Knuckles whitened.
"Fuck," Ivan said softly, and jumped as something in his peripherals - Lucia - darted into view, throwing something towards Fisk-
who fell backwards, ass over teakettle. Akeno had made good on her attack on Verity, and that left-
That left-
Mandy was ducked around the corner when Ivan sprang over- jumped over Thomas, skidding on the soles of his feet, slick and wet with blood. Every step was agony as he sprinted, covering the ground quickly, firing tenga twice into the space where Fisk had just disappeared, sending linoleum and more glass exploding into the room.
As Mandy came up, weapon beginning to draw, Ivan slammed tenga - burning barrels first - into her midsection, momentum sending both of them crashing out of the banquet hall.
Hotline Miami
Do You Like Hurting Other People? Private
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The Honeless Beard
- Posts: 907
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3450
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
So there was one way in which Mandy had been successful: she had some attention transferred from Fisk now. Not enough to get shot at, not right away, but Ivan turned and charged towards her. She had this crazy impulse to wave, but instead brought up her weapon.
She held the pistol in front of her with shaky hands, reloaded and ready, and pulled the trigger, and nothing happened, so the gun just dropped back to her side as her eyes went wide. Then the barrel of Ivan's rifle slammed into her stomach and the force propelled them along, shoving Mandy right back through the swinging doors and into the hallway. She screamed, pain from the impact and from a sharp burning sensation spreading through her, and wondered if she'd been shot but it didn't seem like it.
For just a moment, her gaze locked with Ivan's, and she took in the bloody letter scratched into his forehead, his lack of shirt, the way his eyes didn't quite align properly.
Slowly, he blinked.
His rush stopped, but uncontrolled momentum kept Mandy moving, and she went sprawling to the tile floor, an ungraceful tumble that turned into a better recovery than she expected as she pulled herself into a crouch, two charred circles smoking faintly in her onesie like a little infinity sign.
She looked at the gun still clutched in her hand, and there was a moment of belated recollection, and she pulled the slide and actually chambered a round.
The she snapped off a quick, totally wild shot, and turned to run for all she was worth.
((Mandy Gross continued in Hit 'Em Up))
She held the pistol in front of her with shaky hands, reloaded and ready, and pulled the trigger, and nothing happened, so the gun just dropped back to her side as her eyes went wide. Then the barrel of Ivan's rifle slammed into her stomach and the force propelled them along, shoving Mandy right back through the swinging doors and into the hallway. She screamed, pain from the impact and from a sharp burning sensation spreading through her, and wondered if she'd been shot but it didn't seem like it.
For just a moment, her gaze locked with Ivan's, and she took in the bloody letter scratched into his forehead, his lack of shirt, the way his eyes didn't quite align properly.
Slowly, he blinked.
His rush stopped, but uncontrolled momentum kept Mandy moving, and she went sprawling to the tile floor, an ungraceful tumble that turned into a better recovery than she expected as she pulled herself into a crouch, two charred circles smoking faintly in her onesie like a little infinity sign.
She looked at the gun still clutched in her hand, and there was a moment of belated recollection, and she pulled the slide and actually chambered a round.
The she snapped off a quick, totally wild shot, and turned to run for all she was worth.
((Mandy Gross continued in Hit 'Em Up))
A screech, and a crack.
Now, nobody would have to see her. Now, they won't ever know.
Now, nobody would have to see her. Now, they won't ever know.
I’m so, so, tired. Can’t you just let me be? Do I have to be here?
A weapon is not a weapon without blood. And anything can have blood on it. You don’t know the humans’ creativity. Their capability. You don’t know the way that they innovate new ways to hurt each other.
They distract each other. They find ways to entertain, then they innovate new means of entertainment, and then they have slave children make these new toys for them in windowless factories.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be somewhere else. I want to be doing what I’m supposed to do. I want to love.
But this is all they will know. I am nothing without my violence.
Nobody else here would be, too. We can't all be the wire cutters, the instruction manuals. We are clogs in the machine. We are the blood. We are nothing else.
...
...
Can't escape it, can't we?
...
The next camera whirred. The show is back together again. As the girl stood there, paralyzed, there was nothing she could hide from the world anymore.
Lucia looked at the bloodshed. She had her hand clenched into fists and nothing to hit. There wasn't a single thing she could've done then that would save her, and she knew it.
As much as she knew the smile erupting on her face as Fisk's skin broke apart on her blade was oh so real.
A weapon is not a weapon without blood. And anything can have blood on it. You don’t know the humans’ creativity. Their capability. You don’t know the way that they innovate new ways to hurt each other.
They distract each other. They find ways to entertain, then they innovate new means of entertainment, and then they have slave children make these new toys for them in windowless factories.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be somewhere else. I want to be doing what I’m supposed to do. I want to love.
But this is all they will know. I am nothing without my violence.
Nobody else here would be, too. We can't all be the wire cutters, the instruction manuals. We are clogs in the machine. We are the blood. We are nothing else.
...
...
Can't escape it, can't we?
...
The next camera whirred. The show is back together again. As the girl stood there, paralyzed, there was nothing she could hide from the world anymore.
Lucia looked at the bloodshed. She had her hand clenched into fists and nothing to hit. There wasn't a single thing she could've done then that would save her, and she knew it.
As much as she knew the smile erupting on her face as Fisk's skin broke apart on her blade was oh so real.
“Aaa...a.augh...”
Fisk rolled on his back as the meat cleaver jutted out from his face, imbedded vertically, going from his forehead down to his cheek. His eye was closed when it hit, and now it stung, though the pain radiating from his face was relentless in general. There was fear.
Really terror. The idea that he could lose his eye-did lose his eye, that he could die here, that he could already be dead and that this failed and this was it-
He opened his eyes, saw the room in front of him in one eye, a big black line in the middle of the other, followed by red, then stinging. He blinked than gasped, feeling the blade part his eyelashes. Red stinging.
“Gah! Fffuuu-“ He rolled to his side, the pain unrelenting. He was alive, for now. Important question was to pull it out or leave it in. Do I pull it out, or do I leave it in, do I pull it out, do I leave it in, do it pull it out?
Fisk was not going to die looking like some Tim Burton joke. He slid the palm of one hand underneath its handle as his other left his machine gun to grip it.
“Gnyeah!” He wrenched, then pulled, the blade coming out with a *sshishk* before clattering to the side, followed by a drawn out, high pitched wail. “eeeeuuuWAAAAAAA-aaaaa-AAAAA-aaaaa-AAAAA-HAHN-Hahn-hahn!”
Fisk rolled over to his knees, cupping his face, dripping blood over his hands and his gun. He wiped away with his sleeve strobing his eyes. Closest call he’s ever had to dying so far, and it’s been to some crazy fuck tossing a butcher’s tool at him out of nowhere. Humbling for most, but right now Fisk didn’t have time for humble. Fisk blinked.
He could see, then red, then black.
He could see, then red, then black.
He could see-then red, he wiped at his eye.
He could see.
He could see!
He gripped his machine gun, laughing as he closed his left eye. Though blood from his wound kept pouring down into his eye, it was unharmed, his forehead took the brunt of it, and even then it was a flesh wound! He laughed a breathy giggle standing up. He slowly appeared into frame, rising above the tipped over table he used as cover.
His crew was gone, and he had to help them, but first this trash was in the way. They were gonna suffer. He continued to giggle, the scars on his mouth meeting the new vertical one going down from his eyebrow to his cheek.
“Hehehehe~ Make a fool of me, eh?”
He raised the Chicago Typewriter for another volley.
“We’ll get ready, coz I’m about to make a horror show of you lot!”
He squeezed, and sprinted forward. His next plan was to remove their cover, and hop along the top of the tables to do that. Do that and this fight with these two were as good as over.
He just had to get there first. Shouldn’t be too hard. He’s got the quantity to keep them suppressed.
Fisk continued running and gunning, laughing and leering all the while.
“Gyah~hahaha! Gonna fill you fucks full of holes! Die screaming!”
Fisk rolled on his back as the meat cleaver jutted out from his face, imbedded vertically, going from his forehead down to his cheek. His eye was closed when it hit, and now it stung, though the pain radiating from his face was relentless in general. There was fear.
Really terror. The idea that he could lose his eye-did lose his eye, that he could die here, that he could already be dead and that this failed and this was it-
He opened his eyes, saw the room in front of him in one eye, a big black line in the middle of the other, followed by red, then stinging. He blinked than gasped, feeling the blade part his eyelashes. Red stinging.
“Gah! Fffuuu-“ He rolled to his side, the pain unrelenting. He was alive, for now. Important question was to pull it out or leave it in. Do I pull it out, or do I leave it in, do I pull it out, do I leave it in, do it pull it out?
Fisk was not going to die looking like some Tim Burton joke. He slid the palm of one hand underneath its handle as his other left his machine gun to grip it.
“Gnyeah!” He wrenched, then pulled, the blade coming out with a *sshishk* before clattering to the side, followed by a drawn out, high pitched wail. “eeeeuuuWAAAAAAA-aaaaa-AAAAA-aaaaa-AAAAA-HAHN-Hahn-hahn!”
Fisk rolled over to his knees, cupping his face, dripping blood over his hands and his gun. He wiped away with his sleeve strobing his eyes. Closest call he’s ever had to dying so far, and it’s been to some crazy fuck tossing a butcher’s tool at him out of nowhere. Humbling for most, but right now Fisk didn’t have time for humble. Fisk blinked.
He could see, then red, then black.
He could see, then red, then black.
He could see-then red, he wiped at his eye.
He could see.
He could see!
He gripped his machine gun, laughing as he closed his left eye. Though blood from his wound kept pouring down into his eye, it was unharmed, his forehead took the brunt of it, and even then it was a flesh wound! He laughed a breathy giggle standing up. He slowly appeared into frame, rising above the tipped over table he used as cover.
His crew was gone, and he had to help them, but first this trash was in the way. They were gonna suffer. He continued to giggle, the scars on his mouth meeting the new vertical one going down from his eyebrow to his cheek.
“Hehehehe~ Make a fool of me, eh?”
He raised the Chicago Typewriter for another volley.
“We’ll get ready, coz I’m about to make a horror show of you lot!”
He squeezed, and sprinted forward. His next plan was to remove their cover, and hop along the top of the tables to do that. Do that and this fight with these two were as good as over.
He just had to get there first. Shouldn’t be too hard. He’s got the quantity to keep them suppressed.
Fisk continued running and gunning, laughing and leering all the while.
“Gyah~hahaha! Gonna fill you fucks full of holes! Die screaming!”
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
A bloodcurdling noise — half-scream, half-cry — rose above the chaos. A moment of silence. Then gunfire sprayed through the room again, punctuated by deranged laughter and violent threats. Olivia struggled to reconcile the boy rambling about death and "respects" and firing haphazardly at anything that moved with her image of Fisk Bateman, the cute theatre kid with the scar. She told herself it must be a mistake, that no classmate of hers — not even Seo-yun — was so monstrously evil. An act, perhaps? Giving the public what they want? A quest for vengeance?
No.
This was a gleefully sadistic voice: the sound of a madman. A rabid animal in human skin. He had to be put down before he hurt—
She's probably dead, you know. All of them are.
"...I don't care," Olivia growled. "I don't give a flying fuck..."
You heard the gunshots, del Rio.
But Olivia paid no mind to the voice inside her head. She was already stumbling to her feet on bleeding, cut-up legs. Her shaking, clammy hands gripped the shotgun hard enough to slip a little, leaving a little trail of sweat down the side of the barrel.
There he was, firing off bullets like a toddler without toilet training.
She prepared the cartridge, cha-chk. Her trigger finger twitched.
"Horror show THIS, asshole!"
No.
This was a gleefully sadistic voice: the sound of a madman. A rabid animal in human skin. He had to be put down before he hurt—
She's probably dead, you know. All of them are.
"...I don't care," Olivia growled. "I don't give a flying fuck..."
You heard the gunshots, del Rio.
But Olivia paid no mind to the voice inside her head. She was already stumbling to her feet on bleeding, cut-up legs. Her shaking, clammy hands gripped the shotgun hard enough to slip a little, leaving a little trail of sweat down the side of the barrel.
There he was, firing off bullets like a toddler without toilet training.
She prepared the cartridge, cha-chk. Her trigger finger twitched.
"Horror show THIS, asshole!"
The bullet ripped through her arm.
She screamed. It sounded like a laugh. She was so, so close.
She screamed. It sounded like a laugh. She was so, so close.
Fisk continued to laugh as the girl who threw that blade at him fell down, screaming with her own wound. It was funny really, nobody gets out unscathed and a wound like that to someone like him? Could be debilitating, were it not for the fact he was already disfigured going in. It was funny. Fisk blinked back blood in one eye, tears in the other, as he ran past the downed girl, hopping onto the table. He looked back, and recognized her-
"Lucia?"
Fisk blinked. Back at the pool, Vasily mentioned her. If they'd cross paths then let her go, don't kill her without Vasily's regards. She was... his friend. Vasily cared enough about Lucia to mention her to Fisk, and here she was... Working with his killer. Working with the likes of Akeno, who'd abandon her in a heartbeat, and Ivan whom even before the game made his views on it, and his classmates were he involved very clear. They weren't even on the same team! They'd use her and discard her like trash, even if she were and here she was, working with them, like they didn't kill one of her closest friends-
The other girl spoke, racking a shotgun. He recognized the voice, and turned to face her. Olivia. Fisk recognized her from drama club, from when they were more amicable towards each other. SHE was also working with them?! At least she shared the excuse of wearing the same bandanna, but still, she'd be discarded by them just as easily as-
Fisk wasn't laughing anymore. This wasn't funny. The relief of a flesh wound didn't make up for the gut feeling of betrayal he felt, for his sake, for Vasily's sake. It reminded him of the pool, four days ago. He called it. Once again, history proves him right as it always did... Fisk sneered, permanently winking. "SOME FUCKING FRIENDS, EH?!" He shouted in Olivia's direction, though it was meant for the both of them. The word 'friend' truly didn't mean shit to some people. Just a word...
"DISGUSTING!"
He sprayed rounds, hopping from one table to the next.
"Murderer of one of her best fucking friends just enlists your help as tools, as lackeys, and you just go with it? Gonna dispose of her once you're done with us too, eh?" Fisk nodded behind him. "And you wonder why I'm fucking mad, why I'm looking forward to this..."
He stood his ground, sweeping back and forth a volley in an S shape.
Fisk's breath rattled. "I might be fucked up, but at least I'm no Judas! You know, there's a special place in hell for folks like you! Hell, consider yourselves lucky; I oughta do a repeat performance of Gregory outside on the both of you, but I don't have time, my friends are in danger and need my help!"
Fisk sprayed towards Olivia's position, before hopping to another table.
"So you'll have to settle for this, instead!"
"Lucia?"
Fisk blinked. Back at the pool, Vasily mentioned her. If they'd cross paths then let her go, don't kill her without Vasily's regards. She was... his friend. Vasily cared enough about Lucia to mention her to Fisk, and here she was... Working with his killer. Working with the likes of Akeno, who'd abandon her in a heartbeat, and Ivan whom even before the game made his views on it, and his classmates were he involved very clear. They weren't even on the same team! They'd use her and discard her like trash, even if she were and here she was, working with them, like they didn't kill one of her closest friends-
The other girl spoke, racking a shotgun. He recognized the voice, and turned to face her. Olivia. Fisk recognized her from drama club, from when they were more amicable towards each other. SHE was also working with them?! At least she shared the excuse of wearing the same bandanna, but still, she'd be discarded by them just as easily as-
Fisk wasn't laughing anymore. This wasn't funny. The relief of a flesh wound didn't make up for the gut feeling of betrayal he felt, for his sake, for Vasily's sake. It reminded him of the pool, four days ago. He called it. Once again, history proves him right as it always did... Fisk sneered, permanently winking. "SOME FUCKING FRIENDS, EH?!" He shouted in Olivia's direction, though it was meant for the both of them. The word 'friend' truly didn't mean shit to some people. Just a word...
"DISGUSTING!"
He sprayed rounds, hopping from one table to the next.
"Murderer of one of her best fucking friends just enlists your help as tools, as lackeys, and you just go with it? Gonna dispose of her once you're done with us too, eh?" Fisk nodded behind him. "And you wonder why I'm fucking mad, why I'm looking forward to this..."
He stood his ground, sweeping back and forth a volley in an S shape.
Fisk's breath rattled. "I might be fucked up, but at least I'm no Judas! You know, there's a special place in hell for folks like you! Hell, consider yourselves lucky; I oughta do a repeat performance of Gregory outside on the both of you, but I don't have time, my friends are in danger and need my help!"
Fisk sprayed towards Olivia's position, before hopping to another table.
"So you'll have to settle for this, instead!"
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Swearing. Spewing vitriol about betrayals that never happened and never will. Fisk had no right to judge her for anything, not with the death and destruction he'd left in his wake.
He fired.
She jumped on instinct to the side.
Her legs lit ablaze, the thrill of much-needed exercise dwarfed by searing pain and trickling blood.
Her eyes, her gun were trained on the madman's frenetic jumps from table to table.
It's just like the movies.
It's just like the movies.
It's just like the
BANG
He fired.
She jumped on instinct to the side.
Her legs lit ablaze, the thrill of much-needed exercise dwarfed by searing pain and trickling blood.
Her eyes, her gun were trained on the madman's frenetic jumps from table to table.
It's just like the movies.
It's just like the movies.
It's just like the
BANG
She didn't like Ivan. She didn't like Fisk either. She didn't like anything anymore. The noise rattled her ears so loud she thought her screaming would be the last thing she'll hear. She still stared at the hole in her arm. She said nothing. She saw nothing. Pinpricks in her hands, wet tears down her skin.
The gunshot rang louder. Lucia breathed harsh and shallow, clutching her rended skin. She didn't look Olivia in the eye. She didn't want to see anything right now. She's never been a situation like this. She'll never be in a situation like this ever again. Where did all the training go? Where did all her bravado? Was this all she was? Will anyone ever be prepared? Is preparedness inherent within the person's nature? Would things have turned out differently? What would her friends do? Is Akeno alive? Is Vasily rotting? Will anyone here ever know peace? Did her best friend know what was going to happen? Did Fisk? Did he tell him? About the endless cycle of micro-crushes, the fact that when he watched people dying he was always projecting himself on one person or another? The jokes and secrets told with the silent promise, the double-lock, one person's word against the other? Will she die with this knowledge in her mind? Was it her fault he was like that? Was it in him all along? Should she have reached out a hand? Was Olivia capable of this? Was herself? Would this wound ever heal? Would she bleed out on the floor or into the sea? Was it worth it in the end? Would she remembered? Was Reyna watching this? Mom? Dad? Did she ever have a chance? Could she have done anything else? What were Jasper's last words?
She choked out a single word, voice broken and ragged. Somehow, it was the loudest thing she's ever heard. The table exploded. She said it again.
"Friends?"
The gunshot rang louder. Lucia breathed harsh and shallow, clutching her rended skin. She didn't look Olivia in the eye. She didn't want to see anything right now. She's never been a situation like this. She'll never be in a situation like this ever again. Where did all the training go? Where did all her bravado? Was this all she was? Will anyone ever be prepared? Is preparedness inherent within the person's nature? Would things have turned out differently? What would her friends do? Is Akeno alive? Is Vasily rotting? Will anyone here ever know peace? Did her best friend know what was going to happen? Did Fisk? Did he tell him? About the endless cycle of micro-crushes, the fact that when he watched people dying he was always projecting himself on one person or another? The jokes and secrets told with the silent promise, the double-lock, one person's word against the other? Will she die with this knowledge in her mind? Was it her fault he was like that? Was it in him all along? Should she have reached out a hand? Was Olivia capable of this? Was herself? Would this wound ever heal? Would she bleed out on the floor or into the sea? Was it worth it in the end? Would she remembered? Was Reyna watching this? Mom? Dad? Did she ever have a chance? Could she have done anything else? What were Jasper's last words?
She choked out a single word, voice broken and ragged. Somehow, it was the loudest thing she's ever heard. The table exploded. She said it again.
"Friends?"
The blast blew a leg out from the table under Fisk, causing him to stumble on his next jump.
His foot caught the edge of the next table causing him to face plant, leaving a red mark on the tablecloth. Fisk growled, pulling himself to his hands and knees.
He sat up, and sprayed at Olivia’s position one handed. The shooting began to go quiet in his ears.
His foot caught the edge of the next table causing him to face plant, leaving a red mark on the tablecloth. Fisk growled, pulling himself to his hands and knees.
He sat up, and sprayed at Olivia’s position one handed. The shooting began to go quiet in his ears.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Lucia didn't know what to do.
The footsteps clicked towards her, right above the table she was under, and she
pulled
everything
and they came crashing down.
The footsteps clicked towards her, right above the table she was under, and she
pulled
everything
and they came crashing down.
With a yelp, and head over heels, Fisk was flung one way, his machine gun the other, when Lucia flipped the table he was on.
He landed behind the remnants of the table Ivan used as cover.
He landed behind the remnants of the table Ivan used as cover.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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carduinal-cyn
- Posts: 324
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2020 5:56 pm
- Team Affiliation: Emmy's Selkies
Blood and gunpowder roared in Olivia's ears.
The tablecloth was stained red.
And the sound of the machine gun continued to — wait, what?
Her triumphant smirk of victory evaporated into a perfect O-shaped gasp. She ducked to her right in desperation, her short but muscular frame hurtling towards another ruined table. Her legs flouted the once-perfect control she had of her body. She skidded on the shards of porcelain until she ground to an awkward, half-squatting halt. There was a great clattering where Fisk once stood. Amidst the noise, her eyes flicked down, and she rested her knees on safe little fiefdoms of floor where no shrapnel had dared to fall. Her breath was heavy; her arms shook from recoil and pulsing adrenaline.
As her chest heaved, she felt a bizarre sensation radiate from her left shoulder. Numbness at first — like pins-and-needles, but pulsing, crescendoing fast, matched to the rhythm of her racing heart.
Then, the numbness abruptly faded away, and she let loose a fiery scream.
The tablecloth was stained red.
And the sound of the machine gun continued to — wait, what?
Her triumphant smirk of victory evaporated into a perfect O-shaped gasp. She ducked to her right in desperation, her short but muscular frame hurtling towards another ruined table. Her legs flouted the once-perfect control she had of her body. She skidded on the shards of porcelain until she ground to an awkward, half-squatting halt. There was a great clattering where Fisk once stood. Amidst the noise, her eyes flicked down, and she rested her knees on safe little fiefdoms of floor where no shrapnel had dared to fall. Her breath was heavy; her arms shook from recoil and pulsing adrenaline.
As her chest heaved, she felt a bizarre sensation radiate from her left shoulder. Numbness at first — like pins-and-needles, but pulsing, crescendoing fast, matched to the rhythm of her racing heart.
Then, the numbness abruptly faded away, and she let loose a fiery scream.
She couldn't lose her. She couldn't. They've come so far. Lucia didn't care about the boy on the ground anymore. Her sprint led her to Olivia, breath ragged, face twisted in a frown.
"Liv? Liv, you're-"
Her own wounds erupted in pain. Lucia staggered. She clenched at her arm and growled.
"Liv? Liv, you're-"
Her own wounds erupted in pain. Lucia staggered. She clenched at her arm and growled.