Fucker didn't take the bait. No worries.
Taking a few more steps back, Anthony charged at Chris, axe raised overhead as if he was going to bring it down. But at the last second, he brought it down and swung it from the side, hoping that would catch him off guard.
Time To Stop Pretending
TV3 Endgame, Part 4 of 10. CW: Dismemberment
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Applesintime
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DerArknight
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
When Anthony's axe changed its course, Chris had two options: Either jump backwards or block with his own axe.
He choose the former, but one moment of indecision almost spelled his doom as the axe still connected with his retreating form, scratching a flesh wound into his belly. One more place on his body that hurt.
Chris had no time to observe the damage as Anthony kept attacking. But now, Chris was ready, blocking one attack after another. Anthony would occasionally do another feint, but changing the trajectory of the axe mid-swing was hard, so it didn't happen too often. Chris avoided further injury for the next dozen of blows.
He choose the former, but one moment of indecision almost spelled his doom as the axe still connected with his retreating form, scratching a flesh wound into his belly. One more place on his body that hurt.
Chris had no time to observe the damage as Anthony kept attacking. But now, Chris was ready, blocking one attack after another. Anthony would occasionally do another feint, but changing the trajectory of the axe mid-swing was hard, so it didn't happen too often. Chris avoided further injury for the next dozen of blows.
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Applesintime
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- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
Anthony kept wailing on him, figuring that he couldn't hold on forever, that eventually something would slip through and end this. He nearly disemboweled the fucker, but he was too far, and by the time he had adjusted to capitalise on that weakness, Chris had started to block. And eventually his blows grew weaker, grew slower, as Anthony himself tired. Should have just went for the gun.
If Chris went on the attack now, Anthony didn't know how long he could keep it up before a hit broke through.
If Chris went on the attack now, Anthony didn't know how long he could keep it up before a hit broke through.
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DerArknight
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Slowly, the tide of the battle began to turn.
Anthony's barrage of swings seemed never-ending, but Chris felt the impacts against his axe weakening. In addition to that, the pauses between each strike would sometimes be longer. His opponent was reaching the limit.
Now!
One moment in which Anthony repositioned himself was all Chris needed. With a scream he suddenly made a half-step forward, going into the offensive.
It was time to win this.
Anthony's barrage of swings seemed never-ending, but Chris felt the impacts against his axe weakening. In addition to that, the pauses between each strike would sometimes be longer. His opponent was reaching the limit.
Now!
One moment in which Anthony repositioned himself was all Chris needed. With a scream he suddenly made a half-step forward, going into the offensive.
It was time to win this.
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Applesintime
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- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
One mistake was all it took. A wrong foot, leaving himself just a little open. And Chris went at him like a goddamn rocket. Anthony barely managed to block this hit, almost dropping his axe with the sheer force. Just like he thought, he couldn't keep this up any goddamn longer.
What was this now, sixth time lucky? How many people had even tried to kill him at this point, half the fucking flotilla? It was by the fucking skin of his teeth that he'd managed to survive this far. And maybe now that was coming to an end. There were no thoughts of dad, of mum.
Just the rage still simmering in his eyes and thoughts of her.
What was this now, sixth time lucky? How many people had even tried to kill him at this point, half the fucking flotilla? It was by the fucking skin of his teeth that he'd managed to survive this far. And maybe now that was coming to an end. There were no thoughts of dad, of mum.
Just the rage still simmering in his eyes and thoughts of her.
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DerArknight
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
The boys continued to trade blows, but the tide of the match had clearly shifted. As Chris pushed forward, Anthony got pushed back, barely managing to avoid his opponent's axe. Not able to go on the offensive, the last member of Ben's Crabs was getting worn out. Admittedly, Chris closed in on his limits as well, but had the advantage of not having spent the better part of last week constantly fighting.
Over the course of their bout, the boys had travelled around a dozen meters to the edge of the ship. Anthony touched the railing with his back.
That was the moment Chris had waited for. With an even louder battle cry, he put all of his remaining force in a overhead-swing, aimed right at Anthony's face.
Over the course of their bout, the boys had travelled around a dozen meters to the edge of the ship. Anthony touched the railing with his back.
That was the moment Chris had waited for. With an even louder battle cry, he put all of his remaining force in a overhead-swing, aimed right at Anthony's face.
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Applesintime
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This was it, wasn't it?
The end.
But he would rage against it nonetheless.
Summoning every last inch of his strength, ignoring how everything hurt and screamed at him, Anthony tried to dodge to the side one last time.
The end.
But he would rage against it nonetheless.
Summoning every last inch of his strength, ignoring how everything hurt and screamed at him, Anthony tried to dodge to the side one last time.
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DerArknight
- Posts: 684
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
It was like in a shitty action movie.
Suddenly, time itself slowed down for Chris Tyrell. His axe continued travelling in its arc toward Anthony at a snail's pace.
And at exactly the same pace, Anthony was moving to the side.
The axe moved. Slowly.
Anthony moved. Slowly.
It was unclear who would win.
Chris was having none of that. Calling onto all his reserves, he somehow managed to press forward even further.
The axe moved, faster.
Anthony moved, still slowly.
The axe moved, fast.
Anthony moved, slow.
The axe moved, fast.
And it still wasn't fast enough.
The blade scratched Anthony's shoulder, ripping clothing and skin off, but ultimately failed to truly pierce. Anthony fell to the side and the axe continued its way, landing straight into the wooden armrest of the railing.
With that, time resumed at a normal pace once more.
He had to try again. There was no way his next swing would miss like that. Chris pulled on his weapon.
Like Excalibur in the stone, the axe was too deep entrenched in the wood to be removed.
Shit!
Chris changed his posture to one allowing him to exert more force onto the axe and prepared to pull again.
By the time he became aware of his mistake - that he hadn't checked in on Anthony during the last three and a half seconds - the battle had been decided.
Suddenly, time itself slowed down for Chris Tyrell. His axe continued travelling in its arc toward Anthony at a snail's pace.
And at exactly the same pace, Anthony was moving to the side.
The axe moved. Slowly.
Anthony moved. Slowly.
It was unclear who would win.
Chris was having none of that. Calling onto all his reserves, he somehow managed to press forward even further.
The axe moved, faster.
Anthony moved, still slowly.
The axe moved, fast.
Anthony moved, slow.
The axe moved, fast.
And it still wasn't fast enough.
The blade scratched Anthony's shoulder, ripping clothing and skin off, but ultimately failed to truly pierce. Anthony fell to the side and the axe continued its way, landing straight into the wooden armrest of the railing.
With that, time resumed at a normal pace once more.
He had to try again. There was no way his next swing would miss like that. Chris pulled on his weapon.
Like Excalibur in the stone, the axe was too deep entrenched in the wood to be removed.
Shit!
Chris changed his posture to one allowing him to exert more force onto the axe and prepared to pull again.
By the time he became aware of his mistake - that he hadn't checked in on Anthony during the last three and a half seconds - the battle had been decided.
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Applesintime
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- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
At this point, the pain from his shoulder barely registered. What was a scratch compared to a chemical burn, and what was a chemical burn compared to a real burn? Nerves and skin and blood melted and charred and seared, like when you accidentally touched the inside of an oven but if you held your hand and pressed firmly down. Compared to all that, a gash was little more than a stubbed toe.
What did register, however, was seeing the axe bury itself like a coffin into the wood, watching Chris tug on the blade and failing to get it out. At that moment, Anthony knew he'd escaped death again. It was becoming an all too common occurrence, but God had yet again intervened, nudged things just a little so Anthony escaped by the skin of his teeth. RJ, Diana, FIsk. Every one of those should have rightfully sent him to Heaven. And yet something went wrong enough that he got out with his life and they didn't.
Adrenaline mixed with rage, combined with fear, compounded with joy. The pain melted away like his face.
Anthony swung that axe as hard and as many fucking times as he could.
What did register, however, was seeing the axe bury itself like a coffin into the wood, watching Chris tug on the blade and failing to get it out. At that moment, Anthony knew he'd escaped death again. It was becoming an all too common occurrence, but God had yet again intervened, nudged things just a little so Anthony escaped by the skin of his teeth. RJ, Diana, FIsk. Every one of those should have rightfully sent him to Heaven. And yet something went wrong enough that he got out with his life and they didn't.
Adrenaline mixed with rage, combined with fear, compounded with joy. The pain melted away like his face.
Anthony swung that axe as hard and as many fucking times as he could.
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DerArknight
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- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
For Chris, there was no time to prepare before Anthony's axe burrowed more than halfway into his right arm, close to the elbow. The bandages around the spot quickly turned red.
"AAAUUUUAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!"
Chris Tyrell was no stranger to pain, both before and after the abduction. But even getting launched through a window earlier that night couldn't compare to having his arm split like that. Even the movement of his scream sent shivers of stings to his brain. Any thought of doing anything was washed away by pure panic.
His scream was interrupted by the second swing, which once more aimed for the elbow. This time, the axe went through, and Chris was sent tumbling backwards while half of his arm remained gripping his useless weapon, no longer connected to him in any way. Gaining mobility again allowed his brain to switch on the flight-or-fight-autopilot, who had no trouble settling on flight. With shacky steps, Chris shambled away, not even noticing the direction.
The third blow hit him in the back. With this, he fell to his knees and leaned against the railing.
Chris' mind was a mess. Thoughts about home, the people he had met during the game, the two girls he had failed to save and the third he would never even meet, the arsehole behind him, the other members of the Anti-Y-Alliance and all the things he had planned on doing with his life were vying for attention. It all spun in his head into an endless tornado, slowly getting darker and darker until everything blacked out.
Chris didn't even register anymore how Anthony began to repeatedly drive the axe into his neck, animalistic rage having replaced any semblance of civility. Again and again Chris’ entire body shook, more blood spilling out of him like a fountain. Each attack created a new gash on his neck or widened an existing one, some even hitting his upper torso. And on the other sides of countless screens, everyone watched as Chris’ head was completely separated from his torso and dropped over the railing into the black sea, a faint splash announcing his final fate.
The fans of the Crabs were cheering. One more point for their team.
The fans of the Leviathans were disappointed. There went their last hope.
The Anthony-haters were furious, seeing this kill as just another evidence that the producers were playing favorites.
The Jewel-haters were overjoyed. So much for Jewel’s big talk about wanting to revolutionize the mentor-system! Her team hadn't even made it to the top three. Despite none of them having had any influence on the fate of the Leviathans, they celebrated “their” victory.
The ones watching the show for the tactical elements shook their heads while pointing out the actions of the loser. Obviously the boy should have spent more of his downtime in the game practicing his weapon! Then he wouldn’t have made this blunder. And apart from that, waiting out the early part of the game had been dumb and he shouldn’t have teamed up with Mary just because they shared a team and he could have retreated back into the kitchen instead of joining the fight and he-
Inside the safety of their own four walls, these people wasted no time dissecting every single alleged mistake, sometimes pausing only to explain how they would have fared much better, fully knowing that they would never be in a similar situation.
The ones who had hoped for the dying boy to win were disappointed. For a few moments. Because they still had their second-favorite endgamer to cheer on. And their third-favorite. And if even that failed, there would always be the next season with new kids to root for.
Those who enjoyed the violent aspects of the show were happy. Scenes like this one was why they watched SOTF-TV in the first place.
Those who watched the show on their smartphones in bed had to restrain their reactions, lest their parents found out they were still awake.
Just why did endgame have to take place in the middle of the night? Weren’t the showrunners aware of their younger audience?
The gamblers who had put their money on the correct outcome counted their winnings while the rest grit their teeth. As usual, the second group was larger. Even when gambling about teens killing each other, the house always won.
The critics of the show who justified their consum with phrases like “Know your enemy” were appalled. Some even felt bad for the first victim of endgame. And then they went on to forget about him, because they had seen many victims of this show, their names and faces too numerous to remember anyway. Plus, the boy had killed someone and therefore actively participated in the game, thus making it harder to present him like a victim in their next pieces of anti-SOTF-propaganda. The critics would have to focus on other contestants for that.
Most of the TV-team had no time to take in the carnage, being too occupied with getting the best possible angles (the earlier explosion would have restricted them to shots from far away if it weren't for the collar cams) and updating the rankings. Those who didn’t were busy following the other endgamers. And the few who avoided belonging to either group had little reaction, being way too used to scenes like this one.
Despite so many different people and reactions, they all were unified in that one thing: they were entertained. And that was the only thing that mattered. That was what had kept the show going for sixty-seven seasons and would easily keep it going for sixty-seven more.
That was the magic of SOTF-TV.
Meanwhile, in a run-down house somewhere in Miami, a similarly run-down TV that had been almost constantly doing its job for the last four days was put out of commission when its TV remote crashed right into the screen.
After that, crying could be heard coming out of the room.
((The following scene was co-written by Namira))
“—but honestly I think the best thing about Fifty-Three is the groups, cause between all of them you get basically every way it’s possible for a group to blow up. Escape Artists: somebody hits their break point and loses their shit. Blood Gang: piss off too many people and get burned. Huey, Cara and Antonio: got together cause it’s SOTF, but no cohesion or unity. Team Faiza: chase revenge so hard everyone gets killed. Lobbyists? Twofer. Don’t trust each other and self-destruct, get overwhelmed cause you just sit in one place and do nothing.” A mug for the cameras. “And groups are just interesting that way. Sure we’re in the teams era now but now we’ve kinda got this scenario with two layers of group dynamics. There’s groups for all the same old reasons that folks have always made groups but there’s preset groups too, and those play off really interesting. Honestly what’s extra spicy is that it creates even more ways to explode, cause now you have situations where you’ve got no reason not to work together but still might turn on a teammate because say… they kill somebody you care about and so on. If the teams stick around longhaul then it’s only a matter of time before you get some really sophisticated coordination between official teammates. Faction warfare, y’know?”
“Yeah, I think I get the point.
“...
“Mind if I ask something?”
“Shoot, my dude!”
“Okay, so what is your take on Lacey Hudson?
“Do you think she was just putting on an act? Or that she really was some nihilistic mankind-hater?
“Regardless of that, what do you think she would have done if she had survived?” An exasperated shrug. “I don’t get what her goal was. After her actions, everyone would have seen her either as a liar, a psycho or a freak. What the hell was her endgame?
“I don’t expect you to have clear insight, but you are the best person to ask such a thing.”
“I think… she wanted to be remembered, and she picked how to do it. Some folks get on TV and they put on a show, and that’s all that counts. Go out with a bang, y’know?
“But nobody can fake it 100% of the time, and she kept it going constantly. So she probably was leaning into what was already there underneath. Not like, one to one identical, but the theatre version of Lacey.
“As for after, uhh, dunno, man. She’d’ve been a natural with an audience. Charisma goes a long way, and it’s not like we don’t have winners who were scummy players but people love now.”
Chris took everything in and gave an affirmative “hm”. Then he went back to polishing his axe.
Making the shop tidy enough to resume business after the visit of Fisk and his gang had been one hell of a job for the two of them, but the results spoke for themselves. A new counter had been built, even a bit sturdier than the last one. The destroyed tables and chairs had been broken further and turned into even more makeshift weapons. By a minor miracle, most of the merchandise had survived. It looked pretty good. Now all that was left was to wait for customers to come by.
When Chris took a glance at the entrance door, he believed to see a person hanging around in front of the building. One blink later the way was free. Must have been his imagination.
Stokes drummed her fingers on the counter. She looked his way, and then back to the counter. There was a delay, and then she focused back on him entirely.
“Hey, Junior. Wanted to thank you for sticking with this. You didn’t have to, and you did. So, uh. Thanks.”
Had he really?
Chris was not sure how deserved this thanks was. In the end, what had him getting involved with Stokes truly accomplished?
“You are welcome, I guess.”
The words hung in the air. Or was there even air in this place?
“So, do you think we will actually get customers, now that the season is kind of over?”
Her mouth quirked at the corner. “Think business will start booming any second now.”
Stokes’ enthusiasm felt weirdly convincing. Convincing enough to make Chris look back towards the entrance door.
And indeed, familiar faces could be seen approaching the restaurant.
Things went very busy after that.
"AAAUUUUAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!"
Chris Tyrell was no stranger to pain, both before and after the abduction. But even getting launched through a window earlier that night couldn't compare to having his arm split like that. Even the movement of his scream sent shivers of stings to his brain. Any thought of doing anything was washed away by pure panic.
His scream was interrupted by the second swing, which once more aimed for the elbow. This time, the axe went through, and Chris was sent tumbling backwards while half of his arm remained gripping his useless weapon, no longer connected to him in any way. Gaining mobility again allowed his brain to switch on the flight-or-fight-autopilot, who had no trouble settling on flight. With shacky steps, Chris shambled away, not even noticing the direction.
The third blow hit him in the back. With this, he fell to his knees and leaned against the railing.
Chris' mind was a mess. Thoughts about home, the people he had met during the game, the two girls he had failed to save and the third he would never even meet, the arsehole behind him, the other members of the Anti-Y-Alliance and all the things he had planned on doing with his life were vying for attention. It all spun in his head into an endless tornado, slowly getting darker and darker until everything blacked out.
Chris didn't even register anymore how Anthony began to repeatedly drive the axe into his neck, animalistic rage having replaced any semblance of civility. Again and again Chris’ entire body shook, more blood spilling out of him like a fountain. Each attack created a new gash on his neck or widened an existing one, some even hitting his upper torso. And on the other sides of countless screens, everyone watched as Chris’ head was completely separated from his torso and dropped over the railing into the black sea, a faint splash announcing his final fate.
The fans of the Crabs were cheering. One more point for their team.
The fans of the Leviathans were disappointed. There went their last hope.
The Anthony-haters were furious, seeing this kill as just another evidence that the producers were playing favorites.
The Jewel-haters were overjoyed. So much for Jewel’s big talk about wanting to revolutionize the mentor-system! Her team hadn't even made it to the top three. Despite none of them having had any influence on the fate of the Leviathans, they celebrated “their” victory.
The ones watching the show for the tactical elements shook their heads while pointing out the actions of the loser. Obviously the boy should have spent more of his downtime in the game practicing his weapon! Then he wouldn’t have made this blunder. And apart from that, waiting out the early part of the game had been dumb and he shouldn’t have teamed up with Mary just because they shared a team and he could have retreated back into the kitchen instead of joining the fight and he-
Inside the safety of their own four walls, these people wasted no time dissecting every single alleged mistake, sometimes pausing only to explain how they would have fared much better, fully knowing that they would never be in a similar situation.
The ones who had hoped for the dying boy to win were disappointed. For a few moments. Because they still had their second-favorite endgamer to cheer on. And their third-favorite. And if even that failed, there would always be the next season with new kids to root for.
Those who enjoyed the violent aspects of the show were happy. Scenes like this one was why they watched SOTF-TV in the first place.
Those who watched the show on their smartphones in bed had to restrain their reactions, lest their parents found out they were still awake.
Just why did endgame have to take place in the middle of the night? Weren’t the showrunners aware of their younger audience?
The gamblers who had put their money on the correct outcome counted their winnings while the rest grit their teeth. As usual, the second group was larger. Even when gambling about teens killing each other, the house always won.
The critics of the show who justified their consum with phrases like “Know your enemy” were appalled. Some even felt bad for the first victim of endgame. And then they went on to forget about him, because they had seen many victims of this show, their names and faces too numerous to remember anyway. Plus, the boy had killed someone and therefore actively participated in the game, thus making it harder to present him like a victim in their next pieces of anti-SOTF-propaganda. The critics would have to focus on other contestants for that.
Most of the TV-team had no time to take in the carnage, being too occupied with getting the best possible angles (the earlier explosion would have restricted them to shots from far away if it weren't for the collar cams) and updating the rankings. Those who didn’t were busy following the other endgamers. And the few who avoided belonging to either group had little reaction, being way too used to scenes like this one.
Despite so many different people and reactions, they all were unified in that one thing: they were entertained. And that was the only thing that mattered. That was what had kept the show going for sixty-seven seasons and would easily keep it going for sixty-seven more.
That was the magic of SOTF-TV.
Meanwhile, in a run-down house somewhere in Miami, a similarly run-down TV that had been almost constantly doing its job for the last four days was put out of commission when its TV remote crashed right into the screen.
After that, crying could be heard coming out of the room.
((The following scene was co-written by Namira))
“—but honestly I think the best thing about Fifty-Three is the groups, cause between all of them you get basically every way it’s possible for a group to blow up. Escape Artists: somebody hits their break point and loses their shit. Blood Gang: piss off too many people and get burned. Huey, Cara and Antonio: got together cause it’s SOTF, but no cohesion or unity. Team Faiza: chase revenge so hard everyone gets killed. Lobbyists? Twofer. Don’t trust each other and self-destruct, get overwhelmed cause you just sit in one place and do nothing.” A mug for the cameras. “And groups are just interesting that way. Sure we’re in the teams era now but now we’ve kinda got this scenario with two layers of group dynamics. There’s groups for all the same old reasons that folks have always made groups but there’s preset groups too, and those play off really interesting. Honestly what’s extra spicy is that it creates even more ways to explode, cause now you have situations where you’ve got no reason not to work together but still might turn on a teammate because say… they kill somebody you care about and so on. If the teams stick around longhaul then it’s only a matter of time before you get some really sophisticated coordination between official teammates. Faction warfare, y’know?”
“Yeah, I think I get the point.
“...
“Mind if I ask something?”
“Shoot, my dude!”
“Okay, so what is your take on Lacey Hudson?
“Do you think she was just putting on an act? Or that she really was some nihilistic mankind-hater?
“Regardless of that, what do you think she would have done if she had survived?” An exasperated shrug. “I don’t get what her goal was. After her actions, everyone would have seen her either as a liar, a psycho or a freak. What the hell was her endgame?
“I don’t expect you to have clear insight, but you are the best person to ask such a thing.”
“I think… she wanted to be remembered, and she picked how to do it. Some folks get on TV and they put on a show, and that’s all that counts. Go out with a bang, y’know?
“But nobody can fake it 100% of the time, and she kept it going constantly. So she probably was leaning into what was already there underneath. Not like, one to one identical, but the theatre version of Lacey.
“As for after, uhh, dunno, man. She’d’ve been a natural with an audience. Charisma goes a long way, and it’s not like we don’t have winners who were scummy players but people love now.”
Chris took everything in and gave an affirmative “hm”. Then he went back to polishing his axe.
Making the shop tidy enough to resume business after the visit of Fisk and his gang had been one hell of a job for the two of them, but the results spoke for themselves. A new counter had been built, even a bit sturdier than the last one. The destroyed tables and chairs had been broken further and turned into even more makeshift weapons. By a minor miracle, most of the merchandise had survived. It looked pretty good. Now all that was left was to wait for customers to come by.
When Chris took a glance at the entrance door, he believed to see a person hanging around in front of the building. One blink later the way was free. Must have been his imagination.
Stokes drummed her fingers on the counter. She looked his way, and then back to the counter. There was a delay, and then she focused back on him entirely.
“Hey, Junior. Wanted to thank you for sticking with this. You didn’t have to, and you did. So, uh. Thanks.”
Had he really?
Chris was not sure how deserved this thanks was. In the end, what had him getting involved with Stokes truly accomplished?
“You are welcome, I guess.”
The words hung in the air. Or was there even air in this place?
“So, do you think we will actually get customers, now that the season is kind of over?”
Her mouth quirked at the corner. “Think business will start booming any second now.”
Stokes’ enthusiasm felt weirdly convincing. Convincing enough to make Chris look back towards the entrance door.
And indeed, familiar faces could be seen approaching the restaurant.
Things went very busy after that.
JL09 Chris Tyrell - Deceased
Jewel's Leviathans - Game Over
Jewel's Leviathans - Game Over
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
Anthony didn't even register where he was hitting, the only thing in his head the urge to make the son of a bitch suffer. His arm came off in a duo of strikes, another one in the back forced Chris down onto his knees, and then like the executioner and his victim, Anthony swung and swung at the bastard's neck until with one particularly gnarly blow, Anthony went through the rest of his spinal cord and took his fucking head.
Well, he didn't get the chance to do that, cause it fucked itself off into the ocean the second it came off, but for all intents and purposes he had taken it.
Not wasting a second, the axe clattered to the ground as Anthony stepped forwards, tugging Chris' backpack off, over the stump that was once his arm, pulling it over where his head should have been and hoping that there wouldn't be too much blood on it. It was in pretty good condition, and he needed a new one for the De Lisle, his shotgun and the axe. Unzipping it, he poured everything else into the ocean, and then came cleanup.
Axe went into the bag first - Anthony had no need for it now that he had guns again. The shotgun was what he picked up first, just in case Kaya was hiding and would spring out at him. Then a good hit would take her out, and he could finish her off with the axe to save shotgun ammo. Once he got to the De Lisle, the unfamiliar melted discomfort was replaced with the familiar weight, the tattered sling like a hug from his mum or dad. It wouldn't be long until he saw them again. Taking a deep breath of smoke-tinted air, Anthony leant over the railings, taking a moment to breathe.
The smell of smoke, shrill acrylics and melting electronics mixed with that familiar stench of blood and sea salt. At this time of night, the flotilla lit up was almost beautiful if you didn't think about all the people lying dead there. How many of them had he contributed to? Nine were dead at his hands. Anthony couldn't even feign a sense of discomfort at Chris' fate. A girl shot dead by a monster masquerading as a human. A girl strangled to death by a living corpse. A girl blown to pieces by every fucker still alive on this burning shithole. They had suffered infinitely more than any of the bodies lying in the rest of this hell. Their fates were infinitely worse. And he'd see justice done.
Anthony took the sights in for a moment more. There were five- no, four more left. He could admire the ship graveyard when he was safe and didn't have to worry about being shot in the back. Turning his back on the rest of the flotilla, he slowly walked the same way Kaya had left, down one of the corridors that led into the labyrinth of the ship. She was long gone, but even still he held the rifle tight.
Well, he didn't get the chance to do that, cause it fucked itself off into the ocean the second it came off, but for all intents and purposes he had taken it.
Not wasting a second, the axe clattered to the ground as Anthony stepped forwards, tugging Chris' backpack off, over the stump that was once his arm, pulling it over where his head should have been and hoping that there wouldn't be too much blood on it. It was in pretty good condition, and he needed a new one for the De Lisle, his shotgun and the axe. Unzipping it, he poured everything else into the ocean, and then came cleanup.
Axe went into the bag first - Anthony had no need for it now that he had guns again. The shotgun was what he picked up first, just in case Kaya was hiding and would spring out at him. Then a good hit would take her out, and he could finish her off with the axe to save shotgun ammo. Once he got to the De Lisle, the unfamiliar melted discomfort was replaced with the familiar weight, the tattered sling like a hug from his mum or dad. It wouldn't be long until he saw them again. Taking a deep breath of smoke-tinted air, Anthony leant over the railings, taking a moment to breathe.
The smell of smoke, shrill acrylics and melting electronics mixed with that familiar stench of blood and sea salt. At this time of night, the flotilla lit up was almost beautiful if you didn't think about all the people lying dead there. How many of them had he contributed to? Nine were dead at his hands. Anthony couldn't even feign a sense of discomfort at Chris' fate. A girl shot dead by a monster masquerading as a human. A girl strangled to death by a living corpse. A girl blown to pieces by every fucker still alive on this burning shithole. They had suffered infinitely more than any of the bodies lying in the rest of this hell. Their fates were infinitely worse. And he'd see justice done.
Anthony took the sights in for a moment more. There were five- no, four more left. He could admire the ship graveyard when he was safe and didn't have to worry about being shot in the back. Turning his back on the rest of the flotilla, he slowly walked the same way Kaya had left, down one of the corridors that led into the labyrinth of the ship. She was long gone, but even still he held the rifle tight.
There was no sign of the other girl or her gun.
Smoke had begun to flow into the corridors; the fight had ended closer to the ballroom than it had appeared.
All Anthony could hear were distant footsteps. Growing closer.
Smoke had begun to flow into the corridors; the fight had ended closer to the ballroom than it had appeared.
All Anthony could hear were distant footsteps. Growing closer.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 836
- Joined: Sat Jul 04, 2020 11:57 am
- Team Affiliation: Ben's Crabs
Someone was coming. Kaya.
Anthony dropped down to his knee, raising the rifle in the direction that the sound had come from.
"Come and fucking g-"
As Anthony and Chris fought, the fire had been creeping closer and closer to a power junction serving the cameras on the upper deck and some of the cabin lighting. They had already been obscured and smeared by smoke and soot, some of the cameras only outputting sound at this point. It only grew closer as Anthony prepared himself and Kaya crept closer.
And then, at that pivotal moment, the fire's flames licked through the power junction and with a whisper of static, several dozen cameras shut off.
The connection to the collar cameras were tenuous at best, so you could only really make out sound.
Someone shouting.
A gunshot. Followed by another gunshot, then the silent clack of the other rifle. A gunfight.
More gunfire.
Someone hitting the ground.
Someone else walking off.
((To be continued...))
Anthony dropped down to his knee, raising the rifle in the direction that the sound had come from.
"Come and fucking g-"
As Anthony and Chris fought, the fire had been creeping closer and closer to a power junction serving the cameras on the upper deck and some of the cabin lighting. They had already been obscured and smeared by smoke and soot, some of the cameras only outputting sound at this point. It only grew closer as Anthony prepared himself and Kaya crept closer.
And then, at that pivotal moment, the fire's flames licked through the power junction and with a whisper of static, several dozen cameras shut off.
The connection to the collar cameras were tenuous at best, so you could only really make out sound.
Someone shouting.
A gunshot. Followed by another gunshot, then the silent clack of the other rifle. A gunfight.
More gunfire.
Someone hitting the ground.
Someone else walking off.
((To be continued...))