((Cecilia Moreno continued from I'm the Satellite and You're the Sky))
Hiking out to the flatlands, finding a clear stretch of sand, and cutting the space blankets into a large, blocky SOS had taken up all of the daylight. The foil was finicky and difficult to cut, and the tiny scissors they'd been given were horribly unsuited to the task. It didn't help that they didn't have enough pairs for everyone - Cecilia's had gone missing after the attack, and she hadn't had a chance to find them. Nobody else had seemed keen on handing her the only item they had that passed for a weapon, so she'd sat off to the side watching them snip. They hadn't gotten the letters in place until the horizon was already nibbling at the bottom of the sun. The signal was useless in the dark, so they'd gathered what little dry brush they could find and banged rocks together until they finally made fire.
They had agreed to keep watch in pairs, to keep the fire going - and to be on guard in case one of the other students came sniffing around. It was a sensible arrangement, but one that had kept Cecilia from being able to sneak off under cover of darkness. Even after her watch was over, Cecilia had stayed awake, lying in her sleeping bag. She'd kept her shoes on and left the bag unzipped, in case she needed to get out of it in a hurry. In case the boys had decided they no longer needed her, and decided to kill her under cover of darkness. She'd spent the night running over rapid escape plans in her head, again and again, mentally preparing herself for an attack that, ultimately, never came.
The sun was up now, but it was still cold. Cecilia groaned as she stood up. Her eyelids were heavy, and she had difficulty keeping them both open at the same time. She took off her sweater, grimacing as she did. Her shoulders were stiff, and every time she tried to readjust herself, something else would ache. Being tackled to the ground yesterday hadn't hurt much at the time, but it was definitely taking its toll now. The metal collar didn't help, and neither did the fact that Cecilia hadn't really slept - aches and pains always felt worse if she didn't give her body a chance to rest. Her tank top's straps were thin, and the cool air made her shiver a bit, but she hoped a little chill would loosen the muscles up a little, like putting a cold pack on a sprain. Even if it didn't, she figured that it'd be good to keep the bloodstain out of sight. The less the boys dwelt on that, the better.
A yawn signaled that the boys were waking up. Despite her exhaustion, Cecilia forced herself to perform a few warmup stretches, limbering up for whatever the day might hold. It'd be good to stay fresh, even if she was hoping for a fairly low-key day. The desert was already warming up, and the less activity they had to do in the heat, the better. They'd be best served stretching their sleeping bags over some bushes and conserving energy in the shade, peeping out every now and again in case other students, or, God forbid, an aeroplane appeared. If that happened... well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. What mattered was that for now, they believed her. For now, she was safe.
Feedback squealed out of a loudspeaker nearby, shattering the relative quiet. "Hello everyone. Congratulations to all of you who are still alive, not all of you made it to sunrise. This is our first official announcement, where I'm going to detail all of the carnage of the previous day, to make sure you all know which among you is dead, and who exactly killed them..."
Cecilia listened as best she could, silently counting along as their captors listed off names she didn't recognize. She traced a finger over the metal collar as the voice crowed about three students who'd been blown up by them. She didn't recognize any of the names. The voice continued, listing off more of the dead. Someone called Moose, who sounded kind of familiar. Orion, Cyrus, and Sayuna, who didn't. She tried, at first, to also pay attention to the names of the murderers, so she'd know who to watch out for. But she had a hard time placing them, too. She was pretty sure she recognized the girl with the insects, but that was it.
The names went on and on. And then, finally, they stopped. Silence returned to the desert, leaving the four of them alone with their thoughts.
The killing had begun. Already eight (or was it nine?) people were dead. But Cecilia wasn't, not yet. Her name had not been read out. And she was going to do her best to make sure that it stayed that way.
What Remains of Cyrus Vähi
Day 2. Private For Now, Probably?
Moderator: SOTF Supers Staff
S033 - Andrew Martin continued from I'm the Satellite and You're the Sky.
Andrew missed the first announcement.
He was awake when it started and had been for quite some time, but his Gift was active and no sounded penetrated the bubble of absolute silence that surrounded him. Sleep had come slowly last night, despite his tiredness, but it did come eventually and he managed a few hours of rest before he was woken in the dark by a hand on his shoulder for his turn at watch; there was no more sleep after that. Instead he just stared at the sky, watching as the darkness gradually turned to light as the sun rose somewhere off to his side, huddling down inside his sleeping bag against the cold and blissfully ignorant of the names of the dead and their killers.
When the day had fully arrived and he could no longer excuse his inactivity he rose, supressing his power with a sensation like clenching a muscle in the middle of his brain and letting the world back in. There wasn’t much to be heard to be honest, no wind blowing across the plain and no animals, no idle chatter between the others; it wasn’t silence though, just an absence of sound rather than an absence. It was hard to describe, but it was a silence you could hear rather than a silence you couldn’t.
The only other person awake seemed to be Cecilia; or at least the only person up and about. He walked over to her, this girl he didn’t know and who he hoped wasn’t a liar, for lack of anything better to do with his time. They had finished the sign last night and now there was nothing to do but wait. Wait and survive.
“Hey.” He stood off to the side of her position. Not confident enough to go as far as sitting next to her. “Did you uh, did you sleep… well? Sleep at all?”
Andrew missed the first announcement.
He was awake when it started and had been for quite some time, but his Gift was active and no sounded penetrated the bubble of absolute silence that surrounded him. Sleep had come slowly last night, despite his tiredness, but it did come eventually and he managed a few hours of rest before he was woken in the dark by a hand on his shoulder for his turn at watch; there was no more sleep after that. Instead he just stared at the sky, watching as the darkness gradually turned to light as the sun rose somewhere off to his side, huddling down inside his sleeping bag against the cold and blissfully ignorant of the names of the dead and their killers.
When the day had fully arrived and he could no longer excuse his inactivity he rose, supressing his power with a sensation like clenching a muscle in the middle of his brain and letting the world back in. There wasn’t much to be heard to be honest, no wind blowing across the plain and no animals, no idle chatter between the others; it wasn’t silence though, just an absence of sound rather than an absence. It was hard to describe, but it was a silence you could hear rather than a silence you couldn’t.
The only other person awake seemed to be Cecilia; or at least the only person up and about. He walked over to her, this girl he didn’t know and who he hoped wasn’t a liar, for lack of anything better to do with his time. They had finished the sign last night and now there was nothing to do but wait. Wait and survive.
“Hey.” He stood off to the side of her position. Not confident enough to go as far as sitting next to her. “Did you uh, did you sleep… well? Sleep at all?”
((Toma Jeung continued from I'm the Satellite and You're the Sky))
Toma was still sleepy. Or rather, he was only now starting to feel sleepy.
The cold last night had taken him by surprise and drained most of his energy after feeling like he could thrive in the dark. Curled up by the small fire with his tail tucked in and his hoodie and jacket back on, he hadn't expected the temperature to drop this much after sweating and fighting the sun in his own way during the day. His shoulders especially made sure to let him feel the result of it.
The only thing making his heart jolt was hearing the names that were familiar to him being thrown out in the open while mumbling a "what" or "what the fuck" after every single piece of unpleasant information. Kaine not being part of that list was what he made note of immediately. Joel was the other that lay heavy on him.
Toma stretched, now lying on his stomach while using his bag as a pillow.
"This kinda sucks for real for real."
was the conclusion he had after letting it sink in. Times two.
His eyes curiously followed Andrew when he walked over to Cecilia. He wanted to trust her, wanted to believe that this plan of hers would actually work. But he had yet to feel ready to give her back her scissors that he silently kept in his pocket.
Toma knew he didn't want to laze around in the same spot and would rather explore the area around them a bit more, so he gathered his inner strength for a moment and suddenly jumped up.
Toma was still sleepy. Or rather, he was only now starting to feel sleepy.
The cold last night had taken him by surprise and drained most of his energy after feeling like he could thrive in the dark. Curled up by the small fire with his tail tucked in and his hoodie and jacket back on, he hadn't expected the temperature to drop this much after sweating and fighting the sun in his own way during the day. His shoulders especially made sure to let him feel the result of it.
The only thing making his heart jolt was hearing the names that were familiar to him being thrown out in the open while mumbling a "what" or "what the fuck" after every single piece of unpleasant information. Kaine not being part of that list was what he made note of immediately. Joel was the other that lay heavy on him.
Toma stretched, now lying on his stomach while using his bag as a pillow.
"This kinda sucks for real for real."
was the conclusion he had after letting it sink in. Times two.
His eyes curiously followed Andrew when he walked over to Cecilia. He wanted to trust her, wanted to believe that this plan of hers would actually work. But he had yet to feel ready to give her back her scissors that he silently kept in his pocket.
Toma knew he didn't want to laze around in the same spot and would rather explore the area around them a bit more, so he gathered his inner strength for a moment and suddenly jumped up.
((Skipped with permission))
Cecilia shook her head in response to Bicho Palo's question, folding her arms to keep the morning chill out of her bones. "No. No podía dormir. All the time, I am scared. If I sleep, I have the pesadillas." She mentally backspaced. "The... bad picture in my head."
She wasn't sure that she'd slept at all. Sometimes during the night, she'd blinked and suddenly the fire was lower, or one of the boys on night watch had shifted positions. But if she'd been sleeping during those chunks of missing time, she hadn't gotten any actual rest from it at all. The pesadillas had come, with or without sleep. There were little things, nagging thoughts that buzzed around her mind like mosquitos, refusing to be ignored. Like the fact that all of the boys had scissors, and she didn't; that the boys hadn't asked her to help cut the letters - like they thought she might stab everybody if they let her hold the scissors again; and the way El Pacificador and Bicho Palo had arrived at the fight just seconds after she'd convinced El Tigre not to kill her, meaning that they'd been close by but hadn't actually been willing to intervene until after the danger had passed. Little things, subtle things, but they spoke volumes. They told her that she was not trusted; they told her that when danger struck, she would be on her own.
Every time she heard the boys murmur to each other, she imagined that they were plotting together, working out the perfect moment to jump on her. Every time one of them scratched his leg, her mind told her that he was reaching for a hidden blade. Fear was exhausting. Fear without a source, prolonged and stretched out across long periods of time? Downright debilitating. Her eyelids felt heavy, and kept wanting to droop shut. She pulled them open with a concerted effort, and looked at Bicho Palo.
"Are you sleeping well? Or are you having the bad picture also?"
At that point, El Tigre sprang to his feet, his posture full of some kind of intention. Cecilia staggered back half a step, startled by the sudden movement.
"Eh? ¿Que estas haciendo?"
Cecilia shook her head in response to Bicho Palo's question, folding her arms to keep the morning chill out of her bones. "No. No podía dormir. All the time, I am scared. If I sleep, I have the pesadillas." She mentally backspaced. "The... bad picture in my head."
She wasn't sure that she'd slept at all. Sometimes during the night, she'd blinked and suddenly the fire was lower, or one of the boys on night watch had shifted positions. But if she'd been sleeping during those chunks of missing time, she hadn't gotten any actual rest from it at all. The pesadillas had come, with or without sleep. There were little things, nagging thoughts that buzzed around her mind like mosquitos, refusing to be ignored. Like the fact that all of the boys had scissors, and she didn't; that the boys hadn't asked her to help cut the letters - like they thought she might stab everybody if they let her hold the scissors again; and the way El Pacificador and Bicho Palo had arrived at the fight just seconds after she'd convinced El Tigre not to kill her, meaning that they'd been close by but hadn't actually been willing to intervene until after the danger had passed. Little things, subtle things, but they spoke volumes. They told her that she was not trusted; they told her that when danger struck, she would be on her own.
Every time she heard the boys murmur to each other, she imagined that they were plotting together, working out the perfect moment to jump on her. Every time one of them scratched his leg, her mind told her that he was reaching for a hidden blade. Fear was exhausting. Fear without a source, prolonged and stretched out across long periods of time? Downright debilitating. Her eyelids felt heavy, and kept wanting to droop shut. She pulled them open with a concerted effort, and looked at Bicho Palo.
"Are you sleeping well? Or are you having the bad picture also?"
At that point, El Tigre sprang to his feet, his posture full of some kind of intention. Cecilia staggered back half a step, startled by the sudden movement.
"Eh? ¿Que estas haciendo?"
((Mattie Wilkinson continues from I'll Be Your Friend in the Daylight Again))
Cyrus was dead, they said.
They mentioned seven other names, but Cyrus' was the only one Mattie could put a face to. Thrown over a fence, collar blown apart, they said. The same collar they all had on their necks right now, this place's sick idea of a uniform.
They could've been lying, he wanted to think. Just another ember to set this ball of combustibles ablaze. But, they'd killed Ms. Duffy, they killed Spencer. He knew that as a fact. He'd seen them die in too many ways in too many flashbacks to think otherwise. They probably weren't lying about the first couple of names they'd mentioned, at least.
But then there were the others, the ones burned alive and melted and stomped to bits and poisoned to death. Like, that couldn't have happened, right? They couldn't have done that to each other, right? Because Mattie had been able to help stop Cecilia's throat from being torn out with little more than just walking in and being in the right place and the right time, and if it had been that easy to stop, then the other situations should've been easy to stop as well, right?
And, at least three, maybe more, hopefully not more, of them were dead, and there wasn't any hint of any police coming to save them and where were they? They'd spent all day yesterday cutting out these letters and laying them out and placing rocks on top, and not even a single search helicopter had come by and where were they?
And all his companions could do, in the meanwhile, was stand and twiddle around and process this in their own ways.
They were supposed to get up. Maybe make more signs, try to find something to help usher in some help more quickly, maybe. Do something, maybe. All the others were awake already. But all he could summon the will to do, he found, was choke and suffocate in his sleeping bag, beneath his collar, waves of fear and panic washing over him relentlessly.
Cyrus was dead, they said.
They mentioned seven other names, but Cyrus' was the only one Mattie could put a face to. Thrown over a fence, collar blown apart, they said. The same collar they all had on their necks right now, this place's sick idea of a uniform.
They could've been lying, he wanted to think. Just another ember to set this ball of combustibles ablaze. But, they'd killed Ms. Duffy, they killed Spencer. He knew that as a fact. He'd seen them die in too many ways in too many flashbacks to think otherwise. They probably weren't lying about the first couple of names they'd mentioned, at least.
But then there were the others, the ones burned alive and melted and stomped to bits and poisoned to death. Like, that couldn't have happened, right? They couldn't have done that to each other, right? Because Mattie had been able to help stop Cecilia's throat from being torn out with little more than just walking in and being in the right place and the right time, and if it had been that easy to stop, then the other situations should've been easy to stop as well, right?
And, at least three, maybe more, hopefully not more, of them were dead, and there wasn't any hint of any police coming to save them and where were they? They'd spent all day yesterday cutting out these letters and laying them out and placing rocks on top, and not even a single search helicopter had come by and where were they?
And all his companions could do, in the meanwhile, was stand and twiddle around and process this in their own ways.
They were supposed to get up. Maybe make more signs, try to find something to help usher in some help more quickly, maybe. Do something, maybe. All the others were awake already. But all he could summon the will to do, he found, was choke and suffocate in his sleeping bag, beneath his collar, waves of fear and panic washing over him relentlessly.
SC3:
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Matias Juarez is fed up. He is currently walking home.
Pregame: now that you are broken by the seas, in the depths of the waters,
Memories: Vamô Detonar essa Porra!
Diego Larrosa is lost. pls give my kids friends tv3 version
Stephanie's Cuckaneers Today at 12:29 AM
maraoone was a mistake - cicada 2021
Nightmares. Too scared to sleep. Yeah, that was fair enough. Andrew hadn’t had any nightmares, but he wasn’t really the type to dream anyway; sleep, when his shot nerves finally allowed him to get any, was a reprieve that the nightmarish reality they had found themselves in. He only saw scary things when he was awake; he was lucky that way he guessed. “No, no bad pictures. Just… couldn’t fall asleep.”
Too many fears, too many concerns. His body was exhausted from walking through the desert and his mind was tired from everything else, but it was also alert, ready to respond to danger that, admittedly, could come at any moment. Every time he felt like he was about to fall asleep a sudden noise, maybe a crackle from the fire or something else, would snap him awake again. His Gift would have helped with that, blocked everything out, but the idea of being unaware of the world around him wasn’t palatable at all at the time. The idea that someone could have snuck into the camp and he wouldn’t even know, even if a fight broke out right next to his sleeping bag. No thanks. He’d supressed it instead, even as he tried to fall asleep, suffered the headaches for as long as he could before he had to give in.
He would be the first to admit his power sucked, but it had never left him feeling quite so vulnerable as it did right now.
Toma suddenly jumped to his feet behind him and Cecilia reacted accordingly. The other boy was the source of some of those fears that kept him awake; the thought that if an attack came it could just as easily come from inside the camp as outside. He had been surprisingly cordial so far, falling into the group pretty easily for someone who had tried to kill one of them yesterday. Rather than being reassuring the good behaviour was confusing and more than a little worrying; like it was either a front or he was just that quick to violence.
The wind picked up and the early morning desert wind cut through his clothes. Andrew shivered.
“I’m… going to go look for some fire wood. Is, uh… does anyone want to come with me?”
Too many fears, too many concerns. His body was exhausted from walking through the desert and his mind was tired from everything else, but it was also alert, ready to respond to danger that, admittedly, could come at any moment. Every time he felt like he was about to fall asleep a sudden noise, maybe a crackle from the fire or something else, would snap him awake again. His Gift would have helped with that, blocked everything out, but the idea of being unaware of the world around him wasn’t palatable at all at the time. The idea that someone could have snuck into the camp and he wouldn’t even know, even if a fight broke out right next to his sleeping bag. No thanks. He’d supressed it instead, even as he tried to fall asleep, suffered the headaches for as long as he could before he had to give in.
He would be the first to admit his power sucked, but it had never left him feeling quite so vulnerable as it did right now.
Toma suddenly jumped to his feet behind him and Cecilia reacted accordingly. The other boy was the source of some of those fears that kept him awake; the thought that if an attack came it could just as easily come from inside the camp as outside. He had been surprisingly cordial so far, falling into the group pretty easily for someone who had tried to kill one of them yesterday. Rather than being reassuring the good behaviour was confusing and more than a little worrying; like it was either a front or he was just that quick to violence.
The wind picked up and the early morning desert wind cut through his clothes. Andrew shivered.
“I’m… going to go look for some fire wood. Is, uh… does anyone want to come with me?”
Toma rolled his right shoulder, didn’t move his left as much. He noted Cecilia's reaction with a slight head tilt. Usually, his response was to show a genuine grin or at least a smile; there wasn't much of it there in that moment, and Toma didn't like that. His brain was on overdrive and sleep mode simultaneously, giving him hints but lacking some essence. It didn't help that he was still thinking about food as well.
"Me!"
His reply shot out just as fast as his jump when Andrew asked. Toma would rather get on with it before he'd feel the urge to lay back down and pretend that this was just a very dry and vast beach, open for everyone's enjoyment, ideally. Unfortunately, beaches were overrated. Ideals too.
"We do need more, huh? Good morning, by the way. Or whatever's left of the good. I was going to look around either way so let's stay close." He looked down at his bag, figuring he could obviously leave it there for now. He looked towards Mattie's sleeping bag, figuring he could leave him there, too. No one could blame him for taking a bit more time. Too many things to figure out. "Mattie, a stroll might do you some good, too," Toma said and let him be as he stepped towards the direction he intended to go.
What else was there to do, right? At least they could make sure to maintain this spot and keep their eyes out and open. Just as planned.
Toma walked ahead. Soon, the footsteps of the others followed behind him.
"Me!"
His reply shot out just as fast as his jump when Andrew asked. Toma would rather get on with it before he'd feel the urge to lay back down and pretend that this was just a very dry and vast beach, open for everyone's enjoyment, ideally. Unfortunately, beaches were overrated. Ideals too.
"We do need more, huh? Good morning, by the way. Or whatever's left of the good. I was going to look around either way so let's stay close." He looked down at his bag, figuring he could obviously leave it there for now. He looked towards Mattie's sleeping bag, figuring he could leave him there, too. No one could blame him for taking a bit more time. Too many things to figure out. "Mattie, a stroll might do you some good, too," Toma said and let him be as he stepped towards the direction he intended to go.
What else was there to do, right? At least they could make sure to maintain this spot and keep their eyes out and open. Just as planned.
Toma walked ahead. Soon, the footsteps of the others followed behind him.
The flatlands were aptly named. There was no real cover out here, and the sun began to climb steadily. Before long, the desert heat began to reassert itself, and the morning's chill began to ebb away.
Cecilia trudged along behind El Tigre and Bicho Palo. She was a good deal shorter than both of them, and lost a bit of ground with every step. It didn't help that she was hampered a bit by the weight of her bag. She had no intention of letting the precious food and water out of her sight. She was already down two bottles of water and part of a third, and had eaten three of the protein bars. Part of her had wanted to conserve her food a bit, but with the lack of sleep she knew she'd need a boost to keep her energy up. At this rate, she'd be out of food in two days or less, and out of water before that.
The plants that grew out here were hardy scrub brush, all edges and pointy bits. Cecilia settled for wrapping her sweater sleeves around her wrists and snapping off individual branches, rather than wasting energy trying to uproot the shrubs all in one go. It was slow and painstaking work, and she often found herself hissing as the brush raked across the skin of her arms. Still, they were getting a decent amount of firewood out of the trip, and if they kept up the pace, they'd eventually have enough to keep the fire going steadily.
And that's how things might have gone, if they hadn't spotted the body.
It was a long ways off, lying close to the fence. By unspoken agreement, the four of them drew closer.
Cecilia felt a lump of apprehension in her throat. Who was it? Who had killed them? What if the killer was nearby, preparing an ambush? But still, she kept pressing forward. It was something more than morbid curiosity that drove her. She had know what had happened here, to see it with her own eyes. Whatever had been done to this boy, whatever end he had met, she wanted to see it up close. She wanted to know what the other students were capable of, to put edges and boundaries on the formless dread lurking in the dark spaces of her mind. If she knew what they had done to this boy, she'd know what they might do to her. It was a lot easier to deal with fear when you knew what to be afraid of.
One of the boys cursed under his breath.
"It's Cyrus." said another.
The name meant nothing to her. She might have heard it during the announcement earlier, but it was hard to tell. It was only when she got within a few feet of the boy that she realized that she recognized him. He was El Malvador, the boy with the creepy green eyes. Back at school, she always saw him with people, always talking and laughing. He seemed like a nice guy. But there was something about him that had always unsettled her, made her uncomfortable. The same way she felt when she saw the people with the red hats, or a truck went by with King flags flapping behind it.
Blood was caked all over El Malvador's face and chest, obscuring a lot of his shirt. Shards of metal had torn his throat to ribbons, laying it bare. So this was what the collars did.
"Dios mio..." Cecilia whispered, hugging her bag close to herself. She felt a distinct urge to cross herself. Even in death, El Malvador gave her the creeps.
It was those eyes. Their emerald brilliance was dim and cloudy in death, but they still unsettled her. They were slimy and slick and green, like a bloated tadpole writhing in the muck. The red rings in their centers were still clearly visible; they reminded Cecilia of the cursed halo that The Devil wore in her abuela's Bible picture books.
She didn't want to look at those cursed eyes anymore. She reached out a hand to close them for good. Her fingertip brushed his eyelid, and-
Cecilia trudged along behind El Tigre and Bicho Palo. She was a good deal shorter than both of them, and lost a bit of ground with every step. It didn't help that she was hampered a bit by the weight of her bag. She had no intention of letting the precious food and water out of her sight. She was already down two bottles of water and part of a third, and had eaten three of the protein bars. Part of her had wanted to conserve her food a bit, but with the lack of sleep she knew she'd need a boost to keep her energy up. At this rate, she'd be out of food in two days or less, and out of water before that.
The plants that grew out here were hardy scrub brush, all edges and pointy bits. Cecilia settled for wrapping her sweater sleeves around her wrists and snapping off individual branches, rather than wasting energy trying to uproot the shrubs all in one go. It was slow and painstaking work, and she often found herself hissing as the brush raked across the skin of her arms. Still, they were getting a decent amount of firewood out of the trip, and if they kept up the pace, they'd eventually have enough to keep the fire going steadily.
And that's how things might have gone, if they hadn't spotted the body.
It was a long ways off, lying close to the fence. By unspoken agreement, the four of them drew closer.
Cecilia felt a lump of apprehension in her throat. Who was it? Who had killed them? What if the killer was nearby, preparing an ambush? But still, she kept pressing forward. It was something more than morbid curiosity that drove her. She had know what had happened here, to see it with her own eyes. Whatever had been done to this boy, whatever end he had met, she wanted to see it up close. She wanted to know what the other students were capable of, to put edges and boundaries on the formless dread lurking in the dark spaces of her mind. If she knew what they had done to this boy, she'd know what they might do to her. It was a lot easier to deal with fear when you knew what to be afraid of.
One of the boys cursed under his breath.
"It's Cyrus." said another.
The name meant nothing to her. She might have heard it during the announcement earlier, but it was hard to tell. It was only when she got within a few feet of the boy that she realized that she recognized him. He was El Malvador, the boy with the creepy green eyes. Back at school, she always saw him with people, always talking and laughing. He seemed like a nice guy. But there was something about him that had always unsettled her, made her uncomfortable. The same way she felt when she saw the people with the red hats, or a truck went by with King flags flapping behind it.
Blood was caked all over El Malvador's face and chest, obscuring a lot of his shirt. Shards of metal had torn his throat to ribbons, laying it bare. So this was what the collars did.
"Dios mio..." Cecilia whispered, hugging her bag close to herself. She felt a distinct urge to cross herself. Even in death, El Malvador gave her the creeps.
It was those eyes. Their emerald brilliance was dim and cloudy in death, but they still unsettled her. They were slimy and slick and green, like a bloated tadpole writhing in the muck. The red rings in their centers were still clearly visible; they reminded Cecilia of the cursed halo that The Devil wore in her abuela's Bible picture books.
She didn't want to look at those cursed eyes anymore. She reached out a hand to close them for good. Her fingertip brushed his eyelid, and-
She opened Cyrus Vähi's eyes.
The sky, blue and empty and endless, stretched out above her. What was she doing on the ground?
There was a gravelly thump, something heavy hitting the ground next to her head. The sound was wrong somehow. It was nearby but it sounded muffled, like it had happened far away. She tried to turn her head and look at it, but her head wasn't listening. It lolled instead.
Her neck ached, but it didn't hurt, not really. It was the lingering afterimage of intense pain that had been and gone, a pain-shaped void that was both there and not there. The feeling unsettled her, put her nerves on edge.
She heard voices. They were garbled and runny, like she was underwater trying to listen to people talking on the beach. The boys were talking, concerned about something. Scared of something. Worried about her? Yes, that was it. She had fallen down. She was tired, and had fallen down asleep. She had to let them know that she was fine. Couldn't let them see that she was weak.
"Estoy bien," her lips and tongue mouthed, making no sounds as something flapped wetly against her collarbone. The phantom pain in her neck shifted.
She sat up. Her chin sank forward, buried itself into her chest, which, from this angle, looked... different. Flat. That wasn't her shirt. Her shirt didn't have this much blood on it. Where had all of these shards of metal come from? She'd seen something like that, just now. But where? The boys were louder now, shouting. She looked up at them, or tried to. Her chin stayed stuck to the unfamiliar shirt, so she looked up using only her eyes.
The boys looked at her. They were wide-eyed. Repulsed. Shouting. One of them began retching. Hands were clenched into fists.
Realization struck. She hadn't fallen, had she? They'd hit her! They'd attacked her while she was distracted with the dead boy, and now they were going to finish her off!
She mouthed a wail of terror and scooted backwards, flailing, kicking, spraying sand as she stumbled to her feet, her head bobbling wildly. She turned to run, and something twanged and she went careening off balance, staggering for a half step or two before the momentum sent her sprawling head over heels. She landed in a heap on the sand.
And then she finally saw it, on the other side of the fence that she'd just tripped over. The thing that had fallen next to her, that she hadn't been able to look at. It was a body. A girl's body, with long black hair splayed out where it had fallen, sunlight gleaming from a collar fastened around its neck. Her body.
She opened her mouth and screamed, but no sound came out, and-
The sky, blue and empty and endless, stretched out above her. What was she doing on the ground?
There was a gravelly thump, something heavy hitting the ground next to her head. The sound was wrong somehow. It was nearby but it sounded muffled, like it had happened far away. She tried to turn her head and look at it, but her head wasn't listening. It lolled instead.
Her neck ached, but it didn't hurt, not really. It was the lingering afterimage of intense pain that had been and gone, a pain-shaped void that was both there and not there. The feeling unsettled her, put her nerves on edge.
She heard voices. They were garbled and runny, like she was underwater trying to listen to people talking on the beach. The boys were talking, concerned about something. Scared of something. Worried about her? Yes, that was it. She had fallen down. She was tired, and had fallen down asleep. She had to let them know that she was fine. Couldn't let them see that she was weak.
"Estoy bien," her lips and tongue mouthed, making no sounds as something flapped wetly against her collarbone. The phantom pain in her neck shifted.
She sat up. Her chin sank forward, buried itself into her chest, which, from this angle, looked... different. Flat. That wasn't her shirt. Her shirt didn't have this much blood on it. Where had all of these shards of metal come from? She'd seen something like that, just now. But where? The boys were louder now, shouting. She looked up at them, or tried to. Her chin stayed stuck to the unfamiliar shirt, so she looked up using only her eyes.
The boys looked at her. They were wide-eyed. Repulsed. Shouting. One of them began retching. Hands were clenched into fists.
Realization struck. She hadn't fallen, had she? They'd hit her! They'd attacked her while she was distracted with the dead boy, and now they were going to finish her off!
She mouthed a wail of terror and scooted backwards, flailing, kicking, spraying sand as she stumbled to her feet, her head bobbling wildly. She turned to run, and something twanged and she went careening off balance, staggering for a half step or two before the momentum sent her sprawling head over heels. She landed in a heap on the sand.
And then she finally saw it, on the other side of the fence that she'd just tripped over. The thing that had fallen next to her, that she hadn't been able to look at. It was a body. A girl's body, with long black hair splayed out where it had fallen, sunlight gleaming from a collar fastened around its neck. Her body.
She opened her mouth and screamed, but no sound came out, and-
Cecilia was lying on her side, in the sand. Everything was black.
Cecilia opened her eyes. Everything was still black. She reached up and pulled the hair away from her face.
The desert was a tableau. The boys were staring. Pacificador was doubled over, spittle and vomit leaking from his bottom lip. Their eyes, wide with shock and horror, flicked from her to something beyond her, and back again. She turned her head to look at it, sensing that she already knew.
Sure enough, El Malvador lay in a heap on the other side of the fence.
She didn't know how she'd done that. She hadn't even known she was doing it when she did it. She didn't know how she'd stopped doing it. She didn't know if she could ever do it again. But she did know two things.
She knew that her lies had been exposed in a big way, and she knew that it was absolutely time to go.
Cecilia scooped up the dead boy's bag, and ran for her life.
((Cecilia Moreno continued elsewhere))
Cecilia opened her eyes. Everything was still black. She reached up and pulled the hair away from her face.
The desert was a tableau. The boys were staring. Pacificador was doubled over, spittle and vomit leaking from his bottom lip. Their eyes, wide with shock and horror, flicked from her to something beyond her, and back again. She turned her head to look at it, sensing that she already knew.
Sure enough, El Malvador lay in a heap on the other side of the fence.
She didn't know how she'd done that. She hadn't even known she was doing it when she did it. She didn't know how she'd stopped doing it. She didn't know if she could ever do it again. But she did know two things.
She knew that her lies had been exposed in a big way, and she knew that it was absolutely time to go.
Cecilia scooped up the dead boy's bag, and ran for her life.
((Cecilia Moreno continued elsewhere))
“What…”
Andrew was having a hard time parsing everything that had just happened in the last minute. Cyrus, dead, his body a grisly mess and a reminder of what would happen to them should they defy the people who put them here. He hadn’t known the other boy at all before meeting him here, hadn’t gotten to know him much better since then either; frankly, Cyrus was kind of unnerving and Andrew wasn’t all that upset when he had decided to ditch them. But now he was dead and that was still a scary and sad thing to find out.
The other didn’t seem as surprised as him; still shocked, sure, but not surprised. Like they already knew something he didn’t. Or maybe they just weren’t as shaken by this as he was; hard to tell, he wasn’t great at reading people.
Cecilia walked over to the body and bend down to touch it. Andrew almost called out to stop her, then did call out when she suddenly collapsed, then jumped back when Cyrus’s body, or maybe just Cyrus, sat up again. He was still dead. Had to be, with his throat missing as it was, yet he was sitting there and looking at them and someone behind him was retching into the sand and Cyrus was looking at him.
It wasn’t as unnerving as it usually was, he dimly thought.
Cyrus, Cyrus’ body or whatever this was mouthed a silent scream, lacking the requisite parts to vocalise the fear, and scrambled back from them. He, it, the whatever tried to stand, tried to run only to fall and let out another silent scream and then-
Cecilia stood up, grabbed her bag and ran. The body, now inert, remained where it was now that the girl was awake again and it wasn’t until a minute or two after Cecilia had gone that Andrew thought to move or say anything.
“What the fuck was that?” He let out a gasp, releasing the air he hadn’t realised he was holding in his lungs. “Did she just… bring Cyrus back? Or, did she control him?”
Andrew was having a hard time parsing everything that had just happened in the last minute. Cyrus, dead, his body a grisly mess and a reminder of what would happen to them should they defy the people who put them here. He hadn’t known the other boy at all before meeting him here, hadn’t gotten to know him much better since then either; frankly, Cyrus was kind of unnerving and Andrew wasn’t all that upset when he had decided to ditch them. But now he was dead and that was still a scary and sad thing to find out.
The other didn’t seem as surprised as him; still shocked, sure, but not surprised. Like they already knew something he didn’t. Or maybe they just weren’t as shaken by this as he was; hard to tell, he wasn’t great at reading people.
Cecilia walked over to the body and bend down to touch it. Andrew almost called out to stop her, then did call out when she suddenly collapsed, then jumped back when Cyrus’s body, or maybe just Cyrus, sat up again. He was still dead. Had to be, with his throat missing as it was, yet he was sitting there and looking at them and someone behind him was retching into the sand and Cyrus was looking at him.
It wasn’t as unnerving as it usually was, he dimly thought.
Cyrus, Cyrus’ body or whatever this was mouthed a silent scream, lacking the requisite parts to vocalise the fear, and scrambled back from them. He, it, the whatever tried to stand, tried to run only to fall and let out another silent scream and then-
Cecilia stood up, grabbed her bag and ran. The body, now inert, remained where it was now that the girl was awake again and it wasn’t until a minute or two after Cecilia had gone that Andrew thought to move or say anything.
“What the fuck was that?” He let out a gasp, releasing the air he hadn’t realised he was holding in his lungs. “Did she just… bring Cyrus back? Or, did she control him?”
“I don’t know!”
A crack in Toma’s voice emphasized the confused look on his face. Genuine confusion about what had just happened, like many things in his life, but this was on another level. At this point he had dropped whatever he had picked up on the way. He had been ready to run after her, but then what? So he stood still to take it all in, though wishing he could block out the sound of Mattie emptying his own stomach. Part of him felt bad since he had told him that a little walk might make him feel better, and he had meant it, but RIP to that for now. Toma dared to move closer to Cyrus's body and…. nah, Cyrus was definitely gone.
He gasped.
“Did she lie to us?... She lied. Didn't she? Dude.”
He frowned. Toma hadn't been completely honest either, just little things, but he had truly believed they were going to get back home quickly with Cecilia's gift that turned out to be a fraud. There was the thudding again when his tail was harshly whipping the innocent ground.
More stomping when he suddenly started moving in the direction they had come from.
"Fuck, I left my stuff at the camp. I don't wanna stay here."
A crack in Toma’s voice emphasized the confused look on his face. Genuine confusion about what had just happened, like many things in his life, but this was on another level. At this point he had dropped whatever he had picked up on the way. He had been ready to run after her, but then what? So he stood still to take it all in, though wishing he could block out the sound of Mattie emptying his own stomach. Part of him felt bad since he had told him that a little walk might make him feel better, and he had meant it, but RIP to that for now. Toma dared to move closer to Cyrus's body and…. nah, Cyrus was definitely gone.
He gasped.
“Did she lie to us?... She lied. Didn't she? Dude.”
He frowned. Toma hadn't been completely honest either, just little things, but he had truly believed they were going to get back home quickly with Cecilia's gift that turned out to be a fraud. There was the thudding again when his tail was harshly whipping the innocent ground.
More stomping when he suddenly started moving in the direction they had come from.
"Fuck, I left my stuff at the camp. I don't wanna stay here."
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Primrosette
- Posts: 896
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Splitting up felt like it had been a mistake. He had felt the pain of the announcements back then. He couldn't bare what to think about Mercy and Lincoln and it just made him think about his own siblings. Sherrie could peck someone's eyes out as a crow or a raven or she could even maul someone to death as a bear and she could come back as a empty shell of pain and aggressiveness. He could see Connie deafening someone with her own power and then become a sobbing mess of trauma. He could see Vinnie communicating with his dead classmates and friends and he could see Vinnie's bright light turning into a puddle of darkness and depression.
....Which is why it's better that you're here instead of them.... Right, Kaine..?
((Kaine Griffin continued from Swallowing Panic in the Face of Its Force))
....
How long had he been walking?
....
He felt like he should have stayed.
....
Why didn't he stay with Lincoln?
....
"Stu-"
He paused as he could see a figure of someone walking toward him and he felt like his stomach was going to burst open with colorful butterflies. He couldn't believe it. Toma was really here. In a death game, sure. But Kaine felt like he needed something normal. Even if it was for a few minutes. He needed himself to be selfish. For once in his life.
He needed him.
"Toma!" He called out his name with a small smile.
He suddenly ran towards his boyfriend as if his life depended on it.
He then crashed against Toma's chest and wrap his arms around him with a kind of desperation and want. As if he needed to hold onto Toma for as long as he could.
....Which is why it's better that you're here instead of them.... Right, Kaine..?
((Kaine Griffin continued from Swallowing Panic in the Face of Its Force))
....
How long had he been walking?
....
He felt like he should have stayed.
....
Why didn't he stay with Lincoln?
....
"Stu-"
He paused as he could see a figure of someone walking toward him and he felt like his stomach was going to burst open with colorful butterflies. He couldn't believe it. Toma was really here. In a death game, sure. But Kaine felt like he needed something normal. Even if it was for a few minutes. He needed himself to be selfish. For once in his life.
He needed him.
"Toma!" He called out his name with a small smile.
He suddenly ran towards his boyfriend as if his life depended on it.
He then crashed against Toma's chest and wrap his arms around him with a kind of desperation and want. As if he needed to hold onto Toma for as long as he could.
Kaine was followed. Crispin squatted in the distance, watching his reunion with Toma. No sign of Lincoln or Mercy here either... He knew that bastard knew something, he had to. What other leads did he have? He couldn't wait around any longer. He stood up, and began making his way to him.
This wasn't right. Crispin knew that. From the way they acted, they hadn't seen each other since this shit started, probably wouldn't leave each other either. Crispin was rather jealous he didn't get that privilege if he was honest. But you know what else ain't right? Siccing your psycho sister on his friends to burn them alive because you got an ouchie booboo for shit you shouldn't have got involved with in the first place. That was Mercy's half-ass excuse, so all Crispy could assume was little bitch Link snitched, and he was with Kaine, ergo Kaine knew.
And if Lincoln weren't involved? Well then it just confirms Mercy was grasping at straws and looking for excuses. Either way, Crispy was gonna get some answers, and Kaine had enough to point him the right way. He cracked his knuckles as he announced his presence.
"Kaine... You know why I'm here."
This wasn't right. Crispin knew that. From the way they acted, they hadn't seen each other since this shit started, probably wouldn't leave each other either. Crispin was rather jealous he didn't get that privilege if he was honest. But you know what else ain't right? Siccing your psycho sister on his friends to burn them alive because you got an ouchie booboo for shit you shouldn't have got involved with in the first place. That was Mercy's half-ass excuse, so all Crispy could assume was little bitch Link snitched, and he was with Kaine, ergo Kaine knew.
And if Lincoln weren't involved? Well then it just confirms Mercy was grasping at straws and looking for excuses. Either way, Crispy was gonna get some answers, and Kaine had enough to point him the right way. He cracked his knuckles as he announced his presence.
"Kaine... You know why I'm here."
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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Primrosette
- Posts: 896
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 1:59 pm
- Location: In Her Dark Abyss
Kaine's hug with Toma was suddenly interrupted by someone whom he didn't want to see and he turned to face the squirrel boy. He pulled away from Toma out of a sudden reaction and he did a double take when he saw the damage that had been done to Crispin's face. Jesus Christ...! He realized then that Crispin must have been there when Mercedes killed Moose.
He felt a little bit of sympathy. Just a little.
"....Crispin."
He let out a small sigh and he cleared his throat, clicking his tongue.
"What do you want...? You shouldn't be here. Really."
He felt a little bit of sympathy. Just a little.
"....Crispin."
He let out a small sigh and he cleared his throat, clicking his tongue.
"What do you want...? You shouldn't be here. Really."