The first thing to penetrate Oliver's senses was the smell - the part of England Oliver lived in could be a bit of a shithole at times, but it never got that bad. Hell, it wasn't even that bad that time the family visited London, it was much worse, like he was literally engrossed in trash.
When Oliver opened his eyes, sight joined the smell and he fully processed that he was currently lying in the clearing of a garbage dump. He sprang up, realizing that of all places, he now wished he was back home in fucking Bell-end-ington.
((M013: Oliver Davies - START))
When the US forces descended upon his class and began shooting his teachers, the first thought that ran through Oliver's mind was that it was his fault. He'd pretended to be so pro-American for so long on so many forums that the country had now tracked him down and were going to take him there, like some weird children's program with a Lesson and a Moral. You know, eat your veggies, don't do drugs, appreciate your country before another one comes in and ruins your life, that sort of thing? But the longer he was there he realized it was stupid - they weren't fucking there for him, of course they weren't. Oliver was a nobody, nothing special enough to kill over. Then the guy in the big green uniform started talking, and he realized that he was suddenly a casualty of the never-fucking-ending war that the country he'd been posturing for had waged on everyone. From what he gathered, he'd be thrown onto an island or an army base or something and he'd have to kill his classmates to survive. For a few fleeting moments it hadn't felt real.
But then sitting in the trash was a good reminder of how real it suddenly was.
Oliver stood up, barely even registering anything but the sights and smells of the tip around him. It was revolting, but it was also distracting. For a few more moments he wasn't concerned with his inevitable death, but the fact the trash was pouring through his nose and down his throat and into his eyes and seeping into his eyeballs like a fucking plague, and that good old continent he called home knew their fucking plagues. But there was only so much the trash could do, and Oliver doubled over coughing as the universal fist to the gut happened as Oliver began contemplating his inevitable death.
It wasn't as though he'd wasted his life, but it hadn't even started yet. Nothing to show for it but a sister he hated and loved at the same time, and a legacy of making people angry on purpose on messageboards. What a fucking eulogy that would be: "Here lies Bender420 - he once said England should force its disabled into the army like America does".
The only thing that could possibly have taken his attention away from the dwellings of his situation happened, and there was a brief shift in the wind that almost bowled Oliver right over. Not the wind itself, but the overpowering nature of what the wind carried - he hadn't gathered a full breath since he'd been here and now even more trash from what looked like an enormous pit of it was suffocating him. Oliver grabbed at his tie and tried covering his mouth and nose, only to find it not nearly adequate enough to do the job. Almost immediately, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, loosening the same tie as he did so, and used the top of his collar and all the other fabric in the area to cover the same passages.
It didn't help nearly as much as he thought it would, the taste still in the air and the smell still wafting through the fabric, but at least he could breathe now.
Teenage Lobotomy
((M013: START))
M14: Samuel Rosen - START
Of all the bloody places to drop him off, they had to dump him here. Assholes.
Sam let out a soft groan as he stumbled through the piles of trash. He must have landed on his head of something, because it hurt like a bitch. The smell definitely wasn't making things any better, for that matter. It was obvious that this wasn't your average waste dump, this was an advanced waste dump. The whole place reeked of death and decay. If the next piece of rubbish that he stumbled upon happened to be a rotting corpse, he wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised.
He took a moment to lean on the cane that he had found with his bag, which was perhaps the most bourgeois weapon that anyone had ever used in the history of combat. A grim smirk made its way briefly across his face. Ironic. Tapping elaborately crafted device on the rusted remains of a toaster oven, he continued his way onwards, looking for some way out of the maze of refuse that surrounded him, aka the first step of getting himself out of the blasted hellhole that called itself the United States of America.
The next step would be to start gathering everyone together, and hole up in some defensible location until the cavalry arrived. Despite what the soldiers said, there was no way the European alliance would just stand by and watch this happen. Even if Britain itself couldn't get to them, this would probably be just the shock to finally get parliament to put aside their stubborn desire to ignore the rest of Europe and finally work together with the Russians to put an end to this once and for all. America was powerful, yes, but so was Germany, and neither of them would be able to withstand the might of the entire world crashing down on them.
Assuming that the world didn't end up bathed in nuclear fire by that point, of course. Best not to think about that.
Upon turning the next corner, he was greeted by the sight of one of his classmates making the wise choice of covering his face to block out the smell, which Sam immediately imitated, though the relief was not nearly as substantial as it seemed it would be. It took a few seconds for him to recognize the boy standing in front of him as Oliver, which brought slight relief. The two of them weren't exactly close, but as far as he knew Oliver wasn't exactly the type who was stupid enough to take the bait and start killing people, unlike a couple individuals that he could name.
*cough* Morton *cough*
Anyway, there was no point standing here just staring at each other. Sam cleared his throat before speaking, his voice muffled by the cloth in front of his nose and mouth.
"Hey, you holding up okay over there?"
Of all the bloody places to drop him off, they had to dump him here. Assholes.
Sam let out a soft groan as he stumbled through the piles of trash. He must have landed on his head of something, because it hurt like a bitch. The smell definitely wasn't making things any better, for that matter. It was obvious that this wasn't your average waste dump, this was an advanced waste dump. The whole place reeked of death and decay. If the next piece of rubbish that he stumbled upon happened to be a rotting corpse, he wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised.
He took a moment to lean on the cane that he had found with his bag, which was perhaps the most bourgeois weapon that anyone had ever used in the history of combat. A grim smirk made its way briefly across his face. Ironic. Tapping elaborately crafted device on the rusted remains of a toaster oven, he continued his way onwards, looking for some way out of the maze of refuse that surrounded him, aka the first step of getting himself out of the blasted hellhole that called itself the United States of America.
The next step would be to start gathering everyone together, and hole up in some defensible location until the cavalry arrived. Despite what the soldiers said, there was no way the European alliance would just stand by and watch this happen. Even if Britain itself couldn't get to them, this would probably be just the shock to finally get parliament to put aside their stubborn desire to ignore the rest of Europe and finally work together with the Russians to put an end to this once and for all. America was powerful, yes, but so was Germany, and neither of them would be able to withstand the might of the entire world crashing down on them.
Assuming that the world didn't end up bathed in nuclear fire by that point, of course. Best not to think about that.
Upon turning the next corner, he was greeted by the sight of one of his classmates making the wise choice of covering his face to block out the smell, which Sam immediately imitated, though the relief was not nearly as substantial as it seemed it would be. It took a few seconds for him to recognize the boy standing in front of him as Oliver, which brought slight relief. The two of them weren't exactly close, but as far as he knew Oliver wasn't exactly the type who was stupid enough to take the bait and start killing people, unlike a couple individuals that he could name.
*cough* Morton *cough*
Anyway, there was no point standing here just staring at each other. Sam cleared his throat before speaking, his voice muffled by the cloth in front of his nose and mouth.
"Hey, you holding up okay over there?"
It took a moment for Oliver to get his bearings, but once he managed to take some breaths without the full force of the pit heading down his throat things became less confusing. He still wasn't entirely sure where he was, what kind of place this was, or even where anyone else was, but the breathing really was the important part - no breathing meant no living.
So it was opportune that another student came in, of course, now that he was as settled as he was ever going to be. It was time to get real acquainted with Samuel, the pompous little asswipe who loved the sound of his own voice too much and never shut up about world politics. Oliver knew his American stuff, but that was only for trolling - to talk about it in real life, well, Oliver liked having friends who weren't fucking nerds all the time. They'd probably have been friends if his parents cared enough to make him in turn care about politics, but they didn't, so moving on.
The added benefit of covering half of one's face with their shirt was also that his facial emotions were harder to read, which meant Samuel most likely had no idea of the skepticism taking ahold of the muscles beneath his nose.
"Been better."
Oliver didn't know how long Samuel had been awake, or anyone else for that matter - Oliver himself had probably only been awake less than two minutes, which meant if anyone else nearby woke up and decided to take part in this thing, Oliver wouldn't have woken up. Morbid thought, come to think of it, the kind he usually voiced when trying to get a rise out of people online, but it was still a morbid situation.
"You been up long? Where the hell is this place anyway? Is it all just one giant skip?"
So it was opportune that another student came in, of course, now that he was as settled as he was ever going to be. It was time to get real acquainted with Samuel, the pompous little asswipe who loved the sound of his own voice too much and never shut up about world politics. Oliver knew his American stuff, but that was only for trolling - to talk about it in real life, well, Oliver liked having friends who weren't fucking nerds all the time. They'd probably have been friends if his parents cared enough to make him in turn care about politics, but they didn't, so moving on.
The added benefit of covering half of one's face with their shirt was also that his facial emotions were harder to read, which meant Samuel most likely had no idea of the skepticism taking ahold of the muscles beneath his nose.
"Been better."
Oliver didn't know how long Samuel had been awake, or anyone else for that matter - Oliver himself had probably only been awake less than two minutes, which meant if anyone else nearby woke up and decided to take part in this thing, Oliver wouldn't have woken up. Morbid thought, come to think of it, the kind he usually voiced when trying to get a rise out of people online, but it was still a morbid situation.
"You been up long? Where the hell is this place anyway? Is it all just one giant skip?"
Sam took a deep breath through his nose, an action which immediately turned out to be an extremely bad decision. He made a mental note not to do that again until he had gotten a fair distance away from this place.
"Fair enough. Well, to answer your first question, not long. Maybe ten to fifteen minutes? Kinda hard to tell."
He took a quick glance around before continuing, the speed of his voice picking up as he entered into explanation mode.
"As for the second, we're probably in one of the American Empire's conquered territories, but besides that, I have no idea. Lastly, I doubt that they have a large enough skip to contain a battlefield for who knows how many students, but this is America we're talking about, so it could be possible."
Well, that answer seemed like it would be satisfactory. One thing that wasn't, however, was the massive headache that was currently splitting its way through Sam's skull. He put a hand to his forehead for a moment, pausing in a futile attempt to relax himself, before looking back at Oliver, his eyes scanning up and down his classmate's body. He didn't look to be armed, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure of what he was working with.
"So... what did they give you? Probably something a lot better than this, I'm guessing..." He held up the cane, its shiny metal handle glistening in the light. Best not to show off its unique features yet, though. Oliver hadn't proven himself to be untrustworthy, at least not yet, but when it came to knowledge, it was always good to have a little extra information in your pocket. Just in case.
"Fair enough. Well, to answer your first question, not long. Maybe ten to fifteen minutes? Kinda hard to tell."
He took a quick glance around before continuing, the speed of his voice picking up as he entered into explanation mode.
"As for the second, we're probably in one of the American Empire's conquered territories, but besides that, I have no idea. Lastly, I doubt that they have a large enough skip to contain a battlefield for who knows how many students, but this is America we're talking about, so it could be possible."
Well, that answer seemed like it would be satisfactory. One thing that wasn't, however, was the massive headache that was currently splitting its way through Sam's skull. He put a hand to his forehead for a moment, pausing in a futile attempt to relax himself, before looking back at Oliver, his eyes scanning up and down his classmate's body. He didn't look to be armed, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure of what he was working with.
"So... what did they give you? Probably something a lot better than this, I'm guessing..." He held up the cane, its shiny metal handle glistening in the light. Best not to show off its unique features yet, though. Oliver hadn't proven himself to be untrustworthy, at least not yet, but when it came to knowledge, it was always good to have a little extra information in your pocket. Just in case.
Yeah no, Oliver really wouldn't have been friends with Sam in any other life. Another life might have been different, a different Oliver, but the Oliver of now didn't really trust anyone who couldn't get to the point - usually meant they were lying or trying to stall, or just wanted to make themselves sound smart. He didn't mind the last one, especially when he did it, but the first two really got to him because it just made it sound like he couldn't trust them in any conversation, even a stupid small one. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out why he'd be lying at this stage, so it was just weird. Fucking weirdo. Stop being a fucking weirdo, Sam.
"Yeah. Fucking Americans, man, never even wanted to know what the fuck goes on over there. Or, uh, here I guess."
It was really strange to think if, well, Sam was telling the truth, then, well, Oliver was standing on enemy soil right now. He was in America; if only the other posters on FIFA Gaming could see him now. And he was probably going to die in America. Ace.
But Sam quickly distracted him by asking about his weapon; yeah, they'd all been given weapons, right? Sam looked like he got a cane, poor bastard. Grandad once whacked him with one when he was six, but that was ages ago and he was an old fart, and Oliver was tiny, so it probably hurt more than it did. Still, not much you could do with a cane if you wanted to kill somebody, so at least he probably wasn't gonna kill Oliver. So what was Oliver's weapon? He'd been so preoccupied with not choking from the trash and finding out where the hell they were from someone else he hadn't bothered to check.
"Haven't checked yet. Guess I'll give it a look," Oliver loudly murmured, before looking around. He saw something that looked the least like trash in the immediate area and sauntered over to it, dropping the shirt from his face and opening it up to look at what he had in store for him, and supposedly the rest of the island had in store from him.
Oliver wasn't sure what to expect, but a giant fucking gun sitting on top of a bunch of military supplies wasn't even in the Top 5. Holy shit - Oliver played a bunch of video games and the only ones he'd seen to that scale were hand-cannons that blew aliens heads clean off in a single shot, and now here he was with one, nary an alien in sight. Even if he immediately did what the Americans said and started gunning his class down, he wouldn't have encountered much resistance with this thing in his hands - unless they had an AK-47 or an assault rifle or a close combat shotgun or a sniper rifle on top of a building or something he only really knew about from video games. Oliver didn't even really know how useful those things were in combat, he'd never thought to question the comforting stories of video games compared to the disturbing realities of kids being forced to kill each other.
Eyes widened, Oliver reached in and pulled the gun out, sun shining upon the metal. It was superbly real. What the fuck?
"Mate."
It didn't look like a joke or anything, since it was super heavy, at least compared to how heavy he thought real guns were. Without really thinking, he turned it in his hand and aimed over the garbage pit, towards nothing in particular but a noticably high pile. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened but a weak little click. No bullets. Were they in the bag? He could check later, whatever. For now, he was just a lad standing around with another lad holding the biggest gun any of them had probably seen in their lives.
"This is proper...I don't even know what to say about this."
"Yeah. Fucking Americans, man, never even wanted to know what the fuck goes on over there. Or, uh, here I guess."
It was really strange to think if, well, Sam was telling the truth, then, well, Oliver was standing on enemy soil right now. He was in America; if only the other posters on FIFA Gaming could see him now. And he was probably going to die in America. Ace.
But Sam quickly distracted him by asking about his weapon; yeah, they'd all been given weapons, right? Sam looked like he got a cane, poor bastard. Grandad once whacked him with one when he was six, but that was ages ago and he was an old fart, and Oliver was tiny, so it probably hurt more than it did. Still, not much you could do with a cane if you wanted to kill somebody, so at least he probably wasn't gonna kill Oliver. So what was Oliver's weapon? He'd been so preoccupied with not choking from the trash and finding out where the hell they were from someone else he hadn't bothered to check.
"Haven't checked yet. Guess I'll give it a look," Oliver loudly murmured, before looking around. He saw something that looked the least like trash in the immediate area and sauntered over to it, dropping the shirt from his face and opening it up to look at what he had in store for him, and supposedly the rest of the island had in store from him.
Oliver wasn't sure what to expect, but a giant fucking gun sitting on top of a bunch of military supplies wasn't even in the Top 5. Holy shit - Oliver played a bunch of video games and the only ones he'd seen to that scale were hand-cannons that blew aliens heads clean off in a single shot, and now here he was with one, nary an alien in sight. Even if he immediately did what the Americans said and started gunning his class down, he wouldn't have encountered much resistance with this thing in his hands - unless they had an AK-47 or an assault rifle or a close combat shotgun or a sniper rifle on top of a building or something he only really knew about from video games. Oliver didn't even really know how useful those things were in combat, he'd never thought to question the comforting stories of video games compared to the disturbing realities of kids being forced to kill each other.
Eyes widened, Oliver reached in and pulled the gun out, sun shining upon the metal. It was superbly real. What the fuck?
"Mate."
It didn't look like a joke or anything, since it was super heavy, at least compared to how heavy he thought real guns were. Without really thinking, he turned it in his hand and aimed over the garbage pit, towards nothing in particular but a noticably high pile. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened but a weak little click. No bullets. Were they in the bag? He could check later, whatever. For now, he was just a lad standing around with another lad holding the biggest gun any of them had probably seen in their lives.
"This is proper...I don't even know what to say about this."
Sam stared as Oliver pulled out his assigned weapon, his breath instantly taken away by the gleaming sunlight reflected off of its metallic surface. He knew such weapons existed, of course, but reading about them in a book and seeing one in person were completely different experiences. The device seemed to practically radiate power, despite Oliver's clumsy handling...
The loud click of the hammer shook Sam out of his stupor, causing him to wince automatically at the sound. Honestly, trying to fire the gun wasn't the best of ideas, but he couldn't really blame the guy for wanting to try it out. More important, however, was the immense value that the weapon would bring to any resistance group of students. If they wanted to convince the other kids to join up with them, they definitely needed better weapons than just a fancy knife on a stick, and this was just the ticket. The full significance of the situation began to weigh down on him more heavily than before, leaving him unable to let out more than a soft, "Y-yeah..." before going silent yet again.
His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes flickered from the gun, to Oliver's face, and then back down to the gun. He had to be careful with what he said here. He couldn't be too blunt about his plans, not yet, but at the same time, he had to at least nudge the guy in something of the right direction. Sam quickly moistened his dry lips before briefly dropping the cloth of his shirt from his face in order to make himself sound more clear.
"Y-you wanna..." He paused briefly, his nose wrinkling as he was again overcome by the full weight of the smell that had previously been partially suppressed by the covering on his face. Upon regaining his composure, he continued, "You wanna get out of here and find some place that doesn't smell like a sewage drain? We can figure out what to do next once we get there..."
Wasn't the best pitch, but it was the best he could think of. Worst case scenario, at least he wouldn't have to deal with this godawful smell any longer.
The loud click of the hammer shook Sam out of his stupor, causing him to wince automatically at the sound. Honestly, trying to fire the gun wasn't the best of ideas, but he couldn't really blame the guy for wanting to try it out. More important, however, was the immense value that the weapon would bring to any resistance group of students. If they wanted to convince the other kids to join up with them, they definitely needed better weapons than just a fancy knife on a stick, and this was just the ticket. The full significance of the situation began to weigh down on him more heavily than before, leaving him unable to let out more than a soft, "Y-yeah..." before going silent yet again.
His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes flickered from the gun, to Oliver's face, and then back down to the gun. He had to be careful with what he said here. He couldn't be too blunt about his plans, not yet, but at the same time, he had to at least nudge the guy in something of the right direction. Sam quickly moistened his dry lips before briefly dropping the cloth of his shirt from his face in order to make himself sound more clear.
"Y-you wanna..." He paused briefly, his nose wrinkling as he was again overcome by the full weight of the smell that had previously been partially suppressed by the covering on his face. Upon regaining his composure, he continued, "You wanna get out of here and find some place that doesn't smell like a sewage drain? We can figure out what to do next once we get there..."
Wasn't the best pitch, but it was the best he could think of. Worst case scenario, at least he wouldn't have to deal with this godawful smell any longer.
Oliver wasn't entirely sure what Sam was saying, since he was still slightly enamored with the gun in his hands, but it sounded like something Sam would say nonetheless. It was probably ineffectual, or nerdy, or whatever the fuck.
"Hmm?"
The smell returned, as much as Oliver had tried to block it out, so he walked back to his bag and dropped the empty gun back in, zipping it up. Once that was done, he pulled the shirt back to his face to cover his nose and mouth like the thin layer of fabric did anything major, besides just tricking him into thinking it could block out the smell of fermented everything.
"I mean..."
It was an offer if there ever was one - go with Sam, find a place to figure out what to do next. Oliver couldn't really say he liked Sam, or even would have tolerated him if he'd been asked the same thing back in England, but things were slightly different here. And most importantly, he didn't try to kill Oliver on sight, even with his shitty weapon, and considering the assortment of losers and lunatics in their class he really couldn't be sure that nobody else would do the same thing. He'd certainly been given the opportunity, what with having woken up long before as well.
"...can't think of anything better to do, can you?"
So yes, Oliver was going to stick with Sam for now. And if they ever made it back home, they'd probably never speak again. Hell, if it was up to Oliver they wouldn't even be speaking now, but that was just tough shit on Oliver's part, no?
"Hmm?"
The smell returned, as much as Oliver had tried to block it out, so he walked back to his bag and dropped the empty gun back in, zipping it up. Once that was done, he pulled the shirt back to his face to cover his nose and mouth like the thin layer of fabric did anything major, besides just tricking him into thinking it could block out the smell of fermented everything.
"I mean..."
It was an offer if there ever was one - go with Sam, find a place to figure out what to do next. Oliver couldn't really say he liked Sam, or even would have tolerated him if he'd been asked the same thing back in England, but things were slightly different here. And most importantly, he didn't try to kill Oliver on sight, even with his shitty weapon, and considering the assortment of losers and lunatics in their class he really couldn't be sure that nobody else would do the same thing. He'd certainly been given the opportunity, what with having woken up long before as well.
"...can't think of anything better to do, can you?"
So yes, Oliver was going to stick with Sam for now. And if they ever made it back home, they'd probably never speak again. Hell, if it was up to Oliver they wouldn't even be speaking now, but that was just tough shit on Oliver's part, no?
Sam's posture relaxed as Oliver agreed with him. It was good to see that at least one of his fellow students was capable of rationally evaluating his situation, and deciding what to do next. Safety in numbers was not only just a good idea, but it was only through unity that the Saint Editha's kids would be able to resist the authority that put them in this situation to begin with...
However, as much as Sam enjoyed a good internal monologue, he had a feeling that Oliver wouldn't much appreciate standing here waiting for him to finish soliloquizing. Sighing, he pulled the straps of his bag over his shoulder, and waved over to Oliver as he turned to leave.
"Right then, let's get going."
Without waiting for his partner to respond, he began the long trek out of the dump, taking care not to step on anything particularly sharp or squishy. Step one of the plan had been accomplished. Now, as for the rest of it...he'd have to think of that later.
((Samuel Rosen continued in You Need Hands))
However, as much as Sam enjoyed a good internal monologue, he had a feeling that Oliver wouldn't much appreciate standing here waiting for him to finish soliloquizing. Sighing, he pulled the straps of his bag over his shoulder, and waved over to Oliver as he turned to leave.
"Right then, let's get going."
Without waiting for his partner to respond, he began the long trek out of the dump, taking care not to step on anything particularly sharp or squishy. Step one of the plan had been accomplished. Now, as for the rest of it...he'd have to think of that later.
((Samuel Rosen continued in You Need Hands))
And so would Oliver.
((Oliver Davies continued elsewhere))
((Oliver Davies continued elsewhere))