Gabe didn't have time to think it through. He recognized Bobby's slightly altered appearance right away. There was no hiding that size and shape. It was a talent Gabe had developed on the football team, distinguishing between people all wearing the same uniform and helmets. The gun in his had only confirmed what Gabe had known for some time: Bobby was dangerous. He was one of those kids close to the edge, and Gabe knew he couldn't be trusted. He grabbed Viki's hand as she whispered to him, and pulled it hard, sprinting off to the right. His main concern was getting the hell out of there as fast as he could, but he didn't take into consideration the fact hat Viki wasn't likely to keep up well. I mean a tiny girl keeping up with the school's running back? Not likely.
But Gabe kept running, holding Viki's hand as tightly as he could. He'd likely drag her out of there if he had to. He knew Viki was close to collapsing from the sudden dash, and no doubt she wasn't prepared for running so suddenly. So Gabe swung around and scooped her up over his shoulder before she could say otherwise, sprinting off as fast as his well trained legs would take them. He braced himself for the sound of gunfire that would surely follow. His mind was still set to autopilot. His body felt numb, and he instinctively knew that the adrenaline pumping through him would no doubt give him the energy he needed until the time when he'd need to stop running. As for where they were going, Gabe did not know. He only understood that if he stopped, he'd likely be shot. He didn't even look back.
((Gabe & Viki Continued You Can Run...))
Carnage
Gotta keep on keepin' on...
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Dan saw Boxer coming, and decided to follow Gabe and Viki. He raced after them, as they disappeared into the woods. Drawing the scalpel from his pocket he knew this was his chance to eliminate Gabe from the competition.
In all reality, Dan should have learned from Evelyn about the dangers of running with a scalpel in your hand. Especially through a forest. Before he could think of this, Dan's foot had caught the edge of a tree root coming up, and he was on his way down. The scalpel went straight into his chest, and into his heart.
Well, guess Khrysta won after all.
B19 - Dan Wolfe - Dead
In all reality, Dan should have learned from Evelyn about the dangers of running with a scalpel in your hand. Especially through a forest. Before he could think of this, Dan's foot had caught the edge of a tree root coming up, and he was on his way down. The scalpel went straight into his chest, and into his heart.
Well, guess Khrysta won after all.
B19 - Dan Wolfe - Dead
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
Bobby cursed softly when all of the remaining people standing around outside the hospital decided to make a break for it. Evidently, his attempt to change his appearence hadn't gone very well... The boxer thought about loosing a shot after those fleeing, but the distance was so great as to make it an exercise in futility and a simple waste of bullets. Well... at least until one of them tripped and fell whilst they were running away.
He immediately began to sprint - hoping to catch them before they could scramble to their feet. When he felt he was close enough, Bobby snapped off a shot with his carbine: feeling both exhilarated and somewhat sad as he saw the shot tear into the back of his prone classmate. Bobby's justification was shakey at best, all he could come with was: nobody would believe that he was acting in self-defence when he killed Tyson. It was a flimsy excuse and he knew it, he had attempted to trick and kill those at the lookout before the announcement. The only real reason Bobby could find was fear, and a primal instinct for self-preservation, just as he had said to Danya via the camera.
"I am steeped in blood, so deep that to return would be as tedious to go o'er..." Bobby smiled ruefully. He might not have quoted that exactly right, but it described his predicament to a T. He had pledged himself to this, and there was no going back now. Bobby forced himself not to look away as he flipped the corpse over. Aside from the bullet hole in his chest, there also appeared to be some sort of metallic implement wedged in his ribcage. The boxer frowned and wondered: was it the blade, or the bullet that killed him? He supposed that the second announcement would enlighten him, when it finally came about.
Bobby grimaced and tugged at the instrument stuck into the body, and, with a little effort, pulled it free, revealing it to be a rather bloodstained scalpel. Glancing sidelong at one of the other bodies on the ground (this hospital was a damn charnel house!) Bobby saw that its throat was torn open. Bobby presumed she had suffered a similar fate to this unfortunate before him. When he pocketed the scalpel, alongside his bloody syringe, Bobby took great care positioning it so that it wouldn't risk stabbing him. He could most certainly learn from the misfortune of others.
The boxer proceded to open up the daypack of the boy he had shot and rifle through it briefly. There was a pipewrench inside, which Bobby took too, noting wryly as he did that he was beginning to gather something of an arsenal, as he had now gathered now fewer than five weapons. Granted, four of them were melee, and of rather dubious quality in terms of usefulness: but you never knew when you might need a trump card, and that could come in the form of another piece of equipment...
Bobby was surprised to spot another two daypacks just lying on the ground nearby, and he was eager to check through them as well. However, it came to nothing. He already had three times the initial number of supplies, any more would simply be uneccessary encumberance. Whilst he believed weapons were good to have, Bobby had to draw the line here. The ski pole he found in the pack labelled 'B26 - McCallum, Gabe' would merely be a less effective version of his golf club, and the fire extinguisher he discovered in the second pack would be too heavy to haul around and also of limited use.
With the area deserted, Bobby relaxed - marginally, for the first time since the game had begun. Sure, there were three dead bodies strewn around outside, but Bobby could be thankful he was not one of them. Judging by Danya's announcement, there was a fourth dead person, Heather Tilmitt, inside, and horribly, that patch of disturbed earth could very well conceal a developing baby.
"Here I am, surrounded by the dead, and all I can think about is that it's four less I have to deal with... I could have killed a second person, if that scalpel didn't already do for him, and I could barely care. What is this game doing to me...?"
Bobby sighed and gratefully sank down to the ground, propping himself up against the wall of the hospital. Although his stamina was prodigious, stress and fatigue were draining even his large reserves. Swinging his pack from his shoulder, Bobby opened it up, pushing aside the ammo and wrench, before grabbing a loaf of bread and a bottle of water, of which he had six and twelve (due to his looting) respectively.
Taking his time, Bobby steadily ate the entire loaf - as he hadn't realised quite how hungry he was before he had started eating. Bobby sighed again, knowing that he had to keep moving, but first, he really had to do something... His dreadlocks were far too conspicious, and, much as Bobby hated to say it, they were hindering his progress.
With a touch of remorse, and a little ceremony, Bobby methodically sawed off each and every one of his long locks, utilising his newly aquired scalpel. The boxer looked down at each of the several tails, and, with a moment's thought, picked one up and stashed that in his pack too, a memento of sorts. It was peculiar to become sentimental about something as trivial as hair, but Bobby had been cultivating it for a long time, cutting it was like saying good-bye to an old friend.
Bobby stood up, and replaced his pack on one shoulder. he regarded the carnage all around him, then set off back into the jungle, his head feeling as if a massive load had been removed from it.
(Bobby continued Misery's End)
He immediately began to sprint - hoping to catch them before they could scramble to their feet. When he felt he was close enough, Bobby snapped off a shot with his carbine: feeling both exhilarated and somewhat sad as he saw the shot tear into the back of his prone classmate. Bobby's justification was shakey at best, all he could come with was: nobody would believe that he was acting in self-defence when he killed Tyson. It was a flimsy excuse and he knew it, he had attempted to trick and kill those at the lookout before the announcement. The only real reason Bobby could find was fear, and a primal instinct for self-preservation, just as he had said to Danya via the camera.
"I am steeped in blood, so deep that to return would be as tedious to go o'er..." Bobby smiled ruefully. He might not have quoted that exactly right, but it described his predicament to a T. He had pledged himself to this, and there was no going back now. Bobby forced himself not to look away as he flipped the corpse over. Aside from the bullet hole in his chest, there also appeared to be some sort of metallic implement wedged in his ribcage. The boxer frowned and wondered: was it the blade, or the bullet that killed him? He supposed that the second announcement would enlighten him, when it finally came about.
Bobby grimaced and tugged at the instrument stuck into the body, and, with a little effort, pulled it free, revealing it to be a rather bloodstained scalpel. Glancing sidelong at one of the other bodies on the ground (this hospital was a damn charnel house!) Bobby saw that its throat was torn open. Bobby presumed she had suffered a similar fate to this unfortunate before him. When he pocketed the scalpel, alongside his bloody syringe, Bobby took great care positioning it so that it wouldn't risk stabbing him. He could most certainly learn from the misfortune of others.
The boxer proceded to open up the daypack of the boy he had shot and rifle through it briefly. There was a pipewrench inside, which Bobby took too, noting wryly as he did that he was beginning to gather something of an arsenal, as he had now gathered now fewer than five weapons. Granted, four of them were melee, and of rather dubious quality in terms of usefulness: but you never knew when you might need a trump card, and that could come in the form of another piece of equipment...
Bobby was surprised to spot another two daypacks just lying on the ground nearby, and he was eager to check through them as well. However, it came to nothing. He already had three times the initial number of supplies, any more would simply be uneccessary encumberance. Whilst he believed weapons were good to have, Bobby had to draw the line here. The ski pole he found in the pack labelled 'B26 - McCallum, Gabe' would merely be a less effective version of his golf club, and the fire extinguisher he discovered in the second pack would be too heavy to haul around and also of limited use.
With the area deserted, Bobby relaxed - marginally, for the first time since the game had begun. Sure, there were three dead bodies strewn around outside, but Bobby could be thankful he was not one of them. Judging by Danya's announcement, there was a fourth dead person, Heather Tilmitt, inside, and horribly, that patch of disturbed earth could very well conceal a developing baby.
"Here I am, surrounded by the dead, and all I can think about is that it's four less I have to deal with... I could have killed a second person, if that scalpel didn't already do for him, and I could barely care. What is this game doing to me...?"
Bobby sighed and gratefully sank down to the ground, propping himself up against the wall of the hospital. Although his stamina was prodigious, stress and fatigue were draining even his large reserves. Swinging his pack from his shoulder, Bobby opened it up, pushing aside the ammo and wrench, before grabbing a loaf of bread and a bottle of water, of which he had six and twelve (due to his looting) respectively.
Taking his time, Bobby steadily ate the entire loaf - as he hadn't realised quite how hungry he was before he had started eating. Bobby sighed again, knowing that he had to keep moving, but first, he really had to do something... His dreadlocks were far too conspicious, and, much as Bobby hated to say it, they were hindering his progress.
With a touch of remorse, and a little ceremony, Bobby methodically sawed off each and every one of his long locks, utilising his newly aquired scalpel. The boxer looked down at each of the several tails, and, with a moment's thought, picked one up and stashed that in his pack too, a memento of sorts. It was peculiar to become sentimental about something as trivial as hair, but Bobby had been cultivating it for a long time, cutting it was like saying good-bye to an old friend.
Bobby stood up, and replaced his pack on one shoulder. he regarded the carnage all around him, then set off back into the jungle, his head feeling as if a massive load had been removed from it.
(Bobby continued Misery's End)