzie Baker... and it looked like she was hurt.
"YOU DUMB COCKSUCKER!" Wyatt roared, clearing the rest of the distance between himself, Bryan and Bret. Bret's hand was slightly in the way but that was more of a hindrance than an outright complication, and not nearly to the degree that it faltered Wyatt from his next move: stomping a mudhole into Bryan's head, neck, shoulder, collarbone... shit, anywhere his foot could reach, until he let go of that gun.
"LEGGO 'FORE YA SHOOT SOMEBODY ELSE YOU DUMB CUNT!"
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Somersault
- Posts: 312
- Joined: Wed Aug 15, 2018 8:56 am
((Kelly Nguyen, continued from Holiday in Cambodia))
Ever since she'd managed to get back on dry land, hair matted and clothes dripping with seawater, Kelly had been walking. Through woods, trees, forests as dense as the eye could see. She had nothing on her, no map, no weapon, no food, only the life preserver held tightly within her hands for company. For once, she didn't exactly feel like talking to people. Part of her wanted something to break the silence, for an old friend to come along so they could chat, pretend it wasn't happening, but her stomach curled inward at that. This was happening, yes?
It really had to be, yes, and the thought of her parents, her teachers watching her blindly make her way through the woods, increasingly disheveled, caused her heart to drop from it's perch. She was pretty sure there was a leaf in her hair or something, and as much as she would've wanted to remove it, pretend that everything was going totally great, the distant sound of gunshots made her trek an increasingly stop-start affair. Her flats and leggings were covered in dirt and mud, her makeup had been washed clean-off by the water, and the only consolation? Well, besides the fact that her dress was black, so as to prevent most of the stains from being that visible? Besides the fact that she had worn her hair tied up?
Her continued existence on this planet.
The thought that she could still make it out, if she played it smart, didn't trust anyone dangerous, was the thought that kept her going, stepping over fallen trees with only bird songs and monkey screeches as company. She'd deal with Juliette, she had to, because she was a definite threat, it was the only logical option, yes, but for now, all she was looking for was some kind of good samaritan. The kind who'd prove amenable enough to give her supplies, or unobservant enough for her to take some. Hopefully, that could be done in the darkness of night. She was fighting for her future here, and if it came out that she robbed a person? Killed someone in a way that couldn't be argued as self-defence?
Well, nobody would trust her to take care of her animals then, would they? Kelly knew she'd have to get through this smartly, safely, that meant she'd have to be ruthless. Would have to ignore some things, so she could make it through. Omissions could be explained, if not justified.
That train of thought came to a sudden end when Kenzie ran out of the garden shrieking, away from what looked to be a mansion. People'd probably be in there. People with weapons, people without good intensions. It wouldn't be smart to try to enter, wouldn't be smart to go have anything to with it, but...it was a house. It'd be safety from the elements, a place to potentially be able to stop running and start resting, maybe even find friendly people.
That probably wouldn't be true, even with the definition of friendly as loose as it was here, but she still crept closer, deciding to stick to the walls of the entrance, before peeking around the corner. There were gunshots, there was more screaming, but still, she looked, and-
Kelly froze, hands white from gripping the life preserver. The Carter Twins were there, they were beating someone up, and someone was laying over there and-
A strangled cry ripped itself from her throat, establishing her presence. Would it be smart to help? Would it be wise to go in and help, gain an ally, gain their trust? They'd be grateful, of course they would, and the cameras'd know that she'd try to do something, that she tried to be moral in this time of great need, they'd see her as a hero. Not as a selfish little girl who just wanted to-
"HEY, FETCH!"
With all of her strength, Kelly tossed the life preserver, hopefully at the dogpile happening, before once more retreating back behind the corner. Stupid. Stupidstupid. Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid. It was too late now, though. Much too late for regret to have any impact.
Ever since she'd managed to get back on dry land, hair matted and clothes dripping with seawater, Kelly had been walking. Through woods, trees, forests as dense as the eye could see. She had nothing on her, no map, no weapon, no food, only the life preserver held tightly within her hands for company. For once, she didn't exactly feel like talking to people. Part of her wanted something to break the silence, for an old friend to come along so they could chat, pretend it wasn't happening, but her stomach curled inward at that. This was happening, yes?
It really had to be, yes, and the thought of her parents, her teachers watching her blindly make her way through the woods, increasingly disheveled, caused her heart to drop from it's perch. She was pretty sure there was a leaf in her hair or something, and as much as she would've wanted to remove it, pretend that everything was going totally great, the distant sound of gunshots made her trek an increasingly stop-start affair. Her flats and leggings were covered in dirt and mud, her makeup had been washed clean-off by the water, and the only consolation? Well, besides the fact that her dress was black, so as to prevent most of the stains from being that visible? Besides the fact that she had worn her hair tied up?
Her continued existence on this planet.
The thought that she could still make it out, if she played it smart, didn't trust anyone dangerous, was the thought that kept her going, stepping over fallen trees with only bird songs and monkey screeches as company. She'd deal with Juliette, she had to, because she was a definite threat, it was the only logical option, yes, but for now, all she was looking for was some kind of good samaritan. The kind who'd prove amenable enough to give her supplies, or unobservant enough for her to take some. Hopefully, that could be done in the darkness of night. She was fighting for her future here, and if it came out that she robbed a person? Killed someone in a way that couldn't be argued as self-defence?
Well, nobody would trust her to take care of her animals then, would they? Kelly knew she'd have to get through this smartly, safely, that meant she'd have to be ruthless. Would have to ignore some things, so she could make it through. Omissions could be explained, if not justified.
That train of thought came to a sudden end when Kenzie ran out of the garden shrieking, away from what looked to be a mansion. People'd probably be in there. People with weapons, people without good intensions. It wouldn't be smart to try to enter, wouldn't be smart to go have anything to with it, but...it was a house. It'd be safety from the elements, a place to potentially be able to stop running and start resting, maybe even find friendly people.
That probably wouldn't be true, even with the definition of friendly as loose as it was here, but she still crept closer, deciding to stick to the walls of the entrance, before peeking around the corner. There were gunshots, there was more screaming, but still, she looked, and-
Kelly froze, hands white from gripping the life preserver. The Carter Twins were there, they were beating someone up, and someone was laying over there and-
A strangled cry ripped itself from her throat, establishing her presence. Would it be smart to help? Would it be wise to go in and help, gain an ally, gain their trust? They'd be grateful, of course they would, and the cameras'd know that she'd try to do something, that she tried to be moral in this time of great need, they'd see her as a hero. Not as a selfish little girl who just wanted to-
"HEY, FETCH!"
With all of her strength, Kelly tossed the life preserver, hopefully at the dogpile happening, before once more retreating back behind the corner. Stupid. Stupidstupid. Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid. It was too late now, though. Much too late for regret to have any impact.
The gun went off and his ears rang.
He should have seen it coming. The fact he expected to get away with the plan was pure arrogance on his part. It was a mistake he had no business making, it was pathetically stupid. But there he was, grappling with Bryan as his ears rang.
Due to his own instincts, Bret had pulled back and away from the gunshot. The position he and Bryan were in meant there was no way he could have been hit. The gun going off served as a reminder of just what exactly they were doing, and what the end goal of the entire event was.
As the ringing in his ears continued Bret could make out noises, muffled yelling but he was unable to discern who it came from. All he could hear was the same constant shrill buzz. Something hit his head and Bret jolted, the lack of warning his hearing afforded him meaning he wasn't prepared and his hands came up to defend himself.
Their robbery was turning into a farce.
He should have seen it coming. The fact he expected to get away with the plan was pure arrogance on his part. It was a mistake he had no business making, it was pathetically stupid. But there he was, grappling with Bryan as his ears rang.
Due to his own instincts, Bret had pulled back and away from the gunshot. The position he and Bryan were in meant there was no way he could have been hit. The gun going off served as a reminder of just what exactly they were doing, and what the end goal of the entire event was.
As the ringing in his ears continued Bret could make out noises, muffled yelling but he was unable to discern who it came from. All he could hear was the same constant shrill buzz. Something hit his head and Bret jolted, the lack of warning his hearing afforded him meaning he wasn't prepared and his hands came up to defend himself.
Their robbery was turning into a farce.
The blood pooled on the ground around Morgan's face as lay in the dirt. Unmoving, unknowing to the chaos going on around him.
Bryan couldn't hear right. The gun was--the idea of the gun was a last-ditch deterrent, a shocking gesture that would alarm both Carters but not actually harm anyone. Bryan knew that the gun wasn't pointing at anyone or else he would never have pulled the trigger. What caught him off guard was the volume; he wasn't much for movies or shooter games, but they never seemed all that loud in the media, not until that whiplike crack a couple inches away from his ear.
He saw stars, and when Wyatt's voice roared down at him from up above, Bryan couldn't even catch what he was saying. Probably something obscene, knowing Wyatt.
Whatever was being said became pretty moot though when a huge boot descended and caught him right in the chin. Bryan's head snapped to the side as he instinctively shrank away from the blow, which was just as well as an immediate follow-up landed on his shoulder, bouncing him off the ground slightly. Bryan twisted again, attempting to shield himself from the repeated blows but struggling with Bret's weight still on top of him, even though Bret himself had pulled away slightly.
Another boot caught him, this time on the front of the shoulder, slamming him from his sideways position back to a flat base. Adrenaline, or maybe panic, had kept the impacts from properly settling in but it was the next stomp, the one that nailed Bryan almost directly in the forehead, that caused the pain to really hit. Dizzying swirls erupted behind his eyes and for a second, Bryan just saw black--a blackness pierced by another gunshot as his hand spasmed and he pulled the trigger again.
Jesus, ow, ow, that was even worse than last time, but now Bret really was leaning up and away. In an effort to get some kind of respite from the unrelenting slew of Wyatt's boots, Bryan lurched up from the ground, catching yet another kick on the way up, this time a glancing blow to the ear which left a warm trickle in its wake.
And what did Bryan do? He grabbed Bret around the torso with both arms, hugging the other boy to him that had some bear but with the amount of clinging, about as much hug, too.
He saw stars, and when Wyatt's voice roared down at him from up above, Bryan couldn't even catch what he was saying. Probably something obscene, knowing Wyatt.
Whatever was being said became pretty moot though when a huge boot descended and caught him right in the chin. Bryan's head snapped to the side as he instinctively shrank away from the blow, which was just as well as an immediate follow-up landed on his shoulder, bouncing him off the ground slightly. Bryan twisted again, attempting to shield himself from the repeated blows but struggling with Bret's weight still on top of him, even though Bret himself had pulled away slightly.
Another boot caught him, this time on the front of the shoulder, slamming him from his sideways position back to a flat base. Adrenaline, or maybe panic, had kept the impacts from properly settling in but it was the next stomp, the one that nailed Bryan almost directly in the forehead, that caused the pain to really hit. Dizzying swirls erupted behind his eyes and for a second, Bryan just saw black--a blackness pierced by another gunshot as his hand spasmed and he pulled the trigger again.
Jesus, ow, ow, that was even worse than last time, but now Bret really was leaning up and away. In an effort to get some kind of respite from the unrelenting slew of Wyatt's boots, Bryan lurched up from the ground, catching yet another kick on the way up, this time a glancing blow to the ear which left a warm trickle in its wake.
And what did Bryan do? He grabbed Bret around the torso with both arms, hugging the other boy to him that had some bear but with the amount of clinging, about as much hug, too.
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Alright, fucker. It was time to let that thing go. The gun, rather, though letting go of his brother would also be nice.
Wyatt had both feet on the ground now. He no longer had a good angle to stomp on Bryan since it looked like the kid had panicked and was hugging close to Bret, who had been distracted by a- what the fuck was that, a lifesaver!? The offending object had bounced right off of Bret with a dull 'thunk' and come to a bouncing and rolling stop some ten yards away. A quick visual sweep in the general direction that it had to have come from revealed nothing. Nobody was there, apart from Morgan who was still bleeding and dreaming of big scary feet kicking his teeth in, or something like that.
But that was concerning to him, that somebody was out there. But Wyatt couldn't afford to spend much time looking, not right this second. He was willing to bet that the live preserver wasn't a warning shot; whoever threw it, they probably threw whatever they had on hand in order to get their attention. If the mystery motherfucker wanted to blow them all away at range, they already would have. That was all the more reason to finish this quickly. Get the one confirmed gun on the scene safely in their possession, then they could get the fuck out of dodge and hope next time went cleaner. Wyatt imagined that's what Bret would have had planned for them to do, so he didn't need to verbally confirm it.
Lowering to his knees, Wyatt balled his left hand into a fist and went to slide it under Bryan's left armpit. All of the attentions of the boy were on the Carter brother directly atop him, which simultaneously made things easier and more difficult. Bryan was fighting a two-front war, but Wyatt also had to deal with the extra weight that Bret provided, and he had to maneuver his arm between the two as if trying to pry them apart. What he was really going for, though, was locking in a half nelson to control one of Bryan's arms and get it off of that fucking gun, or off of Bret. Either-or.
"Sit him up, sit him up," Wyatt hissed. "I'll get his arms, you get the gun."
Wyatt had both feet on the ground now. He no longer had a good angle to stomp on Bryan since it looked like the kid had panicked and was hugging close to Bret, who had been distracted by a- what the fuck was that, a lifesaver!? The offending object had bounced right off of Bret with a dull 'thunk' and come to a bouncing and rolling stop some ten yards away. A quick visual sweep in the general direction that it had to have come from revealed nothing. Nobody was there, apart from Morgan who was still bleeding and dreaming of big scary feet kicking his teeth in, or something like that.
But that was concerning to him, that somebody was out there. But Wyatt couldn't afford to spend much time looking, not right this second. He was willing to bet that the live preserver wasn't a warning shot; whoever threw it, they probably threw whatever they had on hand in order to get their attention. If the mystery motherfucker wanted to blow them all away at range, they already would have. That was all the more reason to finish this quickly. Get the one confirmed gun on the scene safely in their possession, then they could get the fuck out of dodge and hope next time went cleaner. Wyatt imagined that's what Bret would have had planned for them to do, so he didn't need to verbally confirm it.
Lowering to his knees, Wyatt balled his left hand into a fist and went to slide it under Bryan's left armpit. All of the attentions of the boy were on the Carter brother directly atop him, which simultaneously made things easier and more difficult. Bryan was fighting a two-front war, but Wyatt also had to deal with the extra weight that Bret provided, and he had to maneuver his arm between the two as if trying to pry them apart. What he was really going for, though, was locking in a half nelson to control one of Bryan's arms and get it off of that fucking gun, or off of Bret. Either-or.
"Sit him up, sit him up," Wyatt hissed. "I'll get his arms, you get the gun."
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Somersault
- Posts: 312
- Joined: Wed Aug 15, 2018 8:56 am
If there was one thing in the Chattanooga summer that Kelly absolutely despised, it was the bees. Now, she adored most animals, but it was the constant buzzing that got to her. In the shelter, in the park, anywhere outdoors, really, there they were. Buzzing. Beating. A constant pain she just couldn't rid herself of.
The ring of the gunshots didn't sound anything like the bees, but she pretended they did. It distracted her from the sounds of flesh pummeling flesh, the balancing scale of survival leaning in favor of one or the other. She was reasonably sure of the outcome of that fight, even after what she'd done, the life preserver sailing through the air, and as suddenly as the adrenaline had flowed through her veins, the rivers dried up. A drought came over. And all she could do in response was slump against the foliage, tucking in her legs to herself like a child.
What a fool. What a fool she was, to think she'd have any agency in changing this situation. To think she could change, all because she got pushed off of a boat, that one fall into water made her become strong. There was no gameplan after the preserver, only a reflexive action, and this was all that was left.
Her. Cowering, cameras watching her, Kelly, hide as a boy was probably being murdered and do nothing except hide and hope that she wasn't their next choice of prey. Somehow, she couldn't find anything anywhere to drive her to look over, witness the scene. There was a pit at that thought, but one more of inevitable dread than any sense of horror, for some reason. Another one opened, too, but of shame, rather than fear. There were no rewards for heroes here.
She'd be a sniveling coward, sure, but she'd be a living one. If she was lucky, maybe the lions would leave something for the vulture.
The ring of the gunshots didn't sound anything like the bees, but she pretended they did. It distracted her from the sounds of flesh pummeling flesh, the balancing scale of survival leaning in favor of one or the other. She was reasonably sure of the outcome of that fight, even after what she'd done, the life preserver sailing through the air, and as suddenly as the adrenaline had flowed through her veins, the rivers dried up. A drought came over. And all she could do in response was slump against the foliage, tucking in her legs to herself like a child.
What a fool. What a fool she was, to think she'd have any agency in changing this situation. To think she could change, all because she got pushed off of a boat, that one fall into water made her become strong. There was no gameplan after the preserver, only a reflexive action, and this was all that was left.
Her. Cowering, cameras watching her, Kelly, hide as a boy was probably being murdered and do nothing except hide and hope that she wasn't their next choice of prey. Somehow, she couldn't find anything anywhere to drive her to look over, witness the scene. There was a pit at that thought, but one more of inevitable dread than any sense of horror, for some reason. Another one opened, too, but of shame, rather than fear. There were no rewards for heroes here.
She'd be a sniveling coward, sure, but she'd be a living one. If she was lucky, maybe the lions would leave something for the vulture.
Bret, for once, did as Wyatt instructed and sat up to allow his brother a better grip. He didn't do it because he heard his brother however—the only thing he could hear was ringing—he did it because he was already leaning back and coincidentally ended up in the right position.
He reestablished his grip on the gun as he attempted to get back to his feet. If only to ensure Bryan didn't try and shoot him.
He was done with the robbery. They needed to prioritize getting out.
He reestablished his grip on the gun as he attempted to get back to his feet. If only to ensure Bryan didn't try and shoot him.
He was done with the robbery. They needed to prioritize getting out.
Everything hurt.
All he could see was black, but judging by the smell, the taste, and the feeling of dirt on his face, that was probably because he was face-down on the ground. His ears rang and he felt the telltale plugged feeling that told him that his nose had been heartily bleeding.
His ribs hurt.
His neck hurt.
Craning his neck to the right, he heard the telltale sounds of a struggle. A grunt here, a voice there. The Carters were still here.
Fuck.
Pushing up took effort, and he bit down on his tongue as hard as he could - the copper taste seemed to be the only thing his mouth would permit right now - so as to stay quiet.
One hand in front of the other. Push. One hand. Push.
His jeans were still damp.
Goddammit.
A gunshot; he barely whimpered, but it was there. He hoped no one heard.
He kept crawling. One hand in front of the other. Push.
Nobody came to offer him his deliverance.
Yesterday he would have made a stupid joke to finish it all off, as he crawled into the woods, headed anywhere but here. But that was yesterday. Laughing time was over; it would probably hurt, anyways. Everything still hurt. But hey, that was good. It meant that Morgan was still alive.
One hand. Push. One hand. Push.
Keep going.
And he did.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued in Break Your Halo))
All he could see was black, but judging by the smell, the taste, and the feeling of dirt on his face, that was probably because he was face-down on the ground. His ears rang and he felt the telltale plugged feeling that told him that his nose had been heartily bleeding.
His ribs hurt.
His neck hurt.
Craning his neck to the right, he heard the telltale sounds of a struggle. A grunt here, a voice there. The Carters were still here.
Fuck.
Pushing up took effort, and he bit down on his tongue as hard as he could - the copper taste seemed to be the only thing his mouth would permit right now - so as to stay quiet.
One hand in front of the other. Push. One hand. Push.
His jeans were still damp.
Goddammit.
A gunshot; he barely whimpered, but it was there. He hoped no one heard.
He kept crawling. One hand in front of the other. Push.
Nobody came to offer him his deliverance.
Yesterday he would have made a stupid joke to finish it all off, as he crawled into the woods, headed anywhere but here. But that was yesterday. Laughing time was over; it would probably hurt, anyways. Everything still hurt. But hey, that was good. It meant that Morgan was still alive.
One hand. Push. One hand. Push.
Keep going.
And he did.
((Morgan Dragosavich continued in Break Your Halo))