((Fisk Bateman continued from an OD.))
There was an unhealthy paranoia that Fisk was experiencing in the moment, as he stumbled on alone through the cruise ship. He couldn’t find Greg or Verity anywhere when he left the suite he trashed. With the former, he had the belief that he’d simply ran off to go get himself killed, but with the latter... By now everyone was on the cruise ship right? That meant Ivan too. Maybe he got her. Maybe he’s next.
It was hard to look for movement when everything was moving. The floor felt like it was spinning, the walls were breathing, even his own shadow looked out to get him. He felt sick but there was nothing to throw up. His lips felt dry and cracked.
He needed to stop. He was safer in the suites, though he didn’t want to be there anymore. He should turn around. He needed to stop. He needed to catch his bearings. Just needed something to drink.
The banquet hall smelled of death, but it was just about the best spot to stop for him to sober up. Just long enough to turn around, get a drink, and go back the way he came. Yeah, that’ll do.
As he stepped inside he felt a surge of memories hit him that felt ancient. Just a few days ago all of his friends were here, everything was going well. Vasily got... sick and cut open, shit who was it again? One of Bacchia’s friends. We didn’t kill her but she did, and she was shook up, and... Calla! Yes, her. At the time it was quite morbid, but the fact they had to hide the body after that, and how hard it was because she was all bloody and opened up, and they didn’t even do it, just put her in the stairwell covered up and called it a day, and...
Fisk laughed to himself like he read a funny twitter post. That was kind of funny not going to lie. Not at the time, but in hindsight. Like a three stooges gag with a corpse. He chuckled to himself as he rested his bag on the table, and dropped the boom box next to the seat he was going to sit at. He rested his hook against the table as he sat down and opened the bag. He rummaged past the gun and found the Gatorade he was looking for. He opened it up, and a sip turned into gulps and there went the bottle before he knew it. Still thirsty, he reached for another.
This place was fun, in all honesty. It was, when he wasn’t worrying about losing all his friends. That first night was... invigorating. It was everything he ever hoped for of the game, and more. Playing Seth like a fiddle and pretending to be helpless just to bait him into getting ganked, the whole chase with Cassini, her throwing leaches. That fat shit Eric stealing their kill... Whatever happened to him? Fisk felt like he heard him get killed but he forgot who did it. Eh lucky him.
Fisk took a sip. That little fight with Ivan to get his blood flowing. What they did to him after... Self righteous scum deserved it. It’s a shame he had so many people to help him out, he’d have been dead a long time ago without all those little shits getting in the way. Even the game was on his side, probably giving him the hero cuts and treatments. All the right angles, cuts, and jumps. They gave him some bootleg Robocop treatment, probably got some super hero score following him when he enters his scenes. Adagio in D minor playing when he murders his friends. Fucking Sunshine theme, they would do that!
When he eventually tortured that bastard again, making him beg for his life, beg forgiveness, then beg for death, would they still play it? Fisk wondered what they’d score him with? Some sinister synths? Try and paint his group as a cult, and play creepy church music? All the organs and chanting? He was curious to find out if he got that far. He stopped there. Reminiscing turned bitter, and he needed to get his heart rate down, he still had a near fatal dose of coke in his stream to sweat off. Didn’t need to lose his shit now.
He took a sip of his drink and got an idea, just in case his remaining partner or partners couldn’t find him. He turned on the boombox. He was the only one with this on his hands. They’d know to come here.
Or it’d lure an enemy. Either way he’d handle it.
He took another sip.
I Have To Return Some Videotapes
Death thread you know the dealio
I Have To Return Some Videotapes
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Of course it was Fisk. Only Fisk would sit in the middle of this bloodbath playing music this shit.
((Junji Yamada continued from Rubbing Alcohol.))
Junji had been behind the serving station when the music had started, searching for food to satisfy his lack of supplies. His arm was still aching; maybe it was infected, maybe not. He didn’t really care at this point. He just wanted to find Fisk and drag his intestines out through his neck. Or shoot him in the face, whatever. As long as he was dead and Stokes was avenged.
The noise had startled him, like it would anyone. He had reached for his gun, with its one measly bullet, with his one measly remaining good arm. He had expected someone to be about to drop a fire axe in his face when he turned around, but when he saw he was still alone, and realised the music had been coming from further away in the room, he had ventured to investigate.
Even from behind and across the hall, he could recognise Fisk. Even if he was far away, the boombox tipped off his identity. It was perhaps his first real good luck at that point, he considered, to have such drop on him. His previous opinion on starring in SOTF-TV was left aside for now.
He kept his body low as he approached, because he couldn’t get a guaranteed kill shot from way back where he was. It was difficult, his massive frame being no better suited for sneaking than it had been on day one, back when he was preparing to gut Kurt like a fish. Was he still around? Junji had completely forgotten to keep track of him. Oh well, fuck him. Fortunately, the boombox was playing loud enough to mask his movements, or at least he hoped that was the case.
He did consider that this might have been a trap, because you would have to be an absolute fucking retard to sit in the middle of an open space like this and announce your location with shitty music. But then Fisk was an absolute fucking retard, and if Junji had a sniper rifle or was able to manage a decent aim, his brains would already be sprayed across the table he was sat at. Too bad, he’d have to get close and personal.
Junji could practically smell Fisk’s foul odour, no doubt a mix of BO and dried cum, at the range he arrived at. The gun was in his hand; he just had to point and shoot. Quick and painless through the back of the head, then Fisk would be dead.
He remembered Stokes. Her sitting on the kitchen floor, gut bleeding from the bullet lodged in it, the sound of Fisk dragging her off to her fate. That hadn’t been quick and painless, not for either of them.
No, something like this would be far too easy.
Junji reached forward, arm swinging the gun towards the back of Fisk’s skull.
((Junji Yamada continued from Rubbing Alcohol.))
Junji had been behind the serving station when the music had started, searching for food to satisfy his lack of supplies. His arm was still aching; maybe it was infected, maybe not. He didn’t really care at this point. He just wanted to find Fisk and drag his intestines out through his neck. Or shoot him in the face, whatever. As long as he was dead and Stokes was avenged.
The noise had startled him, like it would anyone. He had reached for his gun, with its one measly bullet, with his one measly remaining good arm. He had expected someone to be about to drop a fire axe in his face when he turned around, but when he saw he was still alone, and realised the music had been coming from further away in the room, he had ventured to investigate.
Even from behind and across the hall, he could recognise Fisk. Even if he was far away, the boombox tipped off his identity. It was perhaps his first real good luck at that point, he considered, to have such drop on him. His previous opinion on starring in SOTF-TV was left aside for now.
He kept his body low as he approached, because he couldn’t get a guaranteed kill shot from way back where he was. It was difficult, his massive frame being no better suited for sneaking than it had been on day one, back when he was preparing to gut Kurt like a fish. Was he still around? Junji had completely forgotten to keep track of him. Oh well, fuck him. Fortunately, the boombox was playing loud enough to mask his movements, or at least he hoped that was the case.
He did consider that this might have been a trap, because you would have to be an absolute fucking retard to sit in the middle of an open space like this and announce your location with shitty music. But then Fisk was an absolute fucking retard, and if Junji had a sniper rifle or was able to manage a decent aim, his brains would already be sprayed across the table he was sat at. Too bad, he’d have to get close and personal.
Junji could practically smell Fisk’s foul odour, no doubt a mix of BO and dried cum, at the range he arrived at. The gun was in his hand; he just had to point and shoot. Quick and painless through the back of the head, then Fisk would be dead.
He remembered Stokes. Her sitting on the kitchen floor, gut bleeding from the bullet lodged in it, the sound of Fisk dragging her off to her fate. That hadn’t been quick and painless, not for either of them.
No, something like this would be far too easy.
Junji reached forward, arm swinging the gun towards the back of Fisk’s skull.
You know it's funny, this is one of the only arenas with easy access to hygiene, and yet, some people still didn't grasp it. Granted, Fisk had a laspe or two and missed a couple days of showers, one of which due to the area being a deadzone, but he rectified that discrepancy an hour before. Twice really, if you count before and after the his near-death OD. Maybe once, if the before was an extended hallucination. Who knows. He knows he took one before he put his old duds back on.
Point is, if you're able to smell yourself, you fucking stink. Some people didn't grasp that though. He wondered if Junji could smell himself. You'd think right? Fisk was pretty sure Junji hadn't showered since he got here, or the week before, if we're being generous, or the week before that if we're being honest. He was bad enough that it was recognizable, like sour milk and dead possum ass.
Fisk grabbed his cane, prepared to get out of his seat and wallop him one for thinking he could sneak up on him. In hindsight, Fisk should've checked if the room was occupied before he decided to chill, a dining room had a kitchen after all, but hindsight is twenty twenty. He expected the doorway, and it's kind of hard to not have tunnel vision when you literally have tunnel vision like an iron deficiency when you turn your head too fast. Speaking of that sensation, his eyes were filled with stars when it turned out Junji was closer than he expected, and the whack of the pistol knocked him out of his seat before he could react.
Fisk could only laugh, though he couldn't hear it over the ringing, nor could he see anything over the pink and black stars filling his vision, as pinpricks and needlepoints surged through his skin and nerves. Those drugs fucked him up harder than he thought. He stood up and swung blindly, only barely aware he missed as he stumbled forward.
Point is, if you're able to smell yourself, you fucking stink. Some people didn't grasp that though. He wondered if Junji could smell himself. You'd think right? Fisk was pretty sure Junji hadn't showered since he got here, or the week before, if we're being generous, or the week before that if we're being honest. He was bad enough that it was recognizable, like sour milk and dead possum ass.
Fisk grabbed his cane, prepared to get out of his seat and wallop him one for thinking he could sneak up on him. In hindsight, Fisk should've checked if the room was occupied before he decided to chill, a dining room had a kitchen after all, but hindsight is twenty twenty. He expected the doorway, and it's kind of hard to not have tunnel vision when you literally have tunnel vision like an iron deficiency when you turn your head too fast. Speaking of that sensation, his eyes were filled with stars when it turned out Junji was closer than he expected, and the whack of the pistol knocked him out of his seat before he could react.
Fisk could only laugh, though he couldn't hear it over the ringing, nor could he see anything over the pink and black stars filling his vision, as pinpricks and needlepoints surged through his skin and nerves. Those drugs fucked him up harder than he thought. He stood up and swung blindly, only barely aware he missed as he stumbled forward.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Junji felt the breeze as Fisk swatted the non-existent fly in front of his face. The look in his eyes was obvious, though not one Junji recognised, and his nonsensical laugh supported the conclusion. For all his complaints about his life, he hadn’t grown up in an environment surrounded by tweakers. Regardless, it was clear to Junji that he had the advantage.
If he was feeling more sadistic, and he was feeling plenty sadistic already, Junji might’ve let Fisk take another swing. It would’ve made Fisk look all the stupider on national TV, as much as that could be achieved when he was behaving the way he did. Putting on a huge show of his little cult, amassing a kill count and dragging out torturous deaths. It was fuckng stupid, really.
But in a fight there was little time for savouring the opportunity, and Junji didn’t feel like playing things up. He wanted to make this painful for Fisk, but not if it put himself at risk. The sooner Fisk was lying on the floor with a lot of broken bones, the better.
Junji reached forward with his right arm, grabbing at Fisk’s top. There was little ability in his hand to grasp with his injury though; instead he hooked his fingers more than anything. With his other, he brought the butt of the pistol down towards Fisk’s nose. It was a swift, incapacitating blow.
If he was feeling more sadistic, and he was feeling plenty sadistic already, Junji might’ve let Fisk take another swing. It would’ve made Fisk look all the stupider on national TV, as much as that could be achieved when he was behaving the way he did. Putting on a huge show of his little cult, amassing a kill count and dragging out torturous deaths. It was fuckng stupid, really.
But in a fight there was little time for savouring the opportunity, and Junji didn’t feel like playing things up. He wanted to make this painful for Fisk, but not if it put himself at risk. The sooner Fisk was lying on the floor with a lot of broken bones, the better.
Junji reached forward with his right arm, grabbing at Fisk’s top. There was little ability in his hand to grasp with his injury though; instead he hooked his fingers more than anything. With his other, he brought the butt of the pistol down towards Fisk’s nose. It was a swift, incapacitating blow.
Fisk felt something snag him around like a ragdoll before something smashed into his face, leaving a distant pain forming as it felt like he was falling forever. It reminded him of those dreams you get, didn’t matter how high you were, hell you could even trip you were gonna fall at Mach one. He felt that sensation here, though there was no waking up, even as he hit the ground, he was falling, falling, stomach doing flip flops all the while.
He crawled aimlessly backwards, blinded and deafened, wondering how long this would last. Only able to hear his heartbeat, only able to see purple and black lights and swirls and stars. Couldn’t even find out where he was at, world wouldn’t stop spinning. How long would this last?
A nervous laugh escaped Fisk. This could be it for him, and he wasn’t even around himself to experience it.
He crawled aimlessly backwards, blinded and deafened, wondering how long this would last. Only able to hear his heartbeat, only able to see purple and black lights and swirls and stars. Couldn’t even find out where he was at, world wouldn’t stop spinning. How long would this last?
A nervous laugh escaped Fisk. This could be it for him, and he wasn’t even around himself to experience it.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Junji looked down at Fisk as he crawled away like a worm. Pathetic.
He stepped forwards. Once. Twice. Three times. He had no problem keeping up with Fisk. He could’ve said something to him to make it clear that there was no escape, but he found his trash-talking vocabulary uncharacteristically empty. This wasn’t like taunting some wood division punk online. In fact, that was a fucking stupid analogy. This was Fisk's life, his vengeance, and Stokes’ retribution.
He raised his foot over Fisk, putting his weight into it as he stepped down on Fisk’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He stepped forwards. Once. Twice. Three times. He had no problem keeping up with Fisk. He could’ve said something to him to make it clear that there was no escape, but he found his trash-talking vocabulary uncharacteristically empty. This wasn’t like taunting some wood division punk online. In fact, that was a fucking stupid analogy. This was Fisk's life, his vengeance, and Stokes’ retribution.
He raised his foot over Fisk, putting his weight into it as he stepped down on Fisk’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He felt something pin him to the ground, though the world still spun. His shoulder was still tender after Akeno and the pinpricks he felt were a lot more severe compared to the rest of his body, though they began to wane. His vision was returning, if only as pinpricks in a tunnel of pink and black. The tv static in his ears was fading away into MGMT again. Things were returning to mostly normal, but alas this was not a bad trip, this was real.
He felt some form of the clown still there, laughing at him. Hey, you did ask to see it coming. Of all the people, fucking Junji. Outlives his friends, then he's gonna kill him. His eyelid twitched, mostly because of the drugs, a little bit because of sheer emotional response. Fisk laughed again over the sheer absurdity of it all. Fisk heard the radio pop, thinking it was a malfunction, but it was just part of the song.
Yeah.
He laughed again.
Go fuck yourself.
Fisk knew why he was here. Not just from reputation, but from the glare alone. He saw it a lot looking in mirrors lately. "What? You here because of Stokes?" He smiled behind gritted teeth.
You heard me right.
Don't call me nice.
Again.
"If y-you cared so much, why didn't you stay with her?"
Don't you have somewhere to be at seven thirty?
Fisk became all to aware of the blood leaking out his nose. He laughed at Junji. Hated everything about him. "If I was in your position, I'd-guh- I'd have stayed, you pig fuck!"
Baby, I'm ready.
He meant it. Unfortunately, he never got that choice. Maybe that's why he made it that far. Not like it mattered now. It never did, cards were stacked against his favor since the beginning. Of course this'd be the way.
I'm ready ready ready to blow my head off
Fisk laughed once again.
He felt some form of the clown still there, laughing at him. Hey, you did ask to see it coming. Of all the people, fucking Junji. Outlives his friends, then he's gonna kill him. His eyelid twitched, mostly because of the drugs, a little bit because of sheer emotional response. Fisk laughed again over the sheer absurdity of it all. Fisk heard the radio pop, thinking it was a malfunction, but it was just part of the song.
Yeah.
He laughed again.
Go fuck yourself.
Fisk knew why he was here. Not just from reputation, but from the glare alone. He saw it a lot looking in mirrors lately. "What? You here because of Stokes?" He smiled behind gritted teeth.
You heard me right.
Don't call me nice.
Again.
"If y-you cared so much, why didn't you stay with her?"
Don't you have somewhere to be at seven thirty?
Fisk became all to aware of the blood leaking out his nose. He laughed at Junji. Hated everything about him. "If I was in your position, I'd-guh- I'd have stayed, you pig fuck!"
Baby, I'm ready.
He meant it. Unfortunately, he never got that choice. Maybe that's why he made it that far. Not like it mattered now. It never did, cards were stacked against his favor since the beginning. Of course this'd be the way.
I'm ready ready ready to blow my head off
Fisk laughed once again.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
The gun was still in his hand. All he had to do was point the barrel at Fisk’s head, which was barely a foot away from it, and pull the trigger. He’d already bruised and bloodied him, after all. Fisk, in response, was taunting him, trying to get him to flip out. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to.
Fisk thought he could get Junji to blame himself over what happened to Stokes, no doubt. Call him a pig fuck, oink oink. Hit his sore spots. Make him cry like a little bitch, drop his gun and beg Fisk-senpai to forgive him before he fucked him. Or maybe he just wanted to die with the look of a sad little piggy as his last memory, so that he could savour his time on TV up until the last minute.
That was the thing, really, Junji realised as he pressed his foot harder into Fisk’s back while looking up at the ceiling, a strained exhale escaping through his nose. This had all been a fucking game for Fisk: Stokes’ death, all the other fucks he’d killed. His little clique of faggot white terrorist cultists. The fact that this fucking shitty music was still playing to the sound of him going down. The guy was probably hard as a rock, and not just because a man was on top of him. In comparison, Junji was completely flaccid. How long had it been since he’d gotten to whack it?
He remembered Cristo, and Dale, and whoever the fuck it was he’d shot in the leg and left to bleed out. He remembered that the last one was dead by now. Great. ‘What the fuck had been the point of that?’ he wondered to himself as his heel ground into Fisk’s shoulder blade. What the fuck had been the point of killing anyone in such a sadistic fashion? What did that make him compared to Fisk?
Well, he was still alive. That was one thing. He stepped away for a moment, to swing his foot into Fisk’s face.
“Shut the fuck up.” he ordered dispassionately, though he knew it wouldn’t work.
Who gave a shit if he was still alive? All this shit wasn’t worth it. Stokes was dead. He’d killed three people, and it didn’t solve anything. He’d dragged out their deaths like this demented faggot beneath him, and it didn’t make him some kind of cool supervillain, or serve as any kind of fucking therapy. It made him a fucking psycho with more baggage than his own fat ass.
He kicked at Fisk’s side a few times. Thunk, whack. Stomped as well, just to mix it up. Fisk was flinching in response, but there wasn’t any satisfaction in it. Junji wasn’t targeting the obvious places to hit, because why bother? He wasn’t rushing this, after all.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
His foot shot out like a rocket towards the boombox, sending it flying across the hall. The sound skipped and garbled, playing its distorted soundtrack in a feeble manner from a distance away. He turned back to Fisk, continuing.
His best friend was dead because of this FUCKING game. THIS FUCK’s fucking game. All for some sick fucked up-
FUCK
FUCK
FUCK
Fisk thought he could get Junji to blame himself over what happened to Stokes, no doubt. Call him a pig fuck, oink oink. Hit his sore spots. Make him cry like a little bitch, drop his gun and beg Fisk-senpai to forgive him before he fucked him. Or maybe he just wanted to die with the look of a sad little piggy as his last memory, so that he could savour his time on TV up until the last minute.
That was the thing, really, Junji realised as he pressed his foot harder into Fisk’s back while looking up at the ceiling, a strained exhale escaping through his nose. This had all been a fucking game for Fisk: Stokes’ death, all the other fucks he’d killed. His little clique of faggot white terrorist cultists. The fact that this fucking shitty music was still playing to the sound of him going down. The guy was probably hard as a rock, and not just because a man was on top of him. In comparison, Junji was completely flaccid. How long had it been since he’d gotten to whack it?
He remembered Cristo, and Dale, and whoever the fuck it was he’d shot in the leg and left to bleed out. He remembered that the last one was dead by now. Great. ‘What the fuck had been the point of that?’ he wondered to himself as his heel ground into Fisk’s shoulder blade. What the fuck had been the point of killing anyone in such a sadistic fashion? What did that make him compared to Fisk?
Well, he was still alive. That was one thing. He stepped away for a moment, to swing his foot into Fisk’s face.
“Shut the fuck up.” he ordered dispassionately, though he knew it wouldn’t work.
Who gave a shit if he was still alive? All this shit wasn’t worth it. Stokes was dead. He’d killed three people, and it didn’t solve anything. He’d dragged out their deaths like this demented faggot beneath him, and it didn’t make him some kind of cool supervillain, or serve as any kind of fucking therapy. It made him a fucking psycho with more baggage than his own fat ass.
He kicked at Fisk’s side a few times. Thunk, whack. Stomped as well, just to mix it up. Fisk was flinching in response, but there wasn’t any satisfaction in it. Junji wasn’t targeting the obvious places to hit, because why bother? He wasn’t rushing this, after all.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
His foot shot out like a rocket towards the boombox, sending it flying across the hall. The sound skipped and garbled, playing its distorted soundtrack in a feeble manner from a distance away. He turned back to Fisk, continuing.
His best friend was dead because of this FUCKING game. THIS FUCK’s fucking game. All for some sick fucked up-
FUCK
FUCK
FUCK
Everything was clearing up for Fisk now, not that it mattered. The radio skipped a beat as Junji kicked it, but continued on it's merry way. So did Fisk.
And you die.
Fisk laughed.
And words don't do anything.
Junji kicked him.
It's permanently night
Fisk laughed again.
And I won't feel anything
Junji kicked him again.
We'll all be laughing with you when you die
The truth about all of this was this whole thing was a bad joke, set up from the beginning. Maybe the producers and the mentors didn't see what he was planning when he started, but they reacted accordingly. All the cameras and all voices in the collars. They threw everything in their power to shut that shit down. Maybe it was because Ivan was meant to win, his dad had a lot of connections, maybe it was because Fisk wasn't playing by their rules. It didn't matter if you played to them or played to the audience or not. You follow the hidden rules to the T or you get shut down. This game wasn't about who was the fittest, or the smartest, or the luckiest.
It was all smoke and mirrors. Something you'd never notice behind the cameras, misdirection and distractions. He wondered how many winners were legit, and how many were led to the end. Maybe the first few were legit, when the show started out. Had to be otherwise the show wouldn't make it too far. But then it became too big to fail. Once you get there, you can do whatever you want. It's why things seemed so much more cinematic. Because it was all set up.
Another kick to the ribs sent him back to reality. He wondered if someone tipped Junji off. Maybe that bitch Stephanie? What team was Junji on? He wasn't paying attention, and he couldn't see from where he was at. He turned his head to look and got kicked in the face for it. He supposed it didn't matter, the mentors were all on the same boat with each other anyways. Feeding each other information. That's why so many people were working with Ivan right? It was okay when he did it.
Fisk laughed through the pain. This was all a joke, just a bad, bad joke. The worst part was he was going to let it beat him. All that struggling for what? To die by Junji? This was set up right? What could be more humiliating of an ending? Fisk was going to die as a message for anyone else casted to try and strike out in their own ways.
Fisk stopped laughing.
Junji was going to kill HIM? After everything he's been through? There was still laughter, but it was strained. Fisk gritted his teeth. He couldn't give up here, not to this fucker. He growled, reaching for his bag. I'll show you fuckers.
Everything cleared up. Fisk didn't want to die as a message. That was those other fuckers' job.
And you die.
Fisk laughed.
And words don't do anything.
Junji kicked him.
It's permanently night
Fisk laughed again.
And I won't feel anything
Junji kicked him again.
We'll all be laughing with you when you die
The truth about all of this was this whole thing was a bad joke, set up from the beginning. Maybe the producers and the mentors didn't see what he was planning when he started, but they reacted accordingly. All the cameras and all voices in the collars. They threw everything in their power to shut that shit down. Maybe it was because Ivan was meant to win, his dad had a lot of connections, maybe it was because Fisk wasn't playing by their rules. It didn't matter if you played to them or played to the audience or not. You follow the hidden rules to the T or you get shut down. This game wasn't about who was the fittest, or the smartest, or the luckiest.
It was all smoke and mirrors. Something you'd never notice behind the cameras, misdirection and distractions. He wondered how many winners were legit, and how many were led to the end. Maybe the first few were legit, when the show started out. Had to be otherwise the show wouldn't make it too far. But then it became too big to fail. Once you get there, you can do whatever you want. It's why things seemed so much more cinematic. Because it was all set up.
Another kick to the ribs sent him back to reality. He wondered if someone tipped Junji off. Maybe that bitch Stephanie? What team was Junji on? He wasn't paying attention, and he couldn't see from where he was at. He turned his head to look and got kicked in the face for it. He supposed it didn't matter, the mentors were all on the same boat with each other anyways. Feeding each other information. That's why so many people were working with Ivan right? It was okay when he did it.
Fisk laughed through the pain. This was all a joke, just a bad, bad joke. The worst part was he was going to let it beat him. All that struggling for what? To die by Junji? This was set up right? What could be more humiliating of an ending? Fisk was going to die as a message for anyone else casted to try and strike out in their own ways.
Fisk stopped laughing.
Junji was going to kill HIM? After everything he's been through? There was still laughter, but it was strained. Fisk gritted his teeth. He couldn't give up here, not to this fucker. He growled, reaching for his bag. I'll show you fuckers.
Everything cleared up. Fisk didn't want to die as a message. That was those other fuckers' job.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Beating his faggot ass did nothing. Shooting him in the head wouldn’t do anything. It was all fucking meaningless. But Junji kept on doing it, because what else was he going to do?
Fisk stopped laughing, which meant Junji stopped kicking. He was panting heavily, because the exertion of beating Fisk to death was wearing him out. His arm was aching like crazy from al the movement, and he wasn’t sure but he felt like the gauze had reopened or something. Maybe it was sweat or maybe it was blood. His, not Fisk’s, which was staining is shoes.
He squeezed the gun in his hand, but he knew he wouldn’t use it. He was already halfway to caving Fisk’s skull in, so why waste the ammo? He put it in his pocket, to free up his good hand. It bumped the filleting knife on its way in, so he decided to bring that out as a replacement.
He saw movement in the corner of his eye. Reflexively he looked across the room, but there was nothing there. He realised that it was coming from beneath him, from Fisk’s arm. His bag was nearby.
Motherfucker.
Junji stepped over Fisk, resting his right foot on the outstretched arm. He put his weight down on the forearm, just short of Fisk’s wrist. That probably would’ve hurt more, or broken it, but Junji wasn’t thinking that precisely.
He bent over, reaching into the bag, and found the shiv that Fisk was looking for. He pulled it out, and looked down at the fuckboy on the floor.
“Really? You were going to stab me with this piece of shit?”
He spat.
“See this?” he continued, waving his own filleting knife. “This is a real knife, you fuck. I could cut you to-”
Fuck, he was doing it. He almost felt the snarl in his voice escalating. He scowled at himself.
“I’m just going to slit your throat, you faggot fuck. Fuck this bullshit monologuing.”
He repositioned, freeing Fisk’s arm now that there was nothing to reach.
‘This is for Stokes.’ he was tempted to say, but he didn’t. It wasn’t really the truth, after all.
Fisk stopped laughing, which meant Junji stopped kicking. He was panting heavily, because the exertion of beating Fisk to death was wearing him out. His arm was aching like crazy from al the movement, and he wasn’t sure but he felt like the gauze had reopened or something. Maybe it was sweat or maybe it was blood. His, not Fisk’s, which was staining is shoes.
He squeezed the gun in his hand, but he knew he wouldn’t use it. He was already halfway to caving Fisk’s skull in, so why waste the ammo? He put it in his pocket, to free up his good hand. It bumped the filleting knife on its way in, so he decided to bring that out as a replacement.
He saw movement in the corner of his eye. Reflexively he looked across the room, but there was nothing there. He realised that it was coming from beneath him, from Fisk’s arm. His bag was nearby.
Motherfucker.
Junji stepped over Fisk, resting his right foot on the outstretched arm. He put his weight down on the forearm, just short of Fisk’s wrist. That probably would’ve hurt more, or broken it, but Junji wasn’t thinking that precisely.
He bent over, reaching into the bag, and found the shiv that Fisk was looking for. He pulled it out, and looked down at the fuckboy on the floor.
“Really? You were going to stab me with this piece of shit?”
He spat.
“See this?” he continued, waving his own filleting knife. “This is a real knife, you fuck. I could cut you to-”
Fuck, he was doing it. He almost felt the snarl in his voice escalating. He scowled at himself.
“I’m just going to slit your throat, you faggot fuck. Fuck this bullshit monologuing.”
He repositioned, freeing Fisk’s arm now that there was nothing to reach.
‘This is for Stokes.’ he was tempted to say, but he didn’t. It wasn’t really the truth, after all.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
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The first bullet hit Junji through his left arm. Brushed past the flesh and muscle near his shoulder and kept sailing on until it hit the wall on the other end of the room.
The second bullet hit his collarbone. Went into his shoulder, came up against bone, stopped right in its tracks.
The third bullet went through Junji’s lung. Burst through flesh, sailed under his heart, got past his ribcage to fall onto the floor after making it out.
The fourth bullet went through Junji’s spine.
((Verity Stewart, continued from I Want To Conquer The World))
The second bullet hit his collarbone. Went into his shoulder, came up against bone, stopped right in its tracks.
The third bullet went through Junji’s lung. Burst through flesh, sailed under his heart, got past his ribcage to fall onto the floor after making it out.
The fourth bullet went through Junji’s spine.
((Verity Stewart, continued from I Want To Conquer The World))
Hah
What the fuck?
Shot twice in less than twenty-four fucking hours?
He turned his whole body around, because he couldn’t twist for a reason he couldn’t consciously process, but understood in his bones. He saw the bitch with the gun, and forgot about Fisk for the moment. He reached for his own pistol with its one measly bullet, but he could barely get a grip on it, much less aim properly. The knife fell out of his hand onto the floor when he tried to stash it, because he couldn’t put it away properly.
He knew he couldn’t hit his mark, his vision was already swimming. He could already feel the air rushing out of his lung, see the blood pooling out of his chest, feel the weight of his damaged arm. He knew he was fucked. It was a 2v1. Pussies.
But he tried to anyway, his finger working its damnedest to curl around the trigger. Fuck you, whore.
What the fuck?
Shot twice in less than twenty-four fucking hours?
He turned his whole body around, because he couldn’t twist for a reason he couldn’t consciously process, but understood in his bones. He saw the bitch with the gun, and forgot about Fisk for the moment. He reached for his own pistol with its one measly bullet, but he could barely get a grip on it, much less aim properly. The knife fell out of his hand onto the floor when he tried to stash it, because he couldn’t put it away properly.
He knew he couldn’t hit his mark, his vision was already swimming. He could already feel the air rushing out of his lung, see the blood pooling out of his chest, feel the weight of his damaged arm. He knew he was fucked. It was a 2v1. Pussies.
But he tried to anyway, his finger working its damnedest to curl around the trigger. Fuck you, whore.
Whilst Junji was distracted, he let off of Fisk’s hand, allowing him to grab his shiv. When Junji turned around to shoot Verity, his leg collapsed under him, and he fell forward. As he fell, the back his ankle split open and tore away from his foot, as his shifting weight peeled the slash in his heel apart, tearing muscle and tendon wide open and separating bone from bone, like pulling a chicken wing apart. All it took for that much damage was one slash to the heel, right through Junji’s Achilles’ tendon.
Fisk curled himself up to his knees, one bloodied hand resting on his knee to support himself, the other gripping the table. He pulled himself up until he was standing straight, and turned around to look at Junji’s prone form, and then Verity. Blood seeping from his nose and mouth, he nodded at her, they were even this encounter.
Then he looked down at Junji, a sneer forming, Fisk unable to hide his disdain. Of all the people to get close to killing him; This fucking...thing got the closest? He didn’t even bother with the taunts. Junji wasn’t worth another word. He swayed and stepped forward and kicked the gun away from his hand. He looked at Verity, then down at Junji. “I appreciate it...” His voice rattled, he was shaking in rage at the ignominy of his plight.
He gripped his shiv tight. Staring at Junji’s form, he knew the bastard didn’t have long left. He wouldn’t last long enough to get dragged around and tortured, but Fisk wasn’t going to let him pass on this easily. He was gonna spend the rest of his time suffering, and Fisk was going to get some credit for this one. People had to know, he himself was back. “You’re welcome to join in if you want, just save the bullets.” He said, as he suddenly pounced down and pierced Junji’s back, puncturing a kidney. He brought the blade out and put it in again, just under his ribs. Then in his side. Fisk snarled as the pacing of his stabbing increased, until he was practically shrieking in fury, stabbing fast as humanly possible, as fast as his body allowed.
“YOU STUPID GODDAMN BASTAAARD!” Brought the knife out, put it in again. “CHEATING FUCKS THINK BECAUSE THE GAME IS RIGGED IN IVAN’S FAVOR YOU HAVE A CHANCE TOO?!?!” Stabbed him at least 3 fucking times in the liver. “YOU THINK YOU OF ALL PEOPLE FUCKING RATE KILLING ME, HUH YOU FAT PIG SHIT FUCK?! THINK I’M GONNA DIE TO YOU?!” He stabbed him in the side again, trying to get him in the gut. “THAT COWARD IVAN WON’T FACE ME, THAT BITCH AKENO WON’T FACE ME, BUT YOU GOT THE FUCKING BRASS, HUH?!” Brought it back up to his back again, he wasn’t aiming anymore. “LOOK AT YOU FUCKER, NOT SO BRAVE NOW! JUST ANOTHER COWARDLY BITCH LIKE WHEN YOU AND CHRIS LEFT STOKES! FUCKING TOUGH GUYS, YOU!” Just kept stabbing.
“DIE NAMELESS, PIGGY! DIE NAMELESS!” Stabbed between a rib, blade got caught but he yanked it out. “YOU SPINELESS, GUTLESS-“ Stabbed into a bullet wound, and his shiv broke off into his spine. He looked at his ruined blade jutting out, another surge of rage rushed through him. It was with him since the beginning, before he brought his friends together. Was with him until after they all died.
“GAAAAAAAAAH!” He reeled back and kicked Junji in the ribs. “FUCK YOU!” Stomped the blade in deeper and cracked off the top of it sticking out. He stomped him him in the back some more. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” Kicked under Junji’s armpit, and stomped him into the shoulder. “FUCK-“ Moved up and kicked him in the head. “YOU!” Stomped him in the back of the head. Then did it again, then did it again.
Fisk curled himself up to his knees, one bloodied hand resting on his knee to support himself, the other gripping the table. He pulled himself up until he was standing straight, and turned around to look at Junji’s prone form, and then Verity. Blood seeping from his nose and mouth, he nodded at her, they were even this encounter.
Then he looked down at Junji, a sneer forming, Fisk unable to hide his disdain. Of all the people to get close to killing him; This fucking...thing got the closest? He didn’t even bother with the taunts. Junji wasn’t worth another word. He swayed and stepped forward and kicked the gun away from his hand. He looked at Verity, then down at Junji. “I appreciate it...” His voice rattled, he was shaking in rage at the ignominy of his plight.
He gripped his shiv tight. Staring at Junji’s form, he knew the bastard didn’t have long left. He wouldn’t last long enough to get dragged around and tortured, but Fisk wasn’t going to let him pass on this easily. He was gonna spend the rest of his time suffering, and Fisk was going to get some credit for this one. People had to know, he himself was back. “You’re welcome to join in if you want, just save the bullets.” He said, as he suddenly pounced down and pierced Junji’s back, puncturing a kidney. He brought the blade out and put it in again, just under his ribs. Then in his side. Fisk snarled as the pacing of his stabbing increased, until he was practically shrieking in fury, stabbing fast as humanly possible, as fast as his body allowed.
“YOU STUPID GODDAMN BASTAAARD!” Brought the knife out, put it in again. “CHEATING FUCKS THINK BECAUSE THE GAME IS RIGGED IN IVAN’S FAVOR YOU HAVE A CHANCE TOO?!?!” Stabbed him at least 3 fucking times in the liver. “YOU THINK YOU OF ALL PEOPLE FUCKING RATE KILLING ME, HUH YOU FAT PIG SHIT FUCK?! THINK I’M GONNA DIE TO YOU?!” He stabbed him in the side again, trying to get him in the gut. “THAT COWARD IVAN WON’T FACE ME, THAT BITCH AKENO WON’T FACE ME, BUT YOU GOT THE FUCKING BRASS, HUH?!” Brought it back up to his back again, he wasn’t aiming anymore. “LOOK AT YOU FUCKER, NOT SO BRAVE NOW! JUST ANOTHER COWARDLY BITCH LIKE WHEN YOU AND CHRIS LEFT STOKES! FUCKING TOUGH GUYS, YOU!” Just kept stabbing.
“DIE NAMELESS, PIGGY! DIE NAMELESS!” Stabbed between a rib, blade got caught but he yanked it out. “YOU SPINELESS, GUTLESS-“ Stabbed into a bullet wound, and his shiv broke off into his spine. He looked at his ruined blade jutting out, another surge of rage rushed through him. It was with him since the beginning, before he brought his friends together. Was with him until after they all died.
“GAAAAAAAAAH!” He reeled back and kicked Junji in the ribs. “FUCK YOU!” Stomped the blade in deeper and cracked off the top of it sticking out. He stomped him him in the back some more. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” Kicked under Junji’s armpit, and stomped him into the shoulder. “FUCK-“ Moved up and kicked him in the head. “YOU!” Stomped him in the back of the head. Then did it again, then did it again.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
-
Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1256
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
For a moment, when Junji had pointed the gun at her, Verity had worried that she had overstepped. That she should’ve just kept wandering aimlessly. That by following the music, by trying to keep the one thread she had left alive, she had, in some way, brought about her own downfall.
Then Fisk moved. Did something to Junji’s leg. He collapsed, Fisk got back up, and he just looked at her. Said thanks, just as if she’d lent him something in class, before going to town. Stabbing Junji over and over again. Screaming so loud Verity could barely even hear the words he was saying. Junji was motionless. His sounds were indistinct. From here, it was impossible to tell whether he was already dead or not.
And Verity was off to the side, once again. The third person. She’d done what she needed to and now… and now she was pointless. Fisk had offered to let her join in right before the screaming, but… why? What would even happen? How would her presence even change anything? Junji looked already dead, and what Fisk was doing all but ensured the job was going to be finished. It was just like what had happened when Gregory entered the restaurant and started the cat-and-mouse game. It was just like what happened when she and Fisk and James and Sofia raided Stokes’ store. This was Fisk’s scene. She’d never even dared to interact with Junji, even before all this. What purpose did she have to act inside it further than she was supposed to? What point was there adding her name to a kill when the guy was already dead?
It was then when Fisk’s screams evened out. When the noises from his mouth stopped being noises and sounded more like words. When — mid-stab — Fisk looked down at Junji and called him nameless. Insinuated his insignificance. Made clear that he would be forgotten, after all this. Just another contestant. A number on a scoreboard.
That was when Verity knew she had no choice but to step in.
Like him, loathe him, even Junji had to be remembered.
So she dropped her gun. Grabbed the trident from the place where she’d tied it to her bag.
(timothy torales)
She let the rest of the bag drop from her shoulders, as she rested the trident in both her palms. Looked over, saw Fisk, in the middle of stomping Junji’s head in.
(keegan garcia)
She took a breath. Walked over to Junji. Grabbed the trident tight, and raised it upwards.
(alyssa tibbett)
Joined in.
Allowed Junji to become one with all the people floating around in the back of her head.
Then Fisk moved. Did something to Junji’s leg. He collapsed, Fisk got back up, and he just looked at her. Said thanks, just as if she’d lent him something in class, before going to town. Stabbing Junji over and over again. Screaming so loud Verity could barely even hear the words he was saying. Junji was motionless. His sounds were indistinct. From here, it was impossible to tell whether he was already dead or not.
And Verity was off to the side, once again. The third person. She’d done what she needed to and now… and now she was pointless. Fisk had offered to let her join in right before the screaming, but… why? What would even happen? How would her presence even change anything? Junji looked already dead, and what Fisk was doing all but ensured the job was going to be finished. It was just like what had happened when Gregory entered the restaurant and started the cat-and-mouse game. It was just like what happened when she and Fisk and James and Sofia raided Stokes’ store. This was Fisk’s scene. She’d never even dared to interact with Junji, even before all this. What purpose did she have to act inside it further than she was supposed to? What point was there adding her name to a kill when the guy was already dead?
It was then when Fisk’s screams evened out. When the noises from his mouth stopped being noises and sounded more like words. When — mid-stab — Fisk looked down at Junji and called him nameless. Insinuated his insignificance. Made clear that he would be forgotten, after all this. Just another contestant. A number on a scoreboard.
That was when Verity knew she had no choice but to step in.
Like him, loathe him, even Junji had to be remembered.
So she dropped her gun. Grabbed the trident from the place where she’d tied it to her bag.
(timothy torales)
She let the rest of the bag drop from her shoulders, as she rested the trident in both her palms. Looked over, saw Fisk, in the middle of stomping Junji’s head in.
(keegan garcia)
She took a breath. Walked over to Junji. Grabbed the trident tight, and raised it upwards.
(alyssa tibbett)
Joined in.
Allowed Junji to become one with all the people floating around in the back of her head.
There was only a brief moment of realisation for Junji that he was fucked, when his ankle snapped out from underneath him. He could’ve tried to get to his knees, try to fight back, but actually he couldn’t really. He was shot, bleeding and tired, but more than anything, there just wasn’t enough time to find the will. His last words were spent cursing under his breath, purely for himself to hear.
If Fisk had been more lucid, he would’ve realised that Junji had stopped responding to his assault early on. Not nearly as early as Junji would’ve liked though; being stabbed to death by the pair was a horrifically painful experience.
There was no space for contemplation, no room for observations. He could barely even hear Fisk’s insults over the cacophony of his own heartbeat, and the only reflexive responses he gave were a few loud grunts that quickly faded to nothing.
In the end, Junji Yamada died at the age of 17 as a mutilated corpse on the banquet hall floor. All that was left of him, his legacy for the world, was locked in as the person he was up until that final, bloody moment.
If Fisk had been more lucid, he would’ve realised that Junji had stopped responding to his assault early on. Not nearly as early as Junji would’ve liked though; being stabbed to death by the pair was a horrifically painful experience.
There was no space for contemplation, no room for observations. He could barely even hear Fisk’s insults over the cacophony of his own heartbeat, and the only reflexive responses he gave were a few loud grunts that quickly faded to nothing.
In the end, Junji Yamada died at the age of 17 as a mutilated corpse on the banquet hall floor. All that was left of him, his legacy for the world, was locked in as the person he was up until that final, bloody moment.
BC10 - Junji Yamada: DECEASED
19 Students Remain
19 Students Remain