(Lisa Brighton start)
Lisa Brighton didn't know what to make of the scene before her, if she was to be honest. The blonde-haired wrestler had been skirting the outside of the island, trying to map it out in her head, when she'd come across this interesting coastal landmark. If she had to guess by the rectangular shape and the walkway surrounding it, she'd have to say that it was a swimming pool, carved out right next to the island's edge. Like everything else, it seemed neglected, abandoned, choked with garbage and filth that the sea had dragged in.
But more importantly, it was now streaked with blood.
She took a step forward, felt herself skid, and quickly stopped to right herself. The stonework was smooth, slick from seawater and greenery, an accident waiting to happen. Or maybe it already had...She saw assorted odds and ends scattered everywhere, like a bag had spilled open. Had someone slipped and fallen in? Then what was with all the blood?
Lisa couldn't help herself. Inching her way to the edge, she peered into the pool's depths. There, in a slurry of blood and seawater, was a boy her age, mingled with what she assumed was the rest of his bag. Laying down her weapon, a four-pronged pitchfork, she carefully dropped down to her hands and knees to get a better look. From what she could tell, he had...spikes sticking out of his chest? Weird.
Immediately, her mind swirled with possibilities. Had it been a trap? Had someone dragged the body and thrown it in? Wishing to not be victim number two, she reached for the pitchfork sitting at the pool's edge, and her remaining hand slipped, sending her tipping forward and halfway into the water. Like a shot, she sprang up, spitting out salt water and praying that she hadn't swallowed...anything else along with it.
"Whoever designed this pool," she chattered, slowly pushing her way backwards on her belly, "is a friggin' sadist!" The water had been frigid cold, and her clothes had soaked it right in. To make matters worse, her hands felt sticky and wet, and as she turned over to look at them, she realized that she'd slid entirely across the pool of blood, not just getting it on her hands, but on her green fur-lined jacket, her nice jeans, and a bit in her hair too.
This day just couldn't get any better.
By Neptune's Beard
Phase 1 (0-12 Hours), Private (Blastinus & Aura)
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Blastinus*
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By Neptune's Beard
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(Scott Whitman continued from Whitman's Mission)
Scott had been marching along the island since earning his first kill and picking up his new MAC-10. He had only just begun his mission, and in order to succeed, he still had many more steps that he needed to follow. Of course, he already knew that he was willing to fight his former classmates. He had proven that when he struck down Juan. It was the more survival-based aspects that he needed to focus on.
One important aspect was supplies. True, he was given a fair amount of rations to start with, and he had picked up more from Juan's bag. However, the more he had, the better his chances at surviving to the end. After all, he could have all the combat ability in the world, but if he collapsed due to dehydration or starvation, then it wouldn't save him. So for now, he was going to focus on gathering supplies through any method possible. And if he had to use his gun again, then so be it.
A loud splash interrupted his search, and he did not hesitate to change his course and head off in the direction of the source. If something was around to make that much noise, then he had to assume that it was a person. And if there was a person, that meant that they would have supplies. As for what would happen to them and their supplies, that was yet to be seen.
He happened upon the tide pool, arriving just in time to see someone pulling themselves out of the water and making quite a fuss over it. Scott's reaction to the scene was to draw his weapon and aim it at the girl before making a firm demand.
"Drop your bag. Now."
Scott had been marching along the island since earning his first kill and picking up his new MAC-10. He had only just begun his mission, and in order to succeed, he still had many more steps that he needed to follow. Of course, he already knew that he was willing to fight his former classmates. He had proven that when he struck down Juan. It was the more survival-based aspects that he needed to focus on.
One important aspect was supplies. True, he was given a fair amount of rations to start with, and he had picked up more from Juan's bag. However, the more he had, the better his chances at surviving to the end. After all, he could have all the combat ability in the world, but if he collapsed due to dehydration or starvation, then it wouldn't save him. So for now, he was going to focus on gathering supplies through any method possible. And if he had to use his gun again, then so be it.
A loud splash interrupted his search, and he did not hesitate to change his course and head off in the direction of the source. If something was around to make that much noise, then he had to assume that it was a person. And if there was a person, that meant that they would have supplies. As for what would happen to them and their supplies, that was yet to be seen.
He happened upon the tide pool, arriving just in time to see someone pulling themselves out of the water and making quite a fuss over it. Scott's reaction to the scene was to draw his weapon and aim it at the girl before making a firm demand.
"Drop your bag. Now."
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Blastinus*
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Lisa had only just righted herself, and already she was in another mess. Slowly, she rose to her feet, her pitchfork lowered in one hand. At school, Lisa had cut a broad and imposing figure, standing at 5'10" and having the sort of bulky physique one expected of a wrestler. She was used to intimidating people. She was used to commanding respect.
She was nobody's servant.
Seconds passed in silence as she stood there, not making any sudden movements but also not acquiescing. Finally, she spoke.
"And do what? Starve to death?" She held out her bag by its strap. "I give you this? You might as well have shot me." She weighed her options in her mind. Scott had the distance on her, and she knew him enough to know that he wouldn't be so stupid as to come closer. She could always try bluffing, but clever wordplay had never been her strong suit. She'd just have to go for it. If she succeeded, she'd have his bag and a shiny new weapon. If she failed...well, she wouldn't be any worse off.
"How about this..." she growled. "Go fish!" and with a strong wave of her arm, she flung the bag backwards, where it hit the pool with a dull splat and sank beneath the contaminated, disgusting water. Whatever he wanted from it, he'd surely be having the time of his life trying to fish it out.
A second later, she sprang forward, her pitchfork held in both hands. Her plan hinged on being able to close the distance in time. One good thrust, and she'd be done. This could work. It could...
She was nobody's servant.
Seconds passed in silence as she stood there, not making any sudden movements but also not acquiescing. Finally, she spoke.
"And do what? Starve to death?" She held out her bag by its strap. "I give you this? You might as well have shot me." She weighed her options in her mind. Scott had the distance on her, and she knew him enough to know that he wouldn't be so stupid as to come closer. She could always try bluffing, but clever wordplay had never been her strong suit. She'd just have to go for it. If she succeeded, she'd have his bag and a shiny new weapon. If she failed...well, she wouldn't be any worse off.
"How about this..." she growled. "Go fish!" and with a strong wave of her arm, she flung the bag backwards, where it hit the pool with a dull splat and sank beneath the contaminated, disgusting water. Whatever he wanted from it, he'd surely be having the time of his life trying to fish it out.
A second later, she sprang forward, her pitchfork held in both hands. Her plan hinged on being able to close the distance in time. One good thrust, and she'd be done. This could work. It could...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Blastinus. 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.
Such a shame. This girl looked like she might have been a halfway decent patriot, but the way she was acting was anything but. Defiant, disruptive, and crude. Not to mention disobedient. Throwing her supplies in the water like that... that was just wasteful, letting good food and medicine go to waste. This girl was unruly, and Scott just couldn't deal with people like that.
And then she moved to attack him, pitchfork at the ready like a conscripted farmer of old. Scott briefly pondered how dumb this girl must be to try to engage him in combat when he had all the advantages, especially after throwing away her own gear. He adjusted his grip on the fly and sent a volley of bullets towards the lower half of the stockily-built girl's body.
Insubordinate.
And then she moved to attack him, pitchfork at the ready like a conscripted farmer of old. Scott briefly pondered how dumb this girl must be to try to engage him in combat when he had all the advantages, especially after throwing away her own gear. He adjusted his grip on the fly and sent a volley of bullets towards the lower half of the stockily-built girl's body.
Insubordinate.
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Blastinus*
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Fact of the matter was, there was no winning option here. Sure, Lisa could have taken her chances on going without supplies, without food, without water, and with her clothes halfway soaked through and wet, but all things considered, she preferred a quick death in a blaze of glory rather than a slow, agonizing death full of suffering.
A shame that her opponent didn't think that way. She'd barely cleared two or three long strides before he'd leveled his MAC-10 and let out a burst of fire. The salvo of rounds came low, tearing through her midsection and perforating her intestines. Screaming in agony, she tumbled to the ground, the pitchfork reflexively held against her as she landed painfully on her side, sliding almost at Scott's feet.
Shaking in fury and pain, her breaths coming out in ragged gags and coughs, she realized that she'd gambled wrong. If she'd just been faster, if she'd only made one or two more steps...But there was no point in belaboring it.
"What are..." she hacked and spat out a glob of blood and bile. "What're you...waiting for? Huh?" She reached out feebly with her pitchfork, only lightly tapping his shoes before it slipped out of her hand. "K-kill me!"
A shame that her opponent didn't think that way. She'd barely cleared two or three long strides before he'd leveled his MAC-10 and let out a burst of fire. The salvo of rounds came low, tearing through her midsection and perforating her intestines. Screaming in agony, she tumbled to the ground, the pitchfork reflexively held against her as she landed painfully on her side, sliding almost at Scott's feet.
Shaking in fury and pain, her breaths coming out in ragged gags and coughs, she realized that she'd gambled wrong. If she'd just been faster, if she'd only made one or two more steps...But there was no point in belaboring it.
"What are..." she hacked and spat out a glob of blood and bile. "What're you...waiting for? Huh?" She reached out feebly with her pitchfork, only lightly tapping his shoes before it slipped out of her hand. "K-kill me!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Blastinus. 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.
Scott watched the girl's rush turn into a stumble, then a slide as the MAC-10 did its job. Now she laid at his feet like the gutless rebel she was. She poked at his foot with her pitchfork, a gesture that he ignored by taking a step to the side.
She begged for death from her powerless position, one from which he did not expect her to be making demands from. It could all be over as soon as he desired it. Another pull of the trigger, or a stomp of his boot, and the girl would no longer exist. There were probably more ways he could finish it that he just happened to not have considered at the moment, but the point was that he could end it whenever he wanted, and this girl knew it.
Scott jumped into the pool in search of her bag. He managed to find it quicker than he expected despite the obstruction of the seaweed and other unknown nastiness that may be floating around. He scooped the discarded supplies from the base of the pool and pulled himself out, taking a moment to steady himself on the wet stone. He examined the soggy bag with a frown.
"Hopefully the rations are still usable."
He slung the newly acquired bag over his shoulder and turned his back to the dying girl.
She begged for death from her powerless position, one from which he did not expect her to be making demands from. It could all be over as soon as he desired it. Another pull of the trigger, or a stomp of his boot, and the girl would no longer exist. There were probably more ways he could finish it that he just happened to not have considered at the moment, but the point was that he could end it whenever he wanted, and this girl knew it.
Scott jumped into the pool in search of her bag. He managed to find it quicker than he expected despite the obstruction of the seaweed and other unknown nastiness that may be floating around. He scooped the discarded supplies from the base of the pool and pulled himself out, taking a moment to steady himself on the wet stone. He examined the soggy bag with a frown.
"Hopefully the rations are still usable."
He slung the newly acquired bag over his shoulder and turned his back to the dying girl.
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Blastinus*
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Was he being serious right now? He was just going to leave her like this? Anger flooded Lisa's consciousness as she craned her neck to watch him go. The outrage, the sheer indignation shoved away the pain for a moment, and with one arm holding her steady while the other tried in vain to hold her guts in, she rose up to her knee. "Where're you...going?" she sneered at him and spat another wad of blood on the floor.
She was beginning to realize who this guy was. She'd heard her friends talking about him; some prick always getting on about his "righteousness". Scott. Whitman. Evidently, he was as full of it as she'd thought at the time.
"What happened...to being a patriot, Scott? Would a true...a true American leave a brother...to die?" Another coughing fit. She wasn't long for this world either way. With a deep, rasping breath, she raised her head up into a savage snarl. "You're no patriot!" she cried, feeling a spasm of pain at the effort. "Nothing but...a self-centered FASCIST!"
She was beginning to realize who this guy was. She'd heard her friends talking about him; some prick always getting on about his "righteousness". Scott. Whitman. Evidently, he was as full of it as she'd thought at the time.
"What happened...to being a patriot, Scott? Would a true...a true American leave a brother...to die?" Another coughing fit. She wasn't long for this world either way. With a deep, rasping breath, she raised her head up into a savage snarl. "You're no patriot!" she cried, feeling a spasm of pain at the effort. "Nothing but...a self-centered FASCIST!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Blastinus. 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.
Facist? Not a patriot?
Scott turned around, eyes wide and teeth bared as he broke his neutral expression for the first time in the Program. This girl... this insubordinate little cretin was questioning him? She dared to claim that he, who had devoted his life to carrying out General Adams' vision, did not understand America.
She was wrong. Dead wrong. She was the one who didn't understand.
He walked over to the girl's body with a sense of purpose in his mind, not allowing any body language aside from his expression reveal his emotions. Once he stood at her side though, he gave up all pretenses of his taciturn calm. He kicked her in the ribs hard enough to force her to roll over, and he got a good view of exactly how much damage his volley of shots had caused. Her abdominal area was a mess, and she was bleeding through the hand the was fruitlessly trying to cover her wounds with. Yet somehow she had managed to survive, albeit barely.
Scott wasn't satisfied.
He picked up the pitchfork that had fallen from her fingers and held it over her, holding in place so that he could savor the moment. He looked down at her and made sure that he was looking directly into her eyes when he spoke.
"I am a patriot, and you are an enemy."
He brought the pitchfork down on her stomach, in the same area where she had suffered most of her wounds. But that wasn't enough. He pulled the pitchfork from her flesh and slammed it down again. And again. And again. The prongs grew filthier with each stab, but he refused to let up. He would show no mercy to the enemies of his country.
Scott turned around, eyes wide and teeth bared as he broke his neutral expression for the first time in the Program. This girl... this insubordinate little cretin was questioning him? She dared to claim that he, who had devoted his life to carrying out General Adams' vision, did not understand America.
She was wrong. Dead wrong. She was the one who didn't understand.
He walked over to the girl's body with a sense of purpose in his mind, not allowing any body language aside from his expression reveal his emotions. Once he stood at her side though, he gave up all pretenses of his taciturn calm. He kicked her in the ribs hard enough to force her to roll over, and he got a good view of exactly how much damage his volley of shots had caused. Her abdominal area was a mess, and she was bleeding through the hand the was fruitlessly trying to cover her wounds with. Yet somehow she had managed to survive, albeit barely.
Scott wasn't satisfied.
He picked up the pitchfork that had fallen from her fingers and held it over her, holding in place so that he could savor the moment. He looked down at her and made sure that he was looking directly into her eyes when he spoke.
"I am a patriot, and you are an enemy."
He brought the pitchfork down on her stomach, in the same area where she had suffered most of her wounds. But that wasn't enough. He pulled the pitchfork from her flesh and slammed it down again. And again. And again. The prongs grew filthier with each stab, but he refused to let up. He would show no mercy to the enemies of his country.
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Blastinus*
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This was not what she'd been hoping for. She'd underestimated this man, underestimated his capacity for cruelty. She thought that he'd just shoot her in the face, silence her flapping tongue with one swift merciful shot. But this...
She didn't have the strength to fight him, hardly could raise her hands in defense. This was a farmer's pitchfork; solid steel and thick. The points of the pitchfork cracked through flesh and bone alike, piercing her straight through to the back.
It was over quickly, but still took far too long. With one last, wet gurgle, her head lolled sideways, dully staring off into the distance, her mouth agape in horror and pain. In truth, she'd given up the ghost long before he'd stopped stabbing.
Lisa Brighton: Deceased
She didn't have the strength to fight him, hardly could raise her hands in defense. This was a farmer's pitchfork; solid steel and thick. The points of the pitchfork cracked through flesh and bone alike, piercing her straight through to the back.
It was over quickly, but still took far too long. With one last, wet gurgle, her head lolled sideways, dully staring off into the distance, her mouth agape in horror and pain. In truth, she'd given up the ghost long before he'd stopped stabbing.
Lisa Brighton: Deceased
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Blastinus. 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.
By the time Scott stopped stabbing with the pitchfork, the girls abdominal area was a shredded mess. The preexisting wounds from the gunshots had been ripped and expanded by the constant jabs of the prongs, turning most of her stomach into a twisted heap of torn flesh and viscera. Somewhere along the line, some of the girl's intestines had either become entangled between the prongs or stuck in them. Whatever the case, he had no further need for such an impractical weapon. He tossed it to the side, the connection between the fork and the body catching and jostling them both.
He surveyed his handiwork. A bit messier than expected, although he couldn't say that he regretted it. She had brought it upon herself by badmouthing him and his patriotic nature.
He left the area with his waterlogged spoils.
(Scott Whitman continued in There's No Greater Lie Than A Good Day To Die)
He surveyed his handiwork. A bit messier than expected, although he couldn't say that he regretted it. She had brought it upon herself by badmouthing him and his patriotic nature.
He left the area with his waterlogged spoils.
(Scott Whitman continued in There's No Greater Lie Than A Good Day To Die)