SOTF Archive/SOTF Classic

((Matt Vartoogian continued from [url]Snatch/Steal))

Matt got really bored staring out the window all day.

It was all there was left to do. Camp the fuck out of his position so that nobody would get the jump on him. Sure, there were other ways into the building he was in, but he'd hear their footsteps as they approached. His position was so defensible, so secluded, that he almost felt bad about how nicely he'd set himself up. Almost. There were a lot of other things to feel plenty worse about, but it was hard to care about any of that over the lingering fear that had settled in. None of that made this any less boring, though. He'd have fallen asleep at this point if not for the fear.

It was starting to get dark. There was maybe 20, 30 minutes left of sunlight? At that point, he'd have to pack up for the night. Barricade the door, all that jazz. He needed to be meticulous at this point, no mistakes. He couldn't give anyone ways to take him out. And maybe he'd be able to delay killing another day. Even though his window for getting his kill was shrinking, he knew he could get it eventually. It'd be pretty fucking hard to be the last one standing without killing the last person.

That hope was dashed quickly as Matt saw a figure approaching. He couldn't tell who it was, just some large guy. Maybe it was Hansel. Oh god, getting the jump on Hansel would be a huge stroke of luck.

(Tyler Lucas continued from Belgian Roulette)

Limping on into the night, with that gun in his hand.  Limping on, as though her were implacable, as golden dusk spilled out in all directions.  Eyes flickering in every direction, looking for danger.

The figure approached, limping slowly towards his location. He'd probably seen a lot of action, certainly more than Matt had at this point. Hell, that probably described everyone left. As the figure approached, Matt realized that it couldn't be Hansel. This guy was one of the football players, or at least he was sure built like one. He'd know whom he'd killed once he was looting the corpse. Hansel would be someone else's problem.

Matt tilted the gun downwards on the bipod and secured the buttstock on his shoulder. This wasn't his fault; he'd never asked to be sitting in the third story of a building pointing a machine gun at someone he'd known for the past four years. He had no choice.

Matt pulled the trigger and grimaced as he absorbed the recoil.

A rattle of bullets.  Tyler lifted his eyes, as they bit into the dust near his feet, took a bounding step away on his left leg...

Something snapped and cracked.  A fresh spurt of blood came from the old wound on his leg.  For that moment of pain and fresh blood, he froze.

That was enough.  The bullets caught him, drew lines of blood all across his chest.

The bullets stopped.  Tyler stayed on his feet for a surprisingly long time.  Then he pitched slowly forward onto the concrete like a falling tree.

Matt watched as his target dodged out of the way of the initial burst, but something gave. The other boy suddenly stopped, allowing him to fill his target with lead. He stopped firing, watching as the figure stood for a few moments before collapsing.

Holy shit. He'd just killed someone. He felt... nothing. Actually, that was a lie; he felt a lingering fear that someone had heard the gunshots and would come investigate soon. He wanted whatever supplies were up for grabs, if for no other reason than to deny them from others. He had to move fast. Grabbing the shotgun and making his way quickly down the stairs, Matt looked around to make sure that nobody had approached during his decent. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he moved quickly towards the bag lying next to the corpse.

Matt reached down to raid the body, one-handed with his gun at the ready.  And then Tyler's hands lashed out vicious cobras, biting down with terrible strength.  

Fast.  Too fast.  Unbelievably fast.  They snapped around Matt's wrist with the strength of a vise, applied bruising, bone-crushing strength.  Tyler lifted his bloodstained face, blood and pus and viscera dribbling from the corners of his mouth like and eyes like drool and tears.  And he was grinning.

Matt yelled and snapped up his shotgun, and Tyler twisted, pulled him close and knocked that gun to one side.  He rose like something from the deep, vast and inevitable and terrible.  He wrapped one hand around his wrist, jerked the shotgun down to the ground and closed the other around Matt's throat.  The shotgun fired, a vast, terrible sound like thunder, so close, but Tyler was still grinning, and Matt was dangling in the air in his grasp as blood ran down Tyler's front and face and eyes from a thousand different wounds.

"No fuckin' Spartacus," he growled, blood flecking from his lips onto Matt's face.  "No Russell Crowe.  Just us.  Just the fuckin' gladiators, fighting like we're supposed to."

His eyes weren't quite looking at Matt though, even as the other boy struggled in his grasp.  They were looking past him, west, towards the last gleaming rays of the setting sun.  And his grin was so stupidly big.

He pushed Matt away, sent him sprawling to the ground, but somehow in one final twist ended up with the shotgun in his hand.  Bloodstained and gory and magnificent, glistening in the golden rays of dusk with dark eyes that burned and a grin that was all the more terrible for the blood dripping past his teeth.  And so he stood, proud and powerful, clutching that stolen gun.

"I had fun," Tyler said.  "You?"

He teetered on his feet for a moment, then collapsed backwards with all the force of a colossus, the gun dropping out of his numb fingers into the dust.  But even as he hit the ground, spraying blood in all directions, his eyes were wide and glittering, and he grinned up at the sky as though he were defying it.

TYLER LUCAS: ELIMINATED

So strong. How the fuck was this demonic man so strong?

Even weakened, Matt didn't stand a chance against Tyler. He could only stare with bewilderment and terror as he lost his gun. He jerked at the deafening bang, feeling the shards of pavement fly around him. He could still breath, just barely, but each breathe was getting easier to draw. Tyler was dying, but maybe not fast enough.

He sounded like a deranged madman. There was no time to dwell on his words, to find meaning. Not that he could have; Virgil and Michelle were merely footnotes of Matt's experience on the island. He found himself landing backwards on his ass, the ground causing minimal damage. He watched Tyler fall to the ground.

Shit.

With no time to think, Matt rose to his feet as quickly as possible and dove at the figure a few feet in front of him.

((Zubin Wadia continued from Belgian Roulette))

Zubin had kept up with Tyler, to the extent that Zubin could see Tyler and get there within a few seconds. Of course, being in an apartment complex meant that he really had to look at every window and intersection for what seemed like Hansel Williams at every corner. He was just watching everything, it seemed. Tyler ahead of him, the windows and intersections, the doors, and behind him just in case there was someone alive from another angle that he missed.

BOOM

Tyler dived and then went down as the source of the noise came forward. Zubin stopped short

Shit. There was someone else there, of course, coming in fast, as Tyler went down, then back up somehow, like the Incredible Hulk or something to take on his killer. Zubin ran forward towards the fight. It seemed like a dumb idea. Hell, it probably was a stupid idea, if not for one thought that brought it all together:

I need that fucking gun I need that fucking gun I need that fucking gun I need that fucking gun ...

Both Tyler and his killer fell down, Tyler for good most likely, but the other guy dived for him too as Zubin grabbed the shotgun and pointed it straight at the figure as Zubin sidestepped. He barely even thought as sighted in and pulled the trigger.

Matt grimaced in anticipation for the pain that never came. Instead, he was rewarded with a light click, then another, and then yet another as his shoulder drove into Zubin's hip. He hooked his left arm behind the other boy's right and pulled, causing them to tumble down to the ground.

Nothing was happening. Why the fuck was nothing happening?

Zubin didn't really get a chance to think anything else before the other guy pulled him to the ground and tried to take away his shotgun. Zubin grunted as he just kicked at the other guy with his right foot as he swung at the other guy's face with his hands, doing everything he could to keep a grip on the shotgun.

Matt took the kick in the thigh and cringed. It wasn't too bad, given that Zubin was fucking tiny, but it still hurt. There'd probably be a bruise.

Matt grabbed the other boy's wrist before the fist hit his face. He had to get the gun out of Zubin's hand and get out of here. He raised his elbow up before slamming it down toward's Zubin's shoulder.

The other guy elbowed Zubin in the shoulder, causing Zubin to gasp and let go of the gun. His gun.

This douchebag's going to kill me with my gun.

Zubin reached for the gun, just by the other guy's foot. He had to get it away from him.

Barrel's still gotta point away, keep it pointing away ...

Bingo.

He couldn't afford to linger here for long. Who else could be nearby, looking for easy targets to pick off? He was in the open, exposed, and the shotgun now rested off to the side. He saw Zubin reach for the gun and pinned his wrist to the ground as he kicked the gun away with his foot, then pinned Zubin to the ground as he rose and sprinted towards the shotgun. Zubin grabbed at him, but did little to slow him down. Matt didn't slow down as he scooped up the gun.

Turn and fire. It'd be so easy to move one step closer to going home. He knew he could pull the trigger. Except that trigger right now didn't do anything. If it did, he'd be dead. He didn't have time to figure out why the gun hadn't fired, either.

With shotgun in hand, he sprinted back towards the building with his base. He was giving up whatever supplies Tyler had, but he had to make that trade. He had enough supplies to end this, and he couldn't die to any sort of greed. Matt entered the building and immediately shot up the stairs.

((Matt Vartoogian continued elsewhere))

Dammit!

The other guy slammed Zubin's wrist to the ground, keeping it there as he took the shotgun and ran off. Zubin crawled back to Tyler and looked for the saving grace - that nice big gun. Not even checking to see if it was loaded or not, he pointed it at the receding figure and fired.

BANGBANGclick

Zubin swore as the other guy ran off into the distance. He was likely going to come back and kill him if those shots didn't hit. He looked down at Tyler's body.

So I'm on my own now

Zubin rubbed his wrist and took all of Tyler's stuff - a couple extra magazines, as well as some food and water. Least he wasn't completely fucked over now.

If they come for me now, at least they'll have to fight me ...

((Zubin Wadia continued in Pay the Piper))