The rotten old asshole was probably watching right now, getting ready to uncork the champagne, and all Logan Sorenson had it in her to do was laugh. All the shit he'd put her through in life, she'd endured. Thought she'd come out on top. Now, here she was, alone in some abandoned military office with a pound of chicken and a handaxe, with x number of days to live ahead of her. Yup. Top of the fucking world, that was. To see her sitting there on the floor in front of one of the desks, laughing her head off through the tears while twirling the hatchet in her right hand, you might think she'd lost her marbles right then and there. You may even have been right. Who knows?
Either way, she always did appreciate irony.
As she slammed the hatchet into the desk behind her, as the laughter gave way to a blank stare, a thought occurred to her. Suppose she won. She wasn't a killer, not by any means. That was the Colonel's business, and her business had always been whatever wasn't the Colonel's business. But suppose she won. Her father wouldn't care for that, no sir. The Colonel would not be pleased. Not if she lived. The old man never wanted a daughter, and this was his chance to see his wish come true. For sixteen years, it had been his dream.
If there was one thing Logan enjoyed above all else, it was shattering the Colonel's dreams.
But she wasn't a killer.
If she wanted to live, she had to eliminate the other students. They needed to cease to exist. They needed to die. They would die when they were killed.
But she wasn't a killer.
...She wasn't a killer.
Of course. How silly of her to forget that fifty other people were facing this precise moral dilemma. Fifty other people who could just as easily kill each other. It was just a matter of expediting the process. The strong would cull the weak early on, strike out the easy targets before turning on each other. But suppose the weak didn't sit back and take it like they always did? Suppose they banded together against their more patriotic oppressors. Suppose they had someone to lead them against The Man. They would doubtless perish either way, but they would have died fighting. More important, though, the real competition would be worn thin. Weakened. Perhaps even so weakened that the last man standing would bleed out himself. All that, and all Sorenson needed to do was just a little prodding in the right direction, and from there, she could just sit back and watch the fireworks. And if Logan was good at anything, it was pushing the right buttons.
The blank stare gave way to a sinister grin, a most sinister grin, indeed.
This could prove to be fun.
"See ya soon, pops."
Daddy's Little Girl Ain't a Girl No More
F19: Commence
Moderator: Sh4dE
Daddy's Little Girl Ain't a Girl No More
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Stark. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
(M16 - Luke Mendoza Start)
It had already been several minutes since he woke up from his gas induced nap, but Luke remained sitting, on the floor, head against desk and legs sprawled out forward in front of him. He was left quiet, sitting and simply thinking, trying to clear his mind.
Math. One of the only subjects in school he totally aced at, even if it was boring. He figured the probability of it a week before. The chances were just so low, he didn't even give the announcement day a passing thought. It was supposed to be a normal day in the life of Luke. If all else fails, he figured that even if General's Pride was picked, surely his grade wouldn't be drawn as well. If that, for some freak reason, happened too, then with some assurance from his best friend and bro, Dante that day, his luck would help keep him safe.
He even held a "lucky charm" that day, a trinket, almost like a bracelet, with a four-leaf clover, horseshoe, and rabbits foot attached to it, that Dante's dad Mr. Luciano, promised would keep them lucky during the Announcements.
Well looks like that luck did help with something that, most people wish they had the luck to do: Win the Lottery.
Luke... you lucky bastard. Thousands of schools, millions of students and you were among the 50 something kids to win this lottery. Yup Uh-huh, Lucky Luke. That's you.
Maybe he wasn't so good at math after all.
Luke recalled the horrible day so far:
Sitting with Dante and a few other companions, as the Program Announcement's drawings were being read. With every draw something that barely happened with Luke happened. The screen had his full undivided attention. No way, General's Pride? Then the Sophomores? What is going on here? Soldiers began taking the students away at gun point. It was Surreal!
Then it came, the moment his name was read aloud. Luke stood up and right away, looked at his best friend. They said nothing to each other simply nodding, extending hands, grasping each firmly and pulling each other into a brief hug. This was the best way they could say bye with each other, as a soldier had already nudged Luke to hurry along with that big ass gun. That was one thing Luke was happy about though. At least he knew that Dante was away from him. Away from this horrible game. Safe. He wouldn't wish this on anybody, not even those annoying suck-ups who would rat on him, for even the smallest offenses. Skipping classes, or a few card games among peers never hurt, nobody, right?
The following bus ride was a quiet one, like as if they were headed to some sort of concentration camp. There was no talking whatsoever. Than their instructions. That guy, the army colonel, or something made it clear. There would be killing. Everyone would be killing each other, until there was only one person left... now the odds of that was even more clear for Luke's mathmatically inclined mind. Unless his so called "luck" were to work for him this time, then he was, for all intent and purposes, logically screwed. He was gonna be a dead-man.
Thud, thud, thud.
Luke casually banged his head softly on the side of the empty desk in back of him. He surveyed the area. It seemed to be a small enclosed office room. The room was dark. Lights were out. The room was pretty empty. Just the desk with it's chair, a shelf, a window, and a ceiling fan. That however was on, spinning quietly and slowly on him. The only light was that emitting from the outside, through the blinds of the office window. It seemed to have some sun out.
Dark was good though. Part of the reason he didn't take off his sunglasses. The dark allowed him to think. But he was done with thinking for the moment, apparently he had a bag issued for the Program. He removed the aviator shades and saw sitting right in front of him, the dark green duffel bag, with *M16* written on it.
M16?! Isn't that like a big gun those military guys use?
He opened the bag seeing everything promised in it, except for the M16 he assumed was in there. Wait a minute. Wow, brain fart M16 was just his number. He was Male #16, the 16th guy drawn by the General into this game. Instead he found something else, a small gun, in a pouch with a container of bullets. He examined it closely. It looked old fashioned, with the chamber on the exterior. He could visibly see where you were supposed to put the bullets. The kind the cowboys used back-in-the-day.
He pulled a bullet out and put one in to practice loading. It fit in easily, and he put it back into position.
Then the thought went back into the boy's mind. Luke was holding a gun, he was going to use this gun to kill people, or someone was gonna kill him.
No... NO. Luke Mendoza is NOT a cold blooded killer.
There was only one way to end this on his own terms. Sitting there on the floor, Luke spun the gun's chamber and put it against his head.
There was a bullet in there and the gambler in him was gonna play some roulette...
Luke's hand shook with nervousness and fear as he eased his finger on the trigger, ready to pull it in any second. That is until he saw the small red blinking light of a camera on the corner of the ceiling, focused squarely on him.
What the hell! LUKE! This is CRAZY! Snap out of it! You're holding a FUCKING GUN against your head! What is WRONG with you?
No, Luke wasn't a killer, but his mother didn't raise him to be a quitter neither. Suicide was the loser way out of this game, plus it was just plain stupid. Luke was gonna get through this the correct way. He was a WINNER, not a loser, dammit! What would his mother think of him, if she were watching this right now?
"Piece of crap... Lucky Charm, my ass!"
Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the charm that was still there and hurled it against the wall. Lashing out his gun, Luke aimed the barrel at the charm bracelet, ready to blast it apart.
Ok, put the gun down, Cool Hand Luke. You're yelling, at a bracelet, and you're pointing a gun at it, ready to shoot. On camera no less. Yeah, the whole country must think you're crazy and your mother must be soo proud.
His aim switched toward the camera. Oh how much Luke wanted to blast holes through that camera right now. He had his gun pointed to viewers all across America!
Luke lowered his hands as he reasoned with himself. Shooting now, would cause too much attention. It would be loud alerting someone, maybe someone dangerous of his presence. It would be a waste of bullets and destroying the government's equipment on purpose would probably get him killed by the soldiers themselves.
The door to the office was still locked and Luke didn't feel like leaving just yet. His head hurt, too much. Too much thinking. He put his bag near the side of the desk as he lowered himself into the chair in front of it. He concealed the gun into an inner pocket of his black sweater jacket. That's the good thing about a small gun, you can hide it, instead of holding it out in front of you. Hopefully this would prevent someone from making the wrong impressions about a guy with a gun.
Luke lowered his head onto the desk.
Just gotta compose myself, than we'll see how this works out.
It had already been several minutes since he woke up from his gas induced nap, but Luke remained sitting, on the floor, head against desk and legs sprawled out forward in front of him. He was left quiet, sitting and simply thinking, trying to clear his mind.
Math. One of the only subjects in school he totally aced at, even if it was boring. He figured the probability of it a week before. The chances were just so low, he didn't even give the announcement day a passing thought. It was supposed to be a normal day in the life of Luke. If all else fails, he figured that even if General's Pride was picked, surely his grade wouldn't be drawn as well. If that, for some freak reason, happened too, then with some assurance from his best friend and bro, Dante that day, his luck would help keep him safe.
He even held a "lucky charm" that day, a trinket, almost like a bracelet, with a four-leaf clover, horseshoe, and rabbits foot attached to it, that Dante's dad Mr. Luciano, promised would keep them lucky during the Announcements.
Well looks like that luck did help with something that, most people wish they had the luck to do: Win the Lottery.
Luke... you lucky bastard. Thousands of schools, millions of students and you were among the 50 something kids to win this lottery. Yup Uh-huh, Lucky Luke. That's you.
Maybe he wasn't so good at math after all.
Luke recalled the horrible day so far:
Sitting with Dante and a few other companions, as the Program Announcement's drawings were being read. With every draw something that barely happened with Luke happened. The screen had his full undivided attention. No way, General's Pride? Then the Sophomores? What is going on here? Soldiers began taking the students away at gun point. It was Surreal!
Then it came, the moment his name was read aloud. Luke stood up and right away, looked at his best friend. They said nothing to each other simply nodding, extending hands, grasping each firmly and pulling each other into a brief hug. This was the best way they could say bye with each other, as a soldier had already nudged Luke to hurry along with that big ass gun. That was one thing Luke was happy about though. At least he knew that Dante was away from him. Away from this horrible game. Safe. He wouldn't wish this on anybody, not even those annoying suck-ups who would rat on him, for even the smallest offenses. Skipping classes, or a few card games among peers never hurt, nobody, right?
The following bus ride was a quiet one, like as if they were headed to some sort of concentration camp. There was no talking whatsoever. Than their instructions. That guy, the army colonel, or something made it clear. There would be killing. Everyone would be killing each other, until there was only one person left... now the odds of that was even more clear for Luke's mathmatically inclined mind. Unless his so called "luck" were to work for him this time, then he was, for all intent and purposes, logically screwed. He was gonna be a dead-man.
Thud, thud, thud.
Luke casually banged his head softly on the side of the empty desk in back of him. He surveyed the area. It seemed to be a small enclosed office room. The room was dark. Lights were out. The room was pretty empty. Just the desk with it's chair, a shelf, a window, and a ceiling fan. That however was on, spinning quietly and slowly on him. The only light was that emitting from the outside, through the blinds of the office window. It seemed to have some sun out.
Dark was good though. Part of the reason he didn't take off his sunglasses. The dark allowed him to think. But he was done with thinking for the moment, apparently he had a bag issued for the Program. He removed the aviator shades and saw sitting right in front of him, the dark green duffel bag, with *M16* written on it.
M16?! Isn't that like a big gun those military guys use?
He opened the bag seeing everything promised in it, except for the M16 he assumed was in there. Wait a minute. Wow, brain fart M16 was just his number. He was Male #16, the 16th guy drawn by the General into this game. Instead he found something else, a small gun, in a pouch with a container of bullets. He examined it closely. It looked old fashioned, with the chamber on the exterior. He could visibly see where you were supposed to put the bullets. The kind the cowboys used back-in-the-day.
He pulled a bullet out and put one in to practice loading. It fit in easily, and he put it back into position.
Then the thought went back into the boy's mind. Luke was holding a gun, he was going to use this gun to kill people, or someone was gonna kill him.
No... NO. Luke Mendoza is NOT a cold blooded killer.
There was only one way to end this on his own terms. Sitting there on the floor, Luke spun the gun's chamber and put it against his head.
There was a bullet in there and the gambler in him was gonna play some roulette...
Luke's hand shook with nervousness and fear as he eased his finger on the trigger, ready to pull it in any second. That is until he saw the small red blinking light of a camera on the corner of the ceiling, focused squarely on him.
What the hell! LUKE! This is CRAZY! Snap out of it! You're holding a FUCKING GUN against your head! What is WRONG with you?
No, Luke wasn't a killer, but his mother didn't raise him to be a quitter neither. Suicide was the loser way out of this game, plus it was just plain stupid. Luke was gonna get through this the correct way. He was a WINNER, not a loser, dammit! What would his mother think of him, if she were watching this right now?
"Piece of crap... Lucky Charm, my ass!"
Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the charm that was still there and hurled it against the wall. Lashing out his gun, Luke aimed the barrel at the charm bracelet, ready to blast it apart.
Ok, put the gun down, Cool Hand Luke. You're yelling, at a bracelet, and you're pointing a gun at it, ready to shoot. On camera no less. Yeah, the whole country must think you're crazy and your mother must be soo proud.
His aim switched toward the camera. Oh how much Luke wanted to blast holes through that camera right now. He had his gun pointed to viewers all across America!
Luke lowered his hands as he reasoned with himself. Shooting now, would cause too much attention. It would be loud alerting someone, maybe someone dangerous of his presence. It would be a waste of bullets and destroying the government's equipment on purpose would probably get him killed by the soldiers themselves.
The door to the office was still locked and Luke didn't feel like leaving just yet. His head hurt, too much. Too much thinking. He put his bag near the side of the desk as he lowered himself into the chair in front of it. He concealed the gun into an inner pocket of his black sweater jacket. That's the good thing about a small gun, you can hide it, instead of holding it out in front of you. Hopefully this would prevent someone from making the wrong impressions about a guy with a gun.
Luke lowered his head onto the desk.
Just gotta compose myself, than we'll see how this works out.
-
chitoryu12*
- Posts: 64
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:16 am
((M10: John Ferrara start)
"Good afternoon, schools of America. This is your General."
He ran up the stairs, feet pounding on the cold concrete.
"Once again, we reach that time of the year where we select those to take part in our most prestigious of events."
He paused at the landing, legs burning. Looking. Seeking.
"The Program."
He went up the next flight of stairs, slowly this time.
"I am sure that everyone who is selected will do America and myself proud in fulfilling their national duty."
He turned his weapon over in his hands, at the bald eagle staring up at him. Looking proud and powerful.
"Oh, but one last thing before I begin. Some students in past years have proven treasonous to their country and attempted to avoid participation in the Program."
He was at the door. It was closed.
"In order to ensure that we have at least fifty students, we will be drawing a small number of additional names."
His hand reached for the knob. It was metal. Cold.
"The school selected for the forty-second edition of the Program is… General’s Pride, in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania."
He opened the door.
------------------------
Jonathan Ferrara was sitting against an empty desk on the second floor of the administration building in the compound where he was determined to make it out.
And he was angry.
Had he been bullied and discriminated against for his background in high school? Hardly. Italians were almost totally "white" to just about everyone but the most determined racists. He really had nothing to fear.
But endless fights as a child had taught him who not to trust. Every single pale-skinned boy and girl with a perfect American accent. All watching him, judging him.
This included the General himself.
He just knew that his weapon was given to him to make sure that he would never win, that an olive-skinned Italian wouldn't make it out. Not more blight on the perfect sea of pink that made up the United States of America.
He dropped the banjo next to him, a slight twang emanating from the strings. What the hell was he supposed to do? The damn thing was so light that it would probably break over some hulking Aryan's head, and then he would get chucked out a window.
But he had to make it out. His parents depended on him. If he died, that was it for them. They may as well swallow cyanide without him in their lives.
And so, he sat. He waited. He thought. He planned.
He decided.
He went down the stairs and went right out the door.
(John Ferrara continued in This Can't be Me...))
"Good afternoon, schools of America. This is your General."
He ran up the stairs, feet pounding on the cold concrete.
"Once again, we reach that time of the year where we select those to take part in our most prestigious of events."
He paused at the landing, legs burning. Looking. Seeking.
"The Program."
He went up the next flight of stairs, slowly this time.
"I am sure that everyone who is selected will do America and myself proud in fulfilling their national duty."
He turned his weapon over in his hands, at the bald eagle staring up at him. Looking proud and powerful.
"Oh, but one last thing before I begin. Some students in past years have proven treasonous to their country and attempted to avoid participation in the Program."
He was at the door. It was closed.
"In order to ensure that we have at least fifty students, we will be drawing a small number of additional names."
His hand reached for the knob. It was metal. Cold.
"The school selected for the forty-second edition of the Program is… General’s Pride, in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania."
He opened the door.
------------------------
Jonathan Ferrara was sitting against an empty desk on the second floor of the administration building in the compound where he was determined to make it out.
And he was angry.
Had he been bullied and discriminated against for his background in high school? Hardly. Italians were almost totally "white" to just about everyone but the most determined racists. He really had nothing to fear.
But endless fights as a child had taught him who not to trust. Every single pale-skinned boy and girl with a perfect American accent. All watching him, judging him.
This included the General himself.
He just knew that his weapon was given to him to make sure that he would never win, that an olive-skinned Italian wouldn't make it out. Not more blight on the perfect sea of pink that made up the United States of America.
He dropped the banjo next to him, a slight twang emanating from the strings. What the hell was he supposed to do? The damn thing was so light that it would probably break over some hulking Aryan's head, and then he would get chucked out a window.
But he had to make it out. His parents depended on him. If he died, that was it for them. They may as well swallow cyanide without him in their lives.
And so, he sat. He waited. He thought. He planned.
He decided.
He went down the stairs and went right out the door.
(John Ferrara continued in This Can't be Me...))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler chitoryu12. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((not entirely lucid right now, but hell with it, I'll see what I can manage))
"...Luke?"
Having gathered her belongings in her bag, Sorenson was just on her way out when the shouting had begun. Right away, she recognized the voice as belonging to Luke Mendoza. Shit. She hadn't planned on him being here. Hadn't planned on anyone she actually cared about being here, for that matter. Luke, however, fit that particular qualification. She'd actually had a crush on him for a while, something she thought she'd made obvious enough, but which he never seemed to take notice of.
This was a problem.
Her plan hadn't even gotten off the ground yet, and already there was a wrench in the gears. Someone she couldn't let die. The Karls of the world, the Harrises, these people were expendable. They were tools, means to an end. No one worth noting would miss them. They offered the world nothing of value.
Not like Luke.
"Luke, calm down," she implored, despite her own visible lack of calm. He shouldn't have been here. He had the potential to be anything he wanted in life. He had such a bright future ahead of him. A future, Sorenson hoped, could have had a place for her. But no. This country, this fucking military state she despised with every fiber of her being, had taken that from both of them.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please. For me."
It was time for Plan B.
Plan B, in theory, was to function much the same as Plan A. The other students would be rallied against each other. The competition would snuff itself out. None of this would change. The difference was not the means, but rather the end. Luke Mendoza was going home alive.
If that meant Logan Sorenson was expendable, so be it.
"...Luke?"
Having gathered her belongings in her bag, Sorenson was just on her way out when the shouting had begun. Right away, she recognized the voice as belonging to Luke Mendoza. Shit. She hadn't planned on him being here. Hadn't planned on anyone she actually cared about being here, for that matter. Luke, however, fit that particular qualification. She'd actually had a crush on him for a while, something she thought she'd made obvious enough, but which he never seemed to take notice of.
This was a problem.
Her plan hadn't even gotten off the ground yet, and already there was a wrench in the gears. Someone she couldn't let die. The Karls of the world, the Harrises, these people were expendable. They were tools, means to an end. No one worth noting would miss them. They offered the world nothing of value.
Not like Luke.
"Luke, calm down," she implored, despite her own visible lack of calm. He shouldn't have been here. He had the potential to be anything he wanted in life. He had such a bright future ahead of him. A future, Sorenson hoped, could have had a place for her. But no. This country, this fucking military state she despised with every fiber of her being, had taken that from both of them.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Please. For me."
It was time for Plan B.
Plan B, in theory, was to function much the same as Plan A. The other students would be rallied against each other. The competition would snuff itself out. None of this would change. The difference was not the means, but rather the end. Luke Mendoza was going home alive.
If that meant Logan Sorenson was expendable, so be it.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Stark. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
The urge to scream, to let out his pent up frustration was really hard to resist. But he had to, he had to let it out somehow, but he was gonna be smart about it. Pulling his arms onto the desk, Luke used the sleeves of his jacket to muffle the noise as much as possible.
"Why? Why us? Why? Why God DAMN IT! I just... ARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
In anger, Luke started pounding the side of his left hand onto the desk.
Calm your ass down Luke. You're Mr. Chill remember? Stop acting like a friggin' wuss. Get'cher head up!
And as if right on cue, someone with a much nicer tone than his own inner voice, surprised the hell out of him. The boy's head shot straight up, in surprise. He thought he was alone in here! Turns out there wasn't four walls in his area. It was 3 walls and a divider wall, like with a cubical within the same room; there must have been more of this identical set up in the vicinity. He wasn't about to let someone see him like this, it wasn't cool at all. He slipped on his shades in a swift motion and reached for his revolver with his other hand, leaving it concealed, but still having his hand on it - Just in Case.
He heard foot steps getting closer, but his mind was so hazy from the gas that he couldn't really identify where the person was coming from. Genius. He went overboard and created too much noise, now somebody was getting closer, in the dim room, possibly doing what Luke was supposed to do; play the game and kill some people.
"..oh. Fuck."
He meant to whisper the words to himself, but the second part came out much louder than he intended. His heart was racing!
"Luke, calm down."
It was a girl's voice, a familiar one, but he couldn't really figure it out, and it was close now. Luke noticed the figure of the girl in the office station nearest to him. Sunlight shining into the blinds of the office window revealed the girl was blond. Her voice seemed sincere, so it relaxed him a little. That is until the sunlight shining through the blinds, reflected onto something in her hand... HATCHET. Oh yeah, great strategy, trying to calm a guy down enough in the dark so they'll assume you're friendly, till they're up close and then WHAM. Hatchet in Face. Nice try, but Luke Mendoza was no fool.
"Get Away! Get AWAY. BITCH!"
Luke pulled himself up, off his chair, ready to either run or do something he wasn't too keen on doing. Fight for his life. Kill somebody. It was a predicament. He was no killer, but he had to. It's what the Program was all about. Kill or be killed, so sooner or later he had to. Immediately as he got up and took a few steps, Luke's feet collided into something he forgot was there. His own, duffel bag.
Clumsily stumbling over it, Luke protected his face with his arms and hands as he landed. His hands hastily wandered around trying to find something to pull himself up. The girl was in the same area now, he could sense it. Looks like it was time to run!
The Doorknob! His hands found the doorknob! What? LOCKED.
Forgot it was still locked. Damn. Even though he did, Luke knew that shaking the knob furiously was pointless. He was stuck there, back turned. So he braced. He braced for it. He braced for his death. He braced for that hatchet to be slammed into his back, but it didn't. Instead he felt the girl's hand on his shoulder.
"Please. For me."
Luke turned around - shocked he didn't have a back full of hatchet. He looked into her face and recognition slowly went into his brain. The girl was pretty tall about the same height as him, maybe a quarter or half inch shorter. A red hairband also stayed resting on her head. Yup, he knew who it was.
"Holy Shit. Sor !?"
"Why? Why us? Why? Why God DAMN IT! I just... ARRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
In anger, Luke started pounding the side of his left hand onto the desk.
Calm your ass down Luke. You're Mr. Chill remember? Stop acting like a friggin' wuss. Get'cher head up!
And as if right on cue, someone with a much nicer tone than his own inner voice, surprised the hell out of him. The boy's head shot straight up, in surprise. He thought he was alone in here! Turns out there wasn't four walls in his area. It was 3 walls and a divider wall, like with a cubical within the same room; there must have been more of this identical set up in the vicinity. He wasn't about to let someone see him like this, it wasn't cool at all. He slipped on his shades in a swift motion and reached for his revolver with his other hand, leaving it concealed, but still having his hand on it - Just in Case.
He heard foot steps getting closer, but his mind was so hazy from the gas that he couldn't really identify where the person was coming from. Genius. He went overboard and created too much noise, now somebody was getting closer, in the dim room, possibly doing what Luke was supposed to do; play the game and kill some people.
"..oh. Fuck."
He meant to whisper the words to himself, but the second part came out much louder than he intended. His heart was racing!
"Luke, calm down."
It was a girl's voice, a familiar one, but he couldn't really figure it out, and it was close now. Luke noticed the figure of the girl in the office station nearest to him. Sunlight shining into the blinds of the office window revealed the girl was blond. Her voice seemed sincere, so it relaxed him a little. That is until the sunlight shining through the blinds, reflected onto something in her hand... HATCHET. Oh yeah, great strategy, trying to calm a guy down enough in the dark so they'll assume you're friendly, till they're up close and then WHAM. Hatchet in Face. Nice try, but Luke Mendoza was no fool.
"Get Away! Get AWAY. BITCH!"
Luke pulled himself up, off his chair, ready to either run or do something he wasn't too keen on doing. Fight for his life. Kill somebody. It was a predicament. He was no killer, but he had to. It's what the Program was all about. Kill or be killed, so sooner or later he had to. Immediately as he got up and took a few steps, Luke's feet collided into something he forgot was there. His own, duffel bag.
Clumsily stumbling over it, Luke protected his face with his arms and hands as he landed. His hands hastily wandered around trying to find something to pull himself up. The girl was in the same area now, he could sense it. Looks like it was time to run!
The Doorknob! His hands found the doorknob! What? LOCKED.
Forgot it was still locked. Damn. Even though he did, Luke knew that shaking the knob furiously was pointless. He was stuck there, back turned. So he braced. He braced for it. He braced for his death. He braced for that hatchet to be slammed into his back, but it didn't. Instead he felt the girl's hand on his shoulder.
"Please. For me."
Luke turned around - shocked he didn't have a back full of hatchet. He looked into her face and recognition slowly went into his brain. The girl was pretty tall about the same height as him, maybe a quarter or half inch shorter. A red hairband also stayed resting on her head. Yup, he knew who it was.
"Holy Shit. Sor !?"
She probably should've seen that little freakout coming. She would have, in fact, had the hatchet in her hand not slipped her mind. Yes, she had completely forgotten that she was armed with a standard-issue slasher flick weapon. That was the effect Luke Mendoza had on this girl.
"Bitch?" she said, her mouth curling into a wry smirk. "Gosh, and here I thought I meant something to you."
As long as he's still okay.
Taking a deep breath, she took a seat on the floor next to Luke, leaning back against the wall. "I, um..." Shit, what to say to him? Where to start? One way or another, this was the last they'd ever see of each other. She'd never get another opportunity to tell him how she felt about him, and knowing Luke, he'd never figure it out on his own. She could let him in on the plan, but what would he say about it? He actually considered some of the kids in their class friends. He wouldn't just sit back and let them die. Moreover, if he knew she would, what would he think of her? What would he do about it? There were just too many variables to the equation, and only one way to eliminate them all: lie.
Of course, the lie is easier to sell if you can weave some truth into it. So let's start with that.
"...Sorry for scaring you like that just now," she told him. "I guess we're all on edge right now, right?" Her expression took a rare turn for the somber. "Look, Luke, I just... do you think you can do me a favor?"
There was an extended pause. Another deep breath, before she turned to look him in the eye.
"Promise you'll stay with me. That you won't leave my side until this is all over."
As long as she knew where he was, she knew he'd be safe, and she'd be damned if anyone was about to threaten that safety.
"Bitch?" she said, her mouth curling into a wry smirk. "Gosh, and here I thought I meant something to you."
As long as he's still okay.
Taking a deep breath, she took a seat on the floor next to Luke, leaning back against the wall. "I, um..." Shit, what to say to him? Where to start? One way or another, this was the last they'd ever see of each other. She'd never get another opportunity to tell him how she felt about him, and knowing Luke, he'd never figure it out on his own. She could let him in on the plan, but what would he say about it? He actually considered some of the kids in their class friends. He wouldn't just sit back and let them die. Moreover, if he knew she would, what would he think of her? What would he do about it? There were just too many variables to the equation, and only one way to eliminate them all: lie.
Of course, the lie is easier to sell if you can weave some truth into it. So let's start with that.
"...Sorry for scaring you like that just now," she told him. "I guess we're all on edge right now, right?" Her expression took a rare turn for the somber. "Look, Luke, I just... do you think you can do me a favor?"
There was an extended pause. Another deep breath, before she turned to look him in the eye.
"Promise you'll stay with me. That you won't leave my side until this is all over."
As long as she knew where he was, she knew he'd be safe, and she'd be damned if anyone was about to threaten that safety.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Stark. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
"Bitch? Gosh I thought I meant something to you." Luke eased back a little as the teasing tone of the girl's voice confirmed, if it wasn't clear already, that she was in fact Logan Sorenson. There was no denying that sharp tongue of hers.
Heck for all Luke knew, this could have been another one of Logan's playful, although in this case twisted, pranks. The girl just loved screwing with everyone's mind, just to get a rise out of them, but Luke didn't mind. He loved that about Logan, she was always so fun to interact with. Logan. It was a name he knew Sorenson totally despised. It was a boys name that, as she would say "the old man gave, just to spite" her. She preferred being called by her last name, Sor, for short.
Luke noticed the wry smirk on the girl's face and he couldn't help but grin too. It was the first time since he woke up in this living hell known as "The Program" where he had a legit smile, even if it was just a small toothless one, on his face.
No, Sor wasn't like many of the other girls. Sure he could easily befriend girls around school, but when they started showing interest or even flirt with him, he'd just get nervous. His mother, who was the one person who he was, completely (well most of the time anyway) obedient to, had told him to be smart, save girls and dating until he was done with school and was set in what he was gonna do in his life. As such, Luke was careful not to get close, in that way, with the gals. A side effect being, he had no experience, or idea on how to deal with girls like that, as much as other guys. Those moments would just make him tongue tied, uncomfortable and weak at the knees. Sor, she was different. He was always comfortable talking to her. She was a sort of tomboy, always being cool. Pretty much one of the guys.
He let himself fall to the ground relieved. Sitting there, breathing hard after his little freak out. If she was gonna kill him, she would have already. He knew he could trust Sor, at least he knew he could at that moment. Luke laughed softly to himself.
"Woooo." He exhaled, and took another deep breath as he sat down against the wall. "...am, I ever glad to see you here! I thought I was a goner for a second there."
He laughed another nervous laugh, as he relaxed, trying to regain some composure. Was he hyperventilating? Nah, but it sure felt like it. He was just relieved, after what he thought was a near death experience. She sat beside him, lying her hatchet side down on the floor, for what he figured was assurance for him, that she was 100% not gonna do anything to him.
"I um. Sorry, for scaring you like that just now. I guess we're all on edge right now, right?"
Maybe that was why he didn't recognize her voice initially. It was this exact tone she had earlier. A somber tone, with an expression to match; something rare for Sorenson.
"Look, Luke, I just... do you think you can do me a favor?"
Luke just stared at her for what was probably a minute, waiting for Sor, to finish her sentence. Of course he could do a favor for her, as long as it wasn't anything ridiculous.
"Promise you'll stay with me. That you won't leave my side until this is all over."
*
*
*
The two met in the beginning of Freshman year. They had the same math class. Luke tended to be a slacker, but he was really good at math. He didn't usually go to class due to getting bored most of the time. Sor was his classmate sitting to the immediate right of him, due to the arranged seating. The teacher would often group the students together, so the two ended up in the same study group with each other in class. Luke and Sor found common ground, in apathy toward academics, trying to get by with the least work possible. It was cause of her being there that he bothered to show up more often. Being a Pro at math himself, Luke often helped Sor out when she needed it, even if some of that help involved a little cheating. With that help, Logan earned what would be her highest grade in her classes a B average in Math.
Luke got to know Sor better and even found out she played a little basketball with some of his other friends. A girl playing basketball with a bunch of hard ass, rowdy dudes, the kind of guys Luke was friends with.
She knew his best friend Dante who would often play basketball on the black tops of the school, or the community park. Sor even bragged about, beating Dante and a bunch of the other guys badly, 1 on 1. Luke needed to see this for himself as Dante completely denied the loss.
Luke and Dante made a bet. Putting his money that Dante couldn't beat Logan 1 on 1, best of three shots. It was on. Logan was a dirty trash talker with a comeback for every sexist retort Dante gave. It wasn't even close.. and it was hilarious! Luke won some money that day.
"Sor, you're so awesome, I could kiss you!" he said, after she won the money for him. "In fact I think I will!" He had grabbed her face, by her surprise and gave her a playful peck on the cheek. Logan was speechless and simply gave him a push and playful slap on the face.
Over the two years the two kids knew each other, they became pretty decent friends.
*
*
*
"Yeah. Sure, of course! No problem. You know what they say: Safety in numbers, eh?" Luke smirked at the girl. Trying to get her to be her usual self again. The Program sure did make people act in odd ways. He knew it from experience, in his short time here.
To be honest Luke was really happy about this. He didn't really want to be alone, or he'd be stuck talking to his cynical inner voice again. Being alone was also really scary, as much as he'd hate to admit it. He didn't want to wander around the grounds, aimlessly trying to figure this out all by himself. With company, he could hear what someone else might have in mind. Another person meant a more clear view of the situation and he needed that, to keep himself sane.
Luke grabbed the doorknob and pulled himself up. "I think we need some light."
As he pulled the window blinds up, bright rays of sunshine poured in, illuminating the office area they were in, with some day light. It was quite bright out. Probably mid-day. He was glad he had his aviators on today. He could see Sor clearly now, simply watching as he picked up his duffel bag and put it on the desk, giving another look through.
"So what are we gonna do?"
Administration building, was his guess, of where they were in right now, due to the office setting. He uncapped a bottle of water and took a quick sip. The water seemed to take the gas taste out of his mouth and clear his mind a bit. Peering out the window, Luke noticed a boy exiting this very building and running toward another. Luke thought he knew the boy. Was that John Ferrara? Luke turned around, pushing his shades down a little, looking toward Sor over them. Totally slick dude.
"We're in a major predicament, Sor. I don't wanna kill anyone, but it's part of the system here. People have to die. I'm not too keen on the idea at all, but it must be done. How else are we going to survive through this? We're fighting for our lives in this thing. So unless there's any other ideas, or any optional way out of this situation, I think: We might have to play..."
Luke paused at his own words as the thought gave him chills, and hearing himself say that, made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't believe he even considered that out loud, but it seemed, it seemed the only way, the only thing they could logically do! Everything stayed dead silent as Luke turned his attention around toward the blue lightly cloudy sky. They were on the second floor. He really didn't want to look at Logan at that moment. It was too hard to say, especially when you have to say it to someone's face. He didn't want to seem dangerous and untrustworthy, if he made it look like he considered actually playing this thing.
The boy hesitated and tried to make the situation seem less dire. He made his voice sound a bit more optimistic to try and make Sor happy again.
"I don't think I have it in me to just go around and actively kill anybody out there. Maybe there are other people we might know. We could try and maybe look for some of those friendly people. Maybe get some more people as allies!" Fake optimism at it's finest.
He thought about it again. For every friendly person, there was bound to be some dangerous psychopath who would be playing this game, without any hesitation, or even with some fun in it. He immediately thought of some of the bullied outcast like Marilyn Williams who could snap and use this game for revenge, or a violent person like Harris Van Allen, adding to the kill count. He hoped these types would off each other at least, then maybe the problems could cancel each other out themselves, and Luke wouldn't have to worry about them.
"Then we could take it from there, go with the flow, see what we could do from there. I'm no killer, but if we need to, like in some sort of F'd Up life or death situation, to protect ourselves in self defense or something, then... Well, we'll. I don't want to say it, but only when necessary: We're gonna have to do what we gotta do..."
Once realizing his words became solemn, Luke switched it up again and tried to lighten the mood "Hey, sorry for the speech, Sor! Don't let me do all the planning, girl! Do you have anything in mind?"
Not moving an inch, he stayed in position, looking out the window and avoiding eye contact. Man, am I ever glad I have my shades right now.
Heck for all Luke knew, this could have been another one of Logan's playful, although in this case twisted, pranks. The girl just loved screwing with everyone's mind, just to get a rise out of them, but Luke didn't mind. He loved that about Logan, she was always so fun to interact with. Logan. It was a name he knew Sorenson totally despised. It was a boys name that, as she would say "the old man gave, just to spite" her. She preferred being called by her last name, Sor, for short.
Luke noticed the wry smirk on the girl's face and he couldn't help but grin too. It was the first time since he woke up in this living hell known as "The Program" where he had a legit smile, even if it was just a small toothless one, on his face.
No, Sor wasn't like many of the other girls. Sure he could easily befriend girls around school, but when they started showing interest or even flirt with him, he'd just get nervous. His mother, who was the one person who he was, completely (well most of the time anyway) obedient to, had told him to be smart, save girls and dating until he was done with school and was set in what he was gonna do in his life. As such, Luke was careful not to get close, in that way, with the gals. A side effect being, he had no experience, or idea on how to deal with girls like that, as much as other guys. Those moments would just make him tongue tied, uncomfortable and weak at the knees. Sor, she was different. He was always comfortable talking to her. She was a sort of tomboy, always being cool. Pretty much one of the guys.
He let himself fall to the ground relieved. Sitting there, breathing hard after his little freak out. If she was gonna kill him, she would have already. He knew he could trust Sor, at least he knew he could at that moment. Luke laughed softly to himself.
"Woooo." He exhaled, and took another deep breath as he sat down against the wall. "...am, I ever glad to see you here! I thought I was a goner for a second there."
He laughed another nervous laugh, as he relaxed, trying to regain some composure. Was he hyperventilating? Nah, but it sure felt like it. He was just relieved, after what he thought was a near death experience. She sat beside him, lying her hatchet side down on the floor, for what he figured was assurance for him, that she was 100% not gonna do anything to him.
"I um. Sorry, for scaring you like that just now. I guess we're all on edge right now, right?"
Maybe that was why he didn't recognize her voice initially. It was this exact tone she had earlier. A somber tone, with an expression to match; something rare for Sorenson.
"Look, Luke, I just... do you think you can do me a favor?"
Luke just stared at her for what was probably a minute, waiting for Sor, to finish her sentence. Of course he could do a favor for her, as long as it wasn't anything ridiculous.
"Promise you'll stay with me. That you won't leave my side until this is all over."
*
*
*
The two met in the beginning of Freshman year. They had the same math class. Luke tended to be a slacker, but he was really good at math. He didn't usually go to class due to getting bored most of the time. Sor was his classmate sitting to the immediate right of him, due to the arranged seating. The teacher would often group the students together, so the two ended up in the same study group with each other in class. Luke and Sor found common ground, in apathy toward academics, trying to get by with the least work possible. It was cause of her being there that he bothered to show up more often. Being a Pro at math himself, Luke often helped Sor out when she needed it, even if some of that help involved a little cheating. With that help, Logan earned what would be her highest grade in her classes a B average in Math.
Luke got to know Sor better and even found out she played a little basketball with some of his other friends. A girl playing basketball with a bunch of hard ass, rowdy dudes, the kind of guys Luke was friends with.
She knew his best friend Dante who would often play basketball on the black tops of the school, or the community park. Sor even bragged about, beating Dante and a bunch of the other guys badly, 1 on 1. Luke needed to see this for himself as Dante completely denied the loss.
Luke and Dante made a bet. Putting his money that Dante couldn't beat Logan 1 on 1, best of three shots. It was on. Logan was a dirty trash talker with a comeback for every sexist retort Dante gave. It wasn't even close.. and it was hilarious! Luke won some money that day.
"Sor, you're so awesome, I could kiss you!" he said, after she won the money for him. "In fact I think I will!" He had grabbed her face, by her surprise and gave her a playful peck on the cheek. Logan was speechless and simply gave him a push and playful slap on the face.
Over the two years the two kids knew each other, they became pretty decent friends.
*
*
*
"Yeah. Sure, of course! No problem. You know what they say: Safety in numbers, eh?" Luke smirked at the girl. Trying to get her to be her usual self again. The Program sure did make people act in odd ways. He knew it from experience, in his short time here.
To be honest Luke was really happy about this. He didn't really want to be alone, or he'd be stuck talking to his cynical inner voice again. Being alone was also really scary, as much as he'd hate to admit it. He didn't want to wander around the grounds, aimlessly trying to figure this out all by himself. With company, he could hear what someone else might have in mind. Another person meant a more clear view of the situation and he needed that, to keep himself sane.
Luke grabbed the doorknob and pulled himself up. "I think we need some light."
As he pulled the window blinds up, bright rays of sunshine poured in, illuminating the office area they were in, with some day light. It was quite bright out. Probably mid-day. He was glad he had his aviators on today. He could see Sor clearly now, simply watching as he picked up his duffel bag and put it on the desk, giving another look through.
"So what are we gonna do?"
Administration building, was his guess, of where they were in right now, due to the office setting. He uncapped a bottle of water and took a quick sip. The water seemed to take the gas taste out of his mouth and clear his mind a bit. Peering out the window, Luke noticed a boy exiting this very building and running toward another. Luke thought he knew the boy. Was that John Ferrara? Luke turned around, pushing his shades down a little, looking toward Sor over them. Totally slick dude.
"We're in a major predicament, Sor. I don't wanna kill anyone, but it's part of the system here. People have to die. I'm not too keen on the idea at all, but it must be done. How else are we going to survive through this? We're fighting for our lives in this thing. So unless there's any other ideas, or any optional way out of this situation, I think: We might have to play..."
Luke paused at his own words as the thought gave him chills, and hearing himself say that, made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't believe he even considered that out loud, but it seemed, it seemed the only way, the only thing they could logically do! Everything stayed dead silent as Luke turned his attention around toward the blue lightly cloudy sky. They were on the second floor. He really didn't want to look at Logan at that moment. It was too hard to say, especially when you have to say it to someone's face. He didn't want to seem dangerous and untrustworthy, if he made it look like he considered actually playing this thing.
The boy hesitated and tried to make the situation seem less dire. He made his voice sound a bit more optimistic to try and make Sor happy again.
"I don't think I have it in me to just go around and actively kill anybody out there. Maybe there are other people we might know. We could try and maybe look for some of those friendly people. Maybe get some more people as allies!" Fake optimism at it's finest.
He thought about it again. For every friendly person, there was bound to be some dangerous psychopath who would be playing this game, without any hesitation, or even with some fun in it. He immediately thought of some of the bullied outcast like Marilyn Williams who could snap and use this game for revenge, or a violent person like Harris Van Allen, adding to the kill count. He hoped these types would off each other at least, then maybe the problems could cancel each other out themselves, and Luke wouldn't have to worry about them.
"Then we could take it from there, go with the flow, see what we could do from there. I'm no killer, but if we need to, like in some sort of F'd Up life or death situation, to protect ourselves in self defense or something, then... Well, we'll. I don't want to say it, but only when necessary: We're gonna have to do what we gotta do..."
Once realizing his words became solemn, Luke switched it up again and tried to lighten the mood "Hey, sorry for the speech, Sor! Don't let me do all the planning, girl! Do you have anything in mind?"
Not moving an inch, he stayed in position, looking out the window and avoiding eye contact. Man, am I ever glad I have my shades right now.
...Well, shit.
Sorenson's lips curled slowly into a smirk, the smirk into a grin, and the grin into an almost demented sort of chuckle. Plan B just became quite a bit easier. "No, Luke," she told him, rising to her feet, "we don't have to kill anybody." She started to walk over to him. If she could get him on her side with this, everything would fall into place perfectly. "I've got a plan. It's simple enough, really. Everyone's already going to kill everyone else, aren't they? Some people sooner than others, right? Well, let's suppose for a moment that those some people had a little extra motivation. Banded together like some ragtag bunch of misfits against the people who made their lives miserable, a.k.a. the actual threats. It probably wouldn't end well for 'em, but a little motivation goes a long way. Makes the threats a little less threatening, once they're good and worn down. From there, it's just a matter of letting them do their patriotic duty and turn on each other. All we have to do is sit back and not die."
She leaned at the windowsill at Luke's side. John Ferrara was running off to god knew where from this very building. Shame we missed him, she thought, we could've gotten things started right away with someone like him around. Not that it mattered much. It was still early yet. "Just stay with me, Luke," she said to the side of his face, "and you'll see your mom again in no time flat. I promise." And if anyone knew Logan Sorenson as well as Luke did, they would know the words "I promise," coming from her, meant that it would fucking happen. No questions asked.
"Think you can get behind that?"
Sorenson's lips curled slowly into a smirk, the smirk into a grin, and the grin into an almost demented sort of chuckle. Plan B just became quite a bit easier. "No, Luke," she told him, rising to her feet, "we don't have to kill anybody." She started to walk over to him. If she could get him on her side with this, everything would fall into place perfectly. "I've got a plan. It's simple enough, really. Everyone's already going to kill everyone else, aren't they? Some people sooner than others, right? Well, let's suppose for a moment that those some people had a little extra motivation. Banded together like some ragtag bunch of misfits against the people who made their lives miserable, a.k.a. the actual threats. It probably wouldn't end well for 'em, but a little motivation goes a long way. Makes the threats a little less threatening, once they're good and worn down. From there, it's just a matter of letting them do their patriotic duty and turn on each other. All we have to do is sit back and not die."
She leaned at the windowsill at Luke's side. John Ferrara was running off to god knew where from this very building. Shame we missed him, she thought, we could've gotten things started right away with someone like him around. Not that it mattered much. It was still early yet. "Just stay with me, Luke," she said to the side of his face, "and you'll see your mom again in no time flat. I promise." And if anyone knew Logan Sorenson as well as Luke did, they would know the words "I promise," coming from her, meant that it would fucking happen. No questions asked.
"Think you can get behind that?"
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With one eyebrow arched higher than the other, over his shades, Luke turned to and listened to what the clever girl had to say. Well he succeeded in getting her back to her usual self, it looked like. She took the whole thing much, better than he anticipated, but he should have known, it was Logan Sorenson after all! When Logan promised something, she meant it. It was an interesting proposition, a most interesting one indeed.
Like he hoped earlier to himself, he hoped the problems would just "cancel each other out" so he didn't need to worry about them himself. So Logan's plan certainly fit well with in that notion. Maybe with some, "assistance," that notion, could come into frutation. A corner of his mouth slid into a half grin.
"Anything that keeps my own hands from getting dirty. So yea. I can get behind that." With a smug expression to match, he extended his hand as if to seal a business proposal.
In the back of his mind, Luke still knew, that the inevitable was the inevitable. Sooner or later, it might need to be done.
Like he hoped earlier to himself, he hoped the problems would just "cancel each other out" so he didn't need to worry about them himself. So Logan's plan certainly fit well with in that notion. Maybe with some, "assistance," that notion, could come into frutation. A corner of his mouth slid into a half grin.
"Anything that keeps my own hands from getting dirty. So yea. I can get behind that." With a smug expression to match, he extended his hand as if to seal a business proposal.
In the back of his mind, Luke still knew, that the inevitable was the inevitable. Sooner or later, it might need to be done.
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storyspoiler*
- Posts: 49
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:09 am
(Juliet Watanabe continued from M05: Start)
And that's when Juliet Watanabe entered.
Juliet was cold. Her hands were covered in blood. She wanted to find Marilyn now, goddamnit, before anymore shooting started. She was probably in shock; her body felt shivery and odd, and she could feel the pulse pounding in her forehead.
She had banged the door open, probably too loudly. There was a girl and a boy in this room. Neither of them were Marilyn.
They turned to face her, glaring as one. The girl was holding a hatchet. Juliet lowered her gun and felt faintly ridiculous.
"Sorry to sound like a police raid--we just got out of a firefight. I'm looking for Marilyn Williams, Claire Heartland, and Duncan Lovel. Have you, uh, seen them?"
Behind her, Karl had opened another door, and, from the sounds of it, found nothing. He came closer to her, in the doorway. She had mostly gotten past the worry that he would backstab her and steal her gun, at least in this situation; maybe if he could take her by surprise in an alleyway, but not here, with her this stupidly tense and two other people watching.
Logan Sorenson and Luke Mendoza. Juliet remembered vaguely liking Logan; her father was a Colonel or something, but she seemed absurdly unpretentious for it. She couldn't remember a single interesting fact about Luke Mendoza, which meant he probably wouldn't immediately try and kill her.
Logan was staring at the hand that wasn't the gun. Juliet followed her eyes, and realized she still had Matthew Gourlay's blood all over her hands.
Fuck.
Well, better try to explain this. "So I gave some guy a bloody nose because he was shooting around a lot and I haven't found a restroom yet to wash my hands in--I'm not evil, I swear."
She almost facepalmed at herself--who knew the Program could be so awkward?--but realized at the last second that that would be a brilliant way to get blood on her face, too.
"Anyway--Claire Heartland, Duncan Lovel, Marilyn Williams. If you do or don't know where any of them are, we'll leave, but I'll--" pay? What do I have to pay with? "--you can call in a favor from me if you can find them and keep them safe."
Yeah. That would work. Probably.
And that's when Juliet Watanabe entered.
Juliet was cold. Her hands were covered in blood. She wanted to find Marilyn now, goddamnit, before anymore shooting started. She was probably in shock; her body felt shivery and odd, and she could feel the pulse pounding in her forehead.
She had banged the door open, probably too loudly. There was a girl and a boy in this room. Neither of them were Marilyn.
They turned to face her, glaring as one. The girl was holding a hatchet. Juliet lowered her gun and felt faintly ridiculous.
"Sorry to sound like a police raid--we just got out of a firefight. I'm looking for Marilyn Williams, Claire Heartland, and Duncan Lovel. Have you, uh, seen them?"
Behind her, Karl had opened another door, and, from the sounds of it, found nothing. He came closer to her, in the doorway. She had mostly gotten past the worry that he would backstab her and steal her gun, at least in this situation; maybe if he could take her by surprise in an alleyway, but not here, with her this stupidly tense and two other people watching.
Logan Sorenson and Luke Mendoza. Juliet remembered vaguely liking Logan; her father was a Colonel or something, but she seemed absurdly unpretentious for it. She couldn't remember a single interesting fact about Luke Mendoza, which meant he probably wouldn't immediately try and kill her.
Logan was staring at the hand that wasn't the gun. Juliet followed her eyes, and realized she still had Matthew Gourlay's blood all over her hands.
Fuck.
Well, better try to explain this. "So I gave some guy a bloody nose because he was shooting around a lot and I haven't found a restroom yet to wash my hands in--I'm not evil, I swear."
She almost facepalmed at herself--who knew the Program could be so awkward?--but realized at the last second that that would be a brilliant way to get blood on her face, too.
"Anyway--Claire Heartland, Duncan Lovel, Marilyn Williams. If you do or don't know where any of them are, we'll leave, but I'll--" pay? What do I have to pay with? "--you can call in a favor from me if you can find them and keep them safe."
Yeah. That would work. Probably.
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MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3450
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
((Karl Chalmers continued from M05: START))
The warehouse had been a bust, a near disaster. Karl was still shaking as they made their way away from it, still glancing backwards, terrified that Matthew would come charging out of nowhere, shooting at them again and again with that strange gun of his. But no resistance came. There was no sign of any more violence in the area. It was nerve wracking, the sudden calm in the face of the extreme violence of seconds ago. This was the way of The Program, though. Hours of anxiety and fear, hours of caution and close calls, punctuated by brief moments of intense conflict. The issue was, it only took a second of inattention, a second of lowering your guard, and that was it. The only way to enhance your chances of survival was constant vigilance.
Karl was trying so hard to be constantly vigilant. Trying so hard to pay attention, so that if Juliet decided to shoot him he'd at least have a few moments to try to get clear.
The weird thing was, she wasn't being so aggressive now. Wasn't keeping the gun pointed at Karl all the time. It was not actually that reassuring. He figured that maybe she had been bluffing before, unsure about whether or not she had what it took, uncertain of her ability to handle the gun. Now, though, she'd shot someone. She'd demonstrated her willingness to hurt people, maybe even to kill. There was no longer any need for a direct threat. If Karl wanted to get away, he'd have to either take her down or find a place with enough cover that he could avoid getting shot, but enough openings that he could actually escape to somewhere. None of this seemed very likely, least of all the idea of overpowering Juliet. Not after what she'd done. Her hand was still bloody. Still coated in the red that had spewed from Matthew's nose.
They made their way to the administration building next. It was close to the warehouse, another potential hiding spot. Another place where they might find Marilyn. Of course, Karl wasn't about to bet on it. As they entered the building, they found that it had been mostly cleared out, left barren of the equipment which had once been its reason for existence. Still, an examination was in order. Even though Karl was not in any particular hurry to find Marilyn, even though he was in fact worried for his own safety once they succeeded, he wanted even less to miss her and have to run their entire search again. The longer the game dragged on, the greater the odds someone would set up on the upper floor or roof of one of these buildings and try to turn all the open spaces into a kill zone. Even if that didn't happen, people were sure to make themselves fortresses, find places to hide until they were flushed out.
They were on the upstairs floor, going through each room in succession, when Juliet found something. Karl had just opened a door to reveal another barren workspace, devoid of any signs of life, when she started speaking, drawing his attention at once. He tensed, all ready for another conflict, but none was forthcoming, at least, not immediately. Juliet was talking, explaining her entrance and the blood on her hands, and Karl knew that it was his opportunity to actually be useful. There was a chance, maybe a good one, that people wouldn't trust Juliet. In this situation, Karl would've been hard-pressed to believe her himself, had he not been traveling with her. It just didn't look good for a foreigner to be bloody this early.
So he stepped up behind her, waited until she was done making her offer, and then added, "We had a little run in with Matthew Gourlay. He's the one she hit. You'll probably want to keep an eye out for him."
He didn't mention Matthew's armament, not yet. That was information to keep in reserve, to trade. Karl didn't feel like owing anyone anything, and if Juliet was going to get sucked into some idiotic debt, she'd probably drag Karl along with her. Better to have something of equal value to offer, something so they could call it even and just move on.
The warehouse had been a bust, a near disaster. Karl was still shaking as they made their way away from it, still glancing backwards, terrified that Matthew would come charging out of nowhere, shooting at them again and again with that strange gun of his. But no resistance came. There was no sign of any more violence in the area. It was nerve wracking, the sudden calm in the face of the extreme violence of seconds ago. This was the way of The Program, though. Hours of anxiety and fear, hours of caution and close calls, punctuated by brief moments of intense conflict. The issue was, it only took a second of inattention, a second of lowering your guard, and that was it. The only way to enhance your chances of survival was constant vigilance.
Karl was trying so hard to be constantly vigilant. Trying so hard to pay attention, so that if Juliet decided to shoot him he'd at least have a few moments to try to get clear.
The weird thing was, she wasn't being so aggressive now. Wasn't keeping the gun pointed at Karl all the time. It was not actually that reassuring. He figured that maybe she had been bluffing before, unsure about whether or not she had what it took, uncertain of her ability to handle the gun. Now, though, she'd shot someone. She'd demonstrated her willingness to hurt people, maybe even to kill. There was no longer any need for a direct threat. If Karl wanted to get away, he'd have to either take her down or find a place with enough cover that he could avoid getting shot, but enough openings that he could actually escape to somewhere. None of this seemed very likely, least of all the idea of overpowering Juliet. Not after what she'd done. Her hand was still bloody. Still coated in the red that had spewed from Matthew's nose.
They made their way to the administration building next. It was close to the warehouse, another potential hiding spot. Another place where they might find Marilyn. Of course, Karl wasn't about to bet on it. As they entered the building, they found that it had been mostly cleared out, left barren of the equipment which had once been its reason for existence. Still, an examination was in order. Even though Karl was not in any particular hurry to find Marilyn, even though he was in fact worried for his own safety once they succeeded, he wanted even less to miss her and have to run their entire search again. The longer the game dragged on, the greater the odds someone would set up on the upper floor or roof of one of these buildings and try to turn all the open spaces into a kill zone. Even if that didn't happen, people were sure to make themselves fortresses, find places to hide until they were flushed out.
They were on the upstairs floor, going through each room in succession, when Juliet found something. Karl had just opened a door to reveal another barren workspace, devoid of any signs of life, when she started speaking, drawing his attention at once. He tensed, all ready for another conflict, but none was forthcoming, at least, not immediately. Juliet was talking, explaining her entrance and the blood on her hands, and Karl knew that it was his opportunity to actually be useful. There was a chance, maybe a good one, that people wouldn't trust Juliet. In this situation, Karl would've been hard-pressed to believe her himself, had he not been traveling with her. It just didn't look good for a foreigner to be bloody this early.
So he stepped up behind her, waited until she was done making her offer, and then added, "We had a little run in with Matthew Gourlay. He's the one she hit. You'll probably want to keep an eye out for him."
He didn't mention Matthew's armament, not yet. That was information to keep in reserve, to trade. Karl didn't feel like owing anyone anything, and if Juliet was going to get sucked into some idiotic debt, she'd probably drag Karl along with her. Better to have something of equal value to offer, something so they could call it even and just move on.
And suddenly, fate had handed Sorenson the most valuable asset possible on a silver platter.
She shot Juliet a calming smile. "Cool your jets, it's okay. I believe you," she lied. The part about not being evil, she believed, sure, but considering the nature of their situation, Juliet having blood on her hands probably didn't mean but one thing. She doesn't even need me to tell her what to do. "I just woke up myself, so I haven't seen anyone who isn't already in this room. If you want, though," it almost seemed too easy, "I'd be glad to help you look. I've got a plan, and I can use all the help I can..."
...Oh boy.
"Well hello, Karl."
Karl Chalmers. One of Logan's old favorite chew toys. Stuck up little self-important tattletale rich kid, and here he was, tagging along with Juliet, press-ganged into sidekick duties. No way he was with her under anything short of duress. It was just so cute, she couldn't resist a bit of a chuckle at the whole thing. "So, Karl, how's it feel to be a real patriot now?"
She shot Juliet a calming smile. "Cool your jets, it's okay. I believe you," she lied. The part about not being evil, she believed, sure, but considering the nature of their situation, Juliet having blood on her hands probably didn't mean but one thing. She doesn't even need me to tell her what to do. "I just woke up myself, so I haven't seen anyone who isn't already in this room. If you want, though," it almost seemed too easy, "I'd be glad to help you look. I've got a plan, and I can use all the help I can..."
...Oh boy.
"Well hello, Karl."
Karl Chalmers. One of Logan's old favorite chew toys. Stuck up little self-important tattletale rich kid, and here he was, tagging along with Juliet, press-ganged into sidekick duties. No way he was with her under anything short of duress. It was just so cute, she couldn't resist a bit of a chuckle at the whole thing. "So, Karl, how's it feel to be a real patriot now?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Stark. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
It wasn't even 10 seconds, when a loud banging of the door on the opposite side of the room, interrupted the handshake, startling the both of them. Luke put his hand into his jacket pocket, ready to pull out his six shooter.
Well good luck with that Luke buddy. You only have one bullet in there, which is probably not in the immediate slot to be shot out. Not to mention the fact that you don't even know how to use it, because you didn't even look through the instructions. Plus the gun is probably on safety lock.
The door slammed open as a female, an Asian girl, came bursting into the area. She was holding a hand gun. Yeah, just my luck.
Logan held her hatchet in a defensive position as both her and Luke glared toward the girl as a unit.
Relief set in as the girl lowered her hand gun. If she wanted to kill them, she could have done it. Bang Bang. Two bullets two dead, easy. Instead she was asking for help. She was looking for some people. Luke knew about Marilyn Williams, but needed a moment to recall the other two names. Turning to Logan, Luke noticed she was staring at something. Following her gaze, he turned to and centered his attention straight to the girl's hand. Then his heart dropped. Blood.
"So I gave some guy a bloody nose because he was shooting around a lot and I haven't found a restroom yet to wash my hands in--I'm not evil, I swear."
Right... So people were playing after all. A sinking feeling settled at the bottom of Luke's stomach.
No sooner than that, another figure entered right behind the girl. This one Luke knew darn well. Karl Chalmers. That Fucker.
"Chalmers." The day Luke was gonna address Karl Chalmers by his first name, was the day Luke gained even a single ounce or shred of respect for the guy. The day Luke would even consider the guy, a friend. Like that would ever happen. He didn't really even know the boy in a personal level, but knew already from past reputation, that he wouldn't even bother. Not Cool At All.
"We had a little run in with Matthew Gourlay. He's the one she hit. You'll probably want to keep an eye out for him." He said.
Luke raised his eyebrow again. Matthew Gourlay? He hated that guy too. Well he knew him from sports, but thought he was a complete jackass. Luke wasn't even what one would consider foreign, not by any stretch, but apparently he wasn't white enough for Matthew Gourlay. He didn't think he even knew the girl standing there before him, but he liked her already for that short moment.
Zoning out for a second, Luke imagined the Asian girl uppercutting Matthew Gourlay square on the nose. Ah yes... Slowly in his imagination, Matt's face transformed into the skinny weasel like face of Karl Chalmers. The hand of the girl morphed into a masculine one, the hand of one, Luke Mendoza. The uppercut also changed. It changed into a strong straight hook driven forward right into the face of the rat, known as Karl Chalmers. The velocity of the punch was enough to whip the head of Karl Chalmers to the left, smashing his nose in, shattering his glasses, and giving the boy the most amusing cartoon like expression, with wide eyes, gaping mouth and fish lips fluttering marvelously, all in slow motion.
A corner of Luke's mouth lifted into a very satisfied grin.
"Anyway--Claire Heartland, Duncan Lovel, Marilyn Williams. If you do or don't know where any of them are, we'll leave, but I'll --you can call in a favor from me if you can find them and keep them safe." The girl spoke up, snapping Luke back into reality.
Sor answered for the both of them. Good, Let Logan speak first and make the deals, she seems to recognize the girl with the gun at least.
Luke crossed his arms and leaned across the wall, letting the conversation run it's course. Go with the flow.
Well good luck with that Luke buddy. You only have one bullet in there, which is probably not in the immediate slot to be shot out. Not to mention the fact that you don't even know how to use it, because you didn't even look through the instructions. Plus the gun is probably on safety lock.
The door slammed open as a female, an Asian girl, came bursting into the area. She was holding a hand gun. Yeah, just my luck.
Logan held her hatchet in a defensive position as both her and Luke glared toward the girl as a unit.
Relief set in as the girl lowered her hand gun. If she wanted to kill them, she could have done it. Bang Bang. Two bullets two dead, easy. Instead she was asking for help. She was looking for some people. Luke knew about Marilyn Williams, but needed a moment to recall the other two names. Turning to Logan, Luke noticed she was staring at something. Following her gaze, he turned to and centered his attention straight to the girl's hand. Then his heart dropped. Blood.
"So I gave some guy a bloody nose because he was shooting around a lot and I haven't found a restroom yet to wash my hands in--I'm not evil, I swear."
Right... So people were playing after all. A sinking feeling settled at the bottom of Luke's stomach.
No sooner than that, another figure entered right behind the girl. This one Luke knew darn well. Karl Chalmers. That Fucker.
"Chalmers." The day Luke was gonna address Karl Chalmers by his first name, was the day Luke gained even a single ounce or shred of respect for the guy. The day Luke would even consider the guy, a friend. Like that would ever happen. He didn't really even know the boy in a personal level, but knew already from past reputation, that he wouldn't even bother. Not Cool At All.
"We had a little run in with Matthew Gourlay. He's the one she hit. You'll probably want to keep an eye out for him." He said.
Luke raised his eyebrow again. Matthew Gourlay? He hated that guy too. Well he knew him from sports, but thought he was a complete jackass. Luke wasn't even what one would consider foreign, not by any stretch, but apparently he wasn't white enough for Matthew Gourlay. He didn't think he even knew the girl standing there before him, but he liked her already for that short moment.
Zoning out for a second, Luke imagined the Asian girl uppercutting Matthew Gourlay square on the nose. Ah yes... Slowly in his imagination, Matt's face transformed into the skinny weasel like face of Karl Chalmers. The hand of the girl morphed into a masculine one, the hand of one, Luke Mendoza. The uppercut also changed. It changed into a strong straight hook driven forward right into the face of the rat, known as Karl Chalmers. The velocity of the punch was enough to whip the head of Karl Chalmers to the left, smashing his nose in, shattering his glasses, and giving the boy the most amusing cartoon like expression, with wide eyes, gaping mouth and fish lips fluttering marvelously, all in slow motion.
A corner of Luke's mouth lifted into a very satisfied grin.
"Anyway--Claire Heartland, Duncan Lovel, Marilyn Williams. If you do or don't know where any of them are, we'll leave, but I'll --you can call in a favor from me if you can find them and keep them safe." The girl spoke up, snapping Luke back into reality.
Sor answered for the both of them. Good, Let Logan speak first and make the deals, she seems to recognize the girl with the gun at least.
Luke crossed his arms and leaned across the wall, letting the conversation run it's course. Go with the flow.
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MurderWeasel
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((Trading spots in the order with story by her request, to make things flow more smoothly))
This was to be expected. Well, okay, maybe not expected, but it had at least been on the radar as a very real possibility. Karl was not popular at General's Pride High School. Even a good portion of the patriotic students didn't like him much. It was the price he paid for actually caring about the enforcement of school rules and proper discipline. It was easy to spout the party line, but a good bit more difficult to actually follow through on that and keep true to the standards espoused.
Karl knew of Logan and Luke. He probably should have taken a look inside the room before speaking, because he wasn't doing Juliet any favors with this crowd. Both of them had their reasons to dislike him, and the feeling was mutual. Luke especially grated on Karl. The boy thought he was some kind of big shot badass gambler. Thought he was so cool. It really didn't help that he had a scar on his cheek, too, one that could almost mirror Karl's. Didn't help that one of Karl's friends had pointed this out, given him a nice hard time about it. No, this room was not to be a joyous reunion of friends. It was already brimming with barely-restrained spite.
"Feels better than staring down the wrong end of a gun, Logan," he said. Okay, that was maybe pushing it, maybe borrowing Juliet's authority by implication, just a little bit, but dangit, he deserved that one. He then nodded to Luke.
"Mendoza."
Emphasis on each syllable. Just how foreign could that name sound?
This was probably not winning him points with his captor. Most likely, he was about to be bawled out or worse. The odds were good they wouldn't shoot him, though. If either side made a move, they'd damage their credibility and reliability with the other. More than that, there was no way Karl could be taken as the aggressor here. He hadn't chosen to keep up a nasty attitude from the past. He'd have been perfectly happy to let bygones be bygones. Hell, he was fine running around with Juliet, only the most radically opposed viewpoint in class he'd ever actually sat down to debate with. There was no need for these morons to be getting all snippy.
Turning to Juliet, he said, "Looks like she's not here."
He had more to say, so much more—Let's get going. We don't know where she may be. Stuff's heating up out there. Best hurry before we're too late.—but he didn't think resorting to emotional blackmail would be a good thing to do. He didn't like Logan and Luke, but that was alright. Juliet was calling the shots, and he'd listen to her.
After all, she had the gun.
This was to be expected. Well, okay, maybe not expected, but it had at least been on the radar as a very real possibility. Karl was not popular at General's Pride High School. Even a good portion of the patriotic students didn't like him much. It was the price he paid for actually caring about the enforcement of school rules and proper discipline. It was easy to spout the party line, but a good bit more difficult to actually follow through on that and keep true to the standards espoused.
Karl knew of Logan and Luke. He probably should have taken a look inside the room before speaking, because he wasn't doing Juliet any favors with this crowd. Both of them had their reasons to dislike him, and the feeling was mutual. Luke especially grated on Karl. The boy thought he was some kind of big shot badass gambler. Thought he was so cool. It really didn't help that he had a scar on his cheek, too, one that could almost mirror Karl's. Didn't help that one of Karl's friends had pointed this out, given him a nice hard time about it. No, this room was not to be a joyous reunion of friends. It was already brimming with barely-restrained spite.
"Feels better than staring down the wrong end of a gun, Logan," he said. Okay, that was maybe pushing it, maybe borrowing Juliet's authority by implication, just a little bit, but dangit, he deserved that one. He then nodded to Luke.
"Mendoza."
Emphasis on each syllable. Just how foreign could that name sound?
This was probably not winning him points with his captor. Most likely, he was about to be bawled out or worse. The odds were good they wouldn't shoot him, though. If either side made a move, they'd damage their credibility and reliability with the other. More than that, there was no way Karl could be taken as the aggressor here. He hadn't chosen to keep up a nasty attitude from the past. He'd have been perfectly happy to let bygones be bygones. Hell, he was fine running around with Juliet, only the most radically opposed viewpoint in class he'd ever actually sat down to debate with. There was no need for these morons to be getting all snippy.
Turning to Juliet, he said, "Looks like she's not here."
He had more to say, so much more—Let's get going. We don't know where she may be. Stuff's heating up out there. Best hurry before we're too late.—but he didn't think resorting to emotional blackmail would be a good thing to do. He didn't like Logan and Luke, but that was alright. Juliet was calling the shots, and he'd listen to her.
After all, she had the gun.
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storyspoiler*
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"Mendoza." Karl said, slowly.
Juliet remembered when he used to pronounce her name like that. 'Wa-ta-na-be.' Condescension on every syllable. Accenting the vowels until they sounded alien. She had always wanted to punch him when talked like that, and the feeling hadn't faded. There was too much tension in this room, Karl wasn't helping, and given that both Luke and Logan-with-the-hatchet both didn't seem to like him much, she was tempted to push him into the room, shut the door, and leave him to his fate.
But she wouldn't. Because randomly leaving him here would make her look like a crazy deviant to these maybe-nice people who could otherwise help her find Marilyn. Besides, Logan and Luke didn't strike her as stone-cold killers, so it was unlikely that they would just chop him up--he'd probably come back to backstab her if she lost control of him.
And if they did kill him?
Nah. If she was going to start killing annoying people, she was going to kill them herself, not lead them into fatalities like a wimp. And anyway, she wasn't going to let go of Karl now. Two bodies were better than one. And soon, with her luck, they'd run into some of Karl's crazy patriot friends, and then he would have to do the talking.
She wasn't looking forward to that.
Sigh. No. Back to the present. Logan said she had a plan, the implication being that Juliet would help with this plan if Luke and Logan helped find Marilyn, Claire and Durriken. Whatever. Plans were great. Juliet didn't have any plans, and would be perfectly happy to work on some cockeyed scheme as a bloody-minded sidequest--
Better not think too hard about that.
Yeah. Juliet would hear what this plan was. And then hopefully--hopefully these people would be okay looking for Marilyn and Durriken and Claire. And could somehow bring them back to her. If not, well. It wasn't like she could take more than one person hostage right now.
"So," She said, trying unsuccessfully to break the tension. "What's this plan of yours?"
Luke and Logan looked at each other. Some nonverbal communication was going on. Then Logan looked back at Juliet, grinned a vindictive grin.
"Oh, it's simple, really. We're going to show these fuckers why it's a bad idea to give their captives weapons."
Karl slipped an intake of breath. Juliet could almost smile.
Once upon a time, you were like that, weren't you? Always out to take on the world. My little fighter.
But she wasn't a fighter anymore. It's not like that anymore.
So Juliet tilted her head and answered cautiously. "How so?"
Logan looked around the room, eyeing the cameras. Her voice was soft, and her gaze flicked from Karl to Juliet to Karl. "I'll fill you in on the details somewhere else. I'll find a blind spot, and we'll discuss things there."
Logan reached out her hand. Juliet took it, and let Logan lead.
Another room, bare and industrial, fewer cameras. They crouched in a blind spot in an alcoved corner. Logan sat cross-legged, Juliet, shifting herself too many times, finally settled her knees on the carpet.
"Right now," Logan said "the best option is to split up and look for your friends. If you can find anyone you think can trust to help us out, bring them in on it. We're gonna need all the help we can get if this is gonna work."
That part was easy. "Right. Will do. What more is there to this plan?"
A beat, and Logan leaned in. Juliet took a moment to parse, then leaned in and offered her ear to Logan.
"Do you want to know what happened to your brother? Your parents?"
Logan's voice was suited to whispers. And Juliet's reply came too loud, too fast.
"Yes!"
Yes. Please, yes. Please.
Her breath came a little harsher now. Tells of nervousness. Logan's father is in the military. And suddenly this was relevant, now. Why was this relevant?
Logan was talking as if nothing had happened. "Your brother... he'd be expendable. If they ever found him, it's a bullet between the eyes. Maybe he made it to Canada, but who knows how long he'd last in the wild?"
Juliet closed her eyes. The wilderness. Simon, cold. And a bullet. No, don't think about that.
It's amazing how hard it is not to think of certain things.
Simon.
"Your parents, though... well."
Swallow.
"I've never actually seen what they do to traitors. Only the tools they use to do it."
Traitors? My parents weren't--
But that was the nomenclature. Juliet would learn to deal with it. And words were coming out of her mouth, stuttering, uncomfortable. "What--what do--what are they?"
And Logan stayed steely, stayed cool. "If you didn't know better, you'd think it was dental equipment. Drills, clamps, things I don't even know the names of."
Does her Dad bring those things to her house? Juliet had run her hands through a pile of dental equipment once, scraping herself on the needles and edges. Now she imagining how one would use them on things that weren't teeth.
"And it wouldn't be quick. Your brother, he'd be lucky by comparison." Now it was Logan's turn to shift her feet, rub her forehead. "They would have to keep them alive. Corpses don't provide information. At least, that's what the pretense they like to use. Any good interrogator knows that if they don't give them anything in the first five minutes, they never will." A pause, a beat, and Logan's voice softened. "A good interrogator, however, is always willing to hone his craft."
The questions were hardly questions anymore. "What? Why?"
Knees under her. Japanese 'correct sitting position'. It helped her calm down. But not this time.
"Why?"
And it was Logan's turn to fire up, to move to stand, and to begin to speak. "Because, Juliet, I've seen this system from the inside, and what I've seen is nothing but filth. This nation is a mockery of what it once was. Entire generations are growing up knowing nothing of freedom, of democracy, of equality, of the values America was founded on in the first place." Logan slapped her knees. "Now, me? I'm a patriot. I want to see this country set right. I want to fix this broken system. I want the general's head on a goddamn platter, but to do that, I. Need. Your. Help."
Logan's eyes had moved to the cameras dotting the area around them. "That said, no security system is without its holes, so can I please ask you to trust me until I find that blind spot?"
Juliet swallowed. This question hardly needed an answer. "Yes."
"Good. Keep an eye on the courtyard for my signal. You'll know when you see it."
And Juliet was conflicting, holding, breaking. "O--okay. And if you see Claire, or Marilyn or Duncan, can you--can you bring them to me?" She didn't want to look like she doesn't have faith in this girl's escape plan, but suddenly everything scared her. She thought she had stopped fighting. "I don't--if we can escape--I want to--but I want to be able to say goodbye. And make sure they're safe."
Her words were coming back to her now. Albeit slowly.
Logan gave a reassuring smile and put a hand on Juliet's shoulder. "Don't worry. That's part of the plan."
Juliet let out her breath. It was audible. And, with Logan's hand on her shoulder, tactile.
And they were up, and Juliet was being led out of the room, and Logan was saying "Don't worry, I'd do the same for anyone." Pointing at Karl's mug in the doorway. "Except probably you."
The comment wasn't meant for her, but Juliet snickered. Karl looked up.
"One more thing." It was Logan speaking again. Juliet turned. "Anyone gets in your way?" Logan smiled grimly, and slammed her hatchet into the drywall. "Don't hesitate."
Juliet looked down at her gun. Tongue to her teeth. Pulled up the hammer.
"I won't."
(Juliet Watanabe continued in Strange Fruit)
Juliet remembered when he used to pronounce her name like that. 'Wa-ta-na-be.' Condescension on every syllable. Accenting the vowels until they sounded alien. She had always wanted to punch him when talked like that, and the feeling hadn't faded. There was too much tension in this room, Karl wasn't helping, and given that both Luke and Logan-with-the-hatchet both didn't seem to like him much, she was tempted to push him into the room, shut the door, and leave him to his fate.
But she wouldn't. Because randomly leaving him here would make her look like a crazy deviant to these maybe-nice people who could otherwise help her find Marilyn. Besides, Logan and Luke didn't strike her as stone-cold killers, so it was unlikely that they would just chop him up--he'd probably come back to backstab her if she lost control of him.
And if they did kill him?
Nah. If she was going to start killing annoying people, she was going to kill them herself, not lead them into fatalities like a wimp. And anyway, she wasn't going to let go of Karl now. Two bodies were better than one. And soon, with her luck, they'd run into some of Karl's crazy patriot friends, and then he would have to do the talking.
She wasn't looking forward to that.
Sigh. No. Back to the present. Logan said she had a plan, the implication being that Juliet would help with this plan if Luke and Logan helped find Marilyn, Claire and Durriken. Whatever. Plans were great. Juliet didn't have any plans, and would be perfectly happy to work on some cockeyed scheme as a bloody-minded sidequest--
Better not think too hard about that.
Yeah. Juliet would hear what this plan was. And then hopefully--hopefully these people would be okay looking for Marilyn and Durriken and Claire. And could somehow bring them back to her. If not, well. It wasn't like she could take more than one person hostage right now.
"So," She said, trying unsuccessfully to break the tension. "What's this plan of yours?"
Luke and Logan looked at each other. Some nonverbal communication was going on. Then Logan looked back at Juliet, grinned a vindictive grin.
"Oh, it's simple, really. We're going to show these fuckers why it's a bad idea to give their captives weapons."
Karl slipped an intake of breath. Juliet could almost smile.
Once upon a time, you were like that, weren't you? Always out to take on the world. My little fighter.
But she wasn't a fighter anymore. It's not like that anymore.
So Juliet tilted her head and answered cautiously. "How so?"
Logan looked around the room, eyeing the cameras. Her voice was soft, and her gaze flicked from Karl to Juliet to Karl. "I'll fill you in on the details somewhere else. I'll find a blind spot, and we'll discuss things there."
Logan reached out her hand. Juliet took it, and let Logan lead.
Another room, bare and industrial, fewer cameras. They crouched in a blind spot in an alcoved corner. Logan sat cross-legged, Juliet, shifting herself too many times, finally settled her knees on the carpet.
"Right now," Logan said "the best option is to split up and look for your friends. If you can find anyone you think can trust to help us out, bring them in on it. We're gonna need all the help we can get if this is gonna work."
That part was easy. "Right. Will do. What more is there to this plan?"
A beat, and Logan leaned in. Juliet took a moment to parse, then leaned in and offered her ear to Logan.
"Do you want to know what happened to your brother? Your parents?"
Logan's voice was suited to whispers. And Juliet's reply came too loud, too fast.
"Yes!"
Yes. Please, yes. Please.
Her breath came a little harsher now. Tells of nervousness. Logan's father is in the military. And suddenly this was relevant, now. Why was this relevant?
Logan was talking as if nothing had happened. "Your brother... he'd be expendable. If they ever found him, it's a bullet between the eyes. Maybe he made it to Canada, but who knows how long he'd last in the wild?"
Juliet closed her eyes. The wilderness. Simon, cold. And a bullet. No, don't think about that.
It's amazing how hard it is not to think of certain things.
Simon.
"Your parents, though... well."
Swallow.
"I've never actually seen what they do to traitors. Only the tools they use to do it."
Traitors? My parents weren't--
But that was the nomenclature. Juliet would learn to deal with it. And words were coming out of her mouth, stuttering, uncomfortable. "What--what do--what are they?"
And Logan stayed steely, stayed cool. "If you didn't know better, you'd think it was dental equipment. Drills, clamps, things I don't even know the names of."
Does her Dad bring those things to her house? Juliet had run her hands through a pile of dental equipment once, scraping herself on the needles and edges. Now she imagining how one would use them on things that weren't teeth.
"And it wouldn't be quick. Your brother, he'd be lucky by comparison." Now it was Logan's turn to shift her feet, rub her forehead. "They would have to keep them alive. Corpses don't provide information. At least, that's what the pretense they like to use. Any good interrogator knows that if they don't give them anything in the first five minutes, they never will." A pause, a beat, and Logan's voice softened. "A good interrogator, however, is always willing to hone his craft."
The questions were hardly questions anymore. "What? Why?"
Knees under her. Japanese 'correct sitting position'. It helped her calm down. But not this time.
"Why?"
And it was Logan's turn to fire up, to move to stand, and to begin to speak. "Because, Juliet, I've seen this system from the inside, and what I've seen is nothing but filth. This nation is a mockery of what it once was. Entire generations are growing up knowing nothing of freedom, of democracy, of equality, of the values America was founded on in the first place." Logan slapped her knees. "Now, me? I'm a patriot. I want to see this country set right. I want to fix this broken system. I want the general's head on a goddamn platter, but to do that, I. Need. Your. Help."
Logan's eyes had moved to the cameras dotting the area around them. "That said, no security system is without its holes, so can I please ask you to trust me until I find that blind spot?"
Juliet swallowed. This question hardly needed an answer. "Yes."
"Good. Keep an eye on the courtyard for my signal. You'll know when you see it."
And Juliet was conflicting, holding, breaking. "O--okay. And if you see Claire, or Marilyn or Duncan, can you--can you bring them to me?" She didn't want to look like she doesn't have faith in this girl's escape plan, but suddenly everything scared her. She thought she had stopped fighting. "I don't--if we can escape--I want to--but I want to be able to say goodbye. And make sure they're safe."
Her words were coming back to her now. Albeit slowly.
Logan gave a reassuring smile and put a hand on Juliet's shoulder. "Don't worry. That's part of the plan."
Juliet let out her breath. It was audible. And, with Logan's hand on her shoulder, tactile.
And they were up, and Juliet was being led out of the room, and Logan was saying "Don't worry, I'd do the same for anyone." Pointing at Karl's mug in the doorway. "Except probably you."
The comment wasn't meant for her, but Juliet snickered. Karl looked up.
"One more thing." It was Logan speaking again. Juliet turned. "Anyone gets in your way?" Logan smiled grimly, and slammed her hatchet into the drywall. "Don't hesitate."
Juliet looked down at her gun. Tongue to her teeth. Pulled up the hammer.
"I won't."
(Juliet Watanabe continued in Strange Fruit)
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