Production Costs

[Lord_Shadow]

((Endgame begins. Anastasia Arcadia's body met up with her soul where it has always resided.))

Hatred. Hatred was the thing she was feeling most right now. It was no longer really predictable what she would be feeling most, but over the course of time since she had stepped out and returned her emotions settled on hatred.

The cold had not been that bad at first. She thought she might make it to the next building before she collapsed. But the blizzard that showed up shot down that option. She had quickly turned back to run inside the casino before she froze to death. After finding another entrance she was sure was not close by to where she had been kicked out she stepped in.

It had turned out to be the right choice. The announcement that came on shortly after named the casino as their final showdown. At the time she breathed in relief despite shivering like a leaf in a storm. Though chilled to the bone she had been grateful for the close respite.

But now after having some time to warm up and compose herself the hatred filled her.

And there was only one way to be rid of it.

KILL! KILL EVERYONE AND BE DONE WITH IT!

[Serpico]

((Corin Albanesi: Endgame start))

Corin sat in front of a poker machine as he waited anxiously for the announcements to pass, he was a silent tired face lit up by the honeyed glow that emanated from the, what he thought to be, tacky gambling displays. Anzu’s name had been dropped, he found the comments snide but it didn’t elicit much of a visible response from him. His lips settled into a thin line as he chose to simply bear with Ritzy’s voice. He silently hoped that she would die agonizingly one day, though maybe because she had been the ‘face’ of this horrible ordeal to him. He'd been long shifting hate onto the messenger.

Still, despite that, he continued to anxiously listen out for a single name to appear on that announcement.

It wasn’t in there.

“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.” He muttered to himself, he couldn’t help but scoff a little as his head dropped.

He felt predictably bitter as he shifted in his seat; if she wasn’t dying already then there was only one place she could actually go. Even after all he’d caused her he didn’t exactly want to let it go, those feelings settled right next to his spiteful thoughts about Yagmur, mingling with a twisted sense of familiarity.

He could feel the frustration rising inside him because he had no idea where or what to start with, his mind and ideas seemed spread so thin.

He flicked the safety of his rifle off; it was the first available action.

That was a start, he supposed.

His eyes took in the area around him, for now it was unsettlingly quiet.

He felt totally alone and all he could do was wait for someone to make their presence known to him.

[Outfoxd]

((Jackson King: Endgame start))

There was an announcement, but again it didn't mean much to Jackson, save that everything was coming to a head.

He had come to the casino after more than a little time holed up, resting, biding his borrowed time. He guessed he'd be seeing Ana again, see how the whole damn thing had treated her.  At this point he would have just as well stayed alone.

He entered as quietly as he could, handgun clutched in two hands, the weight of Alice's crossbow reassuring him of his own presence. The whole time, as he slinked low, between rows of neon slot machines, he wondered how a final showdown was supposed to happen. Was there a speech? A kick-off? Party favors?

"Could do with a drink." He muttered as he kept his head down, trying to form a plan and only coming up with junk. Other than find the guy who was supposed to be on his team.

[Maraoone]

((Cathryn Bailey continues from Closing In))

She raced through the bitter cold, slowly gaining speed as she desperately tried to find the silhouette of the giant cowboy that marked the casino's location. The beep's tempo slowly increased, and for a moment, as that beep beep beep became something more like beepbeepbeep, Cathryn thought that she wouldn't even get to see endgame.

And then the building came into view, and it stopped. She paused for a moment to gain her composure, and then sprinted towards the edge of the building. She braced herself against the wall, and peered into the entrance, making sure that no one was hiding, or that no one had started fighting already. After a few seconds, she walked inside and slumped down against the wall, trying to control her breathing.

The last hours had turned into the last minutes now. Her grip on the gun, Lucia's gun, tightened as she tried to come up with a plan, but she had nothing. At least nothing that would keep her alive. Surprise was the one factor that linked three of her kills together. The one time that hadn't worked out resulted in her broken hand and her torn cheek. And now she had to work without surprise once more. How did you deal with an all-out brawl, with one fight after another? She looked at her gun, examined it. It had done its job quite well with Zoe. But could it manage five people?

She walked through the hallway and found herself in a room lined with poker machines. Corin sat there somewhere in the middle, hunched over. Maybe surprise wasn't quite out of the option yet. She walked closer to him, but noted a bit too late that her footsteps still made an audible thump.

[General Goose]

((Yagmur Tekindor: Endgame Start))

He'd returned to the whiskey.

Normally, Yagmur had approached questions about whether to get drunk or not with a rather beautifully simple rational mindset.

Three questions: did he need to be sober in the immediate future, did he have anything to do tomorrow (which more affected the quantity of drink and the duration of the session - he needed his sleep, after all, even if he did struggle to get a hangover), and could the pursuit of drunken bliss be better served by putting off the festivities and conserving resources for a later event?

Well, he needed to be sober if he wanted a decent chance at survival, but the other two questions were definitely nos.

Two out of three ain't bad.

Only problem was that there was a fourth question in the mix. One damn stupid emotional one.

Would drinking somehow play into the producers' hands?

And the inverse, would remaining sober meet their objectives?

On the one hand, drunk Yagmur would make no better or worse TV than sober Yagmur. Yags still had an ever-present thought at the back of his head, long set aside by practicalities and realities, that he wanted to be as boring TV as possible, to try and spite the producers in some way.

On the other hand, getting drunk would suggest he had resigned himself to his fate, that he wanted to go out on as much of a high as possible. That sounded a bit like he was conceding that to them, like he was surrendering a bit of the moral high ground.

Yagmur was overthinking drinking.

His parents had long told him to be more responsible with his drinking habit, to take it a bit more seriously, to be a bit more appropriate and sensible. It seemed like a fight to the death was the sort of environment that was needed to get Yagmur to actually abide by that.

[Lord_Shadow]

"Kill kill kill kill kill." She muttered to herself. Her mind was focused solely on that one thought. She didn't care if she was discovered, if her ramblings brought trouble. All she wanted was to cut her enemies to ribbons.

"Kill them all. Drain their blood. Kill kill kill." She turned the corner.

And suddenly a familiar face was there. She shelved the thoughts of murder temporarily.

A wicked smile was on her blood smeared face.

"Count? What a surprise."

[Serpico]

His face tilted upwards as he heard someone approach, Cathryn came into his view. He looked at the new presence, his expression a mix of unwelcoming and near apathetic tiredness. He would have recognised her even if she hadn’t gone to the same school as him, after all the only other girl in the announcements was Anarchy. And Cathryn was as notable as her kill history.

So he wondered why he had to run into Cathryn first after the announcements – he didn’t want the hardest obstacle.

“Hello, Cathryn.” He spoke up, his voice flat.

He stood up, though he didn’t make any movement to approach. He just didn’t want to be rooted down on a chair in case things turned sour – he at the least anticipated it, after all she had been much more willing to kill from what he heard on the announcements. His heart started to pump heavily as he eyed her weapon, and his brown eyes looked towards hers and narrowed as the steady drum rhythm picked up behind his ears. His nervous system was telling him to fight, his vision started to tunnel in on her as it focused.

“I hope you’re not thinking of using that on me,” he canted his head subtly towards her gun; his tone was becoming increasingly heated, almost aggressive.

“Don’t want to put equally nasty ideas into my head, do you?” He had no time to be shy about it.

And he sincerely meant it, as he shrugged his shoulders, emphasising the presence of his own rifle. It was another one of those situations that could end with 50/50 fatality, he felt. He was willing to flip the coin if she decided to push him too hard, this late into the game he couldn’t afford not to.

He also felt like he could take her, as he sized her up. After all, Bella was further away when he had killed her, he was aware every inch closer increased the likelihood of someone dying, himself included.

“Unless you want something else,” He smiled, his lip upturned and twitched slightly.

“For some absurd reason,” he bared his teeth.

His hands were feeling numb, his finger rested on the guard of the trigger clumsily, making a hardly audible click as it touched the cool metal.

“You can still walk, you know.”

His expression was screaming: Go ahead and try me.

He had no qualms about pushing forward recklessly.

[Outfoxd]

Jackson had gotten icier in recent times. But he hadn't gone positively frigid. Ana came into view, a vision of a bloody goddamn nightmare, and he rocked back on his heels at the sight of her. He'd known she'd been up to work since they parted ways, but this was unbalancing.

"Jesu...Ana. Hi."  Was all he could muster, even as he straightened. Given the circumstances, Jackson wasn't sure he could come up with a better greeting.

[Maraoone]

"And so could you."

Of course, that would be the easier, and perhaps, the wiser option. To just walk away. But this was endgame after all, the final minutes, and Cathryn was just one-fifths of the way between Corin and his survival. Who's to say he wouldn't shoot her in the back? Cathryn knew she'd shoot him if their positions were reversed.

Her face also said 'Try me', but that was only a trick of the eyes, a scrunch of the eyebrows, a curl of the lips. Corin was too far away to notice how her breathing rate would quicken and then slow, as she struggled with the fact that she was in new territory. Cathryn knew of Corin's presence, and vice versa. What surprise could she possibly work with? Of course, she could just shoot him right there, but who's to say he wouldn't be quicker? Who's to say he wouldn't deal her her final wound?

At this very moment, she recognized that, perhaps, Jewel had only put a wolf's mask on when she killed Naomi. Perhaps. Maybe, hopefully, she was just as scared as Cathryn was. Cause she just couldn't accept the fact that, maybe, she was such a big coward that, even after taking four lives, she still couldn't get over herself, over her fear. But now wasn't any time for self-reflection. No time for anything else in these last minutes but survival.

She put on her wolf's mask, dared him to try the girl with blood on her hands, on her face. All she needed was a little more time to study him. Maybe scare him off, but there was probably no chance of that happening. But what after that?

"I'm sure I don't have to put those nasty ideas in your head by now, do I?"

Her eyes shifted over his body. He didn't seem to have an injury. He only looked as tired as anyone else here probably was. Fuck. Could she take him out?

"Do you really want to take me on, Corin? There's four other people in the casino, all with less... experience, so to speak."

[General Goose]

So Yagmur had decided that drinking was a bad idea.

Then again, so was living in such a fucked-up country with such screwed-up morals and such a fucked-up system of governance. But that didn't stop him.

Drinking was a bad idea, but that shouldn't stop him.

"You guys have turned me into an alcoholic," he said idly to no-one in particular, knowing his voice - hoarse from exhaustion and uneven and spasmodic from hunger and sleep deprivation - would be picked up by a camera. "I always have been a problem drinker, but never an alcoholic. They're both bad, but there's a crucial difference. Get educated people."

"I mean," he continued, sitting up and staring intently at a dark corner of the room that he was pretty sure had a camera in it. It should have a camera in it. Otherwise there'd be a blind spot, or at the very least poor camerawork. "This show's awful, but hey, maybe it can be used for education. Look up Parks & Recreation. It's a good show. Buy the DVDs. Support TV producers that actually do their own work. Oh, and maybe look up basic ethics, basic ideas such as liberty and the like."

No point in insulting the idiots watching at home. He had idiots here he had to contend with.

"And you know what sucks the most about this?"

It was a lie. It didn't suck the most about this, what he was about to say, but engaging in some occasional hyperbole was a luxury Yagmur allowed himself.

"I won't be able to go into fucking bars anymore. I have a fake ID, and it's worked damn well for two years," he said, allowing his bitterness and hopelessness to focus on a rather minor issue that, in his heart of hearts, he knew he wouldn't likely have to contend with. "But now everyone knows how old I am. And now, when I need drink the most, I won't be able to get it."

"If you're watching this bloodsport, give back to the community. If you see a survivor of Survival of the Fittest standing outside a booze store, the clerk knowing their ID is fake, do some good and get them drink."

[Lord_Shadow]

"And hello to you good sir. Lovely outside isn't it? The blizzard cold just makes the thought of warm blood being spilled that much better." She smiled and laughed. This was fun meeting back up with someone she knew.

She brushed aside an errant bit of hair. "So what's new with you? Done interesting stuff? Killed interesting people? Got some deets for me?"

She smiled again, her weapon resting at her side. No need to use you yet. Not when it's a simple reunion.

[Serpico]

He kept his gaze on her, intent, his legs tensed as his body hesitated to move forward and simply resolve the situation. The more he looked at her expression, the more difficult it was for him to grasp if he really was on top of the situation. At the moment, he needed to either avoid or go through her, and it didn’t look like she was backing down. He couldn’t read her very well, and the mixture of reputation and not knowing her threatened him.

He frowned, suddenly what little calm that was in his voice drained out of his voice box, it was sudden snapping tone that was the product of tension that mounted long before she had even come into his view. He didn’t really feel like he had the patience to draw this out for much longer, all he knew about this was that she was probably very willing to push forward, to just go through him.

“What I really want is you gone,” he snaps, his tone an angry hiss, “I don’t care how or where.”

To him, with his world in tunnel vision, the points she brought up started to mean very little. Beyond what he could see, it may as well have been nothing – it was just them, she was the only priority.  The string of conversation was already starting to fray, part of his brain was screaming for conflict – to just fire indiscriminately without aim, he was getting close to listening.

“I don’t think I could make it much clearer,” his finger leaves the guard and readies itself to touch the trigger; he felt the itch, one that becomes worse with the mounting anxiety.

“If you don’t move it I certainly will take you on.”

He couldn’t be any more candid, he didn’t want to back down – he wanted to assert himself and there was no amount of reasoning that would change his rock-headed thought patterns.

[Outfoxd]

Jackson cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure.

"No, uh...no deets. I'm just not dead yet." He wondered if this was the point where he should be smart and bring his gun to bear. But he hadn't crossed that line yet. He had only shot first because of circumstances of immediate danger. And he...well, he thought, anyway, this wasn't the case.

"I see you've been at work." He said next.

[Maraoone]

"Shoot me, then."

Why was she doing this? Every moment from Nina's death onward had been dictated by risk, or avoidance thereof. Waiting, waiting. Surprise. She'd strayed from that path a few times, and for that, she paid. So why stray again? Why go headlong into this whole intimidation thing?

Was there another choice? Her bed had been made, and all that was left to do was lay in it, and hope for the best.

Her eyes tried to summon up all the furor of the past couple of days, tried to convey all the rage and frustration that she'd felt, but that was it. Tried. She felt so fake, really. Maybe because she knew how the cogs of her mind turned and clicked, she knew what was going on behind her scrunched forehead and glaring eyes. Was that Corin, too? Maybe a few minutes ago, yes. But now, yes, now, he was being all too honest. If that was a mask he was wearing, it was a damn good one.

She tried asking herself again what to do, but no other path showed itself. Just Corin, only Corin. Could she take him on?

"If you really wanted me to be gone, I don't think it'd make much difference if I turned my back or not. In fact, walking away would make it easier for you to take me out. I'm not stupid."

Her right arm raised the gun up, and pointed the barrel at his face. A part of her said this could be the last moment, right now. She didn't have time to listen. She tried to steady it, even as each second left her muscles screaming, feeling like fibers snapping. Despite the cold, drops of sweat dripped down her neck, soaked into the fabric. Her breathing shook, her arm still trembled. But her mask was still on. Her eyes locked on his. She would take him on. She'd win. That's all she could tell herself.

"So, Corin, why don't you do it now? Try me. Shoot the fucking gun."

[General Goose]

Food with whisky wasn't something Yagmur had tried much before. Wine was what you drank with food. Whisky was what you drank with friends.

And when stronger stuff wasn't about, but Americans tended to dismiss the stronger stuff as "ethnic" or "illegal".

But he had to line his stomach, get his strength up, get some fuel in his system, enjoy the notion of a reasonably satisfied stomach one last time before he went into this bullshit. The Slim Jim went down first, despite the name always sounding like something a pathetic middle-aged accountant would secretly and self-deprecatingly nickname his penis. As did the Saltines, and the rest of the sandwich.

And the gluten-free bread.

Gluten-free bread: for fad dieters, hipsters, and crybaby weaklings with shitty stomachs.

Staring death in the face did not bring out the best in Yagmur.

God, this bread tasted like shit.