Speechless

[Shangela*]

((CS5-Aidan Adelman START))

Winner. Winner. Winner.

Aidan’s eyes struggled to fixate on the words. For a moment of lucidity, the fog returned over his vision, glazing the words to unrecognizable shapes. Contestants were always told to look around their environment. Anything could be used to turn the edges.

Aidan could think back to his father. Every coherent thought that braved the muddled, cloudy mess that was Aidan’s hungover-esque phase, was of what his dad used to say. Over an exceptionally expensive glass of whiskey, one so horrendously poured into a simple porcelain mug, Morty used to yell out all this unheeded advice with an unintelligibly slurred affect.

Aidan wondered what advice his dad would be shouting at through the tv. Would his dad even vote for him? Morty was a realist; you had to be in the business of organized gambling. He had to deduce which contestants would yield a result. Was Aidan a 6:1 odds? Was he higher? Lower? Aidan wished his dad could be here to give him advice.

“Some fucking winner I am.” Aidan bemoaned as his eyes fixated on the sign. Finally the gas wore off and Aidan regained control of his body. He’d always been a decently large guy. The gas at the dentist’s office was always not quite effective enough. This gas wasn’t the same, however. No matter how much Aidan tried to resist the intoxication by holding his breath after the producers’ speech, Aidan succumbed like all other 71 contestants on this season.

It helped Aidan as a viewer to think that this was all staged. The students wore fake blood packs that exploded on trigger, effectively fooling the audience into belief of this insanity. How many people really knew what went on behind the scenes? Maybe this whole show was one elaborate performance. Aidan could be used to that. Faking death was a must if you ever acted out a Shakespeare play. Aidan had been stabbed as Claudius, poisoned as Romeo; any combination of death, Aidan had acted out before. Masterfully well, Aidan might have given himself credit for.

So how was he supposed to act when suddenly there were no blood packets? No one was going to yell cut, or tell the kids that they had a five minute break. Everything was real. For someone that masqueraded in the spotlight, Aidan found himself vehemently opposed to the cameras.

“L-Leave me alone.” As soon as Aidan’s eyes had cleared, they yet again became foggy. Tears trailed down the length of Aidan’s cheeks. His lungs tried to outrace the oncoming flood of tears, creating a series of shallow breaths to match the cacophony of panic that Aidan was emoting. His chest couldn’t keep up. Feeling drained from his extremities, the toes, fingers, palms, eventually travelling  down the length of his arms and legs. His limbs were divorced from the core. Blood flow could barely match the exhaustingly rapid beating of his panicked heart.

Aidan closed his eyes and passed out. A reprieve from the terror. An escape from the reality.

[Shangela*]

((First post broken up in order for an easier read/reduction in Wall Of Text))

Aidan woke up in a cold sweat. His arms were the first thing to extend outward. He’d rose to his feet with a panicked furor, desperately afraid that his anxieties cursed him to die.

“Check your fucking bag.” Morty’s voice rang through Aidan’s head. If he were to have any shot at life, he would need to get his shit together, search his bag and pull out a weapon. From there Aidan could figure something out. Right now he needed to pull out his gun and arm himself. Even if a shot was never fired, he’d still have the protection he’d need for whatever the plan ended up being.

Aidan unzipped the daypack that someone had supported the weight of his head while he’d groggily writhed around on the ground. He looked for his gun. He kept looking. Aidan felt nothing remotely hard or jagged. Aidan pulled out a bandanna; pink. He was about to resign himself to the color, when he felt another bandanna; blue. The trend continued.

Aidan didn’t get a gun. He didn’t get a sword. He didn’t even get a lacrosse stick. Anything that could have empowered him to leave the garish casino and resolutely state that he would survive was absent from his bag. This happened last season. Aidan’s weapon was a fist full of all the colored bandannas for the current game.

N-No. No No No No.

The sobbing returned. Aidan had no chance. He was popular. He was fabulous. Every meticulous hour spent crafting the persona that would make people love him was for nothing. He wouldn’t be the fabulous NYU professor, raconteur of fantastically grandiose adventures in the marvelous city.  Everything Aidan had done to that point was wasted. These producers condemned him to die.

Morty would be the first to admit that the odds weren’t in his favor. He may have been a 6:1 if he’d had a gun. Now his chances were almost nil. Aidan could fight as long as he could, but no measure of cunning could outrun a bullet.

Aidan pulled out all of the bandannas. Fifteen in total. He stuffed them in the breast pocket of his collared shirt. A rainbow cascade of assumable identities. He could be any team. He could be anybody with these bandannas.

It still wasn’t a gun, however.

Aidan could barely sit up in a building so familiar. He should have felt at home amongst the flashing, garish lighting of this cowboy-themed casino. Aidan was always enamored by the flashing lights, flamboyant displays of eccentricity that attracted people from all around the country.

Yet this time, the familiar sights and sounds didn’t comfort or invigorate Aidan. All it did was remind Aidan of what he’d never have. It was enough to make Aidan’s heart start to race in a panicked furor.

Aidan slumped over onto his hands and knees, barely chasing the shallow breaths of panic. If anyone were to find him in this state of weakness, he’d be such an easy target. Morty was probably watching his son in utter disappointment. Aidan could feel his eyes behind the camera’s lens.

[Impereld*]

"Oh, fuck."

{HB5 - Laura Mason start}

It was all wrong. She knew that. There had to be a mistake somewhere. People like Laura were not the sort of people you wanted to see on SOTF-TV. People wanted to see the tough people, the psychos, the killers. A place like Whittree wasn't where they took people from. It was other schools, places she had never been, that she had only read or heard about. Far-off places which may or may not have been imaginary where everybody was a badass and was ready to kill everyone.

Not her. Not her home.

The thing about SOTF-TV is, sure, she had thought about it before. Imagined what it would like to be on it. Who hadn't? It wasn't something you ever thought would really happen, but you still imagined it. The differences was of course that in a daydream, it wasn't real. Those weren't real people that she, as obviously a total badass, would inevitably slaughter. It wasn't real pain when she got injured in her dreams. It wasn't a real end if you died.

Daydream Laura would've already racked up three kills by now. Real Laura couldn't even get up and open her bag. What would she do if there wasn't a weapon inside? What would she do if there was?

It was impossible for her to know how long she lay there. Practically, it couldn't have been too long, but it still felt like forever. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her head to take a look around, but it was useless. All that was on her mind was the bag. Extending her arm, reaching outwards, she grabbed it and pulled it close, cuddling and protecting it. It was, after all, all she had. Then it was open and she was pawing through it. Food, water, first aid kit, map, clothes...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was no gun, no knife, not even a joke weapon. Nothing.

"Fuck!"

They couldn't just do that, could they? Everybody got a weapon. Those were the rules. Everybody. Well, except her, apparently. "This is bullshit!"

Fuck them all. She wasn't going to stay down. She was going to get out of there and prove herself the best. That they couldn't scare her. That was what she had always thought she'd do. Things were different now that it was real, of course they were, but she could do something. Anything was better than giving up. So she picked herself up, tied her hair back with the bandana they had given her and got ready to do something.

Anything.

[Sh4dE]

((Golden Hyena III Gene Steward, Start))
((Uhm. Huge Sorry for the length. You don't have to read everything. The only relevant thing is that Gene hears your characters through the bathroom door. Oh yeah don't forget, in case I do something terribly wrong, tell me.))

Gene had a dream.

But when he woke up he forgot the plot of the entire dream completely. But as the last memories of the dream he had vanished, the memories of the moments before he woke up came in.

He was abducted by a stranger.
He panicked.
It turns out it was neither a pedophile nor a serial killer. He was participating in SOTF.
He was relieved.
He was gassed and fell asleep. Then he wakes up, realizing he could be killed by anybody in the first hours.
He panicked.
He looked around and he found nobody. He found himself in a bathroom. He locked the door up and felt protection.
He was relieved.

He was safe, so he tried to investigate his bag and gain all information he'd get.

Gene took the map out of his bag.
Where could I be? In which buildings are toilets? Well, too many. It doesn't help me to determire where the fuck I am.
Then he put the map back in his bag.

Then he found another item, a rather useless one in Gene's eyes.
Awesome! I have a compass. Now I know where North and South is! That's probably the most important thing you need to know when you're hiding in an unknown bathroom.
After he put the compass back in his bag, he found a golden bandanna and wrapped it around his forehead. Gold. It was a good color in Gene's eyes. The gold team of S65 might have won if the odds were in Shawn's favour. But they weren't. The Gambler however would've deserved the win. But the Final Two were just odd. It was innovative, for sure, but Gene would have expected a battle.

Then Gene found the rations in his bag. He had to resist to open the skittles bag, as it would just be a waste of food eating it just after he woke up. But Gene was satisfied with the fact that the food was enough for the next days.

And then Gene found his weapon. And he felt miserable.

A Slingshot. I'm not Bart Simpson. I don't even know how to aim at anything. And will it be any useful? What can I even do with it? Distract? Definitely. Hurt? Maybe. Kill? Never. But first I need ammunition. I can't throw with soap or toilet paper. But according to the map there was an Orchard. There I might find stones. Or better, some grenades. Or an useful weapon.

Then Gene found a condom and a first aid kit. Gene didn't look at the first aid kit, as he knew that there are the same things almost every time. And Gene could've raged whenever contestants have forget about the first aid kit and don't have a clue how to deal with it. And Gene was sure he wouldn't use the condom.

Finally Gene found his clothes. A golden t-shirt, a lacoste t-shirt, a pair of track pants and then Gene had to smirk.

A pimp suit. A stylish pimp suit. A golden pimp suit.

Dude...I'm a fucking pimp. Not even Aidan and Wilson could create a more fancy costume together for me. This is just awesome.

Gene however did not plan to dress himself in the pimp suit for the reason that it would be hard to convince other people that he is not playing, when he supports the show by wearing the suit. The fact that he wore a "Bug"-hoodie wouldn't help him either, so he dressed himself to wear the lacoste t-shirt, which should make him look normal and not playing.

But Gene knew what he was going to do. He had planned what he'd do in case he was participating. He had several dreams he dreamt in the nights throughout his life that he was participating in a SOTF (with people from his class, but from celebs, too). One time he was killed by Bella Bianchi. Another time he was stabbed by Jared Clayton. And in others he won and lived in peace and fame. And in a nightmare he was backstabbed by Damion in a final two fight. And sometimes his collar detonated before waking up.

And when Gene wasn't asleep he also thought what he'd do in case he participates in this game. After all he was in the ripe age of playing it. He knew that he came into the age most contestants were. He thought it might come. It was a limited time, though. But it still was more than a year. And hey, maybe if he wasn't abducted that year, he could've been abducted the next year. But now he was abducted and there was no escape. But if he wins or escapes, he wouldn't be in this show again. So now or never. It's one time only, either way. Unless Gene would become a mentor.

Gene wondered who his mentor was. And if he'd listen to him. As long it is not an activist or an average joe, he would be satisfied.

Now he had to think: Who would play and who would not? And most important, who was even here on this resort? Gene had seen some faces (or their hairs) during the introduction. Some were familiar. Some weren't. He had seen Taylor. And Lucy. And Munez. Riley? Maybe? He couldn't remember it clearly. And he had no clue who would play and who wouldn't. He couldn't read minds.

He was shown a short speech about the rules by a man he might never see again, or in case Gene has luck, will. Not much new was introduced. Basically just the same rules from S65. And Gene disliked those rules. Or he would have if he was a viewer, but as he is a player they are in his favours.

They practically do the same shit S65 has done again. Teams. They turned an awesome 1v1 last man standing show into a war simulation...Well I shouldn't complain as teams make me stay alive longer. And to be alive is always good. However people will try to be like Karen Ruiz and aim for 10 kills, which would suck. Oh yeah she also attacked her team members. So I can't even trust team members. Awesome.

And if Gene was not in the game, he would disliked the gimmicks. But Gene was a participant, which was also irritating him. Gene hated the fact that he was not a viewer. He was not not omniscent like he was as a viewer. Back at home he could research who the participants are. Now he has no idea who the fuck is on the island, who has which weapons, who is dangerous and where the hell he is. He'd have to view the game from his very own POV.

Basically this is a second Renaissance. This is a game like the Gladiator games, for the audience. And I'm a Gladiator. I'm an entertainer. But I have no sword. I have a fucking slingshot. Like Gladiators, the worst case would be death. But the death would be fame and money and power.

Gene was not scared of death. If he died he would die. But if he wouldn't, his life would be better. A million times. And he couldn't do anything about this situation. It's either win everything or lose everything. He knew chances to win are very slim, and the odds of dying are very high.

But I can still try surviving, can't I?

So Gene impatiently waited in bathroom, while he cleaned his fingernails. He did not know what to wait for, though.

So. I'm here in this bathroom. It won't help me with anything. I heard no gunshots yet. But when someone comes this room, knows it's locked and shoots through the door or breaks it, I'm fucked. When this becomes a DZ, I'm fucked. When someone has a GPS detector, I'm fucked. And if I just sit here the cameras won't show me either. It just isn't interesting enough to see someone camping in the bathroom. And I surely won't entertain the audience by eating soap and singing "Go Go Shower Rangers".

So Gene leaned his ear on the door and exhaled. He could smell his bad mouth smell. He had no time to brush his teeth before he was abducted.

He heard some voices, but couldn't recognize who the speaker was.

[Shangela*]

((Sorry for the length! I'll practice more brevity in the future))

Aidan’s award for his invalid behavior seemed to be foreign sounds. Aidan was prone to panic, but he didn’t ever just make shit up. Something was out there in the sides of the casino. As his heart fluttered with a horrible furor, Aidan’s abilities to place the sounds dramatically decreased. In this state of fear, the threat came from every direction.

Someone would wander in through the front door. Someone could pop up behind the slot machines. Someone could walk out from the other side of the bar. Someone could come out of the bathroom. Someone could . . .

It didn’t do Aidan any good to focus on the hypotheticals. The only time that’s ever served Aidan well was in higher-level mathematics. Even then, the goal was to simplify the abstract into something recognizable. Maybe that was the goal here too. Make something normal out of the chaos of numbers, subscripts and superscripts, and the unreasonable amounts of letters. Maybe he had the make something normal out of the chaos of this situation too.

But Aidan wasn’t that logical.

“If you’re gonna try something, go ahead and do it.” Aidan slowly mumbled to himself, preparing to roll himself over on the exposed carpeted center of the casino. Mere inches from his head rested a barrel of hay. Whoever stuck Aidan in this garishly decorated hillbilly casino obviously had no class. Morty would be the disappointed if Aidan died here; he’d be absolutely destroyed if he died in such a low class, bumblefuck casino like this one. For a boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, this place would be a disgraceful place to die.

He couldn’t play the way his father would like him to, but he could at least find an exit more suiting of Aidan’s caliber. Aidan could imagine his funeral now. They’d say that he was a compassionate, beautiful soul who’d been snatched from the earth too soon. All the celebrities from Vegas would be there. Elvis Impersonators and Drag Queens with hair to the heavens would kneel beside his casket.

A casket made of authentic mahogany wood with gorgeous ivory finish! Aidan needed to write this down. He wanted his funeral to reflect the type of person that he’d spent his whole life trying to be; absolutely beautiful. White orchids were a timeless beauty. Classy and understated without being too presumptious.

It was a bittersweet consolation. He could be beautiful in death where in the last moments of his life he’d been so full of panic and anxiety. His funeral would have everything, except… except… Will.

He needed to find him. Aidan could leave a better corpse after he’d guaranteed that Will was safe. They’d find a plan, Will would go home, and then maybe Aidan would be worthy of exaltation. Will needed him to get it together so they could find a way off of here.

“Alright.” Aidan spoke up abruptly. He wiped the tears that gathered on the tip of his nose. His extremities were still devoid of regular blood flow, but he braved through the phantom limbs. He stood on his feet with a new sense of purpose; Aidan tugged his collar away from his Adam’s apple and close towards his chin. He got one of these every twelve hours. But in order to guarantee he could have even that, he’d have to ask a question.

“So mentor. I don’t know who you are, but you’re making some coin keeping me alive, huh?” He gave a coy grin to the camera. His mentor was watching, counting on him to bring a pay off. Maybe Morty was doing the same with his gambling. “Y-you’re watching this feed. Who’s in here? A-Am I completely fucked?” Aidan choked out, interrupted by childish sniffling.

Eventually, his tears stopped. Crunching his thumb and forefingers across the bridge of his nose seemed to staunch the anxious crying for a temporary reprieve. He needed to regain some composure. If there were people in here, Aidan couldn't be a weak. Lucy counted on him. Sebastien counted on him. His father counted on him. Will counted on him.

"Alright, I hear you out there!" Aidan called out, not bothering to wait for his mentor's response. Bravery came in waves, and Aidan was set on capitalizing on his newfound invigoration. "Come on out, and we can talk." An appeal to humanity brought them on equal ground.

[Impereld*]

There was someone else there.

There was someone else in the building with her. A stranger with a stranger's voice. Images came instantly to mind, of menacing, faceless people with guns and knives and axes. In her mind, she could see them.

If it came down to it, if violence broke out, she was done. Finished. Dead. Of course, they said they wanted to talk, but to be honest, if she was trying to trick someone that's what she would have said. But she couldn't see any other option. If she tried to run, they'd hear the noise. If she tried to hide, they'd find her. The only solution was to talk.

One step forward. Then another. Not swaggering, but walking steadily. Can't look scared. Gotta look the part. Confident, not cocky. Bold, not aggressive. If she looked weak, she was a target. Too tough and abrasive, there'd be little chance of a peaceful solution. She just kept walking, bag over her shoulder, bandana tying her hair back like a ribbon, coat too big for her, diminishing her slightly.

"Can't look scared. Gotta look the part." It was only a grunt as she pressed on. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Ignore the stench of alcohol. Ignore the bile in her throat. Ignore the millions of viewers watching her.

She stepped out, trying to stop herself from shaking. Trying to keep it under control.

"I'm listening."

Atta girl.

[Sh4dE]

Now Gene could recognize a voice. A familiar voice. Who in Davison hadn't heard the voice of Aidan Adelman?

Gene liked Aidan, he was a pretty cool guy. But when Gene left the drama club, he avoided Aidan most of the time. Aidan did not look like he liked Gene, when he left the club.

But his voice sounded different than he remembered. It sure was due to the fact that he was in SOTF. He sounded helpless and he knew someone was here and wanted to talk with them. And he called him out.

But what if he is acting or if he is just paranoid and lucky? Should I ever trust an actor?

Gene decided not to go out, leaving his hiding place that protected him from any dangers.

But then he heard another voice, a girl. So it turned out the demand was directed to this girl. Maybe Aidan had not hear him.

So if Aidan has a gun and is hostile, I'll hear a bang. If he has a knife-like weapon and is hostile, I would hear a scream. And if I hear none, I might aswell go out of this bathroom and speak with them personally. Weapons that are neither guns or melee weapons are usually useless ones...Even though you can kill someone with a toaster.

So Gene continued to lean his ear on the door, eavesdropping the conversation between Aidan and the mysterious girl.

[Shangela*]

In Aidan’s mind, a profusion of monsters and characters awaited him from behind the rows of familiar machinery. All these mythical villains and heroes of the theatric stage raced through Aidan’s muddled mind, each trying to convey an ill-timed warning.

Act Three, Scene Four; Hamlet stabs Polonius through the curtain.

Aidan made himself known. The question remained what role he would play today. Would he be the clumsy Polonius, revealing himself too early and meeting a finite end with terrible alacrity? Would he end up being Hamlet?

Footsteps crept outward, pounding on the hardwood floor, alerting Aidan that someone had stepped out. Maybe he didn’t know what roles everyone would play, but he was about to meet one of the cast.

The girl wasn’t intimidating as a force as Aidan had imagined. She wasn’t a proverbial boogeyman like the anxieties had painted her to be. She was a pretty girl, blonde, green-eyed, accented with a seductive lip. Guys would probably notice her beautiful looks. Aidan wasn’t like most guys.

Wow. What an ugly jacket. With that shade of lipstick? Oof. Even the stress of the situation couldn’t obfuscate Aidan’s critical gaze.

Reading the girl for her fashion choices wouldn’t make her any less of a threat. That tactic didn’t work here. He couldn’t pride himself on being better on any level. He couldn't win them over with his clearly constructed persona. He wasn't going to make friends being a diva. Not even Diana Ross herself would have survived here if she was a see-you-next-tuesday. Aidan had to try something else.

“I’m Aidan. If we’re not strangers, then there’s none of this stranger danger, right?” Aidan faked a nervous laugh. He didn’t have to fake the nerves that skirted rapid-fire around his brain, but he did have to fake some sort of connection. They were strangers. The game was advertised with the slogan “Could you kill a friend?” The advertisement team didn’t say anything about the difficulty of killing a stranger.

“I’m from Davison Secondary. You’re from the other school, right?” Aidan couldn't be a stranger. Not now, not then, and not ever.

He didn’t know what else to say now. What would he do with this connection that he was hell-bent on developing? Make an alliance? Send her off on her way while he thought of something else to do? Aidan could have all the time in the world and he would still be as equally fucked without a plan.

What now?

[Impereld*]

Oh dear Lord, he was huge. Well, bigger than her, at least. On the plus side he wasn't pointing a gun at her, so that was something. She couldn't see any weapon at all, but that just meant that there was no way to tell what it was. A knife up his sleeve, a gun in his back pocket, it didn't matter. All it would take would be for her to let her guard down and then it might all be over. That wasn't going to happen, though. She couldn't let it happen. So she was just going to stand there and be ready to run away.

And then he was talking, talking about something or other. They weren't strangers? Hell yeah they were strangers! She didn't know him. She couldn't trust him unless they were on the same team and she couldn't see a badger bandana on his head! Actually, there was no bandana on his head, but she couldn't pay attention to that now. There were more important things going on.

"Yeah," she replied automatically as he asked her a question, "I'm from Whittree." She had no clue what to do now that she was out there with somebody she didn't know. She didn't think he'd be so massively huge. And muscular. And really, really scary even without pointing a weapon at her. Laura had never been one for fighting. Well, actual physical fighting. She couldn't remember the last time she had thrown a punch at someone. She wasn't sure if she had ever thrown a punch at someone. The last thing she needed was a fight. So it was probably best if she stopped her little "badass" persona which was totally working and not making her look silly at all.

In short, if he decided to attack her, she was absolutely screwed. But he seemed to be okay. For now, at least. Talking was better than fighting and dying.

But before anything else, there were introductions to be made.

"So, I'm Laura."

And maybe one question to be asked.

"What team are you on?"

Somehow she had missed the mass of bandanas in his pocket.

[Sh4dE]

Gene backed away from the door. He had heard enough. He knew enough.

So girl's name was Laura and she is from Whittree.

Never heard of Whittree. It sounds like a made up name. It sounds ridiculous. Davison was a school named after Mark Davison. Not an SOTF contestant, but a producer or something. As if I'd care about producing stuff. The only important SOTF person nowdays that is not participating is still Leo. I've never heard of a Parker school. And I doubt there will be a Ross Secondary. Or a Ruiz University. But let's hope there might be a Steward Elementary sometime in the future.

And Laura and Aidan had a peaceful conversation. No scream, no violence. And Gene wished he could watch them, but the door was in the way. And he couldn't open the door without making noises.

So they're friendly to each other. That's really awesome for them. But it doesn't help me. They're going to ally up. What then? If they find me...Who knows what happens then.

He thought of what he could do now. He thought of a plan. Then he had an idea and formulated a monologue in his head, until it seemed perfect. Then he spoke the memorized lines outloud.

"Hello Laura, I'm your mentor Jackie, but you can call me Jack. It seems like your mic of your collar is broken, therefore you should go to the beach, there a boat awaits you. Your collar will be changed there and you'll get a new weapon, as we accidentally gave you the wrong weapon. Good luck on your way."

He said that in a loud and deep voice. Well, as deep as a 16 year old boy, who never smoked and still was a bit nervous about the situation, could.

When he planned these lines, he first considered directing it to Aidan, as he knows him better than this Laura. And in case Laura was not even her real name, his whole plan would be ruined. But Gene decided against that, as Aidan is an Actor, and acting against an actor would be hard. As Gene and Aidan haven't talked that much since Gene left the club, Aidan might not recognize Gene and his voice, if he is lucky. Also if Laura goes out of this building, whatever this building was, Gene could try to attack Aidan. Gene knows who Aidan is, but not who Laura is. Laura could be a steroid-filled girl, who could crush Gene in two. Even though Gene had to admit Aidan was strong and could easily outmatch Gene, Aidan was at least a bit predictable, while the Laura girl was a total stranger. Plus, if Aidan would walk out of the building to the beach instead of Laura, Gene would have to attack a girl. The girl could be a steroid-filled girl, in the worst case scenario, but in the second worst scenario, the girl could a totally cute and helpless girl. And Gene wouldn't like to attack or hurt these, for two reasons. He'd pity her like the poor girls from Season 34 and the viewers would probably hate him if he'd done that. Therefore Gene thought his plan was perfect.

[Un-Persona*]

A voice echoes from Laura's collar.

"AHAHAHAHA - No. Your collar is fine, as you can see. Sounds like someone in there doesn't want you around, Laura. Show them what's up and prove that you're here to stay."

[Shangela*]

Aidan really wished he had someone in authority to talk to. Maybe someone who could explain why he got the garish display of fashionably insensitive bandannas as an assigned weapon, or maybe someone who could definitively say which team he was playing for.  He couldn’t figure an answer for her. Was he on all the teams? None of the teams?

He and Laura, as the frumpily dressed girl introduced herself as, had nothing to go on. For whatever reason, his mentor had something better to do that warn him of the girl’s presence, or the fact that there might be just another concern that was waiting off stage. Maybe it was appropriate from a television standpoint, but all it did was make Aidan furious. They were supposed to help him, not help the ratings by keeping him intentionally in the dark.

Maybe it wasn't the end of the world. SOTF TV was about self survival. Aidan, in addition to being a fabulous human being, was kind, smart, loyal and determined. He didn’t need this advisor to give him the upper hand. Whatever came about, Aidan was prepared for it.

And then the “announcement” came. Aidan wasn’t prepared for that.

Someone’s voice erupted from the adjacent hallway. It was good timing for such a strange interruption.

Aidan was silent for a few moments as he mulled over the thought. It was so strange to be so quiet. No one would recognize the flamboyant and boisterous Aidan from home as this contemplative and calculating person that rocked the hell out of that Ralph Lauren linen vest.

Eventually a matching voice emanated from Laura’s collar. Her actual announcement came on, a mocking tone that was so drastically different than what the hallway tried to obfuscate them with.

Aidan waved his hand towards Laura in a beckoning motion. He hadn’t totally won her trust yet, but in light of the active deception from the alien voice in the bathroom, Laura couldn’t be too cognizant of the more subtle deception Aidan would have to try with her.

“I’m on your team.” Aidan had noted her team bandanna (the fugly yellow colored one) and lied to match it accordingly. “See? We’re in this together, gurl.” Aidan’s strictly fictional tenor voice faded into a much more effeminate male countertenor. He was a lot less threatening than the fictional baritone that lurked in the shadows.

“Let’s get out of here. It looks like someone doesn’t want our marvelous company.” Aidan announced to the room at whole. He faked an offended tone and comically stuck his nose up in defiance.

Aidan’s footsteps were soft, swift and theatrical. Turning on his heel in a pirouette, Aidan switched direction away from the exit. Large strides over to the bar cemented him in position behind the table. Out of sight from the bathroom, yet Aidan could have a clear vantage point over the incoming threat. He motioned for Laura to come over too, bag in hand.

[Impereld*]

"Holy shit."

Was she hearing that right?  Her collar's mic was broken? They wanted to give her a weapon? Well, that checked out, given that she still hadn't found one in the bag. Apparently, all she had to do was go to the beach and get a new collar. But from that train of thought, more possibilities arose. Could it be possible that it wasn't just her mic, but her entire collar that was broken? Could it be possible that she could escape? Could it, was it, possible that the events of Season Sixty were to be repeated?

The answer of course was a resounding no. Barely after her "mentor" had finished talking, the mic on her collar blared to life, filling the room with a mocking laugh. Her collar worked. Her mentor was there. Well, it was nice knowing somebody was there.

Didn't stop her from being pissed at the mysterious voice. Whoever it was had tried to play her. Why, she didn't know, but she could guess. They had thought that Laura would merrily skip off to the beach, out in the open. Maybe they'd kill the Davison kid. Maybe they'd go after her. She didn't know why they did it, but that didn't matter so much to her as that they did do it. They tried to trick her.

But there was some good news, at least. The Davison boy, he was on her side. More importantly, he was on her team. Forget her not trusting him, forget them being strangers, they were teammates now. That was all that mattered. Still didn't know what weapon he had, but that was less of a worry now that they were on the same side. Like he said, they were in it together.

And now he was leaving. She was about to protest, about to ask for a chance to do what her mentor had told her, to show the mysterious stranger that she wasn't amused. But before she could open her mouth, he went the other way, to the bar, making a gesture for her to come hither. Honestly, by this point she was ready to say "fuck it" and leave them all behind, especially seeing how her new ally couldn't make up his mind whether to stay or go-

Oh.

Well, she was dumb. Mimicking his deception, she went to the bar, concealing herself from view behind the table. At that point, she wanted to say something to her new ally, tell him that she would follow. But she didn't. The last thing she wanted was to reveal their position. All she could do was back his play, whatever it was.

[Sh4dE]

"Holy shit" was the reaction Gene wanted to hear. He deceived them, he needed no script. No one told him how to act, he did it on his own and-

Suddenly a third person was in the building. But it turned out it was the mentor of Laura. And then his plan was crushed.

Then Aidan and Laura appeared to be in the same team. And then they left the building or room.

So much about the perfect plan. How could I forget the real mentor, when I tried to disguise as him? Oh well, Aidan and Laura would've left the building together anyway, as it turns out that they're in the same team. So even if the mentor wasn't there it'd have failed. And this trick cannot be used again at any other guy, either. But I have to be optimistic: I know Laura's mentor and my mentor aren't the same person, else he'd have helped me. And as Laura and Aidan are in the same team, we're not in the same team either. Also Laura has no mentor for the next 12 hours. But if they weren't in the same team and Aidan was in mine and I'd have sent him to the beach, I could've ambushed Laura.

But despite his failure of his plan, Gene was relieved. He at least achieved what he wanted to achieve with his plan. Both of them were gone.

Gene then unlocked the door and took his precious bag. Then he opened the door and finally left the bathroom.

It was the Casino. That certainly explains the design of the bathroom. No one was there.

What can I do in this Casino? Maybe I could use poker chips as ammunition for my weapon.

Gene did not plan to leave the Casino, as he might encounter Aidan and Laura on the outside. And a 1v2 fight wouldn't be fair.

So he went to the next available table and investigated if he might find some useful items on it.

[Shangela*]

((GMing Approved by RockyTheTigre))

Aidan wasn’t quite sure if he was lying when he said that they were teammates. No one told him which of the variety of team identities he could assume was the right one. The producers could have pulled any trickery regarding this weapon pull. All he knew was that he had a one in fifteen chance of being correct. They’d all find out in twelve hours when her mentor was allowed to interject once again.

It didn’t matter to him, though. They might have been strangers before all of this, but it was now them against the unknown voice. A roster might have proved Aidan wrong, but they were teammates now. It was them against the unknown. It was them against the fear. Right now he needed Laura on his side. Aidan hoped that she’d feel the same way.

Suddenly the door swung open. The voice was blocked by a thick tress of black hair; his face turned backwards and away from the inconspicuous shadows that Aidan and Laura were composed within. The gait of the baritone showed a confident, prideful step. Aidan was used to walking with such a proud sense of self-entitlement. Baritone thought he’d been a mastermind, fooling them into heading blindly towards the frigid beach, awaiting a boat that would never come.

Aidan steadied his hand in front of Laura. They needed to wait to see exactly what they were dealing with. All this stalking would be for naught if the boy turned around and mowed them down with a hailstorm of firepower. It was a scary thought. Aidan’s steady hand began to tremble.

The longer he waited here, the faster his heart started to flutter. He could feel his blood pressure raise. The temples of his forehead throbbed and pulsated with each anxious pump of his heart. The tips of his fingers went numb. His toes followed. His body was simply shutting down, fear and anxiety taking victor over him once again. Aidan needed to do something now. If the baritone didn’t kill him, his anxiety might render him an invalid. Then he was as good as dead.

Do something. His conscious warned him. His body resisted. It was a sparring match between the mind and body. One had to win over the other. Either they waited this out and let the storm pass, or Aidan could do something. If it was just him, maybe his cautiously rigid body would have won. He’d just stay complacently in the shadows and wait for the threat to pass.

But it wasn’t just him. Everyone was behind him, cowering behind the bar. Laura, in the literal sense, but also Will, Lucy, Sebastien, Taylor, his sister Alyssa, his mother. Everyone needed him to do something.

Aidan stood up partially, crouching lowly below the shelf of glasses that rested on top of the bar. He had a clear vantage point of the boy now. His back was still to Aidan’s charge. His legs picked up quick momentum. The adrenaline isolated any sensation of resistance. For a second, as he leapt outward, he felt like he was flying. Of course, resistance was a universal truth and eventually Aidan’s charge would collide into something.

That something would be the boy.

The pair collided onto the ground. No matter what advantage of surprise and deception the baritone had, he was no match for Aidan’s weighty frame. Years of trying to prove himself as a man had finally paid off. He’d done it. The threat was over.

“You think you can fucking trick us?” Aidan’s harsh outburst was interrupted by periods of panting. Perhaps the gas had some linger effects still. His muscles were sore and tired after just a short period of exertion. "Trying to make us run around outside, catch our deaths from frostbite, all while you stuck around here smug as fuck?"

Aidan’s thighs were locked around the boy’s waist, pinning him in place with superior weight. Aidan thrust both free hands on the boy’s thin forearms. He could try to resist, but Aidan had him on his stomach. Anatomically, he couldn’t offer much resistance. Aidan had won.

“Gene?” The unfamiliar was scary. Sometimes the familiar was even worse.