(Maximilian Sawyer continued from We're Above It)
The woods had been even bigger than they looked up on the peak, and the sun was setting by the time a break in the trees showed him the town below. Down he'd gone, further and further through the undergrowth, and as greenery finally gave way to concrete and the works of civilisation darkness had fallen over the island. Nature's creeping tendrils had started their work reclaiming what was there long before Aurora found the place, and grass pushed through cracks in the shattered road only to crush under his feet. As his flashlight sent a spear through the night, allowing him to see his way just a bit, he spied mosses growing on abandoned husks of automobiles, vines creeping up lampposts and even moss on a few of the buildings, the dead sentinels that still loomed high over him in this jungle.
Silence reigned, bar the occasional gunshot off in the distance, or his own breathing and footfalls, and he had to ask what kind of people had once lived here. Had they been happy? Poor and beaten down? What made them all leave? Those yellow fliers were plastered on walls and posts almost wherever he turned his light weren't much help. EVACUATION: 10 APRIL, but evacuation to where?
There wasn't much point asking, but it distracted him from the emptiness. The summer night settled about him like a too-heavy coat, nothing but him daring to move or even breathe. Dirt, grass and stone shifted under his feet, and when any noise could be your only warning before death comes screaming out of the corner of your eye, every noise is like a gunshot or a tiger's growl.
Get off the street.
Nothing stirred save him, but still he felt countless eyes, seeing but unseen, sizing him up and waiting for an opportunity. Anything could be hiding in the night, and the line upon line of buildings and broken structures continued to stare down at him without pity. A guest, but one that would be gone in time just like all the others, never to return. Anything could come out at him from anywhere, here, and he wouldn't know until too late. The spear of light swung this way and that, finally settling on a corner store that seemed a little less run down than its neighbours, if you could ignore the fact all the letters had fallen off the sign. His skin crawled at anything less than a Sheraton, or at least somewhere with a bed, but he couldn't exactly spend the night out here.
Every step felt like it should have been interrupted with a bullet out of nowhere, and despite himself he stopped for a moment each time, listening. Step, listen, step, listen, the only sign of trouble his own pulse. He ended up swearing at himself. You're a Sawyer, damnit, stop being a mewling peasant and get inside.
He'd crossed the rest of the way and through the door at a jog, despite the pep talk. Dust kicked up and onto him, flowing around his nose and settling on his clothes, the sign of a place that hadn't seen a man in years. One hand waved it away, while the other sent the flashlight back and forth, taking in as much as could be exposed by the beam.
Shelves and shelves of records stared back at him, mournfully looking out from dust-covered sleeves. Rock, country, folk songs, a few classical... so much music, and not a soul to hear it. There was something inherently wrong about that, like a fish with no water, or a tree with no sun.
Well, at least the roof wasn't collapsing or anything, a quick nudge with his foot saw to the door and the counter to his left would keep him out of sight if anyone unseemly came in during the night. Ignore that any such folks would probably check behind the counter, too, no sense fighting for your life on no sleep.
So it was that, grumbling all the way, Maximilian Sawyer slipped behind the counter, settled down on the cold hard floor with daypack for a pillow, and dozed off thinking about home.
---
He awoke stiff and sore from his impromptu bed, and with a terrorist's droning voice filling his ears. He was still grumbling and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when the list of the dead ended and instead he was told where not to go if he didn't want to blow up. None of those places were here, and while he hadn't made out the names, the message was what mattered: people were being killed, by people they'd been around all their lives. So much for these morons being willing to band together.
Note to self, too: get up earlier. Better to wake up before the announcements so he's - urgh - actually up and alert when they go off. Just when he'd started getting comfortable, too.
Spoiler alert, Maximilian had never been a morning person. Muttering, he pulled himself to his feet with the counter's help and hoisted up his pack, coming back out and around as he opened it up and fetched some bread, water and one of those energy bar things. Hardly gourmet, but it would give him the energy to get going at least.
Thus, stood at the counter of an old record store, somewhere God knows how far from civilisation, Max Sawyer had the worst breakfast of his life.
Nobody Wants This
Max and Becca/Paulo
Nobody Wants This
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
((Continued from Wisteria Lane, After the End))
It couldn't be called a close one, back there. Really it hadn't been much of anything, just seeing some people and pointing a gun and that being pretty much the end of it. Still, the run-in stayed with Becca all day as her and Paulo kept moving, going through various houses and buildings, trying to find a decently safe place to hole up. In time they actually grabbed one, and since it was dark, spent the night. Separate rooms, and beds, too. Becca had to wonder how many of her classmates had the same luxury...
Not some, for sure. They were dead. That one was still kind of sinking in. She was having trouble with it. That little encounter back there besides... people actually straight up killing each other? Fucking A. That as hard shit to deal with. Having the gun didn't make her feel much better. What betting if Becca shot someone that'd be paraded for all to hear, even if it was self defence?
They were still exploring, in any case. She hadn't really wanted to talk about the announcement with Paulo, better to just focus on staying safe, and a town seemed like a better bet than just wandering around in the open. Had to be some secure places, right? Maybe they could set up some kind of base camp. Of course, just as Becca wanted to check a building out, the guy had to go off for a piss. She had to suppress the urge to nag him like an irritated mom, tell him he should've gone before they left. But whatever. Paulo went around the corner, Becca stepped into the building and-
Motherfucking Maximilian.
It couldn't be called a close one, back there. Really it hadn't been much of anything, just seeing some people and pointing a gun and that being pretty much the end of it. Still, the run-in stayed with Becca all day as her and Paulo kept moving, going through various houses and buildings, trying to find a decently safe place to hole up. In time they actually grabbed one, and since it was dark, spent the night. Separate rooms, and beds, too. Becca had to wonder how many of her classmates had the same luxury...
Not some, for sure. They were dead. That one was still kind of sinking in. She was having trouble with it. That little encounter back there besides... people actually straight up killing each other? Fucking A. That as hard shit to deal with. Having the gun didn't make her feel much better. What betting if Becca shot someone that'd be paraded for all to hear, even if it was self defence?
They were still exploring, in any case. She hadn't really wanted to talk about the announcement with Paulo, better to just focus on staying safe, and a town seemed like a better bet than just wandering around in the open. Had to be some secure places, right? Maybe they could set up some kind of base camp. Of course, just as Becca wanted to check a building out, the guy had to go off for a piss. She had to suppress the urge to nag him like an irritated mom, tell him he should've gone before they left. But whatever. Paulo went around the corner, Becca stepped into the building and-
Motherfucking Maximilian.
"...Hi?"
Smooth, Max. Someone like Becca Everett walks in the room and the best you can manage is hi? Even with a mouth half-full of protein bar there's no excuse, one can't help wondering how you landed her as a girlfriend to begin with. Another swig of water got rid of the mouth-is-full problem and also brought an extra jolt of awakeness into his brain, letting him take in the situation. There he was, still shaking out cobwebs, and this ungrateful bitch comes barging in, getting the honour of first person he's seen not just today but since the kidnapping?
Some luck he was having. There was a time he'd've loved to see her, but his eyes couldn't help wandering down to that massive gun in her hand, then back up to the look on her face, the look she'd worn most of the last few times he'd talked to her. Except now it had the added context of this woman having been explicitly told by terrorist thugs to blow his head off. He'd never been a gambling man, but he still found himself wondering about the odds of her having taken that command to heart.
She'd been beautiful once, but that look and that thought brought ice to his brain and chased the blanket of sleep away. This was a woman who'd tried to bleed him dry, and never shown him a moment of real love or respect for it, even after everything he'd done and everything he'd gave her. Most of the nice stuff she had were things he bought over those few months, and at the end she'd thrown him aside like he was some bauble and tried to make him look like the bad guy. Tried to ruin his reputation.
Fucking gold diggers. He couldn't say that though, neither time nor place. In business or in life you never let someone see you on the back foot, especially not if they already had a leg up. Like, say, they literally had a gun on you and were blocking the only exit. Play this cool, Max...
"I was just having breakfast. Want some?"
The trademark Max Sawyer Smile fell a little flat, this time.
Smooth, Max. Someone like Becca Everett walks in the room and the best you can manage is hi? Even with a mouth half-full of protein bar there's no excuse, one can't help wondering how you landed her as a girlfriend to begin with. Another swig of water got rid of the mouth-is-full problem and also brought an extra jolt of awakeness into his brain, letting him take in the situation. There he was, still shaking out cobwebs, and this ungrateful bitch comes barging in, getting the honour of first person he's seen not just today but since the kidnapping?
Some luck he was having. There was a time he'd've loved to see her, but his eyes couldn't help wandering down to that massive gun in her hand, then back up to the look on her face, the look she'd worn most of the last few times he'd talked to her. Except now it had the added context of this woman having been explicitly told by terrorist thugs to blow his head off. He'd never been a gambling man, but he still found himself wondering about the odds of her having taken that command to heart.
She'd been beautiful once, but that look and that thought brought ice to his brain and chased the blanket of sleep away. This was a woman who'd tried to bleed him dry, and never shown him a moment of real love or respect for it, even after everything he'd done and everything he'd gave her. Most of the nice stuff she had were things he bought over those few months, and at the end she'd thrown him aside like he was some bauble and tried to make him look like the bad guy. Tried to ruin his reputation.
Fucking gold diggers. He couldn't say that though, neither time nor place. In business or in life you never let someone see you on the back foot, especially not if they already had a leg up. Like, say, they literally had a gun on you and were blocking the only exit. Play this cool, Max...
"I was just having breakfast. Want some?"
The trademark Max Sawyer Smile fell a little flat, this time.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
Becca's first instinct was to tell him to fuck off. Her second was to turn around and walk out. Of all the damn people to run into it had to be her shitheaded ex, didn't it? True her current partner wasn't what she'd call glowing company, but there was not knowing when to shut up and not knowing how not to be a staggering asshat.
There was a little... history between her and Max. Innocent enough on the surface of it - a relationship that had lasted a few months. Less pleasant when you knew that the reason they'd split is that she'd got pissed with him nagging her to put out all the time. Yeah, no thanks, and sure as hell she was letting people know exactly what he was like. Surprise surprise when she got called a liar.
Whatever, anyway. Didn't make much difference, she just knew that here was a guy that she didn't like much in a place where they were getting orders to kill people. Not that Becca wanted to kill him, maybe just scare him a little.
"Max, you were pretty much the last person I'd want to eat breakfast with back home, what makes you think it'll be different on murder island?" she waved her gun as she spoke, not a threat - at least, not intended as much, just a gesture for punctuation.
There was a little... history between her and Max. Innocent enough on the surface of it - a relationship that had lasted a few months. Less pleasant when you knew that the reason they'd split is that she'd got pissed with him nagging her to put out all the time. Yeah, no thanks, and sure as hell she was letting people know exactly what he was like. Surprise surprise when she got called a liar.
Whatever, anyway. Didn't make much difference, she just knew that here was a guy that she didn't like much in a place where they were getting orders to kill people. Not that Becca wanted to kill him, maybe just scare him a little.
"Max, you were pretty much the last person I'd want to eat breakfast with back home, what makes you think it'll be different on murder island?" she waved her gun as she spoke, not a threat - at least, not intended as much, just a gesture for punctuation.
"Fine, but could you not treat that thing like a toy?"
Sure, things weren't exactly going to be sunshine and rainbows between them, but Max really didn't think he could be blamed for that request. There was something inherently alarming about someone who already looked bloody unhappy waving a huge gun around while they talked like pointing it at things was just a punctuation mark. Only an idiot wouldn't have it loaded in circumstances like these, and it was that thought that made him instinctively duck away every time it seemed to float near him while Becca talked.
Sure, she'd been a selfish bitch, but stupid had never really entered the equation before now. Now he had to question that just a little. Wouldn't do to lose his cool now though, so he just kept his hands where she could see them and gnawed on a bit of the protein bar. It tasted like nerves.
"All I got's this dumb cigar in my pocket, no need to have a gun out."
Sure, things weren't exactly going to be sunshine and rainbows between them, but Max really didn't think he could be blamed for that request. There was something inherently alarming about someone who already looked bloody unhappy waving a huge gun around while they talked like pointing it at things was just a punctuation mark. Only an idiot wouldn't have it loaded in circumstances like these, and it was that thought that made him instinctively duck away every time it seemed to float near him while Becca talked.
Sure, she'd been a selfish bitch, but stupid had never really entered the equation before now. Now he had to question that just a little. Wouldn't do to lose his cool now though, so he just kept his hands where she could see them and gnawed on a bit of the protein bar. It tasted like nerves.
"All I got's this dumb cigar in my pocket, no need to have a gun out."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
Becca's eyes narrowed, just slightly. If she hadn't already been frowning then she probably would've started. The tone in that statement - an insult implied but not quite outright stated. That was just typical Max, day in and day out. It'd taken her far too long to cotton onto it, back when they'd been going out. He would chide her for goofing around, and she'd accept it, not realising she'd just been called an idiot. Always telling her that she didn't take anything seriously enough, too... fuck him. She did what she wanted.
It was growing increasingly tempting to just walk out and link back up with Paulo, and forget that she'd ever seen Max in here. There was nothing that she wanted from him and nothing he could offer her, excepting possibly a headache. On the other hand, she didn't know if she could just... let it go like she'd never seen him. She couldn't think of many people better deserving of a good scare than Max. Maybe this was a bad time to be thinking about that type of thing, but Becca still remembered those brutally sexist arguments, some of the bullshit that had come out of the guy's mouth. This was... really dumb, but fuck it, she needed to see the look on his face after this. Needed the de-stress.
"Oh, cool," she said, all bravado. "Means you couldn't fire back, right?" the gun wasn't being waved around. It was pointed, not full out, 'imma shoot you in the head', but definitely in his direction.
It was growing increasingly tempting to just walk out and link back up with Paulo, and forget that she'd ever seen Max in here. There was nothing that she wanted from him and nothing he could offer her, excepting possibly a headache. On the other hand, she didn't know if she could just... let it go like she'd never seen him. She couldn't think of many people better deserving of a good scare than Max. Maybe this was a bad time to be thinking about that type of thing, but Becca still remembered those brutally sexist arguments, some of the bullshit that had come out of the guy's mouth. This was... really dumb, but fuck it, she needed to see the look on his face after this. Needed the de-stress.
"Oh, cool," she said, all bravado. "Means you couldn't fire back, right?" the gun wasn't being waved around. It was pointed, not full out, 'imma shoot you in the head', but definitely in his direction.
"Put that down, Becca. Come on."
If that thing wasn't so damn scary while being pointed at him, this would be getting on his nerves. It was just like before, she'd never listen, never show him an ounce of respect, never act like anything outside her dumb sport was even worth taking seriously for a second. Except now it would probably get his brains splattered all over a wall.
Give someone a few jewels, a nice dinner or three, they think they own you. Great. The store was starting to feel really cold now, impossibly cold given the summer morning, and he became all too aware of decades-old wood burying under his nails, his fingers digging deep as everything tensed up. His heart was a war drum.
Come on, Max, think. You've always had your brain, it's what's set you up for life. What do you have on her? How do you make this work?
Maybe...
"God damn, you make me need to smoke." A long shot. He reached up for his breast pocket and the cigar, trying to make eye contact with Becca and not the gun. "You mind?"
If that thing wasn't so damn scary while being pointed at him, this would be getting on his nerves. It was just like before, she'd never listen, never show him an ounce of respect, never act like anything outside her dumb sport was even worth taking seriously for a second. Except now it would probably get his brains splattered all over a wall.
Give someone a few jewels, a nice dinner or three, they think they own you. Great. The store was starting to feel really cold now, impossibly cold given the summer morning, and he became all too aware of decades-old wood burying under his nails, his fingers digging deep as everything tensed up. His heart was a war drum.
Come on, Max, think. You've always had your brain, it's what's set you up for life. What do you have on her? How do you make this work?
Maybe...
"God damn, you make me need to smoke." A long shot. He reached up for his breast pocket and the cigar, trying to make eye contact with Becca and not the gun. "You mind?"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
Becca tilted her head to the side, put on her best 'game face' on - the one she wore at basketball when she wanted to show she meant business, pushed the gun out and... winked at him. Lowered the gun, at least a little and then snorted. Becca knew that it was cruel. However, it was also funny and coming at the expense of a jackass so... she figured that she came out a little ahead on this one. It hadn't really been smart, all things taken into consideration, but so far as she was concerned it was a couple seconds getting the only kind of entertainment she could without actually going off at the deep end.
She didn't really consider that even just standing there after that held a threat.
"Yeah, go ahead," she said, shortly, thinking about heading out now, having had her childish-yet-amusing fun. "Not like the staff's gonna throw you out for breaking smoking code."
She didn't really consider that even just standing there after that held a threat.
"Yeah, go ahead," she said, shortly, thinking about heading out now, having had her childish-yet-amusing fun. "Not like the staff's gonna throw you out for breaking smoking code."
(Mild GMing for flow purposes approved.)
So now she was mocking him. Bit of cat-and-mouse, huh? Great, good knowing even on Murder Island she thought he was a damn joke. Well, screw her then. He kept his poker face up, nodding with a smile that didn't show teeth.
"Thanks. Hell of a situation we got into, huh?" The cigar slid out of his pocket, resting between two fingers as he went rummaging for a lighter. There had to be one somewhere in the pack, after all. What was a cigar with no way to light it? Clothes and extra food moved aside at his touch, in and out of the pack, but nothing until he found the first aid kit.
Ah, there we go. It opened up and there was his holy grail, much less impressive than the real thing but it would do for now. She was still watching him, gun still waiting for an excuse to tear him through. That thing looked like it would rip his arm off if it so much as grazed him, god damn.
Right, try not to think about that. His thumb went across the wheel, sparking the lighter once, twice. A third time and flame danced before his eyes, warming his nail impatiently. Becca was in the doorway, the cigar was in his left hand. He could light the cigar, then what? A first smoke wouldn't make this go away.
"Only one of you will ever see home again. Once on the island, you will have to kill each other until only one remains."
He knew that. She knew that. It'd been clear as day on the video, but hadn't he just said he wouldn't be their plaything? Eight people dead, she was looking at him like he was going to be number nine. What could he do?
Cigar, lighter, Becca. Cigar, lighter, Becca. She was several feet away, he was fast but she'd still have time to pick the gun back up and shoot. Cigar, lighter, Becca. His hands shook, he made them stop.
Idea. Crazy enough to work? He was strong, he could get the gun away with a distraction. He was holding a distraction. The flame kissed the cigar's end, turned it red and black and brought acrid smoke into his nose. He coughed. Now or never. One, two...
A flick of his wrist sent it flying at Becca's face, he saw the gun-hand twitch but too late-
Light and sound filled his eyes and ears, someone's shouting drowned by the ring ring ring after the blast. He stumbled, coughing out a swear, and saw metal on the floor, lunged for it. His brain said pick it up, say "fuck off, give me the bag and go", his brain said scare her away.
His muscles said no. On its own his body scooped the gun up in two hands, let the heavy metal settle in his grip. His arms swung up until a body was in the sights, his finger pulled back.
Fire and steel cut through the air, stifling all other sound with its roar.
So now she was mocking him. Bit of cat-and-mouse, huh? Great, good knowing even on Murder Island she thought he was a damn joke. Well, screw her then. He kept his poker face up, nodding with a smile that didn't show teeth.
"Thanks. Hell of a situation we got into, huh?" The cigar slid out of his pocket, resting between two fingers as he went rummaging for a lighter. There had to be one somewhere in the pack, after all. What was a cigar with no way to light it? Clothes and extra food moved aside at his touch, in and out of the pack, but nothing until he found the first aid kit.
Ah, there we go. It opened up and there was his holy grail, much less impressive than the real thing but it would do for now. She was still watching him, gun still waiting for an excuse to tear him through. That thing looked like it would rip his arm off if it so much as grazed him, god damn.
Right, try not to think about that. His thumb went across the wheel, sparking the lighter once, twice. A third time and flame danced before his eyes, warming his nail impatiently. Becca was in the doorway, the cigar was in his left hand. He could light the cigar, then what? A first smoke wouldn't make this go away.
"Only one of you will ever see home again. Once on the island, you will have to kill each other until only one remains."
He knew that. She knew that. It'd been clear as day on the video, but hadn't he just said he wouldn't be their plaything? Eight people dead, she was looking at him like he was going to be number nine. What could he do?
Cigar, lighter, Becca. Cigar, lighter, Becca. She was several feet away, he was fast but she'd still have time to pick the gun back up and shoot. Cigar, lighter, Becca. His hands shook, he made them stop.
Idea. Crazy enough to work? He was strong, he could get the gun away with a distraction. He was holding a distraction. The flame kissed the cigar's end, turned it red and black and brought acrid smoke into his nose. He coughed. Now or never. One, two...
A flick of his wrist sent it flying at Becca's face, he saw the gun-hand twitch but too late-
Light and sound filled his eyes and ears, someone's shouting drowned by the ring ring ring after the blast. He stumbled, coughing out a swear, and saw metal on the floor, lunged for it. His brain said pick it up, say "fuck off, give me the bag and go", his brain said scare her away.
His muscles said no. On its own his body scooped the gun up in two hands, let the heavy metal settle in his grip. His arms swung up until a body was in the sights, his finger pulled back.
Fire and steel cut through the air, stifling all other sound with its roar.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
Becca leaned against the doorframe and watched Max for a few seconds. She'd rattled the guy, she knew, even if he was keeping an image of composure. He was a sportsman, any good athlete knew how to do that. Funny to see Max squirm a little, but a bit of a waste of time. Best that she grab Paulo and move on, cause they weren't going to be able to hide out HERE, for one place.
Yeah, a nice little diversion and all, but time that she was going.
"It's been fun, Max, but I'd b-"
The cigar was flicked towards her face, and she was caught between the instinct to flinch and instinct to catch. As a result she did neither, head jerking back a little but not far enough, free hand only making it to her shoulder before the projectile struck her just off centre of the bridge of her nose.
And then it exploded.
Becca cried out as a blinding flash went off about an inch from her eyes with a heck of a bang, disorienting her, the Colt going skittering across the floor in front of her. What the fuck had just happened!? Cigars didn't explode! Becca took a groggy step to the left as she tried to clear the spots away from her face - she could make out shapes, now if only she could see Max, needed to know where-
Another bang, and a thump to her chest like being smashed by a basketball. Becca fell against the door frame and then slid down to the floor. Her breath was suddenly short, and as she coughed once, twice, trying to clear her airways, she tasted blood.
She looked up. Max was holding the gun.
"You... fucking... serious?" she managed. Becca tried to laugh, only managed a wheeze and half a smile. "I prank ... and you... you..."
Another cough.
"Joke's on... me then..."
Her vision was swimming, a trickle of something was running down her chin.
"Ass...hole."
G062: REBECCA EVERETT: DECEASED
Yeah, a nice little diversion and all, but time that she was going.
"It's been fun, Max, but I'd b-"
The cigar was flicked towards her face, and she was caught between the instinct to flinch and instinct to catch. As a result she did neither, head jerking back a little but not far enough, free hand only making it to her shoulder before the projectile struck her just off centre of the bridge of her nose.
And then it exploded.
Becca cried out as a blinding flash went off about an inch from her eyes with a heck of a bang, disorienting her, the Colt going skittering across the floor in front of her. What the fuck had just happened!? Cigars didn't explode! Becca took a groggy step to the left as she tried to clear the spots away from her face - she could make out shapes, now if only she could see Max, needed to know where-
Another bang, and a thump to her chest like being smashed by a basketball. Becca fell against the door frame and then slid down to the floor. Her breath was suddenly short, and as she coughed once, twice, trying to clear her airways, she tasted blood.
She looked up. Max was holding the gun.
"You... fucking... serious?" she managed. Becca tried to laugh, only managed a wheeze and half a smile. "I prank ... and you... you..."
Another cough.
"Joke's on... me then..."
Her vision was swimming, a trickle of something was running down her chin.
"Ass...hole."
G062: REBECCA EVERETT: DECEASED
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umop-ap!sdn†
- Posts: 278
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 8:15 am
((Joey Caputo, Rosemary Michaels, and Meera Stele continued from Drip drop.))
Finally they were in town. The streets looked like they longed to be walked on again, the town wasn't just abandoned, it was empty of all life and realness. Joey pressed out his lips to start a whistle.
Fire and steel cut through the air, stifling all other sound with its roar.
He flinched. He jumped a few inches in the air and turned around, looking around for the attacker. The shots hadn't been too loud, must have been a ways away. Somebody was nearby, and somebody was, or had been, in trouble. They had to act. They needed to get to the scene and figure out what needed to be done. Whether it was saving another student and growing their numbers or capturing the terrorist coming for the body, standing around wasn't an option. He turned back to look at the girls for a second, cocking his head towards the direction of the sound.
They couldn't afford to miss anything.
His hand moved to the strap of the bag to keep it on his shoulder as he ran. The other hand fumbled with the zipper before digging in to pull out the trusty knife. Joey wasn't trained for running, but his loud, heavy footsteps sounded like they meant business. Kiki the kukiri emerged from the bag, the sunlight reflecting off her blade back up into the sky.
Finally they were in town. The streets looked like they longed to be walked on again, the town wasn't just abandoned, it was empty of all life and realness. Joey pressed out his lips to start a whistle.
Fire and steel cut through the air, stifling all other sound with its roar.
He flinched. He jumped a few inches in the air and turned around, looking around for the attacker. The shots hadn't been too loud, must have been a ways away. Somebody was nearby, and somebody was, or had been, in trouble. They had to act. They needed to get to the scene and figure out what needed to be done. Whether it was saving another student and growing their numbers or capturing the terrorist coming for the body, standing around wasn't an option. He turned back to look at the girls for a second, cocking his head towards the direction of the sound.
They couldn't afford to miss anything.
His hand moved to the strap of the bag to keep it on his shoulder as he ran. The other hand fumbled with the zipper before digging in to pull out the trusty knife. Joey wasn't trained for running, but his loud, heavy footsteps sounded like they meant business. Kiki the kukiri emerged from the bag, the sunlight reflecting off her blade back up into the sky.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler umop-ap!sdn. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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MrMissMrs Random†
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- Joined: Wed Sep 05, 2018 2:39 am
It felt like her whole body had jumped out of her skin when she heard the gun shots. Someone had a gun and was shooting it at someone else. This was the kind of thing that you only heard about on the news or cop shows- not with your own ears catching the sound unfiltered by a screen.
She saw that Joey had taken out his knife, and though it wasn't as menacing Rosemary firmly gripped the handle of her currently sheathed butterfly knife so she would be able to hide it or... use it if need be.
Rosemary raised her free hand to try and catch Joey, then to her mouth in a "hush" gesture, but she wasn't sure if the boy saw it as he ran forward. She followed but stuck beside Meera, since the other girl didn't have an exact weapon.
She saw that Joey had taken out his knife, and though it wasn't as menacing Rosemary firmly gripped the handle of her currently sheathed butterfly knife so she would be able to hide it or... use it if need be.
Rosemary raised her free hand to try and catch Joey, then to her mouth in a "hush" gesture, but she wasn't sure if the boy saw it as he ran forward. She followed but stuck beside Meera, since the other girl didn't have an exact weapon.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler MrMissMrs Random. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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watcher in night†
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 8:29 am
When the gunshot sounded, it was all Meera could do to stifle a scream. She'd been completely unprepared for the telltale sound of a weapon going off as she, Joey, and Rosemary had been walking through the town. In the few split seconds after the gunshot sounded, however, Joey had drawn his knife and running toward the sound.
Without a weapon, Meera knew she was terribly vulnerable. But she didn't plan on staying behind while Joey and Rosemary followed the sound. Standing around here wasn't a viable option.
She saw Rosemary was sticking close to her, fingers wrapped tightly around her sheathed dagger. Meera was grateful that she hadn't run off immediately after Joey. She followed Joey and Rosemary, preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.
Without a weapon, Meera knew she was terribly vulnerable. But she didn't plan on staying behind while Joey and Rosemary followed the sound. Standing around here wasn't a viable option.
She saw Rosemary was sticking close to her, fingers wrapped tightly around her sheathed dagger. Meera was grateful that she hadn't run off immediately after Joey. She followed Joey and Rosemary, preparing for what could be a deadly confrontation.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler watcher in night. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Paulo Abbate Continued from Wisteria Lane, After The End ))
Nature called, and Paulo had to pick up the phone. Unfortunately, because it meant being around Becca less. That and being caught with his pants down while he tried to piss would've been one malo fucking way to die.
The area had seemed safe enough anyway, and it wasn't like he could just ignore it until he pissed himself. He'd look like a real asshole, then. So Becca had taken the opportunity to check out a building for whatever reason.
"You gonna get hit, you gonna get knocked out..." He muttered the old Ultimate Fighter theme to himself as he relieved his bladder on the side of the building. He had zipped up by the time the gunshot shattered the day.
"Wh..."
He was moving in an instant, sliding around the wall toward the building, toward where had heard the gunshot. There were rapid footsteps in the distance, but he didn't hear them. Something had gone very fucking wrong.
He turned the corner and entered the building, and there he saw Becca against the door, alone and dead.
Paulo, who had never run into a situation he couldn't shit up by opening his mouth consistently, was struck dumb by the sight. He stared down at the corpse, mouth agape.
Reality checks were a bitch.
Nature called, and Paulo had to pick up the phone. Unfortunately, because it meant being around Becca less. That and being caught with his pants down while he tried to piss would've been one malo fucking way to die.
The area had seemed safe enough anyway, and it wasn't like he could just ignore it until he pissed himself. He'd look like a real asshole, then. So Becca had taken the opportunity to check out a building for whatever reason.
"You gonna get hit, you gonna get knocked out..." He muttered the old Ultimate Fighter theme to himself as he relieved his bladder on the side of the building. He had zipped up by the time the gunshot shattered the day.
"Wh..."
He was moving in an instant, sliding around the wall toward the building, toward where had heard the gunshot. There were rapid footsteps in the distance, but he didn't hear them. Something had gone very fucking wrong.
He turned the corner and entered the building, and there he saw Becca against the door, alone and dead.
Paulo, who had never run into a situation he couldn't shit up by opening his mouth consistently, was struck dumb by the sight. He stared down at the corpse, mouth agape.
Reality checks were a bitch.
(I think I just got GMed out of my own thread. o_o Might as well officially leave then; this post is set BEFORE all y'all's posts.)
Fuck.
Smoke swirled round him, settling on his shirt, while cordite and sharp coppery blood mixed in his nose. The world had been swallowed by a persistent ringing in his ears, but he felt his legs wobble, still off guard from the blast forcing him back a step. The gun, still smoking, weighed a ton in his hand, but he held on all the same.
He'd shot her. White turned dark, dark red and brown eyes stabbed through him, full of accusation. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear the words or read the movements, and then those eyes weren't full of anything at all. A few seconds ago she'd been a woman, with thoughts and dreams and the works, now because of the terrorists she was just meat for the worms.
An instant slower and it would be him on the floor. She kept staring at the legend she had been about to destroy, even now she was in the hereafter. He could have thought of something witty to say to that, something manly and powerful, but no words came to his throat, only acid.
His body was still moving on its own when he took up his bag, wrestled hers free while trying not to retch and got the hell out of there.
(Maximilian Sawyer continued in Hanley's Bazaar.)
Fuck.
Smoke swirled round him, settling on his shirt, while cordite and sharp coppery blood mixed in his nose. The world had been swallowed by a persistent ringing in his ears, but he felt his legs wobble, still off guard from the blast forcing him back a step. The gun, still smoking, weighed a ton in his hand, but he held on all the same.
He'd shot her. White turned dark, dark red and brown eyes stabbed through him, full of accusation. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear the words or read the movements, and then those eyes weren't full of anything at all. A few seconds ago she'd been a woman, with thoughts and dreams and the works, now because of the terrorists she was just meat for the worms.
An instant slower and it would be him on the floor. She kept staring at the legend she had been about to destroy, even now she was in the hereafter. He could have thought of something witty to say to that, something manly and powerful, but no words came to his throat, only acid.
His body was still moving on its own when he took up his bag, wrestled hers free while trying not to retch and got the hell out of there.
(Maximilian Sawyer continued in Hanley's Bazaar.)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.