We Are Finally Cowboys

[Hollyquin*]

[[Ryan Montoya continued from Out of the Darkness, Into the Night]]

Run.

Faster, run, damn you, fucking run, this is nothing-

You can do this, just, faster, please, faster, faster, unless you want to die, do you WANT to die, you fucking loser, you fucking pathetic sack of shit, what are you doing, you are so fucking SLOW-

She was running. Running as fast as she could away from that godforsaken place where that girl, the Mason twin, whichever one, who cared, had died, gone out, left the goddamn building. A punctured sack of blood. She'd left that place at top speed and lost Luke, Luke the only person who was still breathing and alive and on this island and important and who she loved. Luke was gone. Luke couldn't keep up with her. There were footsteps, but they weren't Luke's, they belonged to a boy who wanted to kill her. A boy who, she saw when she dared to take a look back, carried a box cutter, and she'd picked up her pace at the thought of exactly how painful being cut with it would be.

If she could be fair to herself for a moment- no one could have run much faster than Ryan was at that moment. She had the distinct disadvantage of short legs, but she was small and terrified and that made up for a lot. She couldn't escape the boy, couldn't run far and fast enough to shake him off, but she could keep away for now. Just had to hope he got worn out, first. No one can run forever.

The announcements passed through one ear and out the other. She heard her name, but not even the voice on the speakers she'd grown to loathe so completely knew which twin she'd killed. Not that it mattered, since to her they were basically one being, one being she'd wanted to eliminate and partially failed. One being whose partial demise didn't make her smile. She wished it did. She really did.

Not that killing again was an option right now, because she'd done possibly the stupidest thing she'd ever done, including that time she attempted to pull a major prank on Logan on April Fool's Day (long story short, Logan got hers back plus interest)- she dropped her gun. Literally just dropped it. Slipped through her goddamn fingers as she ran. Sweaty palms. Fear. More fear, now- she couldn't stop for it, she was running too fast, he'd get her, he'd cut her but now her only hope was to wear him out. She could do it. Ryan was not to be underestimated.

But then suddenly, she was face to face with a staircase.

The helipad, she remembered vaguely, looking up at the fast-approaching structure. If only I could just...fly away from this shit. That'd be badass. But no, shit wasn't that easy, but even still, she started up the staircase. Maybe the extra exertion would wear him out enough that she could escape off the other side.

Gotta be a staircase down on the other side. Yeah?

[Courtography]

(Louis Johnson continued from Out of the Darkness, Into the Night)

He had been running. And running. And running. All with one thing on his mind: Ryan Montoya had to fucking die. His breath kept coming, even though he was getting more and more tired. He simply kept putting one foot in front of the other, with a single will pursuing his goal.

The image of Stefanie bleeding out her neck kept entering his mind. Every time it caused him to speed up slightly, but Ryan was still keeping pace. Despite her short height she could really get some speed. He was getting tired, but swim team had prepared him for cardio.

Well you know what they say, swimming is the best exercise.

His bag was thumping against his bag with every step, it was probably slowing him down, but stopping to take it off would probably take too much time. Plus, he would lose his food and there was never a guarantee he would be able to come back for it.

They had come a long way, almost the full way across the Compound. Well he thought it was, he hadn't been to this part of it before, but it was a long way and it looked like they were getting near the helipad he had seen from the jailhouse. Damn, he had made it full circle in his journey around the Compound.

And then a great moment came, he might actually do it. Kill her that is. Ryan had dropped her gun. He stepped right over it. Shouldn't I grab that? The answer was probably yes, but in his desire to stab Ryan in all the right places, combined with the nice rthymn he had gotten into with his running and it wasn't important. He could still stab her, he WOULD stab her. No way around it.

He started climbing the stairs after her. Damn it. Stairs sucked a lot. "Gonna...fucking...kill.......you," he let out between huffs of breath.

[Hollyquin*]

"Gonna...fucking...kill.......you..."

She could barely hear him. There were things pounding in her ears, things like her footsteps and his footsteps and her own heartbeat which had migrated somewhere in her throat. But still, it was amazing what adrenaline could do to you- apparently giving you super-fucking-sonic hearing was one of those things, not that she was grateful for that at the moment. Hearing the voice of the boy who was trying to kill her with a goddamn box cutter- that was possibly the least comforting thing in the world. If there was any positive to it, it was that it kept her feet moving. Had to get away from that voice, the boy making it, and the sharp object he was holding. None of those things needed to be within fifty feet of her.

Except that there was no way out.

No way out.

No way- how the fuck?!

She'd made it up the stairs, dashed to the other side of the helipad, and very nearly fallen off in surprise. There was nothing there. Not a way down. The only way off of this godforsaken platform was down that staircase, the one currently occupied and being quickly scaled by that raging boy with the box cutter. That same boy who she was supposed to be keeping a fifty foot radius from- yeah, he was probably closer than that already. And rapidly approaching.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid. She'd made an assumption; this is what she got. You don't make assumptions, especially when the thing you're assuming is necessary to your continuing to live. Now she was stuck about thirty feet in the air- too far to jump, she'd probably break something and then where would she be- with absolutely nothing to do but turn around and face the goddamn enemy with her head up high. This kid wasn't exactly a trained fighter. She had that over him, at least.

And he had the box cutter. So things were almost fair.

So Ryan Montoya turned, assuming a fighting stance. Things didn't exactly look good, but giving up's for fucking pussies. I can take him. Watch, honest, I can take him-

[Courtography]

He had reached the top, it had taken a while. There were a lot of stairs to climb, but strangely it felt like forever and yet no time at all at the same time. He would have figured it was the adrenaline, but he wasn't thinking about any of that.

He was simply thinking about killing Ryan, plain and simple.

He spotted her. She was standing at the edge, as his footfalls brought him closer and closer. His goal, avenge Stefanie, was almost there. She was, as far as he knew, unarmed. Which made it all the more easy. He would cut her, slice her, stab her with the box cutter. Gruesome, but it might, just maybe, make up for the hole she had shot in Stefanie's throat.

That's when he finally noticed her stance. Shit, she does some martial art thing doesn't she? Unfortunately for him his legs were in a rhythm and weren't about to let him stop and think. By the time he had the box cutter swinging towards her, he was already within her striking distance.

Shit.

[Hollyquin*]

Hold it together, Ryan. Okay, so he has a box cutter, he has something sharp, he can cut you to ribbons if you let him- then you've just got to not let him, right? You've got an advantage. This kid, he was little for a boy, skinny, short, not nearly as short or skinny as Ryan herself but Ryan herself had training. Ryan knew how to use all of her 105 pounds to her advantage, how to keep herself safe, and how to strike. Sure, she hadn't exactly trained against angry boys with knives, but it was the same basic principle, right? This boy was built a lot like Julio, and that was another advantage on her side- she knew how to fight Julio, she spent half her life fighting Julio.

And suddenly there was a blade swinging at her.

Holy fuck-

This was for real. Holy shit, she could die at any moment, but not this moment, because her instincts took over as she spun off to the right. Or not her instincts, really, as her instinctual reaction was to block the blow, but she'd lose a hand if she tried that against a goddamn blade. So she forced her legs to move, taking her off to the side. The boy didn't recover very quickly- no training at all, she was sure. He was just flailing around with a pointy thing and he thought that was enough.

For the first time since she saw she had no means of escape, Ryan thought she just might get off this platform alive.

She aimed a kick at the boy's back, hoping against hope she could knock him off the platform. That would be the end of that. Fuck, if I get out of this alive...I'm just awesome.

[Courtography]

She dived out of the way. Damn it that was frustrating. He was trying to kill her and she wouldn't fucking stand still! Why couldn't he kill her, she had made it look so easy with how quickly Stefanie went down. But she had a gun then, and all he had was this box cutter.

But she had dived sideways, and he was too slow, the next moment he could feel her feet kicking into his back sending him falling to the floor, and the box cutter flying a few feet away, closer to the middle of the platform.

He was right on the edge, heck looking over he could even see Allie Greens body. Don't think about her right now. He sat up and dived for the box cutter and landed. The handle was only an inch from his outstretched hand. He needed to grab it. Had to get up again. Had to get up.

[Hollyquin*]

Well. Ryan hadn't kicked him off the platform; that was balls, but she had gotten him down, and she had gotten the box cutter out of his hand. That was big. A big deal. If she could get the weapon away from the boy, they were on...not even equal footing, she couldn't even say they were on equal footing, that would be bullshit. Ryan would utterly destroy this boy in a fair fight. Not that this was a fair fight, nothing even close to it, they were two stories high and they were desperate and they were fighting to kill and the goddamn box cutter, it still existed, even if the boy wasn't holding it anymore.

What would Teo say?


...Kick the damn thing off the edge. You don't need a weapon, Ryan. Your fists are your weapon. A blade must be an extension of your hand, and what do you know from blades?


...Thanks, hallucinatory Dad.


He was right. A box cutter would make Ryan have to throw her tactics out the window and just swing wildly like this kid was doing. Like a fucking idiot. She'd never hear the end of it from Teo and Julio when she got home. No, she didn't need a weapon, but that didn't mean this kid could have one.

He was diving for it, he was so close, dammit Ryan, get over there, haul ass-

She dashed, her foot aiming for the blade, to get the fucking thing out of her life once and for all, to get her out of here alive.

Too little, too late.

[Courtography]

(All GM'ing approved by Holly)

He flopped forward again, his fingers finally gripping the handle of the box cutter. Damn, Ryan was coming, he yanked his hand back away from the floor of the helipad as a powerful kick hit where his hand had just been. But saving his hand wasn't enough, no this was a fight to the death, wasn't it?

Yes it was, and he was going to do it, kill Ryan that was. For Stefanie, it wasn't about him. Ryan had no right to kill her! He was simply righting a wrong, nothing else. After all Stefanie hadn't been the one playing the game, she had said Sophie would kill him. So obviously Sophie was playing the game.

In a split second Louis lunged forward, the short blade of the box cutter thrusting upward at Ryan. He could feel it connect, he had no clue where. It didn't matter. The blade had completed its path and he was on his feet again.

This fight wasn't over yet.

[Hollyquin*]

Something ripped.

And her first reaction was anger, because she'd known what had ripped- it had been her shirt, her favorite shirt, and okay it hadn't been that expensive but she'd gotten the whole band to sign it, what a pain that would be to replace. She didn't get along that well with them anymore- hell, no one did, they were all a lot of right pains in each other's asses, it was amazing how they came out with any halfway decent music anymore....

Then suddenly, that was all increasingly irrelevant.

That rip. Not just a rip in her goddamn band t-shirt, but a rip through skin, through flesh, through whatever it was her body was housing there. Intestines. Guts. As she stumbled backwards, as the pain hit her properly, her hands clutched at that bloody gash and she felt warmth and wetness and stickiness and something...solid. Slippery.

Ryan gagged, realizing exactly what that meant, trying desperately to get away- he wasn't near the stairs now! She could run, she could get off this platform, she could go- except she couldn't, because she couldn't run. The pain was too much. Doubled over, pressing at her stomach, trying to keep her guts in- where was duct tape when you needed it?- she stumbled forward, towards the stairs, even if she didn't think she had the strength to make it down them.

She didn't even come close.

A few more steps and her knees his the ground, her body doubled over in pain, in fucking agony, amazed by what one little cut could do. One little cut could kill her. Though she really doubted this boy would be happy to leave it at that. This boy wanted her screaming, in agony and in pieces and soon enough dead.

Dead, yes, okay. There's no coming back from your fucking intestines hanging out of your stomach. She got it, sort of, but she was too angry to cry or feel sorry for herself or say any proper goodbyes. Too angry with herself for being an idiot, too angry with this boy for thinking he had the right. No one could make Ryan Montoya cry.

No one except Chanel and Henry and Logan, but that was besides the point.

She couldn't move. Could hardly breathe. So her only course of action was to glare up at her attacker, not betraying pain, not making a sound. Don't give him any satisfaction. Die with your fucking honor or whatever, die a badass, make sure Julio doesn't have cause to make fun of you.

Make sure your friends can say how good you did, when you see them again, because that moment's coming up fast.

[Courtography]

(same as before)

She was down. He had brought her to the ground. Louis had beaten her. But she was still alive. The goal wasn't just to win, he needed to kill her. He knew that Ryan was done now, she had collapsed before she could get to the stairs.

He could see her glaring up at him. He stood still, watching for a moment. He knew what he was about to do, but he was holding back, taking his time. Maybe it was to let her think of how she shouldn't have killed Stefanie, maybe. Or, maybe he was just cruel. He didn't like the thought, but at least he wasn't being cruel for his own sake. He was being cruel because his best friend was dead, and he could actually do something to the person responsible.

It was time for this to be done.

He rushed forward at her hunched form, letting it end with the toe of his shoe kicking her jaw. He stopped for a moment. He wasn't enjoying it exactly, but he was doing it. It was something he needed to do, not something he wanted to do.

Louis strengthened his grip on the box cutter. He finally ended it, letting the blade sink into Ryan again and again. He could feel the rage finally leaving him, killing Ryan was almost therapeutic in a way, like swimming but on a larger scale. Swimming was good after a bad day of school, or when your dad gets taken by the military. Killing was what you did when someone shoots your best friend through the throat.

[Hollyquin*]

[[OOC: This will probably be improved, but it's long enough due as it is.]]

The sound sharp metal made has it ripped through skin and flesh and blood- it was hard to describe. It was like ripping, but not like ripping. It was...squishier. Wetter. Somehow metallic, or maybe that was the smell, the smell of blades and blood mingling together. It was a pretty fucked up sound, Ryan had to say. Slasher films, they got that shit all wrong. This was the real fucking deal and it was so much worse than all those crappy movies. It sounded like pain and death.

Of course, she was kind of biased on that front. Pain and death were kind of her gig right now.

These were stupid thoughts, but she kept thinking them, trying to think of all of this from an outside perspective, trying to see this as something other than the horribly painful moment right before I'm dead. Because fuck that, fuck the pain, fuck death, fuck all of it, she'd fuck it harder and proper and personally except she couldn't really move, funny how a blade sinking into your chest will do that. So she had to lie there, had to wait, had to blank out her expression and try so hard not to scream or wince or twitch or any of that other bullshit pussy stuff. This crazy fucker, he'd love that, wouldn't he? They all did, the crazy fucking psycho killers, they loved watching their victims scream and pain and beg for mercy. Ryan wasn't having any of it.

This was harder than it sounded, considering how much being stabbed hurts. And it hurts a lot. Really a lot, and Ryan's throat felt like it would burst from the weight of the screams that so desperately wanted to escape it. All she could do was focus on one specific pain, the throbbing in her jawbone from the force of the boy's kick. Pain that wasn't lethal, wasn't even close to that pain that was killing her, pain that was...familiar. She'd been hit in the jaw before. That was normal. That was okay.

If that was okay, maybe everything else could be, too.

There was blood. A lot of it. More than she'd ever seen in her life, not that she could really see it, but she could feel it, pooling around her, forming a warm puddle under her back. That was helping too, that was oddly soothing- like floating on your back in a heated pool. While being stabbed repeatedly. Not a perfect analogy, but it would have to do, because Ryan was quickly running out of time for analogies.

This sucked really hard.

Like, really hard.

She wanted to say something, wanted to say goodbye, but it would be so wasted, as the only person who'd be able to hear the weak thing she had to pass as a voice was the boy sticking metal through her skin. And this boy, psycho killer, whatever, he could go get fucked. She wanted to talk to Luke, but fuck, who knew where he was. She wanted to talk to Julio, to her parents, but the camera wouldn't pick up her words, so it'd be a wasted effort. She wanted to talk to Chanel and Henry and Logan, and...hell. She'd have her chance real soon, wouldn't she?

That's...something. Keep your chin up...not literally...hah...

She didn't let her eyes closed. She refused. Something about that would feel like giving up. So right until the very end, she stared him down. Like she was issuing a challenge. Kill me, why don't you? Of course, he proved himself more than capable, and she was glad he did. When she felt the pain fade, saw her vision begin to boil into nothing, she thought, that wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.

I'll give Logan my regards, Luke. Get the fuck out of here. For both of us.


[RANK 15] RYAN MONTOYA - DEAD

[Courtography]

His breath came in gasps. He was done. He had killed her. The running, the fight, and the relief at doing what he came to do had left him exhausted. He stood there for a moment, looking down at the girl's corpse. Looking at her like this, it was hard to believe that she was capable of shooting Stefanie. But she had.

He hadn't payed much attention, but it was dark out now. Perhaps the adrenaline had sharpened his eyesight; he had no idea. One thing he did notice was that blood was everywhere. It had poured out onto the ground, staining his shoes, along with his jeans. He, of course, had some on his hands too, from the blade. He had put the box cutter back in his sweatshirt pocket when he was done, but now it was time to walk away.

He started walking down the long line of staircases that led to the ground, pondering thoughts. Was it worth it to kill Ryan? His answer was a resounding yes. Of course it was. Would he do the same to Kami or Luke? Probably, he wasn't sure. The rage from Stefanie's death wasn't with him as much anymore, or that of Nikki or Matt's unfair demises, so he might change his mind.

That's when the announcement came on. He listened though it. Kami Steele was dead. "Thank the Lord!" he yelled out in the dark stairwell. Or thank Bryant Carver, that black guy had apparently done her in. He'd have to thank him if he ever came across him. Kendra was dead too, interesting, the girl he'd woken up next to had bit the bullet.

The last part intrigued him a bit. Tyler Brake, that military guy, had apparently been sniped for bad talking Uncle Sam. That almost made him sad, someone had come around to his way of thinking, and then they got shot. Of course this all reinforced Louis's notion that it was best not to voice his opinions. Especially not while within the walls of the Compound. What was also interesting was that they didn't list his kill. He was halfway tempted to go up and make sure Ryan was dead, but he knew she was. She must have died too close for them to list it.

Finally he reached the bottom when he spotted it on the ground. Ryan's gun. Well it was his now. He picked up the carbine. Would he be comfortable using the weapon that had ended Stefanie's life? Yeah, he thought he could. Especially if he was avenging Matt by putting down Luke Mendoza.

It was time to go hunting.

(Louis Johnson continued in Someone Who Cares)