SOTF Mini

Hiroshi looked pissed off, rightfully so. He was armed, two of his friends dead, and Yoshio was laying down on the ground, bullet in his shoulder, and probably looking deadly. He needed to look like that, true fact, otherwise people could just pick him off. He didn't want to die, he couldn't die.

Hiroshi seemed to get the idea, and he ran off. HE ran off from YOSHIO. He knew something had to have happened.

He's running! I SCARED HIM! I AM NOT DEAD!

But then he tried moving his left shoulder again. It was as though the glass in his shoulder had gotten deeper each minute.

OWWW! IT HURTS!!!

Carefully lifting himself off the ground, he noticed on the ground below him there was a patch of blood. His blood. Yoshio gulped deeply.

Am I going t-to die?

NO! He couldn't die!

Stumbling over to the dead bodies of Kazuo Kiriyama and Mitsuru Numai, he almost collapsed against the car. The pain in his shoulder wasn't getting any more bearable, so he needed to make it quick. Yoshio surveyed the bodies, and grabbed everything he needed; namely, both their guns (he noticed that Kazuo tried to kill him with every bullet in the gun. It was probably empty, he would reload it later), all the ammo in their bags, kept in boxes and bags, and their rations. He needed to eat, and it wasn't like they needed it anymore...

He put everything in his own bag, which was eventually becoming heavier. Not wanting to put too much strain on his injured arm, he switched everything around so that he was right hand gunning, and right hand carrying. But it wasn't as though the pain in his arm would stop any time soon. He needed to get out of there. There were bodies, and gunshots. Someone had to have heard it across the island, and he was right in the centre of it.

He knew there was a clinic nearby, but he had to be careful. He knew how to read a map, but he had to do it from memory. No way of actually holding it, so if he wasn't careful and listening, he would end up blowing his own head off.

Yoshio started stumbling in the direction of the harbour. He had to get something for his arm. He had to not die today.

((Yoshio Akamatsu continued elsewhere))

He stood amidst them, burning cigarette beneath his lips. Had he been a manlier man, he might have pulled out the bottles of vodka and triple sec he had and poured a libation for these poor, beautiful dead boys. It seemed like a waste of good alcohol, under the circumstances.

Well, pouring it on the ground, anyways. Fishing the bottles out, on the other hand...

He didn't have any of the necessary juices on hand, but he wasn't aiming for taste, this time. One quick swig from his vodka, and the burning coursed down his throat and was followed, shortly thereafter, by a relaxed, tightening swoop through his stomach. He sighed.

He should have shot Akamatsu.

He'd frozen up, when the boy appeared and started raiding weapons. The crossbow had been tight in his hands, and he'd been so surprised by Hiroshi running away that he hadn't immediately registered what was going on. And Akamatsu...Akamatsu had a gun. He could have used the disgusting fat boy's (was a little self-control too much to ask for? Wasn't easy, keeping weight off, but Yoshio took it to the extreme) lack of attention, but...

Akamatsu had a gun.

He sighed, standing over Mitsuru. "You were never very smart, Numai," he said sadly. "But you were...good, in your own way." He glanced towards Kazuo. "Eye for an eye, huh?" he murmured. "Good boy."

Akamatsu had taken their weaopns. Akamatsu had hurt his friends. And Akamatsu had enough guns to seriously put the hurt on Sho, if he tried anything.

I will survive.

"Oh, what the hell," Sho muttered. He lifted his vodka and dribbled a little of it onto Mitsuru's face. "Rest in peace, Numai."

He turned and left--in the direction Hiroshi had taken off. But not before giving Kazuo's corpse a good, solid kick.

(Sho Tsukioka continued elsewhere)[/i]