((Oliver Davies continued from You Need Hands))
Oliver knew before the American voice boomed over the speakers that people would already be dead. It's not like whoever this army person was would come alive just to wish them good evening, he had a purpose. The AI announcer in an FPS wasn't there for your company, they told you about who'd been shooting who in the face or getting a knife to the neck then a teabag to the mouth, and the actual announcer in the actual deathmatch they were currently trapped in was no exception to this non-existent rule Oliver made up in his head.
For as big as Oliver always assumed his class was, they sure seemed to scatter and hide like cockroaches in daylight at an opportunity like this. One would think they'd be more intent on staying together, keeping safe, but neither Samuel nor Oliver had seen any of their former classmates since the gas. They'd nearly given up their search when the sun began to dip, and rather than stay wandering out in the open or wandering around looking for headless chickens, they retreated to what Oliver assumed would be one of the more likely places on the map for them to pass through. The market smell was by no means pleasant, even if it was nowhere near as bad as the Dump had been, and they'd waited there for anyone before the sun disappeared completely.
Even Yian, or Lena, or Victoria, or Michelle, really. The fact they were killers wasn't exactly high up on Oliver's concern list considering the Americans painted a rather generous picture of all of them, all manner of self-defense or accidents. It's not like anyone had gone actual crazy for real yet, which was a relief for their chances, but all things considered, that would probably change if anyone experienced the awful night of sleep one could expect during a deathmatch. All-nighters were a pain even when lives weren't on the line or in the safety of school, who knew what would happen considering the circumstances. Oliver and Samuel could be considered lucky if they'd even manage to get a single cycle of REM sleep when they retreated.
They hadn't really spoken since the announcement, since they were just sitting behind a stall waiting for footsteps. If anyone dangerous wanted to see them they'd be hard to see, getting dark and being on the ground and all, but maybe the footsteps would be someone they could work with, someone who'd go along with Samuel's insane ideas that amounted to nothing. Maybe Samuel would get lucky and he'd find someone who wouldn't mouth off to him. Maybe the entire day would finally come up Samuel, and Oliver might reap the benefits of that in some way.
Of course, Oliver wouldn't let Samuel start the night without at least a taste of what he'd dished out earlier that day.
"Well, so much for nobody going along with this, huh? Four of us dead already. Wow."
A true blessing on Oliver's part was that Samuel only had a cane.
Burning Boats
Night 1
((Samuel Rosen continued from You Need Hands))
Overall, the announced death toll was not as bad as Sam had been expecting. Out of the four killings mentioned, only one of them was anything other than self-defense. There was no need to waste time on sympathy for those who were “hoist by their own petard”, so to speak. If anything, their killers had done everyone remaining a service by preventing a potential murder spree.
The final death wasn’t too big of a loss either. He had heard Calista speak on politics before, and as far as he was concerned, a crypto-fascist like her would have started collaborating with the Americans sooner or later. They’d still have to be a little wary of Lena, if they ever ran into her, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out that Calista had it coming back there.
Sam closed his eyes as he leaned back against the stall, the smell of rotting fish filling his nostrils. Was there any place on this rock that didn’t smell like death? One would have thought that he would have become used to it by now, but it was unfortunately just as annoying as ever. With any luck, tomorrow they be able to get to a position that was a little easier to rest in.
His musings on the stench surrounding him were interrupted by yet another stupid statement from Oliver. He couldn’t tell if the guy had either entirely missed the point of everything that he had explained to him earlier, or if he was deliberately trying to sound obtuse. The familiar feeling for frustration began rising up within him as the memory of their argument from earlier came back to mind. It was a terrible idea, and he knew it, but letting two disagreements go in such a short span of time was simply too much for him. The reply left his mouth before he even had time to realize what was going on.
“Well, nobody ever said that there would be no participants. Playing along with the Americans is a terrible idea, of course, but some people just don’t think things through, you know? I’m not surprised that a few exceptionally dim individuals would fall for their propaganda.”
He paused for a moment, quietly sighing. Trying his best to temper down his naturally condescending tone, he continued.
“Thankfully, it seems like the majority of killers had the tables turned on them by their victims. It really sucks that we had to lose people, but it’s a better outcome than the other way ‘round, with the collaborators succeeding. With any luck, we’ll hear a lot fewer names the next time they make an announcement like this.”
Overall, the announced death toll was not as bad as Sam had been expecting. Out of the four killings mentioned, only one of them was anything other than self-defense. There was no need to waste time on sympathy for those who were “hoist by their own petard”, so to speak. If anything, their killers had done everyone remaining a service by preventing a potential murder spree.
The final death wasn’t too big of a loss either. He had heard Calista speak on politics before, and as far as he was concerned, a crypto-fascist like her would have started collaborating with the Americans sooner or later. They’d still have to be a little wary of Lena, if they ever ran into her, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out that Calista had it coming back there.
Sam closed his eyes as he leaned back against the stall, the smell of rotting fish filling his nostrils. Was there any place on this rock that didn’t smell like death? One would have thought that he would have become used to it by now, but it was unfortunately just as annoying as ever. With any luck, tomorrow they be able to get to a position that was a little easier to rest in.
His musings on the stench surrounding him were interrupted by yet another stupid statement from Oliver. He couldn’t tell if the guy had either entirely missed the point of everything that he had explained to him earlier, or if he was deliberately trying to sound obtuse. The familiar feeling for frustration began rising up within him as the memory of their argument from earlier came back to mind. It was a terrible idea, and he knew it, but letting two disagreements go in such a short span of time was simply too much for him. The reply left his mouth before he even had time to realize what was going on.
“Well, nobody ever said that there would be no participants. Playing along with the Americans is a terrible idea, of course, but some people just don’t think things through, you know? I’m not surprised that a few exceptionally dim individuals would fall for their propaganda.”
He paused for a moment, quietly sighing. Trying his best to temper down his naturally condescending tone, he continued.
“Thankfully, it seems like the majority of killers had the tables turned on them by their victims. It really sucks that we had to lose people, but it’s a better outcome than the other way ‘round, with the collaborators succeeding. With any luck, we’ll hear a lot fewer names the next time they make an announcement like this.”
"Mhmm."
Oliver had thoughts.
The condescending tone of Samuel returned, that was one of the thoughts. The rest were mainly concerned with the fact Samuel had initially offered safety and there was none to be found - if the trend continued, they'd all be dead within two, probably three days, and that was way too long to wait for a rescue that Oliver was sure would have come by now if it ever existed in the first place. Their classmates were dying, and Oliver knew the people in his class weren't the smartest or most rational thinkers, considering what a bunch of bell-ends a lot of them were even if they were smart, and he couldn't see them reacting to their friends dying like Samuel or he did, even if Samuel was the biggest bell-end ever.
So Oliver began thinking about their situation, and the hopelessness it seemed to encompass. The Americans had won, they'd taken their blood, squeezed the toothpaste from the tube and there was no going back in for anyone. There was only a few options left, and they all seemed out of reach, especially the myth of a rescue.
But Oliver did have one - it wasn't exactly the best idea, but it existed. Samuel obviously wouldn't like it, even if Samuel just plain didn't like anything Oliver said, but it was an idea nonetheless. In the grand scheme of things, it could help a lot more people than doing exactly what the Americans demanded they do. But was Oliver going to be able to go through with it? Would anyone? Did anyone think the same way as him?
At some point, Oliver had absentmindedly gotten to his feet to take a look around and process his thoughts. The market was still empty, so it was as good a time as any to throw Samuel some questions.
"Hey Sam," Oliver started, turning back towards his travelling companion, "Do you mind clearing up some stuff you were saying before?"
Oliver had thoughts.
The condescending tone of Samuel returned, that was one of the thoughts. The rest were mainly concerned with the fact Samuel had initially offered safety and there was none to be found - if the trend continued, they'd all be dead within two, probably three days, and that was way too long to wait for a rescue that Oliver was sure would have come by now if it ever existed in the first place. Their classmates were dying, and Oliver knew the people in his class weren't the smartest or most rational thinkers, considering what a bunch of bell-ends a lot of them were even if they were smart, and he couldn't see them reacting to their friends dying like Samuel or he did, even if Samuel was the biggest bell-end ever.
So Oliver began thinking about their situation, and the hopelessness it seemed to encompass. The Americans had won, they'd taken their blood, squeezed the toothpaste from the tube and there was no going back in for anyone. There was only a few options left, and they all seemed out of reach, especially the myth of a rescue.
But Oliver did have one - it wasn't exactly the best idea, but it existed. Samuel obviously wouldn't like it, even if Samuel just plain didn't like anything Oliver said, but it was an idea nonetheless. In the grand scheme of things, it could help a lot more people than doing exactly what the Americans demanded they do. But was Oliver going to be able to go through with it? Would anyone? Did anyone think the same way as him?
At some point, Oliver had absentmindedly gotten to his feet to take a look around and process his thoughts. The market was still empty, so it was as good a time as any to throw Samuel some questions.
"Hey Sam," Oliver started, turning back towards his travelling companion, "Do you mind clearing up some stuff you were saying before?"
After a few seconds of careful watching to make sure no more sarcastic jabs were coming his way, Sam turned away from Oliver, glancing up at the sky as an evening breeze caressed his cheek. It felt good to finally come up on top again, even if the situation was fairly petty. Maybe things were finally starting to look up for the two of them.
His attention was immediately caught by Oliver climbing to his feet, an action that Sam quickly mimicked, though with a soft grunt of surprise. He looked around, his eyes sweeping the marketplace to make sure that nobody had intruded on their position. Sufficiently convinced that they were just as alone as ever, he back to look at his classmate just as the inquiry made its way out of the guy’s mouth.
Sam’s response came quickly. He made an effort to sound friendly and casual, though inwardly, a small amount of anxiety began welling up within him. Hopefully this was just an innocent misunderstanding and not Oliver trying again to be difficult.
“Sure, what did you want to know?”
His attention was immediately caught by Oliver climbing to his feet, an action that Sam quickly mimicked, though with a soft grunt of surprise. He looked around, his eyes sweeping the marketplace to make sure that nobody had intruded on their position. Sufficiently convinced that they were just as alone as ever, he back to look at his classmate just as the inquiry made its way out of the guy’s mouth.
Sam’s response came quickly. He made an effort to sound friendly and casual, though inwardly, a small amount of anxiety began welling up within him. Hopefully this was just an innocent misunderstanding and not Oliver trying again to be difficult.
“Sure, what did you want to know?”
"Okay, so-"
Oliver leaned against the elbow-high stall beside them, trying to figure out how to word the question in his head. He vaguely recognized the cold of the Taurus sitting against his underpants waistline, a precarious position to put the gun in considering he could blow his own leg off at any moment, but the best way to keep both of them safe in case of a random lunatic.
"I've just been thinking about what you've been saying about how, y'know, if anyone goes along with the Americans and then goes home, they might as well not go home. 'Cause, like you said, they worked with the enemy, and Europe has never been too kind about that. That's...you're pretty sure about that, right?"
He paused for a moment, running his teeth along his bottom lip curled inside his mouth, before returning to the conversation.
"And I've just been thinking that...this is something big we're in now. It's bigger than both of us, and...if I said that we needed to put aside, you know, all of our differences between each other, and come together to, well, make a difference, or a stand, against this whole thing, and just make sure we'll no longer be just scared kids on the other side of the world doing nothing, or even worse just working with the enemy...you'd agree with me, right?"
Even if it was just in a light debate with Samuel, he really hoped Samuel agreed with him. It'd make him felt like he contributed something.
Oliver leaned against the elbow-high stall beside them, trying to figure out how to word the question in his head. He vaguely recognized the cold of the Taurus sitting against his underpants waistline, a precarious position to put the gun in considering he could blow his own leg off at any moment, but the best way to keep both of them safe in case of a random lunatic.
"I've just been thinking about what you've been saying about how, y'know, if anyone goes along with the Americans and then goes home, they might as well not go home. 'Cause, like you said, they worked with the enemy, and Europe has never been too kind about that. That's...you're pretty sure about that, right?"
He paused for a moment, running his teeth along his bottom lip curled inside his mouth, before returning to the conversation.
"And I've just been thinking that...this is something big we're in now. It's bigger than both of us, and...if I said that we needed to put aside, you know, all of our differences between each other, and come together to, well, make a difference, or a stand, against this whole thing, and just make sure we'll no longer be just scared kids on the other side of the world doing nothing, or even worse just working with the enemy...you'd agree with me, right?"
Even if it was just in a light debate with Samuel, he really hoped Samuel agreed with him. It'd make him felt like he contributed something.
Wow, was he finally getting through after all?
Sam felt most of his anxiety dissipate as Oliver repeated exactly what Sam had been telling him this whole time. The concepts weren't that hard to grasp, of course, but the fact that they finally seemed to be sinking into his classmate's thick skull gave him a renewed hope in their partnership. Some issues still existed, obviously, but Oliver's acceptance of his ideas boded a promising outcome to the plan. Even better, having Oliver convinced of the validity of the options that Sam laid out for him meant that the two of them would more easily be able to convince other people to go along with it, heading off problems like their initial conflict off at the pass.
Still... there could be no discounting of the possibility that this was some sort of verbal trap, the prelude to yet more insubordination. Cautious optimism would be the key word to proceed with. Acknowledge that what he said was true, be friendly and reassuring, but don't take your victory for granted. Sam relaxed his shoulders as he pulled off his hat, idly scratching his head before turning back to look at the guy next to him. He spoke calmly, trying his best to sound friendly and reassuring, though at the same time attempting to prevent himself from looking too happy at his apparent "win".
"Yeah, of course! The Americans want us to fall into their trap, to give up all that makes us who we are in exchange for a promise of safety that they can't deliver on. They might have better weapons than us for now, but we can't let fear cloud our judgements. Individually, we are weak, but if we stand together we can beat the odds and strike a blow against the fascists that they'll never forget!"
Sam winced inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth. His mind had played over countless ideas for heroic speeches, but reality turned out to be quite different from his imagination. The words sounded hollow and contrived, and despite his knowledge that his plan was the only thing standing between his classmates and certain destruction, not even he could say with confidence that his oration was convincing. The thought of going back on his words, even slightly, wounded him, but letting that stand would do more harm than good, he felt. Best to be a little humble here and soften the blow so that he forcefulness didn't turn his partner off of his message. He gave a sheepish grin before adding a quick continuation.
"Well, uh, that was a little overdramatic, I know," he chuckled, "but the point still stands. Resistance is not only the right thing to do, but our only option."
Sam felt most of his anxiety dissipate as Oliver repeated exactly what Sam had been telling him this whole time. The concepts weren't that hard to grasp, of course, but the fact that they finally seemed to be sinking into his classmate's thick skull gave him a renewed hope in their partnership. Some issues still existed, obviously, but Oliver's acceptance of his ideas boded a promising outcome to the plan. Even better, having Oliver convinced of the validity of the options that Sam laid out for him meant that the two of them would more easily be able to convince other people to go along with it, heading off problems like their initial conflict off at the pass.
Still... there could be no discounting of the possibility that this was some sort of verbal trap, the prelude to yet more insubordination. Cautious optimism would be the key word to proceed with. Acknowledge that what he said was true, be friendly and reassuring, but don't take your victory for granted. Sam relaxed his shoulders as he pulled off his hat, idly scratching his head before turning back to look at the guy next to him. He spoke calmly, trying his best to sound friendly and reassuring, though at the same time attempting to prevent himself from looking too happy at his apparent "win".
"Yeah, of course! The Americans want us to fall into their trap, to give up all that makes us who we are in exchange for a promise of safety that they can't deliver on. They might have better weapons than us for now, but we can't let fear cloud our judgements. Individually, we are weak, but if we stand together we can beat the odds and strike a blow against the fascists that they'll never forget!"
Sam winced inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth. His mind had played over countless ideas for heroic speeches, but reality turned out to be quite different from his imagination. The words sounded hollow and contrived, and despite his knowledge that his plan was the only thing standing between his classmates and certain destruction, not even he could say with confidence that his oration was convincing. The thought of going back on his words, even slightly, wounded him, but letting that stand would do more harm than good, he felt. Best to be a little humble here and soften the blow so that he forcefulness didn't turn his partner off of his message. He gave a sheepish grin before adding a quick continuation.
"Well, uh, that was a little overdramatic, I know," he chuckled, "but the point still stands. Resistance is not only the right thing to do, but our only option."
The two of them hadn't really seen eye to eye on anything for the entire time they'd been traveling together, but seeing Samuel reiterate that Oliver had exactly the right idea filled Oliver's heart with something. Considering the fact that he didn't feel more afraid than he had when he woke up, it was probably a positive emotion - confidence? Happiness? Something so mild, yet distinctly happy; not enough to overpower the all-consuming dreaded mindfuckery that had consumed his entire sensibility since he arrived, but it helped. Maybe he could go through with it after all.
Oliver hadn't been looking Sam in the face for his entire speech, but when he finished, he caught his eyes, and smiled.
"You know what, Sam? Thank you."
He stepped forward.
"I wasn't really that keen on telling you before, but-"
A brief moment's hesitation.
"I think I have an idea of my own now."
And Oliver, without breaking eye contact, took the gun from his waistband with his right hand, aimed it at Samuel's leg, and pulled the trigger.
Oliver hadn't been looking Sam in the face for his entire speech, but when he finished, he caught his eyes, and smiled.
"You know what, Sam? Thank you."
He stepped forward.
"I wasn't really that keen on telling you before, but-"
A brief moment's hesitation.
"I think I have an idea of my own now."
And Oliver, without breaking eye contact, took the gun from his waistband with his right hand, aimed it at Samuel's leg, and pulled the trigger.
Sam barely had time to open his mouth before his world exploded in a burst of sound and light. He felt himself be thrown back onto the pavement, his hat flying out of his hand as his entire body impacted the hard surface. However, any confusion as to what had happened was completely drowned out by a searing pain in his leg.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!”
Moving almost on auto-pilot, Sam’s hands reflexively flew to the site of the wound, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood. A barrage of curses and incoherent babbling forced its way out of his mouth as the pain intensified with every passing second. This was not good. Not good at all. The huge amount of blood made it difficult to see how bad it was, exactly, but that there was a more than a small chance that he was completely screwed.
Gasping for air, he looked up at Oliver with a face twisted in pain and confusion. What was going on? If he was in a clearer mental state, he probably would have been able to ask speak more articulately. As things stood, the best that he could get out was a loud groan and a guttural cry of “What the fuck?”.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!”
Moving almost on auto-pilot, Sam’s hands reflexively flew to the site of the wound, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood. A barrage of curses and incoherent babbling forced its way out of his mouth as the pain intensified with every passing second. This was not good. Not good at all. The huge amount of blood made it difficult to see how bad it was, exactly, but that there was a more than a small chance that he was completely screwed.
Gasping for air, he looked up at Oliver with a face twisted in pain and confusion. What was going on? If he was in a clearer mental state, he probably would have been able to ask speak more articulately. As things stood, the best that he could get out was a loud groan and a guttural cry of “What the fuck?”.
The kickback from the gun was so powerful it was a sure miracle Oliver didn't break his wrist off as it went flying backwards, instead only giving him some massive aches and pains as his hand retained its grip. Either way, the shot did its job, since Samuel was now lying on the ground clutching the massive wound in his leg. He watched him there for a few seconds, feeling a peculiar mix of guilt and horror alongside his previous determination, before once again refusing to show any of it on his face.
He didn't need to do this - he could have just held him up and told him what his plan was instead of wounding him, and then shot him afterwards, but this felt more effective for some reason. Samuel was treating Oliver like an idiot before, and now Oliver had Samuel's full blown attention.
Oliver held the gun in his right hand, massaging the wrist with the left, before the cry of why came from Samuel. His attention returned, Oliver raised his eyebrows and crouched down in front of his traveling companion.
"So, Sam. I guess you're wondering why I just shot you in the leg."
There was a hint of casual in Oliver's voice, like he was selling one of his friends on the benefits of joining the Regular Army. He knew that wouldn't do, because he was about to embark on something serious, and he needed to let Samuel know it was serious.
"First of all, I don't want you thinking it's because you've been rude to me, because I'm not like that. Believe me, don't believe me, but it's true, it's got nothing to do with you acting like a twat. I mean, I'm sure if you'd been shot before we got here for being a twat you'd be less of a twat, but seriously, it's not about that."
It was true, after all - this whole thing, this situation, it was bigger than all of them, so Oliver wasn't about to let himself be ruled by how he felt towads people. He just couldn't.
"But, I will say, I wouldn't have gotten my idea for what I'm going to do here without you, so, well, I guess it is kind of your fault? But anyway, want to hear my idea? It's way better than whatever pointlessness you were coming up with, I'm sure you'll love it."
The question seemed just as pointless as everything Samuel had done throughout the day, since Oliver was going to tell Samuel anyway, but this was one of the last times in Oliver's life he was going to even pretend to be polite, so it felt correct.
He didn't need to do this - he could have just held him up and told him what his plan was instead of wounding him, and then shot him afterwards, but this felt more effective for some reason. Samuel was treating Oliver like an idiot before, and now Oliver had Samuel's full blown attention.
Oliver held the gun in his right hand, massaging the wrist with the left, before the cry of why came from Samuel. His attention returned, Oliver raised his eyebrows and crouched down in front of his traveling companion.
"So, Sam. I guess you're wondering why I just shot you in the leg."
There was a hint of casual in Oliver's voice, like he was selling one of his friends on the benefits of joining the Regular Army. He knew that wouldn't do, because he was about to embark on something serious, and he needed to let Samuel know it was serious.
"First of all, I don't want you thinking it's because you've been rude to me, because I'm not like that. Believe me, don't believe me, but it's true, it's got nothing to do with you acting like a twat. I mean, I'm sure if you'd been shot before we got here for being a twat you'd be less of a twat, but seriously, it's not about that."
It was true, after all - this whole thing, this situation, it was bigger than all of them, so Oliver wasn't about to let himself be ruled by how he felt towads people. He just couldn't.
"But, I will say, I wouldn't have gotten my idea for what I'm going to do here without you, so, well, I guess it is kind of your fault? But anyway, want to hear my idea? It's way better than whatever pointlessness you were coming up with, I'm sure you'll love it."
The question seemed just as pointless as everything Samuel had done throughout the day, since Oliver was going to tell Samuel anyway, but this was one of the last times in Oliver's life he was going to even pretend to be polite, so it felt correct.
What the hell was going on? This didn’t make any sense - Oliver was kind of an asshole, but as far as Sam knew, he wasn’t completely insane. He had to know that attacking someone here was effectively suicide, even ignoring the fact that the guy was completely screwing over their best chance at getting out of here alive.
Sam groaned loudly as his vision began to blur, his eyes welling with tears. He had never felt so much pain in his entire life; the closest was the one time he broke his leg as a kid, and that barely compared at all to the horrific fire that was ripping its way through his body right now.
As Oliver crouched down next to him, Sam’s fear and confusion soon gave way to rage as his assailant’s lack of emotion became apparent. He had no idea what reason this bastard had for whatever he did, and to be honest, he didn’t really care. There was no possible way to justify this, no way at all. And the addendum that it was his fault all along? Fuck off.
If only he hadn’t dropped the cane in all the confusion. If he had it in his hands, he would have certainly stabbed Oliver then and there. No court in the world would have convicted him for it either. Unfortunately, he didn’t have it, and any sudden movements would likely result in the bullet to his leg being followed up by a bullet to his head.
Damn it! Sam wanted to scream, but he ended up settling for a sullen, hateful glare aimed directly into Oliver’s eyes. His earlier conciliation was now revealed to be even more of a mistake than he suspected, and he wasn’t about to give Oliver the satisfaction of seeing him beg for an explanation. He tried his best to control his breathing, taking slow, deep breaths, hiding any expression of pain the best that he could. That son of a bitch wanted to see him in agony, and there was no chance in hell that Sam was going to fulfill that desire if he could help it.
Sam groaned loudly as his vision began to blur, his eyes welling with tears. He had never felt so much pain in his entire life; the closest was the one time he broke his leg as a kid, and that barely compared at all to the horrific fire that was ripping its way through his body right now.
As Oliver crouched down next to him, Sam’s fear and confusion soon gave way to rage as his assailant’s lack of emotion became apparent. He had no idea what reason this bastard had for whatever he did, and to be honest, he didn’t really care. There was no possible way to justify this, no way at all. And the addendum that it was his fault all along? Fuck off.
If only he hadn’t dropped the cane in all the confusion. If he had it in his hands, he would have certainly stabbed Oliver then and there. No court in the world would have convicted him for it either. Unfortunately, he didn’t have it, and any sudden movements would likely result in the bullet to his leg being followed up by a bullet to his head.
Damn it! Sam wanted to scream, but he ended up settling for a sullen, hateful glare aimed directly into Oliver’s eyes. His earlier conciliation was now revealed to be even more of a mistake than he suspected, and he wasn’t about to give Oliver the satisfaction of seeing him beg for an explanation. He tried his best to control his breathing, taking slow, deep breaths, hiding any expression of pain the best that he could. That son of a bitch wanted to see him in agony, and there was no chance in hell that Sam was going to fulfill that desire if he could help it.
"No? Well, I wasn't asking permission."
Oliver cleared his throat. He needed to make this count, make no mistake, because if Samuel didn't see where he was coming from he'd come off as crazy, even though he knew deep down his logic was undeniable.
"So when I woke up here, I realized something. I realized I was probably going to die here. Rescue isn't coming. If our country was able to help us, they'd have saved us by now. So in essence, that meant that in the grand scheme of...well, everything, we no longer matter."
Oliver left a pause there. That last sentence didn't sound right, at least how he meant it.
"Well, we matter as, you know, a group. We're the kids the Americans abducted as hostages in war and were forced to kill each other because of something that we didn't do, because of something our country did. So like, I don't matter. You don't matter. Whatever we did before this doesn't matter, unless our families are writing our obituaries. We're just names in a newspaper, or statistics for the government back home or the government here. Other than that? Nothing."
Another pause. He was waffling a bit now, but the point had been made.
"So...all the while you're talking about rescue, I'm thinking 'this isn't going to work', but...I get to thinking. How can any of us matter in the end? If our entire lives amount to nothing, then what can we do? And then you mentioned what would happen if someone went along with killing us to go home. They'd probably get made an example of, right? Co-operating with the enemy? But what if...what if, the person who goes along with this, who wins this whole thing, doesn't go home at all? And not like, because they defect to America, but because they never leave here?"
Oliver made sure he met Samuel's eyes at this point.
"We're not getting rescued, Sam. Whoever wins this, if they leave here a murderer, they'll be executed for treason when they get home, and if they leave here a victim, they'll be nothing but a parasite of attention, a gaping wound on our country, making us weak. England is the only thing standing between America and world domination, and nothing can make our country weak when the fate of the entire world is at stake. If this thing is going to end, it needs to end in complete and utter annihilation of everyone in our class, no different than if they'd just bombed our town off the map. We can't be a tragedy, or a bunch of sad stories - we need to be nothing but a casualty of war."
"So that's why I'm going to make sure that nobody in our class survives this game, Sam. Not even me."
Oliver cleared his throat. He needed to make this count, make no mistake, because if Samuel didn't see where he was coming from he'd come off as crazy, even though he knew deep down his logic was undeniable.
"So when I woke up here, I realized something. I realized I was probably going to die here. Rescue isn't coming. If our country was able to help us, they'd have saved us by now. So in essence, that meant that in the grand scheme of...well, everything, we no longer matter."
Oliver left a pause there. That last sentence didn't sound right, at least how he meant it.
"Well, we matter as, you know, a group. We're the kids the Americans abducted as hostages in war and were forced to kill each other because of something that we didn't do, because of something our country did. So like, I don't matter. You don't matter. Whatever we did before this doesn't matter, unless our families are writing our obituaries. We're just names in a newspaper, or statistics for the government back home or the government here. Other than that? Nothing."
Another pause. He was waffling a bit now, but the point had been made.
"So...all the while you're talking about rescue, I'm thinking 'this isn't going to work', but...I get to thinking. How can any of us matter in the end? If our entire lives amount to nothing, then what can we do? And then you mentioned what would happen if someone went along with killing us to go home. They'd probably get made an example of, right? Co-operating with the enemy? But what if...what if, the person who goes along with this, who wins this whole thing, doesn't go home at all? And not like, because they defect to America, but because they never leave here?"
Oliver made sure he met Samuel's eyes at this point.
"We're not getting rescued, Sam. Whoever wins this, if they leave here a murderer, they'll be executed for treason when they get home, and if they leave here a victim, they'll be nothing but a parasite of attention, a gaping wound on our country, making us weak. England is the only thing standing between America and world domination, and nothing can make our country weak when the fate of the entire world is at stake. If this thing is going to end, it needs to end in complete and utter annihilation of everyone in our class, no different than if they'd just bombed our town off the map. We can't be a tragedy, or a bunch of sad stories - we need to be nothing but a casualty of war."
"So that's why I'm going to make sure that nobody in our class survives this game, Sam. Not even me."
What in the actual fuck.
Sam stared at Oliver for what felt like ages as he tried to wrap his mind around what had just been said. Surely, he must have misheard something. Maybe this was some sort of sick joke, and his attacker was just playing with him before revealing that his actual motivation was to take revenge or some shit like that.
His stomach dropped as no further explanations were forthcoming. The guy was actually serious about this. Was he retarded or something? They’d only been in this place for like half a day, not nearly enough time to rule out that someone was coming for them, and he wasn’t even going to bother to engage with that fascist bullshit about survivors “making the country weak”.
A quick gasp of pain made its way out of his mouth as moving resulted in shooting pain up and down his leg. His head was spinning, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was from the pain, the blood loss, or the insanity that was coming from his conversation partner. Probably a combination of the three, honestly.
Sam sighed as he brought a blood-soaked hand to his face, inadvertently smearing his face with red as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He was definitely not in any position to be convincing anyone, but damned if he wasn’t about to say his piece, even if it killed him. He hissed in pain before speaking, trying desperately to hide the fear he was feeling from showing in his voice.
“You’re an idiot. It doesn’t matter if one of us lives, or none of us lives, you’re still giving the Yanks exactly what they want.”
Not like Oliver was going to listen to him anyway, but the fucker didn’t deserve to have the last word. Not after what he did.
Sam stared at Oliver for what felt like ages as he tried to wrap his mind around what had just been said. Surely, he must have misheard something. Maybe this was some sort of sick joke, and his attacker was just playing with him before revealing that his actual motivation was to take revenge or some shit like that.
His stomach dropped as no further explanations were forthcoming. The guy was actually serious about this. Was he retarded or something? They’d only been in this place for like half a day, not nearly enough time to rule out that someone was coming for them, and he wasn’t even going to bother to engage with that fascist bullshit about survivors “making the country weak”.
A quick gasp of pain made its way out of his mouth as moving resulted in shooting pain up and down his leg. His head was spinning, and he wasn’t quite sure if it was from the pain, the blood loss, or the insanity that was coming from his conversation partner. Probably a combination of the three, honestly.
Sam sighed as he brought a blood-soaked hand to his face, inadvertently smearing his face with red as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He was definitely not in any position to be convincing anyone, but damned if he wasn’t about to say his piece, even if it killed him. He hissed in pain before speaking, trying desperately to hide the fear he was feeling from showing in his voice.
“You’re an idiot. It doesn’t matter if one of us lives, or none of us lives, you’re still giving the Yanks exactly what they want.”
Not like Oliver was going to listen to him anyway, but the fucker didn’t deserve to have the last word. Not after what he did.
Was this twat for real? Oliver just super impressively made up an entire doctrine on the fly that was fully realized and fully intended to be followed up on and Samuel was still playing catch-up on semantics? If he had time to spare he would have laughed, but instead, he just smirked.
"I can't believe you ever expected to get a group started with that personality going for you, Sam."
What was that about time to spare? Right. The people who were smart would probably stay away from a gunshot, but there was no telling who would have the opposite reaction and go running towards it in the dark. Idiots, maybe, but Oliver didn't want to have to deal with the idiots. If he was going to survive to the end, he needed to stay out of trouble, and, if gaming taught him anything, being out in the open with a visible weapon and visible distraction was a surefire way to get ganked or knifed or sniped or any number of nasty deaths.
"Anyway, gotta run, have a game to survive and then ruin for the Americans and all that. Don't expect you to survive that nasty leg wound and losing all that blood, to be honest, so I think I'll just-"
Oliver stepped over Samuel's prone body and scooped the other bag up by the straps.
"-relieve you of this, since you won't be needing it."
If he had more time to search, he probably would have just taken the cane out of spite; even though he said it had nothing to do with Samuel's awful personality, the longer he stuck around the other boy the less true that became. But he couldn't see it near the bag, so it looked like he was leaving there cane-less. Oliver snaked himself between the stalls and wandered out into the marketplace, turning on his heels to leave the real last word on the matter.
"Oh, and thanks so much for the ideas. This really couldn't have happened without you, Sam."
And then, Oliver was gone.
((Oliver Davies continued in Sixes and Sevens))
"I can't believe you ever expected to get a group started with that personality going for you, Sam."
What was that about time to spare? Right. The people who were smart would probably stay away from a gunshot, but there was no telling who would have the opposite reaction and go running towards it in the dark. Idiots, maybe, but Oliver didn't want to have to deal with the idiots. If he was going to survive to the end, he needed to stay out of trouble, and, if gaming taught him anything, being out in the open with a visible weapon and visible distraction was a surefire way to get ganked or knifed or sniped or any number of nasty deaths.
"Anyway, gotta run, have a game to survive and then ruin for the Americans and all that. Don't expect you to survive that nasty leg wound and losing all that blood, to be honest, so I think I'll just-"
Oliver stepped over Samuel's prone body and scooped the other bag up by the straps.
"-relieve you of this, since you won't be needing it."
If he had more time to search, he probably would have just taken the cane out of spite; even though he said it had nothing to do with Samuel's awful personality, the longer he stuck around the other boy the less true that became. But he couldn't see it near the bag, so it looked like he was leaving there cane-less. Oliver snaked himself between the stalls and wandered out into the marketplace, turning on his heels to leave the real last word on the matter.
"Oh, and thanks so much for the ideas. This really couldn't have happened without you, Sam."
And then, Oliver was gone.
((Oliver Davies continued in Sixes and Sevens))
As Oliver’s footsteps faded away, Sam got to work. Despite Oliver’s wishes, he wasn’t about to lay down and let himself bleed out. He was going to live, god damn it!
Throwing modesty to the side, he pulled down his slacks to examine the wound in his thigh, hissing in pain as the fabric rubbed against it. A chill ran down his spine as the setting sun illuminated the massive, ugly gouge taken out of his thigh. It went without saying that he was in major trouble if he didn’t get proper medical attention fairly soon. Hell, without access to first aid, the situation was definitely bleak.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel relief about how much worse things could have been. An inch or two to the right, and he probably would have bled out before Oliver finished his speech. Thank goodness for his assailant’s shitty aim.
Sam clenched his eyes shut for a moment, groaning as moving his leg brought another flash of pain. He had to work fast. His lack of formal training was readily and painfully apparent, but he had read enough books to at least have some idea of what to do. His fingers rose to his neck, deftly slipping off his necktie and trying it around his leg as a makeshift tourniquet. He swallowed hard as warnings of the dangers of such an action burst into his mind, but in the absence of any better supplies, there really wasn’t anything he could to about it.
Swearing profusely, he pulled off his blazer and began tearing at it to create some bootleg approximation of a bandage. His knuckles whitened as he strained against the sturdy material, giving a gasp of relief as it finally gave. Tearing off what seemed to be an appropriately sized strip from the bottom, he wrapped it around the wound as tightly as he could.
The imminent danger dealt with, he pushed himself, panting heavily, to his feet. He wasn’t going to bleed out, but it was of utmost priority to find someone with actual supplies to treat this injury. Spying the cane which had almost rolled under one of nearby stalls, he stumbled over to grab it, using it for support as he limped his way out of the marketplace.
He gritted his teeth as the burning sensation in his leg seems to increase with every step, forcing himself to power through the pain as he walked. That fucker may have crippled him, but he wasn’t going to die today. Despite Oliver’s insane ramblings, escape was still on the table, and Sam had every intention of getting out of this nightmare alive.
((Samuel Rosen continued in Hiding From The Truth))
Throwing modesty to the side, he pulled down his slacks to examine the wound in his thigh, hissing in pain as the fabric rubbed against it. A chill ran down his spine as the setting sun illuminated the massive, ugly gouge taken out of his thigh. It went without saying that he was in major trouble if he didn’t get proper medical attention fairly soon. Hell, without access to first aid, the situation was definitely bleak.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel relief about how much worse things could have been. An inch or two to the right, and he probably would have bled out before Oliver finished his speech. Thank goodness for his assailant’s shitty aim.
Sam clenched his eyes shut for a moment, groaning as moving his leg brought another flash of pain. He had to work fast. His lack of formal training was readily and painfully apparent, but he had read enough books to at least have some idea of what to do. His fingers rose to his neck, deftly slipping off his necktie and trying it around his leg as a makeshift tourniquet. He swallowed hard as warnings of the dangers of such an action burst into his mind, but in the absence of any better supplies, there really wasn’t anything he could to about it.
Swearing profusely, he pulled off his blazer and began tearing at it to create some bootleg approximation of a bandage. His knuckles whitened as he strained against the sturdy material, giving a gasp of relief as it finally gave. Tearing off what seemed to be an appropriately sized strip from the bottom, he wrapped it around the wound as tightly as he could.
The imminent danger dealt with, he pushed himself, panting heavily, to his feet. He wasn’t going to bleed out, but it was of utmost priority to find someone with actual supplies to treat this injury. Spying the cane which had almost rolled under one of nearby stalls, he stumbled over to grab it, using it for support as he limped his way out of the marketplace.
He gritted his teeth as the burning sensation in his leg seems to increase with every step, forcing himself to power through the pain as he walked. That fucker may have crippled him, but he wasn’t going to die today. Despite Oliver’s insane ramblings, escape was still on the table, and Sam had every intention of getting out of this nightmare alive.
((Samuel Rosen continued in Hiding From The Truth))