((Danielle Baumgartner continued from América rompió mi corazón))
Her trek back to the village was despairingly quiet. To Danielle, silence was only the veneer of safety, like the underbrush camouflaging a prowling beast. Although it was hidden from plain sight, she could see the danger shifting in the leaves. She needed to be prepared if it decided to strike.
That anxiety was killing her.
At sunset, she found herself at the bottom of a hill, with gravestones rolling down its slope. A cemetery wasn’t the most comforting place to be at night, but in these circumstances, it was no better than being anywhere else. Besides, perhaps some of her other peers would be scared off by the atmosphere, and leave her some peace and quiet.
But of course, it was foolish to assume she was alone. Someone else could very well have the same idea.
Danielle started to ascend, firmly gripping the pistol. Her eyes darted around, trying to catch figures crouching behind gravestones, or lurking in the treelines. She'd been on edge ever since she left the house, but there was something different about this graveyard. Even though this entire town was now a battlefield, there was something especially heavy surrounding this place. Beneath the new, hot blood, was an older, gentler form of grief. It was oddly comforting.
It’d been a while since she’d been to a graveyard, she realized. The last time was when she was eleven. They were in Boston with Buddy’s family, celebrating Christmas and bidding the family farewell before moving across the country. On the day before their flight to Colorado, her stepfather decided to take the family on a daytrip, an hour and a half drive south. There they found rows of wreaths strewn across a snowy field, which delighted young Danielle. It was only when they came to the propped-up wreaths that she realized that it was a cemetery.
They were here to visit Robert Baumgartner’s grave. His father died in Russia when he was Freddy’s age, Buddy told him. They laid flowers on his grave and had a moment of silence, before embarking on the drive back to Stowe. Looking back, it was likely a ploy on her stepfather’s part to set an example for his stepson, to instill a palpable, personal respect for the sacrifices the military made. Danielle didn’t remember much from the trip herself. All she could remember was that as she looked back at the marble headstones sprouting from the snow, she could only think of how beautiful it was.
The cemetery here was a far cry from the graveyard in Cape Cod. The gravestones here are a faded grey, and instead of snow, the field is buried under a blanket of green foliage. But the memories still stirred in Danielle’s mind, and that somber calmness washed over her again.
In a way, this place was beautiful, too.
In that brief reprieve, she wondered what happened to the casualties of the Program. She doubted they’d be interred at a national cemetery. Sure, they died in combat for the sake of their country, though for some reason, they weren’t afforded the same treatment as veterans. Perhaps it was because they were all teenagers, and not everyone here died a valiant death. Danielle could sense the logic behind it, but she still felt it was unfair to the patriots that actually put up a fight. She thought of Jacqueline, and her heart sank into her stomach. Her friend deserved better. And Danielle decided that, when she eventually passed on, she would be buried like her grandfather.
At that moment, the announcement came on, as if triggered by her resolve.
Tomb of the Forgotten
Phase 2 (13-24 Hours), Open
(Jason Rosser continued from Disengage The Simulator)
Jason kept to himself as the day went by. Hiding and avoiding people as he trekked across the village. He didn't have anything outside of his crutches and that wouldn't hold up at this point. He'd already tried twice now and both times went to shit. He could still feel the pain from the hits he'd taken. It was in smaller doses than before, but it was still there.
No, if he was going to do this right, he would have to be smart about this. The direct approach was not working. Not with what he had at least.
As he traveled, he decided to get to the highest point of this shit place. It would allow him to get the full view of this area so he knew where the hell everything on this stupid map was and so he wouldn't be walking dead on into Buddy or the two bitches from earlier.
But then as he made his way along the graveyard to the church. He noticed something real important.
Some chick standing around, but she was not the important part to him, oh no.
It was the fuckin' gun she was packing. Of course it would't take long for him to meet some probable crazy bitch packin heat. It would perfectly fit his luck so far.
As he looked over at her from his cover to see what he could be up against. The gun wasn't huge or anything, just a pistol of some sort. As for the girl, he didn't know. He'd seen her around school, hanging' round the military fuckhead who were too busy sucking the dick of the military to really be worth talking to. She looked fit and dressed nice, probably spoiled to shit too. If that was the case, hopefully she'd be not much of a fighter without her weapon.
Still, it meant he'd have to be careful here. She could turn around and blast his head off at fuckin pin point for all he knew about her. Soon her attention was taken by the announcement coming on. As it did, Jason started making his way to her as quietly as he could, using the tombstones for cover as he did.
That thing had his name on it and he swore to god, if this got fucked. Something's getting broken.
Jason kept to himself as the day went by. Hiding and avoiding people as he trekked across the village. He didn't have anything outside of his crutches and that wouldn't hold up at this point. He'd already tried twice now and both times went to shit. He could still feel the pain from the hits he'd taken. It was in smaller doses than before, but it was still there.
No, if he was going to do this right, he would have to be smart about this. The direct approach was not working. Not with what he had at least.
As he traveled, he decided to get to the highest point of this shit place. It would allow him to get the full view of this area so he knew where the hell everything on this stupid map was and so he wouldn't be walking dead on into Buddy or the two bitches from earlier.
But then as he made his way along the graveyard to the church. He noticed something real important.
Some chick standing around, but she was not the important part to him, oh no.
It was the fuckin' gun she was packing. Of course it would't take long for him to meet some probable crazy bitch packin heat. It would perfectly fit his luck so far.
As he looked over at her from his cover to see what he could be up against. The gun wasn't huge or anything, just a pistol of some sort. As for the girl, he didn't know. He'd seen her around school, hanging' round the military fuckhead who were too busy sucking the dick of the military to really be worth talking to. She looked fit and dressed nice, probably spoiled to shit too. If that was the case, hopefully she'd be not much of a fighter without her weapon.
Still, it meant he'd have to be careful here. She could turn around and blast his head off at fuckin pin point for all he knew about her. Soon her attention was taken by the announcement coming on. As it did, Jason started making his way to her as quietly as he could, using the tombstones for cover as he did.
That thing had his name on it and he swore to god, if this got fucked. Something's getting broken.
(Adopted from Espional)
Danielle tried her best to block out the names of the dead. She had to steel herself for Jackie’s, and was hoping there were no other old friends to weigh her heart down further. They were necessary casualties here, she reminded herself. It was just another aspect of the military they were training them for. Soldiers mourned their comrades on the battlefield, but kept on fighting. Save the mourning for when they got back to the homeland.
That’s what Danielle was hoping to do, at least.
On the other hand, she made sure to make note of the other killers. After all, it was better to remember the names of people who were likely to shoot her dead than the ones who were already corpses. Most of the names she caught - Scott, Charlie, and even Bridie - were expected. Some weren’t. Danielle didn’t know Faye Xandora had it in her, although that only went to show what the Program brought out in some people.
As the announcement ended, the graveyard fell silent again. Danielle listened to the quiet ambience of nature, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were slightly louder.
That’s what Danielle was hoping to do, at least.
On the other hand, she made sure to make note of the other killers. After all, it was better to remember the names of people who were likely to shoot her dead than the ones who were already corpses. Most of the names she caught - Scott, Charlie, and even Bridie - were expected. Some weren’t. Danielle didn’t know Faye Xandora had it in her, although that only went to show what the Program brought out in some people.
As the announcement ended, the graveyard fell silent again. Danielle listened to the quiet ambience of nature, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were slightly louder.
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Somersault
- Posts: 236
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:21 am
((Yvonne Barnett continued from Tip On The Tightrope))
She still couldn't let go.
Yvonne had tried to keep on telling herself that leaving Nanna-Fiora was for the best, that it was what survivors did, that it was what winners did, but she had never been much of a good liar. The tears kept on rolling down her face as she stumbled through the streets, until finally, they had simply dried out. There was nothing more her tearducts had to give, although they left behind bloodshot eyes and stains on an acne-marked face in their wake.
By the time perhaps an hour passed, she was wheezing, gasping, products of a sedentary lifestyle briefly punctuated by marching carrying a xylophone, but only briefly. There had to be a reason to keep on walking, she thought, or a least one that could be found by continuing the long and arduous trek.
Perhaps she wasn't the Divine messenger herself, but there was still something that could potentially be discovered in this teenage wasteland, behind the broken dreams and shattered friendships, the bodies, the guts, and the gore. There couldn't be suffering without nothing, could there? No, no, and so Yvonne straightened her back and continued to walk, even as the sun beat down and her hair started to get matted with sweat. The day was going to get cooler eventually, and that was inevitable. Just like the graves everyone would inhabit at the end of their mortal lives. Wouldn't it be okay if hers just went a little longer than the other people here? She thought it, and immediately felt ashamed.
At the very least, it certainly wasn't a very Christian thing to think.
It was fitting in a way, then, that she eventually stumbled upon the graveyard in her wanderings. By this time, she was exhausted, lungs heaving, legs threatening to give out in a way she did not know existed. Somehow, though, she was still breathing. Still physically present on Earth, despite it all. That was a small blessing, and one that she would cherish. There was still some time, some time to apologize, some time to make amends, or to do nothing at all.
That last option wasn't preferable, but it was existent. Maybe that was good to keep in mind. In any case, the graveyard didn't exactly instill any confidence or feelings of protection in Yvonne, but maybe staying in such a sacred place for the dead was bound to transfer some of that holy juju onto her.
Her hockey stick was held firmly in her grip, as she slowly approached an old oak tree. Wizened, but strong. A bit like Grandma, actually, and so she leaned against it, trying to catch her breath for a moment. Stifling a yawn, she turned her head and saw something that made her blood chill.
An armed figure, on a hill. Oh, oh dear. It wasn't as if Yvonne was all that close to the figure, but part of her figured that she was close enough that shots made in her general direction were bound to hit. But yeah, a figure. Easier to think of the figure as just that, rather than a person, with hopes, dreams, perhaps a shared love of the Lord.
She turned her head back in front of her, and slowly breathed out. The tree was safe. At least, she hoped it was.
She still couldn't let go.
Yvonne had tried to keep on telling herself that leaving Nanna-Fiora was for the best, that it was what survivors did, that it was what winners did, but she had never been much of a good liar. The tears kept on rolling down her face as she stumbled through the streets, until finally, they had simply dried out. There was nothing more her tearducts had to give, although they left behind bloodshot eyes and stains on an acne-marked face in their wake.
By the time perhaps an hour passed, she was wheezing, gasping, products of a sedentary lifestyle briefly punctuated by marching carrying a xylophone, but only briefly. There had to be a reason to keep on walking, she thought, or a least one that could be found by continuing the long and arduous trek.
Perhaps she wasn't the Divine messenger herself, but there was still something that could potentially be discovered in this teenage wasteland, behind the broken dreams and shattered friendships, the bodies, the guts, and the gore. There couldn't be suffering without nothing, could there? No, no, and so Yvonne straightened her back and continued to walk, even as the sun beat down and her hair started to get matted with sweat. The day was going to get cooler eventually, and that was inevitable. Just like the graves everyone would inhabit at the end of their mortal lives. Wouldn't it be okay if hers just went a little longer than the other people here? She thought it, and immediately felt ashamed.
At the very least, it certainly wasn't a very Christian thing to think.
It was fitting in a way, then, that she eventually stumbled upon the graveyard in her wanderings. By this time, she was exhausted, lungs heaving, legs threatening to give out in a way she did not know existed. Somehow, though, she was still breathing. Still physically present on Earth, despite it all. That was a small blessing, and one that she would cherish. There was still some time, some time to apologize, some time to make amends, or to do nothing at all.
That last option wasn't preferable, but it was existent. Maybe that was good to keep in mind. In any case, the graveyard didn't exactly instill any confidence or feelings of protection in Yvonne, but maybe staying in such a sacred place for the dead was bound to transfer some of that holy juju onto her.
Her hockey stick was held firmly in her grip, as she slowly approached an old oak tree. Wizened, but strong. A bit like Grandma, actually, and so she leaned against it, trying to catch her breath for a moment. Stifling a yawn, she turned her head and saw something that made her blood chill.
An armed figure, on a hill. Oh, oh dear. It wasn't as if Yvonne was all that close to the figure, but part of her figured that she was close enough that shots made in her general direction were bound to hit. But yeah, a figure. Easier to think of the figure as just that, rather than a person, with hopes, dreams, perhaps a shared love of the Lord.
She turned her head back in front of her, and slowly breathed out. The tree was safe. At least, she hoped it was.
As the man blathered on in the background, Jason got closer and closer to his target. For once he was glad to hear fuckwit general speak, it soaked the area in a noise that made it easier for him to move, his crutches was almost ninja when that voice was blurting out bull. As names like Scott and Charlie were called out, he was by the closest tombstone to her.
He scanned the area around, trying to see any surprises the girl might have. Sudden friends or allies around to stop him. Any other weapons of any kind.
None. Things were in his favor. He just needed the element of surprise.
He edged himself closer to her as the announcement ended and her attention had still not turned to him. He threw his crutches at her and launching himself for the gun, clawing and fishing for it.
He scanned the area around, trying to see any surprises the girl might have. Sudden friends or allies around to stop him. Any other weapons of any kind.
None. Things were in his favor. He just needed the element of surprise.
He edged himself closer to her as the announcement ended and her attention had still not turned to him. He threw his crutches at her and launching himself for the gun, clawing and fishing for it.
Danielle let out a cry as something hit her back, sending her stumbling. A million thoughts exploded into her head: berating her for letting her guard down, screaming at her to fight, wailing in fear of death. She instinctively turned towards the source, although she only managed to turn to one side before she felt a hand grapple at her wrist.
At her gun.
Her heart was pumping so fast she was afraid it would burst, but she also felt adrenaline course throughout her body. Sure, she’d been caught off guard, but a good soldier was able to turn the tides back into their favour. Without her gun, she was as good as dead
And Danielle was going to do everything she could to ensure that she wouldn’t die here.
Her grip loosened for just a moment, and the other person seized the opportunity to grab the handle. But as an intense resolve rose in her, she clenched her fingers around the gun once more. Danielle yanked the gun up and forward, hoping to drag her adversary with it.
At her gun.
Her heart was pumping so fast she was afraid it would burst, but she also felt adrenaline course throughout her body. Sure, she’d been caught off guard, but a good soldier was able to turn the tides back into their favour. Without her gun, she was as good as dead
And Danielle was going to do everything she could to ensure that she wouldn’t die here.
Her grip loosened for just a moment, and the other person seized the opportunity to grab the handle. But as an intense resolve rose in her, she clenched her fingers around the gun once more. Danielle yanked the gun up and forward, hoping to drag her adversary with it.
She let out a satisfying sound as he stumbled into her, hands grasping for the gun. a sound that signified to him that he done it right this time, that he had a chance to win this.
Soon they found their way to the handle before she started using her weight, dragging it it in different directions. Now, Jason wasn't a weak kid, but he was a flighty kid and not necessarily the most weight on. He was not Buddy, who could probably bench press him if he felt needed.
He felt that feeling rise once more as the girl's resistance rose. Adrenaline coursed through as he felt her using her strength and weight on him, trying to hold his ground. He would give it to her that she was strong, but that meant it was more likely that she'd get it back than him winning this fight.
He needed this. So badly.
And then he let go as she dragged the gun downwards and as the girl tried to recover from that, Jason gripped her shoulders and headbutted her as hard as he could.
Soon they found their way to the handle before she started using her weight, dragging it it in different directions. Now, Jason wasn't a weak kid, but he was a flighty kid and not necessarily the most weight on. He was not Buddy, who could probably bench press him if he felt needed.
He felt that feeling rise once more as the girl's resistance rose. Adrenaline coursed through as he felt her using her strength and weight on him, trying to hold his ground. He would give it to her that she was strong, but that meant it was more likely that she'd get it back than him winning this fight.
He needed this. So badly.
And then he let go as she dragged the gun downwards and as the girl tried to recover from that, Jason gripped her shoulders and headbutted her as hard as he could.
Her hand flew free, and in that moment, Danielle wanted a way out. There was no shame in a tactical retreat: better to lose a battle and win the war. Running uphill was going to be a struggle, but it was all she had going for her. She felt the soles of her shoes push against the ground, but before she could fly, her assailant grabbed her shoulders and rammed into her spine.
Danielle grunted and staggered forward. In the heat of the moment, she swung the gun upwards, and smashed its barrel into their knuckles.
Danielle grunted and staggered forward. In the heat of the moment, she swung the gun upwards, and smashed its barrel into their knuckles.
He grunted as the hit connected and the girl staggered away from him. Just a bit though, as Jason quickly closed the gap between them again and made frantic attempts for her gun. However it didn't take long for the girl to fight back and for the gun to make a print on his hands.
He cursed loudly at her. "Fuckin' whore!" He spat as his hands forced themselves into fists and he started throwing punches at her. Teeth grinding together in pain as he tried to pay her back.
He cursed loudly at her. "Fuckin' whore!" He spat as his hands forced themselves into fists and he started throwing punches at her. Teeth grinding together in pain as he tried to pay her back.
Her adversary - a boy, judging by his voice, but not one she could recognize in the heat of the moment - spat insults at her, though they didn’t faze Danielle. After all, the words stung less than the punches to her back. She stumbled forward, but used the motion as momentum.
Running had never been her strong suit, but it also wasn’t a major weakness. After recovering from the blows, she scrambled up the hill, hoping to put as much distance between herself and the boy as possible. Halfway up the hill, Danielle stole a brief look at the shadowy figure at the base. He was unrecognizable in the split second she’d laid eyes on him, but that didn’t matter. Ideally, Danielle would never see him again.
And she’d make sure of that.
It had been a decision made in an instant. Without skipping a breath, Danielle raised the pistol, and fired in the figure’s direction. Then she turned back and bolted, cresting the hill.
She wouldn’t stick around to see if her shot connected.
((Danielle Baumgartner continued in so this is the part where i regret making an elvis impersonator when i've never listened to an elvis song in my life, is))
Running had never been her strong suit, but it also wasn’t a major weakness. After recovering from the blows, she scrambled up the hill, hoping to put as much distance between herself and the boy as possible. Halfway up the hill, Danielle stole a brief look at the shadowy figure at the base. He was unrecognizable in the split second she’d laid eyes on him, but that didn’t matter. Ideally, Danielle would never see him again.
And she’d make sure of that.
It had been a decision made in an instant. Without skipping a breath, Danielle raised the pistol, and fired in the figure’s direction. Then she turned back and bolted, cresting the hill.
She wouldn’t stick around to see if her shot connected.
((Danielle Baumgartner continued in so this is the part where i regret making an elvis impersonator when i've never listened to an elvis song in my life, is))
For a second there. Jason thought everything was fine, he was gaining momentum on her. Her defence had collapsed and he was soon going to go for the gun again and ensure this bitch wasn't walking.
Of course that's not what happened, a sudden lurch from the girl to get away succeded and he stood there furious before a sudden turn up the hill and the muzzle of the gun flashed.
A scream erupted from him as he felt himself fall back and pangs of pain through his body. His breathing grew erratic as he laid there. He tried to force himself to the left side, but found it started to hurt even more. On his back he inspected the left shoulder. There was a hole through it with splatters of blood around.
His screams grew louder as his eyes widened at the sight, tears coming out. She'd really done it now, he had been shot and was an easy target for anybody. A barrage of thoughts ran through his mind as he laid there.
Why wasn't this working? He had this in the bag, she barely even defended herself. He had the advantage the entire time. How did this all go to shit?
It felt like hours were passing as he laid, crying his eyes out and screaming. She could have easily killed him. Instead, there was nothing. No finishing gunshot with a one-liner that was corny as all hell. No execution. He lifted his head barely to see there was nothing there. She had shot and left him there.
"Fuckin' whore! Burn in hell!" He screamed as loud as he could. To make sure she heard it and anyone else for that matter. He didn't care now, she had fucked him up, possibly for lie and then ran away. couldn't even finish the fight, just ran. Like the rest of them. None of them had any balls on em to stand up and fight.
Using his right arm, he dragged himself across the ground to his bag, it didn't take long for him to fiddle it open and started flushing items out on the ground by lifting it. He cursed all the while he picked up the kit amongst the items.
Even though he had no idea how to do so.
As he inspected his shoulder nervously, keeping his hand from touching or even reaching around the wound. He found there was only one hole on him. No exit. Which meant one thing.
It was still in there.
"Oh no. nononononononononononononono-" His hand started shaking in the air innefectually as he stared at it. His breathing never calimg down and being stuck at real fast mode, along with his heart. He felt the beats in his chest as he blinked his eyes rapidly. He felt the tears soak his face.
His entire day had turned into hell.
Of course that's not what happened, a sudden lurch from the girl to get away succeded and he stood there furious before a sudden turn up the hill and the muzzle of the gun flashed.
A scream erupted from him as he felt himself fall back and pangs of pain through his body. His breathing grew erratic as he laid there. He tried to force himself to the left side, but found it started to hurt even more. On his back he inspected the left shoulder. There was a hole through it with splatters of blood around.
His screams grew louder as his eyes widened at the sight, tears coming out. She'd really done it now, he had been shot and was an easy target for anybody. A barrage of thoughts ran through his mind as he laid there.
Why wasn't this working? He had this in the bag, she barely even defended herself. He had the advantage the entire time. How did this all go to shit?
It felt like hours were passing as he laid, crying his eyes out and screaming. She could have easily killed him. Instead, there was nothing. No finishing gunshot with a one-liner that was corny as all hell. No execution. He lifted his head barely to see there was nothing there. She had shot and left him there.
"Fuckin' whore! Burn in hell!" He screamed as loud as he could. To make sure she heard it and anyone else for that matter. He didn't care now, she had fucked him up, possibly for lie and then ran away. couldn't even finish the fight, just ran. Like the rest of them. None of them had any balls on em to stand up and fight.
Using his right arm, he dragged himself across the ground to his bag, it didn't take long for him to fiddle it open and started flushing items out on the ground by lifting it. He cursed all the while he picked up the kit amongst the items.
Even though he had no idea how to do so.
As he inspected his shoulder nervously, keeping his hand from touching or even reaching around the wound. He found there was only one hole on him. No exit. Which meant one thing.
It was still in there.
"Oh no. nononononononononononononono-" His hand started shaking in the air innefectually as he stared at it. His breathing never calimg down and being stuck at real fast mode, along with his heart. He felt the beats in his chest as he blinked his eyes rapidly. He felt the tears soak his face.
His entire day had turned into hell.
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Somersault
- Posts: 236
- Joined: Wed Aug 08, 2018 9:21 am
Yvonne stood, holding her hockey stick as if it was the only thing able to keep her upright, as the carnage unfolded in front of her. She saw the boy tackle the girl, gasped as she smashed the gun into his hand. Just like a trainwreck, she couldn't pull her eyes away from the wreckage, her classmates rapidly falling further and further away from the Lord.
The gunshot, though, forced her to avert her gaze.
The screams recaptured her attention, and there was the boy, screaming like the kids they all were. Rather than instinctively going to help him, she felt as if it would have been smarter just to leave him there, before a pang of guilt stopped her in her tracks. If she did that, she was no better than what Nanna-Fiora said. She'd just be admitting that this was senseless, and it was senseless, and that this was twisted, which it was, but still, her heart knew there had to be more. At least, she oped it was her heart, and not just desperation.
Breathing in once, twice, trying to restore some sense of calm into her off-balance body, Yvonne looked back at the bleeding boy. He was dangerous, he was a threat. He was someone who probably wouldn't have hesitated to kill her, had he the chance. Still, did that mean he deserved to lay there dying, crying, screaming profanities as if that would help him take in more breath of air?
No, it didn't, and she knew that in her heart of hearts, that maybe for the rest of her life she would regret it if she didn't do something. Anything, even if it was just offer emotional comfort. But, danger, right? But Jesus.
She gulped again. If there was any time to try to live up to those holy expectations, maybe it would be now.
Some steps were all it took for her to get close to the guy, and now, he wasn't just a boy anymore. He was a classmate, with a name, a face, and a reputation. Not that reputations mattered much anymore, as the hockey stick in her hands reminded her, but still. There was so much before this, and now, this - scared, dying, and just trying to find a way out.
Trying to keep her voice calm, Yvonne called out to the boy.
"You need some help?"
This was dangerous. This was stupid. People had died already, the announcement from the speakers told her that, a shiver running down her spine. But maybe, it was right. Maybe it was her turn to be brave.
The gunshot, though, forced her to avert her gaze.
The screams recaptured her attention, and there was the boy, screaming like the kids they all were. Rather than instinctively going to help him, she felt as if it would have been smarter just to leave him there, before a pang of guilt stopped her in her tracks. If she did that, she was no better than what Nanna-Fiora said. She'd just be admitting that this was senseless, and it was senseless, and that this was twisted, which it was, but still, her heart knew there had to be more. At least, she oped it was her heart, and not just desperation.
Breathing in once, twice, trying to restore some sense of calm into her off-balance body, Yvonne looked back at the bleeding boy. He was dangerous, he was a threat. He was someone who probably wouldn't have hesitated to kill her, had he the chance. Still, did that mean he deserved to lay there dying, crying, screaming profanities as if that would help him take in more breath of air?
No, it didn't, and she knew that in her heart of hearts, that maybe for the rest of her life she would regret it if she didn't do something. Anything, even if it was just offer emotional comfort. But, danger, right? But Jesus.
She gulped again. If there was any time to try to live up to those holy expectations, maybe it would be now.
Some steps were all it took for her to get close to the guy, and now, he wasn't just a boy anymore. He was a classmate, with a name, a face, and a reputation. Not that reputations mattered much anymore, as the hockey stick in her hands reminded her, but still. There was so much before this, and now, this - scared, dying, and just trying to find a way out.
Trying to keep her voice calm, Yvonne called out to the boy.
"You need some help?"
This was dangerous. This was stupid. People had died already, the announcement from the speakers told her that, a shiver running down her spine. But maybe, it was right. Maybe it was her turn to be brave.
His head went back down to the ground as he tried to breathe. To take control before he lost it even more. But the thought kept circling his head, his shoulder was shot and was probably fucked beyond repair. He had yet to see any of his friends in this hell hole. Instead he ran into spineless deadweights, overly conscious white knights and crazy bitches.
He had been in fight after fight, alone and barely getting anything from any of it. And this was it, lying in a graveyard bleeding out from a shoulder wound.
His eyes felt heavy while his heart continued to pound away in a rhythm. Soon the tiredness and heavynes became too much and Jason closed his eyes.
He heard a voice call out. A girl's voice. He opened his eyes to see her standing near him. It caught him by suprise as she was black girl holding a hockey stick. She was far bigger than him. Could probably crush his head with her feet if she felt like it.
Instead, she asked if he needed some help. He stared incredously at her. He was suprised the notion of helping him even was at her mind, he was at her mercy and he was white. Easy prey as one would say.
With the way Sidney had talked about The Program, you'd think they'd run around slaguthering as many of them as they could for the way America was.
But if she was offering, he wasn't going to deny it.
"Fu-fuckin' yeah! Help me, please..."
He didn't know if she would help, but she offered and he'd rather not die in a graveyard to some random bitch who couldn't finish what she started. If he was going to die anytime soon, it would be on his terms.
He had been in fight after fight, alone and barely getting anything from any of it. And this was it, lying in a graveyard bleeding out from a shoulder wound.
His eyes felt heavy while his heart continued to pound away in a rhythm. Soon the tiredness and heavynes became too much and Jason closed his eyes.
He heard a voice call out. A girl's voice. He opened his eyes to see her standing near him. It caught him by suprise as she was black girl holding a hockey stick. She was far bigger than him. Could probably crush his head with her feet if she felt like it.
Instead, she asked if he needed some help. He stared incredously at her. He was suprised the notion of helping him even was at her mind, he was at her mercy and he was white. Easy prey as one would say.
With the way Sidney had talked about The Program, you'd think they'd run around slaguthering as many of them as they could for the way America was.
But if she was offering, he wasn't going to deny it.
"Fu-fuckin' yeah! Help me, please..."
He didn't know if she would help, but she offered and he'd rather not die in a graveyard to some random bitch who couldn't finish what she started. If he was going to die anytime soon, it would be on his terms.
((Grant continued from Research Grant))
Y'know, usually you didn't walk towards the sound of a gunfight, but usually you also weren't in life or death scenario on account of America the beautiful, so Grant figured that priorities changed.
His had been changing all day long, it was just the way of things, if you wanted to not be dead. Adapt and overcome.
...Had he read that somewhere? It felt like something he'd read rather than come up with himself, cause he was a pretty smart dude but that was going on to the philosophical style of things.
Anyway, he felt like he was on a timer right now. The timer was called 'how long until Maribel actually died'. As soon as that particular cat got out of that particular bag, there would be questions that he didn't particularly feel like answering. The idea of the expression on Charity's face as she tried to work out how he managed credit for killing someone when they'd been together in the entire intervening portion of the announcements wasn't quite worth the risk of compromising his game.
Speaking of which, walking towards the gunfight.
He'd put it simply to Charity as scavenging, cause that was what it was. No shame in picking up where other people left off. Most likely they'd just find corpses and looted gear, but you never knew. Could get lucky and folks wound up mutually killing each other. Fact was, Grant figured that if the alliance had a shelf life, so did his own chances if he didn’t get better equipped. A bomb was very much a ‘one and done’ kind of deal.
As they moved into the graveyard, the hostilities looked over. There was a girl standing over someone, and if his ears weren’t mistaking him, the someone was asking for some help. Didn’t seem like the kind of conversation you had with someone who just murdered your ass, though Grant couldn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity who looked as if they’d been on the losing end of the fight.
“Feel like checking that out?” Grant murmured to Charity. “I’ll circle around, make sure there aren’t any surprises.”
Y'know, usually you didn't walk towards the sound of a gunfight, but usually you also weren't in life or death scenario on account of America the beautiful, so Grant figured that priorities changed.
His had been changing all day long, it was just the way of things, if you wanted to not be dead. Adapt and overcome.
...Had he read that somewhere? It felt like something he'd read rather than come up with himself, cause he was a pretty smart dude but that was going on to the philosophical style of things.
Anyway, he felt like he was on a timer right now. The timer was called 'how long until Maribel actually died'. As soon as that particular cat got out of that particular bag, there would be questions that he didn't particularly feel like answering. The idea of the expression on Charity's face as she tried to work out how he managed credit for killing someone when they'd been together in the entire intervening portion of the announcements wasn't quite worth the risk of compromising his game.
Speaking of which, walking towards the gunfight.
He'd put it simply to Charity as scavenging, cause that was what it was. No shame in picking up where other people left off. Most likely they'd just find corpses and looted gear, but you never knew. Could get lucky and folks wound up mutually killing each other. Fact was, Grant figured that if the alliance had a shelf life, so did his own chances if he didn’t get better equipped. A bomb was very much a ‘one and done’ kind of deal.
As they moved into the graveyard, the hostilities looked over. There was a girl standing over someone, and if his ears weren’t mistaking him, the someone was asking for some help. Didn’t seem like the kind of conversation you had with someone who just murdered your ass, though Grant couldn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity who looked as if they’d been on the losing end of the fight.
“Feel like checking that out?” Grant murmured to Charity. “I’ll circle around, make sure there aren’t any surprises.”
Ugh. Stealth so wasn't Charity's deal.
((Charity Gardner continued from Radical-6))
It was Follow The Leader, though. She'd wandered all over the damn place at Grant's direction, and she was getting kind of tired of fuck-all happening. So sure. She'd check it out. If she got to axe somebody in the face and Grant missed out because he wanted to play backup, that was his loss.
Charity wasn't sure she wanted to deal with him if he went and got his feelings hurt that she had bigger nards than he did, but man. You had to grow a pair sometime, Grant. If he didn't really have a plan (and it was starting to seem like he didn't) and he wasn't going to buck the fuck up and do what needed doing so they could all get this over with (also looking like a no), then Charity was just going to have to pop a squat, grow a pair herself, and put her weapon in somebody's skull.
She kept all that to herself, though. She still liked the guy, even if he wasn't quite delivering what she'd hoped. If nothing else, she wanted him around so anybody who popped up with a gun would have multiple targets to choose between. She'd only hold it against Grant a little if that was what he wanted out of her company too, at this point.
So Charity nodded, flashed a grin that was a little fainter, a little more tired than it had been a day ago, and whispered back, "Sure." She waited for Grant to slip away before she started moving forward. She'd ditched her sweatshirt during the night, so the axe had nowhere to go but her hand now. It was probably better that way.
((Charity Gardner continued from Radical-6))
It was Follow The Leader, though. She'd wandered all over the damn place at Grant's direction, and she was getting kind of tired of fuck-all happening. So sure. She'd check it out. If she got to axe somebody in the face and Grant missed out because he wanted to play backup, that was his loss.
Charity wasn't sure she wanted to deal with him if he went and got his feelings hurt that she had bigger nards than he did, but man. You had to grow a pair sometime, Grant. If he didn't really have a plan (and it was starting to seem like he didn't) and he wasn't going to buck the fuck up and do what needed doing so they could all get this over with (also looking like a no), then Charity was just going to have to pop a squat, grow a pair herself, and put her weapon in somebody's skull.
She kept all that to herself, though. She still liked the guy, even if he wasn't quite delivering what she'd hoped. If nothing else, she wanted him around so anybody who popped up with a gun would have multiple targets to choose between. She'd only hold it against Grant a little if that was what he wanted out of her company too, at this point.
So Charity nodded, flashed a grin that was a little fainter, a little more tired than it had been a day ago, and whispered back, "Sure." She waited for Grant to slip away before she started moving forward. She'd ditched her sweatshirt during the night, so the axe had nowhere to go but her hand now. It was probably better that way.