[[Garritt Baker Continued From: It's Cold Outside, But I Have Nowhere To Go .]]
Lost. Alone. Helpless. Scared.
Garritt wiped the trickle from his eyes onto the sleeve of the oversized camouflaged onesie, clearly meant for someone the size of Caleb, as he continued rocking back and forth in his fetal sitting position at the base of another pine tree. It had been a few hours since he last encountered Clara, using most of his time hiding in a tiny space between a few boulders and dense foliage instead of constantly tiring himself out by non-stop running. Eventually it became dark so he wouldn't need to stay hidden anymore as the lack of light in combination with the camo-onesie would conceal him, if he was extra careful.
He had decided to wear the onesie and every other piece of clothing he had available to keep as warm as he could when the chill of night air in the alpine region hit a new peak and washed through the valley. The onesie was warm, but not warm enough for him out here in these conditions. He had never been out in the wilderness. He hated camping or any sort of outdoorsy activity really. Now he wished he had some experience of his own. Garritt was so sheltered his whole life that he simply had no idea how to handle something like this by himself. He always had his brother, his close acquaintances and friends to back him up. But there was no one to help him this time.
Nope, this time he was on his own.
The Program's first announcement cracked onto some hidden speakers spread throughout the valley and Garritt listened on. Even then the usual humorous banter that the guy speaking would do for these Program Announcements couldn't cheer him up. Watching The Program back in the comfort of his own house whenever an announcement came on never failed to make Garritt laugh. Of course, actually being in The Program changed his perspective. Things were different this time. It felt sinister.
Caleb's death at the hands of that seemingly omniscient, Mexi-Ho-Bitch Clara was announced. The mere mention of both of their names brought horrible memories to Garritt's mind. He felt sort of awful taking Caleb's onesie off his corpse like that, but Garritt felt justified in thinking that at least it was in the hands of he, a REAL American rather than some wetback motherfucker only American in name.
Yeah, Fuck her. I am a Real American!
It made him feel a little bit better to think that way, but the rest of the deaths proved that there were more than just Clara killing people. Everyone who died so far was a White American. Aside from Clara, there was Dylan, the ugly Negro-American-Wannabe who even scored the very first kill. Garritt always knew she was a damn spy who couldn't be trusted acting like she was 'one of them' and thankfully she showed her true colors early, before anyone else could fall for her big black (nigger colored) lies. Fuck her too!
The last killer was some person whose name he didn't quite catch, Pounds or something. Now he wasn't sure who that was, but he was sure this fellow was some Un-American piece of crap, as well. Probably fat too.
The announcement ended and soon the whole forest was quiet again. The eerie calm unsettled Garritt and he could only shiver in dead air, clutching his crowbar with his arms around his knees. He had to find allies even temporary, maybe even find a better place to hide out for the evening sheltered from the cold winds.
But how could he do any of that when he couldn't even find his way out of this damn forest? Truth: he couldn't. Garritt knew he was trapped, lost in the middle of the woods all alone, freezing, in the midst of the Program. He was going to die like a wimp out here and it wasn't fair.
Why? Why me? Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I-I miss my family, I miss my mom. I wanna go home.
Garritt Baker rested his face over his knees and wept in silence, thinking about home. He had never really appreciated his mother's pampering until now, when he needed her most. When everything he thought was so readily available was taken away. He zipped the onesie hood on his head and shook away his sorrow.
No-No-NO.
Not gonna cry here like some fag. Gotta take a stand, it don't help to hide. Gotta be a man, can't let it slide.
"I am a Real American," Garritt whispered to himself over and over again.
Real American
Open Thread
((Chris Brooks continued from A Moment of Reprise))
Chis had lost track of time, not that it made much of a difference in the end since everything looked the same anyway. He and Alex had decided to head into the treeline after leaving the ruin for the night. It had ended up being a good idea and a bad idea. It was a good idea because they had yet to meet anyone which was part of their plan, avoid unnecessary contact with other people. It had worked against them in that it was hard to see anything, even with a flashlight. That said it was still the safest place to be, unless someone set the whole forest alight of course.
Chris munched on the saltine in his mouth as he continued walking. He'd needed to eat a little just to keep his hunger at bay, he hadn't dared try to open one of his ration packs in case he ended with it scattered across the floor. The whole snacking idea would have been easier if Maxim hadn't shot his bread though. As it was he had put his only remaining pack of saltines in the pouch of his hoodie for easy access. That idea had paid off for him so far.
The thing that was really killing Chris however was the boredom. It was the last thing he'd expected but they'd been walking around for god knows how long and nothing was happening. Chris was sure that nothing happening was a good thing since that meant they weren't in a fight or getting shot at or having any of the other things that could possibly happen to them in the Program actually...well happen. That said he was incredibly bored of walking through the pines. Everything looked the same and he was sure they'd look the same during the day as well, the only difference being he would be able to see where he was going. For some reason though he was bored and wanted something to happen, that probably reflected badly on his mental state but Chris couldn't shake it off.
Luckily for Chris his boredom was ended when the beam of his torch caught a weird shape at the base of a tree. The other thing that caught his eye was that it had one of those camouflage patterns that you'd see on clothes, so Chris was doubtful that it was natural.
Chris turned his flashlight off before holding up a hand to signal Alex. "Looks like there's someone over by that tree." He whispered while pointing at the figure to show Alex what he was talking about. "It seems safe enough but I just wanted to give you a heads ups. See what you wanted to do."
Chris didn't exactly see the person as much of a threat. After all it looked like they had been assigned a camouflage blanket or something similar as their weapon. So unless they had managed to steal a gun or something equally dangerous off of someone and were waiting to ambush the first person to walk past...which seemed highly unlikely if you actually gave it serious thought. He and Alex would have nothing to fear from the person; of course if they decided to try and talk to them they would have to find a way to greet them without scaring the life out of them.
"I reckon we should just try to talk to them calmly y'know? Try not to scare them shitless."
Chis had lost track of time, not that it made much of a difference in the end since everything looked the same anyway. He and Alex had decided to head into the treeline after leaving the ruin for the night. It had ended up being a good idea and a bad idea. It was a good idea because they had yet to meet anyone which was part of their plan, avoid unnecessary contact with other people. It had worked against them in that it was hard to see anything, even with a flashlight. That said it was still the safest place to be, unless someone set the whole forest alight of course.
Chris munched on the saltine in his mouth as he continued walking. He'd needed to eat a little just to keep his hunger at bay, he hadn't dared try to open one of his ration packs in case he ended with it scattered across the floor. The whole snacking idea would have been easier if Maxim hadn't shot his bread though. As it was he had put his only remaining pack of saltines in the pouch of his hoodie for easy access. That idea had paid off for him so far.
The thing that was really killing Chris however was the boredom. It was the last thing he'd expected but they'd been walking around for god knows how long and nothing was happening. Chris was sure that nothing happening was a good thing since that meant they weren't in a fight or getting shot at or having any of the other things that could possibly happen to them in the Program actually...well happen. That said he was incredibly bored of walking through the pines. Everything looked the same and he was sure they'd look the same during the day as well, the only difference being he would be able to see where he was going. For some reason though he was bored and wanted something to happen, that probably reflected badly on his mental state but Chris couldn't shake it off.
Luckily for Chris his boredom was ended when the beam of his torch caught a weird shape at the base of a tree. The other thing that caught his eye was that it had one of those camouflage patterns that you'd see on clothes, so Chris was doubtful that it was natural.
Chris turned his flashlight off before holding up a hand to signal Alex. "Looks like there's someone over by that tree." He whispered while pointing at the figure to show Alex what he was talking about. "It seems safe enough but I just wanted to give you a heads ups. See what you wanted to do."
Chris didn't exactly see the person as much of a threat. After all it looked like they had been assigned a camouflage blanket or something similar as their weapon. So unless they had managed to steal a gun or something equally dangerous off of someone and were waiting to ambush the first person to walk past...which seemed highly unlikely if you actually gave it serious thought. He and Alex would have nothing to fear from the person; of course if they decided to try and talk to them they would have to find a way to greet them without scaring the life out of them.
"I reckon we should just try to talk to them calmly y'know? Try not to scare them shitless."
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
((Alexander Bonham continued from A Moment of Reprise))
For the first part of their trip, Alexander had been amused enough by the announcer's choice of music to let go of the irritation of having his hand forced and of hearing of Brigid's death. It hadn't clicked right away, but "Born in the USA" was an interesting choice for an American event in much the same way "This Land is My Land" was. Neither song was exactly a prime example of patriotism, and Alexander wondered whether the irony was intentional or whether perhaps the Brigadier-General knew lyrics other than the originals. Maybe it had been purely unconscious; after all, he hadn't sung it.
Alexander suspected that it was for the irony, though, a little inside joke for the half dozen people who might get it. They'd probably edit it for the actual broadcast, or maybe just count on overall musical ignorance to carry the day.
Chris snacked on his crackers as they made their way through the woods. Alexander thought that was a questionable choice; the crackers weren't substantial enough to really curb hunger, and they didn't have time to sit down and crack open the MREs. It would be best to take meals during the daylight rest periods, but he didn't quite care enough to micromanage that aspect of Chris' life. The boy just didn't get how to conserve and utilize his resources, as he'd proven by throwing away his bread.
Alexander was walking a bit behind Chris, more because he didn't trust that Chris would watch their back than because he thought the boy a wise choice for point. Alexander's flashlight was aimed at the ground, shielded by his hand so that the beam was not visible too far ahead of them.
Things were fairly monotonous for a time, and Alexander kept glancing around, trying to keep his attention sharp so as not to allow boredom to take hold and dull his awareness. His varied his pace slightly, tried to judge their rough location by what he could see of the sky through the treetops, and generally kept himself amused in little ways. His folding chair was now over his left shoulder, his arm through the space under the headrest so that he didn't have to use his hand to keep it off the ground. It was digging into his shoulder fiercely, but that wasn't too big a deal. He'd dealt with soreness before.
Then Chris stopped. Alexander caught enough of a glimpse before his teammate shut off his flashlight to know what they were dealing with, making the boy's report pretty much redundant. That was okay. Alexander shut his flashlight off, too, strongly suspecting the person under the camouflage had already noticed them—assuming, of course, whoever it was was still alive. Chris suggested they approach calmly and avoid scaring them. Alexander thought it likely negotiations would go a bit smoother if the person was a bit scared. Camo gear could mean an attempted ambush, and Alexander thought a good dose of fear would probably help the person decide that was not a profitable course of action.
"Sounds good," he said to Chris. He then took a few steps forward, flicked his flashlight on again, and pointed it straight at the shape.
"We see you, moron," Alexander said, clearly and calmly. "If we were killing, you'd be dead. Want to talk?"
For the first part of their trip, Alexander had been amused enough by the announcer's choice of music to let go of the irritation of having his hand forced and of hearing of Brigid's death. It hadn't clicked right away, but "Born in the USA" was an interesting choice for an American event in much the same way "This Land is My Land" was. Neither song was exactly a prime example of patriotism, and Alexander wondered whether the irony was intentional or whether perhaps the Brigadier-General knew lyrics other than the originals. Maybe it had been purely unconscious; after all, he hadn't sung it.
Alexander suspected that it was for the irony, though, a little inside joke for the half dozen people who might get it. They'd probably edit it for the actual broadcast, or maybe just count on overall musical ignorance to carry the day.
Chris snacked on his crackers as they made their way through the woods. Alexander thought that was a questionable choice; the crackers weren't substantial enough to really curb hunger, and they didn't have time to sit down and crack open the MREs. It would be best to take meals during the daylight rest periods, but he didn't quite care enough to micromanage that aspect of Chris' life. The boy just didn't get how to conserve and utilize his resources, as he'd proven by throwing away his bread.
Alexander was walking a bit behind Chris, more because he didn't trust that Chris would watch their back than because he thought the boy a wise choice for point. Alexander's flashlight was aimed at the ground, shielded by his hand so that the beam was not visible too far ahead of them.
Things were fairly monotonous for a time, and Alexander kept glancing around, trying to keep his attention sharp so as not to allow boredom to take hold and dull his awareness. His varied his pace slightly, tried to judge their rough location by what he could see of the sky through the treetops, and generally kept himself amused in little ways. His folding chair was now over his left shoulder, his arm through the space under the headrest so that he didn't have to use his hand to keep it off the ground. It was digging into his shoulder fiercely, but that wasn't too big a deal. He'd dealt with soreness before.
Then Chris stopped. Alexander caught enough of a glimpse before his teammate shut off his flashlight to know what they were dealing with, making the boy's report pretty much redundant. That was okay. Alexander shut his flashlight off, too, strongly suspecting the person under the camouflage had already noticed them—assuming, of course, whoever it was was still alive. Chris suggested they approach calmly and avoid scaring them. Alexander thought it likely negotiations would go a bit smoother if the person was a bit scared. Camo gear could mean an attempted ambush, and Alexander thought a good dose of fear would probably help the person decide that was not a profitable course of action.
"Sounds good," he said to Chris. He then took a few steps forward, flicked his flashlight on again, and pointed it straight at the shape.
"We see you, moron," Alexander said, clearly and calmly. "If we were killing, you'd be dead. Want to talk?"
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jimmydalad
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:38 pm
((Maxim Senders continued from Cowards Die Many Times))
As Maxim travelled aimlessly, what sounded like someone humming "Born in the USA" came out of nowhere. Maxim visibly winced as he heard how incredibly out-of-tune it was. It was painful to his ears. However, afterwards, the guy who brought them all into the game started to talk and at that moment, he became focused as he eagerly listened to what the man had to say.
Hearing Dylan's name was a big surprise because the fact that she not only was still alive, but was also killing people was quite a shocker to him. The girl was missing an ear for god's sake plus she had half of her things robbed by Maxim, including all her food! While he had to admire her gusto, the fact that Dylan of all people was killing people made him feel a little uneasy. Maybe he really should've shot her while he had the opportunity to. Then again, it couldn't be too hard for him to finish off his job later.
Then he announced the next name, Caleb. Maxim didn't really mind too much that Caleb was dead. Caleb was a dick and was one of the types of people that Maxim didn't like one bit. He was nearly as bad as the Minutemen and while his racial quips were apparently just "jokes", Maxim did not like them one bit. It seemed that Clara was the one to off him. Clara was the type of person who had a lot of anger towards those who were racist towards her and he considered her to be one of his friends. The fact that Clara had a gun was something he needed to keep in mind for the future when he encountered her.
Finally, it seemed as if Robin had killed Emily. Robin was one of those racist kids who was sort of racist, but not incredibly so. While her actions towards minorities still irked Maxim to no end, she still wasn't as bad as some other people in the school like Callison. He knew she had a weak immune system and therefore was a little surprised that she actually succeeded in killing someone. He didn't really know Emily that well. She just was sort of there.
He took this all into consideration as he made his way into what seemed to be a dense cluster of trees. Maxim would've made this place the perfect place for him to relax due to how easy it was to hide in here, if it weren't for the fact that the terrain was steep. He let out a quiet sigh to himself as he continued to venture forwards.
As he continued to walk through the forest, he heard the sound of all too familiar voices. Almost immediately, he stopped moving, curious to see where the voices came from. They were in his path and while there didn't seem to be a way through them, Maxim did not want to go up the steep slope anytime soon.
Using the trees as hiding places, he sneaked through the trees to the location of the voices. There, he saw the o-so familiar faces of Alex and Chris. However, he also saw a figure that he didn't recognize. While they were distracted, Maxim might as well take the opportunity to shoot one of them.
Hiding relatively well considering their surroundings, Maxim spied on the 3 figures, waiting for the opportunity to strike.
As Maxim travelled aimlessly, what sounded like someone humming "Born in the USA" came out of nowhere. Maxim visibly winced as he heard how incredibly out-of-tune it was. It was painful to his ears. However, afterwards, the guy who brought them all into the game started to talk and at that moment, he became focused as he eagerly listened to what the man had to say.
Hearing Dylan's name was a big surprise because the fact that she not only was still alive, but was also killing people was quite a shocker to him. The girl was missing an ear for god's sake plus she had half of her things robbed by Maxim, including all her food! While he had to admire her gusto, the fact that Dylan of all people was killing people made him feel a little uneasy. Maybe he really should've shot her while he had the opportunity to. Then again, it couldn't be too hard for him to finish off his job later.
Then he announced the next name, Caleb. Maxim didn't really mind too much that Caleb was dead. Caleb was a dick and was one of the types of people that Maxim didn't like one bit. He was nearly as bad as the Minutemen and while his racial quips were apparently just "jokes", Maxim did not like them one bit. It seemed that Clara was the one to off him. Clara was the type of person who had a lot of anger towards those who were racist towards her and he considered her to be one of his friends. The fact that Clara had a gun was something he needed to keep in mind for the future when he encountered her.
Finally, it seemed as if Robin had killed Emily. Robin was one of those racist kids who was sort of racist, but not incredibly so. While her actions towards minorities still irked Maxim to no end, she still wasn't as bad as some other people in the school like Callison. He knew she had a weak immune system and therefore was a little surprised that she actually succeeded in killing someone. He didn't really know Emily that well. She just was sort of there.
He took this all into consideration as he made his way into what seemed to be a dense cluster of trees. Maxim would've made this place the perfect place for him to relax due to how easy it was to hide in here, if it weren't for the fact that the terrain was steep. He let out a quiet sigh to himself as he continued to venture forwards.
As he continued to walk through the forest, he heard the sound of all too familiar voices. Almost immediately, he stopped moving, curious to see where the voices came from. They were in his path and while there didn't seem to be a way through them, Maxim did not want to go up the steep slope anytime soon.
Using the trees as hiding places, he sneaked through the trees to the location of the voices. There, he saw the o-so familiar faces of Alex and Chris. However, he also saw a figure that he didn't recognize. While they were distracted, Maxim might as well take the opportunity to shoot one of them.
Hiding relatively well considering their surroundings, Maxim spied on the 3 figures, waiting for the opportunity to strike.
(Minus accessories)
(Minus accessories)
The unforeseen radiance of light nearly blinded Garritt's unadjusted eyes in the formerly dark forest. It had forced him to rub the irritation from his eyes and shield his face even more from beneath the hood of the camouflaged onesie, but as soon as he was done doing that the area was once again pitch black.
Garritt gasped slightly, in shock, when a voice started to speak, but held it in as best as he could.
We see you, moron. Kill. Dead. — It was all Garritt could hear, but those key words were enough.
There were apparently more than one person here and they were killing and if Garritt stuck around, he'd be dead too. Just like Caleb.
Garritt thought about getting up and running, but maybe that's what they wanted him to do, so they could chase him down easily. Reveal himself to them, so they wouldn't have to actually look. Yeah, maybe they didn't really even see him. It could be someone else around here, at least he hoped. Maybe, maybe he'd just stay stock still, dead-silent and hide.
Until they go away at least. He didn't want to fight them. He doubted he could outrun or out-power these guys, whoever they were, but Garritt knew he could still have the element of surprise on his side. He had a camouflaged onesie after all; no way could anyone see him all that well, right? Especially without light.
He stayed completely still, resting his chin against his chest, hiding the crowbar behind his back and continuing to obscure his face under the hood of his outfit. No way was he going to keep running like earlier today. That didn't work out very well the last time and it was tiring. If he needed to move, he'd move, but he was going to be smart about it this time.
Sneakiness could come a long way in a situation like this. He just hoped his rapidly thumping heart-rate and the panicking breaths he held could take it.
Garritt gasped slightly, in shock, when a voice started to speak, but held it in as best as he could.
We see you, moron. Kill. Dead. — It was all Garritt could hear, but those key words were enough.
There were apparently more than one person here and they were killing and if Garritt stuck around, he'd be dead too. Just like Caleb.
Garritt thought about getting up and running, but maybe that's what they wanted him to do, so they could chase him down easily. Reveal himself to them, so they wouldn't have to actually look. Yeah, maybe they didn't really even see him. It could be someone else around here, at least he hoped. Maybe, maybe he'd just stay stock still, dead-silent and hide.
Until they go away at least. He didn't want to fight them. He doubted he could outrun or out-power these guys, whoever they were, but Garritt knew he could still have the element of surprise on his side. He had a camouflaged onesie after all; no way could anyone see him all that well, right? Especially without light.
He stayed completely still, resting his chin against his chest, hiding the crowbar behind his back and continuing to obscure his face under the hood of his outfit. No way was he going to keep running like earlier today. That didn't work out very well the last time and it was tiring. If he needed to move, he'd move, but he was going to be smart about it this time.
Sneakiness could come a long way in a situation like this. He just hoped his rapidly thumping heart-rate and the panicking breaths he held could take it.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
((Skipping by request))
Alexander had been ready for indignation. People often got upset with him, and he was used to that. He knew how to deal with it, and he knew roughly why they reacted that way. He was prepared for the figure under the blanket to panic. He'd known that was a possibility when he opened his mouth. What he was not ready for was for it to stay stock still. That raised his hackles in a special way.
There were two possibilities. The first was that the person under the blanket had just shut down in panic. Alexander found that rather unlikely. He'd been pretty explicit when he'd said they weren't looking for trouble.
The second—and far more convincing—possibility was that this was a trap or an ambush. The figure could be luring them close, trying to stab one of them, but that wasn't a very good plan. And, come to think of it, hadn't there been a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye as he'd issued his question? His eyes were adjusted enough to the dark, and it was very difficult to move stealthily through such a still area. He'd had to be pretty close to even notice the figure under the blanket in the dark. That meant somebody else could very well be pretty close to them.
Alexander didn't react visibly immediately, instead taking two steps towards the figure. He moved at a diagonal, though, getting a bit closer to where he thought something else could be going on.
Then, quick as he could, he flicked the flashlight to the side.
The person might've passed unnoticed from Alexander's original perspective. He also might've passed unnoticed had he not been wearing a pretty conspicuous thing on his head that made it rather tough to blend into the scenery. A glimpse of even a hint of an American flag at head level, though, was all Alexander needed. It was, after all, a rather familiar accessory.
"Oh, you little bitch," Alexander muttered. Then he dropped his flashlight and duffel bag, let the chair slide into his hand, and took off straight at the patch of trees. It was deja vu. Alexander once again didn't have a good start, and once again didn't have a clear path, and it was hard to keep his bearings, but he was going to do his best.
It occurred to him, though, that leaving Chris without any idea what was going on could be dangerous. Chris wasn't the quickest on his feet, and whoever was under that blanket, if there really was someone, might well take a shot at him. Anyone working with Maxim was guaranteed to be a bit crazy and a lot of bad news.
"It's Maxim," Alexander called over his shoulder. "Get the other guy."
Chris was tough. He could subdue whoever it was, and that way, even if Alexander didn't catch up with Maxim, they'd be able to get some questions answered. Maybe they could even talk whoever it was into turning away from violence, assuming it wasn't one of the killers. An enemy deprived of an ally was an enemy with less resources, and that was enough of a win in Alexander's book.
Not that he was planning on letting Maxim get away easily.
Alexander had been ready for indignation. People often got upset with him, and he was used to that. He knew how to deal with it, and he knew roughly why they reacted that way. He was prepared for the figure under the blanket to panic. He'd known that was a possibility when he opened his mouth. What he was not ready for was for it to stay stock still. That raised his hackles in a special way.
There were two possibilities. The first was that the person under the blanket had just shut down in panic. Alexander found that rather unlikely. He'd been pretty explicit when he'd said they weren't looking for trouble.
The second—and far more convincing—possibility was that this was a trap or an ambush. The figure could be luring them close, trying to stab one of them, but that wasn't a very good plan. And, come to think of it, hadn't there been a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye as he'd issued his question? His eyes were adjusted enough to the dark, and it was very difficult to move stealthily through such a still area. He'd had to be pretty close to even notice the figure under the blanket in the dark. That meant somebody else could very well be pretty close to them.
Alexander didn't react visibly immediately, instead taking two steps towards the figure. He moved at a diagonal, though, getting a bit closer to where he thought something else could be going on.
Then, quick as he could, he flicked the flashlight to the side.
The person might've passed unnoticed from Alexander's original perspective. He also might've passed unnoticed had he not been wearing a pretty conspicuous thing on his head that made it rather tough to blend into the scenery. A glimpse of even a hint of an American flag at head level, though, was all Alexander needed. It was, after all, a rather familiar accessory.
"Oh, you little bitch," Alexander muttered. Then he dropped his flashlight and duffel bag, let the chair slide into his hand, and took off straight at the patch of trees. It was deja vu. Alexander once again didn't have a good start, and once again didn't have a clear path, and it was hard to keep his bearings, but he was going to do his best.
It occurred to him, though, that leaving Chris without any idea what was going on could be dangerous. Chris wasn't the quickest on his feet, and whoever was under that blanket, if there really was someone, might well take a shot at him. Anyone working with Maxim was guaranteed to be a bit crazy and a lot of bad news.
"It's Maxim," Alexander called over his shoulder. "Get the other guy."
Chris was tough. He could subdue whoever it was, and that way, even if Alexander didn't catch up with Maxim, they'd be able to get some questions answered. Maybe they could even talk whoever it was into turning away from violence, assuming it wasn't one of the killers. An enemy deprived of an ally was an enemy with less resources, and that was enough of a win in Alexander's book.
Not that he was planning on letting Maxim get away easily.
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jimmydalad
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:38 pm
((Skipping by request))
Maxim began aiming his gun at the figures, his eyes focused on the prize. He wanted this. He wanted it so badly. He needed to take the shot.
He mentally prepared himself for what was to come. Once he killed, his name would appear in the announcements. People would know what he did. There was no way for him to hide anymore. Was he ready for that? Maxim contemplated this for a moment, chewing his lip as he wondered what would Louisa think of his actions. She would have to understand. At the same time though, Maxim may never find out if she died before he reached her. He didn't want to think of that though.
Shaking his head, he re-aimed his gun, wanting his mark to strike true. It would be bad for him to hit either of the two boys unintentionally. He didn't need to fan their flames of hatred anymore. For that reason he aimed at the other figure. At the same time though, he wasn't confident with his aim with the gun. He'd never even held a gun up until this moment. The object was foreign. Maxim would need to get used to it though. He had to fulfill his role and get the game going. If he could get revenge, that much the better.
He was ready.
Just as he was about to take the shot, a glaring light suddenly got into his eyes. He instinctively squinted his eyes as he saw who had flashed the light. It looks like he had to take the shot sooner than he anticipated. Quickly readjusting his gun to the best of his abilities, Maxim pulled the trigger and fired the gun, the recoil causing him to go backwards as he picked himself up and began to run in the opposite direction as fast as he could.
Running uphill was not an easy feat and he could only hope that Alexander had the same difficulties he did. As long as they both had difficulties, Maxim reckoned he could escape. After all, he liked to think he was relatively fast and his dancing lessons did require quite a bit of endurance to survive. He didn't know Alexander to well. He was at his school sure, but he never took the opportunity to talk to him that much. For all he knew, Alexander could be a star track runner. He sincerely hope that wasn't true.
Maxim didn't say anything as he ran. He put all his energy into running. He had to. He needed to do more. He couldn't go yet.
Maxim began aiming his gun at the figures, his eyes focused on the prize. He wanted this. He wanted it so badly. He needed to take the shot.
He mentally prepared himself for what was to come. Once he killed, his name would appear in the announcements. People would know what he did. There was no way for him to hide anymore. Was he ready for that? Maxim contemplated this for a moment, chewing his lip as he wondered what would Louisa think of his actions. She would have to understand. At the same time though, Maxim may never find out if she died before he reached her. He didn't want to think of that though.
Shaking his head, he re-aimed his gun, wanting his mark to strike true. It would be bad for him to hit either of the two boys unintentionally. He didn't need to fan their flames of hatred anymore. For that reason he aimed at the other figure. At the same time though, he wasn't confident with his aim with the gun. He'd never even held a gun up until this moment. The object was foreign. Maxim would need to get used to it though. He had to fulfill his role and get the game going. If he could get revenge, that much the better.
He was ready.
Just as he was about to take the shot, a glaring light suddenly got into his eyes. He instinctively squinted his eyes as he saw who had flashed the light. It looks like he had to take the shot sooner than he anticipated. Quickly readjusting his gun to the best of his abilities, Maxim pulled the trigger and fired the gun, the recoil causing him to go backwards as he picked himself up and began to run in the opposite direction as fast as he could.
Running uphill was not an easy feat and he could only hope that Alexander had the same difficulties he did. As long as they both had difficulties, Maxim reckoned he could escape. After all, he liked to think he was relatively fast and his dancing lessons did require quite a bit of endurance to survive. He didn't know Alexander to well. He was at his school sure, but he never took the opportunity to talk to him that much. For all he knew, Alexander could be a star track runner. He sincerely hope that wasn't true.
Maxim didn't say anything as he ran. He put all his energy into running. He had to. He needed to do more. He couldn't go yet.
The person was calling him a little bitch and coming closer. This wasn't a good sign at all. Garritt gnashed his teeth together, nervous as all heck. His fingers carefully crept back around his crowbar, setting it ready should they get dangerously near. Just strike them in the leg, a good whack near the knees would probably slow them down enough so they wouldn't catch him once he ran. He could make it out of this one safe and sound. Teach those suckers a lesson while he was at it too.
Please oh please don't find me.
To his surprise the person hurried not in his direction, but somewhere across the way instead. Garritt might have found this a relief had it not been for the words that accompanied it. He was chasing after, Maxim. Maxim was here too and-and, they thought he and Maxim were allies? No, no, no. Never, that would never happen. Garritt wouldn't team up with that bleeding heart faggot, not in a million years. How dare they imply something like that?
A gunshot boomed through the breeze, the night air seemingly amplifying the sound. Suddenly Garritt forgot he was angry, his heart sinking even lower from his chest into his gut.
Wherever the round went, it thankfully missed; sailed by nowhere near him as far as he could tell. His first thought was once again, Clara, that Clara was everywhere still chasing after him no matter what the cost, but at the same time he realized it could have been someone else. One of these guys, whether it was the guy, his partner or Maxim; one of them had a gun and was trying to shoot somebody, probably even him.
There were footsteps hurrying toward his direction, for real this time and Garritt knew he had to move or die. He hopped up, turning his head back to keep an eye on his hunter and running as quickly as he could in the loose fitting onesie. This wasn't going to work, he already knew that. Running wasn't the best option to really escape safely.
No, Garritt was scared, but he had to strike back.
Garritt huddled in back of a particularly large pine tree trunk, his crowbar held vertically up between his palms gripped as if his life depended on it and it probably did. He was panting a bit, breathing deep breaths of extreme anxiety. Garritt willed himself to dial it back completely, so he wouldn't blow his own cover. He was ready this time, ready and waiting for whatever minority fuck was coming his way this time.
Yeah, bring it motherfucker. I'm Garritt Fucking Baker. A Real American.
Please oh please don't find me.
To his surprise the person hurried not in his direction, but somewhere across the way instead. Garritt might have found this a relief had it not been for the words that accompanied it. He was chasing after, Maxim. Maxim was here too and-and, they thought he and Maxim were allies? No, no, no. Never, that would never happen. Garritt wouldn't team up with that bleeding heart faggot, not in a million years. How dare they imply something like that?
A gunshot boomed through the breeze, the night air seemingly amplifying the sound. Suddenly Garritt forgot he was angry, his heart sinking even lower from his chest into his gut.
Wherever the round went, it thankfully missed; sailed by nowhere near him as far as he could tell. His first thought was once again, Clara, that Clara was everywhere still chasing after him no matter what the cost, but at the same time he realized it could have been someone else. One of these guys, whether it was the guy, his partner or Maxim; one of them had a gun and was trying to shoot somebody, probably even him.
There were footsteps hurrying toward his direction, for real this time and Garritt knew he had to move or die. He hopped up, turning his head back to keep an eye on his hunter and running as quickly as he could in the loose fitting onesie. This wasn't going to work, he already knew that. Running wasn't the best option to really escape safely.
No, Garritt was scared, but he had to strike back.
Garritt huddled in back of a particularly large pine tree trunk, his crowbar held vertically up between his palms gripped as if his life depended on it and it probably did. He was panting a bit, breathing deep breaths of extreme anxiety. Garritt willed himself to dial it back completely, so he wouldn't blow his own cover. He was ready this time, ready and waiting for whatever minority fuck was coming his way this time.
Yeah, bring it motherfucker. I'm Garritt Fucking Baker. A Real American.
After Alex announced their presence Chris expected the figure under the camo to move, even flinch just a little, but from what he could make out through the darkness they stayed still. Maybe it was just a trap, set up by someone so they could rob or kill whoever stumbled upon it. That or if someone was hiding they were frozen in panic. Alex started to move closer to the figure under the tree when he suddenly stopped and swung his flashlight to the side. Chris didn't get a good look at what Alex had seen because he'd quickly dropped the flashlight and his bag while muttering something before sprinting through the trees in the direction of whatever he'd seen.
Chris recognising that the situation had gotten serious threw his own bag off his shoulder and pulled the entrenching tool free, ensuring he flipped it open away from him. He quickly dropped his flashlight into the bag and made to follow Alex when he heard his partner call something to him.
It was Maxim.
Chris couldn't believe it, he'd thought the chance to stop Maxim had slipped away but now they'd have a second opportunity or at least Alex would. He'd be told to handle the other person. That...order was the worst part. Chris badly wanted to stop Maxim and now he was being stopped by his own partner. Then again if the figure under the camo was on Maxim's side then Chris didn’t want to let them get away.
Then a gunshot went off.
It snapped Chris into action and he ran in the direction of the tree, he had to make sure the figure didn't get away. The gunshot may have come from either Maxim or the figure but either way it would've been aimed at Alex. The figure had jumped up at the sound of the shot and was running away. Chris tried to keep them in his field of vision but it was hard due to the darkness and their camouflage. They'd had a head start but Chris was catching up to them; all that time on the track team was coming in useful. He tightened his grip on the entrenching tool, he'd probably need it. Then the figure was gone, Chris had no idea when or how he'd lost sight of them but he was sure it was something to do will all the trees and the darkness. He stopped running and listened for any sound. He was rewarded by the sound of panting from close by, it quickly quietened down though. Chris guessed it was coming from behind a tree and it had been quiet so it was most likely a tree further away. Chris started jogging towards a few trees he could make out in the dark.
Chris had been wrong though, the panting he had heard was quiet because the person he had been chasing was trying to be quiet not because they were far away. So as he ran past the trunk of a particularly large pine tree he was met with a crowbar smashing into his abdomen. Chris dropped straight to the floor as all the air left his lungs, the only thing stopping him from collapsing completely was the fact that he could feel his hand gripping the entrenching tool.
His weapon.
Chris didn't even think about his retaliation and just swung the entrenching tool at the figures head as he pushed himself back up to his feet. Ignoring the pain that shot through his stomach as he did so. He felt the impact through his arm as the head of the tool smashed into the head of his attacker. Chris smiled through gritted teeth, looked like his attacker couldn't take what he dished out. Chris pulled the entrenching tool back to prepare another swing at the attacker be he couldn't quite make them out, so instead of swinging the tool again he lunged forward hoping to catch them in the stomach and knock them down.
Chris recognising that the situation had gotten serious threw his own bag off his shoulder and pulled the entrenching tool free, ensuring he flipped it open away from him. He quickly dropped his flashlight into the bag and made to follow Alex when he heard his partner call something to him.
It was Maxim.
Chris couldn't believe it, he'd thought the chance to stop Maxim had slipped away but now they'd have a second opportunity or at least Alex would. He'd be told to handle the other person. That...order was the worst part. Chris badly wanted to stop Maxim and now he was being stopped by his own partner. Then again if the figure under the camo was on Maxim's side then Chris didn’t want to let them get away.
Then a gunshot went off.
It snapped Chris into action and he ran in the direction of the tree, he had to make sure the figure didn't get away. The gunshot may have come from either Maxim or the figure but either way it would've been aimed at Alex. The figure had jumped up at the sound of the shot and was running away. Chris tried to keep them in his field of vision but it was hard due to the darkness and their camouflage. They'd had a head start but Chris was catching up to them; all that time on the track team was coming in useful. He tightened his grip on the entrenching tool, he'd probably need it. Then the figure was gone, Chris had no idea when or how he'd lost sight of them but he was sure it was something to do will all the trees and the darkness. He stopped running and listened for any sound. He was rewarded by the sound of panting from close by, it quickly quietened down though. Chris guessed it was coming from behind a tree and it had been quiet so it was most likely a tree further away. Chris started jogging towards a few trees he could make out in the dark.
Chris had been wrong though, the panting he had heard was quiet because the person he had been chasing was trying to be quiet not because they were far away. So as he ran past the trunk of a particularly large pine tree he was met with a crowbar smashing into his abdomen. Chris dropped straight to the floor as all the air left his lungs, the only thing stopping him from collapsing completely was the fact that he could feel his hand gripping the entrenching tool.
His weapon.
Chris didn't even think about his retaliation and just swung the entrenching tool at the figures head as he pushed himself back up to his feet. Ignoring the pain that shot through his stomach as he did so. He felt the impact through his arm as the head of the tool smashed into the head of his attacker. Chris smiled through gritted teeth, looked like his attacker couldn't take what he dished out. Chris pulled the entrenching tool back to prepare another swing at the attacker be he couldn't quite make them out, so instead of swinging the tool again he lunged forward hoping to catch them in the stomach and knock them down.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Maxim took a shot. Alexander shouldn't have been surprised, but the loud report of the rifle firing and the burst of muzzle flash from the old gun still caught him off guard, causing him to falter just a second. It gave Maxim a bit more of a lead, but that was okay. Alexander felt a smile creeping across his face.
Maxim had missed. Unless he'd gotten another gun somewhere, that was the only shot he'd get in this engagement. From here out, it was about speed and beating people, and judging from the smaller boy's hasty retreat he knew exactly how the latter would go. Now, all that mattered was catching up. Alexander was on the track team. He wasn't a star, wasn't even that great, but he knew how to run.
Of course, his target was complicating things by turning it into an uphill race. Alexander had the advantage of not having to lug all his belongings with him, but Maxim's rifle was made to be carried around in a hurry, unlike the folding chair. Worse, the rough slope made it difficult to balance and pick up speed. In the dark, it was all he could do to keep track of Maxim and not fall on his face.
Alexander was pretty sure he wasn't losing ground, but he also wasn't gaining much. At this rate, they'd both wear themselves out and whether he caught Maxim or not would be down to luck.
Time for a change in strategy.
"This is what you're like when it's down to the wire?" Alexander called, his voice fairly clear despite how his breathing was becoming heavier. "I thought someone who hated the government so much would at least have more guts than to play along with them and ambush people."
Maxim had missed. Unless he'd gotten another gun somewhere, that was the only shot he'd get in this engagement. From here out, it was about speed and beating people, and judging from the smaller boy's hasty retreat he knew exactly how the latter would go. Now, all that mattered was catching up. Alexander was on the track team. He wasn't a star, wasn't even that great, but he knew how to run.
Of course, his target was complicating things by turning it into an uphill race. Alexander had the advantage of not having to lug all his belongings with him, but Maxim's rifle was made to be carried around in a hurry, unlike the folding chair. Worse, the rough slope made it difficult to balance and pick up speed. In the dark, it was all he could do to keep track of Maxim and not fall on his face.
Alexander was pretty sure he wasn't losing ground, but he also wasn't gaining much. At this rate, they'd both wear themselves out and whether he caught Maxim or not would be down to luck.
Time for a change in strategy.
"This is what you're like when it's down to the wire?" Alexander called, his voice fairly clear despite how his breathing was becoming heavier. "I thought someone who hated the government so much would at least have more guts than to play along with them and ambush people."
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jimmydalad
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:38 pm
Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Maxim tried to keep his pace up as he kept away from Alexander. He focused on making sure he didn't trip on any of his strides. A trip could be very bad for him. A trip could be the distance between him getting away and him getting caught. Did he want to get caught? Of course not. Getting caught would mean death for him. He wasn't ready. He needed to find Louisa. He needed to find Louisa.
His breath was heavy as he focused on moving. He didn't want to let Alex get the better of him. He didn't know how fast of a runner he was and he didn't look backwards to check. He just had to run and run and run. His movements became routine as he developed a pace for him to keep, pushing all of his energy into running away. He needed to.
Was that Alex? He was shouting at him. He was goading him. He knew he shouldn't let it get to him. He tried to let it get to him, but he struggled. The words he said. It was as if a sword was pushed right through his stomach. He nearly winced as he continued to run. He tried to put those words out of his mind. He tried. He couldn't let it get to him. Yet he couldn't do it.
"I-I know Alex." Maxim began, yelling as he continued to run. "However, there is nothing I can do. I can't change. The crimes I have committed. I can't just change Alex. This is something I have to do." Maxim yelled out, sadness reverberating around the forest as he continued to run. The yelling took him off his pace and he began to slow down.
"I have to kill. My actions made me. I was scared. I didn't think. I only did. Now, there is no way back. There is no way back for me Alex! You have to understand! I have to play the game whether I want to or not for my survival. No one can forgive me! No one except Louisa!" Maxim screamed, turning around to look at Alex and not noticing the exposed root in front of him.
It got caught.
He tumbled. He fell flat on the ground. Maxim kept clutched to his gun as he pulled his foot away from the root. He saw the approaching figure. He let him gain ground and he realized at this point there was nothing he could do.
He aimed his gun towards Alex in order to intimidate him but his eyes betrayed a hint of defeat. He had a bayonet. He couldn't be afraid to use it. It was the difference between life and death.
His breath was heavy as he focused on moving. He didn't want to let Alex get the better of him. He didn't know how fast of a runner he was and he didn't look backwards to check. He just had to run and run and run. His movements became routine as he developed a pace for him to keep, pushing all of his energy into running away. He needed to.
Was that Alex? He was shouting at him. He was goading him. He knew he shouldn't let it get to him. He tried to let it get to him, but he struggled. The words he said. It was as if a sword was pushed right through his stomach. He nearly winced as he continued to run. He tried to put those words out of his mind. He tried. He couldn't let it get to him. Yet he couldn't do it.
"I-I know Alex." Maxim began, yelling as he continued to run. "However, there is nothing I can do. I can't change. The crimes I have committed. I can't just change Alex. This is something I have to do." Maxim yelled out, sadness reverberating around the forest as he continued to run. The yelling took him off his pace and he began to slow down.
"I have to kill. My actions made me. I was scared. I didn't think. I only did. Now, there is no way back. There is no way back for me Alex! You have to understand! I have to play the game whether I want to or not for my survival. No one can forgive me! No one except Louisa!" Maxim screamed, turning around to look at Alex and not noticing the exposed root in front of him.
It got caught.
He tumbled. He fell flat on the ground. Maxim kept clutched to his gun as he pulled his foot away from the root. He saw the approaching figure. He let him gain ground and he realized at this point there was nothing he could do.
He aimed his gun towards Alex in order to intimidate him but his eyes betrayed a hint of defeat. He had a bayonet. He couldn't be afraid to use it. It was the difference between life and death.
Despite psyching himself up beforehand, Garritt's heart raced the closer his pursuer approached. He planned to strike at the knees, but once the figure was close enough, Garritt panicked. Not wanting to miss or having the time to concentrate on aiming, Garritt instead flipped around from behind the tree and swung the crowbar in a curved arch to his right into the center mass of the oncoming boy where he was sure to hit.
Garritt's strike was successful, the vibration from the metal coursed up into his arms on impact shaking even himself as the other boy dropped to the ground in pain. He couldn't believe it; he'd actually managed to do something for a change. Garritt lifted the crowbar above his head like a primitive club ready for the kill. He thought about swinging down, bringing the crowbar in contact with the boy's head when he noticed something. Even in the darkness, the moonlight illuminating through the pines almost made it glow.
The boy was blonde.
This wasn't an evil foreigner he was dealing with. It was his own kind, a fellow American.
His arms dropped. Even if he thought he could do this to anybody to save his own hide, for some reason he couldn't find himself doing it. He wanted to crack the skull of someone like Clara so it'd be easy. He even mentally prepared himself to expect any of those colored people to show up. Just not, white.
It made things a little harder. But now wasn't the time for this. Garritt had hit the boy and no doubt pissed the kid off. White or not, Garritt had just declared civil war on his classmate, who was bigger than him, and Garritt knew he had to do something or get out of there fast.
Before Garritt could make his split second decision, the kid was looking up and Garritt suddenly found himself curious as to see who it was. He bent down to look, but what he got instead was a shovel to the face. To be precise, the material of the military issued E-Tool, was a strong solid piece of metal, cracking him partially in the face and the side of his cranium, not lethally, but enough to fracture his nose and scramble Garritt's brain a bit.
Garritt fell back and to the side by the force directed from the blow, dropping his crowbar in the process. Almost immediately the same E-Tool struck again, this time knocking him to the ground. Garritt looked up, and finally saw the face of his would-be killer. It shocked him that it was turning out this way, that it wasn't Clara or any other psycho foreigner that was about to strike him again behind bared and gritted teeth, but another white Caucasian male.
Another Real American.
"S-stop," Garritt attempted to yell out with a raised hand, but it was possibly unclear or he wasn't loud enough as by then he was too late. The E-Tool's spade speared downward with enough force to stab into Garritt's abdomen as he laid on the ground. The first thing to escape Garritt's lips was a piercing shriek as he realized what had happened, with the unbelievable pain he was feeling and the blood coming from his center and from his broken nose.
The next thing he found himself doing was letting out yelping sobs of pain, accompanied by almost helpless, terrified cries and sad moans of 'ow' mixed in-between. This couldn't be happening, it wasn't fair at all. He was getting too dizzy or what he thought was dizziness, he could feel himself nearly blacking out from sheer excruciation, and he was going to end up just like Caleb.
"Oww-haaw-howww," Garritt continued crying out again with warm tears mixing in with the blood from his nose.
"No, Chris. Chris stop," He whined, he begged. "No more. Please no more, I— I give. Why. I didn't mean to. Don't kill me, I don't wanna die like this."
And then he cried some more, like the small helpless child he was.
Garritt's strike was successful, the vibration from the metal coursed up into his arms on impact shaking even himself as the other boy dropped to the ground in pain. He couldn't believe it; he'd actually managed to do something for a change. Garritt lifted the crowbar above his head like a primitive club ready for the kill. He thought about swinging down, bringing the crowbar in contact with the boy's head when he noticed something. Even in the darkness, the moonlight illuminating through the pines almost made it glow.
The boy was blonde.
This wasn't an evil foreigner he was dealing with. It was his own kind, a fellow American.
His arms dropped. Even if he thought he could do this to anybody to save his own hide, for some reason he couldn't find himself doing it. He wanted to crack the skull of someone like Clara so it'd be easy. He even mentally prepared himself to expect any of those colored people to show up. Just not, white.
It made things a little harder. But now wasn't the time for this. Garritt had hit the boy and no doubt pissed the kid off. White or not, Garritt had just declared civil war on his classmate, who was bigger than him, and Garritt knew he had to do something or get out of there fast.
Before Garritt could make his split second decision, the kid was looking up and Garritt suddenly found himself curious as to see who it was. He bent down to look, but what he got instead was a shovel to the face. To be precise, the material of the military issued E-Tool, was a strong solid piece of metal, cracking him partially in the face and the side of his cranium, not lethally, but enough to fracture his nose and scramble Garritt's brain a bit.
Garritt fell back and to the side by the force directed from the blow, dropping his crowbar in the process. Almost immediately the same E-Tool struck again, this time knocking him to the ground. Garritt looked up, and finally saw the face of his would-be killer. It shocked him that it was turning out this way, that it wasn't Clara or any other psycho foreigner that was about to strike him again behind bared and gritted teeth, but another white Caucasian male.
Another Real American.
"S-stop," Garritt attempted to yell out with a raised hand, but it was possibly unclear or he wasn't loud enough as by then he was too late. The E-Tool's spade speared downward with enough force to stab into Garritt's abdomen as he laid on the ground. The first thing to escape Garritt's lips was a piercing shriek as he realized what had happened, with the unbelievable pain he was feeling and the blood coming from his center and from his broken nose.
The next thing he found himself doing was letting out yelping sobs of pain, accompanied by almost helpless, terrified cries and sad moans of 'ow' mixed in-between. This couldn't be happening, it wasn't fair at all. He was getting too dizzy or what he thought was dizziness, he could feel himself nearly blacking out from sheer excruciation, and he was going to end up just like Caleb.
"Oww-haaw-howww," Garritt continued crying out again with warm tears mixing in with the blood from his nose.
"No, Chris. Chris stop," He whined, he begged. "No more. Please no more, I— I give. Why. I didn't mean to. Don't kill me, I don't wanna die like this."
And then he cried some more, like the small helpless child he was.
Chris didn't know whether he had meant to do it or not. It was all lost in the flash of his anger after he got hit. He'd meant to hit his attacker in the stomach but what was supposed to happen after that he couldn't say. He'd heard the boy yell at him to stop but he'd ignored it. It could have been a ruse for all he knew. That was when it had happened. His attacker had gone down and Chris followed up, he stabbed the e-tool down and felt it spear into his attacker as if it was nothing. The scream that had come from the other boy was what woke him up.
That was when the sobbing had started. Chris had eventually realised that the person who had attacked him had been Garritt. Chris knew Garritt but didn't like him much; he was the kind of person that always hid behind bigger and stronger people, like his older brother Gavin. Chris had always tried to maintain his composure when Garritt would attempt to wind him up, he'd done this by reminding himself that he would've easily been able to shut Garritt up. As it turned out the Program had given him the chance without him even realising it, and he'd taken it. He didn't feel good about himself though.
The sobbing was unending.
Garritt was begging, begging Chris to stop. Chris had let go of the e-tool as soon as it had impaled the other boy.
The cries weren't stopping though.
Garritt was apologising next, saying he hadn't meant to hit him.
He was still crying.
Garritt then started to say that he didn't want to die.
He hadn't stopped crying.
Chris had lost track of the amount of time he'd sat there against the tree. The only sound he could hear was Garritt's sobbing as he slowly bled to death. Despite knowing that he should put Garritt out of his misery he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would've caused Garritt less pain if Chris finished him off, but instead he was just sitting down listening to the cries of one of his classmates as they died.
For some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave either. It felt wrong to him somehow, so he was stuck there sitting against the tree waiting for Garritt to die or for Alex to come back. Eventually though Chris's will buckled and he decided to go and get his and Alex's bags. He took one final look at Garritt and stopped. The e-tool was still stuck in the boy’s stomach; Chris thought about taking it with him but decided against it. He'd come back for it, hopefully once Garritt had died. If he could bring himself to return.
Chris turned and walked away as the boys sobs echoed in his ears.
That was when the sobbing had started. Chris had eventually realised that the person who had attacked him had been Garritt. Chris knew Garritt but didn't like him much; he was the kind of person that always hid behind bigger and stronger people, like his older brother Gavin. Chris had always tried to maintain his composure when Garritt would attempt to wind him up, he'd done this by reminding himself that he would've easily been able to shut Garritt up. As it turned out the Program had given him the chance without him even realising it, and he'd taken it. He didn't feel good about himself though.
The sobbing was unending.
Garritt was begging, begging Chris to stop. Chris had let go of the e-tool as soon as it had impaled the other boy.
The cries weren't stopping though.
Garritt was apologising next, saying he hadn't meant to hit him.
He was still crying.
Garritt then started to say that he didn't want to die.
He hadn't stopped crying.
Chris had lost track of the amount of time he'd sat there against the tree. The only sound he could hear was Garritt's sobbing as he slowly bled to death. Despite knowing that he should put Garritt out of his misery he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would've caused Garritt less pain if Chris finished him off, but instead he was just sitting down listening to the cries of one of his classmates as they died.
For some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave either. It felt wrong to him somehow, so he was stuck there sitting against the tree waiting for Garritt to die or for Alex to come back. Eventually though Chris's will buckled and he decided to go and get his and Alex's bags. He took one final look at Garritt and stopped. The e-tool was still stuck in the boy’s stomach; Chris thought about taking it with him but decided against it. He'd come back for it, hopefully once Garritt had died. If he could bring himself to return.
Chris turned and walked away as the boys sobs echoed in his ears.
What was going on? Chris had stopped his assault, but even when lying down he could see the glow of the boy's blonde hair in the corner of his eye. What was he doing? Was Chris just sitting there, watching him, watching him slowly die like this? He was moaning, crying and Chris was doing nothing, he didn't even pull his weapon out. He just left it there.
Garritt remained there, not wanting to move, afraid of what else Chris had in store for him. If he was sick enough to do this shit, there was no telling what else the boy had in store if Garritt decided to escape. So he just laid there in pain, bleeding like a stuck pig, uncontrolled weeping in response to the torture he was in.
Eventually Garritt could hear the pine needles crunch beneath someone's foot and sure enough, Garritt caught the movement of someone's leg stomping away from the area with every tiny sound. Chris was leaving him here for dead.
Still, Garritt laid there waiting, a sob or two continuing to escape his mouth as he listened to make sure the person wasn't coming back. When he was sure of it, Garritt willed himself up — onto his knees at least. The pain continued to be excruciating and even worse now that he had made some movement after previously laying there. The blood traveled through, flowing from his body down to his hip region sending another wave of strange feeling to his stuck belly. He threw up immediately, or at least his body heaved a bit, trying to. It wasn't much as he hadn't eaten anything that whole day, mostly reaction from the extreme sensation he was enduring.
The most stunning experience for him now, was staring down at the E-Tool jutting out from his abdomen. It was the same ill feeling he would get whenever he went to the doctor's office and watched blood be taken from him for testing, except worse. A thousand times worse. The forest was dark, but he could still see the outline of the E-Tool. It made him feel nauseous and he didn't want to see it anymore.
Garritt placed his hands over the handle of the object, still on his knees with his eyes closed now. Then with all the strength he could muster, he yanked it.
A second scream later the E-Tool was tossed away; Garritt collapsed onto his side and curled up in the fetal position, moaning some-more. This wasn't good, his body was thinking of the pain almost going into shock, but his mind was still thinking of survival. He knew he was making too much noise. His cries would eventually alert any sicko, not just minorities with guns like Clara looking for revenge, but after this, even fellow Americans, like Chris, looking to finish the job.
With a bit of hesitation, Garritt pulled himself up again, not just to his knees, but using the tree trunk's bark for grip to lift himself up to his feet this time. His legs were wobbly as he stood, swaying left to right as he traveled step by step away from that area. He had left everything he had behind, including his bag from lack of energy. It would weigh him down even more, when his body was already a burden.
Garritt continued to hold both palm of his hands against the large opened wound in his mid-section. It was bleeding more than before, without the E-Tool holding back the flow, especially since he was moving now. His imagination led to thoughts of his intestines falling out and he didn't want that to happen.
In his peripheral vision, Garritt spotted the foliage of green bushes near boulders, his same hiding spot from earlier in the day when he hid from Clara. He stomped forward, his vision fading in and out from black to blacker as he moved in the direction to the bushes. This was the proper hiding place now; no one would find him unless he wanted to be found. He was sure the darkness could hide him especially with the camouflage on. He could still live through this. Somehow.
When he got there, he collapsed.
His body crashed through the bushes, scratching himself more from the twigs and branches poking through between the leaves, but that pain was nothing compared to the one from his broken face and tummy. He crawled into the bushes further, despite this, hoping to hide himself completely in the foliage.
He took a breather and then from all his pain, Garritt passed out.
Time passed.
It was still dark, when Garritt's eyes fluttered open although not as dark as before.
He felt cold but at the same time his head was burning hot or at least it felt that way. The pain was numb, he felt ill now too, the same feeling he had when he was young and had an intense fever. Something was wrong, his vision still wasn't good and when he tried to move, he blacked out again. The pattern continued continuously throughout the very early morning as he faded in and out of consciousness.
Wasn't until it was bright out, when Garritt could keep himself awake a little longer.
More time passed.
The cracking of the PA system woke Garritt Baker from his latest slumber. Apparently he was still alive enough to hear it. He couldn't quite comprehend it, not that he tried since his mind no longer cared about it, more concerned about his own situation. However, he did hear enough to acknowledge that the Brigadier-General sounded angry and he did catch enough to hear the man mention that a 'real patriot' - a Real American would now have a better chance at winning.
Garritt wished he could have been that guy the man was talking about, but he knew better than that: The bleeding hadn't stopped.
The day was bright, brighter than yesterday. The sun was out almost full shine, yet Garritt felt a lot colder than he was in the dead of night.
He could barely find himself able to move now, only able to turn enough to catch sight of the skin of his hands, more pallid than usual in spots that weren't covered with his own blood from the previous night. It wasn't the only thing he caught sight of either. His torso had an obvious leak of liquid oozing out, soaking into the ground around him. He shivered.
Garritt curled himself up into a more comfortable or at least bearable position again. He didn't want to deal with this shit anymore. He just wanted to sleep his problems away a little longer; not think about the bleeding, The Program, Clara, Caleb, Chris, not anything.
All he kept wanting to think about was his family. It wasn't until the Program that he realized how much he took them for granted. They spoiled him rotten, but at least they cared no matter how much of an asshole he knew he could be sometimes. This would have never happened if Gavin was with him and his mom, his mom was always there too.
Just thinking about them relaxed Garritt's mind, making him feel all cuddly, warm and safe inside. As gay as that sounded — it was still the god given truth.
Nah, he wasn't going to die. He was bleeding a little yeah, but he was still going to win this and make those fuckers pay after this nap. He wasn't some pussy who was going to give up that easily. Garritt cuddled up into his camouflaged onesie, closed his eyes and smirked.
No ways. Not when you're, Garritt Fuckin' Baker: Real American.
M18: Garritt Baker, Deceased.
Garritt remained there, not wanting to move, afraid of what else Chris had in store for him. If he was sick enough to do this shit, there was no telling what else the boy had in store if Garritt decided to escape. So he just laid there in pain, bleeding like a stuck pig, uncontrolled weeping in response to the torture he was in.
Eventually Garritt could hear the pine needles crunch beneath someone's foot and sure enough, Garritt caught the movement of someone's leg stomping away from the area with every tiny sound. Chris was leaving him here for dead.
Still, Garritt laid there waiting, a sob or two continuing to escape his mouth as he listened to make sure the person wasn't coming back. When he was sure of it, Garritt willed himself up — onto his knees at least. The pain continued to be excruciating and even worse now that he had made some movement after previously laying there. The blood traveled through, flowing from his body down to his hip region sending another wave of strange feeling to his stuck belly. He threw up immediately, or at least his body heaved a bit, trying to. It wasn't much as he hadn't eaten anything that whole day, mostly reaction from the extreme sensation he was enduring.
The most stunning experience for him now, was staring down at the E-Tool jutting out from his abdomen. It was the same ill feeling he would get whenever he went to the doctor's office and watched blood be taken from him for testing, except worse. A thousand times worse. The forest was dark, but he could still see the outline of the E-Tool. It made him feel nauseous and he didn't want to see it anymore.
Garritt placed his hands over the handle of the object, still on his knees with his eyes closed now. Then with all the strength he could muster, he yanked it.
A second scream later the E-Tool was tossed away; Garritt collapsed onto his side and curled up in the fetal position, moaning some-more. This wasn't good, his body was thinking of the pain almost going into shock, but his mind was still thinking of survival. He knew he was making too much noise. His cries would eventually alert any sicko, not just minorities with guns like Clara looking for revenge, but after this, even fellow Americans, like Chris, looking to finish the job.
With a bit of hesitation, Garritt pulled himself up again, not just to his knees, but using the tree trunk's bark for grip to lift himself up to his feet this time. His legs were wobbly as he stood, swaying left to right as he traveled step by step away from that area. He had left everything he had behind, including his bag from lack of energy. It would weigh him down even more, when his body was already a burden.
Garritt continued to hold both palm of his hands against the large opened wound in his mid-section. It was bleeding more than before, without the E-Tool holding back the flow, especially since he was moving now. His imagination led to thoughts of his intestines falling out and he didn't want that to happen.
In his peripheral vision, Garritt spotted the foliage of green bushes near boulders, his same hiding spot from earlier in the day when he hid from Clara. He stomped forward, his vision fading in and out from black to blacker as he moved in the direction to the bushes. This was the proper hiding place now; no one would find him unless he wanted to be found. He was sure the darkness could hide him especially with the camouflage on. He could still live through this. Somehow.
When he got there, he collapsed.
His body crashed through the bushes, scratching himself more from the twigs and branches poking through between the leaves, but that pain was nothing compared to the one from his broken face and tummy. He crawled into the bushes further, despite this, hoping to hide himself completely in the foliage.
He took a breather and then from all his pain, Garritt passed out.
Time passed.
It was still dark, when Garritt's eyes fluttered open although not as dark as before.
He felt cold but at the same time his head was burning hot or at least it felt that way. The pain was numb, he felt ill now too, the same feeling he had when he was young and had an intense fever. Something was wrong, his vision still wasn't good and when he tried to move, he blacked out again. The pattern continued continuously throughout the very early morning as he faded in and out of consciousness.
Wasn't until it was bright out, when Garritt could keep himself awake a little longer.
More time passed.
The cracking of the PA system woke Garritt Baker from his latest slumber. Apparently he was still alive enough to hear it. He couldn't quite comprehend it, not that he tried since his mind no longer cared about it, more concerned about his own situation. However, he did hear enough to acknowledge that the Brigadier-General sounded angry and he did catch enough to hear the man mention that a 'real patriot' - a Real American would now have a better chance at winning.
Garritt wished he could have been that guy the man was talking about, but he knew better than that: The bleeding hadn't stopped.
The day was bright, brighter than yesterday. The sun was out almost full shine, yet Garritt felt a lot colder than he was in the dead of night.
He could barely find himself able to move now, only able to turn enough to catch sight of the skin of his hands, more pallid than usual in spots that weren't covered with his own blood from the previous night. It wasn't the only thing he caught sight of either. His torso had an obvious leak of liquid oozing out, soaking into the ground around him. He shivered.
Garritt curled himself up into a more comfortable or at least bearable position again. He didn't want to deal with this shit anymore. He just wanted to sleep his problems away a little longer; not think about the bleeding, The Program, Clara, Caleb, Chris, not anything.
All he kept wanting to think about was his family. It wasn't until the Program that he realized how much he took them for granted. They spoiled him rotten, but at least they cared no matter how much of an asshole he knew he could be sometimes. This would have never happened if Gavin was with him and his mom, his mom was always there too.
Just thinking about them relaxed Garritt's mind, making him feel all cuddly, warm and safe inside. As gay as that sounded — it was still the god given truth.
Nah, he wasn't going to die. He was bleeding a little yeah, but he was still going to win this and make those fuckers pay after this nap. He wasn't some pussy who was going to give up that easily. Garritt cuddled up into his camouflaged onesie, closed his eyes and smirked.
No ways. Not when you're, Garritt Fuckin' Baker: Real American.
M18: Garritt Baker, Deceased.
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3435
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
Alexander was just starting to think that giving up again, much as it rankled, might be the most efficient course of action. Then Maxim started shouting back. He said he couldn't change because he'd committed too many crimes. He said he had to kill. He said he was beyond forgiveness, that nobody could grant him that except Louisa. Alexander assumed Maxim meant Louisa Bloom. He was pretty sure they were close fiends, and also pretty sure that she too had been selected for The Program.
Then Maxim turned around, probably instinctively trying to make eye contact, and wiped out.
Ordinarily, that would have brought a smile to Alexander's face. His foe, the guy he'd sworn to go after, was down. Maxim seemed to finally remember his gun had a bayonet at the end of it, but Alexander was close enough that he thought it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Maxim had messed up, and now it was time to make him pay.
Only, there was one little problem. Looking down at the boy, Alexander didn't really feel overcome by anger. Yes, Maxim had taken two shots at him. He'd also missed twice. He'd flubbed his ambush and his robbery, and what he'd said told Alexander all he needed to know about why.
It was the same thing all over again, the same thing he'd seen when he first woke up. Brigid had been hugging the wall, screaming for her mom, for someone to come save her. She'd said that she didn't want to die. That was true of them all, Alexander imagined, every last person trapped in this valley. They were all scared, and it was a grave mistake to assume that others would be able to step back and look at things logically and react properly to that fear. Alexander had thought Brigid a fool for calling for someone who couldn't possibly save her, but now he was confronted by the exact opposite situation. Maxim had talked himself into believing that nobody could save him, nobody except one person who Alexander had no reason to really believe would be able to do anything special for him. He was discounting all other options out of hand, simply because they were outside his comfort zone.
So, what to do now?
Alexander was halfway tempted to go through with things and smack Maxim around anyways. He didn't actually want to kill the boy—never had, really; his vow had been more to make Maxim think twice than because he had any particular drive for revenge. Maybe a good beating would teach the kid a thing or two about picking fights he couldn't win, or convince him to give up and stop pretending he could make his way through this by throwing everyone else under the bus. There was another little factor nibbling away at the back of Alexander's conscience, though. He'd given Brigid advice, had tried to teach her lessons, and somehow she'd gone off and gotten killed right away anyways. Clearly, people couldn't be trusted to do the logical thing without someone there to talk them through every step of the way. If Alexander beat Maxim black and blue, the boy would probably just slink off and try again and get killed because of his injuries.
Alexander found that he didn't really want to see that happen. He didn't want to hear another name on the announcements and be able to reconstruct what must have happened in his mind. He wanted a different ending this time.
"You're pretty damn dumb, you know that?" he said, voice calm and level as always. Maxim was down on the ground. Alexander was pretty sure he could catch the boy if he made a break for it, now that a head start wasn't a factor. He didn't move closer to Maxim, but he didn't drop his guard, either.
"I mean, just think for a minute here, okay? What have you done since we got here? You went ahead and attacked Dylan, you tried to rob Chris, you set up this cute little ambush, and you've done who knows what other stuff. I mean, man, you've been busy. Me, I walked down a mountain and then I stumbled into that little situation we had earlier, and then Chris and I just chilled until we had to leave. It was actually kind of relaxing.
"Okay, now look at you. You're running away from me because you think I'm trying to kill you. You're ready to fight me to the death, right here, right now. You know it's probably not going to go well. Even if you somehow win, I can make sure you won't get far from here. So, really, you're not in a very good spot right now, right?"
Alexander cocked an eyebrow, fully aware that the expression was probably lost on Maxim in the dark. The boy seemed at least to recognize that the questions were rhetorical, though. Alexander felt a smile creeping up on him.
"Man, you're basically out of luck, and that's because you made the wrong choice. You decided to go after people, and that's not how you do things here, not unless you want people chasing after you trying to get back at you. You start like that, and everything's a fight, everywhere you go, for the rest of your life. It's just basic logic. You're gonna get yourself killed, and I don't think that's what you want. You've got a gun, so you've had a way out for yourself since you started.
"You're going on momentum. You say nobody but Louisa can forgive you. Tell me, did you ever even think about asking someone?"
Alexander was suddenly very glad for his long experience talking with stupid people. It made it a lot easier not to get worked up when talking to someone as willfully ignorant as Maxim seemed determined to remain.
"I'll forgive you. Right now. Freebie. Chris, I think he might forgive you too. I mean, maybe not right away. He was pretty mad. But, man, we went to school together. I know you're no psychopath. As far as I know, you haven't actually killed anyone. If you had, I'd be pretty shocked. So, you can keep throwing yourself into places where you'll lose, because you don't think anyone else understands making a mistake, or you can try something new."
Alexander was fully aware that what he was about to propose was likely to go over like a lead balloon with Chris. He found he didn't care. Chris knew how to take care of himself. Besides, he'd been perfectly willing to follow Alexander's lead so far. That didn't seem likely to change soon, not when this was a decision Alexander was sure he could justify.
"Maxim, listen. I'm not blowing smoke here. Here's an option you've got besides going around being a menace to society:
"Come with me. Come with me and Chris. You stick with a group, nobody's going to think you're going after everyone, especially when we don't go up and attack random people. You stick with us, and we can figure out an actual solution, do things the right way. We can find Louisa, bring her on-board, too. I'm not saying this will be easy, or that it won't be dangerous, but I think it's got to be better than doing this again and again until someone finally gets lucky, huh?
"We'll get your friend in, too, the guy you were using for bait. If you don't want to, that's fine. You get to walk away, because I'm not lying about forgiving you and I'm pretty sure if you try stuff on me again I can take you down again, and it won't be personal. But, seriously, you're smarter than this. Show me that."
It wasn't perfect. Alexander knew he'd talked Maxim's ear off. He'd kept stuff long on purpose, because his heart rate had gone down, the adrenaline in his body subsiding a bit. He hoped Maxim was the same, hoped he was starting to realize how tiring fighting and running was. It was calm that would resolve this, and giving Maxim enough time to calm down was absolutely key.
There was still a pretty good chance the boy would walk away and just keep doing what he'd been doing. If he did, though, that would be his choice. Alexander had held big thoughts about only taking people along who wouldn't be a liability, but he'd tossed Brigid aside for being useless, and after what had happened there he realized that he'd rather take his chances and deal with some stupid, useless people than let them die out on their own.
Sometimes, doing what was right was a little bit more important than doing what was easy.
((Passive GMing of Maxim sitting through that lengthy rant approved by jimmy))
Then Maxim turned around, probably instinctively trying to make eye contact, and wiped out.
Ordinarily, that would have brought a smile to Alexander's face. His foe, the guy he'd sworn to go after, was down. Maxim seemed to finally remember his gun had a bayonet at the end of it, but Alexander was close enough that he thought it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Maxim had messed up, and now it was time to make him pay.
Only, there was one little problem. Looking down at the boy, Alexander didn't really feel overcome by anger. Yes, Maxim had taken two shots at him. He'd also missed twice. He'd flubbed his ambush and his robbery, and what he'd said told Alexander all he needed to know about why.
It was the same thing all over again, the same thing he'd seen when he first woke up. Brigid had been hugging the wall, screaming for her mom, for someone to come save her. She'd said that she didn't want to die. That was true of them all, Alexander imagined, every last person trapped in this valley. They were all scared, and it was a grave mistake to assume that others would be able to step back and look at things logically and react properly to that fear. Alexander had thought Brigid a fool for calling for someone who couldn't possibly save her, but now he was confronted by the exact opposite situation. Maxim had talked himself into believing that nobody could save him, nobody except one person who Alexander had no reason to really believe would be able to do anything special for him. He was discounting all other options out of hand, simply because they were outside his comfort zone.
So, what to do now?
Alexander was halfway tempted to go through with things and smack Maxim around anyways. He didn't actually want to kill the boy—never had, really; his vow had been more to make Maxim think twice than because he had any particular drive for revenge. Maybe a good beating would teach the kid a thing or two about picking fights he couldn't win, or convince him to give up and stop pretending he could make his way through this by throwing everyone else under the bus. There was another little factor nibbling away at the back of Alexander's conscience, though. He'd given Brigid advice, had tried to teach her lessons, and somehow she'd gone off and gotten killed right away anyways. Clearly, people couldn't be trusted to do the logical thing without someone there to talk them through every step of the way. If Alexander beat Maxim black and blue, the boy would probably just slink off and try again and get killed because of his injuries.
Alexander found that he didn't really want to see that happen. He didn't want to hear another name on the announcements and be able to reconstruct what must have happened in his mind. He wanted a different ending this time.
"You're pretty damn dumb, you know that?" he said, voice calm and level as always. Maxim was down on the ground. Alexander was pretty sure he could catch the boy if he made a break for it, now that a head start wasn't a factor. He didn't move closer to Maxim, but he didn't drop his guard, either.
"I mean, just think for a minute here, okay? What have you done since we got here? You went ahead and attacked Dylan, you tried to rob Chris, you set up this cute little ambush, and you've done who knows what other stuff. I mean, man, you've been busy. Me, I walked down a mountain and then I stumbled into that little situation we had earlier, and then Chris and I just chilled until we had to leave. It was actually kind of relaxing.
"Okay, now look at you. You're running away from me because you think I'm trying to kill you. You're ready to fight me to the death, right here, right now. You know it's probably not going to go well. Even if you somehow win, I can make sure you won't get far from here. So, really, you're not in a very good spot right now, right?"
Alexander cocked an eyebrow, fully aware that the expression was probably lost on Maxim in the dark. The boy seemed at least to recognize that the questions were rhetorical, though. Alexander felt a smile creeping up on him.
"Man, you're basically out of luck, and that's because you made the wrong choice. You decided to go after people, and that's not how you do things here, not unless you want people chasing after you trying to get back at you. You start like that, and everything's a fight, everywhere you go, for the rest of your life. It's just basic logic. You're gonna get yourself killed, and I don't think that's what you want. You've got a gun, so you've had a way out for yourself since you started.
"You're going on momentum. You say nobody but Louisa can forgive you. Tell me, did you ever even think about asking someone?"
Alexander was suddenly very glad for his long experience talking with stupid people. It made it a lot easier not to get worked up when talking to someone as willfully ignorant as Maxim seemed determined to remain.
"I'll forgive you. Right now. Freebie. Chris, I think he might forgive you too. I mean, maybe not right away. He was pretty mad. But, man, we went to school together. I know you're no psychopath. As far as I know, you haven't actually killed anyone. If you had, I'd be pretty shocked. So, you can keep throwing yourself into places where you'll lose, because you don't think anyone else understands making a mistake, or you can try something new."
Alexander was fully aware that what he was about to propose was likely to go over like a lead balloon with Chris. He found he didn't care. Chris knew how to take care of himself. Besides, he'd been perfectly willing to follow Alexander's lead so far. That didn't seem likely to change soon, not when this was a decision Alexander was sure he could justify.
"Maxim, listen. I'm not blowing smoke here. Here's an option you've got besides going around being a menace to society:
"Come with me. Come with me and Chris. You stick with a group, nobody's going to think you're going after everyone, especially when we don't go up and attack random people. You stick with us, and we can figure out an actual solution, do things the right way. We can find Louisa, bring her on-board, too. I'm not saying this will be easy, or that it won't be dangerous, but I think it's got to be better than doing this again and again until someone finally gets lucky, huh?
"We'll get your friend in, too, the guy you were using for bait. If you don't want to, that's fine. You get to walk away, because I'm not lying about forgiving you and I'm pretty sure if you try stuff on me again I can take you down again, and it won't be personal. But, seriously, you're smarter than this. Show me that."
It wasn't perfect. Alexander knew he'd talked Maxim's ear off. He'd kept stuff long on purpose, because his heart rate had gone down, the adrenaline in his body subsiding a bit. He hoped Maxim was the same, hoped he was starting to realize how tiring fighting and running was. It was calm that would resolve this, and giving Maxim enough time to calm down was absolutely key.
There was still a pretty good chance the boy would walk away and just keep doing what he'd been doing. If he did, though, that would be his choice. Alexander had held big thoughts about only taking people along who wouldn't be a liability, but he'd tossed Brigid aside for being useless, and after what had happened there he realized that he'd rather take his chances and deal with some stupid, useless people than let them die out on their own.
Sometimes, doing what was right was a little bit more important than doing what was easy.
((Passive GMing of Maxim sitting through that lengthy rant approved by jimmy))