Aileen was not exactly sure what she felt when she saw the young woman who was not Naomi and definitely not Owen walking through the courtyard. As she stood at the window, multiple scenarios flew through her head, most of them being not in Aileen's favor. She pondered about what she should do for a while until she eventually decided to follow that girl. She headed into the apartment building where Naomi was, if Aileen recalled correctly. That alone was worth some investigation. Well, she would also follow her if she went to Owen's building, but... well, yes, to Naomi's, it is.
She was walking rather swiftly until she entered the building itself. Then it was time for stealth. In other words, walking slowly and ascending the stairs silently. It was easy to locate Naomi, and possibly the other girl. Just follow the weird noises. Aileen assumed that these were Naomi shoving the entire inventory around. Though, she wasn't sure if she was entirely correct with this assumptions after a while.
Whatever, she'll see what is going on sooner or later.
Big Stick Ideology
(Private. Content warning: Extreme violence)
Gervais Frans Lambotte 
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
After awhile, a stark silence taking the place of begging and the dull 'schlick' of blade pulling from flesh, leaving Summer alone with her own shallowed breathing and the mechanical hum of the cameras lining the hallway, each with their glassy eyes focused solely on her, waiting to see what she'd do next. Every ounce of her being shook from the adrenaline, the fear, the anger. The excitement. She was positioned over Naomi, left arm still cradled against her stomach and her right still white-knuckled against the handle of her spear which had yet to dislodge itself from Naomi's shoulder blade following her final thrust. It felt like she hadn't moved in forever, lost in her own head as she grasped at fleeting thoughts, absently staring at the gore at her feet without truly acknowledging it. Her knees were rattling violently against one another, her legs struggling to support her weight the longer she stood. Somewhere in her rational mind, she knew she should run, get away from the scene, find somewhere less open, but the longer she stood staring at what was left of Naomi Bell, the more clouded her mind became. She could feel herself becoming light headed, dark spots in her vision making it hard to focus on anything. She swallowed hard, biting back the feeling that she was going to pass out before letting the handle of her spear drop to the floor and gingerly following suit, using her good hand to brace her descent and folding her legs underneath her rear as a cushion. Even seated on the ground, she found her balance unstable, rocking back and forth, cradling one arm in the fold of her stomach while using the other to block out the light passing through her eyelids.
It only made the whirring of the cameras louder, ringing through her ears and shaking her skull as if projected from a microphone.
"Shh," She whispered harshly, using the balls of her hands to block the noise, sending shrieks of pain through her left. She had to think. And she couldn't think when they were just buzzing
"So fucking loud,"
Relax.
Take a deep breath and relax.
Namaste.
Like in yoga.
She shook her head violently, palms retreating from her ears and embedding painfully into her eye sockets.
She'd be on the announcements, like everyone else who killed someone. They'd call her a murderer, congratulate her for picking off the competition, for felling the mighty Naomi Bell. Everyone would know what she did and they'd hate her for it. Miles, Mara, Francis, all of them. Miles' cousin was dead because of her. She could say it was an accident, or tell them Naomi attacked her and she had to defend herself. But who would they believe? Not her. Not when Naomi was involved. 'Naomi would never do that' they'd say. Not Naomi, she didn't have it in her. Not the girl who died begging for her life. And then they'd come after her, try and take her out for Naomi. They'd kill her for what she did.
She bore her long nails into her forehead, leaving painful impression in the exposed skin. The pain helped her think, kept her focused, helped her release some of the frustration ripping through her body.
As much as she envied the kids who died early and saved themselves from the game, she didn't want to die. She was already lost to the game, unable to die blissfully ignorant of what happened here. If she got to the end, she'd be allowed to go home. You just needed the one kill and Mister Danya would let you go home if you won. But what would be waiting for her back home if she got there? Angry rioters? The judgement? All the things they'd call her, say about her. Was it worth going back home to? She wasn't cut out for this, not some child soldier who could fight off someone like Theo or Katarina. Naomi hadn't expected what happened to her, but everyone would know now. They'd know who she was and what to expect with her and could do whatever they wanted with information like that.
She could feel the frustration boiling inside her once more, all the what-ifs and counter points assaulting her all at once. She felt as if she was drowning in her own thoughts, unable to wade through them and latch on to a single one. She ran her hands down the length of her face, nails leaving a bright red trail behind them before disappearing into the amalgamation of smeared mascara and blood, all of it mixing together like some disgusting war paint. Pain echoed one more through her crippled hand, the dangling nail sending sharp pains through her entire arm each time it caught against her face, bending backwards and side to side. She'd had enough of it. Enough of the pain and the confusion and the buzzing cameras.
Her right hand formed a protective cocoon around her L-shaped ring finger, almost soothing to a degree as it held the broken nail in firmly in place before
crack
She let out a violent, pained gasp, voice catching in her throat as fresh ears formed in her eyes. She needed the pain gone, it was the only way she'd be able to concentrate. Removing the cocoon, she looked at her handiwork, the angle less sharp and obstructive, appearing similar to a boomerang in shape. It was the only break she allowed herself before grabbing the nail and ripping it from the quick in one fell swoop, taking a fair bit of her nail-bed out with it and letting out another guttural groan before replacing the cocoon, savoring the warmth and applying pressure to dull the pain.
The whirring of the cameras died down as she sat clutching her fingers, everything feeling far less abrasive and overwhelming. Their eyes were still fixated upon her, a hungry audience lapping at her insanity. Not insanity. She hadn't fallen that far. She was still capable of rational thought. She knew once that she was on the announcement, people would come for her. It was unavoidable. Naomi's friends and family would want her dead. She knew that. She also knew she wouldn't be able to do much with just her spear and or the grenade she stole from Brandon.
She glanced at one of the cameras on the wall.
She had to be their favorite, give them everything they wanted and win the kill award like Kat had. She had to get something better to protect herself with and just survive until the end.
She had to make them love her.
Needed to make them love her.
Her eyes darted from the cameras to Naomi. She was long dead and Summer feared that what she'd done hadn't been good enough, even getting hurt in the process. She had to top whatever Kat did and make sure she won. It wasn't too late, it couldn't be.
She had to if she wanted to survive.
Summer got to her knees, timidly making her way over to Naomi, or rather, what used to be Naomi. It was the first time she'd actually seen her face, her body still warm as she rolled it on its back. Bloody strands of her blonde hair stuck to her face, but otherwise she looked deceptively peaceful. Pretty, even. Summer hated her for so long, had wished her gone for so long, but for some reason looking at her this way made her sick to her stomach, even more so when she thought about having to use her to win an award. She tried to tell herself it was poetic irony, Naomi being used to help Summer win the same way Naomi had used so many others. Even past death and her shut eyes, Summer felt as though Naomi was looking right through her. Judging her.
"Don't look at me," she whispered, angrily grabbing Naomi's bag from the ground and pressing it against her face. She didn't want to have to see her.
Summer swallowed hard, once more glancing at the cameras as if to make sure they were still watching before grabbing her dropped spear, holding the handle at the end nearest to the blade.
Naomi's body was a mess of torn fabric and open wounds, each still shining with dark blood. It was hard to say which of them had been the killing blow, if it was any of them at all or if she'd just bled to death.
Her hands shook violently as she cut away the fabric of Naomi's sweater and undershirt, exposing her bare stomach underneath. The puncture wounds seemed somehow worse without the fabric around them, haphazardly strewn across her body. The anger behind them was obvious, almost tangible. Summer tried to steady her hands as she pressed the tip of the bladed edge against Naomi's stomach, pushing it deep inside and pulling it down in a shaking line. She could feel Naomi's skin succumbing to the sharp blade, parting for her with little resistance.
She had to win. She needed to be their favorite.
She tossed her spear to the side, still fighting back the shaking. Her throat tightened, already resisting as she swallowed back bile trying to force its way up. One hand pressed against her mouth, just in case, while the other delved inside Naomi. She clenched her eyes shut, disgust evident on her face as her hand explored the wet warmth, before pulling out a handful of something she had no desire to see, bits of Naomi sliding past her fingers and trailing behind.
They'd love her.
She could hear the camera zooming and panning, but she still kept her eyes clenched tightly shut, the hand over her mouth migrating north and plugging her nose, although the strong scent of protein was already lodged deep into her subconscious.
She brought her other hand, full of soft insides, to her mouth in a swift motion, trying to push it in all at once. She tried to chew, face twisting in disgust, lasting only a few moments vomit forced its way up, the spit and bile mixing with the blood and organs in her hand as the other raced to try and cover her mouth. Even still, she tried to keep chewing, choking on her vomit as bits slipped past the cracks in her broken fingers.
She had to make them love her.
But she couldn't do it, no matter how hard she tried. She dropped her hands and re-positioned herself on her hands and knees, letting everything that needed to come out out.
For a long while, she stayed there dry heaving, surrounded by mixtures of vomit, blood, and innards, and unable to get the smell of protein from her nostrils.
The cameras still whirred behind her, never taking their glassy eyes off of Summer Simms.
She hoped it had been enough.
It only made the whirring of the cameras louder, ringing through her ears and shaking her skull as if projected from a microphone.
"Shh," She whispered harshly, using the balls of her hands to block the noise, sending shrieks of pain through her left. She had to think. And she couldn't think when they were just buzzing
"So fucking loud,"
Relax.
Take a deep breath and relax.
Namaste.
Like in yoga.
She shook her head violently, palms retreating from her ears and embedding painfully into her eye sockets.
She'd be on the announcements, like everyone else who killed someone. They'd call her a murderer, congratulate her for picking off the competition, for felling the mighty Naomi Bell. Everyone would know what she did and they'd hate her for it. Miles, Mara, Francis, all of them. Miles' cousin was dead because of her. She could say it was an accident, or tell them Naomi attacked her and she had to defend herself. But who would they believe? Not her. Not when Naomi was involved. 'Naomi would never do that' they'd say. Not Naomi, she didn't have it in her. Not the girl who died begging for her life. And then they'd come after her, try and take her out for Naomi. They'd kill her for what she did.
She bore her long nails into her forehead, leaving painful impression in the exposed skin. The pain helped her think, kept her focused, helped her release some of the frustration ripping through her body.
As much as she envied the kids who died early and saved themselves from the game, she didn't want to die. She was already lost to the game, unable to die blissfully ignorant of what happened here. If she got to the end, she'd be allowed to go home. You just needed the one kill and Mister Danya would let you go home if you won. But what would be waiting for her back home if she got there? Angry rioters? The judgement? All the things they'd call her, say about her. Was it worth going back home to? She wasn't cut out for this, not some child soldier who could fight off someone like Theo or Katarina. Naomi hadn't expected what happened to her, but everyone would know now. They'd know who she was and what to expect with her and could do whatever they wanted with information like that.
She could feel the frustration boiling inside her once more, all the what-ifs and counter points assaulting her all at once. She felt as if she was drowning in her own thoughts, unable to wade through them and latch on to a single one. She ran her hands down the length of her face, nails leaving a bright red trail behind them before disappearing into the amalgamation of smeared mascara and blood, all of it mixing together like some disgusting war paint. Pain echoed one more through her crippled hand, the dangling nail sending sharp pains through her entire arm each time it caught against her face, bending backwards and side to side. She'd had enough of it. Enough of the pain and the confusion and the buzzing cameras.
Her right hand formed a protective cocoon around her L-shaped ring finger, almost soothing to a degree as it held the broken nail in firmly in place before
crack
She let out a violent, pained gasp, voice catching in her throat as fresh ears formed in her eyes. She needed the pain gone, it was the only way she'd be able to concentrate. Removing the cocoon, she looked at her handiwork, the angle less sharp and obstructive, appearing similar to a boomerang in shape. It was the only break she allowed herself before grabbing the nail and ripping it from the quick in one fell swoop, taking a fair bit of her nail-bed out with it and letting out another guttural groan before replacing the cocoon, savoring the warmth and applying pressure to dull the pain.
The whirring of the cameras died down as she sat clutching her fingers, everything feeling far less abrasive and overwhelming. Their eyes were still fixated upon her, a hungry audience lapping at her insanity. Not insanity. She hadn't fallen that far. She was still capable of rational thought. She knew once that she was on the announcement, people would come for her. It was unavoidable. Naomi's friends and family would want her dead. She knew that. She also knew she wouldn't be able to do much with just her spear and or the grenade she stole from Brandon.
She glanced at one of the cameras on the wall.
She had to be their favorite, give them everything they wanted and win the kill award like Kat had. She had to get something better to protect herself with and just survive until the end.
She had to make them love her.
Needed to make them love her.
Her eyes darted from the cameras to Naomi. She was long dead and Summer feared that what she'd done hadn't been good enough, even getting hurt in the process. She had to top whatever Kat did and make sure she won. It wasn't too late, it couldn't be.
She had to if she wanted to survive.
Summer got to her knees, timidly making her way over to Naomi, or rather, what used to be Naomi. It was the first time she'd actually seen her face, her body still warm as she rolled it on its back. Bloody strands of her blonde hair stuck to her face, but otherwise she looked deceptively peaceful. Pretty, even. Summer hated her for so long, had wished her gone for so long, but for some reason looking at her this way made her sick to her stomach, even more so when she thought about having to use her to win an award. She tried to tell herself it was poetic irony, Naomi being used to help Summer win the same way Naomi had used so many others. Even past death and her shut eyes, Summer felt as though Naomi was looking right through her. Judging her.
"Don't look at me," she whispered, angrily grabbing Naomi's bag from the ground and pressing it against her face. She didn't want to have to see her.
Summer swallowed hard, once more glancing at the cameras as if to make sure they were still watching before grabbing her dropped spear, holding the handle at the end nearest to the blade.
Naomi's body was a mess of torn fabric and open wounds, each still shining with dark blood. It was hard to say which of them had been the killing blow, if it was any of them at all or if she'd just bled to death.
Her hands shook violently as she cut away the fabric of Naomi's sweater and undershirt, exposing her bare stomach underneath. The puncture wounds seemed somehow worse without the fabric around them, haphazardly strewn across her body. The anger behind them was obvious, almost tangible. Summer tried to steady her hands as she pressed the tip of the bladed edge against Naomi's stomach, pushing it deep inside and pulling it down in a shaking line. She could feel Naomi's skin succumbing to the sharp blade, parting for her with little resistance.
She had to win. She needed to be their favorite.
She tossed her spear to the side, still fighting back the shaking. Her throat tightened, already resisting as she swallowed back bile trying to force its way up. One hand pressed against her mouth, just in case, while the other delved inside Naomi. She clenched her eyes shut, disgust evident on her face as her hand explored the wet warmth, before pulling out a handful of something she had no desire to see, bits of Naomi sliding past her fingers and trailing behind.
They'd love her.
She could hear the camera zooming and panning, but she still kept her eyes clenched tightly shut, the hand over her mouth migrating north and plugging her nose, although the strong scent of protein was already lodged deep into her subconscious.
She brought her other hand, full of soft insides, to her mouth in a swift motion, trying to push it in all at once. She tried to chew, face twisting in disgust, lasting only a few moments vomit forced its way up, the spit and bile mixing with the blood and organs in her hand as the other raced to try and cover her mouth. Even still, she tried to keep chewing, choking on her vomit as bits slipped past the cracks in her broken fingers.
She had to make them love her.
But she couldn't do it, no matter how hard she tried. She dropped her hands and re-positioned herself on her hands and knees, letting everything that needed to come out out.
For a long while, she stayed there dry heaving, surrounded by mixtures of vomit, blood, and innards, and unable to get the smell of protein from her nostrils.
The cameras still whirred behind her, never taking their glassy eyes off of Summer Simms.
She hoped it had been enough.
Aileen was cautious on her way up to Naomi. Silent, slow, stealthy. To see if Naomi was conspiring with the brown-haired girl. Fortune was on her side, as she managed to hide behind a door leading into the corridor. Aileen carefully moved to get a little view of what was in the corridor.
Indeed, Naomi was there with the brown-haired girl hovering about her. Aileen thought that she stumbled upon a... well, romantic scene, but then she took her sun glasses off to see what was really happening.
Alas, Naomi seemed to had a rather recent and swift decline in health, and it was obvious for Aileen that this was not some sadomasochistic sex with the dark-haired girl as the dominatrix. Aileen's entire body shivered for a brief moment. Yes, it was one thing to hear the names of your dead classmates on an announcement. And a corpse was just a bunch of water and carbon. But actually seeing your ally bleeding from various wounds, just recently given by someone who was still present, was more than unsettling.
Alright, killer around just a couple of feet away, still enjoying her last victim. That was bad, very bad. Especially given Aileen's suboptimal equipment. But, no need to despair, right?
The answer shifted from "yes" to "maybe" when she realized who exactly has murdered Naomi. Summer Simms. Which was something even more than just unsettling. Summer and Naomi were supposed to be friends. People who care for each other. People who did not want to kill each other. And they were friends, or? In this moment, as Aileen stood there, sunglasses clenched in her hand, lip bitten, her breath slowly getting more erratic, she realized exactly what the terrorists meant when they showed them the video at the beginning. Your friend will likely be the one who ends up killing you.
For a brief moment, Aileen wanted to turn and run away from what she saw. And then, she wanted to run towards Summer, unleashing the fury that was building up inside her. However, she was fixed by a weird curiosity. Summer still seemed to want to do something with Naomi. That girl cut into Naomi's stomach, and then she...
oh my god
Naomi was not a particularly good friend of Aileen. Hell, Aileen suspected that Naomi would betray her sooner or later. But all that mistrust, all the suspicion was meaningless now. All that was left in Aileen's mind was a blazing storm of rage, disgust and bitter desire to vent. This was not supposed to happen. This was not how she wanted things to be. Fuck Summer for eating Naomi. Fuck Naomi for not being careful and dying. Fuck Owen for not being here. Fuck them. Useless, everybody was useless.
Aileen closed her eyes for a while. She had a strong desire for violence now. Violence against Summer. And this time, Aileen would make sure to have things happen as she wanted.
She stepped into the corridor, throwing her sunglasses at Summer with as much velocity as she could muster.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Indeed, Naomi was there with the brown-haired girl hovering about her. Aileen thought that she stumbled upon a... well, romantic scene, but then she took her sun glasses off to see what was really happening.
Alas, Naomi seemed to had a rather recent and swift decline in health, and it was obvious for Aileen that this was not some sadomasochistic sex with the dark-haired girl as the dominatrix. Aileen's entire body shivered for a brief moment. Yes, it was one thing to hear the names of your dead classmates on an announcement. And a corpse was just a bunch of water and carbon. But actually seeing your ally bleeding from various wounds, just recently given by someone who was still present, was more than unsettling.
Alright, killer around just a couple of feet away, still enjoying her last victim. That was bad, very bad. Especially given Aileen's suboptimal equipment. But, no need to despair, right?
The answer shifted from "yes" to "maybe" when she realized who exactly has murdered Naomi. Summer Simms. Which was something even more than just unsettling. Summer and Naomi were supposed to be friends. People who care for each other. People who did not want to kill each other. And they were friends, or? In this moment, as Aileen stood there, sunglasses clenched in her hand, lip bitten, her breath slowly getting more erratic, she realized exactly what the terrorists meant when they showed them the video at the beginning. Your friend will likely be the one who ends up killing you.
For a brief moment, Aileen wanted to turn and run away from what she saw. And then, she wanted to run towards Summer, unleashing the fury that was building up inside her. However, she was fixed by a weird curiosity. Summer still seemed to want to do something with Naomi. That girl cut into Naomi's stomach, and then she...
oh my god
Naomi was not a particularly good friend of Aileen. Hell, Aileen suspected that Naomi would betray her sooner or later. But all that mistrust, all the suspicion was meaningless now. All that was left in Aileen's mind was a blazing storm of rage, disgust and bitter desire to vent. This was not supposed to happen. This was not how she wanted things to be. Fuck Summer for eating Naomi. Fuck Naomi for not being careful and dying. Fuck Owen for not being here. Fuck them. Useless, everybody was useless.
Aileen closed her eyes for a while. She had a strong desire for violence now. Violence against Summer. And this time, Aileen would make sure to have things happen as she wanted.
She stepped into the corridor, throwing her sunglasses at Summer with as much velocity as she could muster.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
It had been quiet, at first, searching through his chosen apartment. Quiet, and yet not peaceful in the slightest. It was the sort of quiet that suggested there was something hidden around every corner and in every shadow, and the sort of quiet that was unbelievably heavy and oppressive in its sheer quietness.
Owen had tried to make more noise than strictly necessary, and somehow, despite his misgivings at splitting up, he'd managed it, overturning the sparse amounts of furniture and random crap left about. They were running out of time and running out of power, so finding something, anything that would help as quickly as possible was of utmost importance.
No corner was left untouched, no stone left unturned, as Owen frantically ransacked the apartment in search of anything. Then he moved onto the next one. Forgotten belongings and dusty furniture were left strewn across the floor. And yet the only things Owen could find that might be of any use were an old, rusty looking pair of scissors and a dismembered table leg.
Disheartened, Owen slumped against the wall of the apartment, looking at the mess he'd caused. What had he been expecting, exactly? A gun? Like the terrorists would have left anything that useful just lying about. Food? Anything that was in these buildings was likely stale, and he already had enough food to survive for the near future. Medicine? They hadn't found any at the fucking hospital, for Christ's sake, what were the odds of finding anything in a random apartment block?
So what had he been looking for? If Owen had to be honest, he had no idea. He'd just been hoping that there was something, anything hidden somewhere that would help in some way to their escape. It was a desperate, last resort hope, and it was all Owen had to cling on to. He'd only been looking in two rooms. He needed to get up and carry on searching. Sure, he might search for hours, a whole day, and find nothing in the entire building that would help, but the thought of escape would drive him on.
Owen slowly got to his feet, and as he did, he heard something. A sort of thumping sound, very faint, hard to judge exactly how far away . It was indistinct, but Owen was sure he'd heard it. Well, so what? He'd created enough noise himself.
So why was this giving him such misgivings?
It was most likely just Naomi or Aileen moving stuff around. But there was always the chance that it was something, or even someone, else. For a moment, Owen didn't move, simply stood stock still, gripping the table leg tightly. Then, cautiously, he made his way out of the room, down the corridor and towards the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Easier said than done, especially given how quiet the whole building was.
There might be someone there, Owen kept telling himself, someone who'll try attack you upon first sight. If anything, that managed to keep pushing him onwards, rather than turning him away. Sure, he didn't want to get attacked, not now, not ever. But if there was somebody, and they were going after Aileen or Naomi, he didn't think he'd ever be able to live with himself.
Owen reached the bottom of the stairs, just in time to hear Aileen shouting at somebody, through the doors to the corridor. Oh Jesus, that was a terrible sign. Throwing caution to the wind, Owen took the last few steps from stairs to doors at a dash, throwing the corridor doors open. Aileen was directly in front of him, a few feet away. Behind her was one Summer Simms, hovering over Naomi's prone, bloody, dismantled body. There was a strange, spear like contraption lying on the floor, covered in that same blood. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened here.
For just a moment, Owen was frozen, staring wide eyed at the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. His mind was screaming at him to do something, anything, to charge straight at Summer and get her to back off, to do.... something for what she'd done to Naomi.
Owen's mind was telling him to be brave, to stand and fight, but his body was telling him to run, run as far away as possible. And this time, his body won. He turned, ran through the doors and out of the building, as fast as possible.
He hadn't been able to save Naomi. He hadn't been able to deal with Summer, had just left Aileen behind. At that moment, as he was running to God knows where, Owen felt completely and utterly useless.
((Owen Kay continued in Don't Panic))
Owen had tried to make more noise than strictly necessary, and somehow, despite his misgivings at splitting up, he'd managed it, overturning the sparse amounts of furniture and random crap left about. They were running out of time and running out of power, so finding something, anything that would help as quickly as possible was of utmost importance.
No corner was left untouched, no stone left unturned, as Owen frantically ransacked the apartment in search of anything. Then he moved onto the next one. Forgotten belongings and dusty furniture were left strewn across the floor. And yet the only things Owen could find that might be of any use were an old, rusty looking pair of scissors and a dismembered table leg.
Disheartened, Owen slumped against the wall of the apartment, looking at the mess he'd caused. What had he been expecting, exactly? A gun? Like the terrorists would have left anything that useful just lying about. Food? Anything that was in these buildings was likely stale, and he already had enough food to survive for the near future. Medicine? They hadn't found any at the fucking hospital, for Christ's sake, what were the odds of finding anything in a random apartment block?
So what had he been looking for? If Owen had to be honest, he had no idea. He'd just been hoping that there was something, anything hidden somewhere that would help in some way to their escape. It was a desperate, last resort hope, and it was all Owen had to cling on to. He'd only been looking in two rooms. He needed to get up and carry on searching. Sure, he might search for hours, a whole day, and find nothing in the entire building that would help, but the thought of escape would drive him on.
Owen slowly got to his feet, and as he did, he heard something. A sort of thumping sound, very faint, hard to judge exactly how far away . It was indistinct, but Owen was sure he'd heard it. Well, so what? He'd created enough noise himself.
So why was this giving him such misgivings?
It was most likely just Naomi or Aileen moving stuff around. But there was always the chance that it was something, or even someone, else. For a moment, Owen didn't move, simply stood stock still, gripping the table leg tightly. Then, cautiously, he made his way out of the room, down the corridor and towards the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Easier said than done, especially given how quiet the whole building was.
There might be someone there, Owen kept telling himself, someone who'll try attack you upon first sight. If anything, that managed to keep pushing him onwards, rather than turning him away. Sure, he didn't want to get attacked, not now, not ever. But if there was somebody, and they were going after Aileen or Naomi, he didn't think he'd ever be able to live with himself.
Owen reached the bottom of the stairs, just in time to hear Aileen shouting at somebody, through the doors to the corridor. Oh Jesus, that was a terrible sign. Throwing caution to the wind, Owen took the last few steps from stairs to doors at a dash, throwing the corridor doors open. Aileen was directly in front of him, a few feet away. Behind her was one Summer Simms, hovering over Naomi's prone, bloody, dismantled body. There was a strange, spear like contraption lying on the floor, covered in that same blood. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened here.
For just a moment, Owen was frozen, staring wide eyed at the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. His mind was screaming at him to do something, anything, to charge straight at Summer and get her to back off, to do.... something for what she'd done to Naomi.
Owen's mind was telling him to be brave, to stand and fight, but his body was telling him to run, run as far away as possible. And this time, his body won. He turned, ran through the doors and out of the building, as fast as possible.
He hadn't been able to save Naomi. He hadn't been able to deal with Summer, had just left Aileen behind. At that moment, as he was running to God knows where, Owen felt completely and utterly useless.
((Owen Kay continued in Don't Panic))
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
For a moment, if a brief one, Aileen felt joy. Owen appeared behind her. She knew that he was one of the people she could trust. After all, he already proved himself, back in the hospital. When it came down to it, he ignored his weak side, and protected Aileen. Yes, Owen was much more valuable than any friend she might have before. Not that previous friendships mattered to anyone else either, as seen clearly by the scene in front of her. Point being, with Owen on her side, Aileen felt strong.
And then that fucker run away.
Ah, there was that anger again, swaying away the short time of joy. Nothing, just nothing seemed to work like planned. It was frustrating. Actually, frustrating was an understatement. It made her sick. Not just the mind, but also her body suffered. Aileen's got terrible headaches, and it felt as if her head was about to explode into myriad tiny particles. Her focus flickered between Summer and Owen, before she decided where she was going to run.
The last words that Aileen made while escaping the building were:
"I swear revengeance upon you, vile villain! ...Later!"
Fuck yes, that was cathartic. A bit. Anyway, time to catch Owen before Aileen could be busy with punishing Summer.
[Aileen Aurora Abdallah, continued in Solo Queue]
And then that fucker run away.
Ah, there was that anger again, swaying away the short time of joy. Nothing, just nothing seemed to work like planned. It was frustrating. Actually, frustrating was an understatement. It made her sick. Not just the mind, but also her body suffered. Aileen's got terrible headaches, and it felt as if her head was about to explode into myriad tiny particles. Her focus flickered between Summer and Owen, before she decided where she was going to run.
The last words that Aileen made while escaping the building were:
"I swear revengeance upon you, vile villain! ...Later!"
Fuck yes, that was cathartic. A bit. Anyway, time to catch Owen before Aileen could be busy with punishing Summer.
[Aileen Aurora Abdallah, continued in Solo Queue]
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Summer remained on her hands and knees, her eyes clenched so tightly that it hurt as she tried to steady her stomach, a string of spit hanging from her mouth dancing with every heavy breath before eventually joining the pile of gore between her hands. She stayed that way for far too long, her arms shaking from the weight of her body as everything played back in her head, each detail painfully vivid, which only served to turn her stomach more and causing another fit of dry heaving. It was for the best. She wanted everything out, expel everything from inside of her and start fresh.
In the back of her head, she knew she'd loitered too long, overstayed her welcome. It wouldn't be long until someone interrupted her alone time. She didn't have the strength to move though, her trembling legs unable to support her. And sure enough, the cavalry came calling.
Aileen screamed at her, her sunglasses hitting Summer's head with a dull thud.
She didn't feel it, though, not past the adrenaline. Her eyes darted to the figure at the other end of the hall, eyes barely visible past the loose strands of wet hair hanging in front of her face.
It was like a switch flipped.
She forgot about everything that wasn't self-preservation, quickly scrambling to her bag and unzipping it with fervor and diving her hand into its contents. It was hard to breath, her breaths coming out shallow and pained as she frantically dug through the contents, each second bringing Aileen closer. She knew. She had to know what Summer did. She'd tell everyone and they'd all hate her. They wouldn't understand that she had to do it. They'd call her a monster and hate her.
She wrapped her shaking hand around the single grenade, the rough surface feeling alien in her once manicured hand. Her eyes darted back to the end of the hallway, fully expecting to see Aileen rushing at her, ready to pull the pin and bolt.
But she was gone.
Summer didn't wait for her heartrate to fall or for the nausea to subside, instead grabbing her bag and shakily getting to her feet before bolting in the opposite direction, fully convinced Aileen would be back with friends.
Summer didn't look back at Naomi or the scene she'd created, nor to the cameras mounting the wall that whirled violently to catch her retreating form.
She didn't want to acknowledge or relive it.
It happened and there was no changing it.
She just hoped it was worth it.
** Summer Simms, female no. 21, continued in... Eat Me
In the back of her head, she knew she'd loitered too long, overstayed her welcome. It wouldn't be long until someone interrupted her alone time. She didn't have the strength to move though, her trembling legs unable to support her. And sure enough, the cavalry came calling.
Aileen screamed at her, her sunglasses hitting Summer's head with a dull thud.
She didn't feel it, though, not past the adrenaline. Her eyes darted to the figure at the other end of the hall, eyes barely visible past the loose strands of wet hair hanging in front of her face.
It was like a switch flipped.
She forgot about everything that wasn't self-preservation, quickly scrambling to her bag and unzipping it with fervor and diving her hand into its contents. It was hard to breath, her breaths coming out shallow and pained as she frantically dug through the contents, each second bringing Aileen closer. She knew. She had to know what Summer did. She'd tell everyone and they'd all hate her. They wouldn't understand that she had to do it. They'd call her a monster and hate her.
She wrapped her shaking hand around the single grenade, the rough surface feeling alien in her once manicured hand. Her eyes darted back to the end of the hallway, fully expecting to see Aileen rushing at her, ready to pull the pin and bolt.
But she was gone.
Summer didn't wait for her heartrate to fall or for the nausea to subside, instead grabbing her bag and shakily getting to her feet before bolting in the opposite direction, fully convinced Aileen would be back with friends.
Summer didn't look back at Naomi or the scene she'd created, nor to the cameras mounting the wall that whirled violently to catch her retreating form.
She didn't want to acknowledge or relive it.
It happened and there was no changing it.
She just hoped it was worth it.
** Summer Simms, female no. 21, continued in... Eat Me