Truth be told, it was a little bit frustrating. Everyone was focusing on the way he said things, on the little throwaway comments he made, rather than the actually important stuff. He was being serious, introducing actual strategies into the mix, actually extending hands of friendship, propositions of camaraderie, to those around him. And he might as well have kept exclusively to humorous quips, for all the good it did him.
It started with Arthur, and his stunning ignorance of pop culture. He didn't remember Arthur being quite so uptight back in Kingman, but then again, Bradley had never really gotten to know Arthur that well. It was a shame, really, but in that moment, his predominant expression was one of irritation. It merited an eye roll and a sarcastic rebuke from Bradley, but nothing more.
"Yeah, yeah, that's the joke, you silly aardvark. 'Course I know. Learn some pop culture references while you're here, 'll do you good." It was earnest advice, spoken as he made his way into the gym. It was quite shocking, actually. How did Arthur NOT get that joke? Had he never heard that end of the world song? It was apt right now, and Leonard Bernstein was the only lyric that was actually legible. An island deprived of internet connections was a poor place to catch up on common knowledge, after all.
But he was never one to back down. Self-censorship was a flaw he never succumbed to, a hubristic deficiency he would rise above. Wouldn't let the terrorists win by not being himself. He had to prove that, had to take charge of the situation, as no-one else was equipped to do so.
Yet upon Kimiko's entry, the scorn only continued. Bradley had actually introduced a plan, a substantive proposal, into the equation. Where people really still focusing on his remarks? His wit wasn't too acerbic in this moment, he thought. He actually was toning things down. He actually appreciated the gravity of the situation better than any of these other assholes.
Had anyone else here just lost a cousin? No. He was holding himself together. That was all he was doing.
And white knight Arthur continued his bullshitting, and Bradley turned to him, not bothering to hide his frustration. He was unusually agitated with this whole situation. "Hey, I'm the only one actually putting forward plans to survive here, buddy. I mean, Bryony and Coleen have crippling shyness and Kimiko is mute and Alba doesn't know anyone here because she's in the grade below us, but what's your excuse?"
"I mean, shit, is anyone else actually taking this seriously?" Bradley, for once, spoke with no levity, but that may not have been obvious to those around him. "Seriously, guys, do we need pen and paper or something? Or maybe you'd rather write messages in blood and feces, whatever. Just stop getting all of your collective panties in a collective twist about fucking jokes."
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And so Bradley was talking again, because of course he was.
He was saying something about he couldn't believe he was the only one taking everything seriously. Even when he was trying to talk seriously he still managed to be condescending. Kimiko exhaled sharply, it was a pfft sound. She wasn't impressed.
Bradley was always talking. He loved the sound of his own voice so it wasn't a surprise to Kimiko that he was taking the lead in the conversation. She wasn't falling for it though, she knew that eventually he'd fall back into stupid jokes and insults. He always did, that was Bradley.
Kimiko knew better than anyone else in the room what was going on and Bradley in his arrogance assumed he knew better because he was Bradley and he knew best. The idea of someone else assuming they knew what was best for her grated on Kimiko, it was made worse by who exactly that person was. No one knew what was best for her and no one in the room seemed to understand her. If they did they wouldn't have been keeping their distance like she was a tiger that could have struck at any moment.
The fact Bradley was doing the opposite made her consider the fact that she may have underestimated him, maybe he understood more than he let on. But he was still offering her membership to a potential group that he was in. She shook her head. No. Never. She wasn't going to stay near Bradley let alone work with him. The others maybe but between the options she currently had Kimiko was happy to walk out of the gym by herself.
He was saying something about he couldn't believe he was the only one taking everything seriously. Even when he was trying to talk seriously he still managed to be condescending. Kimiko exhaled sharply, it was a pfft sound. She wasn't impressed.
Bradley was always talking. He loved the sound of his own voice so it wasn't a surprise to Kimiko that he was taking the lead in the conversation. She wasn't falling for it though, she knew that eventually he'd fall back into stupid jokes and insults. He always did, that was Bradley.
Kimiko knew better than anyone else in the room what was going on and Bradley in his arrogance assumed he knew better because he was Bradley and he knew best. The idea of someone else assuming they knew what was best for her grated on Kimiko, it was made worse by who exactly that person was. No one knew what was best for her and no one in the room seemed to understand her. If they did they wouldn't have been keeping their distance like she was a tiger that could have struck at any moment.
The fact Bradley was doing the opposite made her consider the fact that she may have underestimated him, maybe he understood more than he let on. But he was still offering her membership to a potential group that he was in. She shook her head. No. Never. She wasn't going to stay near Bradley let alone work with him. The others maybe but between the options she currently had Kimiko was happy to walk out of the gym by herself.
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Coleen felt like biting back at Bradley's remark, but what she ended up biting instead was her tongue. Now was not the time to insist that her shyness was not 'crippling'. Ordinarily, such a thing would have prompted her to use some of that newfound courage that Peyote Coyote gave her to insist that she's always been able to work through her inhibitions thanks to the theatre. Well, by now, having to work with somebody like Vanessa was more than likely a factor.
But that wasn't really at the forefront of her mind, nor was it in anybody else's. Center stage was Kimiko and Bradley, as he continued to press on and direct attention to the only person in the room who, should the announcements be believed, had actually taken another life. That was what made all the difference in Coleen's eyes. She'd much rather Bradley go on talking about how she'd be a lovely match for Burnt Face Man or something if it meant nobody had to die.
"Was, um, Sandra Clegane a reference?" Coleen eventually piped up, trying something - no, ANYTHING to defuse the ticking time bomb this situation had become. She dared take a step forward, past Arthur.
But that wasn't really at the forefront of her mind, nor was it in anybody else's. Center stage was Kimiko and Bradley, as he continued to press on and direct attention to the only person in the room who, should the announcements be believed, had actually taken another life. That was what made all the difference in Coleen's eyes. She'd much rather Bradley go on talking about how she'd be a lovely match for Burnt Face Man or something if it meant nobody had to die.
"Was, um, Sandra Clegane a reference?" Coleen eventually piped up, trying something - no, ANYTHING to defuse the ticking time bomb this situation had become. She dared take a step forward, past Arthur.
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"Yeah, Coleen, it's a reference." His voice was calm, his parlance jovial and relaxed, his tone as blissfully irreverent as ever, yet not quite descending into the acerbic mocking tone he was so experienced with. It was forced, but damn good acting, and that was really all he could do. "Sorry, but yeah, it's comparing you to a fictional character, and you can probably guess on what grounds. No hard feelings, though, you're smokin' hot."
He actually hadn't intended that accidental slip of the tongue at the end there, and verbally grimaced at what was a genuine faux pas, as rare as those were for Bradley. About the hot bit. Fire might be a sore spot for her. Even when he was trying to be nice, he still insulted people. Hopefully that proved his point to whatever cosmic observers were watching. He can't NOT be politically incorrect. It's a curse as much as it was a blessing.
He turned back to Kimiko, less cautious with his words than ever. "Okeydokey. Sad to hear a 'one group policy' isn't to your liking, but I hope we can eventually reunify. I mean, I extended the olive hand of friendship," he continued, with a deliberately comic level of pontifical pomposity, not at all fazed by his mangling of idioms. "I for one am quite content with, y'know, trying to be the same person as I was back home. Sorry if that makes me a bad person, for liking continuity, for trying to add a sense of normalcy, but I guess we can't all have the same coping mechanisms. I guess making some silly jokes makes me the worst person on the island."
It was not subtle, it was not eloquent, it was not punchy. But it was true. Bradley just couldn't see why people were so angry at him. It wasn't in his nature to be so thin-skinned. But the stakes were high, and this? This was petty.
"I'm sure Cristo would agree with that assessment!" He smacked the barrel of his gun against the palm of his hand, for emphasis, hoping this poor choice of prioritisation would be recognised by someone. He had just lost his fucking cousin. He had never denied people their eccentricities, their quirks, their own ways of coping with tragedy. Never.
He actually hadn't intended that accidental slip of the tongue at the end there, and verbally grimaced at what was a genuine faux pas, as rare as those were for Bradley. About the hot bit. Fire might be a sore spot for her. Even when he was trying to be nice, he still insulted people. Hopefully that proved his point to whatever cosmic observers were watching. He can't NOT be politically incorrect. It's a curse as much as it was a blessing.
He turned back to Kimiko, less cautious with his words than ever. "Okeydokey. Sad to hear a 'one group policy' isn't to your liking, but I hope we can eventually reunify. I mean, I extended the olive hand of friendship," he continued, with a deliberately comic level of pontifical pomposity, not at all fazed by his mangling of idioms. "I for one am quite content with, y'know, trying to be the same person as I was back home. Sorry if that makes me a bad person, for liking continuity, for trying to add a sense of normalcy, but I guess we can't all have the same coping mechanisms. I guess making some silly jokes makes me the worst person on the island."
It was not subtle, it was not eloquent, it was not punchy. But it was true. Bradley just couldn't see why people were so angry at him. It wasn't in his nature to be so thin-skinned. But the stakes were high, and this? This was petty.
"I'm sure Cristo would agree with that assessment!" He smacked the barrel of his gun against the palm of his hand, for emphasis, hoping this poor choice of prioritisation would be recognised by someone. He had just lost his fucking cousin. He had never denied people their eccentricities, their quirks, their own ways of coping with tragedy. Never.
Luckily Coleen spoke up and broke her attention away from Bradley. She was glad for the distraction but it only proved to be temporary.
Kimiko felt a flare of anger, of course someone was going to say something at some point but hearing it from Bradley made it sting more. All of his talking was going nowhere and if he had been genuine to begin with he had quickly changed back to his old self.
It wasn't like she hadn't been expecting it but for a second there she had honestly thought he had changed, even if it was only a little bit.
She took a step toward Bradley but stopped herself doing anything further. She knew she needed to control her temper but around Bradley she always struggled. He was pressing all her buttons and it was a high stress situation.
Taking a deep breath Kimiko glared at Bradley, her grip on the spear tightening.
Kimiko felt a flare of anger, of course someone was going to say something at some point but hearing it from Bradley made it sting more. All of his talking was going nowhere and if he had been genuine to begin with he had quickly changed back to his old self.
It wasn't like she hadn't been expecting it but for a second there she had honestly thought he had changed, even if it was only a little bit.
She took a step toward Bradley but stopped herself doing anything further. She knew she needed to control her temper but around Bradley she always struggled. He was pressing all her buttons and it was a high stress situation.
Taking a deep breath Kimiko glared at Bradley, her grip on the spear tightening.
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It was left unspoken, an unconscious inclination more than anything else, but Bradley felt the brunt of Kimiko's thoughts. Could see the disdain in her eyes. It was infuriating. This was Bradley as his old self. This was Bradley at his most genuine, at his purest, at his most gentle and kind. Couldn't they see that? No. They just had to have a reason to get angry at him. It was pathetic, really.
She didn't need words. Her contempt was tangible.
And her body language. That was the definition of threatening, if he ever saw it. Bradley, too, was idly whacking the barrel against his palm, as if wielding a baseball bat. But he wasn't. He was wielding a gun. And the message was clear: Bradley knew that this was bubbling up, that some tension was approaching the surface. But he wouldn't be the aggressor. No.
"Can't say I like the way you're holding that spear, Kimmy. I mean, I can't speak sign language, but it looks like you're getting a wee bit aggressive."
He clicked his tongue. He wasn't sure how this had gotten so sinister so quickly. He spoke quietly, under his breath, their stares resembling a verbal Mexican standoff more than any other encounter in Brad's life.
"You got a problem, just say it. Oh. Sorry. Just sign language it. By fucking off. Go on, off you fuck."
She didn't need words. Her contempt was tangible.
And her body language. That was the definition of threatening, if he ever saw it. Bradley, too, was idly whacking the barrel against his palm, as if wielding a baseball bat. But he wasn't. He was wielding a gun. And the message was clear: Bradley knew that this was bubbling up, that some tension was approaching the surface. But he wouldn't be the aggressor. No.
"Can't say I like the way you're holding that spear, Kimmy. I mean, I can't speak sign language, but it looks like you're getting a wee bit aggressive."
He clicked his tongue. He wasn't sure how this had gotten so sinister so quickly. He spoke quietly, under his breath, their stares resembling a verbal Mexican standoff more than any other encounter in Brad's life.
"You got a problem, just say it. Oh. Sorry. Just sign language it. By fucking off. Go on, off you fuck."
Things were spiraling out of control, Kimiko could feel herself shaking. She slammed the end of the spear into the ground in frustration. Bradley's goading at her to say something visibly and obviously drawing a reaction out of her. Kimiko knew she had to leave but it felt like a surrender, like she was admitting Bradley was right and submitting to his will. It stuck in her craw to let him win but the other option involved an assault rifle and ended badly for her.
She knew better.
Breaking her gaze away from Bradley she looked over everyone else in the group and slowly turned to walk away. She was a monster to them. A remorseless killer, just like the one Bradley had referenced. A silent stalking killer. One who would find them in the dark and take their lives. Kimiko didn't want to be that monster. As much as she hated it she had to give in a leave.
Even then she couldn't help herself. She couldn't let Bradley win, after only two or three steps she turned and flipped Bradley the bird.
A wordless act of defiance.
She knew better.
Breaking her gaze away from Bradley she looked over everyone else in the group and slowly turned to walk away. She was a monster to them. A remorseless killer, just like the one Bradley had referenced. A silent stalking killer. One who would find them in the dark and take their lives. Kimiko didn't want to be that monster. As much as she hated it she had to give in a leave.
Even then she couldn't help herself. She couldn't let Bradley win, after only two or three steps she turned and flipped Bradley the bird.
A wordless act of defiance.
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Kimiko accepted defeat.
It was a shame, really. He had been genuine in his offer, serious about rapprochement, sincerely startled by just how deep the antagonism towards him felt. Perhaps there could have been a better advocate for it than Kimiko, one who could have engaged him. They both had legitimate reasons for their actions, Bradley was sure.
But he didn't say anything like that. "Didn't have to be this belligerent," Bradley mused, quietly, almost as if adopting a different voice.
But Kimiko had already flipped him the bird by the moment those words had left his lips.
He raised his eyebrow. Like deserved like. An eye for an eye, and all that jargon, was perhaps poor form for actual crime and punishment, Bradley didn't know. But it worked well for verbal sparring.
"Hundreds of years of sign language wasted on you."
It was a shame, really. He had been genuine in his offer, serious about rapprochement, sincerely startled by just how deep the antagonism towards him felt. Perhaps there could have been a better advocate for it than Kimiko, one who could have engaged him. They both had legitimate reasons for their actions, Bradley was sure.
But he didn't say anything like that. "Didn't have to be this belligerent," Bradley mused, quietly, almost as if adopting a different voice.
But Kimiko had already flipped him the bird by the moment those words had left his lips.
He raised his eyebrow. Like deserved like. An eye for an eye, and all that jargon, was perhaps poor form for actual crime and punishment, Bradley didn't know. But it worked well for verbal sparring.
"Hundreds of years of sign language wasted on you."
She was done with him.
Kimiko span on her heel and after one quick step, stabbed the spear into Bradley's gut.
As she as did she regretted it. Cristo's death could have been an accident but this?
She let go of the spear and it didn't drop to the floor.
It was a deliberate and hateful act that went against everything she stood for. Everything her religion stood for. Everything her parents stood for. She felt sick and needed to get out of the gym. Kimiko didn't stop to see the reactions of the others, she just had to escape. Kimiko burst through the door and out into the morning sun.
She didn't look back.
((Kimiko Kao continued in Bú-Tik))
Kimiko span on her heel and after one quick step, stabbed the spear into Bradley's gut.
As she as did she regretted it. Cristo's death could have been an accident but this?
She let go of the spear and it didn't drop to the floor.
It was a deliberate and hateful act that went against everything she stood for. Everything her religion stood for. Everything her parents stood for. She felt sick and needed to get out of the gym. Kimiko didn't stop to see the reactions of the others, she just had to escape. Kimiko burst through the door and out into the morning sun.
She didn't look back.
((Kimiko Kao continued in Bú-Tik))
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Alba's smile got more and more strained the more people talked. For one, apparently the others in the room weren't named Leonard and Sandra. Second, Bradley kept going on and on with Kimiko. Alba was a bit concerned with how Bradley was talking to the girl. The girl had a spear and had killed someone the day before. Alba wanted to believe the girl was a victim of circumstance just as much as Cristo had been, but Bradley had seemed to write her off entirely.
So as Bradley spoke to Kimiko, Alba kept trying to chime in with "ums" and "uhs," but never loud enough to get Bradley to stop. She kept glancing around the room to see how the others were reacting as well. This wasn't going well, and Kimiko flipping Bradley off and walking away showed this was most likely ruined.
Alba was going to try and speak to convince Kimiko not to leave, but Bradley called her a waste of sign language. Before she could even tell Bradley how wrong that sounded, Kimiko had a reaction. Kimiko swung around and jabbed the spear into Bradley's chest. Alba's eyes immediately widened as she raised the hands to the side of her head.
She let out a loud scream, about as loud as when she sprained her wrist roller bladeing in middle school. Dropping her bag, she ran towards Bradley as quick as she could. This couldn't fall apart so quickly, could it?
So as Bradley spoke to Kimiko, Alba kept trying to chime in with "ums" and "uhs," but never loud enough to get Bradley to stop. She kept glancing around the room to see how the others were reacting as well. This wasn't going well, and Kimiko flipping Bradley off and walking away showed this was most likely ruined.
Alba was going to try and speak to convince Kimiko not to leave, but Bradley called her a waste of sign language. Before she could even tell Bradley how wrong that sounded, Kimiko had a reaction. Kimiko swung around and jabbed the spear into Bradley's chest. Alba's eyes immediately widened as she raised the hands to the side of her head.
She let out a loud scream, about as loud as when she sprained her wrist roller bladeing in middle school. Dropping her bag, she ran towards Bradley as quick as she could. This couldn't fall apart so quickly, could it?
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For a moment, it looked like things might be okay.
It was a brief moment, a spot of sun through the dark and stormy sky overhead, as well as the skies to come. It was more than possible that Kimiko was a victim of circumstance. Coleen didn't find the idea that she had defended herself to be a totally alien one. The point that the girl's own disability prevented her from being able to adequately explain herself to anybody here added some edge to the sympathy that Coleen felt for her. Yet, the way the girl held that spear in her hands, the expressions she sang with her eyes... Coleen read those loud and clear. She knew a girl under duress when she saw one.
If the conversation had maintained that turn, this could have been a moment for awkward compliments hidden behind more bad jokes, maybe some laughing, a little harmony... just for a moment, they could have forgotten all about the death game. Instead, the death game followed them there to the gym, and the chance for an ordinary day ended when the tip of the spear pierced near to Bradley's navel. Somebody screamed. Coleen realized after a second that more than one person was screaming, and one of those people was herself. Her own scream choked short as her parched throat gave way. She stood with her feet rooted to the floor, unable to give chase to Kimiko.
Unable to help Bradley.
Unable to do anything.
"S-Somebody help us..." she finally stammered, tears welling up in her eyes.
It was a brief moment, a spot of sun through the dark and stormy sky overhead, as well as the skies to come. It was more than possible that Kimiko was a victim of circumstance. Coleen didn't find the idea that she had defended herself to be a totally alien one. The point that the girl's own disability prevented her from being able to adequately explain herself to anybody here added some edge to the sympathy that Coleen felt for her. Yet, the way the girl held that spear in her hands, the expressions she sang with her eyes... Coleen read those loud and clear. She knew a girl under duress when she saw one.
If the conversation had maintained that turn, this could have been a moment for awkward compliments hidden behind more bad jokes, maybe some laughing, a little harmony... just for a moment, they could have forgotten all about the death game. Instead, the death game followed them there to the gym, and the chance for an ordinary day ended when the tip of the spear pierced near to Bradley's navel. Somebody screamed. Coleen realized after a second that more than one person was screaming, and one of those people was herself. Her own scream choked short as her parched throat gave way. She stood with her feet rooted to the floor, unable to give chase to Kimiko.
Unable to help Bradley.
Unable to do anything.
"S-Somebody help us..." she finally stammered, tears welling up in her eyes.
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Finally, Kimiko snapped.
How this bitch remained alive - had outlived Abby, for fuck's sake - was a mystery to him. She was weak, emotionally. A crybaby. Couldn't deal with opposition, and so attacked it in the bluntest way possible. Bradley, in that split second when it was apparent where the spear was going, just thought of her as pathetic.
And then Kimiko disappeared from his mind.
Bradley could have sworn that the sensations did not fade immediately. That he could feel the trauma in the parts of his body that had been decimated with an eery acuteness of feeling. A surprising amount of meat and flesh was moved through his body, torn away, shoved to the side and out of his back, by the force of Kimiko's spear. Connected only by the thinnest bridges of visceral matter. And he felt it. He felt the nerves and vessels stretch. He felt the parts of his gut, impaled on the spear, as they were forced out of his back, with only the metal holding them up.
It was cold. It felt exposed.
And then came the pain. That pain, it was for a second indescribable. But then his senses fully got to grips with it, all the ways his insides had been torn, all the ways his guts were irreparably mangled. And then too many descriptions, all rushing through, one after the after, as the sensations shot up his nerves. A throbbing ache along his spine. Felt only for a second before more acute feelings overwhelmed. There was a torturous turbulence within his gut. A searing pain cutting across his muscles. A harrowing loss of feeling where parts of his body had once been.
He crumpled onto his knees, the spear embedded in his gut. It had not forced through his back on first blow, he was pretty sure of that. But his body shook and quaked and quivered, and there was definitely now a hole there too. His hands gripped around the implement of death. It was the only comfort he could get at this point. Gave him some stability, stopped him from falling forward too much.
The far tip of the spear landed on the ground, and it pushed the blade forward an inch, and Bradley yelled. "Fuck, shit" might have been the intended exclamation, but it came out more garbled, more panicked, more strained.
Nobody could blame him for that.
Alba had rushed over. That was good. He dropped his gun, unaware he had been clinging to it so tightly. Hopefully she'd take it. Make something good with it. But she wasn't doing that now. She seemed intent on helping him. Taking control of the room in a way that he hadn't been able to. There wasn't that stark reality of where they were before he got stabbed, that must have been it. Someone else had screamed. Multiple people? Bradley didn't know. Didn't much care. Screaming never really helped anyone, he wanted to say. Probably best that he couldn't.
"Floyds...we die as we live..." It was not a lucid or unblurred statement, but the sentiment was obvious. "Darius...Brady..." They were in danger too, he realised. Not too late to save them. Hopefully Alba would pick up the message. Was Brady here? Maybe. Bradley could not quite remember. Should have kept better watch on them. Should have thought about them more. That guy who always hung around Brady, Enzo. They were probably on the trip. Bradley wished them luck too. But Darius, shit, his lovably weird cousin. He was tiny. Hopefully he could prank his way out of this. Maybe a pranking alliance with Isaac? That'd be funny. Was Isaac on the island? Bradley couldn't remember. Hopefully not. Hopefully he remembered Darius being on the trip wrong. Hopefully he remembered Abby being on the announcements wrong. Alba. That was close to Abby. Something about A names had to make people more caring.
God, Bradley wished he'd done one of those gay sentimental 'talk to the camera' moments now.
But the few words that he did say were right. At least both of the Floyds had died as themselves. This shit hadn't changed them. Hopefully that'd be a source of pride. A source of consolation. Something for the family to stick with, build on. Bradley had never become evil, never gave up on who he was. He could take pride in that, on a personal level. Kimiko's parents, fuck. They couldn't cling to that. Their daughter had changed.
He forced his head up, but she had already gone. His neck gave way, and he looked down again.
The pain was clearing. Well, he was getting used to it. Not used to it, that was the wrong word. It was less shocking. The fact it meant he was dying soon, he'd accepted that, refused to grapple with it, forced it to the back of his mind. As long as he hurt, he was still alive. He tried heavy breaths, to try and steady his concentration, to salvage some last coherent thoughts. His chest heaving up and down just moved against the spear, agitated it more, cut against more skin, made it harder for him to remain calm. Collected.
Heh. Collected. Unlike his blood. That was meant to be collected within the body.
He snarled at that internal joke, the closest thing to a smile he could manage.
Bradley had always hoped to die with gallows humour. A reference, maybe. Dying with a Futurama quote leaving his lips, that was the ideal. Cursing Zoidberg, or quoting Zoidberg. Failing that, a growled 'fatality' would do in a pinch. Enough to show to the world that he was as relaxed and impertinent as ever, as good-humoured about himself as he was about others. But no witty jests left his lips. In the moments where the pain subsided, some kind of coherent thought was possible, he failed to capitalise upon it.
In part, it was because when his thoughts were clear, he wanted to prioritise. The lofty shit, the important shit, the sort of thing dying people were meant to ponder. Think about others, if nothing else. He couldn't do anything for them, but he had friends and family. Innocent people. They deserved his thoughts, at least.
But it was still on his mind. Clouding his mind, really. It was one thing he could do, and he was quite preoccupied with it. One final parting gift to the world, become one of those protagonists of an anecdote about a stoic and deadpan maestro of comedy. But it was hard. Too many good ideas, too many references. A sharp retort from Kimiko, he could say, or he couldn't stomach this, or some more general dark humour, or whatever. All very unoriginal and surface-level ideas. There were too many options to narrow down and refine one.
The opportunity was slipping away. Wasn't too bad he wouldn't get some jocular and facetious final words. He'd already, in casual and serious conversation alike, made many a suggestion for what could be falsely attributed to him, or at least put on his epigraph. Was it an epigraph? Or an epitaph? Fuck. He'd die with that bugging him.
"Is it...an..."
He stopped himself continuing. That'd be shit.
Endearingly shit. He carried on.
"Is it an epigraph or an epitaph they write on tombstones?" Those words out of his lips, the thought left his mind, and if he received an answer, he did not process it. He went back to grinding his teeth, clenching his fists, scrunching his eyes up, trying to stifle the flood of pain overwhelming his senses. The end of the spear had tapped against the ground again, the most minute of vibrations sending pain rippling throughout his body. Rippling. That was apt. His insides felt more liquid than solid at that moment. That was what he couldn't stand. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel normal. Regular pain, that was something he could tolerate. But this? This just took his body and changed it. And that was new, and scary.
He gripped the spear tighter, pulled it away from him, trying to get it out of him.
Alba tried to stop him. She said words. He couldn't process their exact form, and if they were well-articulated, his senses could not appreciate that. Yet he managed to grasp the gist of what she was saying, if by nothing else through her actions. Don't pull it out. The spear's holding in a lot of blood. Yeah, of course he knew that. He, uncharitably and unreasonably, for a split second wanted to mock her. That high-pitched voice, used to satirise moral guardians and those stating the obvious alike.
Then he realised that, no, that was a dick move to even think that. Not a funny dick move. Just a dick move.
Don't pull it out, she was begging. You'll bleed to death quicker. Something like that.
"That's the point..." And he carried on pulling.
And then it clicked. "I guess I...I guess I got Kimiko's point." It made him chuckle. Inwardly. Chuckling was impossible physically. Maybe he was delirious. But it was funny. She'd made her point, and he'd received it. It was great. A distraction. He loved it.
"That's the point. Heheh. Sorry. I got the fucking point." His tone wasn't aggressive, but slightly manic, channeling all his energy into this final task. The apology that had slipped in there wasn't for the pun. Bradley wasn't sure what it was for exactly. But he said it anyway, and he was happy he did. He continued mumbling, repeating that joke, every now and then another apology bypassing his filter, some other heartfelt murmur, but it descended into illegible jabbering, that one would have to strain to hear.
He kept on tugging, with all his rapidly diminishing might, hoping to dislodge the spear. He never succeeded in pulling it out.
B026 - BRADLEY FLOYD: ELIMINATED
How this bitch remained alive - had outlived Abby, for fuck's sake - was a mystery to him. She was weak, emotionally. A crybaby. Couldn't deal with opposition, and so attacked it in the bluntest way possible. Bradley, in that split second when it was apparent where the spear was going, just thought of her as pathetic.
And then Kimiko disappeared from his mind.
Bradley could have sworn that the sensations did not fade immediately. That he could feel the trauma in the parts of his body that had been decimated with an eery acuteness of feeling. A surprising amount of meat and flesh was moved through his body, torn away, shoved to the side and out of his back, by the force of Kimiko's spear. Connected only by the thinnest bridges of visceral matter. And he felt it. He felt the nerves and vessels stretch. He felt the parts of his gut, impaled on the spear, as they were forced out of his back, with only the metal holding them up.
It was cold. It felt exposed.
And then came the pain. That pain, it was for a second indescribable. But then his senses fully got to grips with it, all the ways his insides had been torn, all the ways his guts were irreparably mangled. And then too many descriptions, all rushing through, one after the after, as the sensations shot up his nerves. A throbbing ache along his spine. Felt only for a second before more acute feelings overwhelmed. There was a torturous turbulence within his gut. A searing pain cutting across his muscles. A harrowing loss of feeling where parts of his body had once been.
He crumpled onto his knees, the spear embedded in his gut. It had not forced through his back on first blow, he was pretty sure of that. But his body shook and quaked and quivered, and there was definitely now a hole there too. His hands gripped around the implement of death. It was the only comfort he could get at this point. Gave him some stability, stopped him from falling forward too much.
The far tip of the spear landed on the ground, and it pushed the blade forward an inch, and Bradley yelled. "Fuck, shit" might have been the intended exclamation, but it came out more garbled, more panicked, more strained.
Nobody could blame him for that.
Alba had rushed over. That was good. He dropped his gun, unaware he had been clinging to it so tightly. Hopefully she'd take it. Make something good with it. But she wasn't doing that now. She seemed intent on helping him. Taking control of the room in a way that he hadn't been able to. There wasn't that stark reality of where they were before he got stabbed, that must have been it. Someone else had screamed. Multiple people? Bradley didn't know. Didn't much care. Screaming never really helped anyone, he wanted to say. Probably best that he couldn't.
"Floyds...we die as we live..." It was not a lucid or unblurred statement, but the sentiment was obvious. "Darius...Brady..." They were in danger too, he realised. Not too late to save them. Hopefully Alba would pick up the message. Was Brady here? Maybe. Bradley could not quite remember. Should have kept better watch on them. Should have thought about them more. That guy who always hung around Brady, Enzo. They were probably on the trip. Bradley wished them luck too. But Darius, shit, his lovably weird cousin. He was tiny. Hopefully he could prank his way out of this. Maybe a pranking alliance with Isaac? That'd be funny. Was Isaac on the island? Bradley couldn't remember. Hopefully not. Hopefully he remembered Darius being on the trip wrong. Hopefully he remembered Abby being on the announcements wrong. Alba. That was close to Abby. Something about A names had to make people more caring.
God, Bradley wished he'd done one of those gay sentimental 'talk to the camera' moments now.
But the few words that he did say were right. At least both of the Floyds had died as themselves. This shit hadn't changed them. Hopefully that'd be a source of pride. A source of consolation. Something for the family to stick with, build on. Bradley had never become evil, never gave up on who he was. He could take pride in that, on a personal level. Kimiko's parents, fuck. They couldn't cling to that. Their daughter had changed.
He forced his head up, but she had already gone. His neck gave way, and he looked down again.
The pain was clearing. Well, he was getting used to it. Not used to it, that was the wrong word. It was less shocking. The fact it meant he was dying soon, he'd accepted that, refused to grapple with it, forced it to the back of his mind. As long as he hurt, he was still alive. He tried heavy breaths, to try and steady his concentration, to salvage some last coherent thoughts. His chest heaving up and down just moved against the spear, agitated it more, cut against more skin, made it harder for him to remain calm. Collected.
Heh. Collected. Unlike his blood. That was meant to be collected within the body.
He snarled at that internal joke, the closest thing to a smile he could manage.
Bradley had always hoped to die with gallows humour. A reference, maybe. Dying with a Futurama quote leaving his lips, that was the ideal. Cursing Zoidberg, or quoting Zoidberg. Failing that, a growled 'fatality' would do in a pinch. Enough to show to the world that he was as relaxed and impertinent as ever, as good-humoured about himself as he was about others. But no witty jests left his lips. In the moments where the pain subsided, some kind of coherent thought was possible, he failed to capitalise upon it.
In part, it was because when his thoughts were clear, he wanted to prioritise. The lofty shit, the important shit, the sort of thing dying people were meant to ponder. Think about others, if nothing else. He couldn't do anything for them, but he had friends and family. Innocent people. They deserved his thoughts, at least.
But it was still on his mind. Clouding his mind, really. It was one thing he could do, and he was quite preoccupied with it. One final parting gift to the world, become one of those protagonists of an anecdote about a stoic and deadpan maestro of comedy. But it was hard. Too many good ideas, too many references. A sharp retort from Kimiko, he could say, or he couldn't stomach this, or some more general dark humour, or whatever. All very unoriginal and surface-level ideas. There were too many options to narrow down and refine one.
The opportunity was slipping away. Wasn't too bad he wouldn't get some jocular and facetious final words. He'd already, in casual and serious conversation alike, made many a suggestion for what could be falsely attributed to him, or at least put on his epigraph. Was it an epigraph? Or an epitaph? Fuck. He'd die with that bugging him.
"Is it...an..."
He stopped himself continuing. That'd be shit.
Endearingly shit. He carried on.
"Is it an epigraph or an epitaph they write on tombstones?" Those words out of his lips, the thought left his mind, and if he received an answer, he did not process it. He went back to grinding his teeth, clenching his fists, scrunching his eyes up, trying to stifle the flood of pain overwhelming his senses. The end of the spear had tapped against the ground again, the most minute of vibrations sending pain rippling throughout his body. Rippling. That was apt. His insides felt more liquid than solid at that moment. That was what he couldn't stand. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel normal. Regular pain, that was something he could tolerate. But this? This just took his body and changed it. And that was new, and scary.
He gripped the spear tighter, pulled it away from him, trying to get it out of him.
Alba tried to stop him. She said words. He couldn't process their exact form, and if they were well-articulated, his senses could not appreciate that. Yet he managed to grasp the gist of what she was saying, if by nothing else through her actions. Don't pull it out. The spear's holding in a lot of blood. Yeah, of course he knew that. He, uncharitably and unreasonably, for a split second wanted to mock her. That high-pitched voice, used to satirise moral guardians and those stating the obvious alike.
Then he realised that, no, that was a dick move to even think that. Not a funny dick move. Just a dick move.
Don't pull it out, she was begging. You'll bleed to death quicker. Something like that.
"That's the point..." And he carried on pulling.
And then it clicked. "I guess I...I guess I got Kimiko's point." It made him chuckle. Inwardly. Chuckling was impossible physically. Maybe he was delirious. But it was funny. She'd made her point, and he'd received it. It was great. A distraction. He loved it.
"That's the point. Heheh. Sorry. I got the fucking point." His tone wasn't aggressive, but slightly manic, channeling all his energy into this final task. The apology that had slipped in there wasn't for the pun. Bradley wasn't sure what it was for exactly. But he said it anyway, and he was happy he did. He continued mumbling, repeating that joke, every now and then another apology bypassing his filter, some other heartfelt murmur, but it descended into illegible jabbering, that one would have to strain to hear.
He kept on tugging, with all his rapidly diminishing might, hoping to dislodge the spear. He never succeeded in pulling it out.
B026 - BRADLEY FLOYD: ELIMINATED
Alba threw herself to the ground beside Bradley and looked at the wound on his chest. Her breathing was starting to increase with the amount of blood starting to pour out of his wound.
"Oh god! We got to do something!" Alba shouted, her eyes darting around the room.
She began to glance back and forth from Bradley's face to the wound in his chest. Sure, Bradley wasn't the most sensitive person, but he didn't deserve to bleed out and die like a wild boar. Bradley was muttering something about his family and other people, but Alba wasn't sure what he was trying to get. She wished she hadn't dropped the bag and could get her first aid kit. She didn't know a lot about medicine. She had read a bit about animal science since she wanted to be a vet if her golf career didn't work out. But this was different than a dog or a cat, and so she had to worry things were going to turn south very soon.
It certainly wasn't helped that Bradley was trying to remove the spear. That, Alba knew, was a bad idea.
"Don't!" she said, trying to stop Bradley from moving. "That'll make it worse! Bradley, please."
Bradley continued, saying something about it being the point. Alba could feel tears starting to fall down her cheeks, along with the warm blood on her hands. Finally, Bradley stopped trying to remove the spear. Alba stared at his lifeless body. He was dead. Truly and completely dead. Alba let out a whimper and held her head low.
It was over. Bradley was dead. People were dying, and now Alba had witnessed someone's passing. She couldn't pass this off as something occurring on the other side of the world. This was real, and she was really a part of this game. Now she had to take charge and deal with that fact.
Her eyes drifted over to the rifle Bradley dropped. She quickly reached over, her bloodstained hands leaving prints on the gun.
"We need to find Kimiko," she said to the others in the room, her voice shaky, but stern.
"Oh god! We got to do something!" Alba shouted, her eyes darting around the room.
She began to glance back and forth from Bradley's face to the wound in his chest. Sure, Bradley wasn't the most sensitive person, but he didn't deserve to bleed out and die like a wild boar. Bradley was muttering something about his family and other people, but Alba wasn't sure what he was trying to get. She wished she hadn't dropped the bag and could get her first aid kit. She didn't know a lot about medicine. She had read a bit about animal science since she wanted to be a vet if her golf career didn't work out. But this was different than a dog or a cat, and so she had to worry things were going to turn south very soon.
It certainly wasn't helped that Bradley was trying to remove the spear. That, Alba knew, was a bad idea.
"Don't!" she said, trying to stop Bradley from moving. "That'll make it worse! Bradley, please."
Bradley continued, saying something about it being the point. Alba could feel tears starting to fall down her cheeks, along with the warm blood on her hands. Finally, Bradley stopped trying to remove the spear. Alba stared at his lifeless body. He was dead. Truly and completely dead. Alba let out a whimper and held her head low.
It was over. Bradley was dead. People were dying, and now Alba had witnessed someone's passing. She couldn't pass this off as something occurring on the other side of the world. This was real, and she was really a part of this game. Now she had to take charge and deal with that fact.
Her eyes drifted over to the rifle Bradley dropped. She quickly reached over, her bloodstained hands leaving prints on the gun.
"We need to find Kimiko," she said to the others in the room, her voice shaky, but stern.
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MethodicalSlacker
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It all happened so fast.
Bradley had snapped at him, and Arthur was surprised that he wasn't expecting it. Given how he had been acting toward Kimiko, it was a given that he'd lash out if Arthur did anything to bring some sort of common decency into the room. The venom that seeped from his words stung worse than he was prepared for, and Arthur took a step back just as Coleen had stepped forward, past him. He had to keep every muscle in his body from walking forward, ahead of her. It would only add more tension to an already undesirable situation, he reasoned, and he didn't want to risk knocking down the house of cards they had built in that room that was already ready to fall down with the gust of an ill wind.
The words coming out of Bradley's mouth had lost all meaning to Arthur. He was snapping at Kimiko like a dog, spit and saliva flung from his jowls with each dehumanizing syllable. Layer after layer of insults piled onto her, barks with no bite to back them up. Kimiko stepped toward Bradley, and Arthur could see restraint in her face. It was taking her a lot to keep from piercing his chest, in the center of the room, while the three girls looked on helplessly. Arthur knew that, were something to happen, he would be the only one able to act.
Kimiko took the high road, anyway. She walked away from the situation, having realized that there was nothing she could gain. Arthur wanted to go with her, but found himself unable to move. That was fine with him, too. At least Kimiko was showing restraint. Even if it wasn't enough to keep her from flipping him off. Arthur knew it was the only act of retribution she could muster short of impaling him. She kept her cool. Arthur approved of that.
Then, Bradley snarled once more, and the house of cards came tumbling down. Arthur could do nothing but watch as Bradley crumbled to the ground and Kimiko ran away. He couldn't hear Coleen's screams over the ringing in his ears. The nameless girl rushed to Bradley's side and knelt next to him. Arthur knelt down too, but further away, the stench of fresh blood keeping him from getting too close. She was shouting, asking him to do something, anything.
"I don't," Arthur stammered out, his earlier wishful thinking dancing circles around his head, cackling all the while. He held a hand out and let it stay there, in front of him, reaching ever so slowly toward Bradley's back. "Bradley," He managed to cough up before he had to close his mouth to keep down the bile rising out of his stomach. Arthur turned his face to the ground, covering it with his outstretched hand. He couldn't watch as Bradley's soul came out, whimpering, from his body, and climbed down into the ground from where he came.
When he finally looked up from the floor, the nameless girl's hands were wrapped around Bradley's gun. Arthur's eyes widened momentarily before she spoke. She wanted to bring Kimiko to justice. Arthur nodded in agreement, trying to look strong. His hands were shaking still, and as he stood up he could feel his legs threatening to give way. His eyes turned to Coleen, then to Bryony. He couldn't look them in the face for longer than a second.
His eyes finally settled on a camera in the corner of the room.
Arthur froze, save for the exhausted panting that wracked his body with each passing moment.
If Marie had been watching him, she would've just seen a man die.
The tremors returned, threatening to bring him back down to the ground.
He couldn't let those thoughts take over him. He needed to be strong.
"We'll find her," Arthur said, turning back to the girl with no name, "And we'll..."
"We'll..."
Arthur shook his heavy head, before he walked over to his bag and sorted through his belongings as he tried his best not to look upward.
Bradley had snapped at him, and Arthur was surprised that he wasn't expecting it. Given how he had been acting toward Kimiko, it was a given that he'd lash out if Arthur did anything to bring some sort of common decency into the room. The venom that seeped from his words stung worse than he was prepared for, and Arthur took a step back just as Coleen had stepped forward, past him. He had to keep every muscle in his body from walking forward, ahead of her. It would only add more tension to an already undesirable situation, he reasoned, and he didn't want to risk knocking down the house of cards they had built in that room that was already ready to fall down with the gust of an ill wind.
The words coming out of Bradley's mouth had lost all meaning to Arthur. He was snapping at Kimiko like a dog, spit and saliva flung from his jowls with each dehumanizing syllable. Layer after layer of insults piled onto her, barks with no bite to back them up. Kimiko stepped toward Bradley, and Arthur could see restraint in her face. It was taking her a lot to keep from piercing his chest, in the center of the room, while the three girls looked on helplessly. Arthur knew that, were something to happen, he would be the only one able to act.
Kimiko took the high road, anyway. She walked away from the situation, having realized that there was nothing she could gain. Arthur wanted to go with her, but found himself unable to move. That was fine with him, too. At least Kimiko was showing restraint. Even if it wasn't enough to keep her from flipping him off. Arthur knew it was the only act of retribution she could muster short of impaling him. She kept her cool. Arthur approved of that.
Then, Bradley snarled once more, and the house of cards came tumbling down. Arthur could do nothing but watch as Bradley crumbled to the ground and Kimiko ran away. He couldn't hear Coleen's screams over the ringing in his ears. The nameless girl rushed to Bradley's side and knelt next to him. Arthur knelt down too, but further away, the stench of fresh blood keeping him from getting too close. She was shouting, asking him to do something, anything.
"I don't," Arthur stammered out, his earlier wishful thinking dancing circles around his head, cackling all the while. He held a hand out and let it stay there, in front of him, reaching ever so slowly toward Bradley's back. "Bradley," He managed to cough up before he had to close his mouth to keep down the bile rising out of his stomach. Arthur turned his face to the ground, covering it with his outstretched hand. He couldn't watch as Bradley's soul came out, whimpering, from his body, and climbed down into the ground from where he came.
When he finally looked up from the floor, the nameless girl's hands were wrapped around Bradley's gun. Arthur's eyes widened momentarily before she spoke. She wanted to bring Kimiko to justice. Arthur nodded in agreement, trying to look strong. His hands were shaking still, and as he stood up he could feel his legs threatening to give way. His eyes turned to Coleen, then to Bryony. He couldn't look them in the face for longer than a second.
His eyes finally settled on a camera in the corner of the room.
Arthur froze, save for the exhausted panting that wracked his body with each passing moment.
If Marie had been watching him, she would've just seen a man die.
The tremors returned, threatening to bring him back down to the ground.
He couldn't let those thoughts take over him. He needed to be strong.
"We'll find her," Arthur said, turning back to the girl with no name, "And we'll..."
"We'll..."
Arthur shook his heavy head, before he walked over to his bag and sorted through his belongings as he tried his best not to look upward.
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It wasn't working.
Nothing was working.
Bryony's tiny, desperate plea for Bradley to stop had been picked up and carried forwards by Arthur, louder and stronger, and she had hoped that would be enough, enough for Bradley to understand that everyone wanted him to stop doing whatever he thought he was doing.
But he didn't. If anything, it just added gasoline to the fire. Bradley kept on going, making comment after comment, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. Couldn't he see what he was doing? Bryony's deer-in-the-headlights eyes caught Kimiko's expression as she desperately scanned the room, searching for some way out, some way to stop all of this. If Bradley was trying to get Kimiko to leave, it wasn't working. If he was trying to defuse the situation with his standard style of humour, it definitely wasn't working.
Bradley was attempting to retain his old personality on the island. Bryony understood the sentiment. Somewhere deep inside, it resonated with her. But Bradley's personality was a tinderbox, ready to alight at even the smallest embers, unaware of the fire creeping up on it.
She kept on trying. Kept on trying to push Bradley away from all this, trying desperately to find the words to rescue this situation.
But if she herself could barely hear her own desperate attempts, what hope did anyone else in the room have?
Then suddenly, just like that, it was all over. It was funny, almost, how often that happened. So much build-up. So many barbs and traded blows before it looks like it'll all boil over. Then, one tiny thing happens, insignificant in the relative expanse of the universe, but enough to bring down the world of everyone involved.
A single Parthian shot to break your heart.
A single act of defiance to seal your fate.
A single flurry of movement to end a life.
Bryony watched the spear pierce Bradley's stomach as if in slow motion. Watched him fall. Watched Alba rush to his side. It didn't feel real again. It couldn't be real. No-one could be dead. Especially not someone who minutes before she had been walking a few steps behind.
She started as she felt something press against her spine. Somehow, whilst her mind had still been spinning in the void, she had backed up against the wall closest to her, and her hands had found their way to cover her mouth. She blinked. She couldn't see anything. Rain streaking down the windowpanes, shivering and shaking at the cold. That was what it was.
The scene in front of her wasn't real. It couldn't be.
Nothing was working.
Bryony's tiny, desperate plea for Bradley to stop had been picked up and carried forwards by Arthur, louder and stronger, and she had hoped that would be enough, enough for Bradley to understand that everyone wanted him to stop doing whatever he thought he was doing.
But he didn't. If anything, it just added gasoline to the fire. Bradley kept on going, making comment after comment, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. Couldn't he see what he was doing? Bryony's deer-in-the-headlights eyes caught Kimiko's expression as she desperately scanned the room, searching for some way out, some way to stop all of this. If Bradley was trying to get Kimiko to leave, it wasn't working. If he was trying to defuse the situation with his standard style of humour, it definitely wasn't working.
Bradley was attempting to retain his old personality on the island. Bryony understood the sentiment. Somewhere deep inside, it resonated with her. But Bradley's personality was a tinderbox, ready to alight at even the smallest embers, unaware of the fire creeping up on it.
She kept on trying. Kept on trying to push Bradley away from all this, trying desperately to find the words to rescue this situation.
But if she herself could barely hear her own desperate attempts, what hope did anyone else in the room have?
Then suddenly, just like that, it was all over. It was funny, almost, how often that happened. So much build-up. So many barbs and traded blows before it looks like it'll all boil over. Then, one tiny thing happens, insignificant in the relative expanse of the universe, but enough to bring down the world of everyone involved.
A single Parthian shot to break your heart.
A single act of defiance to seal your fate.
A single flurry of movement to end a life.
Bryony watched the spear pierce Bradley's stomach as if in slow motion. Watched him fall. Watched Alba rush to his side. It didn't feel real again. It couldn't be real. No-one could be dead. Especially not someone who minutes before she had been walking a few steps behind.
She started as she felt something press against her spine. Somehow, whilst her mind had still been spinning in the void, she had backed up against the wall closest to her, and her hands had found their way to cover her mouth. She blinked. She couldn't see anything. Rain streaking down the windowpanes, shivering and shaking at the cold. That was what it was.
The scene in front of her wasn't real. It couldn't be.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017