((Michael Rosen continued from Once Upon A Time....))
He walked cautiously into the large building. Mostly vast spaces, nothing much to look at inside other than one or two cars. Michael scratched his head and put his bag down. He dug around until he pulled out a map. The area was labeled as a garage. That wasn't very helpful; he probably could have figured that out on his own. He sighed.
This is awful. I've been here one day and I feel like I'm dieing. I don't want to keep going. What the heck is pushing me forward? I'm going to go completely schziod soon.
There was still a little blood on his shoes from Harris back at the barracks. He closed his eyes and groaned.
My Own Summer (Shove it)
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Carrion Queen
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Bryant was still fuming from dealing with Off-Whitey and friends back in the firing range, even as he wandered the compound. Bitch giving him some lip, he should've busted hers. He had half a mind to walk back in there and do just that, but decided not to. Didn't seem worth the energy.
He ended up back at the garage where he started his whole stint at the compound. Maybe he thought he could calm down, hide for a minute. There wasn't anybody in there but Sean when he woke up. Might've still been empty. He could calm down, chill, let the other kids sort each other out a little. He could keep a pretty good watch, maybe. The place was big, but it didn't have a whole lot of doors.
He stepped through the door into the garage, still muttering angrily to himself.
"Bitch talks to me like she ain't got no sense. Lemme find her ass again. I wish the bitch would've talked some more shit, I'da rammed this motherfuckin' shovel up her ass and made her into a goddamn corndog." At the last he idly swung the shovel against the door, making a satisfying clang as it hit the steel.
He didn't notice Michael in the garage; his irritation had put blinders on him. If he'd seen the jumpy white kid, he might not have been acting quite as threatening.
He ended up back at the garage where he started his whole stint at the compound. Maybe he thought he could calm down, hide for a minute. There wasn't anybody in there but Sean when he woke up. Might've still been empty. He could calm down, chill, let the other kids sort each other out a little. He could keep a pretty good watch, maybe. The place was big, but it didn't have a whole lot of doors.
He stepped through the door into the garage, still muttering angrily to himself.
"Bitch talks to me like she ain't got no sense. Lemme find her ass again. I wish the bitch would've talked some more shit, I'da rammed this motherfuckin' shovel up her ass and made her into a goddamn corndog." At the last he idly swung the shovel against the door, making a satisfying clang as it hit the steel.
He didn't notice Michael in the garage; his irritation had put blinders on him. If he'd seen the jumpy white kid, he might not have been acting quite as threatening.
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Carrion Queen
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"Jeez."
Michael meticulously folded the map back up and stuck it in his pocket. He looked around. Where had those other two gone? Oh well, just as well, he thought. He picked up his bag and the brought up the shotgun. He started walking again when suddenly he heard a loud metallic noise from near by. Michael swung around, skin on pins and needles with fear and without realizing his nervous reflex, he squeezed the trigger.
Michael meticulously folded the map back up and stuck it in his pocket. He looked around. Where had those other two gone? Oh well, just as well, he thought. He picked up his bag and the brought up the shotgun. He started walking again when suddenly he heard a loud metallic noise from near by. Michael swung around, skin on pins and needles with fear and without realizing his nervous reflex, he squeezed the trigger.
Bryant still hadn't seen the kid before the gunshot went off. Maybe if he had seen him, saw what had happened, what was about to happen next wouldn't have occurred.
But the first alert to Michael's presence was the report of the shotgun, deafening in the acoustics of the garage. The second was a few of the pellets from the buckshot grazing his arm, drawing a little blood as it cut through the skin of his right bicep. He looked down at it, dumbfounded, then looked up at Michael, standing there, shotgun in hand.
Guilty. You son of a bitch.
Bryant's eyes set, like an angry snake about to strike. It was similar to the look he gave Kendra, the one he gave Karl when he punched the snitch out.
There was no Juliet around to save this kid, however.
"MOTHERFUCKER!"
Bryant loped after Michael in a dead run, shovel ready like a baseball bat. He closed the distance in frightening time, so fast it almost seemed like he'd been next to Michael all along. Bryant didn't hear it, but the second announcement of the day had started up, and Adams was starting to list off kids.
Adams had started the national anthem by the time Bryant had swung the shovel with as much force as he could muster.
"Oh say, can you see..."
The shovel bounced off of Michael's skull and Bryant almost lost his balance, managed to catch himself as his target collapsed to the ground. He wasn't done, not by a long shot.
"...Dawn's early li-"
The clang of the shovel momentarily drowned out Adam's horrid singing as Bryant cocked it over his head and swung again, the blade smashing dead center into the prone Michael's body.
He brought the shovel back over his shoulder.
"What so proudly we-"
"FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"
The shovel fell again, smashing into Michael's chest. Dully, Bryant was aware of something giving in the boy's body. Probably his collarbone. He cocked the shovel again.
"-and bright stars..."
"Thought you was gonna kill yourself a NIGGER, huh!?"
The shovel fell, glanced off the side of the boy's face. A chunk of his ear caught on the blade, went flying off on the backswing.
Again and again the shovel came down, making Michael Sechooler's face into a mockery of what it once been. Bryant made a damned thorough job of it, accompanied by Adam's off-key rendition of the national anthem.
He kept going until his arms felt like lead.
"...And the home of the brave..."
Bryant threw the shovel down, his breath catching in his chest. He had to force himself the inhale. The freight train was rolling to a stop now. Now he could see what he had done.
"Wha..." He stared, not believing. The rage had worn off, and it had left in its place horror.
Bryant felt his gorge rise up, retched, and turned away. He dropped to his knees, and threw up most of what he'd eaten that morning.
"Oh my...fucking...Jesus fucking Christ..."
Michael made a gurgling noise from the remnants of his ruined face, and Bryant vomited again, bringing up mostly gastric acid.
Have to..fucking...have to get out of here...
Bryant stood up, wide-eyed. He grabbed Michael's bag, grabbed the shotgun, almost not realizing he was doing it and having a hard time because of how much his hands were shaking. He turned and walked back out the way he came. Once he cleared the door and was outside, Bryant started running.
He had become a true patriot.
((Bryant Carver continued in Standing Eight))
But the first alert to Michael's presence was the report of the shotgun, deafening in the acoustics of the garage. The second was a few of the pellets from the buckshot grazing his arm, drawing a little blood as it cut through the skin of his right bicep. He looked down at it, dumbfounded, then looked up at Michael, standing there, shotgun in hand.
Guilty. You son of a bitch.
Bryant's eyes set, like an angry snake about to strike. It was similar to the look he gave Kendra, the one he gave Karl when he punched the snitch out.
There was no Juliet around to save this kid, however.
"MOTHERFUCKER!"
Bryant loped after Michael in a dead run, shovel ready like a baseball bat. He closed the distance in frightening time, so fast it almost seemed like he'd been next to Michael all along. Bryant didn't hear it, but the second announcement of the day had started up, and Adams was starting to list off kids.
Adams had started the national anthem by the time Bryant had swung the shovel with as much force as he could muster.
"Oh say, can you see..."
The shovel bounced off of Michael's skull and Bryant almost lost his balance, managed to catch himself as his target collapsed to the ground. He wasn't done, not by a long shot.
"...Dawn's early li-"
The clang of the shovel momentarily drowned out Adam's horrid singing as Bryant cocked it over his head and swung again, the blade smashing dead center into the prone Michael's body.
He brought the shovel back over his shoulder.
"What so proudly we-"
"FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"
The shovel fell again, smashing into Michael's chest. Dully, Bryant was aware of something giving in the boy's body. Probably his collarbone. He cocked the shovel again.
"-and bright stars..."
"Thought you was gonna kill yourself a NIGGER, huh!?"
The shovel fell, glanced off the side of the boy's face. A chunk of his ear caught on the blade, went flying off on the backswing.
Again and again the shovel came down, making Michael Sechooler's face into a mockery of what it once been. Bryant made a damned thorough job of it, accompanied by Adam's off-key rendition of the national anthem.
He kept going until his arms felt like lead.
"...And the home of the brave..."
Bryant threw the shovel down, his breath catching in his chest. He had to force himself the inhale. The freight train was rolling to a stop now. Now he could see what he had done.
"Wha..." He stared, not believing. The rage had worn off, and it had left in its place horror.
Bryant felt his gorge rise up, retched, and turned away. He dropped to his knees, and threw up most of what he'd eaten that morning.
"Oh my...fucking...Jesus fucking Christ..."
Michael made a gurgling noise from the remnants of his ruined face, and Bryant vomited again, bringing up mostly gastric acid.
Have to..fucking...have to get out of here...
Bryant stood up, wide-eyed. He grabbed Michael's bag, grabbed the shotgun, almost not realizing he was doing it and having a hard time because of how much his hands were shaking. He turned and walked back out the way he came. Once he cleared the door and was outside, Bryant started running.
He had become a true patriot.
((Bryant Carver continued in Standing Eight))
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Carrion Queen
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Before he realized what had happened Bryant was right up in his space with a shovel. He was hit once in the head and went down hard against the ground. He gasped and sputtered when the second hit came into contact with his chest. He couldn't breathe. And yet, he wasn't all that sad or scared. It was over. It wasn't so bad.
With that the second hit came to the side of his face and he blacked out. He never came back out of the blackness.
Micheal Rosen: Deceased
With that the second hit came to the side of his face and he blacked out. He never came back out of the blackness.
Micheal Rosen: Deceased