((Continued))
The ancient husk of a building was the perfect representation of everything that had come before and was yet to come. There was no question of what came next. Like moths to flames they would be drawn together to act out the end of the world. It was soon, this much she knew.
From where she sat the flowing, tortured structure of the former building swam in front of her vision. No real pattern, no obsession with order or reason, a structure created from pure power reduced to nothing more than artistically arranged cinders.
The emptiness of the open space was a comfort she allowed herself to enjoy. A small mercy in preparation for what came next. Standing she moved over to the shape on the floor and tore the skirt from its head, exposing it for the world to see. A freedom from absolution she could grant. She had known the remains once, like with the others, not well, but she had known. The skirt left her hand and floated gently down by her foot. Crouching down she replaced it and stepped back to take her seat, resuming her watch.
Void
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General Goose
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((Chuck Soileaux continued from Final Ten Problems.))
Chuck stayed around the scorched ruins for a while. He didn't do much. There wasn't much to do.
Well, that wasn't strictly true. He still had an...oppressively large mental to-do list. To keep on thinking of last minute sabotage plans, to deliver more heartfelt messages through the camera, to reveal the doubtlessly fruitful creative and philosophical ponderings in his mind to the world at large, so they could be put to some use, so he could have a legacy. To get the courage and dedication together, to set out and find the killers, to ensure some impromptu justice was delivered.
In the end, the only productive thing he managed to do was create such a mental to-do list.
He was wandering around, aimlessly, when he spotted Kris. Kris was alright, from what he remembered. They got on well, if not super closely, at PJ Hobbs. And her name hadn't been on the announcements.
Much.
At this point, Chuck could only remember the serial offenders.
Oh, actually, he did remember her name being on. But he'd mentally remembered her, after all these days, as a death rather than as a killer.
Good for her, I guess.
He didn't want to say hello. But he didn't want to go away either, and knew that if he stayed silent he'd come across as some creepy aggressor.
"Hey Kris," he said, oddly stoic in tone considering the circumstances.
Chuck stayed around the scorched ruins for a while. He didn't do much. There wasn't much to do.
Well, that wasn't strictly true. He still had an...oppressively large mental to-do list. To keep on thinking of last minute sabotage plans, to deliver more heartfelt messages through the camera, to reveal the doubtlessly fruitful creative and philosophical ponderings in his mind to the world at large, so they could be put to some use, so he could have a legacy. To get the courage and dedication together, to set out and find the killers, to ensure some impromptu justice was delivered.
In the end, the only productive thing he managed to do was create such a mental to-do list.
He was wandering around, aimlessly, when he spotted Kris. Kris was alright, from what he remembered. They got on well, if not super closely, at PJ Hobbs. And her name hadn't been on the announcements.
Much.
At this point, Chuck could only remember the serial offenders.
Oh, actually, he did remember her name being on. But he'd mentally remembered her, after all these days, as a death rather than as a killer.
Good for her, I guess.
He didn't want to say hello. But he didn't want to go away either, and knew that if he stayed silent he'd come across as some creepy aggressor.
"Hey Kris," he said, oddly stoic in tone considering the circumstances.
As her eyes rose to take in the creator of the noise she saw a ghost, then the face below it. She knew him in a faded memory, the details hazy and poorly remembered, becoming more a dream than reality. He wasn't anything special to her or her to him. The ghost stared at her, its mouth pulled back in a mocking laugh. It hung over them like an omen of their rapidly approaching future. She held its gaze for a moment before her eyes slowly fell to take in the face below.
The face below showed more of their current state. The days stretched out like years, each night visible in his eyes. Time in their domain was longer and carried higher prices. The lives they had now were governed by a voice on a radio. The DJ of the damned narrating the show for those fortunate enough not to have to witness it. The true amount of damage, violence, and loss couldn't be calculated but its tremors could be traced all the way back to where they originally came from. The repercussions forever unknown to them.
She maintained eye contact with the boy, the ghost laughing at them all the while.
"Hey."
The face below showed more of their current state. The days stretched out like years, each night visible in his eyes. Time in their domain was longer and carried higher prices. The lives they had now were governed by a voice on a radio. The DJ of the damned narrating the show for those fortunate enough not to have to witness it. The true amount of damage, violence, and loss couldn't be calculated but its tremors could be traced all the way back to where they originally came from. The repercussions forever unknown to them.
She maintained eye contact with the boy, the ghost laughing at them all the while.
"Hey."
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General Goose
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"Hey," Chuck repeated. Conversations were hard.
Before all this, Chuck had a healthy share of social awkwardness, but he had always been able to overcome it with a healthy share of over-the-top garishness and a modest disregard for what those he didn't gel with thought about him. Plus, hey, the pursuit of political goals and video games had given structure to his life, plus shared reference points that created good odds for common convictions.
On the island? What was there? 'Remember life back in school?' Chuck wasn't averse to that kind of nostalgic small talk, but he didn't want to propagate it either. 'So, that Danya sucks, eh?' Definitely a common conviction, but not really much you could do with it. 'I just executed Saachi' would get the conversation rolling, but not a subject that Chuck wanted to talk about. At least, he didn't think he wanted to talk about it. His whole feelings around that affair were tricky to describe, at the very least.
There was Maxwell's plan, but he risked being too forward, and painting a big target on his back. Nothing screams 'easy target' like a pacifist in a team deathmatch.
Although if Chuck was to die, he might as well spend his dying moments imitating a spycrab. He probably didn't have the flexibility for it though, or the stamina, or the theatrical spirit. He sighed, forlornly, Kris almost undoubtedly not guessing that the weary sigh came from his predicted failure to pull off a worthy impression of a Team Fortress 2 meme.
Honesty was the best policy.
"So, I was in the area, just...screwing about, and thought I'd let you know I was here, just so you didn't think I was...sneaking up on you."
Well, that was as good as saying 'I don't want to fight'. He might as well have done the fucking spycrab.
Before all this, Chuck had a healthy share of social awkwardness, but he had always been able to overcome it with a healthy share of over-the-top garishness and a modest disregard for what those he didn't gel with thought about him. Plus, hey, the pursuit of political goals and video games had given structure to his life, plus shared reference points that created good odds for common convictions.
On the island? What was there? 'Remember life back in school?' Chuck wasn't averse to that kind of nostalgic small talk, but he didn't want to propagate it either. 'So, that Danya sucks, eh?' Definitely a common conviction, but not really much you could do with it. 'I just executed Saachi' would get the conversation rolling, but not a subject that Chuck wanted to talk about. At least, he didn't think he wanted to talk about it. His whole feelings around that affair were tricky to describe, at the very least.
There was Maxwell's plan, but he risked being too forward, and painting a big target on his back. Nothing screams 'easy target' like a pacifist in a team deathmatch.
Although if Chuck was to die, he might as well spend his dying moments imitating a spycrab. He probably didn't have the flexibility for it though, or the stamina, or the theatrical spirit. He sighed, forlornly, Kris almost undoubtedly not guessing that the weary sigh came from his predicted failure to pull off a worthy impression of a Team Fortress 2 meme.
Honesty was the best policy.
"So, I was in the area, just...screwing about, and thought I'd let you know I was here, just so you didn't think I was...sneaking up on you."
Well, that was as good as saying 'I don't want to fight'. He might as well have done the fucking spycrab.
She nodded at what was said but offered nothing. There was nothing to say in response. There was a weariness to him that seemed to speak of many days spent trying to achieve something only to inevitably fail. It was written across his face and portrayed by his body. To say nothing of the ghost that hovered above him mocking his every action. In that weariness was an honesty though, there was no attempt to deceive or be anything other than what he was. No hiding behind meaningless words or action; no deflecting his own issues onto other factors. He was open and real, almost unsullied by the existence they all embodied.
Meanwhile, the ghost laughed.
Her head cocked to one side almost involuntarily and she took him in, assessing what stood before her.
Eventually, she spoke.
"You can join me if you want."
Meanwhile, the ghost laughed.
Her head cocked to one side almost involuntarily and she took him in, assessing what stood before her.
Eventually, she spoke.
"You can join me if you want."
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General Goose
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Chuck looked at Kris. She seemed slightly...vacant? No, vacant was the wrong word. Her gaze certainly seemed somewhat passive, inscrutable, drawn away by something else. Something just above him, it looked like. Passing it off as scratching a rather intense itch on the side of his neck, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes flicking to the sky, seeing if there was a reason she seemed so recalcitrant to form eye contact.
Maybe it was rescue? A helicopter flying overhead? Something like that, that would, one way or another, free Chuck from these moral dilemmas, provide a release from the arduous torments of the last few days.
Chuck turned back to face Kris, tilting his head up slightly, hoping to catch her eyes. Then he realised. It was probably the hat she was looking at. Chuck took it off, for the first time since getting her, and scrunched it up in his hands. Passing it off as a tic, as a way to keep his hands busy. Some tangled strands of hair fell down in front of his eyes.
"Join you in what?"
Maybe it was rescue? A helicopter flying overhead? Something like that, that would, one way or another, free Chuck from these moral dilemmas, provide a release from the arduous torments of the last few days.
Chuck turned back to face Kris, tilting his head up slightly, hoping to catch her eyes. Then he realised. It was probably the hat she was looking at. Chuck took it off, for the first time since getting her, and scrunched it up in his hands. Passing it off as a tic, as a way to keep his hands busy. Some tangled strands of hair fell down in front of his eyes.
"Join you in what?"
She shrugged.
"Sitting. Breathing."
The words came out like an echo. The glimmer of a memory played in front of her eyes, fluttering like an insect just in front of her vision then disappearing. She looked past the boy with his ghost, at the flat expanse that spilled forth from under the charred and broken corpse of the building she sat in. It was just them, the ghost and the ghost of whatever came before them. They were alone in the emptiness.
Soon they would eventually be in the presence of others. She knew this, eventually, they would be herded together, forced to interact with the grand prize at stake. Nothing to play for and everything to lose. She considered the fireflies she still had trapped within their prisons of glass. Soon they would be freed, they just needed to be patient for a little longer and then they could fly again. Until that moment they remained safe.
She regarded the boy and his familiar once more.
"What will you do?"
"Sitting. Breathing."
The words came out like an echo. The glimmer of a memory played in front of her eyes, fluttering like an insect just in front of her vision then disappearing. She looked past the boy with his ghost, at the flat expanse that spilled forth from under the charred and broken corpse of the building she sat in. It was just them, the ghost and the ghost of whatever came before them. They were alone in the emptiness.
Soon they would eventually be in the presence of others. She knew this, eventually, they would be herded together, forced to interact with the grand prize at stake. Nothing to play for and everything to lose. She considered the fireflies she still had trapped within their prisons of glass. Soon they would be freed, they just needed to be patient for a little longer and then they could fly again. Until that moment they remained safe.
She regarded the boy and his familiar once more.
"What will you do?"
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General Goose
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Chuck soon settled the hat back on his head. He had felt...somewhat exposed without it. He was not a superstitious sort, nor was he so foolish to think it provided any kind of protection (even against the elements, its increasingly tattered state hindered its use there), but still, it gave him...luck? A feeling of it, anyway. A feeling of security. A placebo effect, that Chuck knew. But it was a placebo effect that remained intact even when its status as such was known.
Which made it quite useful.
Kris was talking weird. Chuck couldn't remember if she always had. He expected not - or at least, if she had been weird, it'd have been a different kind of weird. He was pretty sure his own mannerisms had changed. Fewer jokes. Fewer references. Probably lots of minor changes to syntax and emphasis that he couldn't notice himself.
"Breathing sounds...good. Like a pretty solid plan."
Which made it quite useful.
Kris was talking weird. Chuck couldn't remember if she always had. He expected not - or at least, if she had been weird, it'd have been a different kind of weird. He was pretty sure his own mannerisms had changed. Fewer jokes. Fewer references. Probably lots of minor changes to syntax and emphasis that he couldn't notice himself.
"Breathing sounds...good. Like a pretty solid plan."
She nodded at his response but didn't say anything more. They had come to a silent agreement. There would be no violence between them unless there was a dramatic change. He may have missed the meaning of her question but that wasn't an issue. It was of no immediate importance.
The ghost had returned to its position hovering just above him, it still laughed but there was less malice than before. at least as far as she could tell. There was still a large space between them, both physical and otherwise. There was no bridge that could be constructed to cross it. They were separated by their experiences, neither truly knowing or comprehending the true weight that put on the other. Only able to make guesses at the potential effects.
There was a long silence that played on the edges of their little island.
"What have you been doing?"
The ghost had returned to its position hovering just above him, it still laughed but there was less malice than before. at least as far as she could tell. There was still a large space between them, both physical and otherwise. There was no bridge that could be constructed to cross it. They were separated by their experiences, neither truly knowing or comprehending the true weight that put on the other. Only able to make guesses at the potential effects.
There was a long silence that played on the edges of their little island.
"What have you been doing?"
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General Goose
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Oh God, it was like when somebody asked you 'how are you'? Was it a pleasantry, or a genuine enquiry? If the latter, was it small talk, or a request for information about his current state, or a plea to hear his island story? There was no polite and succinct way of asking what exactly Kris wanted from him, and Chuck was standing there, mouth agape, gormlessly staring like some Arrested Development character doing an internal monologue in real time. He'd paused for at least several seconds.
"Uh..."
Okay, that bought Chuck a couple extra seconds. He smacked his lips, darted his head from side to side, to buy a couple more.
Realised he'd wasted that extra time thinking about what to do.
"Just killed Saachi."
First thing that came to mind.
"Uh..."
Okay, that bought Chuck a couple extra seconds. He smacked his lips, darted his head from side to side, to buy a couple more.
Realised he'd wasted that extra time thinking about what to do.
"Just killed Saachi."
First thing that came to mind.
She nodded in response to what he said. There was certainly nothing she could, no comfort she could give that would sound genuine. It was merely their current state of being. It would have happened eventually, of this she was sure. It was the only way.
He did not seem immediately sure how to respond, as if weighing up what the societal faux pas of their situation would be. The answer, of course, being that there were none because none of it mattered in the end. What he had done mirrored exactly what so many others had whatever the reasons; moving to the script of the show they performed on. Choice, in their current situation, was subjective.
The ghost found this all remarkably funny.
In a way, she supposed it all was.
"I understand." A brief pause as she chose her words. "It had to happen."
He did not seem immediately sure how to respond, as if weighing up what the societal faux pas of their situation would be. The answer, of course, being that there were none because none of it mattered in the end. What he had done mirrored exactly what so many others had whatever the reasons; moving to the script of the show they performed on. Choice, in their current situation, was subjective.
The ghost found this all remarkably funny.
In a way, she supposed it all was.
"I understand." A brief pause as she chose her words. "It had to happen."
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General Goose
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Well, if you had to kill one person on the island, the notorious killer, the prolific villain, was probably the most popular choice. She had, through her own selfish and self-destructive view, destroyed so much for all of them. She had destroyed friendships, brutally cut short lives, and ruined any attempts, no matter how convoluted or far-fetched, to beat this game. She had made Danya's philosophy a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Whether the injury she had inflicted upon an individual was direct or indirect, Saachi had screwed over everyone. All the survivors, as few in number as they were, were surely aware of that.
So, yeah, having Saachi's death to his name was probably a good thing. In a twisted way, maybe even a point of pride. Well, not pride. But he had done something unsavoury that the island needed to be done. He had gotten his hands dirty.
"Yup. Wasn't pretty, but..."
He shrugged.
"Feels weird."
Whether the injury she had inflicted upon an individual was direct or indirect, Saachi had screwed over everyone. All the survivors, as few in number as they were, were surely aware of that.
So, yeah, having Saachi's death to his name was probably a good thing. In a twisted way, maybe even a point of pride. Well, not pride. But he had done something unsavoury that the island needed to be done. He had gotten his hands dirty.
"Yup. Wasn't pretty, but..."
He shrugged.
"Feels weird."
His feelings about what he had done didn't truly matter. They were past that point. Still, she would play along, it was what he needed now, more than anything else. Her needs didn't matter and neither did his, at least, when the end inevitably came. But until then, she could make it easier.
"No other choice."
There was a question that floated around the conversation, not interrupting, merely floating and waiting patiently. A lingering doubt based on intent and reason. She left it unsaid and unasked. She didn't need to know what his reasons were. His actions and body language in regards to the act he had just performed said more than his words did.
She did not believe the doubt needed to be acted upon, it was merely another presence with them, reminding her of what had happened previously.
The ghost continued to find the situation remarkably funny. She supposed it's position as an outside observer allowed it access to dramatic irony.
"Don't dwell on it."
"No other choice."
There was a question that floated around the conversation, not interrupting, merely floating and waiting patiently. A lingering doubt based on intent and reason. She left it unsaid and unasked. She didn't need to know what his reasons were. His actions and body language in regards to the act he had just performed said more than his words did.
She did not believe the doubt needed to be acted upon, it was merely another presence with them, reminding her of what had happened previously.
The ghost continued to find the situation remarkably funny. She supposed it's position as an outside observer allowed it access to dramatic irony.
"Don't dwell on it."
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General Goose
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"Yup, I guess you're right." Chuck had long known there was truth to what Kris was saying. He hadn't needed to do it, not in the sense that it was necessary to fire a crossbow at her in that specific time and place, but taking her out, in the more abstract sense, had been a necessity. And if he was to survive this...well, Saachi was the best person to kill to enable that.
It was a cruel way of thinking about things, and Chuck didn't like it, but ultimately it was a cognitive sin more than a wrongdoing of any actual consequence. So Kris was right. Shouldn't dwell on it.
He scratched the rim of the hat, making the Boo 'wave' as it was jerked from side to side, as he contemplated what to do next. "So...what about you? What you been up to?"
It was a cruel way of thinking about things, and Chuck didn't like it, but ultimately it was a cognitive sin more than a wrongdoing of any actual consequence. So Kris was right. Shouldn't dwell on it.
He scratched the rim of the hat, making the Boo 'wave' as it was jerked from side to side, as he contemplated what to do next. "So...what about you? What you been up to?"
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General Goose
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What with the awkward pauses in conversation, it was ultimately not too surprising that they managed to wile away enough time with this awkward quasi-small talk that the announcement began. Chuck thought he would be surprised by it, that it would cut him off mid-thought and force him to confront a whole new array of problems and dilemmas, delivered with a sick and unfunny sense of "humour". But no. Some sort of Pavlovian learning had set in, had made it so that unconsciously he now associated this time of day with these vile announcements. So instead of being startled and jumping as the audio crackled out across the island, Chuck rolled his eyes and stared up at the ominous decrees hailing down from the sky.
There were a few things different about it this time, of course. His own name came up, for once. Chuck bristled at the noise. It was a small mercy that at least his name wasn't butchered. Petty to care about such things, of course, no matter how soothing they were for his own personal pride and dignity. Saved him a minor grimace, saved his family a minor irritation, and for that, he was mildly grateful. He knew it was illogical, to feel anything other than unrepentant anger for how these fuckers had ruined so many lives with not even an ounce of remorse, but there it was.
He had killed, after all. Played along with the logic of the captors, and with premeditation and with catharsis. Made sense that his mindset would in some way be twisted by this game in smaller ways too.
There was the personalised message. That was it. It was the final five. Hopes of some kind of peaceful resolution, of more than one survivor or some deathly blow to the terrorist ethos, had crumbled away. Chuck wished, in a moment of naivety, that it might have been a message from family and loved ones. Something that had more than just some strategic assessment dressed up as words of encouragement. He didn't like that he made a cameo in Maxwell's announcement too. It reminded Chuck of how, yup, he'd failed his lofty goals. The "big ideas and spirit". Chuck had abandoned those, he now realised. Maxwell hadn't.
And then there was Kris. She was sneaky, supposedly. And here she was, engaging Chuck in conversation. Not exactly friendly or easy, but it wasn't hostile. There was an understanding between the two. Chuck scratched his chin. A little bit of stubble, patchy and unattractive, was beginning to emerge. It was annoying. The announcement ended.
"So...you wanna walk over there? Together?" Chuck thought about throwing in a lame joke, to cap it off, but decided against it. He didn't really mind what answer Kris provided.
((Chuck Soileaux continued elsewhere.))
There were a few things different about it this time, of course. His own name came up, for once. Chuck bristled at the noise. It was a small mercy that at least his name wasn't butchered. Petty to care about such things, of course, no matter how soothing they were for his own personal pride and dignity. Saved him a minor grimace, saved his family a minor irritation, and for that, he was mildly grateful. He knew it was illogical, to feel anything other than unrepentant anger for how these fuckers had ruined so many lives with not even an ounce of remorse, but there it was.
He had killed, after all. Played along with the logic of the captors, and with premeditation and with catharsis. Made sense that his mindset would in some way be twisted by this game in smaller ways too.
There was the personalised message. That was it. It was the final five. Hopes of some kind of peaceful resolution, of more than one survivor or some deathly blow to the terrorist ethos, had crumbled away. Chuck wished, in a moment of naivety, that it might have been a message from family and loved ones. Something that had more than just some strategic assessment dressed up as words of encouragement. He didn't like that he made a cameo in Maxwell's announcement too. It reminded Chuck of how, yup, he'd failed his lofty goals. The "big ideas and spirit". Chuck had abandoned those, he now realised. Maxwell hadn't.
And then there was Kris. She was sneaky, supposedly. And here she was, engaging Chuck in conversation. Not exactly friendly or easy, but it wasn't hostile. There was an understanding between the two. Chuck scratched his chin. A little bit of stubble, patchy and unattractive, was beginning to emerge. It was annoying. The announcement ended.
"So...you wanna walk over there? Together?" Chuck thought about throwing in a lame joke, to cap it off, but decided against it. He didn't really mind what answer Kris provided.
((Chuck Soileaux continued elsewhere.))