A body among the bodies. This time, he never tried to find out who they were.
((Justin Greene, continued from It all went wrong))
No point in identifying somebody who was already dead. A wasted action was defined as anything requiring effort that didn't directly aid Justin in getting closer to winning the game. He'd lost a lot of blood and the use of an entire limb, rendering him a visible target.
He could use that.
The clock was running down, the counter of living kids ticking down each hour. At any given point, Justin had limited options available to him as the encounter with Garnet and her gallant knights had demonstrated. There were only so many more encounters Justin could take. That was fine, though. He could work with that too. He just had to change things up a little and play to his strengths. He'd left his comfort zone and now he was left with the results of that: a maimed, broken body with half the ability to kill someone.
Justin didn't sleep this time when he rested against the tree. When he slept, he saw Aliya. He saw Saku. He saw Benny, and he felt Mackenzie squirm underneath his arm. He didn't sleep because he heard a gurgling noise coming from Nia and a laugh escaping Jonny's lips even while being beaten to death. He smelled Sean, reaching in vain for the door. He didn't sleep because of the echoing pain from where Shauna shot him, which killing Angie did nothing to assuage. He didn't sleep... because he could no longer remember one of the names of somebody who he'd killed, or when he'd killed them. It was starting to become natural, a slice of his new life. Justin didn't sleep because he was scared.
He just layed against the tree, head down, appearing just another lifeless part of the scenery.
What we are in the dark
Private
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Ace expected to feel different—was that wrong? He thought that doing something so heinous would change him—it didn’t. Ace felt the same as he did the day before. He was sad, he was mad—he was exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. There was no switch that came with killing Connor. Beats cried like someone else had done it. He went to bed like he hadn't. He woke up and took a piss like it was just a regular day. Everything was the same. The announcements came and went as they were prone to do. The early morning sun brought with it the same opportunities and promises as the days before.
Death. Violence. Killing. Fighting. More, more, more and more. It was almost too much. It’d be enough to break a man made of lesser stuff.
He wasn’t broken yet. There were cracks but he hadn’t cracked up. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit more. He could do this. He knew he could. The lies you told yourself were the most dangerous. The ones you ended up believing could be deadly.
Whatever vibe or beauty the gardens had once been blessed with had long since been broken. The whole ambiance of the island was more than cracked up. Bodies near bodies and blood on flowers. It did not look inviting. It did not look welcoming. Ace walked in it anyway--like a rat in search of cheese. He wanted the cheddar, Beats cared little 'bout the trap.
Ace had spotted the cheese almost as soon as he had entered. It came in the form of a person. Someone he had been looking for with a degenerate desperation. For everyone else on this island it was just the game—it wasn’t personal. Except for one person. Except for this person. Justin Greene. Ace had been hit with Justin’s tire iron in a a display of duplicity. The headache that came with the concussion was only a minor one compared to the guilt that came with the bodies. Jackson with Ace's own gun. Aliya with Ace's own hesitance. Saku with Beats own impulsiveness. Angie to his cowardice. Those were just the bodies that effected Ace. Justin had three times as many bodies to his name. He put the triple in triple homicide.
The boy butcher laid still against the tree. A gun in between his legs. His head downward and his body still. He resembled every bit one of the corpses he had so mercilessly created. He resembled so little the monster he was.
“No,” Ace whispered approaching the tree, “Not fuckin’ you. Not fuckin’ yet. They ain't say you died yet--you're not s'posed to be dead yet,” he muttered, “No, no, no, no, no, no,” Beats panicked, “You ain’t allowed to fuckin’ just…lay fuckin’ down and die! No! That ain’t how this is s’posed to go! That ain’t what you fuckin’ deserve!”
Death. Violence. Killing. Fighting. More, more, more and more. It was almost too much. It’d be enough to break a man made of lesser stuff.
Be a man. Be brave. Be a man. Be brave. Be a man. Be brave.Saku wrote: Maybe two days more and this'll be done. Just a little bit longer, so don't crack up on me yet. It's finals, but you've studied, and you'll pass.
He wasn’t broken yet. There were cracks but he hadn’t cracked up. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit more. He could do this. He knew he could. The lies you told yourself were the most dangerous. The ones you ended up believing could be deadly.
[ Ace Beats Continued From: The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows ]
Whatever vibe or beauty the gardens had once been blessed with had long since been broken. The whole ambiance of the island was more than cracked up. Bodies near bodies and blood on flowers. It did not look inviting. It did not look welcoming. Ace walked in it anyway--like a rat in search of cheese. He wanted the cheddar, Beats cared little 'bout the trap.
Ace had spotted the cheese almost as soon as he had entered. It came in the form of a person. Someone he had been looking for with a degenerate desperation. For everyone else on this island it was just the game—it wasn’t personal. Except for one person. Except for this person. Justin Greene. Ace had been hit with Justin’s tire iron in a a display of duplicity. The headache that came with the concussion was only a minor one compared to the guilt that came with the bodies. Jackson with Ace's own gun. Aliya with Ace's own hesitance. Saku with Beats own impulsiveness. Angie to his cowardice. Those were just the bodies that effected Ace. Justin had three times as many bodies to his name. He put the triple in triple homicide.
The boy butcher laid still against the tree. A gun in between his legs. His head downward and his body still. He resembled every bit one of the corpses he had so mercilessly created. He resembled so little the monster he was.
“No,” Ace whispered approaching the tree, “Not fuckin’ you. Not fuckin’ yet. They ain't say you died yet--you're not s'posed to be dead yet,” he muttered, “No, no, no, no, no, no,” Beats panicked, “You ain’t allowed to fuckin’ just…lay fuckin’ down and die! No! That ain’t how this is s’posed to go! That ain’t what you fuckin’ deserve!”
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin could have laughed.
When somebody approached, he had no way of knowing who it could be by the angle of his head and half lidded eyes meant to disguise his consciousness. Every so often as he sat for however long he'd waited in rest at this one spot, he thought he might have drifted off into a waking nightmare, still on the island even in his dreams. The same imagery, but when he tried to move, it wasn't really him moving. Then the constant aches all over his body would wake him to start the cycle all over. The aching was still there, and the voice was very real.
The chronic discomfort agonizing his shoulder and commital to the ruse worked together to keep Justin from laughing in delighted shock at hearing Ace's voice. He should have been terrified, really thinking about it, to come face-to-face once more with the person on this island who must have wanted him dead the most. Ace wasn't exactly without competition in that department either, Justin was sure. Garnet went off about how he killed Shauna, even though she was just one name of many. People weren't going to lose their minds over every classmate that died anymore; even Justin could see they could hardly afford to, anymore. However, everybody had at least one person special to them that would be the breaking point. Well... almost everybody, Justin thought bitterly, but with every time they interacted and somebody else died, Ace wanted to punch his ticket more and more. And of all the people who had to see Justin like this, it had to be Ace.
That's why he wanted to laugh. Or rather, it was half the reason.
The other half was because... in his panicked moans and groans about how justice didn't get served, Ace got exactly where he needed to be.
Justin has resolved to lean on what would work best for his current situation. Down a limb and robbed of some mobility, he knew he was likely unable to go face to face with any of the other killers left on the island, which meant relying on a sneak attack. The Madsen was running out of ammo, and the noise it made could attract unwanted attention from more bodies than he could handle. That, and it was best served as the bait... a shiny new weapon for somebody to grab and make use of. The Madsen was the bait, and Justin himself was the trap; he, his right arm, and the tire iron pressed beside the bottom of his right thigh, concealed and ready to be swung, laid in wait to snap on the first rat to wander too close. Ace had been snapped by this trap once. How funny...
How funny it was that he'd be getting by it twice, Justin thought, as he sprang to life and swung the tire iron for Ace's temple.
When somebody approached, he had no way of knowing who it could be by the angle of his head and half lidded eyes meant to disguise his consciousness. Every so often as he sat for however long he'd waited in rest at this one spot, he thought he might have drifted off into a waking nightmare, still on the island even in his dreams. The same imagery, but when he tried to move, it wasn't really him moving. Then the constant aches all over his body would wake him to start the cycle all over. The aching was still there, and the voice was very real.
The chronic discomfort agonizing his shoulder and commital to the ruse worked together to keep Justin from laughing in delighted shock at hearing Ace's voice. He should have been terrified, really thinking about it, to come face-to-face once more with the person on this island who must have wanted him dead the most. Ace wasn't exactly without competition in that department either, Justin was sure. Garnet went off about how he killed Shauna, even though she was just one name of many. People weren't going to lose their minds over every classmate that died anymore; even Justin could see they could hardly afford to, anymore. However, everybody had at least one person special to them that would be the breaking point. Well... almost everybody, Justin thought bitterly, but with every time they interacted and somebody else died, Ace wanted to punch his ticket more and more. And of all the people who had to see Justin like this, it had to be Ace.
That's why he wanted to laugh. Or rather, it was half the reason.
The other half was because... in his panicked moans and groans about how justice didn't get served, Ace got exactly where he needed to be.
Justin has resolved to lean on what would work best for his current situation. Down a limb and robbed of some mobility, he knew he was likely unable to go face to face with any of the other killers left on the island, which meant relying on a sneak attack. The Madsen was running out of ammo, and the noise it made could attract unwanted attention from more bodies than he could handle. That, and it was best served as the bait... a shiny new weapon for somebody to grab and make use of. The Madsen was the bait, and Justin himself was the trap; he, his right arm, and the tire iron pressed beside the bottom of his right thigh, concealed and ready to be swung, laid in wait to snap on the first rat to wander too close. Ace had been snapped by this trap once. How funny...
How funny it was that he'd be getting by it twice, Justin thought, as he sprang to life and swung the tire iron for Ace's temple.
This had to have been Ace’s lucky day!
His hand was on his gun and he walked towards Justin with an investigators curiosity paired with a frantic panic. Even in hysteria he moved with a certain methodology. Slow. Steady. One foot in front of the other. Inch by inch. Moment by moment. Ace was fast. He had been born fast and every movement he made he made with speed. Beats made every decision quick—even when he decided to hesitate. Even when the decision was wrong. It was all about speed--Ace was even quick to take it fuckin' slow.
He prolly shoulda shot Justin’s body. Whether he was alive or not—no bullet would be wasted if it ended up in Justin Greene. He prolly shoulda just left Justin alone. Whether Ace killed him or not—there was no way he would survive the injuries he had clearly incurred. Ace had to win and killing Justin wasn’t integral in that. Justin’s death sentence already had a period on it. There was no shoulda, woulda, coulda with him. Not with Ace either.
Shoulda, woulda and coulda had long exited the building. The only thing that existed was the present. The only truth lied within the decisions he actually made. In what actually happened—murder, death, fighting. Over and over and over again. For Justin and for Ace too.
Justin didn't look like much, Beats thought, as he reached the boy's body. Chubby. Wounded. Desperate and damaged. He looked like nothing. A scared kid. Ace didn’t underestimate fear. Fear could be fire and fire was fuel. It could burn you up or push you forward. It could make the gazelle out run the cheetah and gift the weak with incredible strength. But it was also poison. Justin carried with him plenty of venom. Ace almost didn’t notice it. In his excitement Ace had almost forgotten how toxic Greene could be.
Almost.
Beats was fast. He had been born fast and every movement he made with speed. Every decision was made quick—even when he decided to hesitate. Even when the decision was wrong. When you live by trial and error? You remember the errors. When you’re constantly making new mistakes? You learn to learn from the old ones. You try your best not to make the exact same mistake the exact same way.
Lori with the LSD, Justin with the tire iron—fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice? Well, won’t get fooled again. A president had said that shit.
“AUUUUGWHADAFUCK!”
Not that. Not on the record at least.
The tire iron didn’t meet Ace’s temple—it met his forearm. Beats rose his arm to his head like he was taking a hook from Wyatt. The tire iron felt a hundred times worse. Ace felt a sting that went from the center of his arm and extended to his elbow and his wrist. When you’re constantly making new mistakes—you learn from the old ones. First time Justin had swung at him with that tire iron, he had gotten Ace in the head. Getting him in the forearm was progress. Progress sure felt like fuckin' pain.
For the moment he fumbled and stumbled backwards, his arm away from the gun and his finger unable to find the trigger. His green eyes stayed on Justin’s weakened form. He remembered metaphors about cornered and wounded tigers. In the heat of battle and underneath the frantic light in his eyes—Ace could clearly see Justin’s stripes.
His hand was on his gun and he walked towards Justin with an investigators curiosity paired with a frantic panic. Even in hysteria he moved with a certain methodology. Slow. Steady. One foot in front of the other. Inch by inch. Moment by moment. Ace was fast. He had been born fast and every movement he made he made with speed. Beats made every decision quick—even when he decided to hesitate. Even when the decision was wrong. It was all about speed--Ace was even quick to take it fuckin' slow.
He prolly shoulda shot Justin’s body. Whether he was alive or not—no bullet would be wasted if it ended up in Justin Greene. He prolly shoulda just left Justin alone. Whether Ace killed him or not—there was no way he would survive the injuries he had clearly incurred. Ace had to win and killing Justin wasn’t integral in that. Justin’s death sentence already had a period on it. There was no shoulda, woulda, coulda with him. Not with Ace either.
Shoulda, woulda and coulda had long exited the building. The only thing that existed was the present. The only truth lied within the decisions he actually made. In what actually happened—murder, death, fighting. Over and over and over again. For Justin and for Ace too.
Justin didn't look like much, Beats thought, as he reached the boy's body. Chubby. Wounded. Desperate and damaged. He looked like nothing. A scared kid. Ace didn’t underestimate fear. Fear could be fire and fire was fuel. It could burn you up or push you forward. It could make the gazelle out run the cheetah and gift the weak with incredible strength. But it was also poison. Justin carried with him plenty of venom. Ace almost didn’t notice it. In his excitement Ace had almost forgotten how toxic Greene could be.
Almost.
Beats was fast. He had been born fast and every movement he made with speed. Every decision was made quick—even when he decided to hesitate. Even when the decision was wrong. When you live by trial and error? You remember the errors. When you’re constantly making new mistakes? You learn to learn from the old ones. You try your best not to make the exact same mistake the exact same way.
Lori with the LSD, Justin with the tire iron—fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice? Well, won’t get fooled again. A president had said that shit.
“AUUUUGWHADAFUCK!”
Not that. Not on the record at least.
The tire iron didn’t meet Ace’s temple—it met his forearm. Beats rose his arm to his head like he was taking a hook from Wyatt. The tire iron felt a hundred times worse. Ace felt a sting that went from the center of his arm and extended to his elbow and his wrist. When you’re constantly making new mistakes—you learn from the old ones. First time Justin had swung at him with that tire iron, he had gotten Ace in the head. Getting him in the forearm was progress. Progress sure felt like fuckin' pain.
For the moment he fumbled and stumbled backwards, his arm away from the gun and his finger unable to find the trigger. His green eyes stayed on Justin’s weakened form. He remembered metaphors about cornered and wounded tigers. In the heat of battle and underneath the frantic light in his eyes—Ace could clearly see Justin’s stripes.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
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MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Impact. The impact of metal against flesh felt good, in a way that would disgust him if he thought about it too hard, and right now Justin was doing this best not to think about anything too hard. It just felt good to make that hit. Even if Ace was still up, even if it hadn't gotten him cleanly in the exact way Justin wanted, it was a hit.
Instead of being discouraged, Justin didn't miss a beat, scrambling to his feet with all the rocking and shuffling grace of a newborn camel learning to stand for the first time. He didn't have to be graceful, though, only fast in his approach. When thinking about graceful hunters, one didn't really think about a bear with their awkward and lumbering gait. But let that bear run up to you and hit you once with its big paw, and you'd no longer have the head required to observe just how absurd a creature it really was.
Justin knew he wasn't a bear or a perfect killing machine, but he believed himself to have the edge. He took a big step with his left leg then a lunge with the right, swinging his right arm across his body wildly. The swing was so far off from Ace's head that he was forced to subconsciously conclude that he hadn't been truly aiming for it but rather Ace's other arm. He found the gun that arm was holding instead, knocking the barrel off-kilter but taking his own body weight with it.
"FUCK! FUCK!" Justin found himself screaming, though those were the only words he heard himself say and they were almost certainly among others in company, the desperation of the situation finally catching up to him. Shit, that first shot really hadn't found its perfect mark! It was only now that the ramifications of that, and who he was facing, started to fall into place. Anybody else and this should have already been over. Ace, however, Ace had been wise to him. Because he'd seen it all before.
God. Fucking. DAMN IT. Life just kept playing one cruel joke after the other. But he'd salvage this. Dumb luck and the drive to live had carried him this far and it would carry him just a little further. Survive Ace. Survive whoever came looking. Survive Blaise. Let everybody else kill everybody else. Two... one... down to one... he could live... he could live! Ace. Just had to. FUCKING. DIE!
Justin nearly toppled from the efforts of his previous strike, but frantic steps had kept his feet underneath and bracing him for the backswing, angled up and broadside at the right side of Ace's head. He instead caught the broadside of air as Ace was able to continuously dart back and squirm away, running faster backwards than Justin could lumber forwards. Out of range. And he had a gun.
The writing was on the wall, and Justin was forced to make the most unpleasant decision he had thus far.
Wheezing, mouth puckered into a loose 'O' shape as he gasped and huffed for breath, Justin cocked his elbow and hurled the tire iron at Ace's head-and-chest region. He didn't wait to see if it strike its mark. He couldn't wait. Justin pivoted to the right, intuitively and unknowingly choosing the opposite way from he had thrown which forced him to twist his momentum the other way. There was no calculated effort to shave time in his quest -- just a raw, instinctive effort to dive for the Madsen and hope he could get to it before Ace fired.
Instead of being discouraged, Justin didn't miss a beat, scrambling to his feet with all the rocking and shuffling grace of a newborn camel learning to stand for the first time. He didn't have to be graceful, though, only fast in his approach. When thinking about graceful hunters, one didn't really think about a bear with their awkward and lumbering gait. But let that bear run up to you and hit you once with its big paw, and you'd no longer have the head required to observe just how absurd a creature it really was.
Justin knew he wasn't a bear or a perfect killing machine, but he believed himself to have the edge. He took a big step with his left leg then a lunge with the right, swinging his right arm across his body wildly. The swing was so far off from Ace's head that he was forced to subconsciously conclude that he hadn't been truly aiming for it but rather Ace's other arm. He found the gun that arm was holding instead, knocking the barrel off-kilter but taking his own body weight with it.
"FUCK! FUCK!" Justin found himself screaming, though those were the only words he heard himself say and they were almost certainly among others in company, the desperation of the situation finally catching up to him. Shit, that first shot really hadn't found its perfect mark! It was only now that the ramifications of that, and who he was facing, started to fall into place. Anybody else and this should have already been over. Ace, however, Ace had been wise to him. Because he'd seen it all before.
God. Fucking. DAMN IT. Life just kept playing one cruel joke after the other. But he'd salvage this. Dumb luck and the drive to live had carried him this far and it would carry him just a little further. Survive Ace. Survive whoever came looking. Survive Blaise. Let everybody else kill everybody else. Two... one... down to one... he could live... he could live! Ace. Just had to. FUCKING. DIE!
Justin nearly toppled from the efforts of his previous strike, but frantic steps had kept his feet underneath and bracing him for the backswing, angled up and broadside at the right side of Ace's head. He instead caught the broadside of air as Ace was able to continuously dart back and squirm away, running faster backwards than Justin could lumber forwards. Out of range. And he had a gun.
The writing was on the wall, and Justin was forced to make the most unpleasant decision he had thus far.
Wheezing, mouth puckered into a loose 'O' shape as he gasped and huffed for breath, Justin cocked his elbow and hurled the tire iron at Ace's head-and-chest region. He didn't wait to see if it strike its mark. He couldn't wait. Justin pivoted to the right, intuitively and unknowingly choosing the opposite way from he had thrown which forced him to twist his momentum the other way. There was no calculated effort to shave time in his quest -- just a raw, instinctive effort to dive for the Madsen and hope he could get to it before Ace fired.
Justin wasn’t quick enough.
Justin wasn’t quick enough and Ace hardly had his eyes fully on him—instead his focus was more on the tire iron and it’s deadly reach. He knew all too well how much damage it could do and Justin’s blow to his arm had brought Ace right back to that night in the Infirmary. There was an adrenaline that was pumping in his heart and a competitiveness that had been trained into his core. He felt at home in a one on one conflict like this. The promise of victory was dangling in front of Ace and he could practically taste it. Justin was too slow, too desperate and too dumb to outsmart and get Beats with this trick again. That boy had fucked up. Maybe he even knew it.
All three prior times Justin had escaped Ace it had been due to dumb luck and a will to win. Well? On day twelve Justin's luck ran out--and it just so happened to be Ace's lucky day.
Beats ducked the tire iron and it whizzed over his head. Justin wasn’t strong enough for that to be a threat. Justin scampered towards his gun and Ace’s hands scampered towards the trigger of his rifle. He brought it up and aimed the BR-18 at Justin’s legs. Ace didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.
And Justin wasn’t quick enough.
Justin wasn’t quick enough and Ace hardly had his eyes fully on him—instead his focus was more on the tire iron and it’s deadly reach. He knew all too well how much damage it could do and Justin’s blow to his arm had brought Ace right back to that night in the Infirmary. There was an adrenaline that was pumping in his heart and a competitiveness that had been trained into his core. He felt at home in a one on one conflict like this. The promise of victory was dangling in front of Ace and he could practically taste it. Justin was too slow, too desperate and too dumb to outsmart and get Beats with this trick again. That boy had fucked up. Maybe he even knew it.
All three prior times Justin had escaped Ace it had been due to dumb luck and a will to win. Well? On day twelve Justin's luck ran out--and it just so happened to be Ace's lucky day.
Beats ducked the tire iron and it whizzed over his head. Justin wasn’t strong enough for that to be a threat. Justin scampered towards his gun and Ace’s hands scampered towards the trigger of his rifle. He brought it up and aimed the BR-18 at Justin’s legs. Ace didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.
And Justin wasn’t quick enough.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin had been shot before. Twice, as a matter of fact, one time by Ace and one time by Shauna and both times with a shotgun. At another time, he may have found it interesting how the act of getting shot could offer differences in experience each and every time. Now, Justin choked on his next breath and his right leg failed when he put his weight on it, causing the knee to buckle and for him to go tumbling.
A white-hot hornet had hit him at mach 2 just above the knee, where Justin imagined there must have been something connecting the muscle to the bone. Ligament or tendon... he could never remember which was which. One of those, and now whatever it was, it had a bullet in it.
His breath came back and he used it to howl, a long wail cut off into a short screech when he rolled back and forth, face-down in the leaves, putting pressure on his mess of a left arm. He'd been shot, and now he was going to be shot again, like a dog in the mud. Not like this... he'd gotten so far. He was so close! "NO!" Justin squealed, crying out in agony as he rolled flat onto his stomach once more and pushed with his left foot, clawed with his right hand. If he could just reach his gun...
"I just wanna live! Get outhere I just wanna get outta here! Go away, GO AWAY!"
A white-hot hornet had hit him at mach 2 just above the knee, where Justin imagined there must have been something connecting the muscle to the bone. Ligament or tendon... he could never remember which was which. One of those, and now whatever it was, it had a bullet in it.
His breath came back and he used it to howl, a long wail cut off into a short screech when he rolled back and forth, face-down in the leaves, putting pressure on his mess of a left arm. He'd been shot, and now he was going to be shot again, like a dog in the mud. Not like this... he'd gotten so far. He was so close! "NO!" Justin squealed, crying out in agony as he rolled flat onto his stomach once more and pushed with his left foot, clawed with his right hand. If he could just reach his gun...
"I just wanna live! Get outhere I just wanna get outta here! Go away, GO AWAY!"
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”
It was strange. There was a surge of euphoria that came when Justin hit the ground—followed by a fiery and all consuming rage at his cries and his protests. Justin Greene, a boy to watch—that’s what Danya had said, right? Justin Greene, the eleven time murderer. Justin Greene, the guy who had killed Angie and Aliya and Jackson and Saku. Justin thought he could cry...? He thought he could beg and make demands?
“I don’t fuckin’ think so!”
Ace screamed as he ran towards Justin’s gun and kicked it away from the boys grasping hands. It slid farther and farther to the side, away from both boys. Its awkward and deadly metal form tumbling out of their reach. Ace stood above Justin, tall and menacing and filled with rage. Beats could shoot him now. End it quickly. He had done that before—Parker had died before he hit the ground, Lori was dead almost as soon as she hit it…Myles barely had time hold Ivy’s hand...
Connor barely had time to sit down.
Death had been quick and sudden and scary for Ace and all of his friends.
It wouldn’t be for Justin.
“You ain’t goin’ home, you’re goin’ to hell asshole! I don’t give a fuck how much you fuckin’ cry! What your tears do for Aliya, huh? For fuckin' Saku?!”
No bullet would be wasted if it ended up in Justin Greene.
But would any bullet ever be enough? Beats searched his soul for answers and then took to looking around the garden for inspiration.
Then he found them both.
It was strange. There was a surge of euphoria that came when Justin hit the ground—followed by a fiery and all consuming rage at his cries and his protests. Justin Greene, a boy to watch—that’s what Danya had said, right? Justin Greene, the eleven time murderer. Justin Greene, the guy who had killed Angie and Aliya and Jackson and Saku. Justin thought he could cry...? He thought he could beg and make demands?
“I don’t fuckin’ think so!”
Ace screamed as he ran towards Justin’s gun and kicked it away from the boys grasping hands. It slid farther and farther to the side, away from both boys. Its awkward and deadly metal form tumbling out of their reach. Ace stood above Justin, tall and menacing and filled with rage. Beats could shoot him now. End it quickly. He had done that before—Parker had died before he hit the ground, Lori was dead almost as soon as she hit it…Myles barely had time hold Ivy’s hand...
Connor barely had time to sit down.
Death had been quick and sudden and scary for Ace and all of his friends.
It wouldn’t be for Justin.
“You ain’t goin’ home, you’re goin’ to hell asshole! I don’t give a fuck how much you fuckin’ cry! What your tears do for Aliya, huh? For fuckin' Saku?!”
No bullet would be wasted if it ended up in Justin Greene.
But would any bullet ever be enough? Beats searched his soul for answers and then took to looking around the garden for inspiration.
Then he found them both.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin started to sob into the dead leaves when Ace's boot hurtled his gun out of range, dashing his chances of ever reaching it to bits. He felt like he was drowning in a sea that he himself had filled with the hose, and Ace just kicked the life preserver. Knowing it was pointless, he still dug his palm into the ground and pushed up, dragging himself inches closer. So much effort, energy and pain suffered for a single step. Just fifty more times and he might make it. Just do the impossible, Justin, and you'll be okay.
His voice tumbled as he cried, giving a sort of spread-out vibrato as trembling lungs bawled out unvenly. Justin grabbed a fistful of dirt and leaves, haphazardly chucking it behind him. "SHUT! UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!" he screeched until his lungs burned and the back of his throat itched. Something about hearing Aliya and Sakurako's names, especially Ace saying them, sparked an intense and souring anger in him that panic rendered him unable to verbalize or even put into verbose thought. Imagination conjured to mind a sense of justice that felt hollow and cobbled together, a jerry-rigged circuit that would burn everything to the foundation once the switch was flipped. Justin choked out a few more noises of frustration, slamming his fist against the ground twice and pushing himself to the side, this time not even caring how his arm and shoulder felt as he pushed onto his back. He struck out with his left foot and hit nothing but the neglected earth, digging out a small divot with his heel every time his boot struck.
"I didn't-... I want, I didn't want," Justin babbled. He knew nothing he said was going to matter, but he spoke all the same in lieu of nothing else. "I DIDN'T! DIDN'T WA-ANT THEM TO DIE! I DON'T HATE NOBODY, I'm NO-UH-OT A BAD!" Justin croaked, mouthing the word 'person' but never actually saying it. He wasn't a bad person. He just wanted to live, and he was supposed to want it more than anybody else. Not like this.
"Not... luh-like this..."
Don't shoot me.
"DUN SHOOT ME!"
His voice tumbled as he cried, giving a sort of spread-out vibrato as trembling lungs bawled out unvenly. Justin grabbed a fistful of dirt and leaves, haphazardly chucking it behind him. "SHUT! UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP!" he screeched until his lungs burned and the back of his throat itched. Something about hearing Aliya and Sakurako's names, especially Ace saying them, sparked an intense and souring anger in him that panic rendered him unable to verbalize or even put into verbose thought. Imagination conjured to mind a sense of justice that felt hollow and cobbled together, a jerry-rigged circuit that would burn everything to the foundation once the switch was flipped. Justin choked out a few more noises of frustration, slamming his fist against the ground twice and pushing himself to the side, this time not even caring how his arm and shoulder felt as he pushed onto his back. He struck out with his left foot and hit nothing but the neglected earth, digging out a small divot with his heel every time his boot struck.
"I didn't-... I want, I didn't want," Justin babbled. He knew nothing he said was going to matter, but he spoke all the same in lieu of nothing else. "I DIDN'T! DIDN'T WA-ANT THEM TO DIE! I DON'T HATE NOBODY, I'm NO-UH-OT A BAD!" Justin croaked, mouthing the word 'person' but never actually saying it. He wasn't a bad person. He just wanted to live, and he was supposed to want it more than anybody else. Not like this.
"Not... luh-like this..."
Don't shoot me.
"DUN SHOOT ME!"
No bullet would be wasted on Justin Greene--that had already been established, right?
Ace was tired of the killing. He was tired of the fighting and the death and it was people like Justin that had forced that exhaustion. What choice was there? Deal with it or go permanently to sleep. Hate the game, don’t hate the players. Por que no dos? It wasn’t about the game with Justin. It wasn’t about Justin with Justin. It was about everything. It was about it all.
And Ace wanted everything. Ace wanted it all.
Justin turned and crawled to the gun, sniveling and whining and begging. Ace walked casually across the garden. Over the flowers and towards the thing that had caught his eye. The tire iron. The sting in Ace’s arm. The aching in his head. A bullet was too quick. But what ‘bout the code of Harambe? Right? Wasn’t that the first law of man? An eye for an eye?
Beats picked up the tire iron. He slapped the metal against the palm of his hand. His shoulder ached. His forearm felt like it was on fire. His stomach felt the same. The only thing his green eyes saw was red. The BR-18 slapped against his side as he walked towards Justin. Ace had three pistols and a rifle on his person. He didn't need to do this--so why was he? Because he wanted to. Because he fuckin' felt like it. Because it was what Justin deserved.
“I ain’t gonna fuckin’ shoot you,” Ace growled, “You ain’t worth the goddamn bullet.”
Another slap against his palm. He steeled his gaze. The fire in Ace’s belly turned to ice in his veins.
Ace was tired of the killing. He was tired of the fighting and the death and it was people like Justin that had forced that exhaustion. What choice was there? Deal with it or go permanently to sleep. Hate the game, don’t hate the players. Por que no dos? It wasn’t about the game with Justin. It wasn’t about Justin with Justin. It was about everything. It was about it all.
And Ace wanted everything. Ace wanted it all.
Justin turned and crawled to the gun, sniveling and whining and begging. Ace walked casually across the garden. Over the flowers and towards the thing that had caught his eye. The tire iron. The sting in Ace’s arm. The aching in his head. A bullet was too quick. But what ‘bout the code of Harambe? Right? Wasn’t that the first law of man? An eye for an eye?
Beats picked up the tire iron. He slapped the metal against the palm of his hand. His shoulder ached. His forearm felt like it was on fire. His stomach felt the same. The only thing his green eyes saw was red. The BR-18 slapped against his side as he walked towards Justin. Ace had three pistols and a rifle on his person. He didn't need to do this--so why was he? Because he wanted to. Because he fuckin' felt like it. Because it was what Justin deserved.
“I ain’t gonna fuckin’ shoot you,” Ace growled, “You ain’t worth the goddamn bullet.”
Another slap against his palm. He steeled his gaze. The fire in Ace’s belly turned to ice in his veins.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin fell silent, if only for a few seconds as the weight of what Ace had said fell off its scaffold and smothered him.
"N... nuh-nuh-no," he whimpered softly. That was his weapon. His tool. His only friend since waking up on the island. It'd been with him from the very beginning, and through the past week and a half it had started to feel like a part of him. Ace was holding a disjointed part of him that may as well have been forcefully severed. It was a mistake to ever throw it away in his last-ditch effort to reach for the gun. Now, Ace was bringing it back to him.
"No no no, NO NO!" Swimming backwards long the ground in a two-limb stroke, Justin smacked his arm against the ground again and again to purchase what distance he could. The impact of each flailing motion when it was brought low rung through his ulna and up his elbow. It called to mind the time he struck Benny, or Camilla, or Nia or Johnny... or Ace. "Somebody! Some-heh-somebody help me! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!"
He didn't want to feel it. He never wanted to know what they felt. Justin didn't wish it on anybody, but he brought it on so many. But not him. He wasn't supposed to know the fear of not going home. "Doot-don't do to- this to me, don't!"
Ace was too close. Nowhere to hide, no ability to run. When the hammer fell on the hammer of inevitability, Justin found himself trying to pull his legs up, holding his arm in front of his face as he curled into a half-formed ball.
"N... nuh-nuh-no," he whimpered softly. That was his weapon. His tool. His only friend since waking up on the island. It'd been with him from the very beginning, and through the past week and a half it had started to feel like a part of him. Ace was holding a disjointed part of him that may as well have been forcefully severed. It was a mistake to ever throw it away in his last-ditch effort to reach for the gun. Now, Ace was bringing it back to him.
"No no no, NO NO!" Swimming backwards long the ground in a two-limb stroke, Justin smacked his arm against the ground again and again to purchase what distance he could. The impact of each flailing motion when it was brought low rung through his ulna and up his elbow. It called to mind the time he struck Benny, or Camilla, or Nia or Johnny... or Ace. "Somebody! Some-heh-somebody help me! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!"
He didn't want to feel it. He never wanted to know what they felt. Justin didn't wish it on anybody, but he brought it on so many. But not him. He wasn't supposed to know the fear of not going home. "Doot-don't do to- this to me, don't!"
Ace was too close. Nowhere to hide, no ability to run. When the hammer fell on the hammer of inevitability, Justin found himself trying to pull his legs up, holding his arm in front of his face as he curled into a half-formed ball.
In football if you were thinking—you were losing. Ace was done thinking. Somehow it felt like he was done losing. That was slightly different from feeling like you were winning.
He stood over Justin and gripped the tire iron with both hands. It was too late to back out. But too late for who? Beats wanted to close his eyes--but that was a lie, wasn't it? He wanted to see every bit of this. Feel every crunch and memorize the misery. He was too far gone. There was no way out. Ace was in too deep. Justin didn’t look like the threat he was. Justin looked scared. Justin looked like a nobody and nothing. He was weaker than Ace in spirit and in body and in character…
And yet he had taken so much from Beats regardless.
Three times they had crossed paths and three times Justin had come out victorious. His relationship with Justin had been a week of frustration punctuated with death after death after death. Ace wasn’t alone in that. Justin had caused plenty pain for more than just him.
“Shut the fuck up and die like a goddamn man,” he spat, “You fuckin’ limp-dick, cowardly, murdering, pussy piece of shit!”
Then he brought the weapon down hard onto the arms being held in front of Justin’s face. Unbridled rage and anger gifted Ace previously untapped strength. In football if you were thinking—you were losing. Ace's mind went blank and all he saw and felt was the rage and hurt he had endured the past twelve days. That couldn't be called thinking. This couldn't be called losing either.
He stood over Justin and gripped the tire iron with both hands. It was too late to back out. But too late for who? Beats wanted to close his eyes--but that was a lie, wasn't it? He wanted to see every bit of this. Feel every crunch and memorize the misery. He was too far gone. There was no way out. Ace was in too deep. Justin didn’t look like the threat he was. Justin looked scared. Justin looked like a nobody and nothing. He was weaker than Ace in spirit and in body and in character…
And yet he had taken so much from Beats regardless.
Three times they had crossed paths and three times Justin had come out victorious. His relationship with Justin had been a week of frustration punctuated with death after death after death. Ace wasn’t alone in that. Justin had caused plenty pain for more than just him.
Damn right Cap’n.Connor wrote: He ain't right in the head; sounds like he's beyond saving — not that he deserves it in the first place. Ain't no one going to shed a tear over him after what he's done. If it's personal, ain't no one stopping you from what needs to be done. He's hurt people, good people and he needs to pay.
“Shut the fuck up and die like a goddamn man,” he spat, “You fuckin’ limp-dick, cowardly, murdering, pussy piece of shit!”
Then he brought the weapon down hard onto the arms being held in front of Justin’s face. Unbridled rage and anger gifted Ace previously untapped strength. In football if you were thinking—you were losing. Ace's mind went blank and all he saw and felt was the rage and hurt he had endured the past twelve days. That couldn't be called thinking. This couldn't be called losing either.
THWACK!
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
Justin shook his head through the tirade of insults and the whimpering picked up in pitch as he started to cry once more. "Nuh, du-"
That was as far as he got, then a sharp impact cracked into his right arm, striking across the meat of his forearm and the little ridge of bone across the outside. Right away something broke; he could hear it crack more than he actually felt it. Justin shrieked on an inhale, a pained and asthmatic gasp brought about by Ace forcing him to begin coping with the reality of his predicament. He thrust and bucked his hips up, legs straightening out and shaking. To attempt to equate it to anything seemed pointless but to take a stab at it, it had notes of putting his elbow down on his desk and pinching that nerve that was in there, making his whole arm tingle. That, times a hundred. A thousand.
He wasn't just overcome with pain, but shock at the impact. Justin pushed back, with both feet now, even if his right leg wouldn't quite work right. "STAAAAAAHP!"
He could still have pity. Ace might stop on his own. Maybe those two kids would show up and beg Ace not to be a murderer. False hopes. Justin clung to what he could find to keep him alive, just a second longer.
"STOPPITSTOPPIT ACE NO!"
That was as far as he got, then a sharp impact cracked into his right arm, striking across the meat of his forearm and the little ridge of bone across the outside. Right away something broke; he could hear it crack more than he actually felt it. Justin shrieked on an inhale, a pained and asthmatic gasp brought about by Ace forcing him to begin coping with the reality of his predicament. He thrust and bucked his hips up, legs straightening out and shaking. To attempt to equate it to anything seemed pointless but to take a stab at it, it had notes of putting his elbow down on his desk and pinching that nerve that was in there, making his whole arm tingle. That, times a hundred. A thousand.
He wasn't just overcome with pain, but shock at the impact. Justin pushed back, with both feet now, even if his right leg wouldn't quite work right. "STAAAAAAHP!"
He could still have pity. Ace might stop on his own. Maybe those two kids would show up and beg Ace not to be a murderer. False hopes. Justin clung to what he could find to keep him alive, just a second longer.
"STOPPITSTOPPIT ACE NO!"
He struggled and cried like a little boy and his body yielded almost immediately to Ace’s strength and the destructive power of his own weapon.
Beats expected to feel different—he didn't feel different, he was different. He thought that doing something so heinous hadn’t changed him. That killing Connor hadn’t flipped some sorta switch—it had. Justin’s cries didn’t inspire pity or hesitance…they inspired anger. Ace didn’t take pause when faced with his own cruelty. Justin had long since exhausted any sane person's ability for compassion. Justin had killed the one person who had been insane enough to give him compassion. Ace and Justin both. Justin writhed and he bucked--but he wasn't quick enough. Wasn't strong enough either.
“For Saku!”
Ace brought the tire iron down again.
“For Aliya!”
Again.
“For Jackson!”
Again.
“For fuckin’ me!”
Again and again and again and again.
Beats expected to feel different—he didn't feel different, he was different. He thought that doing something so heinous hadn’t changed him. That killing Connor hadn’t flipped some sorta switch—it had. Justin’s cries didn’t inspire pity or hesitance…they inspired anger. Ace didn’t take pause when faced with his own cruelty. Justin had long since exhausted any sane person's ability for compassion. Justin had killed the one person who had been insane enough to give him compassion. Ace and Justin both. Justin writhed and he bucked--but he wasn't quick enough. Wasn't strong enough either.
“For Saku!”
Ace brought the tire iron down again.
“For Aliya!”
Again.
“For Jackson!”
Again.
“For fuckin’ me!”
Again and again and again and again.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
-
MK Kilmarnock
- Posts: 1931
- Joined: Fri Aug 10, 2018 5:28 am
- Location: On one of the coasts, generally
The next strike of the tire iron was intercepted by the tire iron again, hitting two inches up along the bone from Justin's most recent wound, absorbing some of the impact for his skull. Justin bellowed and convulsed from the strike, a deep but ultimately inconsequential soreness developing in his belly from how drastically his abs tightened from his flinch. His last line of defense was now draped across his eyes, shielding him from having to see the anger on Ace's face with which he'd chosen to kill him.
And on the next hit, which struck over his arm and clean onto his crown, Justin finally admitted to himself that he was going to die. At the instant of impact, his whole face went numb in a ripple starting from the top of his forehead and running down to his chin. His right arm fell out of the way and he rocked his head side to side in an attempt to collect his bearings and regain his senses. He smelled copper.
Ace struck him again, this time while his face was turned to the side. Justin felt the unyielding steel against his right cheek. He thought he heard a loud crack again, this time sounding like the shattering of glass or ceramic rather than the singular snapping of a twig. Something fell in onto itself around there. His face? His cheekbone, his upper jaw? It cracked off and fell in, like a rotting pumpkin on somebody's porch the week after Halloween. He held his arm up and out, trying to find Ace in the blur, trying to intercept the weapon with a broken arm.
If he could just get the tire iron to stop, and to be his again...
If he could just... dying for a second...
And on the next hit, which struck over his arm and clean onto his crown, Justin finally admitted to himself that he was going to die. At the instant of impact, his whole face went numb in a ripple starting from the top of his forehead and running down to his chin. His right arm fell out of the way and he rocked his head side to side in an attempt to collect his bearings and regain his senses. He smelled copper.
Ace struck him again, this time while his face was turned to the side. Justin felt the unyielding steel against his right cheek. He thought he heard a loud crack again, this time sounding like the shattering of glass or ceramic rather than the singular snapping of a twig. Something fell in onto itself around there. His face? His cheekbone, his upper jaw? It cracked off and fell in, like a rotting pumpkin on somebody's porch the week after Halloween. He held his arm up and out, trying to find Ace in the blur, trying to intercept the weapon with a broken arm.
If he could just get the tire iron to stop, and to be his again...
If he could just... dying for a second...