SOTF: Evolution Grand Archive

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MurderWeasel
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#46

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: CATCH AND RELEASE
THE RAVINE
JUNE 25, 2010: 03:12

The quiet hum of the motor accompanied the haunting sounds of the midnight sea, as a little black boat slowed to a crawl along the waves. Its destination was less than a few yards away, and on its back it carried a small group of men, all masked and dressed for combat aside from the two in the middle. One sat upright, his back to the stars and his eyes focused ahead, while the other stayed slumped down beside him; the sleeping body of the boy from the base, Khalid. Without stopping the engine, the birth-marked man whispered strict orders to a couple of the soldiers, who then took the lifeless body and chucked him onto the shore - the mouth of the river leading to the very centre of the island. Not to leave him at a disadvantage, they threw a fully-stocked daypack to the ground beside him, along with a knife and a fully-loaded handgun (the same models given to the other subjects).

If the moon were bright enough, it would've shown the man's gleeful smile - all teeth, aglow - and struck a chill within his subordinates that would make them question the choices they had made in life. It wasn't an easy job, and though most claimed to enjoy their work, one could sense the feeling of trapped hearts and minds if they talked to any one of them for long enough. Still, this was their duty, to do as the man instructed, and if they wanted to keep themselves afloat that night, they would follow his every word. Giving the boy one final look, the man appeared satisfied, and nodded in the direction from which they had just departed from, telling them to head back quickly.



It seemed that the night wasn't over for the patchwork man.



----

An hour later, and the smell of salt and sand began to lift the boy's senses, luring him out of the dark world that possessed his aching consciousness. The announcement had been and gone while he had slept, leaving him unaware as to the fate that had befallen those across the island, and to the news that the area he now occupied had been declared a dangerzone. It was of little consequence to him, however, as he stirred awake regardless without so much as a tiny "pop" bursting down inside his cells. Perhaps the man had been too hasty with his delivery, and overlooked the nanomachines which had settled into the bloodstreams of the 20 other children here? Perhaps. If one thought that this was simply a miscalculation, that the man had simply forgotten, then they may have been right, were they not completely wrong. No, the patchwork man didn't make mistakes, or forget, he only made plans that he knew would go off without a hitch. There was a method here, and soon enough it would make perfect sense.

Then, with a heavy groan, the body began to move, carving lines into the gold around him as he stumbled to his feet. His eyes were letting him down - they'd been closed for a day or two now, but he didn't even know it. Instead of waiting, he rubbed them furiously, working himself into a frenzy until his eyelids split open, letting in the cold light that reflected from the water's surface. Confused, he ran towards it, trying to catch a glimpse of the face that stared directly into it with a pained look of desperation. A feeling of great unease took hold, and he started to piece what little he had together as he gazed into the deep, deep blue.

The last thing he recalled... shouting? Swearing. The man in the mask - Cavery. Briefing room. The taste of coffee in his mouth; he could almost imagine it now. A gun cocking into life, before a familiar darkness. Voices. So many voices; questions; theories. People he recognised - doctors. Then... him.

He scrambled back to his feet, looking everywhere for clues, until he found the worst possible one; a bag, weapons - they weren't his but he remembered them. He remembered when he saw them first; a year ago, maybe more, maybe less. Who knew? How long had he been sleeping this time? Something was deeply wrong. He shouldn't have been there, not now; not again. Memories of this same coast, the same ocean, the same moon. Everything was coming back to him - every scream and every death. So many people died, but he - he had won. That's right, he won. That girl... Molly. He'd killed her - yes. So why was he-?

"What..."

Then it all began to work itself together, as though the answer was a tapestry, weaving itself in and out of his mind, stringing every memory; every dream; every nightmare into one complete piece and held it up for him to see.

It wasn't fair.

This wasn't supposed to happen to him, not after everything he'd been through.

Not after the struggle.

He'd already paid his blood.

He'd won.


"No..."

The boy ran over to his new belongings, held them up to the light.

His fingers danced into a panic.

"N-no, not-"

The bag slipped from his hands, leaving the gun in his manic grip.

"Not again!"

His voice cracked, echoing his cries throughout the ravine.

"I won!"

He raised his hands to the sky - showed it the injustice.

"You can't do this to me!"
SUBJECT A14
SUBJECT C21, KHALID SHAMOUN: START
11 SUBJECTS REMAIN
Exit Subject C21, Khalid Shamoun
[+] Subject C21
Khalid_shamoun_by_lief_the_lucky.png
Khalid_shamoun_by_lief_the_lucky.png (98.8 KiB) Viewed 82 times
Name: Khalid Shamoun
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Hometown: Sterling Heights, Michigan
Grade: 12th
Hobbies and Interests: Producing synth-rock music, dj-ing, watching and playing baseball.

Appearance: ”Arab-American” is the term given to someone of his ethnicity these days; skin of light brown, almost greyish, with heavy facial hair around his jaw and upper lip; not exactly a beard, but close. His “beard” and eyebrows are the same colour of deep brown as his wavy, slicked-back hair, which is cut long enough to let his fringe move about when he walks when it hasn’t been gelled. Eyes of black reside beneath his brows, and his nose thins in the middle, making the end stick out a little more than he’d like, while his ears are more of a comfort to him as they grew out small and flat. At the date of this profile, he weighs 145 pounds at a height of 5’9 feet.

As for his clothes, he usually keeps his attire around the base casual and consistently inappropriate within the official guidelines on uniform. That said, he’s been shaping up recently, coinciding with rumours of a future promotion that lay in store for him. Under normal circumstances, he would wear a string of similar, breezy, open-collared shirts that showed the patchy chest hair he was beginning to grow underneath, along with pairs upon pairs of loose, khaki-coloured trousers. Not one for wearing shoes in the tropical climate, he often switches between a pair of dirty sandals and no footwear at all – much to the annoyance of the higher-ups.

Biography: Born in New Jersey back in 1990, Khalid was the last of five children to be born from one Mister Ammar Shamoun and his wife Kalis, whose maiden name was once Basara. Growing up in a house of seven was about as strenuous as one would expect, but while his parents considered such a large family to be a blessing, he considered it otherwise. He’d often run away as a child, after the torment he received from his older siblings became too much to bear. They’d pick on him in cruel ways, from feeding his pet mouse to their snakes to burning his homework so that his teachers would fail him. Apparently their reasoning was that they’d all gone through the same thing before one another, but this did nothing to make him feel any better about it.

So, at the feeble age of 12, young Khalid ran away from home for what would be the last time, ending up in Sterling City after hitching a ride from an elderly gentlemen who found him half-dead on the streets. Adopting him into the household, the man (Papa John, as Khalid called him) later reinstated the boy back into full-time education and got him a small job at the cafe he owned as an after-hours cleaner. It wasn’t much, and he still got teased by people – namely, the other kids on the baseball team – but he couldn’t think of anywhere else he would’ve rather been. Anywhere was better than “home”.

A few years later, and he was finally 18. The lost little runaway had grown into a fine young man, and life was good. Though he didn’t play baseball for the school anymore, he still took up the bat at weekends for games with his friends, and when he wasn’t studying or working down at the cafe, he’d spend all of his free time in his room. This is where the “magic” happened; where he’d wile hours away coming up with new sounds on his synthesizer and using them to produce songs and tracks for him and his band (a loose term for he and his friends when they wanted to make music) to play on open mic nights at the local bar.

Then, without warning, in his final year of school something monumental happened to him; something that would haunt his dreams forever after.
Part of the 2009 P12 trials, Khalid found himself on an island in the middle of the ocean, unaware of how he’d even managed to get there. The last thing he remembered was closing up the cafe like he usually did. He’d finished scrubbing the floors and he’d dried off every dish, and upon deciding that a quick nap was just reward for a hard week’s graft, forgot to lock the door before he fell asleep on the couch by the counter. After waking up again, he was hit with the realization of what had happened to him, where he was, and why he had a neat little ring of holes around the crook of his elbow. He was a test subject for a new serum – one designed to gift humans with certain “abilities, as they were called – which meant he now had to fight his way through 19 others just like him if he wanted to survive.

However, before the trial there was talk of exterminating him before the tests even began, as the researchers couldn’t predict what kind of power the boy had received. During their tests on the subjects, they would always find out little hints or clues in their bodies that would explain their new-found abilities, but Khalid was different. There was nothing new inside him, not an ounce of anything special. Yet, on Dr. Cavery’s insistence, he was spared and thrown into the game, and fortunately for the two of them, he was right. On the very last day, when it had boiled down to just Khalid and a girl named Molly, they made a grave error. After shooting down the boy once he’d surrendered (his reasoning being he could never bring himself to kill a girl), they pronounced her the victor. What they didn’t anticipate, however, was Khalid springing back to life and choking Molly to death.

With that, Khalid found himself the winner of the first P12 trial, much to his horror, and the Organization offered him a place within their ranks. Of course he refused at first, demanding to be taken home, but once a few more tests were carried out and they realized how his power worked, they convinced him into joining up, telling him that if he didn’t, they’d make sure he didn’t have anywhere worth returning to. Papa John would’ve accepted the deal too, Khalid told himself, and so from that day on he became a part of the trials, working as a glorified coffee boy behind the scenes and also as an example of what the new test subjects should expect if they get too hysterical in their briefings. Ergo, he got shot in the head for a living – a far cry from the synth-rockstar he dreamed of being.

Advantages: A previous winner, he knows how to play the game well. Bitter from living a life of paid servitude and having to stay imprisoned on the Other Island to save Papa John from dying, he’ll do anything to escape, even if it means winning again.

Disadvantages: Though he can bring himself back to life, his power has been waning lately, meaning that it’s only a matter of time before he stops coming back altogether. Since he doesn’t know about this, he could be reckless when the situation calls for patience, or risk his life needlessly. Doesn’t possess any notable physical strength.

---

Mutation Classification: Instantaneous Resurrection

Conclusion: I know they said they only needed his data, but...
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MurderWeasel
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#47

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: I'M IN DESPAIR!
THE COVE
JUNE 25, 2010: 09:34

Enter Subject C09, Holly Chapman
To anyone who saw her just a few hours ago, they would be surprised at the amount of energy passing through her. Holly had went from being too tired to even stand to back to her normal, energetic self. In fact, she once again hiked a long distance without tiring. Break? What was that? She was energetic and nothing was going to stop her!

... Well, okay. A number of things could stop her.


But where... where oh where was Iris taking her?

To be honest, the only thing she managed to get from the previous announcement was that the Settlement had become a Danger Zone. She didn't know who died and who lived beyond Scuba Suit man and Iris.

She could remember Iris saying that they needed to go somewhere. But in any case, they now appeared to be on the beach.

Wait, the beach? Holly was pretty sure that Iris wanted to go... well, elsewhere. Why the hell did they need to be on the beach? it made no sense. Was Iris lying to them?

And besides, what about the scuba suit man? He had only stood out to Holly because of the... well, scuba suit, but presumably he was tagging along. But was he trustworthy, or... another Cristo? They had to be careful around him, or else there would be a repeat of the situation they had with Cristo.

Well, actually... the beach was more of a... cove? Beach, cove, same thing once you got right down to it.

But, again, what the hell DID Iris have in mind? Holly was pretty sure that they were supposed to go elsewhere. Not this cove-beach-whatever this place was. Unless they were going en-route to it; Holly hadn't checked the map well-enough to know for sure. But, she was feeling nervous about this. She was pretty sure Iris said they were going to go elsewhere. Right? Right.

And that's when Holly stopped walking, and finally spoke up in a low voice.

"Iris... where the HELL are we?"

Enter Subject C02, Iris Landon
"Iris," Holly had asked sternly. "Where the HELL are we?"

"I-I don't know-"

It was the first time Iris had lied in a long, long time. It just slipped out. Iris had not planned to lie. It just happened. Now Iris felt bad. Her chest was pounding like a drum and her lip quivered. If she had the chance to go back she would have told the truth. The whole truth, and nothing but.

Truth was Iris had a destination lined out the entire time. She just didn't tell the others. If she were alone with Johnny, she could have told him. He would have certainly sympathized with her. It was Holly she didn't want to tell. It wasn't like she was being deceitful to Holly. She hadn't been lying to her this entire time. A little twist of the facts never hurt anyone. That's what her mom always told her - sometimes lies were meant to make people feel better. If Holly knew about what Iris was doing, she would most definitely yell. Iris didn't want Holly to yell. She didn't like yelling.

Iris wanted to see Cristo. She felt so empty now that he was gone.

Iris would have felt tears running down her face if she had any more to give. Now she was empty. Incomplete. Iris wasn't aware though. That soul-crushing feeling had returned, attempting to roll poor little Iris into a ball of despair and yet not a single tear dripped. It was human to cry, Iris told herself, so why couldn't she manage a single tear? She was supposed to cry. She barely knew who Cristo was but she liked him. He was pretty. He was nice. Not like the boys at her school. She felt like she could just push aside Cristo's sins because of the words he spoke to her. Cristo was a good person. That she was sure of.

"Iris?"

Iris turned to Holly. Holly's face looked scary. It made Iris quiver. "W-What?"

"Let me see the map."

"W-Wha..." Iris thought about

Holly reached her hand out, as though to make it very clear what she wanted. "Gimmie the map."

"I..." Iris's mouth was hanging open. She shook her head, cheeks on fire. "N-No..."

"Iris." Holly demanded. "I swear to god I'm not going to ask you again. Give me the map. Now."

"N-No."

Holly closed her eyes. Iris was as stubborn as a mule. She wasn't going to just give Holly the map on her own. Holly quickly grabbed the map and wrenched it out of Iris's hands, pulling Iris along with it. Iris landed on her knees, shock at the sudden burst of strength. Iris was probably asking herself how a sick girl like Holly managed to grab her little map of secrets. Holly didn't really care what Iris thought, and she certainly didn't offer to help Iris up. Iris looked down at the sand like a sad puppy as Holly opened the map.

Iris bit her lip. Oh lord, Holly looked really mad.

"Iris. We're at the cove, right?"

Iris slumped. "Uhuh..."

"Iris," Holly stared daggers into Iris. "Why did you bring us here?"

"I-I like the beach..."

"Iris. WHY did you bring us here?"

"O-Or... m-maybe I wanted to... see Cristo..."

"What was that?" Holly blinked. "Did you just say Cristo?"

"Well yeah... he's dead an all s-so I tho-"

"GOD damn IT!" Holly threw the map at Iris. "You were lying to us! You knew exactly where we were going! I can't believe you!"

"N-No, I di-"

"I didn't think you could sink this low!" Holly glared. "Lying to us like this. How old are you?!"

Iris gulped. "I-I-"

"You thought you were smart? Thinking we wouldn't figure out your master plan? Hell, I just knew you were planning something like this! I just knew in the back of my head! What the hell did you even see in that guy? He was a creep! He killed someone Iris! He doesn't deserve a minute of your time!"

"He... He ain't that bad... D-Dun go getting mad at him."

"What the hell are you yammering about?! I'm not mad at Cristo! I'm mad at you Iris! YOU lied to us! Right to our faces!"

"I-I... I jus' wanted tah say goodbye..."

"He's dead," Holly interrupted her. She started ranting. "I can understand saying goodbye to someone, I mean, this is some huge crap we're in. But you've been leading us on a goose chase for hours! We've been walking NONSTOP, just skipping along like a bunch of dopes for hours Iris. FOR HOURS. You didn't even tell us where we were going or what you wanted to do! There was no "strategic plan" about it, you just to see your dead boyfriend! This whole time you've had me and Johnny under the impression that you really had a plan! We were totally under your command, we thought you had things covered! Then it turns out the only thing you had planned for us was to go to the beach and have us watch you as you rub up against a dead guy. How selfish can you be Iris? This isn't just about you! This isn't the Iris show! Grow the fuck up! I knew I shouldn't have let you lead us! I had a bad feeling this would hap-"

Iris had her hands to her face. Holly snapped out of her rage.

"Iris," Holly blinked.

Was it something she said? Holly didn't think she was yelling that loudly. She backtracked quickly., looking over at Johnny nervously. Please don't cry, please don't cry.

"Hey," Holly put her hands up defensively. "Calm down Iris, it's okay. I-I'm sorry I yelled at you alright? I got a little worked up there. I just-I don't like being lied to alright. I know you didn't mean anything, I..."

Holly sighed. Iris kept sobbing. It wasn't working. Holly bit her lip. This was bad. Holly had a tendency to run her mouth but she never made anyone cry before. She should have guessed Iris would turn on the water works if she started screaming. What was Iris saying? "I'm sorry." She was sobbing "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Holly felt her heart sink. Ahh jeez, she had really done it now. Holly brought her hand over. She squeezed the other girl's shoulder.

"H-Hey,"

Then Iris shrugged her hand away. She screamed.

“I’M JUS’ TRYIN’ MY BEST HOLLY!”

Holly frowned. “I-Iris…”

Oh man. Oh man Holly. You really fucked up here. Now Iris was really upset. She turned to Johnny a second time.

"H-Hey, do something! She's freaking out, I don't know what to do!"

Johnny just shrugged and looked away from Holly.  He was going to stay out of this.  Watching Iris cry caused him a little pain but the best thing he could do was to not get involved.  He didn't want to take sides.  This was Holly's mess and she should fix it.  Holly glared at Johnny for a few minutes before giving up.  She sighed.  

Enter Subject C07, Johnny Marsh
Leaving the house thingy Johnny was surprised to see the change in Holly. She must be a morning person. He most definitely wasn’t one in any case. Altercation with the toilet notwithstanding the long trek across the island was tiring as anything. To me anyway, bloody wonder woman over there hasn’t even broken a sweat. I’m sweating like a beast in this thing. Wish I could take it off. Yeah they’d shoot you though Johnny boy wouldn’t they, or laser beam you to death. Tired as he was he was still aware enough to recognise the terrain in some small way. He had just come from here the night before after all. They were going back to the beach. Back to the shack. Back to Billy.

Johnny kept quiet as they walked. He’d just have to pretend that he had no idea what was in store when they got there. Act surprised. If you mention it they’ll think you did it. They won’t trust you. They’ll think it’s to do with the suit, try and make you take it off. Then they’ll see what you are. What I am. They’ll kill me. Be surprised. This is life or death. While he was caught up in his own thoughts the girls began to talk. Except it wasn’t just plain old chit chat. It was tense. Edgy. He focussed his attention on them, his mind running over what he would do, what he should do if things got out of hand. His sense of self-preservation had been his greatest asset so far, even if he had blundered on the way.

Then the truth came out. Holly had turned the tables on Iris and now it was game time.

She came to see Christo.

Christo killed people. He’s a killer.

Can’t be trusted don’t trust her they wouldn’t trust you they’d shoot you

Shoot her so easy just take the gun and pull the trigger. Better safe than sorry.

Safe and sorry. Play the game his game creep’s game

She was so kind she could have killed you easy she didn’t HELP HER

NO stay out you don’t know what’s going on you could make a terrible mistake.


Holly was asking him to help. She doesn’t know what to do. How the fuck am I supposed to know what to do? What do we do how do we live we have to be good people we are all good people but then you kill people and then you’re a bad person and good people can’t be friends with bad people it makes them bad too

Iris is a bad person.


Johnny just shrugged. He had his own demons to deal with.

Enter Subject C05, Simon Matthews
After leaving the Cable Car Station Simon had begun to wander, not much else to do when he couldn’t read a map without burning it and no one else to help him find his way. He just picked a direction, started walking and hoped it wouldn’t lead him to one of the dangerzones. This had led him to a beach at the edge of the island, not exactly the kind of place he wanted to end up but what could he do? Maybe this was the cove that he had heard mention of?

If he was being honest with himself, all Simon really wanted right now was a place to lie down. This game had been going for maybe 24 hours now and he was starting to feel the tiredness; he had started up longer than this plenty of times before of course, all nighters weren’t anything new to him, but they were usually spent sitting and studying not walking for hours on end across rough terrain. However, from the sounds of it all of the places where one could expect to find beds were now locked off by dangerzones; the settlement, the holding cells and of course the radio tower.

Stepping out onto the sand, feeling it give way under his feet, Simon began walking forward. Still, he probably had a few hours left in him before the exhaustion really kicked in; he had plenty of time to find somewhere to rest. He recalled that he heard something on the announcements earlier about a shack that was supposed to be on the coast somewhere, maybe if he followed the beach around he would find it? Didn’t sound like the most comfortable place to spend time but right now his options were pretty limited.

Johnny
In retrospect Johnny would have judged Iris for keeping her secret. Johnny had a secret too. One he’d been determined to keep under wraps for the rest of his life. That wasn’t such a hard thought considering the rest of his life could be limited to a day or two. The revelation of Iris’s relationship with Cristo had been at the forefront of his mind. Until now. Now his mind had been invaded by a new force. The most terrible and anguished scream he’d ever heard. It pierced his soul, took hold of his mind and shook it like a rabid dog. His mouth opened in his own scream. His rational mind was kicked aside as basic instinct took over. He scratched and clawed at his face but it didn’t stop the scream.

He fell to his knees, past caring whether the ground was hard or soft. He could have been kneeling on broken glass. He’d have welcomed it; the pain would be such a pleasurable distraction. Now the scratching and clawing was taking its toll on his mask. The mask that was keeping everyone from killing him. If anyone saw it… the last desperate whimpers of sensible thought petered off and died.

Johnny tore the remnants of the mask from his face.

As abruptly as the screams started they stopped.

Panting Johnny held his tattered mask in his hands. The useless material fell from his grasp.

It’s, over…

What’s the use in any of it now? You’re a monster. You’ve been one this whole time, you can’t hide anymore. Not now they know about you…but no one else does.


Johnny’s hand tightened its grip on his gun. His other crept slowly towards his boot.

Holly
Iris was such a pain. At least, right now.

And yet... seeing her upset like that really upset her. For real. It wasn't as if Iris meant anything bad. She had previously just realized Cristo had died, herself. And here Holly was, bitching her heart out like some deranged psycho. To be honest, she was glad she snapped out of it as quickly as she did, or else... well, she would do something that would have been easy to do with super strength. Like snap Iris' neck, or throw something at her, or...

She couldn't bear to think.

Fucking Cristo. Even in death he gave everyone trouble! Dear god, that douche.

Holly found herself starting to become angry again, her fist clenching. However, she loosen her grip, and tried to think of something to say to calm her down.

"Iris, I-"

Screaming.

Holly's head whipped over to Scuba Suit Guy, who was on the ground, clawing at his face like some sort of crazed meth addict. He kept clawing and clawing... as his nails tore through his mask, Holly at first thought that he had clawed enough to draw blood. But as the mask tore further and was eventually torn from his face, Holly saw.

He had no skin.

Scuba Suit Guy had no skin under that suit.

Holly couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was like something out of a bad horror movie. She could only stare at the... the... the freak in front of her.

Yes, that was what he was.

A freak.

An abomination.

A monster.

Holly pulled her gun out of her pocket where she had hidden it earlier and pointed it at him.

"S-stop... stay back! Fucking stay back!"

Quickly whipping her head towards Iris with her gun still focused on the guy (though she wasn't even sure if he was even still a person), she yelled "Iris, don't go near him! Whatever you do, DON'T GO FUCKING NEAR HIM!"

Turning back at the creature in front of her, she felt her heart begin to race again. Oh god, this fucking douchebag probably damn near gave her a fucking heart attack and then they would all fucking killed by this fucking monster that would god knows what kind of shit to them and... and... and...

Fucking hell.

Fuck him. Fuck this abomination to fucking death.

Simon
Well, at least Simon didn’t feel tired anymore, it was hard to feel anything but pain once that scream intruded on his mind and refused to go away. It was a terrible, bone chilling scream of someone in the worst pain imaginable, that had to be the only way someone could make a sound like that. He was just glad he still had enough sense to fight the urge to clamp his hands over his ears to block the sound out, that would have been bad.

Not that it would have been much use anyway, the sound wasn’t coming from outside. Simon had looked everywhere around him once the scream started, fearing an attack from this ‘Banshee’ mentioned earlier that he still didn’t know anything about, but after a while it became apparent that the scream was originating somewhere inside of him. It was like someone was bypassing the ears entirely and screaming directly into his brain. And so far he only knew of one person who could do something like that.

“Pippi?”

As sudden as it started it was gone, the scream dying away as its source probably did the same. So, that made the third person he’d met on the island so far to die; if that Chris kid’s name was read out during the next announcement he was officially ready to declare himself cursed.

As the pain faded from his mind the tiredness began to return in full force, it’s absence only making its return all the more potent. Simon pushed on, putting the thought of the most likely dead girl aside for the moment to keep walking in the direction her had been heading before all this happened.

Iris
The scream made Iris stop crying.  She cringed, buried her face in the ground.  It stung.  She lifted her head just as Johnny ripped his mask off.

She was disgusted.  However her reaction was different from Holly's.

"Oh lord," Iris muttered, feeling ready to cry again.  "You... poor soul..."

There was hate now.  Not for Johnny.  No, definitely not for Johnny.  She pitied Johnny.  Why should she hate him?  No, hate for the system.   Hate shot through her veins.  Iris was not the epitome of hate, never hated anyone in her beautifully pathetic life.  Now hate was all she could feel, and it came so naturally that it was as if she had felt hate all the time.  Hate.  It brewed violently, she gritted her teeth.  Her look of anger looked like one of sadness.  

That was when Holly pulled out the gun and started screaming.

"Holly... N-No..."

She just didn't want Holly to kill him.  Didn't want anyone to die.  If someone died, Iris didn't know what she would do.    No.  This was too much.  No.  Please stop.  She wanted to rip that gun out of her hands and break it in half.  She wanted so many things.  Yet she couldn't do it, she just couldn't.  Her body was frozen.  Not a single muscle moved.

She whispered.  "Holly, jus' calm down...  Please...  T-This... Johnny, he... he isn't bad.  He don't look like us... but that ain't his fault...  We're all the same..."

She was aware Holly couldn't hear her.  As far as Holly was concerned, Iris was being a good little girl and staying put.

"All the same... deep... down..."

Holly
Holly wasn't even sure what was going on anymore.

That scream didn't even sound like a scream that would come from a guy, now that she thought of it. That sounded like a woman in pain if anything. No, wait, it sounded like there were two people screaming at once. Even the act of screaming didn't seem natural coming from him. She was sure it was no one else, since they were the only ones here that she knew of. This only made him seem even more like a freak. And his appearance... oh Christ. She felt ill to her stomach looking at him. No person should look like that. He looked fucked up. This was like some scene out of a bad horror movie. There was no way he was safe, looking like that.

Absolutely.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

Her hands trembled as they held the gun, keeping her aim unsteady.

Iris?!

Was she whispering? She couldn't hear her words. She was scared. The guy was scaring her.

Yes! That was it. She was scared out of her wits. The freakazoid was frightening her. And yet, he wouldn't go away. Just for Iris's sake. Or for his god damn fucking life.

He wouldn't go away.

Go.

Away.

"... GO AWAY!" Holly screamed again, and fired her gun.

It was only a warning shot for now. She didn't know what would happen if she actually got him. Her mind was too far panicked, too far scared, to make any good decisions. She could feel her hands being pushed back by the recoil, and a slight ache forming within those seconds, but it was all too quick and hectic for it for her to actually take notice.

All she wanted was for him to go the fuck away.

Was that too much to ask for?

Johnny
BANG


You know how in Die Hard Bruce Willis gets shot a shit ton of times and still beats the crap out of the Russian guy from Rocky 4? That superhuman resistance to bullets provided by adrenaline? That wasn’t what happened to Johnny when Holly shot him. He’d been up and moving when he felt the pain in his right leg. He tried to fight through the pain and keep going but as soon as he put weight on the leg again it collapsed, taking a very surprised Johnny to the ground. He only wished he’d been clear minded to cry out something more insightful than the strangled ‘ARGH’ that he managed.

He didn’t have time to wax lyrical about how pointless it had all been. Holly was moving towards him fast. I don’t care if this even counts as murder you ain’t putting me down that easy. She was close now. So close. His hand slid into his boot. He felt the handle of his knife. Just a little closer come on bitch you haven’t killed me yet. Johnny gasped as he accidently leant on his wounded leg. Holly closed the distance between them. He swung his gun around. Holly caught his wrist. Too slow Johnny. Holly tightened her grip around his wrist and Johnny felt the gun fall from his fingers as he heard a small snap . He let out an anguished yell-

-which morphed into a yell of anger as he brought the knife swinging round from the other side. His arm jerked as he drove it deep into Holly’s body, right through the armpit. ‘HA, got y-‘Johnny’s celebrations were cut short. Holly stepped back and kicked him in the chest. Hard.

Why didn’t I get that power? he thought as he flew bodily into the cliff face. Several things snapped. Head lolling forwards he couldn’t help but see the ribs jutting out of his chest through the wetsuit. He tried to move. Nothing responded. He could feel himself falling sideways. His head hit the sand with a soft thump. Blood leaked from his broken body and turned the sand red. He saw a darkness creeping through his vision even though his eyes were wide open.
SUBJECT C07, JOHNNY MARSH: ELIMINATED
10 SUBJECTS REMAIN
Johnny felt a cool hand on his face. His eyes came back into focus. There was a woman, a woman all in black standing over him. She was smiling. She helped him to his feet. Silently she gestured for him to follow her. He turned back to look at himself once more. Slowly the monster that he was changed back into the ordinary boy he used to be.

Holly
Everything seemed to be a blur.

He fell to the ground, and Holly felt herself approaching him.

Holy shit. Was he dead? He couldn't be! That was a warning shot! It was supposed to scare him away, not kill him! That wasn't right! She didn't mean to...

But she had to.

Right?

With her heart racing even faster, she walked towards him.

All this was to protect Iris, wasn't it?

She saw that he was still alive once she got closer. Not only that, but he was getting out a knife... holy shit. She really just pissed him off. Keeping a good grip on her gun in one hand, she got close enough, and...

He swung his gun towards her.

Holly's first reaction was to grab his wrist. As she squeezed hard, she could vaguely hear a snapping noise, as if it were a twig. The gun fell as he yelled in pain.

But within the next second, Holly forgot his other arm. It swung around, and before she knew it, there was a piercing pain in her armpit. Holly screamed in pain and dropped her gun as well, as she felt it swarm beneath her arm.

That creature, this abomination. He had stabbed her.

"Son of a BITCH!" she yelled, not caring for the pain at the moment.

Her foot lifted, striking him in the chest. Within the panic she could see him hit the side of the cliff.

He didn't get back up.

Holly collapsed to her knees. It hurt. It hurt so much. He definitely stabbed her. Her hand wandered to the knife sticking out of her armpit, and pulled it out. OH GOD, that hurt even more. She screamed again as her hand dropped the knife and covered the newly formed wound. That was definitely a bad idea.

Her eyes wandered to the freak... and she saw a horrific sight. He was definitely not going to get back up. His ribs were sticking up in various ways, and blood pulled around him. He was gone.

Holly closed her eyes, breathing heavily.

And suddenly, she fell to her side on the sand.

She felt so cold... Jesus Christ, that fucker got her good. Holly wasn't sure whether or not she was going to make it. Holly felt her eyes starting to get wet, and suddenly, she started sobbing.

Oh god, the pain.

Once she opened her eyes again, everything was a blur. In fact, she wasn't even sure where she was or where Iris was-

Iris.

She watched it all.

Iris was watching them. She was scared.

Not just of that freak. But of her.

She scared her.

She didn't see that guy as the monster, but she saw Holly as one.

If she'd just calmed down, things would have been okay. Was that right? Her mind wasn't able to concentrate that well, was it?

And to make matters worse.... She could feel the heart in her chest struggling away to pump her blood. She wasn't sure if she was going to make it. Everything started to dull.

She had a future ahead of her, though! She was supposed to grow up and become just like her dad! She was supposed to be with her friends at school! It wasn't fair that she was going out so soon! As some kind of... some kind of... freak!

And now that she thought of it, if she had ever made it off the island, she had a whole world of possibilities now that she had super strength. She could have easily helped her dad in the car garage now that she was so strong. She could have became a superhero-type vigilante, as silly as it sounded. She could have won a assload of world records based on strength. She could have gotten all sorts of jobs. She could have been successful once she got off the island.

She knew a whole world of possibilities were being shut off to her.

All because she screwed up and freaked out.

She wanted to apologize to Iris, just to say she was sorry. She really did screw up.

She made a foul mistake. And in the end, she became another freak.

Holly Chapman wasn't that much better than Cristo or that guy in the scuba suit.

And so, with a bloody knife only a few inches away from her on one side, a gun on the other, and a bloody corpse that was barely recognizable within a few steps away from her, Holly stopped sobbing and let her senses fade away.
SUBJECT C09, HOLLY CHAPMAN: ELIMINATED
9 SUBJECTS REMAIN
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#48

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE WONDERS OF MEMORY
THE RADIO TOWER
JUNE 25, 2010: 10:01

Enter Subject C10, Raymond Pietrowski
Again, the cable car had come and gone long ago. The first thing he had done once he got to the mountaintop which held the broken and destroyed equipment was sit. Sit in the same place this all started two days ago. And he closed his eyes, just thinking. Replaying the past two days in his head, moment for moment... for bloody moment. Mainly he dwelled on Kiera's passing. What could he have done differently? He was at fault... He hadn't killed the girl when he had the chance. He hadn't saved her.

If this was a story, it would all come to a climactic battle between Ray and Taryn for revenge.

This wasn't a story though. And he was probably going to die. He couldn't leave everyone back home hanging, not knowing what had happened. Some cast aways wrote messages in a bottle. But he had no paper, no pen. He just had the bottle.

Not practical, but it was something to keep his mind off of the pain.

And as the gears turned and the sun went down, an idea slowly formed in his mind. There was still a roll of gauze in his first aid kit, and that shit soaked up blood really, really well.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wouldn't work. But he still pulled out his empty water bottle, his first aid kit, and his knife. He clenched his teeth, and pricked a small hole in his finger. No massive crystal of blood. That was a start. Suicide by super power wouldn't have exactly been the best thing in the world to accomplish here.

Hell, even if he did win... "win"... they probably wouldn't let him go home anyways. He was probably a freak of nature, just like every other kid on this island. The only people who felt his pain, the only people in the world he could relate to, and they were killing each other off. How ridiculous it was.

Either way.

With fresh blood flowing from his finger, he began to write in large, mis-shaped letters.

"Trav, You wouldn't believe what happened to me if I tried to tell you. Just know I'm pulling for you. Graduate, move on with your life, and don't forget me. Ray."

Thank got the Gauze was long. The pair of medical scizors didn't like to do their job, but eventually he got the thing cut free. On the back, he scrawled five letters. "LHSCT"

With that, the gauze was jammed into the now dry bottle, having been left open for the two hours it took him to come up with what to say. He only had one shot after all. Better make it right. Best to not explain all the crazy. Make it believable for him if it ever got to him.

It would never get to him, would it?

A cap on the bottle. A casting into the river that flowed to the mountain's west. Hoping for the right waters. And there he sat, just thinking. Before he knew it, the sun was up, and that bitch was talking to him again. An entire day wasted, just getting over his damn self.

Unfortunately he'd have to move. The Radio Tower was a danger zone now. God, were these people following him around? Every single place he wanted to be would blow him up.

He shook his head. Time to do what he came to do.

He stood, and walked towards that door. Closer... It seemed like he would never close the gap. But he did. A quick glance, the cable car was just starting up. He probably had five minutes. Slipping in the door, he forced back the tears as he looked on the ground where he had first met that cute Boston girl. She was even close enough that they could have hung out if they'd gotten away.

There was no way he was getting away.

He just stared at the spot, contemplating letting the explosion take his life. He couldn't though. He had to try and get home.

Spinning on his heel, he made the cable car just in time to slip off to parts unknown to breathe his dying breath.

Exit Subject C10, Raymond Pietrowski

Little did Ray know once he had left, but that piece of paper he had lost when he first woke up was stuck right to the control panel, not five feet from him. "STONE TRANSFORMATION".

Maybe that would have helped on his journey, maybe it wouldn't have. He would never know. Sitting there, almost like a ward, warning people as to the pain that had occurred here in the name of mad science.
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#49

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: HIT...
THE SHACK
JUNE 25, 2010: 10:12

Enter Subject C08, Ashlie Jackson
All things considered, Ashlie Jackson was doing great. Her feet were numb, and probably infected, and she was tired as fuck, but life was going good for the pink-haired girl. The latest bitch to cross her was dead, and oh how she screamed. Like the little bitch she was, clawing for her last pathetic breaths as she was stricken from this world. Ashlie's mouth curled into a satisfied grin as she remembered the final thoughts that resonated in her head, ones that weren't her own. In some twisted way, it made the kill even more satisfying.

She didn't want to stop. She would take out every last bitch on this island, then go home and live a wonderful life. Just non-stop parties and guys and booze and who knows what else. She knew what she wanted from life. Dying on an island in the middle of nowhere wasn't one of them. So the solution was quite simple really. Just find someone, shoot them, and move on. No posturing, no mercy.

Ashlie found herself at some sort of shack, which the girl promptly entered. A foul stench pervaded the air, which Ashlie was able to immediately tell was coming from the small bed nearby. So much for that plan. Instead, the pink-haired girl exited the shack again, sitting with her back on the outer wall. It had been awhile since she rested, so a few minutes wouldn't hurt her.

Enter Subject C16, Chris Richardson
Chris hadn't paid one bit of attention to where he was going. He hadn't realized that he'd followed in the trail of the killer from not hours ago. His stunt had worked, and now that the fear died down, frankly he was a tad impressed. That had worked as well as it had. His eyes traveled to the gun in his hands. He had yet to use it, and he was in the last half of the pack. It had only taken him a little while for the adrenaline to wash from his system, and when he finally did, the full extent of this power absolutely fascinated him. The longer he held the circuit, the more electricity. He still didn't understand where the electrical current was drawn from, but if he ever made it home, he could experiment with that too.

...Home. The thought had never crossed his mind yet. He'd never thought about getting home. How was he going to go about that? Kill everyone else on the island? No, he had just used his power to stun. And he wasn't going to delude himself, he couldn't bring himself to kill the girl. If he had wanted to, he wouldn't have exactly fled now, would he? No.

He just needed to rest for a minute.

And that shack sitting off in the distance looked as good of a destination as any.

Chris's route to the Shack had been a bit convoluted, and a lot of running in circles. However not a half an hour after the girl that killed Pippi had arrived, he was there. Not that he knew she was there. Or even what she looked like. He only had a vague description to work off of.

"...hunt down the pink-haired whore..."

Not the most endearing description, but she had just killed in cold blood. Just how many had? No matter. Just a mark of one person to avoid. Pink Hair was pretty distinctive on an island with no more than 10 people on it.

A window. The inside of the shack was meager to say the least. It looked as if the previous owners had left in quite the hurry. The few belongings that remained were strewn about the ground, and nothing appeared remotely useful. Still, at the very least, he spotted a blanket in the back corner. That meant covering. That meant sleep. And quite quickly, and in almost comedic timing, his stomach reminded him yet again of it's presence. He was too ravenous from using so much power back there. Time for a break. He didn't need to make a plan yet, did he?

Little did he know as he rounded the corner exactly what awaited him. A girl, leaning against a wall, her eyes closed. Long, poofy pink hair. A few piercings. Wearing a tanktop and a pair of capris, a bunch of bracelets dangling on her forearm.

He locked up.

Shit! Not her. That has to be her, unless there's two girls with pink hair on the island and I seriously doubt that! Statistics just says no.

A subconscious step backwards. Another. Nice and easy, just back around the corner, and quietly wa-

*CRACK*

The branch snapping underfoot sounded almost as loud as a gunshot going off to his ears. The smart thing to do would have been to spin and run, and in any other situation that would have been exactly what the boy would have said. However, panic does funny things to a person. He froze. His hands fumbled over the gun, thumb attempting to find the safety as he prepared for what the girl might be about to do.

Ashlie
Ashlie's eyes snapped open as the crack of the branch resounded in her ears. As quickly as she could, she was up on her feet, gun in hand ready. Turning the corner of the shack, the pink-haired girl saw someone standing there, back turned to her. Ashlie smiled. Perfect, he won't even know what hit him. One step closer to the top.

It was almost too easy. Ashlie leveled her gun at his back, almost sad that he wouldn't even know what hit him. Almost. Her finger pulled the trigger once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Another easy out, another step to the top. One more person in her quest to go home.

Chris
Unlike Ashlie had assumed, he did know exactly what had hit him. Hearing leaves crackle behind him, he spun on his heel, just in time to see the gun barrel leveled directly at his face.

"H-Hey, ma-"

BANG.

He would never get to finish that sentence. The first bullet felt like a punch in the chest. He had taken a punch before, really it didn't hurt that bad. He could take this, this wa-

BANG.

The second hit. A searing fire in his throat. A gurgle escaped from his neck with the new tracheotomy that his assailant had given to him. Irony itself. Just like the girl who would end his life, his dying moments were fated to silence. As he opened his mouth to attempt to say something, anything, the shock of the pain addling his mind to make him realize that he would never be able to say his piece, the third bullet struck home. He tried to breathe in, a desperate attempt. The air rushing through the hole in his neck made the wound alight yet again with white hot flame.

BANG.

Another punch, this time to the stomach. A fresh spurt of warm red blood shot out of his back where the bullet had exited. The impact sent him off of his feet, a bubbling ooze of blood coming from both his neck and his lung as the wind knocked out of him. The blood pooled on the ground, each drop crackling with a small spark as it contacted the moist earth.

If he had just another few moments to react, he could have done it again. The ground was still wet. He could have stunned her and fled. He would have lived to... To what? He wouldn't have fought. He just didn't have it in him. He would have died in twenty four hours time one way or the other.

He could have had a much less painful death, however. His body slammed the ground with a resounding thud, the gurgling in his throat never stopping. His lung never inflating as he reflexively opened his mouth, gasping for breath as the blood was sucked back down into his throat. A mixture between a cough and a blub emanated from both his mouth and nose, blood seeping slowly from one of the nostrils. How this had occurred would have intrigued him, if he had time to think about it at all.

However for Christopher Richardson of Conifer, Colorado, this was the end of the line. His once bright mind began to grow dim as the light faded from his vision. That big ball in the distance burned as hot as the pain he felt. And as he watched the sun set one last time, he didn't even have the mental capacity to appreciate one of the last true beautiful things in the world on this one last opportunity. Instead, the sun went dark.

And with it, so did he.
SUBJECT C16, CHRIS RICHARDSON: ELIMINATED
8 SUBJECTS REMAIN

Ashlie
Ashlie smiled with delight as he watched her victim die in a rather spectacular fashion. She could almost feel the raw energy emanating from this boy as his blood crackled when it came into contact with the ground. Ashlie knew she had lucked out. This boy was strong, too bad he didn't have the brains to go with it. Now he was just another dead body on her path to victory. Such was the way of life.

The pink haired girl took a moment to relieve the corpse of his supplies. He wasn't going to need them anymore. Besides, she didn't want to be running out of bullets. That would be unfortunate so late into this thing. After collecting the equipment and treating herself to a nice meal of bread and peaches, Ashlie went back into the shack. Unsurprisingly, the body was still there, taking up the only bed in the place. That just wouldn't do.

Ashlie grabbed the long dead body by it's ankles, and with all her strength, heaved the boy out of the bed. The sheet over him stayed with him, which was probably just as well. She then began to drag him as best she could, that is to say not very, out of the shack. He didn't need him stinking up the place any more than he already had. Not that Ashlie could really smell anything any more, what with the blood on her shirt and the... who knows on her feet.

Once the body was outside of the shack, Ashlie re entered. She really wished she had an extra change of clothes laying around, but sadly she didn't. Shrugging to herself, she removed the offending piece of clothing, revealing the satiny black bra she always wore when she was out at a rave. The pink-haired girl felt somewhat exposed, but that feeling quickly passed. So what if whoever was left got to sneak a peak at her assets? Let them go out on a good note. After chucking the bloody tank top in the corner, Ashlie crawled onto the slightly blood soaked and smelly bed, stretching out and falling asleep.
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#50

Post by MurderWeasel »

SECTION FIVE
June 25, 2010: 12:00-23:59
THE FOURTH ANNOUNCEMENT
THE OTHER ISLAND
JUNE 25, 2010: 12:00

12:00 - 48 hours after the game's beginning. That meant two days had passed already, leaving the subjects with only one more to go. Would one of them make it even further? Or would they all die before their time was up?

In the next 24 hours, everything was going to end.

----

Down the darkened halls the good doctor stepped. He walked with a feverish pace, determined to find the one responsible for Khalid's escape. They were meant to be treating him, testing his body to find out the cause of the delay in his awakening, trying to help him. After all, the boy was one of them, gifted. He had an ability, just like them; just like Cavery himself. In some perverse way, he considered the boy to be an adopted son of sorts - his power a particular fascination.

Who else could claim that they had cheated death as many times as he? The boy could walk through a battlefield and step out on the other side with little more than a ringing in his ears. That was a true gift, a talent coveted by the world and all who lived in it. They might lie, and tell their friends that they wouldn't like to live forever, but everyone knew the truth. Who wouldn't want to be immortal? Really? To Cavery, the mere thought of a life everlasting was enough to send him wild. He'd never hurt the boy to release these secrets, but knowing that the only one with the key to his dream was now fated to die like those other, lesser, children... it was too much.

Now he wandered through the dark, searching for the only ones who could help him retrieve the boy safely, without disrupting their experiment. The room he sought after, found deep within the bowels of the base, with the most locks binding it shut; the one room only a few of their members knew about, and even fewer had even entered. Approaching the doors, he slipped off his glove and pressed his palm against the cold light of the scanner on the wall beside them. He felt the energy press up against his skin, sharp and tingling, then wash away with a loud and sudden beep.

Opening up with a grinding screech, the doors spread apart, letting the cool air gush out around his body. The leather he wore kept him warm, and after a quick adjustment of his mask to reaffirm its tightness, he invited himself in.

Once inside, the entrance sealed itself back up, and the doctor was left to observe a sight he hadn't witnessed in an age. From where he stood, he could see the entire room spread out before him - almost large enough to be considered not a room, but a warehouse, like a containment facility. And since this place was situated beneath the very island they occupied, the only light therein was harsh and artificial, with red bulbs glowing in every corner to remind him that this place wasn't meant for idle visitors and clusters of computer screens shone brightly at every turn.

Tightening his glove as he slipped it back over his hand, he headed over to one of the many monitors that were lined up across the wall to his right. There were readings of vital signs, and unmanned screens displaying satellite footage of the main island, where those children played with their new-found powers like the very babies that they were. If they weren't here to further their cause, he might have felt a tinge of sympathy for them, but as it was, there was only one person he was remotely worried about. Glancing about the room again, he watched as the few people there - high-level scientists, so wrapped up in their work they didn't even notice him enter - went about their business, as the click-clacking of keyboards and steady beats of heart-rates went on interrupted.

Although he tried not to look, his eyes kept slipping back to one part of the room in particular; one of the few things he regretted inventing. In the very center of the room, accompanied by a handful of men in white coats who would observe and read it, sat an unsettling white dome. Made of many metals and full of many wires, which snaked throughout the room and tripped many an unlucky foot, it rested, unopposed, breathing in the life around it and the sounds of the men outside. To stare at it for this long, like he was doing now, was never a good thing. It often sent people mad, especially if they had no idea what lay within.

It was alright though; Cavery knew. He knew because, yes, he invented it, and planned it all out, but he also knew what sat inside... and why.



The doctors called them the Fates.



He called them monsters.


----

"Gooood afternoon, folks!"

Coffee in one hand, Apple Danish in the other - it was that time again.

"So hey, you know what's great about you guys? No, no, not your crazy crazy bloodthirst you nuts! No! I love that you guys can get so emotional after hearing me on the radio! I'm honoured! I'm touched! And maybe if I wasn't so pepped up on caffeine, I'd shed a little tear or two! Sniff! And so- mmph, oh man, you guys, this is like, the best Danish- mmmm - you guys really gotta try these when you get out 'cause they're freakin' awesome. Er, where was... oh! Right! Hah! Can't believe I got so wrapped up in Danish! Seriously though, this is like the best thing to have for lunch - can anyone say "deeee-lish"~?"

Taking a sip of her coffee, and returning the glare sent to her by her colleagues, she gave a sweet giggle and then continued.

"Alrighty-roo, that's enough sugar for one day. Let's get on with this!"

Hair bouncing with every breath, she chucked the last of her drink in the trashcan by her feet, followed by the napkin she held her pastry in, and settled down to work. Well... as settled as Lizzie could get.

"Soooo, who's up first? Okay, I've got a good one. What do you call a guy with no skin? Anyone? No? Johnny Marsh! Hahaha! What? What do you- well I know he had skin, but like- no, he- SHUT UP, CARL. THIS IS WHY NOBODY REMEMBERED YOUR BIRTHDAY."

Slumped down in his chair, the sound technician turned back to his desk, defeated, taking down the tiny party hat from his head.

"Great, now I'm lost. Umm, oh, right, here we go. The girl who took him down was the mighty Supergirl herself, Ms. Holly Chapman, everybody! Let's hear it for for her guys, woo! Yeah! Dead! And, er, so on. I guess Chris Richardson died last or something, I dunno. I think I need more coffee. Starting to flag like a biiitch.

Oh, and as for dangerzones, The Shack, Radio Tower, The Cove and Cable Car Station are off-limits, so like, don't go near them. You know the drill by now, right? Good, okay, that means I can go make some more mixed-tapes, yay~!"
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#51

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: ...AND RUN
THE SHACK
JUNE 25, 2010: 12:14

Ashlie
Many hours passed, and Ashlie was woken up to the sound of that annoying girl's voice. She went on about danishes and coffee and blah blah blah. The only part that she cared about was the fact that her current resting spot was a danger zone, which meant she needed to leave pretty quickly. Fortunately, she had been thoughtful enough just before sleeping to put everything she needed into one bag, which included her gun, the two spare magazines, three knives, and the food she had pilfered from the dead boy.

Ashlie picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, enjoying the sensation of the cloth on her bare skin. Looking down at herself, she thought for a moment about taking one of the dead boys' shirts to cover up, but then shrugged and continued on her way.

Exit Subject C08, Ashlie Jackson
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#52

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: MAD SCIENCE HAS LEFT ME IN DESPAIR!
THE COVE
JUNE 25, 2010: 11:48

Simon
As soon as Simon heard the shot he was running, not away from the sound as you’d expect, but towards it. The sound brought a new alertness to his mind and gave him a reason to push his tired body past its previous limits to run to where he needed to be. A gunshot meant people which hopefully meant more experiments that wanted to escape like himself; though more likely he was about to emerge onto the scene of another murder.

Simon finally broke free from the tree line and onto the beach proper and the first thing he saw, after his eyes had adjusted to the new light, was the three people who currently occupied it with him. Though, only two of them appeared to still be alive, what with two of them presently lying in a pool of their own blood. One, which Simon could only just manage to look at, lay crumpled at the base of the cliff and from the looks of the stain on the rock behind it appeared to have collided with it with some force. The second lay much more naturally, with only the puddle and the bloody knife evidence to the fact that something was wrong. The only person still alive on the scene was rather small looking girl, had she done this? But she looked so… innocent?

“What… what happened here?”

Iris
Iris had never been to the beach.  Never got to see the ocean.  Daddy was well-off but vacations were never on his schedule.   Iris only knew about the ocean from the old textbooks she read.  She used to stay up late at night, just reading her books, imagining what the world was like. What the ocean was like.  What everything was like.  The thought made Iris smile.  She used to live in those books.  She never had any friends so those books were like her second family.  They kept her safe, taught her things, cheered her up, helped her through life.  She loved her books.  They loved her back.  They never lied to her.  

And yet... the ocean was so different!  It was nothing like what the books said.  She had to tell someone!

"Guess wha' Momma?" She told her mom.  Her treasure.  "I saw tha' ocean!  It was purty strange too!  The sand is really red.  I never knew it was so red.  Didja' eva go to tha ocean when you were lil momma?"

Momma just smiled at her.  She didn't respond.

"I... I love yah."

Someone said something.  For a second Iris thought that Momma actually responded.  That was embarrassing!   Iris looked up at a boy who looked upset.  He looked shocked.  His eyes were wide.  Why did he looked so shocked?  Iris was a bit confused, but that didn't stop her.  She responded.

"Morning'."

She said that with gusto.  With enthusiasm.  Like she was being paid to do it.  Like it made her happy.  She smiled too, a genuine little smile for the little stranger who she had never met before.  Momma always told her never to talk to strangers, but maybe this boy was different.  Maybe Momma was... wrong...  She wasn't even sure if it was morning.  She didn't care about that anymore.  She was here, at the beach, with her best friend and Momma.  It was a very beautiful beach.  The boy must have noticed this!  Oh!  That must be it!

"Nice ain't it?"  Oh.  He wasn't wondering about the beach was he?  Oh how silly.   Iris looked over at Johnny just lounging out.  Silly Johnny.  "Oh, nothin' happened.  Just a lil' disagreement.  Holly didn't like Johnny's face yah'see.   Johnny got a lil' mad, he's very sensitive 'bout his face.  All just'a misunderstanding!  It's all settled.  Nothin' tah be worried 'bout..."

Iris idly stroked her friends hair, that smile still prominent.

"Nothin' tah be worried 'bout... dun worry..."

Holly was her only friend.  Friends to the end.

She giggled.  Out of irony.  Out of pure joy.  Perhaps out of both.

Silence hit.

Then the smile disappeared, and she turned back to Simon.

"... You got business here?"

The boy didn't answer.  He looked scared. Iris was sure that he looked scared.  Why did he looked scared?  Did he think Iris was crazy?  She wasn't crazy.  She was just sitting here with her best friend, just sitting here looking out at the sky.  So if he had a problem then he's the one who's crazy.  She wasn't crazy.  

Iris shrunk.  Yes, breaking one of Momma's lessons had been a bad idea indeed.  Momma was never wrong.  "Never talk to strangers Iris," she said.  "Never talk to strangers Iris.  Never get into cars with strangers Iris.  Not everyone in this world was as kind-hearted as you Iris.  There are some dark people out there."  Momma had been crying when she told Iris this.  Iris could remember that.  She had been crying for a long, long time.  Iris couldn't remember about what.  She had been holding her eye the whole time.  Maybe it hurt from her to cry?  She died a few months later.  Yeah, that was her last memory of momma.  Crying, telling Iris never to talk to strangers, never to go into cars with strangers, strangers weren't all nice and for every single lesson that Momma taught Iris that last lesson had stuck in twice as firm.  

Momma was never wrong.  Momma was always right.  Strangers.  Strangers weren't all nice.  Not as nice as Iris.  Not as nice as Holly.

Her hand flew out of nowhere, gun raised, safety off, target locked.  Her hand trembled to keep her friend up.  Holly was pretty heavy.  She didn't want to drop her.  Holly would wake up then.  She'd be mad.  She might yell at Iris again, and Iris couldn't have that could she?   She didn't like Holly when she yelled.  Friends helped friends.

Her voice was filled with more lead than the very gun she held.

"If not, then yah best turn tail and walk back!  Come another step and... we'll hav'a problem!  Got it?!"

Simon
The girl’s unnaturally cheerful greeting threw Simon off for a second, as it had not been something he had expected and it disturbed him quite a bit. The things she was saying, the giggling, the way she kept stroking the dead girl’s hair like there was nothing wrong; did she even know anything was wrong? Had she been the one to kill these two or had she just been a witness to it and lost her mind. The things she said about there being a disagreement made it sound like the two had killed each other, as unlikely as that was.

Still, he didn’t think this girl was capable of this kind of violence; it was clear there was something wrong with this girl’s mind so either seeing this gristly scene pushed her other the edge or she was like this already. If it was the former then it seemed unlikely she would have had the stomach to kill two people, if her mind was that easily broken by violence. If, however, she was already crazy then it still seemed unlikely she would kill them, the way she acted now made it seem like she knew them, cared about them. He didn’t think she was capable of anything that aggressive. And then she pointed a gun at him.

Simon jumped back at the sight of the weapon being pulled out, his hands thrown up in a defensive and warding gesture. “Whoa, whoa. I’m not here to cause any trouble, I just heard the gunshots and thought someone could use some help. I… guess I was wrong, doesn’t look like anybody here needs any help”

If this girl was under the impression that the girl in her arms and the guy in pieces against the wall were still alive then it was probably best not to break the news to her too suddenly. If he was smarter he would just leave right now and never look back, but he couldn’t just leave this girl here like she was, completely helpless to the next person that came along and wasn’t so peacefully inclined.

Iris
"Ain't no gunshots," Iris said, mouth dry, voice drier.  "Must'a been hearing things cuz' I was 'ere the whole time and ain't heard no gunshots.  You callin' me crazy?  Cuz the only one actin' crazy 'ere is you."

That wasn't just an observation this boy had made.  That was an insult aimed at her.  How DARE he suggest that these?  Where did HE get off?  Everything was fine!  Nothing was wrong!  This stranger had no right coming here and starting trouble like that!  Then he did agree with her.  He backtracked, said that nothing wrong.  That he had been wrong.  Iris's face relaxed.  Maybe he wasn't crazy.  Good.  She looked down at her best friend Holly.  Holly was still cross.  Even in her sleep she looked angry.  

"Yeah," she agreed.  "Nothin' wrong here.  They were screamin' at each other, got tired and decided to tak'a load off.  Yeah.  Exactly... what happened."

And for only a moment, it sounded as though Iris wasn't sure of this.  Then she snapped back into reality, her world.  She smiled at the boy she did not know.  That gun was still pointed at him.  

"I'm Iris," she said at last, eyes twinkling.  "I'm from Iowa."

She didn't ask for the boy's name.  Strange.  She always did.

Simon
For a few terrifying seconds it seemed like Simon’s comments had angered the girl, and the last thing you want to do is make a crazy person with a gun angry at you, but then she seemed to be placated by something he had said and calmed down; though the gun was still pointed in his direction.

Still, the things this girl was saying now at least gave Simon a better idea of what had happened here, if he read through the crazy to get the truth. Seems he was right and the two had killed each other after getting into an argument and apparently the girl had been travelling with them or at least witnessed the killing like he thought.

“Urm, right Iris. I’m Simon, from Chicago”

Iris
Iris had not asked for his name.  She knew this.  She found it very rude but she didn't call him out for it.  

"Chicago?"  She was aware of the name and recognized it as a city.  Day one, in the church with Holly, Iris would have pressed Simon on the subject.  She would have asked him where Chicago was, whether he had family there, what life was like for him.  Iris had been a very curious creature.  That was then.  Now, in the beautifully pathetic place that she found herself, she knew that such questions were pointless.  She was with her friends.  Knowing more about this random boy would only serve to waste the precious time she had left.

So Iris smiled.  She stroked her friend's cheek, and gave Simon a tilt of her head.  It was a look that someone might call cute, under normal circumstances.

"S'been almost two days."  She said, turning grave all of a sudden.  As grave as a smiling girl could turn.  "Y'all must have been walkin' fer some time.  I'd let yah stay but... I ain't sure how they'd feel."  She motioned to her lively friends.

Simon
Upon hearing her words, Simon could feel the weariness he had abandoned earlier seeping back into his body; she was right, he had been walking ever since he left the Cable Car Station and before that ever since the game had started, the few short breaks along the way notwithstanding. He stayed alert though, forced himself not to give in and just collapse right then and there, there would be time for rest later.

Iris’ next words helped keep him awake though, the implication behind them and the dissonance between what she was saying and what was reality a strong reminder that letting his guard down around this unhinged girl would not be a good idea.

Just as he was trying to come up with what to say next, carefully choosing his words as to not set up some hair trigger within the girls fragile mind, the speakers positioned seemingly everywhere burst to life as the latest announcement was made.

It’s got to be getting down to the wire now. How many people are left?

As usual Simon endured the usual rambling at the start, this time some nonsense about an apple Danish, barely paying enough attention to catch the first name she would read out. There it was, Johnny Marsh, a failed attempt at humour followed by the next name, Holly Chapman; apparently these two had killed each other, were they the same two people who currently occupied the beach along with him and Iris? In some part of his mind he knew this would happen eventually, he just hoped he would have more time.

Some part of him still listened to the announcement as his mind scrambled, the familiar name of Chris Richardson being read out and the silly idea of him being cursed becoming slightly more plausible. Four people dying straight after meeting him and another going crazy literally just as he arrived? He was practically a walking bad omen by this point.

But back to Iris, the more than a little unstable girl who had just been confronted with the fact her two best friends were in fact dead. Simon wondered how she would deal with it; would her insane denial of the truth right in front of her be more powerful than the harsh announcement of the facts? Would she calmly accept it, carry on like she never heard it, burst into tears or simply just go on a rampage with him as the first victim?

“Iris?”

As if the hazardous situation couldn’t get any worse, the list of the next dangerzones to be activated included this area and again Simon was faced with a decision between what was smart, and would let him live, and what was right, and would most likely kill him. He should just leave the girl there, run now and escape the Danger Zone while the crazy person played with her corpse friends right up until the second her implanted chip exploded. Or, he could try to take the girl with him, reason with her, help her through what ever mental, emotional anguish she would go through once the fact her friends were dead sank in and hopefully let them both live till end game. Or, more likely, attempt to do all the above and end up dying alongside her when the timer hit zero.

“Are you ok?”

Iris
"Yes?" Iris said quickly, as though to distract Simon from the announcement.  He asked her if she was alright, and that down right angered her.  "No no I'm fine.  Nothin' yah need to worry bout."

Yes she heard the announcement.  Yes she knew exactly what she heard.  So what was the conclusion?  That, obviously, that there was another Holly and Johnny on this island who croaked.  It was obvious wasn't it?  The Holly and Johnny SHE knew were sitting here, perfectly fine.  They weren't dead, just a little tired.  Yeah.  Yeah.  That was it.  Nothing else to it.  It was all just one big misunderstand on her part and there was nothing she had to worry about because her friends were fine?  Okay?

Why was Simon looking at her like that?  Like she was crazy.  How dare he!  

"Why yah lookin' at me like that?!"  She screamed.  "Stop lookin' at me!  Who told yah you could look at me?!"

She still had her gun out.  Still loaded, still aimed at him.  She could kill him - yeah, she would do it.  Just... kill him like the bastard he was.  The bastard he was.  Iris never cursed.  She would have felt bad.  Daddy would have slapped her for saying, and yet Iris felt not a single drop of guilt.  Iris stopped panting.  She looked up at Simon, expression softening.  Then she turned to her friend Holly and smiled.

"This boy is just'a big nut, right Holly?  I'm perfectly fine, right?"

"... go on.  Tell him Holly.  Tell him he's crazy."

"... H-Holly?"

"...Holly...?"

"... Holly?!  Talk damn it!  Why are yah bein' so quiet?!"  

Simon
Simon, against his better judgement and every one of his brain cells telling him it was a stupid idea, stepped closer to Iris, slowly closing the distance between them. It seemed as if the girl was slowly starting to realise that her friends weren’t just sleeping, the announcement giving her reason to question her delusions, but she still wasn’t quite there.

He needed to think very carefully what to say at this delicate time, he didn’t want to risk Iris snapping and finally pulling the trigger on that gun, just like he didn’t want her to completely close off once the reality set in. He favoured outcome was for Iris to come with him, leave the danger zone with him before the signal to blow their brains, or where the chips were planted, up. Preferably all without him getting shot.

“Iris, Holly isn’t going to answer you, neither is Johnny. Now listen, did you hear the announcement? It said that the cove is about to become a danger zone, that means here, and we don’t have a lot of time left. We need to leave right now, and I don’t think your friends are going to be coming with us”

Iris
No.  No no no, he was WRONG.  The announcement was wrong!  They were all wrong!  Holly and Johnny were fine, they were alive!  There was NO danger, her friends were fine!  Perfectly fine!  ABSOLUTELY FINE!    IRIS WAS FINE!  Why were they all trying to tell her something that she knew wasn't true?!  It wasn't good to lie.  Momma told her that.  Lies were always bad because it was only a matter of time before people find out the truth, so don't ever lie Iris.  So why was this boy lying?  Why were they trying to fool her?  Iris wasn't an idiot!

Iris held the hand with her necklack against the side of her head.  The world was spinning, oh lord the world was spinning, someone help her, Holly, Johnny, Cristo, Momma, Daddy, anyone, help her!  Help Iris Landon!  In her mind she was screaming for help, waving flags, writing out SOS on the beach and yet no one was coming to rescue her.  She was desperately, totally lost at sea and she couldn't take it.

"Shut up," she breathed heavily.  She barked. "Shut yer mouth!  Shut yer hole you son'ofabitch!  I ain't listening to a word you're... saying...  You're lying to me!  I know it... I..."

Simon was right though.  He wasn't wrong, he wasn't trying to fool Iris.  The cove was becoming a dangerzone.  Her friends were gone.    Everything was gone.  Nothing was left.  Not for Iris.  And this boy, this very nice boy was trying to get her out of the area as soon as possible.  He was risking his life to save hers and the only thing she had to do was listen to him and follow him.  It was the only thing Iris could do if he wanted to live.

And so she let out a scream and pulled the trigger.

Simon
Simon had been gradually stepping closer to Iris as he waited for her response, getting ready for whatever that response might be, but stopped as soon as she reached up with her empty hand to clutch at the side of her head. It seemed like she was still trying to fight off the reality of the situation in her own head, still denying that anything was wrong though her voice seemed less sure the longer she went on; either way he didn’t move from his current spot, not wanting to get too close and risk spooking her in this state, nor seeing a reason to back away just yet.

After a while she suddenly went quite, her words tapering off into silence at a point that made Simon think that maybe she was finally starting to see the truth, a thought that brought a small smile to his face as it meant that they would both be able to get out of this alive; then she suddenly let out a startling scream and pointed the fire the gun that she had held pointed at him during the entire conversation. Luckily for him her recent mental crisis had thrown off her aim somewhat, sending the bullet wide by a large margin to bury itself in the sand a few feet away from where he stood. Nonetheless the bullet served its purpose in scaring Simon away, scampering away from the troubled girl as he did as soon as the trigger was pulled.

When it became apparent that Iris wasn’t about to suddenly fire off a second shot, Simon stopped in his retreat and looked back at the girl in front of him. He debated to himself the idea of trying to get close to her again, try to convince her to leave with him or even just drag her out of here himself if he had to, but he wasn’t sure if he would even survive a second attempt to get that close or if he would be able to do anything even if he did. Furthermore, he has no idea how long it has been since the last announcement, or how long they both have left before the danger zone is activated but he knows it can’t be long now.

As much as he hates to admit it, he doesn’t think he can save this girl, not with the time he has, not with her in the state she is right now and certainly not with his hands rendered useless by this stupid, fucking power they gave him. Is frustrated him to no end how helpless he had been for the majority of this game; everybody he had ever run into had died, he hadn’t managed to do anything in the way of escaping this experiment and he still hadn’t gotten any sleep since the start of this game. Still, the more he saw how much the thought of her friends being dead seemed to hurt Iris, the more he started to think that saving her life was inhumane, especially considering that neither of them would live much longer past this point anyway. Wouldn’t it be better to just let her die now is blissful ignorance than to drag her painfully along with him only to get shot a few hours from now?

Dejectedly, Simon pushed himself back to his feet and began stepping away from the scene, back to the trees that he had first emerged from when he first came here after hearing the gunshots.

“Sorry Iris, didn’t mean to bother you and your friends, I’ll just be leaving now. So hi to them from me once they wake up ok?”

Before she could say anything else Simon was gone, disappeared back into the trees and breaking into a sprint as soon as he was out of sight, pushing his tired body once more past its limits to keep him alive just a little while longer. He didn’t know which way he was going, still not having access to his map but just figured that if he ran far enough in one direction that would be enough to get him clear, he just kept running for that invisible finish line that marked the difference between ‘safe’ and ‘not quite far enough’. After that it was just a matter of finding a nice safe place to pass out for a few hours before continuing on with the futility of trying to escape.

Exit Subject C05, Simon Matthews

Iris
Simon finally left and Iris lowered her gun.  She sighed and quickly looked back at Holly, her only friend.  Who did that boy think he was?  Talking about her friends like they were dead!  Who-  

Who did he think...

Who... who was she kidding?  She was...

Wrong.  Wrong?  Wrong.  

That boy could have saved her.  Instead she just scared him away.

"I-" She coughed.  "I-"

Iris slapped herself across the face.  As hard as she could.  She winced, and took it.  She braced her hand and hit herself again.  And again.

Iris let go of Holly's head.  She held onto her cheek, staring back down at her friend.  Her face showed so much pain. Why did Holly have to die?  Why couldn't she just accept Johnny?  Why did they have to die?  Why didn't she do anything to stop them?!  Iris wanted to curl up into a ball, shut out the whole world and just rot.  She wanted to just die.  Most of all, she wanted to wake up from this terrible dream she was in.

And then Iris found herself alone.  And she did not cry.

... she had time, right?  A hour if she recalled correctly.  Less than a hour at this stage.  

Iris didn't have a very large list of things to wanted to finish, but there was one more thing she had to do.  The reason why she came here in the first place.  So she closed Holly's eyes with two fingers, kissed her cheek and rose.

She walked.  As she walked, she thought.  She thought about Holly. She thought about Johnny.  She thought about... everything and nothing.  About this game.  This was all just a game right?  It was not like any other game she played.  People died in this game.  They killed each other.  So Iris had been lucky... she had made it further than a lot of the rest.  Did that mean she was better than them?  Iris never liked to compare herself with such terms.  Better.  Worse.  We were all the same weren't we?  So why should she ever consider herself better than Holly?

Holly... maybe Holly was the only reason she was still alive.  

That made Iris frown.  Frowning hurt everything.

Time passed.  The cove was huge.  

She really hoped she could find him.  She had to find him, had to find him.  Her heart was pounding.

There was an odd buzzing in Iris's arm.  It scared her.  Was her arm SUPPOSED to do that?  Iris didn't want to think about it.  She just wanted to find -

She gasped.  She dropped her bag, rushed over to the little nook, fell to her knees.

"... C-Cristo..."

Her mouth tasted of metal suddenly and she slowly ran the tips of her fingers down the latin boy, the one she found herself hopelessly devoted .  Iris was known to let her mind dramatize things, to twist things so that they looked... better.  Iris had always known about this terrible little habit of hers.  With Cristo, it was different.

Cristo.  The only boy that... touched her.  She would have given him anything just to feel wanted.  Wanted for her body, wanted for her.  Her cheeks turned a tint of red.  That was a very dirty thought, wasn't it?  Iris wasn't as innocent as everyone thought she was... She was just a girl who just wanted to be pretty.  And Cristo made her feel pretty.

And still her mouth still tasted like metal.  What was that?  It was so unusual.

He was dead, there was no question about.  His expression was blank.  Had he died quickly?  Poor Holly, her face looked terrible, nothing at all like Cristo's.  Iris thought, for just a quick moment, on how her face would look once she died.  Iris chewed at her lip. and this was around the time where she realized that she had put her gun to her lips.  She resisted at first.  Then she gave in very quickly.  The gun was in her mouth.  The thought of suicide had always disturbed Iris but she was willing to forgo that.  There was nothing left for her to do.  

She only had two choices.  Either she got up and fought or...  The choices were quite similar, two pieces of dialogue that lead to the same Shakespearean conclusion.  As Iris sat there with her pistol buried in her mouth, she realized the mechanics of the pathetic game she found herself playing.  Even if you win, you don't really win.  So what was the point in playing?  All of the paths looked the same and arrived at the same place.  So why should Iris bother?  Iris never liked playing games anyway.  She never liked being the winner, never liked losing either.  The whole mechanics of games, the winner and loser, points and penalties, rules and regulations.  They were there to make someone feel better.  Like they accomplished something when really all the effort was for nothing.  

The problem was, or at least the problem for poor Iris, was that she couldn't get the thought of this being a game out of her head.  It floated in her head like a terrible nightmare.  She knew she couldn't just stick around with Holly anymore and pretend desperately that nothing was different.  She was dropped into a game of life and death and she just wanted to throw in the towel and watch from the sidelines.  Of course she couldn't do that.  Unfortunately life wasn't that fair.

So with pistol in mouth, finger over the trigger, knowing that she would never see her mother again, she squeezed









and pulled the gun out of her mouth.

"No..."  Her hand squeezed around the handle.  "NO.  No no no no no no!"

She lifted her head.  It was the only thing she had done on her own.  This was Iris talking.  Every time Iris did something, it was usually because someone had told her to do it. Or perhaps she did it with another person in mind.  Iris was such a selfless person.  That was what momma called her.  Selfless meant that someone was caring to others, almost to a fault sometimes.  The opposite of selfish, where someone thinks only of themselves.   Momma always told her to take charge... well, she had never told Iris, she had said that to her father once when Iris was supposed to be in bed.  The circumstances didn't matter, did it?  To this day this has been the only instruction that Iris had never accomplished.  The one thing Momma asked that Iris didn't immediately follow.

Perhaps this game had been the best thing that ever happened to Iris Landon.

"I ain't a bad person.  I-I ain't nevah done anything to deserve this.  I've always been a good girl.  "

Her fragile heart was pounding.  She had never screamed so much in her entire life.  First at Holly, and now here she was.  Her voice was harsh but she let one last battle cry out, desperately fighting the buzzing.

"IF I'M GONNA DIE, THEN IT'S ON Y'ALL, NOT ME!"

The buzzing continued.  Iris realized that she was sweating.  What would become of her?  Would she die very slowly?  Would it be quick?

"JUST DO IT!  I AIN'T AFRAID!"


Why was everything so cramped?  It was like the walls were closing in on her, like in Star Wars, she loved that movie with all her heart.  Her father took her to see it when they were in the city, they were replaying it in a small cinema that had seen better days.  She pictured the walls of the trash compactor closing in on her, ready to squish her like a piece of trash, and everything felt so claustrophobic and she couldn't stand it, but she knew it would be over very soon.  Yet... There were so many things that she never got to do.  Iris wanted to travel the world.  Become famous.  Do things.  Feel things.  ... kiss a boy.  No, she's never kissed a boy before in her entire life.  She always thought she would.  It was a better time than any.  The only time, she figured.  No time like the present.  Momma always told her that.  And Iris always listened to whatever Momma said.

Amidst the buzzing and the tears and the knowledge of impending doom,
Iris lowered her head, hand pacing up, her heard ready to burst,
her lips quivering, the buzzing growing, the heat rising,
she lowered down as far as she needed to,
Her mouth tasted of metal and his
tasted of nothing.  How ironic.
Then lifted herself off,
saliva stained lips,
and then she,
and then,
nothing.
SUBJECT C02, IRIS LANDON: ELIMINATED
7 SUBJECTS REMAIN
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MurderWeasel
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#53

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: MISERIA CANTARE
THE GREAT DIVIDE
JUNE 25, 2010: 13:24

Enter Subject C11, Katherine Black
Rocks crunched underfoot as the girls moved through the desolate environment. Any signs of habitability had long since vanished as they wandered. Lost, although neither would really admit it. They just kept moving, hoping they'd eventually come to grass, water, some sign of life.

Kate's feet stung, her throat was dry and hoarse- she'd long since exhausted her water supply, and wasn't going to mooch off of any Taryn had left- her eyes were heavy from a lack of sleep, and her stomach felt like it was eating itself, but she kept going. Kate was sure they didn't have long left. The obnoxious girl on the announcements had told them as much. They'd get to the end and then...

They'd find a way. There had to be some way to get both her and Taryn out. They'd just refuse to hurt each other. Get declared joint champions. But... Would Taryn agree to that? In the end, could she really trust her when it came down to the wire? Kate shook her head. She couldn't think things like that. Keep positive.

"T-Taryn...?" She struggled for breath, but continued to trudge along. "A...Are you okay?"

Still, she continued on, clutching at her water bottle, hoping that the last remaining drops would magically refill it or that it'd somehow lead them to somewhere they could actually get some water or some more food or something.

Oh God. Was that...? Kate rushed over, kneeling down beside it. She reached for a cold arm, letting it fall limp to the floor. Just left there, naked and splattered in his own blood. Who could have done this? Ashley? The latino the obnoxious bitch had mentioned?

Of all the things she'd seen so far, this was the one that made her sick. Bile and what little she had left in her gut spewed out onto the dry ground as Kate fell to her hands and knees.

"...Urgh..." Kate winced and slowly rose to her feet. "U-uh, Taryn.."

"Let's..." She put a hand to her forehead, rubbing her temple. Headache coming on. "C-can we keep moving, please?"

Enter Subject C13, Taryn Jones
Taryn let out a deep breath. She definitely wasn’t used to this much walking. She didn’t like to exercise particularly. Her mind was abuzz while her body wore down. She couldn’t stop thinking. This place was a mistake, the whole island. Everything was a mistake. She had killed a girl. The announcements also said a boy died from blood loss. Was that the one she shot? It could have been, but maybe it wasn’t. At this point she only knew with certainty that she’d never know with certainty if it was or wasn’t.

I killed a girl. I….did it because I had to….but I still did it. I’m not a bad person. I’m good. I am. This place just made things….messed up. Things got messed up and it’s not my fault.

It was a wonder Kate hadn’t left her after that, but the girl stayed. She stayed and they kept going together, wandering to no where in particular and waiting for the end.

Taryn was starting to question if she even wanted to keep going. She looked over at Kate. She couldn’t give up, Taryn had to make it home. She had to see her mother at least one more time. They were so close to the end. The end practically tingled in her finger tips; she could almost reach out to it. But what of Kate….? Maybe they could bargain at the end. Make a deal. Trade something.

Up ahead there was something on the ground. Kate ran to it and Tarn trotted after her. It was the body of a boy. Taryn covered her mouth and looked away. Kate was less lucky and lost what little her stomach had in it. Taryn pulled back her hair with one hand and with the other rubbed the girl’s back.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

It was just the automatic response she had to such a situation. Be it when Kendra had gotten that food poisoning from the school bake sale and she had to spend all night up with her or when Jayna had come home beyond drunk once and she had to take care of her without waking their parents.

Taryn reached into her bag. She had half a bottle of water left. She gave it to Kate. She needed to replace the water she’d just lost.

“Of course, hun. We can’t do anything for him now. Let’s keep moving.”

Enter Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
Samantha had made her way entirely around the island, for lack of anything better to do. She was keeping an eye out for trouble, an ear out for gunfire, but the place was eerily calm. Not many of them left, not anymore. Funny what a couple days could do.

She had reworked her armament. She didn't want to be caught unprepared, so she held one gun, her original one, in her hand. Pippi's gun was tucked into her skirt, along with the two knives. The other two guns and knives rested within her bag, shoved into the bottom, under the first aid supplies, water, and bread. It was quite a load, but Samantha was used to carting around textbooks. This wasn't so very different.

She was starting to feel lonely, oddly enough. It had been some time since she'd seen anyone. The sun had come up again. No sign of the pink-haired girl. No sign of the boy with the electricity. At some point, Samantha had put band aids on her thighs, had washed and wrapped her palms. It wasn't like the damage was bad, far from it, in fact. Minor burns, the sort of thing that stung but did not even blister. Hardly even worth acknowledging as pain, not after everything else she had dealt with.

The longer she went without seeing others, the less in control of herself Samantha felt. It would be easy, so easy, to revert to all her previous coping mechanisms, to use pain to conquer the boredom and paranoia. She wouldn't, though. Nothing that edged her state of mind back towards what it had been before could be tolerated. She owed it to Otis, but more than that, she owed it to herself. There was no point living someone else's life, no point existing as a monster instead of a human.

She felt like she was already halfway to earning the title of monster on appearance alone. Her blouse, once white and pristine, now sported small tears on the back, from sticks in the forest, as well as bloodstains, sweat stains, and dirt stains. Her skirt had two impromptu knife sheaths ripped into it, and only looked better than her top because of its darker color. Her hair was unbrushed, and somewhat matted.

To top it all off, she still had fucking sand in her socks.

But that didn't matter. There'd be plenty of time to get cleaned up after this was done. Plenty of time to live the rest of her life in as calm and boring a manner as possible.

And if there wasn't?

Then it didn't matter if she died dirty.

On she walked, on and on, until, finally, off in the distance, she caught sight of a couple of figures moving. Samantha picked up her pace, headed towards them. Luckily, before too long, they stopped. Unluckily, as Samantha got closer, the reason became apparent. The stench of blood and rot wafted towards her on the breeze, death's decay making its presence known. The smell was worse than anything at the beach, worse than anything in the forest. Worse because she couldn't put a face to it, couldn't imagine the dead person smiling, couldn't add in anything to redeem them in her eyes. They were just dead. Over. A rotting hunk of meat.

Time to call out. No point spooking these girls. No point being too close and getting killed if it turned out they were dangerous. At least she could see that neither of them had pink hair.

"Hey," she called out. Gun in hand, but not raised, not yet, not this time. "Over here. My name's Samantha. Chat for a second?"

Might've been a good move to suggest ditching the corpse. There sure were more pleasant places for a potential standoff.

Katherine
Kate tried to refuse it- she didn’t want to waste Taryn’s supplies- but Taryn pushed it into her hands. She… no, she had to take it. Kate unscrewed the cap and gulped down the contents of the bottle, the coldness of the water chilling through her stomach.

“I… Thanks, Taryn…” Kate screwed the lid back on the empty bottle, shoving it into her bag. Just in case they ever found some drinkable water. “…R-really. Thanks.”

A girl's voice, calling them over. Away from the corpse.

"Taryn?" Kate looked over at the girl, then back at Taryn. She hadn't attacked them yet, so that was something, right? Acting on impulse, Kate decided. "Lets go over there."

She stuffed the water bottle into her bag and began to approach the girl, letting her arms fall loose at her sides. They weren’t threats- they weren’t trying to be anyway- so there was no point to acting like they were. The girl was talking to them, wasn't stumbling around looking demented as all hell, and wasn't pointing a gun yet or holding one of them hostage; she could be a complete bitch after that for all Kate cared, she'd still like her more than everyone else they'd met so far.

Still, she hoped the girl- she had introduced herself as Samantha- would be what passed for normal on this island. Maybe she'd spent the whole time hiding, avoiding Ashley, the Latino they'd heard about, and every other two-bit murderer who’d popped up. Or maybe she'd seen worse than they had, and was just looking for someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on. Or maybe she was the reason there was a rotting naked corpse nearby. Kate decided it was a gamble worth taking.

"H-Hey!" Kate decided to do the introductions this time, Taryn introducing them hadn't exactly worked out before. "I'm, um, Kate and this is Taryn. We’re, uh… we’re, well, we're kinda lost. What did you want?"

Taryn
Taryn wiped her forehead and took a deep breath. Looking around, there wasn’t much. It was pretty much an empty, barren location. She wished they could find the beach again. Kate had finished up the last of the water. That was fine. You could survive up to three days without water. If they ever made it out of this wasteland, maybe they could find more.

“It’s no problem, Kate. Really.”

The girls were about to put distance between them and the corpse when a girl’s voice called out to them. The girl looked like she has seen some better days. Then again, Taryn wasn’t one to talk. Her white blouse was splattered with the blood of that girl. Of the girl she had killed. Kate looked closest to a civilized human being so she let her go ahead and do the introductions once they had gotten a bit closer.

She’s doing better at talking to strangers ,she thought with a strange sort of pride. If Taryn could, she would have given Kate a puffy, yellow star sticker.

This new girl had a gun, several knives and blood down her front. She looked like a blonde Rambo. To her credit, the gun wasn’t pointed at them and she loudly called for their attention. Still, Taryn’s hand crept up to rest on the gun stashed in the waist of her shorts. She gave a tired sigh and tried her best to smile.

“Sure, I think we’ve got a second we can spare to talk.”

Samantha
The girls decided to play nice. No standoffs, at least, not the really nasty sort. Not yet. Judging from their movements and conversation, they seemed to be working together. It wasn't a winning strategy. This put Samantha at ease rather quickly. If they were going to risk a betrayal, well, maybe they'd make other bad moves, like letting her live. Like being friendly for a little. Like not turning this into any more of a war zone than it was.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Then, it was time to talk.

"Thanks. I... well, if you're lost, I can help, but there's not really any place better than here. I just... I guess it's just nice to see someone who's not going to shoot me. Everyone I've met's dead, except this pink-haired bitch who shot at me and this disheveled kid I shot at."

That probably was not the most endearing of introductions. But dammit all, Samantha was tired, was in a kind of shaky mood and mental state, and was really going to do her best to be nice, to be someone who could deserve to survive, someone Otis could have—no, did—care for. That, she realized, was why these girls gave her a good impression. They were like she and Otis had been, a day ago (or two?). Strangers, thrown together, finding it in one another to trust each other, to look past any faults. Maybe she was projecting too much. Maybe she was making stupid assumptions. She really didn't give a fuck, though.

"I haven't killed anyone. I've tried twice. Once was in self defense, once was a huge mistake. I've got more bread and water than I could consume in our time left here, so you're welcome to some if you want. I just... need some time. Some time with people who aren't trying to kill me, for a change. I guess I'm proposing a little truce."

Blunt. Tactless. Honest. Samantha didn't have the energy to be anything more. At the start of the game, she'd have kept her guard up. If these were guys, things would have been different. But they were just people like her, battered and beaten and lost and confused, and she couldn't imagine any of them hurting each other. Not yet, at least. Slowly, carefully, Samantha laid her gun on the ground, and sat down.

The gun stashed in her skirt stayed where it was, though. Even on the best of days, trust only went so far.

Katherine
Kate blinked. Sam’s story was actually kind of interesting. Everyone she'd met had died. Wow. That... that took some doing. It really did. Aside from some "Pink Haired Bitch"- Ashley? – And another kid. Kate sighed. If they were meeting people who had literally had everyone they’d met die in front of them, they had to be nearing the end. Not long left now. They’d make it to the end.

Samantha hadn't killed people, at least. That gave her something over them, though. Sam hadn’t killed. Kate and Taryn, on the other hand? They'd robbed, they'd fought, they'd shot a boy and left him to die... and Taryn had killed at least one person. It was in self-defense, sure, and they still weren’t sure whatever happened to the blind boy, and even then Kate was sure she hadn't meant to, but still. Samantha had done better off than them, in Kate’s eyes.

Samantha proposed a truce, offering to help them out with food and water in exchange for their company and not trying to kill her. The offer of food and water was enough for Kate, but she wasn’t sure Taryn would be sold. After all, there was still the possibility it was a set up.

"...a truce?" Kate looked to Taryn, suprisingly she didn't seem to think it that bad an idea. "Alright, I- W-we, um, We accept, then."

"And, um," Something she'd forgotten to bring up earlier. "T-The,um, pink haired bitch? With the skanky feet? Her name, um, her name's Ashley."

Kate tilted her head up and pointed to the cut on her neck. It still stung, despite of- or possibly because of- the attention Kate was giving it. She didn’t think she could be blamed though, really. She was just making sure it didn’t happen again, was all.

"S-She, um, she gave me this." Kate ran her finger along the length of the scab. "So, uh, y-yeah. We know her. Definitely."

Taryn
Kate had accepted the terms of a truce for them. She was fine with that. Coming upon someone who seemed sensible was good enough for her and she wasn’t about to start up another fight just yet. She didn’t feel like she was any condition to go another round. The girl hadn’t killed anyone, which was a good sign. She did admit to trying twice though, maybe she was just bad at killing people. If that was the case, hanging around her might not be too bad an idea. Then again, third time is the charm.

Taryn’s legs folded easily underneath her and she sunk down next to the girl. Her name was……Samantha? Yes. Taryn rubbed her eyes briefly with the palms of her hands and sighed. She looked up at the blonde girl with half lidded eyes, tired, hungry and dehydrated.

“I killed a girl. And I shot a boy. Self defense, though.”

Was the girl really self defense? She was too tired to play it all back in her mind and figure it out. Self defense was just an easiest blanket statement to go with. It also sounded better.

Apparently this girl had had a run in with Ashlie as well. Kate took over as narrator and succinctly summed up their time together. Taryn closed her eyes and covered them with her hand.

“The next time I see that girl, I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her and I won’t feel bad about it. No one’s gonna miss her, I guarantee,” she said, eyes still covered while she spoke. Perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to say. Taryn was almost past the point of caring.  

Samantha
The truce was accepted. Samantha tried not to let her relief show through. Tried not to let on just how glad she was to be able to live just a few minutes longer. She had her plan, but was starting to doubt it again. Starting to worry that maybe she was doing something wrong, maybe she was missing something. Sliding through to the finals with a group was all well and good, but would she have the guts for what came next? Would she be able, when the time came, to point her gun at Taryn and Kate, point it right between their eyes, and condemn them to oblivion? It had been so easy before. So easy to take aim and cut loose. So easy to say that the ends justified the means.

What terrified Samantha was that, on some level, she still felt that way. On some level, she was pretty sure she was just pretending, just faking her little change of heart. Just waiting, waiting for backs to turn. Waiting until she had a good shot, until she wouldn't miss. When it all came down to it, for all her certainty about life not being worth living if she lost herself, she still didn't want to die. More than anything, she wanted to live. Wanted to keep on existing. Wanted to survive to close her eyes and go to sleep again, to wake up again without fear for her life. If she felt that way, though, what must the others be thinking? What made her more likely to survive than any of them.

Intelligence.

The thought bubbled from the depths of her subconscious, teasing her ego. But it was true, wasn't it? Everyone she'd met so far had been doing things all wrong. Well, everyone except Otis. None of them had strategy. None of them had the right goals.

The other two kept talking. Turned out they'd met the pink-haired killer too. That, and Taryn had killed, at least once. Go figure. They were being honest. Maybe not wise, but honest. It was probably a good move, if they were using their real names. The announcements had included details on killers in the past. Whether Taryn was telling the truth about self defense, though, was certainly up for questioning. Samantha trusted these two to do what was right for each other. Anything beyond that would probably be too much.

Still, she found she had a request for Taryn. Maybe not something pleasant. Maybe something downright bloodthirsty. It hardly mattered, not now, not after all they had been through.

"When you take her, put a round in her for me, okay?"

Well, that was it. They'd both shared their nasty sides. Both bared their violent natures. Samantha found that she wasn't upset at all by the thought of Taryn shattering the girl—Ashlie, Kate had said she was called—Ashlie's skull with a bullet or ten. It was actually something of a relief. It meant Samantha wouldn't have to get her own hands dirty. Wouldn't have to kill someone herself. She didn't doubt that she could do it, not after what she'd attempted these past few days. She just wasn't sure she could live with herself afterwards.

An urge, powerful, nearly overwhelming: Samantha concentrated and her face did not shift.

How was she going to make it to the top like this? How was she going to fulfill Otis' dying wish if she couldn't live with herself after shedding a little blood? Why was she even thinking about that? His words had been kind. Caring. The sort of thing she'd always wished a guy would tell her. The sort of thing she'd never expected to hear. The sort of thing it was easy, so easy, to fixate upon, to use to justify all sorts of self-indulgent atrocities.

Live.

And what good would that be if she couldn't take what she'd done and killed herself?

This was not a very good moment. Not in the slightest. She didn't even know why. Probably her proximity with this pair. Probably the fact that they were how she and Otis should have been. Maybe the fact that, of the three of them, there was only room at the top for one. Only one.

She couldn't stay here too long. Couldn't travel with Taryn and Kate long term. If she did that, it would all be lost. All hope of forcing herself to kill would be gone.

Before she knew it, she was back to herself. Her old self. Her school self. The self she had always been when a boy got a little too close, when a slacker got a little too friendly. Walls of ice smashed between her and these girls, locking them safely at a distance, subjects of regard, not companionship.

"Do you have a plan for dealing with her? I watched her gun down a girl in cold blood, not an ounce of provocation. That was that scream earlier, if you heard it. I know it got everyone near her. She could talk into people's heads."

Valuable information for these girls. Things they would need in order to kill Ashlie. Things Samantha could afford to let on.

And then, she pushed things. She didn't know why, exactly. Maybe because she'd never resolved it herself, never come to terms with it when she was with Otis. It was probably the wrong thing to say. Nevertheless, it slipped out.

"So, what do you two plan to do at the end of this?"

Katherine
Taryn talked about killing Ashley, how she wouldn't feel bad about it, and how no one would miss her. Kate was a bit taken aback by that. Sure she was a bitch who could- and had- messed them up with her voice, and she'd tried to kill her, but... There had to be someone out there that would miss her, right? Someone who would take note when their daughter didn't come home, or that their best friend hadn't shown up to their birthday party. Just... someone, really.

Kate kept her mouth shut. No need to raise any objections.

Samantha had said that Ashley'd seemingly gunned down another girl since they'd seen her, and asked if they had any idea of what to do if they found her again, if they had a plan to take her down. Did they? Kate thought back to their confrontation. Taryn had made the bread earplugs, right? Kate remembered telling her to take them out.

"Well... T-Taryn made these like, bread earplugs, and, um, those seemed to work okay at shutting her voice out." Kate shook her head. "Although... I, uh, don't know how we're gonna go about getting rid of her..."

Leaving it to someone else seemed like the best course of action, if Kate was being honest. Then they wouldn't have to get hurt again. There had to be someone else out there she'd wronged. Samantha was proof of that. Maybe she'd take Ashley out when they parted ways.

There was a deeper reason for it than that, though. A feeling that sank into Kate's stomach, and made her feel the almost familiar nausea.

Guilt? Maybe.

But guilt for what? She hadn't personally done anything. Taryn had done it. In self-defence, and defending her. No, no beating around the bush. Kate was just as guilty as Taryn was. She was the one that stole the Boy's things after Taryn had shot him. She was the reason Ashley had gotten one over on them, She was the one who'd made the other boy panic, getting Taryn shot.

She'd made such a mess of things, hadn't she?

Kate blinked. Wasn't focused. She slouched down next to Taryn. Samantha had asked what their plans were when they got home. ...Odd question, really. But Kate figured she was trying to keep some semblance of normality going.

New York, for Christmas. That was their plan. They were still going, right? God, it seemed so... corny now she'd thought about it. Did they really want to tell her such a corny story? Kate glanced down at her shoes. "I... I wanna go home. See my parents and, um, my sister again. G-Graduate, y'know. That, um, that kinda stuff. "

Taryn
"When you take her, put a round in her for me, okay?"

Though she was hungry and tired and just on the verge of tapping out altogether, this brought a slight rise from Taryn. Her eyes opened just a little bit wider and her lips parted a fraction. It took her a moment to process the request.

“We’ve got more bullets than we know what to do with. I think I can spare an extra round.”

She was thankful to rest, thankful to sit for a moment with this girl and talk. This girl seemed levelheaded. She liked that. The world needs levelheaded people to keep everyone else grounded and though she liked to think of herself as one of those people, she couldn’t always be sure, especially here.

“The bread earplugs weren’t one hundred percent effective, but they helped. They made it less sickening to listen to her, though she seemed like a bitch, I imagine even without the power she’s sickening to listen to. Pretty much covering your ears with something or stuffing them with something works to lessen her power. Also, I think she underestimates us. I kind of….purposefully made myself seem….less threatening last time we met.”

She’d lied about her power. Taryn didn’t say that to Samantha because while she had been helpful, she was still essentially a stranger and if she asked about her powers she wanted to have her lie as a back up.

“I didn’t hear the girl who could talk into your mind. We must have been too far away,” she said, eager to jump to a new subject.

Taryn let her body slump to the side and laid her head on Kate’s shoulder. She looked down at her own hands. Samantha asked about their plans. Home seemed so very very far away at the moment.

“I can hardly wait to be at home again,” she said quietly.

She continued to look down at her fingers. The remnants of a sparkly blue polish still clung to her nails, chipped mostly at the tops but there was still a bit of shimmer around the edges near the cuticles. Splashed across some of them were the stiff little bits of dried blood, obscuring the old blue polish. Her sister Kendra had been the one to paint her right hand. It was always easy to put nail polish on your left hand with your right hand, but the other way around was much harder, so the girls always did each other’s right hands.

“I want to see my mom again. She was really sick before she left. I…..I don’t know what I’d do if the worst happened and she…..and I didn’t get a chance to say good bye. I know she knows I love her but I think I’d need to say good bye for…..for me. So I know for sure she knew. I want to see my sisters again. Kendra would never forgive me if I left without saying good bye. She likes to hold grudges. She’s so silly. ”

Taryn was still playing with her fingers. Her cheek was resting against Kate’s sweatshirt. The unique smell of another person was comforting.

“I…I didn’t know you had a sister too,” she said “Sorry I never asked.”

She lifted her wide eyes to Samantha, and stopped fiddling with her hands. “You said you had extra water?” she asked.

Samantha
Samantha listened to their responses. Listened, and fought the urge to hang her head so they couldn't see, and then fuck up her face to cover her embarrassment. They'd misinterpreted her. They'd thought she was asking what they'd do after the game was over. They were being so brightly optimistic, so pleasantly cheerful. So naïve.

Because what Samantha had meant to ask was what they would do when it was just the two of them left. When it was Kate and Taryn, standing alone on an open field, looking at each other. When it was down to them and their guns. Did they have a plan yet? Did they have some method predetermined, some trick to pick the survivor? Having heard what they said, she doubted it. She doubted that they had seriously considered their eventual fates. They both seemed pretty set on living. Both had their reasons, and good ones at that. It was enough to make Samantha reexamine her own priorities for a moment. Enough to make her think about her life, her future.

Back at home, there was her family. Mom, Dad, Rachel. Only, thing was, she wasn't so sure she'd be welcomed back with open arms. She'd almost managed to finish high school. Come so close. One more day. One more fucking day. June 22nd, last day of school. Her finals were even done. She had, for all intents and purposes, passed. Then she'd vanished. Completely missed her own graduation by now, certainly. Probably worried everyone sick. Probably had her parents fuming in rage, expecting that she'd eloped with some drugged-up dropout or something. She'd been doing so well, too. Doing so well. The end of high school had been what she had lived for. She had told herself, again and again, that she would be fine once it was over. That she would get a breather. Then she had enrolled in summer programs, to get a head start on college, get some credit and maybe put herself in a better position. She'd already been overwhelmed with preparation, already spent long nights working, getting a head start. The stress hadn't lessened a bit. Now, she'd probably been dropped from those classes for nonattendance. She'd made it right to the end, and then, for all intents and purposes, choked. To all appearances, she'd had a final breakdown and run away. That, or been kidnapped, probably brutalized and murdered.

Was that really so far from the truth, come to think of it?

It all brought her around to one point. Maybe she shouldn't be going back. A murdered daughter left dead and naked in a ditch, never to be identified, that was a tragedy. A failure of a daughter was a disgrace. If she saw her family again, she'd have to make up some excuse. Some reason for her absence. Nothing would satisfy them. They'd fume at her, then throw her out. They'd make her an outcast, just like Rachel. Rachel. She could live with Rachel. Admit to her own defeat, her own failure. Accept responsibility. Accept that she was a worthless fuck up, regardless of the fact that it wasn't her fault. Get a job flipping burgers somewhere, or petsitting or something like that, scrape together money over the next five or six years, and then, just maybe, eke out a Bachelor's in something that could get her a mid-level position somewhere.

It wasn't such a great plan. Sure didn't sound appealing right now.

So, what did Samantha have to live for? What did she have that measured up against a dying mother, a beloved family?

Nothing.

But the fact remained. She did not want to die. She was not going to roll over and die. Never.

She'd kept quiet as the girls talked. Kept quiet, until Taryn asked for water. At that, she opened her bag, pulled out two bottles, each over half full. Who had they belonged to at the start? Otis, Pippi, Cristo, whoever he'd killed, maybe Samantha herself. No way to tell. No reason to care. She rolled them across the ground, one to each girl.

Stay objective. Do not like these people. Be prepared for an ambush, a betrayal, at any moment.

"There," she said. "Oh, and here." She dug two mostly-whole loaves of bread out, as well, tossed them over. It was a big mistake to be so generous with supplies. Not that she needed them. Not even that she needed every advantage possible at this point. It was simply the logical implications of her actions. She'd made it clear that she had at least three bags' worth of stuff. Even putting aside the method of acquisition, it meant that they now knew roughly how many guns she was carrying.

Don't worry. Stay focused.

"Oh, thanks for your information on... Ashlie. She didn't say anything to me. Guess I should be relieved."

Not that she knew exactly what Ashlie's power was. Didn't matter.

She was getting nervous again. Feeling too comfortable. Feeling her barriers melting a little against the unflagging happiness she saw. She would not be sticking with these girls. Before long, they'd go their own ways, and, if they met in the finals, Samantha would have to do her best to view them as strangers. To forget their dreams of home and dying mothers.

Dammit. She really needed to get moving soon.

Katherine
Taryn apologised for not asking whether Kate had a sister. Kate saw no real reason to apologise, really. She'd never asked if Taryn had a sick mother.

"N-No, it's okay," Kate shook her head. "I'm, um... I'm fine, really."

Kate felt around her neck for the pendant, relieved to find it was still there. Taryn was leaning on her, now, checking what remained of her nail varnish. It was comforting, really. There they were, after all they'd gone through, sat and talking and checking their nails. Kate closed her eyes, almost falling asleep then and there but something pulled her away. Something stopped her from drifting off.

She put a hand to her mouth and yawned, before groggily looking over to Samantha. She had rolled two water bottles at her and Taryn. Kate scrambled forwards to snap them up before Samantha changed her mind. Kate looked at them before stuffing them in her bag. Both had been opened already, and were probably stale, but they were both still fairly full.

“T-Thanks.” Kate nodded, wiping her eyes. They felt red raw, swollen. Samantha tossed two loaves of bread over. Kate quickly threw them into her bag.

Samantha mentioned that Ashley hadn't talked when they had met. She hadn't known her power? That seemed odd.

"Y-Yeah?" Yeah, Kate found that really odd. Ashley had stopped talking? Had something happened to her voice? When they'd met she hadn't really seemed like she had understood what her voice did. Maybe now she knew? Kate went with her voice being burnt out. The screaming probably took its toll on her vocal chords or something. "Oh, It... um, It wasn't pleasant."

Kate couldn't shake the thought of her sister, now Taryn had brought it up. She drifted off, looked down at the small, white gold and crystal pendant draped around her neck. Her sister's, originally. Kate had always looked at it and wished she could have one. Sammy ended up cutting out the middleman and just giving the one she had to her. She’d given it to Kate at her 17th Birthday Party. Small celebration, only family invited. Baby cousins screamed the whole time. Felt like years ago, now. It'd been a lifetime since she’d been back home. Her parents got worried if she was away for two hours, let alone two days. But they weren’t the ones who’d be the worst hit if she never came back. No, they'd find some way to move on. Let go. It'd be hard but they'd do it. For Sammy's sake.

Sammy. She had to be so worried about her. That was the hardest part about thinking about back home, really. Knowing that her sister was out there, worried sick, campaigning to try and find her. Posters, Rewards, Milk Cartons. She'd go the distance. She was that sort of person. Never giving up hope that she could still be alive out there somewhere.

Kate buried her head into her knees and let the tears flow. Soon, she promised herself. Her and Taryn. Soon they'd both go home.

Taryn
Taryn's eyes followed warily as the bottle of water rolled over to her. She picked it up and undid the cap and tried to drink delicately, but the harsh crinkle of the plastic under her thirsty grip let on to how badly she had needed it. Soon the bottle was only a third full. She sighed and licked her lips, then put the bottle in the bag.

Samantha threw over two loaves of bread and Kate stashed them in her bag.

"You're an angel. Thanks so much," she said. "It's no trouble. If you go up against that girl I'd rather see you come out on top."

She didn't think much of the fact that Ashlie had never used her power against Samantha. She was too tired to think that deep.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. She meant it as a mirror to Samantha's question to them, but it came out much broader than she had intended. Still, she didn't feel she had it in her to go back and clarify.

Suddenly she felt a little movement from her side. She looked over and Kate was sobbing into her leggings. Taryn pulled back a bit of Kate's hair and tucked it behind her ear so that her face was partially visible.

"Hey, hey, honey," she whispered. "It's okay. We're almost there." Her head was swimming but she was trying to hide it. She had to fake being together or they would both fall apart. The little lies that she told herself was the glue that kept her together, but only now did it become apparent how much those lies meant. Taryn could feel the tacky, white hold of her tacky, white lies cracking to the breaking point under the island sun.

"Just a little longer."

Taryn bit her lip, she couldn't cry. She wouldn't. With the heel of her palm she smudged away the tears from the closer side of Kate's cheek. The dirt and grime from her face was cleared away, leaving a small patch of unsoiled skin along Kate's cheek bone where Taryn had run her hand.

"Can you manage a smile?" she said with as much of a smile she could muster. Her lips pulled convincingly in a little grin but it never reached up to her eyes.

Samantha
So Ashlie talking apparently wasn't pleasant. Lot of good that did Samantha. In fact, she wasn't really getting much out of this interaction at all, not anymore. She'd gotten what she'd come for, a little bit of companionship and some time to pull herself together. She'd gotten some more reasons to stay true to her resolutions. After all, Taryn and Kate, they were decent people, from what little she'd seen of them. Neither one deserved a quick round in the back of the head. And yet, she also wasn't quite sure that it wouldn't be the best option. They were so calm right now, so at ease. It would be the simplest thing in the world to get her pistol and just open up. She had never actually hit her target with a gun, despite repeated attempts, but these girls were stationary and on the ground. How hard could it be?

But she wouldn't.

Taryn thanked her. Told her that she'd rather see Samantha walk away from a fight with Ashlie. The feeling was mutual. Samantha realized that, if she didn't win, she'd rather see someone like Kate or Taryn make it off. Someone who had a reason to go home. Someone who was still good, who hadn't lost themselves entirely. Because, killer or not, Taryn was more human than Ashlie would ever be again. To shoot someone down in cold blood, in the face of danger, was a stupid choice. Ashlie was a stupid girl, reduced to animal instincts and primal drives. She was everything Samantha had kept herself apart from, everything she had worked so hard not to be, not just on this island, but for the past three years of her life.

And Taryn kept talking. This time, she turned the question around, asked Samantha what she was going to do. Fair question. She should've expected it. Maybe she had. Maybe her original question had just been designed to force these girls to return it. If she didn't confront it sooner or later, how the fuck could she hope to know what she was doing? How could she hope to accomplish anything at all?

She was spared the necessity of an immediate answer when Kate buried her face in Taryn's knee. Crying. Samantha was sure of it. Taryn began to comfort her, and Samantha was immediately hit by an awful tangle of emotions. She was proud, proud that she had endured so long alone, so long without anyone to cling to, her only support knocked brutally away from her, but that made her jealous, jealous that Kate hadn't faced those same hardships, hadn't watched the one she cared for bleed to death, hadn't been running on nothing and fighting so hard to survive all on her own, and that, that made her angry, angry that such a weak girl had made it this far, that Taryn was indulging this sort of childish display at a time when, at any second, someone could turn up guns blazing, could mow them all down because they happened to be unprepared, and yet those thoughts made Samantha feel guilty, guilty that she had considered committing that very crime herself, guilty that she had poked and prodded at these girls emotional health, just to see what would happen, guilty that she was begrudging a girl what would almost certainly become one of the last comforts of her life.

That's what it came down to.

Taryn and Kate wouldn't both go home. If Samantha ended up staring down the barrel of her gun at the two, everyone else lying dead around them, the three of them wouldn't go home. Samantha didn't even want to go home. Fuck going home. Fuck Kate. Fuck Taryn. Fuck this whole situation. Fuck dying.

Anger won out, rolled over her. She was aware of every move she made, every second that ticked by. Taryn comforting Kate. Asking for a smile. How sweet. Fuckers. They were going to die.

Samantha picked up her pistol from the ground, by the barrel, trying not to be threatening.

She slipped it into her bag, keeping her movements nice and slow, controlled.

She took a deep breath. Only then did she realize her heart was pounding, her hands sweating. The stress was creeping up on her again, the realizations. Hard choices ahead. Hard choices behind. In the end, what did it all matter? Samantha didn't give a damn about dying well, or some shit like that. That was for people who believed in an afterlife, or cared more about their reputations than their existence. She fit neither of those categories.

Slowly, Samantha rose to her feet. She looked at the girls on the ground. How sweet.

"Taryn," she said. "What I'm going to do is live.

"Maybe I'll see you later. Maybe not. Honestly... I don't know what to hope. But hey, if I can't win, you do your damn best, you hear me? Both of you."

Samantha could feel pressure building up. Could feel tears about to emerge. Dammit. A deep breath. A five count.

And like that, she shut down, closed off. The emotion drained out of her voice, as she said, "I guess I should say goodbye now."

No telling what the future would hold. Next time, maybe there wouldn't be time for words. Next time... but no, she wouldn't murder Taryn and Kate in cold blood, but yes, she'd live, but that meant...

Samantha didn't scream, but only because she turned and walked away. Only because, as soon as she was facing away from them, her concentration was entirely focused on stopping her face from rippling, on stopping herself from breaking down once more.

Exit Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
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#54

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Katherine
Taryn put her hand up to Kate's face. Played with her hair. Kate figured she was trying to comfort her.

She told her it was okay. They were almost there. Almost. Almost out. Then they could both go home. Then they could both go home to their corny fantasy of going back to New York at Christmas and Kate could see her family again.

That was what made Kate feel the worst, though. That they were almost there, almost at the end. The thought that they could be so close to the end. To being off this island. To sleeping back in her own bed instead of hunched over a rock. To not having to fear for her life every waking moment. To not having to attack and steal to survive. The fact she was so close to being home and yet things could still go so badly was what made her feel the worst.

In a way, Taryn was almost giving her a test. Smile. Show she could get through it. Show she could get through to the end.

Kate forced a small smile.

"I... uh, Thanks." She quickly ducked her head back down before talking half under her breath. "We, um... We sould probably get moving."

Samantha had to have heard that, because she decided to stand up, say some choice words about how she was going to live, that if she couldn't win, they needed to do their damn best to, before turning around and walking.

Kate almost shouted at her to turn around, to come back. Samantha was the first person they'd seen who hadn't wanted to kill them and she'd just upped and left them. Something stopped her, though. Something was yelling at her "No. Let her go." So she listened to it. Stayed silent. Let Samantha go. She made a quick note of which way Samantha headed off for when she and Taryn made their own ways out, and left it at that.

Again though, Kate found a downside. Something that again made her feel like crap again, as she watched Samantha leave. Kate now realised that if they met again, it'd be under much different circumstances.

Taryn
"I- Hey! Wait!" she called out to Samantha. It was clear the other girl was dead set on leaving though and there wasn't much Taryn could say to dissuade her. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe Samantha was the one who knew best. Watching her go, Taryn felt that this was their first and last meeting. She said she was going to live. She wished them luck.

"Same to you," she said finally.

And the blonde was gone again. There was nothing to prove she had ever been there to begin with other than the fact that each girl was now up one bottle of water and one loaf of bread. Kate suggested they get moving again and after some time Taryn nodded. She stood up and hauled her bag up with her. Looking down she noticed a hole near the toe in her left ballet flat. She looked at Kate, tired and dirty. Taryn gently wrapped her hand around Kate's wrist and they began to walk again. She didn't really know where they were going, though she had it in her head to go back to the beach eventually. At least it was pretty there and there were shady trees and maybe even a fruit tree or two. Past that, she didn't know. The question that Samantha had asked her and that she had returned still lingered. What was she going to do?


"Kate."

She paused, not quite sure of how to say what she wanted to say.

"I need to tell you something. This whole time, since the moment we met....I've been using you."

Katherine
For a while, they just sat there in oddly comforting silence. Again Kate had to stop herself from drifting away to sleep. It was peaceful now, the emptiness being something of a blessing. It had given them both a chance to catch their breath. After a while, however, it started to become all too apparent to Kate that this wouldn't last forever. They needed to move. Away from the corpse, away from the place they’d stayed for hours now. On the off chance that Samantha came back, Kate kinda didn’t want to be there. As much as she knew that probably made no sense, she just wanted to avoid meeting her again. They’d be enemies. Kate didn’t want to be on opposing sides of a fight with Sam.

She silently motioned Taryn, asked if they wanted to move.

Taryn nodded, grabbed her things, and stood up. Taryn grabbed her wrist. They started walking, Kate taking slow, methodical steps, like something was going to jump out at any moment. They avoided passing by the naked body.

"H-huh?" Kate looked over. "W-Why are we...?"

And then Taryn spoke. Something important. Something worth stopping over. Kate swallowed. Bad news. She started with Kate's name. At first, Kate felt nothing.

...

...

Then there was shock. Grim realisations set in, clouded Kate’s vision. A cascade of half-formed thoughts, flooding her mind. Everything they'd done so far, everything they'd lived through, it all started to blur together in her head. So many things. So many things she wanted to say right now. Kate wanted to get angry. She wanted to scream. Kate was breathing heavily now, trying to hide it by breathing through her nose. Kate tried to calm herself, shortening what she was going to say, revising it in her head. As she got calmer and calmer, the words got smaller and smaller, until she got it down to something she could say without stuttering or tripping over her words.

"Taryn," Her Voice wavered. Kate shook her head, looked down at her shoes. She'd shortened it down to three words. Deep breath, tried to get some confidence built up. "...No you haven't."

Denial? Kate wasn’t sure.

Taryn
Taryn let go of Kate's wrist. She wouldn't look at her, but there wasn't much else to see in the vast empty landscape. Her fingers found their way to the edge of her shorts and she tugged, just as a way to keep her hands busy now that they had left the other girl.

"I have," she said steadily. There was no denying it. Not even if Kate wanted to brush it under the rug and pretend she hadn't said it. This was.....really for her own good. Though it was also for Taryn. She had to get rid of the guilt. She had to tell Kate the truth now that they had made it as far as they had.

"I found you on the beach at the very start of the game and I thought, well, I thought you'd make a good distraction if we came upon someone really dangerous. That was after I learned your power. I knew I could stay near you and I'd have the upper hand. But then I...it became something else."

Now she stopped toying with her shorts. She brought her large eyes up, slowly, to meet Kate's. There was almost a question in her gaze.

"By the second day.... I really liked you. Honest to God, I thought you were so sweet and so shy and I thought I wanted to protect you. But now I realize that was just a ploy too. If I was protecting you I could kill without guilt because I could tell myself 'It wasn't for me. It was to protect Kate.'"

She tried to gauge the reaction, but it was too hard to say. Too close to call. She couldn't have stopped herself now even if she'd wanted to.  

"I wouldn't have to own up to what I did if I said I did it for you. I could twist my thoughts so that I was a good guy. But I'm not a good guy. And I killed those people just as much for myself as for anything else because.....because I AM selfish and because I wanted to be the last one. I'm sorry Kate. I.....I'll understand if you leave."

Katherine
Taryn carried on, listing the reasons why she was a horrible person, listing the reasons why Kate should have just forgot about her and walked when she had the chance. How she was so selfish and how Kate would do so much better without her and how she was just using her as a distraction against players, how even when she started to warm to her she was just using her as an excuse to kill without guilt.

She could stop talking. Right now. Kate didn't care. Not out of ignorance, or trying to sweep it under the rug, she just didn’t care. She didn't care whether or not Taryn was as bad a person as she was making herself out to be. She didn’t care if she’d been strung along; believing in something that Taryn was telling her now was a lie. She'd believed in more far-fetched things than there being a girl who actually cared enough to keep her alive all this time. What she cared about was that Taryn was the closest thing she'd had to a friend in a long while, and she wasn't going off on her own to leave her become someone like Ashley.

Would that happen to Taryn? Kate didn’t want to think of the possibility. Could it happen to her? Kate didn’t think it could, but in some dark corner in the back of her mind, the thought of it happening to her lingered.

This wasn’t a good place for either of them to be, Kate decided. They needed to focus on getting to the end, not on the fact that they’d lied to each other- Kate didn’t want to make her part of the lies apparent. That would come another time, when she- when they were out of the game.

Then could come the doubt, then she’d let it all sink in, but not now.

"T-Taryn..." Kate looked down at her shoes, struggling even more than usual to find the words she was trying to say. Deep breath. Cleared her head. "...I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

“I don’t care what you’ve said, or what you’ve done”  She wrapped her thin, weak arms as tight as she could muster around Taryn, resting her head on her shoulder.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Taryn
Kate had made her choice. She was going to stay with Taryn. The girl put her arms around Taryn and she felt the slight weight of her head on her shoulder.

Taryn hesitated for a few seconds, then encircled her arms around Kate in return. Her grip was solid, but not as strong as Kate's. There was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach.

Was it a mistake to like you?

She was jealous of her capacity for forgiveness, for her optimism which she had only been faking. But she was still overwhelmingly fond of her all the same. Kate had chosen to stay.


I hope you made the right choice.

"To the end."

Katherine
Kate pushed herself away from Taryn and nodded. “To the end.”
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#55

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: LIVE
THE COVE
JUNE 25, 2010: 15:45

Enter Subject C01, Samantha Reynolds
After leaving Kate and Taryn, Samantha wandered once more, lost and alone. It was strange. The second she parted ways with the others, she missed company, but when she was near people, they nettled her, and she couldn’t wait to get away. Her fatigue was catching up with her again. The island was quiet, calm, dead. Deathly. Not long, now. Not long at all. The dead just kept piling up. Many, so many of them. Twenty. Twenty people brought here, and only one would leave, and all for what?

“Now that’s out of the way, I can explain those troublesome marks on your arms.”

An experiment. A scientific experiment. Evolution, the man had called it. Evolution. The future. A change in humanity, a radical paradigm shift the likes of which had never before been imagined. A humanity that was more, better, different. She’d thought they were kidding. Thought they were lying, that there was some other purpose, that this was maybe just sadism, but now she’d given up on that theory. She’d accepted that it was an experiment, was genuine. Somehow, it didn’t sound so insane now. Not anymore, not after what she had seen, not after the painful facts of humanity had been revealed to her. Humans weren’t special. They were animals, just like any other living creature, driven by instincts and irrationalities, fears and desires. Above all, that final, all-consuming need to live.

“We are the beginning of a new era. We are the pilots of humanity, flying us all into a brave new world of technological advancements so great that the future will pass us by with a gasp.”

What had it all been for? What had the purpose been? Everything that had happened, every life lost, every bullet fired, for what? Data. Data and measurements and research. Cold, clinical precision. A love of knowledge overriding any humanity. And that was the real point, wasn’t it? Because they weren’t supposed to be human. They were supposed to be more. Supposed to be beyond all of that. And yet, at the same time, they were supposed to fight, supposed to kill each other. It was a paradox: the goal was to select the person who was least human, who was most something... else. And yet, the methods were so very human, so very geared towards those most basic, instinctual reactions. Would a truly superior being even be able to win this contest, or would they be unable to comprehend why their opponents fought so hard, unable to prepare themselves for that desperation, that willingness to do whatever it took to see another day?

“You will surpass us, and you will grow brighter than any one of us could dare to try.”

But if it worked... It seemed so sane, in retrospect. The chance to be free of all mankind's problems. And yet, at what cost? Faces: Pippi, Otis, the boy with the melted head, Cristo, Ashlie, the boy who had shocked her, Taryn, Kate. Her own face, twisted and distorted.

“You are evolution.”

She sighed, temporarily abandoning her musings on potential futures, returning her thoughts to the present. Walking, jogging, sitting, standing, it made no difference. It didn’t matter. Point was, it didn’t matter what the fuck Samantha did. She was dead. They were all dead, maybe not today, maybe not here, but it was inevitable. The end was barreling towards them, rolling full tilt along the tracks, and all her life, she’d never seen it. Never understood. Never truly valued what she had until it was flashing before her eyes, vanishing into the mist. Live. Such a simple command, yet so loaded. So difficult. In the end, impossible.

“Put simply, each of you has been given a gift. That gift differs from person to person, similar to a... raffle, I suppose, but you all entered the same one.”

Samantha wondered, in a loose and distracted way, what she had taught their captors, what they had picked from her brain. They were watching her, she knew. Watching and listening, always there, along with her for every moment of this crazy ride. Somehow, it made her feel a little better. Maybe it all meant something. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be forgotten. Maybe someone would remember her, take something of her away from this besides her corpse and her DNA, remember that, once upon a time, there was a scared girl named Samantha Reynolds who tried her best to live, who put it all on the line, who never quite could make peace with herself, never quite could overcome the self-loathing and doubt she felt, never quite could bring  herself to just reach out and grab someone else and hold them, just hold them, just to be close one more time.

“We have developed a serum which contains the key to evolution itself; a serum which reacts differently depending on the DNA of the person who receives it.”

They were all different, each and every one of them. Every person here, every single person she’d seen, they’d all had their own wishes, their own lives. They’d all lost them for this. All lost them to this research, all been sacrificed in the name of the common good. She could only hope it was worth it. Only hope that humanity really did advance, progressed past the level where this sort of thing could be allowed to happen. She hoped that whoever made it out was someone good, someone kind, someone smart and funny and polite.

“It’s still in development, but this way we can test its effects without fear of anyone watching over our shoulders. And the testing, children, is where you come in.”

And it was at this point that Samantha realized she had to make her choice. No more fucking around. No more playing the indecisive one. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t healthy. In an instant, it came to her, a complete and total cognition of her actions so far, their causes and meanings. She understood, in that moment of clarity, just why it had been so hard to make her decision, why she hadn’t been able to force herself to commit either way, no matter what she had told those she met.

She was scared.

Not scared of dying, though that was certainly there. She was scared of far more than that. Her fears went back forever, back to her childhood, back to everything she had once been. Memories: Middle school, friends, laughter. Jokes, games, boys. Secrets, stories, admiration. Loud music and quiet moments. Belonging. Then, all of a sudden: disaster. Something stupid, hardly even memorable now. The shattering of bonds. Rachel. Talks, quiet, private moments, love for her sister. Understanding, acceptance. Lost all too soon. Everything lost, discarded, abandoned. And at the end, Samantha alone, alone again, always alone, always lost within herself, within her hopes and dreams, within reality, within a wish to matter, to be something, and always in the background that awful, lurking realization, that certain knowledge that it didn’t matter, that it didn’t matter what she did because she was going to die someday, going to die and fade and be forgotten, no matter how high she climbed, no matter what she built, it would all collapse around her, and in the end she’d be in an unmarked grave, alone and meaningless, and worse than that, just the same, just like everyone else. She’d tried, oh she’d tried, thrown away everything chasing the dream of being the best, of forging herself into the right kind of person, the kind who mattered, the kind who persevered and endured, who carried herself tall and proud and never fell, never lost, never gave in.

It hadn’t worked. Nothing had ever worked. She just wasn’t good enough. Just couldn’t pull through. Maybe she’d started too late, enjoyed a few years of her childhood too many. Maybe she was just wrong for her dreams, cheated by biology, by the very evolution her captors sought to harness.

She was scared that she wouldn’t matter. Scared that the world would never know she had lived and died. Scared of her future, when she still had a future, and scared at its lack now that it was gone.

Decision time. She’d been joking around for far too long. It was time to make a final call. There were maybe half a dozen people left alive, if she had estimated correctly. It was time to stop hiding, stop procrastinating, stop putting things off for the future.

Live.

And yet...

The same old arguments, the same old logic. The same thought processes, the same old games she had been playing with herself since she had first found out she was doomed. So much self-deception. She wasn’t crying, but she didn’t know why. She was lost, confused, alone. So alone. She missed Otis. Missed Pippi. Missed her home, her acquaintances, her old friends. Missed her life.

She had to do it. She had to.

Live.

She had to try. She owed it to herself. To Otis. To everything she could have been, to everything she once was.

Liar.

She smiled, a thin, sad smile. Liar. It fit. She was a liar, and one of the worst.

Because, at the end of the day, all her fears were absolutely correct. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t different. She was another scared girl on an island of scared girls and boys, and the only way to beat her fate, the only way to dodge the bullet, the only way to continue her precious little existence, was to kill. To take from others all she wanted to preserve in herself. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right, or fair, or good, and yet she could do it. If she gave herself the chance, she would do it.

Time to choose.

She was standing on the viewing platform again, the cool Seattle winds whipping her hair, considering ending it all. Considering taking control of her life, grasping it with both hands and tearing it to pieces, scattering the shreds to the wind and laughing all the while. The pain of the memory was gone. Instead, what she felt was freedom, exhilaration. It was simple.

Samantha wanted out.

This life, this state of being on this island, it was wrong. It was wrong, cold, evil, and she couldn’t take it any more. It wasn’t the fault of the people who had thrown her here. It wasn’t the fault of the other people with her. There was no one to blame. It was just human nature, rearing its ugly head.

She was not in the least surprised to find herself once more at the edge of the zone claimed by the cove, the place where Otis had died.

It was forbidden. If she stepped in, she would feel that horrible vibration again. Feel that awful buzzing in her blood. Then feel nothing at all.

The realization was not a flash this time. It was no bolt from the blue, no spark of divine inspiration. It was a quiet whisper, a quiet whisper that had been there all this time. She could see the shack in the distance, could see where she had first met Otis, had almost held him at gunpoint, almost shot him in the back while crossing to land. She still had that gun, and it had acquired three companions. She carried it in her hand, her left now, her dominant hand taking a rest. She let the gun fall to the dirt, no longer caring if it broke, if it died. Her left palm was wrapped in gauze. Slowly, she unwound it, glancing at the burn, the line across her palm. It was thicker than the cut had been, probably less severe. But the real difference was, she hadn’t done this to herself. She’d tried to hurt someone else, and had been hurt in return. That was the law of the land. That was the way of the world.

Not now. Not for her.

Samantha wanted out.

Live.

She dropped her bag to the sand, pulled the knives from their holsters and dropped them on top of it. Walked, alone, always alone, along the edge of the area, staying just on the safe side, or so she imagined, trekking towards the sea, towards a level spot, towards one of those flat expanses of sand.

Finally, she found it. Looked around. It was as good a place as any.

She took a deep breath. It all came down to this.

“The people around you are not your friends; they are, in essence, your enemies. And though you may think of befriending them after this is all over, you’re merely deluding yourselves because the simple fact of the matter is this: after three days, only one of you will be left standing.”

She’d made it damn far. She’d proven herself beyond what she’d ever thought she could. For these few days, she’d been someone. She’d been herself, good and bad, even when she thought she’d lost track of it all.

“Not only that. But we want you to utilise your new-found gifts as much as you can, to give us a comprehensive look into each of your unique talents. Oh, and of course, there are a few rules.”

She had to be ready. Had to be brave. Had to be strong. Had to leave the stress behind.

“If nobody dies within 24 hours, we’ll detonate the tracking devices inside your bodies.”

Had to be her ideal self. Had to be calm. Cool. Collected. Otherwise, there was no way she’d go through with this. No way to make it work.

“Consider it an incentive.”

Count to ten. Prepare. They’re watching.

“This grid displays the different areas of the island. As you can see, each area is fairly large, but don’t think you can all hide out in the church and pray that your God will keep you safe. Every 12 hours, we will randomly make certain areas off-limits to you, giving you exactly one hour to leave the “danger zones” before they become inaccessible for the rest of the game. However, when I say “inaccessible” I do in fact mean that if you step into these areas after the one-hour time-limit, your tracking devices will automatically detonate, and you will be blown into a million pieces.”

Time for words, now.

"Which is a shame, really; your cadavers would be absolute treasure troves of data.”

Samantha opened her mouth and spoke to the air. Her words were completely calm and collected.


When she had finished, when she had said everything she could think of, Samantha waited a few seconds, then stepped clear of the safe zone, stepped onto the land where she was forbidden to tread. For a quick moment, she had a wild thought, wondering whether maybe, just maybe, the electricity that had been fed through her system had disabled the nanomachines in her blood, had removed the bomb that was a part of her.

She had gone five steps when the vibration in her arm jolted her, shaking her body.

She did not slow her stride. She tried to imagine the person on the other end, the person watching her, analyzing her actions, controlling that warning signal. There was a small chance that it was automated, that no humans were involved, but she doubted it. They were too interested, too invested. She would not have been given a warning by a computer system. It was not what they had been told would happen. They were trying to test her resolve. Trying to goad her, to scare her back, convince her to turn away from her goal, to return to the game of death and destruction.

She did not slow, did not falter.

The buzz again, stronger. She didn’t break stride. She had left safety far behind.

If she turned and ran now, then maybe, just maybe, she could make it back.

She did not turn, just smiled slightly, showing no teeth.

In the end, it all came down to choices, options, destinies. Murder or be murdered? A false dichotomy if she had ever heard one. Life or death? Could she kill to survive, kill to prolong her own existence? Could she have clawed her way to the top, done whatever it took?

Right now, the options she was faced with were simple. Die in an explosion, burn and flame and be over with, or live, live though it meant casting aside everything she was, abandoning herself, becoming something new and terrifying and very possibly evil, but maybe, just maybe, good, maybe worthwhile in some way she could not yet quite comprehend.

Of course, the choice was no longer hers to make.

The buzzing intensified, shaking her body, so she stopped walking, simply stood, stood and waited.

Live.

Maybe I’ll be seeing you soon, Otis.

No way to tell.

No way to know what comes next.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Stay strong.

Stay composed.

Do not flinch.

Do not show weakness.

Not one second of hesitation.

Not one second of doubt.

Not one second of regret.

Smile.

The buzzing and shaking was building, building, building. Samantha stood, smiled, waited.
SUBJECT C01, SAMANTHA REYNOLDS: ELIMINATED
6 SUBJECTS REMAIN
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#56

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE SECOND KILL IS THE HARDEST
THE SETTLEMENT
JUNE 25, 2010: 16:21

Enter Subject C21, Khalid Shamoun
The island hadn't changed a single bit, not since the last time he was here. Every tree looked the same; every path; every stretch of grass - all so familiar. Just like the C-subjects, he and his group had been given 3 days to finish each other off in the name of "science", but it was just enough time to let him figure out the lay of the land. It wasn't an enormous place anyway, just big enough for people to get lost if they didn't follow their maps like they should've. Like he had. Even so, traversing the areas seemed like a simpler task this time around; so much so in fact that he didn't even feel the need to use his map at all.

Which, in hindsight, was a pretty bad idea.

He hadn't paid as much attention as he first thought, and his overconfidence had left him wandering about in the heat of the afternoon sun for a good few hours until he finally gave in and found out where he'd ended up. Just ahead of him, he saw, were a cluster of houses. Good. He could start there - look for anyone who might've been hiding. There wasn't any solid plan here, he just wanted to see what these kids were like; see if they shared any common ground. Maybe then he could convince them to join up with him, then they could come up with a way off this rock for good. For all their threats and bluster, surely the guys back at the base would pick him up soon, right? They couldn't just leave him here, could they? They were colleagues, or so he thought.

Then why the hell would they bring you back, huh? Think about it. You're just a coffee boy - not important - but you've got a gift, man. A legitimate ace in the hole. But again, think about it. It's never taken you this long to wake up before - never. Which means something's gone wrong. I dunno what it is, but I think your power might be fucking up big time.

Though the question still remained: why was he back here?

They could've easily put him into a coma, trapped him in his head if they couldn't find a way of killing him. So why throw him back into the game? Surely this would just fuck up their results? It didn't make any kinds of sense, no matter which way he approached it. But then... there had been a lot of tension back at the base lately. People were getting pretty nervous about something, like they were waiting for someone to pay them a visit; someone from HQ, maybe? If that was the case, then that would've meant squat to Khalid - nobody told him anything. Such is the life of the new guy, he guessed. Although, having said that, everyone took to the new girl pretty quickly. What was her name... Lizzie? Yeah, that rang a bell. One of the B-subjects, he assumed, which made her even newer than he was. She even got a better job than him, too. Research and announcements. Lucky bitch.

Still, it could've been worse. Not much worse than this, but still, at least he was conscious and able to move. It meant he could plan, win over the others, and if needed to, run. Back there, on the other island, who knew where he could've ended up. There were a lot of rumours floating about concerning the higher-ups of the organization - at least, of the Island Team. Thinking back, he remembered only seeing their boss once, straight after he won the year before. After that though, not a whisper. She had an office, and they all thought she had her bunk in there too, but aside from that nobody knew anything about her, or even saw her outside of congratulating the winners. If he recalled correctly, he thought he saw someone delivering food through her door once, but he didn't stick around to check whether she took it in or not. Weird.

After snapping out of his daydream, he realized his feet had carried on walking without his command, following a set of tire tracks down a steep hill. Out in front of him sat the settlement - strangely, the place he had awoken the first time - and it appeared as run-down and bullet-riddled as ever. In fact, he was pretty sure he could make out the very house he woke up in. Yep, there it was. Home sweet home indeed. Making his way over to the front door, his nostrils flared for a second before he covered his face with his hands. Something around here absolutely stank, and judging by the blood spatters on the ground, he could figure out why.

Turning past the door, he moved quietly along the wall of the house, making sure his gun was sat snugly in his hand, anxiously awaiting a surprise attack. He felt a bit guilty though, for these poor kids. After joining the Organization he'd received a fair amount of training with firearms and the like in case one of the subjects broke loose and they needed bodies to protect the base. It wasn't something he enjoyed having to learn, but hey, at least he had an edge. That said, he remembered how dangerous the kids had been last time without training, and how he'd wished he had this kind of advantage back then. It was funny really, in a twisted kind of way, but as he stepped out from the shade and into the open air, he wasn't in the mood to laugh.

A boy, about a year or so younger than himself, lay face-down in the dirt. That wasn't so odd - he'd heard the announcements too, and he knew that people were playing to win out here, but this... this wasn't just about winning. Not this time. There was no way this poor guy needed this many bullets to die, he was pretty sure of that. So much blood, and the acrid stench... it was enough to make him sick. Deciding he'd seen more than enough, he stumbled back to the front of the house, where he leaned against the entrance with the awful feeling that he was about to vomit. Ah well, he knew it couldn't possibly make the smell any worse.

Enter Subject C10, Raymond Pietrowski
Such a long walk.

His legs hurt, and he wanted to rest. He couldn't rest though. So little resistance. Not a single soul the entire walk down. He hadn't seen Taryn, or that other girl... Or any of the other four people running about the island. Too much tension. He had no idea where he was going, or what he would do when he got there. He just knew he couldn't stay where he was. So little motivation to keep living... He'd only contemplated suicide twice in his life. And this time, frankly, it was a warranted thought.

So, as Ray gingerly approached the group of houses, pistol white knuckled in his hand, he glanced around in sheer paranoia. No signs of life here. Was that good or bad? It prolonged his misery here, that much is for sure.

Again, did that make this a good thing or a bad thing?

"...Please, whatever you do, don't... Become one of them."

He couldn't just sneak up on a person and kill. He'd made a promise. He would keep that promise. But... How would he offer any kind of diplomacy? Especially when less than 24 hours remained on the lives of every single person here but one? Hey, let's be allies but I'm gonna shoot you in a few hours? No, that was dumb. The idea of friends this late was dumb. He was alone for the count. If he was going to survive, he'd have to stoop to that low.

If he was going to die, he should do it now, on his own terms.

Why was he still cowering like a cornered rat then? Why was he being weak?

He found himself standing in front of a house. How did he get here? He didn't remember his feet carrying him from the hill he was just on. The house was very dilapidated, just as every other one was. But he was already standing in front of this one, wasn't he? Rest. He only had something on the order of 20 hours left to decide his own fate, but he had to rest.

Who knows? When he woke up, there may have only been two left. He might not have to carve a path of blood through the island to get home.

Still, murdering one other innocent eighteen year old... That would still be murder.

All he knew for a fact was he was never going hunting again. Now he knew how the damn deer felt, and where all those "Greenpeace hippie bastards" as he used to call them were coming from.

He rounded the corner, feet making soft noises as they contacted the cobblestone, and he was suddenly met face to face with a dark skinned boy, leaning against the door frame of the door he had just pushed open. His eyes shot wide, as he leapt back into the cobblestone path, his gun clenched tight in his hands. He should have known this was bound to happen. What should he do?

"Don't move!"

Please don't move...

He didn't want to kill anyone today.

Khalid
"Woah! Hey! Easy there!"

A kid, his age, was suddenly stood in front of him with a fucking gun in his hands, and who was he aiming it at? Well it certainly wasn't the dead kid behind the house, and since there was no-one else around and he was looking directly at Khalid, he had to guess that the guy was talking to him. Great start. Brilliant. He'd only been awake for 12 or so hours and there was already someone trying to kill him. Maybe the guy was racist or something. He did look a little redneck.

"Fuck, man, look - I'm not here to hurt you, okay? I dunno why I'm back here myself, but as far as I'm concerned, none of you are a threat to me. So let's put down the gun and we can start talking."

His words rang with all the honesty he possessed, since he was speaking the truth. There was no reason to get caught up in all their shit, so if he could just talk his way out of this little jam without anyone getting hurt, that'd be peaches and cream for him. Alright, so he couldn't stay dead even if he wanted to, but that was no reason to get himself shot now, was it? It still hurt, after all; still added to his death count. It wasn't as though he liked to brag about the amount of times he'd died over the past year, and it sure as hell wasn't something he wanted these crazy-assed kids to know.

That boy's body flared up in his mind - a warning. These people really were crazy. How many rounds were in that guy's back? 10? 12? 15? No matter what happened next, he needed to steer clear of becoming a human cheese grater. It didn't look like the most pleasant way to go, and there were still many questions gnawing away at his mind, making him doubt his abilities; making him doubt himself, but they could wait. If there was a way to escape and get back home, now was the time to find it.

"Come on now, you can trust me. Trust Khalid. Khalid Shamoun."

Raymond
Paranoid might have been an understatement. He could account for three of the people alive. Ashlie, the one he'd heard about. Taryn, and Kate, the pair that he owed a confrontation. This was the fourth, he was sure of it. Even though he hadn't heard Khalid on the announcements whatsoever... Wait. Yeah. One name unaccounted for.

Little did he know that Simon was the other legitimate "contestant" of this "game". Not Khalid.

However, Khalid's easy demeanor was doing nothing but sparking his paranoia.

"Come on now, you can trust me. Trust Khalid. Khalid Shamoun."

"Listen man, I've seen so many fucked up things on this island. Smoke pouring out of a girl's mouth. Blood turning to crystal. I've seen my only friend on this god forsaken island die bleeding in my arms! Give me one good reason I should actually trust you. I mean I haven't heard your name on the announcements yet either. I guess that makes us the only two."

He took a breath, steeling himself.

"But forgive me for not being the most trustworthy person. Kiera and I just wanted to find a place to sleep, and she got taken hostage by some crazy bitch Taryn. What's your power? How are you getting out of here if you don't want to fight? Not that I want to either. Shit I haven't killed anyone yet, I should really ask myself the same question."

The gun wavered just a bit, but didn't lower far enough to bring Khalid completely out of the line of fire.

Khalid's assessment had been half right. Ray was a little rednecky. Actually a little is an understatement. The only non-redneck thing he liked was rap music, and even that was stuff like Afroman. And sure, he was a little racist, but he was more than intelligent enough to know that this was not the fucking time for that. Even so, even barring the world's assessment of him, he didn't view himself as racist really. What was tossing the N word around among friends anyways?

The silence was unnerving. Ray hadn't slept in nearly two days now. Not before Joel had stumbled into their cave back then. His judgment wasn't proper. He was close to getting desperate, and he was worried that Khalid was in the same boat. They had like no options left. Six kids were still standing. They couldn't dick around any longer. Kill or be killed.

The houses were covered in bullet holes, and the smell of death wafted into his nostrils. All this did was serve to strengthen the paranoia he was already feeling. What if he'd killed between announcements and there were only five people now?

I need to know more. Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to know? How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?!"

"I really don't wanna fuckin' hurt you man. I really don't. Talk to me though. Where's the gun you were given? Where's the bag?"

Cover your bases. Assess the situation. Just because the kid might not be a murderer yet doesn't mean he's not gonna turn into one.

Khalid
"I-"

Cut off. The gun was still hovering around, and it was making him uneasy. This guy seemed so desperate; so ready to fight if it meant getting out of here alive. What could he do to calm things down? All he wanted was to help the poor guy - maybe they could help each other out, or find some way of getting everyone together to talk things through.

Then more questions - rapid succession, no real chance to answer in time.

"My bag? It's here, man, look-"

With a swing, he pulled his bag around his body, catching it as it hit his stomach with a little "umph". It was the same kind as Ray's - two straps for his shoulders, zipped-up pouch - all the same. Even Stevens. The only difference he could see between the two was that Khalid's was his own, and he made a great effort to try and hide the stitching on the back of it which spelled out his name and identification number. The last thing he needed was for this guy to make his own assumptions about his origins, and he definitely wasn't ready to start talking about his personal life when it was pretty clear this guy could end it in a second.

"See, same bag. Same colour, same straps; it's all good, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."

Keeping his eyes focused on Ray's, he made it as clear as he could by way of expression and his left hand raising as a sign of peace that he wasn't intending to harm the poor guy. As he did so, he brought up his right hand - the one with the gun.

"It's alright, my friend. I'm not going to shoot you. Okay? You hear me?"

Letting his daypack hang loosely from his shoulder, Khalid kept his eyes on Ray as he tossed his weapon to the ground. Hopefully this would make him realize how sincere he was. If it didn't, well, he didn't want to think about it. Put that plan right out of his mind. This wasn't the time for sneak attacks and dishonour, oh no. This was the time for talking; for calm words and sympathy. This time was crucial if they wanted to stick together. Even for a little while.

"Now, how about you? You going to shoot me? Or are you going to be man, and talk this over?"

Raymond
So many sudden movements. Ray was terrified, to put it bluntly. His eyes kept twitching back and forth over the boy's form, watching as he showed him everything that he asked for. First, the bag. How could he not see it right there on his back? He swung it around, and clutched it tight to his chest, as if it were a bullet-proof vest. The gun was still nowhere in sight, however.

"See, same bag. Same colour, same straps; it's all good, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."

Something about Khalid didn't seem quite right. It may have just been the paranoia, but everything seemed way too calm, way too... overly explained. As if he was trying to lull Ray into a false sense of security or something. Either that or Khalid was just being condecending, which really wasn't cool.

His left hand rose, empty. He displayed the peace symbol. That was beyond cliche. It seriously felt like he was trying to make Ray drop his guard...

Really?

His right hand rose. A black glint. The gun that Ray held snapped right to Khalid's right hand, but it didn't fire. He watched as the gun, pointed at the ground, rose.

"It's alright, my friend. I'm not going to shoot you. Okay? You hear me?"

And then fell. Right to the ground. The metallic clack as the solid steel weapon skittered accross the cobblestone was just as satisfying as any noise he had ever heard before in his life. It marked true safety, there was no way a gun was pointing at him from somewhere he couldn't quite see. No fear, no danger.

"Now, how about you? You going to shoot me? Or are you going to be man, and talk this over?"

...Be a man?

Be... a man?

"Be a man?!"

He blinked, almost unable to comprehend that particular statement. This kid had NO idea what he had gone through. Well, he probably did, but still. To insult someone who had survived into the final five or six people on an complete and total bloodbath? And he dared to call Ray not a man?

"Seriously, what do you think we just went through?" His gun flew wildly as he gesticulated back in the direction he had come. "I just left someone so close to me behind out there. She didn't make it dude. I'm sure you've lost someone too. An ally you made here, something! Yet you and I are still standing here, still breathing. And you have the balls to suggest I'm not a man?! Fuck you dude!"

His breathing was labored, and the gun hung at his side. He was just plain pissed. Perhaps it was the stress from the past three days making him that much easier to snap. Maybe it was the withdrawls from the cigarettes. Maybe it was the absolute horrors he had seen just a few hours before. Maybe it was him finally realizing how much he had to fight for. But at that split second, he seemed to lose his mind.

He brought the gun to bare again, pointing at the ground before Khalid's feet.

"You want to talk?"

"Talk."

Khalid
Ohhhh, fuck.

This was exactly where he'd hoped he wouldn't end up, but here he was, being threatened by a guy who just a few seconds before seemed like he might have turned out to be a reasonable guy. But no. Apparently his "be a man" comment struck a nerve, and what was starting to become the kindling of a great partnership soon erupted into the great flames of distrust.

And boy, was it getting hot out here.

"L-look man, it's fine. I get it. I get why you're angry and I know what it must've been like these past few days. When I had to do this, I... well, I did some things I'm not proud of either. People died because of me. Me and my cowardice. But I'm not the same person any more. I can help you all. I can try and talk with the guys back at the base - see if they'd-"

And it was going so well, too.

All passionate and fired up, hoping his words would reach the ears of the guy with the gun so that they could both calm down and try to settle this together, as a team. They could've banded the others into their cause and found a way to get into contact with the other island. The radio tower, perhaps. It hadn't been running for years now, but with the power still on in the cable cars and the houses, maybe they could've worked something out? Diverted it to the generator behind the building.

Maybe.

Not now though.

Not after he'd said all of that shit.

He'd let it slip that he was "familiar" with the Organization who brought them here, and that would never have been a good thing. Especially now, with the guy with the gun looking so fucking angry and so ready to take Khalid down just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Kill the guys who brought them here. Okay, it was understandable. A year ago, he felt the same way. He wanted nothing more than to take on the bastards who ripped him away from his life; from his family; from his home, but he knew better now. He knew what they wanted to do, and why they'd gone to all this trouble and hidden in the shadows and the dark.

They really weren't the terrorists they made themselves out to be.

But Ray wouldn't listen.

After all, Khalid was a part of this.



And that made him the enemy.

Raymond
Something Khalid had just said was driving him crazy. The gun was pulled to bear. Barrel pointed directly at Khalid's center of mass.

And he rolled the words around in his head for a minute. Trying to comprehend. Trying to realize the implications.

"L-look man, it's fine. I get it. I get why you're angry and I know what it must've been like these past few days. When I had to do this, I... well, I did some things I'm not proud of either."

That meant he wasn't a participant. When he had to do this. This wasn't the first time this damned game had been hosted? And... What did he mean when he had to do this? He wasn't one of the kidnapped kids? He looked about Ray's age...

"People died because of me. Me and my cowardice. But I'm not the same person any more. I can help you all. I can try and talk with the guys back at the base - see if they'd-"

And then Ray watched Khalid's face contort into concern, and then worry. Something akin to panic.And that's when it clicked.

Khalid wasn't another scared, kidnapped 18 year old like everyone who had died. Khalid wasn't a participant. He was talking about the organization that was forcing these kids to die like they were just buddy buddies. Co-workers. "The guys back at the base." Like it was nothing.

Like...

He was one of them.

If Ray had been in a more rational state of mind, maybe; just maybe he would have realized the opportunity before him. If he had been thinking, he would have realized that if Khalid was really against him that he would have been killed on site. Khalid wouldn't be in a T-Shirt, he would be in riot gear. He wouldn't have had a pistol, he would have had an assault rifle.

But Ray was in a panic. Ray was in a rage.

"Oh. Hell. No."

This would be how he would keep himself from becoming one of them. This is how he would get back at those bastards who forced him to watch Kiera die.

BANG.

BANG.


Two in the chest. One at gut level, one at lung level. He watched the red pierce the sky, Khalid's blood flying. He watched Khalid begin to fall. His focus was impenetrable.

Wait for it...

Falling, falling.

Wait for it...

BANG.

One in the head.

Khalid
That last shot wasn't necessary.

Not after the first two.

----

Khalid awoke several hours later, after the sun had set and the winds had changed direction. There was blood in the air tonight, and if he hadn't been busy making deals with God he would've laughed at the shade of red the sky had turned before it blackened.

Shepherd's delight indeed.

What did that make him then? A happy little sheep? Maybe he could go out into the fields and munch on some grass, or better yet, make himself a lovely woollen hat out of the fluff on his back. He couldn't knit though, which was a problem. If only he knew someone nearby that knew how to knit. Perhaps the kind-hearted fellow who'd placed him down beside the very same body he'd found here earlier. What a lovely man he must be.

He rubbed the sand out of his eyes with the backs of his hands.

Afterwards, he stared at them for a good few minutes, letting his vision settle back into place as it blurred and frayed in its recovery. He noticed how dark it'd gotten too, staring up through his fingers at the wide moon above with deep contemplation. He only ever wanted to help the stupid fuck, but now here he was, lying on the cold hard ground with two fresh holes in his clothes and a sleeping companion who surprisingly managed to keep a lively conversation - if only to himself.

Khalid chuckled.

Coughed.

His throat was parched, as it always was when he revived. His body was still cool too, as the blood began rushing about his body, doing all it could to get everything up and running again. Like intricate clockwork, his organs slowly ticked back to life, with the beating of his heart becoming more rapid as the life flickered back again inside his head. It was a quick process - or it used to be, at least. The first time he resurrected had been so surreal that he didn't notice the painful little flashes darting around his body, or the odd tingling that filled his head as it warmed itself up to top condition.

And yet, he wasn't given the same relief that he often acquired after springing back to life.

He knew something was wrong now; that his body was changing, breaking down. He could feel it in every crackle that burst in his brain; they didn't have the same spark any more, the same fire.

His body was rejecting the mutation that the serum had introduced to it, and he was sure that any day now he would die for the last time.

Of course he'd thought about the effects, the... ramifications of death. There wouldn't be any more waking up, just like there wouldn't be any more morning coffee, or reports due in. There wouldn't be any more thoughts of home, and that horrible aching he felt whenever he looked back to the boy he used to be.

A whole year though.

It didn't sound long enough.

Didn't sound right.

Had he only been here for a year? Really?



He sighed heavily, attempting to put such troubles at rest for the time being, as he began to move his body up off the floor. Shaking all over, he used the nearby wall as a crutch for him to lean against; his legs slowly thawing out and lifting his shambling frame away from the stench of the bullet-riddled boy and out into the open.

Raymond
It had been hours. He just couldn't stop staring at his hands. A creeping feeling. An oozing feeling. Khalid's blood was on his hands, and it was a feeling that would never go away. He knew that.

It was like when he lost his virginity. Just that feeling that things would never been the same. That same surreal feeling. However, that was a very, very good surreality. This; this was a bad feeling. Like nothing he had ever felt before. He had tried to sleep. He could just feel a cold, oozing feeling. All over his hands. All down his arms. It was so unsettling. Every few moments, he opened his eyes to look down, and the feeling went away. But as soon as his eyes had closed, it came back just as strong as before.

So directly afterwards, he had decided to try to wash the feeling away. Much to his pleasant surprise, the water was still running even if the power was out.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

His eyes pointed at the mirror.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

He felt the sickly oozing, even through the rushing water.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

His eyes were so low. The bags made him look nearly a decade older. His beard was starting to grow back; fuzz. It had been two... three days since his last shave. His entire appearance was haggard. His T-Shirt was ripped in places; when did that happen? Probably running through the brush... There were probably prickers of some kind in there. It really wouldn't surprise him.

He took it off. The garment fell in a heap in the corner of the room.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

A red color made itself known out of the corner of his eye. Below. His eyes turned. The water was a hue of red. It terrified him, made him jump back in fear. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Trying to make the hallucinations go away.

That they did.

And that's when he finally noticed the shower in the corner of the room. What better way to wash away his sins?

The running water echoed through the building. No real shower materials were available, so the hand soap from before would have to do.

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

Even the shower was not enough. The water rolling down over his scarred and red back just served to remind him of blood. Warm, oozing, blood. Not his own.

His head slammed into a wall with a resounding thud.

And suddenly, water was not the only liquid falling to the shower floor. Another clear liquid, this one salty, now came from the boy's body.

He cried for what he had done. So unceremoniously dropping Khalid's body next to that of the other boy. Pointing the gun at him in the first place. Being so paranoid before that.

He had rationalized away his actions at the time. But now he realized. Kiera was staring down at him from heaven. Shaking her head in disappointment.

"I really became one of them..."

---

That was then. Dusk had broken, the sun gone away. His bag was hefted over his shoulder, the tattered and bloody shirt back upon his body. And yet he stood, leaning on the sink, staring at those bags under his eyes.

Trying not to focus on the blood on his hands.

He spun, tears still welling in the corners of his eyes. Tears not for Kiera or Khalid, but for himself. For his own regrets. Selfish tears.

Down the stairs. He needed to leave this place, as comfortable as that bed looked right now.

He looked over at the TV and couches, obscured by the inky blackness of night.

Right, to the dining table, candles all missing from the holders upon the tablecloth.

What he wouldn't give for a nice home-cooked meal from Mrs. Fitz right now.

The door to the path, his only way outside opened. The blood on the ground where he had ended Khalid's life. The small pool was still there. The drag marks to the other house which he had left the body of the boy.

His eyes rose to follow them. Like a dog having his nose rubbed in his shame.

And at the end of the trail of blood stood a boy. Who looked much more familiar than he should have. Ray's eyes squinted at the figure in the distance, in the darkness who he couldn't quite identify. Khalid's doppleganger, coming straight from the place of Khalid's demise.

And with a morbid curiosity and fascination, he stood rooted to the ground, staring as the weary person slowly made his way out into the open.

Khalid
He looked up, through the dark of the night, waiting for his vision to clear. Someone stood close by, staring at him as he made his way over to the familiar outline of the guy who'd left him in the dirt. He didn't know how to react. This little redneck didn't know he could come back to life, and yet he wasted him like it was no big fucking deal. Which raised the question: just how many people had he killed so far? It didn't seem like he even cared - though the look on his face as Khalid approached him painted a wonderful picture of how insanely stupid this guy really was.

He tried to speak, but his throat scratched itself raw as he coughed up nothing but dry air. He needed water, something to drink. Something that would bring his words back. Anything really; tea, coffee, motor oil, it didn't matter. His body needed liquid, and he wouldn't rest until he got it. Coughing violently, his eyes almost watered and he doubled over in pain as he rubbed at his neck with his hands in a vain attempt to soothe the burning in his skin.

Staring up at the boy in between fits, he latched on to the window of the house he'd been dragging himself along, reaching out to him with eyes of  madness and distress as he desperately tried to work out why he'd just been killed.

Why did you shoot me?!

"Haa... kah, ahhh-"

His speech was raw and bloody, his tongue smacking itself against washed-out walls that used to drip with life.

Tell me!

"Taaah-ah!"

Manic now. He wanted answers that the boy was too afraid to give. The sight of the spectre had stilled his quivering heart, and turned his face to stone.

Tell me what I did to deserve that!

"Tarr, maa-ak, sssehk-"

Slowly, the colour filled back into place, and the water he so urgently needed began to flood seep out through the lining of his cheeks.

What gives you the right to shoot me, asshole?!

"Whaaa-ah giisss ooh tharatoo shoo-"

Letters and sounds were falling back in line, and as Khalid dragged himself towards his killer, his voice splintered and snapped as the words came back to him in a bewildered, furious rage. Who did this guy think he was?! Who was he to decide when people died?! This guy was nothing sacred - no deity or idol, and if he thought a man like Khalid would bow down and worship him then he needed to find himself a new fucking religion.

I'm asking you a question!

"I'm ask-in' you a quessstion!"

He staggered away from the building with a heavy lurch.

No longer needing its support.

No longer driven by thirst.

The colour of vengeance had returned to his face, and the water of speech was flowing fast in his veins, and with a far-heard cry and a gnashing of his teeth, he erupted into madness and lunged at the boy with fingers flailing madly as they grasped for flesh to tear from wicked bone.

"Who made you fucking God?!"

Falling to the ground, the two entangled themselves in one another's bodies as they ripped away the last shreds of innocence either of them had left to give.

"Who made you fucking GOD?!"

Raymond
Even though it was so slow for Khalid to regain his bearings, it still felt all so fast to Ray. He was in shock, awe, disbelief, and his feet were completely rooted to the spot as he watched his once deceased foe slowly limp towards him. He couldn't comprehend... This was the same guy, the broken and unformed words confirmed that.

"Haa... kah, ahhh-"

"...How..."

So many thoughts flashed through his mind, mainly that feeling of blood. He remembered it, he feared it, and it was still there... Even when the boy who's blood was on his hands was standing right in front of him. As a scout who's eyes flick over the forest, his mind flicked this way and that, from the kill itself to that feeling, to Kiera, to that night at the Church, to home, and back to the feeling of blood.

"Taaah-ah!"

"How did you... Live through this..."

He stumbled backwards, his eyes glued to Khalid as everything seemed to reanimate. His speed was slowly beginning to increase, and any and all semblance of sense went right out the window. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend, couldn't rationalize why the boy that he had shot just hours before was now shuffling, shambling towards him. So his brain glued to the only thing in the library of his knowledge that seemed to fit; even though it was bloody impossible.

"Tarr, maa-ak, sssehk-"

His mind was tapped, exhausted, sleep deprived, and close to it's breaking point. "Holy shit, you're a Zombie!" He shrieked. His feet scrambled for footing as he reached to his hip. The holster was empty. Where was his gun? Shit! Where was his gun? This felt right out of a horror movie. Khalid was speeding up, faster and faster, and Ray was fumbling about his belt uselessly.

"I'm ask-in' you a quessstion!"

Pretty much basically caught with his pants down as his foe moved closer and closer to him. His jaw almost dropped as his hands stopped where they sat, a finger on the hilt of his knife. His head snapped back towards Khalid, the boy suddenly seeming a lot larger, and closer than before. His eyes widened, staring into the face of his assailant once victim. The living once deceased. Khalid was definitely not a Zombie... What the flying fuck was he?

"Who made you fucking God?!"

"Oh shi-" Ray suddenly felt his back meet cobblestone, his body receiving a pulse of pain as the wind was knocked out of him, a sharp yelp coming from his throat. His arms lay at his sides, and his head rolled to the side, completely dazed from the sudden impact.

"Who made you fucking God?!"

A fist sunk into his face. Well. At least he watched it fly towards his face. But for some reason, as he closed his eyes to brace for the impact... He didn't feel it. He just plain didn't feel it. Instead, he heard what sounded like human bone and flesh slamming into a building, and he felt an intense pressure on his cheek; but no pain. His eyes shot open, and with a snap decision he realized that questioning what had just happened would be a bad idea, and launched a punch of his own, smack for Khalid's nose.

Khalid
A crack - his fingers breaking.

Another - his nose following suit.

As he fell, he thought he saw sparks, but when his back hit the ground the lights faded from view. He was undeniably in pain, but it gave him some relief, re-awakening his rational side. Looking past the gnarled bones of his right hand, he saw the damage he'd done to the one he'd been attacking so unlike himself. Where skin used to be on his cheek, there was now stone; cold and grey, it weighed down the boy's face, giving him a somewhat Monster-like appearance as he caressed it with his palm, feeling it for any sign that he could somehow change it back.

A fruitless endeavour, which only served to bewilder them both as they watched each other closely. Who was going to make the next move? Would Khalid? Would Ray? Then the Arab's eyes met the steel that swung so freely within the redneck's reach, and once they had, so did Ray's. Lunging forward, he grabbed at the air, trying hopelessly to catch it time, but it was no use. With all the fluidity of a dancer, the boy unsheathed the blade from his trousers and struck forth, sending lashes of blood across his face as he dug the knife deep into Khalid's shoulder. He let out a primal scream as he pulled it loose, then struck again.

This time, Khalid reacted, crying out as the metal pierced his palm and tore through to the other side. But as the pain worsened, it gave him a strength he didn't know he had, and as he bled out onto his clothes, he wrapped his hand around the other's and pushed back against the force of the blow. There was a look of brief understanding between the two of them, and before they knew what was about to happen, they knew how it was going to end.

Their faces drew into one another, pulled together by an unstoppable will to live, and once within reach, Khalid struck out with the weight of his head and sent his enemy back with the sickening sound of bone on bone.

Once Ray was down, he watched in astonishment as Khalid pulled out the weapon from the widening wound and gripped it tightly in his one clean hand. Falling heavily onto his knees, he pinned down his struggling prey and held his trophy high above for him to see. He would savour this moment as one of triumph, and if Ray didn't appreciate it, then he would be taught how to.

The moon gleaming off the bloodless parts of the blade, he brought it down with both his hands, sending ribbons of flesh flying out into the air as the knife dove deep into the body of his killer; deeper and deeper with every stab until his chest resembled something one would find in the basement of a butcher's shop - the offal and the bone - the bits nobody wants to eat. But still the boy's breath came to him, and unsatisfied with his work, Khalid paused for a closer inspection. Parts of his body had turned themselves to stone, encasing his organs in a cage his meagre blade would never penetrate.

And so he looked to the face, where the fleshiest of all his flesh sat so alluringly; their sockets like little thrones or velvet cushions, displaying the finest targets his body had to offer.

Taking up his weapon - scalpel now, precise - he greatly obliged, and with a series of grunts and gasping screams he drove the knife into his eyes again and again until there was nothing left of them. Save, for the whitening ooze that dripped out so carelessly down the hard of his skin.

Raymond
As Khalid recoiled, Ray glanced up to see the damage he had done. The redneck had always been one of the stronger kids around town, so the fact that Khalid's nose was broken and bloodied wasn't even a remote shock to him. But what did shock him to his core was the had that his foe had thrown the punch with. It was scraped, bloodied, and there was even a little piece of bone sticking from the skin. That fist had connected to his cheek, and at best he had felt a slight bit of pressure. Having originally written it off as adrenaline or the pussy not being able to throw a good punch, he now re-evaluated that. And his palm rose to his cheek as he watched Khalid's eyes go wide with horror.

His skin seemed to be gone. It felt more as if his cheek had become a piece of the cobblestone that he was current lying on. His own eyes quickly grew to saucers, matching his foe's. For a brief moment, he thought; nay hoped that this revelation would bring the two back to speaking terms.

Instead of focusing on his newly modified face however, he really should have been focusing on the man he was facing down, who was already mid air, jumping towards his crotch.

The FUCK?

Ray didn't have time for another thought as with speed and grace that he had once written off as the stuff of movies, he instinctively pulled the knife from it's sheath, this time making a note to never be so stupid as to face someone on this island unarmed again. With a backhand, the knife's blade cut through Khalid's face as if a freshly tempered block of steel, how it's white hot side would slice through ice as if it were air. With a flourish that only skilled hands could accomplish, the blade was suddenly brought to bare, and sunk into the scrawny little kid's shoulder. The following scream on a level was satisfying; and on hundreds more mortifying. He had brought this man to death once, yet here he stood, fighting harder than he ever had before.

But he had to keep going. This was a fair fight. This was a fight that he could wash his guilts away with. Khalid had been given a second chance for the honor that Ray had once denied him. Ray was given a second chance to redeem himself. A quick word with God would definitely be in order once he was done.

The knife raised again, coming back down with another sickening splat, a rip, and another scream. The boy had blocked it, but had obviously not been trained as now where once was a whole, smooth, naive to the world palm, now was a hole, and a piece of steel sticking through both sides.

He needed to end this.

But he would never get the chance.

The palm pushed up on the blade. It was something out of a different kind of movie, where the hero doesn't die without taking down his enemy first. And suddenly, Khalid's head was against Ray's, still moving at a high rate of speed. He didn't even have the comprehension to wonder why his forehead hadn't turned to stone as with his cheek, just instead seeing a bright white star, the rest of his vision blacked.

It only took literally a second for Ray to regain consciousness, but that was all the time Khalid had needed. By the time his eyes had opened again, Khalid's weight was falling upon him, his lungs forcing all the air out with a resounding "Oomph". Blood leaked around his neck as Khalid held him down, the knife high above both of them.

He closed his eyes, and braced for the impact.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Sure, he had gotten cut a couple of times in knife fights before. But nothing ever like this. Nothing that pierced his chest, revealed what was truly inside to the world. And then even once the cold steel had pierced his chest, it pulled, carving a path through Ray that almost brought him to tears in pain. He willed his arm up, to fight back, to punch his foe, something. It just wouldn't move. Each millimeter it crept was another shockwave of pain that Ray's three day battered body could not physically endure.

But somehow, even through the pain, he lived. It was growing hard to breathe, and he didn't know whether to attribute that to the pain or something being broken, deep inside. But it wouldn't matter to him for long.

A bright glint in the air, which grew closer and closer. Something pushing through his eye. Through the pain, out of pure reflex, his hands flew to his face, clawing and flailing as he screamed, the point of the blade repeatedly turning his eyes to complete mush.

It wasn't long before Ray's body had blacked, his mind shutting down to avoid the unimaginable pain.

---

A rainy afternoon in May 2012.

A boy stood on a podium, clutching a damp, musty piece of gauze. An audience in front of him, 460 behind. Those before him sat in various states of readiness, umbrellas, ponchos, and the announcer's booth above was even fitted with a lightning rod.

And though not a soul could see it through the God's mourning, falling upon their heads, the scrawny boy with short red hair, face scraggly and unshaven, was misting his own glasses with the salty tears of remembrance.

He held the ribbon aloft. Blood long since dried. Words, barely legible, that had taken painstaking hours two mornings before to decipher.

"As you all know... One of our own went missing close to two years ago today. Raymond, E. Pietrowski."

Feedback echoed throughout the rain soaked field, the class of 2012 somber at the name that they almost all had once known.

"Something came into my possession a few days ago. It's funny how things work... If a message is important enough, it will always find it's destination."

His voice was wavering, already becoming choked with sobs.

"So I come to you not as Valedictorian. I come to you not with a long speech echoing sentiments of the past and hopes for the future. I come to you instead with one sentence. One sentence that has filled me with sorrow and longing, but will also give me strength through the rest of my life."

He lowered the red and white object, which had until then been flying like a flag; a testament to the strength that he had shown. It unfurled.

"Trav, You wouldn't believe what happened to me if I tried to tell you. Just know I'm pulling for you. Graduate, move on with your life, and don't forget me. Ray."

A man, standing against the bleachers, just outside of the fence wept; the first show of true emotion on his face since the day he was old enough to understand it.

---

As the life slipped from Ray's body, no revelations came to him. Unconsciousness was all, a warm, and peaceful sleep. He saw no angels, heard no choirs, not even a light at the end of the tunnel.

He just wept, the battered form finding it's own way to mourn. A tear, formed not of salt and water, but of his body himself, rolled from the cobble of his body, and to the stone below.
SUBJECT C10, RAYMOND PIETROWSKI: ELIMINATED
5 SUBJECTS REMAIN

Khalid
And just like that, it was over.


There were no more screams, no more struggling - only a thick and heavy silence which smothered Khalid's cries as he stepped away from the body.

It took him a good while to stop himself from shaking, but once he did, he began to move autonomously; his head wrapped in thoughts of the deed just done.

Quietly, with little fuss, he looked around for his belongings, and stepped inside a nearby house to wash himself down. Once finished, he treated his wounds and did his best to rid his clothes of the bloodstains, persistent as they were. Then finally, wrapped in gauze and numbed adequately with medication, he left the vicinity of the fight and headed towards the mansion, clutching the knife to his chest like a baby would its toy.



He would spend a few hours there, attempting to sleep, but none would come for him.


Instead, he waited, sobbing in the dark, for the last announcement to crackle into life outside.
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MurderWeasel
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#57

Post by MurderWeasel »

SECTION SIX
June 26,2010: 00:00-11:59
THE FIFTH ANNOUNCEMENT
THE OTHER ISLAND
JUNE 26, 2010: 00:00

"Cavery? Is that you?"

An alien voice; an echo of a darker time.

"Yes. Hello, Botchi."

He ripped his gaze from the Fates and focused his attention now on his former colleague - one Doctor Amarant Botchi, of the First Pacific Division - watching on from the shadows with an intense curiosity.

His voice was shrill, unaccustomed to chit-chat.

"What're you doing here? We're not scheduled for an inspection 'til the 15th. I checked."

His spindly fingers twitched with agitation; the tips clicked together as he held them up in front of his chest, as though he was forever thinking, or planning. An old habit of his which equally irritated and amused the good doctor as he moved over to a monitor displaying the same vital signs as the ones by the wall. He didn't like speaking with Botchi at the best of times, but right now he didn't have time for his questions, nor the patience to strike up a full conversation with someone who would stare at people with such wild eyes that one would think he must've been possessed.

It was... unnerving.

"These aren't your machines, Cavery. Not any more. You can't just come down whenever you like and disrupt everything we're working on. I won't allow it."

Behind his mask, the doctor smiled, speaking coyly;

"Won't you?"

A footstep closer.

"No." He said flatly.

"You washed your hands of these things. They're not yours to toy with now."

His attention wavered, the doctor's fingers clenched around the computer mouse in his hand. A moment of contemplation, and then he rose from the desk, letting the device fall to the mat. The red light bathed them both as they watched each other in the silence. Scoping for any sign of their true intentions.

Botchi looked noticeably more disturbed than usual. His eyes were bloodshot and dark, and he looked as though he'd lost a lot of weight since the last time Cavery had spoken to him. In addition, he was as pale as a sheet, and the liver spots on his hands stood out like painful bites on his cracked and broken skin.

Analysis: Too much time spent down here in the dark. Cavery didn't remember a time when he'd seen him up on the surface. He wondered, for a fleeting second, if the man had ever even seen the sky.

And then he remembered why he was here at all.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time, so if you could start the sequence that'd be-"

"I'm not starting anything."

Botchi looked disgusted.

Cavery pressed on.

"...I don't have time for this. Start the se-"

"I'm not starting anything!"

Still, the others worked, unperturbed by the outburst. They were used to it. If he hadn't chosen a life of science he would've easily wound up the same, miserably bitter creature they were so comfortable around some other way. Amarant Botchi was a man of great wisdom, far beyond his years, and had he made better decisions in his life, he might have made a name for himself in the academic world. But as it stood, he didn't make those decisions, leaving him on an island out in the middle of nowhere, working in the darkness on things which, had the common man known about, would've condemned him to an eternity of fire and pain.

Though he was quite confident that would never happen, and so he became twisted by his own sense of supremacy, looking down on the rest of the world with utter contempt as he devised new ways to make them all "better".

His fingers had stopped clicking; his face contorted into a mad half-grin.

He salivated excessively.

Cavery took a step back.

Holding out his hand, he spoke a quiet calm.

"You're not yourself, man. You're not well - but you could help me again. Like before."

The grin widened.

"Oh, I could, couldn't I? And what a treat that would be. One flip of the switch, and you get to play the action hero for that child."

His figure hunched as he walked forward, closer and ever closer with his hands twitching outwards, reaching for the doctor by the desk.

"I could be so helpful, and so noble. A prince- an island prince. Or better yet, a king, helping out his citizens with a small and seemingly simple task yet laced with repercussions far outweighing the very reason for the request."

Cavery glimpsed at the monitor. If he could finish inputting the commands, he could run over and turn off the dome's power manually. It would leave the Fates' weak, but only for a short time. All he needed were a few minutes to get over to the island. That was all he needed. Just a little time to set things right.

Botchi lurched suddenly, almost keeling over. Cavery took another step back, gradually slipping away from his mission. If he could just distract him-

His train of thought screeched to a halt.

Botchi was on his hands and knees, vomiting a vile black consistency all over the floor. It seeped around his body, pooling out over the edge of the walkway down onto the machines below. The colour of it perplexed the doctor, as much as it terrified him, and as it crept up to the soles of his boots he realized why it appeared the way it did. Parts of it shone with a sickly metal sheen while the greener parts looked crumpled, almost like fabric. Except, it wasn't almost, and it wasn't like.

It was fabric.

It was belts, and leather and cotton, and most importantly, it was a distinctive gold pen.

It was a good friend of his.

Kneeling down, he scooped up a pair of silver-rimmed glasses and cleared them of the goo they were covered in. They were cracked and bent, with the lenses all but missing bar one or two shards clinging on to the insides of the frames. Everything stank with an abominable stench, made worse by the cold hard fact that his best lead was now swimming in pieces around him.

His breath came fast, filtered by the mask, but it gave him the wind he needed to spring up from the ground, run up to the still-heaving body and gift him with the hardest kick to the jaw he'd ever given a living person-

-had it actually connected.

The doctor found himself on the floor now, his spine cracking instantly as it fell back against the desk before he crumbled to the ground. He cursed his frail body silently, his lips unable to form the syllables and sounds for the man about to die. Instead, they hung open, leaking out a long and agonising groan as he felt himself slide across the mess on the floor. The soup splashed about his body, and the clothes stuck to his limbs as he was pulled further and further in to the gaping crevasse that once upon a time used to occupy the space of Dr.Botchi's torso. A gaping abyss of blood and bone, it sent out slithering organic appendages which wrapped themselves around Cavery's useless legs and sucked him inside, one cruel inch after the other.

He could hear them lapping all around him, the tendrils coiling up along his chest now, and soon enough, his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head, always hidden as they were behind that trusty mask of his, and in his final moments, Cavery thought of the island, and a certain boy who sat there now, awaiting the inevitable.



----

Lizzie's joints made cracking sounds as she stretched them far out behind her back, while her loud and squeaky yawn made her workmates giggle amongst themselves. Once she was ready, he popped her knuckles together, then slipped on her headset.

It was that time again.

"Good evening, and welcome to your 5th and final announcement! I'm your host, Lizzle Badizzle Nolan, and boy, what a night we have in store for you!

But before I get to the good stuff, here's the mandatory blah blah shit that I guess I have to do since I'm like, the professional here."

A scoff from Carl.

A crude gesture from Lizzie.

"Welp, this'll be easy anyway, since both Iris Landon and Samantha Reynolds bit the dust by... wow, that is the stupidest- what's wrong with these kids. Are they retarded? Do they even have brains? I mean, I spent three days over there too, not too long ago, and I gotta tell you guys, I did soooo much better than you have. I mean seriously. DANGER ZONES ARE NOT FOR PLAYING IN.

See, they're called danger zones because, hey, they're dangerous. One step in there and you're all "Wah! I'm totally dead now! Shit! Shoulda listened to ol' Lizzy-pie 'cause she actually knows what she's talking about. Dayum.", haha!

Haaah, oh well. Your losses. No skin off my delightfully perky nose.

No, you shush. It is perky. What? It is! Try and flick it. Go on. I dare you. Fliiiick it. Come on, fliiiick it. You know you want to, Carl. Don't even try to hide it. You wanna flick my nose so bad, don'tcha. I can smell it. You know what it smells like, Carl? It smells like- woah, what're you- mmph! No! I don't- mmm... o-okay, just- mmph..."

The sounds of muffled tongues found their way to the small microphone that was now sitting sideways on her desk, as she and Carl shared an intimate, albeit surprisingly so moment together in the middle of the studio.

Which... went on for far too long and had to be interrupted by a nauseous co-worker, who tried not to get pulled in to the kiss-fest by poking at them with his pencil.

"Oh- oh! Right! The, er, the announcement! Right! Gotcha! Hah. All... er... alright then. I'll er, I'll get back to you on that one."

And as she cleared her throat and sat back down, Carl slunk back to his chair, wearing the most satisfied look upon his face.

"And... um, ah, fuck, sorry about this, I'm er, a little, l-lost. Ahem. Right. Ray Pietrowski was the last to die, killed off by a very an... gry-"

She went quiet as her eyes scanned over the name of his killer.

Took it in slow.


"...Arab."

She stopped reading, and didn't notice at first when Carl came back over to read off the last part of the list.

She noticed the hand on her shoulder though.

"Hi. Um... the boss wants you all to meet in the Black Forest for the final part of the trial. You've got two hours to get there, and after that everywhere else will become a danger zone, so make sure you're gone by then.

And er, oh, Khalid, if you're listening?"

They shared a look.



"Stay safe, buddy."
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#58

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER FORTY: MOVING
THE GREAT DIVIDE
JUNE 26, 2010: 00:11

Katherine
The announcement blared, hurting Kate's ears. Though she'd been on this island for almost three days now- though it felt like an eternity- she'd never quite gotten used to noise. Any noise was making her jumpy at this point. Blame Ashlie for that. Kate’s stomach was rumbling now, empty from both a lack of food and the results of her chucking up her guts almost constantly over the past day or so.  Blame Ashlie for that, too.  The introductions had finished, and the annoying lady had begun reading off the deaths. Then, for the first time, a name was read off that meant something to Kate.

Samantha Reynolds.

That… stung. Of all the names that had been read off, Samantha’s hit the hardest. Whether it had been because Kate had actually known her as opposed to the list of names she’d never hear before or again- the ones that meant nothing, or that she’d helped them out with the spare food and water, or maybe the fact she was the only one not to attack them. Kate’s hand traced the faded cut on her neck and shivered. It didn’t matter now. The only person who had been even remotely hospitable to them on the island was dead.

When the announcements returned from a pause that Kate really wished wasn’t what she thought it was, it all went a bit quiet. The other voice, the male one, came on and told them where they needed to go. The Black Forest. Kate checked her map.

“We’re close,” She turned to Taryn. “It shouldn’t take us too long to get there.”

Then came the mystery. The man told Khalid to stay safe. Khalid? Who the hell is Khalid?

That wasn’t the point, though. They could find out later, maybe meet him. He’d probably be a nice guy. Hopefully. Maybe. Three out of Five wouldn’t be bad. Right. Focus, Kate. They now knew that yes, they were two of the last... Five, maybe? It’d make sense for there to be a final five or something.

“T-Taryn…” Kate shook her head and threw her bag over her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Pack your bags, we’re leaving.

We're headed home.

Exit Subject C11, Katherine Black

Taryn
Announcement time.

As always the ever cheerful announcement girl came on to deliver the awful, blood soaked, but perky daily news. A few more people had passed. Just as always they didn't mean a thing to Taryn until Samantha was announced as dead. She looked over at Kate who seemed to notice too. Taryn had called her an angel for helping them out. It seemed kind of ironic looking back.

"That really sucks," she said softly to the floor.

A man came on and told the remaining people to go to the black forest and according to Kate it wasn't that far away. Taryn walked over to her bag and picked it up.

Not long now. There weren't many people in that first room they'd gotten orientation in and many names had been read off since that time. If she had to estimate Taryn would have said there were only four or five left among them. That was close, dangerously close to the end. Dangerously close to going home.

"Well, I didn't hear Ashlie's name," Taryn said. She took her gun out of the waist band of her shorts and checked the magazine. Full. She clicked it back into place.

"We owe her a gift from Samantha. Lead the way, Kate."

Exit Subject C13, Taryn Jones
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#59

Post by MurderWeasel »

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: PAPER DOLLS (ENDGAME)
THE BLACK FOREST
JUNE 26, 2010: 02:25

Enter Subject C05, Simon Matthews
Back where it all started.

The familiar, strangely black barked trees surrounded him once more as he walked deeper into the area known as the Black Forest. Getting himself lost again in one of the largest areas on the map – he guessed – while waiting for the other ‘finalists’ to show up so they could finish this was not high on the list of thing to do; however, the orders given during the last announcement which could basically be summed up as ‘hurry your ass back to the forest or we’ll kill you’. It was hard to argue with that.

For Simon at least the forest was where this ordeal had begun for him and now, one way or another it would be where it ended as well. He briefly wondered if there was any sort of deeper meaning to the way events were playing out before dismissing it as mere coincidence; as much as he would like to believe the Universe worked with a sense of dramatic flair life simply didn’t work that way, and even if it did he wouldn’t be so delusional to consider himself enough of a ‘main character’ to warrant such treatment.

While he was on the topic, how did he manage to get this far anyway? He stopped next to a particular old and sturdy looking tree and leant against it, resting his forearm against the wood as he caught him breath. Everyone else he knew were going to be in the ‘final five’ as it were from the announcements had done something to get there; almost all of them had killed someone at some point or at least been a notable enough part of their death to warrant a mention, in one case multiple times. It seemed that all he had going for him was a not insignificant amount of luck and a curse which left everyone he had met up until now dead soon after.

At best this made him a dark horse, an unknown entry into the final who the others probably weren’t even aware of; whether this was a good thing or not was debatable, but it was something. On the other hand it potentially left him woefully underprepared for what was about to happen.

Taking a few moments to look around and make sure that he was indeed the only person currently in this part of the forest, Simon slumped down against the tree and sat on the ground for a while, pulling his knees up and resting his arms on them, careful to let his hands hang freely where they could not touch anything. He reached around to pull his pack around in front of him and flipped open the flap, long since giving up on ever being able to successfully zip the thing up and began sifting through the contents. Ignoring his remaining bread rations – he was getting kind of sick of eating burnt toast – Simon cautiously lifted out his last water bottle between the backs of his hands and wedged it between his knees. He began removed the lid and he threw away the rapidly melting piece of plastic and again lifted the bottle with his wrists and tilted it towards his mouth, quickly emptying it of its contents, not having had a drink since the last time he had attempted this procedure almost sixteen hours ago. God he hated his power.

Throwing away the empty container leant his head back against the tree and closed his eyes; the game had been hard on him so far, not hard as in the ‘fighting for your life and almost dying’ kind of way it was hard on the others, and probably not as hard as it could have been, more in the psychically and mentally draining sense of the word. Almost every action, the kind of things you wouldn’t even need to think about before now required actual thought and effort to pull off without hurting himself.

As he began to relax against the tree with all visual stimuli blocked out and the quiet sounds of the forest lulling him into unconsciousness, Simon soon began to involuntarily fall asleep, the first he had gotten since the game had pretty much began.

Enter Subject C08, Ashlie Jackson
Just four more people.

Ashlie Jackson just needed to kill four more people, then she would be free. She would be going home, back to her life of non stop partying and boys. The voice thing might be an issue, but that couldn't be permanent. The people who forced her into this horrid situation probably had a cure or something like that. So that was that. Ashlie would win this game, get the cure, and go live her life again. Maybe try to put all this behind her.

Bag in hand, the shirt she stole from her first kill on, Ashlie made her way through the forest. The location was vaguely familiar to the girl, as she had passed through it multiple times in the two and a half days she had been there. It didn't feel like it had been that long, like it was just yesterday that she had been partying it up back home. Now she was here, three time killer, and ready to kill more to get home.

Just four more.

Ashlie removed the gun from the pocket of her capris, holding it in her right hand. The extra magazines were in the same pocket, in order to make it easier to access them. One of the knives she had collected was already gripped in her left hand. She was ready to end this. Just as soon as someone else showed up.

After another couple minutes of walking, Ashlie finally found what she was looking for. Namely, someone else. The boy hunched on the tree brought a smile to her face. Finally. The girl aimed her gun, ready to fire, but stopped herself. As much as she would have loved to just shoot him and move on, there was no fun in that. This was the finals! She wanted to have some fun with it. Finding a tree that would put her in the line of sight of the boy when he came to, Ashlie sat on the ground, watching him.

He was number one.

Enter Subject C11, Katherine Black
They were exhausted, starving, broken and beaten.

But they were alive, and they were close to the end. That was enough to spur Kate on. They owed it to theselves to carry on. Neither she nor Taryn was willing to let this slip through their fingers, not this close to the end. The end of the tunnel was in sight, and Kate wasn’t going to let anything stop her and Taryn from getting out of there.

At Taryn's suggestion, Kate had kept her pistol loaded, stashed in the front pocket of her sweater next to her knife. Not that she was intending to use either. No, never, even if this island had numbed her of death. She wasn’t a murderer. That couldn’t be taken away from her. But what if that was what it took to get out? After all, Taryn wasn’t a murderer before this happened. Even skanky-feet Ashlie probably wasn’t before she got shipped on the island. That wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was, would she be able to? Even in self-defence, or protecting Taryn like Taryn had protected her so many times before, the idea terrified her.

Kate blinked and stepped into what looked like the rough boundary of the zone.

Leaves, kinderling and nettles crushed underfoot as they trekked through the blackened woods. It was a surreal sight, if Kate was honest, any real signs of life as faint as the smell of smoke that lingered in the air. Kate coughed. She hated the smell of smoke.  It got in her clothes and up her nose and was a general pain in the ass.

Another reason to keep going, Kate guessed.

There was one thing that Kate couldn’t see, though, as she led the way through the maze of roots and trees that made up the forest. The other people, the rest of the finalists, all sent here to fight and kill and die for a shot at getting home.  The fact that there was an announcement meant there had to be more than just her and Taryn out there, and Kate’s gut told her that Ashley was still lurking around there somewhere, given that they hadn’t heard her name on the last announcement.

So then where was everyone?

A chill ran down Kate’s spine. What if they were the only two left? Would Taryn keep her promise? Would they be killed? When it came down to it, would they betray each other? Kate swallowed hard and looked around. She didn’t want to think of those possibilities. Not now. Not when she needed to trust Taryn the most.

They’d just have to find them. Shouldn’t be too hard. The forest was big and there had to be a lot of ground to cover.

Kate didn’t like it. The darkness made her jumpier than usual.

“Taryn… Maybe we’re we the only two left?” Kate looked over to Taryn. “…L-Let’s, uh, let’s keep looking.”

Slowly and quietly, she started to move and hoped to God that they’d just gotten there before everyone else.

Enter Subject C13, Taryn Jones
The two rushed forward from their place at the great divide until they hurled straight into the black forest. She could see why it was so named that. It was a pretty dense place with a lot of trees and bushes. Taryn stayed close by Kate, always trying to keep an eye out.

Once inside the forest they slowed down a bit, but the momentum was still inside of her. She was a little jittery. Her fingers were poised at the ready on the gun held close to her chest. Taryn told Kate to have hers out and ready just in case. She wasn't sure the other girl had it in her to point and shoot, but at the very least an attacker would hesitate to come at her if Kate had a gun in her hand.

It occurred to her that she was worrying a lot about Kate, more than she was about herself. What would happen at the end if they made it though every adversary just to be standing opposite of each other?

Don't think about it. Deal with it if and when it comes to it. There's got to be a way. I'll figure out a way. If you want something hard enough there's always a way.

They were quiet, cautious and on guard, but it didn't seem like there was anyone around. All was quiet and still. Kate turned and asked the obvious question.

What if we're the only two left? What if the time to deal with that is now? No. It's not time yet. Please, not yet.

"No. There's got to be someone else still besides you and I. Remember when that man said for someone to be careful? And of course Ashlie's still dragging her grody feet around. No, they're here. Like you said, we'll just keep looking."

Enter Subject C21, Khalid Shamoun
"Stay safe, buddy."

The words were still ringing in Khalid's ears. They were unexpected, more so than anything else that had occurred since he first found himself resurrected from death, save perhaps being dropped back on the island. He'd never been the closest to the folks back at HQ. He'd brought them coffee, sure, and they'd chatted on occasion, but none of them had ever seemed to care about him. Lizzie had been downright antagonistic half the time. She'd pulled a better job than him somehow, despite being the new girl. He'd always wondered if she resented him, or maybe thought herself superior.

It seemed she didn't. It seemed she and Carl cared.

Not that that helped him a whole lot. He was still somewhat numbed from the painkillers he had ingested, his wounds still raw and, in the case of his hand, bleeding. He was not thinking perfectly clearly. He knew one thing for sure, though: he wasn't getting a free ride off. His presence here was no mistake. He was part of the experiment once more, thrown into things at the last hurdle, another unfairness, not only to him, but to those poor kidnapped people who had struggled as hard as they could to survive.

Unfairness was pretty much The Organization's modus operandi, though. After all, hadn't Khalid been promised that he could go home after winning? He'd believed it, too, at least for a little. He'd believed it up until they made things so very clear. If he left, there would be no home to return to. He'd wondered about that from time to time, on those nights where he wished the world would just go back to normal, even if it meant dying someday, even perhaps someday soon. Had they kept him around only because of his extremely unusual power, or had it simply been the thing that made it impossible for them to kill him and be done with it?

But now, he was on his way to the end again. He was on his way to witness as more people met their deaths in the name of science that didn't even make sense.

He was now following Lizzie's instructions to the finalists. He had never died in an explosion before. He wasn't sure what that would do to him, but with his power weakened as it was, he actually felt some fear. The boy from before, the one whose name he hadn't managed to catch as Lizzie read them off, had hurt him, and not just physically. He'd shown through his actions that he didn't think Khalid was a worthwhile person. He'd been willing to take a life in his hands and crush it out, and then, when confronted with his mistake, to try to do it again. He was what Khalid had seen more than enough of during his first run, too. Somehow, he'd felt he deserved a break this time. He'd thought maybe these new kids wouldn't be as bad.

He'd been proven so very wrong.

His thoughts had carried him to the forest. Looked like he was on time. It was just as dark and mysterious as it had been before. He'd always meant to ask about the trees, but had somehow never gotten around to it. A bird chirped somewhere, its song incongruous with the darkness and menace.

He wandered among the trees for a time, listening, his gun held loosely at his side. He'd thrown it away once before, and had paid the price. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

Finally, he caught a glimpse of figures up ahead. Two of them. They weren't fighting, so it seemed safe enough to approach. That meant they were potential allies. It was unlikely anyone would be easily trusting this late in the experiment, but he couldn't dismiss it just yet, regardless of the other boy.

"Hey," he called to the two girls. Giving them a bit of warning while he was still a very safe distance away was best. He wasn't in a hurry to take another bullet, or to dish any out, for that matter. No need for anyone to get hurt right now. Not unless they wanted to make it necessary.

Simon
Simon was always a very heavy sleeper; for as long as he could remember it would take excessive amounts of noise and effort for somebody to wake him up and even then he almost never just sprang awake like some people were capable of. Even so, even he was awoken almost instantly as his arm slipped from where he was resting on his drawn up knees and his hand landed on his shin, the heat from his palms quickly piercing through the material of his jeans and sizzling the skin of his leg.

The boy jerked awake quickly, patting down the fire starting on the material of his jeans with the back of his hand a resisting the urge to scream and swear and curse his tortured existence and all that other melodramatic crap lest he give away his position to the other four people in the forest. While he picked himself up off the ground Simon mentally chastised himself for falling asleep at a time like this, even if he had to admit that he felt much better now, painful wake-up notwithstanding.

It was as Simon finally raised his head to look at something other than the ground or his leg that he finally noticed her, a girl who had clearly seen some of the worst that the game had to offer if her appearance was anything to go by, sitting against a tree directly in front of where he had been sleeping. How long had she been sitting there, just staring at him? It was a little creepy to be honest and he noted with some worry that she seemed to be holding her gun in her right hand and her knife in her left. Whatever she was up to she was ready for it

He racked his still sleepy mind for some explanation for the current situation. Practically he should consider her a threat; this late into the game was not a time to be forging alliances and there was a fairly good chance that she had to have killed to get this far in the game. Not every body was as lucky/cursed as he was to have everyone around them die without him lifting a finger.

Still, she had every opportunity to kill him while he slept, yet she didn’t. She clearly saw him; he could see her eyes were on him right now, still just staring at him like she probably had been the entire time she was there. Was she playing the game at all, was she waiting for him to wake up to talk to him or did she just not want to kill someone while they were asleep? Give them a fighting chance before she killed them?

Even before he realised it Simon was weighing up his options in a fight with this girl and couldn’t say he liked his odds. She was just far away enough that she could shoot him before he ever reached her to burn her and with his power leaving him unable to use his own gun that gave her a clear advantage. Still, there were trees all around that gave him cover and he still had his own knife in his pocket that he could use as long as he was quick enough. He had no idea what this girls power might be, but there was still a fairly good chance that if he moved quick enough he might be able to get that gun away from her.

Simon shook his head suddenly and reached up to brush his forehead with the back of one hand. This was ridiculous; he hadn’t even met this girl and he was planning how to kill her already? Better to at least try the diplomatic approach first.

“Hey, I don’t suppose you’re one of the people still trying to find a peaceful way out of this game, are you? Because it would be great if we didn’t have to fight each other”

Ashlie
Ashlie was just beginning to wonder if she should just shoot the poor boy and get it over with when he finally woke with a start. She let a smile cross her face as he began to to flail at his legs with his hands, noticing the small flames before they were snuffed out. The smile left her features as soon as the boy noticed her.

The girl didn't move a muscle, just stared at the boy. He began to fidget, probably uncomfortable with the fact that he had been so easily approached. He began talking, asking if she was looking for a peaceful way out. This brought another smile to her face. So he didn't know her. That was good. Maybe this would be easy after all.

Ashlie slowly stood up, never taking her eyes off of the boy. In response to his question, she shifted her knife so it would be pointing away from her, before pointing at her throat and shaking her head. Hopefully he would understand her motion. She didn't want to give away too much of her power, not yet at least. She made no other moves towards or away from the boy, biding her time until it was just right for her to strike.

Maybe she could have some fun with this.

Katherine
"Y-Yeah," Kate nodded. "We still, um, have to get Ashley. For Samantha."

They took a few slow, quiet steps, their pace dictated by the quiet crunch of the debris underfoot. Still yet to notice anyone, Kate turned a corner, and briefly considered the possibility of there being something other than the other people in the forest.

Maybe that was what they were supposed to do. Hunt down some gigantic freak of nature they’d thrown in at the last minute to make things interesting.

No, they’d have mentioned something like that, even if they were colossal dicks- which they were. There were no ulterior motives at work here. For once on the island, everything was straightforward.  No tricks, no smoke and mirrors, just hunting each other down until it got to the end.

Straightforward, maybe, but no nicer than the rest of the game had been.

Kate quietly coughed again and took her map out of her pocket. The map was pretty much useless for navigating a forest, but it did give Kate an indication of just how big this forest was. To put it plainly, it was huge, stretching from the centre of the island right to the Cove. Back where they’d started. Kate briefly wondered that if they got to the end, they’d be able to go back there. For closure, she supposed. End the game where, for her and Taryn, it began.

Maybe she was just getting sentimental, she guessed. She still wasn’t even sure that they could get far enough for that to be an issue, or that they’d even be able to reach the Cove from the forest.

They had to. If they didn’t get to the end, everything they had done so far would have been worthless. There was no point in coming as far as they had to give up. They had to press on. Get to the end.

“This forest…” Kate looked back down at the map. “T-Taryn… It’s pretty huge.”

She put the map back in the pocket of her sweater, opened her bag and pulled out one of the bottles of water Samantha had given them, gingerly taking a sip before screwing the cap back on and throwing it in her bag.

"Hey," called a voice from the distance, and Kate nearly jumped out of her skin.

Kate pulled her gun out of her sweater pocket and fumbled for the safety. She wasn’t intending to use it, no, but it helped just to have it in her hand. It was the difference between her getting to the end with no more injuries and getting her throat cut while she wasn't paying attention.

“Hello?” She looked around, but couldn’t find the source of the call. “Who’s out there?”

She turned around and noticed him, fairly far off but still visible nonetheless. It was odd that he’d called out to them. That meant something, definitely. It meant he wasn’t hostile, at least. He hadn’t tried to sneak up on them. Maybe there were still people out there that weren’t hostile, then.

Kate lowered her gun and waved to him with her free hand.

“I… I don’t think he’s an enemy, Taryn.” Kate turned her head to her. “…trust me on this.”

Taryn
Taryn made small little circles with her back to Kate as the other girl pulled out the map and studied their location. The only sounds she could hear were the crunching of dead plants under her dirty flats as she moved carefully. She continued her orbit until she heard Kate speak up about the size of the forest.

Taryn leaned down and looked at the map. The area was discouragingly big. She sighed and scratched her head with the handle of the gun. Her hair was greasy and her scalp was itchy. She would have traded all the money in the world for a bath.

"No worries, doll. We'll manage somehow. It's big yeah, but it doesn't look impossible."

She offered what she thought was an encouraging smile. "We're bad chicks. We can handle it."

A voice from far off called to them. Taryn tensed and had her weapon at the ready, pointing towards the figure.

But Kate waved to him. She told her to trust her. Taryn looked uncertainly at Kate for a second. The fact that he made himself nice and obvious from a good distance and that he appeared to be unarmed spoke well for him. She wasn't going to let her guard down, after all who knew what weird power he had, but she'd settle for letting her gun down. Hesitantly, she lowered the gun so that it pointed at the ground.

"I trust you. It's him I'm not sure of. But....."

She remembered what a mess it had been back at the little church and she bit her lip. Taryn nodded at Kate.

Khalid
Two girls. They looked rough, like they'd been living through a war. Their clothes, their hair, all ragged and wild and in tatters. Worse for wear, as expected. Khalid himself was winning no beauty contests here, but at least he stab a decent meal before he got dragged into this again. He'd been a tiny bit lucky he supposed, a tiny bit, having already played this game before.

He knew how to ration out his food in case they went into overtime; he knew how to conserve his ammo for that rainy day; he knew the kinds of people who were working behind the scenes. It was alright for them, they didn't have to do all of this. They were safe, secure in their little hideout, watching the island behind glass screens and binoculars and satellites. Too bad he didn't have those luxuries here - maybe then he wouldn't have had to fight.

No.

It would've been forced upon him; they would've wanted it. So Lizzie and Carl were on his side? So what? They'd never given away any feelings of support before, so why were they starting now? What good did this knowledge give to him now that he was trapped here, again? Besides which, that girl probably didn't share Carl's sentiment; not truly. She was known throughout the base as something of a nutjob, and having her fall silent on the broadcast only confused him further as to her true disposition.

And yet, these feelings of companionship he held served no purpose, and he knew it. It was too late for well wishes, and he didn't appreciate them. He shook these thoughts loose, letting them fall into the abyssal part of his mind where ideas and dreams of home went to die. His eyes were red and dry, crusted with the tears he'd shed stab at the mansion, and he felt them suddenly as he began to awaken to the realisation that he was still moving, still waving, towards the two girls up ahead. Everything around him kept blurring and twisting out of focus, his mind concentrating on events he wanted left alone. The gun in his back pocket kept bouncing off his leg with every stumbled step, and every hit reminded him of his intentions here today.

The girl with the map looked up as the other whispered something to her, but she didn't seem spooked. If anything, she seemed slightly calm about the whole thing, like this was just another day in the park for her. Nothing special, just business stab usual. A bird cawed somewhere deep in the forest, and a rustle of feathers came after, stopping him mid-step as he checked around for signs of an intruder to this meeting. A tell-tale movement in the leaves, a shadow that shouldn't have been; things that he'd been trained to look out for, and things that paranoia had often told him to find. Seconds passed, fading into a minute, and then the trees fell quiet once again. They were okay for now.

As he maintained a good distance between himself and the pair, he stooped down as well as he could without putting pressure on his knees, then, keeping his left hand raised as a sign of peace, he used his other to slip the bag from his shoulders and placed it softly on the ground. Every movement was deliberate, as he knew that at any second someone else could come barging in and cause a riot, but until then he had to keep everything cool - unnaturally so, but nonetheless a safe and calming temperature. This was key. These next few minutes would mean everything to everyone, and if the stars were shining down on him today then they would surely grant him this brief moment of respite in which to give his counsel and advice.

He drew in a breath, then spoke with the all the care and the delicate tone of a man who was about to face the end.

"My name is Khalid," he began.

"And I can't die."

Simon
The girl didn’t answer, or do much of anything really, and instead raised the hand with the knife up and carefully pointed to her throat a shaking her head. Was that supposed to mean that she couldn’t talk? Was she injured somehow, had she simply just lost her voice or was there another reason for her inability to answer him.

For some reason the word ‘banshee’ flitted across the back of his mind but it went more or less unnoticed.

Simon cautiously stepped forward to get closer to the girl while maintaining a safe distance; he remembered that the last girl he had seen on the island had eventually shot at him once negotiations took a turn for the worse she he consciously placed himself close to a particularly wide and solid looking tree just in case he needed to quickly hide from any bullets.

“Urm, well that’s ok, I guess I’ll just do all the talking”, easier said than done, apparently, as Simon very quickly found himself drawing a blank on what to say. “I guess I’ll start with an introduction; I’m Simon, you probably haven’t heard of me since I haven’t been mentioned on any announcements yet. What’s your… name. Never mind”

It would be almost to continue a conversation without being able to ask questions, there had to be a better way to do this. “You could write it down or just scrape it in the dirt with your knife if you want?”

Ashlie
It was almost cute, the way this boy was naively trying to make friends. It was a bit late for that. Friends in this place made you dead. Well, a lot of things in this place made you dead. Like talking. A lot. And annoyingly so. Her grip tightened on her knife, keeping herself from just lunging out and slashing his throat or something. Getting close to this boy would end bad for her, so she was going to avoid that as much as possible.

So that really just left her one thing to do. She waited until the boy, Simon was his name, finished talking, asking her to write her name in the dirt. Okay, she could play this game. Walking a couple steps toward the boy, she crouched down, clearing the ground until the dirt was exposed underneath.

She began to scratch some stuff in the dirt, not actually spelling out her name or anything. Just random letters. Simon was far enough away that he wouldn't be able to see what she was writing. After a few moments, she stood up, looking at the boy. She was done playing now.

The pink-haired girl lifted her pistol, pointing it at Simon. At least he had the sense to get out of the way as she squeezed off a couple shots in his direction. She called out his name, taking a step towards his hiding place.

Ashlie Jackson was ready for a fight.

Katherine
Considering everything that had happened, it took something big to shock Kate now. Khalid's words however, may have provided the biggest shock that Kate had experienced in her life.

It certainly put a new dimension on things, assuming he was telling the truth. Having someone who couldn't die sort of put her, Taryn, and anyone left at something of a disadvantage. It made her more relieved than ever that she and Taryn didn't attack him on sight. They had too many enemies on the island already. Adding one more to the list would have been deadly.

Besides, having an invincible man for an enemy wouldn't have ended well for either of them.

But was he lying? Kate couldn’t wrap her head around the prospect of someone just flat out not being able to die. Her mind took her back to when she and Taryn made up fake powers  Considering everything else she’d seen on the island, though, could it really have been that much of a stretch?

It was weirder still to Kate that she faintly remembered seeing him before. Not on the island, she could remember almost everything she and Taryn had done on the island almost perfectly. It was before. She was certain. Had he shown up at the coffee place while she was on shift? That would make sense, she didn’t remember a lot about her customers, but he- Khalid, even, struck her as being more recent.

Then it clicked.

The briefing. The man in the gasmask.  All of them, Taryn, Ashlie, the two from the church, sat there. The boy next to her in particular, scruffy and tired. Words, lots of words. A gunshot.

The smell of blood in the air, and then darkness.

That was when Kate realised he wasn’t bluffing about being invincible.

They were silent for a moment, Kate looking over to Taryn, shaking ever so slightly, both due to the cold and due to a hint of nervousness or fear from staring down someone who claimed to be- and was almost proven to be- immortal. She silently nodded and turned back to Khalid.

“I’m Kate,” She turned the safety on and stuffed her pistol in the pocket of her sweatshirt. “She’s, um, Taryn.”

He might have already known that, but Kate figured even a reintroduction was worth it.

She blinked once.

“Not, that, um, I’m really in a hurry to want to try it, but you could probably kill us.”

As far as first impressions went, it was about half a step above their encounter with Ashlie, but the fact that they were talking to him was a huge step.

Now? Now was the hard part.

Taryn
"Oh really?" Taryn drawled out.

Taryn choked up her grip on the gun, but kept it pointing down at the ground. She looked at him critically, trying to figure out what he was playing at.

She glanced briefly to Kate and saw her looking at the boy in confusion. Then it looked like a little spark had gone off in her.

"Khalid," she repeated, turning back to him. "You were the one they wished good luck. You work for them. That annoying girl and the guy with the birthday are your friends."

“Not, that, um, I’m really in a hurry to want to try it, but you could probably kill us," she heard Kate say.

"I don't think so," she said, frowning. "So you can't die and they sent you here, hu? Then what do you suppose we should do? Should we jump off a cliff since it's would be a losing battle to fight an unkillable man?"

She readied herself and her stare didn't waver from the boy, but she had to admit she wasn't as confident as she had been before. There was no way they could beat an invincible boy.  

Khalid
Kate and Taryn.

"Kill."

Khalid stuttered as they spoke, the latter of the girls looking for an explanation while the other pointed out the horribly obvious truth. His lips quivered, his fingers shook, and his teeth clenched together so tightly he thought he felt them crumble in his mouth. But he held fast, drowning out the cricket that pleaded so incessantly in his ear "take them out before they get you" with a simple chant that he played stab over and over in his head.

They are not my enemies, they are scared and confused. They are not my enemies, they are scared and confused.

And soon enough the words came back to him, rejuvenating his body as they sent the shivers of his face away for another time, when speech wouldn't be so vital to their cause.

He cleared his throat to stop them asking any more questions, then let the words he'd been holding on to for so long now drip slowly into the air. Every part of his mind focused on making the next part sound as convincing as he could make it, because if he didn't, and they thought for even a second that he could be tricking them, he would be forced to show them that he wasn't a liar.

He looked into their eyes.

He tried to dive in - to make them see the importance of his arrival, and the danger that they faced.

He wanted them to understand, for if they didn't, then all of them would lose.

Not just them, and not just himself, but everyone, everywhere. Every man, woman, child, pet, tree, everything and everyone. They were all about to die, and the only people who knew were the ones who sat beyond, on their mighty pedestals, watching over the island with those cold, terrible eyes.

"You won't have to worry about that - I promise, I won't hurt either of you, that's not why I'm here."

Pulling his daypack open so they could all see, he reached in and took out the map.

"This-"

He laid it out on the grass to even out the folds, then pointed to the very center of the island, running his finger up and down the two great lines that threatened to tear the paper in two.

"This line. It's not natural. It was never meant to be there, but because of this serum, it exists."

The girls looked suspicious.

"Whatever hopes you had of finding home, or making it back to your old lives, you need to let them go. Now that you've been tested; now that you're like the rest of us, there's no cure. Whatever power, or ability, or whatever it is you want to call them, you're stuck with."

He glanced down at his hand.

His bandaged, bloodied hand.

"But see, the serum they use - the one they're perfecting - well, that's just it. They haven't finished making it yet, it's still in design. Do you get what I'm saying?"

A heavy sigh, before a moment of heavy silence.

"Dead or alive, your bodies carry all those years of testing, prototyping, data, money, fuck, even the scientists' own sweat, and that means we're theirs now. Do you understand? It's important that you understand this, because I can't help you if you don't. We're theirs, okay? They're never going to let you go, and you're never going to be normal again. They will use you, and they will test you, and they will work you to the bone, and it will hurt, and you will cry so many times that you'll wonder how you even have tears left and it'll all be in the name of 'science'."

Simon
Things were going better than expected, the girl was actually stepping forward to write her name in the dirt when he half expected her to just pull her gun on him rather than make the effort. He couldn’t see what she was writing from this far away but he wasn’t going to move closer to see what she had written until after she had finished and moved away; even though he wanted this to end peacefully he wasn’t going to take any stupid risks just yet.

It turns out this decision saved Simon’s life, for the time being at least. As soon as he saw that gun being raised he instinctively ducked back behind the tree next to him just as two shots rang out in the forest, the first bullet snapped past him and the second skimmed a layer of bark off of the tree. Not only was this girl trying to kill him now, she was also apparently a pretty good shot. Great.

He was just about to poke his head out and see if she was getting closer so that he could decide which way to run when he heard it, or maybe ‘felt’ would be a better term. The piecing sensation inside his skull that passed after only a second and left Simon’s legs feeling like jelly. For some strange reason he also felt like someone had just called his name.

“I… I guess you’re not willing to talk about this?”

Ashlie
He was on the run already. Ashlie was somewhat disappointed, but she couldn't really complain. A kill was a kill, which got her one more step towards winning. And she wasn't planning on doing anything but win. She would remove this pest, then find her way to the others, and kill them too.

The pink-haired girl pocketed her knife, holding her pistol in both hands and stepping towards the tree that her adversary had hidden behind. He wasn't showing any part of himself, which would make things a little harder, but not by much. The fact he hadn't returned fire was somewhat perplexing, but Ashlie gave no thought to the matter.

So what to do next? She could try to shoot through the tree, but it was too big for that. Waiting for him to come out would be bad, since it would give him time to plan. So her only option was to come to him. So come to him she would. Pulling the knife back out of her pocket, the girl moved around the tree, swinging her knife as she went.

If only it were that easy.

Katherine
Taryn was, understandably, agitated at the prospect of facing someone who was unkillable. Kate agreed, to an extent. What could they do if he tried to attack them? Kate kept the possibility running in the back of her mind, but she tried her best not to look threatening or hostile. It was a little hard, considering they'd spent the entire game trying to do just that, but she didn't think she did that bad a job of it.

He promised he wouldn't hurt them, though. That worked. That was what she needed, the little push that made her believe him. Whether she trusted him was another matter. Kate still wasn't sure if she entirely trusted Taryn, let alone the immortal man she’d just met. That was a question for later, though.

This wasn't helping. None of this had been. Kate was getting distracted, right when they both needed to focus. Focus. She kept using that word, but every time she used it she got more and more distracted. That was it, then. She needed to stop saying that she was trying to focus. Make it something subconscious, rather than drumming it into her head.

Khalid laid out a map, between them, marking off the line that crossed the island. Kate had wondered about that. Everything there had seemed so unnatural. It was a weird place, though it was the only place they been where they hadn't had to fight anyone off.

They'd found the naked corpse there, though. That was pretty harrowing, to say the least. Samantha. That was where they had met her, too. Then she left them to get blown up. Kate tried not to think about that. Samantha was just there with them, then she was gone. Another name on the announcements.

"That's where we've just come from..." She whispered.

The serum had caused it, apparently. A giant scar on the island caused by the same thing that had given her a natural dental plan and Taryn crystalised blood. Kate was a little apprehensive of that. It didn’t really make all that much sense. She listened anyway, though.

No hope of getting home. Ever. That was the second bombshell he dropped on them, though Kate had been struggling to believe they would just let them go since she had woken up, choosing to rely on blind optimism. That, it seemed, had served its purpose, and now it was time for Katherine Jennifer Black to face up to the fact that she- they needed to win. Even with Khalid on their side- for now- they still had people to get through, and if they hit Ashlie again, they needed to be prepared for her. Or anyone else they could run into, for that matter.

Even if she lived, how would Sammy cope if she never came home? Or Mom and Dad? That was what Kate was afraid of. Not that she herself would die. She could accept that. It was the thought that her family, the few friends she had left, everyone would have to deal with the fact that she'd just disappeared.

She thought back to everyone they'd met. Everyone Taryn had killed. They had families too, right? Even Ashlie had to have someone that would miss her when she was gone. And yet, none of this would ever be found out. They'd just go down as a name on a Disappeared Persons list, probably murdered but never identified.

Worrying. She couldn't worry. They just needed to finish this. Whatever was outside of the island had to be better than the island. Something would be better, at least. Food? Yeah. At least they'd be fed, even if they were forced into being test subjects. They'd be no use dead, right?

One by one, the layers she had built for herself were being torn down.

There was silence for a while, the few insects in the area chirping faintly the only sound, though Kate swore she heard a scream. Then, her thoughts collected, she slowly began to speak.

"I'm willing to risk it." Kate looked down at the ground, then back up. "To get out of here, I mean. I don't care if I can't get home- I mean, I'd work for them if I had to."

She paused. "I just want to get out."

Taryn
Taryn slid her glance to Khalid and threw him side-eye. She took her eyes off of him for a fraction of a second to look down at the map where he was explaining the topography of the island. He promised not to hurt them and she wasn't one to trust him, but there wasn't anything to do for the moment other that to try and maintain the peace they'd developed.

"Interesting....I guess. So what does this have to do with us?"


And then he told them they'd never go home. Showing an outspokenness she didn't think possible, Kate told him that they wouldn't give up. Taryn nodded.

"That doesn't matter. It's better than dying. And even if they say they're going to keep us forever, I'll never stop trying to get home. If I live I've at least got the chance, even if it's small. We're not going to give up. Not now."

Khalid
Khalid took it all in, every word. Their speeches proved just how wrong the scientists were about them, about how they were just subjects. The danger of what would come next, the fear it would instil them with - and they didn't even care. He couldn't help but grin, amazed at the sheer confidence these two had in themselves, and to a tiny extent, in him.

"Good," He replied.

"You'll need to hang on to that. That determination will keep you strong, keep you fighting. I... I admit, I let myself get lazy, settle in, but you two can't let that happen to yourselves. Even if one of you dies, you keep the other one in your memory and you promise them that you'll survive. You've got to do that, girls. It's going to be hard after today, but if you can keep a hold of this faith, this drive, then I swear to you-"

A breath; a sigh.

A whisper: "Maybe not right away - certainly not tomorrow - but someday all of this will mean something good, I promise."

"All this heartache, this suffering, the pain we endure, even if it leads to the end of the world just remember that there will be a light beyond those times. Always. We just have to make sure that it's lit by the time this nightmare ends."

Simon
No sounds followed the first couple of gunshots from the girl for a few moments, successfully building the tension up inside Simon the longer nothing happened. He considered just sticking his head out from behind the tree to see what was happening but that was a colossally stupid idea no matter what way you justified it.

It wouldn’t matter anyway; he knew she was coming towards him, moving closer the longer he stayed here. He just knew that at any second she was going to pop out in front of him and shoot him, he was just waiting for that final death bullet to find its mark.

He leaned back against the tree and slid down it, balancing on the tips of his feet and crouching at the base of the tree while he thought. He needed to decide what he was going to do. The choices were whether to break cover and make a run for it, and get shot, or stay where he was and wait for her to come to him… and get shot.

Okay. Okay… okay, here’s what he was going to do. *Thunk*

The tip of the knife embedded itself in the tree a foot above his head; if he hadn’t been crouching he would probably have a piece of metal pierced through one of his lungs right now.

Acting on a moments thought he pushed away from the tree with his elbows and tackled the girl around the waist, pushing her back and toppling them both onto the ground. He pulled back and sat up on his knees so that he was looming over the girl and reached out to grab her wrists, fully aware but not caring what his powers would do to someone with direct contact like that. It was about time this damn curse started paying it due.

Ashlie
Ashlie felt a painful shockwave shoot up her arm as the knife buried itself inside the tree a couple of inches. The boy was below her, but by the time she was able to register this and aim her gun, he tackled her. Her hand slipped off the grip of the knife, leaving it imbedded in the tree, while her gun was jostled out of her hand as he back hit the ground. The air rushed out of her lungs in a gasp, and Ashlie had to fight to breath for a few moments.

He was on top her now, leering down on her. Ashlie stared back at him, her face twisted in anger at this boy who had the upper hand on her. His hands reached out for her, and she tried to move away from them, but there wasn't very far for her to go.

Next thing she knew, it felt like her wrists were on fire. As soon as his hands came into contact with her wrists, she felt the fiery pain emanate from the contact. Ashlie screamed from this pain, the worst pain she had experienced in her life. She tried everything she could think of in her limited movement to get him off, or at least get his hands off her. There wasn't much she could do really, except maybe scream at him until he let go.

So she did. Ashlie screamed at the boy who was burning her with every curse, every insult she could think of, writhing her body in an attempt to throw him off. She needed to do something before her hands became useless from the injuries.
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MurderWeasel
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Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans

#60

Post by MurderWeasel »

Simon
It was all going so well, Simon had successfully grabbed the girl’s arms and successfully averted death for the time being when, quite suddenly, the girl opened her mouth and pain overtook everything. His every sense, his every thought and soon all reality was drowned in a haze of agony emanating from deep within his skull.

And just as suddenly, it stopped, and Simon slowly became aware that he was lying on his back in the dirt as the pain slowly receded back to wherever it had come from. He bolted upright and began looking around, finding the girl sitting a few feet away and carefully examining the damage he had done to her wrists. They were red, bloodied and very painful looking but Simon had no time for guilt as what exactly had just happened clicked into place in his slowly recuperating head.

It explained the mysterious banshee comment on the announcements so long ago, why she didn’t want to speak earlier and why he had felt his legs turn to mush when she called his name. Her power much have been some kind of sound based attack and being screamed at point blank like that was about as bad as it could get; this didn’t leave many options for him since ‘up close and personal’ was pretty much all he could do. Guess it meant he was left with just ‘up close, personal and quick’ instead.

Looking around he saw where the girl had left her knife imbedded in the tree and ran to it, tearing the weapon free and continuing to run until her was safely behind another tree and couldn’t see the girl anymore. It wouldn’t be long before the knife he carried melted under the heat of his own ability but hopefully he could get a kill shot in before then. Hopefully she would come looking for revenge for her arms rather than do the smart thing and whistle him out of hiding.

Ashlie
The moment Simon was off her, Ashlie scrambled to her knees, looking at her bloodied wrists. The pain was more than she'd ever experienced before, and it took all her willpower not to let it effect her too much. By the time she looked up, rather than take advantage of her momentary lapse in judgement, Simon had ducked behind cover.

The pink haired girl crawled over to her gun, grabbing it and releasing the magazine. It was about half full, more than enough to finish off her opponent. She slammed the magazine back into the gun, standing up. the pain in her wrists began to subside as she moved, adrenaline from the battle numbing the feeling. Their little game of cat and mouse would continue, with the scared prey Simon running from the mighty predator.

Ashlie walked up to the tree Simon was behind, tapping her gun on the trunk in an attempt to flush him out. She even tried calling his name a few times. As she did this, she moved around the tree, hoping to get him moving. She was very confident in her ability to outlast her opponent if it came to it, given she was presumably better rested, not to mention her overall good stamina. The girl smiled. She could feel the end of this battle coming. Just as soon as she turned the corner and...

A flash of metal. A piercing pain in her lower arm. And a scream.

Simon
A flash of pain and nausea went through his head every time Ashlie called out, enough that he couldn’t even tell what she was saying, just that she was getting closer. No doubt she had the gun back in her hands now, meaning running was just going to get him shot down; he was stuck.

Then, all of a sudden there she was, tapping something metal – her gun – against the trunk of the tree he was leaning against. There was less than a foot of wood between them and it sent a chill up his spine to realise it. He tightened his grip on the knife, the plastic handle beginning to drip down his hand, as he waited for any sign of movement, any sign at all of her coming around the tree to get him; he kept turning his head from one side to the other and he just hoped he didn’t miss her.

Then, movement. A flash of metal. The sensation of pushing into and through something. A scream and the head splitting pain he’d come to associate with her voice.

He let go of the knife, fought with all of his might to stay on his feet and to focus his swimming vision. He needed to get his knife from his pocket, but he couldn’t focus enough to steady his hand. Plan B, grab her again, put these damn hands to use. Grab something. Grab anything!

Ashlie
As soon as Simon pulled away, Ashlie took a step back, looking down at the knife in her arm. The handle was misshapen, probably due to the boy's power, and even if she could pull it out, the dripping plastic told her that wouldn't be a good idea. The wound burned, differently from the ones on her wrists, but it burned. More distressing than that was her attempt to form a fist, her pinky and middle fingers not responding.

Ashlie didn't get much more time to look at the injury though, as her opponent was on the move again. He tried to grab her again, which the girl somehow managed to avoid. She needed to stay away from those hands at all cost. She also knew that this confrontation needed to end, and it needed to end quickly.

There was one advantage left to her. She still had her gun. Her ammo was unknown, but there was more in her bag. It would only take one shot to finish it though. One hit. One kill. Of course, Ashlie wasn't exactly the best shot in the most ideal circumstance. In a situation like this, she would have to get close.

Simon made another attempt to grab her again. This time, she let him, feeling the burning pain as his hands found her arm just above the knife. The skin peeled away under the contact, leaving yet another part of her raw and bleeding. This time she didn't scream though. Didn't make a single noise. She needed to make sure he stayed close.

Ashlie's other arm moved. The one with the gun. Through her pained expression, the pink-haired girl's face broke into a smile. This was the end for him. The weapon found it's home, resting on her adversary's chest. There would be no missing. Not this time. All that would be left was the victor. And this time, like so many times before her, it would be her.

Simon
Simon cheered internally when he managed to once again grab the girl by the arm and hold her in place and reached his other hand up to grab at her throat; it was one of the most vulnerable parts of the body and given that his powers were skewed more towards causing surface damage than anything else he would need to target something like that to have a chance of killing her.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why she wasn’t crying out this time despite the immense pain she must have been in and when he felt something pressing against his chest he felt he knew the answer. He didn’t need to look down to know what it was, the pained smile on the pink haired girls face was enough to let him know that his assumption was right; he was going to die.

“Fuck”

The two following gunshots were quieter than he was expecting, sounding more like fire crackers than the loud booms you heard in the movies. They had the same effect though and as the pain blossomed out through his chest from the single point where the bullets had entered Simon found himself letting go of Ashlie’s arm and falling backwards without even realising it.

As he fell he reached tried to stop himself by grabbing hold of something, his hand finding the handle of the knife still sticking out of his killers arm and grabbing onto it. He felt it come free after a moment of resistance and his back hit the ground a few seconds later, the knife falling from his grip onto the dirt.

It hurt less than he expected; a burning followed by a numbness in his chest, but really he just felt tired more than anything. He realised that if he was going to saw any witty last words this was going to be his only chance, though when he opened his mouth he found himself gasping for breath. As his vision darkened except for one patch of pink near the edge of sight, one thought that basically summed up his time on the island went through his mind.

The past three days have been really… really… fucked up
SUBJECT C05, SIMON MATTHEWS: ELIMINATED
4 SUBJECTS REMAIN

Ashlie
One down. Three to go.

Ashlie fell to her knees, leaning her back against the tree. Her fight with Simon had taken a lot out of her, so she needed a moment to catch her breath. After a couple minutes, the girl stood again, searching around the area for useful items. Her first item of interest was the medkits. It wouldn't do for her to die of blood loss or something after getting so far. She found Simon's bag, using her mostly uninjured left hand to flip it open and find his medical supplies.

Ashlie quickly located the bandages, and quickly began to unroll the material around her right arm. She had to use up almost the entire roll to adequately cover her injuries, but she managed to have just enough left over for the wound on her left wrist. This took her slightly longer, despite there being a smaller area to cover, due to two of her fingers refusing to work. She managed it though, and eventually she had all her new wounds covered, though there was blood very visible through the bandaging.

Next order of business was weapons. Her knife was pretty much useless now, but thankfully she still had another one. Not to mention yet another gun to add to her collection. The weapon in her hand was empty, so Ashlie took a moment to reload that with one of her spare magazines. Whatever happens next, she probably wouldn't have time to reload, so in essence she was down to her last two magazines. Which should be more than enough to put down three people.

Finally, going through Simon's and her own bag, she pooled all the food and water she could find between them. It wasn't much, but it was enough for a decent enough meal. She didn't exactly plan on this dragging out long enough for her to have to eat again, so she took a moment to eat until she was full for the first time since being thrown on this island.

Having finished everything she wanted to do, Ashlie got ready to leave. She left the bags behind, keeping whatever she needed on her person. One gun, safety on, in her pocket, her remaining knife, wrapped in cloth, occupying the same space, and her other gun gripped in her good hand. Now all she needed to do was find the rest of her victims.

All three of them.

Taryn
Taryn stared open mouthed at the boy. She could have caught flies if there’d been any around.

He’d finished quite a long speech in the time that, unknown to her, Ashlie had been fighting with Simon and at its crux was quite a reveal.

Finally she closed her eyes, wiped her face and swallowed. The news had numbed her temporarily but now she was aware again of how hot it was. She smelled terrible and her short hair was stuck limply to her face.

“You’re serious?”

This boy had been working with “them,” whoever “them” was. The announcement people knew him. Was it a trick? He could have killed them already. What would be the point of lying to them?

She narrowed her eyes and looked him over critically. He didn’t seem to be displaying the tell-tale signs of a liar. She was a great liar and could spot another liar more often than not.

Don’t underestimate anyone.

Cautiously, she decided to trust him.

“Okay,” she said taking a deep breath. “Okay,” she repeated nervously.

She kept repeating the word with a slightly more trembling in her voice each time.

Taryn looked at Kate and a smile spread over her face. Her eyes were bright for this one moment despite the dark circles that gave away the trauma of the past few days. Then there was some noise from not far off. There was the sound of scuffling and the distinct, horrible pitch of Ashlie, though not as damaging to them at this distance.

Her smile melted. She grabbed her gun off the floor and got up from her seated position into a crouch. Taryn stared intently at the ground. It was clear she deep in thought, trying to work something out.

She held up a knife to Kate's throat, fully intending to kill. She succeeded in killing a lot of people. She took Samantha’s friend. She’d never listen to me anyway. If I so much as tried to be nice AGAIN she’d take the time to shout at me with her freakish voice and then stab me when I was down.

“We do what we have to do to survive,” she whispers, looking at the ground.

Taryn dug into her bag and pulled out a plastic wrapper with four slices of bread still in it. She tossed one to Kate and one to Khalid.

“I know they’re stupid and you hate them and this is totally weird, but stuff the bread in your ear holes. I don’t want to hear whining about bacteria. Just do it. Please,” she said, almost begging.

“This girl’s a killer,” she explained for Khalid’s benefit. “Her voice will make you sick. Though to be honest, I think it matches the rest of her very well,” she muttered.

Taryn stuffed her own ears and stood, looking around for any movement. “And don’t drop them. They don't block her completely but they help.”

The adrenaline was starting to light up her insides like she’d swallowed fireworks. She nodded slightly at Kate.

Katherine
Kate’s first thought was that nothing she had just heard Khalid say could possibly be true. The second, much more rational thought was that if he wasn’t telling the truth, they’d both be dead right now and he’d be sailing off to the finale with two more kills under his belt. So she believed him. It was a gamble, of course, but everything they’d done so far had been. What was one more risk, in the grand scheme of things?

A weary smile. Taryn believed him too. That was good; Kate couldn’t begin to imagine the problems one of them disbelieving would have caused. She shook her head. No use focusing on what could have happened. They were on the same page and that was what mattered. She couldn’t shake the uncertainty, though. The feeling in the back of her mind that Khalid had been speaking in half-truths, though. Or just plain not telling them something.

They’d put a lot of trust into him, and Kate just hoped, and prayed, that it would pay off.

What he had said meant they had a little bit more time to work with than Kate had initially expected- she didn’t have her watch with her, but it was starting to get much darker. The forest was already dark and Kate didn’t want to think about what it was going to be like when it got late.

Their temporary- Kate didn’t want to use the term, but still, they had to keep the possibility out there- alliance with Khalid had eliminated one person from their to-do list, but they still had one giant loose end left and a promise to Samantha that they had every intention of keeping. Skanky-feet Ashlie. The girl who’d almost slit her throat and succeeding in giving her the cut that still stung her. The girl who likely had the highest kill-count of everyone, living or dead. The last big- and god was she big- obstacle between them and the end.

The girl who was nearby and causing the now familiar nausea unsettling Kate’s empty stomach.

Taryn jumped up, and Kate quickly followed, emptying her pockets and hurriedly pulling her orange hoodie off- taking care that Sammy’s pendant wouldn’t fall off- and tying it tightly around her waist.

Her light blue shirt was soaked with sweat, but it’d be a lot easier to move around in it than a bulky sweater. It wasn’t as if the hoodie could stop a bullet, anyway. Kate stowed the gun in between her belt and her skirt, and the knife went in one of the pockets. If she could help it, she wasn’t going to use either. Not even against Ashlie. Taryn was the one who promised to kill her, not Kate.

Taryn handed Kate the slice of bread. Kate already knew where she was going with this.

“Alright,” she muttered. “Just this once.”

Kate pouted and shoved the lumps of bread into her ears. As much as she hated to admit it, Taryn was right. Kate had been on the floor in a puddle of her own puke last time they’d met Ashlie. She couldn’t make the same mistake this time. The food was of no use now, so Kate dropped the rest of the bread to the floor. Hell, most of the things in their packs now were long past being useful. Kate had gotten used to walking with it on her back, but she needed the mobility, so- with the exception of the flashlight now nestled in Kate’s hand- the supplies in her pack were left, abandoned, behind her as they walked forwards.

This time, they were prepared. Now, they knew what she could do. Ashlie was facing an entirely different beast than she’d encountered in the prison.

Taryn nodded and Kate nodded back. This time, things would go a bit differently.

Khalid
Khalid watched the girls as they exchanged looks. The fact that they appeared to be so close after only three - no, not even that, more like two and a half - days together tickled him. He couldn't remember forming such a bond in his time here, only running, and hiding, and a moment or two of bleak desperation. Those were his memories. But these two... well, they stirred something inside, something akin to hope, but a little less fantastic. That's why this next part had to go without a hitch, and why whatever happened, he was going to protect them.

Quietly, he picked up the bread torn up by Taryn just moments before, and trusted her judgement on the matter at hand. He hadn't seen this other girl yet, the one they said could make him sick. All he knew was that he didn't like the sound of that. Whatever power the serum had given her had kept her alive, that much he assumed, and by now she'd already earned the fear and sweat of these two girls, who now sat, waiting, preparing for the worst.

After stuffing in the bread as far as it would go, he tested their effectiveness by talking to himself. Sure enough, every word he spoke ebbed and vibrated, muffled just enough to make himself sound far away. That would do, he thought. For now. The real testing would begin later on.

He got the others' attention, then instructed them to check their equipment. They had to be completely ready. Drawing his gun, he emptied out the clip, checking every bullet to make sure they were fit for use. There wouldn't be any time for misfires or duds, and any time now spent properly arming themselves would save them more later. It was common sense. Common, militarist sense. His eyes scanned for any signs of imperfection; any nicks or cuts on the casings; any dust lodged in the barrel just in case. He could feel the sweat on his back as the sun rolled overhead, and by the time they were done, an hour had passed.

"She could be lost," He whispered.

"This forest goes on forever, after all. I once spent an entire day trying to find my way out after somebody stole my map."

For a moment, there was silence. Tension racked his body as he sat there, crouched in the dirt, gun staring out into the distance as he watched for a flash of pink hair. Had he told them that already? Did it seem strange to appear so familiar with this place?

He hoped not.

His hands shook regardless. He hadn't told them this, but he'd never shot someone before. Even in target practice he was a lousy shot - barely had the time to learn. Everyone needed coffee, but only one guy had to get it. What d'you need a gun for? You don't shoot the beans. He swore under his breath. He'd always had his suspicions, but now he knew. The only reason they made him get the coffee was to keep him busy, stop him making plans. If they wore him down, melted him into the boiling pot, he'd stop trying to escape and they could focus on bigger things. Often he'd find himself staring out of windows, dreaming of his home, wondering if they even knew where old Papa lived.

But this wasn't the time for conspiracies. This was the time for action. Time to win back some of the control he'd lost when they threw him back out to sea.

"No more." He told himself.

"No m-"
SUBJECT C21, Khalid Shamoun: ELIMINATED
3 SUBJECTS REMAIN

Ashlie
That had been way too easy. First, finding them had been easy enough, it wasn't that hard to find people when they were blabbering on like that. What surprised her was that they weren't fighting. Sure, the two bitches from before were probably going to work together until the end, but the boy was strange to her. He was also completely inconsequential as far as she was concerned. Her issues were with the two girls.

Two shots rang out, and the boy fell. Ashlie made sure to keep herself out of sight for the time being. Let the others panic for a bit, knowing she was out there. Waiting for them to make their first move. She could wait. She had all the time in the world right now. After all, it was just her and the bitches now. And this time, she wasn't playing nice.

The pink haired girl slowly made her way along the ground, making sure to keep low to make things easier for her to sneak up unnoticed. Things needed to end, and she wanted it to end so she could go home, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy herself before doing so. Which was exactly what she planned on doing.

Katherine
They spent about an hour sat there in the heat, checking through their equipment again and again for faults. There was no room for error here, one wrong step, one jammed bullet, and they would be dead. Khalid didn’t have to worry, he was immortal- supposedly- but they weren’t, and that was worrying Kate. She shook her head. No time to worry, no time to think that they couldn’t succeed because if she kept thinking like that they wouldn’t.

Khalid whispered something. It was hard to make out through the jury-rigged earplugs, but she heard enough to piece together that without their map, it’d be impossible to get out.

“Right,” Kate looked down. It shouldn’t have been an issue, given what Khalid had told them, but she still had her map in case. “T-that shouldn’t be an issue.”

She flicked the safety on and felt the pistol in her hand. Was it a bad sign that she was getting used to the weight of it? She couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. She had to stop focusing on these things. They had to kill Ashlie. There were no two ways about it.

Kate looked to Taryn, then back to Khalid. Deep breaths. Stay calm. Khalid will lead, he knows what he’s doing. Khalid raised his pistol, muttering. Kate still couldn’t hear. What was he saying? Kate’s head was swimming. This wasn’t working.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked, raising her own handgun in a different direction. “Is someon-”

Two shots rang out, and Khalid hit the floor.

The man who couldn’t die was lying there, in front of her, leaking blood from two, small red holes. He was supposed to be immortal, and there he was; dead. But if whoever was shooting them aimed that much more to the left, that could have been her. That stirred something in Kate. Panic? She wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t good. Of all the time she had been on the island, that was the closest she had been to dying.

Her ears rang, she could feel her heart pounding away through her skull.

“T-Taryn!” Kate shouted, but it sounded muffled, even to herself. The plugs were doing more harm than they were good. She couldn’t take them out now, though. She needed both hands on her gun. She tried to aim but she couldn’t see anyone.

Something was incredibly wrong here. Ashlie was playing smart, much smarter than she had been before.

Kate panicked, ducking, running, slamming her back against a tree painfully- she felt a slow, warm trickle of blood on her back- and fumbling for her gun. Ashlie was out there, she was close, and she had just killed Khalid. Everything that she’d been told, everything that she’d tried to make herself believe had been thrown out of the window.

She grabbed her necklace, closed her eyes tight, flicked the safety off of her handgun and started to quietly cry.

Taryn
A strange calm was washing over Taryn as they checked and double checked the equipment. It was going to be over soon, one way or another. The concept of being left in peace was so alien to her she wasn't sure what to expect from it. The prospect of being lost in the forest didn't scare her, but it was probably good that Kate made sure to study the map.

Taryn got up with her gun and surveyed the area. From somewhere behind she heard two shots pierce the silence. She spun and looked back. Khalid was bleeding out on the ground.

"Khalid!"

Taryn  ran over, knelt down next to him and turned the boy face up. He'd come back, wouldn't he? He just told them that was his whole advantage.

"Hey, get up!" she whispered quickly. Taryn shook the boy by the shoulders. She felt like a crazy person trying to shake away a guy with a bullet in his head. A few moments passed and he reacted like any other dead person, that is to say, not at all. She dropped him roughly with an frustrated sigh.

Had he lied to them? Maybe his power wore off. She looked up to get Kate's opinion on the matter but she found herself alone with the corpse.

The blood drained from her face and she felt a little sick. Kate had disappeared. She had to find her before Ashlie did or else she'd end up like Khalid. Taryn wasn't going to let that happen. She sprang up and stalked forward. Her heart beat was ringing in her ears. She was calm when they were together but now she was on her own and couldn't be sure if Kate was alright.

"Where are you?" she said quietly.

Ashlie
Things went easier for her than she planned. After shooting the boy the two girls ended up getting separated, which was all the better for Ashlie. Divide and conquer, as they say. They'd already divided for her, now she just needed to conquer.

The pink-haired girl focused on the weaker of the two, knowing that she would be easier to take down. Not to mention she was already in her direct line of sight. Or was until she decided she was a commando or something and ducked behind a tree. Ashlie just smiled. At least she knew exactly where the bitch was. Which was good for her. Not so much for the other girl.

Ashlie continued her slow progression forward, veering off so she would have a better view of her target. She felt the grin on her face widen. The sense of excitement she got before a kill was one she had gotten used to, one she enjoyed.

The girl waited for a few seconds, letting the moment draw out. Finally, when she was done savouring the feeling, she pointed her weapon in the direction of the timid looking girl and pulled the trigger twice.

Katherine
Kate’s hands shook as she dropped the necklace, opened her eyes, and span out from behind the tree. She couldn’t see anyone. That made her nervous. Where was she? How was she taking them out if they couldn’t see her? There was no way this was the same Ashlie they had fought in the prisons. She was smarter now, playing off of them. She was a much more dangerous beast this time.

And she’d separated Kate and Taryn. That was her plan. She set a trap when she shot Khalid, and they’d fallen into it. God damn it. Kate’s heart raced as she raised her gun, aiming wildly at what she thought was a flash of pink in the distance, before she dismissed whatever she had seen as nerves-

Kate hit the floor with a loud thump, followed by a shrill, pained cry.

Two shots had rang out, but before her brain could register them, Kate had been hit. She didn’t know where, or how, but all she felt was pain, shooting through her entire body. Everything felt distant now, her ears rang, even through the earplugs, and her vision blurred, whether it was from the tears streaming down her face or something, anything else.

Her breathing was shallow, frequent, panicked. Her arms hurt more, as time went on, than the rest of her body, so she assumed that the problem lied there. The first shot had grazed her right shoulder. That would be fine, in time, it stung her, for now, but in time it would be okay. The second, more damaging shot, went through her lower arm. In the movies Kate used to watch with her dad, the hero- some gruff guy with no personality- would just shrug it off and use his other arm to shoot people in the face.

As much as she wanted to, Kate couldn’t do that. Instead, she just screamed for Taryn to help her.

“T-Taryn!” She screamed. “Taryn!”

Kate instinctively pushed down on the wound, for whatever good it would do, and pulled her arm up as high as she could manage, tears still streaming down her pale face.

She couldn’t move, instead, she just shook, cried, and silently prayed Ashlie wouldn’t try to finish the job.

Taryn
Two shots cracked through the slience a little ways off. Taryn jumped and spun in the direction the noise had come from. She took a tentative step towards the noise, hand growing slightly slack around the gun. Her heart sank and her eyes were wide. It was rare, but in that moment she looked truely scared.

"No," she mouthed wordlessly.

She took another step, another. It changed from a fast walk into a jog.

"Taryn!" she heard Kate scream.

The jog was a full out sprint towards the commotion. She wanted to scream back and let Kate know she was coming, but it would leave her position exposed. Kate's name jammed at the base of her throat.

You'll be no use if she shoots you while you're still 30 feet away.

The closer she got, the more her anger built. This peice of trash had dared to hurt her friend. Kate was worth a million Ashlies. Kate....

"I wouldn't have to own up to what I did if I said I did it for you. I could twist my thoughts so that I was a good guy. But I'm not a good guy. And I killed those people just as much for myself as for anything else because.....because I AM selfish and because I wanted to be the last one. I'm sorry Kate. I.....I'll understand if you leave."

"Taryn...I'm not going anywhere, okay? I don’t care what you’ve said, or what you’ve done. You’re not getting rid of me that easy."


The leaves and trees passed by her in a watercolored blur. Kate couldn't break her promise. It wasn't fair. A million thoughts were running by her as well. She finally saw the back of Ashlie's head and stopped. A few feet off, Kate was on the ground, bleeding and crying. It was her friend, someone she cared about, that was in pain and the person who'd caused it would know exactly what that meant to her. The adrenaline shot through her strange blood and she raised the gun at Ashlie.

I will kill you. It's not even a matter of needing to in order to survive. It's not a matter of me killing you so that I can live, but I will kill you if it is the very last thing I do.

Of course, it's never that easy, despite what we intend. One step forward and one stray stick beneath her foot were all it took to complicate matters.

Snap!

Ashlie
Ashlie watched the girl fall, bringing a smile to her face. Unfortunately she didn't appear to be dead yet, though this didn't bother the pink-haired girl too much. The longer she lived the more she would suffer, a thought that filled Ashlie with a sense of satisfaction. Sure, she wanted to win, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it. And she planned on enjoying every last moment of it.

The girl was snapped out of her inner monologue by the sound of a breaking branch behind her. Ashlie had forgotten for a moment that there were two of them, something which thankfully didn't bite her in the ass more than it could have. Her head snapped around to look at the direction of the sound, seeing the second girl approaching.

Ashlie instinctively brought her weapon up, pointing it in the direction of the approaching danger. From her mouth came a string of curses, while her finger pulled the trigger, the pistol jumping in her hands as the projectiles left the weapon.

Taryn
Ashlie turned too look at her, alerted by the faint sound of the stick that had broken.

"Fu-"

The sound and pain was almost simultaneous. Her hand was empty and blood was oozing over her palm from the side of her hand in that strange, goopy way it did since she'd come to this island. It looked like thick, red syrup. Taryn had no idea where her gun had gone. It probably fell into one of the bushes near her feet. There was no time for her to try and dig around for it. Another bullet had struck her upper arm. The bullet had gone clean through and the thick blood was starting to roll downward.

Taryn bit her lip and her eyes welled up with tears for a moment. The nails of her good hand dug into her palms, but the pain hardly registered in comparison to her damaged right hand. With her left hand she wiped the tears away and stared up at Ashlie, determined.

"Lucky shot, you stupid slut," she warbled.

Katherine
Kate closed her eyes in anticipation of the third shot. She knew it was coming. It had to be. She had screwed up and now Ashlie was going to kill her because she wasn’t paying attention. Clutching her bleeding arm, Kate winced as she pulled her arm close to her chest, felt for her pendant and curled the fingers, caked in mud and her own blood, of her good hand around it.

She sobbed quietly, whispering the words she never thought she would say out loud, but had repeated to herself in the back of her mind from the moment she had woken up on the island. Please don’t let me die. Her body started to shake. Why hadn’t Ashlie shot her yet? What was going on? She was playing to win; this didn’t make any sense at all. What was Kate to her? One more body for the count? There was no approach, no gunshot, no knife to the throat, no scream.

Just the terrible sense of dread of knowing that in front of her, right in front of her, there was a girl with a gun pointed at her face, who could, in a heartbeat, pull the trigger and kill her, and that there was nothing Kate could do to stop her.

Then there was a loud snapping noise and Kate’s eyes darted open. She breathed a short relieved sigh, let go of the pendant and put her hand back on her arm, over the wound. She looked for her gun, but she must have dropped it somewhere in the confusion. It would take her too long to find for it to be useful, plus it was- by now- caked in too much mud to ever be useful.

She tried to swivel herself around, but she couldn’t quite make out what was happening. Ashlie was pointing at something- someone, and she started screaming. Kate’s head was a blur. She gagged, tried to throw up but nothing came out.

Faintly, through the blur, she thought she heard two gunshots. She shuffled more, still nausious, got a better look at the situation. Taryn stumbled, bleeding, shouting. Kate shook her head violently. Taryn was in trouble, and unlike before, Ashlie looked poised to finish her off.

Kate panicked. With her good arm, she fumbled for something, anything that she could stop Ashlie with. Her knife was in the pocket of her denim skirt, but that would have taken too long to get, and it wasn’t as if she could throw a knife. Her hands found a rock. It was big- reasonably so, anyway- and felt heavy in her hand, but she didn’t have time to think about that. She needed to do something to stop Ashlie. The stone in her hand, Kate struggled, pushed herself up to her feet and with what little strength she had left, she threw the rock at Ashlie.

It didn’t matter where it hit. It just had to hit her.

Kate breathed a nervous breath, held her arm tight, and waited.

Ashlie
Ashlie was kind of disappointed. She was really hoping that these two would put up something of a fight, not for them to just roll over and die. Instead she had one down and the other injured, and it was just simply a matter of hitting them somewhere fatal. Which wouldn't be all the hard. The pink-haired girl turned her attention to the stronger one, the one still standing. The other one wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon.

And then she felt something impact with her arm, forcing her to let go of her weapon. She just caught the rock out of the corner of her eye as it landed on the ground. Her eyes turned to where the weak girl was, glaring at her. Her mind completely forgot about the other one in that moment, only thinking of the bitch who dared to attack her.

Drawing her knife, Ashlie charged headlong towards the girl on the ground, fully intent on killing the bitch who threw the rock at her. She was finished playing games, and now she just wanted every last person on that island dead.

Taryn
Taryn wrapped her arm around her baby sister and this time she didn't fight her. She stood still, implacable and hardly seemed to notice the hug. Their older sister Jayna moved in the kitchen, trying to prepare something for them to eat. A girl with dark curly hair, a friend of Taryn's, came up awkwardly and said good bye and wished them a good night. Kendra glared at her as she left. Taryn kissed the top of Kendra's head.

"It's been a long day. Go get some rest, baby. Jayna and I can take care of things in here. We'll wake you when dinner's ready."

Kendra bristled and ducked out from under Taryn's arm.

"Don't tell me what to do," she spat. "You're not my moth-"

Angry tears welled up in her eyes. She turned and ran before they fell. Taryn sighed a deep sigh and sunk down at the dinning room table as Jayna turned on the burners.

"She'll come around," Jayna shrugged. "Don't take it personally. She won't listen to anyone."

Taryn pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

"I know, I know. She's just lashing out because she doesn't know how else to deal. I just wish dad was around more to help us deal with this. He's so wrapped up in work and I'm too....I'm too young for this. Honestly, I don't know what to do either. We thought she went into remission. They told us she was going to be okay."

Jayna checked the water. It was going at a steady boil. She tipped a box of pene pasta into the pot until it was mostly full.

"Just hope for the best. It's all that you can do, Taryn.  You know, maybe you all should get out of town for a day or too. Just to get your mind off of things.You're a good sister and a great daughter."

"Mmm. It's frustrating. I just don't like feeling like there's nothing I can do."

--------------------------
"But there is something I can do."

Ashlie smirked at her with that ugly, crooked smile and she saw her lift the gun. The smile turned to an even uglier scowl when a rock flew at her and caught her on the side of the head.

Kate.

Weak and panting, Kate was still slumped over by the tree, but she'd used whatever strength she had left to help Taryn.


Taryn was touched. A small smile flitted across her face. She dug her heels into the ground.

If you can keep fighting down to the very end, then so can I. I owe it to you. I won't give up.

She'd dropped her gun. It was now or never. Taryn ran full speed at Ashlie while her focus was on Kate and threw herself at the other girl. The two fell to the ground together in a heap of tangled limbs.

Ashlie
Ashlie found herself thrown to the ground, and it wasn't until she actually hit the earth that she realized what had happened. She instinctively lashed out with her knife as they two tumbled to the ground, hitting nothing but air. Silently cursing herself for being caught of guard, Ashlie instead worked on trying to defend herself from the inevitable attacks that were sure to come.

Her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. Her best option would be to use her voice, something she had no real issues with doing normally. However at that point she was gasping for breath, trying to regain the air that had been pushed out of her upon hitting the floor.

The form that was on top of her began to take on a distinctively human shape, and out of desperation Ashlie lashed out with her empty hand, aiming for what she thought was their head. If she could get them off her then she would be in better position to attack. As it stood right now, she was at the mercy of her assailant until she got her breath back.

Taryn
Taryn was trying to get a hold on the girl. She was squirming and pitching a fit like a cat that knew it was time for a bath. She saw the girl swing for her face and dodged. Unfortunately she didn't noticed the other hand with a knife near her throat. As she moved to avoid the punch a sharp sting ran across her chest.

Taryn looked down and noticed the slow-moving goop starting to well up near her skin. Ashlie'd slashed her, leaving a slanted line from the bottom of her right collar bone to the top of her breast . Had the swipe been farther up, she might have got her neck. The wound wasn't lethally deep, but it hurt. It also didn't help that it cost her more blood.

Taryn knew that her blood could turn to crystals. The piece of paper had said so and she found out that it was the truth. She knew that it made her blood all gooey and weird. It was a side effect of whatever they'd done to her. What Taryn did not know was that due to the way her blood formed into crystals, she lost more blood than the average person with each cut. The Organization knew, they'd marked it on her file as a consquence of the serum, but they made no attempt to let Taryn know.

And so she also did not know that now that each drop was a waste she couldn't afford.

She scrapped with the girl around on the floor, trying with all her might to get he to stop fighting. A sudden sensation of falling hit her for a moment. She shook her head and looked at Ashlie.

"I'll drag you down with me if I have to. I'll drag you behind me kicking and wailing like a freak right down to Hell. That girl you hurt is worth a million of you.  No one's gonna cry over you if you leave. You are trash. Sneaky, cowardly, disgusting, trash. I hope I'm there to see you burn."

Ashlie
The girl attacking her was tenacious, she would give her that much. even after unintentionally injuring her, she was still furiously assaulting her, something that Ashlie had a hard time stopping even when she did get her breath. Taryn's strikes rained down hard and heavy, and little bits of her strange blood had begun to harden, leaving small superficial wounds on her arms and across her face. After considerable effort, but the pink-haired girl was finally able to get away from her momentarily after yelling at her.

Everything that she had done in the last hour or so, from killing the other boy to this, had been a considerable drain on Ashlie. She crouched on one knee, panting noticeably as Taryn gave her little speech. Ashlie couldn't really care less about what she was saying. She was just glad for the brief moment to get some of her stamina back.

Ashlie's grip on her knife tightened. It seemed almost fitting that after everything, she was back to using the weapon that started her on the journey to get here. Taryn looked to be in bad shape, Kate even worse off. They were the only three left, and only one of them was going to live to see tomorrow. In Ashlie's mind, she had already won. She lunged at Taryn, her blade pointed outward, aiming to drive the weapon straight into the other girl's heart.

Taryn
Ashlie used her piercing sound distortion and even with the plugs, at such close distance Taryn couldn't take it. She let go of Ashlie and screamed as well. Ashlie sat up and Taryn found that it was difficult for her to do the same. A surge of adrenaline pushed her back up when she faltered.

She felt so sick. It wasn't just Ashlie's voice. Something was wrong with her. Whatever it was, she had to make sure she took out Ashlie before whatever it was caught up to with her.

Ashlie came at her with the knife and Taryn dodged. The knife sank into her left shoulder. Now was her chance. She had to get at her throat if this was going to stop. Her hands shot out and wrapped around Ashlie's neck.


"Fucking die already!"

Ashlie
Ashlie's face contorted into a satisfied grin as the knife went into her opponent's shoulder, her unusual blood oozing around the blade. There was something fascinating about the way her blood flowed, but she didn't have time to think about that. She needed to focus on the task at hand.

Which was the last thing Ashlie ever thought.

Unknown to the girl, when she had injured Taryn's hand earlier, the blood from the wound had been slowly hardening, forming a sharp crystal. The other girl was too fast at such a close distance for Ashlie to react in time, and the blood was sharp enough to puncture her neck, severing the carotid artery.

It didn't take long for Ashlie to bleed out, slumping to the side. She didn't have any final thoughts, or to be able to die in peace, or anything like that. Back at home no one even noticed she was missing except for her mother, a mother that had been ignoring her child for the better part of five years. Who's only thought was that her daughter had finally run off to live with some boy she had met, to not even consider that she was dead.

In short, no one remembered she existed.
SUBJECT C08, ASHLIE JACKSON: ELIMINATED
2 SUBJECTS REMAIN

Taryn
Taryn didn't know what had happened. She had only been squeezing for a few seconds, maybe 10 and Ashlie had a look of panic. It was too soon for her to have choked. She wasn't even trying to gasp for air. Taryn slowly pulled her hands away and found her right hand was stick. She yanked it free and a long, sharp crystal drenched in blood slid out from the girl's neck. Ashlie toppled over to the side and bled all over the ground. Taryn kicked Ashlie away from her and then lay flat on her back.

"For you, Samantha."

The knife was still stuck in her shoulder. She knew better than to remove it. Just leave it there for the time being. She was panting and looking straight up at the sky and the tree tops. The adrenaline was going down. Taryn felt like she could hardly left her arm up if she tried. She was queasy. If there had been anything at all lift in her stomach she would have vomited.

She rolled over and spit a few times, gagged a bit. There was nothing. Her face was white as a sheet. Taryn was reacting to the accelerated blood loss from her power.

"K-Kate?"

She closed her eyes and tried to make the spinning stop.

"You okay? We got her."
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