No One Gets Left Behind

[shotgunkid†]

Naturally, Wade hadn't noticed his arms shaking. As always, he didn't notice the ADD rush his mind had clung onto until it had already taken hold. Presumably, it stemmed from the mental and intellectual buzz of arguing with others and actually having to use brainpower to engage in both receiving and transmitting ideas. No, he was definitely on it, or coming off slowly. His arms and legs were shaking, he could feel the start of a desire to get up and start... moving. Usually that would shortly result in acting pretty spastic.

And many, many small reprimands and reproaches had come his way when someone noticed that in normal life. Usually whenever he was engrossed by music or some powerful thought or not paying attention. Here, there wasn't anyone but his tired companions to notice, and they all seemed somewhat out of it themselves. Especially Cass; he pretended not to notice the choked sobbing noises and watery eyes.

Trav seemed the most focused. Relatively calm and collected, and he made a good point with that weapon. Not to mention his own body.

Unless someone had a large group, or was cocky, they'd be scared off attacking. Unless they had guns of their own - but that was certain death anyhow. Another chill. Wade really didn't want to lend too much thought to death. Cessation of existence was still terrifying to really wrap his head around. The afterlife was a long shot.

What was the right thing to do? Really, the best possible course of action they had available was to somehow formulate an escape plan - a workable one - without the terrorists noticing a thing. Even though that was even more of a long shot. Getting right with God, Allah, Vishnu or whoever started looking more and more appealing in comparison. Bleaugh, religion's aftertaste..

Well, the afterlife also involved dying and being incapable of accomplishing his dreams. That meant it was out anyway, even though it enabled him to continue existing in some form. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself, trying to deaden the movement, and tried to think systematically about the problem, the way they did in mind-game thrillers and cop shows. He tried to combine it with his intuition and, surprisingly, it would often work. On the few times he had the presence of mind to approach a problem deliberately, he felt far more clear-headed teasing things out that way, both when mentally weighing philosophical questions and when doing academic work...



They came fast and furious. First, as anything else, the collars almost certainly had to have been manufactured in pieces, then assembled together. The processes used to do so would have left seams in the construction of the collar, visible or otherwise. It was always easier, he realized, to tear along the lateral grain of a piece of meat or the connection between two different parts of a structure. The seams were the weakest point of any thing and any construction, and striking at them meant objects came apart faster.

But he couldn't feel any on the collar. Not inwardly, not outwardly. His skin, beside the stretch of it on the hands, had a low sense resolution. His throat didn't feel anything beside the almost crushing grip, and he didn't dare actually touch the thing - that would give the game away in a heartbeat. Even the dumbest guard would realize what he was doing if they were paying even the least attention to him. He glanced carefully at the others, slowly trying to visually analyze theirs --

He shimmied slightly closer to Cass and tried to subtly steal a decent glance at the thing, trying to make it look as though he were staring at her face and not her neck because then they'd realize. He didn't know where the cameras were - couldn't do anything about them - couldn't avoid their sight even if he knew because then the terrorists would know he knew, and so on. With how advanced camera technology was, tiny spycams could have been placed in all the rooms and walls and cliffs and beaches of this island in such a tight pattern and high density that they missed nothing. Unaffordable, maybe, but doable. He absolutely had to presume if the terrorists could have done something to stymie his escape, they would have done it. And piled on extra duct tape to make sure.

Even in the bad lighting and with the few glances he did manage to take that satisfied him, he could tell there wasn't anything. Nothing he could unscrew or jam a knife into for certain. The collars did seem fairly small, as he expected - probably using a shaped charge. He didn't know the details of human anatomy and the power of small explosives, but from what grenades could do it probably sufficed to sever his neck cleanly in half. Another shiver. He'd read about how one could remain conscious for several moments after decapitation, and-- yikes. It was chilling enough to remember Nguyen's account of the way collar-blown corpses looked, make a few inferences, and apply it to here. Well, he didn't have to dwell on it. It was enough to know that the terrorists would probably either observe him very closely or blow the thing if he made the slightest error.

He absolutely had to presume that if they found a good reason to kill him, they would. His fists clenched, but no tears or sadness came. Quickly, he'd broken his sight off Cass. That felt extremely close. As unhealthy as it was, he absolutely had to be paranoid about this. Again, the slightest error could bring it all crashing down upon him..

[Deamon]

As always, once all the emotions came out the argument died down into nothing but awkward silence. It was how it always went. As if on queue an awkward apology followed from Irene. Trav always saw the scenario play out but had never been a part of it. He had never had a personal stake in it before either so that was also a different feeling. Every single time.

There was no point in him saying anything really. Everyone had said their piece and that was that.

Trav sighed and stood up, stretching his back and legs.

"I'm going to go for a walk. Stretch my legs." He missed out the part where he wanted to clean the discussion out of his mind.

He looked over the others as much as he wanted to just clear his thoughts he knew that just walking off by himself was stupid and selfish. At the same time, what he was about to do counted as pretty selfish.

"Cass, want to come with? Get some air?" After a small pause Trav added in an amendment. "Or anyone else, doesn't really matter." He shrugged and turned to head off down the corridor.

It wasn't like he was going anywhere though. He had left his pack in the room. He just didn't need to be in that room any more. He hoped Cass did take him up on his offer.

The truth was it did matter.

[dmboogie]

Cass still wasn't okay, but they were starting to approach functional again. "It's alright," they said to Irene, still staring at the floor. "You didn't do anything wrong." She should have never had to waste her guilt on Cass, forcing apologies from her lips out of some twisted obligation to give comfort to the bomb that had exploded in her face. Their face flushed red with shame, intensified as they felt Wade's silent gaze.

There was no sympathy there, refreshingly enough. Cass was glad to know that they had managed to avoid dragging at least one person down with them into the perpetual churning cesspit of negative emotion. Still, they didn't understand why he was paying so much attention to them, and shifted uncomfortably in place as Wade shifted closer to them. He looked detached, analytical; a judge or a labcoat studying a particularly ugly specimen to figure out just what the fuck was wrong with them.

They were all too glad to accept Trav's offer of sanctuary, a brief respite from hurt and indifference. If he had been anyone else, Cass would have been sure that they had only disappointed him by falling apart again; but he was, as ever, collected. Trav held an admirable self-confidence, being unarrogantly secure enough in himself to be able to extend that feeling of safety to everyone around him. Despite everything, they found themself idly regretting that they'd never get the chance to paint him. Regardless, Cass shakily got to their feet, still avoiding looking at the others.

Both of them walked down the corridor, Cass trailing a few steps behind Trav. Once they were a safe distance from the room, Cass quietly said "Sorry... about, well. Everything."

[Emprexx Plush]

Wade was bugging out, so it was easier to ignore him and just focus on Cass and Trav bailing for a "walk." It made sense. Everybody needed a little air after that. Unless a walk wasn't a walk. Unless they both decided to bail on the weirdos while they had the chance before either of them snapped and left them behind. Unless they weren't coming back and now she'd been abandoned for being a spaz, just like she deserved.

It was so hard to breathe.

Irene didn't say anything for a little bit as Trav and Cass walked away. Eventually, she gathered her things, got up, and went to take a "walk" herself.

It'd probably be awhile before she stopped walking.

((Irene Djezari Continued in How Can I Take Off This Mask?))

[Deamon]

Trav shrugged.

"Don't blame yourself. You didn't start the conversation."

Trav absentmindedly clapped his hands in front of him as they walked.

"Don't worry about it." He said quieter, eventually they came to a stop at the end of a corridor and Trav thought about what to do next.

In the end he decided that the waiting around wasn't going to work out for him.

"Tell you what, I'll go get our stuff and then we can get out of here. This place just has bad vibes."

He turned to Cass and grinned.

"Plus, I still haven't seen the sea yet."

((Travis Lynch continued elsewhere...))

[shotgunkid†]

First Trav and Cass went, then Irene. It felt as though Cass was the least sympathetic out of all of them to Wade, but he figured Irene needed the alone time. And yet-- he was wracked by a few moments of indecision as he thought of all the ways the latter could get into trouble, then dismissed them.

As the first two got up and walked out of the room, he simply followed.

At the moment, escape felt more and more unreal, like a bust, like it was a false hope that he only clung to because of his emotions, even though he knew it had solid foundation in his mind. What now..?

((Wade Cartwright continued in Remember Everything.))

[dmboogie]

"Thanks," Cass said, awkwardly rubbing the back of their neck. They didn't have the energy or the inclination to try to correct Trav's misplaced sympathy. They still reluctantly appreciated the sentiment, even if it tasted sour. It was hard to understand why he cared, but it had gotten through even Cass's self-defeating skull that he genuinely still did.

They couldn't help but smile at his plan, though. It wasn't a strategy. It wasn't a solution. It was more beautiful than all that - something to live for, even for just a while longer. "We signed up for a trip to a museum, and what did we see? We saw the sea."

As they walked, Cass saw Wade following them out of the corner of their eye and did their best to ignore him. They didn't dislike his presence and could understand his silence, but something about him was still discomforting. They pictured him with a labcoat and clipboard, furtively peeking behind corners. Subject has run away from another conflict instead of resolving anything. Subject is now making a pathetic attempt to socialize. Subject is beginning to become self-aware. Will observe until its status changes.

When they all returned to their room, it was a guilty relief to find that Irene was gone. Another person forced out of another safe haven just because Cass couldn't handle a little bit of stress. Worse yet, this time they had actively strung them along with their initial invitation of being good company. Still, their dynamic couldn't have gone on existing as it had been. For her sake, Cass hoped that Irene could find good, like-minded people; do something constructive with her ideals and injustice-fueled drive.

((Cass knew they wouldn't.))