((OOC: Anyone interrupts Dodd and I in this and I tear their eyes out with a spork.))
((Steve Digaetano continued from: Wild International))
Steve hadn't really said much to Ryan since the deal with Eris. She was as good as dead, and once again he'd been thrown into a situation where he'd done something deep down he really didn't want to. Twice within a span of 5 minutes he'd fired his guns and was involved in killing two more people. He'd also been right about his brain deciding to torment him some more. That bastard in his head would not stop pumping guilt through his entire body. Death had followed Steve around the entire island. Hell, there had only been two people he'd run into on the island thus far who, at least at last announcements, hadn't been killed. It was like that kid in the movies who would keep your chair as a reminder of, "I'm still bugging youuuu!"
The boys approached the hospital. The stench of death and decay was incredible. Didn't matter much though. It was a smell that they'd both gotten used to over the last 11 days. The feeling of nausea no longer even tickled Steve's stomach, despite the incredible amount of gore surrounding him. He took a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area, unzipped his bag, and loaded both the pistol and the Type 77.
"You know something Ryan, I really thought Eris wouldn't shoot. I was ready to blow her away but when those announcements came on I looked her in the eyes and I swore to myself that she wouldn't shoot me. She wouldn't have it in here to pulled the trigger."
Moment of Clarity
Moment of Clarity
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
((Continued from Wild International))
As the two boys waded their way through the gore and the muck that was formerly the hospital, Ryan found himself; for perhaps the first time in the entire eleven days of Survival of the Fittest, with some pain. As he'd followed Steve away from the danger zone, he'd developed a stitch in his side, and it seemed to get more intense the more distance that the two made from the danger zone and the inevitable resting place of Eris Marquis.
Steve hadn't said much since they'd left the cottage, presumably caught up within his own mind about the sudden wave of death that'd taken the area by storm. In a way, Ryan was in shock from it all. It was difficult to take in. One minute, they'd been standing there, with a plan and ready to take action. The next minute, everyone was dead except for him and Steve. In the confusion, Ryan hadn't even seen what happened to Lulu. Things had happened so fast that by the time he'd managed to figure out just what was going on, the bullets had stopped flying, and Steve was motioning for him to go.
It's really been one of those days...
The interior of the hospital was no different from any of the other buildings that Ryan had been in so far. Generally, everything was amiss, with the various items tossed around. People had obviously been looking for things in here, and anything of value was probably long gone. The other not-so-redeeming feature of the interior of the hospital was the blood, bodies, and gore that lined the floor, walls, and ceiling. Most of it was dried, and the bodies were well towards decomposition, but the stench of death still hung in the air, following them around like an everpresent stalker.
As Steve finally sat himself down in one of the waiting room chairs, Ryan glanced over and righted another one, letting himself have a break. All he'd been doing for days was wandering around, resting very little. His mind thought back to the people of which he'd encountered. Dean Portman, Adam Dodd, Steve Digaetano. All were relatively decent guys, in the short time that he'd spent with each. All had taken their situations in a different way, and Ryan himself had learned something from each of them. He ruminated on that, as Steve addressed him, and Ryan agreed totally with what he said.
"I didn't think so either. I truly thought that she didn't have it in her to shoot. That was one thing about Eris. I didn't know her very well, but I knew her enough to realize that she was full of hot air. Most of the time, Eris just liked to hear herself talk."
Ryan hesitated, and then put his head back and sighed.
"Didn't think she'd actually do it, though."
Looking back across the room, Ryan blinked the fatigue out of his eyes, and glanced back at Steve.
"You got lucky. I didn't have enough time to get a shot off, and if she'd had any aim at all...well, I don't know if you'd be sitting here with me."
Reaching over to where he'd placed his pack, Ryan ruffled through it, and retrieved a small notebook, like the kind you'd use to take notes in school. Flipping through a few pages, Ryan flipped to a blank page, and reached further into his pack, finding a pen in the bottom. Sighing a bit, he began to write on the page, concentrating on the words on the page, rather than the death and destruction that surrounded him.
As the two boys waded their way through the gore and the muck that was formerly the hospital, Ryan found himself; for perhaps the first time in the entire eleven days of Survival of the Fittest, with some pain. As he'd followed Steve away from the danger zone, he'd developed a stitch in his side, and it seemed to get more intense the more distance that the two made from the danger zone and the inevitable resting place of Eris Marquis.
Steve hadn't said much since they'd left the cottage, presumably caught up within his own mind about the sudden wave of death that'd taken the area by storm. In a way, Ryan was in shock from it all. It was difficult to take in. One minute, they'd been standing there, with a plan and ready to take action. The next minute, everyone was dead except for him and Steve. In the confusion, Ryan hadn't even seen what happened to Lulu. Things had happened so fast that by the time he'd managed to figure out just what was going on, the bullets had stopped flying, and Steve was motioning for him to go.
It's really been one of those days...
The interior of the hospital was no different from any of the other buildings that Ryan had been in so far. Generally, everything was amiss, with the various items tossed around. People had obviously been looking for things in here, and anything of value was probably long gone. The other not-so-redeeming feature of the interior of the hospital was the blood, bodies, and gore that lined the floor, walls, and ceiling. Most of it was dried, and the bodies were well towards decomposition, but the stench of death still hung in the air, following them around like an everpresent stalker.
As Steve finally sat himself down in one of the waiting room chairs, Ryan glanced over and righted another one, letting himself have a break. All he'd been doing for days was wandering around, resting very little. His mind thought back to the people of which he'd encountered. Dean Portman, Adam Dodd, Steve Digaetano. All were relatively decent guys, in the short time that he'd spent with each. All had taken their situations in a different way, and Ryan himself had learned something from each of them. He ruminated on that, as Steve addressed him, and Ryan agreed totally with what he said.
"I didn't think so either. I truly thought that she didn't have it in her to shoot. That was one thing about Eris. I didn't know her very well, but I knew her enough to realize that she was full of hot air. Most of the time, Eris just liked to hear herself talk."
Ryan hesitated, and then put his head back and sighed.
"Didn't think she'd actually do it, though."
Looking back across the room, Ryan blinked the fatigue out of his eyes, and glanced back at Steve.
"You got lucky. I didn't have enough time to get a shot off, and if she'd had any aim at all...well, I don't know if you'd be sitting here with me."
Reaching over to where he'd placed his pack, Ryan ruffled through it, and retrieved a small notebook, like the kind you'd use to take notes in school. Flipping through a few pages, Ryan flipped to a blank page, and reached further into his pack, finding a pen in the bottom. Sighing a bit, he began to write on the page, concentrating on the words on the page, rather than the death and destruction that surrounded him.
"Yeah, I know. First time I've got lucky. Seems like I've been a bit of a bullet magnet. Only two hit me that needed bandaging though, so I guess I've done okay."
Steve smiled at the thought. He was picturing himself dodging bullets like the other team's linemen. He knew in reality he'd just had a horseshoe up his ass, but the comic book version of himself he had pictured was taking his mind off the game, which was a sweet, sweet relief. Steve's thoughts drifted away from the comic book version of himself, to his family. He felt guilty for not having really thought about his family much in the last couple of days. He wondered what his Dad Mario was thinking. He wondered how Jen was doing with the new job she'd got just before they'd been abducted.
"You been thinking much about what our families must think? Personally, I like to think my mom is sitting on the couch with the little Southridge flag she'd wave from under her red blanket, cheering me on like she'd do at our football games." Steve said, chuckling at the thought of his mom's cheering methods.
Steve wasn't sure if Ryan heard him, for Steve turned to see Ryan writing something in what appeared to be a journal.
"Keeping track of the thoughts eh? What's it say for me? 'Today I met the quarterback. There was a slaughter. The QB cried a little bit. I laughed. Man I wish I had a cheeseburger.'"
To Steve, this was perfect. It just felt really good to just sit down and joke around and push all the negative thoughts of his mind for the first time in days.
Steve smiled at the thought. He was picturing himself dodging bullets like the other team's linemen. He knew in reality he'd just had a horseshoe up his ass, but the comic book version of himself he had pictured was taking his mind off the game, which was a sweet, sweet relief. Steve's thoughts drifted away from the comic book version of himself, to his family. He felt guilty for not having really thought about his family much in the last couple of days. He wondered what his Dad Mario was thinking. He wondered how Jen was doing with the new job she'd got just before they'd been abducted.
"You been thinking much about what our families must think? Personally, I like to think my mom is sitting on the couch with the little Southridge flag she'd wave from under her red blanket, cheering me on like she'd do at our football games." Steve said, chuckling at the thought of his mom's cheering methods.
Steve wasn't sure if Ryan heard him, for Steve turned to see Ryan writing something in what appeared to be a journal.
"Keeping track of the thoughts eh? What's it say for me? 'Today I met the quarterback. There was a slaughter. The QB cried a little bit. I laughed. Man I wish I had a cheeseburger.'"
To Steve, this was perfect. It just felt really good to just sit down and joke around and push all the negative thoughts of his mind for the first time in days.
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
Ryan, who for the past few moments had been deeply engrossed in his own little world, finally looked up at Steve with a blank expression. The words had registered with Ryan, but it took a moment for their meaning to become clear. Once what Steve had said sunk in, Ryan broke out of his momentary stupor and grinned.
"Ummm, no. Not just a cheeseburger...it's a double-cheeseburger, with bacon, cheese, onions, relish, and a big honkin' pickle. That's what I could go with right now. Of course, for a lot of us, something like that would probably qualify as a last meal..."
Ryan trailed off, shaking his head sadly.
"I've been trying to keep track of everything in here since day one. Hasn't been...so easy, especially with all of the rain, but...I think most of it's here. I've gone through a whole mess of different feelings about this whole experience, and if things don't go my way, then..."
He trailed off, shrugging slightly.
"...well, maybe my family can get rich off of the royalties for the book, or something. I've kept track of everything that's happened; of all the different people who I've crossed paths with. Might make a fun movie-of-the-week or something. Survival of the Fittest: starring Ryan Atwell, Dean Portman, Adam Dodd, and Steve Digaetano. Coming to a Thursday night near you!"
Ryan finished writing a few words, and put the pen down, tapping it against the journal, which he'd closed after finishing. Sticking the journal back in his pack, he looked up at Steve, who looked more relaxed than Ryan had seen him in...well, since he'd seen him back at school. Always an easygoing kind of guy, Steve had been ridiculously stressed out when Ryan had first met up with him, and while Ryan himself wasn't in any kind of relaxed frame of mind, Steve seemed to have taken a beating, and been undoubtedly the worse for wear.
Of course, all the jokes in the world didn't distract Ryan from the gravity of their situation. The fact was that the two of them had nearly impeccable luck when it came to surviving. Steve'd been shot, and Ryan...well, Ryan still had the stabbing pain in his side.
When you run around for seven days straight, odds are that you're bound to pull a muscle. Might be a tear with how this feels. Jeeezus!
Of course, Ryan also hadn't really lost anyone. Maybe Portman, who'd been a damn good ally and a good friend to have, and according to the announcement, he'd died mysteriously, along with Dodd, Bill Ritch, John Sheppard...pretty much everyone that he'd run into had just up and vanished, with no cause of death, no information...it didn't seem real to him. It didn't seem real, except for all of the dead bodies that he'd run across.
"You and I have been pretty lucky so far, eh Steve? After that fucking fiasco at the cottage, there can't be any more than fifteen people left alive. It's really coming down to the wire. I've been really lucky. Barely been shot at, seen...well, I've seen my share of corpses, but that was pretty much the first gunfight that I've been in. Kept a low profile, and it's kept me alive."
He glanced down, and inspected his assault rifle with a near-sense of wonder.
"I'm sure that this big gun probably helped a bit too, but I've barely fired it. The instruction manual...heh, I still can't believe that it had an instruction manual...the manual said that I drew one of the top three weapons in the whole game. For all of the good that it's done so far. I'll take any luck that I can get my hands on, though. I haven't had it as bad as some people have. Like you, I'd assume..."
Ryan looked back up at Steve, and let his last words hang in the air.
"Ummm, no. Not just a cheeseburger...it's a double-cheeseburger, with bacon, cheese, onions, relish, and a big honkin' pickle. That's what I could go with right now. Of course, for a lot of us, something like that would probably qualify as a last meal..."
Ryan trailed off, shaking his head sadly.
"I've been trying to keep track of everything in here since day one. Hasn't been...so easy, especially with all of the rain, but...I think most of it's here. I've gone through a whole mess of different feelings about this whole experience, and if things don't go my way, then..."
He trailed off, shrugging slightly.
"...well, maybe my family can get rich off of the royalties for the book, or something. I've kept track of everything that's happened; of all the different people who I've crossed paths with. Might make a fun movie-of-the-week or something. Survival of the Fittest: starring Ryan Atwell, Dean Portman, Adam Dodd, and Steve Digaetano. Coming to a Thursday night near you!"
Ryan finished writing a few words, and put the pen down, tapping it against the journal, which he'd closed after finishing. Sticking the journal back in his pack, he looked up at Steve, who looked more relaxed than Ryan had seen him in...well, since he'd seen him back at school. Always an easygoing kind of guy, Steve had been ridiculously stressed out when Ryan had first met up with him, and while Ryan himself wasn't in any kind of relaxed frame of mind, Steve seemed to have taken a beating, and been undoubtedly the worse for wear.
Of course, all the jokes in the world didn't distract Ryan from the gravity of their situation. The fact was that the two of them had nearly impeccable luck when it came to surviving. Steve'd been shot, and Ryan...well, Ryan still had the stabbing pain in his side.
When you run around for seven days straight, odds are that you're bound to pull a muscle. Might be a tear with how this feels. Jeeezus!
Of course, Ryan also hadn't really lost anyone. Maybe Portman, who'd been a damn good ally and a good friend to have, and according to the announcement, he'd died mysteriously, along with Dodd, Bill Ritch, John Sheppard...pretty much everyone that he'd run into had just up and vanished, with no cause of death, no information...it didn't seem real to him. It didn't seem real, except for all of the dead bodies that he'd run across.
"You and I have been pretty lucky so far, eh Steve? After that fucking fiasco at the cottage, there can't be any more than fifteen people left alive. It's really coming down to the wire. I've been really lucky. Barely been shot at, seen...well, I've seen my share of corpses, but that was pretty much the first gunfight that I've been in. Kept a low profile, and it's kept me alive."
He glanced down, and inspected his assault rifle with a near-sense of wonder.
"I'm sure that this big gun probably helped a bit too, but I've barely fired it. The instruction manual...heh, I still can't believe that it had an instruction manual...the manual said that I drew one of the top three weapons in the whole game. For all of the good that it's done so far. I'll take any luck that I can get my hands on, though. I haven't had it as bad as some people have. Like you, I'd assume..."
Ryan looked back up at Steve, and let his last words hang in the air.
((Adam Reeves continued from Hell is the impossibility of reason))
You know what? Fuck this shit.
The waves and swirls of the well-crafted blade caught the light as well as the finest Celtic jewelry might have. The half-light dulled by the jungle canopy flitted about on the ridged surface like beams on a static ocean. There were a thousand pretty metaphors for a pretty toy like this. And how Adam loved his toys. He was more of a gun person, sure, but in the sense that some people were more cat or dog people; if it was cute and furry and pissed on your carpet it would get the job done, just as Adam was satisfied as long as it could make things boom and bleed and tear. His noxious newlywed fit the bill quite nicely. It was better than any Tonka or cap gun he'd ever played with, any Kel-Tek or Mossberg he'd ever owned. He was Woody Allen, and his shiny new friend was the Soon-Yi to his Mia Farrow of a zweihander.
It was also heavier than the zweihander. A weight he couldn't afford.
There was a swoosh and something somewhere between a thud and a splash as he entombed his blushing bride in its sheath and sent it to its runny resting place. It was a sad sight. After all that work he spent killing the Redder bitch, it was a doleful waste of a pretty prize. But the real prize was deeper that some well-made scrap metal, wasn't it? Earning the Danya seal of approval had come with all the thrill of winning a wrestling match or one of his many less school-sponsored brawls. There was the babble of cheering spectators that followed him all the way from the cliffs. There was that warm and tingling sensation of satisfaction, triumph, self-worth, all those virtues thousands of motivational posters in millions of cubicles and classrooms tell you to have. Adam Reeves had won out again. Adam Reeves was going to continue to win. It was only a matter of time.
A toothy grin flashed across and brightened his features in a sick glow as the thought came to surface. He was going to fucking win.
The aura spread from his face to the rest of his form in a slow but steady trickle. He gingerly lifted his (well, hers but that didn't really matter now, did it?) launcher from where he's set it down to carry out his sepulchral duties. This was a weight that was more worth it. It didn't had the grace of the sword, or that personal little touch of feeling it slide through meat and tissue (a sensation he was sure he would have enjoyed, but alas), but it made up for it with the simple and raw beauty of a big ass explosion. He didn't want to waste the chance for that last fireworks display.
The aura only strengthened as he walked. His gait became easier, more confident, despite his limp. The shit-eating grin faded gradually to a shadow of a smirk but the glow remained. It had the warmth of a fresh puddle of vomit.
Visions of victory, even sweeter than the traditional sugarplums, danced through his head. He went through a mental checklist of who was left. He wondered how many were dead since the announcement. He hoped it wasn't many. There was still so much fun to be had. Maybe he'd run into that cow, Machina. He probably didn't have enough explosive power to blow the bovine beauty apart, but he could sure as hell try. Or maybe the Sullivan prick. An easy target, for sure, but Adam was sure he could find ways to make it entertaining. Or maybe oh jesus fucking christ he was facing a window.
Reeves dove to the ground with a much larger splash than his blade had made. He saw two fleeting silhouettes through the grimy window as he fell. Neither seemed to be facing him. That was good. Still, how could he have been so stupid, letting himself get so engrossed in his thoughts like that, almost ruining everything in the process? It certainly wasn't a usual occurrence for him. He kicked himself inwardly for his negligence.
Fortunately, his thoughts redeemed themselves as he lifted himself to a crouch. A Grinch grin spread across his wide face, speaking not only of stealing Christmas but of raping its mother and burning its house down in the process. He let the plan roll deliciously around his brain for a few moments. He praised himself for his genius and, as he so often had in his life, instantly set out to make his whim a reality.
He set off in a crouched run opposite the hospital's entrance. He turned when he felt sufficient distance had been made. Through the structure's gaping entrance, he saw the occasional flash of a limb. There were two of them, alright. He was reminded of the two cunts back at the field. He wouldn't miss this time.
"Mornin' assholes!"
Actually, he was quite sure it wasn't morning at all. The sun was too high, and his ritual morning piss had come to pass several hours ago. But he could not pass up the chance to have the last word, and it was all his clumsy mind could produce on such short notice. It was in no way poetic, but it would do.
He remained just long enough to watch the dark form of the grenade pass through the clinic door before he cast off his lovely launcher and made off like a spurred horse. It was several seconds before the satisfying symphony of crashes and booms and screams sounded off behind him. He slowed his pace and widened his grin. Another job well done, Mr. Reeves.
He continued his trek with a spring in his step.
((Adam Reeves continued in The Answer))
You know what? Fuck this shit.
The waves and swirls of the well-crafted blade caught the light as well as the finest Celtic jewelry might have. The half-light dulled by the jungle canopy flitted about on the ridged surface like beams on a static ocean. There were a thousand pretty metaphors for a pretty toy like this. And how Adam loved his toys. He was more of a gun person, sure, but in the sense that some people were more cat or dog people; if it was cute and furry and pissed on your carpet it would get the job done, just as Adam was satisfied as long as it could make things boom and bleed and tear. His noxious newlywed fit the bill quite nicely. It was better than any Tonka or cap gun he'd ever played with, any Kel-Tek or Mossberg he'd ever owned. He was Woody Allen, and his shiny new friend was the Soon-Yi to his Mia Farrow of a zweihander.
It was also heavier than the zweihander. A weight he couldn't afford.
There was a swoosh and something somewhere between a thud and a splash as he entombed his blushing bride in its sheath and sent it to its runny resting place. It was a sad sight. After all that work he spent killing the Redder bitch, it was a doleful waste of a pretty prize. But the real prize was deeper that some well-made scrap metal, wasn't it? Earning the Danya seal of approval had come with all the thrill of winning a wrestling match or one of his many less school-sponsored brawls. There was the babble of cheering spectators that followed him all the way from the cliffs. There was that warm and tingling sensation of satisfaction, triumph, self-worth, all those virtues thousands of motivational posters in millions of cubicles and classrooms tell you to have. Adam Reeves had won out again. Adam Reeves was going to continue to win. It was only a matter of time.
A toothy grin flashed across and brightened his features in a sick glow as the thought came to surface. He was going to fucking win.
The aura spread from his face to the rest of his form in a slow but steady trickle. He gingerly lifted his (well, hers but that didn't really matter now, did it?) launcher from where he's set it down to carry out his sepulchral duties. This was a weight that was more worth it. It didn't had the grace of the sword, or that personal little touch of feeling it slide through meat and tissue (a sensation he was sure he would have enjoyed, but alas), but it made up for it with the simple and raw beauty of a big ass explosion. He didn't want to waste the chance for that last fireworks display.
The aura only strengthened as he walked. His gait became easier, more confident, despite his limp. The shit-eating grin faded gradually to a shadow of a smirk but the glow remained. It had the warmth of a fresh puddle of vomit.
Visions of victory, even sweeter than the traditional sugarplums, danced through his head. He went through a mental checklist of who was left. He wondered how many were dead since the announcement. He hoped it wasn't many. There was still so much fun to be had. Maybe he'd run into that cow, Machina. He probably didn't have enough explosive power to blow the bovine beauty apart, but he could sure as hell try. Or maybe the Sullivan prick. An easy target, for sure, but Adam was sure he could find ways to make it entertaining. Or maybe oh jesus fucking christ he was facing a window.
Reeves dove to the ground with a much larger splash than his blade had made. He saw two fleeting silhouettes through the grimy window as he fell. Neither seemed to be facing him. That was good. Still, how could he have been so stupid, letting himself get so engrossed in his thoughts like that, almost ruining everything in the process? It certainly wasn't a usual occurrence for him. He kicked himself inwardly for his negligence.
Fortunately, his thoughts redeemed themselves as he lifted himself to a crouch. A Grinch grin spread across his wide face, speaking not only of stealing Christmas but of raping its mother and burning its house down in the process. He let the plan roll deliciously around his brain for a few moments. He praised himself for his genius and, as he so often had in his life, instantly set out to make his whim a reality.
He set off in a crouched run opposite the hospital's entrance. He turned when he felt sufficient distance had been made. Through the structure's gaping entrance, he saw the occasional flash of a limb. There were two of them, alright. He was reminded of the two cunts back at the field. He wouldn't miss this time.
"Mornin' assholes!"
Actually, he was quite sure it wasn't morning at all. The sun was too high, and his ritual morning piss had come to pass several hours ago. But he could not pass up the chance to have the last word, and it was all his clumsy mind could produce on such short notice. It was in no way poetic, but it would do.
He remained just long enough to watch the dark form of the grenade pass through the clinic door before he cast off his lovely launcher and made off like a spurred horse. It was several seconds before the satisfying symphony of crashes and booms and screams sounded off behind him. He slowed his pace and widened his grin. Another job well done, Mr. Reeves.
He continued his trek with a spring in his step.
((Adam Reeves continued in The Answer))
Steve chuckled at the thought of a made for TV movie starring the boys. He could just imagine who they'd pick out to play him. Probably some half wit like Ben McKenzie who couldn't act his way out of a paper bag. The more he thought about it, he liked the idea of Ryan's journal. It was a great way to communicate his thoughts and keep him level. Steve was almost jealous of Ryan's coping method.
Responding to Ryan's last comments Steve took a somewhat monotonous voice,
"Yeah, I've had it pretty bad I guess you can say," his mind drifting to flashes of his dead friends, "But that's the game isn't it? We knew what was going to happen when we first woke up. I think deep down I knew I'd have to see my friends die here. I just didn't think I'd have to be there for so many of them. I'll never forget the look on Gabe's face though man. He'd been so fucked for so many days, and after he blew Priestly's sister away that was it. He knew he couldn't go back I guess."
Steve paused remember the whole situation back at the Chapel.
"I guess I just have to move on for now. Find a way for us two to get the fuck off this island. By the way, we should probably think of what we're going to do today. This we can do after I take a piss."
Steve got up to head outside, leaving his bag on the chair. As he neared the door, he heard the faint sound of someone's voice, followed by a dull thunk noise, which in turn was followed by something dark and lemon shaped rolling to a stop in the doorway of the hospital.
"RYAN!!DUCK!!!" Steve screamed as he ran towards the back of the building.
The grenade exploded with deafening force, launching Steve headfirst into the wall of the hospital. Chunks of the roof began to fall around the entrance area, with new cracks spreading across the ceiling as the old hospital building reeled from the blast. Pieces of shrapnel tore at Steve's legs as he fell resulting in some more cuts on his body. Dizzily Steve tried to push himself to his knees, but the force of the head shot he'd taken kept him on the ground, grimacing in pain.
Responding to Ryan's last comments Steve took a somewhat monotonous voice,
"Yeah, I've had it pretty bad I guess you can say," his mind drifting to flashes of his dead friends, "But that's the game isn't it? We knew what was going to happen when we first woke up. I think deep down I knew I'd have to see my friends die here. I just didn't think I'd have to be there for so many of them. I'll never forget the look on Gabe's face though man. He'd been so fucked for so many days, and after he blew Priestly's sister away that was it. He knew he couldn't go back I guess."
Steve paused remember the whole situation back at the Chapel.
"I guess I just have to move on for now. Find a way for us two to get the fuck off this island. By the way, we should probably think of what we're going to do today. This we can do after I take a piss."
Steve got up to head outside, leaving his bag on the chair. As he neared the door, he heard the faint sound of someone's voice, followed by a dull thunk noise, which in turn was followed by something dark and lemon shaped rolling to a stop in the doorway of the hospital.
"RYAN!!DUCK!!!" Steve screamed as he ran towards the back of the building.
The grenade exploded with deafening force, launching Steve headfirst into the wall of the hospital. Chunks of the roof began to fall around the entrance area, with new cracks spreading across the ceiling as the old hospital building reeled from the blast. Pieces of shrapnel tore at Steve's legs as he fell resulting in some more cuts on his body. Dizzily Steve tried to push himself to his knees, but the force of the head shot he'd taken kept him on the ground, grimacing in pain.
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
"RYAN! DUCK!"
Instinctively, Ryan ducked and put his hands up to shield his head and face, but nothing came. Blinking in confusion, he looked around and saw a single small, solitary circular object sitting on the ground. It took a half-second to register, but as soon as it did...
"Oh, SHIT!"
Grabbing his pack, Ryan bolted to the end of the hallway, right after Steve, but didn't manage to totally avoid the oncoming grenade explosion. The grenade impact sent Ryan flying basically right overtop of Steve, hitting the wall and landing on the other boy as he fell, smacking his shoulder on the ground and groaning loudly as he finally hit the ground. Strangely, as his shoulder went all numb and tingly, the part of him that hurt the most was still the stitch in his side. The damn thing just wouldn't go away. Of course, at this point, his whole body pretty much hurt, so it didn't matter. It was just another injury.
Aww, man. That really hurt!
Pulling himself off of the floor, Ryan saw that he now had a pretty rough scrape on his shoulder, and judging by the pain shooting through his body, he might have cracked a bone. Nonetheless, they now had to get the hell out of the hospital, for their position was compromised. Coughing as the smoke and dust settled from the blast, Ryan leaned over and tapped Steve on the shoulder.
"Can you walk? We've...gotta get moving...."
Watching as Steve tried to pull himself to his feet and failed, obviously favouring his left leg, Ryan didn't waste any time in helping the boy to his feet. Looping Steve's arm around his own shoulder, Ryan grabbed him by the waist and began to support the both of them as the speakers crackled to life around them. Making their way down the hallway, it was much to Ryan's chagrin as he found that rubble had blocked their way out of the hospital, and they'd likely have to use the back entrance.
"Dammit! Come on, Steve...we'll have to go out the back..."
As the two hobbled through the halls and toward the back entrance, Ryan listened to Danya's manaical ramblings, and tried to gleam as much information from them as he could. Much to his amazement, Danya began by identifying both him and Steve as members of the final nine. In a way, he almost couldn't believe it. The nightmare was almost over, and defying almost all of the odds, they had almost managed to make it through unharmed.
Almost.
The only other important thing that Ryan managed to take away from the announcement was the fact that the hospital was very shortly turning into a danger zone. Cursing to himself, he began to try and pick up the pace.
"Must go faster...must go faster..."
Finally, they turned around a hallway, at the end of which was a brightly lit 'EXIT' sign. Assuming it to be the emergency exit, Ryan led Steve towards it, the two boys making as quick a pace as they could. They were almost there, when a loud explosion shook the ground under them, sending them both to the ground in a heap. Ryan wasn't sure what it was, but it was close, and it was powerful.
Maybe someone's bombing the island?
Not willing to wait around to find out, Ryan dragged himself up again, and leaned back down to help Steve up. As he did, he heard a strange cracking sound from all around him. Looking at Steve, he cocked his head in confusion.
"The hell was that?"
Still unsure of what the explosion had been, Ryan's eyes went wide as he realized what the crackling noise was. Grabbing Steve and basically pulling him to his feet, he dragged his injured friend forward, towards the door. The noise could logically be only one thing, and if that was the case...
The hospital collapsed just as Ryan threw open the exit door.
The grenade, coupled with the nearby explosion had rocked the supports of the old hospital enough that the building was unable to support itself anymore. It had put up a valiant fight, but in the end, collapsed in upon itself, right on top of the two boys who had almost managed to escape it.
---
Holy crap, I'm alive...!
Ryan Atwell opened his eyes and as feeling returned to his body, he couldn't believe his luck. Granted, the feeling that returned was absolute agony all over, but that meant that for the time being, at least, he was alive. Half-covered in stones and pieces of hospital debris, Ryan used almost all of his strength to shove the largest of them off, and began gingerly digging himself out of the remains of the hospital. Amazingly, he still wore his pack, and by taking it off and tossing it on to the grass a few meters away, he had much more room to maneuever, making digging himself out easier than he'd assumed it might have been. After a few moments, he was able to get his legs free, and pulled himself out, basically tossing himself down onto the ground, looking up at the sky.
He felt awful. His side still pained him, his shoulder remained numb and tingly, and he felt as though he'd been hit by a car, but nonetheless, he was alive. Through all of it, Ryan was alive.
Glancing around, he looked for Steve. He couldn't see any trace of his friend, and after coughing once, he called out for him, hoping to hear SOMETHING...anything that might signify his survival.
"STEVE? Steve? Where are you, man?"
A loud groan was all that Ryan got in response, coming from somewhere to his right. Pulling himself up, he slowly made his way over to where he saw Steve's hand protruding from the rubble, the boy obviously covered in what had formerly been the hospital. Mouthing a curse, Ryan scrambled over and began digging the other boy out. Their time was limited, the area was about to become a danger zone, and the last thing either of them needed was to be caught under rubble while their heads blew up.
"C'mon, Steve...don't die on me now..."
A couple of moments passed, and Ryan was starting to worry. There was one big piece of rubble that he couldn't move, and it seemed to be trapping Steve more than anything else. It was then that both of their collars began to beep. Panicking, he reached over to the big piece of rubble and used whatever strength remained in his body to try and at least move it off of Steve's legs. Somewhat amazingly, Ryan was able to lift it a few inches, allowing enough space for him to scramble out. Coughing, Ryan pulled Steve up, and again looped his arm over Ryan's shoulder. Without any further delay, Ryan quickly guided the two boys away from the area, only pausing for a split-second to grab his pack, and continue on. The two boys were broken, bleeding, and injured, but it was a near miracle that they were able to walk away from the remnants of what had formerly been the Rundown Hospital.
((Ryan and Steve continued elsewhere))
Instinctively, Ryan ducked and put his hands up to shield his head and face, but nothing came. Blinking in confusion, he looked around and saw a single small, solitary circular object sitting on the ground. It took a half-second to register, but as soon as it did...
"Oh, SHIT!"
Grabbing his pack, Ryan bolted to the end of the hallway, right after Steve, but didn't manage to totally avoid the oncoming grenade explosion. The grenade impact sent Ryan flying basically right overtop of Steve, hitting the wall and landing on the other boy as he fell, smacking his shoulder on the ground and groaning loudly as he finally hit the ground. Strangely, as his shoulder went all numb and tingly, the part of him that hurt the most was still the stitch in his side. The damn thing just wouldn't go away. Of course, at this point, his whole body pretty much hurt, so it didn't matter. It was just another injury.
Aww, man. That really hurt!
Pulling himself off of the floor, Ryan saw that he now had a pretty rough scrape on his shoulder, and judging by the pain shooting through his body, he might have cracked a bone. Nonetheless, they now had to get the hell out of the hospital, for their position was compromised. Coughing as the smoke and dust settled from the blast, Ryan leaned over and tapped Steve on the shoulder.
"Can you walk? We've...gotta get moving...."
Watching as Steve tried to pull himself to his feet and failed, obviously favouring his left leg, Ryan didn't waste any time in helping the boy to his feet. Looping Steve's arm around his own shoulder, Ryan grabbed him by the waist and began to support the both of them as the speakers crackled to life around them. Making their way down the hallway, it was much to Ryan's chagrin as he found that rubble had blocked their way out of the hospital, and they'd likely have to use the back entrance.
"Dammit! Come on, Steve...we'll have to go out the back..."
As the two hobbled through the halls and toward the back entrance, Ryan listened to Danya's manaical ramblings, and tried to gleam as much information from them as he could. Much to his amazement, Danya began by identifying both him and Steve as members of the final nine. In a way, he almost couldn't believe it. The nightmare was almost over, and defying almost all of the odds, they had almost managed to make it through unharmed.
Almost.
The only other important thing that Ryan managed to take away from the announcement was the fact that the hospital was very shortly turning into a danger zone. Cursing to himself, he began to try and pick up the pace.
"Must go faster...must go faster..."
Finally, they turned around a hallway, at the end of which was a brightly lit 'EXIT' sign. Assuming it to be the emergency exit, Ryan led Steve towards it, the two boys making as quick a pace as they could. They were almost there, when a loud explosion shook the ground under them, sending them both to the ground in a heap. Ryan wasn't sure what it was, but it was close, and it was powerful.
Maybe someone's bombing the island?
Not willing to wait around to find out, Ryan dragged himself up again, and leaned back down to help Steve up. As he did, he heard a strange cracking sound from all around him. Looking at Steve, he cocked his head in confusion.
"The hell was that?"
Still unsure of what the explosion had been, Ryan's eyes went wide as he realized what the crackling noise was. Grabbing Steve and basically pulling him to his feet, he dragged his injured friend forward, towards the door. The noise could logically be only one thing, and if that was the case...
The hospital collapsed just as Ryan threw open the exit door.
The grenade, coupled with the nearby explosion had rocked the supports of the old hospital enough that the building was unable to support itself anymore. It had put up a valiant fight, but in the end, collapsed in upon itself, right on top of the two boys who had almost managed to escape it.
---
Holy crap, I'm alive...!
Ryan Atwell opened his eyes and as feeling returned to his body, he couldn't believe his luck. Granted, the feeling that returned was absolute agony all over, but that meant that for the time being, at least, he was alive. Half-covered in stones and pieces of hospital debris, Ryan used almost all of his strength to shove the largest of them off, and began gingerly digging himself out of the remains of the hospital. Amazingly, he still wore his pack, and by taking it off and tossing it on to the grass a few meters away, he had much more room to maneuever, making digging himself out easier than he'd assumed it might have been. After a few moments, he was able to get his legs free, and pulled himself out, basically tossing himself down onto the ground, looking up at the sky.
He felt awful. His side still pained him, his shoulder remained numb and tingly, and he felt as though he'd been hit by a car, but nonetheless, he was alive. Through all of it, Ryan was alive.
Glancing around, he looked for Steve. He couldn't see any trace of his friend, and after coughing once, he called out for him, hoping to hear SOMETHING...anything that might signify his survival.
"STEVE? Steve? Where are you, man?"
A loud groan was all that Ryan got in response, coming from somewhere to his right. Pulling himself up, he slowly made his way over to where he saw Steve's hand protruding from the rubble, the boy obviously covered in what had formerly been the hospital. Mouthing a curse, Ryan scrambled over and began digging the other boy out. Their time was limited, the area was about to become a danger zone, and the last thing either of them needed was to be caught under rubble while their heads blew up.
"C'mon, Steve...don't die on me now..."
A couple of moments passed, and Ryan was starting to worry. There was one big piece of rubble that he couldn't move, and it seemed to be trapping Steve more than anything else. It was then that both of their collars began to beep. Panicking, he reached over to the big piece of rubble and used whatever strength remained in his body to try and at least move it off of Steve's legs. Somewhat amazingly, Ryan was able to lift it a few inches, allowing enough space for him to scramble out. Coughing, Ryan pulled Steve up, and again looped his arm over Ryan's shoulder. Without any further delay, Ryan quickly guided the two boys away from the area, only pausing for a split-second to grab his pack, and continue on. The two boys were broken, bleeding, and injured, but it was a near miracle that they were able to walk away from the remnants of what had formerly been the Rundown Hospital.
((Ryan and Steve continued elsewhere))