((Anthony Golden continued from This Confession Has Meant Nothing))
The drops of blood from where he had stabbed Fisk were still fresh, but Anthony didn't have time to contemplate on when he castrated a man ten minutes ago. Ivan and Olivia could still be chasing after him, ready to put a shotgun blast in his back and end his journey when he was so close to the finish line. So instead of lingering, he ran, making a snatch for the dropped De Lisle as he ran, missing, and having to double back to grab it. But once it was back in his hands, the familiar weight made Anthony feel safer. This was his saving grace. Every shot he made with this gun was one less person to deal with. One more person to haunt him in his dreams.
Anthony was tired. But she had to be avenged.
Glancing backwards to make sure Ivan wasn't going to make yet another fucking appearance out of nowhere, Anthony slowed down, racking the bolt repeatedly as he jogged lightly. It was like when the rifle had jammed before he killed Nadine. It was unfortunate, because right then he could have killed Luanne as well. Another kill to his name. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe it wouldn't. It didn't matter now, anyway. Luanne was dead. Matias was dead. And Nadine had taken a .45 to the chest and then the skull.
Stopping for a second to catch his breath, the rifle finally gave way, a deformed casing pinging out of the weapon, and Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. Just to make sure there wasn't anything wrong, he turned to the railing, looking out over the sea. He could see that fucking ship in the distance, the one that Seo-yun had fled to. There would be one last death once he... no, who was he kidding himself. They weren't going to let him within a fucking kilometer of Seo-yun, not after he had openly said for all the fucking world to hear that he was going to murder her. So it remained a fantasy. Leaning against the railing, Anthony stared at the other cruise ship.
If looks could kill, the ship would have split in two.
Right. He needed to make sure the gun was working and wouldn't jam on him again.
Raising the rifle, Anthony fired out at the open water, wasting an entire magazine just to make sure that the De Lisle was working properly. Once he was satisfied, he put a fresh magazine in. But instead of marching on, he continued to stare at the cruise ship on the calm, smooth waters.
Honestly, he was surprised he was still here. He'd started out five days ago as someone who abhorred killing, who abhorred violence. Someone who never would have even considered playing for a second. Here he was holding a rifle, he had killed nine people, and Anthony had no intention of stopping until he stepped on the boat out of here. It was a far cry from the boy who prayed to the Lord for mercy when he woke up. Maybe the Lord would be angry at him. Maybe He would see these killings as murders. But there would always be forgiveness.
He hoped, anyway.
For just a second, his free hand reached up to twirl the crucifix he wore around his neck. Would he even be here if mum hadn't died? Mangrove Garden would just be another tragedy to him and his friends, another eighty students shipped off to die for the entertainment of America. God, he'd probably been dumped. Rebecca wouldn't be happy at all, fuck, none of them would be even remotely accepting.
Something creaked behind him, and Anthony whirled around.
But it was just the ship settling in the sea.
He had to keep moving. Getting lost in memories didn't do anything for him.
Invictus
I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
As he walked, the halls steadily filled with smoke. The fire in the banquet hall was still raging on, it seemed. The faint smell of burning wood and flesh. Anthony knew he was close. As he turned a corner, the raging heat and the smoke grew, billowing out of windows and tiny cracks in the wall. He was there, so close to the inferno that the banquet hall had become. All at once, the smoke grew too intense, flooding his lungs like water in Fisk's and leaving him with a rather nasty hacking cough. So he threw himself down to the floor, yanking his soaking wet shirt over his face. It helped, but he had to move before the smoke overwhelmed him.
A firefighter that came to visit his class once, back in primary school, had said something about the smoke being weaker when you got lower down to the floor. And well, the water helped keep him breathing, warded off the smoke. Going back could maybe mean death. And the fire would put a physical barricade between him and anyone who could be chasing him. It was mad, stupid, insane, but Anthony was all three of those. So he crawled deeper into the smoke.
A misplaced hand went through the floor, and Anthony yanked it backwards in a panic. The fire must be making the ship weak. He had to move. Speeding up his crawl, he moved with urgency, testing the floor with a gentle push before he put his foot or hand there. It was slow, but it was steady, and if Ivan was following him, the smoke and fire would drive him off. Actually, it could drive him off. The man was like a fucking Terminator, getting shot and stabbed and whatever the fuck the Respects had done-
His hand bumped against something as he moved. The heat and smoke was almost overwhelming here, and whatever he grasped, made of wood, had almost melted from the heat. So he didn't stop, only grabbing whatever the hell it was and moving on with more urgency. Anthony was starting to feel faint, and what a fucking dumbass move it would be, to die of smoke inhalation. This had been a stupid idea, and he was going to suffer for it. His eyes were watering, his nose was blocked with soot and sweat and he could barely breathe he was going to die here
And then the smoke started to clear, the heat started to subside, and Anthony could breathe without choking. Well, mostly. As soon as he felt he could, Anthony stumbled upwards, breaking out into a jerky run, and then threw up all over himself. This had been a fucking stupid idea, but he didn't die, so it was actually a stroke of genius. Taking a deep breath of only marginally smoky air, he relished the feeling.
He glanced down at the item he'd picked up in the smoke and flames.
It was the fucking shotgun. The one he had been holding when Ashanti died. Anthony thought it'd been lost, but here it was. It was sooty as fuck and the stock had kind of melted, but it was here. He started to laugh, and then dry heaved a few times.
God, he needed a shower. Soot, vomit, Fisk-flavour water... He smelt like a fucking chemical weapon.
A firefighter that came to visit his class once, back in primary school, had said something about the smoke being weaker when you got lower down to the floor. And well, the water helped keep him breathing, warded off the smoke. Going back could maybe mean death. And the fire would put a physical barricade between him and anyone who could be chasing him. It was mad, stupid, insane, but Anthony was all three of those. So he crawled deeper into the smoke.
A misplaced hand went through the floor, and Anthony yanked it backwards in a panic. The fire must be making the ship weak. He had to move. Speeding up his crawl, he moved with urgency, testing the floor with a gentle push before he put his foot or hand there. It was slow, but it was steady, and if Ivan was following him, the smoke and fire would drive him off. Actually, it could drive him off. The man was like a fucking Terminator, getting shot and stabbed and whatever the fuck the Respects had done-
His hand bumped against something as he moved. The heat and smoke was almost overwhelming here, and whatever he grasped, made of wood, had almost melted from the heat. So he didn't stop, only grabbing whatever the hell it was and moving on with more urgency. Anthony was starting to feel faint, and what a fucking dumbass move it would be, to die of smoke inhalation. This had been a stupid idea, and he was going to suffer for it. His eyes were watering, his nose was blocked with soot and sweat and he could barely breathe he was going to die here
And then the smoke started to clear, the heat started to subside, and Anthony could breathe without choking. Well, mostly. As soon as he felt he could, Anthony stumbled upwards, breaking out into a jerky run, and then threw up all over himself. This had been a fucking stupid idea, but he didn't die, so it was actually a stroke of genius. Taking a deep breath of only marginally smoky air, he relished the feeling.
He glanced down at the item he'd picked up in the smoke and flames.
It was the fucking shotgun. The one he had been holding when Ashanti died. Anthony thought it'd been lost, but here it was. It was sooty as fuck and the stock had kind of melted, but it was here. He started to laugh, and then dry heaved a few times.
God, he needed a shower. Soot, vomit, Fisk-flavour water... He smelt like a fucking chemical weapon.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
The first room Anthony entered had a dead body in it, so that was almost certainly a big fucking no. The second one was a little small, and someone had pillaged all the goddamn showering supplies. But like he was fucking Goldilocks, the third room was just right. Big enough for him to take a breather, and nobody had raided this one for shampoo or deodorant. The first thing he wanted was a shower. It’d help to soothe the burning in his face, maybe. So he stripped his cold, tepid, soaking clothes off, tossed them in the corner, pushed a dresser up against the door and took a nice hot shower.
The first thing that he noticed when he looked down, halfway through the shower, was little bits of skin stuck in the drain. A piece fluttered down right in front of his eyes, and he reached up, hands tracing over the massive burn on his face, feeling the upturned edges on the side of the chemical burn where Britney had got him. Right. Everything was starting to peel off. It should have been terrifying, but he'd nearly died not much more than half an hour ago, so Anthony just shrugged and continued with his shower. Peeling was good. It was healing.
The announcement played when Anthony was just stepping out of the shower, and he paused to listen. Mary was definitely dead. 'Hurled into the burning abyss', as Ritzy Bitchy so gleefully put it. No credit for Fisk, which to him was fucking stupid. He was about to just get on with getting dried and preparing his weapons when Ritzy called him out specifically. Mocking him about his ideals, his dead friends and how much he'd suffered through this. He just grit his teeth, staring daggers at the camera in the room.
"Yeah, fuck you too, you hack." Sitting down on the bed, Anthony got dressed again. Crab shirt, grey tracksuit bottoms with the Adidas tick on the side. His shoes weren't soaked, thankfully, but they were still bloody. Then he checked his guns. The De Lisle was fully loaded, and he still had a handful of magazines for it. The shotgun had four shells. And he had the axe and the knife. Ritzy kept going on, and he flipped the camera off.
Still, she was giving him good info. Ivan and Olivia were alive, obviously. Kaya wasn't dead, Chris wasn't dead, and Verity wasn't dead. Ivan might just straight up keel over at some point, so he wasn't too much of a problem at the moment. And, well, he could deal with everyone else when he got to them. It wasn't like they were going to be happy with him. They were all scumbags, either way. Motherfucking murderers who deserved to die for killing her.
They had families, too, th-
No.
When he was in his player-hunter phase, Anthony could pretend that he cared about the people he was killing. Pretend to remind himself that they were people too.
The truth?
He didn’t give a single fuck anymore. His compassion had been burnt away with his face, shot down by RJ’s bullet, slashed to pieces by Fisk’s knife and murdered like so many dead friends. Beau was the exception. Beau mattered. He still saw Beau’s face when he slept, prominent in between all the others. Nobody else mattered. They could all go fuck themselves.
“Lord above, I may not have been the most… pious as of late,” As he spoke, he fiddled with the crucifix again, memories of home flashing through his mind, “but I beg of you, grant me the strength and your guidance to see this last battle through,” Olivia. Ivan. Kaya. Verity. Chris. Five people standing between him and the light, “and I will do all you ask of me. In your precious name, amen.” It wasn’t the best prayer he’d said. But that didn’t matter.
What mattered was that he would have to kill again and again. Kaya, Verity, Chris, they had all contributed to her death. Ivan had killed her too, back at the very start of this. And Olivia had helped kill her too, took the crossbow that could have killed Seo-yun. Every single one of them had her blood on his or her hands, and Anthony would drown them in it. He would end up drowning it in too, maybe, but he would drown them all first.
Wrath was a sin.
Letting these people walk out of here alive would be a bigger one.
Anthony didn’t have his costume hat anymore, but he still had one. So when he left the room, De Lisle in hand, he was wearing a green baseball hat, just like Beau did.
((Anthony Golden continued in Time to Stop Pretending))
The first thing that he noticed when he looked down, halfway through the shower, was little bits of skin stuck in the drain. A piece fluttered down right in front of his eyes, and he reached up, hands tracing over the massive burn on his face, feeling the upturned edges on the side of the chemical burn where Britney had got him. Right. Everything was starting to peel off. It should have been terrifying, but he'd nearly died not much more than half an hour ago, so Anthony just shrugged and continued with his shower. Peeling was good. It was healing.
The announcement played when Anthony was just stepping out of the shower, and he paused to listen. Mary was definitely dead. 'Hurled into the burning abyss', as Ritzy Bitchy so gleefully put it. No credit for Fisk, which to him was fucking stupid. He was about to just get on with getting dried and preparing his weapons when Ritzy called him out specifically. Mocking him about his ideals, his dead friends and how much he'd suffered through this. He just grit his teeth, staring daggers at the camera in the room.
"Yeah, fuck you too, you hack." Sitting down on the bed, Anthony got dressed again. Crab shirt, grey tracksuit bottoms with the Adidas tick on the side. His shoes weren't soaked, thankfully, but they were still bloody. Then he checked his guns. The De Lisle was fully loaded, and he still had a handful of magazines for it. The shotgun had four shells. And he had the axe and the knife. Ritzy kept going on, and he flipped the camera off.
Still, she was giving him good info. Ivan and Olivia were alive, obviously. Kaya wasn't dead, Chris wasn't dead, and Verity wasn't dead. Ivan might just straight up keel over at some point, so he wasn't too much of a problem at the moment. And, well, he could deal with everyone else when he got to them. It wasn't like they were going to be happy with him. They were all scumbags, either way. Motherfucking murderers who deserved to die for killing her.
They had families, too, th-
No.
When he was in his player-hunter phase, Anthony could pretend that he cared about the people he was killing. Pretend to remind himself that they were people too.
The truth?
He didn’t give a single fuck anymore. His compassion had been burnt away with his face, shot down by RJ’s bullet, slashed to pieces by Fisk’s knife and murdered like so many dead friends. Beau was the exception. Beau mattered. He still saw Beau’s face when he slept, prominent in between all the others. Nobody else mattered. They could all go fuck themselves.
“Lord above, I may not have been the most… pious as of late,” As he spoke, he fiddled with the crucifix again, memories of home flashing through his mind, “but I beg of you, grant me the strength and your guidance to see this last battle through,” Olivia. Ivan. Kaya. Verity. Chris. Five people standing between him and the light, “and I will do all you ask of me. In your precious name, amen.” It wasn’t the best prayer he’d said. But that didn’t matter.
What mattered was that he would have to kill again and again. Kaya, Verity, Chris, they had all contributed to her death. Ivan had killed her too, back at the very start of this. And Olivia had helped kill her too, took the crossbow that could have killed Seo-yun. Every single one of them had her blood on his or her hands, and Anthony would drown them in it. He would end up drowning it in too, maybe, but he would drown them all first.
Wrath was a sin.
Letting these people walk out of here alive would be a bigger one.
Anthony didn’t have his costume hat anymore, but he still had one. So when he left the room, De Lisle in hand, he was wearing a green baseball hat, just like Beau did.
((Anthony Golden continued in Time to Stop Pretending))