Kris breathed again. He hadn't called it, bluff or no. She'd gained a little breathing space. For now. Kris wasn't entirely sure she deserved it. Yet... for her guilt... Kris didn't want to die. She didn't want to be another corpse. RJ was staring at her, then... backing off. But the intent look in his eyes told her simply that it wasn't the last she'd heard of this. Heading back to the girl, was he?
She had a bad feeling about this, Kris's hand holding the detonator wavered. RJ didn't have the look of somebody who'd given up. Kris watched RJ, half an eye on the squeak that had come from nearby. Less of a threat, much less. Kris watched, and swiftly, she realised.
Not retreat.
Farewell.
...What was she sitting on?
Cool metal.
Snatch of...
The voice.
Best kill award.
Town center.
BKA.
Town center.
This box...
Kris slowly, in a near daze, rose to her feet. Turned. There was the box at her feet. Large, cuboid.
A box... a container.
Kris looked down at it, back to RJ. Back to the container. RJ was moving towards her. Time for a gamble. Time to put her faith in the man that had made her four times a murderer, purely because like before... she was too selfish to set aside herself.
Whatever, Kris was never a saint. Repentence. ...tear. That wasn't going to change anything, not anymore.
She opened the box.
...
Beautiful.
A light came into Kris's eyes as she looked on it.
An M79 grenade launcher.
Gently, almost reverantly, Kris reached down, picked the weapon up, hefted it, cradling it in her arms like a child.
Smile.
Kris swerved around, her attention on the weapon and the box before it meaning she hadn't yet spotted Aston. She raised the grenade launcher, pointed it straight at the advancing RJ. Pulled the trigger.
Click.
Not loaded!?
Feral Intelligence
It wasn't that he didn't hear Mary-Ann's pleas. It wasn't that he didn't care. It wasn't that he was abandoning her. It was the exact opposite of any of that. He wasn't leaving her. No matter how far apart they were, he was never going to leave her. Never. But he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't vocalize it. He didn't have time to write it down. He just had to hope she found the note. That, and that she got away as quickly as possible. This was all for her. He wished he could tell her that. This was all for her.
He slouched toward Kris, slowly but steadily, sword dragging heavily along the ground. His gaze was fixed. Aston, who he only now had noticed was there, was behind her. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was closing in. He liked Aston, really, he did, but that idiot was going to get herself killed like this. Kris, meanwhile, was going for that box she was sitting on. That big, shiny, metal box. The kind arms dealers carried the tools of their trade around with in movies. Opened it. Pulled out its contents. He recognized it fairly quickly as an M79 grenade launcher. He grinned. Something she wouldn't shoot at him at close range. Better yet, something she didn't seem to realize wasn't likely to come pre-loaded.
It would take time to load the weapon. Time she didn't have before he closed the distance between them, and from the look on her face, she knew it. The discordant scraping of the steel against the cobblestones was jarring to anyone's ears. Normally he'd carry his weapon properly, but it would work to his advantage all the same. Tap into Kris' primal fears. Get her to make a mistake. The world seemed to blur around him, but it didn't matter. He was this close to putting an end to her. There was no stopping now, as each step forward seemed to last forever.
This time, though, they were just coming that slowly.
Two hundred seventy five students had a shot at surviving version 4 of Survival of the Fittest. However small, two hundred seventy five students had a tangible chance at returning home from the island. Some, like Maxwell Lombardi and Reiko Ishida, who had transcended humanity and become pure forces of nature, had the odds stacked in their favor. For some, be they fools the likes of Remi Pierce, or simply unfortunate, like Dallas Reynolds or Megan Nelson, had negligibly infinitesimal chances, but they had chances all the same. For most, they were just as likely as anyone to see the game through to its conclusion, but in the end, two hundred seventy five students had a chance at surviving.
It's worth noting, then, that two hundred seventy six students made the senior trip.
That one further student, Robert Jacob Lowe, sealed his fate the moment he stepped on the bus. From the moment of his conception on a cold February night in 1989, to this hot summer day in 2008, a long, impossibly complex series of chemical reactions shaped R.J. into the person he had been precisely three hours ago, the very moment his appendix finally gave way to its growing infection and ruptured. Had he stayed home, he could have caught it early, received appropriate medical attention, had the offending vestigial organ removed, and gone on with his life, empty though it might have been when his class never came home. Oh well. For want of a nail, they say.
R.J. dropped to his knees before Kris. It was purely a fluke of nature that they'd carried him as far as they had. He tried to raise the sword, perhaps fight her off from here. Tried, and failed. His arms didn't have the strength to lift the sword on the way back, so why would they now, when he couldn't even feel them anymore? Slowly, the blade slipped from his numb fingers, clattering on the ground. His extremities had been abandoned by any sensation. Everything else was pain. Roiling, searing pain. But he refused to show it. Even now, when it was so obviously an exercise in futility, he had to stay strong. It was all he could do. Just sit there, endure the agony, and show no weakness.
Just laugh it off.
He stared up at Kris, primed as she was to turn this entire town center into her own little charnel house in a bath of fire, and he smiled, letting out a raspy, voiceless chuckle. Of all the times for him to give out, of all the places, this is what it all amounted to. The light in those brown eyes of his began to fade. His eyelids were growing heavy. Whatever happened now, it was over for him. He glanced briefly back to Mary-Ann, smile still on his face, albeit a bit gentler now, and nodded her off. With a little effort, he was able to form a thumbs up for her. Let her know it'd all be okay.
This isn't goodbye, babe.
He turned his gaze slowly back to Kris. Breathed in. Out. In.
He would need every ounce of strength he had left.
Like a giant, hellish jack-in-the-box, he sprung up from his knees, diving straight for the girl with the grenade launcher. His left arm outstretched, his eyes focused on her neck, he made one last, desperate attempt at her collar. It was probably futile. He knew full well it would be. But in that last moment before he blacked out, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt the warm metal of that explosive neckband brush against his fingertips.
He was gone before he hit the ground.
But hey, at least he tried, right?
B119 Robert Jacob Lowe: Deceased
Mary-Ann,
As I write this, it's occurred to me that these stomach pains probably aren't from hunger. Truth is, they've been bothering me since before I ran into you that second night here. I didn't want to say anything - okay, wrong choice of words, I guess, but the thing is, I didn't want to worry you. I wanted to be strong, to protect you. I guess I wanted you to need me as much as I needed you. Funny how that worked out for us, right? All I can really do now is apologize, if I'm letting you down in any way. It's just that this is my time, I guess. Not a lot to be done about it. I've made my peace and said my prayers, and the rest is in God's hands now.
Some people might curse their lot in life if they were in my shoes. Personally? I think that's bullshit. I've been blessed with a family that loved me and cared about me, and I hope they always will. I've accomplished more in eighteen years than most people will in eighty. Sure, I didn't get to do everything I wanted to, but that's the best way to live life, isn't it? Be happy with what you already have, but never settle for just that or rest on your laurels. The only thing I can really say I regret is that I couldn't stay with you. When I told you I loved you, I really did mean it. There were other girls before you, we both know that, but you made me feel something I never knew I could. When you were around, I felt more alive than I ever had before. You're the kind of girl I could've honestly seen myself settling down and starting a family with. We'd have two kids, Michelle and Claymore, because no one messes with a dude named Claymore, and a nice house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and everything. It's just as well I'll never have any of it. I know now that I don't deserve it. But it was nice to think about for a while.
Before I die, I've got one last favor to ask. Since I couldn't be strong for you, I want you to promise you'll be strong for yourself. I reloaded the gun. You've got thirteen rounds left, so use them conservatively and aim them well. Be smart. Understand that some won't hesitate to kill you if it means going home. Respond to these people in kind. If a peaceful means of escape presents itself, seize it. If it doesn't, do what you have to. Much as I'll miss you, I don't hope to see you soon, so prioritize survival above all else. Go home. Hug your parents. Forget about me. Find someone better for you, and live your life like you always have. Anything less, and the bastards who did this to us have succeeded. And if it helps, remember that whatever the announcements tell you, I'll be with you every step of the way. If you're scared, I'll be here to hold you tight. If you need to cry, I'll be here to give you my shoulder. If your aim falters, I'll be here to steady your hands. If you lose your balance, I'll be here to pick you up. And when it comes time that you're strong enough that you don't need my help, I'll bow out gracefully, but as long as you need me, I'm right here.
Most of all, I want to thank you for everything. For giving me a purpose in life. For being there when I needed someone the most. For being you. And for all this rambling, thanks for listening. I really do appreciate it.
He slouched toward Kris, slowly but steadily, sword dragging heavily along the ground. His gaze was fixed. Aston, who he only now had noticed was there, was behind her. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was closing in. He liked Aston, really, he did, but that idiot was going to get herself killed like this. Kris, meanwhile, was going for that box she was sitting on. That big, shiny, metal box. The kind arms dealers carried the tools of their trade around with in movies. Opened it. Pulled out its contents. He recognized it fairly quickly as an M79 grenade launcher. He grinned. Something she wouldn't shoot at him at close range. Better yet, something she didn't seem to realize wasn't likely to come pre-loaded.
It would take time to load the weapon. Time she didn't have before he closed the distance between them, and from the look on her face, she knew it. The discordant scraping of the steel against the cobblestones was jarring to anyone's ears. Normally he'd carry his weapon properly, but it would work to his advantage all the same. Tap into Kris' primal fears. Get her to make a mistake. The world seemed to blur around him, but it didn't matter. He was this close to putting an end to her. There was no stopping now, as each step forward seemed to last forever.
This time, though, they were just coming that slowly.
Two hundred seventy five students had a shot at surviving version 4 of Survival of the Fittest. However small, two hundred seventy five students had a tangible chance at returning home from the island. Some, like Maxwell Lombardi and Reiko Ishida, who had transcended humanity and become pure forces of nature, had the odds stacked in their favor. For some, be they fools the likes of Remi Pierce, or simply unfortunate, like Dallas Reynolds or Megan Nelson, had negligibly infinitesimal chances, but they had chances all the same. For most, they were just as likely as anyone to see the game through to its conclusion, but in the end, two hundred seventy five students had a chance at surviving.
It's worth noting, then, that two hundred seventy six students made the senior trip.
That one further student, Robert Jacob Lowe, sealed his fate the moment he stepped on the bus. From the moment of his conception on a cold February night in 1989, to this hot summer day in 2008, a long, impossibly complex series of chemical reactions shaped R.J. into the person he had been precisely three hours ago, the very moment his appendix finally gave way to its growing infection and ruptured. Had he stayed home, he could have caught it early, received appropriate medical attention, had the offending vestigial organ removed, and gone on with his life, empty though it might have been when his class never came home. Oh well. For want of a nail, they say.
R.J. dropped to his knees before Kris. It was purely a fluke of nature that they'd carried him as far as they had. He tried to raise the sword, perhaps fight her off from here. Tried, and failed. His arms didn't have the strength to lift the sword on the way back, so why would they now, when he couldn't even feel them anymore? Slowly, the blade slipped from his numb fingers, clattering on the ground. His extremities had been abandoned by any sensation. Everything else was pain. Roiling, searing pain. But he refused to show it. Even now, when it was so obviously an exercise in futility, he had to stay strong. It was all he could do. Just sit there, endure the agony, and show no weakness.
Just laugh it off.
He stared up at Kris, primed as she was to turn this entire town center into her own little charnel house in a bath of fire, and he smiled, letting out a raspy, voiceless chuckle. Of all the times for him to give out, of all the places, this is what it all amounted to. The light in those brown eyes of his began to fade. His eyelids were growing heavy. Whatever happened now, it was over for him. He glanced briefly back to Mary-Ann, smile still on his face, albeit a bit gentler now, and nodded her off. With a little effort, he was able to form a thumbs up for her. Let her know it'd all be okay.
This isn't goodbye, babe.
He turned his gaze slowly back to Kris. Breathed in. Out. In.
He would need every ounce of strength he had left.
Like a giant, hellish jack-in-the-box, he sprung up from his knees, diving straight for the girl with the grenade launcher. His left arm outstretched, his eyes focused on her neck, he made one last, desperate attempt at her collar. It was probably futile. He knew full well it would be. But in that last moment before he blacked out, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt the warm metal of that explosive neckband brush against his fingertips.
He was gone before he hit the ground.
But hey, at least he tried, right?
B119 Robert Jacob Lowe: Deceased
Mary-Ann,
As I write this, it's occurred to me that these stomach pains probably aren't from hunger. Truth is, they've been bothering me since before I ran into you that second night here. I didn't want to say anything - okay, wrong choice of words, I guess, but the thing is, I didn't want to worry you. I wanted to be strong, to protect you. I guess I wanted you to need me as much as I needed you. Funny how that worked out for us, right? All I can really do now is apologize, if I'm letting you down in any way. It's just that this is my time, I guess. Not a lot to be done about it. I've made my peace and said my prayers, and the rest is in God's hands now.
Some people might curse their lot in life if they were in my shoes. Personally? I think that's bullshit. I've been blessed with a family that loved me and cared about me, and I hope they always will. I've accomplished more in eighteen years than most people will in eighty. Sure, I didn't get to do everything I wanted to, but that's the best way to live life, isn't it? Be happy with what you already have, but never settle for just that or rest on your laurels. The only thing I can really say I regret is that I couldn't stay with you. When I told you I loved you, I really did mean it. There were other girls before you, we both know that, but you made me feel something I never knew I could. When you were around, I felt more alive than I ever had before. You're the kind of girl I could've honestly seen myself settling down and starting a family with. We'd have two kids, Michelle and Claymore, because no one messes with a dude named Claymore, and a nice house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and everything. It's just as well I'll never have any of it. I know now that I don't deserve it. But it was nice to think about for a while.
Before I die, I've got one last favor to ask. Since I couldn't be strong for you, I want you to promise you'll be strong for yourself. I reloaded the gun. You've got thirteen rounds left, so use them conservatively and aim them well. Be smart. Understand that some won't hesitate to kill you if it means going home. Respond to these people in kind. If a peaceful means of escape presents itself, seize it. If it doesn't, do what you have to. Much as I'll miss you, I don't hope to see you soon, so prioritize survival above all else. Go home. Hug your parents. Forget about me. Find someone better for you, and live your life like you always have. Anything less, and the bastards who did this to us have succeeded. And if it helps, remember that whatever the announcements tell you, I'll be with you every step of the way. If you're scared, I'll be here to hold you tight. If you need to cry, I'll be here to give you my shoulder. If your aim falters, I'll be here to steady your hands. If you lose your balance, I'll be here to pick you up. And when it comes time that you're strong enough that you don't need my help, I'll bow out gracefully, but as long as you need me, I'm right here.
Most of all, I want to thank you for everything. For giving me a purpose in life. For being there when I needed someone the most. For being you. And for all this rambling, thanks for listening. I really do appreciate it.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Stark. 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.
[Writing credit goes to Rugga for this one!]
Mary-Ann could only watch in horror, frozen to the spot as R.J. walked back and then sank down to his knees. He was maybe thirty feet away, but it felt like there were miles between them. Something was wrong with him. He turned back to her and smiled a smile of soft kindness, but there was unmistakable pain in his eyes. Mary-Ann bit her lip as her mind started to work out the awful truth of the situation.
It was a good bye kiss. He knew.
Her eyes brimmed with tears.
She figured it out seconds before he leapt forward and smashed back down, like a rag doll.
The droplets crept down her dirty face as her head made the slight nod that followed the arc of his body.
Everything was quiet. And then suddenly it sounded like she'd swallowed a drum kit.
Mary-Ann ran forward with a total disregard to Kris and her grenade launcher. She threw herself down to him with such urgency she was sure she'd scrapped her knees, but that was of little concern to her.
She dropped her bag and gun down next to him and turned him over, face up.
"R.J." she whispered shakily through her tears that were twisting her face in distress.
Check for a heart beat. Check for breathing.
She pressed her ear against his chest. He was still so warm. Dead people were cold and hollow. He had to be alive. It would be like last time. He'd sit back up in a minute and she'd yell at him again for scaring her like that again.
Nothing.
She put her hands to his face. She brushed back some of the dark hair off of his face. He was still.
"Please please please," she mumbled desperately.
Now the tears were coming like a torrent. None of those polite single tears drops running down her cheeks. She was sobbing and hiccupping and swallowing air.
Mary-Ann wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her head into his chest just as she had in life. Small muffled whimpers escaped.
"Don't leave," she choked out.
She felt so empty now. She didn't even have anyone to be angry at except R.J. But she couldn't be angry at him, as much as she would have liked to.
Mary-Ann couldn't bring herself to let go of him. She couldn't step back and wipe the tears away because she knew that as soon as she left him, she'd never see him again.
She sat up. She'd gotten his shirt wet with her crying. Her eyes wide and her hands wringing together she looked at him.
It was then she remembered Kris. Mary-Ann looked up at the other girl. It was as if there was just a big question mark spread on her face.
Mary-Ann could only watch in horror, frozen to the spot as R.J. walked back and then sank down to his knees. He was maybe thirty feet away, but it felt like there were miles between them. Something was wrong with him. He turned back to her and smiled a smile of soft kindness, but there was unmistakable pain in his eyes. Mary-Ann bit her lip as her mind started to work out the awful truth of the situation.
It was a good bye kiss. He knew.
Her eyes brimmed with tears.
She figured it out seconds before he leapt forward and smashed back down, like a rag doll.
The droplets crept down her dirty face as her head made the slight nod that followed the arc of his body.
Everything was quiet. And then suddenly it sounded like she'd swallowed a drum kit.
Mary-Ann ran forward with a total disregard to Kris and her grenade launcher. She threw herself down to him with such urgency she was sure she'd scrapped her knees, but that was of little concern to her.
She dropped her bag and gun down next to him and turned him over, face up.
"R.J." she whispered shakily through her tears that were twisting her face in distress.
Check for a heart beat. Check for breathing.
She pressed her ear against his chest. He was still so warm. Dead people were cold and hollow. He had to be alive. It would be like last time. He'd sit back up in a minute and she'd yell at him again for scaring her like that again.
Nothing.
She put her hands to his face. She brushed back some of the dark hair off of his face. He was still.
"Please please please," she mumbled desperately.
Now the tears were coming like a torrent. None of those polite single tears drops running down her cheeks. She was sobbing and hiccupping and swallowing air.
Mary-Ann wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her head into his chest just as she had in life. Small muffled whimpers escaped.
"Don't leave," she choked out.
She felt so empty now. She didn't even have anyone to be angry at except R.J. But she couldn't be angry at him, as much as she would have liked to.
Mary-Ann couldn't bring herself to let go of him. She couldn't step back and wipe the tears away because she knew that as soon as she left him, she'd never see him again.
She sat up. She'd gotten his shirt wet with her crying. Her eyes wide and her hands wringing together she looked at him.
It was then she remembered Kris. Mary-Ann looked up at the other girl. It was as if there was just a big question mark spread on her face.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Stark. 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.
As if Eiko's heart couldn't sink any lower, she saw comprehension dawn in Hartmann's face. The next few seconds felt like an eternity to her. She felt the warmth of her body radiating away, felt sweat dripping down her forehead and off her chin, felt her new clothes already starting to get heavy and wet. Any action she took would put her at risk of being blown apart, or hideously burned. So she did nothing but fume as Hartmann made claim to the prize she sought.
Hartmann's hand made its way down, diving toward the edge of the metal box's lid. It opened easily, the lid turning over the side of the box and banging against it. For the first time, Eiko saw her prize.
It was a gun, alright, but something looked off about it. It had a stock, a trigger, a sight, and a barrel, the only parts of a gun that Eiko really recognized, but she was assuming that the hollow metal rectangle on top of the gun was the sight, and she couldn't believe that there were bullets big enough to fit that monstrous barrel. It had to be something else. She would have settled for a normal gun; once again, she'd have an unwieldy weapon she might not have been able to use at all. How much did that thing weigh? Twenty pounds? Thirty? Hartmann didn't seem to have a problem lifting it, though.
Hartmann. For a moment, Eiko actually thought the weapon was already hers. But she suddenly noticed that Hartmann held it with both hands.
No more detonator. This was her chance.
As Hartmann hefted the stock to her shoulder and aimed it squarely at Lowe, Eiko charged her.
As Hartmann pulled the trigger, Eiko pulled back the head of her sodegarami, prepared to slam the metal spines coating the pole below it into the side of Hartmann's head.
As Lowe collapsed, his own attack on Hartmann thwarted by his ailing body, Eiko swung with all her might.
Hartmann's hand made its way down, diving toward the edge of the metal box's lid. It opened easily, the lid turning over the side of the box and banging against it. For the first time, Eiko saw her prize.
It was a gun, alright, but something looked off about it. It had a stock, a trigger, a sight, and a barrel, the only parts of a gun that Eiko really recognized, but she was assuming that the hollow metal rectangle on top of the gun was the sight, and she couldn't believe that there were bullets big enough to fit that monstrous barrel. It had to be something else. She would have settled for a normal gun; once again, she'd have an unwieldy weapon she might not have been able to use at all. How much did that thing weigh? Twenty pounds? Thirty? Hartmann didn't seem to have a problem lifting it, though.
Hartmann. For a moment, Eiko actually thought the weapon was already hers. But she suddenly noticed that Hartmann held it with both hands.
No more detonator. This was her chance.
As Hartmann hefted the stock to her shoulder and aimed it squarely at Lowe, Eiko charged her.
As Hartmann pulled the trigger, Eiko pulled back the head of her sodegarami, prepared to slam the metal spines coating the pole below it into the side of Hartmann's head.
As Lowe collapsed, his own attack on Hartmann thwarted by his ailing body, Eiko swung with all her might.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.
A burning sensation scathed Aston's chest as she saw the RPG hoisted out of the box told her to run away. That burning sensation? Common sense. Yet she pressured on, getting closer, stupidly closer until she saw what was going on on the other side.
...
Whatever she saw, she suppressed it. Caring about everything that happened just then wasn't part of her goal so she blocked it out. It wasn't relevant. What was relevant was the facts. Cold. Hard. Facts. The facts told her that there was one less person on the scene, the facts told her that Kris Hartmann was now holding an unloaded weapon, the facts told her that Japanese Weaboo idiot was now about to attack her, and now the facts told her to act. Don't think. Act.
She swooped down towards the bag lay right near the box, and clenched it in her right and strongest hand. Stupid. She didn't know where the detonator was, she didn't know where the bomb was, but all she knew was that this thing had to be disposed of.
Aston spun around, prepared. Aiming in a useless direction, useless because no one was or would ever be there in the immediate future, she threw the bag as far as she could muster.
There wasn't enough time to see it land, because just like that, she was off.
Her reason for being there was gone and rendered useless. Of course, the numbing sensation she felt long before wasn't there, but it would be soon, and that was when her motives were unguessable, her actions reckless and her goals shifted as suddenly as the weather.
The numbing came back as soon as she scooped up her shoes. She shook her head and tried to ease it off, but it came quickly. Aston was quicker though. The girl was off through the town almost as speedily as she came.
((Aston Bennett continues in No Such Thing as a Perfect Plan))
*
No goddammit, this wasn't supposed to happen.
He wasn't supposed to die.
RJ Lowe was there. As was his girl. And that Japanese girl from the cage. Oh, and Kris Hartmann, 4-time killer. She's gone insane, and she has explosives. A lot of them now.
But RJ's dead. I'm not sure how it happened, but he's no longer among the living.
I feel numb. I want to throw something, kill something, this is just how I felt almost a day ago, but I can't give in like I did then.
Someone could die. I don't want to be responsible for more than one two deaths here.
Tired.
I need time to think.
...
Whatever she saw, she suppressed it. Caring about everything that happened just then wasn't part of her goal so she blocked it out. It wasn't relevant. What was relevant was the facts. Cold. Hard. Facts. The facts told her that there was one less person on the scene, the facts told her that Kris Hartmann was now holding an unloaded weapon, the facts told her that Japanese Weaboo idiot was now about to attack her, and now the facts told her to act. Don't think. Act.
She swooped down towards the bag lay right near the box, and clenched it in her right and strongest hand. Stupid. She didn't know where the detonator was, she didn't know where the bomb was, but all she knew was that this thing had to be disposed of.
Aston spun around, prepared. Aiming in a useless direction, useless because no one was or would ever be there in the immediate future, she threw the bag as far as she could muster.
There wasn't enough time to see it land, because just like that, she was off.
Her reason for being there was gone and rendered useless. Of course, the numbing sensation she felt long before wasn't there, but it would be soon, and that was when her motives were unguessable, her actions reckless and her goals shifted as suddenly as the weather.
The numbing came back as soon as she scooped up her shoes. She shook her head and tried to ease it off, but it came quickly. Aston was quicker though. The girl was off through the town almost as speedily as she came.
((Aston Bennett continues in No Such Thing as a Perfect Plan))
*
No goddammit, this wasn't supposed to happen.
He wasn't supposed to die.
RJ Lowe was there. As was his girl. And that Japanese girl from the cage. Oh, and Kris Hartmann, 4-time killer. She's gone insane, and she has explosives. A lot of them now.
But RJ's dead. I'm not sure how it happened, but he's no longer among the living.
I feel numb. I want to throw something, kill something, this is just how I felt almost a day ago, but I can't give in like I did then.
Someone could die. I don't want to be responsible for more than one two deaths here.
Tired.
I need time to think.
-
Ruggahissy
- Posts: 1593
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
((Slight GM approved))
There was perfect silence. It was the sort of silence that soufflé chefs aspire to. You could hear a pin drops, or perhaps in this case, a heart break.
Mary-Ann was locked into the unanswered question she'd posed to Kris. Was she going to kill her? The grenade launcher needed to be loaded still. Neither of them moved.
Mary-Ann's fingers dug into R.J. still warm skin.
And suddenly time started up again and seemed to be running in fast forward now to make up for before. Kris moved and Mary-Ann tried to grab her gun and bag to run. They were heavier than she'd accounted for and Mary-Ann stumbled and fell, landing on her right knee and then her right shoulder. She could feel the point of impact in her knee start to heat up, but that took a backseat for the moment. She picked her things up again and starting running, this time with success.
Her bag strap dug into her banged up shoulder but she didn't care. It was fear that had a hold of her and kept her sprinting back towards the woods right past the spot were she'd gotten that kiss.
Breathing was so hard. She gulped for air as she ran because she had never stopped crying. Strands of her hair were sticking to her face where it was wet and getting in her mouth. She tried to brush it away.
Mary-Ann began to cough and her cough turned to retching. She stopped for a brief second to choke down some air. She was alone and so scared and she'd left R.J.
For as long as she lived now, she'd never see him again.
((Mary-Ann Warren continued in Waves of Devotion ))
There was perfect silence. It was the sort of silence that soufflé chefs aspire to. You could hear a pin drops, or perhaps in this case, a heart break.
Mary-Ann was locked into the unanswered question she'd posed to Kris. Was she going to kill her? The grenade launcher needed to be loaded still. Neither of them moved.
Mary-Ann's fingers dug into R.J. still warm skin.
And suddenly time started up again and seemed to be running in fast forward now to make up for before. Kris moved and Mary-Ann tried to grab her gun and bag to run. They were heavier than she'd accounted for and Mary-Ann stumbled and fell, landing on her right knee and then her right shoulder. She could feel the point of impact in her knee start to heat up, but that took a backseat for the moment. She picked her things up again and starting running, this time with success.
Her bag strap dug into her banged up shoulder but she didn't care. It was fear that had a hold of her and kept her sprinting back towards the woods right past the spot were she'd gotten that kiss.
Breathing was so hard. She gulped for air as she ran because she had never stopped crying. Strands of her hair were sticking to her face where it was wet and getting in her mouth. She tried to brush it away.
Mary-Ann began to cough and her cough turned to retching. She stopped for a brief second to choke down some air. She was alone and so scared and she'd left R.J.
For as long as she lived now, she'd never see him again.
((Mary-Ann Warren continued in Waves of Devotion ))
There was no time, there wasn't enough time.
He moved in on her, R.J raised the sword, bearing down to attack and... dropped.
Kris froze.
...What?
The sword dipped, not towards her, simply to the ground. Not threatening. A look of sheer incredulity came onto Kris's face. What had just happened didn't add up, it didn't make the slightest bit of sense. It was absurd, ridiculous. R.J had fallen to the ground with barely a whimper.
Stare. Smile. He smiles.
Bloodshot eyes widened.
Look ou-
R.J sprung up, somehow launched himself all the way up from the ground. Kris's breath caught in her throat for that heart-stopping instant.
Collar. No. No...nono
He fell away. She breathed again.
Smile. Gloriiooous. A treasur-
A broad, relaxed grin on her face, Kris started to turn back to the box... only to see somebody rushing towards her.
What is... sharp, blades.. doesn't...
There was a brief instant of panic, and then all of a sudden... it seemed like she had all the time in the world. Kris raised the treasure and casually blocked the bizarre weapon being swung at her. Kris jolted with the impact and a clang echoed through the area, but she caught the blow nonetheless.
"Ah-ah... two on one's not fair..." Kris's voice was low, hushed. Just a little sing-song.
More than a little deranged.
He moved in on her, R.J raised the sword, bearing down to attack and... dropped.
Kris froze.
...What?
The sword dipped, not towards her, simply to the ground. Not threatening. A look of sheer incredulity came onto Kris's face. What had just happened didn't add up, it didn't make the slightest bit of sense. It was absurd, ridiculous. R.J had fallen to the ground with barely a whimper.
Stare. Smile. He smiles.
Bloodshot eyes widened.
Look ou-
R.J sprung up, somehow launched himself all the way up from the ground. Kris's breath caught in her throat for that heart-stopping instant.
Collar. No. No...nono
He fell away. She breathed again.
Smile. Gloriiooous. A treasur-
A broad, relaxed grin on her face, Kris started to turn back to the box... only to see somebody rushing towards her.
What is... sharp, blades.. doesn't...
There was a brief instant of panic, and then all of a sudden... it seemed like she had all the time in the world. Kris raised the treasure and casually blocked the bizarre weapon being swung at her. Kris jolted with the impact and a clang echoed through the area, but she caught the blow nonetheless.
"Ah-ah... two on one's not fair..." Kris's voice was low, hushed. Just a little sing-song.
More than a little deranged.
The triumph rushing through Eiko's head almost had an intoxicating quality to it. So assured was she of her success that her mind already ran through the possibilities of what she could do with her newfound grenade launcher. She wouldn't be vulnerable to the whims of the predators; instead she could be one, if she so chose. With one click of the trigger, she could reduce anyone to a smear on the soil, including the great and terrible Lombardi!
But reality hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water when Hartmann blocked her clumsy strike with ease. Eiko trembled then, wondered how it was possible that Hartmann could possibly be this good at thwarting her every ambition. Did she have divine protection?
No, Eiko realized, anyone could have seen Eiko coming. The power and ferocity and true aim of her attack existed only in her own mind. In reality, her feeble arms were no more capable of causing intentional harm with her clumsy weapon than they were capable of delivering the knockout punch in a boxing ring.
Hartmann taunted her, mocked her for taking advantage of her distraction, the only way Eiko could possibly hope to win in a fight. Eiko felt tears brimming in her eyes as her outrage quickly turned to shame. Not a month ago, she'd been a proud, successful, confident young woman with the best opportunities in the world available to her. She was a strong candidate for valedictorian! She'd gotten letters from dozens of prestigious colleges, including Harvard and Yale! Now she was an anemic jackal, trying to scavenge scraps from more deserving players and being chased away by jackals even more rabid than her.
She imagined her father frowning and shutting off the TV, prematurely ending his vigil in watching his formerly darling daughter. He would never speak her name again, would refuse to open the door for her when she returned a broken and worthless shell of a woman. And even that was pathetically naive of her to imagine.
The only thing keeping Eiko from collapsing on the ground and weeping was Hartmann. Hartmann had every advantage, and could kill Eiko at any moment, if her mad whims gave her the reason to. Eiko kept her weapon locked with Hartmann's, preparing herself for a mad dash away from the center, a dash that would end when Hartmann used her new toy to blow her body apart.
As Eiko desperately weighed her options, she looked into Hartmann's eyes. There was nothing in them. Nothing at all.
"P-please..." she whispered. "I'm so sorry..." She felt her grip on the sodegarami slacken, the strength leave her knees. She collapsed as hot, bitter tears finally ran down her face. "I don't want to die..."
But reality hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water when Hartmann blocked her clumsy strike with ease. Eiko trembled then, wondered how it was possible that Hartmann could possibly be this good at thwarting her every ambition. Did she have divine protection?
No, Eiko realized, anyone could have seen Eiko coming. The power and ferocity and true aim of her attack existed only in her own mind. In reality, her feeble arms were no more capable of causing intentional harm with her clumsy weapon than they were capable of delivering the knockout punch in a boxing ring.
Hartmann taunted her, mocked her for taking advantage of her distraction, the only way Eiko could possibly hope to win in a fight. Eiko felt tears brimming in her eyes as her outrage quickly turned to shame. Not a month ago, she'd been a proud, successful, confident young woman with the best opportunities in the world available to her. She was a strong candidate for valedictorian! She'd gotten letters from dozens of prestigious colleges, including Harvard and Yale! Now she was an anemic jackal, trying to scavenge scraps from more deserving players and being chased away by jackals even more rabid than her.
She imagined her father frowning and shutting off the TV, prematurely ending his vigil in watching his formerly darling daughter. He would never speak her name again, would refuse to open the door for her when she returned a broken and worthless shell of a woman. And even that was pathetically naive of her to imagine.
The only thing keeping Eiko from collapsing on the ground and weeping was Hartmann. Hartmann had every advantage, and could kill Eiko at any moment, if her mad whims gave her the reason to. Eiko kept her weapon locked with Hartmann's, preparing herself for a mad dash away from the center, a dash that would end when Hartmann used her new toy to blow her body apart.
As Eiko desperately weighed her options, she looked into Hartmann's eyes. There was nothing in them. Nothing at all.
"P-please..." she whispered. "I'm so sorry..." She felt her grip on the sodegarami slacken, the strength leave her knees. She collapsed as hot, bitter tears finally ran down her face. "I don't want to die..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.
All of a sudden, Kris was feeling invincible. So invincible that it hurt.
It didn't matter what this island was throwing at her. Each and every obstacle and attack, she was overcoming. It could do everything but kill her. Take her morals, take her beliefs, take Etain from her... but when it came to finishing her off, landing that final blow, it was almost like she had divine protection. Reiko couldn't do it, gun and all. Ilario had failed to kill her. Even R.J... he'd all but dropped dead as he made to attack.
This girl... she was nothing special. Look at her. Was there even any blood on her hands? Trying to kill Kris with that... hell she couldn't even tell what it was. It almost felt insulting that somebody like her thought that they could be the one to kill her. It was extraordinary, this sudden high that Kris felt, and after a couple of seconds staring Eiko down, she figured it out. Patched it together in her disturbed, fraying psyche.
It was that dark corner of her mind that had told her to pull the trigger when Reika appeared, told her not to abandon the gun, told her that dealing with Amber required a bullet, that the group at the beach would come after her. It was that little piece of her that was too frightened not to try and survive, too cowardly to take a moral stand. And it rejoiced because... now she had a true weapon. The treasure grenade launcher. It exulted, because this was true protection. It could instill fear, intimidate, threaten, perhaps, if necessary, kill...
Eiko broke down in front of her. Something like a smile played across Kris's face, more of a smirk than anything showing true humour. This wasn't a threat. This was pathetic. She hesitated.
Kill her... ? Murderer... attacked. Look at her... crying. Etain... Can't... no...
Kris jerked her head brusquely to the side.
"Leave. Go," she repeated herself in German, then Swedish.
She backed off a step, fiddled with the grenade launcher, figuring out that she needed to snap it open to load it. Kris crouched, still glaring at Eiko, then slotted a grenade into the weapon. She regarded the other half dozen in the box, then looked around. Her bag was gone. Had... someone stolen it? Wait... off in the distance, in the middle of the street.
Huh. Somebody had tossed it over there. Whatever, she'd just go get it.
Kris looked at RJ's body, stripped off his pack, tossed the grenades inside, took off up the street.
She'd collect her own bag along the way.
As she walked, she cradled the M79 like a newborn.
Treasure...
((Kris continued in The Ballad of Ackbar))
It didn't matter what this island was throwing at her. Each and every obstacle and attack, she was overcoming. It could do everything but kill her. Take her morals, take her beliefs, take Etain from her... but when it came to finishing her off, landing that final blow, it was almost like she had divine protection. Reiko couldn't do it, gun and all. Ilario had failed to kill her. Even R.J... he'd all but dropped dead as he made to attack.
This girl... she was nothing special. Look at her. Was there even any blood on her hands? Trying to kill Kris with that... hell she couldn't even tell what it was. It almost felt insulting that somebody like her thought that they could be the one to kill her. It was extraordinary, this sudden high that Kris felt, and after a couple of seconds staring Eiko down, she figured it out. Patched it together in her disturbed, fraying psyche.
It was that dark corner of her mind that had told her to pull the trigger when Reika appeared, told her not to abandon the gun, told her that dealing with Amber required a bullet, that the group at the beach would come after her. It was that little piece of her that was too frightened not to try and survive, too cowardly to take a moral stand. And it rejoiced because... now she had a true weapon. The treasure grenade launcher. It exulted, because this was true protection. It could instill fear, intimidate, threaten, perhaps, if necessary, kill...
Eiko broke down in front of her. Something like a smile played across Kris's face, more of a smirk than anything showing true humour. This wasn't a threat. This was pathetic. She hesitated.
Kill her... ? Murderer... attacked. Look at her... crying. Etain... Can't... no...
Kris jerked her head brusquely to the side.
"Leave. Go," she repeated herself in German, then Swedish.
She backed off a step, fiddled with the grenade launcher, figuring out that she needed to snap it open to load it. Kris crouched, still glaring at Eiko, then slotted a grenade into the weapon. She regarded the other half dozen in the box, then looked around. Her bag was gone. Had... someone stolen it? Wait... off in the distance, in the middle of the street.
Huh. Somebody had tossed it over there. Whatever, she'd just go get it.
Kris looked at RJ's body, stripped off his pack, tossed the grenades inside, took off up the street.
She'd collect her own bag along the way.
As she walked, she cradled the M79 like a newborn.
Treasure...
((Kris continued in The Ballad of Ackbar))
Eiko didn't need to be told twice. She clutched her bag and weapon and ran as fast as she could, as far as she could. Her sight grew blurrier by the second, making her blink tears away. Once she felt satisfied that she'd gotten far enough away from Hartmann, she stopped, leaning against the wall of a nearby house. Sorrow overtook her, and she eventually found herself curled up on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
She'd felt raped. There were no other words for it, not that she could think of. Every last measure of dignity, independence, or skill she'd possessed while in high school had been stolen away from her, and she'd changed too much to ever get them back again. Even if she lived, if by some miracle rescue occurred or she became the last, she'd always have nightmares of that voice on the speaker.
Of Miller's glassy eyes and vapid smile.
Of Peter slicing open Lupradio's neck and collapsing in a fit of laughter.
Of Harris shooting Tiffany in the back and killing her.
Of Brooks punching her in the face and throwing ethnic slurs at her.
Of Peter abandoning her while she slept, assuming that she could get along just fine without him.
Of her one last chance for protection snatched away by a lunatic.
Rage boiled in Eiko once again, made her slam the bottom of her fist against the wall of that outside house. She got up and grabbed her useless fucking weapon again, slamming it into the wall and hearing the sound of crunching wood. Over and over she slammed the end of her weapon into the wall, feeling the force of each impact vibrate through her bones, threatening to rip her muscles from their tendons.
The wall held firm, of course, the only damage being vicious but ultimately harmless scratches from the barbed prongs on the head of the weapon. Eiko continued smashing that same spot, the fatigue adding longer and longer pauses between swings, until she heard a very different kind of crunch, and the weapon came apart in her hands. The wooden shaft had practically split open; Eiko had caused a very messy break that extended down at least two feet through the shaft.
She finally loosed her grip on the shaft, letting it fall apart, the top half hanging onto the bottom half by a thread. The sight of what she'd done to her weapon made her burst into tears again. Now that it was gone, she suddenly missed it, remembered the excitement she felt when she took it from Lupradio's body. She didn't have the energy to do anything anymore, didn't know what to do. Sleep overtook her then; her last waking thought being that being shot in her sleep would be the best thing that could ever happen to her.
When the sun rose the next day, no trace remained of Eiko, only the splintered remains of her old weapon.
((Eiko Haraguchi continued in A Slight Change of Plans))
((The End))
She'd felt raped. There were no other words for it, not that she could think of. Every last measure of dignity, independence, or skill she'd possessed while in high school had been stolen away from her, and she'd changed too much to ever get them back again. Even if she lived, if by some miracle rescue occurred or she became the last, she'd always have nightmares of that voice on the speaker.
Of Miller's glassy eyes and vapid smile.
Of Peter slicing open Lupradio's neck and collapsing in a fit of laughter.
Of Harris shooting Tiffany in the back and killing her.
Of Brooks punching her in the face and throwing ethnic slurs at her.
Of Peter abandoning her while she slept, assuming that she could get along just fine without him.
Of her one last chance for protection snatched away by a lunatic.
Rage boiled in Eiko once again, made her slam the bottom of her fist against the wall of that outside house. She got up and grabbed her useless fucking weapon again, slamming it into the wall and hearing the sound of crunching wood. Over and over she slammed the end of her weapon into the wall, feeling the force of each impact vibrate through her bones, threatening to rip her muscles from their tendons.
The wall held firm, of course, the only damage being vicious but ultimately harmless scratches from the barbed prongs on the head of the weapon. Eiko continued smashing that same spot, the fatigue adding longer and longer pauses between swings, until she heard a very different kind of crunch, and the weapon came apart in her hands. The wooden shaft had practically split open; Eiko had caused a very messy break that extended down at least two feet through the shaft.
She finally loosed her grip on the shaft, letting it fall apart, the top half hanging onto the bottom half by a thread. The sight of what she'd done to her weapon made her burst into tears again. Now that it was gone, she suddenly missed it, remembered the excitement she felt when she took it from Lupradio's body. She didn't have the energy to do anything anymore, didn't know what to do. Sleep overtook her then; her last waking thought being that being shot in her sleep would be the best thing that could ever happen to her.
When the sun rose the next day, no trace remained of Eiko, only the splintered remains of her old weapon.
((Eiko Haraguchi continued in A Slight Change of Plans))
((The End))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. 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.