Oh hell. Chris wasn't surprised; it was a stupid idea to think that the girl was trustworthy. After all, this was just a game, wasn't it? And everybody wanted to win.
So Chris, with slow carefulness, took his gun from his daypack, cradling it in both hands and sinking to the ground. He noted, making his plans, that the soil was slightly wet from morning dew. Still touching the gun with both hands, he pushed it across the ground, where friction stopped it about five feet away from the girl.
He stayed on his knees, hanging his head like a betrayed animal, and, with both hands touching the ground, activated his ability. He didn't know how quickly the amperage would build up, but he hoped it would be enough to zap the threat. But not kill her. He didn't want to kill people.
If this would even work, he had no idea. Maybe her shoes would keep her from getting zapped- they had rubber soles, right? And the electricity maybe wouldn't even flow through the ground. Or something.
Aftermath
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armeggedonCounselor*
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:30 pm
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. 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.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
The boy complied. It was that easy. That simple. He took the gun out, slid it over, not pointing it at her, and pushed his hands to the ground. Was he feeling defeated? Had he just given up? The thought stopped Samantha in her tracks for a second. What the fuck was she doing? There was pragmatism, there was safety, and then there was this. What the fuck? What would Otis have done in this situation? Surely something better. He'd have been smart. With him along, maybe she'd have been able to manage the courage to ally with this boy, to trust him. She just couldn't, though.
She had made her decision. No backing down now.
So she stepped forwards, getting closer to the gun. It was about ten feet from the boy, she estimated, and five from her. If he pulled his knife and made a dive at her, could she stop him? She had her own gun in her hand, so... probably. She'd have to. She still couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong, though.
No time to worry. No time to let the stress build. This boy was a coward. Weak. Helpless. Prey for the strong contenders on this island. He was damn lucky Samantha wasn't a murderer. By all rights, he should've been dead, dead like Otis and Cristo. Much as she hated the murderer, she had to admit that he at least had known how to handle himself.
Samantha knelt and reached for the gun.
When her fingers were a few inches away, a line of electricity, a lightning bolt in miniature, shot from the metal of the gun into her hand, jumped from there along her arm, through her body, to the the two knives sheathed at her hips, along her other arm, throwing her backwards, causing her finger to spasm, firing a shot into the ground.
Had she known the specifics of the situation, Samantha would have easily been able to figure out and explain what had happened. Chris' power channeled large amounts of electricity into the ground. Under normal circumstances, this would have been totally useless, but the moss and dirt was still saturated with water, forming a nice conductive bridge to disperse the energy all around, allowing it to seep into the ground proper over a large area of diffusion. Samantha's shoes would have insulated her perfectly well under normal circumstances. The gun on the ground, however, combined with the metal around Samantha's person, had been enough to turn her body into the path of least resistance for the electricity.
Fortunately for her, as she flew off her feet, fell backwards, the connection broke, the power supply was cut, and, upon landing on her back a small distance away, Samantha was parallel to the ground, no longer directly connected, no longer a great conductor herself, though sparks still danced around her hips and the knives. The current did not return in force. She didn't take the time to gasp, didn't freeze up. Her life was on the line, and there was no one to bail her out. The boy could have his gun again by now, could have his knife ready.
Images flashed through her mind. A hut. A body lying, its eyes popped and running down its face. Burned from the inside out. It all made sense.
Pain flowed through Samantha, tried to stall her, to drown her beneath its waves, but she knew pain. She had befriended it by now. The current, the uncontrollable twitching of her muscles, had been enough to render her temporarily helpless. Pain was not.
Still on the ground, barely propping her head up, Samantha snapped her gun back into line in front of her, towards where she hoped the boy still was, shaking slightly.
Live.
She squeezed the trigger twice.
She had made her decision. No backing down now.
So she stepped forwards, getting closer to the gun. It was about ten feet from the boy, she estimated, and five from her. If he pulled his knife and made a dive at her, could she stop him? She had her own gun in her hand, so... probably. She'd have to. She still couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong, though.
No time to worry. No time to let the stress build. This boy was a coward. Weak. Helpless. Prey for the strong contenders on this island. He was damn lucky Samantha wasn't a murderer. By all rights, he should've been dead, dead like Otis and Cristo. Much as she hated the murderer, she had to admit that he at least had known how to handle himself.
Samantha knelt and reached for the gun.
When her fingers were a few inches away, a line of electricity, a lightning bolt in miniature, shot from the metal of the gun into her hand, jumped from there along her arm, through her body, to the the two knives sheathed at her hips, along her other arm, throwing her backwards, causing her finger to spasm, firing a shot into the ground.
Had she known the specifics of the situation, Samantha would have easily been able to figure out and explain what had happened. Chris' power channeled large amounts of electricity into the ground. Under normal circumstances, this would have been totally useless, but the moss and dirt was still saturated with water, forming a nice conductive bridge to disperse the energy all around, allowing it to seep into the ground proper over a large area of diffusion. Samantha's shoes would have insulated her perfectly well under normal circumstances. The gun on the ground, however, combined with the metal around Samantha's person, had been enough to turn her body into the path of least resistance for the electricity.
Fortunately for her, as she flew off her feet, fell backwards, the connection broke, the power supply was cut, and, upon landing on her back a small distance away, Samantha was parallel to the ground, no longer directly connected, no longer a great conductor herself, though sparks still danced around her hips and the knives. The current did not return in force. She didn't take the time to gasp, didn't freeze up. Her life was on the line, and there was no one to bail her out. The boy could have his gun again by now, could have his knife ready.
Images flashed through her mind. A hut. A body lying, its eyes popped and running down its face. Burned from the inside out. It all made sense.
Pain flowed through Samantha, tried to stall her, to drown her beneath its waves, but she knew pain. She had befriended it by now. The current, the uncontrollable twitching of her muscles, had been enough to render her temporarily helpless. Pain was not.
Still on the ground, barely propping her head up, Samantha snapped her gun back into line in front of her, towards where she hoped the boy still was, shaking slightly.
Live.
She squeezed the trigger twice.
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armeggedonCounselor*
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:30 pm
Chris didn't wait for the girl to hit the ground. When she was in the air, his muscles were already screaming as he lunged toward his gun, grabbing it up and sprinting toward the edge of the clearing. Adrenaline pumped through him, shortening his breaths as the girl stopped twitching and leveled her gun in the direction he had been sitting. Unfortunately, the shock hadn't kept her down for long enough. In other news, his stomach was screaming hunger. It seemed that his power sapped energy from his caloric intake.
It is amazing what one thinks about when they are frightened for their lives.
Two shots behind him, loud and wasteful. Already, he was out of that clearing, out of the line of fire. And he was on his way toward his next destination.
((Chris Richardson continued in Hit and Run.))
It is amazing what one thinks about when they are frightened for their lives.
Two shots behind him, loud and wasteful. Already, he was out of that clearing, out of the line of fire. And he was on his way toward his next destination.
((Chris Richardson continued in Hit and Run.))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler armeggedonCounselor. 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.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3442
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Anger surged through Samantha as the boy vanished. She'd had him. She had had him at her mercy. And then he'd gone and...
He'd run away.
He'd run away, and she'd tried to kill him.
She'd tried to murder somebody.
All for what? A gun? She had plenty of those. And what had they brought her? Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.
Laughter tore from her throat, mixing with tears, as she collapsed back to the ground. He could come back and kill her now, and she wouldn't care. Not in the slightest. She just lay there, watching the world move. Her hair was standing on end, still frazzled from the shock. She had small burns along both of her palms, and probably also on her legs. In fact, she was damn lucky to still be breathing.
It had been so simple. Such an easy idea. Take his gun. Then, when he resisted? Well, kill him, of course. But taking a life wasn't that easy, not in the physical sense, at least. That she was prepared to kill him made her wonder. Made her reassess herself. That was painful. She'd acted like the girl with the pink hair. She'd acted like Cristo. She'd decided to put herself first, to treat others as nothing but objects. She'd decided that long ago, actually, but now she'd followed through. Now she'd tried to kill two people in as many minutes.
Death. Such a strange concept.
She did not know how long she lay there for. When she finally stood, she wasn't sure what to do. At least she'd been right about the boy. Coward. Hadn't had the guts to finish her. She should thank him for that. Thank him also for the wakeup call. Thank him for saving her from herself.
She walked over to Pippi's corpse. Those last few seconds, those last, terrified screams, echoed through Samantha's memory, as she looked down at the girl. Red hair, red blood. Funny, how death was the color of life sometimes.
Samantha raised the gun, still grasped in her hand, and pressed it to her temple. End it now. Spare herself the pain. Avoid the agony. Just let it all end. The pressure was building inside her again. Punch a hole to release it through. Quick. Painful, probably, but she could bear it. If she couldn't, it's not like it would matter. Nothing mattered anymore. No, this was the end of everything. Normal life was gone. It finally sunk in just how fucking screwed up this was. She'd been off playing, and people had been dying, and she'd been ready to help that along without any real thought. Maybe best to add just one more body to that total.
Live.
What a joke.
Everything dies someday.
Staring at Pippi, at that open, friendly face, now contorted in pain. What a way to die.
The remembered scream again. Samantha knew what it was. She knew what it meant. That was how it felt to die. She shivered. Shivered and lowered the gun.
The scream didn't scare her, no, not one bit. It was what came afterwards. Scream, then silence. Nothing.
Nothing.
Another glance at Pippi. One in the direction the boy had gone.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I made a mistake. A big one. One I'll live with until I don't anymore. The sort of mistake that never gets better. The sort of fuck up you lose your life for in the real world, the kind of thing that gets you locked away forever. And why? Why?
Live, Sam.
Yeah, I'll live. I'll do my best. But not that way. Never again. It's not living if you aren't yourself anymore. Not living if you can't even call yourself human.
Wash away these horrible musings. Force it down with the pain. Forget.
No.
No more running. No more hiding behind self mutilation. No more pretending. Just once more, just one more thing to do. With a moment of concentration, a moment of fire, Samantha returned her features to normal, to how they'd been all her life, long nose and all. She adjusted her glasses. Looked out at the world again.
Took a few deep breaths. Steadied herself.
And then Samantha was off once more.
((Samantha Reynolds continued in Wanna Change My Clothes, My Hair, My Face))
He'd run away.
He'd run away, and she'd tried to kill him.
She'd tried to murder somebody.
All for what? A gun? She had plenty of those. And what had they brought her? Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.
Laughter tore from her throat, mixing with tears, as she collapsed back to the ground. He could come back and kill her now, and she wouldn't care. Not in the slightest. She just lay there, watching the world move. Her hair was standing on end, still frazzled from the shock. She had small burns along both of her palms, and probably also on her legs. In fact, she was damn lucky to still be breathing.
It had been so simple. Such an easy idea. Take his gun. Then, when he resisted? Well, kill him, of course. But taking a life wasn't that easy, not in the physical sense, at least. That she was prepared to kill him made her wonder. Made her reassess herself. That was painful. She'd acted like the girl with the pink hair. She'd acted like Cristo. She'd decided to put herself first, to treat others as nothing but objects. She'd decided that long ago, actually, but now she'd followed through. Now she'd tried to kill two people in as many minutes.
Death. Such a strange concept.
She did not know how long she lay there for. When she finally stood, she wasn't sure what to do. At least she'd been right about the boy. Coward. Hadn't had the guts to finish her. She should thank him for that. Thank him also for the wakeup call. Thank him for saving her from herself.
She walked over to Pippi's corpse. Those last few seconds, those last, terrified screams, echoed through Samantha's memory, as she looked down at the girl. Red hair, red blood. Funny, how death was the color of life sometimes.
Samantha raised the gun, still grasped in her hand, and pressed it to her temple. End it now. Spare herself the pain. Avoid the agony. Just let it all end. The pressure was building inside her again. Punch a hole to release it through. Quick. Painful, probably, but she could bear it. If she couldn't, it's not like it would matter. Nothing mattered anymore. No, this was the end of everything. Normal life was gone. It finally sunk in just how fucking screwed up this was. She'd been off playing, and people had been dying, and she'd been ready to help that along without any real thought. Maybe best to add just one more body to that total.
Live.
What a joke.
Everything dies someday.
Staring at Pippi, at that open, friendly face, now contorted in pain. What a way to die.
The remembered scream again. Samantha knew what it was. She knew what it meant. That was how it felt to die. She shivered. Shivered and lowered the gun.
The scream didn't scare her, no, not one bit. It was what came afterwards. Scream, then silence. Nothing.
Nothing.
Another glance at Pippi. One in the direction the boy had gone.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I made a mistake. A big one. One I'll live with until I don't anymore. The sort of mistake that never gets better. The sort of fuck up you lose your life for in the real world, the kind of thing that gets you locked away forever. And why? Why?
Live, Sam.
Yeah, I'll live. I'll do my best. But not that way. Never again. It's not living if you aren't yourself anymore. Not living if you can't even call yourself human.
Wash away these horrible musings. Force it down with the pain. Forget.
No.
No more running. No more hiding behind self mutilation. No more pretending. Just once more, just one more thing to do. With a moment of concentration, a moment of fire, Samantha returned her features to normal, to how they'd been all her life, long nose and all. She adjusted her glasses. Looked out at the world again.
Took a few deep breaths. Steadied herself.
And then Samantha was off once more.
((Samantha Reynolds continued in Wanna Change My Clothes, My Hair, My Face))