((Megan Jacobson, continued from Let's Go to the Mall!))
Megan wasn't talking.
Talking was a nervous habit; a really terrible nervous habit. She used to bite her nails, and she used to twirl her hair, and sometimes she picked the nail polish off of her fingers, but usually she just talked. About nothing, about politics, about her emotions. Megan had a lot of emotions, and she didn't have a lot of filters.
Still, there were times when she didn't talk, or couldn't talk. She hated complaining about real things. Petty stuff was easy, because everyone complained about petty stuff. Oh, traffic sucks, and damn, why is coffee 4 bucks a cup these days? and can't Americans just shut up and get along? But Megan had a problem really telling people stuff. That hurts my feelings. I'm not a bitch, stop calling me that, it's not funny. I feel like I'm going insane. That stuff? That was hard stuff. Megan didn't like hard stuff. Megan liked jokes and stories and movies and TV shows. She liked the internet and coffee and diet coke. She liked history and politics and laughter and plays. She liked working and having goals and being in control. She didn't like feeling like everything was going to cave around her if she so much as breathed wrong.
So, yeah, the walk away from the mall really, really sucked.
But Sally was dead, and Nick had killed her, and now Nick was with Megan, and there was a collar around her throat and a taser in her pocket, and Megan just didn't have any more words. This was actually her life, and it was so beyond ridiculous that she had no way of really understanding it.
So, instead of talking, Megan thought.
And as she was thinking, someone else started talking. It took Megan a second to recognize that these were announcements- a lovely little list of the dead and killers. She'd tried to ignore them the first time around, and had done an okay job, but she didn't have words to cover them up this time.
There were a lot of names, but Megan focused on the important ones: Anthony had killed Sidney (the day earlier, Anthony, her Anthony), April had killed Ben (dog eat dog, friend kill friend, what's the fucking difference?), and Nick had killed Sally (I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm so so sorry).
It was a really shitty list and Megan hated it more than anything, ever.
But the announcements ended, and then there was silence. Megan's friends were dying, and her friends were killing, and she was watching people die, and it had been days already, and she was just so fucking tired.
So she sat down.
A glance around told her she was at what appeared to be a Helipad, but she didn't really care.
She stared at her hands, and then glanced back at Nick.
And god, why had she apologized to Sally? Sally was a fucking corpse, who gave a shit? Sally couldn't hear her, wouldn't care about Megan's petty apologies. Why hadn't Megan apologized to Nick?
Because Megan hadn't been talking, but she had been thinking, and she'd figured it out (sort of). This game was just Russian Roulette, after all. Sally had been forced to hold the gun to her head by the kidnappers, had pulled the trigger when she entered the hospital. Nick had been her bullet, had chased her to the Mall with the speed and power of gunpowder, had crashed through her skull with a piece of glass and a katana, had killed her and left her on the floor. That was it, wasn't it? It was all just dumb fucking luck. Where you went and who you met and who killed who- none of it was ever really in your hands. It was a thousand little pieces, a thousand strings of chaos theory or whatever, and it just so happened that Sally had died. But it could have been Nick. It could have been Megan. It could have been someone else. It was just luck that Sally was dead on the ground. Unlucky for Sally, lucky for everyone who wasn't her.
And the thing was, the really really awful thing was that Nick didn't know that. Nick couldn't live inside Megan's head and see that there was no way that this could have been his fault. Sure, he killed Sally. But if not him, then who? If Sally had lived, then what? Then she would have walked down a street and gotten hit by a car. She would have gotten sick and died in a hospital. She would have died, and the when and where and who and why was all just Russian Roulette.
Megan wanted to tell Nick that. She wanted to touch his face and tell him it wasn't his fault. She wanted to scream at him for fucking stabbing a girl, because who the fuck stabs a girl? She wanted to blame him, and she couldn't blame him, and she wanted him to think she blamed him, and she wanted him to know she'd forgiven him the second he'd vomited at the mall. She wanted to kill him. She didn't really want to kill him.
She wanted to say so much to Nick, but she couldn't fumble with her emotions or figure out how to use her words, so instead she croaked "Can we just sit for a while? I think...I think I'd like to sit. For a while." She cleared her throat pathetically, and stared at her hands, trying very hard not to think anymore.
it didn't work, though. In that moment, Megan thought that she'd never felt older than she did in this moment. It took her a second to realize that she had never been older than she was in this moment. And for some reason, that was just the funniest thing that Megan had ever heard.
She coughed out a few laughs, unable to stop herself from grinning. "I'm sorry!" she muttered, shaking her head. "It's not funny, none of this is funny, but-" she stopped, overcome with giggles. "This is actually our lives," she said through laughter. "This is actually our fucking lives! I mean, who writes this shit?" She laughed a bit harder, shaking her head, and laid out fully on the floor.
"Let's just sit for a while," she said, giggling still. "I think I need a minute not to totally lose my mind, you know?"
Will I Never Be Lonely Again?
-
Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Will I Never Be Lonely Again?
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 10:23 pm
((Nick Reid continued from Let's Go to the Mall!))
Nick trudged wearily along, his own thoughts echoing in the silence. He'd thought about killing himself to pass the time. Not that he really meant to do it. Not that he ever did. It was all just fantasy. He'd say something beautiful and profound, sneak off and shove the sword through his chest when Megan wasn't looking. And then she'd cry over his corpse and how she should have said or done something to save him. But she'd be too inspired not to win for his sake, and so she would, and he'd mean something to someone in the end. Not just something, in fact, but life itself. He'd mean everything, and nobody would ever forget him, and even Danya's shriveled heart would grow three sizes.
And then they stopped, and they were at what looked like a helipad, and Megan was suggesting that they take a seat.
"Mmm, yeah. Good idea," he croaked, voice coarse from disuse. He cleared his throat, but held his tongue for the moment, focusing instead on finding a good, dry spot on the ground. He dropped his bag onto the ground, holding the katana out to the side as he sat down roughly.
He stood up, resting the false edge of the sword on his shoulder, walking out and back again in a short line. He'd wanted nothing more than to stop and sit and let time drift on around him while they walked, but now that the option was there he couldn't bear the thought of relaxing for a second. He felt uneasy, unsettled even. And totally restless. Too restless to do anything but stand and pace out and back and out and back again.
Megan must have felt it, too, or something like it, because she'd started giggling like she'd gone mad, lying back and talking about how ridiculous it all was. Nick cracked a faint smile in spite of himself. He was glad, for once, to be talking with someone who was more or less a stranger to him. He'd hardly spoken to her before, and there wasn't any particular sort of attraction she held for him, on or off the island. But he had to feel there was a sort of bond there now, because they were experiencing Murderdeath Island together, and when it came down to it, they were just two human beings who were trying to live and had decided that sticking together was the best way to do it. And so she wasn't just talking for the sake of talking, and even if she was, it was really for something deeper, anyways. Comfort, stress relief, breaking the dull monotony of survival, whatever. The opportunity to speak his own mind was just icing on the cake.
"I'm down for chilling here a while. I think I know what you mean, though. How weird it all is. Surreal. I mean, three days ago, I totally was thinking, 'gee, in three days I'll probably be chilling with Megan Jacobson on some rock in the middle of the Pacific, we'll both have bombs strapped to our necks and I'll have blood covering my jeans, and half the people on the bus there will have been murdered by other other half."
Out, back.
"'Oh, and one of them is because of me.'"
Nick trudged wearily along, his own thoughts echoing in the silence. He'd thought about killing himself to pass the time. Not that he really meant to do it. Not that he ever did. It was all just fantasy. He'd say something beautiful and profound, sneak off and shove the sword through his chest when Megan wasn't looking. And then she'd cry over his corpse and how she should have said or done something to save him. But she'd be too inspired not to win for his sake, and so she would, and he'd mean something to someone in the end. Not just something, in fact, but life itself. He'd mean everything, and nobody would ever forget him, and even Danya's shriveled heart would grow three sizes.
And then they stopped, and they were at what looked like a helipad, and Megan was suggesting that they take a seat.
"Mmm, yeah. Good idea," he croaked, voice coarse from disuse. He cleared his throat, but held his tongue for the moment, focusing instead on finding a good, dry spot on the ground. He dropped his bag onto the ground, holding the katana out to the side as he sat down roughly.
He stood up, resting the false edge of the sword on his shoulder, walking out and back again in a short line. He'd wanted nothing more than to stop and sit and let time drift on around him while they walked, but now that the option was there he couldn't bear the thought of relaxing for a second. He felt uneasy, unsettled even. And totally restless. Too restless to do anything but stand and pace out and back and out and back again.
Megan must have felt it, too, or something like it, because she'd started giggling like she'd gone mad, lying back and talking about how ridiculous it all was. Nick cracked a faint smile in spite of himself. He was glad, for once, to be talking with someone who was more or less a stranger to him. He'd hardly spoken to her before, and there wasn't any particular sort of attraction she held for him, on or off the island. But he had to feel there was a sort of bond there now, because they were experiencing Murderdeath Island together, and when it came down to it, they were just two human beings who were trying to live and had decided that sticking together was the best way to do it. And so she wasn't just talking for the sake of talking, and even if she was, it was really for something deeper, anyways. Comfort, stress relief, breaking the dull monotony of survival, whatever. The opportunity to speak his own mind was just icing on the cake.
"I'm down for chilling here a while. I think I know what you mean, though. How weird it all is. Surreal. I mean, three days ago, I totally was thinking, 'gee, in three days I'll probably be chilling with Megan Jacobson on some rock in the middle of the Pacific, we'll both have bombs strapped to our necks and I'll have blood covering my jeans, and half the people on the bus there will have been murdered by other other half."
Out, back.
"'Oh, and one of them is because of me.'"
[April Stone, continued from May Flowers.]
April emerged from the jungle in a daze. She had very little recollection of the past series of unfortunate events, which was probably for the best, aside from the fact she was now covered in blood- thankfully her own- and dirt, and that blood was slowly trickling down her back from several hopefully shallow cuts. She trailed her right leg behind her and winced from the throbbing pain with every step she took. What had she done to her ankle? It was pretty obvious at that point that it was more injured than April had initially suspected. It was twisted, if not sprained, and it was enough to make tears fall down April’s face, as she felt she had crippled her chances of winning.
That was the first thing April had admitted to herself. She knew, right from the start of the game, that as the sickly vegan girl, her chances of winning were incredibly slim. She knew right from the start that luck was never on her side, even if she always said that luck was for losers and she never believed in the giant die in the sky telling everyone when it was their time to go. She preferred her death to be a hot Goth chick with an umbrella, really. However, she was rambling. April paused, put her weight on her good leg, and breathed in the fresh air. She could hardly breathe in the jungle, between the humidity and the heat. It felt good, and went a long way to making her feel a bit better about herself.
April hobbled ahead, though she earnestly tried to mask her injury as much as possible, when she spotted two of her classmates sat at the base of the helipad. This is the closest I have come to human interaction in the better part of a day, April thought. Well, when I wasn’t shooting at people.
She was all set to raise her gun and add two more bodies to her tally, too, when she saw a flash of glasses and black hair that could only have been one of her school mates. Megan? She wondered. April was surprised to see her on the island, even if they had boarded the coach together. Megan Jacobson wasn’t incredibly high on the list of names April suspected to see this far into the game. Then again, neither was April Stone.
Or April Elise Stone. Depended on whether they thought her middle name was too pretentious.
She kept her gun in the waistband of her pants, despite her better judgement, and hobbled over to see who Megan was sat next to. Nick Reid, April remembered. He was a lanky kid who was pretty smart, and April didn’t think he posed much threat to her besides the huge size advantage. But, then again, April’s judgement was clouded by the fact she had a gun. It was a pretty big ego boost.
Cautiously making her way over, April sighed and began to speak.
“Oh my God, we look like shit.” She said, playing it as casual as possible. “Well, I probably do more than you guys.”
She added something she immediately regretted.
“This is going to sound incredibly weird but does anyone have a spare shirt?” She paused, and shook her head. “Long story.”
April emerged from the jungle in a daze. She had very little recollection of the past series of unfortunate events, which was probably for the best, aside from the fact she was now covered in blood- thankfully her own- and dirt, and that blood was slowly trickling down her back from several hopefully shallow cuts. She trailed her right leg behind her and winced from the throbbing pain with every step she took. What had she done to her ankle? It was pretty obvious at that point that it was more injured than April had initially suspected. It was twisted, if not sprained, and it was enough to make tears fall down April’s face, as she felt she had crippled her chances of winning.
That was the first thing April had admitted to herself. She knew, right from the start of the game, that as the sickly vegan girl, her chances of winning were incredibly slim. She knew right from the start that luck was never on her side, even if she always said that luck was for losers and she never believed in the giant die in the sky telling everyone when it was their time to go. She preferred her death to be a hot Goth chick with an umbrella, really. However, she was rambling. April paused, put her weight on her good leg, and breathed in the fresh air. She could hardly breathe in the jungle, between the humidity and the heat. It felt good, and went a long way to making her feel a bit better about herself.
April hobbled ahead, though she earnestly tried to mask her injury as much as possible, when she spotted two of her classmates sat at the base of the helipad. This is the closest I have come to human interaction in the better part of a day, April thought. Well, when I wasn’t shooting at people.
She was all set to raise her gun and add two more bodies to her tally, too, when she saw a flash of glasses and black hair that could only have been one of her school mates. Megan? She wondered. April was surprised to see her on the island, even if they had boarded the coach together. Megan Jacobson wasn’t incredibly high on the list of names April suspected to see this far into the game. Then again, neither was April Stone.
Or April Elise Stone. Depended on whether they thought her middle name was too pretentious.
She kept her gun in the waistband of her pants, despite her better judgement, and hobbled over to see who Megan was sat next to. Nick Reid, April remembered. He was a lanky kid who was pretty smart, and April didn’t think he posed much threat to her besides the huge size advantage. But, then again, April’s judgement was clouded by the fact she had a gun. It was a pretty big ego boost.
Cautiously making her way over, April sighed and began to speak.
“Oh my God, we look like shit.” She said, playing it as casual as possible. “Well, I probably do more than you guys.”
She added something she immediately regretted.
“This is going to sound incredibly weird but does anyone have a spare shirt?” She paused, and shook her head. “Long story.”
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Macha.
-
Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Megan stared up at Nick with a weird mix of sympathy and gut-wrenching fear. It wasn't enough, she hadn't said enough to make him understand. But then again, she had it easy- she hadn't gone around stabbing people, after all. Still, there was something inside of Nick that would never forget stabbing Sally Connelly, and Megan couldn't get rid of it no matter how hard she tried.
She counted it as a victory that, at the very least, she and Nick were on the same page. This whole thing was surreal. A few days ago Megan was rolling her eyes at Sally Connelly in class, and now Sally's blood was staining the edges of Megan's jeans.
Fucking weird, is what that was.
Megan shrugged, at a loss for words and uncomfortable with silence. She had to make it better, but this wasn't a thing she could make better. She felt utterly lost. "I don't know what happens, now," she admitted. "I think this is the part where we have a glorious heart to heart or some shit? I pick you up and hug you tight and tell you everything's gonna be okay? But, like, fuck that man." Megan sat up, pulling at the dirt with her fingers. She wasn't angry, or bitter, or even sad. She sort of felt like she was floating in a weird, surreal state of total-utter-freak out. "I mean, things aren't just going to be okay, you know?. Nothing ever just is okay. You make things okay, for yourself. You pick yourself up and push yourself forward." She shrugged again. "That's living. That's surviving. " Megan scrubbed a hand through her hair. "But that's easy for me to say. I didn't stab a girl."
She turned to Nick, filled with pity and hate and a bunch of other really stupid, unnameable emotions. "It's dumb, though. Living." Megan felt bitter tears sting in her throat. "It's fucking stupid. But we do it anyway, we put up with our shitty lives and our shitty school and our shitty shit because," Megan stopped short, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. "Because the alternative is a whole lot scarier, you know?" Megan buried her face in her hands, before looking up to meet Nick's eye. "I don't want you to die," Megan said quietly. She wasn't entirely sure why, but it felt important, somehow.
After a moment, Megan heard a rustling. Looking up, she saw- shit, April?
"You look like shit," Megan barked with a blunt, startled laugh.
"I think I have a spare shirt." She held up the semi-ruined H&M sweater that Sally had grabbed her, and tried not to think about Sally at all. "This'll do?"
Megan raked her eyes over the other girl, a bit too afraid to ask what had happened. Still, she felt a little relieved, like she could breathe easier. Like she'd gotten something off of her chest.
"So," said Megan, too casually, like she didn't already know the answer. "Rough day at the office, sweetheart?"
She counted it as a victory that, at the very least, she and Nick were on the same page. This whole thing was surreal. A few days ago Megan was rolling her eyes at Sally Connelly in class, and now Sally's blood was staining the edges of Megan's jeans.
Fucking weird, is what that was.
Megan shrugged, at a loss for words and uncomfortable with silence. She had to make it better, but this wasn't a thing she could make better. She felt utterly lost. "I don't know what happens, now," she admitted. "I think this is the part where we have a glorious heart to heart or some shit? I pick you up and hug you tight and tell you everything's gonna be okay? But, like, fuck that man." Megan sat up, pulling at the dirt with her fingers. She wasn't angry, or bitter, or even sad. She sort of felt like she was floating in a weird, surreal state of total-utter-freak out. "I mean, things aren't just going to be okay, you know?. Nothing ever just is okay. You make things okay, for yourself. You pick yourself up and push yourself forward." She shrugged again. "That's living. That's surviving. " Megan scrubbed a hand through her hair. "But that's easy for me to say. I didn't stab a girl."
She turned to Nick, filled with pity and hate and a bunch of other really stupid, unnameable emotions. "It's dumb, though. Living." Megan felt bitter tears sting in her throat. "It's fucking stupid. But we do it anyway, we put up with our shitty lives and our shitty school and our shitty shit because," Megan stopped short, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. "Because the alternative is a whole lot scarier, you know?" Megan buried her face in her hands, before looking up to meet Nick's eye. "I don't want you to die," Megan said quietly. She wasn't entirely sure why, but it felt important, somehow.
After a moment, Megan heard a rustling. Looking up, she saw- shit, April?
"You look like shit," Megan barked with a blunt, startled laugh.
"I think I have a spare shirt." She held up the semi-ruined H&M sweater that Sally had grabbed her, and tried not to think about Sally at all. "This'll do?"
Megan raked her eyes over the other girl, a bit too afraid to ask what had happened. Still, she felt a little relieved, like she could breathe easier. Like she'd gotten something off of her chest.
"So," said Megan, too casually, like she didn't already know the answer. "Rough day at the office, sweetheart?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
(Adam Reeves continued from Pursuit, quick placeholder until I get home.)
Adam arrived somewhere in the vicinity of the helipad.
Adam arrived somewhere in the vicinity of the helipad.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
“Yeah, that should do it.” April said, unzipping her jacket and pulling the sweater over herself. It was too big for her, but she was beyond caring. She looked up at Megan and smiled. “Thanks.”
She shouldered her bag and slumped down across from the two. Megan asked her what had happened, and April debated whether or not to lie. In the end, she sighed and tried honesty.
“I fell down a hill,” She said, sighing. “And I got attacked, by Ben Latimer. He swung this big hammer at me, I panicked, my hand slipped- and, uh, now he’s dead. Because of me.”
She looked down, and choked back tears. The moral here, April decided, was that ‘trying’ varied from person to person. She had shot Ben, plain and simple, but Megan didn’t need to know that, and the longer she could keep an ally, the better. Hopefully, Nick would fall for it too.
Then, the announcements sounded off, and April sprang to her feet. They listed off Dougal as having fell to his death, but she was credited with the assist. Damn it, she thought. She had to make sure they were too distracted to process it. Then the place was mentioned as a danger zone. Perfect, just what she needed. She sprang to her feet, and yelled.
“We gotta go!” She shouted, shouldering her pack. “Seriously, Megs, Nick. Someone call Kenny Loggins cause you’re in the Dangerzone.”
And then she started to run, and hoped they’d follow.
[April Stone, continued in This One Goes Out to the One I Left Behind.]
She shouldered her bag and slumped down across from the two. Megan asked her what had happened, and April debated whether or not to lie. In the end, she sighed and tried honesty.
“I fell down a hill,” She said, sighing. “And I got attacked, by Ben Latimer. He swung this big hammer at me, I panicked, my hand slipped- and, uh, now he’s dead. Because of me.”
She looked down, and choked back tears. The moral here, April decided, was that ‘trying’ varied from person to person. She had shot Ben, plain and simple, but Megan didn’t need to know that, and the longer she could keep an ally, the better. Hopefully, Nick would fall for it too.
Then, the announcements sounded off, and April sprang to her feet. They listed off Dougal as having fell to his death, but she was credited with the assist. Damn it, she thought. She had to make sure they were too distracted to process it. Then the place was mentioned as a danger zone. Perfect, just what she needed. She sprang to her feet, and yelled.
“We gotta go!” She shouted, shouldering her pack. “Seriously, Megs, Nick. Someone call Kenny Loggins cause you’re in the Dangerzone.”
And then she started to run, and hoped they’d follow.
[April Stone, continued in This One Goes Out to the One I Left Behind.]
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Macha.
-
Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
Megan smiled back at April, trying to force away the awful feeling in her chest.
So, yeah, right, April had killed someone. April had killed Ben. That was Not a Good Thing.
It just also wasn't something Megan was particularly adept at talking about.
Megan listened to April's story, nodding as the other girl finished. It sounded...it sounded stupid and awful and horrendous. The idea that Ben had tried to kill April was not only completely and utterly bizarre, it was also not entire implausible. Not anymore.
But it didn't sound exactly right. Megan was pretty sure they said how April had killed Ben in the announcements, but she hadn't exactly been listening very closely. Still...why would April be credited with Ben if he died on accident? She frowned at April.
Jesus, what even did it matter? Ben was dead either way, and April was here, and if April was going to shoot Megan she probably would have done it already. And there was no point in assuming April was lying if Megan couldn't remember the announcement, right?
Right. Probably.
Before Megan could say anything in response to April, however, the announcements came back with a vengeance.
"After all, April Stone also got another mark to her name, shooting dead Augustus MacDougal."
Wait, what the hell? Megan leapt to her feet, spinning to stare at April. She had to have heard that wrong, right?
Or...or had that been what happened to Ben, too?
"April Stone started us off by shooting Benjamin Latimer dead. I don't think he even realized what happened before he hit the floor."
Megan scowled, and opened her mouth to demand some answers when-
"Jennifer Steinman showed up once again, managing to stab Anthony Rollins to death with a machete."
"Anthony?" Megan tore her eyes away from April, choosing instead to stare at some vague point on the ground.
Anthony was dead? Anthony Rollins? Her Anthony? Anthony with the camera, who made Megan's stupid YouTube videos and who let Megan steal his fries? Who made fun of her for drinking too much Diet Coke and rolled his eyes at their Math teacher and who met Megan blow for blow and laugh for laugh? He was dead? He was fucking dead?
Megan blinked slowly. That was it, then. She was dead now. That was it.
Because, okay, maybe Megan hadn't really ever thought about it, but there were a lot of things she would never do again, weren't there? She would never make a stupid movie again. She'd never get to read another Vonnegut novel. She'd never get to sit with Anthony in her basement and play drinking games while watching terrible movies. She'd never get to rewatch Giant Shark vs. Mega Octopus! She'd never get to have another Diet Coke! She'd never get to see her Mom or her Dad or watch football or chew bubblegum or any of that shit.
And even if she lived, she would still be dead, because there'd be no more Ben and no more Anthony and no more April. There'd be no more sitting at Shooters annoying the waitresses and talking about nothing. What was left, after that? What happened to Megan if she didn't have her friends anymore? What would be left of her?
Goodbye Grovers Corners, she thought bitterly.
April was yelling, saying that they were in a Dangerzone and making a really shitty Top Gun reference in one breath. She told Megan to follow, but Megan couldn't. Because Anthony was dead! Her Anthony, her best friend, her boy, he was gone! How was Megan supposed to fucking move? A part of her said that she should just sit down and take it. Let her collar blow, and let her go into the darkness, because how was she supposed to move
Megan closed her eyes and counted to five slowly, before reopening them.
"Yeah, no, fuck this dying shit." She grabbed her bag, clenching her teeth. "I've still got some fucking questions that need some fucking answers, and I am not going to lay down and fucking die because of this stupid fucking game that keeps killing my stupid fucking friends!" She took a shuddering breath, straightening her posture. "I am not dead yet. I am not dead yet."
With that, she took off after April.
((Megan Jacobson, continued in This One Goes Out to the One I Left Behind))
So, yeah, right, April had killed someone. April had killed Ben. That was Not a Good Thing.
It just also wasn't something Megan was particularly adept at talking about.
Megan listened to April's story, nodding as the other girl finished. It sounded...it sounded stupid and awful and horrendous. The idea that Ben had tried to kill April was not only completely and utterly bizarre, it was also not entire implausible. Not anymore.
But it didn't sound exactly right. Megan was pretty sure they said how April had killed Ben in the announcements, but she hadn't exactly been listening very closely. Still...why would April be credited with Ben if he died on accident? She frowned at April.
Jesus, what even did it matter? Ben was dead either way, and April was here, and if April was going to shoot Megan she probably would have done it already. And there was no point in assuming April was lying if Megan couldn't remember the announcement, right?
Right. Probably.
Before Megan could say anything in response to April, however, the announcements came back with a vengeance.
"After all, April Stone also got another mark to her name, shooting dead Augustus MacDougal."
Wait, what the hell? Megan leapt to her feet, spinning to stare at April. She had to have heard that wrong, right?
Or...or had that been what happened to Ben, too?
"April Stone started us off by shooting Benjamin Latimer dead. I don't think he even realized what happened before he hit the floor."
Megan scowled, and opened her mouth to demand some answers when-
"Jennifer Steinman showed up once again, managing to stab Anthony Rollins to death with a machete."
"Anthony?" Megan tore her eyes away from April, choosing instead to stare at some vague point on the ground.
Anthony was dead? Anthony Rollins? Her Anthony? Anthony with the camera, who made Megan's stupid YouTube videos and who let Megan steal his fries? Who made fun of her for drinking too much Diet Coke and rolled his eyes at their Math teacher and who met Megan blow for blow and laugh for laugh? He was dead? He was fucking dead?
Megan blinked slowly. That was it, then. She was dead now. That was it.
Because, okay, maybe Megan hadn't really ever thought about it, but there were a lot of things she would never do again, weren't there? She would never make a stupid movie again. She'd never get to read another Vonnegut novel. She'd never get to sit with Anthony in her basement and play drinking games while watching terrible movies. She'd never get to rewatch Giant Shark vs. Mega Octopus! She'd never get to have another Diet Coke! She'd never get to see her Mom or her Dad or watch football or chew bubblegum or any of that shit.
And even if she lived, she would still be dead, because there'd be no more Ben and no more Anthony and no more April. There'd be no more sitting at Shooters annoying the waitresses and talking about nothing. What was left, after that? What happened to Megan if she didn't have her friends anymore? What would be left of her?
Goodbye Grovers Corners, she thought bitterly.
April was yelling, saying that they were in a Dangerzone and making a really shitty Top Gun reference in one breath. She told Megan to follow, but Megan couldn't. Because Anthony was dead! Her Anthony, her best friend, her boy, he was gone! How was Megan supposed to fucking move? A part of her said that she should just sit down and take it. Let her collar blow, and let her go into the darkness, because how was she supposed to move
Megan closed her eyes and counted to five slowly, before reopening them.
"Yeah, no, fuck this dying shit." She grabbed her bag, clenching her teeth. "I've still got some fucking questions that need some fucking answers, and I am not going to lay down and fucking die because of this stupid fucking game that keeps killing my stupid fucking friends!" She took a shuddering breath, straightening her posture. "I am not dead yet. I am not dead yet."
With that, she took off after April.
((Megan Jacobson, continued in This One Goes Out to the One I Left Behind))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
-
Rattlesnake
- Posts: 190
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 10:23 pm
Nick looked intently at Megan as she spoke, considering her words, taking in everything she had to say. Especially the last bit. She didn't want him to die. He was struck by the kindness, the heart-melting sincerity of the phrasing. She didn't want him to die. He didn't know how to respond to that, even if she hadn't already covered everything that was on his mind. And he didn't have the chance, because as soon as she was done speaking, a girl came bounding towards them, a girl who looked more torn and ragged even than they did. And said as much.
He returned to his thoughts. To live... that was what he was so restless. There was a great, big, wide world out there, and he just wanted to live in it. Really live. Not stumble around half-asleep, letting fear and depression eat away at his mind and body like some caustic spill within his mind. And that's what he was doing. Living. Walking around, discussing the important issues in life, seeing the world. He almost laughed. He really was seeing the world, wasn't he? He was, he realized, more than likely the furthest he'd ever been from home. And probably the furthest he'd ever be.
And yet - the thought struck him. He wasn't doing enough. He wasn't really living yet, was he? He was wandering around outside, and... well, just wandering around. He wanted to do something, something big, something important, and the time was slipping by so frighteningly fast. And then suddenly, he knew what exactly it was that he wanted to do.
But how to divide the just from the unjust, the killers from the murderers? The announcements wouldn't help, not that much. They were... well, not inaccurate, he supposed, but they didn't tell the whole story. They lied, but with lies of omission rather than commission. Although, he thought, recalling his own murder kill, their host did have a knack for folding in significant detail. But he hadn't exactly painted the entire scene. The hostage situation, or whatever it really was. Nick's foolish overeagerness to rush headlong into a situation he hadn't fully explored. Sally's fervent hatred, her heart-wrenchingly sincere glee at his demise. The sickening sound of rattling breath, the bitter taste in his throat, the pungent smell of iron, the soft, warm wetness of blood caressing his knees, the surreal, morbidly captivating sight of blood and vomit swirling smoothly together. His stomach lurched, and not because of his memories. There were people out there who had done it on purpose, had made someone else stop living and not regretted it. It was enough to go through it all one time, but more than that...
Two kills. Two kills, and they've signed their own warrant.
He looked at Megan, looked at April, tried to find a way to voice his decision, some natural flow of words that would segue neatly into a declaration of intent to kill. Yet even if that particular turn of conversation had been anything less than painfully fleeting, there was something else that bound Nick's tongue. April. She was a killer, she admitted it, and there was no use trying to hide it because it had been announced loud and clear. She hadn't killed twice, though. That he knew of. But maybe she had, or maybe she felt guilt, or maybe she'd even killed in cold blood and deserved a deeper cut than the foliage had provided anyways. It was awkward to say the least. But all the same, he felt like a nervous kindergartener too scared to ask the teacher for a bathroom break. Except, he considered, teachers weren't known for gunning down their pupils in response and going to the bathroom never shattered the only civility they'd been able to find. He fretted momentarily, and then everything suddenly spiraled further into chaos.
April Stone. Confirmed double murderer. And that wasn't all. Adam Reeves, Jennifer Steinman, Karl Chalmers, all responsible for multiple deaths, and not pretty ones from the sound of it. They'd killed, and then they'd killed again. On purpose. Sure, the fat man had laid down killing as a prerequisite for going home, and calling his bluff was a bit high-stakes to be reasonable, but after that...? What, had they gotten carried away or something? It wasn't like self-defense was an issue. Nobody was hunting them down and simply gotten in over their heads. The irony would be too delicious to escape notice on the announcements, he was sure of that. And he doubted anyone was going around attacking anyone with a kill to their name. Hell, nobody was doing anything about people with two, or three, or four, or however many Jennifer was up to now. They were moving freely, beating and shooting and terrifying whomever they pleased, and nobody had dared to turn the tables on them, track them and kill them like the animals they were.
Until now.
But now was confusing, hectic, with yelling and running and far too much to think about. They were in a danger zone, and who even was Kenny Loggins anyways, and he was looking around in confusion while three names bounced around his head and a fourth bounded across the helipad. He knew their names well enough, could imagine their faces if he tried, unless he happened to mentally swap two Jennifers or something. He knew them all as well as he needed, though. They were people, were people but not anymore, students he'd shared three, six, twelve years of schooling with. Even if he hadn't, of course, the dirt and blood and guns would probably have tipped him off anyways. But the thing was, the most important thing that spiked the confusion into a full-blown dilemma, was that he didn't have to imagine one of them now. There was no mistaking that hulking frame, that dark, shaggy hair and admittedly impressive beard.
"Wait a sec, I just..." he called out feebly, but April and Megan were already running. He picked up his bag, thought to give chase, but there was a sword in his hand, and his feet were already carrying him away from them.
Beep.
Oh, Hell.
He teetered on the brink, gauging distances, knuckles whitening over the grip of his sword.
Beep. Beep.
His target took off running. He tore himself out of his stupor, flinging himself after him, breaking into a sprint to clear the boundary in time.
((Nick Reid continued in Murder on the Midday Wire))
He returned to his thoughts. To live... that was what he was so restless. There was a great, big, wide world out there, and he just wanted to live in it. Really live. Not stumble around half-asleep, letting fear and depression eat away at his mind and body like some caustic spill within his mind. And that's what he was doing. Living. Walking around, discussing the important issues in life, seeing the world. He almost laughed. He really was seeing the world, wasn't he? He was, he realized, more than likely the furthest he'd ever been from home. And probably the furthest he'd ever be.
And yet - the thought struck him. He wasn't doing enough. He wasn't really living yet, was he? He was wandering around outside, and... well, just wandering around. He wanted to do something, something big, something important, and the time was slipping by so frighteningly fast. And then suddenly, he knew what exactly it was that he wanted to do.
But how to divide the just from the unjust, the killers from the murderers? The announcements wouldn't help, not that much. They were... well, not inaccurate, he supposed, but they didn't tell the whole story. They lied, but with lies of omission rather than commission. Although, he thought, recalling his own murder kill, their host did have a knack for folding in significant detail. But he hadn't exactly painted the entire scene. The hostage situation, or whatever it really was. Nick's foolish overeagerness to rush headlong into a situation he hadn't fully explored. Sally's fervent hatred, her heart-wrenchingly sincere glee at his demise. The sickening sound of rattling breath, the bitter taste in his throat, the pungent smell of iron, the soft, warm wetness of blood caressing his knees, the surreal, morbidly captivating sight of blood and vomit swirling smoothly together. His stomach lurched, and not because of his memories. There were people out there who had done it on purpose, had made someone else stop living and not regretted it. It was enough to go through it all one time, but more than that...
Two kills. Two kills, and they've signed their own warrant.
He looked at Megan, looked at April, tried to find a way to voice his decision, some natural flow of words that would segue neatly into a declaration of intent to kill. Yet even if that particular turn of conversation had been anything less than painfully fleeting, there was something else that bound Nick's tongue. April. She was a killer, she admitted it, and there was no use trying to hide it because it had been announced loud and clear. She hadn't killed twice, though. That he knew of. But maybe she had, or maybe she felt guilt, or maybe she'd even killed in cold blood and deserved a deeper cut than the foliage had provided anyways. It was awkward to say the least. But all the same, he felt like a nervous kindergartener too scared to ask the teacher for a bathroom break. Except, he considered, teachers weren't known for gunning down their pupils in response and going to the bathroom never shattered the only civility they'd been able to find. He fretted momentarily, and then everything suddenly spiraled further into chaos.
April Stone. Confirmed double murderer. And that wasn't all. Adam Reeves, Jennifer Steinman, Karl Chalmers, all responsible for multiple deaths, and not pretty ones from the sound of it. They'd killed, and then they'd killed again. On purpose. Sure, the fat man had laid down killing as a prerequisite for going home, and calling his bluff was a bit high-stakes to be reasonable, but after that...? What, had they gotten carried away or something? It wasn't like self-defense was an issue. Nobody was hunting them down and simply gotten in over their heads. The irony would be too delicious to escape notice on the announcements, he was sure of that. And he doubted anyone was going around attacking anyone with a kill to their name. Hell, nobody was doing anything about people with two, or three, or four, or however many Jennifer was up to now. They were moving freely, beating and shooting and terrifying whomever they pleased, and nobody had dared to turn the tables on them, track them and kill them like the animals they were.
Until now.
But now was confusing, hectic, with yelling and running and far too much to think about. They were in a danger zone, and who even was Kenny Loggins anyways, and he was looking around in confusion while three names bounced around his head and a fourth bounded across the helipad. He knew their names well enough, could imagine their faces if he tried, unless he happened to mentally swap two Jennifers or something. He knew them all as well as he needed, though. They were people, were people but not anymore, students he'd shared three, six, twelve years of schooling with. Even if he hadn't, of course, the dirt and blood and guns would probably have tipped him off anyways. But the thing was, the most important thing that spiked the confusion into a full-blown dilemma, was that he didn't have to imagine one of them now. There was no mistaking that hulking frame, that dark, shaggy hair and admittedly impressive beard.
"Wait a sec, I just..." he called out feebly, but April and Megan were already running. He picked up his bag, thought to give chase, but there was a sword in his hand, and his feet were already carrying him away from them.
Beep.
Oh, Hell.
He teetered on the brink, gauging distances, knuckles whitening over the grip of his sword.
Beep. Beep.
His target took off running. He tore himself out of his stupor, flinging himself after him, breaking into a sprint to clear the boundary in time.
((Nick Reid continued in Murder on the Midday Wire))
Well, there it was. The announcement rang out, and what he'd done was known to all. Partly. Danya either didn't know Husher's fate or didn't want to say.
Maybe for the best. The bastard even kept the scene of the crime a danger zone, drawing a low mirthless chuckle.
Humour that left him when his collar began to beep. Karma clearly decided the best way to deal with him was dropping another DZ right on top of him. He swore and grabbed his things, heading into the treeline. There were footsteps behind him, but no time to do much about it.
He had to find somewhere he could ready himself, for whatever agent of justice felt like coming his way.
(Continued in Murder on the Midday Wire)
Maybe for the best. The bastard even kept the scene of the crime a danger zone, drawing a low mirthless chuckle.
Humour that left him when his collar began to beep. Karma clearly decided the best way to deal with him was dropping another DZ right on top of him. He swore and grabbed his things, heading into the treeline. There were footsteps behind him, but no time to do much about it.
He had to find somewhere he could ready himself, for whatever agent of justice felt like coming his way.
(Continued in Murder on the Midday Wire)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.