One Room Death Game

[Spindarene]

Jimmy squinted through the darkness and the dim light from the cell phones to see what was happening. He could see the Russian and the CEO fighting the black figures up front. He saw that the black figures were holding long objects that they were jabbing people with, but Jimmy couldn't quite make out what they were.

It looked like the guys up front were losing, and Jimmy was about to step up to join the fight when the alarm blared. He groaned, instinctively covering his ears with his hands, and stumbled a few steps back towards the bathroom door.

[MurderWeasel]

As the defenders began to give ground, the masked figures proceeded out of the hall, but more slowly and cautiously than might have been expected. They didn't press what seemed to be their advantage, and were slow to clear the firing line. They alternated between wide swipes with the batons, making space between themselves and the room's occupants, and quick jabs, trying to bring the points of their implements into prolonged contact with the others. The one who had borne the brunt of Vasya's knife assault moved gingerly, keeping a more concentrated guard up around its core.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the room, there was a faint whooshing sound—likely the outer doors opening. Then there was a clatter moving down the hallway towards the inner doors. It was too loud to just be running feet; there was the clanging of metal and something scraping that was loud enough to be audible even over the alarms.

The cacophony kept up, blaring wildly, and abruptly the lights started strobing, making all the movements of the combatants look like a jerky, irregular dance.

[Pippi]

Well, hot damn. The only way this could be panning out more in Malachi's favour was if Seal Team Dicks gave him a no-questions-asked, access-all-areas pass out of this shithole.

Darkness, after all, was his ally, not just those geared up goons. He'd been wracking his brains before the lights had switched off, trying to puzzle out exactly how the hell he was supposed to slink out of harm's way without any of his erstwhile allies noticing that he was bailing on their plan. Once they'd been plunged into shadow, and once he'd mentally adjusted as to what had just happened, he'd shifted off to one side of the room, stepping back until he could touch the wall, something like a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

He could see, in the shards of light generated by wildly swinging cellphones, snapshots of faces masked in defiance or with balaclavas, the occasional glimpse of weapons ranging from knives to stun rods to the butts of rifles, flying limbs, bodies colliding against once another, mayhem in full flight. This wouldn't take long. Someone, soon enough, would take a taser to the ribs or a right hook to the throat, and their little rebellion would collapse alongside them. Or, just as likely, someone's knife would get turned around on someone, and someone would find themselves bleeding out on the cold, uncaring ground. The end result would still be the same.

Sure, there was a chance that the captives would win out through sheer pluck and righteousness. He wasn't holding his breath for that outcome.

Malachi jolted at the sudden sound of metallic clanking, resonating out from the corridor closest to him. It had to be something major, something large, for it to be heard over the din filling the room to the brim. But most importantly, it had to be coming through the escape door in the next few seconds. There it was. There it fucking was. That had to be his moment.

Slowly, he edged towards the doors, hoping the rave that had suddenly eruped in here wouldn't spotlight his retreat.

[Dr Adjective]

And by those doors stood Charlotte and Kevin. The dynamic duo, the fuckup fantasy dream team. The man who’d done everything wrong and the woman who’d never done anything right. But hey, they had hope. At least as high on hopium as Charlotte had been every time she drafted a clearly-worse 49er than the obvious choice for their position, truly believing that this time they’d crush the regular season and her internet friends would all have egg on their faces.

Charlotte never heard the second telltale sound; she was too busy freaking out over the less-than-stellar defence of the opposite doorway and cringing at the deeply unpleasant alarm to hear the soft whoosh. She heard what came next though. How could she not, right next to the source?

Entirely unaware of Malachi in the dark nearby, she turned to Kevin.

“What the fuck is that?!”

Then the lights started strobing. Maybe she would’ve spotted Malachi amid that, if she weren’t looking the other way, and shielding her eyes from what little of the sensory overload she could. Shielding her mind from the ever more imminent breakdown as long as she could.

[Fiori]

Eugene kept trying to keep those goons at bay, losing ground with every second as they pushed him and Vasya back.

At some point Gerald jumped in to help, Charlotte and Kevin hanging back near the other door, ready for whatever the hell kind of back-up was arriving at any moment. The others were nowhere to be found, either too afraid or too incompetent to get involved. Frankly, he was lucky enough as it was to not be doing this all by himself.

He kept trying to think of something to say, some order to bark, some form of counterattack. In all the chaos it was impossible to hear his own thoughts.

And that was before he received another painful jab, right in the middle of his chest.

"RRREEAAGH!" he cries out, swatting the baton away as he stumbled back, coughing and gasping for air.

The executive found himself in a daze, stumbling around, his speech slurred and the world spinning around him like he'd drunk one too many margaritas. He caught glimpses of madness amidst the strobelights. Alarms blaring, almost in tune to those flashing images. People fighting, screaming, dancing. Faceless ghouls in expensive suits, laughing and popping pills. That near constant, droning beat.

Eugene gripped his chest. Huh, that's odd. There was something off about his heartbeat...

[NoLife42069]

Kevin counted himself lucky that his "Partner" was so close he could still hear her over the blaring alarm. "DOESN'T MATTER WE HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT OR DIE!"

On the other side of the room, he could tell they were being pushed bac- The lights began to strobe.

He knew what The Director was trying to do, overload the senses to disorientate them. Kevin was a bit more resistant to it than most but he still shut his eyes for a second to try and push back the headache that was rapidly approaching.

He could swear he heard Eugene scream, but he wasn't sure if that was just the alarm or not. He opened his eyes right when the lights came on and turned his gaze to Eugene.

OR HE WAS! IF THIS LITTLE SHIT WASN'T PLOTING!!

He saw Malachi while he was turning his head and stopped. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?" He yelled as he took one hand off his weapon to point, at the likely traitor.

[Deblod100]

His hands were gripped at the chair. When he swung, he felt something collide with it that caused him to go back. It was hard. Not a person, but it was a baton.

Then the disorientation began, when the blaring alarms and flashing lights happened. Gerald immediately scrambled back to gain room, noticing a random guy that he never got a proper name out of, running towards the people with batons.

Even among the cacophony, Gerald can tell there were people yelling. Desperation ensuring in chaotic times.

It wasn't until he heard a cry of someone. Gerald was trying to avoid getting his head bashed in, when he realized that the businessman was stumbling around. They might have gotten an upperhand at him.

Gerald couldn't do anything, besides stay by the businessman to try to get him guarded, but Gerald knew that it was going to get him more batons swung at him.

[ItzToxie]

This was fucked. This was all fucked. He might've just signed his own death warrant now.

With Gerald joining in, at least it was three on two, which became two on two as Vasya backed up and let their focus slip. He needed a moment to think.


Batons, kevlar vests-suits? Strobe lights, but they have night vision? Wouldn't that fuck them up a bit too? Maybe trained for it?

The one he got was hobbling. It hurt him a bit even if it didn't break skin. Maybe it did and he couldn't tell because of dark clothing? Had to get under it to find out. Idea formed; not too much time to see if it worked.

Vasya grabbed a chair and tossed it at the one he wasn't fighting earlier, then he ran forward towards the one he'd attempted to stab.

He aimed low. He wanted to wrap his arms around the bastard's legs and lift. If he got him to the floor, he could turn this around, and maybe not get shot or tazed in the process.

[MurderWeasel]

As the brawl spiraled out of control, with the constant irregular flashing of lights and keening of alarms making it hard for the occupants of the room to track anything, with the press of assailants on one side and the pounding echo of unknown factors bearing down on the other, attention was fixed almost everywhere except at the back of the room, where the supposed cause of the whole commotion stood. What happened next was so quick and comparatively low-key that it was done before anyone could intervene—likely before most of the others even noticed.

The bathroom door opened.

In an instant, a figure emerged from it—another of the masked individuals, about the size and height of the one seen in the video back at the start. The figure launched into a cartwheel, landing on its feet directly behind Jimmy, and as he started to turn, it pressed the prod directly into his side.

[Spindarene]

Hearing the light-footed thump behind him, Jimmy swung around, fists raised, only to double over and groan in pain as the prod was forcibly jabbed into his side.

[MurderWeasel]

It was hard to track, but what happened next was unusual: after roughly a second and a half of contact, Jimmy's eyes lost focus. His stance loosened, aggression and tension draining right out of it. He swayed slightly, but otherwise stood idle for a moment.

Then the masked figure beat a hasty retreat back into the bathroom, and impossibly, improbably, Jimmy trotted right along with it, always maintaining contact with the prod.

The door swung shut and the bolt engaged with a click. The whole process had taken less than five seconds.

A few seconds later, the assault on the room shifted character.

The gun-wielding figure finally pulled the trigger, but aiming high, far above the heads of the rebels. The rattle cut through even the alarms, but with everything else going on, it was impossible to tell if bullets had actually been fired—no damage to the room was apparent, so it might have just been blanks. Then the figure began to back out through the far door.

The two cudgel-wielders also changed tactics. One swatted away the chair Vasya had thrown, propelling it farther across the room with a kick. The other jumped backwards, barely avoiding his grasp, stumbling on impact. But rather than adjust for a new attack, the two began to swing their weapons in a more defensive pattern, poking to ward others off and hold them back rather than to make progress, as they stepped back to stand shoulder to shoulder again and began to retreat back down the corridor from which they'd entered.

[Pippi]

Of course. Of goddamn course. Of motherfucking cock-sucking goddamn course.

He should have known, he should have fucking known that the person to try and rain on his parade would be that miserable waste of space shitstain, sticking his fucking nose into places it didn't belong yet again, totally clueless that it was about to get snapped off and rammed right up his scrawny arse. Nobody else had noticed, or if they had, then nobody else had given a single shit - of course whenever there was something loud, inane and obnoxious, Kevin was right at the heart of it all.

For fuck's sake. If only this Rasputinian dipshit's constitution was as weak as his goddamn mind. Maybe then one of Vasya's attacks would have actually put him six-feet under and out of their hair for good.

Malachi scowled, whipping around to glare at Kevin, returning the fucker's pointing gesture with a finger of his own.

"I'm getting my ass out of here," he hissed, not daring to keep his eyes off of the moron for one second in case he decided to, once more, escalate things into violence. "Last I checked, that was the whole point of this little exercise."

He bit his tongue, choking down everything else he wanted to say; how this resistance attempt had always been a shithouse plan, how if Kevin and Vasya hadn't been balls deep in their little bitchfit then so much nonsense would never have actually happened, how Malachi wouldn't hesitate for a second on selling out Kevin's shifty little arse. But at the end of the day, what was Kevin, really? Just another noisy, rowdy, pain-in-the-ass customer, where arguing or fighting back against him would just drag you down further into the shitstorm quagmire of their making. You just had to keep things simple, keep things sharp, and soon enough he'd fade into the neverending ocean of morons loudly whining because they hadn't realised jalapenos were spicy.

And if that realisation hadn't been enough to cut him off, the gunshot sure as shit was.

It took him a moment to recover from flinching, and checking over his body to make sure he wasn't leaking blood anywhere, but as soon as he did, his vision shifted to just beyond Kevin, to the opposite door, and the change in plans that seemed to be occurring over there.

"Looks like your quarry's escaping, pal," Malachi said, trying to sidle along the wall as he spoke. "You gonna chase after them, or what?"

[ItzToxie]

As the ninjas performed their retreat, Vasya stood up. He didn’t follow. He saw what happened to the pig.

He saw what the others did.

He backed up. There was going to be a change of plans.

[Dr Adjective]

Suddenly Malachi was there, suddenly Kevin was yelling at him, god everything was a bit too fucking sudden for Charlotte's liking. She needed it to slow down. She needed to catch her breath. She needed...

...not to have her precarious train of thought entirely derailed by the sound of gunfire. Her nerves fried, Charlotte hit the deck, covering her head with her arms.

[Fiori]

"Nnnn... Nn-no ffuckin' way Ted, you know how I feel about hallucinogens" Eugene mumbles, gripping his chest tightly as he stumbled on the spot.

The gunshots send him thundering back to reality, slapping himself across the face and gasping for air. For a moment there he thought he was about to keel over and have a heart attack, but... No, it was beating in rhythm. Thank fuck for that, last way he'd want to go at a time like this.

He looked ahead of him, expecting to see the gunman telling them all to line up, Valentine Day Massacre style. Except... They were backing away? All of them, baton thugs included. They were... They were retreating! They had them on the run!

"C... C'mon, we... We gotta keep going!" he gasps, wheezing and dragging that chair along, trying to make some sense of the chaos around him. It was impossible to tell with all the blinking lights and sirens what was happening. He didn't see Jimmy get taken, or realise that Malachi and Vasya had given up the chase.

At this point, the only person who hadn't realised they'd already lost was him.

"We gottem now! C'mon guys, we... We have 'em on the ropes!"