What a way to be proved right. Lucas would've laughed, would've jokingly rubbed Peter's face in the whole thing, had he not been so busy getting shot. Luckily, he only took a bad hit to the stomach, Peter's tackle forcing him out of the way of any other damage. Unluckily, he was pretty sure his wound wasn't merely something superficial.
He started to scream. It felt like he had swallowed a large, jagged rock, which had now lodged itself somewhere in his abdomen. Blood was gushing from somewhere in the vicinity of his navel. With his left hand, he tried to push it back in. No luck.
He'd been right. So right. That... that bitch. Shooting him. He was... no, he was not going to die. No way. He had to... had to pull through this, somehow. It came in a flash. His gun. Six shots. Divide by three people, no, wait, two people, Peter was clear, Peter was obviously on his side, Peter had probably saved him from instant death. That meant... six shots... two people. The girl behind them, was she an ally? Or an enemy? He just couldn't care, somehow. She was second priority, but would have to be neutralized, for both their safety.
All this had gone through his head in a few heartbeats after he hit the ground. Now, Lucas forced himself to his knees. It felt like his organs were tearing, and he screamed again, but forced himself through it, cradled the gun. Everything was blurry. He though he could see Ericka, though, still in the trees. That, or it was... no. Fire. Four shots. Dang, he'd lost count there. But, well, but, well, but two would be... enough, right? For the other girl?
"P-peter. Behind you... L-look out..." Lucas slurred, turning and firing there, too, not even aiming, not even looking to see if he was shooting in the right direction.
Not an Easy Out
Morning, Day 3
The impact was dull and unfamiliar. Peter hadn't hit anyone in a long time. He wished he could say "never" but that was likely a monumental lie. Still, hitting somebody with a running tackle had not been on the list of things he'd ever done before. The hit had sent them both to the ground, spinning and rolling from the odd angle they had hit each other. Peter could almost hear the whistle of bullets pass over head as they tumbled.
Should've practiced doing things like tackling people out of gunfire like they taught in gym class. Football. Whatever.
Peter could hear the gunfire still ringing through the air after they had hit the ground. Why? He and Lucas were out of line of sight. Not shootable. Nobody else to shoot at. Nobody except maybe-
Eiko.
Eiko.
I hope she ducked out of cover like I said. It's the best I can do against a gun.
He rolled and propped himself up on his arms so he could look around without putting himself up as a target. Nobody in sight. Gunfire still ringing. Things didn't add up. Why? There were some pieces missing. Maybe Eiko had already gotten hit. Didn't explain the continued gunfire. Maybe Ericka had just gone totally off the wall and unloaded her whole magazine at them. Too many shots. How many? Eight? Ten? Peter hadn't been keeping track, and trying to bring back the auditory memory of the last ten seconds just resulted in an echoing series of bangs.
Ringing in my ears. Disregard it. It's not real.
Wait. There was another burst of gunfire that had sounded different. Closer. Not just in proximity, but also in frequency. A different gun was being used. There was only one other person with a gun around here. A quick scan of the field found him. Lucas standing amidst the tall grass.
Not standing. He's taller than that. Probably crouching.
Gun aimed at the treeline. Presumably the gunfire had been him returning fire.
He shouldn't be shooting back. People will get hurt, and become killers.
It only took a moment to gather his breath before pushing up to his feet, but to Peter, it felt like minutes. Maybe that still wasn't particularly long, but at a time where the seconds mattered, it felt long enough. His sword had fallen from his grip in the tumble, but hadn't fallen too far away; his hand found the hilt and brought the weapon to his side. The sheath lay forgotten. It was a time where diplomacy had failed. The sheath would protect the sword, but not the wielder nor his charge.
Diplomacy hasn't failed. This can still be salvaged. Put the sword down.
Peter stormed over to Lucas' position. It only took two long steps, but even before he had managed to cover that distance, Lucas had turned and shot again. Peter froze in his tracks. Instinct howled at him to check to make sure he hadn't been hit. Not that there was any burning pain. Lucas hadn't shot at him. The angle was wide and wouldn't have hit Peter even if he was fatter than several cows put together. What the hell had he been shooting at?
Think clearly. What did he say right before he shot?
Lucas had said something before shooting. Peter had heard it, but the words hadn't been given meaning. Until now."Behind..."
Eiko.
There wasn't any need to put this puzzle together. It had fallen into place from the start. Lucas had never been a good guy. Pointing a gun at Ericka; then, resisting Peter's attempts at defusing it peacefully. Peter might have chalked it up to nerves, pressure, and paranoia. This was over the line. Nobody attacked Eiko. Not on his watch. "Fucking bastard!" Peter snarled. "Watch where you aim that thing."
Uh... maybe this is all just a huge misunderstanding. Jumping to conclusions could be bad.
Swordfighting wasn't something Peter had practiced before either; then again, how hard could a sword be to use? Apply bladed edge to opponents. Sure there were other things too, but that required the other party to have an equally effective melee weapon. Guns didn't fall in that category. The bladed edge was applied to the at the limbs held between the two fighters; the aim was to disarm him of the gun. The angle of the cut was awkward; not a lot of space in between. A reverse grip served the motion better, but it made applying force harder. He wasn't cutting off any hands with the attack, but it still pushed the arms out of the way.
Back up. Violence isn't necessarily the only way.
Nothing stood in between the two. Peter's stance with the sword wasn't proper for any sort of follow-up slash. Maybe there was more to swordfighting. No matter. Peter's right leg snapped out, aimed at Lucas' shoulder. Once Lucas was on the ground, he'd be on the defensive. Peter had never been good at okizeme, but he had learned the fundamentals. Once he had the upper hand, the match would be his.
Anyone knows that when someone starts comparing real life to a game, things have gone a bit too far.
Should've practiced doing things like tackling people out of gunfire like they taught in gym class. Football. Whatever.
Peter could hear the gunfire still ringing through the air after they had hit the ground. Why? He and Lucas were out of line of sight. Not shootable. Nobody else to shoot at. Nobody except maybe-
Eiko.
Eiko.
I hope she ducked out of cover like I said. It's the best I can do against a gun.
He rolled and propped himself up on his arms so he could look around without putting himself up as a target. Nobody in sight. Gunfire still ringing. Things didn't add up. Why? There were some pieces missing. Maybe Eiko had already gotten hit. Didn't explain the continued gunfire. Maybe Ericka had just gone totally off the wall and unloaded her whole magazine at them. Too many shots. How many? Eight? Ten? Peter hadn't been keeping track, and trying to bring back the auditory memory of the last ten seconds just resulted in an echoing series of bangs.
Ringing in my ears. Disregard it. It's not real.
Wait. There was another burst of gunfire that had sounded different. Closer. Not just in proximity, but also in frequency. A different gun was being used. There was only one other person with a gun around here. A quick scan of the field found him. Lucas standing amidst the tall grass.
Not standing. He's taller than that. Probably crouching.
Gun aimed at the treeline. Presumably the gunfire had been him returning fire.
He shouldn't be shooting back. People will get hurt, and become killers.
It only took a moment to gather his breath before pushing up to his feet, but to Peter, it felt like minutes. Maybe that still wasn't particularly long, but at a time where the seconds mattered, it felt long enough. His sword had fallen from his grip in the tumble, but hadn't fallen too far away; his hand found the hilt and brought the weapon to his side. The sheath lay forgotten. It was a time where diplomacy had failed. The sheath would protect the sword, but not the wielder nor his charge.
Diplomacy hasn't failed. This can still be salvaged. Put the sword down.
Peter stormed over to Lucas' position. It only took two long steps, but even before he had managed to cover that distance, Lucas had turned and shot again. Peter froze in his tracks. Instinct howled at him to check to make sure he hadn't been hit. Not that there was any burning pain. Lucas hadn't shot at him. The angle was wide and wouldn't have hit Peter even if he was fatter than several cows put together. What the hell had he been shooting at?
Think clearly. What did he say right before he shot?
Lucas had said something before shooting. Peter had heard it, but the words hadn't been given meaning. Until now."Behind..."
Eiko.
There wasn't any need to put this puzzle together. It had fallen into place from the start. Lucas had never been a good guy. Pointing a gun at Ericka; then, resisting Peter's attempts at defusing it peacefully. Peter might have chalked it up to nerves, pressure, and paranoia. This was over the line. Nobody attacked Eiko. Not on his watch. "Fucking bastard!" Peter snarled. "Watch where you aim that thing."
Uh... maybe this is all just a huge misunderstanding. Jumping to conclusions could be bad.
Swordfighting wasn't something Peter had practiced before either; then again, how hard could a sword be to use? Apply bladed edge to opponents. Sure there were other things too, but that required the other party to have an equally effective melee weapon. Guns didn't fall in that category. The bladed edge was applied to the at the limbs held between the two fighters; the aim was to disarm him of the gun. The angle of the cut was awkward; not a lot of space in between. A reverse grip served the motion better, but it made applying force harder. He wasn't cutting off any hands with the attack, but it still pushed the arms out of the way.
Back up. Violence isn't necessarily the only way.
Nothing stood in between the two. Peter's stance with the sword wasn't proper for any sort of follow-up slash. Maybe there was more to swordfighting. No matter. Peter's right leg snapped out, aimed at Lucas' shoulder. Once Lucas was on the ground, he'd be on the defensive. Peter had never been good at okizeme, but he had learned the fundamentals. Once he had the upper hand, the match would be his.
Anyone knows that when someone starts comparing real life to a game, things have gone a bit too far.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. 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.
((Getting this moving for announcement time))
It was going so well, except that Lucas was already a dead man, due to that stomach wound. Maybe he had been from the start, before he'd even lowered the gun. His plan had been so clear. Talk them down, then shoot Ericka as soon as everyone was distracted. Such a simple plan. Because he'd known she was a killer, and he'd been right. The only thing was, he hadn't known just how serious she was, how dangerous. Perhaps something in his demeanor had tipped her off. No matter.
Now all he had left to do was save Peter from the other psychopath. The world was fuzzy. He'd almost certainly missed. Was he out of ammunition? He thought he was. He'd just have to get his... his pointed stick thing, then. Get it and kill her and...
And there was Peter. He was alive still. Good. Lucas had at least kept him going this long. And Peter had a sword, so he could defend himself. And he was moving in close, to back Lucas up. And then he was slashing. The blade impacted Lucas' wrists with a crack. It cut a thin line across them, blood flowing from this new opening in his body. At least one was probably broken or chipped or whatever happened to wrists. Lucas screamed and dropped the gun, and then something had connected with his leg, sending him sprawling. He fell to the grass, hard. His head bounced off the dirt, and everything went black for a second. Focus slowly returned, a narrow band of color. Someone was standing over him. Someone was going to kill him. This was it. The end. And who was it?
Peter.
He'd been right. Lucas had been right about them all. They were all killers. All just searching for their opening. He'd been duped and reduped, and now he was going to die.
Pretty lame way to go, all things considered.
It was going so well, except that Lucas was already a dead man, due to that stomach wound. Maybe he had been from the start, before he'd even lowered the gun. His plan had been so clear. Talk them down, then shoot Ericka as soon as everyone was distracted. Such a simple plan. Because he'd known she was a killer, and he'd been right. The only thing was, he hadn't known just how serious she was, how dangerous. Perhaps something in his demeanor had tipped her off. No matter.
Now all he had left to do was save Peter from the other psychopath. The world was fuzzy. He'd almost certainly missed. Was he out of ammunition? He thought he was. He'd just have to get his... his pointed stick thing, then. Get it and kill her and...
And there was Peter. He was alive still. Good. Lucas had at least kept him going this long. And Peter had a sword, so he could defend himself. And he was moving in close, to back Lucas up. And then he was slashing. The blade impacted Lucas' wrists with a crack. It cut a thin line across them, blood flowing from this new opening in his body. At least one was probably broken or chipped or whatever happened to wrists. Lucas screamed and dropped the gun, and then something had connected with his leg, sending him sprawling. He fell to the grass, hard. His head bounced off the dirt, and everything went black for a second. Focus slowly returned, a narrow band of color. Someone was standing over him. Someone was going to kill him. This was it. The end. And who was it?
Peter.
He'd been right. Lucas had been right about them all. They were all killers. All just searching for their opening. He'd been duped and reduped, and now he was going to die.
Pretty lame way to go, all things considered.
Another unfamiliar feeling of impact. Lack of muscle memory could be annoying. The kick had missed its mark; the distance between the two hadn't allowed for him to hit high enough. Still, it did the job, and Lucas hit the ground. Peter drew himself up, doing his best to maintain an assertive stance, and stepped forward so that he was right on top of Lucas. The gun had fallen from his hand and had bounced several feet away; Peter would take care of that later.
"I told you to put the gun down," Peter said, letting the adrenaline do the work of hardening his voice. "I don't know why I'm repeating it again; even after I told you I wasn't repeating it." His eyes flitted up to the treeline, but Ericka still had not reappeared. Perhaps she had already run off. That would make things simpler. "And because you were stupid enough to not listen the first time- hell you were stupid enough to be pointing guns around in the first place, everything went to hell and people started shooting. This is all your fault."
Not just his fault. My fault. Ericka's fault. Everybody's fault.
A frown of disapproval crept across Peter's face. "I might have given you the benefit of the doubt. You've got a lot of reason to be jumpy. You had plenty of reason to shoot back at Ericka; not that it clears you of responsibility. That's all fine and dandy." Peter couldn't really describe the tone his voice was taking anymore. It was primal, authoritative, and a whole lot of angry emotion, but that was only scratching the surface. "But you crossed the line when you fired at Eiko: an unarmed innocent girl that had nothing to do with this. You're a fucking murdering scumbag."
That doesn't mean I have to drop to that level.
Peter moved his arm, the blade moving with it. From his analysis the day before, he could tell that the sword was not made for stabbing. The curved shape and the design of the grip had clearly marked the sword as a slashing weapon. If he was going to get any mileage out of it, there were only a few places he could hit. He placed the tip on the dirt next to the targeted area, and then rotated his grip back to a normal one. The edge was probably sharp enough to cut where he needed, but having the extra strength a normal grip afforded gave him some leeway.
Something caught Peter's eye; something he should have seen earlier: the large red stain on Lucas' shirt. Momentary confusion gave way to clarity. Peter didn't need to do anything; Lucas would die from the gunshot in a few hours regardless. Peter could walk away and not have to worry about this. That would be an easy solution.
Don't be a coward. Finish the fucking job.
Except it wasn't easy. If he ran, then Ericka would get credited with the kill. That wasn't right; she hadn't meant to be a killer. This was all a huge clusterfuck of miscommunication that had started with Lucas. Ericka was not a murderer, and Peter wasn't going to let her get branded with that title. But that didn't even matter; Lucas had shot at Eiko. He was going to protect Eiko, and he wasn't going to be able to do that if he couldn't handle a murderer. Maybe this time it was easy to get off without having to do anything, but on a long enough timeline, the probability of needing to kill would approach 1. Peter needed to prove that he could protect Eiko. Running away now would prove nothing.
Well, it would prove that I'm a coward. And useless dead weight. But we can't have that now can we.
Also, there was something innately cruel about leaving somebody to bleed out slowly from a stomach wound.
Murder is crueler. I don't need to do this. Except I do.
The resolve had faded with the realization, but he had to play it through. Not just because of Ericka's suggestion, but because it was what had to be done. "You know what I'm going to do to mudering scumbags?" Peter did his best to maintain the tone he had used before. He could only hope that he could keep up the illusion. Lucas' eyes, though darkened, reflected something incomprehensible up at Peter; he could only guess at what was meant to be communicated through their gaze. "I'm going to make sure none of them get off this island."
By becoming a murderer myself. The hypocrisy is clear. Not that there's a better option.
There was a moment of hesitation. Parts of him screamed out how wrong his intentions were, rebuffed by by the parts that saw the necessity. Right and wrong... now was not the time to be musing about those matters.
What better time? Why sit around and make hypothetical situations when what matters is reality?
Peter jerked his arm, raking the sharp edge of his sword across the tender skin and flesh of Lucas' neck. Carotid artery, jugular vein, trachea, and anything else of note in the area met and parted under it. It was the best way of using a bladed slashing weapon. Fast. Simple. Effective.
"I told you to put the gun down," Peter said, letting the adrenaline do the work of hardening his voice. "I don't know why I'm repeating it again; even after I told you I wasn't repeating it." His eyes flitted up to the treeline, but Ericka still had not reappeared. Perhaps she had already run off. That would make things simpler. "And because you were stupid enough to not listen the first time- hell you were stupid enough to be pointing guns around in the first place, everything went to hell and people started shooting. This is all your fault."
Not just his fault. My fault. Ericka's fault. Everybody's fault.
A frown of disapproval crept across Peter's face. "I might have given you the benefit of the doubt. You've got a lot of reason to be jumpy. You had plenty of reason to shoot back at Ericka; not that it clears you of responsibility. That's all fine and dandy." Peter couldn't really describe the tone his voice was taking anymore. It was primal, authoritative, and a whole lot of angry emotion, but that was only scratching the surface. "But you crossed the line when you fired at Eiko: an unarmed innocent girl that had nothing to do with this. You're a fucking murdering scumbag."
That doesn't mean I have to drop to that level.
Peter moved his arm, the blade moving with it. From his analysis the day before, he could tell that the sword was not made for stabbing. The curved shape and the design of the grip had clearly marked the sword as a slashing weapon. If he was going to get any mileage out of it, there were only a few places he could hit. He placed the tip on the dirt next to the targeted area, and then rotated his grip back to a normal one. The edge was probably sharp enough to cut where he needed, but having the extra strength a normal grip afforded gave him some leeway.
Something caught Peter's eye; something he should have seen earlier: the large red stain on Lucas' shirt. Momentary confusion gave way to clarity. Peter didn't need to do anything; Lucas would die from the gunshot in a few hours regardless. Peter could walk away and not have to worry about this. That would be an easy solution.
Don't be a coward. Finish the fucking job.
Except it wasn't easy. If he ran, then Ericka would get credited with the kill. That wasn't right; she hadn't meant to be a killer. This was all a huge clusterfuck of miscommunication that had started with Lucas. Ericka was not a murderer, and Peter wasn't going to let her get branded with that title. But that didn't even matter; Lucas had shot at Eiko. He was going to protect Eiko, and he wasn't going to be able to do that if he couldn't handle a murderer. Maybe this time it was easy to get off without having to do anything, but on a long enough timeline, the probability of needing to kill would approach 1. Peter needed to prove that he could protect Eiko. Running away now would prove nothing.
Well, it would prove that I'm a coward. And useless dead weight. But we can't have that now can we.
Also, there was something innately cruel about leaving somebody to bleed out slowly from a stomach wound.
Murder is crueler. I don't need to do this. Except I do.
The resolve had faded with the realization, but he had to play it through. Not just because of Ericka's suggestion, but because it was what had to be done. "You know what I'm going to do to mudering scumbags?" Peter did his best to maintain the tone he had used before. He could only hope that he could keep up the illusion. Lucas' eyes, though darkened, reflected something incomprehensible up at Peter; he could only guess at what was meant to be communicated through their gaze. "I'm going to make sure none of them get off this island."
By becoming a murderer myself. The hypocrisy is clear. Not that there's a better option.
There was a moment of hesitation. Parts of him screamed out how wrong his intentions were, rebuffed by by the parts that saw the necessity. Right and wrong... now was not the time to be musing about those matters.
What better time? Why sit around and make hypothetical situations when what matters is reality?
Peter jerked his arm, raking the sharp edge of his sword across the tender skin and flesh of Lucas' neck. Carotid artery, jugular vein, trachea, and anything else of note in the area met and parted under it. It was the best way of using a bladed slashing weapon. Fast. Simple. Effective.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. 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.
Lucas just looked at Peter. Listened to his speech. Wondered how thing had gone wrong.
All his fault? No. No, it was all their fault. All Peter's fault. He'd been the one to escalate. He'd been the one to make Lucas disarm. But, no, it was Ericka's fault. She'd been the one to start shooting. But, no, really, it was that other girl's fault. She was the one who had made Lucas worry. It was because of her that Peter was freaking out. She was probably laughing away back there, ready to shoot him in the back the second this was all over.
Peter was talking about stopping murderers. What did that do, though? It was...
Lucas paused. His stomach throbbed, pain winding through his body. He was dying. He realized that. He was dying, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. And as he looked at Peter, everything became clear. The real blame in this situation rested solely at the feet of one individual: Danya. The fat, murdering sociopath who had stranded them here. Everything since their arrival, all the deaths, all the betrayals, all the insanity, it all sprung from him. Lucas hadn't been wrong to mistrust Ericka, but she hadn't been wrong to return the favor. And how could he blame her for shooting at him when he had been preparing to pull the same trick on her? In that moment, he was glad, so glad, that she had fired on him, because she had saved him from becoming a murderer. Saved him from being what Peter was accusing him of. The two people he'd shot at would be fine. He could delude himself enough to manage some certainty, though he hadn't even seen the results of his shots.
Did Peter know? Did he get that this whole thing was meaningless, that they were all going to die and it wasn't even anyone's fault? That killing didn't even matter, not anymore?
Maybe he did, because he brought the blade down.
The pain shook Lucas out of his momentary serenity. He tried to scream, but couldn't. There was too much blood. Too much pain.
He blacked out, and soon even the darkness faded.
B135 - Lucas Lupradio: DECEASED
All his fault? No. No, it was all their fault. All Peter's fault. He'd been the one to escalate. He'd been the one to make Lucas disarm. But, no, it was Ericka's fault. She'd been the one to start shooting. But, no, really, it was that other girl's fault. She was the one who had made Lucas worry. It was because of her that Peter was freaking out. She was probably laughing away back there, ready to shoot him in the back the second this was all over.
Peter was talking about stopping murderers. What did that do, though? It was...
Lucas paused. His stomach throbbed, pain winding through his body. He was dying. He realized that. He was dying, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. And as he looked at Peter, everything became clear. The real blame in this situation rested solely at the feet of one individual: Danya. The fat, murdering sociopath who had stranded them here. Everything since their arrival, all the deaths, all the betrayals, all the insanity, it all sprung from him. Lucas hadn't been wrong to mistrust Ericka, but she hadn't been wrong to return the favor. And how could he blame her for shooting at him when he had been preparing to pull the same trick on her? In that moment, he was glad, so glad, that she had fired on him, because she had saved him from becoming a murderer. Saved him from being what Peter was accusing him of. The two people he'd shot at would be fine. He could delude himself enough to manage some certainty, though he hadn't even seen the results of his shots.
Did Peter know? Did he get that this whole thing was meaningless, that they were all going to die and it wasn't even anyone's fault? That killing didn't even matter, not anymore?
Maybe he did, because he brought the blade down.
The pain shook Lucas out of his momentary serenity. He tried to scream, but couldn't. There was too much blood. Too much pain.
He blacked out, and soon even the darkness faded.
B135 - Lucas Lupradio: DECEASED
Ericka lowered her weapon for a moment when Lucas got hit. Relief swept over her, the guy had been looking for trouble and the only reason he lowered his weapon was probably because he noticed he was surrounded.
Then he started to get up and the relief was replaced by terror. For a moment she was frozen, like a deer caught in the headlights, she stood in stunned silence while Lucas began to take aim.
His first shot by a wide margin, but the sound of his gun firing shook Ericka back to attention. She ran behind a tree for cover. There was a pause in the gunfire, and Ericka peeked out from behind the tree to assess the situation. Lucas was aiming for the girl that Peter appeared to be traveling with and Peter moved to protect her. His sword was swung down towards Lucas' neck.
Now it was really over. Peter may or may not have realized it, but he had helped Ericka out as much as he helped his friend over there. And she was grateful, but it probably wouldn't be safe to stick around and thank him so she grabbed her bags and cautiously made her way out of the area.
--------
On her way out Ericka decided to make one quick scan for her original goal; corpses that might have something worth taking. They'd probably have been stripped clean of anything useful by now, but it didn't hurt to check. She came across the tennis court, and Dawne's corpse. Searching Dawne's bag, Ericka was glad she had decided to continue scavenging. A holster for a gun was at the bottom of the bag. Some people might not have been so excited to find the holster instead of a weapon, but for Ericka, whose pocket-less outfit made it difficult to handle multiple weapons, the holster was a minor godsend.
The holster was the kind that attached to the thigh with nylon straps. After fastening the holster to her right leg, she checked to see how her gun fit in it. Ericka stuffed about three of Dawne's unopened water bottles into her own bag and left the area.
((Ericka Bradley continued The Cloud Minders))
Then he started to get up and the relief was replaced by terror. For a moment she was frozen, like a deer caught in the headlights, she stood in stunned silence while Lucas began to take aim.
His first shot by a wide margin, but the sound of his gun firing shook Ericka back to attention. She ran behind a tree for cover. There was a pause in the gunfire, and Ericka peeked out from behind the tree to assess the situation. Lucas was aiming for the girl that Peter appeared to be traveling with and Peter moved to protect her. His sword was swung down towards Lucas' neck.
Now it was really over. Peter may or may not have realized it, but he had helped Ericka out as much as he helped his friend over there. And she was grateful, but it probably wouldn't be safe to stick around and thank him so she grabbed her bags and cautiously made her way out of the area.
--------
On her way out Ericka decided to make one quick scan for her original goal; corpses that might have something worth taking. They'd probably have been stripped clean of anything useful by now, but it didn't hurt to check. She came across the tennis court, and Dawne's corpse. Searching Dawne's bag, Ericka was glad she had decided to continue scavenging. A holster for a gun was at the bottom of the bag. Some people might not have been so excited to find the holster instead of a weapon, but for Ericka, whose pocket-less outfit made it difficult to handle multiple weapons, the holster was a minor godsend.
The holster was the kind that attached to the thigh with nylon straps. After fastening the holster to her right leg, she checked to see how her gun fit in it. Ericka stuffed about three of Dawne's unopened water bottles into her own bag and left the area.
((Ericka Bradley continued The Cloud Minders))
((Quick post before Solomir's.))
Eiko spent the entire altercation on her stomach. After she dropped, she looked up out of a morbid curiosity to see how things were going. Bradley's bullet struck the other boy in the stomach, which tipped him off the deep end and caused him to fire his gun at her. Wait, what was he doing.
Oh no. Oh no. He was shooting at Eiko! At her! Why was he shooting at her? WHY?
It was to Eiko's infinite fortune that he aimed wildly, his bullets whizzing over her back. She swore on her ancestors' graves that she felt the air above her being shoved into her back by being the nearly supersonic rounds.
Her mind raced and her body froze as she tried to understand why the boy would do this. She heard him warn Peter, which made no sense! Did he think that she was about to attack Peter? How could this idiot not have inferred that she was traveling with him from the fact that she had entered the greens at the same time as him from the same direction.
Fortunately, Peter was as enraged by the act of aggression as Eiko was, rushing forward and slashing at Peter with his sword. She didn't know how well he handled himself considering the circumstances, both because she hadn't studied swordplay for a long time and because she was scared out of her mind by the blood Peter was spilling.
Thus began another stage of Eiko's adjustment to the game. She'd seen the video where the Rizzolo boy tortured his girlfriend. She'd felt the tense atmosphere of the game in the mansion, when Peter engaged in a standoff with Kuiper. She'd even seen the odd corpse or two as she marched around the island with Peter, though she did her best to keep her distance from them. But this was the first time she actually saw a death in progress.
Peter's rage let him dominate the other boy effortlessly, quickly having him on his feet and ready for the killing blow. He talked about how much he hated murderers, preparing to deal the killing blow. She psyched herself up to watch it, knowing that in order to get off this place, she'd most likely have to sit through someone's death.
She couldn't do it. Right before Peter pulled his sword across the boy's throat, she turned her head away and averted her eyes, unable to look at the buckets of blood gushing from the body in torrents. She curled up into a ball, facing away, realizing that Peter had just saved her life. She took back everything negative that she thought about him, every urge to exploit and kill him at the first opportunity. He handled the situation with the boy and Bradley flawlessly.
Wait, what happened with Bradley?
She stood up, careful not to look at Peter, and searched for Bradley. She had a part in this too! She fired the first shot and made the boy go berserk. And there she was, looking around for useful comestibles like she didn't just try to kill the boy in cold blood.
"Hey!" Eiko frowned and shouted, trying to get her attention. "What were you thinking? Why are you talking about lessons and shooting at him. He didn't do anything! Nothing!"
Bradley didn't pay attention to her at all. She just picked something off a girl's body and started walking off. Eiko stomped after her, stoking her fury at Bradley's thoughtlessness. "Are you completely out of your mind?" she yelled. "COME BACK HERE!" She stopped and screamed her loudest at the rapidly retreating girl, releasing the accumulated anger and frustration of three days in hell.
"YOU ALMOST GOT ME KILLED, YOU STUPID BITCH!"
She leaned forward and rested her hands on her thighs, hyperventilating and bugging out her eyes as she tried to recover from losing her control. Her parents would have never, ever approved of that display in any other circumstance besides this. What would they say? What would they think?
Finally, she lowered herself down to the ground, parking her rear on the grass and leaning forward. She never wanted to experience anything like this again. The problem was, she knew she would inevitably have to.
Eiko spent the entire altercation on her stomach. After she dropped, she looked up out of a morbid curiosity to see how things were going. Bradley's bullet struck the other boy in the stomach, which tipped him off the deep end and caused him to fire his gun at her. Wait, what was he doing.
Oh no. Oh no. He was shooting at Eiko! At her! Why was he shooting at her? WHY?
It was to Eiko's infinite fortune that he aimed wildly, his bullets whizzing over her back. She swore on her ancestors' graves that she felt the air above her being shoved into her back by being the nearly supersonic rounds.
Her mind raced and her body froze as she tried to understand why the boy would do this. She heard him warn Peter, which made no sense! Did he think that she was about to attack Peter? How could this idiot not have inferred that she was traveling with him from the fact that she had entered the greens at the same time as him from the same direction.
Fortunately, Peter was as enraged by the act of aggression as Eiko was, rushing forward and slashing at Peter with his sword. She didn't know how well he handled himself considering the circumstances, both because she hadn't studied swordplay for a long time and because she was scared out of her mind by the blood Peter was spilling.
Thus began another stage of Eiko's adjustment to the game. She'd seen the video where the Rizzolo boy tortured his girlfriend. She'd felt the tense atmosphere of the game in the mansion, when Peter engaged in a standoff with Kuiper. She'd even seen the odd corpse or two as she marched around the island with Peter, though she did her best to keep her distance from them. But this was the first time she actually saw a death in progress.
Peter's rage let him dominate the other boy effortlessly, quickly having him on his feet and ready for the killing blow. He talked about how much he hated murderers, preparing to deal the killing blow. She psyched herself up to watch it, knowing that in order to get off this place, she'd most likely have to sit through someone's death.
She couldn't do it. Right before Peter pulled his sword across the boy's throat, she turned her head away and averted her eyes, unable to look at the buckets of blood gushing from the body in torrents. She curled up into a ball, facing away, realizing that Peter had just saved her life. She took back everything negative that she thought about him, every urge to exploit and kill him at the first opportunity. He handled the situation with the boy and Bradley flawlessly.
Wait, what happened with Bradley?
She stood up, careful not to look at Peter, and searched for Bradley. She had a part in this too! She fired the first shot and made the boy go berserk. And there she was, looking around for useful comestibles like she didn't just try to kill the boy in cold blood.
"Hey!" Eiko frowned and shouted, trying to get her attention. "What were you thinking? Why are you talking about lessons and shooting at him. He didn't do anything! Nothing!"
Bradley didn't pay attention to her at all. She just picked something off a girl's body and started walking off. Eiko stomped after her, stoking her fury at Bradley's thoughtlessness. "Are you completely out of your mind?" she yelled. "COME BACK HERE!" She stopped and screamed her loudest at the rapidly retreating girl, releasing the accumulated anger and frustration of three days in hell.
"YOU ALMOST GOT ME KILLED, YOU STUPID BITCH!"
She leaned forward and rested her hands on her thighs, hyperventilating and bugging out her eyes as she tried to recover from losing her control. Her parents would have never, ever approved of that display in any other circumstance besides this. What would they say? What would they think?
Finally, she lowered herself down to the ground, parking her rear on the grass and leaning forward. She never wanted to experience anything like this again. The problem was, she knew she would inevitably have to.
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.
Why is there so much blood?
Clearly, "clean" hadn't been on the list of things that could be used to describe a slit throat. Blood was already pooling under the head and neck, a vibrant mix of the red oxygenated blood gushing out the carotid artery and darker deoxygenated blood leaking from the jugular vein, as well as everything in between from all the other tissues that had been cut open. Blood spurt from the carotid in time with the dull rhythm of a fading heartbeat, the blood jetting up about a foot and staining the blade of Peter's sword and his jeans.
Gross. Bloodstains are a pain to clean out.
Peter looked down at Lucas' face, contorted in a tableau of unimaginable pain. His eyes were still open, and whatever life that had remained was fading out. There was no peace reflected in those eyes, that much Peter could understand. He lifted his eyes from the bloody carnage under him. Teenagers weren't meant to see these things, to see pain and gore and death like this. Exposed neck muscles, the remains of a windpipe, it was all too much. If he looked down to survey the damage again, there was a chance he'd lose the little bit of bread he'd had for breakfast. Instead, he stepped away from the body, and growing pool of blood creeping out from beneath it.
That's definitely a lot of blood.
The body beneath him jerked.
"Holy fuck!" Peter yelled as he jumped back another foot, and almost fell flat on his ass. He should've seen it coming; he'd read about this exact thing happening before. Still, even knowing that Lucas was definitely dead, the sudden motion had managed to fire his adrenaline-pumped reflexes.
Okay. I should not be freaking out over something stupid like this
Peter gave a low chuckle, that built up to a roar of laughter. It was in no way appropriate: he had just killed somebody. Still, the incredulity of the situation was plenty effective at eliciting laughs from him. Of all the things to get spooked by, it was by something as harmless as a dead body. It was utterly ridiculous. If it had been zombies or a bear, at least it would have made sense.
Zombies make sense? That's news.
It took a moment for Peter to collect himself from. Laughing like that after killing someone probably didn't look good to Eiko, and it definitely didn't look good for those people watching on the cameras. Well, there were some sick freaks that liked seeing the psycho killers, Danya's crew notwithstanding. Peter used to watch Survival of the Fittest for the detailed gore and realistic action, at least until he figured just how real everything was. He had an idea what might have gone through the heads of those killers. He wasn't going to be like them.
With a grunt, he pushed himself up onto his feet. Eiko had taken to screaming off at something in the distance, but she at least appeared fine. No blood meant that there was no gunshot wound. He had done his part in protecting her. That was what mattered; not that he had slit someone's throat in order to do it. Nothing good would come out of dwelling on that fact.
Peter might be a killer. He wasn't a cold-blooded murderer.
Blatant lies. He was on the train to dying in the next few hours anyway.
Lucas' body lay still, most of the blood drained from the body. There wasn't much Peter could do for the body; he had no shovel to dig a grave. Still, there had to be something he could do. Dropping the sword to the grass, Peter walked up to the corpse. It was still horrific to look at. Peter could feel the bile rising to the back of his throat. He fought it back; he needed to be strong.
If he didn't think of it as a corpse, that it hadn't been a living-
Peter pushed the idea from his mind. That would not be treating it with respect. That much Lucas deserved. His hand went to the wooden cross he wore on his neck. His finger traced along the face of the cross, a prayer forming in his mind. He gave it no voice: prayer wasn't something to be heard. Peter crouched down by Lucas' body and traced the same shape of the cross on Lucas' forehead. Lucas' lifeless eyes stared back at him. Had there been something in those eyes before the light had faded from them? Had Lucas, in his dying moment, cursed his killer?
Had he forgiven his killer?
If it mattered, Peter didn't care. With a light push of his hand, he closed the dead boy's eyes forever.
Lucas' daypack was still on his back, now soaked through with blood. Peter wasn't going to disturb the body to try to scavenge supplies. Nor was he going to try to retrieve the polearm that had been strapped to the daypack. Peter remembered the gun, fallen away in the struggle. Going to where he remembered it falling, Peter picked it up and looked at it. It was lighter than he had expected it to be, which was quickly explained when he checked its empty magazine. If there were any extra magazines, they'd be in Lucas' pack. Peter looked over at the body again. He had no plans of going through that pack, regardless of what useful things could be in there. Did it matter? Peter didn't even know if he could hit anything with a gun. The only thing he would use it for would be to discourage people from attacking, and he didn't need bullets for that.
Still, bullets could be useful.
That's the spirit! Bullets have lots of uses besides killing people.
Peter looked at the body one more time. Why had he killed Lucas? Now that he thought about it, whatever reason he'd had didn't made no sense. Lucas was already going to die. There hadn't been any good reason for killing him. Just because he had shot at Eiko. Peter hadn't needed to react violently, but he did. Why? The more he tried to think about it, the more he came to the same conclusion: Lucas was dead, at Peter's hand. There was nothing he could do to change that fact.
"Let's go, Eiko," he said to his travel companion. What did she think about him now? Would she even stay with him, a killer? "Let's just... get away from here." Peter picked up his sword and strapped it and the new gun to the side of his backpack, then fished out a small metallic bottle, which he tucked into his pocket.
He needed a fucking drink.
((Peter Siu continued March to Your Death))
Clearly, "clean" hadn't been on the list of things that could be used to describe a slit throat. Blood was already pooling under the head and neck, a vibrant mix of the red oxygenated blood gushing out the carotid artery and darker deoxygenated blood leaking from the jugular vein, as well as everything in between from all the other tissues that had been cut open. Blood spurt from the carotid in time with the dull rhythm of a fading heartbeat, the blood jetting up about a foot and staining the blade of Peter's sword and his jeans.
Gross. Bloodstains are a pain to clean out.
Peter looked down at Lucas' face, contorted in a tableau of unimaginable pain. His eyes were still open, and whatever life that had remained was fading out. There was no peace reflected in those eyes, that much Peter could understand. He lifted his eyes from the bloody carnage under him. Teenagers weren't meant to see these things, to see pain and gore and death like this. Exposed neck muscles, the remains of a windpipe, it was all too much. If he looked down to survey the damage again, there was a chance he'd lose the little bit of bread he'd had for breakfast. Instead, he stepped away from the body, and growing pool of blood creeping out from beneath it.
That's definitely a lot of blood.
The body beneath him jerked.
"Holy fuck!" Peter yelled as he jumped back another foot, and almost fell flat on his ass. He should've seen it coming; he'd read about this exact thing happening before. Still, even knowing that Lucas was definitely dead, the sudden motion had managed to fire his adrenaline-pumped reflexes.
Okay. I should not be freaking out over something stupid like this
Peter gave a low chuckle, that built up to a roar of laughter. It was in no way appropriate: he had just killed somebody. Still, the incredulity of the situation was plenty effective at eliciting laughs from him. Of all the things to get spooked by, it was by something as harmless as a dead body. It was utterly ridiculous. If it had been zombies or a bear, at least it would have made sense.
Zombies make sense? That's news.
It took a moment for Peter to collect himself from. Laughing like that after killing someone probably didn't look good to Eiko, and it definitely didn't look good for those people watching on the cameras. Well, there were some sick freaks that liked seeing the psycho killers, Danya's crew notwithstanding. Peter used to watch Survival of the Fittest for the detailed gore and realistic action, at least until he figured just how real everything was. He had an idea what might have gone through the heads of those killers. He wasn't going to be like them.
With a grunt, he pushed himself up onto his feet. Eiko had taken to screaming off at something in the distance, but she at least appeared fine. No blood meant that there was no gunshot wound. He had done his part in protecting her. That was what mattered; not that he had slit someone's throat in order to do it. Nothing good would come out of dwelling on that fact.
Peter might be a killer. He wasn't a cold-blooded murderer.
Blatant lies. He was on the train to dying in the next few hours anyway.
Lucas' body lay still, most of the blood drained from the body. There wasn't much Peter could do for the body; he had no shovel to dig a grave. Still, there had to be something he could do. Dropping the sword to the grass, Peter walked up to the corpse. It was still horrific to look at. Peter could feel the bile rising to the back of his throat. He fought it back; he needed to be strong.
If he didn't think of it as a corpse, that it hadn't been a living-
Peter pushed the idea from his mind. That would not be treating it with respect. That much Lucas deserved. His hand went to the wooden cross he wore on his neck. His finger traced along the face of the cross, a prayer forming in his mind. He gave it no voice: prayer wasn't something to be heard. Peter crouched down by Lucas' body and traced the same shape of the cross on Lucas' forehead. Lucas' lifeless eyes stared back at him. Had there been something in those eyes before the light had faded from them? Had Lucas, in his dying moment, cursed his killer?
Had he forgiven his killer?
If it mattered, Peter didn't care. With a light push of his hand, he closed the dead boy's eyes forever.
Lucas' daypack was still on his back, now soaked through with blood. Peter wasn't going to disturb the body to try to scavenge supplies. Nor was he going to try to retrieve the polearm that had been strapped to the daypack. Peter remembered the gun, fallen away in the struggle. Going to where he remembered it falling, Peter picked it up and looked at it. It was lighter than he had expected it to be, which was quickly explained when he checked its empty magazine. If there were any extra magazines, they'd be in Lucas' pack. Peter looked over at the body again. He had no plans of going through that pack, regardless of what useful things could be in there. Did it matter? Peter didn't even know if he could hit anything with a gun. The only thing he would use it for would be to discourage people from attacking, and he didn't need bullets for that.
Still, bullets could be useful.
That's the spirit! Bullets have lots of uses besides killing people.
Peter looked at the body one more time. Why had he killed Lucas? Now that he thought about it, whatever reason he'd had didn't made no sense. Lucas was already going to die. There hadn't been any good reason for killing him. Just because he had shot at Eiko. Peter hadn't needed to react violently, but he did. Why? The more he tried to think about it, the more he came to the same conclusion: Lucas was dead, at Peter's hand. There was nothing he could do to change that fact.
"Let's go, Eiko," he said to his travel companion. What did she think about him now? Would she even stay with him, a killer? "Let's just... get away from here." Peter picked up his sword and strapped it and the new gun to the side of his backpack, then fished out a small metallic bottle, which he tucked into his pocket.
He needed a fucking drink.
((Peter Siu continued March to Your Death))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solomir. 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.
Eiko frowned as she looked over at the spot where Bradley had vanished into the distance. She hadn't responded at all to being insulted in such a crude fashion. Maybe she was used to it. Maybe she didn't want to stick around and confront Eiko, counting her blessings that she got away with being an accessory to murder.
Didn't matter. Odds are she would get hers before the week was through.
She turned around to check up on Peter, only to discover that he'd been laughing that whole time. She didn't quite know what to think about this. Did he actually enjoy it? She'd heard of lurid tales, of people getting a rush out of their first murder, instead of the normal feeling of revulsion and nausea. If that happened to Peter, if his murder of Lucas had made him realize a darker part of himself, then everything changed. She wasn't safe with him anymore, quite the opposite. Now that he had Lucas's gun and his sword, and she had nothing, she was more vulnerable than ever.
But now he stopped. Eiko decided to approach him as he looked over his kill. The laughter from earlier must have been a slip, because he busied himself with paying respect to the body. He closed its eyes, he muttered a silent prayer, he put the body in a peaceful position. Only then did he look over to Lucas's dropped gun and pick it up. As he did everything, Eiko respectfully stood fifteen feet away, waiting for him to finish up so that they could leave the body before it started to rot. Already she thought she could smell something putrid in the air, wrinkling her nose in response.
Then Peter got up, looking thoroughly disgusted with himself. Eiko couldn't bring herself to feel the same way; he had just saved her life, after all, and she would have to repay him for it somehow. A stray thought made her grateful he wasn't interested in women. Not that he was the sort of guy to ask otherwise. He took a metal bottle out of his pocket and called for Eiko to follow him, walking off into the distance.
She was about to follow him when she noticed that the dead boy's daypack sat on his back, completely unmolested. Peter hadn't even touched it. Eiko frowned, once again finding her opinion of Peter shifting. She had no objection to respecting the dead, but they were playing for life or death stakes. The two of them would need every advantage they could get.
She checked to make sure that Peter wasn't looking, then reached down and unzipped his pack, finding a modest amount of food and drink in it. She transferred it over to her pack as quickly as possible, then shifted her gaze to the odd polearm attached to it. She vaguely recognized it as some sort of Japanese weapon, but it didn't look as lethal as, say, a tetsubou or katana.
Despite this, she unfastened it from his pack and put his body back roughly the way it was. With a quick nod to this boy, whoever he was, she finished her business and ran off after Peter, her new prize in tow.
((Eiko Haraguchi continued in March to Your Death))
((End of Thread))
Didn't matter. Odds are she would get hers before the week was through.
She turned around to check up on Peter, only to discover that he'd been laughing that whole time. She didn't quite know what to think about this. Did he actually enjoy it? She'd heard of lurid tales, of people getting a rush out of their first murder, instead of the normal feeling of revulsion and nausea. If that happened to Peter, if his murder of Lucas had made him realize a darker part of himself, then everything changed. She wasn't safe with him anymore, quite the opposite. Now that he had Lucas's gun and his sword, and she had nothing, she was more vulnerable than ever.
But now he stopped. Eiko decided to approach him as he looked over his kill. The laughter from earlier must have been a slip, because he busied himself with paying respect to the body. He closed its eyes, he muttered a silent prayer, he put the body in a peaceful position. Only then did he look over to Lucas's dropped gun and pick it up. As he did everything, Eiko respectfully stood fifteen feet away, waiting for him to finish up so that they could leave the body before it started to rot. Already she thought she could smell something putrid in the air, wrinkling her nose in response.
Then Peter got up, looking thoroughly disgusted with himself. Eiko couldn't bring herself to feel the same way; he had just saved her life, after all, and she would have to repay him for it somehow. A stray thought made her grateful he wasn't interested in women. Not that he was the sort of guy to ask otherwise. He took a metal bottle out of his pocket and called for Eiko to follow him, walking off into the distance.
She was about to follow him when she noticed that the dead boy's daypack sat on his back, completely unmolested. Peter hadn't even touched it. Eiko frowned, once again finding her opinion of Peter shifting. She had no objection to respecting the dead, but they were playing for life or death stakes. The two of them would need every advantage they could get.
She checked to make sure that Peter wasn't looking, then reached down and unzipped his pack, finding a modest amount of food and drink in it. She transferred it over to her pack as quickly as possible, then shifted her gaze to the odd polearm attached to it. She vaguely recognized it as some sort of Japanese weapon, but it didn't look as lethal as, say, a tetsubou or katana.
Despite this, she unfastened it from his pack and put his body back roughly the way it was. With a quick nod to this boy, whoever he was, she finished her business and ran off after Peter, her new prize in tow.
((Eiko Haraguchi continued in March to Your Death))
((End of Thread))
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.