Cristo
Cristo watched as the situation around him seemed to dissolve, his careful plans beginning to unravel. Holly was still annoyed, despite what she might have said to him- if he stayed here, she'd be a constant obstacle for him to overcome. At the same time, his gun pull seemed to be less and less of a good idea... Iris had backed away from him, evidently scared that he was off hilt, that he was crazy. But her eyes still gazed at him, lustily looking over his body and his face. She wanted him, and she wanted him badly. And from her face, Cristo could tell that she still thought he was a good person- just was trying to be careful. All that bitch Holly's fault... Iris relied on her too much, liked her too much.
And as Cristo thought this, another boy entered the room. He had a wild look to his hair and face, and despite what he had said, something non threatening, a casual phrase, Cristo recognized something in that boy's eyes. Something he didn't like. It suggested that the boy would kill if he had to, that he had no problems with that, and that he wasn't somebody who you should mess around with. And from his look at Cristo, Cristo knew the boy didn't trust him or like him. And that was just fucking great... more and more his position in the church was crumbling. He had to leave- and he saw his chance to deal with this, and the Iris situation, when he spotted the side exit to the church. Just a simple door, standing there, not far from where Cristo was.
Holly had yelled something at the boy, was pointing a gun at him- boy, she's just the fucking greatest neighbor, ready to give everyone on the island a warm welcoming- and they were both staring at each other. This could give Cristo some crucial time to slip away, but he'd have to move fast- and even as he was thinking this, his hands were at work, quickly stuffing his supplies and weapons into his bag and zipping it up. Cristo looked towards Iris, and realized he'd have to makes thing quick. He moved to her, the day pack around his shoulder, until they were both face to face.
"Iris," he said, his voice a very low whisper. "I don't like this situation one bit. I think its bad for me, and I think its bad for you. And... I, I don't really know how to say this, but... I think I like you a lot. Maybe even more than that. Whichever it is, right now, that doesn't matter. I just don't want to see you hurt... I want us to go somewhere safe, somewhere where we can be together, where I can watch over you. This island is horrible, but I think- I think, with you, we might just be able to make it through this. I might be able to find something wonderful in this horror. Come with me." He leaned in towards her, brushing the hair from the front of her face, and he planted a quick and gentle kiss on her cheek.
And with that, he was gone. He made a silent but hasty walk towards the door, approaching it quickly. That was the final test for Iris... if she was someone who he could rely on, she'd follow him now. She'd be quickly behind him. If not, then... Cristo could deal with her later. But he thought she'd came. With what he'd just done, he'd doubt any girl could resist coming. Maybe he could even have convinced that bitch Holly.
Exit Subject C17, Cristo Ruiz
Chris
Chris found himself, again, at the wrong end of a gun. It was becoming an alarming trend. He smiled in a way that he hoped looked simultaneously disarming and terrified. It was a hard expression to pull off, requiring smiling with his lips but not with his eyes, and showing an entirely different emotion with his eyes. All it really ended up doing was causing a muscle spasm in his forehead. He focused on the nicer girl for a second. She was cute, in a slightly rustic and tomboyish way. The other male in the room was best described as unsettling. He looked like some sort of male model, and was obviously playing it up. He was also a bit of an overactor, which seemed to work well here. Chris found his eyes drawn to the boy's hands, where he has apparently filed his nails into claws. No sane person ever filed their nails into claws. The... unsettling boy stepped past him after whispering something unsettling to the nicer girl. He hadn't heard what the boy had said, but it seemed likely that it was unsettling. The boy was, after all, unsettling. Chris focused back onto the girl with the gun and swallowed.
"I.... My name is Chris. Uh.... Yeah," he said, swallowing again. "I... uh... have nothing else to say.... Um.... Can I put my hands down? I really don't mean any harm, but I guess my protestations don't mean much...."
He stepped out of the doorway and into the church proper, so the sun wasn't shining on his back anymore. Sunburns hurt, and on an island the sun would burn him faster than at home.
Iris
To be honest, Holly was kind of scaring Iris.
She had appeared to calm down, and even made a comment about her and Cristo having children. Why she made that comment, she had no clue. But, Holly had smiled again. That was always a good sign. Smiles meant happiness. But, just a few seconds ago Holly was back to pointing a gun, this time at the newcomer. He had responded with a strange look, almost as if he was trying to mimic an expression.
At that, though, Cristo had leaned in to say something to her.
He wanted to leave?
Iris wasn't so sure...
Even though Holly and Cristo had acted... off, they were still good people in her eyes. They were just scared, is all. They weren't evil people at all! But, he said he wanted to be with her... protect her... It didn't help that he was so attractive, as well.
And, wordlessly, he kissed her on the cheek and left, as if expecting her to follow him.
Should she follow him, though? On one hand... she didn't think he was bad. On the other... everyone was out there, aiming to kill each other with steel and bullets. Even though Iris was a little naive, she was still aware that she might die if she trusts the wrong person. Plus, was it really a good idea to leave Holly and that other guy behind? Although Holly was acting weirdly, it wasn't as if she were a horrible person. Maybe even that other guy needed to be saved, too.
But, soon enough, she made her decision. As Holly and Chris talked, she lifted her things off the ground, and slung the bag over her shoulder. Iris made her way towards the exit, and quickly glanced back once she was at the door.
Maybe she should bring Holly along? That way, if something were to happen to her, she would not only have Cristo, but Holly around as well. Plus, as much as she liked Cristo... as much as she found him the most attractive man she laid eyes on... as much as she was fascinated by him... well, he looked like the type who would play along, to be honest.
She almost opened her mouth, to cry out to Holly. But, nothing came out, for some reason. Looking directly at Holly, who was now looking back, she prayed that Holly figured out what was going on, and that she would follow.
Finally, Iris turned back, to follow Cristo.
Momma always told her never to talk to strangers... but right now, both Cristo and Holly were... well, they were the closest things she had to friends right now. She was vaguely aware of Holly calling out her name as they stepped away from the church, but was not sure if it really was her.
Was she going to regret this?
Holly
Chris, huh?
He seemed to be nervous that a gun had been pointed at him. Then again, anyone would. But, he was clearly acting a little awkward. Heck, he even asked that he put his arms down!
Holly smiled once again, and responded with "Okay, yes, you can. Just as long I as I don't see anything bad happening."
She quickly glanced back at the charming young couple, and at this point, Cristo was whispering to Iris about... something. Holly raised an eyebrow at this.
It better not be "Holly Chapman is a psychotic bitch", she found herself thinking. But most likely, it's a confession of looooove.
Once Cristo was done with his little chat with Iris, he immediately turned and left with his things. This would be a cause for celebration for Holly, since she would not have to deal with him again for a while. Except the fact that after a few seconds, Iris seemed almost... confused, and eventually she started walking towards the exit like Cristo had.
She was leaving too?!
Damn it, that bastard... he told her to leave with him, didn't he?
"Iris...?" Holly started, watching her leave.
Iris had looked back, and for a few seconds, she seemed almost as if she was pleading with Holly to follow her, and that she was helpless. She quickly turned and left, passing Chris.
Holly was not sure what to do. Let Iris go...?
It was her choice.
Wait, no.
It was Holly's problem. In spite of the fact that any person on this island could kill her, she still felt a degree of concern for Iris. To Holly, it would be irresponsible to just let Iris walk off with some guy who had been flirting with her, and yet had the potential to be a horrible person. Plus, he had pointed a gun at them. Sure, Holly had pointed a gun at people too. But, something seemed off about him.
But what if she did not want Holly to follow her?
It didn't matter. She had to do the right thing.
A few seconds later, Holly had picked up her things, and stormed out of the church, almost completely forgetting about Chris.
"Iris? Iris! Iris..." she called out, looking for the two.
They were already some distance away. But, Holly wasn't giving up just yet.
She was going to go look for them. In her eyes, it was the right thing to do.
Holly stepped out of the church, and went on her way.
Exit Subject C02, Iris Landon and Subject C09, Holly Chapman
Chris
Chris was... he didn't know a word to describe it. Perhaps irate would be a good descriptor for what he felt as both girls ran out of the Church after the boy with the nails. He stared after them with his jaw dropped. He glanced down to make sure he could still see himself, which was silly. Of course he was still there. If he was invisible, he wouldn't be able to see anything, much less himself. He sighed and wandered into the church proper. The last time he had been in church had been when he was... young. Very young. He sat in one of the pews and stared at the huge cross which dominated the wall over the altar. He rummaged through his day pack and pulled out the gun. As long as he had some time to kill, he might as well investigate the piece.
He carefully pointed the gun away from himself and slid his hands along it. He tried cocking it manually, but found that that didn't do anything about it's ability to shoot. Then he noticed the switch. It was above the trigger and was black. He fiddled with it and found that it clicked into another position on the other side of the gun. This side had a red face. Chris held the gun up and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through his brain for minutes afterward. His hand was numb from the recoil and there was a small brass cylinder burning the wood of the pew. Chris swatted it onto the floor and changed the switch back over. He looked around in the faltering light to see if he could find where the bullet had hit. His gaze traveled up the cross to see a hole in the wood Jesus' head. Chris blinked and burst out laughing. He felt bad shortly afterward and quickly crossed himself with a muttered apology. He didn't particularly believe in God, but it was better to be safe than sorry, especially in these dire straits.
Chris shoved the gun into his pocket, thanking Levi for big pockets and small... ish... guns. He picked up his pack again and walked out of the Church, angling toward the mountain with the radio tower. He doubted there was a way to walk up the thing, but there might be another way up. He would walk until he couldn't see by moonlight anymore.
Exit Subject C16, Chris Richardson
SOTF: Evolution Grand Archive
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER TEN: BETTER MAKE UP YOUR MIND
THE CABLE CAR STATIONJUNE 23, 2010: 15:07
Enter Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
Samantha had stopped jogging fairly quickly, when the terrain became inhospitable to that mode of movement, and then picked her way down the slope of the ravine, carefully, oh so carefully, always at the ready for an ambush or a misstep or any sort of unpleasant surprise. She'd made it down alright, though, and wandered a small ways until she heard noises. They were very faint at first, but they were clearly not man made, and at the moment that made them worth checking out. Perhaps there was something hidden here, something that could help her escape, or hide, or somehow make it out of this awful mess alive.
She'd been thinking, after she calmed down, and had come to a few conclusions. First off, she wanted to live. She wanted to live, and she would claw after that goal to her dying breath. She knew some people here would try to play the heroes, try to save everyone, maybe even give their lives for their newfound friends, but fuck that. Fuck that. She wasn't going to die.
That didn't mean she was planning on shooting up everyone she met, though. If there was a method of escape, a way to get them all out intact, well, of course she would take it. Anyone who wouldn't was mad. Escape would be challenging, though. Someone had to die within twenty four hours. Otherwise, they would all die. Would they really be killed? It was hard to say. The man in the coat had said that their corpses would be good to research, but then again, they'd shot that boy who spoke up. They'd killed him, without giving a second thought as to whether it would mess up their data. Again, Samantha began to doubt the veracity of the scientific explanation. They weren't acting correctly if it was really about the powers, not at all. No, if it was an experiment, it had to be about something other than what they claimed.
Still, that didn't matter. They would make an announcement of some sort to declare which zones were forbidden. With luck, they would also clarify whether anyone had died. Samantha would know before too long, anyways; a good deal of time had passed during her journey. She wondered for a split second what had happened to Pippi. The girl had probably fallen to her death in a ditch or something. Didn't matter. No distractions, not now, not in this dangerous situation.
Rounding a large rock, Samantha found herself facing the source of the noise. It was a building, and there were cable cars running into it, and from it up the mountain, higher than she'd been earlier. They were leading to some sort of tower. Interesting. Samantha didn't know anything about military tactics, or long term strategy, or any of that. She could play chess without screwing up the horses' movements too often, but that was it. But even she could see that the tower above was the best location on the entire island, barring some fortified bunker or something. She quickly checked her map, and saw nothing of the sort. She also realized that the station was labeled. That meant there were other people in that tower. There was simply no way nobody else had had this idea.
She entered the station, deliberating. To go, to risk whoever was hiding there, or to stay? It was a difficult question. Moreover, what if there was somebody here, in the station, hiding from her, also trying to decide? Samantha's eyes widened, and she drew the pistol from her skirt. Then, left handed, she unzipped her bag, fumbled the knife free, and zipped it up again.
brrzt, click, ding!
She jumped as the turnstile made its noise, a quieter one than she had heard before (that, she realized, must have been the cables themselves, creaking along with their load). She turned quickly, scanning the whole area. Empty. Excellent. Now she just had to decide. Stay or go? Shouldn't be tough. Then again, there were so many things to consider. At the top, there would be somebody. No question about it. If she went, she had to be prepared for anything. She could find an ally, or enter a firefight for her life. She was a bad shot, she thought. She looked at the cars. If she crouched, she should be able to keep out of sight, and possibly make it all the way to the top unseen. Surprise would be on her side. If she tried diplomacy, though, she would be giving up that advantage.
On the other hand, she sure as hell couldn't stay here. Others would be coming. Hell, Everyone could end up here before too long. It wasn't inconceivable; if anything, it was common sense. Things would go down here. It was just a question of what her role would be. If she made it to the top before the dangerous people, she could just wait up there and shoot them as they left the cable car. They would be fish in a barrel while exiting it. She knew to watch for people staying out of sight, since she had considered the tactic herself. If she found allies, they could hole up until the end, make a fortress or something. Here in the station, on the other hand, was pretty well indefensible. But she wasn't ready to fight for that tower. It was too dangerous.
It was too much. She was running in circles. She wasn't getting anywhere. She was stressed out, overloaded. She had to calm down. She had to do so now. Problem was, now she was in a terrible position. She should move. She should stay. She should just make up her... fuck it. She would take a few minutes and cool off. She gripped her weapons, ready to open fire at a second's notice. Somehow, it wasn't helping her tension level all that much.
Five minutes later, Samantha had calmed down a good deal. She still hadn't gotten onto the cable cars. She still hadn't puzzled it out enough to decide, and she wasn't going to rush into anything. That way lay disaster. No, there was something wrong. Something about the tower was too easy.
Someone up there now could have come up with the same idea as her, for one, and could be waiting to shoot people as they left the cable cars. Maybe they'd even be prepared for a stealthy approach. There was no way to tell. Moreover, they could shut themselves up in the tower like a fortress, leaving it impossible to access. Then she would be stuck outside, with nowhere to run, in a terrible position if anyone came up after her.
But that wasn't the big thing that stopped her from entering the cars. No, what really put an end to her ideas of ascending the mountain was a sudden recollection of another rule of this exercise. There would be announcements every twelve hours. One was probably not too far off. She had no idea how long she'd been out, but the sun was definitely on its way down. Anyway, as part of those announcements, areas would be sealed, and those who lingered in them for too long would die. The radio tower was highly defensible because it had only one access point. That also made it a deathtrap if a quick escape became necessary. If the zone including the tower became forbidden, the only way out would be down the cable cars, and anyone looking for easy kills would come hang out in the station if they possessed even a modicum of sense. Fuck, even Pippi could have figured that out. Samantha did not relish the idea of riding down the cars amidst a hail of gunfire. Or, what if somebody cut the cables, sending the cars plummeting down to earth? That would kill her quick enough. Or, if they could get at the controls, they could stop the cars with her in them, leave her up there to die of dehydration or detonation if the zone became forbidden.
No. It was a good position, but far too risky this early on. For all she knew, nobody had been killed yet. She'd heard gunshots, but couldn't know if they'd been test shots, as hers had, or actual combat. There could still be a lot of people left, and she was sure this place would draw them. Until she got a handle on the actions of the others, any move towards the tower would be rash, preemptive, and potentially fatal.
Besides, if nobody died for twenty four hours, they'd all blow up. That meant that anyone up in that tower would be on a time limit, forced to decide between coming out to hunt or turning on their cohorts to buy a little breathing room. If it came down to it, once the numbers had been reduced Samantha could come and wait around at the cable car station, and enact the very plan she had been worried about.
That is, if she had it in her to kill anyone. She wasn't sure that she did, not at all. She didn't want to die, but killing somebody was such a horrible act. She certainly didn't want to go around blasting anyone who moved. No, if she'd had death on her mind, Pippi would have been a perfect target. But why kill anyone, especially this early? Why give herself up to some idiotic primal desire or whatever, when she could just wait and see? No, surrendering to panic or urges or that sort of thing was what destroyed people. It was what had destroyed her sister, and she was better than that. She had to be.
Having decided to forgo the radio tower, Samantha consulted her map once more, trying to find a better place to ride things out for a while. There was a promising looking shack labeled. It was near water, which was good, because she could escape by swimming if she had to. She figured she wouldn't be killed if she didn't stray far from the island. Also, the shack looked to be fairly defensible, while allowing several escape points. Perfect. Much better than the tower. She'd be able to get clear in no time if she had to, and nobody would be able to sneak up on her because they would have to cross water to get at her, and she knew that would be at least somewhat noisy and slow.
Samantha started walking. A jog would have felt better, but she couldn't go wasting her energy. She had limited food, and no desire to sleep unless she was sure she was safe, so she'd have to pace herself.
Exit Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
INTERLUDE: PEA GREEN
OFF THE COAST OF THE ISLANDJUNE 23, 2010: 15:33
The ocean was reaching a peaceful ebb today, with the sun gently warming it as though it were a gigantic bowl of soup. A small, elderly figure sat in his little wash-tub-looking boat, with his hunch hunched over his fishing pole as he strained his eyes looking for something to take back home to eat. He'd never been particularly good at fishing, but it was still a passion of his which he took up whenever he found a golden moment of time to himself, and now he sat patiently, waiting for something to bite while he stared out longingly at the waves.
"C'monnn, just a little nibble, just one teeny bite."
And so he sat, waiting, practically drooling over the thought of the biggest, fattest fish, steaming away on a plate in front of him as he and his wife shared a grateful, passionate kiss under the pale light of the evening. Well, he was allowed to dream. That's when he saw the tiniest splash ahead of him; it was biting! There was a fish! You wouldn't think it to look at him, but the old man had amazing reflexes for a guy his age, and soon enough, after a long time spent dashing around his boat as the fish pulled him to and fro, he pulled the giant onto his boat, rocking it as it flopped around on the deck.
After delivering flurry of strikes with his oar, the fish soon gave in, leaving the man gasping for breath as he collapsed down next to his meal, which, while it wasn't as big as he'd hoped, would still put a smile on his wife's face - although she probably wouldn't be smiling after hours of de-scaling, filleting and cooking the damn thing.
Satisfied nonetheless, the man was about to turn back home before the strangest of places caught his eye. A great island, the likes of which he'd never seen before, sat right in front of him, like it had been there the entire time and somehow he'd just... missed it? No, that couldn't be right, he knew these seas like the back of his hand. He'd been born here, for goodness' sake. So how could an island just appear? He didn't have an answer, but his reaction to what he could see was more than appropriate. His eyes began to tear as he witnessed two girls begin to rob what looked to be a blind child, their own age! They even had guns. No-one from his village had guns, not one person, and yet here were some evil, spiteful children robbing each other at gunpoint!
A chill ran down his spine, and he was ready to call out to them, to tell them to stop, when as quickly as it had appeared, the island vanished, without a single, solitary trace.
The man blinked a couple of times, the previous tears falling away without a thought, and he turned back to the fish sitting silently in his boat.
"Oh! Well now, there's something to show the missus!"
And with a chuckle, he rowed the long stretch home, the image of the island never haunting him again.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER ELEVEN: LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REST
THE SETTLEMENTJUNE 23, 2010: 17:18
Enter Subject C15, Connor Bromwell
CRACK
Connor stumbled as the door swung open, the doorknob broken and nearly falling out. He quickly caught himself on the door frame and composed himself. He peered into the darkness of the hallway, waiting silently for any sounds. After a full minute, he stepped inside.
It was brighter in the house than he expected, the windows letting in the light well. He did a quick search of the house, looking in the bathroom, bedrooms (one master and a smaller one, looking like it was a child's room), kitchen, and living room. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he sunk down onto the dusty couch in the living room with a sigh.
He sat there for almost five minutes, just waiting until his headache passed. It had dulled since the encounter with the girl with the freaky voice, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing her again. Then, his stomach growled loudly. He winced at the sound, wondering if it was an animal. Well, I did puke up almost everything in my stomach. He opened the bag and pulled out the tinned peaches and the water.
Pulling the tab on the peaches, he looked in the bag for a fork or something. Finding none, he just used his fingers. After finishing the peaches and taking a few sips of water, he leaned his back on the couch. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of something digging into the small of his back. He reached behind him and pulled the gun from his jeans, setting it on the couch, barrel away from himself. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, focusing on trying to clear his aching head.
Enter Subject C04, Otis Adelaide
That was, without a doubt in his mind, the single worst hour of Otis' life. Not only had he realized just how dangerous the game could be, but he wasted every last one of his bullets too, leaving him with nothing more than the combat knife to protect himself against any other psychos on the island. And boy was he was pissed.
How could he fall for such an obvious trick? The guy was clearly insane, and what did he do? Oh, that's right - he let his guard down. One second, that was all it took for him to lose, and by now he'd suffered the consequences dearly. His throat coarse from screaming and his vision still blurred, his brain pounding on the walls of his head and his body visibly shaking, he looked as though he was on the receiving end of the world's biggest hangover, and it didn't seem as though he had any cure. Which, incidentally, is what he'd been searching for ever since he crawled his way out of the holding cells. Stumbling across an unknown tropical island isn't the best way of going about it, but he was still reeling from the effects of the venom and he needed to find someone or something to help him recover. It hadn't occurred to him, however, to check his first aid kit, which sat deep at the bottom of his daypack, but even if it had, there wouldn't be anything in there to make him see any better.
Grunting as his feet knocked themselves on the ground as he unevenly stepped, he noticed the grass becoming shorter and shorter, until he thought he could make out tyre tracks in the dirt below. They were faded and worn, yeah, but they were right there in front of him, leading him gratefully along the hillside. At last, some good fuckin' luck. He almost chuckled to himself, but instead his throat decided to remind him of just how bad a shape it was in right now by letting him cough up heavily, his voice rasping as he tried to hold it back. Far be it to let a cough bring him down, he soldiered on, following the tracks closely as they snaked up ahead of him while his vision gradually began to clear.
And then he saw it. An entire block of houses, all spread around the imposing manor house in the centre. Squinting hard at the sight, he continued forwards, pressing on intently now he had some place to go. But it was now that he started to question the island, and why there were houses at all. Who could possibly be living here now, especially with all of this going on around them? Maybe they were part of it, the wizards behind the emerald curtain. Maybe they had no idea any of this was even happening, and they sat contently in their living rooms, eating TV dinners while watching the latest re-runs of some- no, no, no, that didn't make any kind of sense, even to Otis. Making his way down the sudden slope in the hill, he managed to avoid tumbling down into the settlement long enough to get his bearings.
The nearest house looked ready to collapse, and the next ones along had their doors wide open, as though someone had been here recently. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he then took a second scan of the area as his vision slowly returned to its proper condition and he understood where it was that he had found himself. The tyre tracks that he had been following veered off in the direction of the barren field behind the manor house, and he stood alone outside the most dilapidated building; his daypack hanging loosely off the edges of his shoulders. All he needed was somewhere to crash for a few hours until he felt better, but he had a horrible feeling, right in the pit of his stomach, that someone was close by.
Connor
Connor opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the house he was resting in. Shit. Fuck. I fell asleep. He quickly got up and did a quick scan of the room, turning his head to the right and doing a 360 degree turn. Seeing the room empty, he zipped up the bag and picked up the gun, keeping a hold of it, unaware of the safety still being on.
He slowly creeped through of the house, looking around every corner and in every doorway, until he reached the door. He stood for a moment, thinking. If anyone's waiting for me, the would assume I would leave using the front door. I doubt that there will be any alliances, and one person can't guard two entrances. He turned around and proceeded to walk to the back of the house, the kitchen, and unlatch the screen door, opening it slowly. He winced at the creaking of the old, unused hinges.
Connor walked around to the right side of the house, hoping he could get the drop on any potential threat. He slowed to a crawl and crouched, keeping his steps far apart to silence his steps as best as he could. Once he got to the corner connecting the right side of the house to the entrance side, He readied his gun, and jumped out, turning to face whoever may be there.
He was greeted with nothing. No gasp of surprise, and no sudden gunshots in retaliation. He breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled, thinking himself foolish for such stupid paranoia. He chuckled and turned around.
Only to catch sight of a young man standing in front of the house beside him.
Otis
Otis eyed the house in front of him suspiciously, trying to get a good look through the filthy windows in case somebody was watching him. However, he soon stopped what he was doing when he heard someone burst out of the next building, chuckling to themselves before going completely silent. It made his next move instinctive - he turned fast on his heel, pulling the gun out of his shorts before raising straight up at the stranger's face. "Who the fuck are you?!" He shouted, though his voice quivered at the end of his question since he knew that his gun wasn't providing the same kind of security as it did before, because now it was completely empty. Still, this guy wasn't to know, and as long as he played it cool, he wouldn't get the chance to find out.
Standing there with his gun outstretched, he realized how ill the boy looked; a little groggy too, like he'd just woken up. Maybe he started here in the settlement? No, that didn't explain the vomit spatters over his clothes, nor did it explain why he was so jumpy. Something must've spooked him, he figured, never once thinking that maybe it was he that had done so. A little reassured, he lowered the gun just a little, though still kept it raised since the other had one of his own. Would he use it though? That was the question he wanted to find an answer to. If he tried to start a fire-fight, Otis would have no way of defending himself at this range. Slowly, he took a step forward, keeping his eyes locked on the boy as his mind wondered whether or not he'd have time to pull the knife out of his bag if anything happened.
He didn't want to have to kill this guy, but if he pulled something like that Spaniard did back at the cells, he wouldn't even hesitate this time. Ugh, just thinking about that guy's face worked him up. Next time, he promised himself, I'll tear off that fucker's head. I swear it. Feeling his anger slowly rise, he took a deep, loud breath which he used as a way of calming himself down, even though he knew it had never worked before. That said, anything was worth a go right now, especially as he stood on the middle of a deserted island with a useless weapon aimed squarely at another kid his age, who, just like himself, probably had some kind of "mutation" which meant he wasn't just any other kid his age after all. No, by the looks of the scars on his face, this guy could probably kill him too, given the chance.
Connor
Connor's eyes widened in fright as he saw the man pull a gun from his shorts, pointing it directly at him. A shaking shout, asking for his name, reached his ears. He lifted his arm, gun in hand, and pointed it directly to the figure opposite of him. He tried as calmly as he could to steady his hand. "My name's... Greg," he lied, realizing it wouldn't be smart to give away his real name, at least not right away, "And who the fuck are you?"
He observed the man before him. He looked like he had been rolling around on a filthy floor. His white muscle shirt was stained, and he smelled the stench of sweat on him. He tightened his grip on his gun and narrowed his eyes, trying to quell the sense of fear in the pit of his stomach. Everyone has powers here, but he didn't know who had what. Who knew what this guy had? Fire breath, lie detector, fucking Spider Sense, or anything else. Best not to take his chances, he thought.
Otis
Fuck! Man, everybody's packin' here! What do I do now?! When Otis saw the guy aim his gun right back at him, he began to shake uncontrollably as his nerves got the better of him. It didn't help that he could feel his eyes scanning every inch of his body, like he was looking for the best place to shoot him, and so his knees began to buckle slightly, feeling weak under the pressure of facing someone unarmed. He wasn't ready for this shit again, not this soon. He hadn't even had time to rest yet, let alone find something better to defend himself with, yet here he was, standing barrel to barrel with another guy he didn't even know and he knew one of them had to die.
Greg, he said his name was. Alright then, that makes things a little easier. Know your enemy and all that. Yeah, Greg. You're gonna have to die now, Greg. Somehow, at least. Somehow, Greg had to be the one to die, not him. Not Otis. Not Otis fucking Adelaide.
Squeezing down on the trigger of his gun, his face began to contort with a look of anger and disgust. "You're never gonna get to say my name, so I'm not gonna bother tellin' it. You got that?" He knew what had to be done, but still he lingered, watching the guy carefully. It's not like he could've shot him there and then, he didn't have the ammo. So what could he do? Stab him? No, he'd have to root through his whole bag just to find it first, and by then he'd have a brand new hole where his heart used to be. If he didn't think of something soon, his game would be over. And that was something wasn't ready to see.
Connor
"You're never gonna get to say my name, so I'm not gonna bother tellin' it. You got that?"
The young man's threat caused Connor's brow to furrow. This stupid prick is pretty full of himself, he thought. His grip tightened on the gun, and a smirk lifted itself from his mouth, "You seem pretty confident for a guy that looks like he was rolling around in a dirty closet. I'm guessing your super-power is being a dick, then?"
He raised his gun a little higher, aiming at the boy's throat. I'll blow his vocal cords right out. And afterwards, I'll find that little bitch and give her the same treatment. A cold sweat broke out over his body, They're all out to get me. Every one of them. This asshole, that stupid little banshee, everyone! If I don't kill them first, who will? I need to be the best. No mercy. What is best in life, Conan?
He focused down the sight of the gun, steadying it with both hands, "To crush your enemies," he said, and pulled the trigger.
The trigger wouldn't budge.
Enter Subject C17, Cristo Ruiz
Cristo looked around him, and saw what he had expected from the map: six small cottages, all ranging around one enormous manor house... someone pretty rich had lived there once, Cristo knew. Again, he got that feeling he had gotten in the church and the holding cells... who were these people who had lived here? How long ago had they gone? Why had they gone? The thought of it was enough to make Cristo shiver... he suspected the inhabitants had most likely left in body bags.
He turned around, and saw Iris standing behind him- she had followed him, of course. She had walked with him, trusting in him to find somewhere safe for him to take them. He had a very good view of her now, and he liked what he saw. She wasn't what would be considered traditionally beautiful, but she did have a very cute, sweet hometown girl look to her. It was a casual, unrefined look, and that made it all the better to Cristo. He was sick of the girls he usually saw, decked out in make up and the finest clothes that they could buy. He smiled at her, and this, contrary to his others, was a real smile. He... he could actually grow to like her. Perhaps in the real world he could. ...But not on this island.
As he thought this, he heard the voices. A shouted threat, a deep, arrogant voice speaking it. The voice sounded familiar... Cristo tried to put a face to it, when it suddenly clicked. Otis. Otis motherfucking Adelaide. It's a small world after all- or perhaps, even better, it's a small island? His own terrible joke almost made him laugh, laugh hysterically, but Cristo held it in. This would be no point to start laughing now. He could take care of Otis, and whoever Otis was fighting with, right now. He placed a hand on his gun, and switched the safety off. First, though, he'd have to have Iris go somewhere safe, somewhere where she couldn't see what would happen.
"Iris" He spoke softly, but with a serious edge to his voice. "Iris, it's him- it's the kid who attacked me. He's here... and he's fighting someone. I need you to go somewhere safe, hide somewhere." Cristo gestured with his free hand, pointing at the manor house. "I'm going to figure out what's going on- if the kid who attacked me is trying to hurt someone else, that person needs my help. He probably has no idea what he's dealing with, and I- I can't just leave him on his own to deal with that. But, I can't risk having you hurt- go to the house, get in there, and wait for me. If I'm not back in ten minutes, find somewhere to hide in the house, and make sure you have your gun, and the safety is off."
"But, it's not gonna come to that- I'm just gonna help this kid, and then I'll come back to you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, we'll find a way off this island." He spoke in careful, calm but caring tones. "Go there now- go fast, and don't look back."
With that, Cristo turned away from Iris, and pulled his gun out of his pocket. He began to advance towards the sounds of the voices, and he felt the now familiar other side of him beginning to rise. It was a side of him he was beginning to know now, a side that wanted to kill, that perhaps had been waiting to do it all the time. He was going to teach Otis a lesson, and if the other kid decided to interfere, the kid he was arguing with... well, Cristo had enough bullets for both of them. More than enough.
Enter Subject C02,Iris Landon
Battle Creek rarely had many large estates. There was just one, and to call it an estate would be an insult to all estates. It was but a large orange building that sat on the outskirts of town, owned by a man from a large city, the name of which Iris had forgotten long ago. She had only visited the estate once, when her father had business to take care of. It was a nice place, the sort of home she wished to live in one day. Iris used to dream about these sort of places, though she had never particularly hoped to become a rich girl. Iris never cared for money. She always thought money caused more harm than good, it's why she never went out shopping in the few shops in her town. Even so, she wanted a big house one day. And a husband.
Even though she was going to die, at least part of her dream came true. Iris's eyes twinkled as she stared at the large house in front of her, looking like a curious child. This was bigger than any place she had ever been too and she lived on a farm! It had never occurred to her that the people who owned this very settlement could have been killed and disposed of, but then again Iris never thought of terrible things like that. She had been following after Cristo eagerly with lack of anything better to do. It sounded like a smart idea in her head - follow the strong guy. He was attractive and it looked like he was attracted to her, and despite that he seemed to be the kind of guy who would protect her. Iris felt bad about leaving Holly back at the church, but she didn't regret a single thing.
Cristo stopped. Iris peeled back as well, a little confused. She could hear some voices but she was far back, far enough where she couldn't hear anything they were saying. Cristo started to speak, telling her to go hide in the Manor. The boy he had been talking about hours before was just around the corner. Iris took what he said at face value and didn't bother questioning him. At this point, she'd do pretty much whatever he wanted. Iris could make decisions for herself but frankly latching onto Cristo had been her way of coping.
"Al'ight." Iris caved, her hand reaching into her pocket. "B-Be careful hun. I don' want yah doin' anythin' that might be rash, 'kay?"
Iris could trust many people... And Cristo seemed nice... but she didn't know. She did as she was told though because she didn't want any trouble. Iris wanted to kiss Cristo, oh how she wanted to, but she forced herself to turn around and wander towards the Manor.
Iris opened the door to the Manor and was greeted with a loud creak from the door's hinges. It sounded straight out of one of those haunted house movies. It made Iris shiver. She peeked her head inside. The whole place looked very old though not a single cobweb or speck of dust littered the place, which seemed a bit odd. She closed the door behind her and found very quickly that there was little sunlight coming into the main room, so the place literally grew dark just as she closed the door. Iris turned around quickly and flicked the lightswitch on. Strange. The church didn't have any lights. Iris figured that the church would definitely have lights, but that train of thought quickly evaporated. As she fished into her pocket and pushed the safety of her gun off, she noticed something.
Where was her locket?
Her blood froze. Oh god no. The locket. HER locket was gone. She checked the pocket that she always put it in and found nothing. Then she remembered. Holly had held onto it for her. Iris remembered clearly - she gave it to Holly to hold onto while they moved the pew in the church. Iris wandered over to the chesterfield that stuck out on the left side of the room and plopped onto it forcefully.
"Okay," Iris cradled her hands under her arms. She wiggled further and further into the chesterfield. The old thing was so soft, it made her drowsy. "Okay Iris, calm down. Holly still has it. Ain't nothin' to worry 'bout."
This was the first time Iris had realized the true reality of the little game she was in. She wondered... what if Holly was dead? She couldn't be dead, no way. Iris had just seen Holly only hours before! She seemed like a reliable girl, she would survive! And she still had the locket. Everything would be fine. The damage had been done though. Now that she thought about Holly dying, she thought about whether or not Cristo was dead. Her mind began to wander, thinking about death all the while. So many people would be dead. There was only supposed to be one survivor. And then she came to the one she subject she had been trying so hard to avoid - herself. Dead, lying in a ditch. Bleeding. In pain.
She looked down at the gun in her hand. Iris went hunting before, sure, but it wasn't like she was a master shot. She had no training whatsoever to kill anyone. And Cristo he... he was in such good shape he could easily snap her neck in two. And this black kid he had been talking about so freely seemed much more eager to kill than Iris was... The odds seemed very low on her survival.
That was when the tears started coming.
No matter how much she tried to tell herself, how she tried to force herself to stop, the tears were pouring out again. She sniffed, her sobs echoing from inside of the manor. Knowing that telling herself to stop wasn't helping at all, she quit and just let it all out. This wasn't like before, where she was crying like a little kid. This was a violent storm that quaked her body something awful. She curled up into a ball on the couch, wrapping her hands around her legs. Her life, her whole world was crumbling before her eyes. She wasn't sure what she was going to do.
Time passed.
Otis
There came no sound. No gunshot, no explosion, no pain. Only silence. Otis stood frozen to the spot, eyelids tightly shut with his arms in front of his face. His heart had stopped momentarily as he prepared himself to die, when suddenly a realization crystallized inside his head. That fucker had left the safety on.
"You... you tried to kill me?"
His eyes widened.
"You tried to kill me?!"
Relentless fury boiling away beneath his skin, he leapt, gun first, at his would-be killer, and launched his weapon straight into Connor's jaw. The attack sent them both spiralling to the ground, whereupon the two wrestled for a good few minutes or so, trading blows and pained cries before Connor found himself overwhelmed by the raw power of the guy he'd just tried to murder. Pinning him down onto the ground with his legs, Otis struck Connor's face again and again with the handle of his gun, blood spraying across their clothes as he continued to pummel the living daylights out of him.
"You tried to kill me, motherfucker?! You tried to kill an Adelaide?! You don't know shit, boy! You don't know shit!"
Discarding his gun out of dissatisfaction, he then struck Connor's face a final time with his fist, triggering his "ability".
Seeing Otis suddenly fall into a catatonic state, unaware of what just happened, he used this opportunity to heave the guy off his chest, breathing quickly as his lungs hungrily gulped down the air around him. Quickly getting to his feet, he kept his gun aimed at the boy, wincing as he wiped the blood from his face with his free hand. A sigh of relief followed shortly as his eyes caught hold of the weapon that had been discarded just moments ago, nestled beneath a tiny patch of weeds, and he made his way cautiously past the awakening body, who was now trying his best to get to grips with the things he'd just seen.
Placing his own gun carefully back into his trousers, he gingerly picked up Otis' and aimed it down at it's owner, unaware of the empty magazine within. In the meantime, the Miami kid was beginning to stand up, still clinging on to his hopes of making it off the island in one piece even though he now stood completely defenceless, save for the knife which was tucked deep down in his daypack. Glancing up at Connor, he saw the look of triumph in his face as he raised the weapon in accordance to Otis' height.
"So... it's like that, huh? You gonna shoot again? You a big man now? S'that it?"
Looking up at Connor's face, he could tell what was going to happen next, as they stood a few good feet away from each other; one defenceless and a little groggy, the other one holding his own gun up at him oblivious to the guy coming down the hill behind him.
Connor
Connor moved his head, cracking it. Pain swelled on the side of his face, beginning to throb. His eyes narrowed, looking down at the prone, defenseless man down the barrel of the handgun . A smirk crossed his mouth, a throaty chuckle raising from his throat.
"Now, Mister Adelaide, was it? Yes, I was planning on shooting you. Someone needs to die here, and I'm the one with the gun. I don't give a shit if you just had a seizure or whatever, all I want to do right now is blow your fucking brains out all over the goddamn ground. And, in all honesty, I'm going to enjoy it, you fucking bitch. I'm going to enjoy watching your body twitch on the ground, I'm going to enjoy taking your food and water, I'm going to enjoy finding the rest of the fuckers on this goddamn rock, and killing them, too. And when I find that bitch with the banshee wail, I'm going to tell her the same thing I'm going to tell you. You do NOT fuck with CONAN!"
Punctuating his final word, he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into Otis' head. Except...
Click.
Click. Click.
clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick
"Son of a FUCKING WHORE!" Connor screamed, throwing the pistol to the ground. He stomped on it a few times, his rage making him oblivious of his surroundings.
Otis
Opening his eyes once more, he could feel his anger flooding out of his body as the guy stood there, like an idiot, pulling the trigger on a gun that wasn't even loaded. He'd fallen for it.
"Hah... haha... ahahahaHAHAHA!!"
Otis couldn't control himself; all the fear he'd had about Connor beforehand had been thrown away as soon as the guy started jumping on his gun like a madman. Which, funnily enough, was how they both looked right now - like madmen. Laughing out of sheer relief, he decided it'd be much better to leave the poor guy to his own devices than to kill someone so pathetic out of cold blood.
"Hah... hah... oh man, you're so... ahaha! Oh, man! You're such a fag, man. Such a - hah! - such a damn fag."
Slinging his bag over his shoulder while catching the last of his breath, he wandered away from the boy, chuckling heartily to himself as the whole scenario played back in his head. He'd gotten so worked up over that guy 'cause he'd tried to kill him, when in all honesty, it looked like he couldn't even work a fucking gun.
"Ohhh man, that was good. Ahahahaha..."
Exit Subject C04, Otis Adelaide
Enter Subject C09, Holly Chapman
Well... this just keeps getting weirder and weirder...
Holly stood outside, leaning her back against one of the cottages, just in between the space of it and another one. She had found Iris and Cristo for while, and although she tried her best to follow them, attempting to not make any noise or let herself be known, she eventually lost them again, much to her disappointment. As of right now, she appeared to be in some sort of settlement.
The sheer emptiness of the place, to be honest, was starting to freak her out. It reminded her of those horror movies, where everyone was dead and the only people left were zombies and deranged survivors. In fact, it made Holly wonder; what did happen to the people that lived here? Did they move away, or did those people... you know? To be honest, she did not want to know the answer to that question. But, then she wondered if anyone else who had been abducted was already dead. If she opened the door to one of these cottages or that huge manor, would she find a dead body? What then?
To be honest, now that she thought of it, Holly was not sure she could bring herself to kill. To her, before those people got their hands on her, murder was what she heard about in the papers, where some hooligan would stab another and end up in jail. Holly had spent much of her life not only in the city, but in a major one, so such reports were common. But, she had always brushed it off, thinking that she would never do such a thing, or experience such close proximity to becoming a victim. But, here she was, stuck on a deserted hellhole, with people who would love to kill her. One thing that horrified her, though, was when she realized that if things went on further in the church, she would have probably shot Cristo or that other kid. Some part of her mind was aware of this when she was there, pointing a gun at them, but that instinct was barely there, as if fear had almost drowned everything else out. If she had shot someone, what then? She would be a murderer. Holly had to live, sure, but it was not as if she was lining up to kill someone.
To make matters worse, there was the fact that she was able to lift an entire pew by herself. If she had such freakish strength, killing would be a lot easier. What if she just playfully hit someone, and then-
Well, actually, it was not a good idea to mope about it right now. It was a useful ability, and frankly, it could be worse. She had absolutely no clue why someone had to be put in a scuba suit or whatever that was, if she even remembered it correctly, but whatever it was, it was probably something bad. Poisonous skin perhaps, or maybe invisibility all the time, both of which would suck. But, the point remained; super strength was a good thing to have right now. At least it could help if she had to block something off.
Right now, she had two things on her mind, namely 1, survive, and 2, find Iris and Cristo. After all, Cristo was the type who, as far as she could tell, do any number of things. And, well, Iris did not deserve to be killed. She was not very bright (at least, according to Holly), but it was not as if she needed to be lead astray by some bastard and have some sort of horrible death. Multiple images passed through Holly's head on what Cristo could possibly be doing to her at this moment. Iris being shot point-blank... Iris being burnt to death by laser eyes... Iris sliced open with a combat knife and gutted like a fish... Iris set on fire... Holly's fist clenched at the mental images. She better find her fast, or else any one of those things or more could happen to her.
But, Holly had to admit something. Though she was only now just getting tired from all that walking she did, she was... well, she was kind of thirsty, now that she thought of it. She scooped down to her bag on the ground, and unzipped it as gently as she could, in fear she would accidentally tear it apart. After rummaging through it a bit, she found a water bottle, and reached for it. Just before her fingers touched it, though, she noticed a small slip of paper. Holly lifted it from the bag, and with groggy eyes, found it simply said "Solar Strength". What the hell was that supposed to mean? Her closest guess was that it had something to do with her newfound strength, but to be honest, she thought that they were just trying to fuck with her, and anyone else who had received such a thing. Sighing to herself, she tossed the paper back into the bag, and grabbed the water bottle, placing it to her lips once she unscrewed it.
Yes... it feels like I haven't had this shit in a while.
However, her water-induced bliss was quickly interrupted by the sound of shouting. Holly jumped at the sound, spilling a bit of water on her shirt. She could not make out what they were saying, but she could guess that it was not very good. In fact, it sounded downright threatening. Holly froze like a rabbit, trying to keep still. The only thing she could make out was one of the participants shouting You do NOT fuck with CONAN!" or some shit. A few noises of things being moved around, and...
Then, even from where she was standing, she could hear... laughter. It was not pleasant laughter, though. It was like the ones in movies that villains or your local crazy would make if something went right for them. But, somehow it was even worse. It brought chills down Holly's spine.
The second person, that was currently laughing, was now insulting the 'Conan' person, and continued to laugh.
Holly felt herself shaking. Oh god... people like that were nearby. She remembered that everyone would be fighting to live, but now that she was now witnessing it... oh god. They really were killing each other out there. People were indeed playing. Some of them might even enjoy it, based on the fact that she heard laughter. What if the one guy currently laughing had killed the other dude? What then?
Holly placed the water bottle back in her bag, and took out her gun, just in case. Even though the last time she held it in her hand she ended up frightening everyone, including herself, it was not as if she wanted to die. At most, she would wave it around, act like she would, but she would not. In other words, be all talk. Just scare them off, see if they would leave her alone.
Gun in hand, Holly wandered slowly to the front, her heart beating. She pictured the owners of the voices to be mostly animalistic, without a trace of human in them. Once she stepped out, just a few feet where she was before, and saw that she could see no one. Holly guessed it was in one of the houses directly across from the one closest to her.
"Hello?" she shouted out, but quickly covered her mouth with her free arm. She did not want to draw any attention to herself, at all. After all, it was shown that the owners of the voices were batshit.
After taking a few more steps, she saw a familiar face; Cristo, walking towards what Holly would have guessed to be the source of the sounds. She quickly backed off a few steps, hoping he did not notice or hear her. He probably was not one of the arguers, but she really did not want him to know that she was there. But it raised the question; where was Iris? The mental images from before popped into her head for a few seconds, but Holly quickly shrugged it off, hoping that she was all right. But, she still didn't want to get on Cristo's bad side again.
She quickly decided that once she was sure Cristo or the arguers did not see her, she would make a bolt for it. Where to, though? Perhaps one of the cottages, or the manor?
Connor
After a bit, Connor stopped himself. HE looked down at the dirt-covered gun on the ground, a look of fury on his face. Fucker tricked me, he thought grimly, fucking made a fool of me. He picked up the gun, pulling his knife out of his boot while he was bent over. He stuck the gun into the back of his jeans, after wiping some dirt off it. Easy fix, though. I just hunt him down, slit his fucking throat, and take his bullets. Easy as one-two-three. He looked at the footprints left, smirking to himself, "The hunt begins," he muttered to himself.
He thought for a moment, He'll be expecting me to follow his footprints. She's probably gonna set a trap or some shit. I should just leave him for now, and find someone weaker. I'll take him when I have more firepower. He chuckled, thinking himself oh-so-smart. He took a left from the footprints, leaving the settlement behind. He turned a corner of the house.
And ran right into another boy.
Cristo
"SON OF A FUCKING WHORE!"
That kind of phrase, said as loud as the other boy said it, seemed to cut through the air. There were sounds of a struggle, a tantrum by one of the boys, and then he heard one of them run off. Judging from the fact that Cristo could no longer hear Otis, he was guessing that the only boy left over there was the one Otis had been fighting. How had this happened...? If Otis had been able to escape, that meant that the boy hadn't been able to kill him. And if he couldn't kill Otis, the bumbling fool that he was, he'd have no chance against Cristo. So, Cristo slowly advanced towards where he had heard them, gun pointed out in front of him, ready to fire if neccesary. Advancing slowly... slowly...
CRASH
...
BANG
Cristo didn't recognize the boy in front of him. It was someone he didn't know, someone about his age, and they hadn't even spoke one word. (The gun's hot- the gun's so hot) Maybe he had looked frightening before, an intimidating, agressive boy, but there was nothing of that left now. There was just a look of horror to his face, hidden under a mask of pain. (He's bleeding everywhere its all over his shirt its pouring out there's more and more of it it won't stop WHY WON'T IT STOP?!) The boy could have been any one of Cristo's friends back in NY- just a normal teenager. He would have said just like Cristo, but... Cristo was different.
Cristo was different in a lot of ways, wasn't he? He was a model. He was a smart young boy. He was a charmer, and a nice guy. But most importantly, the voice reminded him, plunging him deeper, he knew what it took to survive. He would can't stop thinking about it get off the island at any cost. He was he had a survivalist, blood on him, there was he was someone who blood on his hands, oh god there was blood on his face would do what he needed to to survive it feels sticky, sticky and warm, it feels like a hot bath, he had made that bed he needed to get it off and now he had to lie in it right, lying in blood someone get it off he had shot him there was blood everywhere I NEED IT OFF he was a murderer and he felt disgusted good terrible right at home like he couldn't STOP HIMSELF
Cristo screamed, and did the only thing that he could think of. He raised the gun to point at the boy's chest, and he fired. His head had hurt, there had been a wash of conscience, of guilt, of ideas. But when he raised the gun, and he fired, when he kept firing until he had only nine bullets left, when his sense finally come back to him, there was none of that. So he fired, and he fired, and somewhere in the back of Cristo's mind, an essential part of machinery, something that perhaps maintained what modern people would call his "moral compass", broke. It had already been under pressure, and now, it snapped. It broke, and a smile broke on Cristo's face, and the gun fired, and the blood covered his face and hands, and Cristo felt happy. Things were so much simpler this way.
Connor
It hurt. A lot. His chest hurt. His head hurt. His arms, legs, all the way to his fingers and toes, hurt. It was as if every nerve in his body combusted at once. He sunk to his knees, slamming down heavily. Blood poured from the torn holes in his body, staining the dirt red. Blood began to seep through the corners of his mouth.
Connor looked at the boy above him, whose smile raised the corner of his blood-speckled lips. He tried to move towards him, reaching his hand out. His legs not responding to his will, he fell onto his face, his blood-tipped fingers reaching the toe of the boy's boot. He coughed into the dirt. "T-t-too mu-uu-uch..." he groaned, as he drew his last breath.
And with that, Connor was dead.
SUBJECT C15, CONNOR BROMWELL: ELIMINATED
18 SUBJECTS REMAIN
18 SUBJECTS REMAIN
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Holly
Holly rubbed her eyes, starting to feel a little more tired. But, none the less, some part of her wanted to continue watching from the angle she was at. But, to be honest, it wasn't a good angle for her to see everything. She could barely see Cristo himself, for example. It was sick, and Holly knew she must run. But she could not run, as if she was frozen in fear.
And then, she heard it. It sounded almost like fireworks, but Holly knew what exactly it was. Gunshots. A gunfight was starting. It was not like back at the church, where there was just the threat. Oh no. This was the real deal. Holly's heart raced faster. Oh god... even though it was not that close, her ears were ringing! And... somebody was getting killed!
Holly, get out of there! NOW!, she thought.
At that moment, she quickly ran over to the bag currently on the ground. However, she stumbled, and noticed an ache all over her body as her knees hit the ground. However, she mostly ignored it, and, once she got herself off the ground quickly, she gently put her gun in and grabbed her bag with some difficulty. It was as if it had gained weight while she was standing there. That was not possible, though, right?
Oh FUCK this shit is heavy but I must not think about that now! I'm gonna die!
And so, she burst out of her hiding place, running. Well, running and stumbling more like it. Her body was clearly tired, as if all that walking she did had managed to catch up on her. As she ran as far away from the sound of the gunshots as possible, she eventually tripped and fell again, spilling the contents of open her bag very loudly.
Oh FUCK no.
Her stomach and face were placed against the ground, as she heard a can of peaches roll past her head. Her right arm rested on the now almost empty bag, as the strap did not slip over her shoulder. Holly lifted her head, and noticed quickly that it was getting close to nightfall. Great, not only did she have to get away, but now she had to find shelter. Holly attempted to lift herself off the ground a second time, but everything ached. It was as if she had spent a long day both in the garage and practicing karate, sun up to sun down. Literally everything ached, and it did not help that her ears were still ringing from the sound of the gunshots. Oh god... the aching! The ringing! Some part of her just wanted to lay there, just to rest until this shit blows over.
Holly, get up.
She told her body to lift itself off the ground, but she was only able to lift herself a little bit.
Just get UP. You're going to get fucking killed here!
Holly managed to lift herself off the ground using her arms, though just barely. Her breaths came out in hoarse gasps, as she tried to get more air. Oh god, she had to move it right now!
She quickly reached to grab the can of peaches just nearby her head. Oh god, she had to put everything back before it was too late! Hurry hurry! Someone might come in and do something! After a few seconds, she had almost everything put back where it belonged.
Come on... just put them all back, and she could run into a house... get away from the psychos.... get some rest... she had to live for fuck's sake! She did not care whether or not the aching that was coming up in her bones was being a bitch! Sure, she was having trouble staying awake, of course. But... gunshots. It was really a good idea to get a move on, despite the need for rest!
Cristo
"Smile for us, Cristo." The camera flashed, and Cristo smiled. It was a classic pose for him- the regular one he chose for most teen brands. You had to show a cocky, confident guy, an attractive man who you could tell just by looking got what he wanted. That was the main job of modeling- you wanted people to wear the clothing not just because they wanted to look like you, but because they wanted to be you. And that was one of the main appeals of it for Cristo; it was his favorite thing to do, to model. He loved being in that role, the role of the guy that people wanted to be, the person they wished they were.
"What are you doing, Cristo?" This was another voice, and he recognized it even before he looked up. His mother. He saw her, beautiful red dress wrapped around, the beauty she had her in her past barely fading with age. Her eyes had always been what had made her a star- they were commanding eyes, eyes that you couldn't help but look at. A piercing brown, so dark it was almost black, something that just sucked you in and wouldn't let you go. She kept these eyes on him as she spoke, walking closer to Cristo. "You can't be here, Cristo. You're still on that island."
"Your mother's right, Cristo." The scene around him to began to fade, began to blur and darken. The people who had been there before were gone- there was only his mother, and the person who had spoke from behind him. He didn't know he was, that man... but he didn't want to look. For some reason, he refused to look, he knew if he did, he might lose his mind. What was behind him was horrible. So, he looked at the floor instead. It was covered in blood. Blood, and faces. Holly's face. Iris's face. Otis's face.
Cristo screamed, and began to scurry backwards, looking for an exit, some way out of this terrible room. And he backed up straight into the man behind him. His mother smiled, and nodded, and Cristo felt strong hands grip his shoulder, strong hands turning him around. They turned him so he was face to the face with the thing behind him, and Cristo screamed again.
"Don't be such a fucking bitch, Cristo." The thing spoke, and when it did, blood dripped from the sides of its mouth. No... it poured from the side of its mouth, and pooled on to the floor. What the thing had once been was a boy of Cristo's age, a boy Cristo recognized- he had seen it not even an hour ago. But now the thing was a shambling, ruined mockery of its former self, bleeding from wounds in its chest, arms... and its stomach. The stomach was the worst- the bullet hole had expanded to an impossible size, and as Cristo watched, its organs seemed to fall out of its stomach. The stomach just splattered onto the floor, where as the intestines fell slowly, uncoiling like some grotesque, horrific rope.
"You're the one who did this to me, Cristo. You shot me. You killed me. And if you don't kill the rest of the people on this island, you'll be killed. And you'll end up in hell, with me. For all of eternity, Cristo." Then the thing smiled, and Cristo was beyond screaming. Its teeth were slick with blood, and its tongue... its tongue was gone, just a bleeding, gaping hole, and yet it still spoke. "Would you like that, Cristo?!"
"No, no!" Cristo backed up again, and tried to reach for his gun, where he had left it. But there was no gun, and the monster in front of him just kept laughing. Then he felt a stinging slap to the side of his face, and his mother was in front of him, side by side with that thing. She spoke, but now it was not his mother's voice. It was the voice of that inhuman thing inside of him, the thing he'd begun to hear on the island, the thing that wanted to kill, wanted to rip, wanted to tear, the thing that spoke with a grating, deep voice and whose breath smelled of blood and sweat.
"You have to kill them all!" His mother shouted this with her alien voice, and when Cristo tried to run, the dead boy next to her grabbed him, holding him in an iron grip, a grip he had no hope of escaping. "That bastard Otis, the fucking nigger, that bitch Holly, and especially that slut Iris! You think she loves you?! When she found out what you did, she'll kill you! They all will! They'll kill you, and you'll be in this hell forever!"
"I didn't want this!" Otis protested, but the things in front of him wouldn't listen. The dead boy laughed, and his mother kept screaming. "I didn't mean to shoot him! It was an accident!" His mother screamed, the voice telling him he had started this, that he had to finish it. "An accident!"
" A FUCKING ACCIDENT!" Otis screamed this once more, and his eyes opened wide. For a second, he thought he was still in the same room when he didn't recognize his surroundings- quickly, however, where he was came to him. He was in a cottage on the island, sleeping in a bed he had found- and then the words blaring came to him, what had woken him up. It was from the people who had put them there- and it told him that three people had died, including the boy he had killed, a Connor Bromwell. It gave a description of him, roughly- a Latino named Cristo. Nothing else was of much interest, except for a mention of a 'banshee'. Perhaps that was someone's power...?
But regardless, Cristo couldn't go back to Iris right now. She knew he was a killer, and from what he'd seen before, he doubted she'd wake him with open arms. Her and Holly were probably plotting on how to deal with him right now, and Iris probably told her he was in the same area... well, he had to go. He couldn't stay here, if there was a chance they'd come for him. He tried to think about the murder, the killing, and found it was hard for him.
He remembered how it had started- the boy had rounded the corner, bumped into him, and in instinct, Cristo had fired. And he remembered afterwards, mostly- he had been in this cottage, eating the boy- Connor, it's Connor- Connor's bread, and he had drank Connor's water and ate his food. He had drank all of Connors, and he had drank most of his own, but he had refilled it. He had refilled his water, and he had washed the blood off of his body in the sink, but he couldn't get it off of his shirt. Dry, dark red blotches stood out on the blue shirt, a clear sign that he had been the killer.
But in between this- Cristo couldn't really remember the other details. The voice on the speakers had said he had shot him repeatedly, and Cristo didn't remember this at all. The memory was more of a dark red haze, with no details... but Cristo felt like he could remember. If he really wanted to. But a voice spoke from inside of him, telling him that was a bad idea. That what he had apparently forgotten was terrible. That it was something he would never want to remember. But he felt his gun, the comfortable weight on his side, and he felt reassured.
He could get off this island. The way was horrible, yes. It was something that he'd never want to do. But it was something that, the apparitions, as terrible as they were, were right about. He had gone this far, accident or not. It wasn't a path he could return from. And as he thought this, he saw a shape on the floor, a vaguely human shape covered with a white sheet, a sheet that had been stained red. He saw, this, and he vomited.
But only once, and more from the heat, the bad food, and the bad sleep. He knew what he had to do... and what was that quote from Macbeth? Something about how once you're deep in blood, you might as well go for it all, since there's no return. Cristo gathered his supplies, taking a few select items from Connors bag, and he began to head through the door. The island was the island- once he was off of it, he could return to his normal life and put these things behind him. It wasn't the first lie Cristo had ever told himself. But it was the one he wanted the most desperately to believe, and the only one he found he simply couldn't.
Exit Subject C17, Cristo Ruiz
Holly rubbed her eyes, starting to feel a little more tired. But, none the less, some part of her wanted to continue watching from the angle she was at. But, to be honest, it wasn't a good angle for her to see everything. She could barely see Cristo himself, for example. It was sick, and Holly knew she must run. But she could not run, as if she was frozen in fear.
And then, she heard it. It sounded almost like fireworks, but Holly knew what exactly it was. Gunshots. A gunfight was starting. It was not like back at the church, where there was just the threat. Oh no. This was the real deal. Holly's heart raced faster. Oh god... even though it was not that close, her ears were ringing! And... somebody was getting killed!
Holly, get out of there! NOW!, she thought.
At that moment, she quickly ran over to the bag currently on the ground. However, she stumbled, and noticed an ache all over her body as her knees hit the ground. However, she mostly ignored it, and, once she got herself off the ground quickly, she gently put her gun in and grabbed her bag with some difficulty. It was as if it had gained weight while she was standing there. That was not possible, though, right?
Oh FUCK this shit is heavy but I must not think about that now! I'm gonna die!
And so, she burst out of her hiding place, running. Well, running and stumbling more like it. Her body was clearly tired, as if all that walking she did had managed to catch up on her. As she ran as far away from the sound of the gunshots as possible, she eventually tripped and fell again, spilling the contents of open her bag very loudly.
Oh FUCK no.
Her stomach and face were placed against the ground, as she heard a can of peaches roll past her head. Her right arm rested on the now almost empty bag, as the strap did not slip over her shoulder. Holly lifted her head, and noticed quickly that it was getting close to nightfall. Great, not only did she have to get away, but now she had to find shelter. Holly attempted to lift herself off the ground a second time, but everything ached. It was as if she had spent a long day both in the garage and practicing karate, sun up to sun down. Literally everything ached, and it did not help that her ears were still ringing from the sound of the gunshots. Oh god... the aching! The ringing! Some part of her just wanted to lay there, just to rest until this shit blows over.
Holly, get up.
She told her body to lift itself off the ground, but she was only able to lift herself a little bit.
Just get UP. You're going to get fucking killed here!
Holly managed to lift herself off the ground using her arms, though just barely. Her breaths came out in hoarse gasps, as she tried to get more air. Oh god, she had to move it right now!
She quickly reached to grab the can of peaches just nearby her head. Oh god, she had to put everything back before it was too late! Hurry hurry! Someone might come in and do something! After a few seconds, she had almost everything put back where it belonged.
Come on... just put them all back, and she could run into a house... get away from the psychos.... get some rest... she had to live for fuck's sake! She did not care whether or not the aching that was coming up in her bones was being a bitch! Sure, she was having trouble staying awake, of course. But... gunshots. It was really a good idea to get a move on, despite the need for rest!
Cristo
"Smile for us, Cristo." The camera flashed, and Cristo smiled. It was a classic pose for him- the regular one he chose for most teen brands. You had to show a cocky, confident guy, an attractive man who you could tell just by looking got what he wanted. That was the main job of modeling- you wanted people to wear the clothing not just because they wanted to look like you, but because they wanted to be you. And that was one of the main appeals of it for Cristo; it was his favorite thing to do, to model. He loved being in that role, the role of the guy that people wanted to be, the person they wished they were.
"What are you doing, Cristo?" This was another voice, and he recognized it even before he looked up. His mother. He saw her, beautiful red dress wrapped around, the beauty she had her in her past barely fading with age. Her eyes had always been what had made her a star- they were commanding eyes, eyes that you couldn't help but look at. A piercing brown, so dark it was almost black, something that just sucked you in and wouldn't let you go. She kept these eyes on him as she spoke, walking closer to Cristo. "You can't be here, Cristo. You're still on that island."
"Your mother's right, Cristo." The scene around him to began to fade, began to blur and darken. The people who had been there before were gone- there was only his mother, and the person who had spoke from behind him. He didn't know he was, that man... but he didn't want to look. For some reason, he refused to look, he knew if he did, he might lose his mind. What was behind him was horrible. So, he looked at the floor instead. It was covered in blood. Blood, and faces. Holly's face. Iris's face. Otis's face.
Cristo screamed, and began to scurry backwards, looking for an exit, some way out of this terrible room. And he backed up straight into the man behind him. His mother smiled, and nodded, and Cristo felt strong hands grip his shoulder, strong hands turning him around. They turned him so he was face to the face with the thing behind him, and Cristo screamed again.
"Don't be such a fucking bitch, Cristo." The thing spoke, and when it did, blood dripped from the sides of its mouth. No... it poured from the side of its mouth, and pooled on to the floor. What the thing had once been was a boy of Cristo's age, a boy Cristo recognized- he had seen it not even an hour ago. But now the thing was a shambling, ruined mockery of its former self, bleeding from wounds in its chest, arms... and its stomach. The stomach was the worst- the bullet hole had expanded to an impossible size, and as Cristo watched, its organs seemed to fall out of its stomach. The stomach just splattered onto the floor, where as the intestines fell slowly, uncoiling like some grotesque, horrific rope.
"You're the one who did this to me, Cristo. You shot me. You killed me. And if you don't kill the rest of the people on this island, you'll be killed. And you'll end up in hell, with me. For all of eternity, Cristo." Then the thing smiled, and Cristo was beyond screaming. Its teeth were slick with blood, and its tongue... its tongue was gone, just a bleeding, gaping hole, and yet it still spoke. "Would you like that, Cristo?!"
"No, no!" Cristo backed up again, and tried to reach for his gun, where he had left it. But there was no gun, and the monster in front of him just kept laughing. Then he felt a stinging slap to the side of his face, and his mother was in front of him, side by side with that thing. She spoke, but now it was not his mother's voice. It was the voice of that inhuman thing inside of him, the thing he'd begun to hear on the island, the thing that wanted to kill, wanted to rip, wanted to tear, the thing that spoke with a grating, deep voice and whose breath smelled of blood and sweat.
"You have to kill them all!" His mother shouted this with her alien voice, and when Cristo tried to run, the dead boy next to her grabbed him, holding him in an iron grip, a grip he had no hope of escaping. "That bastard Otis, the fucking nigger, that bitch Holly, and especially that slut Iris! You think she loves you?! When she found out what you did, she'll kill you! They all will! They'll kill you, and you'll be in this hell forever!"
"I didn't want this!" Otis protested, but the things in front of him wouldn't listen. The dead boy laughed, and his mother kept screaming. "I didn't mean to shoot him! It was an accident!" His mother screamed, the voice telling him he had started this, that he had to finish it. "An accident!"
" A FUCKING ACCIDENT!" Otis screamed this once more, and his eyes opened wide. For a second, he thought he was still in the same room when he didn't recognize his surroundings- quickly, however, where he was came to him. He was in a cottage on the island, sleeping in a bed he had found- and then the words blaring came to him, what had woken him up. It was from the people who had put them there- and it told him that three people had died, including the boy he had killed, a Connor Bromwell. It gave a description of him, roughly- a Latino named Cristo. Nothing else was of much interest, except for a mention of a 'banshee'. Perhaps that was someone's power...?
But regardless, Cristo couldn't go back to Iris right now. She knew he was a killer, and from what he'd seen before, he doubted she'd wake him with open arms. Her and Holly were probably plotting on how to deal with him right now, and Iris probably told her he was in the same area... well, he had to go. He couldn't stay here, if there was a chance they'd come for him. He tried to think about the murder, the killing, and found it was hard for him.
He remembered how it had started- the boy had rounded the corner, bumped into him, and in instinct, Cristo had fired. And he remembered afterwards, mostly- he had been in this cottage, eating the boy- Connor, it's Connor- Connor's bread, and he had drank Connor's water and ate his food. He had drank all of Connors, and he had drank most of his own, but he had refilled it. He had refilled his water, and he had washed the blood off of his body in the sink, but he couldn't get it off of his shirt. Dry, dark red blotches stood out on the blue shirt, a clear sign that he had been the killer.
But in between this- Cristo couldn't really remember the other details. The voice on the speakers had said he had shot him repeatedly, and Cristo didn't remember this at all. The memory was more of a dark red haze, with no details... but Cristo felt like he could remember. If he really wanted to. But a voice spoke from inside of him, telling him that was a bad idea. That what he had apparently forgotten was terrible. That it was something he would never want to remember. But he felt his gun, the comfortable weight on his side, and he felt reassured.
He could get off this island. The way was horrible, yes. It was something that he'd never want to do. But it was something that, the apparitions, as terrible as they were, were right about. He had gone this far, accident or not. It wasn't a path he could return from. And as he thought this, he saw a shape on the floor, a vaguely human shape covered with a white sheet, a sheet that had been stained red. He saw, this, and he vomited.
But only once, and more from the heat, the bad food, and the bad sleep. He knew what he had to do... and what was that quote from Macbeth? Something about how once you're deep in blood, you might as well go for it all, since there's no return. Cristo gathered his supplies, taking a few select items from Connors bag, and he began to head through the door. The island was the island- once he was off of it, he could return to his normal life and put these things behind him. It wasn't the first lie Cristo had ever told himself. But it was the one he wanted the most desperately to believe, and the only one he found he simply couldn't.
Exit Subject C17, Cristo Ruiz
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER TWELVE: SANCTUARY (OF THE TEMPORARY VARIETY)
THE SHACKJUNE 23, 2010: 19:24
Enter Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
Standing across the water from the shack, looking at it, Samantha didn't know what she felt. Part of it was disappointment, that was for sure. The shack was not in great condition. Parts of the siding were clearly falling off. It looked like it hadn't been maintained since, well, ever. On the other hand, it almost looked nice, in a way. It was inviting in a manner quite unlike the radio tower and the cable car station. They had been slightly ominous, technological reminders of the island's vanished inhabitants, ghosts continuing purposelessly to carry out functions which had not been necessary in ages. The shack looked right for an abandoned island. Its owner could have just gotten up and left one day. It happened all the time. Samantha wouldn't even have been surprised to find animals nesting inside, or maybe a bird's nest.
Better yet, she was going to have to cross the water to reach it. She was a swimmer, and loved the water. It was always there for her, like her music and her jogs, and even though being on the team was stressful sometimes, even though she had to pour so much of herself into just staying on it, because she wasn't a natural, she liked it. She liked it a lot.
So when she kicked off her shoes and tugged off her socks, she was almost gleeful. She stowed them in her bag, and the only thing holding her back from unrestrained enthusiasm was the knowledge that, no matter how much she washed her feet, she would still get a little sand in her socks and it would stay there until she changed them.
...Which, she realized, could be never. She might spend the rest of her life with sandy socks. Fuck.
Couldn't worry about that now, though. She'd have a much better chance of making it out alive if she got into cover, instead of dithering around waiting for somebody on the ball to come shoot her. She hadn't seen anyone at all except Pippi, and she was actually starting to feel a little anxious about that. She almost wanted there to be someone in that shack, not so she could talk or anything, just so that she could be assured that there really were other people in this mess, that she wasn't just wandering around on her own, insane and hallucinating.
She watched the hut, but there was no movement. She'd had a good line of sight on it the whole time as she'd approached, and it was fairly clearly empty. Still, no reason to be dumb. She slipped the pistol and knife from her skirt again. She had taken a moment to cut two parallel slits in her skirt, creating an improvised holder for the knife. It had been a damn shame to wreck one of her nice skirts, but she was not going to let concern for appearances cost her her life, or any advantage in holding onto it. Besides, the skirt still looked pretty good.
She started towards the shack, enjoying the feel of the wet sand squishing between her toes, but not letting it distract her completely. She was alert for danger, ready to react the second something happened. At least, that was what she told herself.
Enter Subject C04, Otis Adelaide
The Miami sun cut cleanly through the blinds in Otis' bedroom, casting the lumpy figure beneath the sheets in a warm, striped glow as he slept soundly through his alarm.
Every minute that my heart pump blood
Fuck what you heard momma raised a fuckin thug
"Otis!"
Money on my mind imagine what's up in the trunk
And it get me to the life of funk driver store's thug
"Otis!"
On the other ridges feelin like a billionaire
A got a couple mill a couple more an I'm really there
"Otis, get the fuck up!"
Haters talk around me fuck em like I really care
When we handle our business sorry they were never there
"Fuck, Dad, what? What? I'm up, I'm up!"
"Damn right you're up, it's a beautiful day."
Otis groaned and pulled the covers back over his head as his father, Kym, drew open the blinds with a great grin on his face.
"Come on, get up boy! We gotta big night tonight and I need you lookin' sharp."
"Unhh, I know, I know, the big night, I hear you."
Shaking his head and laughing, he sat down on the foot of his son's bed, looking around at the state of his room.
"I'm really lookin' forward to hearin' your stuff tonight, you know that?"
Frowning at his silent response, he continued.
"We got a lot ridin' on tonight, a lot of potential clients, a lot of big names, a lot of people interested in the label."
He paused, patting his son's leg through the sheets.
"You do well tonight, could mean big things, you know?"
Assuming he'd gotten through to the boy, he got up and left the room, leaving the door wide open to encourage him into getting up. Pulling back the sheets, Otis looked out of the doorway after his father with nervous eyes.
Big things, huh?
---
The sun was setting by the time he reached the cove, and the scratches on his face and wrist were now covered in a sloppy mess of plasters and gauze which he'd applied sometime after leaving Connor back at the settlement. He could feel himself getting tired as he made his way sluggishly along the shore, his daypack weighing him down as he gradually grew more and more exhausted. After all, he'd been walking around the island non-stop ever since he woke up, not to mention the physical and metal labour he'd gone through after having been in two separate confrontations in the first few hours alone.
The walking had done him a small amount of good though, as it had given him time to think for the first time today about his actual situation, about where he was, why he was even there to begin with, and most of all, how he was going to escape. He didn't have a plan as such, but he had an idea of what he'd have to do next if he wanted to survive. In all honesty, he wasn't looking forward to meeting another person here any time soon, that was certain, but he knew he'd have to eventually, given the number of people here.
As he approached the sandbanks, he noticed the tell-tale signs of a struggle all around him, snapping him out of his thoughts. There were footprints everywhere, and he could see what appeared to be a dried-up puddle of brownish-red just to his left. He wondered for a moment if someone had met their maker already, and how many times today he'd already met his own. Shit, that's a point. He'd almost died today. For the first time in his life he'd been in real, true danger, and that realization struck him harder than any bullet or knife could ever manage to.
Not only had he almost died, but he'd fought back, too. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but he'd actually fought back, and that was something he'd never had to do before. Not once had he been completely alone like this, without any of his friends around to help him, or at the very least, fling insults at the people who'd tried to take him on. What had he been thinking, taking on a guy with a gun like that? What was he thinking when he lowered his gun in front of that fucker, Cristo? What was he doing?
Feeling the lapping of the sea against his legs, he caught on to the fact that he was now wading across to the small shack across the way without any regard for the state his shoes would be in once he stepped onto dry land again. Well, it's not like that was his biggest worry anymore, right? At least in the shack he'd have a chance to lie down, to rest, to eat and maybe there'd be some food in there, that'd be nice. Something other than those nasty tins of peaches, at any rate.
Samantha
As she made her way towards the shack, Samantha found herself frowning. The water was deeper than it had looked. She was maybe a third of the way there, and it was already to her waist. She sighed. Of course something had to ruin her good time with the water. Of fucking course. She knew it would be no problem to swim there. Even with the bag, even in her clothes, it just wasn't far enough to be an issue. The issue came from something entirely different. Her clothes would be completely soaked. Not only that, she was wearing a white blouse. The last thing she wanted was to be the star of a fucking impromptu wet t-shirt contest, and that was the way things were looking.
She paused, unsure of how to handle this. There was no way she was going to be caught with a transparent top. Absolutely no way. She'd lost enough control of her life; she wasn't going to surrender her dignity. The box the first aide kit came in was too small to fit her blouse, even if she scrunched it up. The bag didn't look waterproof, either. Fortunately, it hadn't gotten wet yet.
Samantha opened it up, and inspected the contents. How the fuck was she going to get it all over to the shack without it getting wet? She looked again, judging the distance. It would be tough, but possible, to throw it. Yes, that was what she would have to do. Throw the stuff. Start with the least important thing, to get some practice, and hope she didn't screw up with anything vital, like the gun. Unfortunately, the least important thing was her shirt. With a heavy sigh, Samantha unbuttoned it, tugged it off, and wrapped it around her shoe, giving the whole package some weight. Then, standing in her bra in the cool water, she shivered, and nearly dropped it all. A moment or terror—and the resultant adrenaline—perked her up, as her hands reflexively clenched, holding tight to the clothing.
Damn. This sucked. It was almost enough to make her turn back, but no. No, all these difficulties made the shack a perfect place to wait, a perfect place to hide out for a while. She knew about tides, knew that access would become easier later. She lived in a coastal city, after all. For the moment, though, the shack would be a fortress, surrounded by a natural moat. This would all be worth it.
She took a deep breath to compose herself, then threw the shoe and top with all her might. The unevenly weighted bundle sailed in an arc, then dropped neatly onto the wet sand at the edge of the water. Great. It might end up a little damp, but nothing worse. She wished she had thought of the idea before letting her skirt get completely soaked, but whatever. Served her right for being impulsive. It would dry in time, and it wouldn't show through, just cling, and that wasn't so bad.
Next up, the first aide kit. She folded the map and tucked it into the box, too, then stuffed it in her other shoe. This time, though, things didn't go so well. It splashed down in the shallows about three feet shy of her clothes. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That was not good. She'd have to hurry, now, and hope it hadn't been damaged. The last item, the gun, was just barely above the water line. She'd tucked it back into her skirt without thinking, and had nearly let it get doused. Stupid. So stupid. She closed her eyes, steeling herself, then pulled it out, reengaged the safety, and tossed it. It landed fine. Thank goodness. That all done, Samantha swam out to the piece of land containing the shack. It took her half a minute. As she got out, she checked the first aide kit. The map was water stained, but all the components had been wrapped in plastic to preserve sterility. Good. The map was even still readable.
She immediately retrieved her gun and her clothes, and was just about to put her shirt back on when she realized that doing so would just make it wet. Great. Instead, she carried everything into the shack. The building smelled odd, moldy or something, but that was to be expected given its state of disrepair. There were holes in the walls, and no door. No windows either, which meant no window curtains to use as towels. Ah well. Couldn't win 'em all. She dumped everything inside, not even taking the time to give the room a careful walkthrough. There was clearly nobody inside. There was one corner she couldn't quite make out, with a lumpy bed or something, but it was absolutely still. It could wait. She ducked outside again, and walked around the entire little area. It was all clear. The sun was setting in the west, the world was quiet, and everything, for a time, was peaceful. She could almost imagine she wasn't here, could almost pretend she was on some island getaway or something, wearing a bikini on the beach, spending time with friends. Well, okay, she didn't really have friends, not good ones, but whatever.
The mostly-still water gave her another idea. She went over to it, on the side of the area facing away from the island proper, and looked into the water. Sure enough, her nose was smaller. She looked like she'd aways wanted to. Well, that was nice. At least her power, stupid and agonizing though it was, sort of worked. At least it wasn't like Pippi's tip-everyone-I'm-dealing-with-off-to-my-plans "ability".
Well, she'd tried her power. Sure wasn't going to again, but it was comforting to know it worked. She went and retrieved her wet belongings from the inside of the shack, and laid them out to dry on the sand, again hidden from view of the shore. It wouldn't do to have people notice her. Doing this, she discovered that her socks were waterlogged, as was the loaf of bread. Goddammit. Well, wahtever. People could go over a week without food, right? And she still had the peaches, and had eaten a good dinner yesterday, right?
A little bit reassured, she just stood for a bit. It was getting much cooler, especially since she was still wet. Well, from the waist down. Her torso and bra had dried off by now. After a few minutes, she went back into the shack—still smells, otherwise this place would be nice—and retrieved her blouse. She tugged it on, and was about to button it when she heard a splash.
Oh no. Oh fuck no. She did not need somebody showing up right now. She'd wanted it earlier, sure, but not now. No way. Still, she grabbed her gun and stepped outside, looking towards the shore. She couldn't deny reality for comfort's sake. There was...
There was a good-looking, African American boy. Samantha didn't really like racial stereotyping, but that by no means made her immune to it, and he could almost have been one of the hip hop artists she loved so much. There was just something about him that seemed trustworthy. He could be a rugged hero or something, a bit dangerous, but definitely not a bad guy. Just misunderstood. The sort of person she could see making it out of this place. That wasn't entirely a good thing. She planned to make it out too, and she didn't want to have to fight him. But still... any worries of that sort were a long way off.
"Hello," she called out to him. She didn't raise her gun. He clearly wasn't carrying his. She realized, a little belatedly, that her blouse was still hanging open, and flushed bright red. Fuck. This was not the time or the place to explore her repressed side. She'd have to make sure this guy knew that, but she couldn't button up without putting down her gun. She decided to act as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and continued. "I'm Samantha. I just found this place. You can come over if you want."
Otis
Otis grinned. What was a pretty little thing like her doing all the way out here on her lonesome? Was she waiting for someone in particular, or was she just looking for something to keep herself distracted from the things happening around the island? Either way, he knew that he couldn't let a chance like this pass him by, especially if it meant somewhere to stay. "Don't mind if I do!" He called out, picking up his weight now that he had something to look forward to for the first time. Of course, he didn't make his motives a secret, staring intently at her open shirt while he made his way across the sandbanks.
Once there, he immediately threw his bag into the shack, watching it flop wetly onto one of the chairs before turning his attention back to the girl. He hadn't even noticed the gun yet, for all the time he spent looking at her cleavage, and now he stood in the doorway, leaning against it like a badass while he worked his charm on the girl. "Name's Otis. Otis Adelaide. I'm bettin' you've got a prettier name though, right? Somethin' real classy, like Elizabeth, or Katelyn." He extended his hand out to introduce himself, shaking hers before she really knew what was happening.
And that's when he noticed the gun. She was trying to hide it behind her leg, but now he'd seen it there was no point in keeping it a secret. "Oh... girl, you gonna try to shoot me too?" There was a lick of disappointment in his voice as he looked down at the firearm, glinting in the fleeting light like it was reminding him that she wasn't just another floozy. No, this girl could be just as deadly as the others, or maybe even worse, for all he knew. Sighing a little, he let go of her hand, tensing up a bit as he leaned away from her.
Samantha
The boy, who had introduced himself as Otis, was clearly sizing Samantha up. It made her uncomfortable, in much the same way she had been when she thought Pippi was reading her thoughts (though to a lesser extent). Damn, was he even going to pretend he wasn't staring at her chest? Apparently not. Still, no cause to shove him away yet. Wasn't that part of the image, part of the charm? That whole intense sexuality? As long as he wasn't actually expecting anything, was it so bad to be looked at, really?
Yes. Yes it was, not because she feared his actions, but because she feared her own. Samantha introduced herself again (had he really been too distracted to hear her the first time? Probably.), saying, "I'm Samantha. Samantha Reynolds. From Seattle." She had slipped, once more, into curt, simple language. Couldn't let him get too close. Even though all the worries of her past life were null and void, even though staying focused on school was no longer the slightest of concerns, she could not let herself get drawn into anything. Even if part of her wanted to hug Otis, to throw her arms around him and maybe, just maybe, kiss him, not because she knew him or cared about him or had any idea who he was, but just because he was there and seemed friendly and seemed strong and cool and just like everything she'd secretly admired, she couldn't. That was, after all, what Rachel had done. Rachel had gone off to college and fucked around in all senses of the word, and come back in a state that got her barred from the home she had known and the family that had loved her. Samantha would not, could not let herself be like her sister. She would keep this Otis at arm's length.
He noticed her gun, and she smiled. It felt weird, smiling because this boy, this boy she had never met before, this boy she actually liked, was clearly a little afraid of her. It felt weird, but it also felt good. It meant she had the power to keep him from getting too close. It meant she had a safeguard against her own desires. If Otis got overly friendly, well, she had the tools in her hands to back him up a little. Perhaps, just perhaps, they could be partners in this, watch each others' backs, keep each other safe until the end, but there was no way in hell Samantha would let it become anything more, and she would have to make that clear right away.
"No," she said. "I'm not planning to shoot you too." But she didn't drop the gun, and something clicked in her head. He'd asked if she was going to shoot him too. That meant one of two things. Either he thought she'd shot somebody else, or somebody else had shot at him. Which it was didn't matter. It meant she had to be on guard. He would be unpredictable. That was half the charm, though, wasn't it? That was part of what made him seem so damn trustworthy. That hint of danger, coupled with that face that just screamed out that he was, deep down, a good guy. Damn. She had to keep him at a distance. Had to.
Left handed, she began to fumble with the buttons on her blouse, letting her bag fall to the ground, but keeping the gun in a firm grip. She kept a smile on her face. It wasn't even forced. Even with everything, she still found herself liking Otis. He wasn't the sort to mince words. He wasn't the sort to hide his intentions. If he'd wanted to kill her, there would have been no doubt in either of their minds. He was not the type for duplicity or treachery.
She'd gotten the top half of her shirt fixed when she realized how awkward it was to just be standing there, and said, "Come sit down. There's a bed." She then moved towards it herself. It was a fucking terrible idea, going to sit on the bed after inviting Otis. What happened to keeping him at arm's length? Samantha was about ready to stop moving, but that would have been worse, so she just plopped down onto the oddly lumpy bed without really checking it.
She immediately sprang back up. There was something, no, probably somebody in the bed. What she had sat on was clearly more than just an old and crumbly mattress. Was she going to be ambushed, now, stabbed to death without a chance to defend herself?
"Otis!" she called, hating herself for immediately looking to the boy for support. "There's someone here!"
Otis
Making sure his bandages were still wrapped safely around the wounds on his hand and wrist (having used up all of his ammo back in the cells had given him some nasty burns), he stepped into the shack, following after Samantha's offer to "sit down" on the bed. Sitting down, standing up, on her back, on his back, it didn't matter to Otis which way they did it, but after the day he'd been having he certainly felt like he deserved something to make him feel better.
Just as he was about to join her on what looked to be the most uncomfortable bed in the world, she suddenly rose with a start, crying out his name in distress. Somebody was here? Shit, that meant he'd have to act quick otherwise they'd both end up riddled with bullets in no time at all. Leaping into action, he pulled her out of the way before jumping onto the figure beneath the grimy sheet. "Son of a bitch, you think you can sneak up on us?!" He yelled furiously as he pummelled the body, making sure to hit twice as hard because he knew the girl was watching him. Maybe this would score him extra favours later on? Who knew? At any rate, this was the easiest fight he'd ever had in his life - the guy wasn't even struggling under there, it was like he was out cold.
Finally, he stopped beating the mysterious man long enough to catch his breath, realizing how much more exhausted he felt after that. Heavily panting, he leaned away from the "attacker" and raised his hand to pull back the cover, doing it slowly in case the guy had a surprise waiting for them. "Okay, let's see who this bastard really is." Warily, he pulled it down, first revealing the dirty blonde hair, and then...
They froze.
His eyes. What the fuck was wrong with his eyes. The pair took a quick glance at each other, studying their reactions before turning back to the guy underneath Otis. Oh god, he was sitting right on top of him - no, shit, he'd been punching this guy the entire time! Did he kill him? No, he'd been long dead, judging by the foul stench that had erupted as soon as he'd pulled back the cover. "S-shit, what do we - I mean, shit." Then he realized what he'd done. He'd just been punching a dead body. A dead body. He'd never seen one up close before, and with his eyes - oh god, those eyes - having fallen out of his head, he couldn't help but selfishly wonder if he'd end up like this too. He felt sick, that was for sure, and one look at Samantha told him that she was feeling exactly the same.
"Hey man, we gotta leave here - right now. I... I can't stay, fuck no." Shivering as he clambered off the bed, he pulled the cover back over the body before rushing over to grab their things, all the while holding his stomach as though it was about to run out of his mouth. Slinging his pack over his shoulder and handing Samantha her own, he walked over to the doorway and turned back to give the poor guy one last look. "Shit... shit man, just... damn." And shaking his head apologetically, he made his way over to the water's edge, waiting for Samantha to finish up whatever she was doing inside the shack.
Samantha
Otis jumped on the attacker, pummeling him. He was clearly quite strong, and he seemed to know what he was doing with his attack. It made Samantha feel both reassured and somewhat scared. The good thing was, he'd be able to protect them. He'd be able to keep her safe for awhile, maybe even carry them through until the end. The bad thing was, she wasn't sure what would happen then. Would they have to kill each other? If so, she stood no fucking chance whatsoever. No, Otis would be able to kill her if he wanted, at any time. The fact that he hadn't already done so, however, helped her trust him just a bit more. Her initial feeling had been correct. He was a little rough, but really a good guy.
Then he pulled back the covers, and what was there was not what she was expecting. It was a boy with a melted face. His eyes were gone. He stunk, the same stench that had been in the background this whole time. Samantha's eyes widened. She'd smelled it this whole time. That meant that she'd been breathing little particles of him, of this boy, no, corpse. Samantha had always had a strong stomach. In a detached way, she was proud that she managed not to vomit on the spot, though it was close. Otis asked what to do. What could they do? The boy was dead. He was dead and there was nothing that could possibly change that, so she didn't say anything.
Otis started talking again, saying he wanted to go. Well, no shit; she did too. He was cursing, and sounded really rattled. Well, so was she. She couldn't even move, couldn't even think. Finally, Otis started moving, and the spell was broken. Samantha shook herself out of her stupor. She couldn't be crippled, couldn't be immobilized. She could not let stress get the better of her. She was sure to have to deal with worse than this, if she wanted to live. But...
It was setting in again. It was so hard to tear herself away. If there was just something she could focus on, she was sure she'd be fine. The idea was horrible, but it came to her in a flash. It was a little thing, just a little tweak. Focus. Lengthen her nose a millimeter, then shrink it again. Nothing anyone watching would notice. The pain, though, immediately sharpened her up. Well, sharpened her up and made her let out an agonized gasp. Damn. It really did hurt as much as she'd thought, and this had been the most minor of adjustments. Fuck. Fuck, stupid idea, fuck. It had worked, her mind was off the body, but...
"I'm alright," she said, just in case Otis had heard. He probably hadn't. Then she gathered her stuff, and walked back out of the shack, out of their temporary resting place. It hadn't served her too well in the end. It was a place of horror. The body was behind her, but she could almost feel those empty sockets following her from under the sheet.
No time to worry about that. She couldn't stress out, couldn't panic. She had to stay in control.
Otis was waiting at the edge of the water, holding his bag. Samantha paused for a second, then said, "Hang on. We need to sort of relay this. I'll pass you the stuff when you're in a shallower part, so it doesn't get soaked."
Otis agreed, thankfully. Having a partner made the whole thing so much easier. It meant she could be calmer, could actually trust someone. Even though she'd met Otis an hour ago at most, she just felt safe with him. Even if they might have to kill each other at some point.
A little whisper of thought in the back of her head told her to shoot him. Shoot him now, when he's unprepared. Save the potential pain. The gun was still in her hand. It would be easy. He'd never expect it. Then she wouldn't have to worry about him getting too close. She wouldn't have to worry about any feelings. It would be so simple.
As soon as he was in position, she tossed Otis the gun. If she couldn't trust him, she might as well give up on surviving right now, and there was no way she could trust him without being trustworthy herself. Shooting a new friend in the back was horrible. It wasn't smart, it wasn't human, it wasn't anything but wrong. And she knew that Otis would give the gun back as soon as she was on the other side.
A few minutes later, everything had again been transferred. Samantha had crossed. In the end, she'd given up on keeping her blouse modest, choosing to wade through the water and let it get soaked and transparent rather than remove it in front of Otis. It was simply a matter of choosing the least indignity, and the air wasn't too damp. She figured it wouldn't take more than an hour to dry. On the beach, she retrieved her belongings, broke open and ate a tin of peaches, figuring that if she'd be staying up all fucking night she might as well at least be nourished, and drank half her water bottle. She could refill it later.
Right now, she had to concentrate on surviving.
Exit Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds and Subject C04, Otis Adelaide
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: DARKNESS
THE CABLE CAR STATIONJUNE 23, 2010: 20:09
Enter Subject C16, Chris Richardson
By the time Chris could even begin to see the Cable Car Station, the sun was already settled on the horizon like a fat, orange toad squatting on a lily pad. That had been nearly an hour ago. Chris could now barely see, by moon and starlight, the entrance to the building. Towering over him, taking up the entirety of his vision, was the mountain. The radio tower's warning lights, the ones that were supposed to tell planes the tower was there, were almost unanimously failed. Only one sad little light flickered on and off near the base of the tower. Chris tried not to think about where the people who lived on this island may have gone. They were gone, they couldn't help him, and that was that.
As Chris approached the dilapidated building, he heard a sound. It was something like... buzz. Click. Ding! He pulled his gun out of his back pocket and looked around, straining his eyes. Again the sound was made as he approached the entrance. As he drew closer, he felt a gentle breeze and saw movement in the darkness. Instinctively, Chris raised the gun and shouted, "Who's there?!" Of course, there was no answer. Chris felt foolish as he saw that the moving thing was just the turnstile, it's bearings ruined by neglect and no longer capable of gripping the torsion point of the stile. The breeze was sufficient to rotate the thing, causing the sad creaking and dinging as the invisible ghosts of the past entered and exited its sad interior.
Chris walked through the turnstile, stopping just inside to look closely at it's mechanism. Of course, he couldn't see jack shit, but it was the thought that counts, right? As he turned and stepped away, his foot landed in something that squelched. A smell of rancid, half-digested food welled up from the ground, causing Chris to gag and stumble backwards. He nearly tripped on the edge of the turnstile, but caught himself and glared at the ground. Carefully and quickly, he wiped his shoe against the edge of the turnstile to get the vomit off of it. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe there was still someone here. He cursed himself for a fool under his breath, closing his eyes and straining his ears to hear. Nothing jumped out at him as the sound of a human approaching with intent to hurt him. The only sound which he had already come to ignore was the sound of the cable cars quietly humming from summit to base. Probably some mechanism stuck somewhere. Normally these cars would sit at one station until called or sent to the other. The constant noise was similar to the noise of a ski lift rather than a cable car. Still, this was just arguing (with himself) about something pointless.
Chris approached the center of the station. He could see just about nothing, with a side order of darkness and a bonus of the smell of stale food, courtesy of vomit. This, inevitably, led to Chris stubbing his toe against a bench that had been set-up for the past patrons of this place. He cursed under his breath and sat down, rubbing his foot.
Enter Subject C12, Penelope Rivers
Fuck, this is getting dark... And I think I've gone over the bridge again... Fuck, I'm lost, ain't I?
Giving a groan, Pippi put her pack on the ground and looked through it, taking out the first aid kit. Giving it a unzip, she picked up the cold metal torch from within and bit her lip. There was an obvious problem here. Turning the damn thing on would let her see, of course, but it would also broadcast her location like a TV antenne. Hell, the reason that she broke away from her previous spot was the gunshots... and Samantha had moved away. Not like it mattered now.
The question here is... is being able to see good enough to take away that drawback?
She blinked. Swallowing, she clicked it on, illuminating the pitch black area. She'd have to risk it. And besides, didn't she want to meet people, so that they could get out of here?
Shaking her head, she picked up her bag again and moved the torch around. Nothing 'cept plants, bugs, and more plants until she spied something in the distance... Frowning, she moved towards it, before fully stepping out of the bush, facing an abandoned building. On the other side, the wires went down the side, cable cars rusting in the wind.
Looks like I've found myself a nice home court to play on... what's that smell?
Shaking her head at the stink, she snuck towards the building, the flash light illuminating the windows inside.
Chris
A light played over the wall in front of Chris. His first reaction was to drop to the ground and roll under the bench. It rather surprised him that that was his first reaction, but he supposed it came from having guns pointed at him twice today. It was becoming an alarming trend. He could see the person with the flashlight moving toward the building. He remembered, a buck late and a day short, that the MedKit contained a small flashlight. A surprisingly bright little bugger, too.
Chris reached up toward his day pack, which he had left on the bench. He slid it down and grabbed the flashlight out of it. He slid the knife out of his pocket, but then put it back in. Non-threatening was always better than a threat. His stomach rumbled, surprising him. It occurred to him that the last time he had eaten was... quite a while ago. He didn't remember how long they had been imprisoned. Slowly, so as to not surprise anybody, he slid out from under the bench and stood, turning the flashlight on and shining it out toward the other flashlight holder. He cleared his throat and said, in a rich bass tone, "Hello there!"
Penelope
The shine from the light inside almost made her jump out of her skin. Obviously in her haste for finding a place to stay the night, she forgot that there were others trying to do the same. Swallowing, she looked quickly at the gun in her pants, thinking.
Don't need it, don't need it, don't need it, just... just... see what's going on. Ask.
Swallowing, she gave a yell back. "Hello! Two choices here, either we put the weapons away and chat or I walk off. I'm not killing people just because I'm told to by a man in a creepy coat. Got that?"
Biting her lip, she walked closer to the doorway, trying to think. What to do? Would the person be insane enough to shoot her? Maybe she could befriend the man? Giving a grunt, she kicked the door open. "I'm coming in!"
Chris
Chris smiled to himself. 'Put the weapons away. Ha. My weapons are already away,' he thought mirthlessly. He realized it put him in a dangerous place if she had her gun out, but he would rather have a companion than scare people away. He heard the girl say that she was coming in and he instinctively glanced around to make sure everything was neat. It was a stupid reaction, but it was automatic. He stayed on his feet, with his free hand open in front of him to show that he wasn't carrying a weapon. "Alright," he said, rising to his normal vocal register, "I have my knife in my pocket, my gun isn't on my person. I also don't plan to kill anyone just because some wacko said to. I see we have an accord therein."
The girl was... tall. Really tall. Almost taller than Chris himself. Or maybe she was taller. He couldn't tell from across the room. Still, he stood up straighter, allowing his full height to show. Upon closer inspection... the girl was pretty. Not supermodel pretty, not va-va-voom, or anything. But she was pretty, in an athletic way. She had ginger hair, which Chris was sure, judging from his observations of people at his school, would be a subject to approach carefully. She was still too far away for Chris to get a better look at her face.
"My name is Chris, by the way. Chris Richardson, for what it's worth."
Penelope
"I see we have an accord then."
Pippi crossed her arms as she entered the room, trying not to swallow her tounge. Gun isn't on his person screamed to her that it went on walkabout, and she couldn't help but flick her green eyes quickly to his pocket to see a small hilt. Shaking her head, she looked up at his face... or more accuratly, his complete tangle of a hairball on his head.
This guys doesn't know the meaning of the word shampoo, does he?
"Chris. OK. Name's Pippi. Pippi Rivers."
She clicked her tounge, trying to think.
Oh, for god's sakes, say something. Anything. Break this fucking ice.
"So... seen any good games lately?"
Internally, she facepalmed. OK, the fuck?
Enter Subject C05, Simon Matthews
He didn’t think it was possible, he really didn’t, but it turns out that the power given to Simon by the people who organised this game had yet another unforeseen drawback.
His hands glowed.
Now, this might not sound so bad, in fact in some cases that might actually come in useful, such as if you dropped your keys somewhere dark and didn’t have a torch handy to look for them, or something else along those lines. But when you’re in a potentially dangerous situation, sneaking towards a building that may or may not contain people who may or may not want to kill him, the last thing you want to do is glow.
With his hands held behind his back to hide their light as best he could, and to leave a signal so that the other two people in his group somewhere behind him could track him, he walked towards the cable car station that grew larger in front of him with every step.
Just as he got close enough to the building to catch sight of the dual streams of light that came from the torches within, he was interrupted as a loud, high pitched and incredibly hyper sounding voice echoed out across the island from some unseen source.
Figures that they’d go ahead and pick the most obnoxiously cheerful girl they could find to do these announcements huh?
Simon recovered from the shock and looked back towards the cable car station where he could now clearly see the two torch lights that indicated that there were at least two people inside. Whether or not they were hostile, to him or to each other, he had yet to see.
As he watched he kept an ear open to the announcement, trying to listen through all of the liveliness of the girl speaking to try and sort out the useful information. He ignored the names of the dead, just the names of people who he didn’t know and now never would. What did interest him were the clues to the identities of the killers; one a boy named Cristo of… let’s just say non-American background, and the other a girl. That was the only clue he had there but he guessed the ‘banshee’ comment might have more behind it than he thought.
God I hope there’s not a girl out here with a sonic scream or something. There’s really no defence against that.
He started to lose interest around the tail end of the announcement, just happy that the girl was about to stop talking - she was far more cheerful than she had any right to be with this situation – but he did manage to catch the new dangerzones. Church, ravine, shack; none of any importance to him. The black forest though? Good thing they already got out of there.
If they had all gotten out of there that is. Where were the other two anyway? He only went a little ahead to check things out; they should have caught up with him by now.
Chris
As the girl approached, Chris heard some sort of crackling in his head. A second later, he heard a girl's voice. The voice didn't have the decency to enter his mind by his aural pathways, choosing instead to root itself firmly into the language comprehension center of his brain. It was fleeting, but he swore the voice said, "Shampoo, does..." before the crackling overtook it again.
Chris reached up to his hair self-consciously. The girl announced her name, Pippi. Chris realized with a start that the voice he had... thought of was the same as the girl's voice. And again the weird static filled his head before the voice interrupted his thoughts again with, "...say something... break this fucking ice." Chris blinked and took a subconscious step back. Something about the voice was scaring him in a visceral and animal way. Maybe it was the voice failing to pass his ears that did it. He took a breath to start a conversation, as per the mysterious voice's instruction, when Pippi interrupted.
"So... seen any good games lately?"
And for a third time, the crackling which heralded the voice started again. A complete thought was "heard" this time, "OK, the fuck?" Apparently the girl was as exasperated by her own question as Chris was. He blinked at the thought. Where had it come from? He couldn't be hearing the girl's thoughts, that was impossible without science fiction. Or some sort of peripheral device. Or... something. Besides, even accepting that the abilities did exist, his paper said something about Electrical Currents or something.
"Um... no. I don't really watch sports very often," Chris said, trying to ignore the voice. It couldn't exist. Right?
Suddenly, the intercom system screeched to life. Speakers which hadn't made noise in some time burst forth with the highest pitched voice Chris had heard ever. He flinched slightly as the noise poured forth. Something about people Chris didn't know who had died. The voice also mentioned the Danger Zones the mysterious man had mentioned at the beginning of this ordeal. He wasn't in any of the areas, so it didn't matter to him. A glance outside did note something weird. It looked like some of the trees were being struck by an extremely dim red glow. He dismissed it as an optical after effect caused by the flashlight.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A PEACEFUL WALK
THE GREAT DIVIDEJUNE 23, 2010: 20:59
Enter Subject C08, Ashlie Jackson
Ashlie didn't know how long she had been walking through the island, the various rocks and twigs tearing up the poor soles of her feet. After the first ten or so pointy things digging into her feet, the girl stopped feeling it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered seeing a first aid kit in her pack. She pressed on, telling herself she would look through it when she got a chance.
A few more steps, and Ashlie found herself out of the forest, overlooking what looked like a scar running through the island. It's formation didn't seem natural, but more importantly to Ashlie, there was a small rock formation with a sort of natural roof that would give her some cover while she attended to her feet. She hobbled towards it, sitting on the ground and pulling out her first aid kit.
Her feet had taken a beating in the short time she had been walking. The harsh ground had tore her feet apart, although there were fewer cuts then she anticipated. She pulled out her bottle of water while she was at it. There wasn't much, but she knew if she didn't clean the cuts, then things would only get worse for her. Breaking the seal on the bottle, she took a mouthful of the liquid before pouring the water over her feet in an attempt to clean out the wounds.
"Fuck" Ashlie muttered, hissing as the water worked it's way into her cuts. Using her hands, the pink haired girl scrubbed her feet, washing off the blood and dirt. After this, she was able to see what her injuries were to her feet. It was mostly just bruising, although she had one particularly large laceration on her left foot, and a smaller one on her right. They had both stopped bleeding, although Ashlie didn't know if this was good or bad.
Ashlie removed the roll of gauze from the kit. There wasn't much, just enough to wrap up both her feet, if just barely. Starting with her left foot near the base of her toes, the girl methodically spun the material around her foot, stopping when it reacher her ankle. Using her knife to cut off the excess, she used one of the band aids to keep the gauze in place. She repeated this with her other foot using the remaining gauze. Ashlie rested her back on the rock behind her, looking at her work. It wasn't the best, but it would at least help reduce the risk of infection, and provide some measure of protection for her feet. She was just glad people generally didn't look at her feet.
Ashlie looked around her little shelter, noting that it was covered for the most part from view. The only way anyone would be able to see her is if they came from the same direction as she had. Ashlie curled up as small as she could, making sure that the provided gun and knife were close at hand. Sleep was going to be a rare luxury in this situation, and damned if Ashlie wasn't going to use this opportunity to catch some shut eye while she had the chance.
Enter Subject C06, Jay Harland
Night was beginning to fall as Ashlie obliviously slept the hours away, the sun setting over the horizon. At some point, she might have noticed that someone else had come across her little shelter. Then again, she would've had a hard time noticing the invisible Jay Harland.
After his encounter with Chris immediately after his awakening on the island, Jay hadn't really stopped moving, except to stop and catch his breath. He didn't have anywhere in mind for a direction, but he decided he had to put as much ground between him and the only other person he'd met since the experiment started as quickly as possible. After all, how long could it be before he came up behind him with a gun and tried to blow his brains out?
At first, as the light dimmed, Jay hadn't noticed anything changing. He had only concentrated on moving ahead as fast as possible, looking where he was going, rather than at himself. Even as dusk fell and he rested against a tree to stop for another breather, he failed to notice his hand had become translucent as he drank from his water bottle. In fact, it wouldn't be another hour until he finally became aware what was happening.
Stopping to rest for the final time, Jay looked up in the sky and was met with a sea of stars. Exhausted, he decided that he must've gotten far enough after going for the entire day. Even if he hadn't, he was far too tired to keep going.
His stomach growling, he reached over to unzip his bag when he finally noticed his hand. Or rather, the lack of one.
Even though he could see straight away it wasn't there, Jay had to look at the spot for several moments, a dumb look on his face, before he finally realised what was missing. Yelling out in shock, he clutched at his wrist in horror. Then of course, he realised that he couldn't see his other hand, clutching his wrist, either. Waving his arms frantically around in front of him, still screaming, he panicked more when he couldn't see them as well.
Eventually, he calmed down, as the feeling in his hands became more prominent. Almost afraid to find the answer, he poked his face with what he prayed would be his fingers, and let out a relieved laugh as he felt the cold skin. His body was still there, he just couldn't see it!
Experimenting with his new invisible form, Jay played around with his bag. At first it was difficult to co-ordinate the movements when he couldn't see what he was doing, but slowly he was able to visualise the actions he was meant to be doing, and successfully pulled the zip open and closed in smooth motions.
In a flash, he realised something: it suddenly wasn't all so bad. He still didn't understand why he couldn't see himself, but he knew that now he wasn't quite as screwed as he thought he was! They had to kill each other, did they? Well at least now no-one else would be able to see him!
Practically skipping along with new confidence, Jay slung up his bag and began walking along again, eventually stopping at the great chasm running through the island, and coincidentally just opposite the pile of rocks that Ashlie Jackson was sleeping under.
At first, Jay instinctively hid behind a tree, panic filling him once again as he thought he had been seen. Then, feeling like an idiot, he remembered what he had just found out. Stepping out from behind the tree with a grin on his face, Jay danced around in plain sight for a short while, before he finally noticed that the girl was in fact asleep.
Pouting with annoyance, Jay began strutting towards the girl. Luckily for him, he wasn't so stupid that he completely forgot about his clothes.
Stopping mid-step, he looked down at himself and cursed under his breath as he realised that his shirt and jeans were still perfectly visible, as was the daypack slung over his shoulder. It may have been night time, but the light of the moon illuminated the valley clearly enough for them still to be seen.
Looking around for a solution, Jay finally huffed out with irritation as he gave up on trying to figure out how to cover up the visible parts of him, and stepped back behind the tree, checking first to make sure the girl was still sleeping blissfully. Even though he knew no-one could see him, he still felt awkward as he slowly pulled off his clothes and shoes, slinging the bag onto the ground next to him. Finally, he was left standing in nothing but his underwear. Checking around yet again to make sure no-one could see him stripping, even though no-one actually could even if they wanted to, he nervously pulled down his briefs as quickly as he could to get it over with, and stepped out of them.
The cold breeze struck him immediately, making him shiver on the spot and clutch his body parts. His cheeks blushed up bright red as he stood there, nude in the wilderness. Again, the thought that he was doing this so no-one would be able to see him slipped his mind.
Finally, he stopped worrying about his current state, and turned back to look at Ashlie. Again, he began creeping towards her, still shivering as the breeze blew around him. He arrived at the front of Ashlie's shelter, looking down at the girl within.
She didn't seem to have heard him, from what Jay could tell by her apparently sleeping state. Appearance wise, he didn't really find anything noticeable about her apart from her piercings and her chubby state. She wasn't attractive, that was for sure.
Then he realised he didn't really know what to do. He had gotten this far, and he didn't seem to be in danger of getting attacked by her, so what now? Did he go away, get dressed again, and walk back off? If that was true, then what did he even bother sneaking over for?!
“Maybe I should kill her whilst she's asleep?” thought a nasty little voice in his head.
That thought took Jay off guard. No, it downright scared him. Kill her? How could he do that? She hadn't done anything to him; she hadn't even seen he was there!
But then, there were supposed to be explosives inside him weren't there? They said they'd detonate them if everyone else wasn't dead at the end of three days. If he wanted to live, would he have to kill her? How though? How was he supposed to kill this girl sleeping right next to him without provocation?!
Glancing away from her, he noticed the weapons laid to the side. ”It's easy.” the small voice whispered. ”Just take it, put it to her head, and pull the trigger. She won't feel a thing.”
Moving over to the weapons, he nervously touched the gun with his invisible hand. Picking it up, he raised it off the ground as he eyed it up, horrified at what he was thinking of doing with it.
Would he really have to kill her?
Ashlie
When Ashlie finally woke, the sun had already set. Her sleep had been fitful at best, but she felt somewhat energized from the nap. The moment her eyes opened she had a feeling that something was up. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was definitely amiss. Or maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks on her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something catch the light of the moon. Ashlie bolted into a sitting position, taking a good look at what was in the air. It looked like a gun.
“The fuck...” Ashlie whispered to herself, reaching for where her gun once was. It didn't take her long to realize that the floating weapon was her weapon. She rubbed her eyes, not convinced that her eyes were telling her the truth in what she was seeing. It was still there when she removed her hands from her eyes.
At first, she still didn't believe that she was seeing what she was actually seeing, thinking it was a trick of the light. Then she thought that maybe whoever was running this fucked up game had rigged their weapons with some sort of device that allowed them to make them float or something. This was immediately dispelled from her head as she realized how stupid it was. So what the fuck was happening? And then it hit her.
“There better not be someone fucking around with my weapons, cause it ain't funny.” Ashlie yelled, grabbing her knife, which had thankfully been left where she had left it. She of course knew that people had powers, but what she didn't expect was someone who she couldn't see. The girl was expecting maybe someone who could move things with their mind, or maybe someone like that Magneto guy from those movies she only watched cause her boy at the time liked them. Either way, whoever it was picked the wrong person to test their powers on.
Jay
”Agh, what the hell?!”
A weird sensation had come over Jay as he clutched his free hand over one of his ears. Suddenly, he felt very dizzy as a strange noise filled the air, like someone had spun him around a few dozen times, as a strange noise. Turning around, his eyes widened as he saw that the chick had woken up!
“Crap!” he thought, oblivious to the fact that he was supposed to be invisible. Keeping the gun gripped tightly in his hand, the dizzy feeling suddenly got even worse as he watched her mouth move, making that strange, indecipherable noise and sending him off balance even more. His head was spinning, as he looked at her opening and closing mouth. Whatever was happening, it was her doing, he decided!
“Shut up!” He yelled out suddenly, trying to find his feet to aim the gun at her. It was no good though; he could barely see straight, much less hold the gun steady. As it shook around aimlessly, he reflexively pulled the trigger.
The gun whipped itself out of his hand, flying back behind him as he failed to keep even a basic grip on it, and scattering harmlessly away. What's more, on top of being unable to stand straight, his ears were ringing loudly from the explosion of a gunshot. Now not only could he barely stand up, he couldn't hear much either.
More importantly however, he realised that the girl was clutching her knife now. Suddenly, he found himself really pissed off at her. What the hell was she going to do, kill him!? He was the one who was thinking about killing her, and now she'd fucked up his listening and balance, and she was going to kill him?! Who the fuck did she think she was?!
Snarling, he darted forward to grab the hand holding the knife. He was an athlete; he'd have no trouble wrestling it out of her hand! Even if he did feel dizzy, if he managed to just get this right he would have enough strength once he'd grabbed onto it to pull it out of her hand without any trouble! Then she'd learn why you don't fuck with Jay Harland!
Ashlie
Ashlie practically jumped when a voice came out of seemingly nowhere, telling her to shut up. This would have pissed off the pink haired girl if it wasn't for the fact she was more focused on the floating gun pointed in her general direction. Out of reflex more than anything, Ashlie crouched, covering her head with her arms. Even if she had stood still, the shot would have missed anyways, but it was this movement that probably saved Ashlie's life.
Ashlie felt what felt like a hand touch her wrist, despite not seeing anything. Again, out of reflex, the girl pulled her arm back and up violently, which did manage to get her free of the invisible grip. Unfortunately the next moment a heavy weight was pressing down on the pink haired girl, practically suffocating her. With her free hand she lashed out, managing to hit what felt like a body.
"Fucking invisible shit!" Ashlie said as it dawned on her she was being stalked by someone she couldn't see. She kept hitting him with her free hand, only vaguely aware that she felt something moist running down her other arm...
Jay
“Shit!”
He had managed to grab hold of her wrist, to his relief, but he hadn't expected her to wrench it away so sharply. His head was still spinning from before, and that was all it took for him to trip up, falling down onto the sharp, sharp tip.
Air escaped out of his lungs even faster than the blood, as he stared at his killer with horror. The fucking bitch, she'd stabbed him! The fucking bitch had stabbed him!
He tried to call her a bitch out loud, but there was no air left in his lungs. He couldn't speak.
All he could do was fall on top of her and bleed.
SUBJECT C06, JAY HARLAND: ELIMINATED
17 SUBJECTS REMAIN
17 SUBJECTS REMAIN
Ashlie
Ashlie couldn't help but think of the absurdity of this situation. Here she was, hitting something she couldn't see, or rather someone. It took her a couple minutes to realize what exactly was going on. She made quick work of sliding herself out of the weight on top of her, standing up. Her arm that was holding her knife felt wet and sticky, but when she looked at her arm, she saw nothing. Touching her forearm with her other hand only made the sensation happen on her hand as well, but nothing more.
The pink-haired girl shuddered. She had no clue what had just happened, but she had a bad feeling. All she knew was she needed to get out of there, now. Tucking the knife back in her bag, she grabbed her gun which was lying on the ground some distance away, putting it in her pants pocket. As she bent over to pick it up, she noticed it had landed by a small clearing near the edge of the woods. Cautiously she walked into the clearing. Inside she found some clothes thrown around, and another bag like the one she was holding.
Ashlie looked at the clothing, confused. Why someone would willingly strip down to nothing was perplexing to her. Her attention was quickly caught by a dull glint of metal, which turned out to be whoever this clothing belonged to's weapons. Why they would leave their weapons out in the open also didn't make sense, but she wasn't going to think too hard about it. It never occurred to the girl that whoever had just attacked her had left this stuff, as she quickly went to work collecting their rations, thankful that their first aid kit was untouched. She knew that at some point the dressings on her feet would need to be changed, so the new roll of gauze would be a welcome addition.
Finally, with everything from the bag transfered into her own, including the additional weapons, Ashlie walked back into the forest, putting as much distance between her and the rock formation where she had been sleeping before.
Exit Subject C08, Ashlie Jackson
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
SECTION TWO
June 24, 2010: 00:00-11:59
June 24, 2010: 00:00-11:59
THE FIRST ANNOUNCEMENT
THE OTHER ISLANDJUNE 24, 2010: 00:00
On the other island, deep within the organization's base, in the brightest-lit medical office, there sat a middle-aged, portly man wearing a full-length doctor's coat with a golden pen clipped onto his chest pocket like a badge of honour. His face displayed all the features of a man in a senior position; his deep set eyes sat behind a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, his moustache had been trimmed to within an inch of its life, and his skin showed all the signs of a life lead laughing and eating and flaunting his once dashing visage. Now that all his youth had escaped his body, he was left wondering how he managed to find himself in a place like this, surrounded by notes on the human condition and the abilities of those injected with the very same serum his father had helped to develop before him.
Struggling to concentrate after being forced to work for several days with little to no sleep, the good doctor removed his glasses with one hand while rubbing his eyes with the other. This situation wasn't new to him, they'd often have to work for up to 18 hours a day to meet their deadlines, but it wasn't as though he enjoyed it. Staring blankly around his office just to see how bad his eyesight had really gotten lately, he was suddenly met with a shadowy mass standing outside his door before he heard the familiar tapping of bone on glass. Quickly placing the glasses back onto his face, he made a feeble attempt to clean up his desk while the dark figure entered without need of permission.
"Do you have a minute?" The figure didn't have to ask, of course, as he swept into the office, but he always felt it was generally necessary when addressing one of his subordinates. Under the harsh fluorescent light, one could make out the peculiar birthmark on the right side of the man's face; a pale patch of skin where the pigmentation obviously hadn't developed, leaving him with a strange contrast of white on bronze. He made no attempt to conceal it like he did growing up, since it was one of the tamer sights within the organization, but it left him with the nickname "Patches", which many preferred to call him only when he seemed out of earshot.
Remembering not to call him by that name, the doctor stood away from his desk, gesturing at the only other chair for the man to sit in while making mumbled apologies for the state of the room. "You know why I'm here, Marshall, don't you?" The doctor, George William Marshall, took a moment to gather his thoughts before landing on the most problematic one he'd had all day.
"Ah, yes, I think I do. We've... well, we've had no luck figuring it out, I'm afraid, even with the numerous tests we've ran we still can't figure out why he won't wake up. Polion seems to think there must be some kind of defect with his ability, like the others', but I think it's a little different."
The other man, dressed in a sharp, pinstripe suit, calmly folded his hands together as he listened to the doctor's explanations with quiet amusement. "You see," he continued, "I think there may be a... a limit on his ability. Namely, the amount of times he can regenerate."
"And you think that's why he won't wake up?"
"Yes- well, sort of. Do you remember the last time this happened, and it took him almost two hours to recuperate?" The man nodded. "It's been over five hours this time, and I'm beginning to wonder if it's going to take longer and longer for him to revive himself the more he's killed until perhaps one day, he might not wake up at all, depending on the severity of the injury."
The man said nothing as the doctor finished, leaving him unsatisfied as he slunk back into his seat while the other sat silently in his chair, the gears in his head visibly turning as he came up with an idea which caused the strangest of smiles to spread across his wiry lips. "Keep running the tests, Doctor Marshall, and if you can, try to keep him asleep a while longer."
Cautious of his intentions, the doctor's brow furrowed as he asked: "Sir?"
But without another word, the other man quietly left the office, leaving the good doctor with a bad feeling in his stomach.
---
"Morning campers, it's 00:00am here in - hah, like I'd tell you! - and that means it's time for the first announcement! Alright!"
The wild, untamed hair of Lizzie Nolan flew wildly as the tiny woman practically bounced on the edge of her seat, almost unplugging her headphones in the process. At 4'7, she was the smallest member of the organization, but she had more than enough energy to make up for it, much to the chagrin of her co-workers. During lunch she'd often announce whatever food she'd picked from the always homely cafeteria (she particularly loved the cheap, plastic taste of the processed hamburgers with the somehow even more plastic cheese and pickles), and whenever someone had the "good fortune" of working on a research project with her, she'd let them know how grateful she was to be their partner by giving them one of the thousands of mixed tapes she'd created at home.
Characteristically, it was odd to see such enthusiasm within the organization, especially when everyone knew what kind of game was being played on the opposite island, but nonetheless Lizzie remained surprisingly upbeat for someone about to list off the names of those who had recently died.
"Okay, first up - wow! You guys have been busy, haven't you? Hah! Look at this! Hey Carl, did you see this? Three! Three whole deaths already! What is this, Omaha Beach?"
Sitting across from Lizzie as she spoke, a young sound engineer shook his head at the off-colour remark.
"I mean - what? What's that look for? Oh! Whoops, I forgot your grandpa was there! Silly me! Better wrap this up quick before I end up filled with shrapnel! Haha! (I'm only half-joking, by the way.) So let's see... first up! Take a bow, Mister Billy-Jay Clarke who... ew, really? Well, you guys don't need to know, but it was gross, seriously. I mean, really, really, really gross. Oh well, guess that's the luck of the draw, or something, what's the phrase? I dunno, let's get on with the next one.
So - okay, lemme just - okay, sorry about that, dropped my pen. Okay, here we are, victim number two iiiiiis... Connor Bromwell, who, woah, got shot, but not just shot, he was shot a lot. Like seriously, that Cristo guy is a total nutjob, damn. Sneaky Mexicans, right? What? He's not Mexican? Oh, er, sneaky Latino? That doesn't really work though. Hey, alright, I'm going as fast as I can, stop shushing me! Ugh, okay, fine, last one then. Um... awww, but he was kinda cute! Sorry guys, looks like Jay Harland won't be joining me for dinner after all 'cause another girl got to him first. Stupid banshee.
Well, that sucked, see you guys nex- what? OH! Almost forgot! Danger zones! Excited? I know I am! Let's see, drum-roll please! ...Come on, play a drum-roll. Please? Fine, you guys don't know how to jazz things up at all. The Church, the ravine, the shack and Black Forest are all gonna kill you guys if you don't get out within the hour! Have fun everyone, and stay safe! Huh? Oh, er, or not!"
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: REACTIONS (PART ONE)
THE COVEJUNE 24, 2010: 00:05
Johnny
Johnny was still deep in thought when he heard the announcement. Johnny grimaced as he heard the cheerful voice ring out across the island. Johnny fruitlessly looked around to see if he could see anything like a speaker to explain where the voice was coming from at least.
"Okay, first up - wow! You guys have been busy, haven't you? Hah! Look at this! Hey Carl, did you see this? Three! Three whole deaths already! What is this, Omaha Beach?"
Johnny’s heart sank. Three deaths already. How long has it been anyway? As he heard Billy’s name read out he closed his eyes, then immediately opened them as a vision of the boy’s corpse filled the darkness of his closed lids. The feeling of revulsion didn’t pass and Johnny was almost sick again. It didn’t help him to hear the rest of the announcement.
‘... Connor Bromwell, who, woah, got shot, but not just shot, he was shot a lot. Like seriously, that Cristo guy is a total nutjob, damn. Sneaky Mexicans, right? What? He's not Mexican? Oh, er, sneaky Latino?’
Johnny digested the information. A guy called Cristo is playing. Some kind of Mexican/Latino hybrid by the sound of it, someone to watch. Won’t be bandying that name about after this so watch for the skin colour. Trigger happy. Johnny’s eyes snapped back to the kid on the beach as he tried to rise but flopped back onto the sand. He looked to be in bad shape. Johnny shook his head before he even asked himself the question. There’s nothing you can do.
‘Sorry guys, looks like Jay Harland won't be joining me for dinner after all 'cause another girl got to him first. Stupid banshee.’
Johnny learnt less from this announcement. Had he been in a different environment he might have made the connection between a banshee and the taped mouth girl, surely to have taken the tape off by that point in any case. It can’t have been those two girls though, they were here on the beach. They are violent though. That ‘Taryn’ one is anyway. You never know…
Johnny tensed as he heard the chirpy voice mention the danger zones. I’d forgotten about those, careless man careless. The first two places didn’t bother him. But the shack part did. Johnny looked back across the water, where he could make out the shack in the distance. Am I far enough away to be safe? Johnny looked around. It was getting dark fast, Johnny hadn’t even noticed but now he was paying attention he realised he wasn’t willing to chance the climb up the low cliffs in the dark. Either he had to chance staying on the beach and possibly dying in an hour or he could try and climb up the cliff. The fall wouldn’t kill him, if he was lucky. But then he’d be stuck, broken, on a possible danger zone.
Nervously Johnny looked around again for the girls but saw no sign of them. Rising from the water he made a dash for the cliffs, skirting around the back of the prone boy as he did so. Crouching down he opened his pack and searched. His hands grasped the cold handle of what he was looking for and he withdrew a small torch from the pack. Looking at his hand and then back at the cliff he reluctantly placed the gun in the bag. I need as much of my hands for this as possible. I can’t believe you’re even trying this. You’ve got an hour. Don’t rush, take it easy. Doing up the pack Johnny slung it around his shoulders and turned on the torch. Pointing the torch downwards he scanned the cliffs for a way up. He didn’t have to look far to find a potential spot. Johnny stretched a little and went to crack his knuckles, disappointed when they failed to make a sound. A flash of inspiration came to Johnny and he gripped the torch tightly in his mouth instead. He was lucky that it was a small torch. Now with two free hands he reached up and began to climb.
Ugh, breathe Johnny breathe. Come on, one step at a time. Now the feet…get them up come on! Tightly now, good grip. Johnny smiled to himself as he made his slow progress up the cliff. You’re doing good, keep it up. Getting confident Johnny made a difficult stretch to a higher outcrop. The stone was cold to the touch. Shifting his feet into a better position Johnny made his move. His foothold gave way. Johnny cried out as he felt his feet scrape the rock as what remained of his foothold clattered down the cliff face. His feet searched for purchase and he began to panic. No no no no no NO! Gah come on Johnny, fight. Fight Johnny. Live! Johnny’s arms were getting weak and he could feel his grip loosening. He couldn’t pull himself up. He couldn’t find a foothold. He was going to fall. This was a stupid idea. Johnny’s feet swung wildly once more. Then he found a foothold. Johnny invested in his new salvation and eased the tension in his arms. Panting heavily Johnny fought to control the panic that was surging through him. You cannot avenge Billy if you fall off this fucking rock! Past caring about stealth Johnny let out a roar as he heaved himself up the cliff. Reaching the top Johnny rolled over the edge of the cliff onto the safety of the cool grass. Too exhausted to trek to somewhere safer Johnny didn’t even manage to stand before succumbing to the temptation of sleep.
Johnny would later put this episode down to stress and fear, and mention that it was dark when he did it. When he awoke in the morning he would vow not to mention just how small the cliff really was to anyone who asked. That would just be too embarrassing.
Exit Subject C07, Johnny Marsh
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: REACTIONS (PART TWO)
THE CABLE CAR STATIONJUNE 24, 2010: 00:07
Penelope
"Um... no. I don't really watch sports very often,"
Yeah, I would have guess-
Wincing as the speakers scratched to life, she swallowed. "What the hell?"
"Morning campers, it's 00:00am here in - hah, like I'd tell you! - and that means it's time for the first announcement! Alright!"
Oh, come on. We get commentry now? And it's that late already? Blinking, she forced herself to listen to the excitable squeals of the girl on the other island. Wondering how time worked would have to wait. But, we could get infomation on what's happening...
She put her hands up in a fist and as each person was announced, put up a digit, counting off the dead. Gross out death Billy-Jay, Connor... killed by someone named Chisto of tanny skin, Jay killed by a girl. Fuck. Looks like we've got players.
Blinking at the mention of dangerzones, she pulled out her map from her bag quickly and examined it in the torchlight. I was just at the ravine. Safe here. Biting her lip, she glanced at Chris. "Safe here. At least until someone else finds us."
Frowning, she looked at him. "You OK?"
Simon
How long had it been now since the announcement? An hour? Less? More? It was times like this he really wished he carried a watch. The dangerzones would become active any minute now by his estimate and still no sign of Fredrick or Judith. Had they not made it out? Were they still within the threatened area, waiting for the chips inside them to detonate or already a victim of them? Either way there wasn’t much he could do for them, for now he needed to turn his attention to the two figures who still occupied the cable car station.
From what he could tell from the snippets of overheard conversation he had managed to obtain, neither of them seemed like they might be playing. Or at least neither of them had played yet or held any resemblance to those mentioned in the announcement.
Sadly that was all he knew; no idea about what powers they had, what motivations they held or why they were at the cable car station. Although it seemed logical to him that the only reason anybody came her on purpose was to reach the radio tower up the mountain.
Simon let out a sigh as he peered around the edge of the tree at the two in the station. Just thinking things through wasn’t getting him anywhere, he needed to be more proactive and just go speak to them. They hadn’t tried to kill each other yet, so they were probably harmless. Probably.
Simon carefully stepped out from behind his tree and raised his hand up so that they could both see he was unarmed as he approached the building. The two apparently had yet to notice him as he made it all the way to the station and made the transition from forest floor to man made surface.
“Hello? I’m unarmed, more or less. Mind if I join you two?”
Chris
Chris was nearly having a private freak out over the voice in his head. Still, he managed to avoid answering the voice out loud. "Um.... I'm fine. I think, I don't know," he said, hearing the uncertainty in his own voice. It really bothered him, both the voice in his head and the fear in his voice. It couldn't be happening, it was impossible, psychic powers didn't exist. And yet....
And then an interruption arrived. Somebody else walked into the building, with his own light source. It appeared to be a reddish light, but as Chris looked at the newcomer, he saw that the kid's hands were glowing. His hands were glowing. That was.... That.... Chris blinked, suddenly feeling mildly nauseous. Then... maybe it was true. Maybe the mysterious organization had made some sort of... something that caused forced evolution. It was really a strange thought, but it liberated him slightly. He turned to Pippi and said, with a slightly manic smile, "I finally understand it! You need to stop thinking so loud, I can hear your thoughts. Haha!"
Maybe it made him seem a little crazy. But everything he knew was suddenly wrong. A little craziness seemed appropriate.
Penelope
Pippi blinked.
And blinked again.
Oh fuck. I forgot about that.
Closing her eyes, she thwacked her forehead, disgraced at herself. How could she forget that she was broadcasting every thought to this guy? What would have happened if he was on the opposite team? Giving a groan, Penelope opened her mouth to apologize. "I... yeah. I can transmit my thoughts to anyone... I'm sorry, I don't know how to turn it off. But I'm not reading your though-"
Quicker than she could blink, she turned around, pulling out the gun in her pants and pointing at the doorway. What the fuck, how did I not notice that?! Almost giving a growl, she paused as the person announced themselves. A boy. Same age. Brown hair. Shirt with an obscure band that Pippi thought she heard once when she was at her sisters house. And glowing palms. The hands... they burned like a dim sun.
"Oh... I'm so sorry. Gotta be prepared for anything, you know... Come in."
Holy shit, that's new. His hands... they look like they're on fire.
Simon
Simon relaxed a little at the relatively warm greeting and felt safe enough to lower his arms without getting shot, though he did eye the other boy in the room warily as he stepped further into the building. Something about his smile just seemed… off to him. Deciding not to dwell on it, he turned his attention back to the girl who had greeted him.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Um, I’m Simon by the way. I’d shake you hand but I can’t really turn these off”
Simon looked back over his shoulder to see if anyone was visible outside yet. There wasn’t. Still no sign off either of his wayward allies; had they ditched him? “I take it you both had the same idea I did about heading for the radio tower?”
Chris
Chris stepped forward, looking fixedly at Simon's hands. "Simon, hi, I'm Chris. What fuels the reaction?" he said distractedly, holding his hand out just over Simon's palm. The heat radiated from here, blisteringly hot.
"Obviously there must be some sort of fuel. It could be burning pure oxygen, although that still brings the question of where the heat originated. Perhaps it is burning Calories. Have you been more hungry than normal?" Chris said, looking at Simon's eyes. He was entering the analytical phase of his personal acceptance of the strange.
"Perhaps it doesn't even need fuel. I couldn't begin to understand how our captors could have violated the basic laws of Physics like that, but then again, just about everything I thought I knew has turned out to be wrong today," he said, laughing slightly (in a less manic tone).
He turned his attention back to Pippi for a second, although she didn't hold as much scientific interest. Her... ability seemed to be some sort of telepathy, which likely was caused by either a similar base ability as his ability, or through some form of entanglement. Presumably, the thought would take no time at all to appear in the mind of the person she was targeting, thus moving faster than light. If that was the case, it was a form of entanglement. If that wasn't the case, then it was manipulation of the neurons of her target's brain, and the ability would have a finite range. Presumably within sight, or something similar.
"I suppose, since we can tell Simon's ability and I've correctly guessed Pippi's, I'll tell you my ability. I can, apparently, create electrical currents. I... um... am not sure what that entails, actually. It will require... experimentation," he said, the manic smile reappearing at the word experimentation. It was probably his third favorite word.
Penelope
Ever so slowly, she put the gun down, and slid it back into her pants. Simon here didn't seem like he was going to be any trouble at all, apart from the fire hands. Watching Chris give his scientific analysis, she gave a half snort.
"Nope, just decided to run as fast as I fucking well could" she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She tried to keep her brain silent, her mind switched off. No need to talk in her head until it really mattered or something. Don't want to spook them out.
Then Pippi just realised that she had thought all of that and swore. Then again, they arn't complaining about my thoughts. Maybe I just need to- Oh I'm thinking this again ain't I.
Giving a sigh, she looked at Chris. "Electricity? Well, that's interesting. So we've got a car battery, a wood fire and a telephone?"
...wow, that is a horrible joke.
Facepalming, Pippi shook her head and sighed again. "Sorry. I'm a little out of it."
Simon
“To be honest I haven’t really put much thought into what fuels them, I was more worried about how to get around with burning myself”
Simon felt it was a bit strange that this guy’s first reaction upon finding out that all these powers were real was to try and work out how they worked, you’d think finding a way out of here would be of more importance, but he let it slide. After all it was probably just his way of coping and he did raise an interesting question; it made him wonder why he hadn’t thought about it yet himself actually.
“It must be a pretty stable supply though because these things haven’t cooled down any since I woke up. It seems strange to me as well that the heat production would be limited to just my hands; they said that the serum would react differently based on our DNA which suggests a sort of randomness to how the powers manifest, but this seems more ‘designed’ than that”
Deciding that it was useless to try and understand something he had no information about, Simon turned his thoughts back to the situation at hand.
“Oh well. They’ve broken so many laws already just by kidnapping and experimenting on us, what’s breaking a couple laws of physics on top of that? They could be using magic for all I know”
Looking around Simon could see that they were still standing in the lobby of the cable car station, mostly filled the benches for the waiting passengers to sit on and nothing else, meaning that he would have to find the control room if he still wanted to take one of the cars up to the radio tower.
“Listen, I’m going to see if I can find a way to get these cable cars running again so that I can head up to the mountain. It’s not much but I think that radio tower might be the best chance we have of getting out of here; even if all we can do is call for help and hope it comes. Do either of you want to help me with that? I’ll admit that I don’t know much about this stuff”
Chris
Chris looked up at the mountain, visible only by it's outline through the window. He indicated his ear to show that they should listen. Deep in the darkness, a humming sound could be heard.
"I think the cable cars are still running. However, judging from the general lack of lights on the Radio Tower, the tower itself may not work. Um... I know a little about radios, but I don't think I'd be able to make the radio tower work. Still, worth trying anything, right?"
Chris thought for a second, then turned to the other again and said, absentmindedly, "Did I mention my name was Chris? I think I did...."
Without waiting for an answer, Chris turned and walked to where he had left his supplies and dug his knife out of his pocket. He set it on the bench and stared at it, brainstorming. It was steel, so it was magnetic, point one. Point two, the bench was also steel, so it would be able to build a charge. Now he just had to figure out how to make with zapping. He held his hands about a foot away and thought electric thoughts. Nothing happened. He moved his hands closer, to about six inches and tried again. His hands felt a little prickly, but nothing happened. Finally, Chris set his hands on the bench and thought electric thoughts again. For about three seconds, nothing happened. Then a spark arced from the bench to the knife. Chris let out a whoop of jubilation.
"O-kay. I understand now, I think."
Penelope
"I'll have to say right now, anything's worth a shot if it means getting off this hunk of rock."
With a small cough, she slowly got up and examined the control panel of the building, putting the light in her left hand and thinking quickly. This looks pretty simple. Just press this button here... or here... OK, it's not that simple. Giving a muffled swear, she randomly started to flick switches on, hearing a low whirring starting to happen. With an almighty groan, the metal of the cables started to pull, the mechanisms starting to screech back into life.
OK... I think I found the on button.
Turning around triumphantly, she gave a fistpump. "Gentlemen, I think we have ourselves some transport. I'm happy to be a team player here. I'm in." Giggling, she grinned again. "I wonder if my 'Psychic Powers' are amplified by radio antennas? That'd be interesting."
Simon
“Glad to hear you’re both on board with this, I don’t think I could do it by myself”
Simon walked over to the edge of the platform and waited for the next Cable Car to come before letting it pass by him. He listened to the cables squeak and the metal groan as it went by, wondering just how long it had been since this stuff had been maintained, or even used.
“How old do you think this stuff is? Will it hold all of us, or should we each take separate cars?”
Chris
Chris approached Simon, listening to the sound of the cables moving. They squeaked and rattled, but he believed the car would be able to hold them.
"I think it will hold all of us. I'd imagine, since this is the only way to the top of the mountain, that the group which kidnapped us would repair any damages to the system. Since this place probably used to be a work camp or a naval outpost, this cable car should be more than sufficient to carry three teenagers."
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ESCAPE
THE BLACK FORESTJUNE 24, 2010: 00:50
Judith
Judy had followed along behind Simon for about five minutes before she realized that something was wrong. Specifically, their group was down a member. Frederick had fallen behind, and, somehow, Judy and Simon hadn't caught on until just now. She stopped for a second, and glanced behind her. Not a sign of the boy in the wheelchair. Come to think of it, the terrain in the forest was pretty rough. It was possible that Frederick was stranded somewhere. Judy looked at Simon, continuing on, then back to the forest. She had to go find Frederick. The question was, should she let Simon know?
No. She'd catch up with him, instead of worrying him now. He wouldn't be of any use anyways. Thanks to his power, he couldn't help push a wheelchair, and if he followed her and got hurt, that wouldn't be fair at all, would it? So she just quietly slipped off, back into the forest. He couldn't have fallen too far behind.
It took her longer than she'd anticipated to locate Frederick. Finally, she heard him in the distance, grunting. She hurried in his direction, hoping he wasn't locked in a struggle for his life with some crazy person with fire breath or poison eyeballs or something like that. Maybe it was just an animal. She was good with animals. Maybe there was a big lion, and she could tame it and ride it away from here, with Frederick and Simon in tow, and she'd wake up in the real world again and tell Lydia and Shauna about the messed up dream she'd had.
And maybe the sky would open up and rain winning lottery tickets on her while, at the same time, she was crowned queen of the world.
No, it was nothing so extreme, so dangerous or helpful, as she had imagined. Frederick was on the ground, trying to tip his wheelchair back upright. It looked like he had gotten it caught on a protruding root, causing it to overturn. Judy rushed over to him, saying, "A-are you alright? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"
Frederick paused for a moment and looked up at her. For a second, a look of annoyance and anger flashed across his face, but then he composed himself. "Yeah, just had a little fall here. Since the terrorists and psychopaths haven't gotten me yet, I guess a damn tree branch decided it wanted a go. Could you give me a hand?"
With a few minutes of work, they were able to get the wheelchair free of the snare, and Frederick seated in it once more. Unfortunately, one of the wheels had been somewhat bent in the process, so their progress through the forest was slow. As they moved, Judy explained her decision to return without Simon. She talked about other things as well, trying to keep the silence from stretching awkwardly between them. Frederick's mood seemed to have worsened considerably, possibly due to the high-pitched squeak his wheelchair made as she pushed it along (well, she was actually mostly just giving it stability, so it wouldn't overturn should they hit another rough spot. Frederick provided most of the propulsion with his arms).
The whole situation was distracting enough that it took her nearly half an hour to figure out that they were lost. In fact, Frederick was the first to catch on.
"Wait a minute," he said. "I thought you said Simon was just a little ways ahead, and that we were near the edge of the forest."
"We were. Uh, I mean, we are. I'm sure I came from this way."
But, as she looked around, Judy found her confidence slipping. One stretch of forest looked very much like any other, and she really had no landmarks. She'd always thought she had a good sense of direction, but apparently not. Then again, this was no normal forest. Perhaps it had changed its shape as she moved, spinning them deeper and deeper into a maze of trees. Judy knew plants. She had her garden at home. That had always been a comfort, but these plants were different. Maybe it was just the situation, but she ascribed a certain malice to them unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
She gave a little shiver as the wheelchair jolted along. Frederick had fallen silent. The quiet was only broken by the sounds of insects and birds, and even those were infrequent.
--------------
It was dark, now. They had stopped hours ago, when the sun fell, given up on finding their way free for the night. Neither of them was really ready to sleep, though. Not with the possibility of murder lurking behind every tree, in every ambient sound.
Judy was sitting in lotus position, facing away from Frederick. They had simply run out of things to say, and sporadic attempts to revive their discourse had felt forced. So now, they were waiting for sunrise. It was going to be a long, long wait. Why, she'd be surprised if it was even—
"Morning campers, it's 00:00am here in - hah, like I'd tell you! - and that means it's time for the first announcement! Alright!"
As they listened to the announcement, Judy shifted into Downward Dog. This was bad. People were actually killing. Not many, but with only twenty of them, it wouldn't take more than a couple. This was sure to complicate any plan Frederick had to get them free. And the information they had to guess these killers on was quite weak. A Latino and a girl? The only people in the clear were Judy, Frederick, Simon, and any non-Latino guys they might meet.
And then it didn't matter, because they were listing the places to stay out of, and she was so afraid it was going to be the tower, so their plan wouldn't work, or the cable car station, which would throw Simon off and destroy their chances of meeting up, or both. But it was worse. The forest became off limits. They had an hour to get clear.
"Oh, fuck." It was the first thing she'd heard Frederick say in half an hour.
After that, it was all a blur. They hurried to pack their scant possessions, then took off in a random direction. Judy figured if they ran in a straight line, they were sure to hit the edge of the forest before too long. How far could it be? So they ran, well, more moved at a quick shuffle since a battered wheelchair did not lend itself well to speedy locomotion.
At first, Judy wasn't so worried. As they moved, though, she began to get more and more nervous. An hour was a lot of time, yet, after half of it had passed (by her estimations) they seemed no closer to the edge of the forest. Everything looked the same. She was starting to wonder if she'd picked the right direction. No. It had to be. There was no way the forest could be that big. It wouldn't make sense to kill them arbitrarily, right? They were doing some sort of experiment, even if it made no scientific sense.
Seemingly sensing her hesitation, Frederick said, "We should keep moving. If you think you'll stand a better chance without me, you can leave me here. I understand."
"No."
So they moved again. On and on, until they reached a ridge. A bumpy, rocky, steep ridge, one there was no way the wheelchair would make it up. They had to be running low on time. Judy looked up the ridge. What was beyond it? Did this forest ever end? Had she gotten lost, gotten them turned around?
"Offer's still open," Frederick said.
She had to think for a second this time.
"No."
And then she felt it. A weird vibrating in her flesh. Soft. Subtle. They weren't joking, then.
"H-hang on," she said. "I'll go up there, check it out, and, uh, and see. Maybe you can crawl. Maybe it's safe right up there, and we can come back for your chair in a day or something."
Frederick nodded at her, gave her a strange little smile. "Bye," he said.
She didn't want to think about what that meant. Didn't want to know what he was assuming of her. She'd come back. She couldn't just leave him. Only, only maybe, if she didn't have time... No, she would come back.
She scrambled up the slope, dodging undergrowth. The vibration came again, more urgent. She kept moving. Coudn't stop. Finally, she reached the top, and looked out. It was enough to start her crying.
Fredrick
Frederick waited in his chair, fuming. He wasn't mad at Judy. Wasn't mad at himself, though there was some irritation at his predicament. No, he was mad at the whole universe, because he wasn't going to get a chance to pay back those bastards. He was going to die alone. All he could hope was that Judy managed to kill them for him. Small comfort, that.
The vibration under his skin came again. He was trying to ignore it. His last few moments would be nicer if they were peaceful. The vibration repeated, faster now. He heard rattling, loose gravel sliding down the slope, and there was Judy.
"You came back?"
He hadn't been expecting it. For a second, hope surged through him. They could do this. He'd be out his chair, for a while, but she could carry him or something. They could live.
She was crying.
"What's wrong? We can make it. We still have time."
"N-no... Frederick, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I must have gotten us lost, or, or something. All that's up there is... is... more forest."
He blinked. Impossible. To come this close, to have that last little hope taken away? It wasn't fair. Not at all.
"Hey," he said to her. "Normally I'd never say this, but, well, given the circumstances, I guess I can tell you you're awfully cute. Oh, and, uh, I'm glad I met you. Really."
Judy wiped at her eyes. Looked at him. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Said, "Y-you too."
The vibration in his body had been building, increasing, and now it was a constant hum. He looked at Judy. She looked back. The buzzing increased.
SUBJECT C14, FREDRICK SLAGENGER: ELIMINATED
SUBJECT C20, JUDITH VIBERT: ELIMINATED
15 SUBJECTS REMAIN
SUBJECT C20, JUDITH VIBERT: ELIMINATED
15 SUBJECTS REMAIN
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: DISCOVERY...
THE GREAT DIVIDEJUNE 24, 2010: 01:03
Enter Subject C03, Keira MacDonald
This seemed to be going well at first...
After discussing about where to head next on the cable car ride down the mountain, Keira and Ray had finally agreed that heading to the Holding Cells would be the best plan of action. Luckily, thanks to Ray's experience in the Scouts, they planned out a route that would lead them across the Ravine and through the black forest in order to get to the Holding Cells.
However, the only problem was that as it began to get dark, reading the map became harder and harder. And it didn't take long until they both realised that something was wrong when they ended up at the wrong valley.
"This isn't right... wasn't there supposed to be a rope bridge or something?"
They stood on the side of the vast unnatural valley, which for the most part was bathed in darkness. If it hadn't been for the fact that it was almost midnight, the two would have probably spotted the figure of Ashlie Jackson disappearing into the forest on the other side of the valley. But as it happened, it was far too dark a night for either of them to notice. Keira for one was more focused on figuring out what went wrong. According to the map, instead of heading around the southern side of the mountain towards the ravine they'd accidentally headed around the northern side of the mountain into what was labelled as "The Great Divide". Keira pouted in annoyance as she figured out what had gone wrong.
"Well, thats annoying... I think we've headed around the wrong side of the mountain." She said, stating the obvious. "You think we should head around, or..."
Just then, a disturbingly cheerful voice started to resonate across the island.
What the hell!?! Is this someone's power or something?!?
It took a while until she realised that the voice was some sort of announcement, telling everyone about what was going on around them. Apparently, three people had already died. The first being a boy called Billy-Jay, whose death was described as being "gross" by the announcer. Keira wasn't exactly sure what to make of that...
The next person, Connor Bromley was killed by some guy called Cristo, a latino boy... Well, at least she's telling us who the pyschos are... Even if they're only given VERY rough descriptions
The final person, Jay Harland, was killed by someone who was described as being a Banshee. Keira cursed underneath her breath. She only had very rough idea what the heck a banshee was, and whilst she didn't think that the killer in question WAS a banshee (That'd just be plain silly...) she suspected that there had to be a reason whoever killed Jay was described as being one. She knew that it was a ghost, and that they were specifically female. But apart from that she didn't really know anything. She did know, however, that they had this one quirk about them that made them stand out amongst other ghost "types". Only problem was that Keira had completely forgotten what it was. Typical...
"Guess this means there really ARE people out there playing along... Well, two at least."
The announcement then mentioned the locations that would become "dangerzones". Two of which caused Keira to frown in annoyance. You've GOT to be kidding... The Ravine AND the Black Forest? Crap...
"Well, guess this means that we headed around the right side of the mountain after all..." she said, turning her attention to how Ray was taking this sudden announcement.
Enter Subject C10, Raymond Pietrowski
The cheerful, peppy and high pitched voice of the announcer really got right on Ray's nerves. He was having tobacco withdrawals, he was exhausted, and oh yeah. He was on death island. And now this bitch had to pipe up and drill into his ear drums? As much as she annoyed him and he tried to filter the damn person out; he did indeed pick up two important things. One, there were three people dead. People he'd never met before, people he didn't care about, but there were people dead. And two, they had gotten extremely lucky by getting lost.
"Guess this means there really ARE people out there playing along... Well, two at least."
That was something he didn't even stop to think about. If people were dying, there were people killing. If there were people killing, then they were in danger. Not that he wanted to admit that though.
"Well, guess this means that we headed around the right side of the mountain after all..."
"Apparently." He let the area fall silent for a moment as he contemplated. His head throbbed, and strategic thinking wasn't going to come easily. However the silence was pressing, and uncomfortable.
"So, am I the only one that thinks that bitch is way too peppy for this shit?" He shook his head, trying to come up with a plan. They had no idea where they were, or who was around. And now they didn't even know where to go because of those damned danger zones.
And the silence pervailed for a moment at least. The pair had stopped dead where they were, just contemplating their next move.
"Alright, why don't we find a nice big flat rock, flip on the flash light, and figure out where we are?" That made perfect sense to Ray. To be able to plan where to go they needed to see where they were going, right? However what didn't cross his mind at all was that the flashlight would draw attention to the pair, and possibly put them in even more danger than they already were. Instinctively his hand reached to his shirt pocket. Oh, yeah. Right. Another loose shake of the head in sheer annoyance. Couldn't these guys at least grant a dude a final smoke?
Keira
"So, am I the only one that thinks that bitch is way too peppy for this shit?"
"Tell me about it... Its bad enough that we have to survive on an island full of psychos WITHOUT being forced to listen to some high-pitched bimbo every couple of hours."
Keira stood there in silence for a moment, taking the opportunity to really think about just how bad a situation they were really in. For all her little sarcastic comments, it didn't change the fact that three people had already died within the first day of being here. THREE people. Three people who were probably just as scared and lonely as she and Ray were, probably even more. All this time she automatically assumed that the majority of the people here were stone-cold killers who'd try to gun her down the second they got the chance... Maybe she was wrong? Surely if most of the people here were killers, there would be more then three deaths so far? Perhaps most of the people here are just looking for a way out like herself and Ray, after all they're all normal people after all. Well, mostly normal.
That being said, it didn't change the fact that two people had nevertheless been killed within the past 24 hours. All it really took was for there to be one or two psychopaths before the entire situation goes to hell.
"Alright, why don't we find a nice big flat rock, flip on the flash light, and figure out where we are?"
"Sounds like a plan. Hold onto this for a sec..."
She handed Ray her gun before opening her bag and rummaging through its contents, trying to find a flashlight amongst the mostly useless equipment. It took her a while but eventually she found it, taking it out and flicking the switch on as she used it to scan the area. If they were going to start map reading, then it'd probably be a bright idea to find somewhere secluded to do it in first. After all, middle of the night or not they were still sitting ducks out here. All it'd take to end the game right there and then would be for some asshole to come along and cap them both in the back when they weren't looking.
Eventually, she managed to spot the exact kind of location she was looking for...
"Hey, I think there's an enclave or something over there! It'd probably be better to read a map there rather then out here in the open..." she suggested, motioning Ray to give her gun back with her right hand whilst her left held onto the flashlight.
Little did she realise at that moment was that it was the very same enclave in which the unseen corpse of Jay Holland lay sprawled and naked, still invisible to the naked eye until the sun finally rises in the morning.
Enter Subject C19, Joel Deitrick
Joel's mind spun as he staggered his way through the forest. He couldn't remember waking on the beach frozen and cold. He couldn't remember searching for cover as everything faded away. And he couldn't remember why it felt like his arm had been torn off. Somewhere near the beach he'd shed his bag, not even knowing what it was, only that it was a weight hurting his shoulder. His coat had come loose, and his clothes scratched and torn by bushes he could not see. Broken and drained, Joel stumbled towards the edge of the cliff.
Joel knew he was dead. When he'd come to this realisation, or how he had, still eluded him, but this afterlife was torture. Was this hell? To wander confused through a grey world filled with thousands of claws. His sight was fading; before he'd been able to see at least the grey outlines of whatever kept grabbing at his clothes, but as he wandered that too had faded away, till he was left in indecipherable darkness. Joel hated being dead. He wished he still had his brain, so he could actually understand what was going on. He felt like a spirit trapped in limbo, like in one of those stories one of his friends had so liked. Joel couldn't even remember who.
And so, when Joel finally saw the two glowing lights of the people ahead, he was cautious. They had to be other spirits trapped in this world; that's why they were so clear. What benefit another spirit could have wasn't clear to Joel, he didn't have a mouth to talk to them. He was scared; these lights reminded him of something bad; he'd seen them before. Joel didn't want to approach them, but momentum was the only thing keeping him standing.
Bursting from the bushes like some kind of spectre, the battered form of a young private school boy fell at the feet of the two other teenagers.
Raymond
"Sounds like a plan. Hold onto this for a sec..."
He nodded gruffly, extending his arm to receive gun which she offered him. Really the priority should be more to find a defensible place to sleep for the night, but a plan of action was always a good idea anyways. And it's not like looking at the map could hurt. There might be a cave or house or something on there they could bed down on. He bent his knees, resting the gun and his free hand on them in a resting position as he waited, listening intently for any signs of noise other than the clanking coming from in front of him.
Silence for a moment, and then some kind of rustling he could have sworn was coming from their left... Am I just imagining things?
"Hey, I think there's an enclave or something over there! It'd probably be better to read a map there rather then out here in the open..."
He must have been just imagining things. Kiera's voice wouldn't have drown that out if it was actually a person.
"Yeah, sounds good to me. Let's head tha-" And the rustling revived yet again; this time with a vengeance. From the same direction spawned the sound of feet plodding against earth, and the sound of branches and leaves breaking under the person's weight. His head snapped to the right, just in time to see the form of another boy falling out of the bushes directly at him, his form falling in a heap not feet away from the pair. "Oh my god!"
Even in the darkness, Ray could make out that this person was relatively short and lithe, and that something definitely wasn't right. In all good conscience the pair should have ran for their lives. After all, this could be one of the three people who have been killing. However, something about his current state told Ray that even though he was easily battered and broken, these weren't battle scars from a "winning fight". And he really couldn't pinpoint why. He just had a feeling. "Kid, what's wrong?!" Ray rushed over to the fallen boy, slowly flipping him to his back. And the sight of the darkened gunshot wound adorning his right shoulder made him flinch in surprise. "Kiera, he's fucked up pretty bad! Bring the flashlight, fast!" Blood ran down the blond haired boy's arm and slowly to the ground, staining the dirt a darker shade than it already appeared in the soft moon light.
A faint rip echoed off of the ravine as Ray reached to the sleeve of his soon to be tattered shirt and tearing it off, using it as makeshift gauze to stem the flow of lifeblood flowing from the new arrival. The blue and white fabric staining an unseen red in the dusk's obscuring presence. Glancing back over his shoulder, he waited for Kiera to retrieve the light.
Keira
Barely seconds after Ray had answered her question she heard the sound of rustling in the bushes, causing her to snap her head around to find some guy in a bloody blaiser stumbling over and falling flat on his face. Keira wasn't really sure HOW to react at first... He'd arrived so suddenly, so without warning that for a brief moment she hadn't a clue what to do...
She'd never seen some who'd been shot before in the flesh. Sure, she'd watched plenty of movies where guys go shot to pieces all the time, but that was NOTHING compared to what she was staring at right in front of her. The blood was brutally genuine for one, nothing like the fake blood she'd seen in movies like Evil Dead 2 and Kill Bill. This was the real fucking deal right in front of her very eyes. And unless she did something about it...
"Kiera, he's fucked up pretty bad! Bring the flashlight, fast!"
"Okay, hang on!" she replied quickly, rushing over to the poor boy's aid with her flash-light. Seeing his injuries up close made her feel somewhat... sickened. It was taking a lot of willpower alone for her to not just vomit all over the floor right there on the spot. Luckily she didn't, although that didn't change the fact that she still hadn't a clue what to do. She didn't know anything about medicine, or first aid, or how to treat a bullet-wound ect... All she could really do in this situation was make give moral support for the poor guy and hope Ray knew what he was doing.
"Jesus... Don't worry, We're not going to hurt you... Everything's going be alright, you'll see!"
It wasn't much, but it was the least she could do.
For the love of god, PLEASE don't die on me here!
Raymond
"Okay, hang on!"
Shit, she'd better hurry. I can't see a fucking thing!
He was seriously worried. He'd seen pretty bad wounds before. But never a bullet. Not even from that moron Clifford in his troop that NEVER held the .22 down range. Nothing that was anything like this.
He felt a cold steel object tap his shoulder. One of the two hands he had pressing down hard on the new arrival's shoulder snapped up fast to grasp the flashlight. A quick click, and there was light. Pointed the wrong way, but it was a start. "Thanks Kiera." He spun the cool, steel object in his hand and quickly nestled it under his shoulder, immediately looking back down at Joel.
It was worse in the light. The rag that Ray had haphazardly created was already soaked bright red with blood. Another quick rip, and he had a second rag which he quickly pressed down over the first. "Okay. Now I need some Gauze. We need to wrap this wound. Eventually he received the Gauze and wrapped the wound to the best of his abilities; tying the wrap off behind his arm. Such an awkward location to dress...
"Alright, help me get him into that Cave you were talking about. We need him out of the elements. I'll get his arms. Grab his legs."
"On the count of three. One... Two... Three!"
He hoisted up slowly, doing his best to match Kiera's speed. His eyes glanced around, his flashlight had fallen to the forest floor at some point. However the breeze was weak, and presumably most of their things would still be there when they got back.
Hopefully.
However trying to save this boy's life was the paramount concern right now. "Here." He indicated to a spot on the floor of the cave, one that was the most devoid of rocks and debris that he could find. "Carefully..." He set Joel down as gently as he possibly could. A few shimmering drops of what would be red if lit up shown through the final dressing, but for the most part it looked like the bleeding had stopped.
"He looks significantly better than he did before... I'll run out and get our stuff. Stay here and watch him, okay?" Before Kiera could respond, he was off, running towards the flashlight like a beacon towards their belongings.
Fold up the map... Grab the light and first aid kit; both backpacks... The arrangment took a few minutes to figure out, and it was extremely awkward with each backpack hanging off of a single shoulder; but he could manage to carry it just back up the hill. And that he did. Upon returning to the cave, he put his things down, placing the flashlight on it's end in the center of the cave, using it as a rudimentary torch. "Hopefully he'll be alright. All we have left to do is wait and see."
He let out a long sigh. He didn't want to sleep. Every second he slept was a second of his life that he wasted.
But he was exhausted. And he was sure she was. His hand reached to his pocket, removing the Gun which he had so carefully hidden earlier in the day. Next the knife which was looped on his belt. He removed his overshirt and wrapped the objects in what was left of it, placing them in the corner of the cave for safe keeping. His bag may have been lumpy, but with a few minutes of rummaging, removal of certain metalic items, and re-arrangement, it could serve as a decent pillow. And he did just that. It was a bit chilly, but by pulling his arms back into the sleeves of his T-Shirt, he could generate and hold in a little body heat.
"Night Kiera."
He had just successfully survived day one.
Keira
Thankfully, Ray seemed to know what he was doing. Keira barely knew what to do if she scraped her knee, let alone bandage up a guy who seemed to be bleeding to death. It actually made her feel somewhat useless watching Ray do all the hard work whilst all she could do was provide moral support to poor kid. Wow, a man doing all the hard work whilst the girl sits by the sidelines and looks pretty? Yeah, I've totally never seen THAT before...
"Alright, help me get him into that Cave you were talking about. We need him out of the elements. I'll get his arms. Grab his legs."
"Okay..." she replied, grabbing Joel's legs as he instructed.
"On the count of three. One... Two... Three!"
Joel proved to be surprisingly heavy, and put quite a strain on the skinny girl's arms. Nevertheless, she still managed to bring him over to the cave she pointed out without much trouble. "Damn, who'd of thought he'd be so heavy..." She helped Ray lower Joel down, taking a brief moment to recover after they laid him down on a reasonably comfy spot.
"He looks significantly better than he did before... I'll run out and get our stuff. Stay here and watch him, okay?"
"Alright, no problem..." she said, not taking her eyes away from the boy they had supposedly rescued. For the first time, she actually took the opportunity to take note of what the strange boy actually looked like. All the blood aside, he actually looked quite pretty. A bit on the skinny side, but who was she complaining? He wore a green blazer as well, along with a shirt and tie and everything. Like one of those posh British schoolboys you see on TV.
"Hopefully he'll be alright. All we have left to do is wait and see."
She nodded in reply to what Ray said, opening up her bag in order to retrieve a handkerchief to clean up Joel. She wiped some of the blood off his face, making sure to not disturb him too much. But then she noticed something that caused her to freeze on the spot... His eyes. There was something distinctly wrong about them. They were more like the eyes of a snake then the eyes of a human being. What in the... Is this something to do with his power? Does he have the ability to turn into a giant snake or something?
"Hey Ray, take a look at..." she began, before she turned around and realised that Ray had already fallen fast asleep. Oh well... I'll just tell him about it in the morning.
On that note, she decided it was about time to take a nap herself. She hadn't had any sleep ever since she first woke up on this crazy island... Hopefully, she wouldn't end up getting her throat slit in her sleep or something. THAT would just suck. Still, there was a slight problem she had to deal with first... Where exactly WOULD she sleep? It getting cold, VERY cold. And the fact that she happened to be wearing a tank top did not help in the slightest.
She looked over at Ray and briefly considered the possibility of something along the lines of huddling up next to him... For warmth of course, although the fact he happened to be quite cute helped. Come to think of it, as she watched him lay here huddled for warmth, she began to realise just how much she'd grown to like him ever since they met on top of the mountain. They barely even knew each other for more then, what, ten hours? Ish? And yet, it felt as if they had both known each other for over five months or something... And within that short amount of time, they had already began to trust and depend upon each other. As if they'd managed to form something of a special bond together... Wait, am I... Am I actually starting to fall for this guy? I've barely known him for a day, and yet...... No, don't think about it. The last thing you need is to suddenly develop a crush on a boy who could easily wind up dead tomorrow.
Still, I guess if we managed to make it off this island together... Forget it, i'm tired. I'm not thinking straight. Nighty night....
And so, she lay her head down on her bag and fell asleep, ignoring the cold sensation that was beginning to creep up on her...
Joel
When someone started touching his shoulder Joel shuddered. They were hurting him! Against the black sky the glowing figures loomed over him, holding him and tearing at his wound. The pressure from the makeshift bandages made his shoulder feel as if it was on fire. Joel tried to struggle, but his motions were too weak.
Joel gave up, and let his head fall back. He couldn't stop whatever these people were doing so he just let them continue, letting out the occasional gasp of pain whenever the bandage squeezed too tight. He didn't even try to stop them when they lifted him. He just gave a small cry as his shoulder shifted again and clenched his eyes tight. When he was lain down of the cold he let himself stay where he was put, and slowly drifted off into unconsciousness.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
CHAPTER NINETEEN: AN ODE TO ADELAIDE
THE COVERJUNE 24, 2010: 01:33
Enter Subject C04, Otis Adelaide
Otis felt weak. The two of them - Samantha and himself - had been wandering across the cove for what seemed like hours looking for somewhere to spend the night, carrying his pack over both shoulders now as he hadn't the strength to hold it over one anymore. He hadn't even eaten all day, adding to his exhaustion, but after seeing that face there was no way he'd want to ever eat again. The shack would have been the ideal spot for them to sit out the game, but he didn't even want to think about that place right now, choosing to shove the image of the eyeless boy far back in his mind, right past his very worst memories. There was one night, in particular, which he'd ask to re-live far less than finding that body.
---
The club was packed tighter than it had ever been, with people spilling out into the streets and the line to get in going far back along the block, even turning the corner as more and more people clamoured to get inside. Of course, getting into Siberia - the club, not the region - was harder than whistling by knocking two coconuts together, and most who tried to enter were turned away unless they slipped the bouncers a flash of green (or pink, in the cases of the girls who really wanted to get inside).
Way in the back, up in the VIP booths, Otis sat with his parents, listening to the owner of another local record company telling him all about the downfall of soul in today's hip-hop and how it lost its way sometime back in the 90s, around the time of the infamous "coastal" debates. His father was barely listening, but he was in too good of a mood to stop him now. No, he'd let him finish, smile, thank him for coming all the way down here, then promptly have him escorted off the premises by his personal bodyguard, Bass. Bass the 6'6 mountain whose real name was only known to those whose names adorned his shoulders. No, Kym was in a very good mood tonight. This was the night that he'd win over his biggest rivals. This was the night which would show them all how powerful the Adelaide name could be.
With the clock coming up to 9pm, and the majority of Miami's finest settling in downstairs, Kym couldn't stop himself from grinning from ear to ear, waiting for the moment his boy would show them all what it meant to have his blood running through his veins. The boy, however, was looking decidedly less confident. Otis sat in between his father and the imposing Mr. Denham with both eyes on the hands of his watch. In a few minutes he'd be on stage for the very first time in his life, performing a rap he'd been working tirelessly on for the past few months. He knew how big a moment it was for his father; he'd been promising to sign him up as an artist ever since he could talk, but now that the big night was finally here, the night they'd been waiting years for, well, saying he was nervous would be almost offensive.
His mother, on the other hand, wasn't as oblivious as his father, and noticed her son's trembling hands as he sat quietly in a panic. "Otis, baby, I got somethin' to show you." Slipping out of the reach of her husband, she waited for her son to join her on the balcony, overlooking the bustling streets below. As soon as he stepped out into the warm summer air, she took him by the hands, clasping them tightly with her own while she looked up calmly at her little boy. "18 years old..."
"Mom?"
"18 years since I first held you in my arms." She looked him up and down before letting herself laugh. "Though I don't suppose I could do that now, huh."
Otis smiled awkwardly, wary of the sad look in her eye.
"Otis, sweety, I... you don't have to do this, y'know? If- If you don't think you can do this, you don't have to. You can say no if you want."
She forced herself to smile reassuringly, but it was too late. He felt betrayed.
"What? You don't think I can do this? I- I- I been waiting for this for years, mom, and now you're tellin' me I don't have to do this?"
"No, sweety, I-"
"No, mom! No! I'm- what, you think I'm scared or somethin'? That I'm nervous?"
He snatched his hands away furiously.
"You don't know anything! I'm gonna prove to you I got what it takes! At least- at least Dad believes in me! Y'know?!"
"No! Baby, I'm just lookin' out for you!"
"Lookin' out for me?!"
"Yeah! I don't wanna see you get hurt out there!"
"Hurt? Hurt? Shit, you really don't think I can do this!"
"No, that's-"
"No! You know what? You're a bitch, Mom! Always holdin' me back! You've never-"
Smack.
They stood silently, Otis stunned as he held his stinging face while his mother looked on in regret. That was it. She'd lost him for good.
Without a word, her son walked away, leaving his mother standing alone in the evening light. Wiping away the tears that were threatening to run through her mascara, she sighed in desperation. Her little boy had decided not to pay her any mind, and now he was about to make a fool of himself in front of everyone who mattered in this pointless city. Now his Dad would see just how thick the Adelaide blood really ran.
"Baby... please..." She whispered into the night.
Enter Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
Hours. It had been hours since leaving that shack, hours since that horrible discovery. Hours that had dulled Samantha's memories of the event somewhat, allowing her to eat earlier. The face, however, still haunted her. She could still feel those empty sockets burning into her back. But it wasn't so urgent. It wasn't that big a deal, really. He couldn't hurt her now, that was for sure. He was dead. Who was that boy? That was the question that bothered her now. Who was he, and how had he died?
Then, as if in answer to her ponderings, hidden speakers crackled to life. A voice began addressing them, sounding oh so gleeful. It made Samantha clench her teeth, grinding them slightly. That fucking bitch. How could she sound so happy? People had died. Three of them. If she had to guess, the one they'd seen was Billy-Jay. "Gross" summed that sight up pretty damn well. Two more had died, too: Connor and Jay. All boys, it sounded like. That was interesting. Samantha vaguely wondered whether the gender ratio had been close to even, or if boys outnumbered girls on the island.
Then the areas they were to avoid were announced. Samantha took out her map and examined it, using her flashlight to provide illumination. She'd been using it for a while, now, shielding it with one hand to direct the beam and prevent excess light from escaping. There was no reason to make herself an easy target, after all. She knew two of the zones that were now sealed, having been in them. The other two were also easy to find, and not in a position to cause her trouble in her movements. She folded the map and tucked it into one of the pockets in her skirt. The night air was chilly, but somewhat refreshing. It was keeping her awake. Her blouse was all dried, now. Otis hadn't even seemed as interested in her state of immodesty. Probably preoccupied with what they'd seen.
In a way, it was a mercy that the shack was now off-limits. It meant that nobody else would be forced to share in the knowledge of that poor boy's fate. It also meant that they lacked important information, information that Samantha possessed. Billy-Jay had been killed by something related to his head and eyes. There was a possibility that it was someone's power. Somebody could have fried his brain or something. Samantha didn't believe that to be the case, though. They had announced the other two killers, at least obliquely, but had said nothing of Billy-Jay. That implied an accident. Had he misused his own power somehow? Had he tried to escape? Perhaps that was what happened to those who defied their system.
"Pretty grim, huh?" Samantha said, a few seconds after the announcements had finished. At least two people had already killed. Cristo, a presumably Latino boy, and someone called a banshee. Samantha couldn't remember the people from the briefing room in any detail. She'd been distracted, and had a bad view. For some reason, the number twenty stuck in her mind (well, twenty others, and then herself, but one had been shot so twenty was the real total). Twenty people here. Three were dead. That meant there were seventeen left. She would have to outlive sixteen other people, at least two of whom had murdered.
Those were not good odds.
Right now, though, she couldn't be thinking so far in the future. Otis' presence had something of a calming effect on her. Their companionship felt friendly, even though she didn't say much. Perhaps she was not the most welcoming person. She was still keeping him at a distance, at least on a personal emotional level. She could not be distracted by strange thoughts. She had to focus on surviving.
Her gun was once again tucked into the back of her skirt. It was not particularly comfortable; the metal had chilled with the onset of true night, and now it was freezing the small of her back. She'd put her socks and shoes back on, and they were sandy, just as she'd feared. Things could have been better. They could've been much worse, but they could certainly have been better. At least she was with Otis.
Time passed, as they continued to search for a good place to ride out the night. It was not an opportune time to be about. Visibility was shot, and Samantha found it more than possible that one of their opponents would have nightvision or something equally useful in this environment. Their best bet was to act only when it was to their benefit, that being in the day, and snatch what rest they could at other times. They could sleep in shifts, taking turns on watch. That was a huge advantage. Samantha could trust that Otis would not shoot her. At least, not until they were the last two left, and she didn't think he would even then. She wouldn't shoot him until the end, either. It was an understanding of sorts.
She had no idea if she would be able to pull the trigger if the time came at all, anyways. That body had reminded her that this wasn't a game. People didn't come back after dying. She would protect herself, spare herself that fate, but she couldn't murder somebody just for the heck of it, or expediency or whatever. Whether protecting herself included stopping the one day timer from running out, stopping them all from being blown to pieces... well, she'd have to consider that if it came up.
She could dimly make out a black shape in the distance. It looked like a rock face. Perhaps they would find shelter near there. They could wait until morning, and figure out a plan after the noon announcements, in eleven hours or so.
"How about over there?" she whispered to Otis, gesturing towards the silhouette.
Enter Subject C17, Cristo Ruiz
It was dark, and Cristo didn't know how long he had been walking for. He was surrounded by his thoughts as he walked, paranoia, anger, self hatred, and other thoughts weighing him down as he had walked through this night. He didn't know exactly where he was, asides from the fact that it was somewhere on the island's shore. He had watched the waves come in, crashing against the rocks on the shore, the dark, black endless sea stretching out beyond it. He watched it come in, he watched it go out, and he stood there, mesmerized by the feeling of despair he felt when he looked at it. He watched that, and he thought, his mind working overtime to turn over things he never wanted to think about.
The last time he had spent a night like this- actually thinking- he didn't know. All of his nights lately had blended into the same, bland, dreary yet blissful routine. Popping a few pills, listening to music on his computer, a combination of his favorite rap, rock, and whatever the hell the newest crap on the radio was, and watching some movies, most of them mainstream, the occasional one being pornographic. After a few hours of this, he'd probably pass out on the couch. He wanted that right now. He wanted the music, he wanted the movies, he wanted the pornography. But most of all, he wanted the pills. Anything to stop the thoughts going through his head.
Cristo had been wrong, he realized now. He'd thought there was only one new Cristo, the one that he'd discovered with Connor. That one, he'd decided, was the jackal. It was the best fit- there was nothing human about this thing in his mind. It was all savage, primitive, the most basic brutal part of him. It was concerned only with survival, but it took a sick exhilarating pleasure from the things it had to do- it loved to hurt and it loved especially to kill. It wasn't just a predator but a sadist too, and it wanted to be the best, it wanted to be one left standing, and not just that, but the one left standing on a pile of corpses. He had wondered if this thing was in everyone- he suspected it was, at least in some capacity- but it definitely was in him. It had taken control of him when he had attacked Otis and when he had killed Connor. But now, when he needed to face the aftereffects of that, it was gone.
It was replaced by the other Cristo, the "I wish" Cristo, the "Why did I" Cristo. This one was definitely human, and it didn't tell Cristo what to do. It just commented on what he did. I wish I hadn't killed that boy, it said. I wish I wasn't on this island. Why did I kill him?, it said. Why do I think I can leave that behind, and why do I think should I continue with this?. Cristo hated it, and he was pretty sure it hated itself as well. But misery loves company, and it wouldn't leave Cristo alone.
Cristo laughed at this, laughed at his little private joke, laughed so hard and so long he didn't even notice when he started to cry. If anyone had walked by right now, and seem him, they wouldn't see even a shadow of the master hunter he had thought he was, the survivalist who had everything under his control. They'd see a boy who was possibly suicidal and definitely depressed, driven half mad with guilt, paranoia, and the fear of his own death. They'd see a boy who desperately wished for nothing more than this all to be a dream, for him to wake up in his own bed at his home, to be hugged and loved by his mother and father, to just live life like a semi-normal teenager. They'd see a boy who'd never get his wish.
Otis
"The cliffs?" Otis peered out into the darkness, spying the heavy silhouette of the southern cliff face against the star-spotted backdrop. "Yeah, sounds good." Wandering over side-by-side, it was clear to Samantha that the events back at the shack had shaken her protector somewhat, as he walked quietly across the sand with his gaze drifting to the ground below, like he was looking for something. It wasn't something that could be easily found though, and the previous announcement had caused his fevered mind to go into overdrive with paranoid thoughts about the other inhabitants of the island.
Cristo, his mind continued to whisper, as he recalled what the girl on the PA had said. Cristo had killed someone. They very same Cristo that had left him for dead back at the cells had actually killed someone, without even giving them the same fighting chance he gave to Otis. Had he gotten worse? Had his mind finally left its broken, mad shell behind? The notion that he could've been attacked first didn't even enter his head. No, if Cristo killed someone, it was out of cold blood - that was something he knew for sure.
But what about Otis? Would he have what it takes to actually murder someone? To take away another man's life? What about Samantha? Did she? He didn't know much about her, after all, and she could've been just as bad as everybody else so far. Then again, she didn't seem like the violent type, and even if she was, he was pretty sure he could take her if they ever got into a fight. Not that he'd enjoy it though, never. If there was one thing he didn't do it was hitting women, even if they hit first. To Otis, hitting a woman would be one of the worst things a guy could ever do. Hell, after hitting a woman, you might as well cut off your own dick and throw it to the dogs.
Yet still the question lingered, like a bad after-taste. What if she attacked him? What would he do? In his head he could imagine the scenario going his way without a hitch, but that was in his head, not real life. For all he knew she could just be leading him over to the cliffs to make sure nobody could see what she was about to do. Or worse yet, what she'd force Otis to do. There was just too many questions right now, and they all depressed him as he went over each one in his head, hoping that the answers wouldn't be as bad as he'd feared. Nonetheless, none of those answers even mattered if he could do nothing about them, and thinking back to his run-in with Connor, he remembered just how helpless he was right now.
Apparently, everyone had been given a "gift", as the man said. He hadn't really had the time to go over what he meant today, after all the things that had happened, but now that he was stuck on this train of thought, there'd be no getting off until he reached a safe conclusion. Thinking back to the holding cells once again, he began to piece together what had happened, bit by bit, while the pair made their way safely to the other side of the cove.
Samantha
They were heading towards the cliffs. It was good, very good, especially since Samantha was starting to get worried about Otis. The boy still seemed shell shocked by it all. She hadn't noticed until they started moving again, but now she wondered whether he would be sharp enough to keep watch at all tonight. If not, she could handle it. She'd pulled all-nighters before. It was practically a weekly event for her back in school. Fuck. School. The concept seemed so foreign now. It had been her world, her everything, her route to the future, a future where she wouldn't have to worry about anything, but could make money doing something she could tolerate and live in relative comfort. Now, that seemed rather shallow, rather mundane. She was fighting for her life, on an island far from home, with sixteen people who would have to kill her if they wanted to live. She had allied herself with one of those people, though whether that would be a good choice at all remained to be seen.
She wondered what Rachel would have done in this situation. Her sister would probably already be dead. That, or fucking Otis' brains out. Then again, maybe she'd actually be doing better. Maybe her sister's loose morals would have let her take control of the situation and start actually eliminating her opponents. Of course, that might not have turned out so well for the people who had done so. At least two killers had been announced to the island. Cristo was worse off, whoever he was, since a name and rough description had been given. The banshee was slightly more mysterious, but surely that tag would have meaning for somebody. Both of them were almost certainly targets, now, or at least poor potential allies.
They continued to walk, Samantha lighting their way with her shielded flashlight. She hoped they weren't too noticeable. It would be bad if they were ambushed. The night gave them some cover, but it was still very possible that someone would start shooting without warning, killing Samantha before she even realized they were there. She covered up even more of the light, her breathing and pulse quickening at the thought. She didn't want to die. No, she wouldn't die. She just had to figure a way out of this mess, a way that didn't involve murdering her way through. Would there be some weakness in the place? There had to be, right? Nothing was perfect. There just had to be.
Unfortunately, the odds were good that the weakness would be covered up by the fact that some people were playing along. Samantha couldn't focus too heavily on escape while watching her back. Again, she was thankful for Otis. Maybe they could make a concerted effort together. Maybe others would join them. After all, they hadn't shot each other yet. Otis hadn't even drawn his gun. That stopped her short. He hadn't drawn his gun. She'd assumed he still had it, but he hadn't even used it in the shack, when she thought they were being attacked. Had he thrown it away? Immediately, the image took hold. It was romantic, in a way; he was so tough, but he threw away his gun to avoid killing anyone. She knew, of course, that there was a good chance that wasn't the case. He could have lost it somewhere. He could be saving it for real trouble. The fact remained that he had never pointed a weapon at her.
They were getting closer, now. Closer to the cliffs, and closer to some semblance of safety. In the morning, they could start to plan. If they were going to make any move, the best time would probably be right after the announcement. Then, everyone else might be resting, or avoiding the new forbidden zones. Yes. That was a plan.
Plus, it meant the hard stuff would come later, and she could calm down a bit in the present.
Cristo
Cristo's throat drew short, gasping breaths as he began to settle down. He'd only been crying for a minute or two, but something told him that'd been too long. Through bleary eyes he now saw what he would've done had he not been so careless, so emotional - two fingers of light, pulling themselves along the sands of the beach below. People.
No, he thought.
Prey.
The jackal was stirring deep within; it clawed and bit at his body from the inside out, telling him to go down there and shoot them both before they even had a chance to bid themselves goodnight. This would be easy. So frightfully simple, to walk, silently, down to the bottom of the cliff and release the full potential of his gun right into their hearts like this island has done to his. This was his moment - his glory. If he could pull this off there'd be no stopping him; no-one would get in his way. If those sick fucks wanted a show, then he'd give them one, oh yes. After all, he was Cristo Ruiz, and no-one would ever outperform him.
Otis
Otis grew weary. They'd finally reached the cliffs, meaning they could rest at last. Groaning as he pulled the bag from his shoulders, he gave a short grunt and off it went, flying into the sand. God-damn, did that feel good. He'd been carrying that thing all day long, and he was sick of it. Now he could sit back, relax, and sleep tight knowing he had someone to keep him company. Of course, it would've been much better if they had at least, oh, say, a bed, but hey, he wasn't picky. Especially when he was this god-damn tired.
Yawning loudly, he shuddered at the rush of the wind; it was getting much colder now, it must've been way past midnight, right? Shit, who even knew. Otis didn't, that was for sure. Not that it mattered. Sam looked just as beat as he did, but in a way he kinda resented that. What the hell had she been through today? She sure as hell didn't have a fucking gun pointed at her face - twice. Ugh, he knew he wasn't mad at her though. All he needed was a little shut-eye and he'd be good to go. They'd get up in the morning, maybe take off his tank top to show his new lady the goods, then find a proper place to hole up in while everyone else went crazy.
Heh, that didn't seem all that bad really. Yeah, so, he was in the worst situation of his entire life, but hey, he had a hot girl with him now, who probably had some kick-ass power of her own, and he had a feeling nobody was even gonna try and fuck with them. Not even Cristo fucking-
A gunshot permeated the air without warning; the sand near his feet springing high up in the air.
"Shit!"
Sam screamed too, the two of them back on their feet as their flashlights scrambled to find the shooter.
"Sam, you okay?!"
"Y-yeah! I'm fine! I'm fine!"
Their eyes darted around the area - who the fuck was that?! Someone had fucking shot at them, and they were standing out in the open like a couple of tools! Otis ran to his bag, but before he could reach it he was stopped by another gunshot. Inches, this time, away from his face. He turned, firing light into the distance as they clung together in a panic. Suddenly, their lights made contact upon something dark and manic, something that caused Samantha to squeeze Otis' arm a little tighter.
The wide-eyed smile of Cristo fucking Ruiz staring them right in the face.
Samantha
They'd reached the cliffs. Good. About time, too. Now they could... well, maybe sleep, maybe just settle down. They'd have to stay alert, stay ready, be prepared for a sudden ambush, but there were worse options. Like sticking around in the open. That'd be a pretty good way to get killed. Anyways, the cliffs were better, in many ways, than man-made shelter. The houses, the shack, those were places that people would make for. It was basic instinct. Comfort in the familiar. It had gotten Samantha earlier. Otis too. And that boy, the one with the melted face.
Otis yawned. Samantha tried to force herself to stifle her own urger to follow suit, failed. Stretched a little, too, flexing her toes. Damn sandy socks. She was about to say something, ask who should take first watch or some basic stuff like that, because no way in hell was she letting them rest unguarded, not with killers out there, when all of a sudden her worries went flying away, replaced by the more pressing concern of survival. Because someone was shooting at them. Someone had decided it was time to get into things, score a couple easy kills. They'd been too open. Too obvious. Now they would pay.
Samantha dived to the side, scrambled, came up on her feet, ducked close to Otis again. She'd screamed. Instinct. Bad instinct. The sort of thing that would get her killed. The sort of weakness she could not allow herself. She'd have been dead right now, if the attacker had aimed better.
Wait. That wasn't true. The shot had gone wide, not of Samantha, but of Otis. She was not the primary target. She was presumed to be the lesser threat.
She flicked her flashlight around, searching. Trying to calculate vectors in her head, to figure where the shot had originated from. Failing. Otis asked if she was alright. Like fuck she was alright. Someone was shooting at her. It was the sort of stupid question Pippi would have asked. But, since this was Otis, since this was a person she could feel almost comfortable with if he wasn't looking at her the wrong way, she bit down the bilious response that immediately came to mind, and instead forced out, "Y-yeah! I'm fine! I'm fine!"
Lovely. Stuttering and repetition. She was becoming a nervous wreck. Losing what little composure she had. That was bad. That would get them killed, as soon as their attacker figured it out. Especially since Otis didn't have a gun. Oh no. That meant it was all on her, wasn't it? She was their fighter, their hope of salvation. She, who had nearly killed herself test-firing her pistol, who had never so much as played one of those shooter games the freshmen boys always talked about.
She was clinging to Otis now, and oh, how she hated herself for it. Here she was, falling into the role of protected, failing, letting stress consume her, letting go of her very life because saving it might, lord forbid, take some effort. Another shot whizzed by, close again, so close to Otis, and she squeezed his arm and closed her eyes and prepared for the end because they were going to die and...
And she didn't know why, but she tweaked her face again, just a little. A slight grinding of cartilage in her ears. A flash of pain. A tiny little taste of what awaited her when that bullet came smashing into her body. And she realized she wasn't quite ready to go, wasn't quite ready to give in and take the easy way out.
Fuck dying.
And so, Samantha used her free hand to tug the gun out of her skirt and level it directly at the shooter, in plain view now, right in front of them. A boy whose ethnicity she couldn't quite place. His gun pointed at Otis. Her gun pointed at him. Stalemate. Standoff.
She was breathing heavily. Almost hyperventilating. She barely managed to push the words out, but they came.
"Should've been a bit quicker on the draw there, jackass."
Cristo
Cristo smiled.
To himself, within his head, a smile opened - lips cracking as they peeled away from the dry, brittle teeth that grew sharper with every word the bitch threw.
Upon his face, lit up, blinded, by the flashlights, he revealed not a trace, and instead displayed the foulest look of disgust as the girl vainly stood her ground. Did she think he'd go down that easy? One flash of the gun and he'd piss himself in absolute terror? Please. This one had the air of virgin about her, in every sense of the word. A single look at the way her hair fell about aimlessly, her bookish glasses, the fact that she wasn't bracing herself for the recoil. These were things he knew expertly, and he knew just how to deal with a pest like her. And as for Otis? He glanced to her left. Well, it didn't look like he even had a weapon. Easy win, he thought. A little too easy compared to their first encounter, but whatever. They at least had better odds.
Still, he had to make it known that he wasn't gonna simply stay and take their shit. Raising his own weapon slightly, he stopped at the first twitch of the blonde's trigger finger. He couldn't afford getting killed just yet, not when he had so much left to do. So he raised it a little higher. She twitched again, aiming it a little more towards his heart. Credit was due for knowing her anatomy though; he imagined her friend wouldn't even know how to spell the word, let alone locate it. Again, his weapon rose, but met with hostility this time as her temper wore thin and she commanded him to stop. But he wouldn't stop, not ever. Not at the beck and call of his mother, not because the terrorists told him to, and certainly not by obeying this cow.
Finally, his weapon met her own, and the two of them stood just meters apart. Their guns rivalled one another, glinting in the moonlight like the grin of the devil, coaxing the two into ending the show in a parade of a blood ribbons and bone confetti. Would there be applause at the end? Would they get to take their bows? Maybe. If anyone deserved a standing ovation, it was the magnificent Cristo Ruiz, not these two bit-players.
Knowing his plan could fall apart at the slightest mishap, he hurried himself along, setting the act into motion with a gentle roll of his tongue.
"Alright, I can tell this has gotten waaaay out of hand."
He sighed, a little disappointed.
"So how about me and you make a deal?"
He shot her a quick flash of his teeth - the whitest smile.
"I'll put down my gun, you put down yours, then me and Zulu fight it out like real men. Hand-to-hand, man-to-man, all that... shit."
Otis growled under his breath. Did he just call him fucking Zulu? Oh, that was fucking it. He'd drugged him, shot at him and his new lady-friend, and now he was slinging that bullshit around? Fuck no. Fuck. No.
"Do what he says, man."
A bewildered look from Samantha.
"I'm gonna tear this fucker down."
Samantha
He was fucking with her, trying to fake her out. Moving his gun into position on her. Thing was, that was exactly what she needed. A few moments to calm the fuck down, regulate her breathing, stabilize. This could be the last few seconds of her life. That was the sort of thing that had to be faced with dignity, not terror. She would ignore the sweat running down her palms. Ignore her elevating heartbeat. Just keep the gun trained where it'd be damn sure to take this asshole down. Because he wouldn't push it. The only reason to kill, to shoot, was to survive. That goal precluded getting shot in the heart.
But he kept twitching that gun, closer, closer to her. It was making her worried. Maybe he was insane. Maybe...
"Knock it off," she said.
And he cut the games, pointing it straight at her. The barrels of their weapons were mirrored. If they fired now, would the bullets impact each other, fall from the air? It was statistically improbable. She shouldn't be getting distracted now. Shouldn't be letting her attention wander. This was her life on the line. Otis' life too. It was all on her, and she hated it. Couldn't stand the pressure.
So, when this boy proposed a deal, she wanted to jump on it. Wanted to throw her gun down, breath a sigh of relief, and let Otis bail her out. But that was stupid. She was being weak. Helpless. Letting herself be taken care of. It wasn't fair. She had to refuse. Had to back him off, prevent any fight from occurring. She wanted to scream. Wanted to tear her hair, grind her teeth, anything to release the pressure that was once again building inside of her.
But she couldn't. If she slackened even a bit, it would be the end. This guy would shoot her, then Otis. Her breathing was speeding up even more. She felt lightheaded. Fuck. They were doomed. This was it.
Otis told her to do it. To agree. She glanced at him, confused, realized her mistake and snapped her head back. Her finger twitched on the trigger, nearly ended both of their lives. Why was Otis doing this? Because the guy had insulted him? No. No, Otis was smarter than that. Better than that. There were two options. Either he thought he could win, or... or he was protecting her. He cared. He cared for someone he'd just met. No. No no no. No way. Not happening. It was machismo, that was all. Show off for the girl to get good with her. Right. Had to be. No one could care at a time like this, with only one possible survivor.
He could win. That was it. Had to be.
"Fine. At the same time."
It was the easy way out. The safe way. But it was the best way, for her. Because, no matter what happened, it meant Samantha had a better shot at living. If Otis won, she was safe. And if he... if he lost, she'd have a running start. And she'd get her gun, get clear, and then haunt this fucker to the ends of the earth.
She was calming down. The pressure was off. Thank goodness.
So why did she feel like she was making an enormous mistake?
Otis
Sam put down her gun.
They kept their eyes on Cristo as he did the same, mimicking her every move with frightening precision until the two of them were unarmed and their weapons lay out on the sand in front of them. One after the other, they all let out a sigh, exhaling all their tension while Otis prepared himself for the fight. The Latino took a few steps back, readying himself, then smiled.
"Come on then, show me what you've got you ugly fuck!"
Otis charged.
His mind blanked as he ran forward, sending the beach flying up in the wake of his attack. This was it. All the cards were on the table now, their lives now firmly in his own hands. If - no, when he won, he'd make sure to finish the guy off for good. He'd make sure that the fucker didn't kill anybody else, and he'd do it as painfully as possible. He didn't deserve mercy for everything he'd done, and as he launched himself across the stretch of land between them, he knew he wouldn't be capable of giving it even if he'd wanted to.
No, he'd give Cristo the beat-down he'd been waiting his whole life for, and it'd be fucking brutal. Smash in his ribs with his fists, kick in his guts until he spilled them out onto the ground, and then he'd finish with the real coup de grace - his oh so precious face. Oh yeah, he'd enjoy pulling that smug fucking grin off his face. Maybe he'd keep his teeth as a trophy and a symbol of his victory over the king of faggots. And then, once all was said and done, he'd take Sam away from this place - this hell - and he'd show her what a life she could have if she spent even just a second of it back home in the magical world of Miami.
But then, as he ran, he noticed something odd about the scene.
Cristo wasn't scared.
Why was he so calm when a huge guy like Otis was running towards him, veins pumped full of adrenaline and eyes that showed no fear?
And then he knew.
Because his eyes were exactly the same.
He tried to stop, tried to turn back the other way, to warn Samantha, but it was too late - the bullet found it's target, and Otis collapsed to the floor in a bloody heap.
Cristo
Cristo couldn't believe it.
It had been so easy. He knew that Otis was as thick as shit, but he didn't expect him to fall for that so badly. The gun still smoked in his hand, the gun that he'd stolen from the guy he killed back at the settlement. His eyes widened at the thought. The image of that bullet-riddled corpses, leaking blood everywhere. How could someone have so much blood? Eyes glanced back to Otis' body, his blood sinking into the sand like the island was trying to take it all back. He didn't have nearly as much as the other guy. No, that was because he'd only shot him once. He hadn't gone overboard this time. He'd stayed in control. He was becoming a natural at this - a natural killer.
A grin.
Then he focused his attentions on the girl, now running towards them both. Was she... upset? Why? they weren't friends, they didn't know each other, so why the fuck was she so upset?! It made him angry. How could someone like him have friends here, but not Cristo? Surely he should've befriended the entire fucking colony by now, so what was going on? Iris had fallen so easily for his charms, as falsified as they were, and although that bitch Holly didn't seem to like him, he was sure she would've come around, given a little more time.
But no.
This cow was crying over Otis.
He took a step forward, gun raised.
"Hey! You dare take one more fucking step and I'll drop you faster than your lover boy there!"
That stopped her.
She couldn't do anything now - poor, helpless little cow, unarmed with no way out. He'd get his third kill of the day, and on the next he'd hear his name across the sky, like it always should've been.
"Cristo Ruiz, the champion! The true winner of the world!"
The jackal laughed inside him. It liked the sound of that. They'd kill every person here and walk away as winners. Yeah... that sounded so perfect, so right.
He tightened his grip on the gun, squeezing the trigger until it was just about ready to burst.
"You know,"
A sideways glance as he inspected her face.
"If you didn't insist on making yourself so fugly, you would've made a great victory lay."
He lined up his aim.
"Say hi to Otis - the fuck?!"
Something grabbed his ankle as he spoke, sending him into a blind panic. What the fuck was - NO. No fucking way.
A large, brown hand gripped itself around his leg, making it go numb. The fuck was going on?! Wasn't he supposed to be dead?! How was he still -
And then he froze. The gun slipped from his hand and made a short thump as it fell. The two of them were stuck, suspended in time almost, were it not for their beating hearts which now punched out against their chests. They beat faster and faster, trying their best to beak free of their skeletal cages because they knew they didn't have much time left to escape.
Samantha looked on, confused and scared, not knowing whether she should intervene or not as the blood persisted on pouring from her partner's open lung. She didn't know what was happening, and as Cristo slumped to his knees, still joined by skin to Otis, she realized neither did they.
Otis
In his mind, Otis could see every second of Cristo's life flashing back and forth between different events and memories of the better times he had growing up, before he became a model. The city, his parents, smiling. Before they moved he had seen a real childhood, a real life a kid could be happy to look back on with no regrets because at that age, who should have them? Then it all changed. They moved away, he joined a new school. He liked it there, he was popular, becoming the kind of person he thought his mother wanted him to be. And yet, they still weren't satisfied. They took him out, forced him to stay at home and study. He wasn't to interact with the riff-raff, the junkies and the failures, oh no. He was to study and work on his modelling - his parents always said he had that "Ruiz charm", and boy did he believe it.
But where had it gotten him? What had it all been for? Now he sat on a beach in the middle of the night, on the horizon of nowhere, his very memories being sucked away by someone his mother had tried so hard to keep him separate from. The very same person he'd considered to be above in every way had somehow managed to turn the tide, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His whole life, every single moment, every tear, every laugh, every flash of every camera, every disappointed look his parents sent his way - all gone, fading away into the black along with every other part of his brain. Every synapse, every impulse, fading, dissolving... but it didn't hurt.
The first moment of true peace he'd ever known would wind up being his last, and yet, he looked happy.
Content.
There was nothing left of him now but a warm, gentle smile.
The jackal gave the world a quiet nod, then slipped back into the shadows.
SUBJECT C17, CRISTO RUIZ: ELIMINATED
14 SUBJECTS REMAIN
14 SUBJECTS REMAIN
Samantha
There. The guns were down. It was all going to be okay. The two boys took a second to prepare themselves. The attacker stepped back a bit. Wait, why was he stepping back? That meant a trick. Some trip in the terrain or something she couldn't see. She was about to warn Otis, to tell him to hold off, and then it was too late.
Otis charged down the beach at his opponent, seemingly full of confidence. It would be okay. It would all be okay. Only it wouldn't. On some level, she knew this. Had known this the whole time. No matter what happened here, she or Otis would die in the end. Probably both of them. No, this was just a stalling measure. More than that, it was a bad one. The smaller guy must have had a plan. Maybe his power was acidic palms or something of the sort.
Or maybe he just had an extra gun.
Samantha watched him pull it out from behind his back, watched him level it, wielding it with more confidence and precision than she could ever have had, watched him stand, seemingly unfazed, as Otis barreled down on him, watched him pull the trigger, watched the blood spurt from Otis' chest.
Then she was running. She was running and crying, because she knew Otis was dead, and she knew she was going to die too, and she knew that, in the end, she just wanted to hang on to something that would bring her a little comfort before the end. She could have run away, but that wouldn't have helped against a gun. She could have pulled her knife and attacked, but she wouldn't have been quick enough. So she was just going to go to Otis, hold him, and wait for the end. The tears were running down her cheeks. Tears for Otis, for herself. For everything she could have done. Everything she'd always been afraid of. What the fuck had she been thinking, spending her life focused on school, on college, pushing aside friends and putting on ice any hint of romantic feelings? Was she that afraid of pain, of screwing up? She had screwed up. She was feeling pain, and soon there would be more.
And then, the guy with the gun told her to stop.
She wanted to ignore him. To keep moving. To go hold Otis, or to die halfway. Only, more than that, she wanted to cling to these last few seconds. She wanted to prolong her existence as much as she could, would have traded anything in the world for another thirty seconds.
He had his pistol gripped, looking at her. Aiming at her. He was going to shoot her, to kill her right here. This was going to be the end. Oddly, she didn't find the thought of a quick death very reassuring. No, far better to take a hit in the gut, to get a wound that lingered a little. Better to embrace death as a release, after having some time to come to terms with it. Better to have those extra few minutes or hours.
Then, to top it all off, he insulted her. Called her ugly, made indecent comments. This was it. The end of it all. Samantha was still crying. Dammit. Why couldn't she at least face death with some dignity or courage? Why couldn't she even hold it together enough for her last moment of existence to be a good one?
The boy started to tell her something about Otis, when, all of a sudden, he swore. He didn't blow Samantha's brains out. His aim wavered. Samantha looked around, seeking the source of her momentary reprieve.
It was Otis. Somehow, he'd managed to grab the other boy's ankle, and was holding him. He was bleeding everywhere, but alive. Somehow, still alive. And something was happening. It had to be, because the attacker wasn't shooting, wasn't killing Samantha. They looked confused, the both of them. Then, the boy's eyes rolled back, and he slumped to his knees. From there, he pitched forward into the sand. She noticed that he was smiling, not the menacing smile of before, but something calm. Peaceful, almost.
The fuck?
But it didn't matter. He was out at the very least, unconscious or something. She could run. She couldn't. Not with Otis hurt. Not with him dying, and he was dying; Samantha was no biologist, but she could tell that much. He wasn't going to make it out of here. So she ran to him, fell to her knees, still crying, crying for the boy she hardly knew, someone who, nonetheless, she considered a friend. Someone who had gambled with his life to protect her, and seemed to have managed, of all things, a draw.
She reached out her hand to him, unsure of whether or not she should touch him, unsure if she would cause him more pain.
"Are you... Oh my god, Otis."
What could she say? What could she do? No first aid kit could fix that damage. So she watched, watched Otis bleeding to death. Wondering what things could have been like if she hadn't lost her nerve, hadn't let him make that stupid decision. They could have both backed up, until they were out of range. They could have fled into the night, regrouped, fought another day. Let someone else take care of this psycho. They could be sitting somewhere, talking, getting to really know each other. Fuck, she didn't know anything about him, didn't know what foods he liked to eat, what music he listened to, what his favorite pastimes were. And now, now she never would.
She didn't try to fool herself. There was nothing she could do except keep Otis as comfortable as possible. That, and keep the other guy away. She glanced at him. He wasn't moving. Wasn't breathing. Had Otis had some sort of death touch? Was that why he had no gun, why he'd been so confident?
Later. Time to worry about that later. Because now, Otis was dying.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Otis
So much pain.
That was all he could feel now, as he lay bleeding to death.
His breathing had become erratic - he'd take in one short breath, then take two large gasps, then another, then a short one again. His body was failing him, after all the years he'd spent getting into perfect shape, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Hearing Sam, he did what he could to flip himself over.
He wasn't going without a fight, but he had a feeling this was one he was going to lose. In that case, he wanted to spend his last moments looking at the girl he'd given his life to protect. Finally, he'd done something he could truly be proud of. Something, he guessed, if she could've seen it, his mother would be proud of too.
He smiled, weakly.
Another gasp.
Every part of him felt heavy now, his head swimming as he tried his best to focus on her face.
He wanted to say something to her, tell her everything would be okay now, and that she'd have to be fearless if she wanted to live. He wanted to tell her how hot she was, make her feel good about herself before he went. Anything really.
But as he fought back the blur in his vision, all he could muster was a gurgle as blood seeped out of his mouth.
This was it.
The darkness.
Different to the one Cristo had seen, but somehow similar.
Like he was burning.
Like someone was pulling him under.
Looking back, he wondered if there was a better way to have done this.
He felt stupid.
Here he was, leaking out onto the island, leaving Samantha completely alone.
Would she cope without him?
He wondered.
Then grinned.
Of course she would.
He hadn't know for very long, but there was one thing he knew about her.
Otis liked her.
And that was all he needed.
His eyelids slowly closed, as he took one last look at the beautiful girl.
"M...ma-...make sure... y-you..."
A loud cough, his lungs throwing out the last of his air.
"Live, Sam. Just... live."
One last breath.
One last look at the stars.
Otis had done a lot of things in his life.
He'd fucked up a lot, and he often acted like a dick.
But in the end...
He had no regrets.
Samantha
He was dying. Right before her eyes, Otis was slipping away. And there wasn't a single fucking thing she could do about it. At least it didn't seem like it was too awful a death. He seemed almost content, actually. It terrified her, the thought that someone could give up like that, could go without kicking and screaming. And then he smiled. He smiled, he closed his eyes, and he spoke to her. Told her to live. Took one more look at the world, and that was it. He was gone. Gone, lost, like he'd never been in the first place.
Samantha eventually stood up. Her feet were asleep. She looked at Otis, at the boy who had died for her, who had told her to survive. Looked at the other guy, whose name she didn't even know. The monster. The killer. He'd smiled too. They'd both smiled. Both seemed accepting. She shivered.
Then she ran. Ran from the beach, form the bodies, from the death. Ran from her fears and her her dreams and her decisions. Ran past the beach, past the shack, past the mountain. Ran past the school, past the coffee shop where she studied, past Pike Place Market, the smell of fish mixing with the smell of the sea, drifting through the air. Ran until she could run no more, because she had to take the elevator, which she rode to the top of the Space Needle, where she stood, leaning against the guardrail, blinking back tears as she looked out over Seattle, trying to forget.
Forget school. Forget swim team. Forget her lack of friends. Forget the mountain of homework sitting on her desk. Forget her sister—fucking slut—and her parents and their expectations. Be alone, be one with the world in the cool nighttime air.
Forget the knife. Definitely forget the knife.
Couldn't look too distraught, too desperate, or security would be all over her. Jumpers were bad for business. But she wasn't going to jump, right? Wasn't going to throw herself a tenth of a mile to the ground. No way. Even though she just wanted out of it all. Wanted to go away and never return. Wanted to say fuck it all, quit school, run away. Give up her future and dreams. After all, she was totally fucked come finals, especially since she was here, above the city, instead of sitting at home, finishing her projects and readying her presentations. At least the part of the observation deck she was on was empty. It often was at this time, after the sunset but before the late-night rush. With her pass, she could come here once a day, though, in practice, she didn't have time. This was her favorite time of day to visit.
She was crying, breathing too heavily. Pulling her hair until her scalp ached, and loose strands came away in her fingers. She looked at them. The ones in her right hand blond, wavy. The ones in her left the same, except where they crossed her palm. There, stained dirty red brown. The bandage had slipped. Dammit. She retied it. Tried not to think about the knife. Sitting in her bedroom, so out of place in the well-kept living quarters, in the back of her drawer. The little pocket knife, a souvenir from some shop she couldn't remember, toyed around with but never used, not until today, its blade stained the same as her hair now, since she hadn't had the heart to wipe it clean. Memories: sitting, staring at the screen of her computer, writing a line, deleting it, writing it, deleting it, slamming her fist on the desktop, realizing that she couldn't, just couldn't keep straight As if she kept up like this, realizing it was too much, too much, still three weeks until finals and she was already at this stage, too soon, and then the knife, sitting on her bookshelf, ignored for years, flipping it open, studying the blade, shiny, bright, perfect in the afternoon light, cutting a star into her last test (33/34—Good Job!), stabbing it into her beautiful desk, gouging the wood a little like those delinquents in school, throwing the test in the trash, slamming her palm on the table, pausing, trying to think, remembering no one was home, remembering no one would be home for hours, examining her palm, dancing the knife across it, first the dull side, then the blade, ever-so-lightly, not cutting not hurting not yet, reconsidering, pondering, taking the dive, blood, her blood, welling up from her palm, a light cut, nothing serious, no harm but the pain, pain running through her hand her mind herself, bringing her back, taking her away, making it so nothing mattered anymore, just her hand, stinging, burning, letting her know she was still alive, she was still real, she was more than a pile of school papers sitting on a desk, more than grades and extracurriculars and college acceptance letters, more than that all, more than she could even really grasp. A walk to the bathroom, peroxide on the cut, wrap it in gauze. Make up an excuse. Can't have Mom and Dad knowing. Can't be weak, can't give in to stress, can't escape like fucking Rachel did. Then, running, running—fuck homework, fuck passing, fuck the future—until she was on the observation deck.
Her palm was still bleeding. That was probably not a good sign. Maybe she had reopened the cut, torn the scab free when the bandage slipped. A quick glance around. Security really wouldn't like this. No way to explain it. Cutting herself? That was middle school emo shit. She was better than that. What would her parents say? Quicker breathing again. Parents. School. Homework. Three weeks. Three weeks until graduation. She could make it. She could pull herself back together, somehow. She could hold it in. Force away the worries. Ride the stress like a wave, fight her way to the surface. It was that or drown in it. That or let this be like each of her other breakdowns, something she swept under the carpet, meticulously hid under smiles and confidence and extra credit.
But it was too late. If she didn't fix this today, more than that, right the fuck now, it would come out. Grades slipping at the last second, Seniors suddenly taking hits to their GPAs? That didn't look good. She didn't feel like starting her future on academic probation. Didn't feel like making things even harder on herself. Why? Why the fuck did she have to be the responsible one? Why was she doing this to herself, trying so hard to reach a future she couldn't guarantee, couldn't even really imagine in concrete terms?
Her hands were clenched into fists, hard, too hard. A drop of blood had run down her left middle finger, pooled at the first joint. It wobbled, waited, fell. Splashed to the floor of the observation deck. Samantha opened her hand. The bandage had gone red, a nice line right down the middle. She had to change it. Had to get some more peroxide and new dressings, and think up a damn good excuse for a perfectly straight scab across her palm. A sharp rail. That would do. Was she up to date on her tetanus shots? Hopefully. She'd just lie. Her parents wouldn't know. She didn't lie often, but she was good at it. They couldn't look past her success. Couldn't imagine she'd deceive them.
Another drop. That wasn't good. She pressed her palm to her sweat pants. That would leave a stain. Dammit. Too much to deal with. Just too much. And the city, stretched out around her, unaware, uncaring. She would never matter to it. Not unless she flung herself from the platform. That would make her a headline for a day. But she wouldn't. Couldn't. Cared too much. Couldn't wiggle through the safety grid anyways, probably.
A sigh. Back to the elevators, then. Back home. Back to reality. Hold out for three more weeks. Graduate, then freak out over the summer, get it all done before college. Then four more years. Not so much, in the grand scheme of things. Four years, then graduate school. Then a career, a well-paying one, something tolerable. Maybe, someday, a family in there.
It sounded horrible. It sounded like a waste of an existence. She was still crying. Wishing, wishing as hard as she could, that she could be someone else. Anyone else.
The pain tore through her, dropping her back to her knees in the sand, the same sand, in front of the bodies. She hadn't gone anywhere at all. Hadn't run, except in her mind. She heard, distantly, the snaps cracks coming from her face, but it didn't matter, no, not one bit, what mattered was the pain, the pain distracting her from the present and the past, the pain taking away the world, taking away her memories, leaving her lying on her side on the beach, screaming and flailing around, as her face shattered, knit itself together, shattered again, her features fluctuating with whims she couldn't express, hidden from the world by her hands, her hands pressed against her face, her left palm healed, just a slight line of fresh pink skin, made sense, after all; it had been nearly two months. Nearly two months, and that day was crashing down on her again, suffocating her, combining with the loss of—
Pain again, washing the thoughts away.
----------------------------------------------------
Some time later, the pain stopped.
Good.
She was ready to face the world again.
Slowly, she pulled herself to a kneeling position. It wasn't just her socks that were sandy now. The stuff was worked into her skin, her hair, her skirt and blouse. She brushed it off.
A quick look around revealed that nothing had changed. Otis was still dead. The other guy was still dead. There was a large area of disturbed sand around her, where she had lain, writhing. Damn. The fact that she was still alive astounded her. Anyone with sense would have finished her off. The beach was still deserted, though.
She made her way to the water. Looked at her reflection in the light of the almost-full moon. The face that stared back was not her own. It was a monster's visage, twisted, distorted, mouth locked in a permanent grimace, nose grotesquely enlarged, ears shriveled, the whole thing wrinkled. Only her eyes and hair were her own, and that made it all the worse.
Bracing herself, she visualized her own face, as best she could recall it. The pain was not so bad, this time. Almost a friend. A welcome release from the world, a dimming and focusing of her perceptions. She kept her eyes open, watched, fascinated, as her face returned to its proper state.
And now what?
Time to move on. Time to get going. After all, she couldn't just wait here to die. She returned to the bodies. Picked up her gun. Stuck it in the pocket of her skirt. Picked up the other guy's first gun. Fumbled with it until she found what she was looking for. The button that made the bullets slide out, in their black case. She counted them. Six. That gun went into her pack. Next, the gun he had shot Otis with. Again, the process. Thirteen in this one. She decided to check her own gun, too. Also thirteen. That meant they'd had fourteen shots at the start. Good to know. Into the bag with the spare.
The attacker had two knives. Otis had one. She cut strips in the side of her skirt that did not already have them, and sheathed one of the spare knives there. Now she had one on each side. Symmetry. The other two joined the guns in her bag. She took the food from the packs, too, and the medical supplies. It was a lot. Fairly heavy. But she'd need it. She knew she'd need it.
Then, with everything taken care of, it was time to go. She started walking, stopped. Turned, looked back at Otis and the attacker. Walked back, and stood, looking down at Otis.
After a while, she knelt down once more, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He was surprisingly cold.
And then she took off again. Staying in one place wouldn't be useful at all, not anymore, and besides, she still had to get an idea of what exactly was going on.
"Live, Sam. Just... live."
I will, Otis. Just watch me.
I will.
Exit Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
So much pain.
That was all he could feel now, as he lay bleeding to death.
His breathing had become erratic - he'd take in one short breath, then take two large gasps, then another, then a short one again. His body was failing him, after all the years he'd spent getting into perfect shape, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Hearing Sam, he did what he could to flip himself over.
He wasn't going without a fight, but he had a feeling this was one he was going to lose. In that case, he wanted to spend his last moments looking at the girl he'd given his life to protect. Finally, he'd done something he could truly be proud of. Something, he guessed, if she could've seen it, his mother would be proud of too.
He smiled, weakly.
Another gasp.
Every part of him felt heavy now, his head swimming as he tried his best to focus on her face.
He wanted to say something to her, tell her everything would be okay now, and that she'd have to be fearless if she wanted to live. He wanted to tell her how hot she was, make her feel good about herself before he went. Anything really.
But as he fought back the blur in his vision, all he could muster was a gurgle as blood seeped out of his mouth.
This was it.
The darkness.
Different to the one Cristo had seen, but somehow similar.
Like he was burning.
Like someone was pulling him under.
Looking back, he wondered if there was a better way to have done this.
He felt stupid.
Here he was, leaking out onto the island, leaving Samantha completely alone.
Would she cope without him?
He wondered.
Then grinned.
Of course she would.
He hadn't know for very long, but there was one thing he knew about her.
Otis liked her.
And that was all he needed.
His eyelids slowly closed, as he took one last look at the beautiful girl.
"M...ma-...make sure... y-you..."
A loud cough, his lungs throwing out the last of his air.
"Live, Sam. Just... live."
One last breath.
One last look at the stars.
Otis had done a lot of things in his life.
He'd fucked up a lot, and he often acted like a dick.
But in the end...
He had no regrets.
SUBJECT C04, OTIS ADELAIDE: ELIMINATED
13 SUBJECTS REMAIN
13 SUBJECTS REMAIN
Samantha
He was dying. Right before her eyes, Otis was slipping away. And there wasn't a single fucking thing she could do about it. At least it didn't seem like it was too awful a death. He seemed almost content, actually. It terrified her, the thought that someone could give up like that, could go without kicking and screaming. And then he smiled. He smiled, he closed his eyes, and he spoke to her. Told her to live. Took one more look at the world, and that was it. He was gone. Gone, lost, like he'd never been in the first place.
Samantha eventually stood up. Her feet were asleep. She looked at Otis, at the boy who had died for her, who had told her to survive. Looked at the other guy, whose name she didn't even know. The monster. The killer. He'd smiled too. They'd both smiled. Both seemed accepting. She shivered.
Then she ran. Ran from the beach, form the bodies, from the death. Ran from her fears and her her dreams and her decisions. Ran past the beach, past the shack, past the mountain. Ran past the school, past the coffee shop where she studied, past Pike Place Market, the smell of fish mixing with the smell of the sea, drifting through the air. Ran until she could run no more, because she had to take the elevator, which she rode to the top of the Space Needle, where she stood, leaning against the guardrail, blinking back tears as she looked out over Seattle, trying to forget.
Forget school. Forget swim team. Forget her lack of friends. Forget the mountain of homework sitting on her desk. Forget her sister—fucking slut—and her parents and their expectations. Be alone, be one with the world in the cool nighttime air.
Forget the knife. Definitely forget the knife.
Couldn't look too distraught, too desperate, or security would be all over her. Jumpers were bad for business. But she wasn't going to jump, right? Wasn't going to throw herself a tenth of a mile to the ground. No way. Even though she just wanted out of it all. Wanted to go away and never return. Wanted to say fuck it all, quit school, run away. Give up her future and dreams. After all, she was totally fucked come finals, especially since she was here, above the city, instead of sitting at home, finishing her projects and readying her presentations. At least the part of the observation deck she was on was empty. It often was at this time, after the sunset but before the late-night rush. With her pass, she could come here once a day, though, in practice, she didn't have time. This was her favorite time of day to visit.
She was crying, breathing too heavily. Pulling her hair until her scalp ached, and loose strands came away in her fingers. She looked at them. The ones in her right hand blond, wavy. The ones in her left the same, except where they crossed her palm. There, stained dirty red brown. The bandage had slipped. Dammit. She retied it. Tried not to think about the knife. Sitting in her bedroom, so out of place in the well-kept living quarters, in the back of her drawer. The little pocket knife, a souvenir from some shop she couldn't remember, toyed around with but never used, not until today, its blade stained the same as her hair now, since she hadn't had the heart to wipe it clean. Memories: sitting, staring at the screen of her computer, writing a line, deleting it, writing it, deleting it, slamming her fist on the desktop, realizing that she couldn't, just couldn't keep straight As if she kept up like this, realizing it was too much, too much, still three weeks until finals and she was already at this stage, too soon, and then the knife, sitting on her bookshelf, ignored for years, flipping it open, studying the blade, shiny, bright, perfect in the afternoon light, cutting a star into her last test (33/34—Good Job!), stabbing it into her beautiful desk, gouging the wood a little like those delinquents in school, throwing the test in the trash, slamming her palm on the table, pausing, trying to think, remembering no one was home, remembering no one would be home for hours, examining her palm, dancing the knife across it, first the dull side, then the blade, ever-so-lightly, not cutting not hurting not yet, reconsidering, pondering, taking the dive, blood, her blood, welling up from her palm, a light cut, nothing serious, no harm but the pain, pain running through her hand her mind herself, bringing her back, taking her away, making it so nothing mattered anymore, just her hand, stinging, burning, letting her know she was still alive, she was still real, she was more than a pile of school papers sitting on a desk, more than grades and extracurriculars and college acceptance letters, more than that all, more than she could even really grasp. A walk to the bathroom, peroxide on the cut, wrap it in gauze. Make up an excuse. Can't have Mom and Dad knowing. Can't be weak, can't give in to stress, can't escape like fucking Rachel did. Then, running, running—fuck homework, fuck passing, fuck the future—until she was on the observation deck.
Her palm was still bleeding. That was probably not a good sign. Maybe she had reopened the cut, torn the scab free when the bandage slipped. A quick glance around. Security really wouldn't like this. No way to explain it. Cutting herself? That was middle school emo shit. She was better than that. What would her parents say? Quicker breathing again. Parents. School. Homework. Three weeks. Three weeks until graduation. She could make it. She could pull herself back together, somehow. She could hold it in. Force away the worries. Ride the stress like a wave, fight her way to the surface. It was that or drown in it. That or let this be like each of her other breakdowns, something she swept under the carpet, meticulously hid under smiles and confidence and extra credit.
But it was too late. If she didn't fix this today, more than that, right the fuck now, it would come out. Grades slipping at the last second, Seniors suddenly taking hits to their GPAs? That didn't look good. She didn't feel like starting her future on academic probation. Didn't feel like making things even harder on herself. Why? Why the fuck did she have to be the responsible one? Why was she doing this to herself, trying so hard to reach a future she couldn't guarantee, couldn't even really imagine in concrete terms?
Her hands were clenched into fists, hard, too hard. A drop of blood had run down her left middle finger, pooled at the first joint. It wobbled, waited, fell. Splashed to the floor of the observation deck. Samantha opened her hand. The bandage had gone red, a nice line right down the middle. She had to change it. Had to get some more peroxide and new dressings, and think up a damn good excuse for a perfectly straight scab across her palm. A sharp rail. That would do. Was she up to date on her tetanus shots? Hopefully. She'd just lie. Her parents wouldn't know. She didn't lie often, but she was good at it. They couldn't look past her success. Couldn't imagine she'd deceive them.
Another drop. That wasn't good. She pressed her palm to her sweat pants. That would leave a stain. Dammit. Too much to deal with. Just too much. And the city, stretched out around her, unaware, uncaring. She would never matter to it. Not unless she flung herself from the platform. That would make her a headline for a day. But she wouldn't. Couldn't. Cared too much. Couldn't wiggle through the safety grid anyways, probably.
A sigh. Back to the elevators, then. Back home. Back to reality. Hold out for three more weeks. Graduate, then freak out over the summer, get it all done before college. Then four more years. Not so much, in the grand scheme of things. Four years, then graduate school. Then a career, a well-paying one, something tolerable. Maybe, someday, a family in there.
It sounded horrible. It sounded like a waste of an existence. She was still crying. Wishing, wishing as hard as she could, that she could be someone else. Anyone else.
The pain tore through her, dropping her back to her knees in the sand, the same sand, in front of the bodies. She hadn't gone anywhere at all. Hadn't run, except in her mind. She heard, distantly, the snaps cracks coming from her face, but it didn't matter, no, not one bit, what mattered was the pain, the pain distracting her from the present and the past, the pain taking away the world, taking away her memories, leaving her lying on her side on the beach, screaming and flailing around, as her face shattered, knit itself together, shattered again, her features fluctuating with whims she couldn't express, hidden from the world by her hands, her hands pressed against her face, her left palm healed, just a slight line of fresh pink skin, made sense, after all; it had been nearly two months. Nearly two months, and that day was crashing down on her again, suffocating her, combining with the loss of—
Pain again, washing the thoughts away.
----------------------------------------------------
Some time later, the pain stopped.
Good.
She was ready to face the world again.
Slowly, she pulled herself to a kneeling position. It wasn't just her socks that were sandy now. The stuff was worked into her skin, her hair, her skirt and blouse. She brushed it off.
A quick look around revealed that nothing had changed. Otis was still dead. The other guy was still dead. There was a large area of disturbed sand around her, where she had lain, writhing. Damn. The fact that she was still alive astounded her. Anyone with sense would have finished her off. The beach was still deserted, though.
She made her way to the water. Looked at her reflection in the light of the almost-full moon. The face that stared back was not her own. It was a monster's visage, twisted, distorted, mouth locked in a permanent grimace, nose grotesquely enlarged, ears shriveled, the whole thing wrinkled. Only her eyes and hair were her own, and that made it all the worse.
Bracing herself, she visualized her own face, as best she could recall it. The pain was not so bad, this time. Almost a friend. A welcome release from the world, a dimming and focusing of her perceptions. She kept her eyes open, watched, fascinated, as her face returned to its proper state.
And now what?
Time to move on. Time to get going. After all, she couldn't just wait here to die. She returned to the bodies. Picked up her gun. Stuck it in the pocket of her skirt. Picked up the other guy's first gun. Fumbled with it until she found what she was looking for. The button that made the bullets slide out, in their black case. She counted them. Six. That gun went into her pack. Next, the gun he had shot Otis with. Again, the process. Thirteen in this one. She decided to check her own gun, too. Also thirteen. That meant they'd had fourteen shots at the start. Good to know. Into the bag with the spare.
The attacker had two knives. Otis had one. She cut strips in the side of her skirt that did not already have them, and sheathed one of the spare knives there. Now she had one on each side. Symmetry. The other two joined the guns in her bag. She took the food from the packs, too, and the medical supplies. It was a lot. Fairly heavy. But she'd need it. She knew she'd need it.
Then, with everything taken care of, it was time to go. She started walking, stopped. Turned, looked back at Otis and the attacker. Walked back, and stood, looking down at Otis.
After a while, she knelt down once more, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He was surprisingly cold.
And then she took off again. Staying in one place wouldn't be useful at all, not anymore, and besides, she still had to get an idea of what exactly was going on.
"Live, Sam. Just... live."
I will, Otis. Just watch me.
I will.
Exit Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds