Metanoia

[Fenrir]

Simon was a little shocked to see Sterling just up and walk out of the room after they had decided against it before; had the fact that one of the shooters was right outside made him decide to make a run for it? Either way Simon couldn’t help but think it was a smart idea; even if the other shooter might be behind that door, the possible threat was still better than the definite threat out the other door.

Bobby ran over then, carrying the ‘weapons’ he had plundered from the back of the oven and handing a thin copper rod to Simon. He took it with a nod, feeling slightly more confident with something in hand but still not liking his chances against someone with a gun. Or someone without a gun for that matter; someone like him couldn’t do much with a bludgeon like the copper rod, better to stick with the Stun Gun should anything happen.

Simon turned to face the door again, there were still no sounds coming from the other side; was the guy still there, did he know which room they were in or was he going through them one by one? Either way it would be in their best interests to not be here when he inevitably checked this one. He turned his head around to look at Bobby, seeing in heading towards the same door Sterling had used a moment ago.

“Ok Bobby, let’s-” *BLAM*

The thin, wooden door to the kitchen exploded in a shower of woodchips as the buckshot tore a hole though it and Simon let out a shout as a hail of small metal pellets and wood splinters hit him in the shoulder. He took one step back before his legs gave out from under him, dropping to the floor limply. For a moment Simon just lay still in shock, then the pain hit him like a freight train and it ripped a scream from his throat.

****

(Vincent Sullivan arriving from Rest When You Can)

By the time Vincent reached the hotel it had already gone dark hours ago. He stepped up onto the back patio of the multi-storey building and moved his face close to the glass of a window, cupping his hands around his eyes and trying to see inside.

He jerked back suddenly when he heard the distinctive bang of a gunshot, though from the way it was muffled it sounded like it was coming from deep inside the hotel rather than anywhere near him. Stepping back Vincent raised his new sword and used the blade to smash out a few panes of glass before reaching inside to find the latch. Once he had pulled the window open he threw the sword and his bag through before lifting himself through as well.

Dropping down to the carpeted floor on the other side Vincent picked up his things and began walking slowly down the halls. It sounded like someone in here was heavily armed; hopefully they would be too occupied shooting at some other poor bastard to see him coming.

[Mini_Help]

[[Taking over Ben Grayson, due to inactivity.]]

Ben continued to stay in his hiding place and merely listened to what was happening. The sounds were getting so much worse. Louder and most of all closer. This was not a good sign at all. Even if they were people on his team, Ben just couldn't trust that they wouldn't shoot him on accident for popping by in front of them. SOTF-TV as far as he knew, was a shoot first ask questions later type of atmosphere.

Not to mention that it was really quite dark and there was no way Ben could know for sure if they'd see him, even if he did switch his gold bandanna back to the pink one and not shoot. Ben couldn't risk it. He wouldn't take a chance teaming up with people that he knew were probably dangerous, real team or not. After Shawn Morrison of the gold team saved him from being shot by that Detroit girl, Jaszmine... Ben owed Shawn and the gold team his life. As far as Ben was concerned, the gold team WAS his real team and he'd make sure to help them as much as he could out of this game. He knew for sure that he could trust them and that they could trust him.

It was decided then. He'd leave this place and head back to the resort beach.

Ben stood up and hastened himself to run in the direction opposite from the sounds of the commotion.

Then he heard the sound of smashing glass.

Ben's heart started speeding up now. He brought the gun he had taken from Shawn up in front of him in both hands as he tried to control his breathing. There was someone here and whoever it was, was in his way from escaping this place.

Now footsteps.

Oh god. Oh god.

They were very careful - quiet, but still Ben was aware of them. Ben's hands shook as the sounds seemed to get closer and closer. Whoever it was, was incredibly near.

Now Ben could see him.

The figure was large and he had a sword.

No where to run, nowhere to hide... So Ben pointed his gun right at him.

"F-Fuhreeze! I-I have a gun! Stop right there! Or-Or I'll shoot!"

[Fenrir]

(OOC: No ones posted in a few days and we need to get this moving, we have four people to kill after all, so I’m skipping a bunch of people to move this along)

"F-Fuhreeze! I-I have a gun! Stop right there! Or-Or I'll shoot!"

Vincent’s head snapped around to look in the direction of the sudden voice, his body turning a moment later to face it completely. Here he thought he would be able to sneak in unnoticed while everyone was occupied elsewhere yet he had been found not two seconds after stepping onto the carpet; that wasn’t good.

Then again, this kid – whoever he was – sounded pretty nervous. It was dark so he wouldn’t be able to spot his vest like Tim had done and his hands were probably shaking so much he would most likely miss or just hit him in the chest even if he could get a shot off. So long as Vincent acted quickly and before this guy could compose himself, he could handle him no problem.

“Kid”, Vincent lifted the sword up to hold it out in front of him, grabbing hold of one end of the crossguard to steady it. “That gun won’t do anything to stop me”, then, with the sword held steady to point straight at the centre mass of the figure in front of him, Vincent charged forward, aiming to run the entire length of the two-handed Claymore through his target.

[Pippi]

Glen’s plan had extended as far as pulling the trigger of the shotgun. So when he heard the loud crack of the gun firing, and the splintering of the kitchen door exploding, his mind was full of ideas, yet it seemed to simply freeze. What the hell should I do now? Fire a couple more shots in there, to deal with anyone else? Run in there, guns ablazing, shooting anyone I see? Get the fuck outta here, and join back up with Jonas? Goddamnit, why’s this so fucking difficult?

And then Glen heard the scream.

It had definitely come from inside the room he’d fired at. Glen didn’t know whether it had come from someone he’d hit, or from someone else inside the room, but he had a suspicion that it was from the guy he’d hit. The scream didn’t sound like a girl’s, and the only reason Glen could think of for a guy to scream like that would be if he was in serious pain. So, logically, it was the guy who got shot that was screaming.

And, deep down, this actually shook Glen. Glen was pretty terrified, partially due to this. He’d expected anyone who got shot by a shotgun to die instantly. Not for them to spend their last moments in utter agony. No matter how much he talked, no matter how much he hated his classmates, actually killing one of them was something he never thought he’d have to do, or want to do. All the people he’d encountered, Bob, Suzanne, that... guy at the beach, this guy... adrenaline had, at least partially, clouded his senses. But now, in the lull between fighting, the fact that he’d shot someone, and that they were in clear pain, disturbed him.

He didn’t regret it though. He was just doing what he needed to do. He wanted to survive, and he’d apparently wanted it more than the guy in there. And besides, what Glen was truly scared about was that there was a very high chance of someone waltzing in from that room with a bazooka or something. He had to get out of here, fast.

Thankfully, the sound of smashing glass piqued Glen’s attention. It sounded as if it was fairly far away, but since when had that stopped him? Any opportunity for getting away from this room is a good one. So, Glen ran, in what he hoped was the right direction.

It didn’t take Glen too long to find the source of the smashing glass, and by now, footsteps, although he was pretty annoyed at himself for taking a wrong turn or two on the way. Back against a wall, he peered out round the corner to see just what was going on.

There were two people, facing each other. One of them had a gold bandana on, and was clutching a gun so tightly Glen was pretty sure he’d leave an imprint on it. Glen recognised him, and his heart sank. Ben Grayson? Is this that guy our mentor was talking about? The dude who’s actually on Pink Team? Fan-fucking-tastic. My team’s full of nerds, cowards and losers, just great. At least he’s got a weapon...

The other guy had a huge-ass sword in his hands, but this wasn’t the thing Glen was most interested in, as strange as that sounded even to him. It was him. It was the guy he’d fought at the beach. A wave of anger flowed through Glen’s body, but was quickly replaced by one of pure joy. The guy who’d humiliated him was facing off against two guys, both with guns, while he only had a sword. There was no way this could go badly.

Glen pulled his head back round the wall, hiding from view. He still had the element of surprise, after all. Glen hoped that Ben would be able to take the guy, but still. You took any advantage you could get in this game.

[Little Boy*]

Jonas had never broken into a house before.

Then again, he'd never fired an entire clip of automatic fire into the face of a building before. But these were desperate times, and Jonas didn't have time to think about firsts or anything. He needed to be quick and quiet, and very efficient.

Being a player is hard...

He struggled through the window, grunting and cursing under his breath as he bumped and banged into the wall. Not a smooth start, but he couldn't let that stop him. For all he knew, Glen was at the front already, readying the trap.

Okay. Can't let him down, no, yeah, no. Anyone in this room?

Glancing around, Jonas breathed a sigh of relief. For the moment, the place was empty. He raised up his Uzi and took a nervous step forward, his heart starting to pound. He thought about Panya. Had she been doing something similar, when she'd bit the bullet? Had she been a player, or was she murdered in cold blood? His only chance of ever knowing was getting out of the game, off the Island.

That means I need to think about Glen. He's the only one I can tru-

His collar crackled noisily. Letting out a yelp Jonas doubled back to the window, as a familiar stammering voice filled the air.

"Um. I should probably let you know, that one of your team mates is in the hotel. Uh, he's wearing a gold bandanna, but he's really on pink team. So just, erm, keep a look out and try not to shoot him, please?"

What? Pink? Did Glen know that as well? He was in no position to find out. He'd have to run blind for now... Jonas' lip began to quiver. Panya was dead, and he was stuck with Glen, and this mystery kid in a Gold Bandanna. Would he play too? Jonas hoped so. He wanted to go home bad, more than anything else.

What am I doing? I shouldn't be here. I can't just kill them, not like on the boat! That was an accident, this is some spec ops bullshit! Does Glen think this is a game or- well- it is a game. But does he think it's a GAME game, or a game game? Gah!

He shook his head. It didn't matter. He had a job to do and he couldn't waste anymore time. Taking a deep breath, Jonas raised his weapon, and began striding across the room.

Walk in, shoot'em in the back, then run like hell. Not hard. Not hard at all. It's... It's kinda clever, for Glen- I mean, if h-

As Jonas reached the doorway, a figure stepped into his path. There wasn't time to react, there wasn't even time to yell. His legs began to sag and his eyes went wide, his brain screaming at him to move. Jonas tried his best to stumble back, as the Hatchet caught him full on, directly in the forehead.

WHACK.

Dying was a strange business. Jonas would have found it oddly fitting, going out this way. He'd killed a kid on the ship completely on instinct, pull the trigger and ask questions later. Whoever his murderer was, they were thinking much the same. Swing the hatchet, then check his bandanna later. Jonas had so many questions. Had Glen's plan worked? Had they seen him, was his death his own fault? Had it been the kid in the Gold bandanna, or someone else? How had Panya died?

Why was this in any way fair? He should have at least gotten a swing in.

But Jonas didn't think about anything. There wasn't any time left anymore. All his worrying and jittering, all his close calls and second chances, none of it mattered one bit as the hatchet sank into his skull.

The world swam away from him, and his body crumpled to the floor, the weapon buried in his skull.

Oh be honest Jonas. You weren't going to win.

You were just meant to sell some DVDs.

Jonas would have thought about everything and more, but he didn't have time. As the hatchet sunk into his skull, he managed one last startled word of protest.

"Buh."

PNK2 - JONAS JEFFRIES - DECEASED

[Acidic*]

I killed someone.

The static only intensified as a numb warmth polluted his arms, upper, and than his entire body. It made him feel light, like he could float away if not for the pit of anxiety, guilt, fear, and grief buried in his chest. The screams running down the halls felt like those of a ghost.

I killed someone.

The pit was poisoning him. He tried a cigarette once, and this felt much worse. There was no coughing fit and then feeling better, nor was there throwing up. Sterling suspected it wouldn't help. Already it felt like another organ, or tumor.

Tumor, definitely a tumor.

In his peripheral he saw the sun was rising. In the hotel he forgot time existed, he had been lost to it's effect.

Forcing himself to look at the body he was half surprised to find it was Jonas.

Jonas who had killed on the first day, was wearing a pink bandanna, held a gun, and was probably going to kill him.

So he probably deserved it. Sterling picked up the gun, bandanna, bag, and raided his pockets for good measure. His arms feeling like helium was filling them.

It was an improvement.

The blood raced out of the wound, and Sterling took out the hatchet. A small geyser of blood erupted onto his torso.

Another hot flash of nausea hit him, and the young man found himself gagging. Barely able to hold down his food.

Deep breaths, Kid. It was his brother's advice for stopping the vomit.

Breath in.


Breath out.


Breath in.


Breath out.


Breath in.


When he was ready the young star ran down the hall with the gun prepared, because now Sterling had a better weapon to use against his foes and protect his friends.

((Sorry about the edit, but I hated the way I wrote the end of this before

Edit 2: Needed more blood))

[The Bearded One*]

Simon accepted the thinner of the two copper pipes from Bobby, then glanced back to the door. Bobby stepped closer to the emergency exit, listened, but heard nothing from outside. There was no sound of gun fire or other fighting.... Maybe Sterling got lucky and escaped this deathtrap of a hotel.

He pushed gently on the handle, slowly and quietly opening the door. Bobby looked back to Simon and gestured with his eyes and his head that they should go.

Simon seemed to get the message. "Ok Bobby, let's-"

Another sudden shotgun blast interrupted the smaller boy's thought. Bobby watched him fall backward onto the tile floor, open his mouth, and scream in utter agony. Oh, shit, that's a lot of blood, he thought. I need to do something to help him, but what? I can bandage cuts and sprains, but there isn't shit I can do about a chest full of buckshot. Plus, there's a maniac with a shotgun on the other side of that door, and if I stay here to try to pull Simon out, that's all the time a killer would need to shoot us both at very close range.

Bobby pressed his lips tightly together, trying to make up his mind. After a couple of seconds, he made his decision. I can't save anyone if I'm dead too. "I'm so sorry, Simon. Goodbye."

Bobby pushed the emergency exit door the rest of the way open and sprinted away from the fallen boy, the kitchen, and the hotel.

((Bobby Goldman continued in Transitive Bodies))

[Mini_Help]

Ben's hands continued to shake as his gun still pointed at the large boy in front of him. His threat, as unbelievable as it sounded looked like it worked to get the boy to stop and for a second there, Ben was a little relieved.

"Kid."

Unphased. Unimpressed. This was bad.

“That gun won’t do anything to stop me.”

Very bad.

The boy lifted his sword forward, making it all seem so easy... and then he charged. He charged and Ben was scared. No - he was terrified. His hands continued to tremble and he knew what he had to do. He had to fire that gun. The thought of doing so was frightening in itself, but there was no other choice. Ben fired the gun nervously, hands shaking immensely.

BANG BANG BANG

Three shots. Three Misses. Hands steady, he's close. Aim for the middle. He's large - you can't miss.

BANG BANG.

Two shots centered on the mass in front of him, barely able to slow him down.

No NO NO! It didn't work - what was wrong? It really didn't stop him. He was right. He knew this would happen.

An odd feeling.

Then pain. Insurmountable pain.

Ben couldn't even scream by the shock he was in. He literally saw the sword go right through him like a needle in a pin-cushion and Ben fell. He could feel a pool of his own blood ooze from his body all over him, all around the floor. Ben put his hand to his stomach. Bleeding severe. He knew enough from his mother, being a doctor, that there was no way he was going to survive this. He was going to die.

He collapsed to the floor. Waiting. Waiting to die. He was a coward. A failure. He began to cry. He had done nothing to serve his team or help anyone and just proved what a useless pathetic wimp he was to his parents and to the world.

He lifted his head for one moment to see someone with a pink bandanna, hiding and watching. Some team mate that guy was.

But beyond his good for nothing "team-mate," down the hallway, Ben could still see the body of the girl - Jaszmine Johnson - the one who Shawn Morrison killed to save him. His REAL Team-mate. He felt like a waste. That he could do nothing but bleed to death and do nothing.

No.

That wasn't going to happen. All his life Ben was the quiet nobody who had nothing to offer. But not this time. Even as he lay there bleeding he NEEDED to do one last something to make some kind of attempt to help Gold team. He owed them.

There was still one bullet left in the gun. He knew. He counted. He just needed to use that last bullet and then the gun would be useless for that guy if he wanted to steal it. Shawn still had the rest of the ammo in his bag, thank goodness.

Ben forced himself to situp. He saw the guy still there, approaching the area with his pink "team mate." His last action came to mind. Something he would do before he went unconscious. Shoot the guy. Not in the body since that obviously wasn't going to work - but in the leg. Or at least shoot him close enough to scrape against the guy's skin.

Not just that either.

He didn't want the world to remember him dying as some insignificant wimpy loser. He wanted the last thing people saw at home - his family especially, that Benjamin "Ben-o" Grayson wasn't going down without some fight.

One last shot. One more before Ben passed out and went unconscious from severe blood loss. Very woozy and it would be the last of the energy he had left. He would do it anyway. Hopefully it'd hit - injure him somehow. Leave the guy something to remember him by.

BANG.

"This one's from the Gold Team - MOTHER FUCKERS!"

PNK4: BEN GRAYSON - DECEASED.

[Fenrir]

If Simon was surprised when Sterling suddenly ran out of the room, it was nothing compared to what he felt when Bobby left as well.

The pain in his shoulder and left half of his chest was excruciating, worse than anything he had ever felt before, but worse than that, more ominous, was the feeling of numbness that started in his left hand and worked its way up his arm as the blood drained out of his wound in torrents. He slowly lifted his right arm up and over before dropping it onto his chest in a vain attempt to stem the blood loss, his left arm now completely senseless as he tried to regain some composure.

Simon turned his head, trying to angle it in such a way as to try and get a view of Bobby, the only other person in the room and the only person who could help him right now. Some part of him knew of course; he was bleeding too much, he had been hurt too bad. There was no way the fact that he could barely make himself move or even concentrate on moving was a good thing. But he still looked for help.

"I'm so sorry, Simon. Goodbye."

“Wha-? Wait. Wait! B-bobby wait… w-wai-”, his voice failed him, his head falling back onto the ground as he began to find it harder to hold breath.

It was surprisingly easy, bleeding to death. It was like falling asleep, only… worse, more inevitable. The pain in his shoulder and torso had now completely numbed and he found it difficult to do anything other than keep drawing in breaths and even that was starting to become difficult. Then impossible. Then he stopped trying.

Team 13D: Simon Porter – Deceased

****

Vincent lowered the sword, letting the body slide off the blade without resistance as the figure collapsed to the floor and start crying. The sound of the sobs in the otherwise quiet hotel brought out a faint feeling a guilt within Vincent, this being the first time someone he attacked had shown this kind of reaction, the first time someone hadn’t either fought back or just died instantly; then he twisted slightly and felt the fresh bruises on his stomach remind him of their presence. Feeling gone.

If he hadn’t of acted first this kid probably would have shot him, did shoot him, and might have killed him. Vincent had expected the guy to panic at his charge, to either freeze up or fire wildly and miss and for a moment that is exactly what had happened. Three shots went wide the bullets ending up god knows where, but then all of a sudden the kid had pulled himself together and fired two shots point blank right at Vincent’s gut, the bullet proof vest taking the shots but not completely blocking the force of a metal object travelling at several hundred meters a second.

As he waited for the person to die so he could approached safely, they surprised him by lifting their head; not a huge surprise, but something considering Vincent hadn’t really expected them to be moving much of anything right now. What caught his interest though was the fact that they seemed to be looking past him, towards something else down the corridor. Turning to face the same way he saw what it was and smiled.

At the end of the corridor, hiding and watching, stood another person, a familiar person; with some thought Vincent was able to name him as the one he had run into at the beach just before he met Tiffany, the one he had stolen those walkie-talkies from. Turning his body to face him fully Vincent began to stalk down the hall towards him, ignoring the person behind him as irrelevant now that he had a hole in his gut and focused on the newcomer instead.

“Oh hey, it’s you again, remember me? You know, I’m still a little pissed about that stunt you pulled with the first aid kit; I should have just killed you and taken it the easy way. I won’t make that mistake again”, Vincent swapped his sword over to his left hand and reached into his pocket with his right, pulling out the Colt Python and pulling the hammer back into the ready position with his thumb.

BANG.

"This one's from the Gold Team - MOTHER FUCKERS!"

Vincent stumbled, stabbing his sword into the carpet and using it as a crutch to hold himself up as the bullet skimmed his left knee, the joint buckling under the sudden pain as the weight it was trying to support suddenly became too much.

Fuck, here he was saying that he wasn’t going to make mistakes by letting people live anymore, and here he is getting shot in the back because he didn’t finish a guy off properly. There was probably some irony in that, Vincent just thought it was fucking annoying.

He spun around, pivoting around the sword planted in the ground and turning to face the other guy sitting up on the ground. He raised the revolver and fired, the powerful handgun kicking in his hand with some force as he fired a shot right into the guys chest.

He spun around again to face the guy from the beach, possibly making the same mistake of assuming the guy with the handgun was done for. He pulled the trigger twice more, not bothering to aim properly and just settling for filling the air with lead before his standing position finally gave way and he collapsed onto and then through a nearby door and into the room beyond.

[Pippi]

Almost as soon as Glen retreated behind the wall, he heard the gunshots. Five of ‘em, a brief pause between the third and fourth. Thank fuck that’s over with. I just hope that Ben is the guy who’s actually on Pink Team, and not an actual Gold Team guy.

Glen poked his head round the wall again, and his heart froze. The five shots Ben had fired had somehow, inexplicably missed, or something. Not only that, Ben had been stabbed- no, impaled by the guy’s sword. Things had gone from perfect to utterly shit in less than a second. Ben fell to the floor, and Glen could only just stop himself from making some sort of alarmed noise at the sight of all the blood.

And then things got worse.

Glen simply couldn’t stop looking at the scene that was unfolding in front of him. He knew he should duck back behind the wall, but he couldn’t, and in truth, Vincent might not have even seen him there. But as Glen looked across to Ben’s body, he realised that it was moving slightly. Ben was using the last seconds of his life to do... something. The fuck’s he doing? Put yourself in more pain then, why don’t y- oh. Oh, fuck.

Ben was looking directly at Glen. And so was the other guy. Glen’s heart somehow managed to freeze twice over. From perfect to shit to worst case scenario, how fucking lucky can I get? There was no point in hiding now. Glen slowly edged out from behind the wall, still making sure that there was a small amount of cover, and also making sure he could see the guy properly.

The guy was talking, talking about the shit that had happened at the Resort Beach. Glen almost broke into a grin at the memory of him flinging the first aid kit at Vincent, but the gravity of the situation was just too great. He couldn’t even think of a witty one-liner. Suddenly, the guy had switched his sword over, and reached into his pocket for a pistol. Almost as quickly, Glen flipped the shotgun up to head height, finger curled around the trigger, ready to fire.

“This one’s from the Gold Team- MOTHER FUCKERS!”

Suddenly, Vincent had buckled, a gunshot had gone off, and a bullet flew so close to Glen’s leg he felt the wind jostle his tracksuit bottoms. Ben had used his last ounce of strength to shoot Vincent, to momentarily disable him. Glen almost felt some sort of respect for the guy, but it was quashed by the fear Glen had, and by the fact that Ben hadn't actually been on his team.

Glen heard two more gunshots, and jumped back behind the wall again, just in time to see a bullet pass through the patch of air that his head had occupied milliseconds before. As soon as Glen heard the thuds of the bullets hitting the wall, he leapt back out, to see Vincent falling backwards through a door into another room.

This is it. This is my chance to finish it all.

Glen hurriedly pulled his bag off, and dropped his tree branch. They’d just be inconveniences, and besides, he could always fetch them later, right? Glen held the shotgun up, aimed at Vincent, and pulled the trigger. Once would be enough, or at least he hoped. Glen was fairly sure he’d hit Vincent. He’d aimed for the torso; after all, it was the largest part of his body.

It was also a fatal mistake.

[Fenrir]

Once the door gave way behind him there was no more stopping the inevitable fall and Vincent hit the ground a second later, the fresh wound in his leg spiking with pain in protest from the less than gentle landing.

Vincent took a moment to pause and take a breath only to find that it was one moment too long, the beach guy appearing in the door before he had regained his composure and pointing a shotgun right at his prone form. Before he could even think of raising his revolver to fire first, beach guy pulled the trigger and sent a wave of buckshot into his torso.

Now, calling bullet proof vests, well, bullet proof is something of a misnomer; it would be more accurate to say that they are bullet resistant and they have their limits. The vest will protect against most small guns, like the kind of handguns most of the students were given, but fire a high powered rifle from close enough and it’ll probably go right through; even something like his Colt or Desert Eagle might go through if fired from point blank range and it hit the right spot or the shooter was lucky enough.

Beach guy’s shotgun probably fell into the category of ‘if the shooter is close enough you’re fucked anyway’ and standing a half dozen feet away and aiming down at someone’s chest definitely counts as close. But if you are fortunate enough to get hit at an angle, like if you are lying on the floor, then the pellets spread out over a larger area and instead of death, you get pain; lot’s and lot’s of pain.

Vincent had just been in the process of lifting himself up only to suddenly find himself slammed back into the ground as the shot hit him, feeling like someone had dropped an anvil on his chest from a great height. And those were the parts of him that felt good, the bad parts felt like he had just been injected with fire that got more intense every time he took a breath. He was sure some of those pellets had made it through the vest, slowing down considerably but still managing to penetrate shallowly into his skin.

But he was alive; in pain, half conscious and very short on breathe but alive. And armed. And feeling a great desire to return the favour.

Forcing his pained, protesting body into action Vincent raised himself up into a semi-seated position – much like Ben had moments ago – and lifted the revolver with both hands to point the weapon straight at Glen.

*BANG*

[Pippi]

The pellets from the shotgun slammed into Vincent, and he fell backwards, landing on his back, unmoving. Now that was more like it. None of the screaming like the other guy had done. Although he still felt slightly disturbed, Glen couldn’t help himself from grinning. The guy had tried to kill him after all, and beaten his nose to a bloody pulp.

Glen was about to simply walk away, when he made his second fatal mistake. He saw something in Vincent’s hand, out of the corner of his eye. It was the pistol he’d just been shooting with. Instantly, Glen forgot about just walking away, and instead started thinking about all the weaponry Vincent had on him. There was the pistol for one, and the huge-ass sword he’d impaled Ben with. As well as that, I want my damn walkie talkies back.

It was a stupid thing to want at this moment, but to Glen, it seemed like something he just needed to do, to pay the guy back for what he’d done at the beach. As if shooting him hadn’t been enough.

As Glen began looking around to see if there were any more weapons lying somewhere, he felt the urge to say something, say a one-liner in response to Vince’s speech earlier, just a chance to gloat to a dead man. After about a millisecond, Glen had thought of something to say.

“And there we have it. The end to our little rivalry, eh guy? Two down for Glen Bole, eight more before he’s off this shit hole! I guess it’s kind of a shame I never got to know your name. I’d probably have been able to make up something hilarious involving it. Ah well. Guess I’ll find out at the nex-“

Glen’s speech was abruptly cut short. Partially due to the fact that yet another dead body had just sat up right in front of him, but mostly due to the bullet that had hit him square in the forehead and gone straight to his brain.

There were no final thoughts for Glen. No final message to his family. No snarky retort at one of his many enemies. He was dead before he hit the floor.

PINK TEAM NO. 3-GLEN BOLE-DECEASED

[Acidic*]

Running through the halls Sterling started to wonder if he was lost. The first screams has stopped, but the gunfire had been continuing since. The young star considered turning away, considering Bobby and Simon gone. The idea sounded better and better as he ran down and turned into the gore fest.

Two smaller boys laid dead and blood lavished the hall, and there was Vincent Sullivan in the middle of it.

Oh, shit!

Vincent wasn't the kind of guy Sterling wanted to be stuck in a room with, let alone in this show. He backed up behind the corner stumbling when his foot slipped on someone's blood. A warm nausea started to take over his body, but Sterling made himself bring up the gun to inspect it.

How the fuck does this work?

It was small, but hard to picture using this being easy as pulling a trigger. Putting his finger on that trigger also felt too easy, but when it was there he began talking,

"Vincent, you okay in there?"

His heart was panicking and his voice felt strained with fear. But maybe if Sterling was friendly enough Vincent wouldn't cause any problems.

Because that worked great last time.

[Fenrir]

The bullet hit Glen square in his forehead, the shotgun wielding contestant falling backwards from the shot and Vincent collapsing onto his back at the same moment from the pain which seemed to course through every part of his being. Getting shot, even with armour, was not pleasant and Vincent found himself wanting to just pass out right there, just for a moment, amongst the dead bodies and the blood.

Then the voice had interrupted his thoughts, rudely cutting in just when he was about to doze off. Really, another person? How many were there in this hotel? Couldn’t he just get a break for a minute between killing people? Still, it was probably for the best though; as much as he wanted to just give in at that moment Vincent also felt like if he went to sleep now he might not wake up.

"Vincent, you okay in there?"

“Fucking peachy”, asking if someone was ok, while he lay near two dead bodies, had to be one of the more ridiculous questions you could ask; did this guy not realise he had probably killed these two? Was he thinking if he acted all friendly he wouldn’t end up the same way?

What ever the reason, Vincent needed to get up. He’d be damned if he let this guy get the drop on him – there was too much of that going on lately – and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him steal his weapons.

Once again Vincent forced himself into a seated position, the feeling of immense pressure not being quite as bad as it was as soon as he was shot but still pretty bad and the fire that burned in his chest was as bad as ever, and forced himself to get up. He staggered towards the door to the hall, stepping though onto to stop where Glen had fallen just on the other side of the door and reaching down. He grabbed the shotgun he still clutched by the strap, yanking it free before collapsing against the doorframe of the room he had just left and staying there, sliding down into a seated position as he tried to catch his breath again.

This new seated position left him looking right at Sterling, Vincent dragging the shotgun into his lap and into his hands as he took the guys appearance and presence in. He looked familiar, obviously from Detroit, and he held a gun that looked vaguely familiar to him. This put him on edge; he really didn’t want to be shot again, not now. He really should have just pointed the shotgun at this guy right away and blasted him, but if he was willing to play friendly for now then let him, Vincent wouldn’t argue an opportunity to just take a break at this point. Besides, something about him just bugged him; he looked so familiar, like his name should mean something to him.

“You’re Sterling right? You were… Tiffany’s friend?”

[Acidic*]

As Vincent came down Sterling didn't know what to do. On one hand he wanted to run, another he wanted to shoot at his costar who obviously had no issue with killing, and on a third hand he hoped Vincent had accepted the olive brach instead of a bullet.

Any more hands and he could be a Hindu god.

So when Vincent slammed against the door frame Sterling almost forgot about the olive brach and almost raised Jonas' his gun, yet Vincent seemed peaceful enough. Even pondering something, Probably about killing me, but he could've done it with the shot gun if he wanted to. Then he asked asked if he was Tiffany's friend.

Sterling had forgotten she had died when the scene became chaotic.

After a short pause of recovery Sterling nodded.

"Y-yeah. We were friends." Sterling wondered what he was getting at. Did he kill her? No, that was Karen (who needed dealing with later). Sterling tried to hide his pondering eyes with a small friendly smile.

It probably didn't work.

"Why do you ask?" Or even know her, she hated people like you.