((Continued from Origins))
Dark brown eyes peered out from underneath the black and red Franklyn baseball cap that sat atop the head of Male Student no. 17, formerly known as Eric Silvstedt. His venture across the island had sent him from the endless coastline on the western shore into the more urbanized region of the island. From there he had wandered to the north and now found himself standing in front of a large brick wall, painted elaborately with a mural.
Stone gates formed an archway into the vast depths of the island's botanical garden. This place had once been a collaborative project for the students that attended the island's school, or so the mural had said. Looking up into the sky, now a bright blazing blue in color, Eric took a moment to wipe the sole bead of sweat that ran down his forehead away. His squinted expression quickly disappeared and a cruel smile once again formed on the redhead's features.
Upon looking over the map, Eric had decided to head to this place. He wasn't positive why. Perhaps it was the fact that he could only figure a pansy like Matthias Kovalenko would hide in a place like this. He had to admit, it suited the younger boy quite well. In fact, he could only surmise that he would have to run into someone here. One of those nature-loving idiots who sought refuge and solace amidst the natural serenity the botanical garden provided... or something to that effect.
Slowly, leisurely, Eric meandered down the thin pathways through the garden, his hands in his pockets, as if he had not a care in the world. Even the most morally ambiguous of contestants would probably at least question the rules of the game before choosing their path. To Eric, though, it all seemed so much simpler than that. Escape was futile, that much had been proven from last year's competition. People banding together to escape would only be slaughtered in their attempt. Besides, it wasn't the first time this game had been orchestrated. All the glitches had probably been fixed by now.
Therefore, Eric Silvstedt surmised, escape was futile. So then, what was the point of forming a team or alliance? Even if you made it through the entire game as a group, the end result would still be a free-for-all between the students with only one winner declared. It was a survival method, he supposed, but it wasn't a good plan in the long run. He couldn't help but reason that when you formed groups and friendships, you became close to the people around you. It might pain you to have to turn your weapon on them in the end, but somebody would be a loose cannon, and somebody would have no problem slaughtering their teammates.
It was that logic -- along with a lot of personal vendettas against his fellow Franklyners -- that had inevitably caused Eric to choose his path in the game. He would be no hero, no false idol preaching peace, hope, and faith to the masses so that someone could snap and send a barrage of buckshot through his organs. That wouldn't happen to him, not if he could help it. If and when Eric Silvstedt went down, he knew this much. He would go down fighting. That was the only way to go. The internal monologue which rang through his ears kept leading him to the most obvious of conclusions.
Playing the game was the only route he could take. Any other options were inevitably either futile, foolish, or both. Alliances had no place in this game. However, rivalry and vendetta did. Eric certainly had enough of both to go around. He might've been "popular" back at Franklyn, but even then, he had been a bully with a fiery-hot temper. In a way, he concluded, he probably took a lot of things too personally. The fact remained that those minor things still nagged on and ate at him until he could bear it no longer.
And that was why, at this precise moment, Eric Silvstedt was on the hunt. He was on the hunt for all of those who had set off his violent urges, who had ever hurt him in even a roundabout way. This game had no place for friends. Friends were a thing of the past. Inevitably, in order to win this game, he would have to do one simple thing to every individual he happened upon on the island. He would simply have to kill them. Eric Silvstedt was taking the initiative in Survival of the Fittest. Not only would he kill those who had wronged him in some way, but he would hunt them down to do it.
All of them. Ricky Callahan for holding him back... Ricky always held him back. Whitney Acosta for turning him down that night at Andy Edwards's party. Lexie Williamson, if she was here, simply for being an easy slut. He could've contracted something, he should've known better. Lee-Ann Collier for being a fat cow and holding up the lunch line on a regular basis. No matter how indirect, Eric could convince himself that at one point or another, every single student at Franklyn Senior had done something to wrong him. He could, and he would.
He would kill them all eventually, even if he had to strangle them to death with his bare hands. Eric swore that much on his life. If he didn't make it to the end, he would go down fighting until the very last blow. Right now, though, Eric's hitlist had a priority, with a certain individual known to the man-in-charge as Male Student no. 18. He and Matthias were long overdue for a rematch, and this time, only one of them would walk away. It had all started over something so simple -- Eric had laughed as waitress Andie Colvin dumped soda all over Matthias's little girlfriend at the Bar and Grill one night. Matthias has reprimanded him for it, and that was when their troubles began.
Perhaps Matt had never given it a second thought as to why that incident escalated into a fight that got them all kicked off the premises, but Eric would never forget that night. Somewhere inside him, something had snapped, and in the moments that the two had been engaged in a street brawl outside of the restaurant, Eric had begun to form an undying hatred of Matthias Kovalenko. In his eyes, Matt lived the perfect existence. He had a loving, unified family. He had close friends. He was athletic, at least semi-popular... and Eric so desperately longed for those things that he formed a jealous obsession with obliterating the boy who seemingly had it all.
Unfortunately for Matthias, Eric's hatred had transferred over to the game as well, and he was fully looking to take Matthias down with his own two hands. The redheaded boy continued to stroll aimlessly along the pathways of the botanical garden. For many people, the game was still a nightmarish hell that they would attempt to find an escape from. Some would seek solace by hiding or throwing themselves into the arms of their fellow contestants. Those students, in turn, would just become easy prey for one of the more ambitious of the competition.
Eric didn't intend on being anybody's prey. No, he was going to be the predator. He would actively seek out and destroy the competition. They had all wronged him somehow, in some way, and for whatever reason, Eric would unleash a wrath pent up over the course of years on them. In his current state of mind, they could be doing nothing at all. The first person he came across could meet their end, he could guarantee it. He wouldn't fall to this game, he would fall the others. Friendship, companionship, love all were slowly beginning to fade away in the boy's mind. They had no place in this game. Here, they were just words... symbols of the past. The only thing that belonged here was hatred, anger, fear, and... murder.
Headhunter
Headhunter
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
When he had first woken up from his gas-induced slumber, he woke to the smell of flowers, not something he expected to find on a place that would soon become a blood bath for him and his classmates, and God knew what else. His time awake had been spent doing what most 15-year-olds would do being thrown into such a situation – he hid, hid from what he believed to be a secular location and just watched. In the time that he had been awake, others had passed through, others that he didn't know and figured where added bonuses that the kids of Gilroy would be facing against in an attempt to survive and make it off this island.
Though to them, the same thing was probably running through their minds as well.
It was odd to him, he supposed, having lived such a privileged life for so long – and now being trusted into something where he was fighting for something he never thought would be threatened, his very own life. And he knew, that no one would be willing to give it up without a fight, least in most cases. He knew they'd be kids from his very own school that would be willing to do anything to be the last person standing, and he was sure that these other kids that where popping up about here, would be willing to do the same. The thought alone brought on a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach...
Now though, from his position amongst one of the tended gardens, it was clear that the morning had already melted away into a brighter afternoon. Light hazel eyes dancing across the clear blue sky, much clearer than anything back home in New Jersey, though ever still – no matter how much beauty this single location on this place alone gave off he still couldn't help but force himself to remember the situation that allowed him to here in the first place. Elias McConnell, now formally dubbed B56 by the people in charge of this... couldn't help but sigh at the thought as he vividly went back to those hours before when everything had actually been normal.
Of course that normality was scattered with the sound of a blast...
Followed by a spray of bone, blood and brain matter splattering against the chartered buses' window as well as those unlucky enough to have been sitting behind what used to be one of the teachers that he had seen almost everyday at school, then though – the features where caked red in blood as it began to flow from both nose and mouth, the gaping hole in the back of the head now a branded image of what was to soon come and more than likely befall them in the coming days as sanity began to wane, and the primal will of Darwin's own Survival of the Fittest kicked into high gear, what a properly named game they had designed and once again turned into a motion after almost a year at a standstill and no word on anything.
Of course Elias had heard of Survival of the Fittest, who hadn't? A year ago it had been the talk of the town, and everyone who could watch it, did. He too, found himself drawn into the awe of this sick, twisted design brought to life by the hands of terrorist. It was almost unreal, and on more than one occasion did he have to remind himself that this was indeed real, these where kids only a year, and so older than himself, fighting for their lives and losing that game, some at the hands of the ones they at one point in time had called a friend.
And even now, Eli found himself reminding over and over again that this was real, and he was going to die if he didn't do anything toward not allowing that to happen. But what could he do? Killing of course was the option even to them by the kidnapper himself, another was trying to form some type of escape plan – though remembering back to the last version, and all the failed ones brought that plan crashing to the ground like Hindenburg, fiery mass and all.
Shaking his head, he casted a look toward the dark green duffel bag that rested at his side, he had been holding onto it since he had woken up, but never really thought about looking in it. So, dragging it into his lap, he unzipped the bag and opened it to bring the contents into the light, everything seemed like something they'd give you on a camping trip, compass, map, flashlight, and a first aid kit. Though something rather long, and metal glinted and caught his attention, Eli giving it a curious look as he reached a hand in and grasped the object, the small yelp that escaped his lips was a sure sign that, that hadn't been the best of ideas as he retracted his hand out and examined the new small cuts that where now present along his hand.
Tisking, he moved a bit of stuff around and opened the bag more to the daylight and found himself eyeing the device that had cut him, that being the form of a coiled up thing of barbed wire. Was this his assigned weapon? Did they want him to kill someone, or herd some cattle? Sighing, the dark haired boy re-zipped up the duffel bag, standing and slinging the object over his shoulder, he hadn't brought a thing with him on the trip they where taking to the museum, besides his camera which currently still hung about his neck below the piece of metal that encircled about his neck – the smallest of things that could his life in a blink of an eye, the extra rolls of film still present in his pocket as well.
Twisting the bag about, he unzipped it once more, least enough to fish out the map and compass without dealing with the barbed wire in there again, bringing the two objects out and working it back on his back. Unfolding the map a bit and over looking it, bringing the compass up with his damaged hand, no doubts by it he was currently in the Botanical Gardens, putting him in the center area of the island – along with all the other residential spots – they'd make for good places to rest, and relax, though of course he couldn't help but bet others had thought this up as well. Sighing, he decided that perhaps not following a set course would turn out for the better, that or get him killed faster, though either way he folded the map back up, placing it in pocket of his school pants, looking over the rest of his uniformed appearance hoping this wouldn't stand him out like a sore thumb.
Undoing his white shirt from being tucked in, wondering if getting rid of the bleeding sweater vest would be in his best interest but just shrugged against it, and loosened his tie as he placed the compass in another pocket after gathering his bearing and began to walk, first things first would be getting out of the open, find someone, anyplace where he could barricade himself in for a bit in order to formulate something that could help. Though lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't catch the form of a human coming up on one of the garden paths he had just turn on in order to reach the nearest exit.
This fellow human being one he didn't recognize from the hall of P.J. Gilroy, and one that didn't seem to be in his best interest either...
Though to them, the same thing was probably running through their minds as well.
It was odd to him, he supposed, having lived such a privileged life for so long – and now being trusted into something where he was fighting for something he never thought would be threatened, his very own life. And he knew, that no one would be willing to give it up without a fight, least in most cases. He knew they'd be kids from his very own school that would be willing to do anything to be the last person standing, and he was sure that these other kids that where popping up about here, would be willing to do the same. The thought alone brought on a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach...
Now though, from his position amongst one of the tended gardens, it was clear that the morning had already melted away into a brighter afternoon. Light hazel eyes dancing across the clear blue sky, much clearer than anything back home in New Jersey, though ever still – no matter how much beauty this single location on this place alone gave off he still couldn't help but force himself to remember the situation that allowed him to here in the first place. Elias McConnell, now formally dubbed B56 by the people in charge of this... couldn't help but sigh at the thought as he vividly went back to those hours before when everything had actually been normal.
Of course that normality was scattered with the sound of a blast...
Followed by a spray of bone, blood and brain matter splattering against the chartered buses' window as well as those unlucky enough to have been sitting behind what used to be one of the teachers that he had seen almost everyday at school, then though – the features where caked red in blood as it began to flow from both nose and mouth, the gaping hole in the back of the head now a branded image of what was to soon come and more than likely befall them in the coming days as sanity began to wane, and the primal will of Darwin's own Survival of the Fittest kicked into high gear, what a properly named game they had designed and once again turned into a motion after almost a year at a standstill and no word on anything.
Of course Elias had heard of Survival of the Fittest, who hadn't? A year ago it had been the talk of the town, and everyone who could watch it, did. He too, found himself drawn into the awe of this sick, twisted design brought to life by the hands of terrorist. It was almost unreal, and on more than one occasion did he have to remind himself that this was indeed real, these where kids only a year, and so older than himself, fighting for their lives and losing that game, some at the hands of the ones they at one point in time had called a friend.
And even now, Eli found himself reminding over and over again that this was real, and he was going to die if he didn't do anything toward not allowing that to happen. But what could he do? Killing of course was the option even to them by the kidnapper himself, another was trying to form some type of escape plan – though remembering back to the last version, and all the failed ones brought that plan crashing to the ground like Hindenburg, fiery mass and all.
Shaking his head, he casted a look toward the dark green duffel bag that rested at his side, he had been holding onto it since he had woken up, but never really thought about looking in it. So, dragging it into his lap, he unzipped the bag and opened it to bring the contents into the light, everything seemed like something they'd give you on a camping trip, compass, map, flashlight, and a first aid kit. Though something rather long, and metal glinted and caught his attention, Eli giving it a curious look as he reached a hand in and grasped the object, the small yelp that escaped his lips was a sure sign that, that hadn't been the best of ideas as he retracted his hand out and examined the new small cuts that where now present along his hand.
Tisking, he moved a bit of stuff around and opened the bag more to the daylight and found himself eyeing the device that had cut him, that being the form of a coiled up thing of barbed wire. Was this his assigned weapon? Did they want him to kill someone, or herd some cattle? Sighing, the dark haired boy re-zipped up the duffel bag, standing and slinging the object over his shoulder, he hadn't brought a thing with him on the trip they where taking to the museum, besides his camera which currently still hung about his neck below the piece of metal that encircled about his neck – the smallest of things that could his life in a blink of an eye, the extra rolls of film still present in his pocket as well.
Twisting the bag about, he unzipped it once more, least enough to fish out the map and compass without dealing with the barbed wire in there again, bringing the two objects out and working it back on his back. Unfolding the map a bit and over looking it, bringing the compass up with his damaged hand, no doubts by it he was currently in the Botanical Gardens, putting him in the center area of the island – along with all the other residential spots – they'd make for good places to rest, and relax, though of course he couldn't help but bet others had thought this up as well. Sighing, he decided that perhaps not following a set course would turn out for the better, that or get him killed faster, though either way he folded the map back up, placing it in pocket of his school pants, looking over the rest of his uniformed appearance hoping this wouldn't stand him out like a sore thumb.
Undoing his white shirt from being tucked in, wondering if getting rid of the bleeding sweater vest would be in his best interest but just shrugged against it, and loosened his tie as he placed the compass in another pocket after gathering his bearing and began to walk, first things first would be getting out of the open, find someone, anyplace where he could barricade himself in for a bit in order to formulate something that could help. Though lost in his thoughts, he almost didn't catch the form of a human coming up on one of the garden paths he had just turn on in order to reach the nearest exit.
This fellow human being one he didn't recognize from the hall of P.J. Gilroy, and one that didn't seem to be in his best interest either...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.
Above the ambient noises that radiated from within the botanical gardens -- the rushing water of the strategically placed fountains that seemed to add to the overall aesthetic value of the garden, the chirping of the birds laying dormant in the treetops, even the occassional squeaking of a squirrel that would scutter along the man-made pathways around the garden -- Eric Silvstedt heard one distinct noise: a human yelp. Given the current circumstances, any other person might have ducked for cover or attempted to find shelter behind one of the many small trees in the garden.
Eric, however, had no such intentions.
In fact, his gaze drifted slowly toward the direction in which he was certain the sound had come from. It couldn't have been a squirrel or a bird or any other random animal that he had encountered thus far. That noise was distinctly a human voice... moreso, a male voice. The befuddled expression that had overtaken his acne-ridden features momentarily evaporated into a wide smirk as he seemed to mentally pinpoint the location in which his current company was crouched away.
He had clearly been correct in choosing this location to hunt down the less ambitious of the competition. In a place like this, somewhere that radiated peace and tranquility, it was only natural that you would inevitably run into one of those peace-loving pacifists with no incentive and too much moral value to actually partake of the game. Those were exactly the sort of people that would be picked off early in this game and, hopefully, Eric would be able to assist them in their endeavor of unadulterated murder.
He didn't bother sneaking toward the location, as he assumed it was already more than apparent to his potential victim that he wasn't alone. The boy seemed almost oblivious, right up to the point until he turned onto the path that Eric currently occupied. The boy seemed to stop short as he noticed that he wasn't alone, and Eric would only smile inwardly at this revelation. Eric, however, continued his slow, almost leisurely walk toward the other student, his vision seemingly fixated on the ground below him and his baseball cap shielding his eyes from the mid-day sun.
Soon enough, he was within speaking distance of the boy. His hands still rested idly in his pockets, his overall appearance giving an attitude of nonchalance not suited for the killing game they'd been placed in. Slowly, he assessed the opponent standing in front of him. The boy looked younger than him, probably by quite a few years if Eric had his guess about it. He didn't recognize him by name, but the uniform that he adorned was distinctly Gilroyan in nature. That was the only time he'd ever seen anyone adorn that uniform... they were all preppy kids that attended that haughty school. A toothy grin formed across Eric's features as he looked the younger boy in the eye.
"Well... hello," he cooed wickedly.
Why bring harm to the student who stood in front of him? Why attack an innocent young man whose name he didn't even know? Had he really bought in to the game this early? Eric had decided from the get-go that the only method of escape from this prison was to slaughter every single competitor on the island. What had this boy done to provoke the fiery-tempered redhead that stood before him with a sinister grin wrapped across his hard features?
The answer was simple. Eric never had been able to stand the "Gilroyals", as they called themselves. To him, all they were were snot-nosed little rich brats who thought they shat gold because their parents had a dime in their pocket. They were all the same, in the end. Their parents sent them to a private school because they didn't believe in their spoiled little brats congregating with the "filth" of society. In a way, Eric took that haughty attitude as a personal offense. He lived on the poor side of town, in an old house, in a bad neighborhood. He was the kind of filth that those kids' parents didn't want them associating with.
Without even knowing the name of his opponent, Eric convinced himself that this boy, too, was just like them. Just like all the rest. This boy had given up all sense of individuality the day he'd applied at Gilroy and put on that uniform. He was just another snotty brat in the crowd. People like that, people with money, Eric despised their better-than-thou attitudes, hypocritical though it may have been. He despised everything about them. And this boy? He was just another face in the crowd. Before his actions fully registered in his mind, Eric's hands jerked themselves from his pockets and his fist went flying toward the younger boy's face.
Eric, however, had no such intentions.
In fact, his gaze drifted slowly toward the direction in which he was certain the sound had come from. It couldn't have been a squirrel or a bird or any other random animal that he had encountered thus far. That noise was distinctly a human voice... moreso, a male voice. The befuddled expression that had overtaken his acne-ridden features momentarily evaporated into a wide smirk as he seemed to mentally pinpoint the location in which his current company was crouched away.
He had clearly been correct in choosing this location to hunt down the less ambitious of the competition. In a place like this, somewhere that radiated peace and tranquility, it was only natural that you would inevitably run into one of those peace-loving pacifists with no incentive and too much moral value to actually partake of the game. Those were exactly the sort of people that would be picked off early in this game and, hopefully, Eric would be able to assist them in their endeavor of unadulterated murder.
He didn't bother sneaking toward the location, as he assumed it was already more than apparent to his potential victim that he wasn't alone. The boy seemed almost oblivious, right up to the point until he turned onto the path that Eric currently occupied. The boy seemed to stop short as he noticed that he wasn't alone, and Eric would only smile inwardly at this revelation. Eric, however, continued his slow, almost leisurely walk toward the other student, his vision seemingly fixated on the ground below him and his baseball cap shielding his eyes from the mid-day sun.
Soon enough, he was within speaking distance of the boy. His hands still rested idly in his pockets, his overall appearance giving an attitude of nonchalance not suited for the killing game they'd been placed in. Slowly, he assessed the opponent standing in front of him. The boy looked younger than him, probably by quite a few years if Eric had his guess about it. He didn't recognize him by name, but the uniform that he adorned was distinctly Gilroyan in nature. That was the only time he'd ever seen anyone adorn that uniform... they were all preppy kids that attended that haughty school. A toothy grin formed across Eric's features as he looked the younger boy in the eye.
"Well... hello," he cooed wickedly.
Why bring harm to the student who stood in front of him? Why attack an innocent young man whose name he didn't even know? Had he really bought in to the game this early? Eric had decided from the get-go that the only method of escape from this prison was to slaughter every single competitor on the island. What had this boy done to provoke the fiery-tempered redhead that stood before him with a sinister grin wrapped across his hard features?
The answer was simple. Eric never had been able to stand the "Gilroyals", as they called themselves. To him, all they were were snot-nosed little rich brats who thought they shat gold because their parents had a dime in their pocket. They were all the same, in the end. Their parents sent them to a private school because they didn't believe in their spoiled little brats congregating with the "filth" of society. In a way, Eric took that haughty attitude as a personal offense. He lived on the poor side of town, in an old house, in a bad neighborhood. He was the kind of filth that those kids' parents didn't want them associating with.
Without even knowing the name of his opponent, Eric convinced himself that this boy, too, was just like them. Just like all the rest. This boy had given up all sense of individuality the day he'd applied at Gilroy and put on that uniform. He was just another snotty brat in the crowd. People like that, people with money, Eric despised their better-than-thou attitudes, hypocritical though it may have been. He despised everything about them. And this boy? He was just another face in the crowd. Before his actions fully registered in his mind, Eric's hands jerked themselves from his pockets and his fist went flying toward the younger boy's face.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
The male he suddenly he found himself in company of didn't give off the best impression to Elias as he watched the other male, who unlike himself didn't seem the least bit startled by this encounter, because unlike Eli he didn't stop his slow walk toward him – eyes trained fixed on the ground as he strolled along, something in Eli telling him that running would be best option that could, and would come up at this point in time, but still no matter how much his brain was screaming at the rest of his body to move, his feet remained firmly planted in the ground of the path.
Up close though, the boy was more intimidating then when he was at a distance, more than likely a grade or two higher than him – he noting the baseball cap on his head, familiarity spreading over him as he tried to remember where he had seen another one like that before. Did that mean that he was from Denton as well? Though his thoughts where momentarily broken as a single word in greeting was cooed in a not-so friendly manner toward him, a reflex of sorts kicking in as he found his foot moving to almost take a step backwards, though once again something stopped him from going any further.
Though perhaps this person wasn't for the worst, besides the overall evil-mad-villain appearance he withheld, wasn't there a saying or something that said to not judge a book by its' cover or something like that? Just because he looked mean, didn't mean he was down right evil – hell he could work in a nursing home, and volunteer at a wildlife shelter for all he knew. He knew that was taking the possible facts a bit in the area of being far-fetched, he still figured maybe there would be some good in this person.
But as the fist made contact with the side of his cheek, sending the smaller boy falling sideways onto his knees, partly landing in the scrubs, flowers, and other such that lined the pathway, a hand quickly going to cradle the reddening area of skin, a breath escaping him as he found the pain spreading over quite overwhelming – he had been injured a number of times in fencing, but never anything to this degree, but then again.
In fencing, one wasn't fighting to survive, fighting to kill the opponent.
Once this fact stuck Elias, he found an odd sensation – one of fear, fear for his life washing over him as he worked as quickly as possible of getting himself back onto his feet. This really just couldn't get any better; the first person he happened to run into had already fallen into the rules given to them by the ringleaders of this act, least by the looks of it if need be he could run – the other male didn't seem to wield a gun, or any visible weapon for that manner as Elias stumbled onto his feet, stepping backwards a number of times to not only regain his balance to some degree but also put a distance between the two of them.
Up close though, the boy was more intimidating then when he was at a distance, more than likely a grade or two higher than him – he noting the baseball cap on his head, familiarity spreading over him as he tried to remember where he had seen another one like that before. Did that mean that he was from Denton as well? Though his thoughts where momentarily broken as a single word in greeting was cooed in a not-so friendly manner toward him, a reflex of sorts kicking in as he found his foot moving to almost take a step backwards, though once again something stopped him from going any further.
Though perhaps this person wasn't for the worst, besides the overall evil-mad-villain appearance he withheld, wasn't there a saying or something that said to not judge a book by its' cover or something like that? Just because he looked mean, didn't mean he was down right evil – hell he could work in a nursing home, and volunteer at a wildlife shelter for all he knew. He knew that was taking the possible facts a bit in the area of being far-fetched, he still figured maybe there would be some good in this person.
But as the fist made contact with the side of his cheek, sending the smaller boy falling sideways onto his knees, partly landing in the scrubs, flowers, and other such that lined the pathway, a hand quickly going to cradle the reddening area of skin, a breath escaping him as he found the pain spreading over quite overwhelming – he had been injured a number of times in fencing, but never anything to this degree, but then again.
In fencing, one wasn't fighting to survive, fighting to kill the opponent.
Once this fact stuck Elias, he found an odd sensation – one of fear, fear for his life washing over him as he worked as quickly as possible of getting himself back onto his feet. This really just couldn't get any better; the first person he happened to run into had already fallen into the rules given to them by the ringleaders of this act, least by the looks of it if need be he could run – the other male didn't seem to wield a gun, or any visible weapon for that manner as Elias stumbled onto his feet, stepping backwards a number of times to not only regain his balance to some degree but also put a distance between the two of them.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.
The moment that Eric Silvstedt's fist collided with the younger boy's face, something somewhere in the back of his mind triggered. The inner demons that danced nightly through his mind, tormenting him with horrible dreams of malice and mayhem, beckoned to be released. More than anything, Eric was angry. He was angry that the biggest event of the school year, the prelude to their senior year, had taken such an awry turn somewhere down the wrong route of a detour. He was angry that they'd been gassed and regassed, shuffled around like a herd of cattle, fitted with explosive collars, and thrown onto an island. He was angry that his life -- something he hadn't truly ever taken the time to value -- was now being put on the line for the perverted amusement of some fat, balding man sitting back in a recliner somewhere.
Eric didn't have a clue who he was attacking, and even if he had known Elias McConnell his entire life, it wouldn't have mattered in the moments that would follow. Slowly but surely, rage and anger were taking over the mind of the redheaded boy. Friend and foe slowly blended into one, becoming an undiscernable entity that had no name or face. To Eric, there were only two options in his current circumstance. He could either kill the creature standing in front of him, or he could be killed by the creature and become just another maimed and mangled corpse on an island that had already claimed four too many of the dead.
This wasn't some movie remake. This wasn't Resident Evil or Dawn of the Dead or anything like that. This wasn't a video game. There was no continue, no reset button, no extra lives. He had one shot... one opportunity to obliterate the entirety of his competition. In the slim chance that he managed to do that, his life hung by a thread on nothing more than a simple promise of freedom. What was his motivation? He barely had a home to go back to. His mother was a whore of a woman who wasn't responsible enough to take care of the five children she had spawned. Her bastard of a boyfriend didn't deserve to be called "Daddy" by his two little sisters, much less subject them to his delinquent ways. Maybe it was for Kayla and Claire. Without Eric, they wouldn't have much of a life. Without them, Eric wouldn't have a life to return to.
Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, this was his reasoning for fighting on. Maybe he was just a ticking time bomb, angry at the world, angry at fate for dealing him somewhat of a short hand in life, and just waiting to explode. Eric didn't see the boy he'd probably never know as Eli McConnell staggering away from him. Far from it. Eric saw everyone but his victim. He saw Matthias Kovalenko, his smug expression seemingly taunting Eric with his seemingly perfect existence. He saw his mother, stoned out of her mind and rotting away like a lifeless doll on the couch. He saw the kid who had mugged him a few months prior in Tilles Park, the young hispanic boy with the bandana tied around his forehead.
He saw all the people who had wronged him in some way during what almost seemed like another life at this point. He'd make them pay for it. He'd make everybody pay for it. Everyone had wronged him in some way, even this preppy little pretty-boy standing in front of him had done something, inadvertantly or knowingly, to Eric in some way, shape, or form. He couldn't think of these people as his peers. These weren't his friends. Friends were for another time and place, for another life that had been shamelessly taken away from him the second that the construction worker had sent Franklyn Senior's buses down that fateful detour route. All the things Eric knew had been taken away from him in the blink of an eye.
And now? Now nothing was the same. Now, he was only looking out for one person... himself.
Anger would turn into violence for Eric Silvstedt, as it often did. He'd played baseball for years and years, but he'd never really been much of a team player. In another lifetime, Eric had been the snot-nosed little brat who refused to shake the hands of his fellow teammates after losing a game to them. Back then, it was called bad sportsmanship. Here, losing wasn't an option at all, as the consequences for losing in this game were a lot steeper than not winning a trophy. The consequences for losing in this game might well be your very life. Eric wasn't prepared to give up his life just yet. And with those thoughts racing through his mind, his eyes fixated themselves on the boy who seemed to almost be attempting to flee. In the seconds that followed, Eric broke into a diving run and attempted to tackle his opponent to the ground, his hands fighting to wrap themselves around the struggling boy's neck.
Eric didn't have a clue who he was attacking, and even if he had known Elias McConnell his entire life, it wouldn't have mattered in the moments that would follow. Slowly but surely, rage and anger were taking over the mind of the redheaded boy. Friend and foe slowly blended into one, becoming an undiscernable entity that had no name or face. To Eric, there were only two options in his current circumstance. He could either kill the creature standing in front of him, or he could be killed by the creature and become just another maimed and mangled corpse on an island that had already claimed four too many of the dead.
This wasn't some movie remake. This wasn't Resident Evil or Dawn of the Dead or anything like that. This wasn't a video game. There was no continue, no reset button, no extra lives. He had one shot... one opportunity to obliterate the entirety of his competition. In the slim chance that he managed to do that, his life hung by a thread on nothing more than a simple promise of freedom. What was his motivation? He barely had a home to go back to. His mother was a whore of a woman who wasn't responsible enough to take care of the five children she had spawned. Her bastard of a boyfriend didn't deserve to be called "Daddy" by his two little sisters, much less subject them to his delinquent ways. Maybe it was for Kayla and Claire. Without Eric, they wouldn't have much of a life. Without them, Eric wouldn't have a life to return to.
Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, this was his reasoning for fighting on. Maybe he was just a ticking time bomb, angry at the world, angry at fate for dealing him somewhat of a short hand in life, and just waiting to explode. Eric didn't see the boy he'd probably never know as Eli McConnell staggering away from him. Far from it. Eric saw everyone but his victim. He saw Matthias Kovalenko, his smug expression seemingly taunting Eric with his seemingly perfect existence. He saw his mother, stoned out of her mind and rotting away like a lifeless doll on the couch. He saw the kid who had mugged him a few months prior in Tilles Park, the young hispanic boy with the bandana tied around his forehead.
He saw all the people who had wronged him in some way during what almost seemed like another life at this point. He'd make them pay for it. He'd make everybody pay for it. Everyone had wronged him in some way, even this preppy little pretty-boy standing in front of him had done something, inadvertantly or knowingly, to Eric in some way, shape, or form. He couldn't think of these people as his peers. These weren't his friends. Friends were for another time and place, for another life that had been shamelessly taken away from him the second that the construction worker had sent Franklyn Senior's buses down that fateful detour route. All the things Eric knew had been taken away from him in the blink of an eye.
And now? Now nothing was the same. Now, he was only looking out for one person... himself.
Anger would turn into violence for Eric Silvstedt, as it often did. He'd played baseball for years and years, but he'd never really been much of a team player. In another lifetime, Eric had been the snot-nosed little brat who refused to shake the hands of his fellow teammates after losing a game to them. Back then, it was called bad sportsmanship. Here, losing wasn't an option at all, as the consequences for losing in this game were a lot steeper than not winning a trophy. The consequences for losing in this game might well be your very life. Eric wasn't prepared to give up his life just yet. And with those thoughts racing through his mind, his eyes fixated themselves on the boy who seemed to almost be attempting to flee. In the seconds that followed, Eric broke into a diving run and attempted to tackle his opponent to the ground, his hands fighting to wrap themselves around the struggling boy's neck.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
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LadyMakaze†
- Posts: 475
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:48 pm
((Continued from Rebirth))
Once again, Matthias found himself on the move yet again, having decided it was much safer and better it Whitney and himself were to linger in an area with the least amount of people as possible, simply for the sake of safety. If the one who was wielding the shotgun was any sort of threat at all, Matthias certainly didn't want to be one to stick around should the stranger suddenly go off on a spree of violent madness. And who was to say that such a thing wouldn't happen? Only less than an hour ago did he have a frikking grenade of all things chucked at himself, and that itself seemed to confirm just how dire his situation truly was.
His mind burned with the image of his dead teachers and also that of his previous attacker. His ability to keep calm and level-headed was heavily strained by the prospect of being killed by a fellow student at anywhere, anytime, by pratically anyone. He could be dead within the next minute, perhaps stabbed in the back or shot from afar by a well-placed aim. Though the very fear of dying was enough to keep him on his toes, and on guard at all times, he knew that his chance of survival was directly related to his ability to keep calm and rational at all times...
...for he also knew that he couldn't possibly protect Jodeen, Whitney, or anyone else if he were to fall dead now.
Looking to the side to see that Whitney was still with him, he took to leading the way for a while. From time to time, he looked over his surroundings and shoulder checked frequently for any sign of other students who may be looking for trouble. Thankfully, for the time being, he and Whitney were alone.
It was not long until he came across a vast stretch of wall, decorated with what appeared to be a mural. From beyond the massive archway, Matthias could catch the faint scent of fertile earth and vegetation.
According to his map, which he peered at quickly before placing back into his day pack, he and Whitney were currently standing outside the botanical gardens. A bit unexpected, considering it was on an island that would soon be a site full of carnage and ruin. He looked towards Whitney, wondering what she thought of the prospect of entering the gardens.
"Think we should take a look? Maybe Jodeen is here..." He mused to himself. Of course, it would always be the thought of Jodeen and his current pursuit of her that drove him to run ahead of Whitney a bit, adjusting his position so that he could see directly into the botanical gardens.
That was when he noticed the presence of two people within the area of the garden. One of them was a figure he did not recognize. The other of the two, on the other hand, Matthias found all too familiar.
Eric Silvstedt, he was one whom Matthias never cared much for. Far from it in fact, given how they'd first met. Before their first meeting, Matthias had always been under the impression that Eric was something of a punk, one who was snide and brazen, and essentially just a real prick towards women in general. The fact that he'd made a slur to Whitney Acosta when she was soaked with pepsi at the bar and grill only confirmed that.
What Matthias hadn't counted on however, was that Eric would be so ill-tempered, so vindictive enough to go far as to cause Matthias such pains during and after the event. Losing his saxophone to the red-headed boy had been bad enough. Losing what pride and dignity he'd had in the brawl that followed was just as bad. Having to deal with Eric's vindiction afterwards, however...Matthias couldn't help but feel the urge to return the favour, and made sure that the other boy felt it stick.
Ever since the day they first met and fought, Matthias had always known Eric to be a violent, hostile individual. And here he was, picking on a lone boy who appeared to be a year or so younger than himself, if not attacking him outright. Indeed, Matthias could not help but feel a slight sting of anger and indignation as Eric, unprovoked, landed a punch towards the other boy's face, sending him stumbling back in what was obviously stunned pain.
It was a form of oppression against a fellow human that Matthias could not bear to stand and watch continue. Though his heart went for the boy, it was simple the outrage of it all that motivated Matthias to do something about it, to prevent the innocent from being oppressed by those who would go so far as to prey on others. As Eric charged towards the terrified boy in what appeared to be utterly uncontrollable rage, Matthias felt himself spring into action.
He broke into a full stride towards Eric, reaching him just as the taller boy tackled his victim and attempted to wrap his hands around the poor boy's throat. At the sight of this, all the contempt that Matthias held towards the other boy was channelled into one swift and brutal kick that came flying towards the side of Eric's head.
Once again, Matthias found himself on the move yet again, having decided it was much safer and better it Whitney and himself were to linger in an area with the least amount of people as possible, simply for the sake of safety. If the one who was wielding the shotgun was any sort of threat at all, Matthias certainly didn't want to be one to stick around should the stranger suddenly go off on a spree of violent madness. And who was to say that such a thing wouldn't happen? Only less than an hour ago did he have a frikking grenade of all things chucked at himself, and that itself seemed to confirm just how dire his situation truly was.
His mind burned with the image of his dead teachers and also that of his previous attacker. His ability to keep calm and level-headed was heavily strained by the prospect of being killed by a fellow student at anywhere, anytime, by pratically anyone. He could be dead within the next minute, perhaps stabbed in the back or shot from afar by a well-placed aim. Though the very fear of dying was enough to keep him on his toes, and on guard at all times, he knew that his chance of survival was directly related to his ability to keep calm and rational at all times...
...for he also knew that he couldn't possibly protect Jodeen, Whitney, or anyone else if he were to fall dead now.
Looking to the side to see that Whitney was still with him, he took to leading the way for a while. From time to time, he looked over his surroundings and shoulder checked frequently for any sign of other students who may be looking for trouble. Thankfully, for the time being, he and Whitney were alone.
It was not long until he came across a vast stretch of wall, decorated with what appeared to be a mural. From beyond the massive archway, Matthias could catch the faint scent of fertile earth and vegetation.
According to his map, which he peered at quickly before placing back into his day pack, he and Whitney were currently standing outside the botanical gardens. A bit unexpected, considering it was on an island that would soon be a site full of carnage and ruin. He looked towards Whitney, wondering what she thought of the prospect of entering the gardens.
"Think we should take a look? Maybe Jodeen is here..." He mused to himself. Of course, it would always be the thought of Jodeen and his current pursuit of her that drove him to run ahead of Whitney a bit, adjusting his position so that he could see directly into the botanical gardens.
That was when he noticed the presence of two people within the area of the garden. One of them was a figure he did not recognize. The other of the two, on the other hand, Matthias found all too familiar.
Eric Silvstedt, he was one whom Matthias never cared much for. Far from it in fact, given how they'd first met. Before their first meeting, Matthias had always been under the impression that Eric was something of a punk, one who was snide and brazen, and essentially just a real prick towards women in general. The fact that he'd made a slur to Whitney Acosta when she was soaked with pepsi at the bar and grill only confirmed that.
What Matthias hadn't counted on however, was that Eric would be so ill-tempered, so vindictive enough to go far as to cause Matthias such pains during and after the event. Losing his saxophone to the red-headed boy had been bad enough. Losing what pride and dignity he'd had in the brawl that followed was just as bad. Having to deal with Eric's vindiction afterwards, however...Matthias couldn't help but feel the urge to return the favour, and made sure that the other boy felt it stick.
Ever since the day they first met and fought, Matthias had always known Eric to be a violent, hostile individual. And here he was, picking on a lone boy who appeared to be a year or so younger than himself, if not attacking him outright. Indeed, Matthias could not help but feel a slight sting of anger and indignation as Eric, unprovoked, landed a punch towards the other boy's face, sending him stumbling back in what was obviously stunned pain.
It was a form of oppression against a fellow human that Matthias could not bear to stand and watch continue. Though his heart went for the boy, it was simple the outrage of it all that motivated Matthias to do something about it, to prevent the innocent from being oppressed by those who would go so far as to prey on others. As Eric charged towards the terrified boy in what appeared to be utterly uncontrollable rage, Matthias felt himself spring into action.
He broke into a full stride towards Eric, reaching him just as the taller boy tackled his victim and attempted to wrap his hands around the poor boy's throat. At the sight of this, all the contempt that Matthias held towards the other boy was channelled into one swift and brutal kick that came flying towards the side of Eric's head.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler LadyMakaze. 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.
((Just letting everyone know that although I'm quite aware that Eric just got kicked in the head, Z is technically next in line to post, seeing as Eli's being strangled, so... I be waiting on Z.))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. 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.
(( Tch. ))
In the time after the other boy had punched him, Eli had managed some space between the two of them, as the other seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own mind. The pain from where he had been punched really wasn't all that bad, it was the overwhelming fear and the faintest taste of copper – blood, in his mouth where was making it seem all the worse.
There was hardly an ounce of hope remaining in him that this was all some kind of horrid nightmare, and he was going to wake up, home in his bed, the victim of some horrible night-terror, but when you dream, night-terror or not – your not supposed to feel pain, taste blood, and fear would be something you'd end up overcoming in the end, and winning the battle.
But... none of that was coming forth.
Thoughts came to a halt as he felt a weight greater than his own crash into him, sending him flying to the ground. His camera bouncing off from where it had been hanging about his neck and landing a bit away amongst the bushes, and other such greenery, his daypack breaking his fall to some degree as he partly landed, partly slide off it and onto the pathway.
Before given the chance to react this time, he was instead met with the cold feeling of hands wrapping themselves about his throat, cutting off any, if not all, of his airway to his lungs. Hands on reflex reaching up to grab at the other boy's wrists trying to break them away from his throat, trying hard to suck in air whenever possible – though it slowly became harder and harder to do so, and impending shade of black starting to fade in over everything.
He still, though hardly with as much strength as before, began to try and remove the hands using only one hand, legs thrashing in an attempt to cause any other damage – as the other hand blindly moved about his daypack in an attempt to open it and remove the barbed wire Elias had remembered seeing only moments before. If he could get to it, he might be able to do something to this boy to get his hands off and away from his throat.
Struggling, he managed to undo the zipper, feeling about till his fingertip was pricked by something sharp. Elias digging in and grabbing onto the issued weapon fully, hardly caring at the skin on his hand that he was tearing as he struggled to remove it, some cuts where far better than being choked to death.
As this was taking place, he hardly took note the two new presences entering the area that they where in, breathing have slowly been reduced a mere wheeze in an attempt to get anything into his lungs - he had became far focused on the current situation. In the time though, legs had stopped their kicks, as his other hand was finally able to remove the rolled up barbed wire, bloody now with his own blood, from the daypack. Lifting it up slowly, he was ready to strike the other anywhere; perhaps if he'd just kept hitting the bigger boy with the wire, he'd let go, hopefully sooner than later.
Though as he went about to ready this, about ready to bring it down, he heard an odd sound that in his current state of thought – it sounded almost like a stampede in his ears that where also pounding with the blood and hard beat of his own heart, though everything seemed to fall together in the next moment where the next scene that flashed into his view was of a foot flying toward his attacker in a swift motion.
In the time after the other boy had punched him, Eli had managed some space between the two of them, as the other seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own mind. The pain from where he had been punched really wasn't all that bad, it was the overwhelming fear and the faintest taste of copper – blood, in his mouth where was making it seem all the worse.
There was hardly an ounce of hope remaining in him that this was all some kind of horrid nightmare, and he was going to wake up, home in his bed, the victim of some horrible night-terror, but when you dream, night-terror or not – your not supposed to feel pain, taste blood, and fear would be something you'd end up overcoming in the end, and winning the battle.
But... none of that was coming forth.
Thoughts came to a halt as he felt a weight greater than his own crash into him, sending him flying to the ground. His camera bouncing off from where it had been hanging about his neck and landing a bit away amongst the bushes, and other such greenery, his daypack breaking his fall to some degree as he partly landed, partly slide off it and onto the pathway.
Before given the chance to react this time, he was instead met with the cold feeling of hands wrapping themselves about his throat, cutting off any, if not all, of his airway to his lungs. Hands on reflex reaching up to grab at the other boy's wrists trying to break them away from his throat, trying hard to suck in air whenever possible – though it slowly became harder and harder to do so, and impending shade of black starting to fade in over everything.
He still, though hardly with as much strength as before, began to try and remove the hands using only one hand, legs thrashing in an attempt to cause any other damage – as the other hand blindly moved about his daypack in an attempt to open it and remove the barbed wire Elias had remembered seeing only moments before. If he could get to it, he might be able to do something to this boy to get his hands off and away from his throat.
Struggling, he managed to undo the zipper, feeling about till his fingertip was pricked by something sharp. Elias digging in and grabbing onto the issued weapon fully, hardly caring at the skin on his hand that he was tearing as he struggled to remove it, some cuts where far better than being choked to death.
As this was taking place, he hardly took note the two new presences entering the area that they where in, breathing have slowly been reduced a mere wheeze in an attempt to get anything into his lungs - he had became far focused on the current situation. In the time though, legs had stopped their kicks, as his other hand was finally able to remove the rolled up barbed wire, bloody now with his own blood, from the daypack. Lifting it up slowly, he was ready to strike the other anywhere; perhaps if he'd just kept hitting the bigger boy with the wire, he'd let go, hopefully sooner than later.
Though as he went about to ready this, about ready to bring it down, he heard an odd sound that in his current state of thought – it sounded almost like a stampede in his ears that where also pounding with the blood and hard beat of his own heart, though everything seemed to fall together in the next moment where the next scene that flashed into his view was of a foot flying toward his attacker in a swift motion.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler riserugu. 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.
Eric Silvstedt grinned the grin of a maniac as his fingertips forcefully wrapped themselves around the much younger boy's neck, constricting his airpipes in the process and probably cutting off circulation to his lungs. Eric had been dealt a bad card in the beginning of the game, and now felt the need to make up for it. It was almost as if Danya had been anticipating Eric's rage to boil over, and now, in this time, in this place, Eric might easily have landed his first kill with his bare hands. He only seemed to grin sadistically as the younger boy choked and sputtered, thrashed about wildly, did anything and everything within his power to loosen the older boy's grip from around his throat.
Eric's grip only tightened that much more.
He could feel the unrivaled sensation of the younger boy's life slowly, steadily drifting away from his body by the power of Eric's own two hands. It was an incredible feeling, a feeling like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was the feeling of absolute power. In a way, he was playing God. He chose who would live and who would die, and he had the capability to take the lives of the other individuals away all within the power of his own two hands. It was an incredible, almost overwhelming sensation that made Eric coo with joy at the sheer thought of it. That is, until another sensation overtook his body...
Pain.
That was all that registered in Eric's mind for the next few seconds. He had been so overtaken with the new sensation that coursed through his veins -- the unrivaled and coveted power to control the life and death of another -- that his senses had blocked everything around him out. He hadn't noticed the duo that had made their way down the manmade pathway of the gardens and stumbled upon the dark deed he had been hellbent on committing. Unfortunately for him, he didn't notice the dark-headed boy -- number one on his list, no less -- who dashed toward him. What he did notice was the second that foot impacted with skull with such ferocity that it sent him reeling across the pathway from Eli.
A pained gasp escaped the redheaded boy's lips as his hands flew to his head, craddling it tenderly. His eyes shut tightly for a moment, all the while his mind danced circles around himself, trying to comprehend what on earth had just unfolded and why only seconds before, he had the Gilroy boy in a stranglehold of death... but now he was lying on the ground in an immense amount of pain after suffering a serious blow to the head. By who? Eric's eyes forced themselves open and slowly readjusted themselves. Within moments, his vision shifted and he slowly eyed the dark-headed figure who'd just blindsided him.
In the next moment, his confused expression slowly shifted into a twisted grin.
"Kovalenko."
The word echoed out of Eric's mouth in almost a gutteral roar, his features twisting and contorting themselves into a look of pure hatred and malice for the would-be savior standing in front of him. Maybe fate was looking out for him after all. Maybe fate had sent him to this place in order to allow these events to unfold. Regardless of how it had happened, Eric Silvstedt was now staring down the very individual that only moments before, he was picturing the younger boy to be. Fate and destiny were in Eric's favor, indeed. It seemed that he didn't have to settle for second-best this time around, Lady Luck had somehow brought him the real deal, and now, he and Matthias Kovalenko could face off in a true brawl... one that wouldn't be broken up by some low-life restaurant owner... one that wouldn't be thwarted by the actions of some thirteen year old little girl.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Matthias was about to find out just how cold revenge could be. Eric had harbored a pent up hatred for the student standing in front of him ever since that night at Benson's. It had turned into an almost unhealthy obsession over the course of time, and given the right conditions -- for example, this program -- Eric's obsession with Matthias had the potential to turn deadly, and in quite a hurry. Never before had Eric experienced anything like the power and adrenaline he had felt as he was slowly strangling the life away from Eli McConnell. Already, it was an absolute power that he desired to feel again, though this time, Eric wanted the real deal. The fact was, he had no real vendetta against Eil. Matthias, however, was a different story. Blindly, in a rage, Eric lunged...
~~~
Whitney Acosta had had a bit of trouble in keeping up with Matthias after he had all but ushered her away from the eastern shore and the imminent danger that lay on its untouched white sands. Somewhere along the journey, they had found their way to the botanical gardens, and at Matthias's hopeful mention of his sister potentially lying somewhere within, the two had tentatively entered. She hadn't said much throughout their journey together, part of the time simply lost in thought, the other part, simply shutting down somewhat to the world around her. Although she tried desperately to remain optimistic about the entire situation and smile through all the troubles -- more for Matthias than for herself -- the hard realities of the game were slowly setting in for Whitney.
Even if we find Jodeen... will we be safe together, or will we just sit through watching one another die?
Danger lurked around every corner. Death was imminent. The peace and tranquility that this island once held had already been decimated by the fighting. And for it all, Whitney couldn't figure out why they would fight... why they would give in to Danya's demands. Even if he did really detonate all of their collars... wouldn't dying together in an almost instantaneous death be better than slowly but surely massacring the other students in painful and ungodly ways? Nothing made sense anymore, and despite trying desperately to fight off the bad thoughts that crept into her mind, Whitney's thoughts kept returning to the same topics.
I just don't understand it... I don't. Why? Why kill one another? It's not worth it... it just isn't.
And then there was Matthias. She didn't know how she had managed to stumble upon someone that she had considered such a dear friend back home in this crazy game, but for that, she was thankful. In a way, although he didn't know it, him just being there allowed Whitney to keep some of her sanity in check. Because... him, just being there, kept Whitney from being alone with her thoughts... thoughts that might otherwise have already eaten her alive. So, as she and Matthias stumbled upon Eric Silvstedt strangling the life out of one of hte other contestants, and Matthias all but charged at him, a sinking feeling welled up in the pit of her stomach.
She had heard the things that Eric had uttered around school about Matthias. Idle threats that she could only assume would never be acted on, mainly. Now, however, in another time and a completely different place, Whitney feared that those idle thoughts might give way to something more sinister. Indeed, as Eric's attention violently jumped from the younger student to Matthias, she felt her stomach sink a little more. She could do nothing as Eric charged at Matthias except silently pray that this next collision wouldn't be Matthias's last. It might have been a selfish thought, but the simple fact was this: Whitney needed him.
Be careful, Matt... please.
In an attempt to evade her gaze from the oncoming quarrel that was sure to break out, Whitney made her way over to the younger boy's side, a concerned expression formulating on her features as she looked him over. He looked harmless enough. Never once did she stop to think that perhaps he had attacked Eric first and that Eric was simply on the winning end of a defensive battle. Never once did she stop to think that the boy sitting before her might have been hostile and attacked her as she went to help him. Never once did it cross her mind that the two were collaborating to gang up on Whitney and Matthias. Paranoid and insecure thoughts weren't common for someone like Whitney, and her sheer naiveté played a large role in that factor. So, as she leaned down beside the injured boy and brushed a few strands of her pale blonde locks from her features, all she could do was offer a sympathetic smile.
"Are you okay?"
Eric's grip only tightened that much more.
He could feel the unrivaled sensation of the younger boy's life slowly, steadily drifting away from his body by the power of Eric's own two hands. It was an incredible feeling, a feeling like nothing he'd ever felt before. It was the feeling of absolute power. In a way, he was playing God. He chose who would live and who would die, and he had the capability to take the lives of the other individuals away all within the power of his own two hands. It was an incredible, almost overwhelming sensation that made Eric coo with joy at the sheer thought of it. That is, until another sensation overtook his body...
Pain.
That was all that registered in Eric's mind for the next few seconds. He had been so overtaken with the new sensation that coursed through his veins -- the unrivaled and coveted power to control the life and death of another -- that his senses had blocked everything around him out. He hadn't noticed the duo that had made their way down the manmade pathway of the gardens and stumbled upon the dark deed he had been hellbent on committing. Unfortunately for him, he didn't notice the dark-headed boy -- number one on his list, no less -- who dashed toward him. What he did notice was the second that foot impacted with skull with such ferocity that it sent him reeling across the pathway from Eli.
A pained gasp escaped the redheaded boy's lips as his hands flew to his head, craddling it tenderly. His eyes shut tightly for a moment, all the while his mind danced circles around himself, trying to comprehend what on earth had just unfolded and why only seconds before, he had the Gilroy boy in a stranglehold of death... but now he was lying on the ground in an immense amount of pain after suffering a serious blow to the head. By who? Eric's eyes forced themselves open and slowly readjusted themselves. Within moments, his vision shifted and he slowly eyed the dark-headed figure who'd just blindsided him.
In the next moment, his confused expression slowly shifted into a twisted grin.
"Kovalenko."
The word echoed out of Eric's mouth in almost a gutteral roar, his features twisting and contorting themselves into a look of pure hatred and malice for the would-be savior standing in front of him. Maybe fate was looking out for him after all. Maybe fate had sent him to this place in order to allow these events to unfold. Regardless of how it had happened, Eric Silvstedt was now staring down the very individual that only moments before, he was picturing the younger boy to be. Fate and destiny were in Eric's favor, indeed. It seemed that he didn't have to settle for second-best this time around, Lady Luck had somehow brought him the real deal, and now, he and Matthias Kovalenko could face off in a true brawl... one that wouldn't be broken up by some low-life restaurant owner... one that wouldn't be thwarted by the actions of some thirteen year old little girl.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Matthias was about to find out just how cold revenge could be. Eric had harbored a pent up hatred for the student standing in front of him ever since that night at Benson's. It had turned into an almost unhealthy obsession over the course of time, and given the right conditions -- for example, this program -- Eric's obsession with Matthias had the potential to turn deadly, and in quite a hurry. Never before had Eric experienced anything like the power and adrenaline he had felt as he was slowly strangling the life away from Eli McConnell. Already, it was an absolute power that he desired to feel again, though this time, Eric wanted the real deal. The fact was, he had no real vendetta against Eil. Matthias, however, was a different story. Blindly, in a rage, Eric lunged...
~~~
Whitney Acosta had had a bit of trouble in keeping up with Matthias after he had all but ushered her away from the eastern shore and the imminent danger that lay on its untouched white sands. Somewhere along the journey, they had found their way to the botanical gardens, and at Matthias's hopeful mention of his sister potentially lying somewhere within, the two had tentatively entered. She hadn't said much throughout their journey together, part of the time simply lost in thought, the other part, simply shutting down somewhat to the world around her. Although she tried desperately to remain optimistic about the entire situation and smile through all the troubles -- more for Matthias than for herself -- the hard realities of the game were slowly setting in for Whitney.
Even if we find Jodeen... will we be safe together, or will we just sit through watching one another die?
Danger lurked around every corner. Death was imminent. The peace and tranquility that this island once held had already been decimated by the fighting. And for it all, Whitney couldn't figure out why they would fight... why they would give in to Danya's demands. Even if he did really detonate all of their collars... wouldn't dying together in an almost instantaneous death be better than slowly but surely massacring the other students in painful and ungodly ways? Nothing made sense anymore, and despite trying desperately to fight off the bad thoughts that crept into her mind, Whitney's thoughts kept returning to the same topics.
I just don't understand it... I don't. Why? Why kill one another? It's not worth it... it just isn't.
And then there was Matthias. She didn't know how she had managed to stumble upon someone that she had considered such a dear friend back home in this crazy game, but for that, she was thankful. In a way, although he didn't know it, him just being there allowed Whitney to keep some of her sanity in check. Because... him, just being there, kept Whitney from being alone with her thoughts... thoughts that might otherwise have already eaten her alive. So, as she and Matthias stumbled upon Eric Silvstedt strangling the life out of one of hte other contestants, and Matthias all but charged at him, a sinking feeling welled up in the pit of her stomach.
She had heard the things that Eric had uttered around school about Matthias. Idle threats that she could only assume would never be acted on, mainly. Now, however, in another time and a completely different place, Whitney feared that those idle thoughts might give way to something more sinister. Indeed, as Eric's attention violently jumped from the younger student to Matthias, she felt her stomach sink a little more. She could do nothing as Eric charged at Matthias except silently pray that this next collision wouldn't be Matthias's last. It might have been a selfish thought, but the simple fact was this: Whitney needed him.
Be careful, Matt... please.
In an attempt to evade her gaze from the oncoming quarrel that was sure to break out, Whitney made her way over to the younger boy's side, a concerned expression formulating on her features as she looked him over. He looked harmless enough. Never once did she stop to think that perhaps he had attacked Eric first and that Eric was simply on the winning end of a defensive battle. Never once did she stop to think that the boy sitting before her might have been hostile and attacked her as she went to help him. Never once did it cross her mind that the two were collaborating to gang up on Whitney and Matthias. Paranoid and insecure thoughts weren't common for someone like Whitney, and her sheer naiveté played a large role in that factor. So, as she leaned down beside the injured boy and brushed a few strands of her pale blonde locks from her features, all she could do was offer a sympathetic smile.
"Are you okay?"
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-
LadyMakaze†
- Posts: 475
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:48 pm
As Matthias felt the sensation of his foot driving directly into the side of Eric's head with a sickening crack, the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy couldn't help but feel a sense of grim satisfaction as the impact sent Eric sprawling off of the younger boy and onto the ground nearby. The very feeling of satisfaction was so gratifying that Matthias could not help but feel as though it were a sin, to feel such delight at having dealt the taller boy such a blow. It was then that the sheer feeling of gratification was suddenly tainted with guilt and slight remorse, a backlash stemming from the human conscience that resulted from causing harm to a fellow living being. Though it was Matthias' sense of guilt and morality that sobered him up from the initial delight he'd felt from kicking Silvstedt in the head, it was also his conscience that caused a surge of anger to course through his blood as he suddenly remembered what Eric had done to merit such a response from Matthias.
From what Matthias had seen from his own eyes and assumed in the instance in which he'd witnessed the scene, Eric Silvstedt had attempted to kill another. He had seen for himself the hands of Silvstedt wrapping around the throat of a younger boy in an attempt to choke the life out of him. Not once did Matthias assume that the initial cause of the struggle was that Eric was trying to defend himself from someone who had seen fit to attack him first. Not once did Matthias assume Eric to be the real victim in this scenario, for it was something that Matthias would never believe with what he knew of Eric and his tendancies.
Eric had already reserved the right to be deemed one that deserved nothing but contempt since the day he insulted Whitney before the classmates of her school. Hell, it was bad enough that he'd seen fit to smash Matthias' prized saxophone with little to no provocation, and that he'd made it a point to ridicule Matthias and jump at every chance to get back at the other boy since that brawl at Benson's Bar and Grill. But what Eric Silvstedt had only just attempted to do, stopped only by the fortunate arrival of Matthias, was unthinkable beyond words, moreso than all he had done in the past.
All that Matthias could feel as of now was contempt for the taller, redheaded boy as shot him a look of pain and pure venom, cradling the area on the side of his head where Matthias had kicked him. As the taller boy's face contorted into an expression and utter hatred and growled out his name with a voice dripping with rage and malice, Matthias felt that it was only appropriate to oblige him with a response.
"Eric Silvstedt," he remarked in a calm voice that was simmering with undertones of contempt.
He had stepped away from both Eric and the younger boy upon delivering the kick, already anticipating Eric's response once he recovered from the blow. For that matter, Matthias was not in the least bit disappointed, for within the span of a few seconds did Eric suddenly charged towards him in a lunge that was all too familiar. Matthias could remember being in this sort of situation the day he and Eric went all out in a brawl outside the bar and grill.
His anticipation of Eric's next move was enough to set Matthias' reflex into work, and his form into motion. Only at the last minute did Matthias move away suddenly, just as Eric was about to tackle him, narrowly dodging the enraged attack.
Matthias quickly sidestepped, his breath quickening slightly with the renewed surge of adrenaline. Moving back slightly to put a fair amount of distance between Eric and himself, he assumed a defensive stance, already anticipating Eric's next action. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Whitney at the side of Eric's victim, praying that his own presence was enough to instill anger into Eric and avert his attention away from the other two.
Panting slightly, Matthias gradually felt his own anger and contempt for the other boy get the better of him, and he began to speak in a cold, even tone that dripped a sort of venom of its own.
"I always knew you were a bully, Silvstedt. I always knew you'd just jump at the chance to pick on someone younger and weaker than you for the sake of fulfilling your own self-image, or lack thereof."
Matthias words came faster than his mind could realize that to hit home and make it personal with Eric would be more dangerous than he'd assumed.
"I knew you could never resist a good power trip, whether it be with the people you despise, strangers, or your so-called friends, it's all the same. You step on people to create that illusion of power and confidence."
His voice dropped lower as Matthias narrowed his dark eyes with an anger that was different than that of Silvstedt, not hot-blooded and full of such rage, but cold, condescending, and full of the purest contempt.
"But I never knew...I never would have thought that even a person like you would sink to such a level as to attempt murder."
From what Matthias had seen from his own eyes and assumed in the instance in which he'd witnessed the scene, Eric Silvstedt had attempted to kill another. He had seen for himself the hands of Silvstedt wrapping around the throat of a younger boy in an attempt to choke the life out of him. Not once did Matthias assume that the initial cause of the struggle was that Eric was trying to defend himself from someone who had seen fit to attack him first. Not once did Matthias assume Eric to be the real victim in this scenario, for it was something that Matthias would never believe with what he knew of Eric and his tendancies.
Eric had already reserved the right to be deemed one that deserved nothing but contempt since the day he insulted Whitney before the classmates of her school. Hell, it was bad enough that he'd seen fit to smash Matthias' prized saxophone with little to no provocation, and that he'd made it a point to ridicule Matthias and jump at every chance to get back at the other boy since that brawl at Benson's Bar and Grill. But what Eric Silvstedt had only just attempted to do, stopped only by the fortunate arrival of Matthias, was unthinkable beyond words, moreso than all he had done in the past.
All that Matthias could feel as of now was contempt for the taller, redheaded boy as shot him a look of pain and pure venom, cradling the area on the side of his head where Matthias had kicked him. As the taller boy's face contorted into an expression and utter hatred and growled out his name with a voice dripping with rage and malice, Matthias felt that it was only appropriate to oblige him with a response.
"Eric Silvstedt," he remarked in a calm voice that was simmering with undertones of contempt.
He had stepped away from both Eric and the younger boy upon delivering the kick, already anticipating Eric's response once he recovered from the blow. For that matter, Matthias was not in the least bit disappointed, for within the span of a few seconds did Eric suddenly charged towards him in a lunge that was all too familiar. Matthias could remember being in this sort of situation the day he and Eric went all out in a brawl outside the bar and grill.
His anticipation of Eric's next move was enough to set Matthias' reflex into work, and his form into motion. Only at the last minute did Matthias move away suddenly, just as Eric was about to tackle him, narrowly dodging the enraged attack.
Matthias quickly sidestepped, his breath quickening slightly with the renewed surge of adrenaline. Moving back slightly to put a fair amount of distance between Eric and himself, he assumed a defensive stance, already anticipating Eric's next action. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Whitney at the side of Eric's victim, praying that his own presence was enough to instill anger into Eric and avert his attention away from the other two.
Panting slightly, Matthias gradually felt his own anger and contempt for the other boy get the better of him, and he began to speak in a cold, even tone that dripped a sort of venom of its own.
"I always knew you were a bully, Silvstedt. I always knew you'd just jump at the chance to pick on someone younger and weaker than you for the sake of fulfilling your own self-image, or lack thereof."
Matthias words came faster than his mind could realize that to hit home and make it personal with Eric would be more dangerous than he'd assumed.
"I knew you could never resist a good power trip, whether it be with the people you despise, strangers, or your so-called friends, it's all the same. You step on people to create that illusion of power and confidence."
His voice dropped lower as Matthias narrowed his dark eyes with an anger that was different than that of Silvstedt, not hot-blooded and full of such rage, but cold, condescending, and full of the purest contempt.
"But I never knew...I never would have thought that even a person like you would sink to such a level as to attempt murder."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler LadyMakaze. 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.
((Continuada dal Well, Isn't This Fucking Great?))
Any way he looked at it, there was no denying that Boy #6 Damien Carter-Madison was on a massive comedown, and boy did it stick.
After receiving what he could recall was actually the first real direct threat on his life, from a girl that had directly saved his more than once (of all people), Damien found himself actually leaving the Pagoda in a state of natural high. He knew who his enemies were and friends weren't, and kept them on a rather handy list he could access at any time. He made it clear that he was not going to escape the game alive, but not before he took everyone whose names he'd jutted down in his little blue notebook with him. He even tried filling his mind with the many ways he could he could get creative on offense with that cheap little shield of his, though the only one that he hadn't completely forgotten at the moment was a variant of what street-gangs called curb stomping.
But like any high used to take a person's mind off his dire condition, it was great while it lasted, and it wasn't nearly as long as the relatively short sojourn to the town Damien spotted in the distance as he descended the pagoda's hill.
He had shed his olive-green Gilroy sweater-vest on the way into town in some desperate attempt to stave off the day's last attempt to stay warm and its effects on his already injured body, and that didn't seem to be damn near enough. The heat that evening brought had quickly reminded him of the effect it would have on his still-trying-to-heal bruises, and it was certainly not that of healing. Even unbuttoning and un-tucking his dress-shirt didn't help, any shred of common sense preventing him from taking it off so as not to get dreadfully sunburned, attract insects, and other detrimental effects to add onto his condition that he probably wasn't considering thanks to his injuries taking top priority. His injuries and the smell of his sweat on the way here would attract enough predators as it was. His lighter-than-most backpack and shield felt heavy as knight's armor, and the deep-red 6 tattooed on the backpack was as good a target as a bullseye. On top of all that, Damien hadn't eaten in hours if not days, those supplies probably being wolfishly consumed by the kid on top of his brand-new deathlist as he spoke.
So...he recapped...I'm cold, hungry, alone and relatively unarmed among killers and psychos, sad and crying (which was expected), lost, and my internal wounds are probably shutting off my internal organs as I speak. At least they'll find my body with some color to it other than purple and red. Hell, my disheveled shirt actually makes me look kinda macho with all the blood.
That's right. You go on and think that.
You again!?
Yep. Whatever happened to that smiling psycho that left the Pagoda?
He got hungry for something else. You here to command me to turn these stones into bread or just to rub it in?
I figured you for smart, Damey, not a smartass. But insults aside, opportunity awaits in the big city!
What the hell do you mean by that?
Damien really wondered what that rather prominent voice in his head meant as he found himself at ((one of?)) the gates of what appeared to be a rather pristine botanical garden. One that promised various forms of flora, including flowers and trees. And quite possibly, trees that bore fruit.
Without any further hesitation and "shield" in hand, Damien's body moved to dash inside but was quickly restrained by a sudden pang that had burst through his torso, causing him to double over. He was then restricted to that slow, trudging pace he took on the way here, but he realized slow and trudging was ideal for sneaking around the various shrubbery that was planted here. The only real noises he could sense himself making were his seething breath, his shoes against the grass, and his stomach growling.
Before long he came to a tree he recognized as one that bore fruit, he just couldn't put his mind on which one. There was one problem though, and that was it didn't take a close inspection to notice it didn't have fruit. In a rather unique experience, it was hunger that would send a small wave over his slowly-cracking emotional levees.
"Why're you doing this to me!?" Damien growled tearfully (in an almost feline tone of voice) as kicked the fruitless tree. Apparently, the people running this twisted game had made sure to take care of that before sending him here. Maybe that was originally supoosed to help him snap, but the only snapping there was was Damien's foot toward the bark. It impacted with a recognizable crack that sent a lightning bolt of pain up his leg, causing him to drop to the ground and cling to his injured foot in pain.
The bigger problem was, and this he realized, was that a leather-shoe-clad foot hitting bark with the (lack of) magnitude it did was not supposed to result in a crack that sounded like that made when something impacted into a human skull, and even though that was barely audible above his foot hitting the trunk it was still recognizable given he'd had first-hand experience with that sort of thing nary a few weeks ago. Something was going on over there, and he felt a rather unnatural curiosity to go over there and check it out rather than just leave.
Damien slowly...slowly...got up to a crouching position and started moving toward what he suspected was the source of the crack. He winced every time he had to make a step using his injured foot, with extras every time his body echoed. He briefly dove prone when he saw much of the upper half of a girl running past the plants just ahead of him, toward the source of the conversation, which consisted of a rather neat-looking brown-haired figure, confronted by a male (thankfully) red-head. The force of his body landing on the ground with his backpack on top sent another shock up his injured leg, and caused him to exhale rather abruptly from the weight and wince respectively, but it wasn't much more fuel for the fire that ravaged his insides.
He could start to hear one of them speaking as he got closer to the conversation, which followed yet another skull-cracking sound that had him freeze in place for a few seconds.
"I always knew you were a bully..." and Damien couldn't quite get the name that followed though he could catch a "V" in there somewhere, causing him to sneak closer. "I always knew you'd just jump at the chance to pick on someone younger and weaker than you for the sake of fulfilling your own self-image, or lack thereof."
Wow...there's something I can relate to. It also started to trigger something Damien could really feel inside of him. He couldn't put his mental finger on it at the moment, but it was currently somewhere along a mildly potent mix of anger and fear, a lot less potent than what he felt as he left the pagoda. His backpack started to get heavier.
"I knew you could never resist a good power trip, whether it be with the people you despise, strangers, or your so-called friends, it's all the same. You step on people to create that illusion of power and confidence." the voice continued.
Tell like it is, brother. he thought with a winced smirk as he continued to mentally piece together exactly what and who was involved in this conversation. The brown-haired boy's clothes were different from that of a Gilroy uniform, but that didn't discount any possibilities that he...might be...
No.
Damien put that thought on brief hold as curiosity and fear drove him to slither toward the plants nearest the fight. The jolts of the impact with the ground had considerably slowed his pace, and subsequently accelerated his anxiety. He managed to get a view of the figures from the gap underneath the thickly-grown plants nearby.
"But I never knew...I never would have thought that even a person like you would sink to such a level as to attempt murder."
Damien was now all ears at the conversation now mere feet away from him, and all wide-eyes from his rather limited view from under the rather thick, concealing plants he was hiding behind. For some reason, he quickly figured he knew exactly what the voice on the other end was talking about. More importantly, Damien now believed he knew WHO that person was, especially when one of the people in the area he recognized as wearing a Gilroy uniform, on the ground, being tended to by a girl he didn't recognize from his alma mater. But suspicions of who else was on the island apart from the Gilroyals took a distant second to his suspicions as to who was probably being confronted on the other end of the shrubbery. It was encouraging in the least that someone else had decided to take action against that person while he was still alive, and at the same time slightly disappointing that he might not get the chance to strike that fatal blow. Or would he?
The only piddance of a doubt he had was that word "attempt." As far as he knew, the guy he believed was being given the verbal berating had left him to die. Maybe he'd had second thoughts. Too late for that now.
Damien couldn't keep his emotions inside any longer. His backpack felt like that person was pinning him to the ground with his foot. His leg felt like a lightning rod atop the Sears Tower in the middle of a storm. His stomach? Rumbling like an earthquake. He could hear himself seething, though not conspicuously loud.
Another small wave lashed over the top of the levee, cracking it a bit.
"Marvin?!" he softly exclaimed, before quickly slapping one hand over his mouth, the other clutching the handle of his "shield" tight as it would a rope hanging over a 500 foot drop.
FUCK.
Any way he looked at it, there was no denying that Boy #6 Damien Carter-Madison was on a massive comedown, and boy did it stick.
After receiving what he could recall was actually the first real direct threat on his life, from a girl that had directly saved his more than once (of all people), Damien found himself actually leaving the Pagoda in a state of natural high. He knew who his enemies were and friends weren't, and kept them on a rather handy list he could access at any time. He made it clear that he was not going to escape the game alive, but not before he took everyone whose names he'd jutted down in his little blue notebook with him. He even tried filling his mind with the many ways he could he could get creative on offense with that cheap little shield of his, though the only one that he hadn't completely forgotten at the moment was a variant of what street-gangs called curb stomping.
But like any high used to take a person's mind off his dire condition, it was great while it lasted, and it wasn't nearly as long as the relatively short sojourn to the town Damien spotted in the distance as he descended the pagoda's hill.
He had shed his olive-green Gilroy sweater-vest on the way into town in some desperate attempt to stave off the day's last attempt to stay warm and its effects on his already injured body, and that didn't seem to be damn near enough. The heat that evening brought had quickly reminded him of the effect it would have on his still-trying-to-heal bruises, and it was certainly not that of healing. Even unbuttoning and un-tucking his dress-shirt didn't help, any shred of common sense preventing him from taking it off so as not to get dreadfully sunburned, attract insects, and other detrimental effects to add onto his condition that he probably wasn't considering thanks to his injuries taking top priority. His injuries and the smell of his sweat on the way here would attract enough predators as it was. His lighter-than-most backpack and shield felt heavy as knight's armor, and the deep-red 6 tattooed on the backpack was as good a target as a bullseye. On top of all that, Damien hadn't eaten in hours if not days, those supplies probably being wolfishly consumed by the kid on top of his brand-new deathlist as he spoke.
So...he recapped...I'm cold, hungry, alone and relatively unarmed among killers and psychos, sad and crying (which was expected), lost, and my internal wounds are probably shutting off my internal organs as I speak. At least they'll find my body with some color to it other than purple and red. Hell, my disheveled shirt actually makes me look kinda macho with all the blood.
That's right. You go on and think that.
You again!?
Yep. Whatever happened to that smiling psycho that left the Pagoda?
He got hungry for something else. You here to command me to turn these stones into bread or just to rub it in?
I figured you for smart, Damey, not a smartass. But insults aside, opportunity awaits in the big city!
What the hell do you mean by that?
Damien really wondered what that rather prominent voice in his head meant as he found himself at ((one of?)) the gates of what appeared to be a rather pristine botanical garden. One that promised various forms of flora, including flowers and trees. And quite possibly, trees that bore fruit.
Without any further hesitation and "shield" in hand, Damien's body moved to dash inside but was quickly restrained by a sudden pang that had burst through his torso, causing him to double over. He was then restricted to that slow, trudging pace he took on the way here, but he realized slow and trudging was ideal for sneaking around the various shrubbery that was planted here. The only real noises he could sense himself making were his seething breath, his shoes against the grass, and his stomach growling.
Before long he came to a tree he recognized as one that bore fruit, he just couldn't put his mind on which one. There was one problem though, and that was it didn't take a close inspection to notice it didn't have fruit. In a rather unique experience, it was hunger that would send a small wave over his slowly-cracking emotional levees.
"Why're you doing this to me!?" Damien growled tearfully (in an almost feline tone of voice) as kicked the fruitless tree. Apparently, the people running this twisted game had made sure to take care of that before sending him here. Maybe that was originally supoosed to help him snap, but the only snapping there was was Damien's foot toward the bark. It impacted with a recognizable crack that sent a lightning bolt of pain up his leg, causing him to drop to the ground and cling to his injured foot in pain.
The bigger problem was, and this he realized, was that a leather-shoe-clad foot hitting bark with the (lack of) magnitude it did was not supposed to result in a crack that sounded like that made when something impacted into a human skull, and even though that was barely audible above his foot hitting the trunk it was still recognizable given he'd had first-hand experience with that sort of thing nary a few weeks ago. Something was going on over there, and he felt a rather unnatural curiosity to go over there and check it out rather than just leave.
Damien slowly...slowly...got up to a crouching position and started moving toward what he suspected was the source of the crack. He winced every time he had to make a step using his injured foot, with extras every time his body echoed. He briefly dove prone when he saw much of the upper half of a girl running past the plants just ahead of him, toward the source of the conversation, which consisted of a rather neat-looking brown-haired figure, confronted by a male (thankfully) red-head. The force of his body landing on the ground with his backpack on top sent another shock up his injured leg, and caused him to exhale rather abruptly from the weight and wince respectively, but it wasn't much more fuel for the fire that ravaged his insides.
He could start to hear one of them speaking as he got closer to the conversation, which followed yet another skull-cracking sound that had him freeze in place for a few seconds.
"I always knew you were a bully..." and Damien couldn't quite get the name that followed though he could catch a "V" in there somewhere, causing him to sneak closer. "I always knew you'd just jump at the chance to pick on someone younger and weaker than you for the sake of fulfilling your own self-image, or lack thereof."
Wow...there's something I can relate to. It also started to trigger something Damien could really feel inside of him. He couldn't put his mental finger on it at the moment, but it was currently somewhere along a mildly potent mix of anger and fear, a lot less potent than what he felt as he left the pagoda. His backpack started to get heavier.
"I knew you could never resist a good power trip, whether it be with the people you despise, strangers, or your so-called friends, it's all the same. You step on people to create that illusion of power and confidence." the voice continued.
Tell like it is, brother. he thought with a winced smirk as he continued to mentally piece together exactly what and who was involved in this conversation. The brown-haired boy's clothes were different from that of a Gilroy uniform, but that didn't discount any possibilities that he...might be...
No.
Damien put that thought on brief hold as curiosity and fear drove him to slither toward the plants nearest the fight. The jolts of the impact with the ground had considerably slowed his pace, and subsequently accelerated his anxiety. He managed to get a view of the figures from the gap underneath the thickly-grown plants nearby.
"But I never knew...I never would have thought that even a person like you would sink to such a level as to attempt murder."
Damien was now all ears at the conversation now mere feet away from him, and all wide-eyes from his rather limited view from under the rather thick, concealing plants he was hiding behind. For some reason, he quickly figured he knew exactly what the voice on the other end was talking about. More importantly, Damien now believed he knew WHO that person was, especially when one of the people in the area he recognized as wearing a Gilroy uniform, on the ground, being tended to by a girl he didn't recognize from his alma mater. But suspicions of who else was on the island apart from the Gilroyals took a distant second to his suspicions as to who was probably being confronted on the other end of the shrubbery. It was encouraging in the least that someone else had decided to take action against that person while he was still alive, and at the same time slightly disappointing that he might not get the chance to strike that fatal blow. Or would he?
The only piddance of a doubt he had was that word "attempt." As far as he knew, the guy he believed was being given the verbal berating had left him to die. Maybe he'd had second thoughts. Too late for that now.
Damien couldn't keep his emotions inside any longer. His backpack felt like that person was pinning him to the ground with his foot. His leg felt like a lightning rod atop the Sears Tower in the middle of a storm. His stomach? Rumbling like an earthquake. He could hear himself seething, though not conspicuously loud.
Another small wave lashed over the top of the levee, cracking it a bit.
"Marvin?!" he softly exclaimed, before quickly slapping one hand over his mouth, the other clutching the handle of his "shield" tight as it would a rope hanging over a 500 foot drop.
FUCK.
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In the moments between hearing the sounds of running feet thundering in his ears, and witnessing the kick come quickly into contact with the other male's head – Eli had been thrown into a state of near unconsciousness, as it seemed the harder he tried to struggle against the bigger boy, the harder the hands closed about his throat.
Such so, the hand holding the rounded-up barbed wire had all but gone limp, as had his legs as the kicking subsided, having grown tried quickly from the lack of oxygen he body was receiving. The slow wheezes growing even slower as a darkening haze was starting to glaze over his eyes, face taking on a sickly shade of bluish-white.
Though as the pain was starting to fade away along with all sense of everything else around him, a sharp sound raced through his mind – vision focusing least long enough to witness the kick hit it's target sharply, sending the said boy reeling across the pathway, a large gasp of air escaping Elias as he slowly began to regain his breathing, his lungs – everything felt as if it was burning, his heart pounding loudly in his head, as he tried to regain control of his breathing in of large gasps of air.
Quickly being reminded that moving away from this scene would probably be in his best interest, least he want to be receiving end of someone's anger again though by the looks of it as he slowly began to sit up told him the boy that had attacked him, who by what the other boy that had pretty much just saved his life had called him, was named Eric.
By the looks of it, they didn't seem to be on the best of terms, and recent events probably weren't the cause of it – not it seemed to stem much further than that just by the looks, and spoken words and how quickly Eric was to lash out at this Kovalenko boy, though the other seemed to have seen something like this happening as he easily side-stepped out of the other's charge, muttering more words toward the already enraged other; Elias wondering somewhere in the back of his head if this was the best of things to do.
Lost in watching the new fight that was somewhat taking place Elias almost missed the question asked by the young woman that had come up on his side, hazel eyes turning on her ever so lightly as her simple words reminded him as too how much his whole body was hurting. It hurt his throat every time he took a breath, the stinging of his right hand was almost overbearing, though slightly he smiled toward blonde haired girl.
"I – I've been better." He said somewhat weakly, moving to cradle his injured hand close to his form to a degree.
"Been a lot fucking better in all matters..."
He truly hadn't meant to curse, but the pain was blocking out any sense of properness that his mother and father had taught into growing up, though glancing toward the girl once more and then toward that Eric character, he blinked slightly... "I'm guessing... you know him?"
An awkward question, but he hadn't the foggiest as to who these where, or where they might be from – though one could call it a blessing, or perhaps a curse in his case, that Gilroy didn't seem to be the only school that had been sent to this island...
Though sitting there he couldn't help but glance off when the called name echoed through the air, Elias wondering who in their right mind would be screaming at a time such as this...
And idiot no doubt, though that accusation would be saved for another time and place.
The most important thing at the moment would be getting as far away from here as possible, that idea currently ranked number one of smart things to do before you're the victim of some crazy decided to play into this... this game.
Such so, the hand holding the rounded-up barbed wire had all but gone limp, as had his legs as the kicking subsided, having grown tried quickly from the lack of oxygen he body was receiving. The slow wheezes growing even slower as a darkening haze was starting to glaze over his eyes, face taking on a sickly shade of bluish-white.
Though as the pain was starting to fade away along with all sense of everything else around him, a sharp sound raced through his mind – vision focusing least long enough to witness the kick hit it's target sharply, sending the said boy reeling across the pathway, a large gasp of air escaping Elias as he slowly began to regain his breathing, his lungs – everything felt as if it was burning, his heart pounding loudly in his head, as he tried to regain control of his breathing in of large gasps of air.
Quickly being reminded that moving away from this scene would probably be in his best interest, least he want to be receiving end of someone's anger again though by the looks of it as he slowly began to sit up told him the boy that had attacked him, who by what the other boy that had pretty much just saved his life had called him, was named Eric.
By the looks of it, they didn't seem to be on the best of terms, and recent events probably weren't the cause of it – not it seemed to stem much further than that just by the looks, and spoken words and how quickly Eric was to lash out at this Kovalenko boy, though the other seemed to have seen something like this happening as he easily side-stepped out of the other's charge, muttering more words toward the already enraged other; Elias wondering somewhere in the back of his head if this was the best of things to do.
Lost in watching the new fight that was somewhat taking place Elias almost missed the question asked by the young woman that had come up on his side, hazel eyes turning on her ever so lightly as her simple words reminded him as too how much his whole body was hurting. It hurt his throat every time he took a breath, the stinging of his right hand was almost overbearing, though slightly he smiled toward blonde haired girl.
"I – I've been better." He said somewhat weakly, moving to cradle his injured hand close to his form to a degree.
"Been a lot fucking better in all matters..."
He truly hadn't meant to curse, but the pain was blocking out any sense of properness that his mother and father had taught into growing up, though glancing toward the girl once more and then toward that Eric character, he blinked slightly... "I'm guessing... you know him?"
An awkward question, but he hadn't the foggiest as to who these where, or where they might be from – though one could call it a blessing, or perhaps a curse in his case, that Gilroy didn't seem to be the only school that had been sent to this island...
Though sitting there he couldn't help but glance off when the called name echoed through the air, Elias wondering who in their right mind would be screaming at a time such as this...
And idiot no doubt, though that accusation would be saved for another time and place.
The most important thing at the moment would be getting as far away from here as possible, that idea currently ranked number one of smart things to do before you're the victim of some crazy decided to play into this... this game.
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Matthias's abrupt sidestep caused Eric to stumble forward in his lunge, the redheaded boy barely managing to skid to a halt instead of doing a complete faceplant. In one fell swoop, Eric had once again turned to face the shorter boy, the look of pure malice never once evaporating from his features. It was then that for just an instant, Eric was completely taken aback. Matthias began speaking, not in a harsh and raving manner like Eric had done moments prior... but cold, calculated words that cut Eric to the core.
Instead of snapping back in retaliation, a cruel smile formed on Eric's features, as though Matthias's words had no effect on him at all. In a way, they didn't. After those first few hurtful words spouted out from that loud mouth, Eric had all but gone numb to them. Instead, all he saw was Matthias Kovalenko, ever flaunting his seemingly perfect existence in front of him. Matthias Kovalenko, surrounded by friends, trying to be some kind of hero. Matthias Kovalenko, trying to bring Eric Silvstedt down. It wasn't going to happen.
"Such hurtful things you say, Matthias," Eric replied mockingly, "And here, I thought we were pals."
Eric's tongue ran across his lips, an almost amused expression overtaking his features. While Matthias's words had, in fact, ran quite deep, the fact remained that all the Kovalenko boy was doing, in Eric's eyes, was putting the proverbial icing on the cake. Even if he didn't know it, Matthias was only solifidying Eric's unrivaled hatred for him. Instead of lunging at him in a rage, Eric simply stood there, the mocking smile plastered on his face, almost as though he were taunting Matthias.
"You shouldn't have interfered, you know. It was none of your business. Here's the thing, Kovalenko. You're out here trying to play hero... trying to save everybody, or whatever it is that you're doing. You can't save everyone. While you're here trying to play power ranger and save this worthless sack of shit's life, what's happening to your guard dog?"
Eric was, of course, referring to Jodeen Kovalenko. He'd taken to referring to the younger girl as Matthias's guard dog after she had, in essence, helped to break up the fight between the two of them at Benson's that fateful afternoon. Ever since, he'd been writhing at the chance to get back at Matthias, but Jodeen had always seemed to be in the way, always standing up for Matthias. In that sense, Eric knew which buttons to push with the darkheaded boy standing in front of him.
"While you're standing around jacking off, somebody might be out there hurting her... killing her... raping her. This game, Kovalenko, it does things to people," as he uttered the last remark, a twisted grin contorted his features once again, "You of all people should know that. What if some 'bully' like me is out there taking full advantage of her?"
Two could play mindgames, Eric surmised. His thoughts were detoured in an instant when the utterance of the name "Marvin!" yelped out from the nearby foliage. His eyebrows raised with mild curiosity, but the annoyance of being interrupted by some onlooker in the bushes was quite apparent.
"Looks like we've got an audience," he muttered toward Matthias, all the while stepping closer toward the darkheaded boy, quickly closing the distance between them.
~~~
Whitney, having received a rather obvious response from the injured boy to her rather obvious question, frowned slightly. A sympathetic smile formed across her features as the younger boy choked out another remark, this time inquiring as to whether or not Whitney was acquainted with his would-be killer.
"I... well... you could say that," she responded quietly, "Though we aren't exactly on the best of terms."
The blonde-headed girl could only imagine that the younger student was probably hoping for a more in-depth explanation as to who the psychopath who had just tried to strangle the life out of him was, but now didn't seem like the time nor the place to provide said explanation. Instead, her eyes fixated themselves on Matthias and Eric, who were verbally assaulting one another. This verbal assault could only lead to a physical altercation, and things certainly seemed to be turning out that way.
The loud screech that echoed from the nearby bushes caused Whitney to jump visibly, her eyes quickly taking themselves away from Eric and Matthias and focusing instead on the nearby bush in which someone had so obviously been hiding. Eric seemed to pay it no heed, nor did the boy she was currently knelt beside, but Whitney's eyes remained on the bush.
What if that's another one that's playing?
Although it was doubtful at this point, given the other individual's complete lack of stealth in the situation, it was still a possibility. Perhaps he was just letting them know he'd been watching before he mowed them all down? Then again, why bother attracting attention to himself at all? Her eyes trained themselves on the nearby bush, she watching intently in the hopes that some deranged lunatic with a machete wouldn't pop out.
In a way, she was glad that, if only for the moment, the brawl that was sure to ensue had ceased, although not for long. Part of her was tempted to simply grab this new boy and Matthias and drag all three of them out of harm's way, but she wasn't physically able. For the first time in her entire life, Whitney Acosta felt completely helpless, and it was a cold and bitter feeling that she didn't like in the slightest. The nervousness and tension continued to well in the pit of her stomach as her eyes darted back and forth from the bush to the boys, to her new companion, and back again.
Instead of snapping back in retaliation, a cruel smile formed on Eric's features, as though Matthias's words had no effect on him at all. In a way, they didn't. After those first few hurtful words spouted out from that loud mouth, Eric had all but gone numb to them. Instead, all he saw was Matthias Kovalenko, ever flaunting his seemingly perfect existence in front of him. Matthias Kovalenko, surrounded by friends, trying to be some kind of hero. Matthias Kovalenko, trying to bring Eric Silvstedt down. It wasn't going to happen.
"Such hurtful things you say, Matthias," Eric replied mockingly, "And here, I thought we were pals."
Eric's tongue ran across his lips, an almost amused expression overtaking his features. While Matthias's words had, in fact, ran quite deep, the fact remained that all the Kovalenko boy was doing, in Eric's eyes, was putting the proverbial icing on the cake. Even if he didn't know it, Matthias was only solifidying Eric's unrivaled hatred for him. Instead of lunging at him in a rage, Eric simply stood there, the mocking smile plastered on his face, almost as though he were taunting Matthias.
"You shouldn't have interfered, you know. It was none of your business. Here's the thing, Kovalenko. You're out here trying to play hero... trying to save everybody, or whatever it is that you're doing. You can't save everyone. While you're here trying to play power ranger and save this worthless sack of shit's life, what's happening to your guard dog?"
Eric was, of course, referring to Jodeen Kovalenko. He'd taken to referring to the younger girl as Matthias's guard dog after she had, in essence, helped to break up the fight between the two of them at Benson's that fateful afternoon. Ever since, he'd been writhing at the chance to get back at Matthias, but Jodeen had always seemed to be in the way, always standing up for Matthias. In that sense, Eric knew which buttons to push with the darkheaded boy standing in front of him.
"While you're standing around jacking off, somebody might be out there hurting her... killing her... raping her. This game, Kovalenko, it does things to people," as he uttered the last remark, a twisted grin contorted his features once again, "You of all people should know that. What if some 'bully' like me is out there taking full advantage of her?"
Two could play mindgames, Eric surmised. His thoughts were detoured in an instant when the utterance of the name "Marvin!" yelped out from the nearby foliage. His eyebrows raised with mild curiosity, but the annoyance of being interrupted by some onlooker in the bushes was quite apparent.
"Looks like we've got an audience," he muttered toward Matthias, all the while stepping closer toward the darkheaded boy, quickly closing the distance between them.
~~~
Whitney, having received a rather obvious response from the injured boy to her rather obvious question, frowned slightly. A sympathetic smile formed across her features as the younger boy choked out another remark, this time inquiring as to whether or not Whitney was acquainted with his would-be killer.
"I... well... you could say that," she responded quietly, "Though we aren't exactly on the best of terms."
The blonde-headed girl could only imagine that the younger student was probably hoping for a more in-depth explanation as to who the psychopath who had just tried to strangle the life out of him was, but now didn't seem like the time nor the place to provide said explanation. Instead, her eyes fixated themselves on Matthias and Eric, who were verbally assaulting one another. This verbal assault could only lead to a physical altercation, and things certainly seemed to be turning out that way.
The loud screech that echoed from the nearby bushes caused Whitney to jump visibly, her eyes quickly taking themselves away from Eric and Matthias and focusing instead on the nearby bush in which someone had so obviously been hiding. Eric seemed to pay it no heed, nor did the boy she was currently knelt beside, but Whitney's eyes remained on the bush.
What if that's another one that's playing?
Although it was doubtful at this point, given the other individual's complete lack of stealth in the situation, it was still a possibility. Perhaps he was just letting them know he'd been watching before he mowed them all down? Then again, why bother attracting attention to himself at all? Her eyes trained themselves on the nearby bush, she watching intently in the hopes that some deranged lunatic with a machete wouldn't pop out.
In a way, she was glad that, if only for the moment, the brawl that was sure to ensue had ceased, although not for long. Part of her was tempted to simply grab this new boy and Matthias and drag all three of them out of harm's way, but she wasn't physically able. For the first time in her entire life, Whitney Acosta felt completely helpless, and it was a cold and bitter feeling that she didn't like in the slightest. The nervousness and tension continued to well in the pit of her stomach as her eyes darted back and forth from the bush to the boys, to her new companion, and back again.
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LadyMakaze†
- Posts: 475
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:48 pm
As his dark eyes locked against Eric's spiteful ones, Matthias felt a sudden surge of apprehension as began to anticipate Eric's next move. Matthias had fought him before, and for that, Matthias knew perfectly well that using cowardly tricks and tactics in a fistfight was in no way beneath a person like Eric Silvstedt, particularly when under the the influence of his own uncontrollable rage. There was no knowing what he would do, how far he would go, or rather, at what length would he ever relent while immersed in such anger.
Whatever reason Eric had to hold so much hatred and animosity towards him was something that Matthias never fully understood. Ever since the fateful event that had put the two boys on near permanant odds, Matthias had always done everything in his power to push it out of his mind, to forget all that had happened between Eric and himself. Though he had the remnants of the event to deal with, the loss of his saxophone and the shame he felt thereafter, he was determined to push it aside, until it faded into nothing more than a memory to sigh upon and shake his head before moving on with his daily life. But Eric...it was as though Eric Silvstedt ran on his grudge against Matthias Kovalenko. What Matthias tried to dismiss as a petty fistfight that cost him a small part of his pride was something that seemed to fuel the rage and hatred Eric held against him. It was something that the other boy wasn't about to forget...whether he was unable to forget, or simply unwilling.
It was something that Matthias could never understand for the life of him, and though he was never one to hold a grudge, and was inclined to show a good disposition towards everyone around him, there was nothing that could be done to compel Matthias to feel any sort of empathy or understanding towards Eric Silvstedt. Pity, maybe. But not empathy. All that was there was contempt and the indignation of having been wronged in the past, but it was enough to prevent Matthias from calling any sort of human compassion to his aid right now.
He retained his cold and emotionless demeanor as Eric responded with only a cruel and taunting smile. Listening to the words that the other boy spoke now, dripping with sarcasm and venom, Matthias could not help but scowl slightly, wondering just why Eric was even bothering this little game of words. Unlike Matthias, who had simply wanted to deliver a clear point, (though he had to admit that his words were somewhat harsh)it was clear that the redheaded boy, full of nothing but spite and malice, was simply trying to mock him, taunt him, as though making an attempt to goad Matthias into taking impulsive action. Trust someone like Silvstedt to resort to such a tactic.
But what irritated Matthias the most was that Silvstedt's words were affecting him, instilling a sense of indignation and even anger that Matthias never knew existed. Dark eyes narrowed as his scowl ran deeper, reflecting the patience and resolve that was gradually wearing thin with Eric's every word.
None of my business? To hell with whoever says it isn't my business. Excuse me, good sir, but you just tried to kill someone. I just stepped in and pretty much became the only thing that stopped that kid from dying by your hands...and you call that trying to play the hero? Guess what, Silvstedt, sorry for being such a difficulty, but I beg to differ. "Playing the Hero?" I'd rather call it just plain old fucking common sense.
As a rule of thumb, Matthias knew that to give in was to lose, and Matthias wasn't about to let himself surrender to the influence of Eric's taunts and mocking words and lose his own control. No, that was what Eric wanted, and that was what would lead to Matthias' defeat, and the loss of his dignity...and possibly even his life. However, even with the thought of Whitney's well being, as well as that of the other boy he had just saved, as well as the sudden newcomer that had walked into the scene, there was only one thing that could distract Matthias from his hold over his own impulses. Simply the mere aggravating part was the fact at just how much Eric's words stung at him, pecking more at what pride Matthias had left, belittling him and undermining his sense of self-worth. It was irritating, and though Matthias would have liked to do nothing more than make Eric swallow his words, he resisted, taking comfort in the fact that he would be the better man for simply taking it all and making no reaction.
However, the decisive blow came shortly after Eric's next words.
"While you're here trying to play power ranger and save this worthless sack of shit's life, what's happening to your guard dog?"
Only a mere second was spent in confusion before Matthias suddenly flinched, hit hard by the realization of it all. And in the instant that followed, a single thought...and single person...a single word and name ran through his mind.
Jo...
Of course, like the fool he was, focusing entirely on Whitney first and now Eric Silvstedt, he had forgotten all about the very person most dear to him, the very person he'd sworn to protect and look after ever since he'd realized how important she was to him. Jodeen...she was on the island too, and a part of this killing game. She was trapped just as Matthias was, and for all he knew, Jodeen could be alone and even scared by now...or even hurt, or worse.
The very possibility of it was enough to throw Matthias completely off guard, erasing his cold mask of emotionless contempt, destroying his fascade of perfect self control. In the next moment that followed there was nothing to protect Matthias against the next words that came from Eric's mouth.
"While you're standing around jacking off, somebody might be out there hurting her... killing her... raping her. This game, Kovalenko, it does things to people, you of all people should know that. What if some 'bully' like me is out there taking full advantage of her?"
His words hit Matthias with an impact like no other he had felt before, sending him into a state of stunned silence as the dark-headed boy flinched again and stepped back slightly. It was then that Matthias felt his blood run ice cold as his mind began to register exactly what Eric was telling him, which, in spite of the intention behind such words, was simply the plain yet painful truth.
The first time Matthias had abandoned Jodeen, something terrible nearly happened to her. She had been only a small nine-year-old at the time, young and helpless, and even as she sought protection and company from the very person she knew and trusted at the time, Matthias had brushed it off as a way of begging for attention and making his life tiresome with her complaints. And the moment she was left alone...someone else, a complete stranger had seen fit to take advantage of her. Thank God it never happened.
And now Jodeen was alone again, for Matthias had been fool enough to let himself be occupied with the likes of Eric Silvstedt, and while Matthias was taking everything Eric had to sling at him, Jodeen could be injured...or suffering...or perhaps already dead. And to think it took the words of Eric Silvstedt to finally bring Matthias to his senses.
But the very thought of it...the very possibility of it all was enough to send tremors through Matthias' resolve. In his mind was the sight of his younger sister, dead, perhaps shot through the forehead like Helena van Garrett of SOTF version one...or even brutally stabbed to death, or beaten, or drowned. There was even the possibility of her ending up like that other girl, who had been raped and then killed at the whim of a complete stranger. Just the very speculation that Eric was making of what might be happening to Jodeen right now was enough to send Matthias beyond the edge of his own self-control.
Lost in sudden silence in the recesses of his own thoughts, Matthias looked up, almost started even to see Eric Silvstedt approaching him...brazenly, threateningly. The words of the redheaded baseball player were still fresh in the mind of Matthias, who suddenly recalled something that had been said before by Eric Silvstedt yet again, in reference to the sister whose life and safety Matthias now feared for.
"You gotta have a little kid stand up for you. You think I wouldn't put her down, too?"
At the wake of a sudden loss of self-control and temper that he had never experienced before, Matthias suddenly felt his body move on his own, suddenly lunging towards Eric with outstretched arms. One hand was shoved toward the other boy's mouth to prevent any further onslaught of stinging words, the other hand was clawing towards the upper part of Eric's face, nails struggling to find flesh.
And all the while, Matthias barely heard himself uttering in a low growl. "You.... shut your mouth! Just shut up! You think you can talk about what you don't know? You don't know anything, so just shut up!" He accented his words with a sudden shove of surprising brutality to make his point, now unaware of any sort of honour code and unable to call compassion and benevolence to his aid.
He was blind, now driven beyond a limit to his patience and temper that he had never known existed until now, for if he had known of it earlier, shame and humility would have allowed him to bear the slings and stones of all the insults in the world with self control and silence.
Whatever reason Eric had to hold so much hatred and animosity towards him was something that Matthias never fully understood. Ever since the fateful event that had put the two boys on near permanant odds, Matthias had always done everything in his power to push it out of his mind, to forget all that had happened between Eric and himself. Though he had the remnants of the event to deal with, the loss of his saxophone and the shame he felt thereafter, he was determined to push it aside, until it faded into nothing more than a memory to sigh upon and shake his head before moving on with his daily life. But Eric...it was as though Eric Silvstedt ran on his grudge against Matthias Kovalenko. What Matthias tried to dismiss as a petty fistfight that cost him a small part of his pride was something that seemed to fuel the rage and hatred Eric held against him. It was something that the other boy wasn't about to forget...whether he was unable to forget, or simply unwilling.
It was something that Matthias could never understand for the life of him, and though he was never one to hold a grudge, and was inclined to show a good disposition towards everyone around him, there was nothing that could be done to compel Matthias to feel any sort of empathy or understanding towards Eric Silvstedt. Pity, maybe. But not empathy. All that was there was contempt and the indignation of having been wronged in the past, but it was enough to prevent Matthias from calling any sort of human compassion to his aid right now.
He retained his cold and emotionless demeanor as Eric responded with only a cruel and taunting smile. Listening to the words that the other boy spoke now, dripping with sarcasm and venom, Matthias could not help but scowl slightly, wondering just why Eric was even bothering this little game of words. Unlike Matthias, who had simply wanted to deliver a clear point, (though he had to admit that his words were somewhat harsh)it was clear that the redheaded boy, full of nothing but spite and malice, was simply trying to mock him, taunt him, as though making an attempt to goad Matthias into taking impulsive action. Trust someone like Silvstedt to resort to such a tactic.
But what irritated Matthias the most was that Silvstedt's words were affecting him, instilling a sense of indignation and even anger that Matthias never knew existed. Dark eyes narrowed as his scowl ran deeper, reflecting the patience and resolve that was gradually wearing thin with Eric's every word.
None of my business? To hell with whoever says it isn't my business. Excuse me, good sir, but you just tried to kill someone. I just stepped in and pretty much became the only thing that stopped that kid from dying by your hands...and you call that trying to play the hero? Guess what, Silvstedt, sorry for being such a difficulty, but I beg to differ. "Playing the Hero?" I'd rather call it just plain old fucking common sense.
As a rule of thumb, Matthias knew that to give in was to lose, and Matthias wasn't about to let himself surrender to the influence of Eric's taunts and mocking words and lose his own control. No, that was what Eric wanted, and that was what would lead to Matthias' defeat, and the loss of his dignity...and possibly even his life. However, even with the thought of Whitney's well being, as well as that of the other boy he had just saved, as well as the sudden newcomer that had walked into the scene, there was only one thing that could distract Matthias from his hold over his own impulses. Simply the mere aggravating part was the fact at just how much Eric's words stung at him, pecking more at what pride Matthias had left, belittling him and undermining his sense of self-worth. It was irritating, and though Matthias would have liked to do nothing more than make Eric swallow his words, he resisted, taking comfort in the fact that he would be the better man for simply taking it all and making no reaction.
However, the decisive blow came shortly after Eric's next words.
"While you're here trying to play power ranger and save this worthless sack of shit's life, what's happening to your guard dog?"
Only a mere second was spent in confusion before Matthias suddenly flinched, hit hard by the realization of it all. And in the instant that followed, a single thought...and single person...a single word and name ran through his mind.
Jo...
Of course, like the fool he was, focusing entirely on Whitney first and now Eric Silvstedt, he had forgotten all about the very person most dear to him, the very person he'd sworn to protect and look after ever since he'd realized how important she was to him. Jodeen...she was on the island too, and a part of this killing game. She was trapped just as Matthias was, and for all he knew, Jodeen could be alone and even scared by now...or even hurt, or worse.
The very possibility of it was enough to throw Matthias completely off guard, erasing his cold mask of emotionless contempt, destroying his fascade of perfect self control. In the next moment that followed there was nothing to protect Matthias against the next words that came from Eric's mouth.
"While you're standing around jacking off, somebody might be out there hurting her... killing her... raping her. This game, Kovalenko, it does things to people, you of all people should know that. What if some 'bully' like me is out there taking full advantage of her?"
His words hit Matthias with an impact like no other he had felt before, sending him into a state of stunned silence as the dark-headed boy flinched again and stepped back slightly. It was then that Matthias felt his blood run ice cold as his mind began to register exactly what Eric was telling him, which, in spite of the intention behind such words, was simply the plain yet painful truth.
The first time Matthias had abandoned Jodeen, something terrible nearly happened to her. She had been only a small nine-year-old at the time, young and helpless, and even as she sought protection and company from the very person she knew and trusted at the time, Matthias had brushed it off as a way of begging for attention and making his life tiresome with her complaints. And the moment she was left alone...someone else, a complete stranger had seen fit to take advantage of her. Thank God it never happened.
And now Jodeen was alone again, for Matthias had been fool enough to let himself be occupied with the likes of Eric Silvstedt, and while Matthias was taking everything Eric had to sling at him, Jodeen could be injured...or suffering...or perhaps already dead. And to think it took the words of Eric Silvstedt to finally bring Matthias to his senses.
But the very thought of it...the very possibility of it all was enough to send tremors through Matthias' resolve. In his mind was the sight of his younger sister, dead, perhaps shot through the forehead like Helena van Garrett of SOTF version one...or even brutally stabbed to death, or beaten, or drowned. There was even the possibility of her ending up like that other girl, who had been raped and then killed at the whim of a complete stranger. Just the very speculation that Eric was making of what might be happening to Jodeen right now was enough to send Matthias beyond the edge of his own self-control.
Lost in sudden silence in the recesses of his own thoughts, Matthias looked up, almost started even to see Eric Silvstedt approaching him...brazenly, threateningly. The words of the redheaded baseball player were still fresh in the mind of Matthias, who suddenly recalled something that had been said before by Eric Silvstedt yet again, in reference to the sister whose life and safety Matthias now feared for.
"You gotta have a little kid stand up for you. You think I wouldn't put her down, too?"
At the wake of a sudden loss of self-control and temper that he had never experienced before, Matthias suddenly felt his body move on his own, suddenly lunging towards Eric with outstretched arms. One hand was shoved toward the other boy's mouth to prevent any further onslaught of stinging words, the other hand was clawing towards the upper part of Eric's face, nails struggling to find flesh.
And all the while, Matthias barely heard himself uttering in a low growl. "You.... shut your mouth! Just shut up! You think you can talk about what you don't know? You don't know anything, so just shut up!" He accented his words with a sudden shove of surprising brutality to make his point, now unaware of any sort of honour code and unable to call compassion and benevolence to his aid.
He was blind, now driven beyond a limit to his patience and temper that he had never known existed until now, for if he had known of it earlier, shame and humility would have allowed him to bear the slings and stones of all the insults in the world with self control and silence.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler LadyMakaze. 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.
Damien could hear the footsteps approaching his cover shrubbery, most likely from "Marvin." Each footstep was measurably no more innocuous than the sound Damien made when his own shoe-clad foot collided with the fruit tree probably no more than a couple of minutes earlier. But as they got closer, it felt like someone dropping light bulbs on the concrete floor of his innards, each burst sprinkling shards of glass around his innards. He sat himself up against the shrubbery and looked straight up. The last thing he might see would be Marvin's sadistically smiling face.
I don't even know what I should say
cause I'm an idiot/a loser, microphone abuser
I analyze every second I exist,
Beatin' on my mind every second with my fists
"Oh God...no..." he whimpered, his stealth abilities having betrayed him the moment he screamed.
And everybody wanna run,
Everybody wanna hide from the gun,
You can take a ride through this life if you want,
But you can't take the edge off the knife...
He clenched his grip on his shield as tight as he could. His fate was near. Getting nearer. Very, very, near. Very unbearably near. He could imagine Marvin snatching him up by his hair before finishing the job he started in the sewers with the utmost veracity. In fact, it would be an end similar to the one he nearly arrived at in that dark vortex. And that would be at the most lenient. Who knew what sort of weapon of mass destruction Marvin had acquired in the time he'd spent on his way here? Who knew exactly what Marvin would be able to do with it?!
And now you want your money back,
But you're denied cause your brains fried from the sack,
And there ain't nothin' i can do,
Cause life is a lesson/You learn it when your through...
Then something clicked in his head that something unusual was going on. It wasn't that Marvin was about to slaughter him and tenderize his corpse like a farm animal. That was his usual, expected, albeit now taken to the extremes required for the game. It wasn't that there were others out for his blood, that's what the game was about. Nor was it fate that put Marvin on the top of the list he'd made earlier and probably wouldn't be able to complete now. These very thoughts were causing Damien to curl up from his sitting position, bringing his knees close to his chest.
I know why you wanna hate me...
What Damien suddenly realized was so unusual that he was being filled not with fear, but with anger. Anger because Marvin had effectively wasted so much of Damien's life by devoting so much of his life to inflicting pain on Damien's to replenish his own. The pain from the bruises and wounds Marvin had bestowed had started to burn like an Iraqi oil well.
I know why you wanna hate me...
Anger that he couldn't do anything about, until now. Damien brought one knee down and clenched the grip on his shield handle as tight as he could.
Now I really know why you wanna hate me...
Anger that now they were the ones so helpless, having been coddled by a system that supported their actions behind their back, reaching all the way to his own mother. Damien brought his shield arm down about his lowered knee. Marvin would probably have reached the bush by now.
'CAUSE HATE IS ALL THAT I HAVE EVER SEEN LATELY!
Click. Before he knew it, Damien was twirling up, his shield arm spiraling outward to take a rage-fueled swipe at Marvin. His arm, though rather short compared to the other kids in the area, could reach clear over the shrubbery and hit his intended target. The edge of the shield was blunt, but if he ended up hitting the arm or the head, he could inflict some rather serious blunt force trauma even at the speed he was moving thanks to its weight.
He would probably miss, most likely because as his target came into view, it turned out that not only was he not Marvin, he had already been intercepted by someone else: the kid that looked like Marvin. And now, he too was in full-view, in all his disheveled, pitiful glory. Especially in front of the kid that was bigger and tougher than Marvin.
Double fuck.
((I'm do not wish to see him die, in either case, looks like Eric's got bigger things to worry about at the moment. If this post may well lead to his death, then please to notify me and I'll edit it. Dzienkuje. And I know, my posts are pitiful. ;.=.;
P.S. You think Elias would recognize Damien from school?))
I don't even know what I should say
cause I'm an idiot/a loser, microphone abuser
I analyze every second I exist,
Beatin' on my mind every second with my fists
"Oh God...no..." he whimpered, his stealth abilities having betrayed him the moment he screamed.
And everybody wanna run,
Everybody wanna hide from the gun,
You can take a ride through this life if you want,
But you can't take the edge off the knife...
He clenched his grip on his shield as tight as he could. His fate was near. Getting nearer. Very, very, near. Very unbearably near. He could imagine Marvin snatching him up by his hair before finishing the job he started in the sewers with the utmost veracity. In fact, it would be an end similar to the one he nearly arrived at in that dark vortex. And that would be at the most lenient. Who knew what sort of weapon of mass destruction Marvin had acquired in the time he'd spent on his way here? Who knew exactly what Marvin would be able to do with it?!
And now you want your money back,
But you're denied cause your brains fried from the sack,
And there ain't nothin' i can do,
Cause life is a lesson/You learn it when your through...
Then something clicked in his head that something unusual was going on. It wasn't that Marvin was about to slaughter him and tenderize his corpse like a farm animal. That was his usual, expected, albeit now taken to the extremes required for the game. It wasn't that there were others out for his blood, that's what the game was about. Nor was it fate that put Marvin on the top of the list he'd made earlier and probably wouldn't be able to complete now. These very thoughts were causing Damien to curl up from his sitting position, bringing his knees close to his chest.
I know why you wanna hate me...
What Damien suddenly realized was so unusual that he was being filled not with fear, but with anger. Anger because Marvin had effectively wasted so much of Damien's life by devoting so much of his life to inflicting pain on Damien's to replenish his own. The pain from the bruises and wounds Marvin had bestowed had started to burn like an Iraqi oil well.
I know why you wanna hate me...
Anger that he couldn't do anything about, until now. Damien brought one knee down and clenched the grip on his shield handle as tight as he could.
Now I really know why you wanna hate me...
Anger that now they were the ones so helpless, having been coddled by a system that supported their actions behind their back, reaching all the way to his own mother. Damien brought his shield arm down about his lowered knee. Marvin would probably have reached the bush by now.
'CAUSE HATE IS ALL THAT I HAVE EVER SEEN LATELY!
Click. Before he knew it, Damien was twirling up, his shield arm spiraling outward to take a rage-fueled swipe at Marvin. His arm, though rather short compared to the other kids in the area, could reach clear over the shrubbery and hit his intended target. The edge of the shield was blunt, but if he ended up hitting the arm or the head, he could inflict some rather serious blunt force trauma even at the speed he was moving thanks to its weight.
He would probably miss, most likely because as his target came into view, it turned out that not only was he not Marvin, he had already been intercepted by someone else: the kid that looked like Marvin. And now, he too was in full-view, in all his disheveled, pitiful glory. Especially in front of the kid that was bigger and tougher than Marvin.
Double fuck.
((I'm do not wish to see him die, in either case, looks like Eric's got bigger things to worry about at the moment. If this post may well lead to his death, then please to notify me and I'll edit it. Dzienkuje. And I know, my posts are pitiful. ;.=.;
P.S. You think Elias would recognize Damien from school?))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler laZardo. 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.