He heard Wendy speak. Saw Chuck lay down his weapon. It seemed as if Maxwell’s words were finally being heard. Perhaps it was far too early to say it, but it felt to him as if peace was actually possible, as if he would finally be able to achieve something of worth on this island.
He heard Kris speak, then Bunny, and that feeling — that brief vestige of hope, the short-lasting belief that he had actually done something good — vanished. Replaced with something he didn’t have the time to figure out before Bunny moved, before Bunny fired, before the sound of gunfire filled the air.
His body turned. Started running. His legs carried him on instinct, made it behind the safety of a shipping container and kept on going, trying to get him as far away from here as possible.
We Own The Night
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Wham Yubeesling
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General Goose
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When Bunny first tightened her grip on her weapon, Chuck was filled with hope. A sort of melancholy hope, admittedly, but his brain's first optimistic instinct was that Bunny, for all her very vocal misgivings, would soon lower the gun down, accept the collective decision of the group, and not be so blatant in her collaboration with the terrorists as to exploit this opportunity for an easy kill.
But Chuck wasn't an idiot and the moment he had the chance to actually consciously think about her moves and how her words were an unambiguous statement of intent rather than a mere voicing of doubt, impulses kicked in. He found himself jumping backwards, just as the frenzied hail of bullets began to fly past him and the others. He could see the gunfire, every now and then a bullet passing between his limbs or flying over his shoulder - one that could have hit him had his adrenaline kicked in just a millisecond earlier or a millisecond later.
It was luck that allowed Chuck to hit the ground and begin the earnest scramble to safety. Luck and the morbid knowledge that he was not the only target in Bunny's sight.
Once Chuck had ducked behind cover he had to admit he was surprised with how far his instincts had taken him. It was like an automatic push, some sort of kinetic boost, that had sent him almost flying through the air, eschewing any hesitation or deliberation. Chuck had never known the feeling of such a fight-or-flight surge of adrenaline before. He had never known what it was like to be so spontaneously steered into a course of action by his body's innate desire to stay alive. It felt like there had been some sort of guardian angel there, who before the storm of bullets tore him to shreds, had kicked Chuck at just the right moment, lifting him off his feet and lending a velocity and stamina to his jump for survival that he otherwise would not have had.
Now he was on the ground, behind some temporary cover, no more likely than anyone else to be the prime target of Bunny's harsh rage and impassioned savagery, Chuck found himself pulling the bag towards him. Again he trusted his instincts. He could have overruled them at this point - the bullets were now flying above his head, the only threat left being an implausible ricochet aided by shipping containers - but he trusted them. They pulled the bag towards him. Probably to have a weapon on hand - even if it was just launching his bag into an assailant's chest to buy a few seconds.
Chuck found himself pressing the bag against his stomach. It was uncomfortable. He could feel through the material the poorly-organised cans and tools and implements jabbing against his chest and poking against his sides. A plaintive and dolorous mood settled in, Chuck leaning into his irritation with the discomfort as a kind of way to forget the more startling thoughts that he otherwise would have had to confront.
He let the bag slip away from his torso, for just a second. By way of absence Chuck realised that, for all its discomforts, having the bag by his torso was the most comfortable option. Otherwise, he found his senses being drawn to this really wearisome dampness. It was such a little thing, but so annoying. At least the pressure from the bag seemed to dull its flow and pad away the trickling. He pulled the bag back close to him, arms splayed around it, and sighed. Chuck had originally intended to do something else at this point. Something strategically smart. He couldn't remember what it was. He stayed still instead.
But Chuck wasn't an idiot and the moment he had the chance to actually consciously think about her moves and how her words were an unambiguous statement of intent rather than a mere voicing of doubt, impulses kicked in. He found himself jumping backwards, just as the frenzied hail of bullets began to fly past him and the others. He could see the gunfire, every now and then a bullet passing between his limbs or flying over his shoulder - one that could have hit him had his adrenaline kicked in just a millisecond earlier or a millisecond later.
It was luck that allowed Chuck to hit the ground and begin the earnest scramble to safety. Luck and the morbid knowledge that he was not the only target in Bunny's sight.
Once Chuck had ducked behind cover he had to admit he was surprised with how far his instincts had taken him. It was like an automatic push, some sort of kinetic boost, that had sent him almost flying through the air, eschewing any hesitation or deliberation. Chuck had never known the feeling of such a fight-or-flight surge of adrenaline before. He had never known what it was like to be so spontaneously steered into a course of action by his body's innate desire to stay alive. It felt like there had been some sort of guardian angel there, who before the storm of bullets tore him to shreds, had kicked Chuck at just the right moment, lifting him off his feet and lending a velocity and stamina to his jump for survival that he otherwise would not have had.
Now he was on the ground, behind some temporary cover, no more likely than anyone else to be the prime target of Bunny's harsh rage and impassioned savagery, Chuck found himself pulling the bag towards him. Again he trusted his instincts. He could have overruled them at this point - the bullets were now flying above his head, the only threat left being an implausible ricochet aided by shipping containers - but he trusted them. They pulled the bag towards him. Probably to have a weapon on hand - even if it was just launching his bag into an assailant's chest to buy a few seconds.
Chuck found himself pressing the bag against his stomach. It was uncomfortable. He could feel through the material the poorly-organised cans and tools and implements jabbing against his chest and poking against his sides. A plaintive and dolorous mood settled in, Chuck leaning into his irritation with the discomfort as a kind of way to forget the more startling thoughts that he otherwise would have had to confront.
He let the bag slip away from his torso, for just a second. By way of absence Chuck realised that, for all its discomforts, having the bag by his torso was the most comfortable option. Otherwise, he found his senses being drawn to this really wearisome dampness. It was such a little thing, but so annoying. At least the pressure from the bag seemed to dull its flow and pad away the trickling. He pulled the bag back close to him, arms splayed around it, and sighed. Chuck had originally intended to do something else at this point. Something strategically smart. He couldn't remember what it was. He stayed still instead.
No, not him, not the one she had determined was most worthy to live and put an end to the shadow man.
She had scrambled with her stuff, ducked, pressed herself stomach down to the concrete and found herself laying next to him, seeing the fresh Kasumi-esque damage to his body, trickle from under the duffle bag, which he’d so firmly gripped as much as the former had gripped the Bible-thumper.
Couldn’t let him die like she did. Couldn’t let her enemy finish him off.
The body was still but his eyes still wandered. ‘Keep hiding’, she mouthed at him, before pulling the Boo beanie down over his eyes. There was a bigger target G18 was after and Wendy knew it. She peaked up, managing to avoid the ongoing crackling over head.
The other one had ran off first, his back end silhouette scampering out of sight beyond the trailer park of cargo containers. Blinking dots moving through the GPS, out of sight, however the attacker remained on site. The source of the barrage was evident, her tubby face also searching.
Wendy pitched the corpse of a seagull at the tubby face, along with another from the pile she had collected in her cooler. Finally she flung the entire contents, a flock of white feathers still attached to dead wings, catapulted to the otherside.
The return response was sure to come, so Wendy rapidly gathered her things and took off into the night shrouded labyrinth she had grown quite familiar with and quickly disappeared. Even with a few things weighing her down, Bunny was nowhere near as healthy as Wendy was and would never catch up, not on this home turf. There was only one thing Wendy needed to say to get her going, so Chuck could have a better chance of not dying.
“Missed me,” echoed through the area.
She had scrambled with her stuff, ducked, pressed herself stomach down to the concrete and found herself laying next to him, seeing the fresh Kasumi-esque damage to his body, trickle from under the duffle bag, which he’d so firmly gripped as much as the former had gripped the Bible-thumper.
Couldn’t let him die like she did. Couldn’t let her enemy finish him off.
The body was still but his eyes still wandered. ‘Keep hiding’, she mouthed at him, before pulling the Boo beanie down over his eyes. There was a bigger target G18 was after and Wendy knew it. She peaked up, managing to avoid the ongoing crackling over head.
The other one had ran off first, his back end silhouette scampering out of sight beyond the trailer park of cargo containers. Blinking dots moving through the GPS, out of sight, however the attacker remained on site. The source of the barrage was evident, her tubby face also searching.
Wendy pitched the corpse of a seagull at the tubby face, along with another from the pile she had collected in her cooler. Finally she flung the entire contents, a flock of white feathers still attached to dead wings, catapulted to the otherside.
The return response was sure to come, so Wendy rapidly gathered her things and took off into the night shrouded labyrinth she had grown quite familiar with and quickly disappeared. Even with a few things weighing her down, Bunny was nowhere near as healthy as Wendy was and would never catch up, not on this home turf. There was only one thing Wendy needed to say to get her going, so Chuck could have a better chance of not dying.
“Missed me,” echoed through the area.
The storm broke, the dam burst and the inevitable conclusion of their drama arrived. She didn't run, nor did she rush. She welcomed it. The missiles flew past, none seeming to deem her worthy of their attention or affection.
Nothing.
The fireflies, animated as they had been previously now begged for release and she knew that their time was soon. They had been so patient. The kingdom of ash she had imagined and had always had the power to create was now closer to being material. It was not time at that exact moment, however, so she backed away.
It was not hasty but it was not slow. She measured her paces and watched the others. The events transpiring in front of her as she always thought they would. Not in any exact way or pattern but she had always known there was only one resolution. A resolution that the others had worked against. Their egos pushing them exactly where they didn't want to be. They followed the steps while believing they did anything but. Belief betraying them like it always did, for it was not special, it would not lead them to something more.
She saw the boy fall, his ghost laughing at the misfortune. Something in her stirred as she watched the scene. But the other one was her interest. As the others ran into the labyrinth to continue their battle, so too did she enter its comforting darkness. She did not navigate, merely moving through the paths assembled before her, following the tunnels.
In the darkness she could hear him moving, then she could see him. A lighter shade of the night. The breathing called out to her and she approached.
"Is it as you imagined?"
Nothing.
The fireflies, animated as they had been previously now begged for release and she knew that their time was soon. They had been so patient. The kingdom of ash she had imagined and had always had the power to create was now closer to being material. It was not time at that exact moment, however, so she backed away.
It was not hasty but it was not slow. She measured her paces and watched the others. The events transpiring in front of her as she always thought they would. Not in any exact way or pattern but she had always known there was only one resolution. A resolution that the others had worked against. Their egos pushing them exactly where they didn't want to be. They followed the steps while believing they did anything but. Belief betraying them like it always did, for it was not special, it would not lead them to something more.
She saw the boy fall, his ghost laughing at the misfortune. Something in her stirred as she watched the scene. But the other one was her interest. As the others ran into the labyrinth to continue their battle, so too did she enter its comforting darkness. She did not navigate, merely moving through the paths assembled before her, following the tunnels.
In the darkness she could hear him moving, then she could see him. A lighter shade of the night. The breathing called out to her and she approached.
"Is it as you imagined?"
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Pippi
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This was more fucking like it.
Fortune had been on Bunny’s side, it seemed, given that Wendy had prioritised ducking and covering over filling her with lead, and thank heck for that. She didn’t want a firefight, didn’t care about a long, drawn out, epic bloodbath. She wanted Wendy to die at her own hands, and for the other three to just drop dead or something, and for her to waltz on out of here, alive. In desperate need of medical attention, but alive.
Gosh, this all would have been so much easier if they’d all just freakin’ attacked each other like they were supposed to.
Bunny took a brief glance above her makeshift cover, seeing Wendy doing the same, and she fired another salvo in her direction before ducking back down again. Once again, Wendy just had to go and mess everything up. Hiding and cowering was better than returning fire, but standing in the open and letting herself be shot was better than all of the above. Maybe she’d been caught by a stray bullet, though. Maybe all of them had. She’d heard footsteps running off, but maybe Kris or Chuck or Maxwell had fucked off to bleed out in peace or whatever.
The thought brought a smile to Bunny’s face. If they weren’t bleeding now, and they weren’t gonna fight back, all she had to do was press her advantage. Keep on firing. Sooner or later, a bullet would nick them, and either they’d bleed out, or they’d be at her mercy as they tried to patch themselves up.
She was going to win.
She pushed herself up slightly and shot another spray of bullets towards Wendy, and a cloud of white feathers exploded in the space between them. She blinked in surprise, feathers catching on the breeze and drifting towards her like a soft fluffy snowfall, as another white object slapped the ground next to Bunny’s feet, skidding a couple of feet away.
Had she… hit a flock of seagulls? She knew the machinenpistole was inaccurate, but she didn’t think-
Bunny screeched, as a veritable cloud of dead birds descended upon her, a handful smacking against her shoulders and arms, feathers sticking in her hair and detaching in her clothing. Was Wendy seriously throwing dead birds at her? She had a fucking gun for fuck’s sake, what the Christ was she playing around at with this shit? Bunny smacked the ground, anger rippling through her again, and she stood up, spinning around, aiming the gun at Wendy’s little makeshift cover, ready to cut her down once and for all.
Too late. She saw Wendy’s back for a moment, retreating into the shadows of the shipping crate maze. And then she heard the taunt. That honey-sweet, singsong voice, that had plagued her this whole time. It needed a fitting reply, one just as prepared for this chase as Wendy was.
“Get the fuck back here you stupid cunt! Lie the fuck down and die already!”
Not her finest work, but it’d do.
She looked at Chuck, Boo hat pulled down low over his eyes, gave a contemptuous little sniff, and chased after Wendy.
Fortune had been on Bunny’s side, it seemed, given that Wendy had prioritised ducking and covering over filling her with lead, and thank heck for that. She didn’t want a firefight, didn’t care about a long, drawn out, epic bloodbath. She wanted Wendy to die at her own hands, and for the other three to just drop dead or something, and for her to waltz on out of here, alive. In desperate need of medical attention, but alive.
Gosh, this all would have been so much easier if they’d all just freakin’ attacked each other like they were supposed to.
Bunny took a brief glance above her makeshift cover, seeing Wendy doing the same, and she fired another salvo in her direction before ducking back down again. Once again, Wendy just had to go and mess everything up. Hiding and cowering was better than returning fire, but standing in the open and letting herself be shot was better than all of the above. Maybe she’d been caught by a stray bullet, though. Maybe all of them had. She’d heard footsteps running off, but maybe Kris or Chuck or Maxwell had fucked off to bleed out in peace or whatever.
The thought brought a smile to Bunny’s face. If they weren’t bleeding now, and they weren’t gonna fight back, all she had to do was press her advantage. Keep on firing. Sooner or later, a bullet would nick them, and either they’d bleed out, or they’d be at her mercy as they tried to patch themselves up.
She was going to win.
She pushed herself up slightly and shot another spray of bullets towards Wendy, and a cloud of white feathers exploded in the space between them. She blinked in surprise, feathers catching on the breeze and drifting towards her like a soft fluffy snowfall, as another white object slapped the ground next to Bunny’s feet, skidding a couple of feet away.
Had she… hit a flock of seagulls? She knew the machinenpistole was inaccurate, but she didn’t think-
Bunny screeched, as a veritable cloud of dead birds descended upon her, a handful smacking against her shoulders and arms, feathers sticking in her hair and detaching in her clothing. Was Wendy seriously throwing dead birds at her? She had a fucking gun for fuck’s sake, what the Christ was she playing around at with this shit? Bunny smacked the ground, anger rippling through her again, and she stood up, spinning around, aiming the gun at Wendy’s little makeshift cover, ready to cut her down once and for all.
Too late. She saw Wendy’s back for a moment, retreating into the shadows of the shipping crate maze. And then she heard the taunt. That honey-sweet, singsong voice, that had plagued her this whole time. It needed a fitting reply, one just as prepared for this chase as Wendy was.
“Get the fuck back here you stupid cunt! Lie the fuck down and die already!”
Not her finest work, but it’d do.
She looked at Chuck, Boo hat pulled down low over his eyes, gave a contemptuous little sniff, and chased after Wendy.
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Wham Yubeesling
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He’d made it all of twenty metres before his leg decided that it didn’t want to work anymore.
He’d noticed the pain, the soreness as he’d been running, but it only gave the indication that it wanted to give up one second before it collapsed on itself, sending Maxwell hurtling forward. For a moment, there was nothing but empty air, but then he stuck his hands out in front of him and he landed, came to a stop, far more gracefully than the last time something like this had happened. He allowed himself slight respite, a slight moment to catch his breath, before the sounds of gunfire and Bunny shouting filled the air somewhere behind him and he remembered why he’d been moving in the first place.
Perhaps there had been an argument that even with that he still could have taken his recovery with care, but the footsteps, the presence of a figure approaching behind him refuted that, told him that he had to move now.
So he tried to move, tried to find a proper position where he could push himself upward into a standing position but whatever he tried his leg refused to cooperate with him. It screamed, it refused to budge and he could only make the most goddamn paltry movements as whoever it was approached from behind, probably ready to put a bullet in his head and render all that he had tried to accomplish nothing because that was really the whole joke, was it? He’d finally realized who he’d actually been all this time, he’d decided to do something that he wanted to accomplish and thought he maybe could accomplish it and as karma for his past deeds the island decided to laugh in his face, show him how badly he'd failed before its manifestation came to finish him off.
And maybe he deserved it. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to complain about this.
But by God was he going to. This experience and this pain was just so fucking frustrating and he honestly couldn’t believe that this was how he was going to die, that this was how these seven days would end. He’d been through everything he’d been through and in the end it all accounted for-
The footsteps stopped. The voice spoke. It was the girl who killed Rachael. It was the girl he’d seen Daniel scream at. It was the girl in the group that he had thought he’d understood, back those twenty metres ago. She talked rather than shot, and in some way that made all this feel worse, made whatever feeling was enveloping him all that much stronger, that much more inhuman.
“I don’t fucking know,” he both growled and shouted, his voice taking on a quality he hadn’t heard himself adopt before. “If you’re trying to taunt me, could you please just do it in a way that makes some goddamn sense?”
He’d noticed the pain, the soreness as he’d been running, but it only gave the indication that it wanted to give up one second before it collapsed on itself, sending Maxwell hurtling forward. For a moment, there was nothing but empty air, but then he stuck his hands out in front of him and he landed, came to a stop, far more gracefully than the last time something like this had happened. He allowed himself slight respite, a slight moment to catch his breath, before the sounds of gunfire and Bunny shouting filled the air somewhere behind him and he remembered why he’d been moving in the first place.
Perhaps there had been an argument that even with that he still could have taken his recovery with care, but the footsteps, the presence of a figure approaching behind him refuted that, told him that he had to move now.
So he tried to move, tried to find a proper position where he could push himself upward into a standing position but whatever he tried his leg refused to cooperate with him. It screamed, it refused to budge and he could only make the most goddamn paltry movements as whoever it was approached from behind, probably ready to put a bullet in his head and render all that he had tried to accomplish nothing because that was really the whole joke, was it? He’d finally realized who he’d actually been all this time, he’d decided to do something that he wanted to accomplish and thought he maybe could accomplish it and as karma for his past deeds the island decided to laugh in his face, show him how badly he'd failed before its manifestation came to finish him off.
And maybe he deserved it. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to complain about this.
But by God was he going to. This experience and this pain was just so fucking frustrating and he honestly couldn’t believe that this was how he was going to die, that this was how these seven days would end. He’d been through everything he’d been through and in the end it all accounted for-
The footsteps stopped. The voice spoke. It was the girl who killed Rachael. It was the girl he’d seen Daniel scream at. It was the girl in the group that he had thought he’d understood, back those twenty metres ago. She talked rather than shot, and in some way that made all this feel worse, made whatever feeling was enveloping him all that much stronger, that much more inhuman.
“I don’t fucking know,” he both growled and shouted, his voice taking on a quality he hadn’t heard himself adopt before. “If you’re trying to taunt me, could you please just do it in a way that makes some goddamn sense?”
Understanding was fickle and came in different forms. Malleable and open to interpretation, it was like clay. The boy was still yet to fully realize, but that was fine.
He had fallen. That meant the decision lay in her hands. But he was not like the previous encounter, he believed there was more for him. Whether that was the case or not wasn't for her to decide. She already knew he didn't understand, despite what he said.
The feeling wasn't one he shared.
She shook her head as he yelled. They all grew angry in the end.
Crouching on the balls of her feet near him she held an index finger up to her lips. Then in slow deliberate motions, she pulled her pack from the home between her shoulders it had occupied for nearly the entire time she had spent aware. Her hand reached inside and withdrew the fireflies, they cried out in unison. A chorus of joy. They knew their time had come. They had waited so long and been so patient. The freedom was earned.
She lit the first one, and as the light of the flame danced across their faces she spoke.
"Anger doesn't suit you, not now."
Then she turned and threw the fireflies, long and high.
She watched the light sail into the darkness with a smile.
She had been waiting for so long.
The time had come.
He had fallen. That meant the decision lay in her hands. But he was not like the previous encounter, he believed there was more for him. Whether that was the case or not wasn't for her to decide. She already knew he didn't understand, despite what he said.
The feeling wasn't one he shared.
She shook her head as he yelled. They all grew angry in the end.
Crouching on the balls of her feet near him she held an index finger up to her lips. Then in slow deliberate motions, she pulled her pack from the home between her shoulders it had occupied for nearly the entire time she had spent aware. Her hand reached inside and withdrew the fireflies, they cried out in unison. A chorus of joy. They knew their time had come. They had waited so long and been so patient. The freedom was earned.
She lit the first one, and as the light of the flame danced across their faces she spoke.
"Anger doesn't suit you, not now."
Then she turned and threw the fireflies, long and high.
She watched the light sail into the darkness with a smile.
She had been waiting for so long.
The time had come.
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Wham Yubeesling
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And there it was. The complete opposite of what he had asked for. All he had wished was for some sort of clarity and all he’d got in return was more of the vague faux-philosophical bullshit that seemed typical of her. It was enough to get Maxwell to perhaps keep on shouting — enough to get Maxwell to consider sinking to her level and ignore what she’d asked of him — but before he could say anything he saw her take a bottle out of her bag, light a rag at the end of it. Before long, the cocktail had been thrown, and an area somewhere in the darkness lit up, just like the rest of this island had.
...That had placed things slightly in perspective. Here, standing over him, was someone who could make the final moments of his life absolute, searing pain at any point they wished.
Here, however, was someone who didn’t seem willing to kill him yet. The thought of that alone wasn’t enough to abate the anger, but it allowed him to suppress it, slightly, as he gave her his response.
“Then what does suit me?” The growl had vanished, but his voice was still slightly stronger than he wished it to sound. He swallowed, forced it back. This was not the right point for anger to reign his actions.
Perhaps, if he made it through this conversation, the time for that would come later.
...That had placed things slightly in perspective. Here, standing over him, was someone who could make the final moments of his life absolute, searing pain at any point they wished.
Here, however, was someone who didn’t seem willing to kill him yet. The thought of that alone wasn’t enough to abate the anger, but it allowed him to suppress it, slightly, as he gave her his response.
“Then what does suit me?” The growl had vanished, but his voice was still slightly stronger than he wished it to sound. He swallowed, forced it back. This was not the right point for anger to reign his actions.
Perhaps, if he made it through this conversation, the time for that would come later.
A question was asked of her. There was an edge to his words and it glinted as he spoke. Despite what she had said he struggled to maintain his composure. The tide of his anger ebbing and flowing, close to breaking through the dam but not quite managing. She ignored him for the time being. Instead, her focus was on another firefly as it was lit and sent to fly into the darkness. It's flight being easily traced. A glimmer in the sky before dropping in an arc and landing with a burst of light.
Their excitement was palpable and she allowed them it. They had been so patient and so good. Never questioning her decisions, trusting her to guide them to the end of their journey. Trusting her to give them their freedom. Now after so long she had come through and played her part.
Another firefly was lit and the light danced across the space between them. Illuminating the metal maze they had been sheparded to. The site of their final acts before the curtain fell and everything was settled.
"Survival perhaps." She threw the firefly and turned back to him.
"You're angry, yet you never realized there is only one way this ends."
Their excitement was palpable and she allowed them it. They had been so patient and so good. Never questioning her decisions, trusting her to guide them to the end of their journey. Trusting her to give them their freedom. Now after so long she had come through and played her part.
Another firefly was lit and the light danced across the space between them. Illuminating the metal maze they had been sheparded to. The site of their final acts before the curtain fell and everything was settled.
"Survival perhaps." She threw the firefly and turned back to him.
"You're angry, yet you never realized there is only one way this ends."
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Wham Yubeesling
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“More than one, in all actuality.”
The second and third molotovs being thrown hadn’t escaped his gaze, but he opted to pretend that he was purely focused on Kris. She herself was far more important than what she was doing right now, at least until- unless she elected to throw one of her cocktails at him. Given the option of survival was brought up, given that she seemed to want that of him — if that was how he was supposed to interpret her words — he was happy enough to play by her rules, see what she wanted of him. He was sprawled on the ground, entirely at her mercy, in the final hours of the hardest seven days of his life, but given that, he felt as calm as he could possibly be. None of the emotion that had overtaken him in the past moments was present now.
“I could die, or I could not die. How all this ends depends on what I do.”
The second and third molotovs being thrown hadn’t escaped his gaze, but he opted to pretend that he was purely focused on Kris. She herself was far more important than what she was doing right now, at least until- unless she elected to throw one of her cocktails at him. Given the option of survival was brought up, given that she seemed to want that of him — if that was how he was supposed to interpret her words — he was happy enough to play by her rules, see what she wanted of him. He was sprawled on the ground, entirely at her mercy, in the final hours of the hardest seven days of his life, but given that, he felt as calm as he could possibly be. None of the emotion that had overtaken him in the past moments was present now.
“I could die, or I could not die. How all this ends depends on what I do.”
She grinned at his statement.
"Does it?" She said looking around the dark corridors of the area, occasionally a flicker of the fires the flies had given birth to would illuminate them. There was no one nearby. The running battle the others were intent on having could be heard in the distance but beyond that, they were ghosts in the glow.
She lit another firefly and released it, then took stock of those still waiting. There was one of the originals left and all three of the ones she had liberated from their prison remained.
Lighting one of the three she sent it towards the sounds of violence and another was withdrawn.
"So what will you do?" She asked.
"Does it?" She said looking around the dark corridors of the area, occasionally a flicker of the fires the flies had given birth to would illuminate them. There was no one nearby. The running battle the others were intent on having could be heard in the distance but beyond that, they were ghosts in the glow.
She lit another firefly and released it, then took stock of those still waiting. There was one of the originals left and all three of the ones she had liberated from their prison remained.
Lighting one of the three she sent it towards the sounds of violence and another was withdrawn.
"So what will you do?" She asked.
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1255
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”Ideally: not die.”
He began to chuckle at his own joke, but he bit his tongue, shut himself up. No telling what would happen, given who was on top of him. No way of telling just how many molotovs she had in her bag. No. What he said would not suffice as a response. He kept his mouth shut, for a moment, tried to think of a more intelligent answer. Ideally, something that would satisfy her.
“In all seriousness, though, I don’t know. No way of telling until I’m back out there, with the others.”
He stopped himself from moving, fidgeting from where he was on the ground. The urge to stand up, put himself on the same level as Kris was there, but like everything else he suppressed it. If he was about to try his luck he was going to do it in a more conductive way.
“That is, if I make it back out there. No telling what happens here, either.”
He began to chuckle at his own joke, but he bit his tongue, shut himself up. No telling what would happen, given who was on top of him. No way of telling just how many molotovs she had in her bag. No. What he said would not suffice as a response. He kept his mouth shut, for a moment, tried to think of a more intelligent answer. Ideally, something that would satisfy her.
“In all seriousness, though, I don’t know. No way of telling until I’m back out there, with the others.”
He stopped himself from moving, fidgeting from where he was on the ground. The urge to stand up, put himself on the same level as Kris was there, but like everything else he suppressed it. If he was about to try his luck he was going to do it in a more conductive way.
“That is, if I make it back out there. No telling what happens here, either.”
"No, there isn't."
She crouched down by his side. Her weight on the balls of her feet. In front of them, the fires danced, but out of his reach. She watched it for a moment and listened to it for another. The dance had begun. The notes being played by the others as their battle raged.
And here they were. Still and silent in the cacophony. Stillness was power.
They would have to rejoin the others in time. They had their own parts to play and they did not get to where they were by chance. It would all be done, no matter what.
The end, the finale, the apocalypse, Ragnarok.
Many names for the same event. The end of the cycle, of the recurrence.
They would all move on, but one would be separate from the rest. They had a different path to follow. An overwhelmingly obvious conclusion but she embraced it like an old friend. After all, they were alive, until they weren't.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the fireflies dance.
"Convince me."
She crouched down by his side. Her weight on the balls of her feet. In front of them, the fires danced, but out of his reach. She watched it for a moment and listened to it for another. The dance had begun. The notes being played by the others as their battle raged.
And here they were. Still and silent in the cacophony. Stillness was power.
They would have to rejoin the others in time. They had their own parts to play and they did not get to where they were by chance. It would all be done, no matter what.
The end, the finale, the apocalypse, Ragnarok.
Many names for the same event. The end of the cycle, of the recurrence.
They would all move on, but one would be separate from the rest. They had a different path to follow. An overwhelmingly obvious conclusion but she embraced it like an old friend. After all, they were alive, until they weren't.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the fireflies dance.
"Convince me."
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1255
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
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“I think the reason why I should be let go is fairly obvious.”
...And just as it seemed as if he was making some progress on the front that was Kris, it seemed as if he was back to square one. Back to being right under the foot of someone who could end his life oh so easily. Back to having to control himself, give exactly what he needed to in order not to provoke that which laid above him. At least this time Maxwell found his words easier to come by. As it turned out, spending the last seven days attempting to justify the things he had done — attempting to call himself a hero, despite it all — had been adequate enough practice for this. For a time where blustering, making claims he couldn’t back up would be of actual use to him.
“I’m the one who’s killed the least people. I’m the one who hasn’t changed a thing about themselves. Assuming we still wish to send a message to the people who put us here, I would like to say that I’d be the best person to give it.”
...And just as it seemed as if he was making some progress on the front that was Kris, it seemed as if he was back to square one. Back to being right under the foot of someone who could end his life oh so easily. Back to having to control himself, give exactly what he needed to in order not to provoke that which laid above him. At least this time Maxwell found his words easier to come by. As it turned out, spending the last seven days attempting to justify the things he had done — attempting to call himself a hero, despite it all — had been adequate enough practice for this. For a time where blustering, making claims he couldn’t back up would be of actual use to him.
“I’m the one who’s killed the least people. I’m the one who hasn’t changed a thing about themselves. Assuming we still wish to send a message to the people who put us here, I would like to say that I’d be the best person to give it.”
Eyes still focused on the blaze she laughed. It all led to an overwhelming outcome. In the end, there would only be one result. There could only be one result. But his stubborn ignorance of how it all would end was endearing. He was a puppet who couldn't see his own strings.
She was not convinced.
"You still don't know, and even now you try to convince yourself."
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at his form. Whether he truly wanted the outcome he described or the harbor of his heart held doubt, she had come to her decision.
It wasn't a coin flip, chance, or any other form of luck. It was a purpose and a goal. They had all been placed into the purgatory they inhabited. Reclaiming what they had lost was something they couldn't achieve. Her hand reached out and rested against her chest. There was a heartbeat.
Failure and success always having been built up as chance or the wrong choice at the wrong time. The secret was they had no choices that altered the outcome.
And what could you do when failure and success were the same?
Embrace it.
"I can open the cage. All you'll need to do is walk inside."
She was not convinced.
"You still don't know, and even now you try to convince yourself."
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at his form. Whether he truly wanted the outcome he described or the harbor of his heart held doubt, she had come to her decision.
It wasn't a coin flip, chance, or any other form of luck. It was a purpose and a goal. They had all been placed into the purgatory they inhabited. Reclaiming what they had lost was something they couldn't achieve. Her hand reached out and rested against her chest. There was a heartbeat.
Failure and success always having been built up as chance or the wrong choice at the wrong time. The secret was they had no choices that altered the outcome.
And what could you do when failure and success were the same?
Embrace it.
"I can open the cage. All you'll need to do is walk inside."