(Benjamin Latimer continued from Vioectrolysis)
They had left the mess hall behind. He was so tired, what was it now, almost six in the morning? It didn't matter, point was he was tired, so freaking tired. The constant walking and the stress was starting to get to him. He had killed, and he wasn't the only one. There hadn't been an announcement since the one where it had been announced he had killed Harris.
Focus man. Focus
What had been their next goal again? The hospital right, maybe they had some beds in there for him to catch some shuteye. He turned to Johan as they continued to walk, "Damn, I'm so tired, you know what I mean?" It was small talk, but he was tired enough that his brain used it instead of meaningful words.
He stopped walking, needed to rest. Working at a burger place hadn't quite prepared him for staying up and walking. And shooting people, but that was a whole different game.
A crackle. Announcement again huh. It wasn't a big reaction, he was tired and had already sat through two of the things already.
Wait. Wendy Fisher? He hadn't even realized she had been picked for the Program. What a good friend he was. He had been looking for Luke and Megan. He hadn't even realized that Wendy was around.
The announcement wasn't done hurting him there. "Michael's dead?" He had just talked to him, what a little more than six hours before? That was bad, just another person he knew who had been killed when he wasn't there. The killer was that black guy, Bryant Carver. It wasn't surprising, wasn't the news always warning about how minorities could get? How dangerous they could be?
Dang this announcement was getting long. Wait. Luke killed someone? Maybe it had been self defense like he had been forced to do earlier. It still made him uncomfortable, his friends weren't supposed to go around killing people.
Finally the terrible announcement was over. Things were different now, people he knew and cared about had been killed or had gone killer themselves. It wasn't just about him anymore.
Then he remembered, hadn't Johan mentioned Luke as well? His attempt at talking about it didn't come out well, "Damn, Luke, I mean uhh..."
Nice Morning for a Shootout
Private
Moderator: Sh4dE
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
(M18 - Johan Luther continued from Vioectrolysis.)
It was pretty early in the morning, and Johan could see that Ben was pretty tired, and didn't seem to be doing too well. Johan was too, but he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Johan remembered that they were going to the hospital, and with this goal in mind he plowed on, staying a few steps in front of Ben. Ben then said to him, "Damn, I'm so tired, you know what I mean?"
Johan, rather feebly, replied, "Yeah, we all are."
Ben then stopped and rested. Johan choked back a groan, as he wanted to keep moving. Still, even he was getting tired, and decided to use the chance to rest as well. Or excuse. However you'd like to put it.
The announcements then flared on. Johan didn't pay too much attention to it, he didn't know most of the people anyways, and those he knew he didn't know very well.
Then when it came off, Ben said, rather confusedly, "Damn, Luke, I mean uhh..."
Johan only replied, "You mean...?"
It was pretty early in the morning, and Johan could see that Ben was pretty tired, and didn't seem to be doing too well. Johan was too, but he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Johan remembered that they were going to the hospital, and with this goal in mind he plowed on, staying a few steps in front of Ben. Ben then said to him, "Damn, I'm so tired, you know what I mean?"
Johan, rather feebly, replied, "Yeah, we all are."
Ben then stopped and rested. Johan choked back a groan, as he wanted to keep moving. Still, even he was getting tired, and decided to use the chance to rest as well. Or excuse. However you'd like to put it.
The announcements then flared on. Johan didn't pay too much attention to it, he didn't know most of the people anyways, and those he knew he didn't know very well.
Then when it came off, Ben said, rather confusedly, "Damn, Luke, I mean uhh..."
Johan only replied, "You mean...?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Un67. 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.
((Bryant Carver continued from Standing Eight))
For once, Bryant had an uneventful few hours. Nothing much happened, and his newfound companion didn't speak much, either.
They spent what was left of the night in one of the alleys, out of sight and under the stars. Bryant hadn't really planned on going to sleep, seemed too risky. He had suggested more for Marilyn's benefit. But to his surprise, he found himself nodding off fairly easily. He assumed Marilyn would have woken him up if something went down, although in all honesty he was surprised she didn't take his gun and shoot him. Not that he expected her to. She didn't seem the type.
Besides, it was easy to sleep. Not like there was anything else to do. Marilyn clammed up after they left the gate, and he wasn't particularly good at dragging words out of people anyway. He wasn't Juliet, not by any stretch of the imagination.
So he was left with sleep, and with sleep he dreamed.
He wished he would have stayed awake. He could hear clanging, a distorted national anthem, ragged breath impeded by blood and shattered face. And always he was there, screaming, laughing, enjoying it. He would wake up in a cold sweat, breathe hard, try to go back to sleep, and always that ruined face presented itself. By the time morning came, he felt like he was more tired than when they started.
Marilyn and Bryant had gotten moving, and that's when the announcement came on. He'd been dreading it, but knew it was coming. His name was second on the list, and now, finally he knew who it was he had killed.
"Michael Sechooler..." He muttered, the name unfamiliar but painful on his tongue. He took note of it, filed it away in his hindbrain. If people were dead by his hand, he would remember them. It was the least he could do, white asshole or not. Kid had probably been minding his own business.
They kept walking, but Bryant was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the other two kids across the way, having just heard the same announcement.
For once, Bryant had an uneventful few hours. Nothing much happened, and his newfound companion didn't speak much, either.
They spent what was left of the night in one of the alleys, out of sight and under the stars. Bryant hadn't really planned on going to sleep, seemed too risky. He had suggested more for Marilyn's benefit. But to his surprise, he found himself nodding off fairly easily. He assumed Marilyn would have woken him up if something went down, although in all honesty he was surprised she didn't take his gun and shoot him. Not that he expected her to. She didn't seem the type.
Besides, it was easy to sleep. Not like there was anything else to do. Marilyn clammed up after they left the gate, and he wasn't particularly good at dragging words out of people anyway. He wasn't Juliet, not by any stretch of the imagination.
So he was left with sleep, and with sleep he dreamed.
He wished he would have stayed awake. He could hear clanging, a distorted national anthem, ragged breath impeded by blood and shattered face. And always he was there, screaming, laughing, enjoying it. He would wake up in a cold sweat, breathe hard, try to go back to sleep, and always that ruined face presented itself. By the time morning came, he felt like he was more tired than when they started.
Marilyn and Bryant had gotten moving, and that's when the announcement came on. He'd been dreading it, but knew it was coming. His name was second on the list, and now, finally he knew who it was he had killed.
"Michael Sechooler..." He muttered, the name unfamiliar but painful on his tongue. He took note of it, filed it away in his hindbrain. If people were dead by his hand, he would remember them. It was the least he could do, white asshole or not. Kid had probably been minding his own business.
They kept walking, but Bryant was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the other two kids across the way, having just heard the same announcement.
((Marilyn continued from Standing Eight))
Having a companion was odd in the extreme. Marilyn wasn't used to being around people for any significant length of time, not that there was much in the way of conversation between them. Bryant seemed focused, or else resigned not to risk her stammer. That suited Marilyn just fine, being that she wasn't really one for talking even if she'd been able to spit the words out without tripping over each three times.
Amazingly, she'd managed to snatch some sleep, in spite of her fear, paranoia and... hell take your pick, just about everything. Marilyn hadn't expected to be able to switch off around Bryant, but maybe that was more testament to how bone tired she was after spending the better part of day running for her life, than any inherent trust in her companion.
Once they got going again, Marilyn remained subdued, glad of the silence, glad that Bryant hadn't yet inquired after her weapon. He'd either want it or want HER to use it. Marilyn wanted neither, especially given Bryant was already toting a shotgun around. She flinched as the announcement came on, few of the names striking her until the disembodied voice indicated Bryant's kill. Of course, Marilyn already knew it, but hearing it declared so starkly...
Unpleasant, to say the least.
Marilyn glanced up and stumbled as she spotted a pair of other students not too far away from them and their path. One big, one smaller. Neither looked like a welcome wagon.
"Buh-buh-buh-b-b-b..." her tongue tied itself in a firm knot as Marilyn stopped walking, trying to warn her partner. "Buh-buh-Bryant! Luh-luh-l-l-luh," she gave up, and wild-eyed, she just pointed towards the others.
Having a companion was odd in the extreme. Marilyn wasn't used to being around people for any significant length of time, not that there was much in the way of conversation between them. Bryant seemed focused, or else resigned not to risk her stammer. That suited Marilyn just fine, being that she wasn't really one for talking even if she'd been able to spit the words out without tripping over each three times.
Amazingly, she'd managed to snatch some sleep, in spite of her fear, paranoia and... hell take your pick, just about everything. Marilyn hadn't expected to be able to switch off around Bryant, but maybe that was more testament to how bone tired she was after spending the better part of day running for her life, than any inherent trust in her companion.
Once they got going again, Marilyn remained subdued, glad of the silence, glad that Bryant hadn't yet inquired after her weapon. He'd either want it or want HER to use it. Marilyn wanted neither, especially given Bryant was already toting a shotgun around. She flinched as the announcement came on, few of the names striking her until the disembodied voice indicated Bryant's kill. Of course, Marilyn already knew it, but hearing it declared so starkly...
Unpleasant, to say the least.
Marilyn glanced up and stumbled as she spotted a pair of other students not too far away from them and their path. One big, one smaller. Neither looked like a welcome wagon.
"Buh-buh-buh-b-b-b..." her tongue tied itself in a firm knot as Marilyn stopped walking, trying to warn her partner. "Buh-buh-Bryant! Luh-luh-l-l-luh," she gave up, and wild-eyed, she just pointed towards the others.
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
"Yeah, he killed someone." That felt weird, he couldn't imagine Luke killing someone. Then again, he would never had imagined himself killing someone, well a classmate, either. He had always known killing someone in war would happen, everyone had to serve their country someday. That was a fact. A fact, he didn't necessarily have a problem with. He had been planning on serving his country on the front lines one day, now, well it was a slim possibility.
Still the Program was different, you had to fight your classmates. People who weren't necessarily bad for the country. Heck most weren't. Well, except for the minorities. Most of them were probably excited at the prospect of being able to kill Americans.
Speaking of. Carver. Oh no. Not him, he killed Michael. Probably enjoyed it too, you know how they are. Oh, and he had a companion. That Asian girl. Marilyn. Of course they were working together, it's not like any good American would associate with them.
Enough thinking. It was time for action. Those two were far off, but they were going down. Who knew how many people they would kill if they had the chance. He'd take down Carver first. He was more dangerous, he had killed Michael.
As he raised his handgun, he felt a kind of pressure from his throat up to his sinuses. He was actually going to do it again, kill someone that is. BANG BANG BANG BANG CL-ICK.
Shit. Hurry up. Where's that clip, gotta reload, gotta reload. He really should have bothered to find the extra ammunition in his bag prior to this, but he hadn't given reloading much thought up to this point.
Still the Program was different, you had to fight your classmates. People who weren't necessarily bad for the country. Heck most weren't. Well, except for the minorities. Most of them were probably excited at the prospect of being able to kill Americans.
Speaking of. Carver. Oh no. Not him, he killed Michael. Probably enjoyed it too, you know how they are. Oh, and he had a companion. That Asian girl. Marilyn. Of course they were working together, it's not like any good American would associate with them.
Enough thinking. It was time for action. Those two were far off, but they were going down. Who knew how many people they would kill if they had the chance. He'd take down Carver first. He was more dangerous, he had killed Michael.
As he raised his handgun, he felt a kind of pressure from his throat up to his sinuses. He was actually going to do it again, kill someone that is. BANG BANG BANG BANG CL-ICK.
Shit. Hurry up. Where's that clip, gotta reload, gotta reload. He really should have bothered to find the extra ammunition in his bag prior to this, but he hadn't given reloading much thought up to this point.
Ben's reply to Johan was, "Yeah, he killed someone." Johan looked at him and noticed he seemed the tiniest bit upset, and decided that it wasn't a good idea to press the issue. He then faced forward, and then caught in his peripheral vision two figures approaching them.
Uh oh.
One of them was a black guy, and the other one was an Asian girl. Johan didn't really know either of them well, but he noticed the girl was stuttering and he had the faint recollection of having seen her some time before. In any case, he paid more attention to the guy, and noticed he was holding something in his hand. Johan, looking carefully, determined that it was a shotgun.
Johan couldn't help but ask himself, Again?
And then Ben suddenly raised up his handgun.
Yep, again, Johan thought dryly.
Ben then fired four shots at them. That was, before his clip ran out of bullets. Under normal circumstances, Johan would have asked, "What are you doing, firing on people that haven't even made the slightest gesture to you?", but this did not count as a normal circumstance. Johan didn't see any reason to aggravate someone who had a handgun and was definitely not afraid of using it, with or without provocation.
However, no matter how much he wanted to, he knew that running away wouldn't do him any good, and he even explicitly stated himself that he wouldn't run away. So what he did was stand out of the action. He moved a few steps away subtly so that Ben wouldn't chew him out, but also so that he wouldn't be shot by the other two people. He then pressed himself to the ground, and for lack of anything else he could do, he prayed.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, please have mercy on me today...
Uh oh.
One of them was a black guy, and the other one was an Asian girl. Johan didn't really know either of them well, but he noticed the girl was stuttering and he had the faint recollection of having seen her some time before. In any case, he paid more attention to the guy, and noticed he was holding something in his hand. Johan, looking carefully, determined that it was a shotgun.
Johan couldn't help but ask himself, Again?
And then Ben suddenly raised up his handgun.
Yep, again, Johan thought dryly.
Ben then fired four shots at them. That was, before his clip ran out of bullets. Under normal circumstances, Johan would have asked, "What are you doing, firing on people that haven't even made the slightest gesture to you?", but this did not count as a normal circumstance. Johan didn't see any reason to aggravate someone who had a handgun and was definitely not afraid of using it, with or without provocation.
However, no matter how much he wanted to, he knew that running away wouldn't do him any good, and he even explicitly stated himself that he wouldn't run away. So what he did was stand out of the action. He moved a few steps away subtly so that Ben wouldn't chew him out, but also so that he wouldn't be shot by the other two people. He then pressed himself to the ground, and for lack of anything else he could do, he prayed.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, please have mercy on me today...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Un67. 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.
Marilyn was talking, or making a valiant effort at trying to talk, and of course was getting on Bryant's nerves just a little. He followed where she was pointing anyway, hoping to placate the panicking girl.
"Marilyn, I need you to shut the fu..." He saw them. Two white boys, one with a gun. One with a gun getting ready to fire. What were the fucking odds?
He wasn't thinking, operating solely on self (and other) preservation when he grabbed Marilyn's little ass and halfway threw her into the alley behind cover before diving there himself. He swore he could feel one of the shooter's bullets whizz by his leg as he dove. As far as he knew, he wasn't hit. He didn't know too much about guns, so he was happy when his didn't inadvertently go off, either. He'd need every shot.
As soon as he recovered from his baseball slide, Bryant was up, shotgun gripped tightly in both hands. He looked over to Marilyn, who was, predictably scared out of her mind.
"Fucking RUN!" He shouted at her. As if to answer any question as to how she would do that, Bryant set about drawing the shooter's attention to himself and himself alone.
Bryant peeked out from his perch at the corner of the wall, braced the shotgun against his shoulder, took aim at the place where he could see the guys taking cover, pulled one of the double triggers on the weapon. The first barrel fired, and the shotgun roared, bruising his eardrums. Bryant almost wasn't ready for the kick, and as it happened he was rocked back on his heels.
Goddamn.
He figured he hadn't hit anybody, and that was ok. He just wanted to cover Marilyn's escape. Maybe get the kids to give up.
"MOTHERFUCKER, you keep shooting and I will put you the FUCK down!" He shouted to the kid with the gun, even as he broke the shotgun across his forearm behind cover and scrabbled in his bag for another shell. He hoped to God that he wouldn't have to make good on his promise.
"Marilyn, I need you to shut the fu..." He saw them. Two white boys, one with a gun. One with a gun getting ready to fire. What were the fucking odds?
He wasn't thinking, operating solely on self (and other) preservation when he grabbed Marilyn's little ass and halfway threw her into the alley behind cover before diving there himself. He swore he could feel one of the shooter's bullets whizz by his leg as he dove. As far as he knew, he wasn't hit. He didn't know too much about guns, so he was happy when his didn't inadvertently go off, either. He'd need every shot.
As soon as he recovered from his baseball slide, Bryant was up, shotgun gripped tightly in both hands. He looked over to Marilyn, who was, predictably scared out of her mind.
"Fucking RUN!" He shouted at her. As if to answer any question as to how she would do that, Bryant set about drawing the shooter's attention to himself and himself alone.
Bryant peeked out from his perch at the corner of the wall, braced the shotgun against his shoulder, took aim at the place where he could see the guys taking cover, pulled one of the double triggers on the weapon. The first barrel fired, and the shotgun roared, bruising his eardrums. Bryant almost wasn't ready for the kick, and as it happened he was rocked back on his heels.
Goddamn.
He figured he hadn't hit anybody, and that was ok. He just wanted to cover Marilyn's escape. Maybe get the kids to give up.
"MOTHERFUCKER, you keep shooting and I will put you the FUCK down!" He shouted to the kid with the gun, even as he broke the shotgun across his forearm behind cover and scrabbled in his bag for another shell. He hoped to God that he wouldn't have to make good on his promise.
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
(Post order skip and god-moding approved by Clueless)
Damn. He had missed, figured, he had missed how many times now? A lot, missing that one guy back at the warehouse, and now even more shots here. The only shots he had made were the ones on Harris...no need to think about that, where was he? Reload, right.
His hand was digging through the bag scattering items to the ground, flashlight, pouch of crackers, oh there it was. A magazine.
BOOM
Oh shit.
The shotgun blast had blasted only a short distance away from him.
I could have died.
He wasn't going to get killed by some black kid, especially one that stole Michael's shotgun. Right, reload already, he had spent enough time thinking. He started taking out the old magazine to put in the new.
"MOTHERFUCKER, you keep shooting and I will put you the FUCK down!"
New magazine loaded. He was enraged now, Ben was rarely mad, usually so easygoing and joking around. "Oh we know you do that!"
BANG BANG
Two more shots, poorly aimed. He needed to focus. What? Where was that Marilyn Jap bitch, had she run away like the coward everyone knew she was? Couldn't stand and fight like a real American? He'd need to take care of Carver, then find her before any more of hid good classmates went down.
He could win this.
Damn. He had missed, figured, he had missed how many times now? A lot, missing that one guy back at the warehouse, and now even more shots here. The only shots he had made were the ones on Harris...no need to think about that, where was he? Reload, right.
His hand was digging through the bag scattering items to the ground, flashlight, pouch of crackers, oh there it was. A magazine.
BOOM
Oh shit.
The shotgun blast had blasted only a short distance away from him.
I could have died.
He wasn't going to get killed by some black kid, especially one that stole Michael's shotgun. Right, reload already, he had spent enough time thinking. He started taking out the old magazine to put in the new.
"MOTHERFUCKER, you keep shooting and I will put you the FUCK down!"
New magazine loaded. He was enraged now, Ben was rarely mad, usually so easygoing and joking around. "Oh we know you do that!"
BANG BANG
Two more shots, poorly aimed. He needed to focus. What? Where was that Marilyn Jap bitch, had she run away like the coward everyone knew she was? Couldn't stand and fight like a real American? He'd need to take care of Carver, then find her before any more of hid good classmates went down.
He could win this.
The moment after Johan began to pray, he heard a *bang* in the distance.
He looked up. The black guy had fired a shotgun blast, and it landed only a few feet to the side of Ben, who was rummaging through his stuff looking for bullets. Luckily, it didn't land to Johan's side. In any case, it was an obvious enough cue to get back to the ground and remain on a low profile. Even if no one was aiming at him, he realized he might get hit by a stray shot. Obviously enough, that would be bad for Johan.
Still, Johan hardly needed a visual show to determine what was happening. Someone then shouted out, "MOTHERFUCKER, you keep shooting and I will put you the FUCK down!"
And then two more bangs. They sounded sudden and rather hasty, they probably didn't hit anyone. But then again, Johan couldn't be sure.
Johan then thought grimly, He's going to get himself killed like this...
Still, it wasn't something that he wanted to think about. He wasn't going to hope Ben would die, after all there would be no guarantee that the black guy would stop with Ben. He shivered involuntarily, and began to pray again, with even greater urgency, Lord, oh Lord, please help me today...
He looked up. The black guy had fired a shotgun blast, and it landed only a few feet to the side of Ben, who was rummaging through his stuff looking for bullets. Luckily, it didn't land to Johan's side. In any case, it was an obvious enough cue to get back to the ground and remain on a low profile. Even if no one was aiming at him, he realized he might get hit by a stray shot. Obviously enough, that would be bad for Johan.
Still, Johan hardly needed a visual show to determine what was happening. Someone then shouted out, "MOTHERFUCKER, you keep shooting and I will put you the FUCK down!"
And then two more bangs. They sounded sudden and rather hasty, they probably didn't hit anyone. But then again, Johan couldn't be sure.
Johan then thought grimly, He's going to get himself killed like this...
Still, it wasn't something that he wanted to think about. He wasn't going to hope Ben would die, after all there would be no guarantee that the black guy would stop with Ben. He shivered involuntarily, and began to pray again, with even greater urgency, Lord, oh Lord, please help me today...
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Un67. 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.
(Gming Approved)
Bryant's ultimatum was met with more gunfire, and once more he felt that red haze that had come
over him when he killed Michael, but he fought it back this time. In this situation it would have gotten him killed, perforated by this latest cracker's handgun.
He didn't want to do anything to this kid, but he was running out of options. He seemed jumpy. Had to be to just start dumping on Bryant like that.
Bryant looked around his vicinity, searching for something that could even the odds. All that he could see was a loose brick, apparently knocked from its mortar from the side of one of the buildings.
Bryant furrowed his eyebrows, then his face lit up and he formed a quick plan. He scooped the brick up in one hand, then shouted to the shooter, "I'm coming to bust your ass! I hope you ready, bitch!" More to distract than anything. Distraction. That was the name of the game.
Bryant tossed the brick underhand out into the open, and this part of the plan worked better than he could have hoped. There were two more pops as the shooter fired off two more rounds, probably startled by the movement.
Alright motherfucker. Let's dance.
Bryant pushed off of the wall and whirled around the corner, shotgun shouldered, finger inside the trigger guard. He could see the shooter now, out of cover, still aiming at where the brick had landed. Upon Bryant's exit from the corner Benjamin had started to turn, started to track, but he was too late.
Bryant pulled the trigger, and the gun coughed once, definitively.
Sorry, kid.
The shooter collapsed, the buckshot taking him just above the sternum. Bryant was lucky; his shot was off center to the right, but the spread of the blast covered for his poor aim. Mercifully, the shooter fell before Bryant could see the damage the shotgun blast caused. Bryant started over to their position, gun still shouldered, finger outside of the trigger guard. He could see the crouched over form of one more person, but he had heard only one gun. This other kid probably wasn't armed.
He reached their position. The kid he shot was barely moving, just squirming a little and coughing. He wasn't long for the world. Bryant took care not to look at him, lest he lose his nerve again. He didn't see where the kids handgun went, and at the moment didn't give a fuck.
The other kid looked like he just didn't want to be there. Bryant kept the barrel of the gun trained on him regardless.
"What was his name?" Bryant asked.
The kid didn't answer at first, probably still in shock.
"What was his fucking NAME!?" He snarled this time, and had to stop himself from hitting the kid with the gun.
Bryant's ultimatum was met with more gunfire, and once more he felt that red haze that had come
over him when he killed Michael, but he fought it back this time. In this situation it would have gotten him killed, perforated by this latest cracker's handgun.
He didn't want to do anything to this kid, but he was running out of options. He seemed jumpy. Had to be to just start dumping on Bryant like that.
Bryant looked around his vicinity, searching for something that could even the odds. All that he could see was a loose brick, apparently knocked from its mortar from the side of one of the buildings.
Bryant furrowed his eyebrows, then his face lit up and he formed a quick plan. He scooped the brick up in one hand, then shouted to the shooter, "I'm coming to bust your ass! I hope you ready, bitch!" More to distract than anything. Distraction. That was the name of the game.
Bryant tossed the brick underhand out into the open, and this part of the plan worked better than he could have hoped. There were two more pops as the shooter fired off two more rounds, probably startled by the movement.
Alright motherfucker. Let's dance.
Bryant pushed off of the wall and whirled around the corner, shotgun shouldered, finger inside the trigger guard. He could see the shooter now, out of cover, still aiming at where the brick had landed. Upon Bryant's exit from the corner Benjamin had started to turn, started to track, but he was too late.
Bryant pulled the trigger, and the gun coughed once, definitively.
Sorry, kid.
The shooter collapsed, the buckshot taking him just above the sternum. Bryant was lucky; his shot was off center to the right, but the spread of the blast covered for his poor aim. Mercifully, the shooter fell before Bryant could see the damage the shotgun blast caused. Bryant started over to their position, gun still shouldered, finger outside of the trigger guard. He could see the crouched over form of one more person, but he had heard only one gun. This other kid probably wasn't armed.
He reached their position. The kid he shot was barely moving, just squirming a little and coughing. He wasn't long for the world. Bryant took care not to look at him, lest he lose his nerve again. He didn't see where the kids handgun went, and at the moment didn't give a fuck.
The other kid looked like he just didn't want to be there. Bryant kept the barrel of the gun trained on him regardless.
"What was his name?" Bryant asked.
The kid didn't answer at first, probably still in shock.
"What was his fucking NAME!?" He snarled this time, and had to stop himself from hitting the kid with the gun.
-
Courtography
- Posts: 518
- Joined: Tue Aug 07, 2018 11:03 pm
Shit, the black had taken cover behind the hospital. "I'm coming to bust your ass! I hope you ready, bitch!" came the taunt from behind the corner. What!? I'm not getting killed by some black kid.
A flash of movement. There he is!
BANG BANG
A brick? But where was Carver? He couldn't believe he had been caught off by a dirty trick like that. Bryant couldn't even fight him man to man, had to pull cowardly shit like that. No real American would do things like that.
Get your head out of your fatass Ben!
A blur in the side of his vision, but it was too late. BOOM
His chest took the brunt as he half flew, half feel backwards.
Thud.
He felt faint. He couldn't die like this, taken down by some black punk. He had to get up and fight, but he couldn't. His arms and legs twitched, but he couldn't get up.
No. He had to get up, save himself, save Johan. He had forgotten about Johan in the fight. Did that make him bad? No, he had tried to save them both from a murderous black guy. He had done the right thing in trying to save everyone from Carver. He had done the righ-
M05: LATIMER, BENJAMIN: DECEASED
A flash of movement. There he is!
BANG BANG
A brick? But where was Carver? He couldn't believe he had been caught off by a dirty trick like that. Bryant couldn't even fight him man to man, had to pull cowardly shit like that. No real American would do things like that.
Get your head out of your fatass Ben!
A blur in the side of his vision, but it was too late. BOOM
His chest took the brunt as he half flew, half feel backwards.
Thud.
He felt faint. He couldn't die like this, taken down by some black punk. He had to get up and fight, but he couldn't. His arms and legs twitched, but he couldn't get up.
No. He had to get up, save himself, save Johan. He had forgotten about Johan in the fight. Did that make him bad? No, he had tried to save them both from a murderous black guy. He had done the right thing in trying to save everyone from Carver. He had done the righ-
M05: LATIMER, BENJAMIN: DECEASED
Johan wasn't sure what was going on. Someone (probably the black guy) said, "I'm coming to bust your ass! I hope you ready, bitch!", and Johan just heard two more shots after that. Then, he heard a loud bang, probably from the shotgun, and there was silence after that. After a moment of thought, Johan couldn't help but think, dreadfully,
He's dead.
He then heard the black guy talk. Disoriented, it took Johan a moment to realize he was being asked a question. "What was his name?"
Johan tried to open his mouth, but failed. He looked over at Ben's body. It was a grisly sight, with buckshot-
"What was his fucking NAME!?"
He then looked back at the black guy. Johan then murmured pathetically, "Be-ben. He-his name w-was Be-benjamin Latimer."
He's dead.
He then heard the black guy talk. Disoriented, it took Johan a moment to realize he was being asked a question. "What was his name?"
Johan tried to open his mouth, but failed. He looked over at Ben's body. It was a grisly sight, with buckshot-
"What was his fucking NAME!?"
He then looked back at the black guy. Johan then murmured pathetically, "Be-ben. He-his name w-was Be-benjamin Latimer."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Un67. 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.
Bryant kept the gun on the kid, glared over the sights at him for a beat before pointing the barrel down and slightly away from him.
"You remember that. You remember him, you remember what you said to him, you remember what he said to you. But goddammit, you better fucking remember his name."
He looked around for a minute. Marilyn had made good on his distraction, had vacated the area early into the gunfight.
"Benjamin Latimer." He tried the name out on his tongue. It tasted foul, just like Sechooler's name. Tasted like murder. Unpalatable.
Bryant spun on his heels, shotgun slung across his shoulder as he left the area. He hoped his face looked confident, hoped his words sounded profound. Because mostly he just felt damned.
Not that it mattered. It looked like he was going to have more fields to plow, whether he wanted to or not.
((Bryant Carver continued in Split Decision))
"You remember that. You remember him, you remember what you said to him, you remember what he said to you. But goddammit, you better fucking remember his name."
He looked around for a minute. Marilyn had made good on his distraction, had vacated the area early into the gunfight.
"Benjamin Latimer." He tried the name out on his tongue. It tasted foul, just like Sechooler's name. Tasted like murder. Unpalatable.
Bryant spun on his heels, shotgun slung across his shoulder as he left the area. He hoped his face looked confident, hoped his words sounded profound. Because mostly he just felt damned.
Not that it mattered. It looked like he was going to have more fields to plow, whether he wanted to or not.
((Bryant Carver continued in Split Decision))
After Johan told the black guy Ben's name, he replied to Johan, "You remember that. You remember him, you remember what you said to him, you remember what he said to you. But goddammit, you better fucking remember his name."
In a regular situation, Johan would have been rather confused and point out he fact that he barely knew Ben for a day, and that he had virtually no conversations with him since the beginning, but instead Johan just nodded nervously. The gun was still on him, anyways, so he would be rather stupid to antagonize him.
The black guy then said, "Benjamin Latimer." There was a bit of disgust in his tone, and Johan, bewildered, just repeated that to himself mentally.
Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer...
The guy then spun on his heels and walked away. Johan couldn't help but get a sense how how he seemed to be trying to be profound, but Johan felt more confused then anything.
Johan then walked over the Ben's body, and then sighed. He then took Ben's handgun and backpack, which meant that he had finally some halfway decent defense and enough food to last him quite a bit longer. However, he also decided to do something else. He took out the hammer and sickle hat that he had been keeping in his bag, took it out carefully and stamped it into the ground. Forget trying to be a fake Communist. Johan finally had a chance to actually live through this whole thing now, or at least maybe manage to look like a "patriot" so maybe his family would be maybe treated better. Then again, with the government he couldn't really know. Still, he had to move on. The games were beginning in earnest now, and at this point the only thing he could do was try to survive. He checked Ben's gun. Four bullets in the current clip, and three extra ones. It would probably last long enough. And with that, he looked back at Ben's body one last time and walked away.
((M18 - Johan Luther continued in Who Needs Direction?.)
In a regular situation, Johan would have been rather confused and point out he fact that he barely knew Ben for a day, and that he had virtually no conversations with him since the beginning, but instead Johan just nodded nervously. The gun was still on him, anyways, so he would be rather stupid to antagonize him.
The black guy then said, "Benjamin Latimer." There was a bit of disgust in his tone, and Johan, bewildered, just repeated that to himself mentally.
Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer. Benjamin Latimer...
The guy then spun on his heels and walked away. Johan couldn't help but get a sense how how he seemed to be trying to be profound, but Johan felt more confused then anything.
Johan then walked over the Ben's body, and then sighed. He then took Ben's handgun and backpack, which meant that he had finally some halfway decent defense and enough food to last him quite a bit longer. However, he also decided to do something else. He took out the hammer and sickle hat that he had been keeping in his bag, took it out carefully and stamped it into the ground. Forget trying to be a fake Communist. Johan finally had a chance to actually live through this whole thing now, or at least maybe manage to look like a "patriot" so maybe his family would be maybe treated better. Then again, with the government he couldn't really know. Still, he had to move on. The games were beginning in earnest now, and at this point the only thing he could do was try to survive. He checked Ben's gun. Four bullets in the current clip, and three extra ones. It would probably last long enough. And with that, he looked back at Ben's body one last time and walked away.
((M18 - Johan Luther continued in Who Needs Direction?.)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Un67. 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.
Before she could even really process what had happened, Marilyn found herself scooped up and hurled aside, clattering to the ground with an unpleasant, painful thud. Still, more bruises were the least of her worries as gunfire echoed through the air, causing her to gasp and draw her knees tightly up to her chest, burying her face in them. Her chance to break into sobs, however, was utterly minimal as Bryant turned and yelled at her to get out of there.
She, in all honesty, did not need telling this twice.
Marilyn scrambled to her feet and without a second thought or backwards glance, started running as fast as she ever had in her life, leaving behind her the shooting and the blood and the death.
For now.
((Marilyn continued in A Couple of Cooks in the Kitchen))
She, in all honesty, did not need telling this twice.
Marilyn scrambled to her feet and without a second thought or backwards glance, started running as fast as she ever had in her life, leaving behind her the shooting and the blood and the death.
For now.
((Marilyn continued in A Couple of Cooks in the Kitchen))