((Aurelien Valter continued from They Didn't Make It))
The ceiling needed a fresh coat of paint.
It was the only thing Aurelien wanted to think about as he stared upwards, back resting against one of the beds. He’d pulled his bandana down from his forehead to around his neck, then tugged it up again to cover his mouth and nose. It stank horribly of sweat and dirt, but it was still infinitely preferable to the scent of blood, growing heavier and heavier as the hours dragged on and the heat rose once more.
He’d grabbed a little sleep. Not much, but enough, passing out facedown on one of the beds. They’d just about managed to get all of the prepwork done for their little glass fortress. They’d moved all the bodies into the foyer, and covered them with sheets. They’d carried Jackson’s unconscious body onto one of the remaining beds that hadn’t been torn apart or smashed to pieces. They’d made sure he was still breathing. And they’d slapped together some basic, flimsy barricades in front of as many doors and windows as they could before exhaustion had claimed them.
And now they just needed to… what, exactly? Wait to see whether Jackson would get better, he supposed. Wait, in solemn silence, as the smell of death grew, and visions of blood and violence clouded Aurelien’s vision. The announcement had played at some point. Quinn and Lorenzo were usual suspects, plying their trade once more. Erika had been the culprit of the massacre in this very room. Madison had killed Nathan, and if he knew anything about either of them, that could only have been acted upon in cold blood.
And Marco had killed once more.
No more. No longer would any of them have their names announced by Danya as a winner, as the person on the safe side of the knife or gun. As soon as Jackson was up and running again, they would find these murderers, and they would eliminate them. Maybe even sooner.
Maybe Aurelien couldn’t wait to get rid of these bastards anymore.
His fingers drummed against the floor, inches away from the mace, unconsciously eager to take hold of it again.
Our Mutual Fiend
Day 6 - Private
Our Mutual Fiend
"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
A Malaysian airliner disappeared in the Indian Ocean four years ago, taking two hundred and thirty-nine people down with it. International teams searched forty-six thousand square miles of ocean in three years and found nothing, and they had the plane’s flight plan and its last recorded position. It was clear where they needed to look.
Yet it hadn’t been recovered. Not now, probably never.
No one knew where to look for George Hunter High School’s class of 2018. The AT’s motives, base of operations, sources of funding - anything anyone claimed to know was conjecture. The broadcasts were delayed, as far as anyone knew; they were no longer a reliable source of information. Maybe the intelligence community had a better idea. Maybe there was some team working for the CIA or INTERPOL or some other agency that was days away from finding them. In a world of mass surveillance and Big Data, surely someone had found some clever way to locate one hundred and fifty-nine kidnapped students.
Surely the logistical chain that enabled such an atrocity had a loose end somewhere. A loose thread that would get caught in the merciless teeth of the intelligence community’s network of gears and screws. The patchwork of malcontents and terrorists would be pulled apart and dissected, with few of them to ever escape and see the light of day.
Maybe they’d be dragged off to one of those so-called “black sites” and tortured for information. The AT’s base of operations would get stormed by Marines. The mess they’d leave behind would make this Infirmary look downright pleasant.
Or maybe no one would find this island for years. Maybe never.
These were the things Henry thought about as he listened to the announcements roll by, his hand resting on Jackson’s shoulder.
Not all of the killers could have been doing it by surprise and subterfuge. Some had to be good at it. That meant they were at least better than Aurelien and Henry and Jackson could’ve hoped to have been.
Could have. Jackson wasn’t participating in their farce of a solution any time soon. Not in his state.
They should have been better than this. It should’ve been reluctant, something difficult to even fathom. It seemed like their class was finding it easy. Alongside the repeat offenders were plenty of first-time killers. Every announcement pushed the better of their number closer to participating in this atrocity.
Phrasing it that way helped keep it in perspective. Helped keep this situation in its place, next to death squads and airline hijackings. Atrocities.
And the three of them had agreed to participate, at least in a way they’d find easy to digest. Hearing what had happened to Nathan, among other things, was starting to make it seem at least a little easier.
Henry had barely slept.
“Maybe they’ll off each other. Sounds like some of them are getting downright competitive.” He broke the silence of the morning, his voice gravelly and worn with sleep deprivation.
“Since we’re not moving, maybe I can get Camilla to come to us. Ask her if she’s has anything that’ll stand in for twine and a suturing needle. We’re gonna have to-”
Henry paused, looking to Jackson.
“We’ll need to make sure he’s totally patched up before we can leave here. Eventually we’ll have to.”
Yet it hadn’t been recovered. Not now, probably never.
No one knew where to look for George Hunter High School’s class of 2018. The AT’s motives, base of operations, sources of funding - anything anyone claimed to know was conjecture. The broadcasts were delayed, as far as anyone knew; they were no longer a reliable source of information. Maybe the intelligence community had a better idea. Maybe there was some team working for the CIA or INTERPOL or some other agency that was days away from finding them. In a world of mass surveillance and Big Data, surely someone had found some clever way to locate one hundred and fifty-nine kidnapped students.
Surely the logistical chain that enabled such an atrocity had a loose end somewhere. A loose thread that would get caught in the merciless teeth of the intelligence community’s network of gears and screws. The patchwork of malcontents and terrorists would be pulled apart and dissected, with few of them to ever escape and see the light of day.
Maybe they’d be dragged off to one of those so-called “black sites” and tortured for information. The AT’s base of operations would get stormed by Marines. The mess they’d leave behind would make this Infirmary look downright pleasant.
Or maybe no one would find this island for years. Maybe never.
These were the things Henry thought about as he listened to the announcements roll by, his hand resting on Jackson’s shoulder.
((Henry Sparks continued from They Didn’t Make It))
Not all of the killers could have been doing it by surprise and subterfuge. Some had to be good at it. That meant they were at least better than Aurelien and Henry and Jackson could’ve hoped to have been.
Could have. Jackson wasn’t participating in their farce of a solution any time soon. Not in his state.
They should have been better than this. It should’ve been reluctant, something difficult to even fathom. It seemed like their class was finding it easy. Alongside the repeat offenders were plenty of first-time killers. Every announcement pushed the better of their number closer to participating in this atrocity.
Phrasing it that way helped keep it in perspective. Helped keep this situation in its place, next to death squads and airline hijackings. Atrocities.
And the three of them had agreed to participate, at least in a way they’d find easy to digest. Hearing what had happened to Nathan, among other things, was starting to make it seem at least a little easier.
Henry had barely slept.
“Maybe they’ll off each other. Sounds like some of them are getting downright competitive.” He broke the silence of the morning, his voice gravelly and worn with sleep deprivation.
“Since we’re not moving, maybe I can get Camilla to come to us. Ask her if she’s has anything that’ll stand in for twine and a suturing needle. We’re gonna have to-”
Henry paused, looking to Jackson.
“We’ll need to make sure he’s totally patched up before we can leave here. Eventually we’ll have to.”
((Marcus Volker continued from You Will Remember Me For Centuries))
"WIT-NESS!"
It wasn't like the movies. Marco felt the impact of the window against him, it was still a solid object. It felt the same as flinging yourself head on into a wall, something he'd personally never done before, but could easily imagine the sensation; anyone could. Marco was half expected for this to fizzle out, and him to have to try again, but lo and behold, the window gave. 'Course, it didn't give all the way, there wasn't a bunch of itty bitty pieces like raindrops dancing upon his skin, but sharp jagged shards finding their ways in and out of him. With the exception of the hole he made, the remainder of the window stood in place, turning into a clear opening laced with red along the tips.
As he landed on his feet, he began spraying the fire extinguisher around the room as a smoke screen as he sprinted towards his targets. His body was a cold, pale, tattered mess of sweat, blood, and torn leather, with the new addition of haphazard glass shards poking this way and that outside of him, and the gill-like lacerations that lined the sides of his face, arms, body, and legs. Were his body not in the process of shutting down he probably would've felt it more, but it didn't matter to him. Pain or no pain, it was all the same in the end, and this suited him just fine.
Yeah. This'll do.
This'll do, alright...
Henry and friends weren't quite public enemy number one in Marco's eyes. He could've taken all of them out the other day, but Ariana had to get the last word in and shoot him in the ass on the way out instead of doing it while he was looking at her. Funny enough, Henry didn't start shooting until Marco was on the retreat either, before that they were all content with going full on Deer in Headlights mode. No retreats today though. This time he wasn't giving them the choice. Well, now he was back, and for once he got the drop on somebody instead of vice versa. With his dwindling time, Marco didn't have many choices anymore, so he had to take what he could get.
Boy was he going to be taking it today. Can you say? 'OH BABY A TRIPLE!'
His heart was pounding now, he was ready for it. That last dance, his final moments on earth. There was an anticipation to it, and actual honest to god excitement.
As he sprinted forward, he planted his foot down and spun. He swung and released his grip, letting his extinguisher fly, himself not too far behind. They weren't gonna just shoot him and end this all easy like, that was for sure. Marco closed the distance, and started the melee with a superman punch.
"WIT-NESS!"
It wasn't like the movies. Marco felt the impact of the window against him, it was still a solid object. It felt the same as flinging yourself head on into a wall, something he'd personally never done before, but could easily imagine the sensation; anyone could. Marco was half expected for this to fizzle out, and him to have to try again, but lo and behold, the window gave. 'Course, it didn't give all the way, there wasn't a bunch of itty bitty pieces like raindrops dancing upon his skin, but sharp jagged shards finding their ways in and out of him. With the exception of the hole he made, the remainder of the window stood in place, turning into a clear opening laced with red along the tips.
As he landed on his feet, he began spraying the fire extinguisher around the room as a smoke screen as he sprinted towards his targets. His body was a cold, pale, tattered mess of sweat, blood, and torn leather, with the new addition of haphazard glass shards poking this way and that outside of him, and the gill-like lacerations that lined the sides of his face, arms, body, and legs. Were his body not in the process of shutting down he probably would've felt it more, but it didn't matter to him. Pain or no pain, it was all the same in the end, and this suited him just fine.
Yeah. This'll do.
This'll do, alright...
Henry and friends weren't quite public enemy number one in Marco's eyes. He could've taken all of them out the other day, but Ariana had to get the last word in and shoot him in the ass on the way out instead of doing it while he was looking at her. Funny enough, Henry didn't start shooting until Marco was on the retreat either, before that they were all content with going full on Deer in Headlights mode. No retreats today though. This time he wasn't giving them the choice. Well, now he was back, and for once he got the drop on somebody instead of vice versa. With his dwindling time, Marco didn't have many choices anymore, so he had to take what he could get.
Boy was he going to be taking it today. Can you say? 'OH BABY A TRIPLE!'
His heart was pounding now, he was ready for it. That last dance, his final moments on earth. There was an anticipation to it, and actual honest to god excitement.
As he sprinted forward, he planted his foot down and spun. He swung and released his grip, letting his extinguisher fly, himself not too far behind. They weren't gonna just shoot him and end this all easy like, that was for sure. Marco closed the distance, and started the melee with a superman punch.
It was like someone was screwing with him, flipping the switch to his brain on and off at random intervals.
It was frustrating as all hell.
The only small bit of good that came from his inability to keep himself awake was mercifully being unconscious when Henry sewed up the bullet would in his stomach. He really didn’t want to imagine how that would have felt had he been one hundred percent aware. The constant aching coming from the wound was enough to make him see stars, so not having to experience that little extra bit of pain was a blessing he’d gladly take.
[Jackson Sullivan Continued from They Didn’t Make It]
He’d regained consciousness only a short time ago. It was kind of funny, really. He would always make jokes and comments about how tired he was and how he was ready to pass out from workouts that were extra tough, but he never really thought it was in bad taste until now. Passing out wasn’t like sleeping; not at all. He didn’t feel rested when he opened his eyes again. If anything, he felt more exhausted. Or maybe a better word would be drained? As if all of his life energy had been violently ripped out of him and now he was just an empty husk lying on a dirty mattress.
His breathing was still rather rough, every breath in causing him some measure of pain to shoot out from his abdomen. He was also drenched in sweat, feeling like he was laying in front of a furnace. If he had a fever that probably wasn’t good, he thought to himself wryly. Fever meant the possibility of infection, right? He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew that much at least. Years of helping take care of his father and his wounds from surgery made him somewhat of an expert in that field. Not only that, but his arm was thoroughly fucked. He could still move the fingers on his right hand, but any other kind of movement from his hand was either impossible or horrendously painful. The way things were looking, he didn’t really know how long he’d be able to last in this condition.
Thoughts like those were pretty scary.
The morning announcements played as per usual, but Jackson wasn’t truly listening anymore. He just kept his eyes shut and tried to wish the disembodied voice away as quickly as possible. One of the first names bounced around in his skull as it was read off, and it was hard for him to know if he should be happy or sad or angry or what. Gervais was dead, his collar exploded. Gervais was his friend back when things were normal. They also fought on the island, Jackson trying to stop him from killing people. It was conflicting. Nathan Coleman was also dead. Madison did him in.
Why?
Why were any of them doing this? Why was this the solution they thought was right? He knew these people. He’d laughed with them. Watched them succeed and fail. Been part of their histories. Seen the best and worst of them. But here… here they all felt like strangers. He wondered if it was the same for him? Was this who he was, when the chips were down? Just a weakling who couldn’t follow through? A victim in someone else’s story?
Bret, and Mike Brown were also dead. Two more former friends. Gone. Just like that. Drew woods was dead. The boy he’d saved from Gervais. Who’s wound he’d tried to bandage. Dead like he would probably be soon. No. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to listen anymore. He just wanted to pretend none of it was real. He wasn’t here, dying like this. His friends were all still alive and still the people he remembered them being. Not the wild animals they became in this place.
He really was weak.
And worse, he was being a burden on those around him. Henry and Aurelien were essentially trapped with him. If they had to abandon the area, he’d only serve to slow them down. How did they expect to make it out there lugging a half-dead person around with them. Jackson would only get them killed. Just like Ariana. Maybe he’d do them a favor and just finish dying before they ever had to move. At least then they’d be safe.
Heh. What a thing to think about yourself.
His mind began to grow heavy again, his thoughts getting hazy.
And he slipped away into unconsciousness once again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His eyes snapped open again.
He was still looking up at the same ceiling. He was still here. He was still alive. Somehow. Time must have passed, because Henry was suddenly right next to him. He tried to sit up in the bed, but the pain that cause sent him collapsing back down to the mattress. Fuck. Still bad. Still sweating. Still in pain. Still probably dying. Jackson didn’t know what scared him more, dying quickly, or letting this drag out for so long before inevitably ending the same way. He looked up at Henry, whose concerned face made him feel even more terrible about letting himself end up like this.
“Hey, list-” He was cut off before he could say anything else by a booming yell followed by someone literally crashing through the infirmary window. Jackson’s head snapped to the direction of the disturbance, catching a glimpse of the person, before smoke began to fill the room and obscure his vision.
He did the only thing he could.
“Fucking Marco!”
It was frustrating as all hell.
The only small bit of good that came from his inability to keep himself awake was mercifully being unconscious when Henry sewed up the bullet would in his stomach. He really didn’t want to imagine how that would have felt had he been one hundred percent aware. The constant aching coming from the wound was enough to make him see stars, so not having to experience that little extra bit of pain was a blessing he’d gladly take.
[Jackson Sullivan Continued from They Didn’t Make It]
He’d regained consciousness only a short time ago. It was kind of funny, really. He would always make jokes and comments about how tired he was and how he was ready to pass out from workouts that were extra tough, but he never really thought it was in bad taste until now. Passing out wasn’t like sleeping; not at all. He didn’t feel rested when he opened his eyes again. If anything, he felt more exhausted. Or maybe a better word would be drained? As if all of his life energy had been violently ripped out of him and now he was just an empty husk lying on a dirty mattress.
His breathing was still rather rough, every breath in causing him some measure of pain to shoot out from his abdomen. He was also drenched in sweat, feeling like he was laying in front of a furnace. If he had a fever that probably wasn’t good, he thought to himself wryly. Fever meant the possibility of infection, right? He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew that much at least. Years of helping take care of his father and his wounds from surgery made him somewhat of an expert in that field. Not only that, but his arm was thoroughly fucked. He could still move the fingers on his right hand, but any other kind of movement from his hand was either impossible or horrendously painful. The way things were looking, he didn’t really know how long he’d be able to last in this condition.
Thoughts like those were pretty scary.
The morning announcements played as per usual, but Jackson wasn’t truly listening anymore. He just kept his eyes shut and tried to wish the disembodied voice away as quickly as possible. One of the first names bounced around in his skull as it was read off, and it was hard for him to know if he should be happy or sad or angry or what. Gervais was dead, his collar exploded. Gervais was his friend back when things were normal. They also fought on the island, Jackson trying to stop him from killing people. It was conflicting. Nathan Coleman was also dead. Madison did him in.
Why?
Why were any of them doing this? Why was this the solution they thought was right? He knew these people. He’d laughed with them. Watched them succeed and fail. Been part of their histories. Seen the best and worst of them. But here… here they all felt like strangers. He wondered if it was the same for him? Was this who he was, when the chips were down? Just a weakling who couldn’t follow through? A victim in someone else’s story?
Bret, and Mike Brown were also dead. Two more former friends. Gone. Just like that. Drew woods was dead. The boy he’d saved from Gervais. Who’s wound he’d tried to bandage. Dead like he would probably be soon. No. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to listen anymore. He just wanted to pretend none of it was real. He wasn’t here, dying like this. His friends were all still alive and still the people he remembered them being. Not the wild animals they became in this place.
He really was weak.
And worse, he was being a burden on those around him. Henry and Aurelien were essentially trapped with him. If they had to abandon the area, he’d only serve to slow them down. How did they expect to make it out there lugging a half-dead person around with them. Jackson would only get them killed. Just like Ariana. Maybe he’d do them a favor and just finish dying before they ever had to move. At least then they’d be safe.
Heh. What a thing to think about yourself.
His mind began to grow heavy again, his thoughts getting hazy.
And he slipped away into unconsciousness once again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
His eyes snapped open again.
He was still looking up at the same ceiling. He was still here. He was still alive. Somehow. Time must have passed, because Henry was suddenly right next to him. He tried to sit up in the bed, but the pain that cause sent him collapsing back down to the mattress. Fuck. Still bad. Still sweating. Still in pain. Still probably dying. Jackson didn’t know what scared him more, dying quickly, or letting this drag out for so long before inevitably ending the same way. He looked up at Henry, whose concerned face made him feel even more terrible about letting himself end up like this.
“Hey, list-” He was cut off before he could say anything else by a booming yell followed by someone literally crashing through the infirmary window. Jackson’s head snapped to the direction of the disturbance, catching a glimpse of the person, before smoke began to fill the room and obscure his vision.
He did the only thing he could.
“Fucking Marco!”
He wasn’t given any time to respond to Henry. Not that he really had anything to say. It would be nice if the killers started targeting each other rather than innocent bystanders. It would be nice if Camilla could join up with them and bolster their numbers. And it would be nice for Jackson to get as fully healed as possible, so they could move out of here. Aurelien agreed with everything Henry said, even when he hadn’t even considered it before it had been mentioned.
Everyone here had their roles. Henry was the smart one, the one who came up with the plans, who spoke out loud what the group was thinking. Aurelien was here to, what was the phrase they’d used again? ‘Clear a path’, something like that. He could do that. He could do that easy. Made sure he didn’t open his mouth and immediately shove his foot into it.
It was harder and harder to do that, though, whenever he caught a glimpse of a bloodstain on the wall, or the covered up bodies in the entrance.
And he was about to do that, about to open his mouth and break his own silence and release the buzzing, thunderous pressure in his head and say the first thing that came out, when something else shattered, something tangible inside the infirmary. Aurelien scrambled to his feet, fingers eagerly wrapping around the handle of the mace, heavy metal head scraping tracks in the floor as he brought it up with him.
He had a moment to glimpse the intruder, the bloody, tattered, barely human form lurching towards them, before the room started to fill with thick white smoke. Aurelien adjusted the bandana around the lower half of his face, adopted a steady stance, immovable as he could possibly be. Even more reason for him to keep his mouth closed. Jackson had already said the only thing necessary right now.
Fucking Marco.
Something span towards him out of the fog, the fire extinguisher almost sweeping his legs out from underneath him, instead just clattering against his shin, making him hiss with pain. Then, Marco himself flew out, hand clenched into a fist, punch aimed right for Aurelien and smashing into his ribs. He howled with pain, grit his teeth, and glared at the boy in front of him.
Oh, there it was. The bloodrush, well and truly unleashed.
Aurelien moved, sudden and graceless, launching a punch towards Marco, not caring where it landed, not attempting to block the other boy’s assault. He barged into Marco, trying to clear space, wrapping both hands around the mace again, and his muscles roared as he swung his weapon at him.
Ariana’s gun, his gun, lay forgotten on the floor next to the bed.
Everyone here had their roles. Henry was the smart one, the one who came up with the plans, who spoke out loud what the group was thinking. Aurelien was here to, what was the phrase they’d used again? ‘Clear a path’, something like that. He could do that. He could do that easy. Made sure he didn’t open his mouth and immediately shove his foot into it.
It was harder and harder to do that, though, whenever he caught a glimpse of a bloodstain on the wall, or the covered up bodies in the entrance.
And he was about to do that, about to open his mouth and break his own silence and release the buzzing, thunderous pressure in his head and say the first thing that came out, when something else shattered, something tangible inside the infirmary. Aurelien scrambled to his feet, fingers eagerly wrapping around the handle of the mace, heavy metal head scraping tracks in the floor as he brought it up with him.
He had a moment to glimpse the intruder, the bloody, tattered, barely human form lurching towards them, before the room started to fill with thick white smoke. Aurelien adjusted the bandana around the lower half of his face, adopted a steady stance, immovable as he could possibly be. Even more reason for him to keep his mouth closed. Jackson had already said the only thing necessary right now.
Fucking Marco.
Something span towards him out of the fog, the fire extinguisher almost sweeping his legs out from underneath him, instead just clattering against his shin, making him hiss with pain. Then, Marco himself flew out, hand clenched into a fist, punch aimed right for Aurelien and smashing into his ribs. He howled with pain, grit his teeth, and glared at the boy in front of him.
Oh, there it was. The bloodrush, well and truly unleashed.
Aurelien moved, sudden and graceless, launching a punch towards Marco, not caring where it landed, not attempting to block the other boy’s assault. He barged into Marco, trying to clear space, wrapping both hands around the mace again, and his muscles roared as he swung his weapon at him.
Ariana’s gun, his gun, lay forgotten on the floor next to the bed.
"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
-
Primrosette
- Posts: 1033
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 9:58 am
- Location: In the Dark Abyss
((Adonis Cohen continued from You Are Already Dead))
Adonis just stood by the tree with a look of uncertainty present on his face and he felt like he should have done something for Marco as he has followed after the boy who had been bleeding, collapsing and vomiting everywhere they went. Adonis had wanted to scream at Marco to just stop making himself suffer but he knew that it was something that Marco wanted and he knew that Marco didn't want to go down without a fight. And that was why Adonis could only wait...
He just hoped that at least one of them in the infirmary would be taken down with Marco as he was sure that time was almost up for Marco and he would have to deal with the aftermath of that. Adonis had to make sure to be more smarter than running in like Marco did. Sure, having fun would still be in the picture but he didn't want to break anything more of himself. His ribs were messed up as it is.
So now he was just going to wait for the results.
So he held the chainsaw by his side, stayed closer to the tree and he watched the building in front of him patiently.
A chuckle slipped from his mouth by accident.
Adonis just stood by the tree with a look of uncertainty present on his face and he felt like he should have done something for Marco as he has followed after the boy who had been bleeding, collapsing and vomiting everywhere they went. Adonis had wanted to scream at Marco to just stop making himself suffer but he knew that it was something that Marco wanted and he knew that Marco didn't want to go down without a fight. And that was why Adonis could only wait...
He just hoped that at least one of them in the infirmary would be taken down with Marco as he was sure that time was almost up for Marco and he would have to deal with the aftermath of that. Adonis had to make sure to be more smarter than running in like Marco did. Sure, having fun would still be in the picture but he didn't want to break anything more of himself. His ribs were messed up as it is.
So now he was just going to wait for the results.
So he held the chainsaw by his side, stayed closer to the tree and he watched the building in front of him patiently.
A chuckle slipped from his mouth by accident.
Marco felt impact as his fist collided with someone’s chest. He didn’t see who from the smoke, but he heard them gasp, he got them good. Before he could get them again, a fist popped out of the smoke and got Marco in the jaw on his windup.
Alright, alright, someone grew a pair, about time! Who was it? He got his answer when they tackled him back, recognizing Aurelien’s silhouette. He wondered where the other two were? He saw Henry and Jackson before he smoked up the place, yet they weren’t joining in. What gives? Where they looking for their guns? Cowering in a corner? Did they just fucking run?
Didn’t matter, Aurelien’s the one he’s fighting. If the man dies alone he dies alone, his fault for picking shitty friends.
Marco saw the mace just in time as Aurelien swung upwards, Marco himself backpedaling out of it’s range. He had to get that out of his grasp. Another swing and Marco ducked. As he stood back up he got a good glimpse of his hands, and the chips of glass imbedded in them.
Another swing and Marco already had an idea, waiting for another of Aurelien’s swings to spring it. Once Marco found an opening, he sidestepped to Aurelien’s flank, and planted his foot.
He turned and sent a spinning backfist flying towards Aurelien.
Alright, alright, someone grew a pair, about time! Who was it? He got his answer when they tackled him back, recognizing Aurelien’s silhouette. He wondered where the other two were? He saw Henry and Jackson before he smoked up the place, yet they weren’t joining in. What gives? Where they looking for their guns? Cowering in a corner? Did they just fucking run?
Didn’t matter, Aurelien’s the one he’s fighting. If the man dies alone he dies alone, his fault for picking shitty friends.
Marco saw the mace just in time as Aurelien swung upwards, Marco himself backpedaling out of it’s range. He had to get that out of his grasp. Another swing and Marco ducked. As he stood back up he got a good glimpse of his hands, and the chips of glass imbedded in them.
Another swing and Marco already had an idea, waiting for another of Aurelien’s swings to spring it. Once Marco found an opening, he sidestepped to Aurelien’s flank, and planted his foot.
He turned and sent a spinning backfist flying towards Aurelien.
They both heard it, though Jackson saw Marco before Henry did. That psycho had decided to make his presence known, by diving through the window no less. Before Henry had much time to assess the bloodied and haggard form of their assailant, he essentially disappeared in a blast of gas from a fire extinguisher. One sharp, unlucky breath and Henry found himself coughing as he searched in vain for his gun. He’d propped it up against the wall next to his bags. It might as well have been on the moon for all Henry was able to reach it in time.
Then he heard Aurelien shout in pain, and Henry’s hands stopped searching. They curled into fists.
Things had happened quickly when Beryl was shot. No one was paying the right kind of attention. It happened quickly when Ariana was killed. No one was looking out for her, and she wandered into a goddamn meat grinder. There hadn’t been any time to react, he’d told himself, before Jackson ran into a hail of bullets. He knew that wasn’t true.
Fuck plans. Fuck trying to figure out the exact, perfect course of actions. Henry’s friends were in trouble, and he was going to help them.
Standing up and striding to the sounds of commotion. A few steps towards them and he quickly caught a glimpse of Marco and Aurelien. Without wasting another second’s hesitation, he reached out and grabbed Marco from behind, by the neck. All it took was one good hit from the mace, and it was all over for Marco.
That is, if he could hold onto the bastard.
Then he heard Aurelien shout in pain, and Henry’s hands stopped searching. They curled into fists.
Things had happened quickly when Beryl was shot. No one was paying the right kind of attention. It happened quickly when Ariana was killed. No one was looking out for her, and she wandered into a goddamn meat grinder. There hadn’t been any time to react, he’d told himself, before Jackson ran into a hail of bullets. He knew that wasn’t true.
Fuck plans. Fuck trying to figure out the exact, perfect course of actions. Henry’s friends were in trouble, and he was going to help them.
Standing up and striding to the sounds of commotion. A few steps towards them and he quickly caught a glimpse of Marco and Aurelien. Without wasting another second’s hesitation, he reached out and grabbed Marco from behind, by the neck. All it took was one good hit from the mace, and it was all over for Marco.
That is, if he could hold onto the bastard.
He swung at Marco. The mace sailed through the air, catching nothing, almost pitching Aurelien over as his weapon pendulumed upwards. He dug his heels in, felt the muscles in his legs straining as he managed to keep both feet on the ground, and grit his teeth. Bastard.
He swung again, downwards this time, roaring as he did so, and once again, his aim was completely off, dispersing the smoke around the mace head but nothing more, smashing into the tiles at Marco’s feet instead, sending splinters of tile flying. Bastard.
He swung. He missed. The bed next to him crumpled in a screeching of metal, bent double from where the mace had cleaved into it. Bastard. Bastard bastard motherfucking piece of shit. Why the fuck couldn’t he just stand still? Why the fuck couldn’t he just fucking let the inevitable happen? His face was mangled and his body was torn to shreds, bloody scars visible across almost every inch of him.
And yet he was still starting fights. Still looking for trouble, catching trouble, cutting and slaughtering trouble, even though it was killing him.
Aurelien roared again, aiming the mace at Marco’s ribs, but this time the boy moved aggressively, and, lost in his animalistic rage, Aurelien couldn’t make himself react. There was a horrible cracking sound, like crushing a dry twig into dust beneath your heel, as Marco’s hand collided with Aurelien’s cheek. He stumbled backwards, sucking in air, pain erupting from his jaw immediately.
But somehow, it ended up being a blessing in disguise. A manic grin fixed itself to Aurelien’s face as he saw, through a gap in the fog, Henry grabbing hold of Marco. This was it. This was it. He spat onto the floor, blood and phlegm mingling together, and swung the mace again.
It connected. But nowhere near as solidly as Aurelien wanted. A glancing blow, rather than Marco’s skull caving in or his ribs shattering. The fucker was wriggling and flailing about like there was electricity coursing through him.
No matter. A vicious kick and a punch to the face would do the job just as well.
He swung again, downwards this time, roaring as he did so, and once again, his aim was completely off, dispersing the smoke around the mace head but nothing more, smashing into the tiles at Marco’s feet instead, sending splinters of tile flying. Bastard.
He swung. He missed. The bed next to him crumpled in a screeching of metal, bent double from where the mace had cleaved into it. Bastard. Bastard bastard motherfucking piece of shit. Why the fuck couldn’t he just stand still? Why the fuck couldn’t he just fucking let the inevitable happen? His face was mangled and his body was torn to shreds, bloody scars visible across almost every inch of him.
And yet he was still starting fights. Still looking for trouble, catching trouble, cutting and slaughtering trouble, even though it was killing him.
Aurelien roared again, aiming the mace at Marco’s ribs, but this time the boy moved aggressively, and, lost in his animalistic rage, Aurelien couldn’t make himself react. There was a horrible cracking sound, like crushing a dry twig into dust beneath your heel, as Marco’s hand collided with Aurelien’s cheek. He stumbled backwards, sucking in air, pain erupting from his jaw immediately.
But somehow, it ended up being a blessing in disguise. A manic grin fixed itself to Aurelien’s face as he saw, through a gap in the fog, Henry grabbing hold of Marco. This was it. This was it. He spat onto the floor, blood and phlegm mingling together, and swung the mace again.
It connected. But nowhere near as solidly as Aurelien wanted. A glancing blow, rather than Marco’s skull caving in or his ribs shattering. The fucker was wriggling and flailing about like there was electricity coursing through him.
No matter. A vicious kick and a punch to the face would do the job just as well.
"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
Gotcha bitch.
He felt that one good, that crack of Aurelien's jaw reverberated up Marco's arm, and sent shivers down his spine, jumpstarting his nerves once again. Once again, Marco could feel. Once again he wasn't numb anymore. He winded up to combo in, maybe even finish him with a quick and clean throat punch to break his trachea inward, but an arm wrapped around Marco's throat. "Whath-ghnk!?"
Oh, so that's where Henry was hiding... Cute, real fucking cute asshole! Don't think you ain't next. His eye turned back and time just to feel the mace impact just under his ribs. Just above Wyatt's mark. Volker's eye widened as his body jumped into a spasm as his pain returned and nearly overwrote any signals of pleasure his warped nervous system sent through his body. Marco gasped, before it was cut off and replaced with a high pitched moan as Aurelien kicked Marco square in the dick. Another punch went his way, hitting Marco center of his face, right on the nose and lip. He smelled more rust than usual as tears welled up in his eye, and his lips quivered behind a smile.
Good hits. Good effort. Probably thinking they were gonna win this. Easy now. Marco's helpless. He moved, he thrashed. Trapped.
Trapped animal. Kill him. Easy.
He's easy.
Laugh, laugh I dare you.
Choking.
Hurt. Pain, pleasure. Hurt me, hurt me. You like it, I like it, we all like it.
Marco thrashed to break free, but Henry wasn't budging the bastard. He saw Aurelien winding up with another swing of his maul. Marco stopped fighting it. He stood and watched, accepting his place in the world, accepting his fate.
He accepted death. He accepted defeat.
Marco brought his legs up as high as he could and kicked Aurelien in the chest sending him flying back into a hospital bed as Henry stumbled back due to the shift in weight. Marco accepted death and defeat all right. He accepted nothing, but theirs.
Marco brought his feet down to the ground, stopping him and Henry in their place, causing Henry's grasp to lax. With one hand he gripped Henry's wrist tight, and swung his free elbow behind him. What he felt from Aurelien's jaw was amplified tenfold when his elbow collided with Henry's face, feeling resistance, before something gave, and Henry's head snapped to the side. He felt Henry sway back as Marco kept his grip on Henry's arm, bringing his elbow back and pulling Henry close, ducking under his arm and bringing his free arm up behind Henry's shoulder. He sweeped his leg and pushed down, Henry dropping faster than Marco's eye could perceive. One millisecond he was stumbling, the next his head was bouncing off the tile face first with a resounding *PONK!*
Marco lifted Henry's arm as he raised his leg, and brought it down right on his back. Henry wheezed as Marco let his arm go, laughing as he stepped on and over the wheezing form towards his next target. His eye trailed to Aurelien as he pulled himself up off from the side of the bed. At least one of these weakling chucklefucks was any fun. Aurelien would be the hardest to break for sure, and broken the hardest once Marco was done. He smiled.
"Come oooon, Hero~ You really gonna lay there and let me pull your friends' arms off like a mosquito's? Like Ariana?"
Marco blew Aurelien a mocking kiss.
He felt that one good, that crack of Aurelien's jaw reverberated up Marco's arm, and sent shivers down his spine, jumpstarting his nerves once again. Once again, Marco could feel. Once again he wasn't numb anymore. He winded up to combo in, maybe even finish him with a quick and clean throat punch to break his trachea inward, but an arm wrapped around Marco's throat. "Whath-ghnk!?"
Oh, so that's where Henry was hiding... Cute, real fucking cute asshole! Don't think you ain't next. His eye turned back and time just to feel the mace impact just under his ribs. Just above Wyatt's mark. Volker's eye widened as his body jumped into a spasm as his pain returned and nearly overwrote any signals of pleasure his warped nervous system sent through his body. Marco gasped, before it was cut off and replaced with a high pitched moan as Aurelien kicked Marco square in the dick. Another punch went his way, hitting Marco center of his face, right on the nose and lip. He smelled more rust than usual as tears welled up in his eye, and his lips quivered behind a smile.
Good hits. Good effort. Probably thinking they were gonna win this. Easy now. Marco's helpless. He moved, he thrashed. Trapped.
Trapped animal. Kill him. Easy.
He's easy.
Laugh, laugh I dare you.
Choking.
Hurt. Pain, pleasure. Hurt me, hurt me. You like it, I like it, we all like it.
Marco thrashed to break free, but Henry wasn't budging the bastard. He saw Aurelien winding up with another swing of his maul. Marco stopped fighting it. He stood and watched, accepting his place in the world, accepting his fate.
He accepted death. He accepted defeat.
Marco brought his legs up as high as he could and kicked Aurelien in the chest sending him flying back into a hospital bed as Henry stumbled back due to the shift in weight. Marco accepted death and defeat all right. He accepted nothing, but theirs.
Marco brought his feet down to the ground, stopping him and Henry in their place, causing Henry's grasp to lax. With one hand he gripped Henry's wrist tight, and swung his free elbow behind him. What he felt from Aurelien's jaw was amplified tenfold when his elbow collided with Henry's face, feeling resistance, before something gave, and Henry's head snapped to the side. He felt Henry sway back as Marco kept his grip on Henry's arm, bringing his elbow back and pulling Henry close, ducking under his arm and bringing his free arm up behind Henry's shoulder. He sweeped his leg and pushed down, Henry dropping faster than Marco's eye could perceive. One millisecond he was stumbling, the next his head was bouncing off the tile face first with a resounding *PONK!*
Marco lifted Henry's arm as he raised his leg, and brought it down right on his back. Henry wheezed as Marco let his arm go, laughing as he stepped on and over the wheezing form towards his next target. His eye trailed to Aurelien as he pulled himself up off from the side of the bed. At least one of these weakling chucklefucks was any fun. Aurelien would be the hardest to break for sure, and broken the hardest once Marco was done. He smiled.
"Come oooon, Hero~ You really gonna lay there and let me pull your friends' arms off like a mosquito's? Like Ariana?"
Marco blew Aurelien a mocking kiss.
Keeping Marco in one place was far easier said than done. It wasn’t just that he fought like a caged animal, he basically smelled like one too. Without really doing much to try and throttle him, Henry already found himself stained with Marco’s blood. In spite of how distasteful it all felt, he held on at first. Waiting for Aurelien to finish it. Dreading what he’d feel in his hands as the life left this person, despite how much he desperately wanted everything Marco was to just stop.
That wasn’t how this was going to go. Of course, Henry was not a fighter. That fact became rapidly apparent as Marco made his move. Aurelien was so close, but he saw the look in the boy’s eyes. He wasn’t focused. Wasn’t thinking. Neither had Henry. Marco’s elbow connected with his face and he lost his grip entirely, his vision marred by spots that looked a bit like television static.
The pain didn’t really have time to set in, even after the imperceptible yet significant gap between when he was standing and when he found himself lying on the ground, his arm still twisted in Marco’s grip. Henry’s free hand searched the floor nearby for something, anything he could use to try and beat him away.
He caught nothing but air, and very quickly wished he could’ve somehow held onto it. The kick to his ribs drove the air from his lungs with a sickening wheeze, causing him to spit out blood and the better part of a molar onto the ground. Henry didn’t even have the air in his lungs to make much of a sound when Marco walked over him.
It was like suddenly finding himself in a straight jacket, his own diaphragm seizing up and keeping air from entering his lungs. Calming down was hard, not without some manual way of slowing his heart rate.
And the pain. There it was. Numbness gave way to stinging, burning, unnecessary reminders that he was bleeding from his face and the hole where a tooth used to be. That the hard fall onto the cheap ceramic had left another nasty cut from shards of it. It was barely fastened to the wooden floor below it, slapdash like everything else in this place.
Slowly, his lungs started to draw some air in again. Gas from the fire extinguisher still hung in the room, which did nothing for the ragged and raw feeling in his throat. All he could taste was chemicals and metal. Blood.
That didn’t work. Aurelien was the fighter, not him. Henry was -
In pain. He wheezed again as he tried to get up, falling back to the floor in a coughing fit.
Think, goddamnit!
A jagged shard of tile.The wood was a different colour underneath it. Weird. He’d get up, walk behind Marco and drive it into his neck. Then it would be over.
No, he’d try. Probably fuck up, somehow. Lose grip on it, or Marco would take it and stab him. With the way Aurelien was swinging the mace, might just get accidentally smoked in the melee. Even if he killed Marco then, it would just be Aurelien and -
Jackson!
Henry crawled back to where he thought Jackson was, still not steady enough on his feet to rejoin the fight, which he could still hear raging between the two. Still not sure how he ought to stop it. It wasn’t clear to him how Marco was even still functioning, the shell of a person that he was.
Henry reached the bed, wiping away the wet in his eyes with his sleeve.
Jackson wasn’t there.
That wasn’t how this was going to go. Of course, Henry was not a fighter. That fact became rapidly apparent as Marco made his move. Aurelien was so close, but he saw the look in the boy’s eyes. He wasn’t focused. Wasn’t thinking. Neither had Henry. Marco’s elbow connected with his face and he lost his grip entirely, his vision marred by spots that looked a bit like television static.
The pain didn’t really have time to set in, even after the imperceptible yet significant gap between when he was standing and when he found himself lying on the ground, his arm still twisted in Marco’s grip. Henry’s free hand searched the floor nearby for something, anything he could use to try and beat him away.
He caught nothing but air, and very quickly wished he could’ve somehow held onto it. The kick to his ribs drove the air from his lungs with a sickening wheeze, causing him to spit out blood and the better part of a molar onto the ground. Henry didn’t even have the air in his lungs to make much of a sound when Marco walked over him.
It was like suddenly finding himself in a straight jacket, his own diaphragm seizing up and keeping air from entering his lungs. Calming down was hard, not without some manual way of slowing his heart rate.
And the pain. There it was. Numbness gave way to stinging, burning, unnecessary reminders that he was bleeding from his face and the hole where a tooth used to be. That the hard fall onto the cheap ceramic had left another nasty cut from shards of it. It was barely fastened to the wooden floor below it, slapdash like everything else in this place.
Slowly, his lungs started to draw some air in again. Gas from the fire extinguisher still hung in the room, which did nothing for the ragged and raw feeling in his throat. All he could taste was chemicals and metal. Blood.
That didn’t work. Aurelien was the fighter, not him. Henry was -
In pain. He wheezed again as he tried to get up, falling back to the floor in a coughing fit.
Think, goddamnit!
A jagged shard of tile.The wood was a different colour underneath it. Weird. He’d get up, walk behind Marco and drive it into his neck. Then it would be over.
No, he’d try. Probably fuck up, somehow. Lose grip on it, or Marco would take it and stab him. With the way Aurelien was swinging the mace, might just get accidentally smoked in the melee. Even if he killed Marco then, it would just be Aurelien and -
Jackson!
Henry crawled back to where he thought Jackson was, still not steady enough on his feet to rejoin the fight, which he could still hear raging between the two. Still not sure how he ought to stop it. It wasn’t clear to him how Marco was even still functioning, the shell of a person that he was.
Henry reached the bed, wiping away the wet in his eyes with his sleeve.
Jackson wasn’t there.
Everything seemed to happen so quickly.
Aurelien vanished into the smoke, and Henry soon followed, leaving a distressed Jackson laying on the dirty mattress able to do nothing except listen to his friends’ cries of pain as the fight against Marco commenced. The sounds of the struggle rung in his ears like the banging of a gong, as he desperately tried to position himself in a way that would get him a good look at his allies through the fog and the blinding pain he experienced with every twist and turn of his body. Marco was a maniac, and the horrifically gleeful sounds of his battle cries made Jackson’s body tighten with worry and anger at not being able to join the fray.
Not again. Not another one gone.
Not like Ariana.
He had to move, do something other than lay here and let it all happen around him. He promised himself next time he wouldn’t freeze. Next time he’d force his body to move and stop it before he lost another person. Why? Why was it that all he could do was sit here helplessly while others fought for his life? Why couldn’t he protect one single person he’d met here? Mikki, Bree, Drew, Ariana. He didn’t save any of them. And now, would he be forced to watch as more of his friends fell? As another person’s life was taken before his very eyes?
He was sick of watching people die.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a glint of metal amidst the fog. His eyes widened, and his good hand’s fingers tightened into a fist. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. Everyone else was fighting. Even if it meant tearing his own body apart. Even if it meant breaking himself down to nothing. He wouldn’t let anyone else die, not while he had the chance to protect them. This time he wouldn’t mess up. This time he’d do whatever he had to to make sure nobody else had to die here!
Ariana’s gun was calling to him.
Jackson took a deep breath, collecting his faculties for a moment before launching himself off the mattress with as much force as he could muster. He fell out of the bed with the grace of a bag of bricks, his body flailing to the ground, and the impact setting his mind ablaze with pain radiating from his wounds. Even so, he pushed through and endured it. Rolling himself onto his front, and nearly collapsing to the floor from the pain. It was alright. He could do this. His one arm was useless to him, but he was strong. That was all he had. Using his good arm, he pulled his body forward, biting his lip to the point of drawing blood to block out the agony of his wounded stomach dragging across the tiled floor.
He didn’t care. Even as he felt the makeshift stitch-job Henry did begin to rip apart as he dragged his body closer to the gun, her fought through it. The pain made his vision blur and his eyes almost roll back to put his out of his own misery, but still he powered through it. He felt the warm fluid begin to seep through his shirt again, making a bloody path as he continued to push his body to it’s pain threshold in order to get his hand on the gun. Jackson could handle it. He didn’t care if he bled, if he broke himself to the point of no return. It would all be worth it if he could get there.
Only a few more feet. It was right there in front of him.
He could hear the sounds of the fight still ongoing. His friends’ cries pushing him forward towards his goal. He was so close now. He could almost reach it. He could feel his stomach ripping more and more the further he went, his blood flowing from his body as freely as the tears that ran down his face. As his fingers brushed against the handle of the gun, a guttural cry of both anguish and relief tore itself from his throat. He grasped the gun tightly, and pulled it to him, cradling it against his chest for a second and closing his eyes in a mixture of joy, determination and absolute agony.
Jackson took another deep and shaky breath before forcing himself to his knees, his legs shaking wildly the whole time. He pushed his torso up with his good arm still on the gun, and turned his head to look for the others. The fog had cleared a bit, and he could see a bit better. Aurelien was still fighting Marco. Jackson’s stomach was leaking like a faucet, but he couldn’t give in now. Not just yet. Jackson felt his legs wobble, and knowing he couldn’t hold himself up any longer he collapsed to his side, facing the ongoing melee. He lifted his arm with holding the gun with a shaky arm, trying his best to keep steady as he took aim.
His vision was blurry.
Pain radiated from his entire body.
His breathing was ragged.
But he could do this.
He could save them.
He could end it.
Jackson lifted his head and gritted his teeth as he focused his vision and steadied his arm. Marco was in his sights.
Aurelien vanished into the smoke, and Henry soon followed, leaving a distressed Jackson laying on the dirty mattress able to do nothing except listen to his friends’ cries of pain as the fight against Marco commenced. The sounds of the struggle rung in his ears like the banging of a gong, as he desperately tried to position himself in a way that would get him a good look at his allies through the fog and the blinding pain he experienced with every twist and turn of his body. Marco was a maniac, and the horrifically gleeful sounds of his battle cries made Jackson’s body tighten with worry and anger at not being able to join the fray.
Not again. Not another one gone.
Not like Ariana.
He had to move, do something other than lay here and let it all happen around him. He promised himself next time he wouldn’t freeze. Next time he’d force his body to move and stop it before he lost another person. Why? Why was it that all he could do was sit here helplessly while others fought for his life? Why couldn’t he protect one single person he’d met here? Mikki, Bree, Drew, Ariana. He didn’t save any of them. And now, would he be forced to watch as more of his friends fell? As another person’s life was taken before his very eyes?
He was sick of watching people die.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a glint of metal amidst the fog. His eyes widened, and his good hand’s fingers tightened into a fist. He couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. Everyone else was fighting. Even if it meant tearing his own body apart. Even if it meant breaking himself down to nothing. He wouldn’t let anyone else die, not while he had the chance to protect them. This time he wouldn’t mess up. This time he’d do whatever he had to to make sure nobody else had to die here!
Ariana’s gun was calling to him.
Jackson took a deep breath, collecting his faculties for a moment before launching himself off the mattress with as much force as he could muster. He fell out of the bed with the grace of a bag of bricks, his body flailing to the ground, and the impact setting his mind ablaze with pain radiating from his wounds. Even so, he pushed through and endured it. Rolling himself onto his front, and nearly collapsing to the floor from the pain. It was alright. He could do this. His one arm was useless to him, but he was strong. That was all he had. Using his good arm, he pulled his body forward, biting his lip to the point of drawing blood to block out the agony of his wounded stomach dragging across the tiled floor.
He didn’t care. Even as he felt the makeshift stitch-job Henry did begin to rip apart as he dragged his body closer to the gun, her fought through it. The pain made his vision blur and his eyes almost roll back to put his out of his own misery, but still he powered through it. He felt the warm fluid begin to seep through his shirt again, making a bloody path as he continued to push his body to it’s pain threshold in order to get his hand on the gun. Jackson could handle it. He didn’t care if he bled, if he broke himself to the point of no return. It would all be worth it if he could get there.
Only a few more feet. It was right there in front of him.
He could hear the sounds of the fight still ongoing. His friends’ cries pushing him forward towards his goal. He was so close now. He could almost reach it. He could feel his stomach ripping more and more the further he went, his blood flowing from his body as freely as the tears that ran down his face. As his fingers brushed against the handle of the gun, a guttural cry of both anguish and relief tore itself from his throat. He grasped the gun tightly, and pulled it to him, cradling it against his chest for a second and closing his eyes in a mixture of joy, determination and absolute agony.
Jackson took another deep and shaky breath before forcing himself to his knees, his legs shaking wildly the whole time. He pushed his torso up with his good arm still on the gun, and turned his head to look for the others. The fog had cleared a bit, and he could see a bit better. Aurelien was still fighting Marco. Jackson’s stomach was leaking like a faucet, but he couldn’t give in now. Not just yet. Jackson felt his legs wobble, and knowing he couldn’t hold himself up any longer he collapsed to his side, facing the ongoing melee. He lifted his arm with holding the gun with a shaky arm, trying his best to keep steady as he took aim.
His vision was blurry.
Pain radiated from his entire body.
His breathing was ragged.
But he could do this.
He could save them.
He could end it.
Jackson lifted his head and gritted his teeth as he focused his vision and steadied his arm. Marco was in his sights.
He grinned. Manic, wild, an instinctive reaction to Marco’s suffering as the hits landed. This bullshit would be over soon. This bastard was finally going to quit whether he liked it or not. On some level, a level he hated to admit, he was enjoying himself. Less so from the act of whaling on Marco, but from the bloodrush and the adrenaline surge that he got when he knew was inches away from peril. It was the same reason he’d always wade into confrontations on the soccer pitch, why he’d always get into the face of anybody mouthing off. He had outlets for those urges now, mountain biking and skydiving and anything else that allowed him to free himself of all but his base instincts.
This was his outlet now, the revenge he was dishing out. In this moment, the only thing he wanted was to see Marco’s lifeless body on the floor in front of him.
Aurelien wound up, preparing for what was supposed to be the final blow, leaving himself wide, wide open. His eyes widened, and he shifted, slightly, to the right, before all the wind was cannoned out of him, the sheer force from Marco’s kick flinging him backwards, head smacking against the headrest of the already dilapidated bed.
His vision went black for a moment. As soon as it returned, blurry and clouded with fog, his hand shot to the side of his head, feeling the unmistakable dampness matting into his curly hair. In front of him, Henry was collapsed in a heap. Against all odds, like the fucking Terminator, Marco was still standing. He bled and he was bruised and he looked like hell itself, but he still breathed.
And he still smiled.
He was so fucking proud of himself, feeling so implacable, so unstoppable. One foot on the threshold of death’s door, and he was so goddamn cocksure of himself that he was still able to taunt Aurelien.
He didn’t need to say anything. The fact that he was still standing was enough for Aurelien to peel himself off of the floor and rush at him, swinging the mace wildly, each arc of the weapon carrying Aurelien forwards with its sheer momentum, lashing out with his foot, trying to pin Marco against the wall and slam the heavy metal head into his face. Each time he caught Marco with the mace, and each time Marco’s own punches hit home, and each bruise and crack and spill of blood injected more adrenaline into Aurelien’s veins.
He barged into Marco with his shoulder, shoving him into the wall, and he bore his fangs, grinned, snarled, grabbed the mace with both hands and swung it round, straight into-
The space, a split-second ago, that Marco’s head had been. The space that was now nothing but bare wooden wall, wall that splintered and shattered and engulfed the mace as it crashed into it, shards flying, slicing into Aurelien’s cheek, soaking his bandana in blood.
The space that had now claimed his mace, and refused to let go.
This was his outlet now, the revenge he was dishing out. In this moment, the only thing he wanted was to see Marco’s lifeless body on the floor in front of him.
Aurelien wound up, preparing for what was supposed to be the final blow, leaving himself wide, wide open. His eyes widened, and he shifted, slightly, to the right, before all the wind was cannoned out of him, the sheer force from Marco’s kick flinging him backwards, head smacking against the headrest of the already dilapidated bed.
His vision went black for a moment. As soon as it returned, blurry and clouded with fog, his hand shot to the side of his head, feeling the unmistakable dampness matting into his curly hair. In front of him, Henry was collapsed in a heap. Against all odds, like the fucking Terminator, Marco was still standing. He bled and he was bruised and he looked like hell itself, but he still breathed.
And he still smiled.
He was so fucking proud of himself, feeling so implacable, so unstoppable. One foot on the threshold of death’s door, and he was so goddamn cocksure of himself that he was still able to taunt Aurelien.
He didn’t need to say anything. The fact that he was still standing was enough for Aurelien to peel himself off of the floor and rush at him, swinging the mace wildly, each arc of the weapon carrying Aurelien forwards with its sheer momentum, lashing out with his foot, trying to pin Marco against the wall and slam the heavy metal head into his face. Each time he caught Marco with the mace, and each time Marco’s own punches hit home, and each bruise and crack and spill of blood injected more adrenaline into Aurelien’s veins.
He barged into Marco with his shoulder, shoving him into the wall, and he bore his fangs, grinned, snarled, grabbed the mace with both hands and swung it round, straight into-
The space, a split-second ago, that Marco’s head had been. The space that was now nothing but bare wooden wall, wall that splintered and shattered and engulfed the mace as it crashed into it, shards flying, slicing into Aurelien’s cheek, soaking his bandana in blood.
The space that had now claimed his mace, and refused to let go.
"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
"Awwww." A voice cooed behind Aurelien's ear. "Lose your toy?" Aurelien replied with a backhand to the cheek, sending Marco stumbling back. Marco didn't even get to bring his hands up to his face as he was hit again and again. He was doing way better without the mace, that was for sure. Marco had trouble getting hits off now, Aurelien was just moving too fast to really get a reaction off, and Marco's physical state wasn't helping him much. Marco swung and Aurelien ducked, sending a jab right into the bandages around his abdomen. Marco wretched, as Aurelien sent another fist into his ruined gut, and sent Marco to the wall. One more shot, and Marco expelled a blotched mixture of cherry red and tar black out of his mouth and onto the tile below.
His body was screaming for relief, and his limbs weren't doing what Volker wanted them to do. He was pinned against the wall, eating blow after blow, all of his strength used just to keep him standing, and maybe something else. Definitely something else, it was a miracle how he was still breathing at all. Well, in the end this was what he asked for. Aurelien pushed him up against the wall, wrapping his arms around his throat. Marco's eye locked on to Aurelien's as he tried to choke what remained of his life out of him. Marco's busted lips twisted into a smirk as he felt the grip tightened. He felt his throat vibrate and reverb with what little air went in. He did his best to straighten his legs and look him in the eyes. He prepared to deliver one last parting message.
"T-that's it. J-Just like that..."
The grip loosened. Marco could see it in Aurelien's eyes. Marco grabbed his arm to break himself free, but Aurelien slammed him into the wall, then tossed him to his side, as he turned and went for the mace. Marco rolled on the floor, one hand on his neck, grasping for breath as he looked up to see Aurelien grip the mace, putting his foot on the wall to pry it free. Marco peeled himself off of the ground, sitting on his knees, coughing. He looked up just in time to see Aurelien swing the mace right at his head. Marco fell on his back just in time as the swing curved right over him.
Marco rolled to the side as another swing brought it down right where his head used to be. He kicked behind Aurelien's leg to throw him off balance to buy himself some time. Scrambling to his feet, another swing of the mace went his way, causing Marco to jump back. A vertical swipe smashed into the bed next to Marco, and one more horizontal swipe later, and the dresser Marco slid in front of him as a shield toppled over as the upper half of it splintered into pieces.
Now was the time to strike.
Marco forced himself as close as he could to Aurelien as he swung the mace horizontally once more, Marco raising his arm and taking the hit to his ribs. He winced as he brought his arm down and wrapped it around the mace and Aurelien's arm. It hurt, but he got him where he wanted him now. Marco reached out and grabbed Aurelien by the collar, and yanked him forward, slamming his forehead into his face, as Aurelien's bandanna began to leak blood. He grabbed him by the hair, and pulled his head down, slamming his face into his knee, before putting his boot to his chest and kicking him back, taking his mace from him.
With each hit, he felt just a bit stronger, just a bit more alive, as if he was sapping Aurelien's energy and taking it for his own. Maybe in the end he was, and maybe that's how he's lasted this long?
Marco tossed Aurelien's mace back at him, bouncing it off his jaw as Marco felt a new wave of euphoria and adrenaline overcome his body, as the ice water in his veins heated to molten levels, his body tensing up like a rubber band stretched to his breaking point. He had so much new energy coursing through his veins he thought that he would explode. Marco sprinted to Aurelien as the pent up energy forced it's way out of his body in a guttural inhuman scream. He jumped, and brought his legs up to his chest, landing on Aurelien's shoulders, Marco started right away at clawing and punching, assaulting Aurelien before he even had a chance to fall over and hit the ground.
Marco lost all physical control of his body as he became the wild animal the world saw him as, reverting to his primal instincts as he swung and scratched into Aurelien, his barrage unstoppable. With each swing he could see the bandana around Aurelien's face lose it's color and turn a dark shade of burgundy as blood leaked under and through it. Like a rabid chimpanzee he swung again and again, screaming and yelping all the while as each hit connected with his face, he zoned out as the onslaught continued, each hit connecting with his nose, his lips and his jaws, Marco paying no mind as he destroyed his own hands as much as Aurelien's face.
Aurelien pushed his hand up into Marco's face. Marco paused only for a second as his eye locked onto Aurelien's. Marco couldn't help himself as he brought his arms up to Aurelien's hand, grabbing it with both hands, sliding the fingers of both his hands between his middle and ring finger. With a wet pop he pulled apart, breaking his ring and pinky finger and leaving a split between the middle and ring finger knuckles going a quarter down his hand. He threw his arm to the side before he began to swing onto him again, faster and harder than before.
Over and over he hit him again and again, Marco screamed just loud enough to drown out the sounds of each crunch and crack. This wasn't Aurelien below him anymore. This was the personification of death itself, and maybe, just maybe, Marco could beat death. Maybe this was what he needed to keep going even if just a bit longer. He swung again, and clawed away the blood drenched bandanna.
He took a good look at Aurelien's face and stopped. For just a moment, a piece of humanity long lost returned into Marco, and he even felt disgusted with himself. He made what happened to Jared Leto in Fight Club look like a joke... Goddamn. This wasn't even a fight anymore, this was just, gratuitous. Marco panted as he looked down at his bruised and bloodied face, then brought his own hands up. His own fingers were warped, the flesh of his knuckles worn away. There was no point in drawing it out anymore. This fight was over, and it was time for him to finish this.
Marco brought his hands to Aurelien's neck and started squeezing. Marco's face turned red as his arms strained and veins bulged out. His eye trailed up to Henry. What humanity he felt left him once more as the realization he was still dying set in. He smiled at Henry, wordlessly letting him know that he was next in line once Aurelien breathed his last.
His body was screaming for relief, and his limbs weren't doing what Volker wanted them to do. He was pinned against the wall, eating blow after blow, all of his strength used just to keep him standing, and maybe something else. Definitely something else, it was a miracle how he was still breathing at all. Well, in the end this was what he asked for. Aurelien pushed him up against the wall, wrapping his arms around his throat. Marco's eye locked on to Aurelien's as he tried to choke what remained of his life out of him. Marco's busted lips twisted into a smirk as he felt the grip tightened. He felt his throat vibrate and reverb with what little air went in. He did his best to straighten his legs and look him in the eyes. He prepared to deliver one last parting message.
"T-that's it. J-Just like that..."
The grip loosened. Marco could see it in Aurelien's eyes. Marco grabbed his arm to break himself free, but Aurelien slammed him into the wall, then tossed him to his side, as he turned and went for the mace. Marco rolled on the floor, one hand on his neck, grasping for breath as he looked up to see Aurelien grip the mace, putting his foot on the wall to pry it free. Marco peeled himself off of the ground, sitting on his knees, coughing. He looked up just in time to see Aurelien swing the mace right at his head. Marco fell on his back just in time as the swing curved right over him.
Marco rolled to the side as another swing brought it down right where his head used to be. He kicked behind Aurelien's leg to throw him off balance to buy himself some time. Scrambling to his feet, another swing of the mace went his way, causing Marco to jump back. A vertical swipe smashed into the bed next to Marco, and one more horizontal swipe later, and the dresser Marco slid in front of him as a shield toppled over as the upper half of it splintered into pieces.
Now was the time to strike.
Marco forced himself as close as he could to Aurelien as he swung the mace horizontally once more, Marco raising his arm and taking the hit to his ribs. He winced as he brought his arm down and wrapped it around the mace and Aurelien's arm. It hurt, but he got him where he wanted him now. Marco reached out and grabbed Aurelien by the collar, and yanked him forward, slamming his forehead into his face, as Aurelien's bandanna began to leak blood. He grabbed him by the hair, and pulled his head down, slamming his face into his knee, before putting his boot to his chest and kicking him back, taking his mace from him.
With each hit, he felt just a bit stronger, just a bit more alive, as if he was sapping Aurelien's energy and taking it for his own. Maybe in the end he was, and maybe that's how he's lasted this long?
Marco tossed Aurelien's mace back at him, bouncing it off his jaw as Marco felt a new wave of euphoria and adrenaline overcome his body, as the ice water in his veins heated to molten levels, his body tensing up like a rubber band stretched to his breaking point. He had so much new energy coursing through his veins he thought that he would explode. Marco sprinted to Aurelien as the pent up energy forced it's way out of his body in a guttural inhuman scream. He jumped, and brought his legs up to his chest, landing on Aurelien's shoulders, Marco started right away at clawing and punching, assaulting Aurelien before he even had a chance to fall over and hit the ground.
Marco lost all physical control of his body as he became the wild animal the world saw him as, reverting to his primal instincts as he swung and scratched into Aurelien, his barrage unstoppable. With each swing he could see the bandana around Aurelien's face lose it's color and turn a dark shade of burgundy as blood leaked under and through it. Like a rabid chimpanzee he swung again and again, screaming and yelping all the while as each hit connected with his face, he zoned out as the onslaught continued, each hit connecting with his nose, his lips and his jaws, Marco paying no mind as he destroyed his own hands as much as Aurelien's face.
Aurelien pushed his hand up into Marco's face. Marco paused only for a second as his eye locked onto Aurelien's. Marco couldn't help himself as he brought his arms up to Aurelien's hand, grabbing it with both hands, sliding the fingers of both his hands between his middle and ring finger. With a wet pop he pulled apart, breaking his ring and pinky finger and leaving a split between the middle and ring finger knuckles going a quarter down his hand. He threw his arm to the side before he began to swing onto him again, faster and harder than before.
Over and over he hit him again and again, Marco screamed just loud enough to drown out the sounds of each crunch and crack. This wasn't Aurelien below him anymore. This was the personification of death itself, and maybe, just maybe, Marco could beat death. Maybe this was what he needed to keep going even if just a bit longer. He swung again, and clawed away the blood drenched bandanna.
He took a good look at Aurelien's face and stopped. For just a moment, a piece of humanity long lost returned into Marco, and he even felt disgusted with himself. He made what happened to Jared Leto in Fight Club look like a joke... Goddamn. This wasn't even a fight anymore, this was just, gratuitous. Marco panted as he looked down at his bruised and bloodied face, then brought his own hands up. His own fingers were warped, the flesh of his knuckles worn away. There was no point in drawing it out anymore. This fight was over, and it was time for him to finish this.
Marco brought his hands to Aurelien's neck and started squeezing. Marco's face turned red as his arms strained and veins bulged out. His eye trailed up to Henry. What humanity he felt left him once more as the realization he was still dying set in. He smiled at Henry, wordlessly letting him know that he was next in line once Aurelien breathed his last.
He still didn’t have a clear enough shot.
His arm was holding as steady as it could, But Aurelien was still fighting. He couldn’t shoot without risking hitting him. Jackson’s vision was still fading, and the blood seeping out of his stomach at an alarming rate meant he didn’t have much time left to keep thinking about it. The two brawlers were fighting like beasts. Marco looked like a demon in the foggy infirmary. Bloodied, bruised, beaten to the point where he shouldn’t even be moving. But still he fought. It was terrifying. Someone like him shouldn’t be allowed to leave this place. He’d become nothing more than a rabid animal looking for its next victim.
He needed to be put down. For their sake. For Ariana’s sake. For the sake of everyone left on this island. He was a monster, and monsters needed to be slain. Blood crept up Jackson’s throat and spilled from his lips in a fit of weak coughs. The coppery taste was vile. His body collapsed in on itself and he dropped his arm to the ground, laying face down on the cold tile in grueling pain. No. He had to do this. Even if it took every ounce of power he had left in him he would see this through.
To let it all end like this, he couldn’t bear the thought of it. To let his allies die alongside him… he refused to let that happen! Using his bad arm, he pushed himself up, fighting through the horrible pain that kicked at his brain telling him to stop. He couldn’t Stopping now meant it was over. Meant he failed. Meant that his entire life had brought him here just to be a disappointment. He refused. He refused to die a coward. A weakling. A burden.
He’d always thought his life was so terrible. His family was poor. His father was sickly. His mother was overworked and underappreciated. He felt like he was just a ghost, going through the motions of life because he had no choice. The only thing that gave his life meaning was wrestling. And even then, it wasn’t enough. He wanted so much more. To run away and never look back. To be anyone else. The kind of man who could live the life he envied. The kind who gets the girl. The kind of man who makes people proud. Who could protect the people they loved from all of life’s terrible things.
He always wanted to be like that.
But here, on this island where a person like that was necessary, he learned the truth. He would never be that guy. He was too scared. Too weak. Too indecisive. He’d met so many who were the kind of person he wanted to be. Mikki, Ariana, Henry, Aurelien. They all knew what they wanted and they did everything they could to make it happen. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t even have to think. He wanted that. He wanted that power.
So just this once…
At the very end, he would become everything he wanted to be.
Aurelien was down, Marco over him like the specter of death, choking the life from his body. Jackson lifted his arm, fighting through all the pain and effects of the blood-loss. He only needed one shot. One good shot. He aimed Ariana’s gun at the man who’d cut her life unbearably short. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he stared down the beast trying to take everything he had left away.
He pulled the trigger.
Once, BLAM.
Twice, BLAM.
The gun fell from his hand and he collapsed against the tile floor, his body splashing into the puddle of blood that had formed underneath him. His body convulsed and his vision grew hazy and unclear.
But he smiled.
His arm was holding as steady as it could, But Aurelien was still fighting. He couldn’t shoot without risking hitting him. Jackson’s vision was still fading, and the blood seeping out of his stomach at an alarming rate meant he didn’t have much time left to keep thinking about it. The two brawlers were fighting like beasts. Marco looked like a demon in the foggy infirmary. Bloodied, bruised, beaten to the point where he shouldn’t even be moving. But still he fought. It was terrifying. Someone like him shouldn’t be allowed to leave this place. He’d become nothing more than a rabid animal looking for its next victim.
He needed to be put down. For their sake. For Ariana’s sake. For the sake of everyone left on this island. He was a monster, and monsters needed to be slain. Blood crept up Jackson’s throat and spilled from his lips in a fit of weak coughs. The coppery taste was vile. His body collapsed in on itself and he dropped his arm to the ground, laying face down on the cold tile in grueling pain. No. He had to do this. Even if it took every ounce of power he had left in him he would see this through.
To let it all end like this, he couldn’t bear the thought of it. To let his allies die alongside him… he refused to let that happen! Using his bad arm, he pushed himself up, fighting through the horrible pain that kicked at his brain telling him to stop. He couldn’t Stopping now meant it was over. Meant he failed. Meant that his entire life had brought him here just to be a disappointment. He refused. He refused to die a coward. A weakling. A burden.
He’d always thought his life was so terrible. His family was poor. His father was sickly. His mother was overworked and underappreciated. He felt like he was just a ghost, going through the motions of life because he had no choice. The only thing that gave his life meaning was wrestling. And even then, it wasn’t enough. He wanted so much more. To run away and never look back. To be anyone else. The kind of man who could live the life he envied. The kind who gets the girl. The kind of man who makes people proud. Who could protect the people they loved from all of life’s terrible things.
He always wanted to be like that.
But here, on this island where a person like that was necessary, he learned the truth. He would never be that guy. He was too scared. Too weak. Too indecisive. He’d met so many who were the kind of person he wanted to be. Mikki, Ariana, Henry, Aurelien. They all knew what they wanted and they did everything they could to make it happen. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t even have to think. He wanted that. He wanted that power.
So just this once…
At the very end, he would become everything he wanted to be.
Aurelien was down, Marco over him like the specter of death, choking the life from his body. Jackson lifted his arm, fighting through all the pain and effects of the blood-loss. He only needed one shot. One good shot. He aimed Ariana’s gun at the man who’d cut her life unbearably short. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he stared down the beast trying to take everything he had left away.
He pulled the trigger.
Once, BLAM.
Twice, BLAM.
The gun fell from his hand and he collapsed against the tile floor, his body splashing into the puddle of blood that had formed underneath him. His body convulsed and his vision grew hazy and unclear.
But he smiled.