Here In This Teenage Battle Zone

[AnimeNerd]

Joel Foster slept on an underground shooting range after watching someone he wanted to be friends with get crushed by the ceiling.

[[Joel Foster continued from Took Some Clay & Made You Pottery]]

He was close to where the people stood to shoot. Right under the dividers. There was a small wall under the table-things, keeping him out of sight. It was the best thing he could find on short notice.

He couldn’t sleep in the same room as Kennedy.

Sleep was a strong word, though. After the last two days Joel had, it was on and off nightmares the whole night. Isabella’s army of bugs, Nora standing over him as he succumbed to poison, Orion dripping blood from his skull as he stared into his soul, Kennedy's final moments before the world literally caved in on her, and the worst one where it was all dark, just people screaming. People he knew screaming. Crying. Begging. Calling for help. Calling for him.

He didn’t get that much sleep for the night. Not as much as he wanted.

Joel chose to just suck it up and stay awake at some point, grabbing his bag of supplies and wandering through the darkness. He hadn’t abandoned Orion’s bag, just put the supplies from it into his own and folded it up so it didn’t take up too much space. He wanted to do the same with Kennedy’s, but he knew he couldn’t stay in that room for too long, lest he burst into tears again.

He still came to stay in another one-way mirror room. As ridiculous as it was, he felt weirdly safe in it. He could see someone, but they couldn’t see him. It was probably the most privacy he could possibly get in this Hell hole.

He was chewing on another one of the protein bars when the static of speakers came up, and he swallowed down what was in his mouth, already feeling fear rise up in him. He didn’t want to know who else died. Even if it was all people he hated, the only way he’d want to hear about death is if their captors were about to broadcast their suicides, and he knew better than to expect such a thing.

The woman talked anyway, and Joel listened along. David was dead; Joel didn’t know him, but felt bad for him. Dying to a fucking werebat sounded terrifying, and he could already feel goosebumps at the thought of dealing with the girl.

Selene was in a similar situation. Didn’t know her well, but dying to a vampire…fuck, where could a guy get a wooden stake on short notice? Christ Anatoly, why?

So Toma got involved with a death. Who did-

[AnimeNerd]

”Tamara Jeung’s neck met the business end of our collars after he tumbled out of bounds. Just after that…”

…that…they…he…

what?

He…he was gone?

Just like that…Toma was gone?

They took him away?

That’s…it’s…

The announcements continued, uncaring of Joel’s third mental breakdown in three days. He heard the words, but barely registered them. Crispy killed. Izzy was dead. August blew up. The explosion killed Kennedy.

Toma was dead.

Toma…was dead.

Joel got to his feet. He left the viewing room and went to the hallway, dragging his feet the whole way. The bag was left next to where he had sat. The flashlight held tight in his hand.

Toma was dead.

The flashlight’s beam landed on a chair. Joel gripped it’s back before turning to the viewing room’s door. The chair made a grating noise as it was dragged across the floor. He didn’t seem to notice.

Toma was dead.

He put the flashlight down once he entered the room, but left it on so he could see. He kept walking. He kept dragging the chair. Dragging his feet. He only stopped once he stood next to the window.

Toma was fucking dead.

Joel let out a scream of rage as he raised the chair above his head, throwing it through the window, but not letting go yet. Once. Twice. Three. Four, until the chair slipped from his grip and landed on the other side of the window.

He screamed the whole way.

[AnimeNerd]

Toma was dead, he was gone, they fucking-they fucking killed him, and for what?! Fucking falling into the wrong place at the wrong time for two seconds!? And that was it?! That was all!? That was how the story went?!? That’s…

That’s really it? He couldn’t…he couldn’t even say goodbye? One last talk? Not even…not even the chance to get it off his chest?

Joel had never cried in all his life as much as he did in these last three days.

And he was tired of it. He needed to do something about it. About everything. He’d been sitting around doing jack shit. Talking about reality tv. Throwing pity parties. If he didn’t get off his ass soon, take charge, people were going to keep dying. Good people. And he couldn’t let that go on.

Joel grabbed two things from his bag, the first aid kit and his jacket. He’d looked around the first aid kit when treating his cuts. There were scissors, but they were dinky. Usable, though. And he didn’t have any attachment to his jacket, unlike the hat, so it was snip snip snip to the left sleeve, and wrapping the cloth around his right hand. He curled his hand once. Twice. Good enough.

He walked to the panel where the window once was. It wasn’t entirely broken, but it was in disrepair now. Several shards were sticking out, pointy and sharp, capable of cutting into flesh if it so desired. Looked more than capable of working out.

There was a snap as a shard was broken away from the glass with the wrapped hand. He was careful with it, making sure it didn’t cut into anything. Even made sure not to grip it too hard, keeping it from going through the fabric. He took a couple practice swings through the air. Once. Twice. A third time. All hunky dory.

Joel had only hurt a person once before ending up in this desert. After, he cracked a boy’s skull open with a rock.

If things went the way he planned now, they would not be the last to get hurt by him.

[[Joel Foster continued in call the police]]