At a Loss

[Sean†]

"Are you sane?" Sloan asked in a slightly annoyed tone; he wasn't exactly in the mood to take a 7.62mm to the brain pan. "If so, you mind letting us by?" He then gestured towards Anna. "My group isn't going to kill anyone who isn't playing this demented game, so if you're not going to shoot then neither am I."

[Cyco†]

Trish's outburst at Jake's killer made James want to sink into the rain-drenched ground and disappear. In trying not to look at either of them his eyes wandered to the Ballester-Molina lying in the mud next to Jeff's daypack. He made a quick mental note of it.

Suddenly Trish changed her tone, catching James off-guard and prompting a confused couple of blinks from the bespectacled Mega Man enthusiast. He looked silently at his companion as she forgave Jeff, which he wasn't sure he could've done himself had Jake been as close to him as he was to her. He wasn't sure just what had brought about the sudden change of heart, but it left him speechless. Not that he'd been saying anything anyway.

Then he caught sight of someone heading their way through the rain. James felt the familiar tar pit sensation come over him again, but this time it was less intense and he was able to fight it enough to move his ass and grab Jeff's handgun. Also the daypack.

"Trish, hey," he mumbled, unsure of what to do next and not entirely trusting her to make any aggressive move given the current situation. James didn't know much about firearms, but at the moment all he needed was the common knowledge that pointing the gun and pulling the trigger made shit dead. He raised the Ballester-Molina at the approaching student (who he could now see was holding a gun himself) and glanced again at Trish, who thankfully took action and asked the guy what he wanted.

His response aroused James' suspicion. First, why was he approaching them just to ask to be let through? He could go around and it was obvious. Second, what fucking group? He was alone. James was no chump. This was bullshit and he was sure Trish knew it too.

"What? Get lost," he responded impatiently.

[Tilt†]

((Anna Grout continued from Dork of the Manatee))

While James' assessment of the situation was not entirely accurate, it certainly appeared to be. Anna had indeed stalked up behind Sloan, but had remained out of sight amongst the foliage during the gruesome theatrics. With two armed and apparently hostile students so close, she really didn't intend to show herself now, either. She felt a bit bad about leaving Sloan out to dry, but he would prove to be an excellent Hostility Barometer in regards to the unknown pair.

Sorry, Sloan, you're gonna have to test the water for me.

Morality be damned, this was about surviving, and how could she help if a fight broke out?

If they aren't playing, I can always just pretend I've been lagging behind him.

Judging from the bloodbath that had just occurred, however, someone was pretty willing to kill. Anna couldn't quite get her head around the carnage of the scene. There had been numerous occasions where she'd encountered corpses already, but never so up close and personal, and never had she actually witnessed a death firsthand. It wasn't like the movies, either, no sad music or dramatic last words, just terror in the dying's eyes and the crushing inevitability as they bled out. She hadn't even known the guy who was now lying lifelessly on the muddy jungle floor...

Keep it together. All the more reason to sit this little encounter out, get a feel for the situation. If shooting starts, I can just get out of here.

So she waited.

[ET.Requiem†]

Jeff laid there, smiling faintly as he finally bled out.

Thank you, Trish.

His breathing stopped.

Sorry, Kerrie....Can't play anymore...

He died without a sound.

BOY #88: JEFF THORNE -- ELIMINATED

[Sean†]

Sloan noted that Anna was no longer behind him, and had not been for a bit now. He visibly got a bit worried; one of the first things they learned at the BJJ class they both took was how to take down an armed opponent, and she could easily best him in hand-to-hand combat. Plus there was still the potential lunatic with an AK-47 in front of him.

"Okay, scratch the bit about the group, the other half of it seems to have disappeared. While I could easily go around, the fact that you're aiming an AK-47 at me makes that a bit too dangerous," Sloan said in a half-scared, half-confused tone.

[Crash†]

"Are you sane?"

For a moment, Trish thought that her mind was playing tricks on her. Was he serious? The fact that he was gesturing to an invisible person when he said he had a partner seemed to indicate that she clearly wasn't the insane one. What really started to push her buttons, however, was that he actually sounded aggravated. What the hell had she ever done to him? It could've been her emotional fatigue as a result of Jake's recent loss that was taking over, but Trish couldn't help but feel like Sloan was being completely unreasonable.

With every word that Sloan spoke, Trish felt herself growing not only more annoyed, but increasingly uncertain. He had a group? That presented three distinct and uncomfortable possibilities to her. Either he really did have a group (in which case the fact that he came at them armed certainly wasn't a good sign), he was trying deceive them (in which case they could let him through and potentially get shot in the back), or he really was insane, which couldn't be good. Regardless of which of those possibilities were presented, Trish felt herself relieved once more when James stepped up to the plate again and told Sloan to get lost, which was equivalent to calling his bluff. If James seemed like dead weight before, he certainly was proving himself now.

Sloan's next statement, however, made her completely forget whatever relief she'd felt moments before.

"While I could easily go around, the fact that you're aiming an AK-47 at me makes that a bit too dangerous."

That was the kicker.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Trish started, snapping out of the surreal daze she'd found herself in since the moment she'd seen Jake get shot. She was angry, but she was thinking clearer than ever. "You could've gone around us to start with!" She continued logically. The first question he'd posed popped back into her head right after that, and that exponentially increased Trish's irritability. "I was sitting here crying over the..." she trailed off, swallowing and struggling to say the next word, "...corpse, of my best friend, until you come at me with a gun drawn and ask if I'm sane!? Who the fuck do you think you ARE!?"

With that, Trish took a step forward with her left foot and raised the AK higher, aiming towards Sloan's upper torso and head. She had no patience for him anymore. "You heard the man, get the hell out of here!"

[Sean†]

Sloan turned the safety off on his gun. He aimed at Trish's head.

"I wouldn't suggest doing that." He was more pissed off than scared at the moment. "You pull the trigger, so do I, and your head goes bye-bye. Not a very good outcome for either of us."

[nope†]

Danni breathed a sigh of relief when she finally reached the water. She thought that she'd been lost, or that she had just mistaken the sounds of heavier rainfall for that of running water. It wasn't so far-fetched, she wasn't exactly a nature person. But thankfully, she had been right. She decided to celebrate her victory by getting this damn mud off of her. She approached the usually shallow banks, now deep and swift from the heavy rainfall, and shuddered as she left the shelter of the trees and the rain his her at full force. It was freezing. That cold water began looking less and less appealing. But her throat was burning and her skin felt miserable, so she supposed it was the lesser of two evils.

She dropped her duffel bag and knelt down in the soft mud beside the stream, swinging her daypack around to her front as she descended. She first dug out the water bottle that had a bit of stale water lingering at the bottom. She emptied it and went to plunge the bottle into the brook. All of a sudden there were thousands of tiny needles being driven into her fingers.

"AUGH!"

Danni let go of the bottle, and the water took it. She clasper her hands to her mouth. She was such an idiot. She knew the water would be cold, but not that cold. Her stupidity had cost her a water bottle, and her location if there was anyone around. She looked around herself quickly. There were nothing to be seen, and the sounds of conflict were still distant. Nonetheless, she wanted to finish this quickly. She continued on with a newfound urgency.

Danni took out the second of her bottles and un-lidded it. She grasped it tightly, determined not to repeat her previous failure, and hovered it over the water for a moment. She then dipped it in, cringing as the needles hit again but not letting a sound escape from her throat. She let it fill about halfway. She lifted it to her lips and chugged its contents down. The freezing water was both painful and gratifying against her hot throat. She then plunged the bottle in again, let it fill for as long as her hand could take, re-capped it, and repeated the process with her two remaining bottles. Once the deed was done she replaced the bottles and zipped her bag. She tossed it next to her duffel bag.

She hesitated, then began splashing the water on her face and arms, letting out little gasps each time it came in contact with her skin. She lifted herself up to a crouch and began work on her legs. Once she was done she quickly sprung to her feet and spun around. She scanned the trees. Nothing. For now, at least. She had a feeling her luck wouldn't hold out too much longer.

Suddenly she was taken by a series of violent shivers. It was fucking cold. She remembered there a light woven hoodie in her bag. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could do right now. She had, after all, been expecting warm summer weather, not this island hell. She picked up her belongings and moved back into the canopy of the jungle. Upon opening the bag she spotted the lime green hoodie amongst the tangle of her remaining clothing. She tore it out and slid her arms in, then zipped it up to her neck. The rain would render it useless very shortly, but at the moment she was immensely grateful for its warmth. It was also a fairly fortunate color. Maybe potential assailants would mistake her for very bright shrubbery and leave her be.

She lifted the duffel's strap back on her shoulder and continued forward.

--------------------------

The first things Danni spotted through the trees were the guns.

She quickly bolted to her left behind one of the large trunks. Oh shit. She had run out of one gunfight only to find herself nearly running straight into another. Fucking great. Her panic and fear was strong at first, but slowly gave way to the little scheming voice in the back of her head. Depending on who the victor was, she might have found herself a white knight after all, one with firepower instead of a gleaming sword. This gave her a little selfish hope. She strained her ears and tried to pick out the voices through the curtain of rain.

The first voice was female, and very angry. Danni tried to place it, but couldn't. She didn't think she had ever heard someone this angry or distraught. It was terrifying, but at the same time she felt for the voice's owner. They sounded like they were at their breaking point. She couldn't make out any words other than the occasional "fuck", but that tone was naggingly familiar. As the woman's small rant wore on, the voice became slightly more recognizable. She remembered hearing Trish's name being screamed earlier. Danni hadn't had much contact with the girl, the only classes they'd shared over the last few years were art electives, but she remembered her as an absolute sweetheart. She couldn't imagine that much anger coming from Trish, but the identification was becoming more and more positive.

The next voice was hardly audible. It was tempting to edge a little closer to try and make out what was happening, but Danni resisted. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say, and she wasn't quite ready to die yet. She settled for waiting for the gunfire, if it ever came. Then if she heard maybe-Trish was still alive, she'd risk the approach. It wasn't the most brilliant of plans, but she didn't have too much hope for survival anyway.

[Sean†]

Sloan did a double-take and realized what Trish had just said before he raised the gun to her head.

"Who the fuck do I think I am? Who, the fuck, do I think I am?"

He was pissed off to a degree that would make Bruce Banner shit his pants in fear at the moment.

"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?" Sloan roared. He pulled the trigger.

((OOC: Yes, that was intended to be a Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann reference. I probably botched it, though.))

[Crash†]

Even despite how firm her tone was, Trish felt the back of her mind wavering. After killing Jeff and effectively bringing Jake's death about, her conscience was weighing down heavily on her. Could she really kill Sloan too if he didn't plan on co-operating? With Jeff, she'd at least felt like she'd been justified in shooting; he had just blown Jake's skull apart and was sitting there holding a gun pointed in her general direction, after all.

Trish barely even remembered Sloan, truth be told. All she could really recall was his name, and even that was a stretch; she didn't remember the two of them ever being introduced or formally speaking. Given the fact that she was fairly social, that was saying something. Still, even the fact that they weren't friends didn't exactly justify her killing him...

...at least, that was what she thought, up until he pointed his gun at her head.

Trish's heart was racing now. Jeff had been so overcome by shock that the thought that he might shoot her barely crossed her mind, but Sloan was quite obviously angry. For the first time since she'd woke up on the island almost a week ago Trish felt like her life was in danger. The unfamiliar feeling of an adrenaline rush was slowly creeping up on her, and before Sloan had even finished speaking she did what any other person with a gun pointed at her head would do.

She got the fuck out of the way.

Trish was reacting before she even knew what she was doing, and no sooner had she dove to her left (in the opposite direction of James) than she heard a round erupt from Sloan's gun, thankfully taking only air with it. She landed on her side, making sure to keep the AK in the air the entire time so as to prevent it from going off. Somehow, she'd remembered in the heat of the moment that the safety on the gun was still off. Her shoulder and left side impacted with the ground hard, forcing a cry of pain out of her, despite the fact that she barely felt anything. The adrenaline had definitely taken over now, and for that she was thankful.

After she landed Trish sat herself up, and with little to no hesitation pointed the AK at Sloan again, her finger finding the trigger. She squeezed off five or six rounds this time, waiting a second to catch her balance and squeezing off another three or four. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. Everything was happening way too fast, and all Trish could hope for now was that her bullets had found their intended target.

[Sean†]

Sloan was still in an "unstoppable rage" mindset when about 10 7.62mm rounds hit him in the chest.

"Mother... I'm coming," he whispered softly.

He passed out, and quickly bled to death; about 4 of the bullets hit him in the heart, and the rest hit him in the lungs and intestines. He barely had a chance.

[B96]SloanHenriksen was on the wrong end of [G23]TMcCarroll's AK-47.

((OOC: Yes, that was an intentional Unreal Tournament shout-out. If anyone complains, I'll change it to the standard "BOY #96: SLOAN HENRIKSEN - DECEASED".))

[nope†]

"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK I AM?"

Danni could make that one out quite clearly. She was sure conflict was imminent now. She braced herself against the sounds she knew would come. She'd already stupidly jumped out at a sound once, and it had almost cost her life twice over in a very short period. It was a mistake she was determined not to repeat.

In the seconds before the gunfire, another sound caught her ear. It sounded something like a voice echoing in the distance. She couldn't make out the actual word (She was noticing a pattern here. If it weren't for this damn rain...) other than a "ryu" sound, but she suspected it wasn't English. As she began to muse over what its source could be, the shots of a pistol rang out.

She cursed her short attention span as she jumped at the sound and bashed her head against the trunk behind her. She had barely lifted her hand to assess the damage when the rattle of a rifle firing followed. While she managed not to jump this time, it did cause her to again question the wisdom of her plan. Someone was packing heavier firepower than she'd suspected.

She counted back from thirty in her head. When she heard no more shots being fired, she decided it was time to risk the approach. In a single movement that was unusually graceful for her, she swung around the tree to her right, slipped the green hood over her head, and crouched in the underbrush. Hopefully the hoodie would provide her some sort of camoflague, but it was doubtful. She started through to the aftermath as covertly as she could manage.

[Tilt†]

Anna blinked as the gunfire started. A few loud cracks of rifle fire split the muggy jungle air, then abruptly ended. It didn't take a genius to infer what had just happened to Sloan.

Well. That's not good. Not good at all.

Silently, Anna cursed Sloan not only for exacerbating the situation that had led to his death when there had been no need for violence in the first place, but also for losing the hangun she had been banking so much of her strategy on. Without a gun, Anna didn't see how she was going to get off the island alive.

Idiot!

Why had he felt the need to confront those people who were very clearly both angry and armed? What was she to do now? Her selfishness overcame any grief she felt for her ally, though he had been almost a friend back in what she was now consistently referring to as 'real life'. She became strangely aware of the skull pressing against her back inside the daypack she still carried. She had to fight to resist an absurd outburst of laughter that threatened to give her away.

God, I'm losing it... ... ... I need that gun.

Shifting a bit inside the cover of an enormous tree's roots, she threw the old fire extinguisher as hard as she could against a tree trunk 20 feet away, hoping to divert the attention of the people in the clearing as she broke away from her hiding place and made her way stealthily towards them.

[Crash†]

Just as she had a few minutes before, Trish found herself sitting on the barren earth staring at the corpse of her latest victim, absolutely stunned. Despite the fact that Sloan was completely immobile, Trish refused to believe that she'd ended yet another life. It was a complete 180 from how she'd just been thinking; namely, trying to justify herself attacking him if it was in self-defense, but at the moment logic had no place in how she was feeling. Nothing about their situation was logical.

In a feeble attempt to absolve her feelings of guilt, Trish flicked the safety of the AK-47 back on and put it down on the ground beside her, then crawled over to Sloan to check on him. For a few seconds she'd been clinging onto the hope that somehow he'd managed to survive the onslaught, but it only took one cursory glance for her to realize that he didn't stand a chance. There were bullet holes and lacerations all over his midsection, and his clothes were stained in his own blood. Trish turned away almost immediately after she'd taken in the sight, drowning in the cold realization that she'd killed yet another human being.

The sight that met her eyes after she turned away from Sloan's corpse was even more terrible however, as she'd managed to catch both Jeff and Jake's battered, bruised and broken corpses in her new field of vision. Seeing what was left of Jake's face now covered in his own blood and brain matter was what finally pushed her past her point of tolerance, and she found herself once more relieving herself of the contents of her stomach. Trish braced herself against the ground with both her arms as she vomited, grabbing handfuls of dirt in a futile attempt to get her hands to stop shaking. None of it seemed to be doing her any good, though.

As she waited for the last of her stomach contents to drain out onto the now drenched jungle floor, Trish tried to come to grips with how things now stood. Three new corpses lined the outskirts of the river now flowing where the brook once was, and when push came to shove, she was to blame for all of their deaths. The nearly unbearable sight of their bodies hardly held a candle to how ultimately guilty and responsible Trish felt, and that realization was slowly but surely crushing her.

When she'd finished puking she looked back up and turned to face James, but the first thing that caught her eye was Sloan's gun, which now lay a few feet away from his body. For a moment which seemed like an eternity to her Trish found herself staring at the thing, contemplating how much easier things would be if she were to end it all right now. It'd be a weak form of redemption, but it'd probably make Sloan and Jeff's families feel a whole hell of a lot better. Still, she felt the fragments of humanity she still retained kick in and tell her that she had to keep living. Jake had come this far just to find her, and she wasn't about to let his death be in vain.

Even more importantly, Patsy McCarroll had already lost her husband; Trish wasn't about to let her lose her only daughter, too.

Somehow Trish found the strength to get back onto her feet, wiping her mouth with her fingers and brushing them on the side of her jeans. She moved over to Sloan and kneeled down beside him, and almost methodically went about relieving him of whatever supplies she could fit into her now almost-full day pack. Once she'd taken everything she could fit (the gun, ammunition and one more water bottle and loaf of bread) she zipped up her day pack again and hoisted it onto her back. It was heavy, but compared to the grief she was feeling, the physical burdens of the island were almost non-existent. She picked up the AK-47 again and turned to James.

"Let's go," she muttered emptily, taking a moment to observe the mess around her one more time. Jake's pack still lay untouched near his body, but she couldn't bear to bring herself any closer to him. She didn't even know what kind of weapon he had, if any. While she took one final look at Jake she thought she could hear James uttering some sort of protest, but whatever it was was lost on her.

The loud smash of something impacting against of the trees behind her caused her to turn and face James once more, a look of subdued urgency forming in her now harsh and emotionally ravaged facial features.

"Come on, let's get out of here," she urged again, turning away from the bodies and beginning to walk away.

[Cyco†]

Trish called the guy out on being full of the finest shit, which he didn't take too well. In fact he replied twice, punctuated by firing a crazed shot at her. James' trigger finger had been ready and raring to go--just in case things got fucky--the moment the guy had approached them, and while the sudden clap of pistol-thunder startled him and set his mind racing he was quick to fire a shot at the guy in response.

Or at least pull the trigger, anyway. James had overcompensated for the impending recoil and was surprised to find none. No bang or bullet either. The crushing truth was that the Ballester-Molina had become jammed with mud, and it had cost Trish her life.

Just kidding. To James' amazement, Sloan fell suddenly against the roar of Trish's AK as she hit the ground. When the noise had died Trish dropped her weapon and scuttled over to check the body. James blew out an intense sigh of relief and ran a hand up his forehead into his messy hair.

"Nice shooting, Sniper Wolf," he remarked under his breath, smacking his own gun lightly and rattling it in a bewildered manner. He wasn't sure if she got the reference, or even if she heard him, but as Trish suddenly turned around and blew chunks James realized that it had been an inappropriate thing to say. Jake was dead and she'd just killed two people. That had to be pretty earth-shaking.

"Woah. Trish..."

She suddenly went about mechanically gathering up her and the dead boys things, and James immediately clued in that something was wrong. She expressed a desire to leave.

"Trish," he responded a bit louder, approaching her hastily. Something clanged noisily in the distance and she began to hurriedly walk away, probably oblivious that he was even in the vicinity anymore. He raced to catch her and held onto her shoulders tightly.

"Trish! Snap out of it!" he urged her, shaking her a little for good measure.