So, here’s a fun fact: Jeremy had never been injured before in his life.
Well, yeah, there were the scratches. The scars. The lost teeth. Like, the playground things. Those probably officially counted as injuries, according to whatever sources existed out there. They didn’t count for Jeremy though. They were like… small things. Minor things. Things that didn’t count in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like he would have remembered a cut he got in fifth grade on his deathbed when he was recounting through the highs and lows of his life. It’d be sorta hard to remember in the first place. They didn’t cause that much pain. Like, one day he just noticed a gash on his leg and the most he felt was confusion about how it got there.
But anyway, point was, Jeremy had never really been injured before. There was the small stuff, yeah, but that didn’t count. He was talking about, like… broken bones. Casts. The things he saw his classmates in occasionally whenever they had led a more exciting and fulfilling life than his was. His sister, when she went on that excursion once. When he had visited her in hospital, afterwards. Big things. Serious things. Things that counted. Jeremy hadn’t gotten any of those.
Well.
Until now.
He hadn’t noticed the signs. There was only a flash of movement.
And then there was a whump and a crack as the baseball bat found its mark, sending the gun clattering as Jeremy’s body hit the floor.
Idiot Launch
The morning before the Fourth Announcement
Jeremy fell to the floor with a loud clatter. He didn't even make a move to defend himself. Somehow, that made Junko feel worse. Had he even given up that much? Did he expect this? Who cares. All Junko cared was that she was pissed. He just came here, acting like she was just going to die pointlessly. Like nothing she did, nothing she'd tried, absolutely nothing mattered.
Everything blurred, dimmed, grayed out. Her heart beat was racing in her ears, making it hard to hear. Junko couldn't think. Didn't want to. And yet, everything seemed clear at once.
She went for another swing.
"Fucking-"
Another.
"Do something-"
Another.
"Come on-"
This time a kick.
She didn't realize it in her adrenaline rush, but she was showing all of her teeth.
Everything blurred, dimmed, grayed out. Her heart beat was racing in her ears, making it hard to hear. Junko couldn't think. Didn't want to. And yet, everything seemed clear at once.
She went for another swing.
"Fucking-"
Another.
"Do something-"
Another.
"Come on-"
This time a kick.
She didn't realize it in her adrenaline rush, but she was showing all of her teeth.
-
Yugikun
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His body hit the floor. His breath caught and stayed in his throat and the room was around him and he didn’t know what happened why did he hurt why was he on the floor and-
The second strike hit.
The third.
The fourth.
And it spiked and it hurt and the fifth and he didn’t know what was happening what had happened what was going to happen and there was a room around him and a person above him and the person was above him and he had to see them and it was-
Junko.
His friend.
The person he finally found.
The person attacking him.
He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what he did. He didn’t know what she’d done.
But she was his friend.
Maybe he could talk to her.
Maybe he could stop this.
The sixth went down. His hand went up. There was a creak and a crack as the bat stopped.
“Junko.”
He looked her in the eyes.
“Stop it.”
A pause.
“Please.”
The second strike hit.
The third.
The fourth.
And it spiked and it hurt and the fifth and he didn’t know what was happening what had happened what was going to happen and there was a room around him and a person above him and the person was above him and he had to see them and it was-
Junko.
His friend.
The person he finally found.
The person attacking him.
He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what he did. He didn’t know what she’d done.
But she was his friend.
Maybe he could talk to her.
Maybe he could stop this.
The sixth went down. His hand went up. There was a creak and a crack as the bat stopped.
“Junko.”
He looked her in the eyes.
“Stop it.”
A pause.
“Please.”
Junko slammed the bat into him another time. Then another. Yet another. Another still. She lost count. It seemed like a slower rhythm than the blood rushing in her ears. And yet, she kept going.
But eventually, he said something.
Junko. Stop this. Please.
For a moment, the bat stopped. Junko's blood was still pumping and burning under her skin. But he- Jeremy- had looked her in the eye. He seemed genuinely afraid, shocked even. Well, this is what he wanted, didn't he? Someone who'd... who'd... finish the job. No, was that what she wanted? But...
The bat, for a second, seemed foreign, like a limb grafted on to her body where it shouldn't. But it soon felt just as familiar as it did before. She shook her head.
"I can't... you should..."
Her voice came out quiet, almost embarrassingly meek. But her blood rate went up again. It felt like some sort of strange track event.
"No."
Junko shook her head again. Her mouth curled even more. Her eyes, still hidden behind her sunglasses, grew misty. She made a noise. Laughter? A whimper? Who knows? That familiar feeling of adrenaline, it was difficult to let herself calm down. But she couldn't. Didn't want to. It was what seemed natural. That bloodrush, that'd been with her for most of her life. It seemed more comfortable than dealing with the reality in front of her.
Jeremy's reluctance to fight back only made it worse. He was still acting moralistic. He'd given up, then. He wasn't even going to fight back. He wasn't going to do something, even crawl away. She hated him. A small voice in the back of her head told her that was horrible, but she pushed it away. She hated how he made her feel this way.
"No," she repeated.
Her lips curled further. The blood continued rushing. Junko, even in her rage, was aware of her loud breathing.
"Hey..."
Her grip on the bat was like a vice.
"Watch this!"
The bat swung down another time.
But eventually, he said something.
Junko. Stop this. Please.
For a moment, the bat stopped. Junko's blood was still pumping and burning under her skin. But he- Jeremy- had looked her in the eye. He seemed genuinely afraid, shocked even. Well, this is what he wanted, didn't he? Someone who'd... who'd... finish the job. No, was that what she wanted? But...
The bat, for a second, seemed foreign, like a limb grafted on to her body where it shouldn't. But it soon felt just as familiar as it did before. She shook her head.
"I can't... you should..."
Her voice came out quiet, almost embarrassingly meek. But her blood rate went up again. It felt like some sort of strange track event.
"No."
Junko shook her head again. Her mouth curled even more. Her eyes, still hidden behind her sunglasses, grew misty. She made a noise. Laughter? A whimper? Who knows? That familiar feeling of adrenaline, it was difficult to let herself calm down. But she couldn't. Didn't want to. It was what seemed natural. That bloodrush, that'd been with her for most of her life. It seemed more comfortable than dealing with the reality in front of her.
Jeremy's reluctance to fight back only made it worse. He was still acting moralistic. He'd given up, then. He wasn't even going to fight back. He wasn't going to do something, even crawl away. She hated him. A small voice in the back of her head told her that was horrible, but she pushed it away. She hated how he made her feel this way.
"No," she repeated.
Her lips curled further. The blood continued rushing. Junko, even in her rage, was aware of her loud breathing.
"Hey..."
Her grip on the bat was like a vice.
"Watch this!"
The bat swung down another time.
-
Yugikun
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So this was how it ended.
For a moment, Jeremy thought he had her.
And for a moment, Jeremy thought he had been able to make her stop.
And then there was another crack as the bat came down once again and smashed against his chest.
It didn’t work.
Talking hadn’t worked.
The bat had come down again and again and nothing he could say could stop it. He knew that now. Maybe he didn’t know why, maybe he didn’t know what he had done, but at the very least he knew the consequences, now. He was going to die. The bat was just going to hit him again and again until there was nothing left to hit. Junko was going to go off and do something after, he didn’t know what. The game would end and only one person would be left standing and although he didn’t know who it would be the one thing he knew for certain was that the person deemed the Fittest wasn’t going to be him.
Jeremy Frasier. 0% chance of winning the game.
...Well.
At least he knew it was coming, he supposed.
Because yeah. It sucked. Dying wasn’t fun. It was dull and it was painful and the hits of the bat lingered on his skin but he supposed he at least saw it coming? His friends and the people who cared about him would lose him but maybe they were like him too and they saw it coming and-
Wait.
No.
No no no no no what was he thinking? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t die here. There were people and a list that he had to fulfill and people who were out there probably looking for him and he couldn’t just let it all end here. No. He wouldn’t let it. He had to do something. He had to get away. His arm went out, trying to find something to grab and he needed to think he needed to figure out a way to stop her and he
Found a giant revolver.
Just sitting there on the ground.
He looked up at Junko. Met her eyes.
...He couldn’t do it.
She was his friend.
He couldn’t kill her, couldn’t he?
But there was nothing else. He couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight, otherwise. He was dead in the water. He was gone.
But he couldn’t die. There were still things he had to do. There were people out there. His friends. His… other people. He had to find them. He had to give himself that closure.
He had to live.
His hand was reaching out. Touching the gun.
The bat went down again.
There wasn’t a choice.
He clenched his hand. Lifted his arm.
Looked down from her eyes.
Pulled the trigger.
For a moment, Jeremy thought he had her.
And for a moment, Jeremy thought he had been able to make her stop.
And then there was another crack as the bat came down once again and smashed against his chest.
It didn’t work.
Talking hadn’t worked.
The bat had come down again and again and nothing he could say could stop it. He knew that now. Maybe he didn’t know why, maybe he didn’t know what he had done, but at the very least he knew the consequences, now. He was going to die. The bat was just going to hit him again and again until there was nothing left to hit. Junko was going to go off and do something after, he didn’t know what. The game would end and only one person would be left standing and although he didn’t know who it would be the one thing he knew for certain was that the person deemed the Fittest wasn’t going to be him.
Jeremy Frasier. 0% chance of winning the game.
...Well.
At least he knew it was coming, he supposed.
Because yeah. It sucked. Dying wasn’t fun. It was dull and it was painful and the hits of the bat lingered on his skin but he supposed he at least saw it coming? His friends and the people who cared about him would lose him but maybe they were like him too and they saw it coming and-
Wait.
No.
No no no no no what was he thinking? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t die here. There were people and a list that he had to fulfill and people who were out there probably looking for him and he couldn’t just let it all end here. No. He wouldn’t let it. He had to do something. He had to get away. His arm went out, trying to find something to grab and he needed to think he needed to figure out a way to stop her and he
Found a giant revolver.
Just sitting there on the ground.
He looked up at Junko. Met her eyes.
...He couldn’t do it.
She was his friend.
He couldn’t kill her, couldn’t he?
But there was nothing else. He couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight, otherwise. He was dead in the water. He was gone.
But he couldn’t die. There were still things he had to do. There were people out there. His friends. His… other people. He had to find them. He had to give himself that closure.
He had to live.
His hand was reaching out. Touching the gun.
The bat went down again.
There wasn’t a choice.
He clenched his hand. Lifted his arm.
Looked down from her eyes.
Pulled the trigger.
((Posting because of low activity and to leave the thread.))
Jonathan sat and stared at Darius' corpse for what seemed like forever.
This happened because he left.
He left Barry, he left Darius, he left Clandice...
He... He left them all. He was the one who was gonna come up with some sort of escape? He couldn't even function on this island without someone else, and here he was, abandoning everyone, feeling the repercussions for it. He deserved it.
Announcements clicked in.
Alvaro and Nancy killed more people. New names were heard. Will Mckinley was the one who shot Darius...
That wasn't what got him though. Those two things were different.
One, Brendan had killed again. Not long after he left him alone again, and Brendan had killed again. Number two, was Taranis. She lit herself on fire or something to escape from the game.
This wasn't just on him anymore. Brendan promised him that he had the right intentions, that he'd help. He got scared over a body, yet he's somehow able to kill two people? Where was Alba when it happened? Did they split up, did she just watch him do it? It had to take a lot of force to push someone to kill them. Thoughts of Alvaro and Barry filled his head.
Brendan lied to him. That was that.
He trusted him, and he lied. He gave him a jacket, and some kind words before he left to kill someone. If he found him again, would he pretend to be innocent again? Would he just lie right to his face again? What if he knew who that girl was! What if she was Nancy, and Brendan knew! What if he did that, just so he could get Michael killed!
What if Jonathan actually gave his life like Tara, what if he lit the bar on fire so someone would see a signal? Who'd go home? People like Alvaro? People like Brendan? What would they do? Go on the Ellen show and cry, pretend they didn't have a choice?!
They had a choice. If they all worked together, they could've left, but they've made their bed. They deserve to be here.
No...
Jonathan knew his own flaws. He was a leech. He pretended to be a leader, but he wanted everyone to do the work for him. He deserved this as much as they did. He was lazy, if he cared enough, he could've did something. Barry didn't have to die. It should've been him. If Barry lived, the rest could've made it out, and all these atrocities? They wouldn't have happened.
It was too late for that though.
WE deserved to be here. WE deserved it for not caring enough. WE deserved it for not trying hard enough.
Jonathan gave up. He took Darius' jacket, and covered his corpse with it.
He walked outside.
Another atrocity. Junko was someone Jonathan would've called a friend. He remembered the anti-Sadie party. The one Darius' ruined. Jonathan wouldn't admit it, but it still was pretty funny.
Junko was beating into Jeremy, just wailing on him with the bat. Jonathan would've yelled at her. Demanded she stopped.
He didn't.
He looked away. He walked away.
((Jonathan Gulley continued elsewhere.))
Jonathan sat and stared at Darius' corpse for what seemed like forever.
This happened because he left.
He left Barry, he left Darius, he left Clandice...
He... He left them all. He was the one who was gonna come up with some sort of escape? He couldn't even function on this island without someone else, and here he was, abandoning everyone, feeling the repercussions for it. He deserved it.
Announcements clicked in.
Alvaro and Nancy killed more people. New names were heard. Will Mckinley was the one who shot Darius...
That wasn't what got him though. Those two things were different.
One, Brendan had killed again. Not long after he left him alone again, and Brendan had killed again. Number two, was Taranis. She lit herself on fire or something to escape from the game.
This wasn't just on him anymore. Brendan promised him that he had the right intentions, that he'd help. He got scared over a body, yet he's somehow able to kill two people? Where was Alba when it happened? Did they split up, did she just watch him do it? It had to take a lot of force to push someone to kill them. Thoughts of Alvaro and Barry filled his head.
Brendan lied to him. That was that.
He trusted him, and he lied. He gave him a jacket, and some kind words before he left to kill someone. If he found him again, would he pretend to be innocent again? Would he just lie right to his face again? What if he knew who that girl was! What if she was Nancy, and Brendan knew! What if he did that, just so he could get Michael killed!
What if Jonathan actually gave his life like Tara, what if he lit the bar on fire so someone would see a signal? Who'd go home? People like Alvaro? People like Brendan? What would they do? Go on the Ellen show and cry, pretend they didn't have a choice?!
They had a choice. If they all worked together, they could've left, but they've made their bed. They deserve to be here.
No...
Jonathan knew his own flaws. He was a leech. He pretended to be a leader, but he wanted everyone to do the work for him. He deserved this as much as they did. He was lazy, if he cared enough, he could've did something. Barry didn't have to die. It should've been him. If Barry lived, the rest could've made it out, and all these atrocities? They wouldn't have happened.
It was too late for that though.
WE deserved to be here. WE deserved it for not caring enough. WE deserved it for not trying hard enough.
Jonathan gave up. He took Darius' jacket, and covered his corpse with it.
He walked outside.
Another atrocity. Junko was someone Jonathan would've called a friend. He remembered the anti-Sadie party. The one Darius' ruined. Jonathan wouldn't admit it, but it still was pretty funny.
Junko was beating into Jeremy, just wailing on him with the bat. Jonathan would've yelled at her. Demanded she stopped.
He didn't.
He looked away. He walked away.
((Jonathan Gulley continued elsewhere.))
All of Junko's focus was on the bat, and the sight of it crashing down onto his chest, the sound of it hitting flesh. That was the only thing she could think of. It felt like the bat was not moving quickly enough. Too slow. That was irritating, on top of all the other irritating shit. Why was it so slow?
But she did see Jeremy move. Saw Jeremy pick something up. It looked metallic, or something? But it was in the backlog of everything else. She didn't pay attention. Instead, the bat went down another time.
Suddenly, a cracking noise happened. Fireworks? No, too close. And her chest hurt-
Oh.
Oh fuck.
She'd forgotten Jeremy had a gun, didn't she?
The bat slid out of her fingers. She felt dizzy, and breathing was hard. Junko made another noise. She had no damn clue if that was nervous laughter or something else entirely either. Just that, holy shit, he'd shot her. Maybe she'd underestimated him, kinda. Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment.
She fell to her knees, making a coughing noise as she did so. Her mouth tasted like copper. Junko reached up, clutching her hand to her chest. Somewhere, under her favorite hoodie, the one that'd been through all sorts of hell, there was a slowly forming warm, wet spot. He really did. He'd shot her.
Then, she fell to her side.
This was it, then? Well, not like Junko believed in an afterlife. Never really cared, to be honest. Whenever that came up, she'd always thought it was better to worry about stuff that was happening now, rather than some reward she was supposed to get in, dunno, Heaven or something.
It didn't hurt though, did it? The wound, she meant. Endorphins, adrenaline, they were probs doing their job numbing it. It felt like he'd just hit her with a fist, instead of shooting her. But he did. She'd seen it, heard it, felt it. In fact, it felt like those little things that buzzed around your body, that dulled pain a bit, that she'd been craving her entire life, were working overtime right now.
Was it weird to say it felt nice?
Probs, yeah. Nobody enjoys getting murdered. But Junko did feel... well, giddy. It was a stronger high than any weed, hell, any adrenaline rush she'd gotten. It reminded her of what it felt like to run an event during track, or to get some air when rollerblading, or learning how to vault properly. Hell, she even felt a bit of it when she started playing horror games about haunted animatronics. Only this was stronger. More intense. Maybe that was why she wasn't freaking out.
She didn't know if Jeremy was still here. If he'd gotten away, if he was preparing to shoot again, or what. He probably was, though.
No hard feelings, to be honest. As much as she wanted to, y'know, live, at least she went down fighting. Just like she wanted.
Junko lifted one arm, and raised her head some. She was smiling. It seemed like the most blissful smile she'd ever given someone. Her bloodstained hand became a thumbs up. Then, it loosened and lowered.
She closed her eyes.
Then, she stopped moving.
Some people would call this a tragedy. However, for someone like Junko Kurosawa? You couldn't have anything better.
Female Student #G041 Junko Kurosawa- ELIMINATED
But she did see Jeremy move. Saw Jeremy pick something up. It looked metallic, or something? But it was in the backlog of everything else. She didn't pay attention. Instead, the bat went down another time.
Suddenly, a cracking noise happened. Fireworks? No, too close. And her chest hurt-
Oh.
Oh fuck.
She'd forgotten Jeremy had a gun, didn't she?
The bat slid out of her fingers. She felt dizzy, and breathing was hard. Junko made another noise. She had no damn clue if that was nervous laughter or something else entirely either. Just that, holy shit, he'd shot her. Maybe she'd underestimated him, kinda. Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment.
She fell to her knees, making a coughing noise as she did so. Her mouth tasted like copper. Junko reached up, clutching her hand to her chest. Somewhere, under her favorite hoodie, the one that'd been through all sorts of hell, there was a slowly forming warm, wet spot. He really did. He'd shot her.
Then, she fell to her side.
This was it, then? Well, not like Junko believed in an afterlife. Never really cared, to be honest. Whenever that came up, she'd always thought it was better to worry about stuff that was happening now, rather than some reward she was supposed to get in, dunno, Heaven or something.
It didn't hurt though, did it? The wound, she meant. Endorphins, adrenaline, they were probs doing their job numbing it. It felt like he'd just hit her with a fist, instead of shooting her. But he did. She'd seen it, heard it, felt it. In fact, it felt like those little things that buzzed around your body, that dulled pain a bit, that she'd been craving her entire life, were working overtime right now.
Was it weird to say it felt nice?
Probs, yeah. Nobody enjoys getting murdered. But Junko did feel... well, giddy. It was a stronger high than any weed, hell, any adrenaline rush she'd gotten. It reminded her of what it felt like to run an event during track, or to get some air when rollerblading, or learning how to vault properly. Hell, she even felt a bit of it when she started playing horror games about haunted animatronics. Only this was stronger. More intense. Maybe that was why she wasn't freaking out.
She didn't know if Jeremy was still here. If he'd gotten away, if he was preparing to shoot again, or what. He probably was, though.
No hard feelings, to be honest. As much as she wanted to, y'know, live, at least she went down fighting. Just like she wanted.
Junko lifted one arm, and raised her head some. She was smiling. It seemed like the most blissful smile she'd ever given someone. Her bloodstained hand became a thumbs up. Then, it loosened and lowered.
She closed her eyes.
Then, she stopped moving.
Some people would call this a tragedy. However, for someone like Junko Kurosawa? You couldn't have anything better.
Female Student #G041 Junko Kurosawa- ELIMINATED
And Maxim was standing over her body as the thumb came down.
He was already thinking of ways to leave without getting into danger when he heard the hit. It sounded like a piece of wood hitting a bag of meat, like a particularly good special effect. Being the particularly intelligent individual he knew himself to be, he put everything together and realized that the girl who had come in before was probably now attacking someone, or something. For all Maxim knew it was something. She could have been letting her bat meet the corpse of one of the many bodies hiding in the area, but lingering in the air. But then it happened again, and again, and again, and the voices became louder, and suddenly it wasn't just her voice. Someone was begging for her to stop.
There were two options Maxim could have taken as he stood there in the hallway, having vacated the office. He could have run, like he'd been doing for days now. He could find another place to hide. He could stick to the plan that had so far managed to take him four days into this game, a plan that had an endpoint but was still a plan nonetheless, a plan had structure. But what it didn't have in his future was food, something he was running low on. He had probably one of those disgusting bars left and probably even less water, all the foreign weight in the bag belonged to the bow.
So he tried to rationalize the other option, even though he didn't want to. He could find out what was going on, why this girl was attacking someone, why she wanted to end his life, or at least that's what he assumed her endgoal was here. He could help her in her goal, or at least pretend to purely from the fear of being next, and get whatever remained of his food. Or he could save this boy, whoever he was, even if he didn't know him - he would be so grateful that he would offer food, and possibly seal an ally. An ally that would never turn on him, because he saved his life, and even if he did turn on him this was an ally who was so weak he could not overpower a girl with a bat. What harm would he do to Maxim?
But that was not how he stayed alive, was it? He did not stay alive for those three days by depending on others, others whose projected endgame differed drastically from his own. So he could rule out that option.
That last option was a no go. The first and second options within this second option though...
They, of course, depended on his own theorized outcomes coming true.
And long after he made his decision, he realized he'd made the wrong one.
As he walked towards where an open door lay, he felt the force of the gunshot echo throughout the building, but particularly deafening in this hall. Were this back in his real life, he would have covered his ears, but here he had no such luxury. He needed to stay alert, in spite of the ringing, but beyond that he could hear the silence followed by the collapse of a body. Maxim weighed the options. All the logical outcomes. The one that made the most sense is the one he arrived on, and in spite of all his intentions to run he knew he had to see what happened here and who was dead. He turned the corner and saw the last seconds go down.
Along with the girl's body.
No, scratch that, there were two bodies there. But not in the conventional sense. One was the girl. The other was a bruised and bloodied but still very much living body of the one who had to have been pleading for her to stop. A boy he did not know, holding a gun in his hand. Were this a story, it would be smoking, but there was no smoke. Just the powers of deductive reasoning being applied here enough to know what went on here.
Maxim stared at them for several seconds, although for all Maxim knew it could have been close to a minute, before choosing his words.
"Do you think she's dead?"
Maxim did not care at the moment. He would have cared had he known her, but he did not know her.
He wanted whatever remained of her food, though.
He was already thinking of ways to leave without getting into danger when he heard the hit. It sounded like a piece of wood hitting a bag of meat, like a particularly good special effect. Being the particularly intelligent individual he knew himself to be, he put everything together and realized that the girl who had come in before was probably now attacking someone, or something. For all Maxim knew it was something. She could have been letting her bat meet the corpse of one of the many bodies hiding in the area, but lingering in the air. But then it happened again, and again, and again, and the voices became louder, and suddenly it wasn't just her voice. Someone was begging for her to stop.
There were two options Maxim could have taken as he stood there in the hallway, having vacated the office. He could have run, like he'd been doing for days now. He could find another place to hide. He could stick to the plan that had so far managed to take him four days into this game, a plan that had an endpoint but was still a plan nonetheless, a plan had structure. But what it didn't have in his future was food, something he was running low on. He had probably one of those disgusting bars left and probably even less water, all the foreign weight in the bag belonged to the bow.
So he tried to rationalize the other option, even though he didn't want to. He could find out what was going on, why this girl was attacking someone, why she wanted to end his life, or at least that's what he assumed her endgoal was here. He could help her in her goal, or at least pretend to purely from the fear of being next, and get whatever remained of his food. Or he could save this boy, whoever he was, even if he didn't know him - he would be so grateful that he would offer food, and possibly seal an ally. An ally that would never turn on him, because he saved his life, and even if he did turn on him this was an ally who was so weak he could not overpower a girl with a bat. What harm would he do to Maxim?
But that was not how he stayed alive, was it? He did not stay alive for those three days by depending on others, others whose projected endgame differed drastically from his own. So he could rule out that option.
That last option was a no go. The first and second options within this second option though...
They, of course, depended on his own theorized outcomes coming true.
And long after he made his decision, he realized he'd made the wrong one.
As he walked towards where an open door lay, he felt the force of the gunshot echo throughout the building, but particularly deafening in this hall. Were this back in his real life, he would have covered his ears, but here he had no such luxury. He needed to stay alert, in spite of the ringing, but beyond that he could hear the silence followed by the collapse of a body. Maxim weighed the options. All the logical outcomes. The one that made the most sense is the one he arrived on, and in spite of all his intentions to run he knew he had to see what happened here and who was dead. He turned the corner and saw the last seconds go down.
Along with the girl's body.
No, scratch that, there were two bodies there. But not in the conventional sense. One was the girl. The other was a bruised and bloodied but still very much living body of the one who had to have been pleading for her to stop. A boy he did not know, holding a gun in his hand. Were this a story, it would be smoking, but there was no smoke. Just the powers of deductive reasoning being applied here enough to know what went on here.
Maxim stared at them for several seconds, although for all Maxim knew it could have been close to a minute, before choosing his words.
"Do you think she's dead?"
Maxim did not care at the moment. He would have cared had he known her, but he did not know her.
He wanted whatever remained of her food, though.
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Yugikun
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Somehow, the sound of the gun still managed to surprise him.
The bullet travelled through the air, the bullet hit its mark, the bullet pierced itself through Junko’s body, but the only thing he noticed was the noise. The ringing. The sound that went over everything else that could have possibly reached his ears. The sound that defeaned him as it went through them, leaving only the ringing behind. It surprised him. It shouldn’t have. He had heard it before. At the beach. With Danny and Irene. They’d talked with each other, back then. About things that he couldn’t remember. The gun had fired. The other two had freaked out. They had gone off their own ways. He’d gone on his. That was all back then. Back when he had woken up. Back when he had failed to take this seriously. Back when he had joked with them on the beach.
Back when both of them had still been alive.
...Ha. Back then.
The bullet had hit it’s mark. Junko had fallen. He hadn’t seen where she had fallen. He hadn’t heard the thud. His body - his hands in the air and his chest and stomach tightened up - also fell. All he could hear was the ringing. All he could see was the ceiling of the room above him.
He was alive.
He could breathe.
There was a whole world he knew, of people out there. People fighting. People killing. His friends were out there, he knew that. He knew what he had just done. He knew that he had fucked up. Killed his friend. He knew that everyone would hate him for it. He knew that they’d turn on him. He knew that everything would be different for him, from there on out. He knew that everything would be worse, from there on out.
But he could forget about that, for a moment.
He was exhausted. He couldn't move. He needed to breathe.
That's what mattered right now.
A voice called out his name.
The person had asked him a question. Jeremy knew the answer to it. He knew the other person did, as well. It was sorta pointless, answering.
He had looked up - into the other person’s eyes - for a moment. Maybe slightly longer than that. He didn’t know.
And then his head went back down, breathing out as he began to stare at the ceiling again.
The bullet travelled through the air, the bullet hit its mark, the bullet pierced itself through Junko’s body, but the only thing he noticed was the noise. The ringing. The sound that went over everything else that could have possibly reached his ears. The sound that defeaned him as it went through them, leaving only the ringing behind. It surprised him. It shouldn’t have. He had heard it before. At the beach. With Danny and Irene. They’d talked with each other, back then. About things that he couldn’t remember. The gun had fired. The other two had freaked out. They had gone off their own ways. He’d gone on his. That was all back then. Back when he had woken up. Back when he had failed to take this seriously. Back when he had joked with them on the beach.
Back when both of them had still been alive.
...Ha. Back then.
The bullet had hit it’s mark. Junko had fallen. He hadn’t seen where she had fallen. He hadn’t heard the thud. His body - his hands in the air and his chest and stomach tightened up - also fell. All he could hear was the ringing. All he could see was the ceiling of the room above him.
He was alive.
He could breathe.
There was a whole world he knew, of people out there. People fighting. People killing. His friends were out there, he knew that. He knew what he had just done. He knew that he had fucked up. Killed his friend. He knew that everyone would hate him for it. He knew that they’d turn on him. He knew that everything would be different for him, from there on out. He knew that everything would be worse, from there on out.
But he could forget about that, for a moment.
He was exhausted. He couldn't move. He needed to breathe.
That's what mattered right now.
A voice called out his name.
The person had asked him a question. Jeremy knew the answer to it. He knew the other person did, as well. It was sorta pointless, answering.
He had looked up - into the other person’s eyes - for a moment. Maybe slightly longer than that. He didn’t know.
And then his head went back down, breathing out as he began to stare at the ceiling again.
The other boy had no response. Typical. It probably should have been obvious, but he wanted to make sure anyway.
Maxim looked down at the other boy, laying blue on the ground. It was amazing how the tables must have turned here. Were this not the precarious situation it was, Maxim would want to hear about how it happened, although why it happened seemed to be just as questionable.
Without missing a beat, Maxim scooped down and begun rifling through Junko's belongings. Food was the main goal, water too, but on the off chance she had something he could use to ward people away? Even better.
Maxim looked down at the other boy, laying blue on the ground. It was amazing how the tables must have turned here. Were this not the precarious situation it was, Maxim would want to hear about how it happened, although why it happened seemed to be just as questionable.
Without missing a beat, Maxim scooped down and begun rifling through Junko's belongings. Food was the main goal, water too, but on the off chance she had something he could use to ward people away? Even better.
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Yugikun
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Time passed.
Jeremy couldn’t really say that he’d seen anything happen during that time.The ceiling was still the same as usual. Maybe some flecks of paint had fallen off without him really noticing, but that… didn’t count. He didn’t really know why. It just didn’t. Nothing had changed, really. The voice from earlier moved closer. Started… doing something. Jeremy didn’t really know what. It didn’t bother him, though. So long as nothing was happening to him then he didn’t really feel fit to intervene. Probably best that he just stayed here. Laid down. Looked at the ceiling and hoped that something would happen to it in the time that he was here.
...He should probably get up, now.
But he didn’t really want to. Junko was there. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see what he did.
But he knew he had to, at some point. He knew he had to get up. He knew that he had to face the music, at some point.
He laid under the ceiling of the office, breathing, for a little bit.
May as well make it quick.
Three.
Two.
One.
Huuuuuuuppppppppppppp.
It hurt, getting up. Ached. His bones and his muscles and his skin screamed as he moved his body up. This… was how it was going to be from now on, wasn’t it?
It probably was.
Great.
This was probably karma, for what he did.
His eyes found the corpse fairly quickly. It was laying there. Smiling. There was a grin on her face, as her blood fell out and spread itself all around her. He tried looking at her. Seeing into her eyes.
...He turned his head. Looked away again.
...Her baseball bat was still lying on the floor.
Should he take it?
He wasn’t sure. It was there and it didn’t really belong to anyone now and there was nothing really wrong with having anything else but should he? He wasn’t sure. It was wrong to do so, wasn’t it?
But he was a killer now.
And given the types of people out there, given how people would think of him now, he needed what he could get. He needed to protect himself.
Maybe the others. Maybe the people he found.
…
He supposed that that was a good enough excuse.
The gun went into his pocket. The baseball went into his left hand. The chisel - having fallen out of her body - went into his right.
He didn’t look back at anything as he left. Neither Junko, nor the boy searching her bag.
((Jeremy Frasier, continued in Jenny From The Block))
Jeremy couldn’t really say that he’d seen anything happen during that time.The ceiling was still the same as usual. Maybe some flecks of paint had fallen off without him really noticing, but that… didn’t count. He didn’t really know why. It just didn’t. Nothing had changed, really. The voice from earlier moved closer. Started… doing something. Jeremy didn’t really know what. It didn’t bother him, though. So long as nothing was happening to him then he didn’t really feel fit to intervene. Probably best that he just stayed here. Laid down. Looked at the ceiling and hoped that something would happen to it in the time that he was here.
...He should probably get up, now.
But he didn’t really want to. Junko was there. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see what he did.
But he knew he had to, at some point. He knew he had to get up. He knew that he had to face the music, at some point.
He laid under the ceiling of the office, breathing, for a little bit.
May as well make it quick.
Three.
Two.
One.
Huuuuuuuppppppppppppp.
It hurt, getting up. Ached. His bones and his muscles and his skin screamed as he moved his body up. This… was how it was going to be from now on, wasn’t it?
It probably was.
Great.
This was probably karma, for what he did.
His eyes found the corpse fairly quickly. It was laying there. Smiling. There was a grin on her face, as her blood fell out and spread itself all around her. He tried looking at her. Seeing into her eyes.
...He turned his head. Looked away again.
...Her baseball bat was still lying on the floor.
Should he take it?
He wasn’t sure. It was there and it didn’t really belong to anyone now and there was nothing really wrong with having anything else but should he? He wasn’t sure. It was wrong to do so, wasn’t it?
But he was a killer now.
And given the types of people out there, given how people would think of him now, he needed what he could get. He needed to protect himself.
Maybe the others. Maybe the people he found.
…
He supposed that that was a good enough excuse.
The gun went into his pocket. The baseball went into his left hand. The chisel - having fallen out of her body - went into his right.
He didn’t look back at anything as he left. Neither Junko, nor the boy searching her bag.
((Jeremy Frasier, continued in Jenny From The Block))
The boy searching Junko's bag was not having much luck.
He deigned to even register the other boy as he left, with Junko's bat in his hands. Maxim was not the most worldly man, but he could figure out what had happened here just by analysis alone. Junko tried to kill him, and the fact that Jeremy didn't kill Maxim where he stood told him he was nothing but a defender of himself. He was no malcontent, or vicious psychopath, but someone probably as scared as himself. There was a part of Maxim that couldn't blame Jeremy for what he'd done. But the fact still remained a dead body, freshly delivered, lay on the floor next to Maxim and he was still quite disturbed by that fact.
But he busied himself with the contents of her bag.
To Maxim's great disappointment, there was barely anything else in there as far as gathering a weapon went. There was no gun, or bladed weapon, or anything to act as a deterrent. There was what looked like a small hammer, nestled in the corner of the bag, which Maxim retrieved gingerly. He held it in his hands, examining it from several angles, before sliding it into the waistband of his pants. He continued another search before deciding, to his reluctant dismay, that this truly was all the girl had.
But she had more than just a pitiful weapon. She had food, water, and one of almost everything else Maxim himself already had. In fact, there seemed to be a bounty of bread tucked up nicely in the corner, as though she didn't want it. As someone who had been so vigorous and careful with his own rationing, why would someone spurn such a plentiful food source? It didn't make sense to Maxim. He was never in the habit of analyzing the dead unless they were spectacularly good at writing musicals and he wanted to know why, but this bizarreness stuck to him for whatever reason.
Still, everything Junko had that Maxim wanted to carry or consume in the near future was now his. He took the time to delicately place it all from what was one her bag to what was now his. He wouldn't have to worry about neither food nor water for a long time, at least as long as he remained sensible in the face of despair. Not a feeling he expected to feel any minute now, but Maxim didn't know what the next morning would bring.
What was there to do now? He seemed to be the only living person around for quite a reasonable distance. He could check these bodies, see if their bags were still on them, find more food, perhaps finally treat himself to something nice like he felt he deserved. It sounded nice in theory, but he could still feel their stench in the air. Near those bodies was not a location he wanted to occupy right now, lest he lose his lunch once more. But what else could he do? His modus operandi demanded he stay put in this location until someone else came or until it became unfit to keep himself here via explosive asphyxiation.
Maxim furrowed his brow.
Das hat für mich soweit geklappt. Warum das ändern?
With that in mind, he picked up his bag and took himself back down the hallway to the room he was discovered in. He saw the bed, and felt a familiar sense of comfort. Closing the door behind him, making careful sure to lock it this time, he relaxed himself.
This would be his sanctuary, if only for the time being.
((Maxim Kehlenbrink continued in Another Story Must Begin))
He deigned to even register the other boy as he left, with Junko's bat in his hands. Maxim was not the most worldly man, but he could figure out what had happened here just by analysis alone. Junko tried to kill him, and the fact that Jeremy didn't kill Maxim where he stood told him he was nothing but a defender of himself. He was no malcontent, or vicious psychopath, but someone probably as scared as himself. There was a part of Maxim that couldn't blame Jeremy for what he'd done. But the fact still remained a dead body, freshly delivered, lay on the floor next to Maxim and he was still quite disturbed by that fact.
But he busied himself with the contents of her bag.
To Maxim's great disappointment, there was barely anything else in there as far as gathering a weapon went. There was no gun, or bladed weapon, or anything to act as a deterrent. There was what looked like a small hammer, nestled in the corner of the bag, which Maxim retrieved gingerly. He held it in his hands, examining it from several angles, before sliding it into the waistband of his pants. He continued another search before deciding, to his reluctant dismay, that this truly was all the girl had.
But she had more than just a pitiful weapon. She had food, water, and one of almost everything else Maxim himself already had. In fact, there seemed to be a bounty of bread tucked up nicely in the corner, as though she didn't want it. As someone who had been so vigorous and careful with his own rationing, why would someone spurn such a plentiful food source? It didn't make sense to Maxim. He was never in the habit of analyzing the dead unless they were spectacularly good at writing musicals and he wanted to know why, but this bizarreness stuck to him for whatever reason.
Still, everything Junko had that Maxim wanted to carry or consume in the near future was now his. He took the time to delicately place it all from what was one her bag to what was now his. He wouldn't have to worry about neither food nor water for a long time, at least as long as he remained sensible in the face of despair. Not a feeling he expected to feel any minute now, but Maxim didn't know what the next morning would bring.
What was there to do now? He seemed to be the only living person around for quite a reasonable distance. He could check these bodies, see if their bags were still on them, find more food, perhaps finally treat himself to something nice like he felt he deserved. It sounded nice in theory, but he could still feel their stench in the air. Near those bodies was not a location he wanted to occupy right now, lest he lose his lunch once more. But what else could he do? His modus operandi demanded he stay put in this location until someone else came or until it became unfit to keep himself here via explosive asphyxiation.
Maxim furrowed his brow.
Das hat für mich soweit geklappt. Warum das ändern?
With that in mind, he picked up his bag and took himself back down the hallway to the room he was discovered in. He saw the bed, and felt a familiar sense of comfort. Closing the door behind him, making careful sure to lock it this time, he relaxed himself.
This would be his sanctuary, if only for the time being.
((Maxim Kehlenbrink continued in Another Story Must Begin))