((Ashlie Jackson continued from Aftermath))
All things considered, Ashlie Jackson was doing great. Her feet were numb, and probably infected, and she was tired as fuck, but life was going good for the pink-haired girl. The latest bitch to cross her was dead, and oh how she screamed. Like the little bitch she was, clawing for her last pathetic breaths as she was stricken from this world. Ashlie's mouth curled into a satisfied grin as she remembered the final thoughts that resonated in her head, ones that weren't her own. In some twisted way, it made the kill even more satisfying.
She didn't want to stop. She would take out every last bitch on this island, then go home and live a wonderful life. Just non-stop parties and guys and booze and who knows what else. She knew what she wanted from life. Dying on an island in the middle of nowhere wasn't one of them. So the solution was quite simple really. Just find someone, shoot them, and move on. No posturing, no mercy.
Ashlie found herself at some sort of shack, which the girl promptly entered. A foul stench pervaded the air, which Ashlie was able to immediately tell was coming from the small bed nearby. So much for that plan. Instead, the pink-haired girl exited the shack again, sitting with her back on the outer wall. It had been awhile since she rested, so a few minutes wouldn't hurt her.
Hit and Run
Hit and Run
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
((Chris Richardson continued from Aftermath))
Chris hadn't paid one bit of attention to where he was going. He hadn't realized that he'd followed in the trail of the killer from not hours ago. His stunt had worked, and now that the fear died down, frankly he was a tad impressed. That had worked as well as it had. His eyes traveled to the gun in his hands. He had yet to use it, and he was in the last half of the pack. It had only taken him a little while for the adrenaline to wash from his system, and when he finally did, the full extent of this power absolutely fascinated him. The longer he held the circuit, the more electricity. He still didn't understand where the electrical current was drawn from, but if he ever made it home, he could experiment with that too.
...Home. The thought had never crossed his mind yet. He'd never thought about getting home. How was he going to go about that? Kill everyone else on the island? No, he had just used his power to stun. And he wasn't going to delude himself, he couldn't bring himself to kill the girl. If he had wanted to, he wouldn't have exactly fled now, would he? No.
He just needed to rest for a minute.
And that shack sitting off in the distance looked as good of a destination as any.
Chris's route to the Shack had been a bit convoluted, and a lot of running in circles. However not a half an hour after the girl that killed Pippi had arrived, he was there. Not that he knew she was there. Or even what she looked like. He only had a vague description to work off of.
"...hunt down the pink-haired whore..."
Not the most endearing description, but she had just killed in cold blood. Just how many had? No matter. Just a mark of one person to avoid. Pink Hair was pretty distinctive on an island with no more than 10 people on it.
A window. The inside of the shack was meager to say the least. It looked as if the previous owners had left in quite the hurry. The few belongings that remained were strewn about the ground, and nothing appeared remotely useful. Still, at the very least, he spotted a blanket in the back corner. That meant covering. That meant sleep. And quite quickly, and in almost comedic timing, his stomach reminded him yet again of it's presence. He was too ravenous from using so much power back there. Time for a break. He didn't need to make a plan yet, did he?
Little did he know as he rounded the corner exactly what awaited him. A girl, leaning against a wall, her eyes closed. Long, poofy pink hair. A few piercings. Wearing a tanktop and a pair of capris, a bunch of bracelets dangling on her forearm.
He locked up.
Shit! Not her. That has to be her, unless there's two girls with pink hair on the island and I seriously doubt that! Statistics just says no.
A subconscious step backwards. Another. Nice and easy, just back around the corner, and quietly wa-
*CRACK*
The branch snapping underfoot sounded almost as loud as a gunshot going off to his ears. The smart thing to do would have been to spin and run, and in any other situation that would have been exactly what the boy would have said. However, panic does funny things to a person. He froze. His hands fumbled over the gun, thumb attempting to find the safety as he prepared for what the girl might be about to do.
Chris hadn't paid one bit of attention to where he was going. He hadn't realized that he'd followed in the trail of the killer from not hours ago. His stunt had worked, and now that the fear died down, frankly he was a tad impressed. That had worked as well as it had. His eyes traveled to the gun in his hands. He had yet to use it, and he was in the last half of the pack. It had only taken him a little while for the adrenaline to wash from his system, and when he finally did, the full extent of this power absolutely fascinated him. The longer he held the circuit, the more electricity. He still didn't understand where the electrical current was drawn from, but if he ever made it home, he could experiment with that too.
...Home. The thought had never crossed his mind yet. He'd never thought about getting home. How was he going to go about that? Kill everyone else on the island? No, he had just used his power to stun. And he wasn't going to delude himself, he couldn't bring himself to kill the girl. If he had wanted to, he wouldn't have exactly fled now, would he? No.
He just needed to rest for a minute.
And that shack sitting off in the distance looked as good of a destination as any.
Chris's route to the Shack had been a bit convoluted, and a lot of running in circles. However not a half an hour after the girl that killed Pippi had arrived, he was there. Not that he knew she was there. Or even what she looked like. He only had a vague description to work off of.
"...hunt down the pink-haired whore..."
Not the most endearing description, but she had just killed in cold blood. Just how many had? No matter. Just a mark of one person to avoid. Pink Hair was pretty distinctive on an island with no more than 10 people on it.
A window. The inside of the shack was meager to say the least. It looked as if the previous owners had left in quite the hurry. The few belongings that remained were strewn about the ground, and nothing appeared remotely useful. Still, at the very least, he spotted a blanket in the back corner. That meant covering. That meant sleep. And quite quickly, and in almost comedic timing, his stomach reminded him yet again of it's presence. He was too ravenous from using so much power back there. Time for a break. He didn't need to make a plan yet, did he?
Little did he know as he rounded the corner exactly what awaited him. A girl, leaning against a wall, her eyes closed. Long, poofy pink hair. A few piercings. Wearing a tanktop and a pair of capris, a bunch of bracelets dangling on her forearm.
He locked up.
Shit! Not her. That has to be her, unless there's two girls with pink hair on the island and I seriously doubt that! Statistics just says no.
A subconscious step backwards. Another. Nice and easy, just back around the corner, and quietly wa-
*CRACK*
The branch snapping underfoot sounded almost as loud as a gunshot going off to his ears. The smart thing to do would have been to spin and run, and in any other situation that would have been exactly what the boy would have said. However, panic does funny things to a person. He froze. His hands fumbled over the gun, thumb attempting to find the safety as he prepared for what the girl might be about to do.
Ashlie's eyes snapped open as the crack of the branch resounded in her ears. As quickly as she could, she was up on her feet, gun in hand ready. Turning the corner of the shack, the pink-haired girl saw someone standing there, back turned to her. Ashlie smiled. Perfect, he won't even know what hit him. One step closer to the top.
It was almost too easy. Ashlie leveled her gun at his back, almost sad that he wouldn't even know what hit him. Almost. Her finger pulled the trigger once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Another easy out, another step to the top. One more person in her quest to go home.
It was almost too easy. Ashlie leveled her gun at his back, almost sad that he wouldn't even know what hit him. Almost. Her finger pulled the trigger once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Another easy out, another step to the top. One more person in her quest to go home.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.
Unlike Ashlie had assumed, he did know exactly what had hit him. Hearing leaves crackle behind him, he spun on his heel, just in time to see the gun barrel leveled directly at his face.
"H-Hey, ma-"
BANG.
He would never get to finish that sentence. The first bullet felt like a punch in the chest. He had taken a punch before, really it didn't hurt that bad. He could take this, this wa-
BANG.
The second hit. A searing fire in his throat. A gurgle escaped from his neck with the new tracheotomy that his assailant had given to him. Irony itself. Just like the girl who would end his life, his dying moments were fated to silence. As he opened his mouth to attempt to say something, anything, the shock of the pain addling his mind to make him realize that he would never be able to say his piece, the third bullet struck home. He tried to breathe in, a desperate attempt. The air rushing through the hole in his neck made the wound alight yet again with white hot flame.
BANG.
Another punch, this time to the stomach. A fresh spurt of warm red blood shot out of his back where the bullet had exited. The impact sent him off of his feet, a bubbling ooze of blood coming from both his neck and his lung as the wind knocked out of him. The blood pooled on the ground, each drop crackling with a small spark as it contacted the moist earth.
If he had just another few moments to react, he could have done it again. The ground was still wet. He could have stunned her and fled. He would have lived to... To what? He wouldn't have fought. He just didn't have it in him. He would have died in twenty four hours time one way or the other.
He could have had a much less painful death, however. His body slammed the ground with a resounding thud, the gurgling in his throat never stopping. His lung never inflating as he reflexively opened his mouth, gasping for breath as the blood was sucked back down into his throat. A mixture between a cough and a blub emanated from both his mouth and nose, blood seeping slowly from one of the nostrils. How this had occurred would have intrigued him, if he had time to think about it at all.
However for Christopher Richardson of Conifer, Colorado, this was the end of the line. His once bright mind began to grow dim as the light faded from his vision. That big ball in the distance burned as hot as the pain he felt. And as he watched the sun set one last time, he didn't even have the mental capacity to appreciate one of the last true beautiful things in the world on this one last opportunity. Instead, the sun went dark.
And with it, so did he.
C16 - Chris Richardson: Eliminated
"H-Hey, ma-"
BANG.
He would never get to finish that sentence. The first bullet felt like a punch in the chest. He had taken a punch before, really it didn't hurt that bad. He could take this, this wa-
BANG.
The second hit. A searing fire in his throat. A gurgle escaped from his neck with the new tracheotomy that his assailant had given to him. Irony itself. Just like the girl who would end his life, his dying moments were fated to silence. As he opened his mouth to attempt to say something, anything, the shock of the pain addling his mind to make him realize that he would never be able to say his piece, the third bullet struck home. He tried to breathe in, a desperate attempt. The air rushing through the hole in his neck made the wound alight yet again with white hot flame.
BANG.
Another punch, this time to the stomach. A fresh spurt of warm red blood shot out of his back where the bullet had exited. The impact sent him off of his feet, a bubbling ooze of blood coming from both his neck and his lung as the wind knocked out of him. The blood pooled on the ground, each drop crackling with a small spark as it contacted the moist earth.
If he had just another few moments to react, he could have done it again. The ground was still wet. He could have stunned her and fled. He would have lived to... To what? He wouldn't have fought. He just didn't have it in him. He would have died in twenty four hours time one way or the other.
He could have had a much less painful death, however. His body slammed the ground with a resounding thud, the gurgling in his throat never stopping. His lung never inflating as he reflexively opened his mouth, gasping for breath as the blood was sucked back down into his throat. A mixture between a cough and a blub emanated from both his mouth and nose, blood seeping slowly from one of the nostrils. How this had occurred would have intrigued him, if he had time to think about it at all.
However for Christopher Richardson of Conifer, Colorado, this was the end of the line. His once bright mind began to grow dim as the light faded from his vision. That big ball in the distance burned as hot as the pain he felt. And as he watched the sun set one last time, he didn't even have the mental capacity to appreciate one of the last true beautiful things in the world on this one last opportunity. Instead, the sun went dark.
And with it, so did he.
C16 - Chris Richardson: Eliminated
Ashlie smiled with delight as he watched her victim die in a rather spectacular fashion. She could almost feel the raw energy emanating from this boy as his blood crackled when it came into contact with the ground. Ashlie knew she had lucked out. This boy was strong, too bad he didn't have the brains to go with it. Now he was just another dead body on her path to victory. Such was the way of life.
The pink haired girl took a moment to relieve the corpse of his supplies. He wasn't going to need them anymore. Besides, she didn't want to be running out of bullets. That would be unfortunate so late into this thing. After collecting the equipment and treating herself to a nice meal of bread and peaches, Ashlie went back into the shack. Unsurprisingly, the body was still there, taking up the only bed in the place. That just wouldn't do.
Ashlie grabbed the long dead body by it's ankles, and with all her strength, heaved the boy out of the bed. The sheet over him stayed with him, which was probably just as well. She then began to drag him as best she could, that is to say not very, out of the shack. He didn't need him stinking up the place any more than he already had. Not that Ashlie could really smell anything any more, what with the blood on her shirt and the... who knows on her feet.
Once the body was outside of the shack, Ashlie re entered. She really wished she had an extra change of clothes laying around, but sadly she didn't. Shrugging to herself, she removed the offending piece of clothing, revealing the satiny black bra she always wore when she was out at a rave. The pink-haired girl felt somewhat exposed, but that feeling quickly passed. So what if whoever was left got to sneak a peak at her assets? Let them go out on a good note. After chucking the bloody tank top in the corner, Ashlie crawled onto the slightly blood soaked and smelly bed, stretching out and falling asleep.
---
Many hours passed, and Ashlie was woken up to the sound of that annoying girl's voice. She went on about danishes and coffee and blah blah blah. The only part that she cared about was the fact that her current resting spot was a danger zone, which meant she needed to leave pretty quickly. Fortunately, she had been thoughtful enough just before sleeping to put everything she needed into one bag, which included her gun, the two spare magazines, three knives, and the food she had pilfered from the dead boy.
Ashlie picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, enjoying the sensation of the cloth on her bare skin. Looking down at herself, she thought for a moment about taking one of the dead boys' shirts to cover up, but then shrugged and continued on her way.
((Ashlie Jackson continued in Paper Dolls))
The pink haired girl took a moment to relieve the corpse of his supplies. He wasn't going to need them anymore. Besides, she didn't want to be running out of bullets. That would be unfortunate so late into this thing. After collecting the equipment and treating herself to a nice meal of bread and peaches, Ashlie went back into the shack. Unsurprisingly, the body was still there, taking up the only bed in the place. That just wouldn't do.
Ashlie grabbed the long dead body by it's ankles, and with all her strength, heaved the boy out of the bed. The sheet over him stayed with him, which was probably just as well. She then began to drag him as best she could, that is to say not very, out of the shack. He didn't need him stinking up the place any more than he already had. Not that Ashlie could really smell anything any more, what with the blood on her shirt and the... who knows on her feet.
Once the body was outside of the shack, Ashlie re entered. She really wished she had an extra change of clothes laying around, but sadly she didn't. Shrugging to herself, she removed the offending piece of clothing, revealing the satiny black bra she always wore when she was out at a rave. The pink-haired girl felt somewhat exposed, but that feeling quickly passed. So what if whoever was left got to sneak a peak at her assets? Let them go out on a good note. After chucking the bloody tank top in the corner, Ashlie crawled onto the slightly blood soaked and smelly bed, stretching out and falling asleep.
---
Many hours passed, and Ashlie was woken up to the sound of that annoying girl's voice. She went on about danishes and coffee and blah blah blah. The only part that she cared about was the fact that her current resting spot was a danger zone, which meant she needed to leave pretty quickly. Fortunately, she had been thoughtful enough just before sleeping to put everything she needed into one bag, which included her gun, the two spare magazines, three knives, and the food she had pilfered from the dead boy.
Ashlie picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, enjoying the sensation of the cloth on her bare skin. Looking down at herself, she thought for a moment about taking one of the dead boys' shirts to cover up, but then shrugged and continued on her way.
((Ashlie Jackson continued in Paper Dolls))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Rocky.