SOTF Mini

[Casey Tjarks continued from Puff, Puff, Pass.]

Casey was really starting to regret running away from Joe and his proposal. Sure, maybe shooting yourself wasn't the best idea out there, but looking at the dead girl in front of her started to give her second thoughts. Everything about the scene screamed horrible things. The way her body slumped over the fence, the bloody arrow sticking out of her chest, the vacant look in her eyes. All of it freaked Casey the hell out as she couldn't help but to imagine what horrible fate befell this poor girl.

The worst part though was that Casey couldn't tell if this girl got off easy. She knew some messed up things happened during the Program, so by all accounts an arrow to the heart might not be the worst way to go out. The fact that that was even going through her mind though told her she should have bit the bullet (quite literally) back at that house with Joe. This girl didn't look like she died a pleasant death, so the fact that she might meet an even worse end terrified her to no end.

Backing away from the girl's body, she quickly went back to what she was doing before coming a cross that grisly sight. It was pretty dark out, and it was hard to see anything around her. She needed to get somewhere safe for the night and hide before somebody found her and took her down.

It wasn't long before Casey found the boat house entrance. She quietly opened the door and peered inside, shining her flashlight into the room ahead of her. Seeing nobody inside, she let out a sigh of relief and walked into the building. It wasn't long before she pulled her blanket out of her bag, her nearly useless assigned weapon, and found herself a corner to hide in. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she sat down with her body leaned against the wall and tried to get some sleep. Hoping that maybe, by some miracle, she would wake up soon and that this would all just be some kind of bad dream.

Or that somebody would come along and take her out in her sleep, so that way she wouldn't have to suffer. Either would work for her at this point.

((Morgan Jones continued from Radical-6 ))

Holy shit.

Holy shit, fuck, no, he did not have this all under control like he’d thought.

He didn’t even know how this had happened – well, scratch that thought, he totally did know how it had happened. It had happened because he was an idiot who had run around with his pants on fire, expecting the other two to follow his every move. They’d gone from the churchyard to the town, straight into the built up section, or at least as built up as this little town could get. They’d traipsed in and out of buildings, through hallways and rooms, down alleyways and along streets in desperate need of repairing.

So yeah, they’d been wandering around unfamiliar and winding locations, and Morgan had, maybe, just maybe, been way too hasty in his endeavours. He’d thought the church had been pretty eerie, turned out that wandering around dark and dingy rundown buildings, jumping at every single noise and shadow was way, way worse.

So he did, in fact, know how this had all happened. He’d charged on ahead, gotten them all lost, trying to find somewhere to hide out that didn’t bring him to the verge of pissing himself. He just really didn’t wanna admit it. He felt stupid enough already.

Because what kinda idiot just went and lost two allies in one go?

He’d wound up in the boat shed, and he really didn’t know how he’d ended up here. He’d been running blind, trying desperately to retread his steps, and every corner he’d turned had sent him somewhere completely new and unfamiliar. He’d seen the big concrete box that was she shed itself, and ran inside it. Then he’d seen the boats themselves, stored in the warehouse for repairs, and he’d ran inside one of them too. There wasn’t much space in a boat, right? Surely somewhere safe and enclosed would have been a good place to calm his nerves.

Turned out, Morgan had been wrong about that too.

He’d tried to get some uneasy sleep on one of the bunks in the trawler, but every tiny sound, every creak in the darkness, even his own breathing had sent his heart racing and his eyes wide open. Then there had been one sound, that one sound, the one that sounded like someone knocking against wood, and he’d flung himself off of the bunk, onto his feet, eyes wide and staring, knees knocking together.

He'd looked all over the boat for a weapon, something, anything heavy or pointy. He thought he'd struck... not gold, but a sorta shiny rock at least, on the deck outside. A long piece of wood, lying next to the railing, about the length of a baseball bat. He'd hurried over to it, and picked it up, and it had fallen to pieces in his hands, damp and mouldy after god knows how long of being abandoned.

So now he was wearing the Hulk fists again. He felt stupid, he looked even stupider, and it barely counted as a weapon, but it was a little extra weight, a little extra heft to his punches. But it’d have to do. Especially now he was convinced there was somebody else on the boat with him.

He stepped forwards cautiously, turning on a dime whenever he heard a noise, ready to fight or scarper at the first sign of anything, or anyone. He moved cautiously backwards, wincing whenever the floorboards creaked underneath his feet, eyes flitting from side to side in the gloom of the warehouse. He walked back into a corner, a section he’d checked and double checked already, an area of the boat that couldn’t have anybody hiding in it.

He walked directly into an old set of busted radio equipment, knocking it to the floor with a heart stopping crash.

“Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, shit, oh fuck, god…”

No allies. No real weapon. No hope.

(GMing approved)

Casey jolted up in an instant, her attention being drawn to the sound of something crashing into something else. Likely the floor if she had to guess. Perhaps somebody knocked something down nearby...

Oh god somebody was near by.

Her heart raced even faster than it was before, the realization that somebody else was around terrifying the living hell out of her. Oh god why did she have to pick this place as her hiding spot? Why didn't she pick some place safer like some random house or what not? There was dozens of those things back towards the housing districts, it was unlikely anybody would have stumbled upon her there. Why did she pick the one building way out on its own in some random area by the water?

Every single part of her told her to run, get the hell out of there and find some place safer. However, the panicked quiet swearing made her stop. Maybe this person wasn't playing? If they were, they would have given up on whatever stealth attack they were trying and ran in to kill her. However, they seemed more scared than hostile. So... Maybe they could talk things out? Agree to share the area together, at least until the next morning.

So, with a little hesitation, she called out to whoever might be there.

"H-hey! Is anybody there?"

No response.

Crap.

Not seeing many other options, Casey stood up, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her, and approached the area the sound came from. Hoping that whoever was there wasn't hostile. Or that they at least didn't drag out her death too long. Preferably the former though.

Okay. Okay, okay. Okay.

Okay.

Okay, he needed to just stop panicking, just for a second. Stop panicking, stop moving, stop freaking the fuck out. He needed to listen. This crumpled mess of twisted metal and wiring and shattered floorboards would only be an issue if there was someone else in the boat with him. He just had to wait a moment, yeah. Wait a moment and see if he heard any movement, any footsteps, anything. Then he’d know he was alone, and he could rest easy.

Morgan waited, silently, holding his breath, knuckles starting to hurt as clenched his fists tightly. For a moment, there was nothing but glorious silence.

Then his worst fears came true, and he heard someone calling out in response to the crash. His heart straight up leapt into his throat, and his mind started to race, images of every single horror movie monster and slasher film serial killer flooding his brain. He could see them, walking up steps and leering in through windows at him, and coming closer, and closer, and closer.

Morgan whimpered, just once, then his throat closed up before he could cry out in fear. No sound came out, and that gave him enough mental space to consider his position. The voice, at the very least, hadn’t come from inside the boat. The slight muffled nature of it told him that it was a person in the boat shed proper. That… That was something. That gave him more space. And more time to prepare himself.

Even if his feet didn’t feel glued to the floor, there was surely no point in running now. No doubt the person outside had started to move already. If he tried to run down the gangplank, they’d easily catch him. Or, even more likely, shoot him in the back the moment they caught sight of him. But staying in here gave him the advantage, no matter how slight.

He would wait for them. Either they had no interest in him, and he could relax after an hour or so, or they did, and they would try and find him.

And he’d be ready for them.

Slowly, feet shuffling on the floor, Morgan edged closer to the entrance to the boat, fists clenched tightly within the Hulk hands.

As Casey made her way towards the noise, it soon became obvious just where it came from. Turning the corner, she could see two boats in the warehouse. Clearly still being worked on. Or, at least they were before this mess started. How long they had been left up there to do whatever it is that unused and unfinished boats did, Casey did not know. Part of her had hoped that maybe, by chance, that there wasn't anybody inside and something just broke and caused stuff to fall because who even knows. Building stuff is confusing, her dad would do it all the time back home and almost every time whatever thing he tried to make would always fall apart for one reason or another. Maybe it was the same with this boat? Or maybe her dad was just bad at building stuff.

Likely the latter, if Casey had to guess, given the quiet swearing she had heard just moments earlier. Or was her mind playing some kind of trick on her? Maybe somebody didn't actually say anything and she's just slowly going insane due to her own fear and paranoia of her impending death. Maybe there isn't actually anybody there and she's just freaking out over nothing. Or maybe she's just second guessing herself and still slowly going insane due to her own fear and paranoia except in a different, less safe kind of way. If there even was a safe way to go insane.

Still, she needed to see for herself. So, she slowly made her way to the boat she thought the noise came from.

Every part of Casey was telling her to run. To not bother with this shit and just get out of there. That this boathouse wasn't worth it and to just let this guy have it. She could find some place else, the possibility of this guy being hostile was too much of a risk. But instead of doing the smart thing and running, she simply entered the boat and peered inside. Only for her gaze to be met by some guy by the doorway, ready to-

He forced his breathing to become steady as he reached the doorway leading out of the boat. Forced it to slow down to its regular pace, because the faster his breathing went, the more panicky he became. He breathed deep, tried to focus, tried to dispel the images in his mind that someone had somehow crept up behind him, and were looming over him with a knife in their hand.

It worked for a few seconds at a time, then he realised he was hyperventilating again, and he had to start the process all over.

God, his hands were just slick with sweat now. The material used for these big stupid hands was apparently perfect for trapping in moisture. He wanted to wipe his palms on his clothes, but any second he wasn’t coiled up and ready to react was a moment he was in danger. Besides, he could feel the sweat dripping down his back as well. No doubt the rest of his clothes were totally soaked through as well.

Then he heard it. The sound of footsteps on concrete. Morgan’s fingernails dug into the inside of the Hulk fists, and he crouched slightly, stance lower, fists ready to strike. So, they had decided to come after him after all. His breathing technique had vanished completely, chest heaving, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The sound changed, from thudding on concrete to tapping on metal. They had reached the gangplank. As the first two footsteps rang out around the warehouse, a thought struck Morgan, that they might not be hostile, that they might just be curious, and scared, as terrified and paranoid as he was. He wanted to drop the board, step outside, just ask what they were planning on doing. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t afford to take any risks. Not if there was a killer outside. Not if they were holding a gun.

He’d find out their intentions soon enough, anyway. There were only six steps left on the gangplank, by his estimation. Now only five. Now four. Now three. Now-

The girl stepped inside, too soon, far too soon, and Morgan cried out, scream ringing throughout the boat as he swung his fist as hard as he could towards the girl's face.

-strike.

The boy quickly moved to punch Casey, however as he did so one thing became very apparent. His fists were freaking huge. Thankfully though the blow wasn't that bad, and normally it would be pretty easy to shrug a blow like this off, however she was still on the walkway up to the boat, and the punch was was more than enough to push her right off her feet.

As she fell backwards, her blanket unraveling around her as she did so. She finally got a good look at the guy's fists.

They were Hulk Hands.

A children's toy.

She just got destroyed by freaking Hulk Hands.

Okay, but, whatever. As soon as she hit the ground she'd just need to get up and make a run for it. Or just tell the guy off if he's just scared and not hostile. Either way, as embarrassing as this is, it isn't too bad. Right?

Well that was until her skull hit the pavement beneath her.

A resounding crack echoed throughout the warehouse as Casey's vision began to blur. Two thoughts now on her quickly fading mind.

The first being that she should have killed herself with Joe while she had the chance.

The second being sheer embarrassment, her legacy having officially become "That girl who was killed by Hulk Hands".

F36: Casey Tjarks: Deceased

He felt the impact even through the stiff material of the Hulk gloves, his own fist buffeting against the inside as it collided with the side of the girl’s head. He breathed in and out, in and out, heavy and harsh, adrenaline flooding through him. He let out one, final, long breath through his mouth, then in through his nose. Fuck. Christ. He’d fucking done it. Hopefully that was all he’d need to do to stop her.

The cry of “HULK SMASH!” hadn’t quite finished echoing around the warehouse when Morgan stepped out of the boat onto the top of the gangplank. The girl was crumpled in a heap at the bottom. It took him a few moments to realise that she wasn’t moving.

“Oh, fuck…”

As fast as he dared, he ran down the gangplank, coming to a halt just before the ramp hit the floor. His heart had been racing as he’d been moving, but it froze in his chest, as he saw the pool of blood seeping from beneath her head, glimmering in the moonlight shining in through the open warehouse doors.

Okay. Okay, breathe, fucking breathe for just a second. This could still be okay. This could all still be okay. She could still have been trying to ambush him, still trying to corner him inside the boat. He just needed to find a weapon on her. Any weapon, anything at all. That was all he needed.

He ripped the Hulk hands off, flinging them away into the darkness, a pair of “HULK SMASH!” yells ringing out as they bounced away and out of sight. He ran his hands over her body, focusing on her pockets, gingerly at first, then frantically, as his search dug up nothing, nothing and more nothing.

No weapon. Not a knife or an axe or a gun or a club or… or anything at all. She wasn’t armed. She was completely and utterly harmless.

“No… oh, fuck, no no no no no…”

He felt ill, like he was going to double over and throw up on the spot. His brain had hit the panic station button, and no amount of breathing exercises or attempts at rational thought were going to flip the switch back again.

Stumbling, wide-eyed and horrified, Morgan ran, out of the doors of the boat shed and past the barbed wire fence into the night.

((Morgan Jones continued in Force Quit Box))