((G003 - Xu, Hui "Sarah" START))
Sarah ran off the train, out onto the platform and back into the train again a few carriages up. She was heading for the cargo hold. In it, was something she needed. She couldn't remember what, or why, and the fact the train was so wide back here, at least twice as much as it was earlier, didn't cross her mind. It was more like a miniature hangar than a caboose, really, and the doors were open on either side as the city streamed past. The heat from the sun stroked her face as she looked out one of the windows at the tracks shifting past. Until suddenly all went dark, and she realised it was morning.
She reached out for her alarm clock, turned it off and then reached for her glasses. She reconsidered her search when all her hand found were the pencils on her side table. She rolled over... She felt like she'd had the worst night, and burying her head in her pillow seemed like a really nice idea. But instead of the soft downy comfort of her favourite pillow she found herself getting a face full of sand. She pushed herself up suddenly, looking down at where her bed was meant to be, looking confusedly from shell to shell before calming down and sitting in a more comfortable position.
She hadn't woken up yet.
She pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose from where they'd been slipping down during her altercation with the ground. She took a slow sweeping look at the scenery, trying to get the panorama into her memory for when she woke up.
At least this was a nice dream. Dawn was breaking, something she'd sadly missed out on quite a few times that year, that beautiful mix of marine blues, aquas, pinks, reds and golds. The tree line behind her caught the first rays as the sun slowly rose on the horizon, far, far out across the ocean. The waves thumped softly against the beach as she sat watching the red dawn. A peaceful smile formed on her face as she realised how typical it was of her subconscious to dream up a pun like that, and just as quickly realised that she didn't care. She was far too busy taking it in. She rarely had dreams that vivid.
And the best part was, she knew it was a dream. And if she knew it was a dream then it was a lucid dream. That rare commodity which let her do whatever the hell she liked for a little while. This in mind, she got to her feet, stood there for a second, slowly held her arms out a little to each side and jumped backwards, no intention of hitting the sand below. Floating was always such fun and she never got to do it in real life, try as she had a few years ba"ACK!"
She hadn't expected to hit the ground, and although her total lack of effort to prevent her fall meant she hadn't strained anything the dull pain across her back and head wasn't exactly pleasurable.
She sat up, a bit more awake now. Obviously it wasn't that kind of dream. It was the "ovely realistic and you will obey the laws of physics" kind. At least that meant it was a bit more cohesive than usual.
Sighing, she looked down at her clothes. It seemed there were splodgey patches of red added to the usual bits of paint that seemed to accumulate on her cargo pants. Paint which was admittedly usually red as well. She focused on this for a little while. Her subconscious knew exactly what it was but seemed to be holding the truth back from her a little while longer, just for 5 seconds more peace.
5 seconds was up.
She was awake, this was real and everything was fucked up. She started hyperventilating as she looked at the bloodstains, burying her head in her hands. They were Mrs Bishop's, her English teacher's. Sarah had been close to the stage when she'd woken up in that hall, had been practically under the gunfire when her teachers had tried to stop it, and all she could see in her mind was their faces, their bodies, the violence, the blood.
She'd seen it all before, sure, on video. Civilians, protesters, journalists being killed on camera. Every time she'd seen something like that she'd wanted to help, to be there, to stop it, but such things were always in the past, beyond her control. But she'd never seen human blood, not like that. She'd never felt so useless, so vulnerable as she had then. Her whole body shook as the adrenalin came and went and she sobbed for the next twenty minutes without being able to think of anything besides the teachers she missed, the unfairness of their murder, and the fact she'd been barely meters and seconds away from death.
.
.
.
Eventually the crying slowed, then stopped. Though she kept her head buried for a while longer, it was buried with the intention of definitely doing something once it wasn't buried anymore. She was going to stop crying and figure out what she was going to do. Her mind wasn't blazing with vengeance or vast plans or anything, but she knew she had to do something other than sit around crying all morning. She at least owed her teachers not to fall into that habit again.
She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, which thankfully wasn't covered in grit like her palms were. She wiped them on her pants to correct that too. So far so good. Next on the agenda was getting her favourite jacket which was... somewhere around there. She looked around before spotting her bag behind her, along with the duffel she'd been assigned, but that could wait, preventing one of the reasons for her shivering was first priority.
She'd brought her father's backpack on the trip, and was more than a little thankfull for it. it was large, khaki and had far more pockets than was strictly necessary. On top she found her jacket, shoved in more roughly than she remembered, below that was her sketchbook which... wasn't quite where she normally put it and... Oh. of course they'd been going through her stuff. Fucking perfect.
She quickly dug through the rest of her belongings. Books and everything were still there, pens, pencils, all safe and sound... someone's hands had been through all of her clothes, they'd probably looked through her sketchbook... she felt like her personal space had been violated. Again. She'd have thought about how it paled in comparison to... earlier... but she really wanted to avoid thinking about that again for the moment lest she break down a second time. Anger was better, anger was good. Anger was what she was trying but only partly managing to hold onto.
"Rrgh!" She was shivering again now, but before she put the jacket back on she fished a shirt and a second set of pants out of the bag... and put them back in again. On second thoughts she figured it'd be a better idea to wash before getting out of the... dirty... clothing. She pulled the jacket over her shoulders and shuffled over to the duffle bag.
She hadn't noticed what it'd been sitting on.
"Oh come on."
A full sized riot shield had been placed under the duffle bag. Apparently someone had a sick sense of irony. Giving the activist a riot shield. Ha Ha. She ignored the sleight and opened up the bag, she was too busy rifling through the contents to notice anyone approaching.
False Awakening
because psyche terms are kind of scientific
False Awakening
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Little Boy†
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((B139 - Orn "Dutchy" Ayers Start))
Dutchy had quite possibly, the worst headache he'd ever had in his entire life. He clamped his eyes shut, and mumbled to himself. Noises.. noises were distant. He was at home, another bright day in St. Paul... why was it so bright?
Mom.... No, 5 more minutes... Come'on, the bus will wait for me... jus' give me five more minutes...
Dutchy yawned and rolled over, reaching up trying to pull his blanket back over his head.
I just want 5 more minutes... turn off the hairdryer Mom... Mom, take it away, it's bugging me... it sounds just... 5 more minutes, look, I can run, no biggie... I'm just... so tired for some reason... So itchy, why's my face so itc..
That's... that's not a... dry...
Dutchy opened his eyes.
"Oh no... Oh no, no no..." Dutchy breathed as he struggled to sit up. Sand stuck to the side of his face, and his long blonde hair was tangled. The breeze was cool, and it made Dutchy shiver. He blinked rapidly, trying to think.
What... the camping trip... There are no beaches in the forest... That's just silly, why'd I fall asleep on the beach? Am I dreaming? Is this like, the X-Men's danger room, and it's really just a projection of... am I being punk'd? Wasn't that show cancelled? Maybe Hayley got some of her friends and dumped me here an' are taping my reac..
Dutchy paused midthought and a high pitched squeel escaped his mouth.
"My hat! Where's my hat!?" He yelled out as he reached about him. "What's going on!?! Ég veit ekki! Ég veit ekki!"
Dutchy spun around in the sand and breathed a sigh of relief. His hat lay with a strange bag a few feet away from him.
Where's MY bag? My bag is blue and has Ajax on the fro... what the heck?!
Dutchy's mouth opened, and he let out a gasp of shock.
Is that a Harpoon!? Holy crap it's a harpoon! I've got a Harpoon!
Dutchy grinned and jumped forward, scooping up his hat and the harpoon, ignoring the strange bag titled B139 for now. He let out a triumphent laugh and put his prized orange KNVB hat on his head and waving the harpoon around.
"Yarr! The white whale! White whale! Thar she blows n' junk! Cap'n Ishmal! Guy with the peg leg, go shoot yer' flintlock!" He shouted at the roaring surf.
Is this a dream? What a trippy dream! Why am I on a beach?
Dutchy looked about, the beach wasn't particularly long but down near the end... yes! There looked to be someone there. Sticking the Harpoon in the sand, Dutchy turned around and retrieved the strange bag.
"B139? That's o..." Dutchy paused for a second, hunched over looking down at the bag. Something was niggling at the edge of his mind, just out of grasp... a memory, not too long ago.. A class, something hot and wet on his face, tears... a collar? Dutchy reached up towards his neck and sure enough, a thing metal object was around it, like a choker.
That's... kinda creepy... Why does it seem so creepy? Did I forget something?
Dutchy suddenly felt very, very afraid. He wanted, no, needed someone to talk to. Looking down the beach, he saw the figure appeared to be getting up. He heaved the bag over his shoulder, grabbed his Harpoon and took off down the beach.
"Hello!" He yelled out as he grew closer to the figure, female he could tell now, and... familiar. "Ég er týnd! I'm lost! Do you know what's going on? Hey!"
Dutchy had quite possibly, the worst headache he'd ever had in his entire life. He clamped his eyes shut, and mumbled to himself. Noises.. noises were distant. He was at home, another bright day in St. Paul... why was it so bright?
Mom.... No, 5 more minutes... Come'on, the bus will wait for me... jus' give me five more minutes...
Dutchy yawned and rolled over, reaching up trying to pull his blanket back over his head.
I just want 5 more minutes... turn off the hairdryer Mom... Mom, take it away, it's bugging me... it sounds just... 5 more minutes, look, I can run, no biggie... I'm just... so tired for some reason... So itchy, why's my face so itc..
That's... that's not a... dry...
Dutchy opened his eyes.
"Oh no... Oh no, no no..." Dutchy breathed as he struggled to sit up. Sand stuck to the side of his face, and his long blonde hair was tangled. The breeze was cool, and it made Dutchy shiver. He blinked rapidly, trying to think.
What... the camping trip... There are no beaches in the forest... That's just silly, why'd I fall asleep on the beach? Am I dreaming? Is this like, the X-Men's danger room, and it's really just a projection of... am I being punk'd? Wasn't that show cancelled? Maybe Hayley got some of her friends and dumped me here an' are taping my reac..
Dutchy paused midthought and a high pitched squeel escaped his mouth.
"My hat! Where's my hat!?" He yelled out as he reached about him. "What's going on!?! Ég veit ekki! Ég veit ekki!"
Dutchy spun around in the sand and breathed a sigh of relief. His hat lay with a strange bag a few feet away from him.
Where's MY bag? My bag is blue and has Ajax on the fro... what the heck?!
Dutchy's mouth opened, and he let out a gasp of shock.
Is that a Harpoon!? Holy crap it's a harpoon! I've got a Harpoon!
Dutchy grinned and jumped forward, scooping up his hat and the harpoon, ignoring the strange bag titled B139 for now. He let out a triumphent laugh and put his prized orange KNVB hat on his head and waving the harpoon around.
"Yarr! The white whale! White whale! Thar she blows n' junk! Cap'n Ishmal! Guy with the peg leg, go shoot yer' flintlock!" He shouted at the roaring surf.
Is this a dream? What a trippy dream! Why am I on a beach?
Dutchy looked about, the beach wasn't particularly long but down near the end... yes! There looked to be someone there. Sticking the Harpoon in the sand, Dutchy turned around and retrieved the strange bag.
"B139? That's o..." Dutchy paused for a second, hunched over looking down at the bag. Something was niggling at the edge of his mind, just out of grasp... a memory, not too long ago.. A class, something hot and wet on his face, tears... a collar? Dutchy reached up towards his neck and sure enough, a thing metal object was around it, like a choker.
That's... kinda creepy... Why does it seem so creepy? Did I forget something?
Dutchy suddenly felt very, very afraid. He wanted, no, needed someone to talk to. Looking down the beach, he saw the figure appeared to be getting up. He heaved the bag over his shoulder, grabbed his Harpoon and took off down the beach.
"Hello!" He yelled out as he grew closer to the figure, female he could tell now, and... familiar. "Ég er týnd! I'm lost! Do you know what's going on? Hey!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Little Boy. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
"And the winner of Survivor: India is ... Jason!"
Jason Clarke screamed in joy as his name was called out as the sole Survivor. The British Bombshell had come out on top. Tears of happiness started to escape his eyes as he hugged the runner-up - a comely model for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. As they ran off the stage, they locked the door as they reached a bathroom, and as they reached a stall, their lips touched, and Jason tasted ... dirt.
Jason opened his eyes as he came to from his dream. He turned onto his left side, looking dumbly at the shore as the night started to re-enter his head: waking up tied to the chair, seeing that video of that girl get murdered, and being told he was to kill his classmates. His hand reflexively went to his neck, feeling the thin metal band around his neck.
"Shit." He sat up, looking around. On his left side was the bag he had packed for the trip. On he right was a regulation duffel bag with the words "MALE STUDENT #16 - JASON CLARKE" embroidered on it. He immediately unzipped the regulation bag, feeling around through the food, water, the map, and the handle.
Did they give me something good? He had fully realized his predicament, that he was essentially on Survivor-to-the death. He was just hoping he would be able to defend himself with his ...
Paper fan. He unfurled it, looking at it dumbly again.
Of all the things they could have given me, they gave me this? What am I supposed to do with it, give someone hypothermia with this?
He stood up, zipping his bag back up and slinging it around his shoulder, and opening up his backpack, feeling around for the metal, and ...
Yes.
He pulled out the one small comfort he had. One of a 12-pack of Keystone Light beer that he had brought along for the football team. He opened the can and took a swig. He knew he couldn't drink the entire thing: playing drunk was a bad idea, but it would be a good idea to offer up as an olive branch. He looked around, noticing the guy approaching the girl ahead of him. As he zipped up his bag and scratched his hairy back, one thought went through his head.
I have to get out of here. However, he took a deep breath, walked carefully towards them, hands up, beer in his right, fan in his left. and called out:
"OI! Are you two okay?"
Jason Clarke screamed in joy as his name was called out as the sole Survivor. The British Bombshell had come out on top. Tears of happiness started to escape his eyes as he hugged the runner-up - a comely model for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. As they ran off the stage, they locked the door as they reached a bathroom, and as they reached a stall, their lips touched, and Jason tasted ... dirt.
Jason opened his eyes as he came to from his dream. He turned onto his left side, looking dumbly at the shore as the night started to re-enter his head: waking up tied to the chair, seeing that video of that girl get murdered, and being told he was to kill his classmates. His hand reflexively went to his neck, feeling the thin metal band around his neck.
"Shit." He sat up, looking around. On his left side was the bag he had packed for the trip. On he right was a regulation duffel bag with the words "MALE STUDENT #16 - JASON CLARKE" embroidered on it. He immediately unzipped the regulation bag, feeling around through the food, water, the map, and the handle.
Did they give me something good? He had fully realized his predicament, that he was essentially on Survivor-to-the death. He was just hoping he would be able to defend himself with his ...
Paper fan. He unfurled it, looking at it dumbly again.
Of all the things they could have given me, they gave me this? What am I supposed to do with it, give someone hypothermia with this?
He stood up, zipping his bag back up and slinging it around his shoulder, and opening up his backpack, feeling around for the metal, and ...
Yes.
He pulled out the one small comfort he had. One of a 12-pack of Keystone Light beer that he had brought along for the football team. He opened the can and took a swig. He knew he couldn't drink the entire thing: playing drunk was a bad idea, but it would be a good idea to offer up as an olive branch. He looked around, noticing the guy approaching the girl ahead of him. As he zipped up his bag and scratched his hairy back, one thought went through his head.
I have to get out of here. However, he took a deep breath, walked carefully towards them, hands up, beer in his right, fan in his left. and called out:
"OI! Are you two okay?"
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Sarah dropped the 'survival' guide back into the duffel bag after speed reading what little text there was. She'd have to go back to it and try to memorise the rules, but that could wait a minute. She finally took a look at the number on the bag. G003. Three. Drei. Sān. Shēng. Birth. It was a shame she wasn't superstitious or she would've been very glad she hadn't been one unit higher.
Okay, she had to admit, she still appreciated the omen.
Other than the book, there was a spare flashlight, food, water, compass, map, the map was important, she was going to have to remember that too; more bread... and a police training manual she didn't particularly appreciate. Most importantly, and distracting herself from yet another... insult... was the medical kit, which she opened up with glee. The closest to glee she could manage with red eyes and covered in... covered in.. covered. Anyhow.
What it amounted to was a weak little smile. She'd been meaning to put one of these together for a while. She easily pulled the zipper around and took note of all the bits and pieces inside. Scissors, gauze, bandages, bandaids... "Hello!"
A voice had slipped edgewise into her awareness and now proceeded to dig itself in. She didn't really mind. It was familiar. Cheerful. Less cheerful than she remembered.
"I'm lost! Do you know what's going on? Hey!"
She might not have looked it, bloodshot and blood drenched, but she was really glad to see the boy. She didn't feel like she could shout just then so she just smiled softly as he approached.
"Hey Dutchy." She hadn't meant to sound quietly devastated. She'd been hoping for calm, relaxed, something appropriate to greet her activist group comrade with.
"OI! Are you two okay?" A british voice broke in before she could think of what to say next. She just looked in the direction of its source, taking in the sight of the strange, moustachioed, beer and fan wielding apparition making his way towards them. It was hard not to recognise Jason even in her state. He wasn't exactly the first person she wanted to see but she was willing to see how he was, if not to jump up and down in welcome.
Okay, she had to admit, she still appreciated the omen.
Other than the book, there was a spare flashlight, food, water, compass, map, the map was important, she was going to have to remember that too; more bread... and a police training manual she didn't particularly appreciate. Most importantly, and distracting herself from yet another... insult... was the medical kit, which she opened up with glee. The closest to glee she could manage with red eyes and covered in... covered in.. covered. Anyhow.
What it amounted to was a weak little smile. She'd been meaning to put one of these together for a while. She easily pulled the zipper around and took note of all the bits and pieces inside. Scissors, gauze, bandages, bandaids... "Hello!"
A voice had slipped edgewise into her awareness and now proceeded to dig itself in. She didn't really mind. It was familiar. Cheerful. Less cheerful than she remembered.
"I'm lost! Do you know what's going on? Hey!"
She might not have looked it, bloodshot and blood drenched, but she was really glad to see the boy. She didn't feel like she could shout just then so she just smiled softly as he approached.
"Hey Dutchy." She hadn't meant to sound quietly devastated. She'd been hoping for calm, relaxed, something appropriate to greet her activist group comrade with.
"OI! Are you two okay?" A british voice broke in before she could think of what to say next. She just looked in the direction of its source, taking in the sight of the strange, moustachioed, beer and fan wielding apparition making his way towards them. It was hard not to recognise Jason even in her state. He wasn't exactly the first person she wanted to see but she was willing to see how he was, if not to jump up and down in welcome.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Gwbiiii.
((Roland Hayes START))
As Sarah, Dutchy, and Jason were getting their bearings, familiarizing themselves with their situation, and meeting up, Roland was sitting on the beach, legs folded, sitting almost completely motionless. His daypack sat by his right side, his goddamn fucking tennis racket by his left, and the ocean in front of him, lapping quietly and making the soothing, natural sounds that were put on those stupid fucking CDs that people buy and listen to while sacked out on their couches because they're too fucking lazy to go to a real beach.
But it didn't soothe Roland! Roland wasn't even paying attention to the goddamn beach or his goddamn daypack or the goddamn people on the horizon. No, Roland was captivated and stupified by the blood splatter on his left shoe. It wasn't a yellow shoe, wasn't a smiley face shoe, but it had about the same effect.
She died, and he did nothing.
He couldn't do anything. He was so packed to bursting with anger and hatred that if it overcame his fear even slightly he would explode, ceasing to exist, maybe even taking a few innocents with him. Just like on the beach, he was concentrating so much on his thousand-yard stare that he didn't look at anyone. Sarah Xu was sitting three seats away from him in the front fucking row and he never fucking noticed. He didn't know where the fuck Lily was; he couldn't bear to see her face. The poor girl was probably crying her eyes out, then and now, and if he saw that he would fucking snap. He didn't even pay attention to the damn briefing, because he'd seen this shit before. He knew how it worked. He'd just pick up version-specific shit from the shit in his daypack if he needed to.
The knockout gas did nothing to diminish his state of mind. Sure, his fear was gone, since nothing he could do was important enough for those assholes to blow his collar, but he didn't need to explode just yet. His rage was merely building anew.
He opened his mouth. His vocal cords were choked up, and he couldn't speak above a whisper. "She just had a baby," he stammered, eyes wide open and unblinking, as if the bloodstain would consume him the instant he took his eyes off it.
An expression finally lit up his face, the corners of his mouth jerking up as a chuckle slipped past his lips. "Made my essay on Naked Lunch, y'know. Didn't think she'd be into it that much. We had a... we had a good conversation." He talked in a higher pitch, tinged with the kind of crazy that people get when they can't believe where the fuck their life just took them.
"Always voted Democrat. She knew her stuff! She loooved talking to me about that shit." He laughed nervously for a few seconds, stopping because his voice cracked. "I hope she likes her memorial. Hope we all like our memorials. Not that it matters. Won't fucking help us in any goddamn way!"
Now he acknowledged the tennis racket; his hand gripped its handle so hard that his skin was bound to turn white eventually. His breathing quickened, his jaw clenched, and he leaned forward to get up from his seat. "None of you chucklefucks ever did anything about this. Not one. It was too hard for you. You wanted the comforting lie, you wanted to keep to yourselves, you wanted things easy. Well, you got it."
On his feet now, he started pacing on the beach, waving his racket back and forth. "You know what? When those planes slammed into the World Trade Center, you all noticed. You all flipped your shit. You were hungry for blood, ready to make damn well sure it never happened again! And it didn't! Because instead of one huge attention-gathering massacre, we now have four huge, publicized, televised ABDUCTIONS OF HUNDREDS OF HUMAN BEINGS!"
His vocal chords were working now! Anyone with ears could hear what that the collars picked up, especially with a voice raised like Roland's! "Where's your fucking outrage, people? Where are the fucking protests and the fucking riots and the fucking manhuntss? Are you just that fucking desperate to think that it's not real? You've seen Auschwitz! You've seen Darfur! You've seen Khmer Rouge and Rwanda and Yugoslavia AND YOU WON'T FUCKING SEE THIS FOR WHAT IT IS!"
Roland turned around and flung the racket a good fifty feet, where half of the head buried itself in the sand. By now Roland was so angry he couldn't make coherent sentences. "HIGH SCHOOL! KIDNAPPING! TV! FOUR FUCKING TIMES!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
That last scream was fueled by all the air in Roland's lungs and the maximum volume his voice would allow. He could feel his throat strain from the effort, but he didn't care anymore. He collapsed onto his knees and let the scream give way to uncontrollable sobbing. Tears and snot ran down his face, making him cover himself up with the sleeves of his hoodie. Everyone on the beach could hear him, and when they investigated, they'd find him supine on the beach, still weeping.
As Sarah, Dutchy, and Jason were getting their bearings, familiarizing themselves with their situation, and meeting up, Roland was sitting on the beach, legs folded, sitting almost completely motionless. His daypack sat by his right side, his goddamn fucking tennis racket by his left, and the ocean in front of him, lapping quietly and making the soothing, natural sounds that were put on those stupid fucking CDs that people buy and listen to while sacked out on their couches because they're too fucking lazy to go to a real beach.
But it didn't soothe Roland! Roland wasn't even paying attention to the goddamn beach or his goddamn daypack or the goddamn people on the horizon. No, Roland was captivated and stupified by the blood splatter on his left shoe. It wasn't a yellow shoe, wasn't a smiley face shoe, but it had about the same effect.
She died, and he did nothing.
He couldn't do anything. He was so packed to bursting with anger and hatred that if it overcame his fear even slightly he would explode, ceasing to exist, maybe even taking a few innocents with him. Just like on the beach, he was concentrating so much on his thousand-yard stare that he didn't look at anyone. Sarah Xu was sitting three seats away from him in the front fucking row and he never fucking noticed. He didn't know where the fuck Lily was; he couldn't bear to see her face. The poor girl was probably crying her eyes out, then and now, and if he saw that he would fucking snap. He didn't even pay attention to the damn briefing, because he'd seen this shit before. He knew how it worked. He'd just pick up version-specific shit from the shit in his daypack if he needed to.
The knockout gas did nothing to diminish his state of mind. Sure, his fear was gone, since nothing he could do was important enough for those assholes to blow his collar, but he didn't need to explode just yet. His rage was merely building anew.
He opened his mouth. His vocal cords were choked up, and he couldn't speak above a whisper. "She just had a baby," he stammered, eyes wide open and unblinking, as if the bloodstain would consume him the instant he took his eyes off it.
An expression finally lit up his face, the corners of his mouth jerking up as a chuckle slipped past his lips. "Made my essay on Naked Lunch, y'know. Didn't think she'd be into it that much. We had a... we had a good conversation." He talked in a higher pitch, tinged with the kind of crazy that people get when they can't believe where the fuck their life just took them.
"Always voted Democrat. She knew her stuff! She loooved talking to me about that shit." He laughed nervously for a few seconds, stopping because his voice cracked. "I hope she likes her memorial. Hope we all like our memorials. Not that it matters. Won't fucking help us in any goddamn way!"
Now he acknowledged the tennis racket; his hand gripped its handle so hard that his skin was bound to turn white eventually. His breathing quickened, his jaw clenched, and he leaned forward to get up from his seat. "None of you chucklefucks ever did anything about this. Not one. It was too hard for you. You wanted the comforting lie, you wanted to keep to yourselves, you wanted things easy. Well, you got it."
On his feet now, he started pacing on the beach, waving his racket back and forth. "You know what? When those planes slammed into the World Trade Center, you all noticed. You all flipped your shit. You were hungry for blood, ready to make damn well sure it never happened again! And it didn't! Because instead of one huge attention-gathering massacre, we now have four huge, publicized, televised ABDUCTIONS OF HUNDREDS OF HUMAN BEINGS!"
His vocal chords were working now! Anyone with ears could hear what that the collars picked up, especially with a voice raised like Roland's! "Where's your fucking outrage, people? Where are the fucking protests and the fucking riots and the fucking manhuntss? Are you just that fucking desperate to think that it's not real? You've seen Auschwitz! You've seen Darfur! You've seen Khmer Rouge and Rwanda and Yugoslavia AND YOU WON'T FUCKING SEE THIS FOR WHAT IT IS!"
Roland turned around and flung the racket a good fifty feet, where half of the head buried itself in the sand. By now Roland was so angry he couldn't make coherent sentences. "HIGH SCHOOL! KIDNAPPING! TV! FOUR FUCKING TIMES!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
That last scream was fueled by all the air in Roland's lungs and the maximum volume his voice would allow. He could feel his throat strain from the effort, but he didn't care anymore. He collapsed onto his knees and let the scream give way to uncontrollable sobbing. Tears and snot ran down his face, making him cover himself up with the sleeves of his hoodie. Everyone on the beach could hear him, and when they investigated, they'd find him supine on the beach, still weeping.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Harpoons make terrible walking sticks...
As Dutchy approached the lone figure on the beach, he grew increasingly agitated with each stride. Something... something didn't feel right. Dutchy began to feel it was as if he'd forgotten something important, like he'd gone out to the beach and left the stove on. It was stuck in the corner of his mind... he'd glimpse the thought for a second, before it would rush away. It had begun to make him feel uneasy to put it lightly. He knew that whatever it was, whatever was going on, it was incredibly important. But he just couldn't seem to grasp it.
Dang it, this is getting annoying. Like when I get a techno song stuck in my head, but I don't know the words because there ARE no words, so I can't just type into Google, "It's the song that goes bloopy bloop blee bloop" because y'know, I'd get really weird resp... is... is that?
Dutchy squinted as he approached the figure. It couldn't be. Then the realization struck him. His face split into a wide smile and he began to jog over.
Holy crap, Sarah! What's she doing in my dream?
Dutchy shouted out a greeting as he bounded closer towards the girl.
This is getting odder by the second. Of all the people to wake up with on a beach, Sarah Xu-Xu? Looks like I'm lucky, if anyone knows what the heck is up, she will.
Sarah greeted Dutchy as he grew closer, slightly less cheerful then he'd expected. Dutchy frowned as he grew closer. There was something odd about Sarah, she'd gotten something on her shirt... The important thing, Dutchy kept thinking about the important thing, whatever it was. Why couldn't he remember? For a split second, Dutchy heard a loud popping noise in the back of his mind, a quick POP POP POP and his heart began to beat fast.
"Hey Sarah, fancy meeting you here! Whatsa' matter? You sound a little down..." Dutchy said, growing more nervous as he talked.
This isn't right. Something is definitely up. How'd I get on a beach? I'm forgetting something. Something really... really bad.
Dutchy's eyes shot wide open as he grew nearer to Sarah. The gears finally clicked in his mind and he dropped his harpoon in horror, his mouth fell open a gap. He clutched his arms close to his chest, his heart beat fast.
"Holy crap, SARAH! YOU. Y-you, you're, blood! You've got red on you! All over you! An... an... that choker thing I have!" He yelled in horror.
For the first time up close, Dutchy saw that the collar wasn't just an accessory of some kind. It seemed incredibly high-tech, like something out of his comic books. A red light on it blinked steadily, every few seconds. Dutchy slipped backwards, he could feel his face draining of color.
What's so important!? What do I keep...W-why, blood!?! Crap, she's hurt, who'd hurt Sarah!?
Before he could so much as speak another word however, a friendly voice yelled down at the pair. Dutchy jerked his head upwards to see another boy from his school, Jason Clarke, heading towards them on the beach.
"Welc...to Surviva..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH"
A scream erupted from down the beach and Dutchy looked over, eyes wide with fright. He fell backwards onto the sandy ground. Someone was sitting down the beach... someone... someone... he knew?
ROLAND?
"Sarah..." Dutchy spoke slowly. "Sarah, guys. GUYS. What's going on exactly...?"
This had better be a dream. This had BETTER BE A DREAM.
As Dutchy approached the lone figure on the beach, he grew increasingly agitated with each stride. Something... something didn't feel right. Dutchy began to feel it was as if he'd forgotten something important, like he'd gone out to the beach and left the stove on. It was stuck in the corner of his mind... he'd glimpse the thought for a second, before it would rush away. It had begun to make him feel uneasy to put it lightly. He knew that whatever it was, whatever was going on, it was incredibly important. But he just couldn't seem to grasp it.
Dang it, this is getting annoying. Like when I get a techno song stuck in my head, but I don't know the words because there ARE no words, so I can't just type into Google, "It's the song that goes bloopy bloop blee bloop" because y'know, I'd get really weird resp... is... is that?
Dutchy squinted as he approached the figure. It couldn't be. Then the realization struck him. His face split into a wide smile and he began to jog over.
Holy crap, Sarah! What's she doing in my dream?
Dutchy shouted out a greeting as he bounded closer towards the girl.
This is getting odder by the second. Of all the people to wake up with on a beach, Sarah Xu-Xu? Looks like I'm lucky, if anyone knows what the heck is up, she will.
Sarah greeted Dutchy as he grew closer, slightly less cheerful then he'd expected. Dutchy frowned as he grew closer. There was something odd about Sarah, she'd gotten something on her shirt... The important thing, Dutchy kept thinking about the important thing, whatever it was. Why couldn't he remember? For a split second, Dutchy heard a loud popping noise in the back of his mind, a quick POP POP POP and his heart began to beat fast.
"Hey Sarah, fancy meeting you here! Whatsa' matter? You sound a little down..." Dutchy said, growing more nervous as he talked.
This isn't right. Something is definitely up. How'd I get on a beach? I'm forgetting something. Something really... really bad.
Dutchy's eyes shot wide open as he grew nearer to Sarah. The gears finally clicked in his mind and he dropped his harpoon in horror, his mouth fell open a gap. He clutched his arms close to his chest, his heart beat fast.
"Holy crap, SARAH! YOU. Y-you, you're, blood! You've got red on you! All over you! An... an... that choker thing I have!" He yelled in horror.
For the first time up close, Dutchy saw that the collar wasn't just an accessory of some kind. It seemed incredibly high-tech, like something out of his comic books. A red light on it blinked steadily, every few seconds. Dutchy slipped backwards, he could feel his face draining of color.
What's so important!? What do I keep...W-why, blood!?! Crap, she's hurt, who'd hurt Sarah!?
Before he could so much as speak another word however, a friendly voice yelled down at the pair. Dutchy jerked his head upwards to see another boy from his school, Jason Clarke, heading towards them on the beach.
"Welc...to Surviva..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH"
A scream erupted from down the beach and Dutchy looked over, eyes wide with fright. He fell backwards onto the sandy ground. Someone was sitting down the beach... someone... someone... he knew?
ROLAND?
"Sarah..." Dutchy spoke slowly. "Sarah, guys. GUYS. What's going on exactly...?"
This had better be a dream. This had BETTER BE A DREAM.
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Jason saw the two figures look towards him as he walked towards them. The girl he recognized straight away. Sarah Xu. Always involved in that political activism. Jason had always thought that activity a little daft, but hey, she wasn't throwing Molotovs at anybody, so he was okay with it. The blond guy, he'd seen around, but couldn't quite place him. As Jason got closer to the two, he noticed that Sarah's clothes were splattered with blood, although physically, she seemed fine.
Mrs. Bishop. She'd tried to escape and gotten blown away. Sarah must have been close. He looked over at the blond guy, whom he was starting to recognize. Dutchy, everyone called him. The Scandinavian guy whose nose was always bandaged. He was about to open his mouth when he heard a guy screaming.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
He turned towards the voice for a second, shocked. Was someone scared? Hurt? Or just pissed off?
"Sarah ... Sarah, guys. GUYS. What's going on exactly...?" Dutchy asked, still dumbfounded.
Jason had figured out the situation pretty quickly (he had realized everything within about, what? Three minutes tops?). He hated it, but he couldn't deny it. He lowered his hands and took a deep breath.
"Dutchy ... I guess you're still sorting everything out. I know I'm still wondering a little. But given the collars and the blood and everything, the immediate situation is pretty clear. Bayview Secondary School is now on Survival of the Fittest. That asshole Danya is hoping we'll all kill each other rather than stay strong." He noted the spear beside Dutchy (he didn't know Dutchy had a harpoon, and he had merely guessed based on the positioning that the harpoon was Dutchy's anyway, but Jason was relatively close on the matter).
"Looks like you got a good draw." Jason held up his left hand, spreading out the fan. "Much better than this piece of crap." He motioned towards the direction of the scream with his right hand, still clutching the can of beer, the opening Jason had unconsciously covered up with his thumb.
"You think we should check it out? He might be in trouble."
Mrs. Bishop. She'd tried to escape and gotten blown away. Sarah must have been close. He looked over at the blond guy, whom he was starting to recognize. Dutchy, everyone called him. The Scandinavian guy whose nose was always bandaged. He was about to open his mouth when he heard a guy screaming.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
He turned towards the voice for a second, shocked. Was someone scared? Hurt? Or just pissed off?
"Sarah ... Sarah, guys. GUYS. What's going on exactly...?" Dutchy asked, still dumbfounded.
Jason had figured out the situation pretty quickly (he had realized everything within about, what? Three minutes tops?). He hated it, but he couldn't deny it. He lowered his hands and took a deep breath.
"Dutchy ... I guess you're still sorting everything out. I know I'm still wondering a little. But given the collars and the blood and everything, the immediate situation is pretty clear. Bayview Secondary School is now on Survival of the Fittest. That asshole Danya is hoping we'll all kill each other rather than stay strong." He noted the spear beside Dutchy (he didn't know Dutchy had a harpoon, and he had merely guessed based on the positioning that the harpoon was Dutchy's anyway, but Jason was relatively close on the matter).
"Looks like you got a good draw." Jason held up his left hand, spreading out the fan. "Much better than this piece of crap." He motioned towards the direction of the scream with his right hand, still clutching the can of beer, the opening Jason had unconsciously covered up with his thumb.
"You think we should check it out? He might be in trouble."
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
There was a yell not far away, someone else must have woken up, though she couldn't quite pick the voice. Besides, she had to break the news to Dutchy, he seemed to be going through what she'd been feeling half an hour before.
"Dutchy... I'm s-sorry" She was starting to tear up again, she didn't want to have to break it to him but it was necessary and... And then Jason started talking over her, launching into explanation.
She sat with her mouth open, she couldn't believe he could be so insensitive. Dutchy was her friend, he hardly knew them, and he'd just dropped it on him. Just dropped the whole fucking situation on him. She wasn't sure what to do, he shouldn't have had to find out like that, but there was no point trying to ease him into it now was there?
Not knowing what else to do she did the first thing that came to mind. She stood as the plank was still talking and took a few steps forward, wrapping her arms around her friend's back. All she could say was "Sorry, I'm sorry, Dutchy I'm sorry, sorry."
Then Jason had to keep talking.
A good draw? A GOOD FUCKING DRAW? Their teachers were dead, they were stranded, isolated, with explosives strapped to their necks and he had the nerve to say they'd gotten a good draw?
She let go of Dutchy and stormed back to her bags. She'd had enough of Jason's company, though at least one good thing had come of it, she was back to feeling angry. She threw her backpack across her shoulders and took the duffel bag in her hands. She paused a moment to look at the dumb riot shield, and decided it could come too.
"WE'll go." Her words were harsh, whoever it was down there was having a hard time and the last thing they needed was this guy. "C'mon Dutchy." She gave Jason a curt smile before leaving down the beach towards the source of the shout.
With the improving light she could soon make out the figure lying on the beach not far away. She broke into a trot, scudding across the sand in her hiking boots. She called out his name as she got closer, dumping the baggage as she slumped next to him. "Roland! Are, are you okay?" She smiled as she leaned over the boy, another person she was glad to find.
"Dutchy... I'm s-sorry" She was starting to tear up again, she didn't want to have to break it to him but it was necessary and... And then Jason started talking over her, launching into explanation.
She sat with her mouth open, she couldn't believe he could be so insensitive. Dutchy was her friend, he hardly knew them, and he'd just dropped it on him. Just dropped the whole fucking situation on him. She wasn't sure what to do, he shouldn't have had to find out like that, but there was no point trying to ease him into it now was there?
Not knowing what else to do she did the first thing that came to mind. She stood as the plank was still talking and took a few steps forward, wrapping her arms around her friend's back. All she could say was "Sorry, I'm sorry, Dutchy I'm sorry, sorry."
Then Jason had to keep talking.
A good draw? A GOOD FUCKING DRAW? Their teachers were dead, they were stranded, isolated, with explosives strapped to their necks and he had the nerve to say they'd gotten a good draw?
She let go of Dutchy and stormed back to her bags. She'd had enough of Jason's company, though at least one good thing had come of it, she was back to feeling angry. She threw her backpack across her shoulders and took the duffel bag in her hands. She paused a moment to look at the dumb riot shield, and decided it could come too.
"WE'll go." Her words were harsh, whoever it was down there was having a hard time and the last thing they needed was this guy. "C'mon Dutchy." She gave Jason a curt smile before leaving down the beach towards the source of the shout.
With the improving light she could soon make out the figure lying on the beach not far away. She broke into a trot, scudding across the sand in her hiking boots. She called out his name as she got closer, dumping the baggage as she slumped next to him. "Roland! Are, are you okay?" She smiled as she leaned over the boy, another person she was glad to find.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
As Sarah wrapped her arms around Dutchy's back, he could feel his heart pound faster. Something was up. Something he didn't quite grasp. His memories felt murky, and he was growing more paranoid by the second. It was bugging the crap out of him, but he was beginning to think it would be better to not know the truth.
Did we crash on the beach? But we were in cars! Cars can't swim! This is wrong, this isn't a 'Glad to see you!' hug, it's a 'Dutchy, a bus full of orphans just died' hug...
"Dutchy... I'm s-sorry" Sarah began, but then Jason launched into his explanation. Dutchy could feel his blood freeze in his veins. The world skidded to a halt.
"Welcome to Survival of the Fittest."
The Video. The screaming. The gunfire and splashing blood. He didn't need the full explanation. He knew as well as anyone what Survival of the Fittest was, what it meant.
A tiny barely audibly whimper escaped his mouth. He was vaguely aware that Jason was still talking, but he was in his own little world.
This is it. This is... this is my reality. My life is over. I'm 18, and my life is over. Sarah is here, Sarah is going to get hurt. Roland is going to get hurt. Everyone. Jason, Clio, Brendan, Hayley, Rashid, Harun, Vera, Madelyn, Alan... Someone I know is going to hurt my friends, hurt ME. And if we don't fight, if we don't hurt them then...
The collar seemed to tighten around Dutchy's neck. He realized he'd been holding his breath and gasped for air awkwardly. Jason was still talking, the world was blurring together.
I never got to see Iceland.
Suddenly, Dutchy was vaguely aware that Sarah had let go of him and had stormed off to get her bags. Dutchy wobbled on his feet, but remained standing. He glanced over at her, he felt his eyes getting wet. He blinked back tears. He couldn't cry. He couldn't.
Sarah is gonna' get hurt. Sarah, who was always nice to me, who only wanted to help people. Someone is going to hurt her, and I'm going to have to w-wat...
"C'mon Dutchy." Sarah said, giving Jason a curt smile. Dutchy snapped back to reality, and watched as Sarah headed off down the beach towards Roland. Dutchy closed his mouth. His head was spinning. He turned back to Jason.
"Sorry... I... I don't feel so well all the sudden. Excuse me, V-Vi-Við sjáumst, Sj-Sjáumst síðar..." He mumbled before grabbing his bag and harpoon, and stumbling after Sarah.
This isn't happening, Jason is just mistaken is all. This is Bayview. No one hurts each other at Bayview. We just got lost, and maybe... maybe I took a nap on the beach, and forgot what was happening. He's just confused, that's impossible...
Did we crash on the beach? But we were in cars! Cars can't swim! This is wrong, this isn't a 'Glad to see you!' hug, it's a 'Dutchy, a bus full of orphans just died' hug...
"Dutchy... I'm s-sorry" Sarah began, but then Jason launched into his explanation. Dutchy could feel his blood freeze in his veins. The world skidded to a halt.
"Welcome to Survival of the Fittest."
The Video. The screaming. The gunfire and splashing blood. He didn't need the full explanation. He knew as well as anyone what Survival of the Fittest was, what it meant.
A tiny barely audibly whimper escaped his mouth. He was vaguely aware that Jason was still talking, but he was in his own little world.
This is it. This is... this is my reality. My life is over. I'm 18, and my life is over. Sarah is here, Sarah is going to get hurt. Roland is going to get hurt. Everyone. Jason, Clio, Brendan, Hayley, Rashid, Harun, Vera, Madelyn, Alan... Someone I know is going to hurt my friends, hurt ME. And if we don't fight, if we don't hurt them then...
The collar seemed to tighten around Dutchy's neck. He realized he'd been holding his breath and gasped for air awkwardly. Jason was still talking, the world was blurring together.
I never got to see Iceland.
Suddenly, Dutchy was vaguely aware that Sarah had let go of him and had stormed off to get her bags. Dutchy wobbled on his feet, but remained standing. He glanced over at her, he felt his eyes getting wet. He blinked back tears. He couldn't cry. He couldn't.
Sarah is gonna' get hurt. Sarah, who was always nice to me, who only wanted to help people. Someone is going to hurt her, and I'm going to have to w-wat...
"C'mon Dutchy." Sarah said, giving Jason a curt smile. Dutchy snapped back to reality, and watched as Sarah headed off down the beach towards Roland. Dutchy closed his mouth. His head was spinning. He turned back to Jason.
"Sorry... I... I don't feel so well all the sudden. Excuse me, V-Vi-Við sjáumst, Sj-Sjáumst síðar..." He mumbled before grabbing his bag and harpoon, and stumbling after Sarah.
This isn't happening, Jason is just mistaken is all. This is Bayview. No one hurts each other at Bayview. We just got lost, and maybe... maybe I took a nap on the beach, and forgot what was happening. He's just confused, that's impossible...
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((Brendan Wallace continued from Testing Faith....1....2..3))
He didn't know where he was.
Brendan didn't know where anyone was. Dammit, why didn't he have a plan for something like this? The sand below his feet looked like the same sand he had encountered a mere hour ago, back when everything happened. He was still tired, just wanting to go to sleep and forget about everything that was happening to all of them.
The only mere good thing that came out of his encounter with the killer with purple hair back at the beach was that he wasn't going to go down as easily as Chris was. He had a gun, and the mere inkling of an idea of how to use it. It was still clasped in his hand. He didn't want to have to use it, ever. If he had to, then...he didn't think about it. He would just find his friends, and then plan something out.
Brendan could see people in the distance. The urge within Brendan told him to run, escape, don't approach them. He had good reason to, since the only people he ran into were dead, killers, or on the run from killers. He had to take a chance, and approach them. If they wanted to play, then he would play against them. Gun against gun, grenade against gun, blade against gun, he would do whatever it took to get out of here and find his friends again.
He tried not to think about his friends, and what was happening to them. Anna, he wanted to find the most. She was his best friend, no matter how odd anyone thought their friendship. Dawne, his best friends best friend, he should find as well. And then there was Erik...he needed to find him as well. If this was their last few days together...
The figures became bodies in the light, and he to almost laugh at his luck on this occasion. No one could else could get this much metaphorical leprachaun in their pockets at this time besides Brendan Wallace.
It was them. His two other friends who he almost forgot about; Sarah, Dutchy. They were heading somewhere, away from a third figure he couldn't recognise, but that wasn't important right now. He had somewhere to stay, someone to stay with! Sarah shared almost all of his views of the world, at least most of the more sane ones, although they did seem to border on the insane every now and then. He often wondered why he never acted on what he always imagined he should do and ask her out. Too late for that, anyway, what with her and Reiko...and Survival of the Fittest.
And Dutchy...he was his first attempt at a boyfriend in America that didn't turn out well either. He wasn't willing to come out to the world at that time, and Dutchy was just too open for his tastes. It didn't last long to say the least.
Not knowing how the other guy was going to react to his presence, he started to run. He had to catch up to them. He couldn't stay alone like this, not now.
"SARAH! DUTCHY!" Brendan yelled, and before he knew it, he had passed the other guy, dropped his Taurus Raging Bull and his bag in the sand just before throwing his arms around Sarah like he hadn't seen her in months.
"...you're okay! You're both okay!" Brendan was in agony, his voice cracking, almost unable to cope with not knowing if any of his friends were alive or dead. He still had so many people to find, but he was glad, oh GOD he was glad, that he knew at least some of them were safe.
Releasing Sarah from his long, extended hug, he got over to Dutchy and hugged him likewise. Fuck, these people meant way too much to him right now to let his fears of people and being around love, contact, and commitment get in the way.
"Oh god, I thought I'd never see you guys again." Brendan said, his voice still cracking from the urge to break down in tears.
He didn't know where he was.
Brendan didn't know where anyone was. Dammit, why didn't he have a plan for something like this? The sand below his feet looked like the same sand he had encountered a mere hour ago, back when everything happened. He was still tired, just wanting to go to sleep and forget about everything that was happening to all of them.
The only mere good thing that came out of his encounter with the killer with purple hair back at the beach was that he wasn't going to go down as easily as Chris was. He had a gun, and the mere inkling of an idea of how to use it. It was still clasped in his hand. He didn't want to have to use it, ever. If he had to, then...he didn't think about it. He would just find his friends, and then plan something out.
Brendan could see people in the distance. The urge within Brendan told him to run, escape, don't approach them. He had good reason to, since the only people he ran into were dead, killers, or on the run from killers. He had to take a chance, and approach them. If they wanted to play, then he would play against them. Gun against gun, grenade against gun, blade against gun, he would do whatever it took to get out of here and find his friends again.
He tried not to think about his friends, and what was happening to them. Anna, he wanted to find the most. She was his best friend, no matter how odd anyone thought their friendship. Dawne, his best friends best friend, he should find as well. And then there was Erik...he needed to find him as well. If this was their last few days together...
The figures became bodies in the light, and he to almost laugh at his luck on this occasion. No one could else could get this much metaphorical leprachaun in their pockets at this time besides Brendan Wallace.
It was them. His two other friends who he almost forgot about; Sarah, Dutchy. They were heading somewhere, away from a third figure he couldn't recognise, but that wasn't important right now. He had somewhere to stay, someone to stay with! Sarah shared almost all of his views of the world, at least most of the more sane ones, although they did seem to border on the insane every now and then. He often wondered why he never acted on what he always imagined he should do and ask her out. Too late for that, anyway, what with her and Reiko...and Survival of the Fittest.
And Dutchy...he was his first attempt at a boyfriend in America that didn't turn out well either. He wasn't willing to come out to the world at that time, and Dutchy was just too open for his tastes. It didn't last long to say the least.
Not knowing how the other guy was going to react to his presence, he started to run. He had to catch up to them. He couldn't stay alone like this, not now.
"SARAH! DUTCHY!" Brendan yelled, and before he knew it, he had passed the other guy, dropped his Taurus Raging Bull and his bag in the sand just before throwing his arms around Sarah like he hadn't seen her in months.
"...you're okay! You're both okay!" Brendan was in agony, his voice cracking, almost unable to cope with not knowing if any of his friends were alive or dead. He still had so many people to find, but he was glad, oh GOD he was glad, that he knew at least some of them were safe.
Releasing Sarah from his long, extended hug, he got over to Dutchy and hugged him likewise. Fuck, these people meant way too much to him right now to let his fears of people and being around love, contact, and commitment get in the way.
"Oh god, I thought I'd never see you guys again." Brendan said, his voice still cracking from the urge to break down in tears.
Roland kept to himself for another minute, still overcome with grief. He could hear people talking on the beach, getting closer to him, but he didn't care. He just wanted a little more time to himself. But soon he heard footsteps and a bag dropping not five feet away, followed by the voice of his good friend Sarah.
"Roland, are you okay?" she asked.
He finally revealed his face, looking up at Sarah. His eyes were still red from crying. "No, I'm not okay, Sarah. None of us are. We're all dead." He planted his hands in the sand and pushed himself up, then walked to his tennis racket and pulled it out of the sand.
"I knew this would happen. He always does it in the summer. It's the same MO every time and yet no one catches on. No one!"
His mind swimmed with visions of how he could have prevented this from happening, or at least saved a few students. He could have warned Lily and his friends from going. But they probably wouldn't have believed him. He could have slashed the tires on the bus, but if they didn't select him he would be expelled. The terrorists could have even killed him, and gone on with the plan anyway, but then they'd expose themselves and maybe some people would get away.
Fuck it. He couldn't have done any of that. The best he ever did was spreading pamphlets that no one read. Making a real difference was an opportunity that had been stolen from him forever.
"SARAH! DUTCHY!"
Roland quickly turned around and saw that gay Australian guy he saw hanging out with Sarah and Dutchy sometimes. Bernard?
"Hey man," he said. "Sorry about all this. I wish I could do something about it, but..." He sighed and shrugged.
He was burned out now, having spent his emotions minutes ago. Now he felt himself sweat, and wiped his face with his other sleeve. Then he sighed and just took his hoodie off. He wore a simple blue t-shirt underneath it, with had a few dark patches on it already. "I don't know anymore," he finished, looking at the friends he was lucky enough to see here. It was great that they were unharmed, but what about the others? What were they doing now?
He turned to face the heart of the island, away from the ocean. "We should get moving soon," he said. "It's not safe here. Too much open space."
"Roland, are you okay?" she asked.
He finally revealed his face, looking up at Sarah. His eyes were still red from crying. "No, I'm not okay, Sarah. None of us are. We're all dead." He planted his hands in the sand and pushed himself up, then walked to his tennis racket and pulled it out of the sand.
"I knew this would happen. He always does it in the summer. It's the same MO every time and yet no one catches on. No one!"
His mind swimmed with visions of how he could have prevented this from happening, or at least saved a few students. He could have warned Lily and his friends from going. But they probably wouldn't have believed him. He could have slashed the tires on the bus, but if they didn't select him he would be expelled. The terrorists could have even killed him, and gone on with the plan anyway, but then they'd expose themselves and maybe some people would get away.
Fuck it. He couldn't have done any of that. The best he ever did was spreading pamphlets that no one read. Making a real difference was an opportunity that had been stolen from him forever.
"SARAH! DUTCHY!"
Roland quickly turned around and saw that gay Australian guy he saw hanging out with Sarah and Dutchy sometimes. Bernard?
"Hey man," he said. "Sorry about all this. I wish I could do something about it, but..." He sighed and shrugged.
He was burned out now, having spent his emotions minutes ago. Now he felt himself sweat, and wiped his face with his other sleeve. Then he sighed and just took his hoodie off. He wore a simple blue t-shirt underneath it, with had a few dark patches on it already. "I don't know anymore," he finished, looking at the friends he was lucky enough to see here. It was great that they were unharmed, but what about the others? What were they doing now?
He turned to face the heart of the island, away from the ocean. "We should get moving soon," he said. "It's not safe here. Too much open space."
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Jason only realized his (deadly?) mistake when Sarah stormed off.
"We'll go. C'mon Dutchy." She smiled briefly, and Jason noted for the first time how red her eyes were, and that she probably had been pretty down. Then Dutchy faced him, looking like he was trying all he could to stay standing.
"Sorry... I... I don't feel so well all the sudden. Excuse me, V-Vi-Við sjáumst, Sj-Sjáumst síðar..." Jason didn't get the last part. He spoke Hindi pretty well, and he was okay at French, but he had never learned Scandinavian.
Oops. He winced at their reactions. Did I just make things worse? He opened his eyes to see a tall guy walking towards him. Jason was about to approach him when the tall guy yelled.
"SARAH! DUTCHY!" He ran past Jason, hugging Sarah right after dropping his bags and what seemed to be a revolver in the sand.
Stupid. That was just stupid. Jason was a relatively honest guy, but there were some people playing. Some would have picked up the gun and simply started shooting. Jason just walked over to see the three of them, along with a fourth guy, sitting up by a tennis racket, all the while sipping his beer.
So we have three useful items here. Jason shook his head. He was trying to figure everything out, but now was less the time for being a calculator. It was time to just be a guy. He looked at the dropped bags as he approached the group. All he could see was "ENDAN (Brendan?) WALLACE." He looked at the gun. It looked like it could do some damage, and Brendan didn't seem to be playing to win. Jason just walked over, knelt down, and made the move that would either solidify an alliance or end his short life: he knelt down, picked up the gun with his left hand, ensuring the gun was pointed down, pushed out the cylinder with his index and middle fingers so that it couldn't be fired, and held it out as he stood up, being careful to keep his fingers away from the trigger.
"Um, hello, Brendan, is it? Not to be intrusive or rude or anything, but you dropped this. I'm a pretty honest fellow, but there might be others willing to take advantage of a loose weapon."
"We'll go. C'mon Dutchy." She smiled briefly, and Jason noted for the first time how red her eyes were, and that she probably had been pretty down. Then Dutchy faced him, looking like he was trying all he could to stay standing.
"Sorry... I... I don't feel so well all the sudden. Excuse me, V-Vi-Við sjáumst, Sj-Sjáumst síðar..." Jason didn't get the last part. He spoke Hindi pretty well, and he was okay at French, but he had never learned Scandinavian.
Oops. He winced at their reactions. Did I just make things worse? He opened his eyes to see a tall guy walking towards him. Jason was about to approach him when the tall guy yelled.
"SARAH! DUTCHY!" He ran past Jason, hugging Sarah right after dropping his bags and what seemed to be a revolver in the sand.
Stupid. That was just stupid. Jason was a relatively honest guy, but there were some people playing. Some would have picked up the gun and simply started shooting. Jason just walked over to see the three of them, along with a fourth guy, sitting up by a tennis racket, all the while sipping his beer.
So we have three useful items here. Jason shook his head. He was trying to figure everything out, but now was less the time for being a calculator. It was time to just be a guy. He looked at the dropped bags as he approached the group. All he could see was "ENDAN (Brendan?) WALLACE." He looked at the gun. It looked like it could do some damage, and Brendan didn't seem to be playing to win. Jason just walked over, knelt down, and made the move that would either solidify an alliance or end his short life: he knelt down, picked up the gun with his left hand, ensuring the gun was pointed down, pushed out the cylinder with his index and middle fingers so that it couldn't be fired, and held it out as he stood up, being careful to keep his fingers away from the trigger.
"Um, hello, Brendan, is it? Not to be intrusive or rude or anything, but you dropped this. I'm a pretty honest fellow, but there might be others willing to take advantage of a loose weapon."
Survivor: UCONN - Seriously, it's awesome!
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Version 8
Kaede Tsurumi: "Eeep! I-I'm so sorry! I-I'll try not to get in your w-way next time!"
Morgan Whitney
Tyler Slomkowski
Victor Grail: "I didn't give you the lead so that you could lose it! I guess it's up to me to carry us after all."
Seeing the pain in Roland's eyes left Sarah silent. She knew exactly what he was going through, but couldn't find the words to say it. It seemed clear to her that it was best to remain quiet, to let him vent. He was right too, it shouldn't have been happening, and Sarah couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not having helped him more with his campaigning. She'd always been more concerned with other issues, had always thought sotf one of the least important things to be fighting... And yet here they were.
This wasn't it though. She couldn't let that be it. They weren't dead yet, whatever Roland said, they could still do something, they could always do something. She looked up at Roland, who had since stood and walked away. They weren't done for, she knew it, but how could she stop him thinking that? 'Don't give up'? 'Everything will be fine'? They already sounded like bullshit in her mind. What she needed right then was an hour to prepare her arguments, gather evidence, make plans, like she had in their past debates. She didn't have an hour.
Maybe 'Stop being so fucking pessimistic' would do.
Suddenly, Brendan appeared out of nowhere. As soon as she heard the yell she finally made the effort to push herself off of the ground, grinning like a madwoman. She couldn't believe her luck, Brendan was here? That made... That made four of them already together. She felt her feet lift clean off the ground as the 6 foot something boy hugged her; all but squeezing the breath out of her lungs. All she could do was throw her arms around his neck, somehow find a way to inhale, and tell him how glad she was to see him.
"Augh; mate, you have n-NO idea; how good it is to s-see you."
It was the first time since she'd woken up over an hour ago that she'd been genuinely happy. Eventually her feet found semi-solid ground again and the boy went off to hug Dutchy as well. It was then she realised Roland was talking about moving on. She nodded to him and crouched by the duffel bag again, extracting her map and compass. The sun was getting higher, and hotter, and shelter, even if it just meant walking as far as the trees, seemed like a good idea.
Hearing Jason's now unwelcome voice again, she twisted her head only to see him handing a gun to Brendan. Her mouth sat half open to say something before she thought better of it. That small action redeemed him a little in her mind, twat as he still was.
She spread the map out in front of her on the sand, burying the edges of the map to protect against the wind; aligned the compass, and got to work, squinting from map to scenery and back.
So... we're on the eastern side... the lighthouse is up there... 5 degrees north east so that means we're... are those people?
This wasn't it though. She couldn't let that be it. They weren't dead yet, whatever Roland said, they could still do something, they could always do something. She looked up at Roland, who had since stood and walked away. They weren't done for, she knew it, but how could she stop him thinking that? 'Don't give up'? 'Everything will be fine'? They already sounded like bullshit in her mind. What she needed right then was an hour to prepare her arguments, gather evidence, make plans, like she had in their past debates. She didn't have an hour.
Maybe 'Stop being so fucking pessimistic' would do.
Suddenly, Brendan appeared out of nowhere. As soon as she heard the yell she finally made the effort to push herself off of the ground, grinning like a madwoman. She couldn't believe her luck, Brendan was here? That made... That made four of them already together. She felt her feet lift clean off the ground as the 6 foot something boy hugged her; all but squeezing the breath out of her lungs. All she could do was throw her arms around his neck, somehow find a way to inhale, and tell him how glad she was to see him.
"Augh; mate, you have n-NO idea; how good it is to s-see you."
It was the first time since she'd woken up over an hour ago that she'd been genuinely happy. Eventually her feet found semi-solid ground again and the boy went off to hug Dutchy as well. It was then she realised Roland was talking about moving on. She nodded to him and crouched by the duffel bag again, extracting her map and compass. The sun was getting higher, and hotter, and shelter, even if it just meant walking as far as the trees, seemed like a good idea.
Hearing Jason's now unwelcome voice again, she twisted her head only to see him handing a gun to Brendan. Her mouth sat half open to say something before she thought better of it. That small action redeemed him a little in her mind, twat as he still was.
She spread the map out in front of her on the sand, burying the edges of the map to protect against the wind; aligned the compass, and got to work, squinting from map to scenery and back.
So... we're on the eastern side... the lighthouse is up there... 5 degrees north east so that means we're... are those people?
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-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
As Dutchy stumbled his way over towards Sarah and Roland, he could feel the world he knew, the world he was comfortable with, slipping away. His head began to pound agonizingly as he mentally sorted through the possibilities of what could befall his friends, AND him. Sarah and Roland were talking, he didn't know what about. He stumbled and nearly fell on his way over, he could feel fresh tears beginning to stain his face. The wind whipped his blond hair about, but he couldn't be bothered to fix it.
Jason just... gotta' be mistaken. But if he's wrong, why- why the collars? No, no I can't think like that. But thinking isn't gonna help get your friends out of here! Oh God, Dutchy what're you gonna do? You're never gonna' see Iceland, what're you gonna do!?
"SARAH! DUTCHY!"
I know that voice...
Dutchy slowly raised his head, just in time to see a tall brown haired boy embrace Sarah joyfully. He stared at them, the tears ceasing. It seemed to take him forever to click the pieces together, and when he finally did the words seemed caught in his throat.
I... I know... Brendan.
"Bre.."
That was all he could get out before Brendan had run over and embraced him. The memories flooded his mind as the other boy held him. Brendan at the Activist Meetings, that easy going smile. Brendan at the mall, eating ice cream and laughing. Brendan pushing away when he went for a hug, the girls in the hallway trying hard to contain their laughter. Brendan walking past him, pretending he didn't exist. No more smiles for Dutchy...
"Oh God, I thought I'd never see you guys again."
Brendan coming back. Brendan smiling again. Brendan and Dutchy, friends forever, laughing about the whole thing. Somehow, Dutchy managed to laugh despite the circumstances.
Brendan came back. Brendan is here. It's gonna be okay. It isn't over, we'll be fine. I'm going to see Iceland. No matter what, we're all going to see Iceland...
"Ég elska þig Brendan. Ég elska þig buddy." He whispered. Brendan finally realized him and Dutchy shuffled over a few paces to Roland. He smiled at him, somewhat sadly.
Poor Roland. He doesn't deserve to be here. Not Roland, not anyone...
"Góðan daginn Roland. Langt síðan við höfum sést." He said, speaking softly, barely audible over the waves.
There was talking behind him and Dutchy turned, just in time to see Jason pointing something at Brendan, something... a gun? Dutchy's eyes went wide momentarily and his heart pounded in his chest. He screamed inwardly at himself and nearly jumped forward, before he realized that he was handing it the other way, the way you didn't shoot things with. He breathed a sudden sigh of relief and smiled.
Man, I'm REALLY gun-challenged...
Looking back down to Roland and Sarah, he saw the pair had a map out, Sarah busy with a compass trying to figure out their location.
Brendan, Roland and Sarah... all of them, together, moments after I woke up... This is an omen. This is fate, sayin' it's going to be just fine...
"So, I guess this means we're the good guys, yeah?" He said to the group.
Jason just... gotta' be mistaken. But if he's wrong, why- why the collars? No, no I can't think like that. But thinking isn't gonna help get your friends out of here! Oh God, Dutchy what're you gonna do? You're never gonna' see Iceland, what're you gonna do!?
"SARAH! DUTCHY!"
I know that voice...
Dutchy slowly raised his head, just in time to see a tall brown haired boy embrace Sarah joyfully. He stared at them, the tears ceasing. It seemed to take him forever to click the pieces together, and when he finally did the words seemed caught in his throat.
I... I know... Brendan.
"Bre.."
That was all he could get out before Brendan had run over and embraced him. The memories flooded his mind as the other boy held him. Brendan at the Activist Meetings, that easy going smile. Brendan at the mall, eating ice cream and laughing. Brendan pushing away when he went for a hug, the girls in the hallway trying hard to contain their laughter. Brendan walking past him, pretending he didn't exist. No more smiles for Dutchy...
"Oh God, I thought I'd never see you guys again."
Brendan coming back. Brendan smiling again. Brendan and Dutchy, friends forever, laughing about the whole thing. Somehow, Dutchy managed to laugh despite the circumstances.
Brendan came back. Brendan is here. It's gonna be okay. It isn't over, we'll be fine. I'm going to see Iceland. No matter what, we're all going to see Iceland...
"Ég elska þig Brendan. Ég elska þig buddy." He whispered. Brendan finally realized him and Dutchy shuffled over a few paces to Roland. He smiled at him, somewhat sadly.
Poor Roland. He doesn't deserve to be here. Not Roland, not anyone...
"Góðan daginn Roland. Langt síðan við höfum sést." He said, speaking softly, barely audible over the waves.
There was talking behind him and Dutchy turned, just in time to see Jason pointing something at Brendan, something... a gun? Dutchy's eyes went wide momentarily and his heart pounded in his chest. He screamed inwardly at himself and nearly jumped forward, before he realized that he was handing it the other way, the way you didn't shoot things with. He breathed a sudden sigh of relief and smiled.
Man, I'm REALLY gun-challenged...
Looking back down to Roland and Sarah, he saw the pair had a map out, Sarah busy with a compass trying to figure out their location.
Brendan, Roland and Sarah... all of them, together, moments after I woke up... This is an omen. This is fate, sayin' it's going to be just fine...
"So, I guess this means we're the good guys, yeah?" He said to the group.
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The hug with Dutchy was as long and meaningful, perhaps more than Brendan intended. Dutchy whispered something in Scandinavian, the one language that Brendan wanted to learn. Not just because of Dutchy or anything, he just always wanted to travel to the Northern Regions of Europe. He might still have that chance, who knows?
There was someone else here, someone he didn't see before: Roland. He didn't know him much, apart from the Activists meetings back at Bayview, and he knew he should have got to know him better.
"Roland..." Brendan muttered, not really sure what to say to him. They hardly ever spoke, right, so what was there to say? Glad you're alive? Well that would have worked anyway.
Just as he was about to respond, the other person on the scene made his prescence known - with Brendan's gun.
He started to talk about honesty, and people taking advantage of the loose weapon. Letting go of Dutchy, he wandered over to him, and chuckled.
"Yes, there are those people...Jason isn't it? Yes, there are people like that, I know, but..." Brendan took the gun from him, extended the cylinder out, and spun it, looking through all the empty chambers to him:
"Ain't much they can do without ammo, huh?"
Brendan started to feel a bit bad. Here he really thought he was going to get on his good side, right?
Before he could ponder that, he heard Dutchy ask the other two members of their group about being the good guys. It made Brendan think for a bit; if they knew what he had done, would they still want him around? If he had let someone get away with murder?
He took a glance at his hands; they still had some splashes of Chris's blood on them. He hadn't really expected moving the body to be a clean job, even if all he was doing was giving him a respectable funeral.
Sliding the cylinder back in, Brendan went back over and grabbed his bag, joined Sarah, Dutchy, and Roland. Sarah had her map out, looking it over.
So what are we going to do now? I still need to find people. Anna, Erik, Dawne...they could help me! If I just stay with them, I'll find whoever I need to find, and then....and...then...
"Okay...so what's the plan, guys? What are we going to do? Find the other members? Cause that's about all I'm up for at the moment."
There was someone else here, someone he didn't see before: Roland. He didn't know him much, apart from the Activists meetings back at Bayview, and he knew he should have got to know him better.
"Roland..." Brendan muttered, not really sure what to say to him. They hardly ever spoke, right, so what was there to say? Glad you're alive? Well that would have worked anyway.
Just as he was about to respond, the other person on the scene made his prescence known - with Brendan's gun.
He started to talk about honesty, and people taking advantage of the loose weapon. Letting go of Dutchy, he wandered over to him, and chuckled.
"Yes, there are those people...Jason isn't it? Yes, there are people like that, I know, but..." Brendan took the gun from him, extended the cylinder out, and spun it, looking through all the empty chambers to him:
"Ain't much they can do without ammo, huh?"
Brendan started to feel a bit bad. Here he really thought he was going to get on his good side, right?
Before he could ponder that, he heard Dutchy ask the other two members of their group about being the good guys. It made Brendan think for a bit; if they knew what he had done, would they still want him around? If he had let someone get away with murder?
He took a glance at his hands; they still had some splashes of Chris's blood on them. He hadn't really expected moving the body to be a clean job, even if all he was doing was giving him a respectable funeral.
Sliding the cylinder back in, Brendan went back over and grabbed his bag, joined Sarah, Dutchy, and Roland. Sarah had her map out, looking it over.
So what are we going to do now? I still need to find people. Anna, Erik, Dawne...they could help me! If I just stay with them, I'll find whoever I need to find, and then....and...then...
"Okay...so what's the plan, guys? What are we going to do? Find the other members? Cause that's about all I'm up for at the moment."