"...Mom?" Where was she, anyway? He needed some breakfast, and a few pills perhaps; he felt like complete shit right now. His head hurt, and it felt like he was lying on... lying on cold, hard stone. As he realized this, everything came back to him- the memories of that room. The screams of the people tied around him, and the calm yet frightening voice. A rational explanation for something that was completely irrational. The man himself, dressed in a gas mask and all in leather. A fashion nightmare... spoke a voice from the back of Cristo's mind.
They had mentioned needle marks on his arm. Cristo put his head up, getting into a seated position, and looked down at his arm. He hadn't been dreaming that... there were the needle marks, clear on his arm. And his nails... something was wrong with them, he noticed, as he looked at his arm. They were longer than they had been before, and they looked... sharper. What the fuck was going on here? Wait... gifts. They had said that everyone had gotten gifts, from some kind of serum. And they had also said something about a pack.
He looked to his left, and he saw the day pack sitting next to him. He quickly opened it, looking through it frantically. A knife, a gun, a bunch of additional rounds, a first aid kit, food and water, a map, and a compass. He took the weapons, the map, and the compass out. He was hungry, but he was going to have to conserve food and water for when he really needed it. He needed to...
Cristo screamed. He tried to stop the hysteria, but he couldn't- he just kept screaming. It was too much, too much for him to handle. No pills, no weed, no mother, no fitness trainer, no home. He was stuck on this fucking island, and no one knew where the fuck he was. No one was going to come to save him. And they... the man had said that in 3 days, there'd be only one of them left remaining. Which meant they were going to try to kill him, they were going to fucking kill him.
Smile, Cristo. When things go bad, just smile. A voice, inside his head. His mothers- her advice for what he should do when he got into trouble. When he got rejected from a job, for example. Not this situation, no... but Cristo tried it anyway. He forced himself to stop screaming, and slowly, he forced a smile on his face. As he did, he noticed one thing in the day pack that he hadn't before. A small sheet of paper, reading two words: Hallucinogenic Venom.
What the fuck did that mean? Was that... the gift? He looked back down at his nails, trying to get the best look at them he could. They were different now- more like cats claws than a human finger nail. And what was underneath them, most likely.... venom. That was the gift he had gotten... he'd have to be careful. Couldn't scratch himself, or even really touch himself. Who was to say that shit wouldn't affect him?
He looked back down at the knife and gun, and then at the room he was in. It was an old, broken down room- a prison cell, it seemed like. There was a barred window above him, where sunlight came through, and across from him, a broken down cell door hang, swung open. Then he looked down at the map, and saw that he was on just one small part of the island. There were many other places on there, including a church.
As he looked back down at the knife on the floor, and at his nails- no, his claws- he felt his heartbeat begin to lower, and a sense of calm begin to come into him. There could only be one person left on the island... that was what they said. What he had to do, he began to realize. He had to get off this island, and the only way to do that... would be to be the last one standing. They'd be trying to kill him, so be it. He was not going to go down without a fight.
Give me determination, Cristo. Give me a look that says 'I won't back down'. His mother's voice again... he could almost see the camera flashing in front of him. Give me a look that says kill or be killed; give me a look that says you'll do what it takes to survive. And with the smile still forced on his face, Cristo felt hysterical, broken laughter begin to bubble out of his throat.
Desperation
(Subject C17- Cristo Ruiz START)
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GameMaker*
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Desperation
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Hallucinogenic*
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((Subject C04 - Otis Adelaide - Start))
"Baby, pass the salt."
Otis watched his mother roll her eyes as she handed over the salt-grinder to her husband who sat proudly at the head of the table, a plate of the finest seafood around steaming away in front of him. Taking the grinder with a snatch, he roughly scattered the salt all over his food, masking it of any flavour it should of had.
"So boy, what'd ya learn at school today? I bet they wasted their time again, talkin' to you 'bout stuff you're never gonna use out in the real world. Right?"
He shook his head while he laughed, sliding the salt back across the table. Otis only half-smiled at his father before glancing up at his mother's disapproving face.
"Yo Mom, don't look at me like that. It's disrespectful."
"You lookin' at him like that for? He's your son. Smile at the damn boy for a change."
His parents stared at each other for a moment, his mother trying to hold her tongue. Turning back to Otis, she started to smile, but her eyes gave her away. Sensing her frustration, his father exhaled, becoming angry with the boy's mother and without even looking at his son, he simply said two words: "Outside, boy."
Sheepishly, he pushed back his chair, wincing as he took one last look at his mother's disappointed face, then stepped out onto the patio, sliding the door closed behind him. He'd seen that look a thousand times, and the next day his mother would be even more wound up than the last, furiously pacing around the house while scornfully ignoring her son every time she walked past. It was her own fault, he figured. Shouldn't look at him like that. He's gonna be a star, after all, that's what Dad says.
Yeah- He thought as he looked up at the dark Miami sky. I will be a star. I'll shine brighter than all you, you hear me?
-----
"Ah, fuck!"
The sun burned as he opened his eyes, cursing while he closed his eyes back shut. Rubbing his eyelids with his palms, he waited for a few seconds before opening his eyes again, squinting as he allowed the light to infiltrate his vision. He felt strange, tingly all through his body, like pins and needles, and tried to see where he was through the glare in his face. Holding up a hand to his brow to shade himself, he looked over the area, trying his best to work out where he was. It wasn't Miami, that's for sure, there wasn't a penthouse in sight, nor a beach full of tourists. No, the air was a little different too, a little bit stale, like something had died long ago but had since been moved away. It took him a while to get his bearings, seeing the mountain in the distance and the coast a while away, but aside from that the island seemed bare; at least, from where he was standing.
Eventually, he turned around to see what else was there, and finally the noticed the dark building directly behind him, staring back into his eyes. He shivered for a second as his body grew cold and he realised all too soon where he was again. Unaware that he'd stopped breathing for a moment, he stepped cautiously towards the worn-down ruin of a prison, reaching out with his right hand to touch the dilapidated walls. And then he snapped out of it. He heard a scream - a guy's scream - coming from inside, and he hesitated for a second. He remembered what that guy said about - shit, he remembered everything. It all ran through his head like a blur, picking out the important parts he'd actually listened to during his speech. Something about a winner... only one... yeah, that sounded right. He remembered that part the most, that was his favourite.
Looking around for anything he could use to protect himself, he noticed the daypack sitting next to the tree he must've been sleeping under. He rushed over and grabbed it hectically; this could be his chance, the guy could be injured, or better yet, dying. He could make it look like a mercy-killing, nice and peaceful, yeah, that could work. His mind was running at a fever pitch as he grew impatient with the bag and decided to tip the contents out onto the ground to speed things up. There! Right there! He lunged at the gun which shone magnificently in the tropic sun, and grabbed it without a moment's delay. He'd held a few guns before in his life, but he'd never fired one, nor did he know how to use it, but it felt comfortable in his hand, like he was used to the weight. Grabbing the rest of the things and chucking them back in the daypack, he flung it over his shoulder, not once noticing the scrap of paper clinging to the bottom of his bag as he set off into the holding cells.
---
Inside, his eyes adjusted themselves to the lack of light and forced him to stick by the wall for a few seconds as he made his way down the entrance hall. There was an empty receptionist's desk on his right, with a dusty, rotten office chair sitting quietly behind it, and the lights in the place had blown years ago. He felt himself shiver again as he tried to quieten his steps; the cold, stone floor shouting whenever he placed his feet upon it, and kept his gun tightly gripped in both his hands. He thought he was ready for anything that might come at him, he thought he'd be quick on the draw, shooting his target square in the head before shooting them again in the chest just to make sure. That's how he'd do it, like that, all style and precision like a real action man. A real American hero, like those guys out in the east or wherever.
The halls were darker now, having walked through the entrance hall, and whatever light filtered in showed the grimy specks of life which filled the air all around him, as though he was walking through a foul sort of snow. It stank too- that's what really got Otis, the smell of the place. It smelt like death in there, like depression and misery, all the things that he'd never known throughout his pampered little life of seafood and patios by the beach. Pulling his tank top over his nose, he held his breath as long as he could, gasping whenever he had to take in the air. The stench was making him want to vomit now, never mind his situation, as he moved further down the corridor and into the black.
Then he stopped. As soon as he got to the end of the corridor, he stopped instantly, frozen by an insane kind of laughter echoing through the darkness. It came from the left of the junction, the same side as the corner he was resting up against, unsure of what to do next. Never one to over-think, he took in a deep breath then slowly turned the corner, gun going first. Still hearing that unsettling sound, he knew he hadn't been seen, and quickly darted across to the wall on the other side, with the cells lined up before him. His heart racing faster with every step, he carefully tip-toed down, passing empty cell after empty cell without stopping to look inside each one. He knew exactly where it was coming from, and in a few more steps he'd stop it dead.
"Baby, pass the salt."
Otis watched his mother roll her eyes as she handed over the salt-grinder to her husband who sat proudly at the head of the table, a plate of the finest seafood around steaming away in front of him. Taking the grinder with a snatch, he roughly scattered the salt all over his food, masking it of any flavour it should of had.
"So boy, what'd ya learn at school today? I bet they wasted their time again, talkin' to you 'bout stuff you're never gonna use out in the real world. Right?"
He shook his head while he laughed, sliding the salt back across the table. Otis only half-smiled at his father before glancing up at his mother's disapproving face.
"Yo Mom, don't look at me like that. It's disrespectful."
"You lookin' at him like that for? He's your son. Smile at the damn boy for a change."
His parents stared at each other for a moment, his mother trying to hold her tongue. Turning back to Otis, she started to smile, but her eyes gave her away. Sensing her frustration, his father exhaled, becoming angry with the boy's mother and without even looking at his son, he simply said two words: "Outside, boy."
Sheepishly, he pushed back his chair, wincing as he took one last look at his mother's disappointed face, then stepped out onto the patio, sliding the door closed behind him. He'd seen that look a thousand times, and the next day his mother would be even more wound up than the last, furiously pacing around the house while scornfully ignoring her son every time she walked past. It was her own fault, he figured. Shouldn't look at him like that. He's gonna be a star, after all, that's what Dad says.
Yeah- He thought as he looked up at the dark Miami sky. I will be a star. I'll shine brighter than all you, you hear me?
-----
"Ah, fuck!"
The sun burned as he opened his eyes, cursing while he closed his eyes back shut. Rubbing his eyelids with his palms, he waited for a few seconds before opening his eyes again, squinting as he allowed the light to infiltrate his vision. He felt strange, tingly all through his body, like pins and needles, and tried to see where he was through the glare in his face. Holding up a hand to his brow to shade himself, he looked over the area, trying his best to work out where he was. It wasn't Miami, that's for sure, there wasn't a penthouse in sight, nor a beach full of tourists. No, the air was a little different too, a little bit stale, like something had died long ago but had since been moved away. It took him a while to get his bearings, seeing the mountain in the distance and the coast a while away, but aside from that the island seemed bare; at least, from where he was standing.
Eventually, he turned around to see what else was there, and finally the noticed the dark building directly behind him, staring back into his eyes. He shivered for a second as his body grew cold and he realised all too soon where he was again. Unaware that he'd stopped breathing for a moment, he stepped cautiously towards the worn-down ruin of a prison, reaching out with his right hand to touch the dilapidated walls. And then he snapped out of it. He heard a scream - a guy's scream - coming from inside, and he hesitated for a second. He remembered what that guy said about - shit, he remembered everything. It all ran through his head like a blur, picking out the important parts he'd actually listened to during his speech. Something about a winner... only one... yeah, that sounded right. He remembered that part the most, that was his favourite.
Looking around for anything he could use to protect himself, he noticed the daypack sitting next to the tree he must've been sleeping under. He rushed over and grabbed it hectically; this could be his chance, the guy could be injured, or better yet, dying. He could make it look like a mercy-killing, nice and peaceful, yeah, that could work. His mind was running at a fever pitch as he grew impatient with the bag and decided to tip the contents out onto the ground to speed things up. There! Right there! He lunged at the gun which shone magnificently in the tropic sun, and grabbed it without a moment's delay. He'd held a few guns before in his life, but he'd never fired one, nor did he know how to use it, but it felt comfortable in his hand, like he was used to the weight. Grabbing the rest of the things and chucking them back in the daypack, he flung it over his shoulder, not once noticing the scrap of paper clinging to the bottom of his bag as he set off into the holding cells.
---
Inside, his eyes adjusted themselves to the lack of light and forced him to stick by the wall for a few seconds as he made his way down the entrance hall. There was an empty receptionist's desk on his right, with a dusty, rotten office chair sitting quietly behind it, and the lights in the place had blown years ago. He felt himself shiver again as he tried to quieten his steps; the cold, stone floor shouting whenever he placed his feet upon it, and kept his gun tightly gripped in both his hands. He thought he was ready for anything that might come at him, he thought he'd be quick on the draw, shooting his target square in the head before shooting them again in the chest just to make sure. That's how he'd do it, like that, all style and precision like a real action man. A real American hero, like those guys out in the east or wherever.
The halls were darker now, having walked through the entrance hall, and whatever light filtered in showed the grimy specks of life which filled the air all around him, as though he was walking through a foul sort of snow. It stank too- that's what really got Otis, the smell of the place. It smelt like death in there, like depression and misery, all the things that he'd never known throughout his pampered little life of seafood and patios by the beach. Pulling his tank top over his nose, he held his breath as long as he could, gasping whenever he had to take in the air. The stench was making him want to vomit now, never mind his situation, as he moved further down the corridor and into the black.
Then he stopped. As soon as he got to the end of the corridor, he stopped instantly, frozen by an insane kind of laughter echoing through the darkness. It came from the left of the junction, the same side as the corner he was resting up against, unsure of what to do next. Never one to over-think, he took in a deep breath then slowly turned the corner, gun going first. Still hearing that unsettling sound, he knew he hadn't been seen, and quickly darted across to the wall on the other side, with the cells lined up before him. His heart racing faster with every step, he carefully tip-toed down, passing empty cell after empty cell without stopping to look inside each one. He knew exactly where it was coming from, and in a few more steps he'd stop it dead.
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GameMaker*
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The laughter echoed off the walls of the prison, and even seemed to repeat itself in Cristo's head. With the sound of the laughter, though, came another sound. The fall of footsteps, echoing off the walls into Cristo's cell. Someone else was here. Someone else... shit, what the fuck should he do? He heard foot steps, but the echo was far from clear enough to tell if there were different ones. There could be more kids than just one, and if there was, he'd have to approach the situation very carefully. He gripped his gun, checking it quickly, trying to remember what rudimentary things he did know about guns. The safety... he know about that. Looking for it over the gun, he found it quickly, and carefully slid the safety off. He then slid the rest of the items back into the bag, then slung it around his shoulder.
How many fucking kids were on this island, exactly, besides him? He tried to remember how many had been in the room... but even that was pointless. When he tried to remember how many kids there had been, his mind just kept flashing back to the kid that had been killed. He had tried to curse off the people who had abducted them, and for all his trouble he had ended up with a bullet in his head. It had been calm, cold, and professional- there was no anger in the voice of the man who had killed him, just the voice of a man who was doing his job. And besides, even if he could remember all the kids in the room, what would be the point? For all he knew, there could be other rooms just like that one.
But that was all pointless. Someone was coming towards his cell, and fast. They had a gun and a knife, just like him, and even more disturbingly, they also had a "gift". What it was, Cristo didn't know. He'd have to be careful with interacting with the kid... he had no idea what abilites he had, and if he got too close to someone with a powerful ability, they could kill him. So... stay away. And make sure the kid knew he was armed. The footsteps grew closer, but at the same time, they quieted down. The kid, whoever it was, was trying to sneak up on him. Not a good sign... he was definitely armed, and he was clearly dangerous. Gun in hand, Cristo rose, and walked towards the cell door. Time to meet this kid.
Cristo walked out of the cell door, pointing his gun down the hallway, towards where he had heard the footsteps. There was a boy standing there, his gun pointed forwards, towards Cristo. He looked to be about Cristo's age, and he was slightly taller, with what looked like a good amount of weight on Cristo- but the kid was in shape, as well, some kind of athlete by the looks of it. He had a handsome face, but the look on it told Cristo all he needed to know- he had come here with the clear intention of killing Cristo. Well, well... Cristo thought, This boy looks like he could actually be of some use... A shadow of smile appeared on Cristo's face, his lips turning slightly upwards in what seemed to be more of a smirk than a look of any real happiness.
"Hello." said Cristo, the words rolling with his casual Spanish accent. As he spoke, he was careful to keep his gun pinned on the teen in front of him- he wanted him to know Cristo meant business. "Name's Cristo Ruiz. Now put that gun down, and let's talk- I'm not trying to hurt you."
How many fucking kids were on this island, exactly, besides him? He tried to remember how many had been in the room... but even that was pointless. When he tried to remember how many kids there had been, his mind just kept flashing back to the kid that had been killed. He had tried to curse off the people who had abducted them, and for all his trouble he had ended up with a bullet in his head. It had been calm, cold, and professional- there was no anger in the voice of the man who had killed him, just the voice of a man who was doing his job. And besides, even if he could remember all the kids in the room, what would be the point? For all he knew, there could be other rooms just like that one.
But that was all pointless. Someone was coming towards his cell, and fast. They had a gun and a knife, just like him, and even more disturbingly, they also had a "gift". What it was, Cristo didn't know. He'd have to be careful with interacting with the kid... he had no idea what abilites he had, and if he got too close to someone with a powerful ability, they could kill him. So... stay away. And make sure the kid knew he was armed. The footsteps grew closer, but at the same time, they quieted down. The kid, whoever it was, was trying to sneak up on him. Not a good sign... he was definitely armed, and he was clearly dangerous. Gun in hand, Cristo rose, and walked towards the cell door. Time to meet this kid.
Cristo walked out of the cell door, pointing his gun down the hallway, towards where he had heard the footsteps. There was a boy standing there, his gun pointed forwards, towards Cristo. He looked to be about Cristo's age, and he was slightly taller, with what looked like a good amount of weight on Cristo- but the kid was in shape, as well, some kind of athlete by the looks of it. He had a handsome face, but the look on it told Cristo all he needed to know- he had come here with the clear intention of killing Cristo. Well, well... Cristo thought, This boy looks like he could actually be of some use... A shadow of smile appeared on Cristo's face, his lips turning slightly upwards in what seemed to be more of a smirk than a look of any real happiness.
"Hello." said Cristo, the words rolling with his casual Spanish accent. As he spoke, he was careful to keep his gun pinned on the teen in front of him- he wanted him to know Cristo meant business. "Name's Cristo Ruiz. Now put that gun down, and let's talk- I'm not trying to hurt you."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler GameMaker. 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.
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Hallucinogenic*
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Otis froze. His heart sank as the laughter suddenly stopped and a shiny black gun crept out the cell; his own lingering weakly in the air. What should he do? All the confidence that had been keeping him going had turned tail and left him alone in the darkness. Now it was just him and whatever waited for him at the end of that barrel. As it leaned out further, a hand started to emerge, followed by a wrist, an arm, a shoulder- a face. A sly-looking face containing all the madness that had been echoing throughout the hollow halls, which now smiled right at his own. Fully realizing the danger he was in, his confidence returned, manifesting itself in one simple act: letting his tank top fall away from his face, he grabbed the gun in both hands, raising it towards the Spanish boy while he lowered his head behind it.
Not trying to hurt him? No, that didn't sound right, his eyes told him something different. He could lie as much as he wanted, but Otis knew better. You don't point a gun at someone if you don't plan on using it and you definitely don't smile. The only kind of person who'd smile with a gun in his face is a crazy one, and from the sounds of it, he really fit the bill. Clenching his grip around the handle, he inched back a little, unwilling to be the first one to drop his weapon. "You're crazy, man, laughin' and shit down here all on your own. Hell if I'm gonna trust anythin' you say." Feeling a little better once he spoke, he inched further back, quickly glancing at the corridor behind him to see if he could make it out of there before things started getting ugly.
Truth was, now that he knew it wasn't some defenceless kid down here like he first assumed, he was in trouble. He'd been getting himself ready to put someone out of their misery, to score an easy kill, but now there was this guy, standing right in front of him pointing a gun straight back at his face. That look he was giving him made him uncomfortable too, like he was ready to shoot at any time without even flinching. Beads of sweat now rolling down his head, he had to choose his next move quickly - talk, or run. Talk, or run. Talk... or run.
Not trying to hurt him? No, that didn't sound right, his eyes told him something different. He could lie as much as he wanted, but Otis knew better. You don't point a gun at someone if you don't plan on using it and you definitely don't smile. The only kind of person who'd smile with a gun in his face is a crazy one, and from the sounds of it, he really fit the bill. Clenching his grip around the handle, he inched back a little, unwilling to be the first one to drop his weapon. "You're crazy, man, laughin' and shit down here all on your own. Hell if I'm gonna trust anythin' you say." Feeling a little better once he spoke, he inched further back, quickly glancing at the corridor behind him to see if he could make it out of there before things started getting ugly.
Truth was, now that he knew it wasn't some defenceless kid down here like he first assumed, he was in trouble. He'd been getting himself ready to put someone out of their misery, to score an easy kill, but now there was this guy, standing right in front of him pointing a gun straight back at his face. That look he was giving him made him uncomfortable too, like he was ready to shoot at any time without even flinching. Beads of sweat now rolling down his head, he had to choose his next move quickly - talk, or run. Talk, or run. Talk... or run.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
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GameMaker*
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Cristo watched the boy's face intently, watching as the confidence he'd first seen on it crumbled away to fear. The boy was scared of him, and that meant a few things. One, it meant the boy was not anymore proficient with a gun than Cristo was. Two, it meant that whatever power this boy might have got, it was evidently not strong enough to give him any sense of confidence. Third, and this was the most important, it meant that he knew he couldn't kill Cristo. It meant that he was learning his place, and that was good. Yes, this boy could be used to Cristo's advantage.
You're crazy, man, laughin' and shit down here all on your own. Hell if I'm gonna trust anythin' you say. The boy muttered this, and slowly took a step back, keeping both hands on the gun and pointing it straight at Cristo. This wasn't good- it looked both like he was going to run, and that some of his confidence was returning. Cristo wanted neither of these things. He needed to keep the boy here, and he needed to keep the boy scared. But he also needed him to know that Cristo wasn't going to kill him.
"Relax- I'm not crazy, I'm just scared, like you are." Cristo chose his words calmly and carefully, taking a step forward as the other boy took a step back. "I should be the one scared of you, the distrustful one- you tried to sneak up on me down here, gun drawn. You were trying to kill me, weren't you? But, whatever... we can put that all behind us, if you just relax so we can talk. I need you to answer two questions for me. First, what is your name, and second" and Cristo's smile widened as he said these last words, keeping a tight grip on his gun, "did you by any chance remember to turn the safety off on that gun?"
You're crazy, man, laughin' and shit down here all on your own. Hell if I'm gonna trust anythin' you say. The boy muttered this, and slowly took a step back, keeping both hands on the gun and pointing it straight at Cristo. This wasn't good- it looked both like he was going to run, and that some of his confidence was returning. Cristo wanted neither of these things. He needed to keep the boy here, and he needed to keep the boy scared. But he also needed him to know that Cristo wasn't going to kill him.
"Relax- I'm not crazy, I'm just scared, like you are." Cristo chose his words calmly and carefully, taking a step forward as the other boy took a step back. "I should be the one scared of you, the distrustful one- you tried to sneak up on me down here, gun drawn. You were trying to kill me, weren't you? But, whatever... we can put that all behind us, if you just relax so we can talk. I need you to answer two questions for me. First, what is your name, and second" and Cristo's smile widened as he said these last words, keeping a tight grip on his gun, "did you by any chance remember to turn the safety off on that gun?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler GameMaker. 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.
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Hallucinogenic*
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Otis looked down at his gun in horror. Sure enough, he'd left the safety on, just like the guy said. The sweat now lacing the back of his neck, he kept his position, refusing to let someone that smug get the better of him, especially here. Sliding his left foot back ever so slightly, he began to inch away from the boy, stubbornly keeping his gun aimed exactly where it was even though he knew there was nothing he could do with it. Sliding back his other foot, he began to rise, slowly, with his head coming out from behind his weapon, as he got ready to pull off his next move.
"...Shit." He muttered, before dropping his arms to his sides. Sighing angrily, he lashed out the wall, grunting as his small kick ricocheted off the moss-covered wall. He was going to die, he could feel it, and there was nobody around to prevent it. In a matter of seconds it would all be over, with Otis lying dead in a puddle of his own blood, surrounded by the ghosts of everyone else who had died on this god-forsaken spit of land and standing over his body would be this guy. Cristo, in all his glory, cackling into the night as he holds up Otis' head up to the skies for everyone else to see.
Fuck that, he thought, as he shook the image from his mind. The fight hadn't even started yet, had it? What good would come from giving up now? What did that guy say, back in the classroom? The serum, right? Evolution, all that jazz, yeah, that was it. He'd been given something just like everybody else, and though it was a stretch, maybe he could find out what it was right now. The hard way, maybe, and certainly not the safest, but he'd rather die fighting than to go down at some girl's mercy. His face ablaze with new-found determination, he clicked the safety off his gun and raised it up at the other - slanted, just like the movies.
"C'mon faggot, we doin' this or what?"
"...Shit." He muttered, before dropping his arms to his sides. Sighing angrily, he lashed out the wall, grunting as his small kick ricocheted off the moss-covered wall. He was going to die, he could feel it, and there was nobody around to prevent it. In a matter of seconds it would all be over, with Otis lying dead in a puddle of his own blood, surrounded by the ghosts of everyone else who had died on this god-forsaken spit of land and standing over his body would be this guy. Cristo, in all his glory, cackling into the night as he holds up Otis' head up to the skies for everyone else to see.
Fuck that, he thought, as he shook the image from his mind. The fight hadn't even started yet, had it? What good would come from giving up now? What did that guy say, back in the classroom? The serum, right? Evolution, all that jazz, yeah, that was it. He'd been given something just like everybody else, and though it was a stretch, maybe he could find out what it was right now. The hard way, maybe, and certainly not the safest, but he'd rather die fighting than to go down at some girl's mercy. His face ablaze with new-found determination, he clicked the safety off his gun and raised it up at the other - slanted, just like the movies.
"C'mon faggot, we doin' this or what?"
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GameMaker*
- Posts: 27
- Joined: Thu Aug 16, 2018 12:59 am
Cristo watched the boy's reaction to his comment about the safety, his eyebrows raised. First, the boy backed up slightly, keeping his gun pointed up even though his face had given away the fact that he did, in fact, have the safety on. Then he muttered something, hit the wall with his fist, and finally, he looked up with a new sense of courage on his face, and turned the safety off. At any point during that, Cristo could have shot him. He had decided against it- first of all, he wasn't too good with guns, and second of all, he still didn't want to kill this kid. He needed to at least talk to him first.
C'mon faggot, we doin' this or what? Cristo heard the American boy spit these words out, pointing the gun at him sideways, acting the way Cristo had seen so many typical American antiheroes act in action movies. Was this kid serious right now? Cristo didn't feel any sense of real conviction behind it... more, it seemed, like this kid was just trying to save face. Must be the popular type, not wanting to have anybody beat him at anything. Cristo was surprised he hadn't asked Cristo to whip his dick out so they could see whose was bigger.
"Alright, now you're actually starting to get on my nerves." Cristo let his gun drop to his side as he said this, no longer pointing it up at the boy. The boy was uncertain and nervous, and clearly didn't know how to shoot a gun- he wasn't going to make the first move. "That little thing with the safety, I think, showed us both that you don't know how to use a gun- I, on the other hand, do know how to use one." The lie slipped out of Cristo's mouth easily, sounding so true to him that he doubted the kid would even question it.
"Again, I'm not trying to hurt you. If I was, don't you think I would have fucking shot you when you were bumbling around and I knew you had the safety on your gun still on?! Put the gun down, you look like a fucking idiot holding it like that." Cristo said these words, still staring into the boy's eyes. He wasn't losing this little confrontation they were having. "Now, for the last fucking time- WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!"
C'mon faggot, we doin' this or what? Cristo heard the American boy spit these words out, pointing the gun at him sideways, acting the way Cristo had seen so many typical American antiheroes act in action movies. Was this kid serious right now? Cristo didn't feel any sense of real conviction behind it... more, it seemed, like this kid was just trying to save face. Must be the popular type, not wanting to have anybody beat him at anything. Cristo was surprised he hadn't asked Cristo to whip his dick out so they could see whose was bigger.
"Alright, now you're actually starting to get on my nerves." Cristo let his gun drop to his side as he said this, no longer pointing it up at the boy. The boy was uncertain and nervous, and clearly didn't know how to shoot a gun- he wasn't going to make the first move. "That little thing with the safety, I think, showed us both that you don't know how to use a gun- I, on the other hand, do know how to use one." The lie slipped out of Cristo's mouth easily, sounding so true to him that he doubted the kid would even question it.
"Again, I'm not trying to hurt you. If I was, don't you think I would have fucking shot you when you were bumbling around and I knew you had the safety on your gun still on?! Put the gun down, you look like a fucking idiot holding it like that." Cristo said these words, still staring into the boy's eyes. He wasn't losing this little confrontation they were having. "Now, for the last fucking time- WHAT IS YOUR NAME?!"
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
The words were flying right over him as he stood with his gun outstretched, his finger quivering as he readied himself to pull the trigger at any moment. He'd been tempted to shoot people before, back home, whenever someone gave him lip or did something to "disrespect" him, but he'd never actually shot someone. That was the problem with Otis, he was all talk. All bark with none of the bite, even though he had the teeth for it and right now, they were sharper than ever. However, one little thing stopped him dead before he got too trigger-happy - Cristo lowered his gun. Now he was listening, and he wasn't happy about what he was hearing.
Now he was being called an idiot? Oh, now he had a motive for sure. Nobody talks to Otis Adelaide like he's some kind of fool, not even pretty little weirdos like him. And now he was staring right into his eyes, just staring into them as he spoke - no - spat the last few words. Nostrils flaring and his hand firmly around the gun, he kept still for a few seconds; the air rife with adrenaline as the two faced each other in the low light of the prison. I could shoot him right now, right in the head. The thought lingered in his head as he stood there, barrel raised to the other's forehead, feeling the strain pouring the sweat down the back of his clothes.
Staring back into his confident eyes, his left eye twitched, and he knew he couldn't win. But hey, he'd gotten him to drop his gun too, so that counted, didn't it? Yeah, that counted. It was a draw, for now. Shakily lowering his gun, he relaxed, leaning back against the wall while he tucked his gun into the back of his shorts. "The name's Otis," he said quietly, resting his hands behind his head, "Otis Adelaide, straight from the sunny blues of M-i-ami." Glancing over his body, he assumed he was a latino of some variety, but couldn't guess which. "You from Italy or somethin'?"
Now he was being called an idiot? Oh, now he had a motive for sure. Nobody talks to Otis Adelaide like he's some kind of fool, not even pretty little weirdos like him. And now he was staring right into his eyes, just staring into them as he spoke - no - spat the last few words. Nostrils flaring and his hand firmly around the gun, he kept still for a few seconds; the air rife with adrenaline as the two faced each other in the low light of the prison. I could shoot him right now, right in the head. The thought lingered in his head as he stood there, barrel raised to the other's forehead, feeling the strain pouring the sweat down the back of his clothes.
Staring back into his confident eyes, his left eye twitched, and he knew he couldn't win. But hey, he'd gotten him to drop his gun too, so that counted, didn't it? Yeah, that counted. It was a draw, for now. Shakily lowering his gun, he relaxed, leaning back against the wall while he tucked his gun into the back of his shorts. "The name's Otis," he said quietly, resting his hands behind his head, "Otis Adelaide, straight from the sunny blues of M-i-ami." Glancing over his body, he assumed he was a latino of some variety, but couldn't guess which. "You from Italy or somethin'?"
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GameMaker*
- Posts: 27
- Joined: Thu Aug 16, 2018 12:59 am
Cristo watched as his words took their effect on the boy in front of him. The boy did not seem to be pleased- definitely the type who likes to be the one picking on others, not the one picked on. He raised his gun higher still, anger in his eyes, and Cristo felt a shiver of fear run through him. Could he have misjudged this boy? Could things end for him here, so early on, at this hands of this buffoon? But no, Cristo saw, as the boy tucked his gun back into his shorts and seemed to have relaxed. He had been correct about the kid- him putting his gun higher had just been senseless posturing.
The boy began to spoke, and Cristo heard his name. Otis Adelaide, from Miami. The way he said Miami, combined with the clothes he wore, gave Cristo the sense that Otis had come from a wealthy, priveleged family. He stored this information in the back of his head, thinking that it might come in handy later on. Then, he answered the question Otis had asked him.
"I'm from Spain, Otis. Lived there until I was 6, and then I moved to New York, the Big Apple. Spent the rest of my life there." Cristo spoke carefully, calmy, and most of all, warmly. There was no need to continue the confrontation; now, Cristo realized it was more important to smooth things over with the boy in front of him. First, something for his pride. "I'm sorry for the way I acted, and the things I said. I was just... just scared of you, is all. I overreacted, I guess." He stepped closer to the boy, still clutching the gun in his hand, but this was a calm, easy step.
"We met the wrong way, and you got the wrong impression of me. I'm just terrified, and I don't know what do. Would you... would you want to be friends?" Cristo asked this in his best pleading tone, giving the face of a desperate kid. "I know I could use some help on this island, and I'm sure you could too. And oh, by the way- what is your... 'gift'?"
The boy began to spoke, and Cristo heard his name. Otis Adelaide, from Miami. The way he said Miami, combined with the clothes he wore, gave Cristo the sense that Otis had come from a wealthy, priveleged family. He stored this information in the back of his head, thinking that it might come in handy later on. Then, he answered the question Otis had asked him.
"I'm from Spain, Otis. Lived there until I was 6, and then I moved to New York, the Big Apple. Spent the rest of my life there." Cristo spoke carefully, calmy, and most of all, warmly. There was no need to continue the confrontation; now, Cristo realized it was more important to smooth things over with the boy in front of him. First, something for his pride. "I'm sorry for the way I acted, and the things I said. I was just... just scared of you, is all. I overreacted, I guess." He stepped closer to the boy, still clutching the gun in his hand, but this was a calm, easy step.
"We met the wrong way, and you got the wrong impression of me. I'm just terrified, and I don't know what do. Would you... would you want to be friends?" Cristo asked this in his best pleading tone, giving the face of a desperate kid. "I know I could use some help on this island, and I'm sure you could too. And oh, by the way- what is your... 'gift'?"
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
"Spain, aight." It made him think for a moment, about his own home, as Cristo continued to list off the rest of his life. It made him remember the people at home, who were waiting for him to get home. Then he smiled, before frowning again as he heard the strange apology escaping Cristo's lips. He's sorry? What kind of game was he playing? Although he had to admit, hearing that he'd intimidated the guy made Otis grin a little. Then again, he might've been lying; after all he was still holding that gun, right there by his side, and it didn't seem like he was gonna drop it any time soon. Then there was the way he was acting, too. He was getting a bit too close for comfort, and his attitude had completely changed without good reason.
Now he really didn't like the way the guy was looking at him; like he was trying to make out with him, almost. It was a little too much for a guy with his background, and he flinched as Cristo got closer and closer and his voice grew sultry and strange. For a moment he even forgot about the gun being caressed in his hand, inching ever closer to Otis' body. Disgruntled, he inched along the wall, his right hand grabbing the handle of his own gun while he turned to face him. Man, this guy's gettin' way too fuckin' close! If he tries any queer shit I'm gonna knock him on his ass. His fingers wrapping themselves around the trigger now, he almost brought it out of his shorts before he caught the last part of his question. "Why'd you wanna know 'bout my 'gift'? You gonna try and rip it outta me?"
Pulling his gun out and bringing it into plain view, he let it stay calmly by his side while he sized up his fellow prisoner. He held it besides his head for a second, pointing it at the ceiling as he spoke. "'Cause you can try all you like, aight? You can try as much as you fuckin' want, but there's no way you're gettin' a hold on me." Grabbing his junk in his other hand, he gestured to it with his gun while leering down at him. "Or this." He added with a snide tone, "Especially this." Tucking his gun back into the seat of his shorts, he calmed himself again, thinking back to the point he made before the "gift" question.
"We're not friends either, so don't get any ideas, boy." That was it, that was the right tone, spot-on. He was sounding more like his Dad every day. "But..." Oh? "I'm not holdin' your hand. You wanna come with me, you look after your own ass, got it?"
Now he really didn't like the way the guy was looking at him; like he was trying to make out with him, almost. It was a little too much for a guy with his background, and he flinched as Cristo got closer and closer and his voice grew sultry and strange. For a moment he even forgot about the gun being caressed in his hand, inching ever closer to Otis' body. Disgruntled, he inched along the wall, his right hand grabbing the handle of his own gun while he turned to face him. Man, this guy's gettin' way too fuckin' close! If he tries any queer shit I'm gonna knock him on his ass. His fingers wrapping themselves around the trigger now, he almost brought it out of his shorts before he caught the last part of his question. "Why'd you wanna know 'bout my 'gift'? You gonna try and rip it outta me?"
Pulling his gun out and bringing it into plain view, he let it stay calmly by his side while he sized up his fellow prisoner. He held it besides his head for a second, pointing it at the ceiling as he spoke. "'Cause you can try all you like, aight? You can try as much as you fuckin' want, but there's no way you're gettin' a hold on me." Grabbing his junk in his other hand, he gestured to it with his gun while leering down at him. "Or this." He added with a snide tone, "Especially this." Tucking his gun back into the seat of his shorts, he calmed himself again, thinking back to the point he made before the "gift" question.
"We're not friends either, so don't get any ideas, boy." That was it, that was the right tone, spot-on. He was sounding more like his Dad every day. "But..." Oh? "I'm not holdin' your hand. You wanna come with me, you look after your own ass, got it?"
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GameMaker*
- Posts: 27
- Joined: Thu Aug 16, 2018 12:59 am
Otis... this kid was fucking annoying Cristo. The looks he was giving Otis, the way he was talking to him. The things he was saying... he thought Cristo was coming on to him? How fucking paranoid was this kid? How cocky was he? Cristo felt his trigger finger itch, but he didn't... he didn't want to do that yet. Not now. For one thing, Otis still had the gun in his hand- he had taken it out of his waistband, and he looked like he was ready to use it. Despite not knowing how to use it, if he did get a shot off on Cristo before Cristo finished him... that could end his whole time on the island right there.
We're not friends either, so don't get any ideas, boy. He said this, speaking in a faux confident voice. He was trying to intimidate Cristo... really? Cristo knew he had the upper hand, he had scared the boy earlier, and he could do it again. But..." Oh? "I'm not holdin' your hand. You wanna come with me, you look after your own ass, got it? That settled it for Cristo- he had seen in Otis a possible ally. But if Otis was going to be this stand offish, always considering Cristo a possible threat... there was no point. He'd be far more of a hinderance than any help. But still, that didn't make what he should do any more clear... Cristo looked at the gun, and saw his claws curled around the weapon. That gave him an idea, and Cristo smiled.
"Look, it's alright with me, man." said Cristo, stepping closer still, the smile widening on his face. At the same time, he tucked his gun into his pocket. He'd have to be careful about that- one wrong move and goodbye kids! "I'm not gay, though... I'm just... kinda lonely. I'm not used to having to deal with people like this... especially not in a-" And that was when Cristo lunged. His right hand shot out to the wrist Otis was holding the gun with, his claws tightening into his forearm and drawing blood as he forced the gun down. At the same time, his left hand shot out, slashing Otis on the face, leaving shallow cuts all along his cheek. Now... we shall see how this venom works.
We're not friends either, so don't get any ideas, boy. He said this, speaking in a faux confident voice. He was trying to intimidate Cristo... really? Cristo knew he had the upper hand, he had scared the boy earlier, and he could do it again. But..." Oh? "I'm not holdin' your hand. You wanna come with me, you look after your own ass, got it? That settled it for Cristo- he had seen in Otis a possible ally. But if Otis was going to be this stand offish, always considering Cristo a possible threat... there was no point. He'd be far more of a hinderance than any help. But still, that didn't make what he should do any more clear... Cristo looked at the gun, and saw his claws curled around the weapon. That gave him an idea, and Cristo smiled.
"Look, it's alright with me, man." said Cristo, stepping closer still, the smile widening on his face. At the same time, he tucked his gun into his pocket. He'd have to be careful about that- one wrong move and goodbye kids! "I'm not gay, though... I'm just... kinda lonely. I'm not used to having to deal with people like this... especially not in a-" And that was when Cristo lunged. His right hand shot out to the wrist Otis was holding the gun with, his claws tightening into his forearm and drawing blood as he forced the gun down. At the same time, his left hand shot out, slashing Otis on the face, leaving shallow cuts all along his cheek. Now... we shall see how this venom works.
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
It was all too fast. Otis could feel the skin tearing from his face while his arm plunged downwards, held there by a set of piercing, poisoning claws. Before he even had time to think, he was struck by the strangest of visions; a sea of black extending far out ahead of him which suddenly tore itself away to reveal the awakening moments of the boy who'd struck him. It went by like a blur, his eyes darting around the room as the last parts of Cristo's memories played out in front of him like the strangest of films. It was then that he saw the thing which frightened him the most - the tiny, seemingly-harmless scrap of paper which he could now read in full view inside his head. The words "Hallucinogenic Venom" flashed brightly in his mind, before he was consumed by a feeling of great power and madness. But this didn't last long, as soon enough he saw himself turning the corner of his cell, having heard someone coming down the corridor. Reaching out his gun, he found... himself, staring right back at him with a look of wild fear and a quivering arm pointing a gun straight up at his face. He witnessed their entire conversation, every detail of it , from the Spaniard's point of view, and realized just how pathetic he looked.
And then those words flashed up in the back of his head: Hallucinogenic Venom. Cristo had known about his gift the whole time, and now he was busy secreting it into Otis' blood, breathing heavily after launching that assault. The anger rising now, he pushed the boy back as hard as he could, feeling the claws tear his arm as he fell back with a thud. "You drugged me! You mother-fuckin' drugged me, man! Shit!" He could feel himself losing balance now, with his vision beginning to blur. His heart beat began to rise, and he could feel himself getting hotter and hotter, the blood pounding throughout his body as he fell back against the wall. "You- you're fuckin' dead now! You're fuckin' dead!" He raised his gun towards the boy, firing off a couple of rounds past Cristo before he succumbed to the toxins running amok inside him. "Fuckin'... dead, man... fuckin' deahh..." Now he could barely think of what he was saying, his brain swimming in a delirious soup while he stumbled groggily towards his attacker.
And then those words flashed up in the back of his head: Hallucinogenic Venom. Cristo had known about his gift the whole time, and now he was busy secreting it into Otis' blood, breathing heavily after launching that assault. The anger rising now, he pushed the boy back as hard as he could, feeling the claws tear his arm as he fell back with a thud. "You drugged me! You mother-fuckin' drugged me, man! Shit!" He could feel himself losing balance now, with his vision beginning to blur. His heart beat began to rise, and he could feel himself getting hotter and hotter, the blood pounding throughout his body as he fell back against the wall. "You- you're fuckin' dead now! You're fuckin' dead!" He raised his gun towards the boy, firing off a couple of rounds past Cristo before he succumbed to the toxins running amok inside him. "Fuckin'... dead, man... fuckin' deahh..." Now he could barely think of what he was saying, his brain swimming in a delirious soup while he stumbled groggily towards his attacker.
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GameMaker*
- Posts: 27
- Joined: Thu Aug 16, 2018 12:59 am
Fuck... the kid was strong, maybe even stronger than Cristo was. He had taken a little bit of time to recover, Cristo guessed, from the shock of Cristo's attack, but as soon as he did, he fought back against Cristo with full strength. He had pushed him off, causing Cristo to lose his grip on his forearm, and- FUCK! The kid was fucking shooting at him. The venom, however, had already begun to take its effect, and the shots veered wildly off course. Apparently out of bullets, Otis began to slowly stumble towards Cristo, unable to keep his feet. This made Cristo begin to laugh, watching the pathetic kid in front of him still attemping to attack him.
"Do me a favor, kid, and stay the fuck away from me." Cristo pulled his gun out of his pocket, at the same time easing his pack higher up on his shoulder. He easily side stepped past Otis, being careful to keep away from any grabs or hits the kid might try. He watched what was happening to Otis, and he smiled. This... this was his power. And he had a feeling the venom hadn't even got to its peak yet. "Because next time we meet, I'm not going to take it this easy on you."
He walked through the hallways of the prison, and he saw the light coming in from the entrance. He reached it, and turned to look back, seeing Otis still writhing on the floor, tangling with imaginary terrors. He felt the gun in his hand, and raised it for a moment, pointing it at Otis. But no... not here. Not yet. He would have to, eventually, but something stopped him from doing it right now. And he needed to go, anyway- who was to say the delusional Otis wouldn't fire at him again?
"Sweet dreams, Otis, you fucking prick." And with that, Cristo stepped out of the prison, and into the light.
((Cristo Ruiz continued in Hope))
"Do me a favor, kid, and stay the fuck away from me." Cristo pulled his gun out of his pocket, at the same time easing his pack higher up on his shoulder. He easily side stepped past Otis, being careful to keep away from any grabs or hits the kid might try. He watched what was happening to Otis, and he smiled. This... this was his power. And he had a feeling the venom hadn't even got to its peak yet. "Because next time we meet, I'm not going to take it this easy on you."
He walked through the hallways of the prison, and he saw the light coming in from the entrance. He reached it, and turned to look back, seeing Otis still writhing on the floor, tangling with imaginary terrors. He felt the gun in his hand, and raised it for a moment, pointing it at Otis. But no... not here. Not yet. He would have to, eventually, but something stopped him from doing it right now. And he needed to go, anyway- who was to say the delusional Otis wouldn't fire at him again?
"Sweet dreams, Otis, you fucking prick." And with that, Cristo stepped out of the prison, and into the light.
((Cristo Ruiz continued in Hope))
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Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
He heard Cristo's farewell before he vanished down the corridor, barely able to see which way he went. "Fuck... you..." Otis whispered after him, hoping that he'd hear over the groans of misery he let run from his mouth. His whole body writhed as the venom took full effect, plunging him into a world Otis had never wanted to enter. He felt like he wanted to tear the flesh away from his bone to stop the digging underneath his skin, a sensation like he'd never known before, and it terrified him to the point of tears. Real, genuine tears, for the first time since he was a kid were now streaming down his face as he curled up on the hard stone floor, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. But it never stopped; it kept on spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning until he felt like he was about to throw up, until it came to a sudden stop.
He was upside-down now, the ceiling staring up at him as he lay still in the topsy-turvy hall, praying to God that he wouldn't fall down. "Sh-shit, no! Please, no!" He cried as the ceiling seemed to slip away from him, falling back further and further making the gap even wider. If he fell now he'd surely die; no-one could survive a fall that high, not even Otis. His hands furiously scrambled for anything to hold on to - a hook, a rope, anything that would save him from a death as horrible as this. He'd always wanted to go out with a bang, but now he was going to die in more of a splat, or a crunch, with no-one around to even see it. His mind cast back to thoughts of his house by the beach, with the sun-kissed patio and the sliding doors. He loved those doors, even when he ran into them as a kid. Then it came to him, like a spark, a flash of an idea.
Reaching out with his arm, he strained as hard as he could to find the cell door. If he could just - yes! That was it! He'd caught it! Laughing deliriously, he dragged himself across the floor, pulling with all the might he could muster. This was it! If he could just get inside the cell, he'd be safe! Yes, that's it, just keep pulling and you'll get there in no time. He couldn't be happier as he finally slid into the cell, slamming the iron door shut behind him. The fact that it wouldn't lock didn't bother him, it was just enough that he was away from the ceiling now, away from that drop. He sat, laughing, for a second while he caught his breath; a look of such relief lighting up his face as he looked around the room. Big mistake.
Looking up, not only did he see another ceiling falling away from him, but this time there came the tiniest slivers of light reaching out from the window on the other side of the room. He stared blankly at them for a moment before they began to twist and turn into strange, frightening shapes. No, not shapes, he realised - faces. They were chanting something slowly under their ghostly breath, and as they crept closer and closer to the boy, a terrible howl echoed throughout the prison - followed closely by a series of gunshots.
And he still had an hour to go.
----
((Otis Adelaide continued in Lay Your Weary Head To Rest))
He was upside-down now, the ceiling staring up at him as he lay still in the topsy-turvy hall, praying to God that he wouldn't fall down. "Sh-shit, no! Please, no!" He cried as the ceiling seemed to slip away from him, falling back further and further making the gap even wider. If he fell now he'd surely die; no-one could survive a fall that high, not even Otis. His hands furiously scrambled for anything to hold on to - a hook, a rope, anything that would save him from a death as horrible as this. He'd always wanted to go out with a bang, but now he was going to die in more of a splat, or a crunch, with no-one around to even see it. His mind cast back to thoughts of his house by the beach, with the sun-kissed patio and the sliding doors. He loved those doors, even when he ran into them as a kid. Then it came to him, like a spark, a flash of an idea.
Reaching out with his arm, he strained as hard as he could to find the cell door. If he could just - yes! That was it! He'd caught it! Laughing deliriously, he dragged himself across the floor, pulling with all the might he could muster. This was it! If he could just get inside the cell, he'd be safe! Yes, that's it, just keep pulling and you'll get there in no time. He couldn't be happier as he finally slid into the cell, slamming the iron door shut behind him. The fact that it wouldn't lock didn't bother him, it was just enough that he was away from the ceiling now, away from that drop. He sat, laughing, for a second while he caught his breath; a look of such relief lighting up his face as he looked around the room. Big mistake.
Looking up, not only did he see another ceiling falling away from him, but this time there came the tiniest slivers of light reaching out from the window on the other side of the room. He stared blankly at them for a moment before they began to twist and turn into strange, frightening shapes. No, not shapes, he realised - faces. They were chanting something slowly under their ghostly breath, and as they crept closer and closer to the boy, a terrible howl echoed throughout the prison - followed closely by a series of gunshots.
And he still had an hour to go.
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((Otis Adelaide continued in Lay Your Weary Head To Rest))
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