((Jimmy Brennan continues from Monsters))
He'd broken the windows and kicked the door until it swung loose off its hinges. Finding a chair in the manager's office, he'd used it to knock down store shelves, break lights and smash cash registers. He'd screamed until his throat was raw and bloody, and he was sure he'd never be able to talk again. He'd thrown himself into a shelf, cutting open his forehead.
He smeared the blood on the floor, until his brown gloves were slick with his own gore and he felt faint. He collapsed in it, babbling incoherent sentences and curse words, shaking and shivering, alone with his rage and hatred.
At that moment, something inside Jimmy Brennan gave way. The world was silent, and he heard it break in two. A distorted mockery of a song flitted through his memory, and he couldn't tell where he knew it from.
There was no Jimmy Brennan anymore. For all his bravado and guts, he had failed miserably. Now, he was removed, locked away and trapped deep inside his own mind. But that was all for the better, Jimmy Brennan was a blank slate now, and he was ready to start building himself up again. There would be no mercy left in him. Just hatred, black and sadistic. He was going to kill them for this. Whoever it was, he would make them bleed, just like he was. And he wouldn't stop there. He never wanted to stop, ever again.
It hadn't just been Rosa. She was the catalyst, but they'd all taken part, pushing him towards this moment. They wanted to see him suffer. It was the only logical answer. How was that fair? How was it fair, finding her buried at a marked grave, cold and dead, her death at his hands?
So be it.
He was going to kill all the motherfuckers. The innocent, the guilty, every last one of them. He'd kill until the entire fucking Island was soaked in gore, no matter what his body told him. He'd never stop. If they ripped out his guts, he'd strangle them with it. He was on a motherfucking crusade, all for Rosa. They'd pushed him, and now if he wanted to keep his sanity, he was going to have to push back.
They'd taken her, broken him. But he would never stop. Never die. No, dying wasn't meant for him. He was meant for something better. It was all karma, and now it'd come back around. Jimmy smiled and shivered.
Oh, now it makes perfect sense.
He started laughing, a cracking and broken sound coming from his throat. He started crawling down the aisle on his hands and knees, giggling like a true maniac.
Let's fucking go. Fucking die, fucking kill, never stop. Vengeance. Vengeance, my vengeance, I'm going to kill them all. Going to kill Alex, going to kill Ray, kill everyone, all for you. You shouldn't be down there, looking so pretty, no, going to kill them for you, going to eat them alive-
Yes. Yes, fucking skin them alive. Gut them. Dismember and scalp... Bathe in blood, fuck everything I can get, fucking live my life how I've always wanted. I'll kill them. That's what I'll do, that's what you want, right Rosa? That's what you'd want me to do. I'll kill them, God, you wanted me to do this, you needed me for something, you needed me to KILL them for you, right? Well, I'll kill them, I will, I'll fucking kill them, I'll start with myself, how's that sound? You like that, you fucking cunt? How's that sound?
Letting out a cry, Jimmy rose, slamming himself sideways into a shelf. Pain laced through him as the shelf toppled, he didn't stop his cry until the shelf hit the floor with a mighty crash.
USELESS. FUCKING USELESS. FUCKING WEAK, FUCKING CRYBABY, FUCKING PATHETIC WASTE OF LIFE. I HATE YOU. I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU JIMMY, I'LL KILL YOU, I WILL, I SWEAR I FUCKING WILL.
He writhed atop the shelf, pain crawling all over him. His blood was in his eyes and it made him laugh all the more.
This is going to be fun. Kill them all, all of them hurt me, now I get to kill them all, every last one, thank you Danya, I wanted this, I wanted to kill them all, going to be fun, going to fucking hurt them so bad- Going to cut them, going to blow their brains out, hard- I'm so hard, yes, haha that's what I always wanted- oh God it hurts so good-
He didn't stop. He started shaking, coughing. He rolled over, vomiting onto the floor. He hadn't eaten that day, and the acid burned his throat. His cut was scabbed over, so he began to scratch at it, letting it bleed anew.
Moxie, I got moxie. Kids used to beat me up-, but I've got a gun now. Shoulda got a gun a long time ago. Hurt them all. Going to show'em what it feels like. Fuckin' Chelsea Smilers, split tedons- hehe- slit their fucking wrists, but I need to find a knife. Need to get something sharp, glass-, use that. Use the gun last. They'll stick around longer. Yes, yes, that's a good idea. Because if I don't deserve to leave, they don't either, do they? Jimmy Brennan, you bastard, you little coward, you piece of filth, fucking die, just like the rest of them. Until- until I'm left alone, until I can go home alone. Yes. Exactly that.
I'm the star, me, I kill them all, I get my revenge, America watches. America waits, because I'm coming for them next, ain' that right? Ain't revenge a fucking bitch? Oh yes. My revenge will be a fucking bitch.
He giggled again, looking up around the darkened store. His gun was somewhere close-, if he needed food, needed supplies, he could find it here. He was ready. His head was spinning and he felt like he was going to faint any second- but he knew God wouldn't let him die. No, God needed him for something.
It felt good, being needed for something.
Look what you've done. Look what you went and made, you fucking monster.
Gonna have a blast. Gonna have a blast.
Jimmy collapsed in his own vomit, shaking like a mangy dog. Darkness fell.
And he started to dream.
No One Here Gets Out Alive
One-Off Thread - NSFW
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
No One Here Gets Out Alive
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.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Song for First Half
Song for Second Half
((You'll know when to switch...))
It isn't enough. It's too slow. Bleed more. Bleed more.
Jimmy Brennan lay still as the blood approached him, letting it flow down his throat. He gagged and spit it back up, but it flowed forward relentlessly, and he soon drank, begrudgingly at first, but with a growing sense of urgency. His cracked face was a hopeless mass of bruises and scrapes, glass shards poking from his forehead from when he'd smashed his face across one of the windows. Beneath it, a hungry grin emerged. He eyed his split wrist, watching his hand twitch involuntarily.
He couldn't feel a thing.
He reached out, and with a dirty hand drove the knife deeper into his wrist, right at the joint. There was little pain as he sliced up, the blade cutting through his flesh with next to no resistance. He made it all the way to his elbow before dropping the knife, tracing his fingers back down his mutilated arm, probing the split wound for an access point. His hand was slick with blood as he jabbed the cut, prodding it open further. He didn't scream. He felt very tired, very sleepy.
There was something wrong with Jimmy Brennan, something corrupted; something completely fucked up and inhumane. But he still couldn't feel it. Truly FEEL it. That desperate twang he'd hoped to hear, the last note of the last song, before they'd shut his coffin. So he dug deeper, probing further down, sticking his hand underneath his skin, watching with an almost childlike fascination as his fingers pulled away muscle and fat, exposing the bone. He slid his fingers underneath skin, watching the bumps move beneath, scurrying like burrowing insects.
There was something there, and he was going to find it, and it would be the last thing he'd ever do.
He smiled and began to work. He began scraping at the wound spanning his arm, ripping and gouging, agitated. He was killing himself, but he didn't care. With a split wrist like this, there was little hope for him. Blood loss was setting in, his arm was mangled and he was intent to do worse. Besides, he liked it.
God, was he ever tired.
He pressed harder, and stabs of pain laced through the murk, through the numbness in his arm. Finally, a reaction. Blood was everywhere. He had no idea just how much blood a person could hold. Phil's head was an egg, filled with fluid and brain matter. J.J had been better, but even that paled in comparison to this moment. He'd cut a major vein, and blood was pouring from him untapped. He'd be dead in seconds, but he hoped he had a little more left in him.
Pussies died in seconds. The bastards bled out. Bastards died by inches. Jimmy Brennan had started to like that idea; a monster. Driven by nothing but self interest, black hate for everything and everyone. It was too bad he'd slit his arm apart.
He was grunting like an animal, tearing flesh from bone when the stench hit him. He was never exactly fond of the smell of blood, but he'd managed it before. Now it was unbearable, an unyielding aroma that tore through the air, making it impossible to breath. He struggled, trying to inch himself away, but his ruined arm was deadweight. He collapsed back, panting for breath, his eyelids drooping.
"Ggghhh."
Jimmy pulled, feeling something snap in his shoulder. Squirming and kicking he pushed up, coughing up blood and spittle. Just as he thought he was clear the force returned and he slammed back toward the ground, his head smacking with a wet 'thunk!' in the puddle of gore. He coughed, letting out a slight whimper, involuntarily.
Now that? That was more then a little unsettling.
He took a ragged breath, keeping his eyes locked on his hand. His heart beat faster just looking at it- He swallowed hard, his gaze unflinching. Sleep... When was the last time he'd slept? It didn't matter. He was busy, and he wasn't going to die before the best part. Nothing would stop him, not the smell, not his own fucking body. His fingers seemed to tap out a nervous rhythm on the blood stained floor. Jimmy watched as they continued, independently, as if directed by something else. His curiosity grew.
Taptaptap.
Do you believe in monsters Jimmy Brennan?
Tap tap tap.
Do you believe in demons?
Taptaptap.
Because something is waiting for you Jimmy, and it's really eager to meet you.
A piercing noise sliced through the air. His other hand came around in a jolting motion, slashing at his hand again. The blade was in it, and he cut what little flesh remained to pieces, giggling and panting with every painfully slow stroke. His stomach, long since shrunk from lack of a proper meal, shrivelled further down into his guts, as if trying to hide from his own body. He pounded down again and again, the pain minimal, each hit only bringing on waves of nausea and fatigue.
Taptaptap.
Jimmy screamed, sawing off hanging chunks of skin It came off easily enough. His skin seemed to disintegrate; the parts that remained resembled a wet rag. He brought his left hand down on the joint, hearing it crack. There was little pain and he brought his fist down again. The noise seemed to increase, reverberating in his chest.
Tap tap tap.
Fucking monster. Fucking horrific piece of shit, that's what you are. I despite the day you were born kid, the day you took your first steps. Fuck your mother for even giving birth to you; fuck God for dreaming you up. Couldn't save Rosa, could you? You worthless cunt. She died screaming, and you couldn't even bother to help. You were off getting your rocks off on your own ego. Because I'm a fucking bastard isn't that right? A fucking deranged, depraved murderer, but at least I made that choice! Ain't that right?
Because that's what real men do, they kill things, they kill- they kill their friends and their enemies, they kill anyone who doubts them. I'm just a man is all. Moxie. Fucking sons of bitches, they gave me MOXIE, thought that was funny right? Saw the kid who was getting picked on- give him the MOXIE. But who's laughing now? I'm not some slimy little fuck who cries. And that's why this is happening. Because he's still in there, and he's fucking terrified of what we are. Gotta make the kid shut up, gotta carve him out, make him SHUT UP. Then- then we'll be feeling right on. Then Jimmy can go rest, yeah. Get to rest after that, that's a good goal isn't that right? I'll drink to that. I'll kill him, then I'll sleep. I'll slit his fucking throat, that fucking failure-
Taptaptap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU COWARD!"
He brought his fist down. Like a thunderbolt from above, his arm seemed to split apart, the bone snapping in two at the joint. Jimmy jolted forward, the pain shooting up his body. He let out a choking scream of release, bounding upwards. His broken arm flopped unresponsively at his side as he stumbled back, slamming into a shelf, his heart pounding irregularly, the noise in his ears as loud as a gunshot.
YES! JUST LIKE THAT JIMMY. MAKE HIM PAY. MAKE HIM BLEED BY INCHES, BECAUSE YOU LOST THE GIRL, YOU LET THE GIRL DIE. HERO NEVER LETS THE GIRL DIE; NOW YOU FUCKING SUFFER FOR IT! ANIMAL. FUCKING MONSTER. DIE BY INCHES. DIE BY INCHES.
How he was still awake, he'd never know. Jimmy let out a bubbling laugh, and began to drool. Sweat stuck to his brow, and his hair was damp with perspiration. He panted, struggling and failing to get his breath back. He looked around, examining his surroundings for the first time in what felt like hours.
Oh, he'd done it. He'd really done it. The kids at school would be so impressed-
He turned from the scene, stumbling down the aisle toward the front of the store and the double doors. It was an arduous journey, the smell hung in the air like death itself, and he recognized it now. Rotting flesh. How he'd realized it, he didn't exactly know. It wasn't a smell he was familiar with, but he knew it all the same. It was as if something had told him it, long ago. It was ingrained in his memory, like the alphabet, or learning to ride a bicycle. Or a song, thumping through his dying heart. He brought his sweater sleeve down, covering up his mangled right arm. The sleeve itself was damp with is blood, but the comfort value was indispensable.
"Remember that day at the rink? Thought I was the top dog, thought I'd just take some punk out, prove my worth. But they wouldn't have that. They must have known- they must have KNOWN; he must have seen this- S'only explanation. Beat me down. Always beating me down but- but I'd always get back up." He babbled nonsensically.
"Ain't that something? Always get back up. ALWAYS GET BACK UP. Something to be proud of, something I had. How'd I get here?"
Jimmy coughed again, trying hard to keep what had happened off his mind. He'd been laying there for a long time, but how long he wasn't sure. His arm was leaking blood as he walked, like a fucking trail of bread crumbs. He tried to stymie it at first, but soon gave up, laughing at himself for making the effort. If he was going to die soon, he'd leave his mark. He'd bleed until the very end, like a stuck piggy. His gun was laying next to the register, he grabbed it, holding it with his left hand, still coated in his own gore. With seemingly the last of his strength he collapsed against the window, sliding down it, leaving a bloody smear from his ruined right arm. He gave a shuddering breath, his breath steaming up the glass.
Cold. He felt fucking cold. No one had told him it would be cold. But then again, he'd never given them the chance. He grinned again, savouring the memory.
Phillip, choking on the sand. The look in his eyes, second before that stick came down, splitting his face in two. Suddenly, in an instant, his face had looked all wrong. Jimmy let out a nervous chuckle.
It was night outside. There was wind, but precious little rain. Darker then he'd ever thought possible, it seemed as if the surrounding forest was nothing more then varying shades of grey and black. The town was in the other direction, but Jimmy knew there wouldn't be much variation there. It wasn't like the town had any power.
"Wake up Jimmy," He said absentmindedly, looking above him. His words came out slurred, but he took no heed. Spots were dancing before his eyes.
The lights were on, dim, but on. It illuminated the ground around the store for a few paces, but nothing more. Jimmy coughed again and stared out into the dark.
"Clint fucking Eastwood. John fucking Wayne. Whatever it took, least I had them at my back. I'm really them. I don't need to fake it anymore, do I? Voice alone- presence alone. I'm a legend now. They'll run when they hear me. Run, not laugh. Why did I ever want anything more?"
He stared down at his ruined arm, his soaked shirt. The metal of the gun was cool against his flesh.
"I hate them." His voice cracked, a whimper, barely intelligible. "Die, that's what they'll do. They'll go fucking die- and I'll go it alone. I'll live alone, and I won't have to hear their bullshit and lies. I won't have to worry about loosing any more girls- Heh... or any more blood. They'll die, and I can listen to nothing for awhile."
I just wanted to win, for once in my life. I just wanted to feel like a winner.
Something moved. His eyes narrowed, scanning the brush. A dark shape, out of the corner of his eye. Approaching the store. Slowly and carefully he raised up the barrel of the shotgun, tapping on the window. The sound echoed through the empty store.
For the first time Jimmy felt a sharp pang of loneliness and anxiety shoot through him.
He swung around, scanning the aisle. His tomb was silent.
Nothing. No- there had been something out there. But it had moved. Whatever it was, it was on the move. Jimmy backed away from the window, raising his shotgun.
The lights flickered. Jimmy coughed again, watching blankly as bloody drool laced down the front of his shirt. Finally, a noise cut through. His head snapped around, looking toward the ceiling. Static, from the cameras. He groaned and cursed under his breath, his eyes darting around the room. A song rose in his chest, and he began to hum to himself, off beat and far too fast, his fear building.
Whatever it was, it was already inside.
Raindrops on the windows. A storm, years in the making. For the first time in the game, Jimmy felt hunted. There was a predator was waiting to drop out of the shadows, like some cheap jump scare in a slasher film. Jimmy blinked, sorting through the haze before him. His eyes darted around the room, growing unfocused. Thunder boomed overhead. Stepping away from the window, Jimmy went back toward the aisles.
"Oh, so you're the good guy Jimmy? You're the good guy? Well make it work. Good guys don't die in the dark."
Jimmy held his ruined right arm close to him, advancing slowly. He slowed his breathing, listening... There was something there, hidden below the cracking static of the cameras and his own nervous and sporadic humming. Breathing.
His heart skipped and he halted.
Something else was breathing.
That wouldn't do at all.
Jimmy turned the corner, peering into the shadows. There was nothing towards the back of the store. The freezers were all smashed from earlier, either from well placed kicks or from his jabs from his fists and head. He advanced slow towards the freezer doors, a shiver running down his spine.
"Shut up you spineless fuck." He muttered, staring into the reflection.
He saw himself, bruised and battered, and forced a smile across his face. His right arm hung limply at his side, his sweater now damp with blood. He rocked back and forth precariously, looking himself up and down.
The figure behind him was covered in black and blue bruises, her knees scraped to the bone, devoid of skin and matted with dirt. She was stripped naked and her head came forward ever so slightly, giving the appearance of being superimposed upon her body. Her blond hair was stained red with gore, sagging ever so slightly at the side, indicating massive blunt force trauma. Her eyes were gone, blackened pits, the skin surrounding it cracked and leaking pus. Her mouth hung ever so slightly agape, a thin trickle of blood lacing down her chin, dribbling down onto the floor in front of her. The digits on her hands were broken, snapped back at awkward and impossible angles.
He looked up at her, staring into the black pits. There was something there, recognition. A chill swept through him as the creature cocked its head, staring at him. He didn't dare turn around. Waves of raw emotion seemed to sweep out from it. Anger. Sadness. Terror. Hate.
So much hate. Disgust at existence, disgust towards him.
How dare he stand there, existing.
"They deserved it, didn't they? And it's all meant to happen- Phil and J.J. It was going to happen like that. If not me, God would have found someone else, right? So there isn't really a choice in the matter. Isn't your fault you killed them. Isn't your fault you enjoyed it."
He didn't take his eyes off her. Fear ran through his words but it didn't make a move. His gaze finally flickered down toward his gun. No time, he'd never get a shot off. He swallowed hard, fog seeming to settle in around him, muffling even his thundering heartbeat.
Rosa took a step forward.
"What the fuck are you waiting for?" He said his voice shaky and cracking. He was back in the woods, running blind and scared. Just a scared little boy, begging to be taken seriously, praying he'd become a monster.
The static was the only noise bleeding through, over his muffled humming, over his heartbeat and heavy breathing. Sweat dripped down his face, and he didn't blink, didn't dare take his eyes off again. Finally, anger laced through him, and he exploded, screaming and smashing the silence to pieces-
"I DON'T HAVE ALL FUCKING NIGHT. FUCKING G-"
Impossibly fast, the creature was rushing towards him, the mouth unhinging, widening to an impossible size. He spun, letting out a guttural war cry, pulling the trigger. The gun kicked in his hands as the broken hands flew into his chest, slamming him up against the shattered freezer, through it as muscles broke apart and bones snapped.
His rage turned into cold fear as the creature began to rip at his face, tearing chunk of flesh apart, the jaw swinging up and down as swift as lightening.
She's eating me. She's going to fucking eat me-
Jimmy stuck his hands out, trying desperately to shove the creature away. He could feel her hands tightening around his neck, cutting off his screams, throttling him, slamming his head back again and again into the shelf, something cracking-
A wall of noise, blowing through the speakers, uttering guttural curses in countless languages. Blood, his own blood, blinding him, the horrific realization that he his hands were but bloody stumps now, torn to shreds in the frenzied assault. His vocal chords breaking apart, his stinking guts spilling out onto the floor and his pathetic and laughable realization that he couldn't even hold them in with stumps for hands-
Noise, breaking his ear drums. His screams of fear, and flashes of a crimson drenched Rosa, hacking and biting through the dark, the noise, never stopping, his head smashing open, the bitter realization that he'd soiled himself again, his legs kicking spastically, coming up to try to protect his torn belly, a single word, again and again over the chaos, becoming increasingly garbled and incoherent-
"GODGODGODGODGOD!"
YES. HAHA! OH GOD YES-
Suddenly he was spinning forward, ground rushing up to meet him. There was a crunching noise and he realized his nose was sideways. He scrambled across the ground, slipping in his own blood and bile, trying to halt the strand of intestines snaking out of his gut with shocking speed.
Something grabbed at his leg, but he couldn't yell- a bubbling plea escaped his lips as he was dragged down the aisle, his world a blur of red and black, the noise ripping through his cracked head refusing to halt. He wasn't done. Bastards died by inches.
He was twisted up, thrown onto his back. His head lolled as the figure slowly stepped above him, something glinting in the dark, his gun, his shotgun.
Through everything he managed a gurgling chuckle as Rosa bent down on his chest, forcing the gun through his lips, the barrel pressed against the back of his throat. His body twitched spastically. He coughed, struggling to stay awake, struggling to breath. He convulsed on the floor for a minute longer, Rosa keeping the gun jammed down his throat, blackened sockets staring accusingly down upon him.
I didn't save you. So I die by inches. Only fair. Only way out, for a failure like me. Failure. I'm a failure, I'm a COWARD. I'm a liar and a horrifying little fucktard, and I deserve every FUCKING blow. Just wait till they get it a turn. Oh just wait-
As if reading his thoughts Rosa forced the gun deeper down his throat-
"GGGH."
Violently he threw up, nearly choking on the watery puke. He coughed again and again, swallowing some, the barrel still pressed against the back of his throat. Tears were in his eyes as he looked up toward the girl hovering above him.
Nothing left. Nothing left but hate. I like you girl. I really like you. And I think I could like me too, with time.
A thought came to him, sudden and unwanted. He started to laugh, every unwanted motion just intensifying his agony. The gun barrel left his mouth, hovering above, before pressing up against his head.
Jimmy stared up at Rosa with wild eyes, looking far more like an animal then a man. There was raw hate in his heart, his sole driving force. Everything else could wait. Now, all that mattered was his vengeance. Jimmy had been the first to die, and if he was going to make it out alive, he'd have to step up his game.
No one gets out alive.
He'd never been so happy in his life.
Bring it on world. I'll be your worst fucking nightmare.
"Clean up on aisle three!" He hollered at the top of his shattered lungs, the words dissolving into a spat of crazed laughter. There was no answer, just a click from above.
There was a flash from above, a terrific rolling boom he knew all too well. Jimmy screamed once more with all he had, before the dark finally took him.
Song for Second Half
((You'll know when to switch...))
Heaven brings forth innumerable things to help man.
Man has nothing with which to recompense Heaven.
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
It was strange, dying alone. He could feel his life sapping away with every single heartbeat. He watched impassively as the blood left his cut wrist, pooling around him in a lake of crimson. His veins were bulging, and he felt clammy and cold. And it still wasn't enough. Somehow, somewhere deep inside him, a little voice was whispering, growing more frantic with each passing minute.Man has nothing with which to recompense Heaven.
Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
It isn't enough. It's too slow. Bleed more. Bleed more.
Jimmy Brennan lay still as the blood approached him, letting it flow down his throat. He gagged and spit it back up, but it flowed forward relentlessly, and he soon drank, begrudgingly at first, but with a growing sense of urgency. His cracked face was a hopeless mass of bruises and scrapes, glass shards poking from his forehead from when he'd smashed his face across one of the windows. Beneath it, a hungry grin emerged. He eyed his split wrist, watching his hand twitch involuntarily.
He couldn't feel a thing.
He reached out, and with a dirty hand drove the knife deeper into his wrist, right at the joint. There was little pain as he sliced up, the blade cutting through his flesh with next to no resistance. He made it all the way to his elbow before dropping the knife, tracing his fingers back down his mutilated arm, probing the split wound for an access point. His hand was slick with blood as he jabbed the cut, prodding it open further. He didn't scream. He felt very tired, very sleepy.
There was something wrong with Jimmy Brennan, something corrupted; something completely fucked up and inhumane. But he still couldn't feel it. Truly FEEL it. That desperate twang he'd hoped to hear, the last note of the last song, before they'd shut his coffin. So he dug deeper, probing further down, sticking his hand underneath his skin, watching with an almost childlike fascination as his fingers pulled away muscle and fat, exposing the bone. He slid his fingers underneath skin, watching the bumps move beneath, scurrying like burrowing insects.
There was something there, and he was going to find it, and it would be the last thing he'd ever do.
He smiled and began to work. He began scraping at the wound spanning his arm, ripping and gouging, agitated. He was killing himself, but he didn't care. With a split wrist like this, there was little hope for him. Blood loss was setting in, his arm was mangled and he was intent to do worse. Besides, he liked it.
God, was he ever tired.
He pressed harder, and stabs of pain laced through the murk, through the numbness in his arm. Finally, a reaction. Blood was everywhere. He had no idea just how much blood a person could hold. Phil's head was an egg, filled with fluid and brain matter. J.J had been better, but even that paled in comparison to this moment. He'd cut a major vein, and blood was pouring from him untapped. He'd be dead in seconds, but he hoped he had a little more left in him.
Pussies died in seconds. The bastards bled out. Bastards died by inches. Jimmy Brennan had started to like that idea; a monster. Driven by nothing but self interest, black hate for everything and everyone. It was too bad he'd slit his arm apart.
He was grunting like an animal, tearing flesh from bone when the stench hit him. He was never exactly fond of the smell of blood, but he'd managed it before. Now it was unbearable, an unyielding aroma that tore through the air, making it impossible to breath. He struggled, trying to inch himself away, but his ruined arm was deadweight. He collapsed back, panting for breath, his eyelids drooping.
"Ggghhh."
Jimmy pulled, feeling something snap in his shoulder. Squirming and kicking he pushed up, coughing up blood and spittle. Just as he thought he was clear the force returned and he slammed back toward the ground, his head smacking with a wet 'thunk!' in the puddle of gore. He coughed, letting out a slight whimper, involuntarily.
Now that? That was more then a little unsettling.
He took a ragged breath, keeping his eyes locked on his hand. His heart beat faster just looking at it- He swallowed hard, his gaze unflinching. Sleep... When was the last time he'd slept? It didn't matter. He was busy, and he wasn't going to die before the best part. Nothing would stop him, not the smell, not his own fucking body. His fingers seemed to tap out a nervous rhythm on the blood stained floor. Jimmy watched as they continued, independently, as if directed by something else. His curiosity grew.
Taptaptap.
Do you believe in monsters Jimmy Brennan?
Tap tap tap.
Do you believe in demons?
Taptaptap.
Because something is waiting for you Jimmy, and it's really eager to meet you.
A piercing noise sliced through the air. His other hand came around in a jolting motion, slashing at his hand again. The blade was in it, and he cut what little flesh remained to pieces, giggling and panting with every painfully slow stroke. His stomach, long since shrunk from lack of a proper meal, shrivelled further down into his guts, as if trying to hide from his own body. He pounded down again and again, the pain minimal, each hit only bringing on waves of nausea and fatigue.
Taptaptap.
Jimmy screamed, sawing off hanging chunks of skin It came off easily enough. His skin seemed to disintegrate; the parts that remained resembled a wet rag. He brought his left hand down on the joint, hearing it crack. There was little pain and he brought his fist down again. The noise seemed to increase, reverberating in his chest.
Tap tap tap.
Fucking monster. Fucking horrific piece of shit, that's what you are. I despite the day you were born kid, the day you took your first steps. Fuck your mother for even giving birth to you; fuck God for dreaming you up. Couldn't save Rosa, could you? You worthless cunt. She died screaming, and you couldn't even bother to help. You were off getting your rocks off on your own ego. Because I'm a fucking bastard isn't that right? A fucking deranged, depraved murderer, but at least I made that choice! Ain't that right?
Because that's what real men do, they kill things, they kill- they kill their friends and their enemies, they kill anyone who doubts them. I'm just a man is all. Moxie. Fucking sons of bitches, they gave me MOXIE, thought that was funny right? Saw the kid who was getting picked on- give him the MOXIE. But who's laughing now? I'm not some slimy little fuck who cries. And that's why this is happening. Because he's still in there, and he's fucking terrified of what we are. Gotta make the kid shut up, gotta carve him out, make him SHUT UP. Then- then we'll be feeling right on. Then Jimmy can go rest, yeah. Get to rest after that, that's a good goal isn't that right? I'll drink to that. I'll kill him, then I'll sleep. I'll slit his fucking throat, that fucking failure-
Taptaptap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU COWARD!"
He brought his fist down. Like a thunderbolt from above, his arm seemed to split apart, the bone snapping in two at the joint. Jimmy jolted forward, the pain shooting up his body. He let out a choking scream of release, bounding upwards. His broken arm flopped unresponsively at his side as he stumbled back, slamming into a shelf, his heart pounding irregularly, the noise in his ears as loud as a gunshot.
YES! JUST LIKE THAT JIMMY. MAKE HIM PAY. MAKE HIM BLEED BY INCHES, BECAUSE YOU LOST THE GIRL, YOU LET THE GIRL DIE. HERO NEVER LETS THE GIRL DIE; NOW YOU FUCKING SUFFER FOR IT! ANIMAL. FUCKING MONSTER. DIE BY INCHES. DIE BY INCHES.
How he was still awake, he'd never know. Jimmy let out a bubbling laugh, and began to drool. Sweat stuck to his brow, and his hair was damp with perspiration. He panted, struggling and failing to get his breath back. He looked around, examining his surroundings for the first time in what felt like hours.
Oh, he'd done it. He'd really done it. The kids at school would be so impressed-
He turned from the scene, stumbling down the aisle toward the front of the store and the double doors. It was an arduous journey, the smell hung in the air like death itself, and he recognized it now. Rotting flesh. How he'd realized it, he didn't exactly know. It wasn't a smell he was familiar with, but he knew it all the same. It was as if something had told him it, long ago. It was ingrained in his memory, like the alphabet, or learning to ride a bicycle. Or a song, thumping through his dying heart. He brought his sweater sleeve down, covering up his mangled right arm. The sleeve itself was damp with is blood, but the comfort value was indispensable.
"Remember that day at the rink? Thought I was the top dog, thought I'd just take some punk out, prove my worth. But they wouldn't have that. They must have known- they must have KNOWN; he must have seen this- S'only explanation. Beat me down. Always beating me down but- but I'd always get back up." He babbled nonsensically.
"Ain't that something? Always get back up. ALWAYS GET BACK UP. Something to be proud of, something I had. How'd I get here?"
Jimmy coughed again, trying hard to keep what had happened off his mind. He'd been laying there for a long time, but how long he wasn't sure. His arm was leaking blood as he walked, like a fucking trail of bread crumbs. He tried to stymie it at first, but soon gave up, laughing at himself for making the effort. If he was going to die soon, he'd leave his mark. He'd bleed until the very end, like a stuck piggy. His gun was laying next to the register, he grabbed it, holding it with his left hand, still coated in his own gore. With seemingly the last of his strength he collapsed against the window, sliding down it, leaving a bloody smear from his ruined right arm. He gave a shuddering breath, his breath steaming up the glass.
Cold. He felt fucking cold. No one had told him it would be cold. But then again, he'd never given them the chance. He grinned again, savouring the memory.
Phillip, choking on the sand. The look in his eyes, second before that stick came down, splitting his face in two. Suddenly, in an instant, his face had looked all wrong. Jimmy let out a nervous chuckle.
It was night outside. There was wind, but precious little rain. Darker then he'd ever thought possible, it seemed as if the surrounding forest was nothing more then varying shades of grey and black. The town was in the other direction, but Jimmy knew there wouldn't be much variation there. It wasn't like the town had any power.
"Wake up Jimmy," He said absentmindedly, looking above him. His words came out slurred, but he took no heed. Spots were dancing before his eyes.
The lights were on, dim, but on. It illuminated the ground around the store for a few paces, but nothing more. Jimmy coughed again and stared out into the dark.
"Clint fucking Eastwood. John fucking Wayne. Whatever it took, least I had them at my back. I'm really them. I don't need to fake it anymore, do I? Voice alone- presence alone. I'm a legend now. They'll run when they hear me. Run, not laugh. Why did I ever want anything more?"
He stared down at his ruined arm, his soaked shirt. The metal of the gun was cool against his flesh.
"I hate them." His voice cracked, a whimper, barely intelligible. "Die, that's what they'll do. They'll go fucking die- and I'll go it alone. I'll live alone, and I won't have to hear their bullshit and lies. I won't have to worry about loosing any more girls- Heh... or any more blood. They'll die, and I can listen to nothing for awhile."
I just wanted to win, for once in my life. I just wanted to feel like a winner.
Something moved. His eyes narrowed, scanning the brush. A dark shape, out of the corner of his eye. Approaching the store. Slowly and carefully he raised up the barrel of the shotgun, tapping on the window. The sound echoed through the empty store.
For the first time Jimmy felt a sharp pang of loneliness and anxiety shoot through him.
He swung around, scanning the aisle. His tomb was silent.
Nothing. No- there had been something out there. But it had moved. Whatever it was, it was on the move. Jimmy backed away from the window, raising his shotgun.
The lights flickered. Jimmy coughed again, watching blankly as bloody drool laced down the front of his shirt. Finally, a noise cut through. His head snapped around, looking toward the ceiling. Static, from the cameras. He groaned and cursed under his breath, his eyes darting around the room. A song rose in his chest, and he began to hum to himself, off beat and far too fast, his fear building.
Whatever it was, it was already inside.
Raindrops on the windows. A storm, years in the making. For the first time in the game, Jimmy felt hunted. There was a predator was waiting to drop out of the shadows, like some cheap jump scare in a slasher film. Jimmy blinked, sorting through the haze before him. His eyes darted around the room, growing unfocused. Thunder boomed overhead. Stepping away from the window, Jimmy went back toward the aisles.
"Oh, so you're the good guy Jimmy? You're the good guy? Well make it work. Good guys don't die in the dark."
Jimmy held his ruined right arm close to him, advancing slowly. He slowed his breathing, listening... There was something there, hidden below the cracking static of the cameras and his own nervous and sporadic humming. Breathing.
His heart skipped and he halted.
Something else was breathing.
That wouldn't do at all.
Jimmy turned the corner, peering into the shadows. There was nothing towards the back of the store. The freezers were all smashed from earlier, either from well placed kicks or from his jabs from his fists and head. He advanced slow towards the freezer doors, a shiver running down his spine.
"Shut up you spineless fuck." He muttered, staring into the reflection.
He saw himself, bruised and battered, and forced a smile across his face. His right arm hung limply at his side, his sweater now damp with blood. He rocked back and forth precariously, looking himself up and down.
The figure behind him was covered in black and blue bruises, her knees scraped to the bone, devoid of skin and matted with dirt. She was stripped naked and her head came forward ever so slightly, giving the appearance of being superimposed upon her body. Her blond hair was stained red with gore, sagging ever so slightly at the side, indicating massive blunt force trauma. Her eyes were gone, blackened pits, the skin surrounding it cracked and leaking pus. Her mouth hung ever so slightly agape, a thin trickle of blood lacing down her chin, dribbling down onto the floor in front of her. The digits on her hands were broken, snapped back at awkward and impossible angles.
He looked up at her, staring into the black pits. There was something there, recognition. A chill swept through him as the creature cocked its head, staring at him. He didn't dare turn around. Waves of raw emotion seemed to sweep out from it. Anger. Sadness. Terror. Hate.
So much hate. Disgust at existence, disgust towards him.
How dare he stand there, existing.
"They deserved it, didn't they? And it's all meant to happen- Phil and J.J. It was going to happen like that. If not me, God would have found someone else, right? So there isn't really a choice in the matter. Isn't your fault you killed them. Isn't your fault you enjoyed it."
He didn't take his eyes off her. Fear ran through his words but it didn't make a move. His gaze finally flickered down toward his gun. No time, he'd never get a shot off. He swallowed hard, fog seeming to settle in around him, muffling even his thundering heartbeat.
Rosa took a step forward.
"What the fuck are you waiting for?" He said his voice shaky and cracking. He was back in the woods, running blind and scared. Just a scared little boy, begging to be taken seriously, praying he'd become a monster.
The static was the only noise bleeding through, over his muffled humming, over his heartbeat and heavy breathing. Sweat dripped down his face, and he didn't blink, didn't dare take his eyes off again. Finally, anger laced through him, and he exploded, screaming and smashing the silence to pieces-
"I DON'T HAVE ALL FUCKING NIGHT. FUCKING G-"
Impossibly fast, the creature was rushing towards him, the mouth unhinging, widening to an impossible size. He spun, letting out a guttural war cry, pulling the trigger. The gun kicked in his hands as the broken hands flew into his chest, slamming him up against the shattered freezer, through it as muscles broke apart and bones snapped.
His rage turned into cold fear as the creature began to rip at his face, tearing chunk of flesh apart, the jaw swinging up and down as swift as lightening.
She's eating me. She's going to fucking eat me-
Jimmy stuck his hands out, trying desperately to shove the creature away. He could feel her hands tightening around his neck, cutting off his screams, throttling him, slamming his head back again and again into the shelf, something cracking-
A wall of noise, blowing through the speakers, uttering guttural curses in countless languages. Blood, his own blood, blinding him, the horrific realization that he his hands were but bloody stumps now, torn to shreds in the frenzied assault. His vocal chords breaking apart, his stinking guts spilling out onto the floor and his pathetic and laughable realization that he couldn't even hold them in with stumps for hands-
Noise, breaking his ear drums. His screams of fear, and flashes of a crimson drenched Rosa, hacking and biting through the dark, the noise, never stopping, his head smashing open, the bitter realization that he'd soiled himself again, his legs kicking spastically, coming up to try to protect his torn belly, a single word, again and again over the chaos, becoming increasingly garbled and incoherent-
"GODGODGODGODGOD!"
YES. HAHA! OH GOD YES-
Suddenly he was spinning forward, ground rushing up to meet him. There was a crunching noise and he realized his nose was sideways. He scrambled across the ground, slipping in his own blood and bile, trying to halt the strand of intestines snaking out of his gut with shocking speed.
Something grabbed at his leg, but he couldn't yell- a bubbling plea escaped his lips as he was dragged down the aisle, his world a blur of red and black, the noise ripping through his cracked head refusing to halt. He wasn't done. Bastards died by inches.
He was twisted up, thrown onto his back. His head lolled as the figure slowly stepped above him, something glinting in the dark, his gun, his shotgun.
Through everything he managed a gurgling chuckle as Rosa bent down on his chest, forcing the gun through his lips, the barrel pressed against the back of his throat. His body twitched spastically. He coughed, struggling to stay awake, struggling to breath. He convulsed on the floor for a minute longer, Rosa keeping the gun jammed down his throat, blackened sockets staring accusingly down upon him.
I didn't save you. So I die by inches. Only fair. Only way out, for a failure like me. Failure. I'm a failure, I'm a COWARD. I'm a liar and a horrifying little fucktard, and I deserve every FUCKING blow. Just wait till they get it a turn. Oh just wait-
As if reading his thoughts Rosa forced the gun deeper down his throat-
"GGGH."
Violently he threw up, nearly choking on the watery puke. He coughed again and again, swallowing some, the barrel still pressed against the back of his throat. Tears were in his eyes as he looked up toward the girl hovering above him.
Nothing left. Nothing left but hate. I like you girl. I really like you. And I think I could like me too, with time.
A thought came to him, sudden and unwanted. He started to laugh, every unwanted motion just intensifying his agony. The gun barrel left his mouth, hovering above, before pressing up against his head.
Jimmy stared up at Rosa with wild eyes, looking far more like an animal then a man. There was raw hate in his heart, his sole driving force. Everything else could wait. Now, all that mattered was his vengeance. Jimmy had been the first to die, and if he was going to make it out alive, he'd have to step up his game.
No one gets out alive.
He'd never been so happy in his life.
Bring it on world. I'll be your worst fucking nightmare.
"Clean up on aisle three!" He hollered at the top of his shattered lungs, the words dissolving into a spat of crazed laughter. There was no answer, just a click from above.
There was a flash from above, a terrific rolling boom he knew all too well. Jimmy screamed once more with all he had, before the dark finally took him.
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.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy woke up. His hair was doused in sweat and dried blood, a headache pounded through his head like a giant pulsing weight. His shirt was off, truth be told he was wearing little of anything. A mess of bruises and cuts, Jimmy was laying in the frozen food section, glass scattered around his head. A freezer door had been smashed, the glass had spidered out and flecks of blood still clung to it. The pieces came together all too slowly in his mind... He'd hit it, for some reason. What, he wasn't sure. But he had a feeling it didn't matter much.
Dehydrated, still cursing and mumbling, Jimmy rolled over onto his side, panting for breath. His arms were a mass of small cuts- but nothing more. He let out a grunt as he lifted a hand to touch his split forehead. His eyes shut involuntarily.
How... how nice. Keep it that way- just a little longer. Sleep. Keep it that way-
With a grunt, he willed his eyes open again. They danced around, refusing to focus. He felt light-headed, his memories felt scattered. How long had he been out for? How much could he have missed? It couldn't have been long- but he'd slept as well, passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Not smart. Not smart at all. He'd hit his head as hard as he could. Why? He wasn't quite sure. Probably to forget. Jimmy reached down, grabbing a broken shard of glass and raised it up, clutching it in his palm. It cut the skin and he yelped, hurling it down the aisle. This took what little strength he had left, Jimmy fell back down to the smooth tiles, panting. His eyes flickered open and closed, lights danced before him. The world was fuzzy.
Water. Water, need to get water...
It would be fucking pathetic, dying of thirst in a grocery store. Jimmy inched his way toward the broken freezer door, pushing it open and grabbing at a 2L bottle of Orange Juice, one of the few remaining products left in the place. The entire process took him several nauseating minutes. He was positive he'd throw up, if his stomach wasn't already aching and empty.
Cut. Bruised and broken. Bleeding and disoriented, and filled with so much fucking hatred he had no idea what to do with it all. He glanced up at the shelves around him, thrown in disarray. His mind drifted back to that terrible moment, digging up Rosa's grave, knowing what awaited him.
As if it mattered. As if she mattered.
Fuck this noise.
He needed his gun. His gun had made everything alright before, it would take him to the end now. And once there, he'd shake Danya's hand and ride off into the sunset. And the first reporter who'd even dare to stick their microphone in his face?
"Throat slit." He drawled, his head bobbing up and down.
It hurt. It hurt all over. He shut his eyes and groaned in pain.
But now was his chance to deliver some payback. Now was his chance to show everyone what he was really capable of. Make them feel a tiny drop of the hatred he was feeling. Make them choke on it. Bleed the entire island dry. A thin smile cracked across his face. In truth, Jimmy was unaware of it. Thoughts began to snap through his brain at a rapid pace, he could barely keep up. His pulse began to rise- he began to breathe deep, his rage seeping through. What was left of Jimmy cowered inside him, scared to think.
No, no leaving, never going to leave, that's not right, can't leave, you can't leave when it's not done yet. You want out don't you? Get in gear then, amp the fuck up, don't you dare fucking rest Jimmy. Who needs rest, who needs health? Sleep when you're dead, now is the time to make some noise, fucking take some revenge. They took her, didn't they? Yes, they did they killed her, and they were going to kill you too, but they thought you weren't WORTH it, ain't that right? Doesn't that make you mad, doesn't that make you- fucking- doesn't that make you fucking snap? They think it's that simply they think they can get you that EASY but it's NOT because I FUCKING KILL THEM, I KillFUCKINGkillfuckingKILLfuckingKILLfuckingkill'emallwhosdoubtingyoujimmy? Kill the doubters ain't that right? You're a hero, you're a man, no, yes? Yes? They think this is it. THIS ISN'T IT. SO SHOW THEM YOU COWARD. SHOW THEM WHAT HAPPENS.
Jimmy raised up the carton, taking one last swig from it before tossing it aside.
I don't need a break. I need my gun and I need someone to use it on. That's what I need. That's all I need. Never stop. Never stop, you said that, don't you back out. Fucking kill. Fucking. Kill, for Rosa. No, fucking kill for you, because I'm worth it, fucking show them HOW WORTH IT YOU ARE
Dehydrated, still cursing and mumbling, Jimmy rolled over onto his side, panting for breath. His arms were a mass of small cuts- but nothing more. He let out a grunt as he lifted a hand to touch his split forehead. His eyes shut involuntarily.
How... how nice. Keep it that way- just a little longer. Sleep. Keep it that way-
With a grunt, he willed his eyes open again. They danced around, refusing to focus. He felt light-headed, his memories felt scattered. How long had he been out for? How much could he have missed? It couldn't have been long- but he'd slept as well, passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Not smart. Not smart at all. He'd hit his head as hard as he could. Why? He wasn't quite sure. Probably to forget. Jimmy reached down, grabbing a broken shard of glass and raised it up, clutching it in his palm. It cut the skin and he yelped, hurling it down the aisle. This took what little strength he had left, Jimmy fell back down to the smooth tiles, panting. His eyes flickered open and closed, lights danced before him. The world was fuzzy.
Water. Water, need to get water...
It would be fucking pathetic, dying of thirst in a grocery store. Jimmy inched his way toward the broken freezer door, pushing it open and grabbing at a 2L bottle of Orange Juice, one of the few remaining products left in the place. The entire process took him several nauseating minutes. He was positive he'd throw up, if his stomach wasn't already aching and empty.
Cut. Bruised and broken. Bleeding and disoriented, and filled with so much fucking hatred he had no idea what to do with it all. He glanced up at the shelves around him, thrown in disarray. His mind drifted back to that terrible moment, digging up Rosa's grave, knowing what awaited him.
As if it mattered. As if she mattered.
Fuck this noise.
He needed his gun. His gun had made everything alright before, it would take him to the end now. And once there, he'd shake Danya's hand and ride off into the sunset. And the first reporter who'd even dare to stick their microphone in his face?
"Throat slit." He drawled, his head bobbing up and down.
It hurt. It hurt all over. He shut his eyes and groaned in pain.
But now was his chance to deliver some payback. Now was his chance to show everyone what he was really capable of. Make them feel a tiny drop of the hatred he was feeling. Make them choke on it. Bleed the entire island dry. A thin smile cracked across his face. In truth, Jimmy was unaware of it. Thoughts began to snap through his brain at a rapid pace, he could barely keep up. His pulse began to rise- he began to breathe deep, his rage seeping through. What was left of Jimmy cowered inside him, scared to think.
No, no leaving, never going to leave, that's not right, can't leave, you can't leave when it's not done yet. You want out don't you? Get in gear then, amp the fuck up, don't you dare fucking rest Jimmy. Who needs rest, who needs health? Sleep when you're dead, now is the time to make some noise, fucking take some revenge. They took her, didn't they? Yes, they did they killed her, and they were going to kill you too, but they thought you weren't WORTH it, ain't that right? Doesn't that make you mad, doesn't that make you- fucking- doesn't that make you fucking snap? They think it's that simply they think they can get you that EASY but it's NOT because I FUCKING KILL THEM, I KillFUCKINGkillfuckingKILLfuckingKILLfuckingkill'emallwhosdoubtingyoujimmy? Kill the doubters ain't that right? You're a hero, you're a man, no, yes? Yes? They think this is it. THIS ISN'T IT. SO SHOW THEM YOU COWARD. SHOW THEM WHAT HAPPENS.
Jimmy raised up the carton, taking one last swig from it before tossing it aside.
I don't need a break. I need my gun and I need someone to use it on. That's what I need. That's all I need. Never stop. Never stop, you said that, don't you back out. Fucking kill. Fucking. Kill, for Rosa. No, fucking kill for you, because I'm worth it, fucking show them HOW WORTH IT YOU ARE
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.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy fumbled with the pack, panting with exhaustion. He'd spent the better part of the day clearing out the shopping mart of its remaining supplies, judging what to take, what not to waste his time on. That and trying to retain alertness. He'd put himself through a hell of a lot and his strength was pitiful to begin with. Easy tasks and monotony were tiring. Twice he'd fallen asleep mid-task, when he'd only meant to sit down for a moment and catch his breath. His joints ached. He knew he was playing the game stupid, but it was a risk he had to take. There was no reason to overexert himself in packing, he'd need everything in the coming hours.
It was silent outside; he'd even heard a birdcall once.
What I wouldn't do for a bird right now. Bang it against the wall till it's dead. How would it taste? Meat. Meat meat meat. Hehe. Bang it till it's dead, heheh.
He wasn't sure why, but he'd developed a craving for meat. Hamburgers, steak, anything. Perhaps it was the fact he couldn't cook it, and hadn't had a good meal since waking up on the island. Jimmy was no survival expert, he had no idea how to build a cook fire, fix himself a proper meal. He took the canned foods, the things he could eat raw.
Show them how you're worth it, when you get out there, fucking show them what you're like, what you've become. Don't talk. Don't fucking talk anymore. Prove it. Words are filth, fuck you. Fuck you, coward. You were a dirty coward, don't try to deny it-
It was hard to focus on anything anymore. His mind felt shattered, and he felt vulnerable. Sometimes he'd catch himself scratching at his wrists, not knowing why. It left him feeling afraid, and that wouldn't do at all. He'd punched himself in the gut until his pain replaced his fear, and he'd forgotten what he'd done in the first place.
Moxie, people use it as a term now. You got moxie, you got balls. Heheh. Danya pulled a fast one. He knew what I could do- so he gave me the moxie, ain't that right?
Aside from his foodstuffs, Jimmy had little belongings left. His clothes were tattered, but he didn't care so much about them. His gun was working fine-, he'd fired it once at a shelf to ensure it wasn't broken. A bullet wasted, but much gained.
Unless they thought it was a joke. Unless- unless they thought cus I didn't have any- they thought it was a joke. They were laughing at me. Just like back then, they might not have said it but they were ALL laughing at me. And it just keeps on rolling doesn't it, laughing at the King, that's how they thought it'd be, those fucking cunts those fucking PIECES OF SHIT-
He'd smashed a till at the thought, throwing it at a window, watching it crack and pretending it was a face. He'd screamed and cursed as it hurt his throat, bellowed and kicked until his face was red and he'd spit up blood. His throat was raw for the rest of the day, but he'd shown them.
But it wasn't enough. Oh no, it wasn't enough at all. He had his gun, but he had a mission. They'd killed Rosa, and the more he thought on it, the more he was sure she was the only one he'd ever loved. He stoked the embers, spending time walking up and down the store with his gun in hand, smiling and shaking, remembering what he was going to do. Inside, he felt like crying, but he beat himself in the face until he dare not think it.
Kill. Fuck. Kill. Kill. Kill fucking everything- kill fucking everyone. Hero, fucking pussy, that's what I am, you fucking piece of shit. Fucking kill yourself Jimmy, that's what you should do. But no, not yet because they're filth, so kill. Kill, not so hard right? Mad dog, let's see your war face, all the heroes had a war face so let's see yours Jimmy, you fucking whore- slit throats, cut cocks, fucking kill kill kill, that's what you're about right Jimmy?
He grew fond of smashing the windows, so he wouldn't have to look at himself. Minutes turned into hours. Rosa never came back. His rage grew.
Doesn't she know it's dangerous out there? Fucking bitch, doesn't she know I'm the man, I'm the one? I'm the one who's going to get out alive, ain't that right? Oh yes, that's what I said yesterday, that's what I say today. Fucking whore. Come back Rosa, come back
But Rosa was dead and buried and he'd dug her up himself and screamed that story already.
It's not fair. She was perfect.
Worst fucking nightmare Jimmy, you're their worst fucking nightmare. You want to make it out buddy, right? So you gotta be your enemy, you gotta be worse then them. Wear a mask, that's what a coward would do, right? AND YOU ARE A COWARD, RIGHT JIMMY?
And so the day passed. Or maybe more. Jimmy ate and slept and shit, and bid his time.
Night came again, and Jimmy smiled to himself.
Worst fucking nightmare. Moxie. Fuck and kill and don't be afraid. Heroes can't die. That's what you decided you were, right?
It was silent outside; he'd even heard a birdcall once.
What I wouldn't do for a bird right now. Bang it against the wall till it's dead. How would it taste? Meat. Meat meat meat. Hehe. Bang it till it's dead, heheh.
He wasn't sure why, but he'd developed a craving for meat. Hamburgers, steak, anything. Perhaps it was the fact he couldn't cook it, and hadn't had a good meal since waking up on the island. Jimmy was no survival expert, he had no idea how to build a cook fire, fix himself a proper meal. He took the canned foods, the things he could eat raw.
Show them how you're worth it, when you get out there, fucking show them what you're like, what you've become. Don't talk. Don't fucking talk anymore. Prove it. Words are filth, fuck you. Fuck you, coward. You were a dirty coward, don't try to deny it-
It was hard to focus on anything anymore. His mind felt shattered, and he felt vulnerable. Sometimes he'd catch himself scratching at his wrists, not knowing why. It left him feeling afraid, and that wouldn't do at all. He'd punched himself in the gut until his pain replaced his fear, and he'd forgotten what he'd done in the first place.
Moxie, people use it as a term now. You got moxie, you got balls. Heheh. Danya pulled a fast one. He knew what I could do- so he gave me the moxie, ain't that right?
Aside from his foodstuffs, Jimmy had little belongings left. His clothes were tattered, but he didn't care so much about them. His gun was working fine-, he'd fired it once at a shelf to ensure it wasn't broken. A bullet wasted, but much gained.
Unless they thought it was a joke. Unless- unless they thought cus I didn't have any- they thought it was a joke. They were laughing at me. Just like back then, they might not have said it but they were ALL laughing at me. And it just keeps on rolling doesn't it, laughing at the King, that's how they thought it'd be, those fucking cunts those fucking PIECES OF SHIT-
He'd smashed a till at the thought, throwing it at a window, watching it crack and pretending it was a face. He'd screamed and cursed as it hurt his throat, bellowed and kicked until his face was red and he'd spit up blood. His throat was raw for the rest of the day, but he'd shown them.
But it wasn't enough. Oh no, it wasn't enough at all. He had his gun, but he had a mission. They'd killed Rosa, and the more he thought on it, the more he was sure she was the only one he'd ever loved. He stoked the embers, spending time walking up and down the store with his gun in hand, smiling and shaking, remembering what he was going to do. Inside, he felt like crying, but he beat himself in the face until he dare not think it.
Kill. Fuck. Kill. Kill. Kill fucking everything- kill fucking everyone. Hero, fucking pussy, that's what I am, you fucking piece of shit. Fucking kill yourself Jimmy, that's what you should do. But no, not yet because they're filth, so kill. Kill, not so hard right? Mad dog, let's see your war face, all the heroes had a war face so let's see yours Jimmy, you fucking whore- slit throats, cut cocks, fucking kill kill kill, that's what you're about right Jimmy?
He grew fond of smashing the windows, so he wouldn't have to look at himself. Minutes turned into hours. Rosa never came back. His rage grew.
Doesn't she know it's dangerous out there? Fucking bitch, doesn't she know I'm the man, I'm the one? I'm the one who's going to get out alive, ain't that right? Oh yes, that's what I said yesterday, that's what I say today. Fucking whore. Come back Rosa, come back
But Rosa was dead and buried and he'd dug her up himself and screamed that story already.
It's not fair. She was perfect.
Worst fucking nightmare Jimmy, you're their worst fucking nightmare. You want to make it out buddy, right? So you gotta be your enemy, you gotta be worse then them. Wear a mask, that's what a coward would do, right? AND YOU ARE A COWARD, RIGHT JIMMY?
And so the day passed. Or maybe more. Jimmy ate and slept and shit, and bid his time.
Night came again, and Jimmy smiled to himself.
Worst fucking nightmare. Moxie. Fuck and kill and don't be afraid. Heroes can't die. That's what you decided you were, right?
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.
(Zach Jamis continued from Refraction)
Zach wasn't a fucking villain, but he sure wasn't a hero. He just realized that. He was none of those things. Or maybe both. Or maybe a hybrid.
As he arrived at the big fucking neighborhood for what felt like the tenth time, memories started to flood into his mind. Everything he did. All of the choices he made. Real big number of achievements. It was as if he really gave a shit what happened to him on this shithole.
He stared at a stray camera. He wondered how he looked on television. Maybe he didn't get any screentime. Well thank christ. The last thing he would need was a bunch of shirts with his ugly mug on them. Of course, they could also be building him up as a badass, which worried Zach. Well, not worry, because that would mean he actually gives a shit what people thought of him. No. It was just annoying.
"What are you looking at?" He asked the camera.
The camera didn't answer.
"Yeah." He said. "That's what I thought. Turn the other way and stare at the wall."
The camera was an ass though, because it kept staring at him.
"Do I have something on my face?"
The camera didn't answer.
Zach flipped it off. "Yeah, fuck you too."
Zach wondered if he was going crazy. Maybe. The insomnia wasn't helping.
Sleep. Zach didn't need sleep. He existed on hate, cigarettes and air. And he was running out of one of those things. He stared at the camera, not really caring whether Sam stared.
He knew she was watching.
"Lace."
Silence.
"S'been awhile. Sure hope you still aren't crying. Always thought you were tougher than that."
The camera didn't respond.
Zach just sighed. Okay, yeah, he was going insane. Fucking nuts. Soon he'll start killing people without any mercy. Wasn't that how all those player motherfuckers started? Their tiny minds snapped? Whatever. It's not like losing your mind was the end of the world. Fuck you mind. Go take a hike. He glared at Sam for a minute before going on his way.
This was starting to be one of those lame flashback episodes, where half of the fucking thing is just revisting the people and places Zach touched over his life. He hated tv. Hated the assholes who talked about tv shows like it's the only interesting thing in their lives.
He stopped in front of a grocery store. Some run down bullshit. Maybe smokes were in there. He didn't care whether they were classy. He just needed them. They were the most important thing of all.
It was around this time when Zach realized that he hated everything.
Well. That wasn't really a surprise. Everything in the world sucked.
Zach was also running out of cigarettes. Fuck everything. Seriously. Fuck it. At least he was back with Sam, but that was only a brief thought. Least she wasn't dead. At least Gacy-chan didn't kill her. Zach made damn sure to stick close to her now. He wasn't letting her fall out of sight again.
He blinked. Oh. Right. Sam.
He looked back before kicking the door open.
"Sam. I'm stopping at the store. Want anything?"
Zach wasn't a fucking villain, but he sure wasn't a hero. He just realized that. He was none of those things. Or maybe both. Or maybe a hybrid.
As he arrived at the big fucking neighborhood for what felt like the tenth time, memories started to flood into his mind. Everything he did. All of the choices he made. Real big number of achievements. It was as if he really gave a shit what happened to him on this shithole.
He stared at a stray camera. He wondered how he looked on television. Maybe he didn't get any screentime. Well thank christ. The last thing he would need was a bunch of shirts with his ugly mug on them. Of course, they could also be building him up as a badass, which worried Zach. Well, not worry, because that would mean he actually gives a shit what people thought of him. No. It was just annoying.
"What are you looking at?" He asked the camera.
The camera didn't answer.
"Yeah." He said. "That's what I thought. Turn the other way and stare at the wall."
The camera was an ass though, because it kept staring at him.
"Do I have something on my face?"
The camera didn't answer.
Zach flipped it off. "Yeah, fuck you too."
Zach wondered if he was going crazy. Maybe. The insomnia wasn't helping.
Sleep. Zach didn't need sleep. He existed on hate, cigarettes and air. And he was running out of one of those things. He stared at the camera, not really caring whether Sam stared.
He knew she was watching.
"Lace."
Silence.
"S'been awhile. Sure hope you still aren't crying. Always thought you were tougher than that."
The camera didn't respond.
Zach just sighed. Okay, yeah, he was going insane. Fucking nuts. Soon he'll start killing people without any mercy. Wasn't that how all those player motherfuckers started? Their tiny minds snapped? Whatever. It's not like losing your mind was the end of the world. Fuck you mind. Go take a hike. He glared at Sam for a minute before going on his way.
This was starting to be one of those lame flashback episodes, where half of the fucking thing is just revisting the people and places Zach touched over his life. He hated tv. Hated the assholes who talked about tv shows like it's the only interesting thing in their lives.
He stopped in front of a grocery store. Some run down bullshit. Maybe smokes were in there. He didn't care whether they were classy. He just needed them. They were the most important thing of all.
It was around this time when Zach realized that he hated everything.
Well. That wasn't really a surprise. Everything in the world sucked.
Zach was also running out of cigarettes. Fuck everything. Seriously. Fuck it. At least he was back with Sam, but that was only a brief thought. Least she wasn't dead. At least Gacy-chan didn't kill her. Zach made damn sure to stick close to her now. He wasn't letting her fall out of sight again.
He blinked. Oh. Right. Sam.
He looked back before kicking the door open.
"Sam. I'm stopping at the store. Want anything?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
((Samya Franklin continued from Refraction))
Zach was talking to the cameras. He was here, though, with Samya again, so he could talk to whatever he wanted to, however he felt like doing so. At least his speech was usual for him. He wasn't going crazy, just letting off some steam. If this was what had stopped him from turning their encounter with Reiko into a firefight, Samya was totally fine with it.
He glared at her. That was... well, okay, she didn't know what that was, but it was okay. Zach was alive, she was alive, so everything was okay for now. He'd gotten a bit ahead of her, but that was okay too. They were in the residential area. It was almost comforting. She could just keep up. There were landmarks here, recognizable things. She quickened her pace a bit, moving to catch up, as they approached a store. Zach asked if she wanted anything.
"You think there's any trail mix?" she asked.
She'd had trail mix before. It had made things better, at least for a little. Maybe, just maybe, it would do it again.
She hoped the ending would be better than last time.
Zach was talking to the cameras. He was here, though, with Samya again, so he could talk to whatever he wanted to, however he felt like doing so. At least his speech was usual for him. He wasn't going crazy, just letting off some steam. If this was what had stopped him from turning their encounter with Reiko into a firefight, Samya was totally fine with it.
He glared at her. That was... well, okay, she didn't know what that was, but it was okay. Zach was alive, she was alive, so everything was okay for now. He'd gotten a bit ahead of her, but that was okay too. They were in the residential area. It was almost comforting. She could just keep up. There were landmarks here, recognizable things. She quickened her pace a bit, moving to catch up, as they approached a store. Zach asked if she wanted anything.
"You think there's any trail mix?" she asked.
She'd had trail mix before. It had made things better, at least for a little. Maybe, just maybe, it would do it again.
She hoped the ending would be better than last time.
-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
The boy who used to be Jimmy waited behind the shelf, his breathing heavy. They'd strolled right in, two of them. Just before leaving he'd spotted them in the bushes and quick as a mouse he'd ducked back inside. Now, now they were in his domain.
My domain. I like it- I like that.
He edged forward, trying to contain his excitement. The gun was heavy in his hands, hard to lift. He'd removed his shoes, carefully padding along the tiled floor trying not to make a sound.
Who were they? Jimmy wasn't sure. He'd recognize them if he got close enough... But he didn't want that.
They're the enemy. I need to kill them, that's what I've got to do. I don't need them yelling and screaming. I need them dead and buried, just like Rosa.
So far they were unaware. The girl had broken off, headed down an aisle. The boy... Zach, Zach was his name. He was elsewhere.
I'll deal with him later. First the girl. Look at her Jimmy, barely a scratch on her. And she thinks she deserves to live? She hasn't earned it. Not like me, you fucking earned it tooth and nail, Phil and JJ, ain't that right?
Jimmy stepped into the aisle, raising the shotgun up toward her back. She didn't even know he was there. He held his breath, his grip tightening around the trigger. The boy who was Jimmy squinted down the sights, a grin appearing on his battered lips.
She hasn't done anything. She hasn't done anything- what kind of person hurts an innocent girl? Bastard. You're a fucking bastard. Right from the start, you never deserved to win. You said it till you though it was true but it was a fucking lie. Coward. Bastard. Failure. You're going to die, just like her and it won't matter.
You're going to die just like Rosa. Alone and scared, because this world isn't fucking fair. How easy was it for them to kill Rosa? Just a squeeze on the trigger, just a blade between the ribs. Nothin' at all. Just like squishing a fucking bug. They think you're a bug, that's right Jimmy. You never did nothin' you just wanted to live and they thought you were a fucking bug, just someone in the WAY. But you're not. You're going to make it, ain't that right? But if you want out, you fucking fight. You hurt them right the fuck back Jimmy. Make them bleed. Hurt them until it's numb, until you're the one on top. 'cus you got the Moxie, right? Collect their fucking heads. Collect THEIR FUCKING HEADS.
The shotgun kicked in his hands and the girl fell.
My domain. I like it- I like that.
He edged forward, trying to contain his excitement. The gun was heavy in his hands, hard to lift. He'd removed his shoes, carefully padding along the tiled floor trying not to make a sound.
Who were they? Jimmy wasn't sure. He'd recognize them if he got close enough... But he didn't want that.
They're the enemy. I need to kill them, that's what I've got to do. I don't need them yelling and screaming. I need them dead and buried, just like Rosa.
So far they were unaware. The girl had broken off, headed down an aisle. The boy... Zach, Zach was his name. He was elsewhere.
I'll deal with him later. First the girl. Look at her Jimmy, barely a scratch on her. And she thinks she deserves to live? She hasn't earned it. Not like me, you fucking earned it tooth and nail, Phil and JJ, ain't that right?
Jimmy stepped into the aisle, raising the shotgun up toward her back. She didn't even know he was there. He held his breath, his grip tightening around the trigger. The boy who was Jimmy squinted down the sights, a grin appearing on his battered lips.
She hasn't done anything. She hasn't done anything- what kind of person hurts an innocent girl? Bastard. You're a fucking bastard. Right from the start, you never deserved to win. You said it till you though it was true but it was a fucking lie. Coward. Bastard. Failure. You're going to die, just like her and it won't matter.
You're going to die just like Rosa. Alone and scared, because this world isn't fucking fair. How easy was it for them to kill Rosa? Just a squeeze on the trigger, just a blade between the ribs. Nothin' at all. Just like squishing a fucking bug. They think you're a bug, that's right Jimmy. You never did nothin' you just wanted to live and they thought you were a fucking bug, just someone in the WAY. But you're not. You're going to make it, ain't that right? But if you want out, you fucking fight. You hurt them right the fuck back Jimmy. Make them bleed. Hurt them until it's numb, until you're the one on top. 'cus you got the Moxie, right? Collect their fucking heads. Collect THEIR FUCKING HEADS.
The shotgun kicked in his hands and the girl fell.
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.
Sam went ahead of him. Even after promising that he wouldn't let her out of his sights, Zach did just that. The place was damn deserted, she would be fine. There were more important matters to be concerned with.
For example, cigarettes.
They kept the cigarettes behind the counter, in a little open shelve named "CIGARETTES". He made a beeline for it, forgetting about Sam.
He scrambled over. The window was stained glass with a big crack in the middle. Even though he couldn't see quite well through it, he knew it was empty.
Zach grimaced. Fuck everything, seriously. This was getting to be ri-god damn-diculous. Lines of expired cereal but no shitting cigarettes. He didn't need much. He didn't need fancy shit. He just need something to tide him over.
He flipped over the counter. Maybe the assholes stored some behind it.
No such luck. Zach cursed to himself, pulling open cabinet after cabinet. He had to find something. He was pulling at the cobwebs, desperate to find something.
This was bullshit. The dump place had fucking cans lining the walls and rats scurying out of every friggin hole in the wall. There had to be cigs. Had to be. Yet there wasn't. Zach's heart was pounding.
"Fuck," Zach said, slamming the cabinets. "Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck me fuck," he wheezed, "just... shit. God"
He held his head in his hands.
Get up Zach. Get up and act like a man.
He needed cigs though. Shit made him cool. Made him a goddamn genius. Kept him contained.
Didn't mean you have to be a complete pussy Zach.
Inhale exhale. He was trying so desperately not to waste his last ones. He wanted to hold onto them as long as possible.
Maybe if he weren't being such a shaky fuck, the sound wouldn't have made him leap.
The noise was loud. Zach never heard it before, but he was sure that he knew. A cannon. They used that shit during war reenactments right? They were fake. His pops brought him to one when he was little. It bored the shit out of him. The entire thing was just a snooze, and Zach had his arms crossed the entire time.
The sound was much more violent. It wasn't as loud. And there certainly wasn't a loud crash. It felt contained.
Like a gun. A fucking gun.
He remembered Sam.
Knew her for so long. Only thing close to a normal friend. He had let her go off, alone.
Fuck.
Me.
Zach dropped the cigarette as he ran. He didn't go to pick it back up.
Zach didn't know where the shot came from. It was in the store. He knew.
Everything was crumbling.
For example, cigarettes.
They kept the cigarettes behind the counter, in a little open shelve named "CIGARETTES". He made a beeline for it, forgetting about Sam.
He scrambled over. The window was stained glass with a big crack in the middle. Even though he couldn't see quite well through it, he knew it was empty.
Zach grimaced. Fuck everything, seriously. This was getting to be ri-god damn-diculous. Lines of expired cereal but no shitting cigarettes. He didn't need much. He didn't need fancy shit. He just need something to tide him over.
He flipped over the counter. Maybe the assholes stored some behind it.
No such luck. Zach cursed to himself, pulling open cabinet after cabinet. He had to find something. He was pulling at the cobwebs, desperate to find something.
This was bullshit. The dump place had fucking cans lining the walls and rats scurying out of every friggin hole in the wall. There had to be cigs. Had to be. Yet there wasn't. Zach's heart was pounding.
"Fuck," Zach said, slamming the cabinets. "Fuck fuck fuck shit fuck me fuck," he wheezed, "just... shit. God"
He held his head in his hands.
Get up Zach. Get up and act like a man.
He needed cigs though. Shit made him cool. Made him a goddamn genius. Kept him contained.
Didn't mean you have to be a complete pussy Zach.
Inhale exhale. He was trying so desperately not to waste his last ones. He wanted to hold onto them as long as possible.
Maybe if he weren't being such a shaky fuck, the sound wouldn't have made him leap.
The noise was loud. Zach never heard it before, but he was sure that he knew. A cannon. They used that shit during war reenactments right? They were fake. His pops brought him to one when he was little. It bored the shit out of him. The entire thing was just a snooze, and Zach had his arms crossed the entire time.
The sound was much more violent. It wasn't as loud. And there certainly wasn't a loud crash. It felt contained.
Like a gun. A fucking gun.
He remembered Sam.
Knew her for so long. Only thing close to a normal friend. He had let her go off, alone.
Fuck.
Me.
Zach dropped the cigarette as he ran. He didn't go to pick it back up.
Zach didn't know where the shot came from. It was in the store. He knew.
Everything was crumbling.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
She was looking for trail mix. It wasn't very hopeful. The shelves were pretty bare, and had clearly already been ransacked, stripped of most anything useful. Zach was off looking for something else. It was okay. The store was empty. No one would want to linger here. It was not particularly defensible, and certainly lacked the comfort of home.
She traced her hand along the shelves, swirling the dust with her fingers, wondering what this store had been like before all of this. She looked at some of the things, the silly little things for sale, cans and cleaners and such, and wondered where they would have been had the island still been inhabited. Still, no nuts, no raisins, no cereal. No M&Ms. She was looking at the floor, thinking that maybe someone had dropped a bag, when all of a sudden there was a loud noise and a great force and she found herself face down in the aisle.
Her legs were hurting, and badly. Her lower back hurt some, too. Had... had someone shot her? It was the quick conclusion, but no, no, that couldn't be right. It couldn't happen right out of nowhere. No way. No.
Zach was there, right? He was somewhere back there. But, no, she'd gotten too far ahead. She'd left him behind again. She'd split off, and now she was paying. This wasn't right. They were supposed to be camping. They were supposed to be having fun.
She wasn't having fun. She'd definitely been shot, and badly.
But she wouldn't, couldn't go down without a fight. She had her gun, and she painfully flipped herself over, firing an unaimed shot in the rough direction of her assailant, feeling the kick, and calling over it, "Zach!"
She traced her hand along the shelves, swirling the dust with her fingers, wondering what this store had been like before all of this. She looked at some of the things, the silly little things for sale, cans and cleaners and such, and wondered where they would have been had the island still been inhabited. Still, no nuts, no raisins, no cereal. No M&Ms. She was looking at the floor, thinking that maybe someone had dropped a bag, when all of a sudden there was a loud noise and a great force and she found herself face down in the aisle.
Her legs were hurting, and badly. Her lower back hurt some, too. Had... had someone shot her? It was the quick conclusion, but no, no, that couldn't be right. It couldn't happen right out of nowhere. No way. No.
Zach was there, right? He was somewhere back there. But, no, she'd gotten too far ahead. She'd left him behind again. She'd split off, and now she was paying. This wasn't right. They were supposed to be camping. They were supposed to be having fun.
She wasn't having fun. She'd definitely been shot, and badly.
But she wouldn't, couldn't go down without a fight. She had her gun, and she painfully flipped herself over, firing an unaimed shot in the rough direction of her assailant, feeling the kick, and calling over it, "Zach!"
-
Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy watched the girl fall, her legs a bloody ruin. He struggled to breath, the stench of smoke lingered in the air. Slowly, he lowered his weapon. The girl continued to squirm and yell in pain.
Slowly and carefully, Jimmy took a step forward.
Faster then he could predict, the girl had spun on the ground, raising up her gun and firing a shot. Beside him a jar of pickles exploded in a cloud of glass. Jimmy gave a sharp yelp, stumbling sideways into the opposite shelf. He looked at the broken jar and ruined shelf with wonder. His head whipped back around to the girl, his fascination replaced with blind rage. Blood soaked the floor around her and her raised weapon wavered, sinking to the cold ground.
"You... you tried to kill me."
The girl didn't reply outright. In any case, he wasn't really listening. All reasoning and caution left him as he advanced toward her. Hate. He hated her more then anything. It had always been like this, hadn't it? He couldn't remember a time when it wasn't like this. Him always fighting, to get what he deserved.
"You, you tried to KILL me!"
He let loose a kick to her hand, sending the gun flying out of her reach. Enraged he brought his shoe down on her fingers.
She tried to kill you. She thinks she's better then you, she thinks she should go home. She thinks you're NOTHING, she thinks you'll just bend over and DIE.
He kicked again, hitting her in the shoulder. He raised his voice, screaming down at the bleeding girl.
"You think I'm nothing!? You think you deserve to win! You don't deserve it! Fuck you! Fuck you, you little fucking whore, you bitch, you fucking undeserving little CUNT! Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, I'm the only one, I FUCKING WORKED FOR IT! YOU TRYING TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME? ARE YOU?!?"
He let out a roar, kicking her again and again. She tried to resist, but her legs were ragged and bloody, any fight she still had was long gone by the time he had stopped.
"Where's Zach now bitch? Huh? Tell me that! You fucking piece of shit! You killed Rosa didn't you? You killed her, and now you came back to finish the job!"
That's it, that's got to be it. She's your enemy, fucking hurt her, show them how much you hurt-
Jimmy spun, stalking his way back down the aisle, looking around. He didn't see the boy anywhere. Had he run away? An animalistic growl escaped his lips. No, they were all alone. Whoever Zach was, he was nowhere to be seen. Jimmy tried to think back, remember who Zach was. There was a fleeting image, a thin boy in a black t-shirt. Had they been on the same bus, the day of the camping trip? Maybe they had. Maybe that's why he sounded so familiar.
Maybe he remembered you. Maybe that's why he came back, to kill you. He wants to kill you Jimmy, him and the girl. You gotta finish them first, you've gotta win. You want to go home, you become a monster. Because you LIKE it when it hurts, right? Because you got Moxie, that's why Danya GAVE you the Moxie, and they're trying to kill you, don't they know? DON'T THEY KNOW?
Jimmy turned around, heading back toward the girl. He paid her no mind, heading straight for the nearest shelf. Knocking bags of chips and salad dressing off, Jimmy gripped a shelf, giving it a pull. He was in luck- the shelves were a cheaper kind, set up and sturdy but not screwed into the floor. A ghastly smile spread across his face.
"You think you're better then me?" He whispered, giving the shelf another pull. It scraped against the floor and Jimmy panted from the effort. "Heard I was nearly dead, you want to finish me off ain't that right? Because you think you're BETTER then me."
Kill her, kill her, KILL her, KILL HER, KILL THE BITCH, KILL HER KILL HER KILL KILL-
He looked down the aisle again. No one around, but he heard movement. The boy was still around. He needed to act fast. He took a breath and steeled himself.
DON'T WAIT FOR HIM, KILL HER! KILL HER NOW, KILL HER YOU FUCKING PUSSY, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT YOU LITTLE FAGGOT BASTARD-
"RRRGHHH!"
With seemingly the last of his strength, Jimmy tipped the shelf. Gravity did the rest of the work as tons of foodstuffs and the strong metal shelf itself fell into the middle of the aisle-
Directly on top of the screaming girl.
Yes! Oh God, oh yes, oh YES!
Jimmy staggered sideways, smashing into the opposite shelf as it came down with a sickening crunching noise on top of the girl. Jars smashed and the noise rang in his ears. His eyes were wide with shock, his legs kicking sporadically. He squirmed away from his handiwork, half of him appalled, half of him giddy with delight. He made his way back down the aisle, picking up his battered shotgun.
Jimmy turned back toward the sight, his joy slowly overtaking him until he was laughing with delight at the crumpled form beneath the shelf that had once been a girl, his entire puny frame shaking with each breath. He raised gun, squinting down the sights.
BLAM.
The bullets hit the toppled shelf, and everything else in the aisle. Glass smashed and Jimmy realized the sound in his ears wasn't from the gun, but was his own laughter. He scarcely recognized the sound of it anymore.
"HAHA BITCH. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?"
He fired again down the aisle, then again directly at the toppled shelf and the form beneath. The air was smoky by the time he was finished and his laughter had ended. He let the gun clatter to the floor and he stood shaking, his eyes defiant.
"I KILLED YOU. HAHA. I. FUCKING. KILLED YOU!"
And now I get to make it two. Now I make my way home. Moxie. That's what he gave me, Moxie.
Slowly and carefully, Jimmy took a step forward.
Faster then he could predict, the girl had spun on the ground, raising up her gun and firing a shot. Beside him a jar of pickles exploded in a cloud of glass. Jimmy gave a sharp yelp, stumbling sideways into the opposite shelf. He looked at the broken jar and ruined shelf with wonder. His head whipped back around to the girl, his fascination replaced with blind rage. Blood soaked the floor around her and her raised weapon wavered, sinking to the cold ground.
"You... you tried to kill me."
The girl didn't reply outright. In any case, he wasn't really listening. All reasoning and caution left him as he advanced toward her. Hate. He hated her more then anything. It had always been like this, hadn't it? He couldn't remember a time when it wasn't like this. Him always fighting, to get what he deserved.
"You, you tried to KILL me!"
He let loose a kick to her hand, sending the gun flying out of her reach. Enraged he brought his shoe down on her fingers.
She tried to kill you. She thinks she's better then you, she thinks she should go home. She thinks you're NOTHING, she thinks you'll just bend over and DIE.
He kicked again, hitting her in the shoulder. He raised his voice, screaming down at the bleeding girl.
"You think I'm nothing!? You think you deserve to win! You don't deserve it! Fuck you! Fuck you, you little fucking whore, you bitch, you fucking undeserving little CUNT! Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, I'm the only one, I FUCKING WORKED FOR IT! YOU TRYING TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME? ARE YOU?!?"
He let out a roar, kicking her again and again. She tried to resist, but her legs were ragged and bloody, any fight she still had was long gone by the time he had stopped.
"Where's Zach now bitch? Huh? Tell me that! You fucking piece of shit! You killed Rosa didn't you? You killed her, and now you came back to finish the job!"
That's it, that's got to be it. She's your enemy, fucking hurt her, show them how much you hurt-
Jimmy spun, stalking his way back down the aisle, looking around. He didn't see the boy anywhere. Had he run away? An animalistic growl escaped his lips. No, they were all alone. Whoever Zach was, he was nowhere to be seen. Jimmy tried to think back, remember who Zach was. There was a fleeting image, a thin boy in a black t-shirt. Had they been on the same bus, the day of the camping trip? Maybe they had. Maybe that's why he sounded so familiar.
Maybe he remembered you. Maybe that's why he came back, to kill you. He wants to kill you Jimmy, him and the girl. You gotta finish them first, you've gotta win. You want to go home, you become a monster. Because you LIKE it when it hurts, right? Because you got Moxie, that's why Danya GAVE you the Moxie, and they're trying to kill you, don't they know? DON'T THEY KNOW?
Jimmy turned around, heading back toward the girl. He paid her no mind, heading straight for the nearest shelf. Knocking bags of chips and salad dressing off, Jimmy gripped a shelf, giving it a pull. He was in luck- the shelves were a cheaper kind, set up and sturdy but not screwed into the floor. A ghastly smile spread across his face.
"You think you're better then me?" He whispered, giving the shelf another pull. It scraped against the floor and Jimmy panted from the effort. "Heard I was nearly dead, you want to finish me off ain't that right? Because you think you're BETTER then me."
Kill her, kill her, KILL her, KILL HER, KILL THE BITCH, KILL HER KILL HER KILL KILL-
He looked down the aisle again. No one around, but he heard movement. The boy was still around. He needed to act fast. He took a breath and steeled himself.
DON'T WAIT FOR HIM, KILL HER! KILL HER NOW, KILL HER YOU FUCKING PUSSY, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT YOU LITTLE FAGGOT BASTARD-
"RRRGHHH!"
With seemingly the last of his strength, Jimmy tipped the shelf. Gravity did the rest of the work as tons of foodstuffs and the strong metal shelf itself fell into the middle of the aisle-
Directly on top of the screaming girl.
Yes! Oh God, oh yes, oh YES!
Jimmy staggered sideways, smashing into the opposite shelf as it came down with a sickening crunching noise on top of the girl. Jars smashed and the noise rang in his ears. His eyes were wide with shock, his legs kicking sporadically. He squirmed away from his handiwork, half of him appalled, half of him giddy with delight. He made his way back down the aisle, picking up his battered shotgun.
Jimmy turned back toward the sight, his joy slowly overtaking him until he was laughing with delight at the crumpled form beneath the shelf that had once been a girl, his entire puny frame shaking with each breath. He raised gun, squinting down the sights.
BLAM.
The bullets hit the toppled shelf, and everything else in the aisle. Glass smashed and Jimmy realized the sound in his ears wasn't from the gun, but was his own laughter. He scarcely recognized the sound of it anymore.
"HAHA BITCH. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?"
He fired again down the aisle, then again directly at the toppled shelf and the form beneath. The air was smoky by the time he was finished and his laughter had ended. He let the gun clatter to the floor and he stood shaking, his eyes defiant.
"I KILLED YOU. HAHA. I. FUCKING. KILLED YOU!"
And now I get to make it two. Now I make my way home. Moxie. That's what he gave me, Moxie.
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She missed. Didn't matter. She had his attention. He was focusing his rage on her, all on her. It was the least she could do. It was all she could do for Zach now. Give him a chance to get clear. With her legs injured, the grim reality was that she was doomed. Her chances at making it out of here were gone. All she could hope for was to help Zach. She had gotten him into this mess, after all. She wished she could just undo it somehow, could just leave him at home. It would have made these days worse. Would have maybe caused her death a lot earlier. It didn't matter.
And the boy was beating her, and she was hurting, and the gun was clattering off somewhere, but she was trying to keep calm, keep under control, just to buy Zach a little longer. He'd probably come over, though. He'd probably try to save her. That couldn't happen. The boy had a gun, a big one. Zach was tough, but all it took was one shot to kill someone, no matter how tough they were.
So she had to make Zach leave. Had to make sure that one shot never came. And then the boy had moved, and she couldn't see him, and she was hoping he wasn't going after Zach. Not that. She had to keep him safe. Had to protect him, one last time. Had to see her best friend through this.
There was a crash, and something heavy fell on her. She was able to throw her arms over her head, to prevent it from killing her instantly. It was over, though, even more than before. She'd screamed in there, throughout, intermittently. Now, she fell quiet. She could barely see, through a small gap in the rubble.
He still had the gun. He even fired a couple times, bullets shredding through the material covering her. She felt the pain, once more, flashing throughout her body. She was dying, and quickly. Still no sign of Zach. She hoped he'd run, but at the same time, the thought hurt her somehow. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave her.
And then, she thought she saw a figure behind the other boy, a figure she knew. The pain was overwhelming her, blood flowing from her various wounds, her vision fading to black, but she still managed one final effort, one last feat of strength. One shot. That would be all it took to end him. That couldn't happen.
"Zach," she said. "Run."
And then there was nothing more she could do.
And the boy was beating her, and she was hurting, and the gun was clattering off somewhere, but she was trying to keep calm, keep under control, just to buy Zach a little longer. He'd probably come over, though. He'd probably try to save her. That couldn't happen. The boy had a gun, a big one. Zach was tough, but all it took was one shot to kill someone, no matter how tough they were.
So she had to make Zach leave. Had to make sure that one shot never came. And then the boy had moved, and she couldn't see him, and she was hoping he wasn't going after Zach. Not that. She had to keep him safe. Had to protect him, one last time. Had to see her best friend through this.
There was a crash, and something heavy fell on her. She was able to throw her arms over her head, to prevent it from killing her instantly. It was over, though, even more than before. She'd screamed in there, throughout, intermittently. Now, she fell quiet. She could barely see, through a small gap in the rubble.
He still had the gun. He even fired a couple times, bullets shredding through the material covering her. She felt the pain, once more, flashing throughout her body. She was dying, and quickly. Still no sign of Zach. She hoped he'd run, but at the same time, the thought hurt her somehow. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave her.
And then, she thought she saw a figure behind the other boy, a figure she knew. The pain was overwhelming her, blood flowing from her various wounds, her vision fading to black, but she still managed one final effort, one last feat of strength. One shot. That would be all it took to end him. That couldn't happen.
"Zach," she said. "Run."
And then there was nothing more she could do.
G008, Samya Franklin: DECEASED
38 STUDENTS REMAIN
38 STUDENTS REMAIN
No.
No no no no shit fuck fuck fuck no how the fuck could this happen?! Zach got there once the shelf fell and watched as The Ginger filled Sam up with lead and - She stopped moving! Zach was gasping for air - no, he grabbed for as much air as he could! It left all too quickly!
"SAMYA!"
Every bad boy voice in his head told him to get a fucking hold of himself! But fuck them, fuck everything, Sam was - Sam -
Fuck. The boy turned around and saw him. That sick fuck was looking right at him!
Zach - Zach didn't know what the fuck to do! Jesus fucking christ Sam was - oh shit. Sam was dead! She was dead! Zach couldn't believe it! Memories rushed into his head before he could even think! He had been friends with her since elementary, Zach was this asshole and Sam had always stuck around! He never really thought about it! That was when the other memories, the robbing, the escape group, that girl who had screamed at him, Mizore, that kid Simon, that mute kid that Zach pissed off, all the dead kids, everyone, dead, dying, death, and Lacy, oh god Lacy, his parents, home and how he used to cry like a baby at everything and and and -
Zach shook out of it and took a step back.
Sam had told him to run.
Run? RUN THE FUCK WHERE?
Zach didn't fucking know! Out the door?! That shit was in this fucker's view! He'd mow him down! God damn it Sam! Couldn't you have been more specific! Shit! Zach, Zach, think god damn it!
If he were the badass he always imagined himself to be, Zach Jamis would piledrive the ginger right in the face and break every bone in his scrawny ginger body.
Zach didn't do that though. Who would be stupid enough to try that?! He was no god damn super hero!
So for once, Zach Jamis actually listened to something Sam had told him.
Zach Jamis turned on his tail and ran.
No no no no shit fuck fuck fuck no how the fuck could this happen?! Zach got there once the shelf fell and watched as The Ginger filled Sam up with lead and - She stopped moving! Zach was gasping for air - no, he grabbed for as much air as he could! It left all too quickly!
"SAMYA!"
Every bad boy voice in his head told him to get a fucking hold of himself! But fuck them, fuck everything, Sam was - Sam -
Fuck. The boy turned around and saw him. That sick fuck was looking right at him!
Zach - Zach didn't know what the fuck to do! Jesus fucking christ Sam was - oh shit. Sam was dead! She was dead! Zach couldn't believe it! Memories rushed into his head before he could even think! He had been friends with her since elementary, Zach was this asshole and Sam had always stuck around! He never really thought about it! That was when the other memories, the robbing, the escape group, that girl who had screamed at him, Mizore, that kid Simon, that mute kid that Zach pissed off, all the dead kids, everyone, dead, dying, death, and Lacy, oh god Lacy, his parents, home and how he used to cry like a baby at everything and and and -
Zach shook out of it and took a step back.
Sam had told him to run.
Run? RUN THE FUCK WHERE?
Zach didn't fucking know! Out the door?! That shit was in this fucker's view! He'd mow him down! God damn it Sam! Couldn't you have been more specific! Shit! Zach, Zach, think god damn it!
If he were the badass he always imagined himself to be, Zach Jamis would piledrive the ginger right in the face and break every bone in his scrawny ginger body.
Zach didn't do that though. Who would be stupid enough to try that?! He was no god damn super hero!
So for once, Zach Jamis actually listened to something Sam had told him.
Zach Jamis turned on his tail and ran.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy stalked through the store, his eyes hunting. The girl had long since stopped screaming, stopped whimpering. That served him just fine. But there was another, and Jimmy couldn't allow him to live. She'd said his name, begged him to run, and he'd shouted back like a wounded animal.
He'll kill you too, there's no going back. You've got to deal with it. You've got to take him out before he gets you.
"Zach!" He screamed, raising his gun up. There wasn't a sign of the boy. He was still in the store that much he knew. His heart beat in his chest, paranoia rising up to corrupt his thoughts.
"ZACH! GET OUT HERE!"
Jimmy licked his battered lips, squinting through the gaps in the aisle, over the cash registers.
Where is he? Behind you!
Jimmy spun. For a second he thought he was finished- but there was no one there. He breathed out a sigh, a mixture of anger and relief. His eyes flicked back to the door- no one. He was all alone. So very alone. His rage began to build again, and Jimmy started to shake as he whipped his gun around, looking for the boy.
Hiding like a little bitch. What kind of man hides, what kind of man lets his girl die? That fucker. He didn't even care about her, not like me and Rosa, no, fucker didn't DESERVE something like that, he let her die, he RAN, I didn't run, little bitch, little fucking coward-
"Coward!" He shrieked at the top of his lungs, his voice a high scratchy pitch.
"Coward, coward, coward, you fucking little bitch coward! Get out here! Fight me, fight like a fucking man! I killed her, I shot her and I made her cry, you fucking coward, don't you want revenge? Don't you want to kill me!? Don't-"
Jimmy froze. He began to shake in perfect fury, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"YOU DON'T THINK I'M WORTH KILLING DO YOU?"
He lost it then, raising his weapon and firing it blindly down the row of cash registers, the bullets exploding the screens and shredding magazines. Jimmy was a hurricane, running up and down the aisle, scanning for any sign of Zach, spittle dribbling from his mouth.
"ZACH!" His screams took on a near desperate tone. He couldn't let him get away, he couldn't let that happen. He was Jimmy fucking Brennan, he was a nightmare, what he wanted he'd get because he deserved it, more then anything in the world. And he wanted Zach.
And then time seemed to slow- a mop of hair ducking below a shelf. Jimmy raised his gun and fired. The stand next to the boy exploded in a flurry of smoke and debris, ruined cereal boxes falling to the tiled floor. The noise echoed as Jimmy ran closer, his gun up and ready.
He was unarmed- clearly terrified out of his mind. A snarl appeared on Jimmy's face as he saw the boy was uninjured. Slowly and methodically Jimmy began to walk forward, his heart thumping in his chest.
I've got him now. He's mine. I won, I win.
"Come'on Zach," He whispered, murder in his voice. "Why you gotta be like that?"
He'll kill you too, there's no going back. You've got to deal with it. You've got to take him out before he gets you.
"Zach!" He screamed, raising his gun up. There wasn't a sign of the boy. He was still in the store that much he knew. His heart beat in his chest, paranoia rising up to corrupt his thoughts.
"ZACH! GET OUT HERE!"
Jimmy licked his battered lips, squinting through the gaps in the aisle, over the cash registers.
Where is he? Behind you!
Jimmy spun. For a second he thought he was finished- but there was no one there. He breathed out a sigh, a mixture of anger and relief. His eyes flicked back to the door- no one. He was all alone. So very alone. His rage began to build again, and Jimmy started to shake as he whipped his gun around, looking for the boy.
Hiding like a little bitch. What kind of man hides, what kind of man lets his girl die? That fucker. He didn't even care about her, not like me and Rosa, no, fucker didn't DESERVE something like that, he let her die, he RAN, I didn't run, little bitch, little fucking coward-
"Coward!" He shrieked at the top of his lungs, his voice a high scratchy pitch.
"Coward, coward, coward, you fucking little bitch coward! Get out here! Fight me, fight like a fucking man! I killed her, I shot her and I made her cry, you fucking coward, don't you want revenge? Don't you want to kill me!? Don't-"
Jimmy froze. He began to shake in perfect fury, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"YOU DON'T THINK I'M WORTH KILLING DO YOU?"
He lost it then, raising his weapon and firing it blindly down the row of cash registers, the bullets exploding the screens and shredding magazines. Jimmy was a hurricane, running up and down the aisle, scanning for any sign of Zach, spittle dribbling from his mouth.
"ZACH!" His screams took on a near desperate tone. He couldn't let him get away, he couldn't let that happen. He was Jimmy fucking Brennan, he was a nightmare, what he wanted he'd get because he deserved it, more then anything in the world. And he wanted Zach.
And then time seemed to slow- a mop of hair ducking below a shelf. Jimmy raised his gun and fired. The stand next to the boy exploded in a flurry of smoke and debris, ruined cereal boxes falling to the tiled floor. The noise echoed as Jimmy ran closer, his gun up and ready.
He was unarmed- clearly terrified out of his mind. A snarl appeared on Jimmy's face as he saw the boy was uninjured. Slowly and methodically Jimmy began to walk forward, his heart thumping in his chest.
I've got him now. He's mine. I won, I win.
"Come'on Zach," He whispered, murder in his voice. "Why you gotta be like that?"
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.
Zach was fucking scared.
No, not fucking scared because that would actually qualify it. This is a level of fear that didn't even fucking register. Mother fuckers couldn't even comprehend just how fucking scared he was. Zach kept dodging through aisles, ducking and weaving. Zach Jamis was waiting for an opening to make a run for it, but at the same time he had no clue where the fuck the ginger was! He could be anywhere! His voice was coming from every direction, and he had no idea where -
Wait, didn't this guy just ask...
What the fuck was wrong with this guy?! Did he want Zach to kill him?! Why the fuck would anyone want to die after killing someone with a shotgun?!! Zach didn't fucking understand! Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK!
Coward?! You bet your fucking ass, anyone with half a brain and no weapons would be running away from you you stupid freaky ginger! Sam told him to run, so he ran, he ran as fast as he could and he wasn't going to fucking regret that! Just go outside and shoot yourself in the face Jimmy! For fucks sake! Just leave him alone!
Zach's heart was pounding. The ginger popped into view, Zach freaked. He quickly ducked behind a shelf, held his head with his hands.
Get a grip. Calm down. He's not going to -
FUCK!
Zach spilled back, slid on the floor! His legs were jelly. He knew he had to get back up to his feet, had to run but he kept slipping. No! No no no, shit, Zach, get up. He scattered to the ground, clawing at it with his hands.
Zach turned back. Ginger was there, hovering over him. No. No, he had to run. Had to escape. His legs turned to rubber.
Play it cool Zach. Just play it cool.
"Y-You stay the fuck away from me!" Zach was uncool. He was angry, scared. "Y-You fucking killed Sam! Sam-" Shit. Was he crying?! "Sam was my friend! She was - "
No, not fucking scared because that would actually qualify it. This is a level of fear that didn't even fucking register. Mother fuckers couldn't even comprehend just how fucking scared he was. Zach kept dodging through aisles, ducking and weaving. Zach Jamis was waiting for an opening to make a run for it, but at the same time he had no clue where the fuck the ginger was! He could be anywhere! His voice was coming from every direction, and he had no idea where -
Wait, didn't this guy just ask...
What the fuck was wrong with this guy?! Did he want Zach to kill him?! Why the fuck would anyone want to die after killing someone with a shotgun?!! Zach didn't fucking understand! Fuck! Fuck fuck FUCK!
Coward?! You bet your fucking ass, anyone with half a brain and no weapons would be running away from you you stupid freaky ginger! Sam told him to run, so he ran, he ran as fast as he could and he wasn't going to fucking regret that! Just go outside and shoot yourself in the face Jimmy! For fucks sake! Just leave him alone!
Zach's heart was pounding. The ginger popped into view, Zach freaked. He quickly ducked behind a shelf, held his head with his hands.
Get a grip. Calm down. He's not going to -
FUCK!
Zach spilled back, slid on the floor! His legs were jelly. He knew he had to get back up to his feet, had to run but he kept slipping. No! No no no, shit, Zach, get up. He scattered to the ground, clawing at it with his hands.
Zach turned back. Ginger was there, hovering over him. No. No, he had to run. Had to escape. His legs turned to rubber.
Play it cool Zach. Just play it cool.
"Y-You stay the fuck away from me!" Zach was uncool. He was angry, scared. "Y-You fucking killed Sam! Sam-" Shit. Was he crying?! "Sam was my friend! She was - "
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Ciel. 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.
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Little Boy†
- Posts: 256
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 4:47 am
Jimmy could barely control himself. He stared down at Zach, his gaze merciless, his eyes cold and dead. There wasn't a shred of sympathy left in him, no mercy, no nothing. He was angry and hateful, empty with nothing else left of merit. He was cold, he was tired and in pain, a constant unending pain, assaulting his very sanity, or what little was left of it.
Jimmy leveled the gun toward Zach's head, pressing the hot barrel to the boys temple. Zach had scrambled down the aisle on his hands and knees, but there was nowhere left to run. His heart pounded and Jimmy licked his lips.
I barely know him. Why'd he have to do this? Why did it have to come to this? He should have died- died like the rest of them. He should never have tried.
"Fuck you. Fuck you, and fuck your girl," Jimmy snarled, staring down at his prey. "You ran. You ran, and you don't think I'm worth it. So you don't get to talk anymore. You don't get fucking anything."
He pressed the barrel forward, knocking Zach's head back against the shelf.
You're toying with him. You barely know him, and you're going to kill him, just to prove you can.
He doesn't think you're worth it. He doesn't even think you're WORTH killing. Give him a chance and they'll eat you alive. They killed Rosa. They think you're a pussy. They don't think you're a real man.
"I don't care if she was your friend. They told us to KILL our friends. But I don't got any, now ain't that funny? So I had to kill yours instead."
His voice was cracking again, memories flooding his broken mind. Rosa, Rosa had liked him a lot. Rosa was real, she wasn't going to hurt him. But she had hurt him, and he'd hurt himself. Now everything had to die, wasn't the way it went? A stupid boy, on a quest to make the world hurt just as much as he was hurting. That was what he was, that was what he was doing. But the girl would have died anyways, whoever she was, whoever she'd been. Jimmy had just filled the role. Zach had no right to complain. He had taken her for granted.
You can't take them for granted. Rosa is sleeping right outside.
"She called out to you Zach," He whispered, his words coarse and barely intelligible. "She called out to you- as if you were gonna fix everything. Rosa did the same thing, I know she did- she better have. This is your fault. YOUR fault. We were supposed to fix everything-"
Click.
I want to go home.
Jimmy pulled the trigger.
Jimmy leveled the gun toward Zach's head, pressing the hot barrel to the boys temple. Zach had scrambled down the aisle on his hands and knees, but there was nowhere left to run. His heart pounded and Jimmy licked his lips.
I barely know him. Why'd he have to do this? Why did it have to come to this? He should have died- died like the rest of them. He should never have tried.
"Fuck you. Fuck you, and fuck your girl," Jimmy snarled, staring down at his prey. "You ran. You ran, and you don't think I'm worth it. So you don't get to talk anymore. You don't get fucking anything."
He pressed the barrel forward, knocking Zach's head back against the shelf.
You're toying with him. You barely know him, and you're going to kill him, just to prove you can.
He doesn't think you're worth it. He doesn't even think you're WORTH killing. Give him a chance and they'll eat you alive. They killed Rosa. They think you're a pussy. They don't think you're a real man.
"I don't care if she was your friend. They told us to KILL our friends. But I don't got any, now ain't that funny? So I had to kill yours instead."
His voice was cracking again, memories flooding his broken mind. Rosa, Rosa had liked him a lot. Rosa was real, she wasn't going to hurt him. But she had hurt him, and he'd hurt himself. Now everything had to die, wasn't the way it went? A stupid boy, on a quest to make the world hurt just as much as he was hurting. That was what he was, that was what he was doing. But the girl would have died anyways, whoever she was, whoever she'd been. Jimmy had just filled the role. Zach had no right to complain. He had taken her for granted.
You can't take them for granted. Rosa is sleeping right outside.
"She called out to you Zach," He whispered, his words coarse and barely intelligible. "She called out to you- as if you were gonna fix everything. Rosa did the same thing, I know she did- she better have. This is your fault. YOUR fault. We were supposed to fix everything-"
Click.
I want to go home.
Jimmy pulled the trigger.
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.