Erika's response had been to pack up her shit.
Michael watched her stick the old-timey rifle into her bag. He watched her stick the food and the coke can into her bag. He watched her open the rifle's case. He watched her stow away the ammo. He watched her take out the rifle and do some clickity-clackity gun stuff with it.
He could've sworn he'd seen that gun in a video game or something.
"That’s interesting."
He was surprised Erika hadn't shot him yet, but here he was, not dead.
Erika said she wasn't sure which Michael was real. They were... they were both real, sort of. They were as real as Michael could still get. No matter what he did or what he said he still felt like he was lying.
She said she thought he'd reached his goal. That was nice of her, Michael thought. He got the fuzzies again.
"I’m fine with this… moment, staying peaceful. I’m glad I got some of that shit off my chest. After we leave though, I don’t have any reason not to put you down if our paths cross again. The best I can do is tell you that it’ll be quick and you won’t see it coming."
Quick and a surprise was the opposite of how Michael wanted to die. He had final words planned. He wanted to know how it felt to die. He wanted to savour it.
He wanted to be okay with it.
"Unless survival isn’t what you’re after. Then maybe, I have a reason."
...nice okay yes this was good.
He raised his eyebrows; snapped double finger guns. "Aces." He smiled. "Cool cool, yeah. I, uh, I've been through too much to go back. I'd rather die here than anywhere else in the world. Like, I'll be cool with going back home only if I'm the most mentally intact person left alive, which, uh... oof, y'know? I -" he blinked. He was being completely candid. "- I'm living for other people. Michael Froese is dead, I guess. I dunno, we're basically all gonna die here. We're all just trying our best to die happy. I'm just trying to help with that. People..." he paused. "...People build narratives in their heads to cope with life. We're all our own main character. Everyone has a story. Stories need villains. The announcement made me sound like a killing machine, and it's like... that's who everyone thinks I am now, so... I'm gonna try to own it. I'm gonna try help people to die feeling like their lives have purpose."
He paused.
"Also, like, it's kinda a little fun being bad when it has no consequences, so..."
Devil Like Me
BKA Pickup
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
She nodded as Michael explained his perspective, warped as it was. For someone who seemed to have more than a few screws loose, he was making an uncomfortable amount of sense. It was hard to disagree at least in the abstract with his assessment of the situation. Practically it was still completely psychotic. While she thought of pointing out how wholly backwards and evil the idea of helping people by killing them, or even terrorizing them as a self-appointed villain, she couldn’t. There was no use in trying to take the wind out of his sails, if she even could.
In a situation like this, it was really hard to see past the threat of her own demise. Living for other people made sense, but dying for any reason just didn’t compute. She’d always found it hard to think outside of herself like that. It was the big reason she’d always been drawn to nature - it was easy to make the connection between herself and the natural world, to see how she was a part of it. Being out in the world was one of the only things that comforted her when her anxiety got really bad.
She peered out at the treeline, again. Still instinctually on alert, even with the knowledge that they were the only two people in the area. As she stared out at the woods, she offered a reply well before she really understood what she was saying. Erika’s voice was vacant, hollow. For a moment, she could see Death’s bloodshot eyes again.
“I am life. I’ll never be happy to die.”
It took her a moment to hear her own voice back to her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious for having so quickly labelled Michael as insane. Breaking out of her stupor, she turned back to face him.
To everyone else, he was a threat. To her, he was more or less an asset.
Somehow, this felt worse than just putting a bullet in his chest and collecting his pistol.
She knew he’d be more use to her out on his own than that gun ever would be in her hands.
“I’m gonna to do anything and everything I can to survive. That’s my narrative, if you want to put it that way. Nothing else matters to me, either I make it out or die trying. That gives me purpose. If this is your last stop - and you leave me out of your plans - then I don’t have any reason to kill you. You do what you have to, and I’ll do what I have to.”
She reached out a hand, the other still resting on the grip of the PSG-1.
“You get to help, and have a little fun. I have less people to worry about. Deal?”
In a situation like this, it was really hard to see past the threat of her own demise. Living for other people made sense, but dying for any reason just didn’t compute. She’d always found it hard to think outside of herself like that. It was the big reason she’d always been drawn to nature - it was easy to make the connection between herself and the natural world, to see how she was a part of it. Being out in the world was one of the only things that comforted her when her anxiety got really bad.
She peered out at the treeline, again. Still instinctually on alert, even with the knowledge that they were the only two people in the area. As she stared out at the woods, she offered a reply well before she really understood what she was saying. Erika’s voice was vacant, hollow. For a moment, she could see Death’s bloodshot eyes again.
“I am life. I’ll never be happy to die.”
It took her a moment to hear her own voice back to her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious for having so quickly labelled Michael as insane. Breaking out of her stupor, she turned back to face him.
To everyone else, he was a threat. To her, he was more or less an asset.
Somehow, this felt worse than just putting a bullet in his chest and collecting his pistol.
She knew he’d be more use to her out on his own than that gun ever would be in her hands.
“I’m gonna to do anything and everything I can to survive. That’s my narrative, if you want to put it that way. Nothing else matters to me, either I make it out or die trying. That gives me purpose. If this is your last stop - and you leave me out of your plans - then I don’t have any reason to kill you. You do what you have to, and I’ll do what I have to.”
She reached out a hand, the other still resting on the grip of the PSG-1.
“You get to help, and have a little fun. I have less people to worry about. Deal?”
Erika seemed moderately receptive at first. Michael watched as she stared out into the forest and kind of zoned out.
"I am life. I’ll never be happy to die."
Michael pursed his lips. Was... was that how he looked when he... when he did his crazy thinky brain things?
That was unsettling. It was cool that it was unsettling.
It was cool that it kinda seemed like he was able to make people go insane.
Erika seemed to snap out of it. Michael offered her a sympathetic smile and a nod.
She offered him a deal. Mutually-assured non-destruction. A compromise.
If he took the deal, he'd be at least a little actively culpable in any of the murders Erika'd commit in the future. If he didn't take the deal, he'd be negligently culpable for any of Erika's future murders.
Michael wanted to die feeling bad about things he'd done, not feeling bad about not doing things. He wanted to die feeling guilt, not regret. That was what any of this had ever been about, maybe. He didn't know.
He reached up and gave Erika's hand a shake.
"Pack me up, I'm sold."
"I am life. I’ll never be happy to die."
Michael pursed his lips. Was... was that how he looked when he... when he did his crazy thinky brain things?
That was unsettling. It was cool that it was unsettling.
It was cool that it kinda seemed like he was able to make people go insane.
Erika seemed to snap out of it. Michael offered her a sympathetic smile and a nod.
She offered him a deal. Mutually-assured non-destruction. A compromise.
If he took the deal, he'd be at least a little actively culpable in any of the murders Erika'd commit in the future. If he didn't take the deal, he'd be negligently culpable for any of Erika's future murders.
Michael wanted to die feeling bad about things he'd done, not feeling bad about not doing things. He wanted to die feeling guilt, not regret. That was what any of this had ever been about, maybe. He didn't know.
He reached up and gave Erika's hand a shake.
"Pack me up, I'm sold."
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
They shook hands, their first and only physical interaction somehow managing to be incredibly cordial. Despite his frail appearance, she felt a conspicuous strength in his handshake. That misapprehension about him would probably get more than a few people killed, she reckoned.
“Alright then.”
She let go of Michael’s hand, and reached down to grab her duffel bag. The extra weight wasn’t exactly comfortable, and she suspected she’d have to find a good hiding spot for the Martini-Henry eventually, or otherwise render it inoperable. The food reward had given her a boost of much-needed energy though. All that was missing to get her back to baseline was a reprieve from this jungle hell, and a shower.
At least for the time being, she’d manage.
“I don’t figure they’re going to let us stay here much longer. I’m gonna head north, probably try and stay on high ground.”
Erika reached forward and slapped the charging handle on her rifle, the action slamming forward and chambering a round. For a gun nerd like her, the sound was almost too viscerally enjoyable.
Good God, that’s satisfying.
She looked down at Michael’s pistol, which was lying on the ground beside him. At first she’d just assumed it was any other 1911 knockoff, but a few tells gave it away. For one thing, it was far more worn than any of the other guns she’d seen on the island. The grips were different than a standard 1911 as well, and the trigger sat at a different angle than she was used to seeing. Looking closely, she saw the text on the side of the slide was in Spanish.
There were a couple of guns that had gotten some notoriety in their use in SOTF, and gun forums online frequently mentioned them. Some folks had even tried to figure out where the AT sourced their weapons from, given some of the more interesting pieces in their collection. This one had a particularly notable provenance.
Of course.
“That’s not a 1911. That’s Adam Dodd’s Ballester-Molina, isn’t it?”
Michael’s reaction seemed to indicate as much. Erika felt a pang of jealousy, but not enough to get greedy.
“Cool piece. Good luck, Michael.”
Without any further delay, she turned and left the area. All the while she listened for the sound of a pistol slide racking, but was met with silence. After a couple hundred yards of walking, she flinched as the collar around her neck let out a single short tone, indicating she had left the danger zone and wouldn't be able to safely return.
The only path left, was forward.
“Well, here we go.”
((Erika Stieglitz continued in Zero Sum))
“Alright then.”
She let go of Michael’s hand, and reached down to grab her duffel bag. The extra weight wasn’t exactly comfortable, and she suspected she’d have to find a good hiding spot for the Martini-Henry eventually, or otherwise render it inoperable. The food reward had given her a boost of much-needed energy though. All that was missing to get her back to baseline was a reprieve from this jungle hell, and a shower.
At least for the time being, she’d manage.
“I don’t figure they’re going to let us stay here much longer. I’m gonna head north, probably try and stay on high ground.”
Erika reached forward and slapped the charging handle on her rifle, the action slamming forward and chambering a round. For a gun nerd like her, the sound was almost too viscerally enjoyable.
Good God, that’s satisfying.
She looked down at Michael’s pistol, which was lying on the ground beside him. At first she’d just assumed it was any other 1911 knockoff, but a few tells gave it away. For one thing, it was far more worn than any of the other guns she’d seen on the island. The grips were different than a standard 1911 as well, and the trigger sat at a different angle than she was used to seeing. Looking closely, she saw the text on the side of the slide was in Spanish.
There were a couple of guns that had gotten some notoriety in their use in SOTF, and gun forums online frequently mentioned them. Some folks had even tried to figure out where the AT sourced their weapons from, given some of the more interesting pieces in their collection. This one had a particularly notable provenance.
Of course.
“That’s not a 1911. That’s Adam Dodd’s Ballester-Molina, isn’t it?”
Michael’s reaction seemed to indicate as much. Erika felt a pang of jealousy, but not enough to get greedy.
“Cool piece. Good luck, Michael.”
Without any further delay, she turned and left the area. All the while she listened for the sound of a pistol slide racking, but was met with silence. After a couple hundred yards of walking, she flinched as the collar around her neck let out a single short tone, indicating she had left the danger zone and wouldn't be able to safely return.
The only path left, was forward.
“Well, here we go.”
((Erika Stieglitz continued in Zero Sum))
Hands were shook. Agreements made.
Erika said she'd head north. Then, she recognized Michael's gun as Adam Dodd's gun.
Damn, she was good.
"...Sure is." he half-said, half-mumbled.
She complimented him on Adam Dodd's gun — no, his gun — and wished him luck. Then she left.
"Catch ya later, I guess." he called out after her. Then, she was gone. Now that was what he called networking.
He was so out of his depth right now and it was terrifying and it hurt but he had to do this.
Michael was alone with the cameras once more. He looked up at one. He was getting a giddy feeling, kind of. He smiled. His voice was in an unfamiliar tone, much more animated than he was accustomed to.
"...and I bet you thought she'd shoot me."
He slipped his pack off, unzipped it, moved The Many-Eyed Bearyl over a bit, and pulled out one of the cult robes. He examined the hood and made sure it wasn't like, a KKK robe or something. It wasn't! He put it on, hood up, and slipped the blue wristband over the sleeve of the robe. The hood didn't cover his face, so he could still see and stuff. He zipped his bag back up, The Many-Eyed Bearyl's head sticking out from the top. He slipped the pack on again.
He entered the temple real quick, picked up the mag he'd dropped; reloaded the gun. He walked towards the cloth-covered corpse. He wanted to know who it was. He wanted to know which one of the killers had a big head-exploding gun. He also hadn't seen a headshot yet, and he knew it was probably something he'd need to get used to seeing.
He barely even noticed the smell. He pulled up on one of the cloth's corners and peeked under.
...well, fuck.
That was... that was a lot worse than he'd been expecting.
It was like someone'd whacked a cantaloupe with a sledgehammer and the hair looked kinda red but also like that might have been hair mixed with brains and DAMN THERE WERE ANTS IN THERE AND -
- that was Kyle's shirt.
Ants were eating Kyle's brains. Michael didn't really like Kyle but like GODDAMN. Poor kid.
Okay that was enough of that. Michael dropped the cloth back over Kyle.
"Shit, guys... I dunno if he's gonna make it." he joked to whoever was watching. The hood hid his tears.
He shuffled out of the temple, into the forest, and off to live the rest of the end of his life.
((Michael continued in Raconte-Moi Une Histoire))
Erika said she'd head north. Then, she recognized Michael's gun as Adam Dodd's gun.
Damn, she was good.
"...Sure is." he half-said, half-mumbled.
She complimented him on Adam Dodd's gun — no, his gun — and wished him luck. Then she left.
"Catch ya later, I guess." he called out after her. Then, she was gone. Now that was what he called networking.
He was so out of his depth right now and it was terrifying and it hurt but he had to do this.
Michael was alone with the cameras once more. He looked up at one. He was getting a giddy feeling, kind of. He smiled. His voice was in an unfamiliar tone, much more animated than he was accustomed to.
"...and I bet you thought she'd shoot me."
He slipped his pack off, unzipped it, moved The Many-Eyed Bearyl over a bit, and pulled out one of the cult robes. He examined the hood and made sure it wasn't like, a KKK robe or something. It wasn't! He put it on, hood up, and slipped the blue wristband over the sleeve of the robe. The hood didn't cover his face, so he could still see and stuff. He zipped his bag back up, The Many-Eyed Bearyl's head sticking out from the top. He slipped the pack on again.
He entered the temple real quick, picked up the mag he'd dropped; reloaded the gun. He walked towards the cloth-covered corpse. He wanted to know who it was. He wanted to know which one of the killers had a big head-exploding gun. He also hadn't seen a headshot yet, and he knew it was probably something he'd need to get used to seeing.
He barely even noticed the smell. He pulled up on one of the cloth's corners and peeked under.
...well, fuck.
That was... that was a lot worse than he'd been expecting.
It was like someone'd whacked a cantaloupe with a sledgehammer and the hair looked kinda red but also like that might have been hair mixed with brains and DAMN THERE WERE ANTS IN THERE AND -
- that was Kyle's shirt.
Ants were eating Kyle's brains. Michael didn't really like Kyle but like GODDAMN. Poor kid.
Okay that was enough of that. Michael dropped the cloth back over Kyle.
"Shit, guys... I dunno if he's gonna make it." he joked to whoever was watching. The hood hid his tears.
He shuffled out of the temple, into the forest, and off to live the rest of the end of his life.
((Michael continued in Raconte-Moi Une Histoire))
destroy the UN08/03/2019
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.
Micheal experienced super position wherein he was both Beryl and he was Beryl's RP site quote. He was sure he could be happy about this but he no longer knew what happiness meant.