Empty meant that nothing was there to hide.
Nothing other than Nate Larson, anyway, and that was the way in which he'd rather have it. And the empty space, as harrowing as it may have been to many, meant nothing to Nate, who'd purposefully discarded every memory of ninth grade that he possibly could. Not that this particular homeroom meant anything to him, anyway.
Like every other day, his headphones embarked on their typical cycle of jarring music. Even more comical was the way his stony face refused to drop, even in face of the fuckin' adorabloodthirsty utter TUNES pumping into his ears. If he had even an ounce of self-awareness, he'd laugh, maybe, or turn the music off. But it was the only thing that made him feel normal right now.
... Unlike every other day, one ear stayed exposed to the elements and the world around him. Not both. The pressure kept him balanced, even as unbalanced as said pressure was. But not neither, either. He had to listen. Keep his ears perked up like a dog. And he caught himself framing the whole thing like a game again! Though he couldn't really blame himself. How else was he expected to cope with this ridiculous concept? Holy fuck, he'd just stolen a gun! The floor was cold with emptiness as he sank to it, trying to catch his breath. He'd stolen a gun! Well, it'd been given to him, but it still felt like stealing!
It felt like he was on the edge of lurching over and falling into something morbid, or worse, not there at all. The empty space all around him gave him room to breathe, but reminded him that just as no one had room to hide from him, he had no room to hide, himself.
Dog.
What the fuck even is Will Smith doing?
He doesn't throw down sick fires anymore!? Fuck this shit, I quit!
Okay, that was getting grating.
Was this Fergie douchemuffin illiterate or something?
[OPEN]
Moderator: SOTF: Cyber Staff
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ciphermitarai
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ciphermitarai
- Posts: 97
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- Location: lost in junpei's forehead
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You can't live a hikikomori lifestyle forever, despite Nate's greatest life wishes.
AI shouldn't have to eat. That was an admitted fantasy, the discarding of the human body; it was why Nate seldom ate in reality, though when he did it frequently lacked restraint and healthful patterns... or patterns at all. Here, he didn't have to eat, which came to mild relief. Basic bodily functions were thankfully discarded as a whole, and that was what subsuming into a computer would provide Nate with--a little luck.
That wasn't why he couldn't live a hikikomori lifestyle forever, though.
With some luck, perhaps, he could hide in a corner and outlast everyone, but he wasn't so idealistic--or idealistic at all--as to think he'd be able to survive with the weapons he had alone. For all he knew, someone was parading around with infinite ammunition now. His glasses remained on, un-activated, but he continued to click them on every few minutes, click-click, to preserve the illusion of safety.
Click-click.
That was why he couldn't stay entirely in secret.
He'd slept here for some time despite what he honestly believed he was capable of, trying to hide himself into the least noticeable corner, if only for the rest that came from the break in thought. Or perhaps he wasn't sleeping at all, and instead shifting through space and time as he often felt like he did in the real world; pocket realities that belonged to him and only him, pocket realities that sounded beautiful in theory, but were called depersonalization-derealization by adults.
Nate, aren't you an adult?
He asked that same question of himself as he reckoned with the idea of killing someone. The idea came strangely easily, as did most things that weren't in practice.
It would just be like splatting an enemy in a game, right? He just... would check one time, and if he saw someone on the other side of the door he wouldn't let his fear get to him, he'd just do it, because otherwise if he hides here he'll just be sitting here waiting to die--
[Ping.]
Right there.
Other side of the door.
A figure.
Dizziness overtook Nate's body, and he slammed his own back against the wall beside the door.
So much for bravery. He drew the gun, he drew the silencer. His body heaved with the breath of dead men.
Did he have to give up now? No, he didn't, did he?
Could he be the hero?
AI shouldn't have to eat. That was an admitted fantasy, the discarding of the human body; it was why Nate seldom ate in reality, though when he did it frequently lacked restraint and healthful patterns... or patterns at all. Here, he didn't have to eat, which came to mild relief. Basic bodily functions were thankfully discarded as a whole, and that was what subsuming into a computer would provide Nate with--a little luck.
That wasn't why he couldn't live a hikikomori lifestyle forever, though.
With some luck, perhaps, he could hide in a corner and outlast everyone, but he wasn't so idealistic--or idealistic at all--as to think he'd be able to survive with the weapons he had alone. For all he knew, someone was parading around with infinite ammunition now. His glasses remained on, un-activated, but he continued to click them on every few minutes, click-click, to preserve the illusion of safety.
Click-click.
That was why he couldn't stay entirely in secret.
He'd slept here for some time despite what he honestly believed he was capable of, trying to hide himself into the least noticeable corner, if only for the rest that came from the break in thought. Or perhaps he wasn't sleeping at all, and instead shifting through space and time as he often felt like he did in the real world; pocket realities that belonged to him and only him, pocket realities that sounded beautiful in theory, but were called depersonalization-derealization by adults.
Nate, aren't you an adult?
He asked that same question of himself as he reckoned with the idea of killing someone. The idea came strangely easily, as did most things that weren't in practice.
It would just be like splatting an enemy in a game, right? He just... would check one time, and if he saw someone on the other side of the door he wouldn't let his fear get to him, he'd just do it, because otherwise if he hides here he'll just be sitting here waiting to die--
[Ping.]
Right there.
Other side of the door.
A figure.
Dizziness overtook Nate's body, and he slammed his own back against the wall beside the door.
So much for bravery. He drew the gun, he drew the silencer. His body heaved with the breath of dead men.
Did he have to give up now? No, he didn't, did he?
Could he be the hero?
Get up, Etienne. You're going to be late for school.
"Alright, mom. I'm up," snapped back with an elegant riposte, and an eyeroll for good measure.
Even worse, it was already too late for breakfast.
[[A32: ETIENNE MOLYNEUX - GAME START]]
Being late to the party felt deliciously on-brand for Etienne Molyneux.
Typical.
His stomach groaned at having missed breakfast; a fate in many ways worse than death. It wasn't the way to start a long day of school, immediately putting him into a terrible mood as he burdened himself with yet another day of living in this dystopian artificial intelligence nightmare.
The burning familiarity of Sycamore High echoed throughout the room, yet it was the uncomfortable looming atmosphere which greeted him that singed into his skin. He recognised the mathematics classroom he had found himself in like the back of his hand, despite doing all he could to avoid being anywhere near a mathematics class at any given point in his life. That irrational juxtaposition between striking familiarity and riddled inexperience did little to improve his mood, as Etienne shrugged his shoulders and scratched the back of his head in an attempt to reason with himself.
Everybody knew that eating cheese too close to bedtime resulted in nightmares, yet Etienne struggled to scratch the memories out of his head. What actually just happened? Bemused by the drama, he questioned whether the transient experience that he remembered so vividly was real or not. Logging on this morning was a glitch unlike anything he had ever experienced, some hacker from the senior class making an insensitive, sick joke. Some madness about abduction, killing each other, and tonic-clonic seizures. Yeah right. Where’s Ashton Kutcher hiding? This wasn't real life, his smartly-dressed Avatar feeling even more false than usual. Waking up a little later than he first thought and landing in some virtual detention dungeon was the only logical explanation for all this.
Before he could get much further in trying to figure out what the hell was happening around him, the classroom he woke up in was seemingly less empty than he realised upon first glance. Nate Larson, just chilling over in the opposite corner to him. Man, he looked like he had been going through the motions too.
"Whatcha up to, Larson?"
Etienne scoffed as he rubbed his forehead once again, brushing his fringe out of his face, and straightening out his vision. He needed to figure this one out, and, well, Nate was probably best placed to help him with this one.
"How's it hanging?"
"Alright, mom. I'm up," snapped back with an elegant riposte, and an eyeroll for good measure.
Even worse, it was already too late for breakfast.
[[A32: ETIENNE MOLYNEUX - GAME START]]
Being late to the party felt deliciously on-brand for Etienne Molyneux.
Typical.
His stomach groaned at having missed breakfast; a fate in many ways worse than death. It wasn't the way to start a long day of school, immediately putting him into a terrible mood as he burdened himself with yet another day of living in this dystopian artificial intelligence nightmare.
The burning familiarity of Sycamore High echoed throughout the room, yet it was the uncomfortable looming atmosphere which greeted him that singed into his skin. He recognised the mathematics classroom he had found himself in like the back of his hand, despite doing all he could to avoid being anywhere near a mathematics class at any given point in his life. That irrational juxtaposition between striking familiarity and riddled inexperience did little to improve his mood, as Etienne shrugged his shoulders and scratched the back of his head in an attempt to reason with himself.
Everybody knew that eating cheese too close to bedtime resulted in nightmares, yet Etienne struggled to scratch the memories out of his head. What actually just happened? Bemused by the drama, he questioned whether the transient experience that he remembered so vividly was real or not. Logging on this morning was a glitch unlike anything he had ever experienced, some hacker from the senior class making an insensitive, sick joke. Some madness about abduction, killing each other, and tonic-clonic seizures. Yeah right. Where’s Ashton Kutcher hiding? This wasn't real life, his smartly-dressed Avatar feeling even more false than usual. Waking up a little later than he first thought and landing in some virtual detention dungeon was the only logical explanation for all this.
Before he could get much further in trying to figure out what the hell was happening around him, the classroom he woke up in was seemingly less empty than he realised upon first glance. Nate Larson, just chilling over in the opposite corner to him. Man, he looked like he had been going through the motions too.
"Whatcha up to, Larson?"
Etienne scoffed as he rubbed his forehead once again, brushing his fringe out of his face, and straightening out his vision. He needed to figure this one out, and, well, Nate was probably best placed to help him with this one.
"How's it hanging?"
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ciphermitarai
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“Ha—AIE—”
Torn from his solid gaze at the door, Nate nearly fumbled the gun out of his own hands—classic Nate, even if he’d hate to hear it—and pointed it at the voice, nauseated from the sudden spinning and the flinging of grey hair in his face. Startled beyond thought, his arms shook with the lucky restraint a smarter or more callous man wouldn’t have, and as Nate’s hands caught up with him, so did his mind. And thus came familiarity, and thus came—
“Oh, f-fuck you.”
Sardonically said, he lowers the gun. If anyone was going to startle him out of his own damn skin, it sure would be Etienne, right? His nerves danced about his skin even as the cold choking shock of adrenaline receded from his body, leaving him uncomfortably sore in a way an avatar should never have to be.
“When’d you get here?” Though it’s rough, there’s perhaps an air to it that isn’t as abrasive as Nate typically was—a begrudging friendship or rivalry, maybe. Nate didn’t know what he considered them, but at the very least, he had the (foolish, he thought) instinct that Etienne wouldn’t hurt him. The trial of time, maybe. Like he would have already if he wanted to, he’d had plenty of chances, both with a gun and with words and all that. And of course he would know everything—why wouldn’t he? They were on the same footing, weren’t they? At least for Nate the idea went without consideration, so he didn’t think to explain why he’d very nearly shot at his almost-friend.
… All of that said, the sudden sensation of—the absence of fear? Relief, perhaps?—subsided with the recollection that someone else remained there. Some other unknown party. A nausea that would surely not fail to crash like a wave over Nate and dispel the barely-sown seeds of rationality.
Torn from his solid gaze at the door, Nate nearly fumbled the gun out of his own hands—classic Nate, even if he’d hate to hear it—and pointed it at the voice, nauseated from the sudden spinning and the flinging of grey hair in his face. Startled beyond thought, his arms shook with the lucky restraint a smarter or more callous man wouldn’t have, and as Nate’s hands caught up with him, so did his mind. And thus came familiarity, and thus came—
“Oh, f-fuck you.”
Sardonically said, he lowers the gun. If anyone was going to startle him out of his own damn skin, it sure would be Etienne, right? His nerves danced about his skin even as the cold choking shock of adrenaline receded from his body, leaving him uncomfortably sore in a way an avatar should never have to be.
“When’d you get here?” Though it’s rough, there’s perhaps an air to it that isn’t as abrasive as Nate typically was—a begrudging friendship or rivalry, maybe. Nate didn’t know what he considered them, but at the very least, he had the (foolish, he thought) instinct that Etienne wouldn’t hurt him. The trial of time, maybe. Like he would have already if he wanted to, he’d had plenty of chances, both with a gun and with words and all that. And of course he would know everything—why wouldn’t he? They were on the same footing, weren’t they? At least for Nate the idea went without consideration, so he didn’t think to explain why he’d very nearly shot at his almost-friend.
… All of that said, the sudden sensation of—the absence of fear? Relief, perhaps?—subsided with the recollection that someone else remained there. Some other unknown party. A nausea that would surely not fail to crash like a wave over Nate and dispel the barely-sown seeds of rationality.
It never took too much to get Nate Larson flustered, that's what made him fun to be friends with. Etienne may be fluent in English and French, but sarcasm had always lingered as his mother tongue. Etienne couldn't help but lean into his devilish ways, even if it occasionally got himself into trouble, so Nate had always suffered being a victim of his sharp wit and dickish sense of humour. Of course, his actions were innocent and out of pure benevolence.
Either way, Nate had lowered the gun he was wielding, which was definitely a step in a positive direction. It was also that unnatural observation that had Etienne almost as flustered as Nate. He had been clinging on to this idea that it was all some extravagant prank, which admittedly had gone a little too far, but real-looking guns in the mix as well? Everything the myserious guy in the classroom had shared seemed to be checking out, which filled Etienne with dread.
"You know me, Nate. Time management? Not really my thing," he gently mocked back. "Wish I got the memo to make sure you had breakfast though..."
He kept one eye fixed on Nate, to make sure there were no sudden movements or rash decisions, as he used his other eye to scan around the classroom. Nothing looked significantly out of place, just chillingly bare. On the ground was a pretty nifty looking tool. A keyblade. As a video gamer, Etienne was obviously well aware of this iconic weapon from the Kingdom Hearts series, and obviously being Etienne he had pretty intricate opinions on the Kingdom Hearts games. Only the real ones stuck around after the endless wait for the latest game in the series, and what a disappointment that convoluted mess ended up being. Oh well, maybe an unpopular opinion.
"What the hell is going on?" Etienne asked Nate, perhaps the first crumble of insecurity emerging through a slightly shaky voice.
On the plus side, at least he would look fucking cool carrying around a giant keyblade.
Either way, Nate had lowered the gun he was wielding, which was definitely a step in a positive direction. It was also that unnatural observation that had Etienne almost as flustered as Nate. He had been clinging on to this idea that it was all some extravagant prank, which admittedly had gone a little too far, but real-looking guns in the mix as well? Everything the myserious guy in the classroom had shared seemed to be checking out, which filled Etienne with dread.
"You know me, Nate. Time management? Not really my thing," he gently mocked back. "Wish I got the memo to make sure you had breakfast though..."
He kept one eye fixed on Nate, to make sure there were no sudden movements or rash decisions, as he used his other eye to scan around the classroom. Nothing looked significantly out of place, just chillingly bare. On the ground was a pretty nifty looking tool. A keyblade. As a video gamer, Etienne was obviously well aware of this iconic weapon from the Kingdom Hearts series, and obviously being Etienne he had pretty intricate opinions on the Kingdom Hearts games. Only the real ones stuck around after the endless wait for the latest game in the series, and what a disappointment that convoluted mess ended up being. Oh well, maybe an unpopular opinion.
"What the hell is going on?" Etienne asked Nate, perhaps the first crumble of insecurity emerging through a slightly shaky voice.
On the plus side, at least he would look fucking cool carrying around a giant keyblade.
From outside the door, a couple of voices could be heard.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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ciphermitarai
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Nate took in the sight of the keyblade first. What was he really supposed to make of that? It wasn't a gun with a silencer, but it would be usable past the round of bullets that he had. Nate wasn't fond of melee, though. In a way, it was fitting for Etienne. Sharp. Situationally useful. Geekish. He didn't really have the space or presence to volley back, though. His eyes were glassier than usual, even customized with the little light-up power-on symbol that was supposed to keep them vibrant and alive.
"Gun, killing game or some bullshit... I mean, you saw the video, right?" Taken a bit aback by the admission of care, even as small as it was--and potentially mocking, too--Nate found his voice falter, stupefied by yet another source seemingly intent on spinning his head. Make sure he had breakfast? Was that some kind of punch about his crankiness? Was it somehow inexplicably actually real--something he'd doubt no matter how many times someone actually proved it...?
He didn't have enough time to consider it, not that it was something that needed considering right now. But Nate's priorities were never really in order. The statement itself proved that.
Hearing just the slightest noise that could possibly be attributed to another living being, Nate crouched away from the automatic fire-range of the door, were it open ("Shit!") and made a quick yanking gesture to encourage Etienne to do the same. So much for so-called bullshit.
"Just..." but by then he's heaving too much to form real words. "Stay quiet."
He turned the dorky wallhack glasses back on, expecting to see something wretched and awful and evil. Something that he could hopefully take down, like the hero of an action game. Hopefully.
His arms felt like lead.
"Gun, killing game or some bullshit... I mean, you saw the video, right?" Taken a bit aback by the admission of care, even as small as it was--and potentially mocking, too--Nate found his voice falter, stupefied by yet another source seemingly intent on spinning his head. Make sure he had breakfast? Was that some kind of punch about his crankiness? Was it somehow inexplicably actually real--something he'd doubt no matter how many times someone actually proved it...?
He didn't have enough time to consider it, not that it was something that needed considering right now. But Nate's priorities were never really in order. The statement itself proved that.
Hearing just the slightest noise that could possibly be attributed to another living being, Nate crouched away from the automatic fire-range of the door, were it open ("Shit!") and made a quick yanking gesture to encourage Etienne to do the same. So much for so-called bullshit.
"Just..." but by then he's heaving too much to form real words. "Stay quiet."
He turned the dorky wallhack glasses back on, expecting to see something wretched and awful and evil. Something that he could hopefully take down, like the hero of an action game. Hopefully.
His arms felt like lead.
He saw a boy with a pair of multicolored mohawks on his head pointing down the hallway, his mouth moving, the sound muffled from the wall between them. On his shoulder rested an AK, that he lowered behind his leg as he went to the door.
He knocked on the door, keeping the rifle behind his leg.
"Hey, anyone in there?
He knocked on the door, keeping the rifle behind his leg.
"Hey, anyone in there?
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
C placed his avatar dutifully, cowardly, behind the other boy.
Near-motionless. Silent.
In the world of the physical, his parents are crying. Telling him to wake up. What's going on? Who did this? Their precious baby, trapped and all alone.
In this world, Cee kept his hands clenched over his T-shirt, the fabric bunching under his nails, waiting.
Near-motionless. Silent.
In the world of the physical, his parents are crying. Telling him to wake up. What's going on? Who did this? Their precious baby, trapped and all alone.
In this world, Cee kept his hands clenched over his T-shirt, the fabric bunching under his nails, waiting.
Nate crouched down and found a hiding spot, prompting Etienne to hastily follow his lead. The keyblade he had been wielding clumsily clattered to the ground beneath the legs of his Avatar.
He didn't understand what was happening, even with Nate's brief recap of what he remembered from earlier this morning when he first logged on, and being interrupted here and now wasn't giving him the right amount of time to function. He needed more time to suss this out and get to the bottom of the stupid joke. Etienne's hands shook lightly as the adrenaline pumping through his animated veins, a knock on the door swiftly followed by a voice calling out to the two boys hiding, "Hey, anyone in there?"
The expression in Etienne's eyes probably told the exact story his lips couldn't quite bring themselves to whisper. What were they going to do? Should they say something? The cocktail of confusion and angst omnipresent in his body language.
Given the distortion that was so easily possible through artificial intelligence, Etienne wasn't able to fully catch who it was calling out to them, nor could he qualify their intentions from voice alone. A long and hard swallow, Etienne gripped at the gas canister wrapped up in his pocket. He'd always been one to grab life by the balls, reject conformity and sheepish opinions. Lead exactly the life he wanted.
Despite that, for the first time in a very, very long while, Etienne was clueless. He turned to Nate, who had just slipped on some nerdy looking goggles, and mouthed an ineffective call to arms.
He didn't understand what was happening, even with Nate's brief recap of what he remembered from earlier this morning when he first logged on, and being interrupted here and now wasn't giving him the right amount of time to function. He needed more time to suss this out and get to the bottom of the stupid joke. Etienne's hands shook lightly as the adrenaline pumping through his animated veins, a knock on the door swiftly followed by a voice calling out to the two boys hiding, "Hey, anyone in there?"
The expression in Etienne's eyes probably told the exact story his lips couldn't quite bring themselves to whisper. What were they going to do? Should they say something? The cocktail of confusion and angst omnipresent in his body language.
Given the distortion that was so easily possible through artificial intelligence, Etienne wasn't able to fully catch who it was calling out to them, nor could he qualify their intentions from voice alone. A long and hard swallow, Etienne gripped at the gas canister wrapped up in his pocket. He'd always been one to grab life by the balls, reject conformity and sheepish opinions. Lead exactly the life he wanted.
Despite that, for the first time in a very, very long while, Etienne was clueless. He turned to Nate, who had just slipped on some nerdy looking goggles, and mouthed an ineffective call to arms.
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ciphermitarai
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Of course Nate drew his gun. It was the hero’s move, after all, because what sort of hero was defenseless? Such weak rationale churned through his mind as though it were the blood that kept him alive in “meatspace”. And though he wanted most of all for his eyes to have the vitality that came with confidence, the gaze with which he met Etienne was similarly clueless, pulsing not with bravado but with terror.
It was silent. Dead fucking silent. And so was Nate’s mind. Hardly even lucid enough to feel fear—
“AY-KAY,” Nate eventually mouthed in poor Etienne’s general direction. Then he lightly tapped the floor. God, why couldn’t he have gotten that? Not enough time to worry. He could stay low, at least. What was right in that situation he truly never could know. He only knew what, for the moment, slowed those awful chills entangling him.
Crouched, he inched closer and closer to the door. Readying to fire from the side of the entrance, readying his mind—what little of it could be accessed, anyway, in the most pivotal frame-input of his life thus far. His eyes wildly swung back to Etienne as if to ask whether or not to provoke something, whether or not to make a sound. If it were up to Nate he wouldn’t, but with Etienne’s impulses, he had the dim realization that he should, at least, prepare for an entry…
Waves of heartbeat undulated; it was almost as though he was here, alive…
It was silent. Dead fucking silent. And so was Nate’s mind. Hardly even lucid enough to feel fear—
“AY-KAY,” Nate eventually mouthed in poor Etienne’s general direction. Then he lightly tapped the floor. God, why couldn’t he have gotten that? Not enough time to worry. He could stay low, at least. What was right in that situation he truly never could know. He only knew what, for the moment, slowed those awful chills entangling him.
Crouched, he inched closer and closer to the door. Readying to fire from the side of the entrance, readying his mind—what little of it could be accessed, anyway, in the most pivotal frame-input of his life thus far. His eyes wildly swung back to Etienne as if to ask whether or not to provoke something, whether or not to make a sound. If it were up to Nate he wouldn’t, but with Etienne’s impulses, he had the dim realization that he should, at least, prepare for an entry…
Waves of heartbeat undulated; it was almost as though he was here, alive…
Thud, thud thud. The hand knocked against the open air, the sound reverbing beyond the invisible wall. It would’ve been a neat mime trick, even neater when the mohawked individual pressed his head against the doorway, cheek flattening against seemingly nothing.
There was a questioning gaze, and then he backed up away from the doorway.
He glanced behind him at the other boy.
There was a questioning gaze, and then he backed up away from the doorway.
He glanced behind him at the other boy.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
He shrugged and remained behind his partner.
Mostly out of cowardice. And you know what, C was not afraid to admit it. And also, he didn't have a gun!!! What was he supposed to do if someone was trying to kill him???
Mostly out of cowardice. And you know what, C was not afraid to admit it. And also, he didn't have a gun!!! What was he supposed to do if someone was trying to kill him???
Etienne looked hopelessly on at Nate as he mouthed some letters his way. God knows what meant by that. A and K? Did he mean that everything was OK? It didn't feel OK, the tension was actually rather palpable.
On the plus side, Nate seemed to taking the approach that Etienne probably should've done. Proactive, fair play. Eitenne was a fan of the approach, in fact, he couldn't have done it better himself. The keyblade was cool as fuck, but it didn't really offer the same level of cover. Etienne peeked up slightly as Nate made his move towards the door, his line of sight immediately piercing down at the assault rifle that gazed upon them. First thought was that things seemed a bit hairy, that maybe the odds weren't ever in his favour. The second being the cruel irony in Etienne being the first to die in this stupid game. He could be a good little poster boy, to whatever hacker scum had done this to them all. The son of a tech SVP? Check. Rebel without a cause? Check. He could practically imagine his childhood photos strung across the news and the internet, as news broke out of their precarious situation.
Nate was getting closer and closer, until they were only a few metres apart.
So, in true Etienne fashion, he thought about what he could to somehow make this better. Gun against gun probably wasn't going to work, especially when he was the weak link with a bloody video game weapon, so he had to avoid a gunfight.
But...
Maybe a distraction is exactly how he could help. Gawking across at the assailant without needing to do anything to put him directly in the line of fire. He had plenty of things around him to dive under if he needed to. Besides, he was going to just end up getting shot out of this stupidity if they found him anyway. A distraction would surely set Nate up for success, and then the rest would be history. Right?
Staying true to his convictions, Etienne stood up. A little bit unbalanced, his movements felt pretty awkward. He smirked and gave the guy at the door a gentle, slightly patronising, wave.
On the plus side, Nate seemed to taking the approach that Etienne probably should've done. Proactive, fair play. Eitenne was a fan of the approach, in fact, he couldn't have done it better himself. The keyblade was cool as fuck, but it didn't really offer the same level of cover. Etienne peeked up slightly as Nate made his move towards the door, his line of sight immediately piercing down at the assault rifle that gazed upon them. First thought was that things seemed a bit hairy, that maybe the odds weren't ever in his favour. The second being the cruel irony in Etienne being the first to die in this stupid game. He could be a good little poster boy, to whatever hacker scum had done this to them all. The son of a tech SVP? Check. Rebel without a cause? Check. He could practically imagine his childhood photos strung across the news and the internet, as news broke out of their precarious situation.
Nate was getting closer and closer, until they were only a few metres apart.
So, in true Etienne fashion, he thought about what he could to somehow make this better. Gun against gun probably wasn't going to work, especially when he was the weak link with a bloody video game weapon, so he had to avoid a gunfight.
But...
Maybe a distraction is exactly how he could help. Gawking across at the assailant without needing to do anything to put him directly in the line of fire. He had plenty of things around him to dive under if he needed to. Besides, he was going to just end up getting shot out of this stupidity if they found him anyway. A distraction would surely set Nate up for success, and then the rest would be history. Right?
Staying true to his convictions, Etienne stood up. A little bit unbalanced, his movements felt pretty awkward. He smirked and gave the guy at the door a gentle, slightly patronising, wave.
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ciphermitarai
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What the fuck.
Nate’s stupid instincts and perhaps stupider concern for another person shot out of him. What was this, a dick-measuring bravery contest? Getting shot out of your mind wasn’t the way to win! Nate felt a yell bubbling but forced it out as a sharp yet very much audible hiss—
“Dude, what the fuck?”
—and he scrambled backwards, so the gun wasn’t even nearly aimed at Étienne.
Stupid, illogical, brain-circuit misfire he’d probably come to curse out later. But it was the only right thing.
Nate’s stupid instincts and perhaps stupider concern for another person shot out of him. What was this, a dick-measuring bravery contest? Getting shot out of your mind wasn’t the way to win! Nate felt a yell bubbling but forced it out as a sharp yet very much audible hiss—
“Dude, what the fuck?”
—and he scrambled backwards, so the gun wasn’t even nearly aimed at Étienne.
Stupid, illogical, brain-circuit misfire he’d probably come to curse out later. But it was the only right thing.