(Vincent Sullivan arriving from Chain of Sorrow)
It seemed strange that the first place Vincent would find himself after the close encounter with Karen at the Inland Lake would be, well, another lake. Still, as he sat himself down on the relatively soft bed in one of the cabins he couldn’t really complain.
First thing he had done after finding this not so new location – after search it thoroughly for other people of course – was to move the furniture around; move the little dresser in front of the door while dragging the bed against a wall so he could sit comfortably while keeping an eye on the windows and entrances.
On either side of him on the mattress sat the two packs he was carrying; on one side his own, filled most of the way up with his and Isaac’s stolen supplies. On the other sat Tiffany’s, the one he had remembered to grab before leaving the other lake but hadn’t had time to search through until now.
It was standard stuff; food and water – the remains of which sat on the bedside table after his meagre meal – ammunition for the revolver – placed safely in his own pack, at least until he was firmly convinced the weapon had fully dried out after its dip in the lake – and Tiffany’s spare clothing – also put in his pack despite the fact it would never fit someone of his frame, you never knew when you would need a rag or – more likely given the situation – a tourniquet.
Probably the most interesting thing he had found in the bag though had been a seemingly innocuous notebook. No such thing was provided in either his or Isaac’s bags and it couldn’t have been a joke weapon since hers was already accounted for. Curiously he opened it up and was a little surprised to see it covered in writing, for the first few pages at least.
‘Good Morning New Diary’. Apparently Tiffany had taken to making a journal while on the island, though from the looks of it she only got the chance to make one entry while he was asleep, before they left the beach. Talks of their plans, a rant about the game in general; the stuff you would expect to see in any contestant’s diary. After all Tiffany was hardly the first would be writer to put pen to paper while on the island.
Then came her ’last rites’; messages left to her family, her friends, even a few enemies. Even a part for him and the rest of the team.
Maybe he should have felt bad reading this, another person’s personal thoughts and feelings, even if part of it was meant for him and even though this was clearly written with the thought of other people reading it in mind. Maybe he should have felt bad and really… he did.
It was strange that he would feel more guilt over reading a girl’s diary than he did over every other thing he had done, both on and off the island. Since he had woken up on that nicely decorated table back on the Cruise Ship over a day ago he had attacked and beaten three people, mugged one of those and killed a forth; and he didn’t feel guilt over any of it.
Maybe years of fighting – getting beaten by and beating up at least a couple dozen people – had desensitised him to violence? After all, punching a guy so hard in the face in a street fight his nose basically popped and sprayed blood all over you was about as visceral as you could get; even when he shot Isaac in the head it wasn’t quite as bloody as that.
Still, that guy had only needed to get his nose reset; Isaac was never going to see the light of day again because of him. Why didn’t that bother him?
Maybe because he didn’t know them. Those SDA pricks didn’t matter to him; faces without names, or in the case of the announcements names without faces. Why should he care if one of them bit the dust, even if it was at his own hand? Same for the kids from Detroit; names, faces and sporadic memories of them from school. Nothing personal, no connection to them. No guilt.
Tiffany on the other hand, Tiffany had put her faith in him, trusted him to help her make it out of here alive. Now she was dead and looking at this journal now it was becoming clear just how much she had lost. She wasn’t a loner like he was, not an antisocial; she had friends, she had family. She had a life.
Maybe he was just feeling guilty he couldn’t keep her alive.
Reflection
Open
A voice echoes from Vincent's collar...
"Hello, hm what was his name again? Oh here it is... Vincent. I am Orange Team's mentor, Dr. Smith. Truly sorry about what happened to your partner. She had an adequate plan too. Sad indeed. Not to worry! Your team leader Eric Tam will lead team orange to victory yet! He is at the tar pits. Your other two team mates are somewhere north and south of the island, can't remember exactly where though. Perhaps Eric can lead you to them. He's a very good leader, you know. I taught him myself, in fact."
"Hello, hm what was his name again? Oh here it is... Vincent. I am Orange Team's mentor, Dr. Smith. Truly sorry about what happened to your partner. She had an adequate plan too. Sad indeed. Not to worry! Your team leader Eric Tam will lead team orange to victory yet! He is at the tar pits. Your other two team mates are somewhere north and south of the island, can't remember exactly where though. Perhaps Eric can lead you to them. He's a very good leader, you know. I taught him myself, in fact."
The sudden voice in his ear snapped Vincent out of his thoughts, the boy throwing aside the book carelessly and picking up the Desert Eagle from the bed next to him. By the time the gun was up in front of his though he had realised his mistake; there was nobody around, the voice was coming from his collar.
“Orange Team mentor huh? Showing up a bit too fucking late aren’t you; couldn’t have dropped us a warning about the psycho waiting for us at the cabins?”
Vincent wasn’t in the best mood to be reasoned with at the moment. He didn’t want to hear about this bastard’s condolences or about whoever their team leader was or where the rest of the team was; he was pissed off at having been bested by Karen back at the other lake, at having his and Tiffany’s plans destroyed before they even began and his one ally – and if his luck held out his only useful ally – killed. He just wanted to take out his frustration on something and lacking anything else the disembodied voice was all he had to focus on.
And who exactly was the Tam guy anyway? The name didn’t ring any bells so he was probably one of those rich bastards from the other school. And this guy said he’d taught him? Was he a teacher for their school or something? Yeah, that was fair, wasn’t like that guy would play favourite for his students.
“Fuck Tam, I’m taking over this team. I’ve got the plan. I’ve got the firepower. And so far I’m the only one who’s actually done anything for this team. You want to help this team you can send them to me or you can tell me where the fuck they are instead of this vague, north/south bullshit. If Tam wants to lead this team, fuck him, he can come deal with me himself. As for you, I don’t want to hear your voice again unless you’ve got something fucking useful to tell me”
Vincent gathered up his things and threw them in his pack before swinging it onto his shoulder. He stomped over to the door of the cabin and pushed it open, slamming it shut behind him. Storming out of the room had less effect when the person you were arguing with spoke from around your neck, but the slamming of the door had a finality to it that worked well in this situation.
“Orange Team mentor huh? Showing up a bit too fucking late aren’t you; couldn’t have dropped us a warning about the psycho waiting for us at the cabins?”
Vincent wasn’t in the best mood to be reasoned with at the moment. He didn’t want to hear about this bastard’s condolences or about whoever their team leader was or where the rest of the team was; he was pissed off at having been bested by Karen back at the other lake, at having his and Tiffany’s plans destroyed before they even began and his one ally – and if his luck held out his only useful ally – killed. He just wanted to take out his frustration on something and lacking anything else the disembodied voice was all he had to focus on.
And who exactly was the Tam guy anyway? The name didn’t ring any bells so he was probably one of those rich bastards from the other school. And this guy said he’d taught him? Was he a teacher for their school or something? Yeah, that was fair, wasn’t like that guy would play favourite for his students.
“Fuck Tam, I’m taking over this team. I’ve got the plan. I’ve got the firepower. And so far I’m the only one who’s actually done anything for this team. You want to help this team you can send them to me or you can tell me where the fuck they are instead of this vague, north/south bullshit. If Tam wants to lead this team, fuck him, he can come deal with me himself. As for you, I don’t want to hear your voice again unless you’ve got something fucking useful to tell me”
Vincent gathered up his things and threw them in his pack before swinging it onto his shoulder. He stomped over to the door of the cabin and pushed it open, slamming it shut behind him. Storming out of the room had less effect when the person you were arguing with spoke from around your neck, but the slamming of the door had a finality to it that worked well in this situation.
((Terrilynn Boden continued from Whatcha Gonna Do))
This was better than the dead-boys-in-ski-lodges thing, this new cabins-by-a-scenic-lakeside thing. Lynn could almost get used to this. She had been walking for a long time, listening to the announcements, hearing all about how her classmates were all dead or flipping their shit. The little quiet loner girl whose name she was spacing on all of a sudden had apparently gone ape and shot up a fuckton of people or something. That was a little bit surprising. A little confusing, too. Lynn could take care of herself against someone in a fistfight, but she didn't know what to do if someone just started shooting at her. Well, maybe act dead if they managed to just hit her vest, but that wasn't exactly a safe gamble.
So, all things considered, it'd be better to just not get into that shit in the first place. She'd just find a little spot and chill, let her teammates take care of what they could—not count on them, though. She'd wait it out and then, at the end, she'd just do what she had to to get home to her family and her friends and her daughter. Yeah. This was some deep shit, but she could get out of it alright.
And then she heard the slam. Uh oh. Slam meant trouble. Slam meant someone was pissed. Slam meant possibly-impending outbreaks of extreme violence. It was also way too close to get away cleanly now. Lynn saw a figure there, at the source of the slam, a figure she knew. Vincent Sullivan. Detroit boy. Thought he was some hot shit. Killed someone, if she was remembering right. Now he was storming off like a little bitch, though. All bark and no bite, that was probably his story, same as half of Detroit Central.
Maybe she could run him off, or learn from him what was going on to result in the slamming. Maybe he'd be useful in some way. Maybe, god forbid, he was one of her teammates. She sure wasn't that scared of him, though, so she didn't hesitate before calling out, "Hey, Vincent."
This was better than the dead-boys-in-ski-lodges thing, this new cabins-by-a-scenic-lakeside thing. Lynn could almost get used to this. She had been walking for a long time, listening to the announcements, hearing all about how her classmates were all dead or flipping their shit. The little quiet loner girl whose name she was spacing on all of a sudden had apparently gone ape and shot up a fuckton of people or something. That was a little bit surprising. A little confusing, too. Lynn could take care of herself against someone in a fistfight, but she didn't know what to do if someone just started shooting at her. Well, maybe act dead if they managed to just hit her vest, but that wasn't exactly a safe gamble.
So, all things considered, it'd be better to just not get into that shit in the first place. She'd just find a little spot and chill, let her teammates take care of what they could—not count on them, though. She'd wait it out and then, at the end, she'd just do what she had to to get home to her family and her friends and her daughter. Yeah. This was some deep shit, but she could get out of it alright.
And then she heard the slam. Uh oh. Slam meant trouble. Slam meant someone was pissed. Slam meant possibly-impending outbreaks of extreme violence. It was also way too close to get away cleanly now. Lynn saw a figure there, at the source of the slam, a figure she knew. Vincent Sullivan. Detroit boy. Thought he was some hot shit. Killed someone, if she was remembering right. Now he was storming off like a little bitch, though. All bark and no bite, that was probably his story, same as half of Detroit Central.
Maybe she could run him off, or learn from him what was going on to result in the slamming. Maybe he'd be useful in some way. Maybe, god forbid, he was one of her teammates. She sure wasn't that scared of him, though, so she didn't hesitate before calling out, "Hey, Vincent."
Vincent was obviously slipping if he didn’t notice the only other person at the lake until his name was called; he needed to calm down, needed to reign in his anger and stop himself from developing that anger induced tunnel vision he was so familiar with.
Taking a deep breath – for all the good that usually did – Vincent turned towards the other person and tried his hardest to bite down the look of contempt when he saw who it was. Terrilynn Boden; he didn’t know her personally, as they ran in separate albeit overlapping circles, but he saw he around enough to know that she was not the kind of person he wanted to get to know better.
They were actually – aggravatingly – fairly similar on paper; both had issues with their single parent and had a lot of anger because of it, anger which they took out on other people by fighting, all of which was done outside of school to avoid expulsion. They had never met in the ‘ring’ as it were, but Vincent had seen some of what she was capable of. He wasn’t afraid.
And neither was she apparently; why was she calling out to him? Couldn’t possibly be just because of the familiarity of seeing someone else from Detroit could it? Oh shit, they weren’t on the same team were they? Vincent quickly scanned Lynn’s body, trying to see any hint of Orange on her person, but it wasn’t there.
Now Vincent was somewhat curious; he turned fully towards Lynn now, letting the pistol in his right hand hang in plain view as a silent threat. If Lynn was similarly packing then she at least wasn’t carrying the gun around which gave Vincent the advantage if it came down to whom was the quickest draw, and if she didn’t then it wouldn’t matter if she knew what he had or not.
“What do you want, Lynn?”
Taking a deep breath – for all the good that usually did – Vincent turned towards the other person and tried his hardest to bite down the look of contempt when he saw who it was. Terrilynn Boden; he didn’t know her personally, as they ran in separate albeit overlapping circles, but he saw he around enough to know that she was not the kind of person he wanted to get to know better.
They were actually – aggravatingly – fairly similar on paper; both had issues with their single parent and had a lot of anger because of it, anger which they took out on other people by fighting, all of which was done outside of school to avoid expulsion. They had never met in the ‘ring’ as it were, but Vincent had seen some of what she was capable of. He wasn’t afraid.
And neither was she apparently; why was she calling out to him? Couldn’t possibly be just because of the familiarity of seeing someone else from Detroit could it? Oh shit, they weren’t on the same team were they? Vincent quickly scanned Lynn’s body, trying to see any hint of Orange on her person, but it wasn’t there.
Now Vincent was somewhat curious; he turned fully towards Lynn now, letting the pistol in his right hand hang in plain view as a silent threat. If Lynn was similarly packing then she at least wasn’t carrying the gun around which gave Vincent the advantage if it came down to whom was the quickest draw, and if she didn’t then it wouldn’t matter if she knew what he had or not.
“What do you want, Lynn?”
Vincent turned towards her, and showed that he had a pistol. That there was just fucking amazing. Vincent had a pistol, and Lynn had jack shit. Well, except a bulletproof vest. That was, like, paper to Vincent's rock, right? And, hey, thinking about it, a pistol would be pretty nice. That was a little problem with her wait-this-shit-out plan. If she just sat around, whoever made it to the end would come and shoot her in the face. She needed a weapon to defend herself with, and it would be so very wonderful to take it from Vincent, who she could quite clearly see was (thankfully) not on her team. Yeah, paper and rock together meant nothing stood a chance.
Vincent was really a little bitch, right? The sort of person who caved under pressure? He probably was. She'd never heard anything about him that came anywhere near impressing her. It was just a matter of approaching things right. She had to be firm, forceful, and stern, and he'd give up and lick her boots in the hopes that she wouldn't kill him.
"What do I want?" she said. "Well, let's start with your gun. I heard you're not being very safe with it. Then I want you to tell me what happened earlier, and then I want you to get out of my sight. You can keep your pack. Do that, and I'll let you leave without any more trouble."
Yep. This was how you dealt with punk-ass wannabes like Vincent. Lay down the law and let them scurry to do your bidding.
Vincent was really a little bitch, right? The sort of person who caved under pressure? He probably was. She'd never heard anything about him that came anywhere near impressing her. It was just a matter of approaching things right. She had to be firm, forceful, and stern, and he'd give up and lick her boots in the hopes that she wouldn't kill him.
"What do I want?" she said. "Well, let's start with your gun. I heard you're not being very safe with it. Then I want you to tell me what happened earlier, and then I want you to get out of my sight. You can keep your pack. Do that, and I'll let you leave without any more trouble."
Yep. This was how you dealt with punk-ass wannabes like Vincent. Lay down the law and let them scurry to do your bidding.
Much like when Jonas has tried to threaten him back at the Cruise Ship, Vincent was stuck with the decision to either get angry at Lynn’s blatant disrespect and audacity to try and order him around, or laugh at the way she was acting as if she was the one with the upper hand here.
Settling on amusement for the time being Vincent fought down a smile and decided to humour Lynn for at least a little while longer; it wasn’t like answering her questions was going to do her much good when she would be dead in a few minutes, and hell, it might feel good to vent some of this frustration at her.
“What happened, Lynn, was that me and my teammate, Tiffany, ran into Karen Fucking Ruiz over at the other lake; you probably heard that on the announcements, I’m the ‘one still left’ that Karen should watch out for. More recently I just found out that my Team Mentor is one of the teachers from that rich kid school in Texas, some prick whose telling me my team leader is one of his spoilt students who’s going to somehow ‘lead Orange team to victory’. But more annoying than all of that, is that some bitch who got it into her head that she’s badass enough to mess with the real players, the real threats in this game, is trying to strong-arm me out of my weapon even though she has nothing to back it up with.
“But that last little annoyance, at least, has a very simple, and immediate, solution”
*Bang*
Vincent’s arms shot up, bringing the Desert Eagle up with one hand before grabbing and stabilising it with his other. He pulled the trigger a little too quickly, the shot going lower than he would have wanted towards Lynn’s stomach, rather than her chest. Still, a shot to the torso like that was kill either way, this way it would just take her longer to bleed out.
Vincent lowered the gun to his side and walked over towards Lynn, preparing to strip her of whatever poor excuse of a weapon she had that made her so brave and whatever supplie sshe had as well. “God, that felt more satisfying than it should have”
Settling on amusement for the time being Vincent fought down a smile and decided to humour Lynn for at least a little while longer; it wasn’t like answering her questions was going to do her much good when she would be dead in a few minutes, and hell, it might feel good to vent some of this frustration at her.
“What happened, Lynn, was that me and my teammate, Tiffany, ran into Karen Fucking Ruiz over at the other lake; you probably heard that on the announcements, I’m the ‘one still left’ that Karen should watch out for. More recently I just found out that my Team Mentor is one of the teachers from that rich kid school in Texas, some prick whose telling me my team leader is one of his spoilt students who’s going to somehow ‘lead Orange team to victory’. But more annoying than all of that, is that some bitch who got it into her head that she’s badass enough to mess with the real players, the real threats in this game, is trying to strong-arm me out of my weapon even though she has nothing to back it up with.
“But that last little annoyance, at least, has a very simple, and immediate, solution”
*Bang*
Vincent’s arms shot up, bringing the Desert Eagle up with one hand before grabbing and stabilising it with his other. He pulled the trigger a little too quickly, the shot going lower than he would have wanted towards Lynn’s stomach, rather than her chest. Still, a shot to the torso like that was kill either way, this way it would just take her longer to bleed out.
Vincent lowered the gun to his side and walked over towards Lynn, preparing to strip her of whatever poor excuse of a weapon she had that made her so brave and whatever supplie sshe had as well. “God, that felt more satisfying than it should have”
Vincent ranted, getting more and more worked up. He also seemed to completely miss what Lynn had been referring to, specifically, that guy he'd allegedly killed. Ah well, whatever. The announcer probably just fucked up or something. Vincent was probably totally harmless, or, fuck, maybe there was someone from that other school named Vincent who was an actual badass. And yeah, sure, he was loud and could've maybe been intimidating, but it wasn't like he actually had the balls to—wait a second, what was he—
The gunshot caught Lynn completely by surprise, impacting in the center of her stomach and knocking her sprawling onto her back. Her head slammed into the ground, making her see stars for a second. She just lay there, feeling the pain. Her entire fucking world was pain on pain with a side of pain right now, pain from her head and her stomach and her back. The only good thing was that none of it was the sort of pain that was fatal, or at least that she imagined fatal pain would feel like. It was a sort of awful bruises-on-bruises pain, but bruises healed. The vest had done its job, unless she was bleeding to death internally and just hadn't noticed yet, which was always a possibility. The distance between them had been enough to save her.
And now, she could hear Vincent heading her way. Maybe he was tough enough to try to kill a seemingly-unarmed girl. Maybe he was actually that littlest bit dangerous. Lynn had the element of surprise on her side now, though. Vincent would pay for his actions. She was expecting a fight to the death, while he was just planning on stealing shit from a dead girl.
So as he got closer, Lynn forced the pain to the back of her mind, tensed her body, and then sprung back to her feet, lurching towards Vincent, screaming in rage and swinging at his arm. She had to get the gun out of the equation. Then he'd be totally at her mercy.
The gunshot caught Lynn completely by surprise, impacting in the center of her stomach and knocking her sprawling onto her back. Her head slammed into the ground, making her see stars for a second. She just lay there, feeling the pain. Her entire fucking world was pain on pain with a side of pain right now, pain from her head and her stomach and her back. The only good thing was that none of it was the sort of pain that was fatal, or at least that she imagined fatal pain would feel like. It was a sort of awful bruises-on-bruises pain, but bruises healed. The vest had done its job, unless she was bleeding to death internally and just hadn't noticed yet, which was always a possibility. The distance between them had been enough to save her.
And now, she could hear Vincent heading her way. Maybe he was tough enough to try to kill a seemingly-unarmed girl. Maybe he was actually that littlest bit dangerous. Lynn had the element of surprise on her side now, though. Vincent would pay for his actions. She was expecting a fight to the death, while he was just planning on stealing shit from a dead girl.
So as he got closer, Lynn forced the pain to the back of her mind, tensed her body, and then sprung back to her feet, lurching towards Vincent, screaming in rage and swinging at his arm. She had to get the gun out of the equation. Then he'd be totally at her mercy.
It was like a scene out of every bad horror movie ever, villain/monster/whatever gets killed, protagonist walks over like a fucking moron to check to see if its really dead, then – complete with scare chord to shit the audience up as well – the things eyes open and it makes a grab for the main character. Such a cliché.
So why the hell had Vincent just let himself fall for the exact same trick?
Well, for one thing this wasn’t a bad horror movie, it was Survival of the Fittest, and the fittest in this case could apparently take a bullet to the torso and keep going. Vincent had just been about to lean over the body when Lynn had shot back up before he could register what had happened
He had back stepped mostly on instinct, a reaction to stop himself getting hit and instead ended up losing the Desert Eagle as it was sent flying from his hand; something he really needed to stop letting people do.
He didn’t bother to watch where the gun went, he didn’t need to know he just needed to stop Lynn from getting to it, which he managed to do for now by side stepping so that he place himself roughly between her and the wayward pistol, keeping his eyes on the girl the entire time. Last time something like this had happened he had nearly got his ass kicked by a girl – fuck it, he did get his ass kicked, but it at least wasn’t one sided.
Thinking back to the field made Vincent wonder where the wooden oar he had picked up from that fight was right now, only to mentally kick himself when he realised it was still back in the cabin.
So there he was, standing face to face with Bullet Proof Lynn with no weapons other than an empty revolver. No way to get to his gun – as much good as it would do – without risking her getting their first, no way to get his only melee weapon either. Just him, his fists and an opponent who got into at least as many fights as he did back home.
And as Vincent took two leaping strides forward, a grin on his face and his right fist pulled back and aimed right at Lynn’s face, one thought went though his mind.
This is going to be fun
So why the hell had Vincent just let himself fall for the exact same trick?
Well, for one thing this wasn’t a bad horror movie, it was Survival of the Fittest, and the fittest in this case could apparently take a bullet to the torso and keep going. Vincent had just been about to lean over the body when Lynn had shot back up before he could register what had happened
He had back stepped mostly on instinct, a reaction to stop himself getting hit and instead ended up losing the Desert Eagle as it was sent flying from his hand; something he really needed to stop letting people do.
He didn’t bother to watch where the gun went, he didn’t need to know he just needed to stop Lynn from getting to it, which he managed to do for now by side stepping so that he place himself roughly between her and the wayward pistol, keeping his eyes on the girl the entire time. Last time something like this had happened he had nearly got his ass kicked by a girl – fuck it, he did get his ass kicked, but it at least wasn’t one sided.
Thinking back to the field made Vincent wonder where the wooden oar he had picked up from that fight was right now, only to mentally kick himself when he realised it was still back in the cabin.
So there he was, standing face to face with Bullet Proof Lynn with no weapons other than an empty revolver. No way to get to his gun – as much good as it would do – without risking her getting their first, no way to get his only melee weapon either. Just him, his fists and an opponent who got into at least as many fights as he did back home.
And as Vincent took two leaping strides forward, a grin on his face and his right fist pulled back and aimed right at Lynn’s face, one thought went though his mind.
This is going to be fun
That was one thing dealt with. She'd gotten the fucking gun out of the equation. Now, it was just about dealing with Vincent. This should be no problem. She was about to go after the gun, then just turn around and shoot Vincent, but he was quick to block that possibility, stepping between her and the weapon. Alright, so he had a bit of a clue. Still didn't mean he was going to present a fucking challenge or anything.
Lynn was ready to lay into him. Just take him down, mess his day up something fierce. She was not ready for him to take the offensive before she could. Vincent lunged forwards, his fist flying at Lynn's face. She threw her arms up, trying to block, and leaned away from the blow, but was too late to evade it entirely. As the fist impacted, she let out a shout, of pain but also of rage. He'd attacked her, had hit her in the face. How dare he?
She tried to back off a step, at the same time lashing out with her left leg, trying to kick one of Vincent's legs and maybe slow him down a little. She had to regain her fucking bearings, or this was going to be one quick fight.
Lynn was ready to lay into him. Just take him down, mess his day up something fierce. She was not ready for him to take the offensive before she could. Vincent lunged forwards, his fist flying at Lynn's face. She threw her arms up, trying to block, and leaned away from the blow, but was too late to evade it entirely. As the fist impacted, she let out a shout, of pain but also of rage. He'd attacked her, had hit her in the face. How dare he?
She tried to back off a step, at the same time lashing out with her left leg, trying to kick one of Vincent's legs and maybe slow him down a little. She had to regain her fucking bearings, or this was going to be one quick fight.
Lynn threw her arms up to block his punch but the force behind it sent her reeling anyway and the little cry she let slip told him that she definitely felt it. She retreated away from him, trying to escape his reach and snapping out a kick at his knee at the same time.
It was a solid hit, crashing against the joint and making it buckle a little, though Vincent had been hit too many times to let himself drop too easily; he was just glad it hadn’t hit any higher, the bruise Madeline left on his thigh with the oar earlier was still there, close enough to the kick that he felt ripples of pain reach it. If Lynn had hit him there he probably wouldn’t still be smiling.
Vincent let her back away, letting her take herself further away from the fallen gun and her only hope in this fight, while he formulated a plan. In terms of fighting experience they were about even, not enough of a difference to give either one of them an edge, but what Vincent did have to his advantage was size – about six inches and eighty pounds of size – which gave him reach and strength over the little girl.
He rushed forward again, reaching out with his left hand and making a grab for the front of her shirt, attempting to seize a bundle of it in his fist. At the same time he balled his right hand up at his side and lashed out with another punch at her stomach;, keep her near to him then this fight was over; he was stronger, had longer arms and could probably take a punch better as well. If he could get a hold of her, if he stopped her retreat and turned this into a ‘who could take the most hits’ kind of fight, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
It was a solid hit, crashing against the joint and making it buckle a little, though Vincent had been hit too many times to let himself drop too easily; he was just glad it hadn’t hit any higher, the bruise Madeline left on his thigh with the oar earlier was still there, close enough to the kick that he felt ripples of pain reach it. If Lynn had hit him there he probably wouldn’t still be smiling.
Vincent let her back away, letting her take herself further away from the fallen gun and her only hope in this fight, while he formulated a plan. In terms of fighting experience they were about even, not enough of a difference to give either one of them an edge, but what Vincent did have to his advantage was size – about six inches and eighty pounds of size – which gave him reach and strength over the little girl.
He rushed forward again, reaching out with his left hand and making a grab for the front of her shirt, attempting to seize a bundle of it in his fist. At the same time he balled his right hand up at his side and lashed out with another punch at her stomach;, keep her near to him then this fight was over; he was stronger, had longer arms and could probably take a punch better as well. If he could get a hold of her, if he stopped her retreat and turned this into a ‘who could take the most hits’ kind of fight, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Her kick connected, but it didn't drop Vincent. Not good. Not terrible, either, but definitely not fucking good. He let her get some space, let her buy some time, but not enough to really plan things through fully. Then, he was right up in her face again, grabbing her shirt and punching at her stomach.
It was a mixed blessing, to be sure. Vincent held the advantage up close. He had size and strength. They both had experience. What Lynn had—what she was hoping Vincent lacked—was guts. She could take being hurt. She could lose a little to win. She wasn't so sure Vincent could say the same. He was doing better than she'd given him credit for, but he'd still backed off after her attack on him. That meant he could be intimidated.
The blow to her stomach hit her full on, making her gasp as it pressed all the bruises the bullet had just inflicted. She felt tears spring to her eyes, felt her body try to just shut down, but she didn't let it. No, she was going to fucking use this opportunity. She brought her left hand up, trying to pin Vincent's grasping hand, to keep his grip on her shirt, keep one of his hands busy. At the same time, using her stronger hand, she launched a shot for Vincent's throat. The odds of him letting it connect were almost nonexistent. The odds of it distracting him were a good deal better. She'd keep his attention towards the top of his body.
Lynn raised her foot and stomped down. It might not be much, but she could at least give Vincent's toes a tough time of it. His hold on her was actually helping her stability at the moment, keeping her steady. She could multitask. Could Vincent?
They were about to find out.
It was a mixed blessing, to be sure. Vincent held the advantage up close. He had size and strength. They both had experience. What Lynn had—what she was hoping Vincent lacked—was guts. She could take being hurt. She could lose a little to win. She wasn't so sure Vincent could say the same. He was doing better than she'd given him credit for, but he'd still backed off after her attack on him. That meant he could be intimidated.
The blow to her stomach hit her full on, making her gasp as it pressed all the bruises the bullet had just inflicted. She felt tears spring to her eyes, felt her body try to just shut down, but she didn't let it. No, she was going to fucking use this opportunity. She brought her left hand up, trying to pin Vincent's grasping hand, to keep his grip on her shirt, keep one of his hands busy. At the same time, using her stronger hand, she launched a shot for Vincent's throat. The odds of him letting it connect were almost nonexistent. The odds of it distracting him were a good deal better. She'd keep his attention towards the top of his body.
Lynn raised her foot and stomped down. It might not be much, but she could at least give Vincent's toes a tough time of it. His hold on her was actually helping her stability at the moment, keeping her steady. She could multitask. Could Vincent?
They were about to find out.
Vincent frowned as his hand made contact with Lynn’s stomach, feeling something yielding yet firm under her shirt, like punching padding of some kind only harder. Before he had time to puzzle things out though, his opponent had begun the counter attack, grasping his hand on her shirt to stop him pulling away. Vincent had to give it too this girl, she didn’t back down and was willing to fight him toe to toe; stupid, but brave. Then she threw the punch at his throat.
Thinking quickly Vincent lowered his head, attempting to cover his throat and take the punch on the chin instead of his more vulnerable trachea. At around the same time he felt the knuckles collide with his jaw he felt the girl stomp on his foot, her heel digging right into the top of his toes. Now he had a hurt foot, kicked knee and bruised thigh all on one side.
He took it back. Fuck this girl.
He grimaced through the unexpected pain in his foot and pulled the appendage back quickly, trying not to give up any ground in the process. Lynn still clung to the and on her shirt and the shift in his weight made hers shift as well; was she balancing herself on him? Maybe she was more hurt than she let on; getting shot couldn’t be easy after all. Deciding to take his chances on his theory Vincent stepped forward again and threw another hard punch at her midriff, again feeling that layer of something underneath. Whatever, he’d figure it out after this was over.
Thinking to make further use of his strength and her unbalance Vincent then grabbed onto her with his other hand as well, clutching at her stomach as well as her chest. Then, turning and pressing his hip towards her, Vincent lifted her bodily off the ground and hip tossed her head over heels onto her back, using his brute strength to make up for the fact that he didn’t know shit about judo or anything other than punching people.
Vincent stepped away from her again, letting her pick herself up as he made sure to step in between her and the gun again. He favoured his right leg slightly, the minor injuries adding up but nothing a couple days rest couldn’t fix, assuming he got that long. He just hoped Lynn didn’t notice.
Thinking quickly Vincent lowered his head, attempting to cover his throat and take the punch on the chin instead of his more vulnerable trachea. At around the same time he felt the knuckles collide with his jaw he felt the girl stomp on his foot, her heel digging right into the top of his toes. Now he had a hurt foot, kicked knee and bruised thigh all on one side.
He took it back. Fuck this girl.
He grimaced through the unexpected pain in his foot and pulled the appendage back quickly, trying not to give up any ground in the process. Lynn still clung to the and on her shirt and the shift in his weight made hers shift as well; was she balancing herself on him? Maybe she was more hurt than she let on; getting shot couldn’t be easy after all. Deciding to take his chances on his theory Vincent stepped forward again and threw another hard punch at her midriff, again feeling that layer of something underneath. Whatever, he’d figure it out after this was over.
Thinking to make further use of his strength and her unbalance Vincent then grabbed onto her with his other hand as well, clutching at her stomach as well as her chest. Then, turning and pressing his hip towards her, Vincent lifted her bodily off the ground and hip tossed her head over heels onto her back, using his brute strength to make up for the fact that he didn’t know shit about judo or anything other than punching people.
Vincent stepped away from her again, letting her pick herself up as he made sure to step in between her and the gun again. He favoured his right leg slightly, the minor injuries adding up but nothing a couple days rest couldn’t fix, assuming he got that long. He just hoped Lynn didn’t notice.
It was all going so well. Then, Vincent started to get smart. Lynn's right hand was hurting badly from catching Vincent on the chin, but that was less important than what happened next. He managed to land another punch on her gut, pressing the vest against her bruises, causing the pain to flare up once more. This time, it was too much for her to push through. It distracted her just long enough for things to fall apart.
Vincent managed to get hold of her, a better, more steady hold. As he lifted her, Lynn knew exactly what was coming, and exactly how much it was going to suck. Oh fuck. She was falling, moving the wrong way, and then she slammed to the ground again, smacking the back of her head once more. The world was a little blurry. She was ready for Vincent to dive down upon her, to choke her to death or something, but he kept his distance as she slowly pulled herself back up. He was toying with her. He was just messing with her. Evil fucker.
He would pay for that. She would make him pay. She was rapidly descending into rage. She wasn't paying much attention to anything now, except getting Vincent dead. Playing smart wasn't working. She was wounded, weakened. Her eyes were stinging with tears and sweat, and her head was spinning. This had to end. It was time to play angry.
Lynn gave out a scream as she charged straight at Vincent, flailing with her fists and elbows, clawing when the opportunity presented itself. She was going to bring him down, right the fuck now.
Vincent managed to get hold of her, a better, more steady hold. As he lifted her, Lynn knew exactly what was coming, and exactly how much it was going to suck. Oh fuck. She was falling, moving the wrong way, and then she slammed to the ground again, smacking the back of her head once more. The world was a little blurry. She was ready for Vincent to dive down upon her, to choke her to death or something, but he kept his distance as she slowly pulled herself back up. He was toying with her. He was just messing with her. Evil fucker.
He would pay for that. She would make him pay. She was rapidly descending into rage. She wasn't paying much attention to anything now, except getting Vincent dead. Playing smart wasn't working. She was wounded, weakened. Her eyes were stinging with tears and sweat, and her head was spinning. This had to end. It was time to play angry.
Lynn gave out a scream as she charged straight at Vincent, flailing with her fists and elbows, clawing when the opportunity presented itself. She was going to bring him down, right the fuck now.
Vincent had expected her to be angry, Vincent had expected her to be a little desperate; he hadn’t expected her to go berserk so easily. He had thought that a breaking point might be coming, a point when some people just lost their composure and just went apeshit; it had happened a few times in fights he was in and in the early days, before the cathartic effect of beating peoples heads in kicking in, it had happened to him a few times as well. He would have thought Lynn would have held it together longer, but he supposed being in a life or death situation would make people tense to begin with. Strange, Vincent wasn’t really feeling it.
Lynn screamed and charged at him and he raised his arms to block. Blows rained down on him, wild and without much weight behind them; his guard held up, though he could already feel his forearms bruising and those nails of hers were starting to draw blood.
Maybe because he hadn’t really thought about the big picture yet, maybe that was why he hadn’t felt too stressed by this whole thing; he was living by the moment, handling each situation as it came, handling each one like a singular fight. Until Tiffany came along he hadn’t given much thought to teams or strategy or even winning, just surviving. Maybe that was why he was hurt and she wasn’t – not at first at least – he was treating each fight as just that one moment and giving no thought to how hurt he got so long as he won, while she was probably trying to keep herself healthy enough to last the whole game.
He’d gotten pretty hurt in this fight alone; how long was he going to last fighting like this?
Still, however much pain Vincent was in right now Lynn must have been feeling it tenfold, at least if her appearance was any indication she was. Deciding he had let her tire herself out enough – his arms were really starting to smart – Vincent threw out both arms and pushed hers aside swiftly, before placing both hands around the back of her neck and stepped forward to plant a knee into her stomach.
He stepped back and let her gasp, doubling over for breath as a third blow – not counting the bullet – to her already bruised torso knocked the wind out of her. Taking his previous concerns to heart Vincent decided to end this now; he stepped up again and grabbed Lynn by the hair, pushing her head down as he raised his knee and slammed his joint into what felt like the bridge of her nose.
He waited until she hit the ground back first and walked around; carefully lifting his hurt left leg, he pressed one booted foot down on her throat and applied pressure. He had only ever done this once before, when somebody had really managed to piss him off and he wanted to make sure the guy got the message, but even then he didn’t press down as hard as he was now, making sure Lynn didn’t have any chance to get up while he took another moment to think.
There was no next move to consider however, this fight was over, it was just a matter of how to finish things off. The gun was the obvious choice, but it was too far away and he needn’t waste the bullets now. He wondered if he still had those shards of broken plate on him before realising he had given them to Tiffany before she had run into Karen.
Then Vincent got an idea, a twisted as fuck idea, one cold blooded enough to even send a little chill up his spine. Still, it was effective, efficient and would send a message to everyone else on the island once word got out on the next announcement.
He removed the boot from her windpipe, letting her gasp for breath for a second while he mustered up the stomach for what he was about to do; pulling a trigger was one thing, but this…
Vincent raised his right foot, his strong leg, and slammed it down heel first on Lynn’s throat as if he was just stamping on a particularly sturdy looking bug. He felt something shift and break under his heel before he pulled his foot back, turning around quickly and walking over to where he saw the gun lying in the grass.
Spinal column, windpipe, about three different veins and arteries; lot of different ways a strong shot to the throat can mess you up, lot of ways it can kill you, some fast, others… not. Vincent would give it a minute or two before heading back over there, pick up his pistol and heading back to the cabin to get his oar before checking on the body again. She should be dead by then.
Lynn screamed and charged at him and he raised his arms to block. Blows rained down on him, wild and without much weight behind them; his guard held up, though he could already feel his forearms bruising and those nails of hers were starting to draw blood.
Maybe because he hadn’t really thought about the big picture yet, maybe that was why he hadn’t felt too stressed by this whole thing; he was living by the moment, handling each situation as it came, handling each one like a singular fight. Until Tiffany came along he hadn’t given much thought to teams or strategy or even winning, just surviving. Maybe that was why he was hurt and she wasn’t – not at first at least – he was treating each fight as just that one moment and giving no thought to how hurt he got so long as he won, while she was probably trying to keep herself healthy enough to last the whole game.
He’d gotten pretty hurt in this fight alone; how long was he going to last fighting like this?
Still, however much pain Vincent was in right now Lynn must have been feeling it tenfold, at least if her appearance was any indication she was. Deciding he had let her tire herself out enough – his arms were really starting to smart – Vincent threw out both arms and pushed hers aside swiftly, before placing both hands around the back of her neck and stepped forward to plant a knee into her stomach.
He stepped back and let her gasp, doubling over for breath as a third blow – not counting the bullet – to her already bruised torso knocked the wind out of her. Taking his previous concerns to heart Vincent decided to end this now; he stepped up again and grabbed Lynn by the hair, pushing her head down as he raised his knee and slammed his joint into what felt like the bridge of her nose.
He waited until she hit the ground back first and walked around; carefully lifting his hurt left leg, he pressed one booted foot down on her throat and applied pressure. He had only ever done this once before, when somebody had really managed to piss him off and he wanted to make sure the guy got the message, but even then he didn’t press down as hard as he was now, making sure Lynn didn’t have any chance to get up while he took another moment to think.
There was no next move to consider however, this fight was over, it was just a matter of how to finish things off. The gun was the obvious choice, but it was too far away and he needn’t waste the bullets now. He wondered if he still had those shards of broken plate on him before realising he had given them to Tiffany before she had run into Karen.
Then Vincent got an idea, a twisted as fuck idea, one cold blooded enough to even send a little chill up his spine. Still, it was effective, efficient and would send a message to everyone else on the island once word got out on the next announcement.
He removed the boot from her windpipe, letting her gasp for breath for a second while he mustered up the stomach for what he was about to do; pulling a trigger was one thing, but this…
Vincent raised his right foot, his strong leg, and slammed it down heel first on Lynn’s throat as if he was just stamping on a particularly sturdy looking bug. He felt something shift and break under his heel before he pulled his foot back, turning around quickly and walking over to where he saw the gun lying in the grass.
Spinal column, windpipe, about three different veins and arteries; lot of different ways a strong shot to the throat can mess you up, lot of ways it can kill you, some fast, others… not. Vincent would give it a minute or two before heading back over there, pick up his pistol and heading back to the cabin to get his oar before checking on the body again. She should be dead by then.