Jackson felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Henry was right. Ariana wouldn’t have abandoned them, not after everything they’d said the day before. He believed in her, and he refused to doubt her. Maybe she just needed some space for a bit? She was a reliable person, so maybe she was scouting out the surrounding area to make sure everything was safe. That sounded like something she’d do. But why go alone? That felt dangerous. Sure, she had her gun, but what if something went wrong? Being alone out here was the worst thing you could do. Jackson was about to agree with Henry’s suggestion to go and find her, but before he could speak the worst possible situation came to fruition.
A gunshot rang out over the quiet of the trees.
Jackson looked at the others with alarm in his eyes.
“Fuck!” He yelled, before grabbing his bag and sprinting in the direction the gunshot came from.
No, he begged in his mind as he raced as fast as his legs would take him. She had to be alright, she just had to! If she got hurt… if anything happened to her because Jackson wasn’t paying enough fucking attention he’d never forgive himself. They promised, dammit! They all promised to protect each other! He rushed through the trees, and burst out into a small clearing. Ariana was nearby ahead of him. Another figure was there too, but all Jackson could focus on was her. She was still okay! Everything was still okay! He had to get to her!
“Ariana!” He screamed, worry and adrenaline clouding his vision as he cleared the treeline and started to run to her aid.
Tragedy of the Commons
Day 3-4, Private.
He looked at Henry and nodded. No point wasting time with words when a single action would do all the same. There was no reason for Ariana to have left without a word, and even less reason for her to have taken all of her stuff with her. Something was clearly up. He could only hope that she hadn’t gotten too far off. He moved to pick up his mace, lying against the tree.
The gunshot that cut through the forest seemed to freeze time for a moment.
Then Aurelien was running, sprinting through the trees in the direction he thought the shot had come from, weight of the mace giving him increased momentum, pulling him forwards. He was vaguely aware of the other two running near him, Jackson with a head start pulling ahead.
He burst through the treeline into another, smaller clearing. Ariana was there in front of him. She wasn’t alone.
One time, a few years back, during a camping trip, Aurelien had run into a raccoon after a quick trip to water the bushes. The poor thing had obviously been in some sort of fight; there had been scars across its face, the right side totally mangled, snarling and only half-seeing. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the creature when he looked at Marco. That same claw-marked, angry raccoon. Just a lot more dangerous.
“Hey!”
Aurelien raised the mace, glaring at Marco, spitting his words out at him.
“Hey!”
This all felt sickeningly familiar.
The gunshot that cut through the forest seemed to freeze time for a moment.
Then Aurelien was running, sprinting through the trees in the direction he thought the shot had come from, weight of the mace giving him increased momentum, pulling him forwards. He was vaguely aware of the other two running near him, Jackson with a head start pulling ahead.
He burst through the treeline into another, smaller clearing. Ariana was there in front of him. She wasn’t alone.
One time, a few years back, during a camping trip, Aurelien had run into a raccoon after a quick trip to water the bushes. The poor thing had obviously been in some sort of fight; there had been scars across its face, the right side totally mangled, snarling and only half-seeing. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the creature when he looked at Marco. That same claw-marked, angry raccoon. Just a lot more dangerous.
“Hey!”
Aurelien raised the mace, glaring at Marco, spitting his words out at him.
“Hey!”
This all felt sickeningly familiar.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Henry had only ever endeavored to keep himself healthy, not so much in what one might call athletic shape. The weight of his supplies and weapon slowed him down even more than the thick foliage did, and he had a hard time keeping up with Jackson and Aurelien.
One gunshot. Not several, not an exchange of gunfire, one. Either someone was dead, or they'd been warned, or it had been an accident. Best case scenario was, they needed to get the hell out of here. The sensible thing to do when one heard gunfire was to turn and run far and fast, but if the announcements and the state of his companions made anything clear, it was that they'd all lost their damn minds.
And there he was, running after the two of them. Not to safety, not to a way out of here. Jackson and Aurelien exited Henry's peripheral vision as they broke into a clearing, and he looked up for a moment to see where they'd gotten to. Naturally, it was at that point he lost his footing. Catching the toe of his boot on a fallen branch, he only barely managed to catch himself before falling flat on his face.
"Damn it!"
Henry pulled himself to his feet, seeing his companions stopped up ahead. There was someone else there, someone he couldn't quite recognize. They weren't friendly. They had...
A chainsaw.
His eyes drifted to the ragged burrs on the end of the punt gun. Memories passed by his mind's eye, like flash cards. The smell of metal on metal. The way the punt gun had shredded the tree he'd aimed it at. The accident. The warm feeling of Beryl's blood on his hands.
Shaking his head, Henry emerged into the clearing beside Jackson and Aurelien. If not for the bomb collar, he might've assumed the boy with Beryl's chainsaw had just emerged from the shattered ruins of the island to terrorize them all.
Not again.
The sound of the punt gun's enormous hammer cocking back announced his presence. At this distance, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't hit both of them. Not that this chainsaw-wielding individual would know that; Henry hoped the threat was enough to dissuade him.
One gunshot. Not several, not an exchange of gunfire, one. Either someone was dead, or they'd been warned, or it had been an accident. Best case scenario was, they needed to get the hell out of here. The sensible thing to do when one heard gunfire was to turn and run far and fast, but if the announcements and the state of his companions made anything clear, it was that they'd all lost their damn minds.
And there he was, running after the two of them. Not to safety, not to a way out of here. Jackson and Aurelien exited Henry's peripheral vision as they broke into a clearing, and he looked up for a moment to see where they'd gotten to. Naturally, it was at that point he lost his footing. Catching the toe of his boot on a fallen branch, he only barely managed to catch himself before falling flat on his face.
"Damn it!"
Henry pulled himself to his feet, seeing his companions stopped up ahead. There was someone else there, someone he couldn't quite recognize. They weren't friendly. They had...
A chainsaw.
His eyes drifted to the ragged burrs on the end of the punt gun. Memories passed by his mind's eye, like flash cards. The smell of metal on metal. The way the punt gun had shredded the tree he'd aimed it at. The accident. The warm feeling of Beryl's blood on his hands.
Shaking his head, Henry emerged into the clearing beside Jackson and Aurelien. If not for the bomb collar, he might've assumed the boy with Beryl's chainsaw had just emerged from the shattered ruins of the island to terrorize them all.
Not again.
The sound of the punt gun's enormous hammer cocking back announced his presence. At this distance, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't hit both of them. Not that this chainsaw-wielding individual would know that; Henry hoped the threat was enough to dissuade him.
Marco's pace of breathing increased as Ariana opened her stupid fucking mouth. A fucking Disney Villain? That's what he was? Was she fucking serious?! Not worth your time?! Oh no you didn't, no you fucking didn't! Roll your fucking eyes at me again. I dare you, I double dog fucking dare you to roll your eyes at me again. His eye twitched as he stepped forward and-
The gunshot stopped him in his tracks. He didn't feel it. He looked down at the barrel, then down at his legs. No blood.
Bullet hole in the dirt...
"You- You fucking..."
Voice in the distance. Footsteps, more than two per pace. Her friends. Of course. That coward that hid behind her gat called for her friends to protect her. Instead of doing the job herself, she needed someone else to do it for her. Coward. There were three of them, At least two were armed, one had a bigger gun than Ariana-
She was looking at them.
They were looking at him.
She wasn't looking at him.
Marco smiled.
These three poor bastards would be the first to witness first hand what This Machine could really do. The next time Ariana rolls her eyes, they'll be in the back of her skull as it splits in half. Screw maiming her like Colin, he was going in for the kill, he was gonna show everyone what happens when you overstep your place. Ariana would be another body on his way to the top.
Marco's arm extended to the side, the chainsaw being thrown from his shoulder, as the taut rip cord pulled it back into his palm, shrieking to life. He brought it above his head and shot down as he charged forwards. He laughed.
The gunshot stopped him in his tracks. He didn't feel it. He looked down at the barrel, then down at his legs. No blood.
Bullet hole in the dirt...
"You- You fucking..."
Voice in the distance. Footsteps, more than two per pace. Her friends. Of course. That coward that hid behind her gat called for her friends to protect her. Instead of doing the job herself, she needed someone else to do it for her. Coward. There were three of them, At least two were armed, one had a bigger gun than Ariana-
She was looking at them.
They were looking at him.
She wasn't looking at him.
Marco smiled.
These three poor bastards would be the first to witness first hand what This Machine could really do. The next time Ariana rolls her eyes, they'll be in the back of her skull as it splits in half. Screw maiming her like Colin, he was going in for the kill, he was gonna show everyone what happens when you overstep your place. Ariana would be another body on his way to the top.
Marco's arm extended to the side, the chainsaw being thrown from his shoulder, as the taut rip cord pulled it back into his palm, shrieking to life. He brought it above his head and shot down as he charged forwards. He laughed.
The sound of backup arriving was music to Ariana's ears, particularly since Marco seemed like he wasn't going to back down anytime soon. Even the gunshot to the ground in front of him had only proved to infuriate her greaseball classmate. Like clockwork, they arrived behind her — Jackson, then Aurelien, and finally Henry. The four of them stood united, like a force to be reckoned with; a force for good. People like Marco Volker weren't going to use this as an excuse to drive them apart, to strike fear into their hearts.
Yet he had killed before, and outwardly seemed to have no particular qualms about doing it again. Judging by the unhinged look in his eye, Ariana knew that this situation was still very touch-and-go. Hearing a loud click that sounded like a gun chambering a round, she racked her brain to think — that had to be Henry. She hoped that he was not about to act hastily, so instinctively, she turned her head to look at him.
They were concerned; each willing to face the threat head-on. She was filled with a sense of pride. This was the right group. This was the right bunch of people that she would spend the rest of her life fighting alongside. As she opened her mouth to try and talk down Henry, the silence was shattered by the loud, revving sound of a motor. The type that might come from a—
"SHIT!"
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the poor nutrition, but Ariana had erred.
All it had taken was one moment.
One lapse in concentration.
When her eyes returned to the threat, Marco was rushing at Ariana, chainsaw swinging towards her. Instinctively, she did the only thing that came to mind. As the saw blade carved an arc towards her, she put her arm up as a shield, her whole body tensing up in expectation of the pain that was sure to foll—
"AHHHHHHH!"
The shriek that left her throat echoed throughout the entire area, up through the branches and the shoes that hung haphazardly above them, watching the scene unfold. The sheer volume of the scream wasn't enough to block out the visceral sound of a chainsaw cutting through flesh, gristle and blood shooting up from the point of impact. Ariana felt a myriad of things in that moment, but it was the feeling of her own blood splattering across her own face that reminded her of the rain that had surrounded them for days. It still fell, but right now it was a blood rain. Her blood covered Marco, it covered her; the chainsaw was red, but above all else, there was so much pain, so much awful gore, until—
Something tumbled to the ground. Her arm, still clutching the Glock.
Everything was numb.
Blood was everywhere. The chainsaw had done its work; Marco was off-balance. Instinctively, she shoved him backwards, took an unsteady step back on her own.
Her arm was over there.
She was over here.
Her arm.
Over there.
Ariana looked down at the ragged, bloody stump that now existed instead of a limb. There would be no more police academy for her, she supposed. The thought made her laugh; more of a croak than a cackle, and then her legs gave out from under her and she tumbled to the ground. As she lay prone, focusing solely upon the mound of flesh sitting on the ground before her, she tried to put the pieces of her proverbial puzzle together.
There was pain, but oddly, it didn't seem that bad.
Yet he had killed before, and outwardly seemed to have no particular qualms about doing it again. Judging by the unhinged look in his eye, Ariana knew that this situation was still very touch-and-go. Hearing a loud click that sounded like a gun chambering a round, she racked her brain to think — that had to be Henry. She hoped that he was not about to act hastily, so instinctively, she turned her head to look at him.
They were concerned; each willing to face the threat head-on. She was filled with a sense of pride. This was the right group. This was the right bunch of people that she would spend the rest of her life fighting alongside. As she opened her mouth to try and talk down Henry, the silence was shattered by the loud, revving sound of a motor. The type that might come from a—
"SHIT!"
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the poor nutrition, but Ariana had erred.
All it had taken was one moment.
One lapse in concentration.
When her eyes returned to the threat, Marco was rushing at Ariana, chainsaw swinging towards her. Instinctively, she did the only thing that came to mind. As the saw blade carved an arc towards her, she put her arm up as a shield, her whole body tensing up in expectation of the pain that was sure to foll—
"AHHHHHHH!"
The shriek that left her throat echoed throughout the entire area, up through the branches and the shoes that hung haphazardly above them, watching the scene unfold. The sheer volume of the scream wasn't enough to block out the visceral sound of a chainsaw cutting through flesh, gristle and blood shooting up from the point of impact. Ariana felt a myriad of things in that moment, but it was the feeling of her own blood splattering across her own face that reminded her of the rain that had surrounded them for days. It still fell, but right now it was a blood rain. Her blood covered Marco, it covered her; the chainsaw was red, but above all else, there was so much pain, so much awful gore, until—
Something tumbled to the ground. Her arm, still clutching the Glock.
Everything was numb.
Blood was everywhere. The chainsaw had done its work; Marco was off-balance. Instinctively, she shoved him backwards, took an unsteady step back on her own.
Her arm was over there.
She was over here.
Her arm.
Over there.
Ariana looked down at the ragged, bloody stump that now existed instead of a limb. There would be no more police academy for her, she supposed. The thought made her laugh; more of a croak than a cackle, and then her legs gave out from under her and she tumbled to the ground. As she lay prone, focusing solely upon the mound of flesh sitting on the ground before her, she tried to put the pieces of her proverbial puzzle together.
There was pain, but oddly, it didn't seem that bad.
Marco gritted his teeth as the saw hit flesh and bone. This was... considerably worse than what happened with Colin. Colin didn’t scream as loud. He got cut pretty easy. Ariana? Of course she has to make it more harder for him, all screaming and shit.
The blood? He didn’t mind. He saw enough of his own and others that the color red ain’t shit. The sound of metal grinding on bone was the worst, a literal nails on chalkboard effect as his own skin shivered in reaction. The worst? The smell. The smell of bone being shaved away by metal overlapped any rustic scent that came from blood flying. This new scent brought back a lot of memories, like teeth getting drilled to get fillings put in cavities, or wisdom teeth getting removed. His parents took him to the dentist for that, never got him braces for his gap, though. It made him angry.
A lot of things did, now. Like Ariana. Her face all twisted up, that high pitched shriek- Shut the fuck up! You were talking all that good shit a second ago! Not worth your time?! Haha, roll your fucking eyes at me, now! Roll your eyes! “AAAAAAUUUGHH!” Marco shouted back to drown out Ariana’s wailing. It started as a yell to out volume her, but it quickly warped into mocking Ariana, as Marco made his own high pitched shrieking noises that resembled Eric Cartman crying sounds, before breaking off into mocking laughter. “ UUUUUWAAAAAH! WEEEEAAAAAAAAHH! WAAAAAAHAHAHA! HA HAAAA! HAAA HAAAAAA!”
Ariana’s arm popped off. She looked at her stump, then fell over. That’s what you get. Told you, I’d get mine. Marco bent down to pick up the stump, pistol still locked in it’s grasp, watching the blood pour out of it like an opened coke bottle. He raised it above him, shouting at the trio of newcomers. “Witness!”
He brought the arm back down again and strode over to Ariana, giving her a view of what the inside of her arm looked like after it got kissed by his saw. “Need a hand?” He said as he dropped it by her, before reaching over and yanking her supply bag off of her prone body, she clearly wasn’t going to use it in the near future. “Gimme that!”
He stepped over Ariana towards the group. They were in his way now. “Who’s next?” Marco barely waited for an answer before he started again. “Who the fuck is next?!” He pounded his chest. “Ain’t got all day, here! Anyone else wanna fuckin’ go at me? Huh? Who else is dying today?! Gimme a fucking reason! C’mon, do it!”
He’s got all day. He’ll cut all three of them down before Ariana bleeds out, guaranteed. He’ll make her fucking watch on the way to hell.
The blood? He didn’t mind. He saw enough of his own and others that the color red ain’t shit. The sound of metal grinding on bone was the worst, a literal nails on chalkboard effect as his own skin shivered in reaction. The worst? The smell. The smell of bone being shaved away by metal overlapped any rustic scent that came from blood flying. This new scent brought back a lot of memories, like teeth getting drilled to get fillings put in cavities, or wisdom teeth getting removed. His parents took him to the dentist for that, never got him braces for his gap, though. It made him angry.
A lot of things did, now. Like Ariana. Her face all twisted up, that high pitched shriek- Shut the fuck up! You were talking all that good shit a second ago! Not worth your time?! Haha, roll your fucking eyes at me, now! Roll your eyes! “AAAAAAUUUGHH!” Marco shouted back to drown out Ariana’s wailing. It started as a yell to out volume her, but it quickly warped into mocking Ariana, as Marco made his own high pitched shrieking noises that resembled Eric Cartman crying sounds, before breaking off into mocking laughter. “ UUUUUWAAAAAH! WEEEEAAAAAAAAHH! WAAAAAAHAHAHA! HA HAAAA! HAAA HAAAAAA!”
Ariana’s arm popped off. She looked at her stump, then fell over. That’s what you get. Told you, I’d get mine. Marco bent down to pick up the stump, pistol still locked in it’s grasp, watching the blood pour out of it like an opened coke bottle. He raised it above him, shouting at the trio of newcomers. “Witness!”
He brought the arm back down again and strode over to Ariana, giving her a view of what the inside of her arm looked like after it got kissed by his saw. “Need a hand?” He said as he dropped it by her, before reaching over and yanking her supply bag off of her prone body, she clearly wasn’t going to use it in the near future. “Gimme that!”
He stepped over Ariana towards the group. They were in his way now. “Who’s next?” Marco barely waited for an answer before he started again. “Who the fuck is next?!” He pounded his chest. “Ain’t got all day, here! Anyone else wanna fuckin’ go at me? Huh? Who else is dying today?! Gimme a fucking reason! C’mon, do it!”
He’s got all day. He’ll cut all three of them down before Ariana bleeds out, guaranteed. He’ll make her fucking watch on the way to hell.
He had deluded himself, in a way.
He’d been so caught up, ever since they’d all left the beach, in this group he’d found himself in. Interspersed with his drive for vengeance, he’d been constantly thinking about how good the group was for them all. Though their reasons for it differed, they were all on the same page, and they all had the same goal. They’d found shelter, scant though it had been. They’d found an ally, tentative though that prospect of teamwork had been. It felt like they were on a constant upwards swing, that would continue until they found Blaise.
It had felt as though they were invincible so long as they were together.
And Aurelien had subconsciously thought that as they all piled out of the treeline and faced off with Marco. No matter how wild, how crazed Marco had looked, he’d thought that the presence of backup, of additional weaponry to back up Ariana’s own gun, would be enough to deter him.
Then he moved, and Aurelien was only able to take a single step in response before his body froze in place.
His eyes widened and his mouth hung open as the hideous noise filled the clearing, a screeching and splintering sound like a concrete saw, Ariana and Marco’s screaming layered on top. The whole scene played in front of him in slow motion, until Ariana’s arm fell to the ground, still clutching the gun.
He willed his feet to move, and they wouldn’t.
If there was anything positive he could say about Dante’s death, it was that it looked like it had been quick. A click, a bang, all over in a flash. No suffering for any witnesses to behold. Now, though, he was staring at Ariana’s disembodied arm, held aloft by Marco, coated in blood, with a ragged, ugly stump where the chainsaw had cleaved through. He was staring at Ariana herself, lying in a pool of her own blood.
He willed his body to move, and it wouldn’t.
Marco prattled on. Marco yelled his threats and his theatrics, puffing and posing. Marco leaned into his role, uncaring for the girl lying bleeding next to him. And the worst part was, Aurelien knew he could back it all up. He clearly had no issues with swinging the chainsaw around, and all it would take would be for someone to charge at him before there was more blood and viscera littering the forest floor.
He willed himself to do something and his body took a step closer, standing in front of the other two, before it froze up again.
“You’re insane,” was all that Aurelien could say, voice barely above a hiss.
He’d been so caught up, ever since they’d all left the beach, in this group he’d found himself in. Interspersed with his drive for vengeance, he’d been constantly thinking about how good the group was for them all. Though their reasons for it differed, they were all on the same page, and they all had the same goal. They’d found shelter, scant though it had been. They’d found an ally, tentative though that prospect of teamwork had been. It felt like they were on a constant upwards swing, that would continue until they found Blaise.
It had felt as though they were invincible so long as they were together.
And Aurelien had subconsciously thought that as they all piled out of the treeline and faced off with Marco. No matter how wild, how crazed Marco had looked, he’d thought that the presence of backup, of additional weaponry to back up Ariana’s own gun, would be enough to deter him.
Then he moved, and Aurelien was only able to take a single step in response before his body froze in place.
His eyes widened and his mouth hung open as the hideous noise filled the clearing, a screeching and splintering sound like a concrete saw, Ariana and Marco’s screaming layered on top. The whole scene played in front of him in slow motion, until Ariana’s arm fell to the ground, still clutching the gun.
He willed his feet to move, and they wouldn’t.
If there was anything positive he could say about Dante’s death, it was that it looked like it had been quick. A click, a bang, all over in a flash. No suffering for any witnesses to behold. Now, though, he was staring at Ariana’s disembodied arm, held aloft by Marco, coated in blood, with a ragged, ugly stump where the chainsaw had cleaved through. He was staring at Ariana herself, lying in a pool of her own blood.
He willed his body to move, and it wouldn’t.
Marco prattled on. Marco yelled his threats and his theatrics, puffing and posing. Marco leaned into his role, uncaring for the girl lying bleeding next to him. And the worst part was, Aurelien knew he could back it all up. He clearly had no issues with swinging the chainsaw around, and all it would take would be for someone to charge at him before there was more blood and viscera littering the forest floor.
He willed himself to do something and his body took a step closer, standing in front of the other two, before it froze up again.
“You’re insane,” was all that Aurelien could say, voice barely above a hiss.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Everything felt as if it was happening in slow motion. Ariana turned to look at them upon their arrival to the scene. Jackson finally noticed the person attacking her. Marco Volker. Carrying a chainsaw. In the split second she was distracted, Marco revved the saw and swung it down upon her. Jackson rushed forward, only to be stopped in his tracks as his eyes widened and stomach dropped. Her arm… The maniac cut off her arm! The scream that came from Ariana’s mouth shook him to his core, and Jackson froze in place, staring at the carnage before him with a dropped jaw and wide, terrified eyes. Eyes that were attempting to process what they’d just witnessed.
Sure, Jackson had run into a few dead bodies during his time on the island, and he’d even helped a gunshot victim on day one. But this? This was outside the realm of normal for him. It was like his brain was trying to make sense of it, but it wasn’t working. There was so much blood. Jackson had never seen so much blood before. Even over the smell of rain, the stench of blood invaded his senses. He brought a hand up to his face to try and block it out, to no avail. Still he stood there, as Marco plucked Ariana’s now dismembered arm from the ground and taunted them.
And finally, he felt like his body was starting to work again. And from the pit of his stomach, a hot, burning anger began to erupt. Ariana was down. She wasn’t moving. Blood everywhere. Her arm… Dammit! They were supposed to protect each other! That was the plan! Someone wasn’t supposed to die! Not yet! Not like this! Aurelien stepped past him, but Jackson barely heard his words. He was too focused on the limp body of their ally. Their friend. How could he have let this happen?! Ariana… With a white hot rage filling his eyes, he turned his attention to Marco, still gleefully mocking them all.
“You son of a bitch!” He screamed, his temper now at an all time high.
“Why?! Fucking why, you bastard?!” He took a wobbly step forwards, and stood next to Aurelien as he demanded his answer. He just didn’t understand. Why do this? Why do any of this?!
"I'll fucking kill you, you motherfucker!"
Sure, Jackson had run into a few dead bodies during his time on the island, and he’d even helped a gunshot victim on day one. But this? This was outside the realm of normal for him. It was like his brain was trying to make sense of it, but it wasn’t working. There was so much blood. Jackson had never seen so much blood before. Even over the smell of rain, the stench of blood invaded his senses. He brought a hand up to his face to try and block it out, to no avail. Still he stood there, as Marco plucked Ariana’s now dismembered arm from the ground and taunted them.
And finally, he felt like his body was starting to work again. And from the pit of his stomach, a hot, burning anger began to erupt. Ariana was down. She wasn’t moving. Blood everywhere. Her arm… Dammit! They were supposed to protect each other! That was the plan! Someone wasn’t supposed to die! Not yet! Not like this! Aurelien stepped past him, but Jackson barely heard his words. He was too focused on the limp body of their ally. Their friend. How could he have let this happen?! Ariana… With a white hot rage filling his eyes, he turned his attention to Marco, still gleefully mocking them all.
“You son of a bitch!” He screamed, his temper now at an all time high.
“Why?! Fucking why, you bastard?!” He took a wobbly step forwards, and stood next to Aurelien as he demanded his answer. He just didn’t understand. Why do this? Why do any of this?!
"I'll fucking kill you, you motherfucker!"
The mistake was in assuming people were like him. That they wanted to do the best possible thing in a bad situation. That they wanted to act rationally. No rational person would do what Marco had just done. No one who really thought through the ramifications of their actions would hack off someone’s arm with a chainsaw, nor would they take glee in having done so.
There had always been people that at least in theory, he’d assumed were beyond help. Those who’d use the compassion of others to terrible ends. In theory, he understood that psychopaths were real, monsters were real insofar as they existed within man, but he’d never seen it. Never looked at another human being and assumed that the world would definitely be better off without them. It was all just a concept that he understood at some point, he’d be confronted with it.
Now he looked and saw it. The worst part of humanity, worse than active malice - pure, stupid evil. The kind that didn’t see past the rush of being the one to injure, the one to walk away from a situation having left everyone the worse for it.
There was so much blood. More than felt real, more than he’d had to wash off of his hands when tending to Beryl. Too much to survive losing. Any way this situation panned out, this person had just killed Ariana.
Henry momentarily stood, wide-eyed in terror, before noticing Aurelien and Jackson stepping forward to confront Ariana’s attacker. The pit in his stomach rapidly closed, and Henry steeled himself for what was to come.
Bracing himself for the possibility that he would have to join the list of names on the announcements only made him half as sick as the scene unfolding in front of him. He took a step forward, his grip tightening on the enormous shotgun, and waited for a clear shot. He called out to the others.
"Jackson, Aurelien! Move!"
He raised the punt gun, its enormous muzzle pointed squarely at Marco's chest.
"I can’t... I can't allow this to continue."
There had always been people that at least in theory, he’d assumed were beyond help. Those who’d use the compassion of others to terrible ends. In theory, he understood that psychopaths were real, monsters were real insofar as they existed within man, but he’d never seen it. Never looked at another human being and assumed that the world would definitely be better off without them. It was all just a concept that he understood at some point, he’d be confronted with it.
Now he looked and saw it. The worst part of humanity, worse than active malice - pure, stupid evil. The kind that didn’t see past the rush of being the one to injure, the one to walk away from a situation having left everyone the worse for it.
There was so much blood. More than felt real, more than he’d had to wash off of his hands when tending to Beryl. Too much to survive losing. Any way this situation panned out, this person had just killed Ariana.
Henry momentarily stood, wide-eyed in terror, before noticing Aurelien and Jackson stepping forward to confront Ariana’s attacker. The pit in his stomach rapidly closed, and Henry steeled himself for what was to come.
Bracing himself for the possibility that he would have to join the list of names on the announcements only made him half as sick as the scene unfolding in front of him. He took a step forward, his grip tightening on the enormous shotgun, and waited for a clear shot. He called out to the others.
"Jackson, Aurelien! Move!"
He raised the punt gun, its enormous muzzle pointed squarely at Marco's chest.
"I can’t... I can't allow this to continue."
“Come one come all!” Marco paced left and right from his position. This was a new situation. People were scared of him. He had people terrified, and they had a good reason to be so. This was a new sensation. This was exhilarating.
He had them frozen solid in the time it took him to cut up Ariana. They came to help, and did nothing but watch. Some friends, right? It’s like his point proves itself every time, but now it was more blatant than ever.
All that time they had to act, and they still haven’t done anything. Pants-shitting scared. They were expecting some limp dick rat they could bully away. When someone actually calls their bluffs though, they fold and freeze up, like deer in headlights. Like prey. Like zebras watching one of their own get mauled by a tiger, they stood and watched, like prey. Marco got it now. Marco understood what it really meant, to be ALPHA. Marcus Volker was the apex predator, nobody just realized it yet.
First came the question why? Marco didn’t answer them, for it was pretty fucking obvious. Ariana pointed a gun at him, and started talking shit like he wouldn’t do anything about it. She thought he was that same shitbird from the party. She thought wrong, Marcus proved her wrong, and now she pays the iron price.
Second came the insults, the threats. Marco smiled wider, and beckoned Jackson over by wagging his finger. “Well come on then, do it. Come kill me.” He could take all three. They were weak. He could see it in their eyes, in their bodies. No conviction, no fortitude. They’d have given up the moment they woke up tied to that tree.
Finally came someone who would actually act. Was it the one with the fists? No. The mace? No. The big fuckoff gun? Yes. The one where all you have to do is squeeze a trigger with one finger and watch someone die yards away? Yes. The one who had the least to lose from doing such an action? Yes, figures, yes.
Marco smiled because he planned for this. He was waiting for some shit like this. Henry was gonna experience something Marco had needed to to begin his transformation, three days prior. Marco reached in his pocket and grabbed his little backup plan.
When Henry came into view, gun raised, Marco sprung his trap, tossing the little red sack towards him, then strafing as the powdered glass bomb he made came spiraling towards Henry’s face.
He had them frozen solid in the time it took him to cut up Ariana. They came to help, and did nothing but watch. Some friends, right? It’s like his point proves itself every time, but now it was more blatant than ever.
All that time they had to act, and they still haven’t done anything. Pants-shitting scared. They were expecting some limp dick rat they could bully away. When someone actually calls their bluffs though, they fold and freeze up, like deer in headlights. Like prey. Like zebras watching one of their own get mauled by a tiger, they stood and watched, like prey. Marco got it now. Marco understood what it really meant, to be ALPHA. Marcus Volker was the apex predator, nobody just realized it yet.
First came the question why? Marco didn’t answer them, for it was pretty fucking obvious. Ariana pointed a gun at him, and started talking shit like he wouldn’t do anything about it. She thought he was that same shitbird from the party. She thought wrong, Marcus proved her wrong, and now she pays the iron price.
Second came the insults, the threats. Marco smiled wider, and beckoned Jackson over by wagging his finger. “Well come on then, do it. Come kill me.” He could take all three. They were weak. He could see it in their eyes, in their bodies. No conviction, no fortitude. They’d have given up the moment they woke up tied to that tree.
Finally came someone who would actually act. Was it the one with the fists? No. The mace? No. The big fuckoff gun? Yes. The one where all you have to do is squeeze a trigger with one finger and watch someone die yards away? Yes. The one who had the least to lose from doing such an action? Yes, figures, yes.
Marco smiled because he planned for this. He was waiting for some shit like this. Henry was gonna experience something Marco had needed to to begin his transformation, three days prior. Marco reached in his pocket and grabbed his little backup plan.
When Henry came into view, gun raised, Marco sprung his trap, tossing the little red sack towards him, then strafing as the powdered glass bomb he made came spiraling towards Henry’s face.
Everything was cold; she was shivering. That was odd, they were basically on a tropical island and it had been pissing rain for days. There was no reason for her to be cold. Well — no, actually, there was one. One real big reason that her body temperature would be dropping. Ariana's face was prone to the ground, peering over at the strange, white object that lay in front of her. People had been saying things; Marco had been prattling on as he did, but none of it had really registered. All she could see was the pale white object laying in the grass in front of her.
Ross would have made a crack; some sort of joke. That was how he coped with adversity — he made a joke out of things. When he'd hurt his shoulder, Ariana had been surprised how much levity he'd approached the situation with. He'd kidded about being disabled, about needing to be taken care of. She was here because he'd asked. He'd basically begged her to go, have enough fun for both of them.
Strange, how things worked out.
He'd have said something ridiculous, no doubt. Marco, you really disarmed me, or some kind of quip like that. Ariana wasn't much for quips. Besides, the whole situation seemed like a dream; like everything was in a haze. It was strange. There should have been pain, right? Instead, only a strange tingling sensation. An itch. Ariana looked at the jagged stump where her arm had lived for the last eighteen years. She tried to move her wrist, flex something that wasn't there. There was nothing; only a sharp pain, and more shivering.
Fuck. Her eyes watered a bit. She could think about anything and everything else as much as she wanted, but she knew. The draining feeling throughout her entire body, the shivering, the weakness?
This was it. This was it for her. Cut down by the insolent little asshole who'd made a habit of making people feel like crap and had decided to take his own insecurities out on his classmates. She'd slapped him weeks ago; he'd slapped her back tenfold today. It took a moment, but she finally recognized the odd white object in the grass. Of course — it belonged to her; it was her arm. A gruesome reminder of their circumstances, perhaps a trophy for Marco to wave around after he did whatever he was going to do to—
No. No, fuck that. No way, all thoughts that flooded her head. She wasn't about to lie here and die. She was dying, there was no doubt in her mind about that. But as she heard more shouting, more of the buzzing from the chainsaw that that little bastard wielded, Ariana was reminded of her companions. The motley crew that had drawn itself together, in the hopes of finding Blaise and punishing her for taking Dante out of this world. It was the least they could do for Aurelien, give him some closure, maybe? Perhaps, perhaps this was karma for that quest. It was an idea so foreign to her, a concept so vile that perhaps fate had demanded a sacrifice.
Here she was.
Using her remaining hand to push herself out of the mud, Ariana looked over at her arm, laying on the ground, forgotten by all. Grotesquely, it still clutched her Glock. Her fingers were still in a firing position, as though the owner of the arm had been ready to fire when they'd lost it. They had. It was her. It was her own arm. Ariana knew that her mind was trying its best to shield her from the grim reality of whatever time she had left. She knew better than to fall for that trick. She knew the score. Her vision was starting to become fuzzy.
Summoning every bit of energy she had within her, Ariana slowly crawled towards her arm. Marco was a threat. Marco was threatening her allies; her friends. He would kill them all, given the chance; the boy had lost his mind.
"Well come on then, do it. Come kill me."
His tone was mocking, showy. He was playing to a crowd of one, all of his attention focused on who of the three he was going to assail next. No, she vowed, and straightening up, Ariana picked up her dismembered arm by the wrist. The skin felt cold and clammy to the touch, and she was struck with a strong sense of disassociation with her own body. The hand and the skin looked familiar, but to touch it felt... it felt wrong.
This was all wrong. This situation, this island, this game. The mere thought of Marco doing any more harm to anyone — just so wrong.
Grasping what had once been her right hand within her still-functional left, Ariana unsteadily pulled herself back to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she shivered in the freezing cold of the island. It was frigid here, now. The rain was warm on her forehead; nothing made sense anymore. Knowing that her strength wasn't going to allow for her to shoot him the requisite eighteen times in the head and chest areas like she wanted, Ariana braced herself, casting a horrific visage as she extended her arm — and the Glock out in front of her, pointing the weapon at Marco.
He didn't see her; he threw something at Henry.
Fuck him, then.
"MARCO," she boomed, her voice thick with the throes of death but as loud as ever. "You want to die?"
Ariana wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, and sneered at him.
"See you in hell."
With no hesitation, she pulled the trigger; slowly, but repeatedly sending at least ten different shots in his general direction. Her aim was off and she could barely stand, but with luck — by the grace of God himself, at least one of them would find the target.
Ross would have made a crack; some sort of joke. That was how he coped with adversity — he made a joke out of things. When he'd hurt his shoulder, Ariana had been surprised how much levity he'd approached the situation with. He'd kidded about being disabled, about needing to be taken care of. She was here because he'd asked. He'd basically begged her to go, have enough fun for both of them.
Strange, how things worked out.
He'd have said something ridiculous, no doubt. Marco, you really disarmed me, or some kind of quip like that. Ariana wasn't much for quips. Besides, the whole situation seemed like a dream; like everything was in a haze. It was strange. There should have been pain, right? Instead, only a strange tingling sensation. An itch. Ariana looked at the jagged stump where her arm had lived for the last eighteen years. She tried to move her wrist, flex something that wasn't there. There was nothing; only a sharp pain, and more shivering.
Fuck. Her eyes watered a bit. She could think about anything and everything else as much as she wanted, but she knew. The draining feeling throughout her entire body, the shivering, the weakness?
This was it. This was it for her. Cut down by the insolent little asshole who'd made a habit of making people feel like crap and had decided to take his own insecurities out on his classmates. She'd slapped him weeks ago; he'd slapped her back tenfold today. It took a moment, but she finally recognized the odd white object in the grass. Of course — it belonged to her; it was her arm. A gruesome reminder of their circumstances, perhaps a trophy for Marco to wave around after he did whatever he was going to do to—
No. No, fuck that. No way, all thoughts that flooded her head. She wasn't about to lie here and die. She was dying, there was no doubt in her mind about that. But as she heard more shouting, more of the buzzing from the chainsaw that that little bastard wielded, Ariana was reminded of her companions. The motley crew that had drawn itself together, in the hopes of finding Blaise and punishing her for taking Dante out of this world. It was the least they could do for Aurelien, give him some closure, maybe? Perhaps, perhaps this was karma for that quest. It was an idea so foreign to her, a concept so vile that perhaps fate had demanded a sacrifice.
Here she was.
Using her remaining hand to push herself out of the mud, Ariana looked over at her arm, laying on the ground, forgotten by all. Grotesquely, it still clutched her Glock. Her fingers were still in a firing position, as though the owner of the arm had been ready to fire when they'd lost it. They had. It was her. It was her own arm. Ariana knew that her mind was trying its best to shield her from the grim reality of whatever time she had left. She knew better than to fall for that trick. She knew the score. Her vision was starting to become fuzzy.
Summoning every bit of energy she had within her, Ariana slowly crawled towards her arm. Marco was a threat. Marco was threatening her allies; her friends. He would kill them all, given the chance; the boy had lost his mind.
"Well come on then, do it. Come kill me."
His tone was mocking, showy. He was playing to a crowd of one, all of his attention focused on who of the three he was going to assail next. No, she vowed, and straightening up, Ariana picked up her dismembered arm by the wrist. The skin felt cold and clammy to the touch, and she was struck with a strong sense of disassociation with her own body. The hand and the skin looked familiar, but to touch it felt... it felt wrong.
This was all wrong. This situation, this island, this game. The mere thought of Marco doing any more harm to anyone — just so wrong.
Grasping what had once been her right hand within her still-functional left, Ariana unsteadily pulled herself back to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she shivered in the freezing cold of the island. It was frigid here, now. The rain was warm on her forehead; nothing made sense anymore. Knowing that her strength wasn't going to allow for her to shoot him the requisite eighteen times in the head and chest areas like she wanted, Ariana braced herself, casting a horrific visage as she extended her arm — and the Glock out in front of her, pointing the weapon at Marco.
He didn't see her; he threw something at Henry.
Fuck him, then.
"MARCO," she boomed, her voice thick with the throes of death but as loud as ever. "You want to die?"
Ariana wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, and sneered at him.
"See you in hell."
With no hesitation, she pulled the trigger; slowly, but repeatedly sending at least ten different shots in his general direction. Her aim was off and she could barely stand, but with luck — by the grace of God himself, at least one of them would find the target.
Marco froze. He never got a chance to see if his trick hit home or not. Truth be told, he caught tunnel vision. His head craned back.
Ariana was standing pointing her gun at him. Marco breathed in. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t have really. On the other side of him was her friends. Marco turned back around to deal with her friends-
One crack of gunfire and a whizz past his head later and he was running. Change of plans, Get The Fuck Out Of Here! A pistol was one thing, and a fuckoff cannon of a shotgun was another, but both on both sides of him was just a firing squad. He’d have to change his plans and get them in a less open spot later. Marco ran for the tree lines.
He should have expected this. Ariana lived a petty life and would die a petty death. Did he really expect her not to risk shooting her friends to get him? Like that was more stupidity on his part to not see that coming. If he knew those pissants would have stood there mouth agape watching him carve her up, he’d have finished her off right then and th-
“GYAAAAAAHH!”
Ariana finally got him. She shot him. She busted a cap in his ass. No, she literally just shot him right in the ass, what the fu- Dust kicked up next to his prone form as he forced himself off the ground. Marco didn’t look back.
As he galloped away on a favored leg he could only hope one of those stray shots took out one of her friends too.
((Marcus Volker continued elsewhere.))
Ariana was standing pointing her gun at him. Marco breathed in. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t have really. On the other side of him was her friends. Marco turned back around to deal with her friends-
One crack of gunfire and a whizz past his head later and he was running. Change of plans, Get The Fuck Out Of Here! A pistol was one thing, and a fuckoff cannon of a shotgun was another, but both on both sides of him was just a firing squad. He’d have to change his plans and get them in a less open spot later. Marco ran for the tree lines.
He should have expected this. Ariana lived a petty life and would die a petty death. Did he really expect her not to risk shooting her friends to get him? Like that was more stupidity on his part to not see that coming. If he knew those pissants would have stood there mouth agape watching him carve her up, he’d have finished her off right then and th-
“GYAAAAAAHH!”
Ariana finally got him. She shot him. She busted a cap in his ass. No, she literally just shot him right in the ass, what the fu- Dust kicked up next to his prone form as he forced himself off the ground. Marco didn’t look back.
As he galloped away on a favored leg he could only hope one of those stray shots took out one of her friends too.
((Marcus Volker continued elsewhere.))
He was screaming inside.
And that was one thing that he couldn’t stop asking himself. Why couldn’t he be screaming outside as well? Why couldn’t he show that same defiant anger as Henry and Jackson, ready to throw their lives on the line and dive into the fray, not even to save Ariana, but to mete out justice? He was angry as well, oh God was he angry, but somehow, he couldn’t find a way to show it.
Where was that same rage he had shown earlier? That same fury he had thrown at Ned in the infirmary, the fury he had directed at Hel and Ariana at the bay, the fury that had threatened to sneak out from under the surface towards Henry last night? His whole purpose for moving forwards was to enact revenge, and right now, he had the perfect opportunity to do so, albeit on a different person to his target, but a person who had nonetheless mortally wounded his ally right in front of him.
And his body was revolting against him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he was doing.
He glowered at Marco, hands tightening around the mace’s handle, the only things his body seemed to be allowing him to do. How easy this whole thing must be for Marco. Nobody who cared for him, and nobody to care for. Nobody he needed to listen out for on the announcements, praying every single day that their name wouldn’t come up in any capacity. Nobody he needed to feel guilty about letting down because of his actions. This whole thing was just one big theatrical performance for him, because he didn’t have anywhere further to drop, and his stock was actually rising the more blood on his hands he got. The more dread and hatred he inspired in others.
A roar boomed through the clearing. His gaze shifted, and he reversed the step forwards he had taken previously out of sheer stock. Ariana was standing, clutching the gun in her one remaining hand. She was shaking, and she was pale, and she was unsteady, but she was there, standing, facing down the boy who had disarmed her.
And as the bullets started to fly, as Marco fell and screamed and scrambled back to his feet, something finally clicked in Aurelien’s soul. He snarled, dug his feet into the ground, and kicked off, lumbering forwards, mace slowing his acceleration, but he soon found himself walking, jogging, running. He heard Henry move up behind him, realised the smaller boy was planning on providing covering fire for Ariana, and he diverted his course, running in an arc to give the others a clearer shot of Marco’s back.
He reached the treeline, ears pricked, desperately trying to follow the sound of Marco crashing through branches and foliage. He was certain the boy had made his escape, but he hoped against hope, prayed against everything, trying to make himself believe he hadn’t acted far too late to do a single thing.
And that was one thing that he couldn’t stop asking himself. Why couldn’t he be screaming outside as well? Why couldn’t he show that same defiant anger as Henry and Jackson, ready to throw their lives on the line and dive into the fray, not even to save Ariana, but to mete out justice? He was angry as well, oh God was he angry, but somehow, he couldn’t find a way to show it.
Where was that same rage he had shown earlier? That same fury he had thrown at Ned in the infirmary, the fury he had directed at Hel and Ariana at the bay, the fury that had threatened to sneak out from under the surface towards Henry last night? His whole purpose for moving forwards was to enact revenge, and right now, he had the perfect opportunity to do so, albeit on a different person to his target, but a person who had nonetheless mortally wounded his ally right in front of him.
And his body was revolting against him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he was doing.
He glowered at Marco, hands tightening around the mace’s handle, the only things his body seemed to be allowing him to do. How easy this whole thing must be for Marco. Nobody who cared for him, and nobody to care for. Nobody he needed to listen out for on the announcements, praying every single day that their name wouldn’t come up in any capacity. Nobody he needed to feel guilty about letting down because of his actions. This whole thing was just one big theatrical performance for him, because he didn’t have anywhere further to drop, and his stock was actually rising the more blood on his hands he got. The more dread and hatred he inspired in others.
A roar boomed through the clearing. His gaze shifted, and he reversed the step forwards he had taken previously out of sheer stock. Ariana was standing, clutching the gun in her one remaining hand. She was shaking, and she was pale, and she was unsteady, but she was there, standing, facing down the boy who had disarmed her.
And as the bullets started to fly, as Marco fell and screamed and scrambled back to his feet, something finally clicked in Aurelien’s soul. He snarled, dug his feet into the ground, and kicked off, lumbering forwards, mace slowing his acceleration, but he soon found himself walking, jogging, running. He heard Henry move up behind him, realised the smaller boy was planning on providing covering fire for Ariana, and he diverted his course, running in an arc to give the others a clearer shot of Marco’s back.
He reached the treeline, ears pricked, desperately trying to follow the sound of Marco crashing through branches and foliage. He was certain the boy had made his escape, but he hoped against hope, prayed against everything, trying to make himself believe he hadn’t acted far too late to do a single thing.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
A red blur whizzed by Henry’s head, which he only narrowly avoided as he maneuvered past Aurelien to get a clear shot at Marco. Just as he had the maniac in what could only be charitably referred to as sights, he heard an ear-splitting series of gunshots cut through the air. Henry flinched and turned to the source of the sound, only to see Ariana still clutching the gun.
The sight was as striking as it was gory. She was defiant to the end. It should’ve filled him with resolve, made him redouble his efforts to try and bring all this to a halt. Instead, all Henry could think about were the people she’d be leaving behind. His friend, who’d no doubt be watching even though everyone with a lick of sense would be telling him not to.
Instead of casting his head into the clouds and thinking of how he might prevent this from happening again, how he could strike back at the real enemy here, he felt something pull him back to earth. Into this moment, and how he’d look when facing down something like this. What was it Ariana needed to see? What was it they all needed to see, back home? What did Ross need to see?
Resolve. Defiance. Even if it didn’t really matter.
Henry stepped forward, bracing the punt gun under the crook of his arm and pointing it in the direction Marco was running. He’d scarcely put pressure on the trigger when he felt the great mass of the gun kick back, sending him stumbling backwards. A blast of flame,sparks, and sulphur-smelling smoke erupted from the barrel as an angry hive of lead shot ripped apart pieces of the treeline. When the smoke cleared, there was at least no sign of a chainsaw-wielding murderer returning to menace them again.
He ejected the massive steel shell from the gun and slotted in another, before turning to face the others. His face fell, as the shock faded and he was confronted yet again with the sight of another dying classmate. Henry let the gun fall slack at his side, at a loss as to what to do or say. Staring down at Ariana with sad eyes, he muttered out an apology, one that wouldn’t do Ari any more good than it had Beryl.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I should’ve acted earlier, I should’ve seen… I should’ve done something.”
The sight was as striking as it was gory. She was defiant to the end. It should’ve filled him with resolve, made him redouble his efforts to try and bring all this to a halt. Instead, all Henry could think about were the people she’d be leaving behind. His friend, who’d no doubt be watching even though everyone with a lick of sense would be telling him not to.
Instead of casting his head into the clouds and thinking of how he might prevent this from happening again, how he could strike back at the real enemy here, he felt something pull him back to earth. Into this moment, and how he’d look when facing down something like this. What was it Ariana needed to see? What was it they all needed to see, back home? What did Ross need to see?
Resolve. Defiance. Even if it didn’t really matter.
Henry stepped forward, bracing the punt gun under the crook of his arm and pointing it in the direction Marco was running. He’d scarcely put pressure on the trigger when he felt the great mass of the gun kick back, sending him stumbling backwards. A blast of flame,sparks, and sulphur-smelling smoke erupted from the barrel as an angry hive of lead shot ripped apart pieces of the treeline. When the smoke cleared, there was at least no sign of a chainsaw-wielding murderer returning to menace them again.
He ejected the massive steel shell from the gun and slotted in another, before turning to face the others. His face fell, as the shock faded and he was confronted yet again with the sight of another dying classmate. Henry let the gun fall slack at his side, at a loss as to what to do or say. Staring down at Ariana with sad eyes, he muttered out an apology, one that wouldn’t do Ari any more good than it had Beryl.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I should’ve acted earlier, I should’ve seen… I should’ve done something.”
Jackson’s cries of anguish did little but to egg the maniac on even furthur. It was like he was getting off on all of this. The awful, bloody display mixed with the childish and manic insanity before him made Jackson feel like it couldn’t be real. This wasn’t what real life was like. This was all just a horrible nightmare and he’d wake up any minute back home in his lumpy twin bed in his shitty house where you had to bang on the water heater in just the right way before you took a shower so you wouldn’t freeze. Back to his real life. The life that a week ago he would have done anything to escape. Not this insanity. This wasn’t real. It was too fucking wrong to be his reality.
Marco demanded that he make good on his promise, and honestly, if he’d had a gun in his hands or something to combat that chainsaw with, he would have enjoyed nothing more. This boy… no… this monster couldn’t be allowed to get away with this. For killing his friend. So much blood. The rain couldn't have washed it away, there was just too much. Noone could survive that. Jackson wanted to make this bastard feel what he was feeling; what poor Ariana w=must have felt as he ripped her arm off at the elbow. And even that wouldn’t truly be enough. Because even if they cut Marco apart piece by piece, Ariana would still be gone. He could never atone for this.
Jackson took a step forward, but a yell from behind him stopped him from moving any further. He blinked away the tears that had begun to cloud his vision and turned his head to see Henry lifting his gigantic shotgun at the chainsaw-wielding bastard in front of them. Marco tossed something at him, distracting him from taking his shot, but then another booming voice demanded all of their attentions.
Ariana!
She was up. She was still alive! How, Jackson couldn’t understand. She looked like something out of a horror film. Her stump of an arm still leaking blood like an open faucet, but she stood, gun in hand, in defiance of all that Marco tried to do to her. Jackson wanted to run to her, to try and save her while there was time. But Ariana must have know. There was no ore time. So she did the only thing that made sense. Jackson couldn’t argue it.
At least ten booming blasts came from the gun, as Ariana basically emptied the chamber firing at Marco, intent on taking him down with her. Arco tried to run, but at least one must have found its mark, as Jackson watched him go down from behind his arms, as they reflexively went up to protect his face in case one of the bullets went astray. All of a sudden, Aurelien blew past him, going after the murderer as he tried to retreat. Henry stepped forwards too, but Jackson’s eyes returned to Ariana instead.
The blast that came from Henry’s gun from behind him wasn’t even enough to distract him as his eyes settled on the girl he’d promised to work with a few days before. She was on the ground again. This time, Jackson knew that she wasn’t getting up. He gritted his teeth and ran to her side, falling to his knees beside her. He reached out to her, but his hand hesitated. What good was he? He did nothing. She was dying right in front of him, and he was absolutely useless. Jackson had never seen someone die. Fuck… He felt so helpless and stupid!
“Ari…” He couldn’t even finish her name as he looked at her.
Marco demanded that he make good on his promise, and honestly, if he’d had a gun in his hands or something to combat that chainsaw with, he would have enjoyed nothing more. This boy… no… this monster couldn’t be allowed to get away with this. For killing his friend. So much blood. The rain couldn't have washed it away, there was just too much. Noone could survive that. Jackson wanted to make this bastard feel what he was feeling; what poor Ariana w=must have felt as he ripped her arm off at the elbow. And even that wouldn’t truly be enough. Because even if they cut Marco apart piece by piece, Ariana would still be gone. He could never atone for this.
Jackson took a step forward, but a yell from behind him stopped him from moving any further. He blinked away the tears that had begun to cloud his vision and turned his head to see Henry lifting his gigantic shotgun at the chainsaw-wielding bastard in front of them. Marco tossed something at him, distracting him from taking his shot, but then another booming voice demanded all of their attentions.
Ariana!
She was up. She was still alive! How, Jackson couldn’t understand. She looked like something out of a horror film. Her stump of an arm still leaking blood like an open faucet, but she stood, gun in hand, in defiance of all that Marco tried to do to her. Jackson wanted to run to her, to try and save her while there was time. But Ariana must have know. There was no ore time. So she did the only thing that made sense. Jackson couldn’t argue it.
At least ten booming blasts came from the gun, as Ariana basically emptied the chamber firing at Marco, intent on taking him down with her. Arco tried to run, but at least one must have found its mark, as Jackson watched him go down from behind his arms, as they reflexively went up to protect his face in case one of the bullets went astray. All of a sudden, Aurelien blew past him, going after the murderer as he tried to retreat. Henry stepped forwards too, but Jackson’s eyes returned to Ariana instead.
The blast that came from Henry’s gun from behind him wasn’t even enough to distract him as his eyes settled on the girl he’d promised to work with a few days before. She was on the ground again. This time, Jackson knew that she wasn’t getting up. He gritted his teeth and ran to her side, falling to his knees beside her. He reached out to her, but his hand hesitated. What good was he? He did nothing. She was dying right in front of him, and he was absolutely useless. Jackson had never seen someone die. Fuck… He felt so helpless and stupid!
“Ari…” He couldn’t even finish her name as he looked at her.