((Quincy Archer continued from With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility))
Quincy stumbled through the forest, panting and sweating and pushing leaves out of his way. Somehow he kept up a sprint for fifteen minutes or so, weaving his way through a slalom field of trees, all in an effort to get away from the gun-crazy kids he saw in the clearing. All they needed was a little push and they were really gonna kill themselves. He kept imagining everyone there in a ludicrous Mexican standoff from a Tarantino movie, everyone pointing a gun at somebody else, maybe even two somebodies. Just how many guns were in the mix around here?
He wasn’t counting shit like the rifle he kept with him, of course. That would be fucking stupid. Looking at it again made him wonder why he hadn’t just dropped it and kept going with less weight to carry. It was a good question, actually. No way would it get him any sort of results as it was, but maybe he could get creative with it. As he thought of how, he looked over the gun and kept walking. The thought occurred to him that the darts could be set on fire just as he pushed aside some leaves and hit his head worse than he ever had in his life.
The impact made his vision cloud over and his head swim. It was almost impossible to think with the feeling that his brain was being pressed in a vice, with a salad fork stabbing it for good measure. He dropped his rifle, putting his hands to his head and staggering on his feet. “Gaaaaah! MotherFUCK!” If anyone heard that, they’d get the perfect chance to finish him off, but that didn’t really matter, didn’t? Through the fog of pain Quincy realized that it wasn’t just a matter of him hitting a branch. The impact was too fast and hard for it to be something stationary. No, someone else had thrown the first punch. “Who’s there?” he snarled, trying to see the person right in front of him.
The Natural Advantage
The Natural Advantage
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
(Really short, I know, sorry.)
There was no answer. Instead, Quincy's attacker reflexively came in for a second blow, charging forwards with a roar as the bat in his hands came down at Quincy's head like Thor's hammer.
"Fuck OFF!"
...Adam Reeves was a very bad person to startle in a situation like this.
There was no answer. Instead, Quincy's attacker reflexively came in for a second blow, charging forwards with a roar as the bat in his hands came down at Quincy's head like Thor's hammer.
"Fuck OFF!"
...Adam Reeves was a very bad person to startle in a situation like this.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
((I know I missed the deadline, and I apologize. Let's just end this.))
As much as Quincy would like to have believed otherwise, Adam Reeves had a natural advantage in his enormous strength. Bringing the bat down on Quincy's head went beyond the hit to the head that he took moments ago, beyond the injuries that Quincy himself could inflict when wielding that same weapon. For it was Adam's strength that gave the bat enough force to split open his scalp, causing it to get matted with blood, and his skull to break with a sickening crack.
Quincy fell forward onto the ground like a puppet whose strings had been gut. His eyes remained open, touching the dirty floor of the forest with no reflexes closing and protecting them. Just a minute ago he was perfectly healthy, and now he would never wake up. Whether the trauma to his brain killed him immediately or consigned him to a few hours of being a vegetable, Quincy had taken a quick and ordinary end to his life and his stay on the island. Whatever thoughts of having a dramatic last stand or badass confrontation or a hard-won victory and survival had been beaten out of Quincy's head, along with every other.
B16 - QUINCY ARCHER: DECEASED
34 STUDENTS REMAIN
As much as Quincy would like to have believed otherwise, Adam Reeves had a natural advantage in his enormous strength. Bringing the bat down on Quincy's head went beyond the hit to the head that he took moments ago, beyond the injuries that Quincy himself could inflict when wielding that same weapon. For it was Adam's strength that gave the bat enough force to split open his scalp, causing it to get matted with blood, and his skull to break with a sickening crack.
Quincy fell forward onto the ground like a puppet whose strings had been gut. His eyes remained open, touching the dirty floor of the forest with no reflexes closing and protecting them. Just a minute ago he was perfectly healthy, and now he would never wake up. Whether the trauma to his brain killed him immediately or consigned him to a few hours of being a vegetable, Quincy had taken a quick and ordinary end to his life and his stay on the island. Whatever thoughts of having a dramatic last stand or badass confrontation or a hard-won victory and survival had been beaten out of Quincy's head, along with every other.
B16 - QUINCY ARCHER: DECEASED
34 STUDENTS REMAIN
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Solitair. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
...Yep. He was dead. Not much short of a grizzly was getting up after a bump like that.
Shit. One second some blur comes crashing through the brush right at him, next his bat's coming round without a thought. Wham. Then again.
Crack. Thud. No more Quincy Archer. He'd been annoying, yeah, but he didn't quite deserve having his head stove in.
Yet Adam had done it. Two swings of his bat and it was over. Bang bang. Seriously? Two reflexive flicks of his arms and someone was just plain gone? And this was what he was supposed to do?
Wasn't that power? Wasn't that his fate as whatever he'd called himself, the "alpha"? Wasn't it his right, his duty to defend his position at the top?
The adrenaline coursing through his veins said yes. The cold emptiness in his stomach, the bile that didn't come, the white noise like a radio turned to a dead station in his brain said no. This was just... unreal, for lack of a better term. He felt like some kind of ghost.
This was the truth of it, though. The oppressive heat, the buzz of insects, the corpse at his feet, they all made that abundantly clear.
...He had to get out of here. Figure out what the hell he was going to do. Quincy's pack was rifled through, his supplies added to Adam's, then the larger student was gone into the bush.
(Adam Reeves continued in Pursuit.)
Shit. One second some blur comes crashing through the brush right at him, next his bat's coming round without a thought. Wham. Then again.
Crack. Thud. No more Quincy Archer. He'd been annoying, yeah, but he didn't quite deserve having his head stove in.
Yet Adam had done it. Two swings of his bat and it was over. Bang bang. Seriously? Two reflexive flicks of his arms and someone was just plain gone? And this was what he was supposed to do?
Wasn't that power? Wasn't that his fate as whatever he'd called himself, the "alpha"? Wasn't it his right, his duty to defend his position at the top?
The adrenaline coursing through his veins said yes. The cold emptiness in his stomach, the bile that didn't come, the white noise like a radio turned to a dead station in his brain said no. This was just... unreal, for lack of a better term. He felt like some kind of ghost.
This was the truth of it, though. The oppressive heat, the buzz of insects, the corpse at his feet, they all made that abundantly clear.
...He had to get out of here. Figure out what the hell he was going to do. Quincy's pack was rifled through, his supplies added to Adam's, then the larger student was gone into the bush.
(Adam Reeves continued in Pursuit.)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.