Armageddon Game

[Dogs231]

((Cory Cartwright continued from Annotation.))

Cory remained on the jetties, slowly baking in the hot afternoon sun. The blood of the wound had dried further, and the smell of iron persisted. He had remained relatively motionless for the past several hours, and the uncomfortable position he remained in caused his back to ache. His head was somewhat lowered, staring at the crossbow bolt, which glinted slightly in the bright sunlight.

He did not expect to retain consciousness for this long - previously, it had been far more difficult to keep awake. The pain of the wound had lessened very slightly as he began to become adjusted to it. His clothing felt uncomfortable against his skin as a result of dried blood and sweat. He would have changed into a different outfit if he was physically able to, but even a small attempt to adjust his position was difficult and painful. As a result, the other clothing items remained unused in the bag.

He felt slightly hungry, but nausea resulting from the stench of iron had lessened his appetite to the point where he did not feel he could eat. His body and mind felt weak. His senses were beginning to diminish - the smells of the blood and the ocean were less noticeable, and the sound of birds and the waves felt quieter in his ears. His vision had blurred again, even with his glasses on his face. It was becoming more arduous to move. He was aware of what his mentor had said - any time after the night had been a bonus. At this point, he was fortunate to be alive.

He looked back down at the wound as the sun beat down on him.

[Applesintime]

((Gregory Miller continued from What can I fix you with?))

Today fucking sucked. Really, everything fucking sucked.

After fleeing from Kaya and her gun, he had wandered for a little while until he ended up inside some dinky sailboat with an old-ass cabin interior and a shitty chair with nails that just sort of poked out of it, and so he didn't sleep on that and instead just used his backpack as a sort of pillow. But his sleep had been shitty, and so he was grumpy to start with. The announcement being all sorts of fucky didn't, like, help either. Now he only knew a few fucking deaths, and the rest of them had cut off. Boh was dead, killed by the pacifist dude. He wasn't gonna be no Lukas, Gregory guessed. Nate was dead, which left him and Cory as the two remaining Buccaneers. Well, whenever Gregory caught Cory and killed him, it would only be one.

So, after leaving the shitty old boat, he had set off into the flotilla, looking for some fresh meat. So far, it had been completely un-fucking-eventful; he had stumbled by the Shop Boat, trying to find some stuff, but there was a lot of blood there and, yeah, he didn't wanna fuck with that in case whoever had created that bloodstain was still lurking around. He had at least managed to snag an official SOTF Season 60 baseball cap; there was a ton of them there, all with a bunch of different characters on them. Maybe they just like, pre-produced the merch for whoever they thought would win and when it all fucked up, the merch rotted in a warehouse for a while before they brought it back to the flotilla, so it could be used. Anyway, his hat had George King on it, which, y'know, wasn't a good omen. Man, he had only watched the interview of him once, but man... poor fucking dude. Sure, some of the winners got fucked up, but never that badly.

As his mind wandered in step with his own wandering, Gregory eventually took note of a corpse lying on the jetty he was in, with blood surrounding him. It looked familiar, and getting closer, Gregory identified the body as one... Cory Cartwright.

Oh.

FOR FUCK'S SAKE! HE WAS BEHIND, HE WAS SO STUPIDLY FUCKING FAR BEHIND - LITERALLY FUCKING EVERYONE HAD A KILL AT THIS POINT! HE WOULDN'T BE FUCKING SURPRISED IF WHAT, FUCKING BOH OR SOMETHING CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD JUST TO GET A GODDAMN KILL AND FLEX ON HIM! 'Look at Gregory, can't get a kill! All his character arcs and stuff that he could do that would be cool keep fucking fading out!' Ugh! For fuck's sake, he was going to be a nobody at this point! He'd be a fucking, like, one of those 'what-ifs' that people sometimes wrote about! What if Dougie had killed Jewel, what if Jhamel had killed Karen, what if Gregory fucking Miller could actually get a fucking kill?!

"Fucking asshole. Couldn't even live long enough for me to fucking kill you." He scoffed at the dead body, and then knelt down. Cory’s bag was lying next to him, so that was his first port of call. Heh, port. They were on boats so it was funny. There wasn’t really much to take. He had plenty of food already, but he took another water bottle, the alcohol and the candy. He had already ate all of his Life Savers, and Cory’s would be a good substitute. He popped one into his mouth, feeling oddly sad. Not about Cory's death, no, that was bound to happen. All that fucking potential for the epic showdown, Gregory getting an awesome kill and putting himself in the S67 history books was just gone now. If he was watching this, he'd have been uber pissed. Man, he was gonna kill whoever killed Cory. He was his kill, not fucking... crossbow prick. Ouch. He had been so preoccupied with the bag and being pissed Cory was dead that he hadn't even noticed the crossbow bolt imbedded in him. It was like... Leah's. Had Leah shot him? No, she didn't have a crossbow. Someone must have stolen it from her, and man, they were a good shot.

"Fucking asshole." He spat on the dead body. Maybe it wasn't like, the most mature or like, cool thing to do but man, come on. He was tired of not getting kills. The next person he saw, no matter what their bandana was, he was gonna go stab-stab-stab, and they would be dead-dead-dead, and he'd finally have a reason for people to watch him. Because if he was watching, he'd be going for all the cool people who were getting kills and having fun and all that, not just the boring fuck with no kills wandering around. But first, he needed the knife.

Fumbling with the sheath, Gregory slowly started to work the knife out of it.

[Dogs231]

Cory watched as someone in the distance stepped towards him. It was hard to identify the figure - their hat covered their hair, and the sun caused a shadow to cover their face. He squinted slightly. However, as the figure drew closer and began to speak, Cory realized that there was only one person who it could be.

It was Gregory, his erstwhile ally and would-be killer. He seemed to be under the impression that Cory was not still alive if his angry rant was any indication. He silently watched as the other boy rifled through his belongings and took what he pleased before turning back to what he thought was a corpse. Gregory repeated a part of his earlier rant and then spit on Cory. He tried to ignore it - making a sudden move would only make the other boy realize that he was still alive.

Gregory kneeled on one leg and reached both of his hands towards his right side - he was attempting to grab the diving knife. Cory tried to remain as motionless as possible and limited his breath. He hoped to prevent Gregory from the realization of his misjudgment. The strap loosened as Gregory fiddled with the sheath and buckle, and Cory made what he believed was a fatal mistake.

Ever so slightly, he flinched.

[Applesintime]

Humming, Gregory pulled out the knife, setting it down on the jetty, next to Cory's bag. Now, for the strap. Man, it sucked how, like, Cory was dead. Who the fuck killed him? Man, he must have died last night or something. Wandering around, trying to be all pacifistic and stupid, and then someone who knew what the fuck they were doing put a bolt into him, and he was just another name on the list, another corpse. Heh, maybe he could watch the kill when he got out of he-

Cory moved, ever so slightly. He was alive.

"FUCK!" Gregory yelped, jumping to his feet, the strap slipping off Cory's leg as he did so, Fuck, fuck, he was still alive! Without thinking, driven by panic, Gregory kicked him. Again, and again and again, until Cory was up against the wooden railing, and even then he kept kicking. Maybe it wasn't just so much panic then, as the thought he could get a kill, but then, with a shudder and a crack, the railing gave way, and Cory fell alongside it into the ocean with a splash. Falling back on his ass and leaning against the railing on the other side, Grgeory took deep breaths, trying to get his panic under control, watching Cory in the water.

[Dogs231]

Cory had made a critical error - in chess terms, a blunder. As a result, Gregory had discovered the crucial fact that he was still alive. Gregory took the knife, sheath, and strap and yelped. The other boy then jumped to his feet, a look of panic displayed on his face, somewhat obscured by the blurriness of Cory's vision. Gregory kicked Cory repeatedly in the stomach and abdomen, and each strike with his foot caused a jolt of pain to surge through the body. Eventually, with one final kick from his attacker, the railing behind him cracked, and he fell into the ocean below.

He briefly wondered what could have happened if it hadn't been Gregory to find him dying on the jetties. He wished that it had been another person looking to escape - he could have let them use his collar for experimentation. He would almost certainly have died regardless, but at least he would have known that it meant something, anything, other than a simple mark on a tally.

He was unable to move his legs properly, and his use of his arms was painful and limited, rendering any attempt at keeping his head above water entirely fruitless. He tried in vain to hold his breath, but his strength was too weak. Water began to flood his nose and throat. His eyes and wound stung badly from the ocean salt. He continued to sink deeper into the waves, unable to pull himself to land or safety, as the world began to darken around him. He stared above him, seeing the blurry remnants of light piercing through the ocean waves. Some of the water was stained red by the rehydrated blood of his wound. It became harder to think, and his mind started to grind to a halt. His body would no longer respond to his attempts at even slight movement.

The world grew dark around him as he slipped out of consciousness for the final time.

ES03: CORY CARTWRIGHT — DECEASED
48 STUDENTS REMAIN

[Applesintime]

Cory sank like a rock, and for a moment, Gregory let out a satisfied grin. He had.. had he done it? Had he got a kill? Had he got a kill?! The moment should have made him really fucking happy. He shoulda been dancing all around the place, shouting in celebration and praising his good luck. He had finally got a kill, and it should be the happiest day of his life! No longer was he filler, but a killer! He'd be remembered now!

But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't muster up any sense of satisfaction, the feeling of having defeated a dangerous enemy. Because it had been a shitty kill. There wasn't any fun, there was no fight, there was no nothing. It was like if like, Amir had mangaed to pull himself out of that hole and then at the last moment Jewel showed up and shot him. Sure, it would be a kill, but it would have been a boring one. There wasn't any fun in watching someone who was badly injured get killed by someone else who had just stumbled upon them. For fuck's sake, whoever had shot him shoulda got the kill!

It was just. Hollow. A hollow victory. There was no satisfaction in it. He couldn't bring himself to be happy, or cheer. All he did was stare blankly at the spot where Cory had sank. He didn't really know what to do now. He had his knife, he had his bag, he had some stuff to go and trade with Stokes. But no, fuck Stokes. Her shitty little gimmick was gonna get them both killed, and Gregory wasn't gonna care that much. They were just... Gregory sighed again.

He had built it up in his head; Gregory and Cory would meet somewhere cool, and then they'd get into a fight, with Gregory trying to kill him and Cory trying to run or something stupid, and then, just, he'd kill him. Slash his throat with the knife or stick it in his eye or disembowel him. Jewel liked that. It would've been cool to do something that impressed Jewel Evans. But no. Whoever shot him had just sorta taken away all that. There'd be no epic fight scene or whatever, there wouldn't be any Top 10 kills, there'd just be Gregory Miller and Cory Cartwright, the what-if. He almost felt disappointed. They never... he had always assumed that the kills were cool or something. That you'd feel good or something after you got a kill. Because why else would you kill someone on SOTF? The fame, yeah, but Bones didn't fucking know she'd be famous, and she killed a bunch of people. Gregory didn't feel good.

He felt sick, and he didn't know if it was because of Cory's death being disappointing, or what.

No, no, it had to be the fact that Cory's death wasn't satisfying, yeah! Yeah, he just needed to get another kill. Someone else, kill them with Cory's knife. Then he'd get it, he'd get why they all killed. It had to feel good or something, right? Otherwise, why would they do it? Sure, they wanted to go home, and you wanted the fame, but...

He was repeating the same arguments.

He kicked Cory's bag into the ocean and watched it sink, too. He wasn't sure why.

Trying to shake that feeling that something wasn't quite right, Gregory popped a Life Saver into his mouth, and wandered off. He just needed another kill. That's all! Then he'd probably feel better.

((Gregory Miller continued in Paradise, In A Way))