((Megan Jacobson, continued from Let's Make Life a Living Hell))
Megan spent most of the jog thinking about what she was going to say. It wasn't an easy thing that she was going to do, that was for sure. Opposite of easy, in fact. And it was somewhat selfish of her to ask Brendon to do it, after all. What if he said no? Megan couldn't do it herself, her mother would never forgive her. But if he said no she wouldn't have much of a choice, now would she? She'd have to ask him to stay, if that was the case. She couldn't be alone. That was her worst fear.
She took several shaky breaths, and waited. He wasn't far behind her. He wouldn't have left her, not after everything that had happened.
But that was the main issue, wasn't it? After everything that had happened, would he be that willing to just let her go?
Brendon was the only one who could do it, but for a minute Megan wished she'd found someone else first. Bryant would have been ideal, he wouldn't have asked questions or cared that much. Luke next, maybe. Luke would have been reluctant, but if Megan begged maybe he would have caved. A small smile flickered over her lips as she thought about Dom or Matt, or even Ben or Sherri agreeing to do it, which they probably would have.
She trusted Brendon, though. He'd agree. It would take a lot of begging and crying and explaining, but eventually he'd agree. Because he cared about Megan, he was her friend, and this was what friends did.
Maybe. Maybe this was too much to ask of a friend. Maybe it was too much to ask of anyone. Maybe Brendon wasn't even her friend anymore.
No. He'd follow. He would. And she'd talk to him, and he'd understand. He'd have too. She needed him too.
Megan took another deep breath, and started to think about all the ways she could ask Brendon to kill her.
Running Out the Clock
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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
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Running Out the Clock
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
(Brendon Arrington continued from Let's Make Life a Living Hell.)
'I never knew Megan could run that fast.' Brendon thought tiredly as he finally came to the clearing where Megan was waiting, stumbling a bit before finally coming to a halt. He groaned, his legs slightly weak as he tried to regain his breath. Megan looked deep in thought and he wasn't sure what to say. Not like being unsure ever stopped him before, but with how things had turned out and considering what had happened last time...and the fact that he still needed to apologize...well, he found himself speechless again.
He knew what part of his hesitation was. He still didn't want to apologize and say that what he had done was wrong. His pride was the thing holding back his apology and he couldn't help but feel like there was some cinematic battle raging in his soul over it. There was him on the left, the dirt-stained, tired, but happy Brendon Arrington and on the right was some sort of beige suit and fedora wearing him dressed in clean dress clothes and smoking a delicious American-made cigar (except he didn't smoke so that was kind of weird). The pride him even had found the time to grow a handlebar mustache and one of those tiny triangle beards that looked snooty and really, really dumb.
But in the end, it never really was much of a battle at all. He knew what he needed to do.
"H...Hey Megan. You don't...man." He laughed a bit. "You don't know how happy I was to see you okay. I mean...well, as okay as we could be, right?"
"Anyway...anyway, I just...look, back at the...back at where he had just run from, actually. Odd how that worked out." Another brief laugh escaped his lips. "But anyway...look, I'm really, really sorry for what I said. I...I guess I was just frustrated and jealous and angry and all of that just fused together in some big ball of hate and I really didn't mean some of the things I said. So...again, I'm sorry."
"And...I don't know what happened with you lately but if you'd still have me, I'd be happy to plunge around this island with you again."
'I never knew Megan could run that fast.' Brendon thought tiredly as he finally came to the clearing where Megan was waiting, stumbling a bit before finally coming to a halt. He groaned, his legs slightly weak as he tried to regain his breath. Megan looked deep in thought and he wasn't sure what to say. Not like being unsure ever stopped him before, but with how things had turned out and considering what had happened last time...and the fact that he still needed to apologize...well, he found himself speechless again.
He knew what part of his hesitation was. He still didn't want to apologize and say that what he had done was wrong. His pride was the thing holding back his apology and he couldn't help but feel like there was some cinematic battle raging in his soul over it. There was him on the left, the dirt-stained, tired, but happy Brendon Arrington and on the right was some sort of beige suit and fedora wearing him dressed in clean dress clothes and smoking a delicious American-made cigar (except he didn't smoke so that was kind of weird). The pride him even had found the time to grow a handlebar mustache and one of those tiny triangle beards that looked snooty and really, really dumb.
But in the end, it never really was much of a battle at all. He knew what he needed to do.
"H...Hey Megan. You don't...man." He laughed a bit. "You don't know how happy I was to see you okay. I mean...well, as okay as we could be, right?"
"Anyway...anyway, I just...look, back at the...back at where he had just run from, actually. Odd how that worked out." Another brief laugh escaped his lips. "But anyway...look, I'm really, really sorry for what I said. I...I guess I was just frustrated and jealous and angry and all of that just fused together in some big ball of hate and I really didn't mean some of the things I said. So...again, I'm sorry."
"And...I don't know what happened with you lately but if you'd still have me, I'd be happy to plunge around this island with you again."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tythanin. 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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Casey The Undead*
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No. No. No. Don't apologize. Bad, bad, bad!
Megan choked down a sob as Brendon said his sorry's. Why did he have to go and do that? Why did he have to be so sweet and nice and make all of this difficult? She rubbed her eyes. There was no backing down now. She was too tired. He needed to live. He needed to be okay, he needed to survive and there was only one way she could set him in the right direction. Only one way she could guarantee she wouldn't have to live without him.
She wheeled around to face him, smiling slightly. She knew it looked sad. God, he could probably already tell what she was going to ask. What if he said no? What if he got mad? What if-
No. No time for What If's. Martin always said that you couldn't know what would happen unless you took the plunge and just asked.
"You're really sweet, you know. Like, obnoxiously, gives me diabetes sweet." She laughed lightly. "What happened wasn't your fault. And...it has nothing to do with what's going to happen next. So don't think that, okay? And before you go and interrupt and refuse, just let me finish, okay? One more rant, for old times sake?"
She laughed again. It died in her throat, and came out as a cough.
"I'm not strong. I look strong, and I act strong, and I'm headstrong, but I'm not strong. I'm not really much of anything. And I've been bumbling through the Program trying to find out what I'm going to do, and I realized, at some point, that I wasn't going to win. No matter what I did or how I did it, I wasn't going to win. Do you know why?
"Because I can't kill people, Brendon. I can't accept the fact that people like Maddie Harris and John Ferrara exist, and I go searching for this goodness inside them that just...isn't there. And if they pushed me up against a wall and gave me a gun and told me to kill them, I couldn't do it, because I'm not strong like that."
Megan was vaguely aware that she was crying. She didn't want to go. She was so close to home, to her parents, to everything, she didn't want to go, this was a bad idea, she could back out now, she still had time-
"Someone out there is going to kill me, and I'm not going to have any say in the matter. I'm going to die scared and alone, like a fucking animal, and I can't do that, I can't be someone's victim. I'm too strong to die like that, and not strong enough to kill someone, which leaves me here. Because you, Brendon? You're strong enough to win this entire thing. You can pull the trigger, at the last second. If you had too. I can't.
"And I didn't. I let Maddie Harris walk away after she murdered my friend, and I let her murder more of my friends, more people who I knew, and that's my fault, and that makes me just as bad as she is."
Still have a chance Megan. Can still back out. Don't do this. Don't let go. Think of your mother, think of your family, think of everyone, what if you go to hell, it's not worth it-
"Brendon, I don't want to die on someone else's terms. I want to die on my own. And I can't kill myself, because my mother...my mother would never forgive me. I would never forgive me. But I'm standing in your way. I'm the last obstacle that's keeping you from fighting, from winning, because you could take them all out. You could fucking win Brendon, you could go home, and you're the last hope I have."
She took a deep breath. She didn't want to do this.
But it wasn't a matter of what she wanted, anymore. It was what she needed. It was what was right.
"I'm going to be the most selfish person in the entire world right now, Brendon, but I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I can't go on, anymore. John Ferrara killed himself because I showed up. Bryant murdered Kami Steele because I opened my big mouth, Abby died because I didn't want to run, Dom and Jen died because I wasn't there to help them."
She sobbed, loudly, clenching her teeth together. "Brendon, I need you to kill me. I need you to take this gun and put a bullet in my brain, so I can die at peace, and so you can go and win. I need you to do this as a friend. I need you to win, and to fuck this stupid game over, because you deserve it Brendon. You deserve it more than I ever did."
Megan held out the gun, John Ferrara's gun, and wiped her tears away with her free hand.
"Please. I don't want to live in a world where monsters like the ones in this game live. I can't live in that world. So let me die in mine."
Megan choked down a sob as Brendon said his sorry's. Why did he have to go and do that? Why did he have to be so sweet and nice and make all of this difficult? She rubbed her eyes. There was no backing down now. She was too tired. He needed to live. He needed to be okay, he needed to survive and there was only one way she could set him in the right direction. Only one way she could guarantee she wouldn't have to live without him.
She wheeled around to face him, smiling slightly. She knew it looked sad. God, he could probably already tell what she was going to ask. What if he said no? What if he got mad? What if-
No. No time for What If's. Martin always said that you couldn't know what would happen unless you took the plunge and just asked.
"You're really sweet, you know. Like, obnoxiously, gives me diabetes sweet." She laughed lightly. "What happened wasn't your fault. And...it has nothing to do with what's going to happen next. So don't think that, okay? And before you go and interrupt and refuse, just let me finish, okay? One more rant, for old times sake?"
She laughed again. It died in her throat, and came out as a cough.
"I'm not strong. I look strong, and I act strong, and I'm headstrong, but I'm not strong. I'm not really much of anything. And I've been bumbling through the Program trying to find out what I'm going to do, and I realized, at some point, that I wasn't going to win. No matter what I did or how I did it, I wasn't going to win. Do you know why?
"Because I can't kill people, Brendon. I can't accept the fact that people like Maddie Harris and John Ferrara exist, and I go searching for this goodness inside them that just...isn't there. And if they pushed me up against a wall and gave me a gun and told me to kill them, I couldn't do it, because I'm not strong like that."
Megan was vaguely aware that she was crying. She didn't want to go. She was so close to home, to her parents, to everything, she didn't want to go, this was a bad idea, she could back out now, she still had time-
"Someone out there is going to kill me, and I'm not going to have any say in the matter. I'm going to die scared and alone, like a fucking animal, and I can't do that, I can't be someone's victim. I'm too strong to die like that, and not strong enough to kill someone, which leaves me here. Because you, Brendon? You're strong enough to win this entire thing. You can pull the trigger, at the last second. If you had too. I can't.
"And I didn't. I let Maddie Harris walk away after she murdered my friend, and I let her murder more of my friends, more people who I knew, and that's my fault, and that makes me just as bad as she is."
Still have a chance Megan. Can still back out. Don't do this. Don't let go. Think of your mother, think of your family, think of everyone, what if you go to hell, it's not worth it-
"Brendon, I don't want to die on someone else's terms. I want to die on my own. And I can't kill myself, because my mother...my mother would never forgive me. I would never forgive me. But I'm standing in your way. I'm the last obstacle that's keeping you from fighting, from winning, because you could take them all out. You could fucking win Brendon, you could go home, and you're the last hope I have."
She took a deep breath. She didn't want to do this.
But it wasn't a matter of what she wanted, anymore. It was what she needed. It was what was right.
"I'm going to be the most selfish person in the entire world right now, Brendon, but I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I can't go on, anymore. John Ferrara killed himself because I showed up. Bryant murdered Kami Steele because I opened my big mouth, Abby died because I didn't want to run, Dom and Jen died because I wasn't there to help them."
She sobbed, loudly, clenching her teeth together. "Brendon, I need you to kill me. I need you to take this gun and put a bullet in my brain, so I can die at peace, and so you can go and win. I need you to do this as a friend. I need you to win, and to fuck this stupid game over, because you deserve it Brendon. You deserve it more than I ever did."
Megan held out the gun, John Ferrara's gun, and wiped her tears away with her free hand.
"Please. I don't want to live in a world where monsters like the ones in this game live. I can't live in that world. So let me die in mine."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
Whoa.
No, no, whoa no, that wasn't supposed to happen. What was supposed to happen was maybe some more tears and hugs and more talking and then eventually some cheery proclamation for the future. But what Megan was doing now, that wasn't in the script at all. Brendon felt his heart sink into his stomach as he heard Megan continue to talk and explain and try to make him understand but he didn't understand any of this. He didn't understand at all. After all that he had done...after all they had done together, this is how she wanted it to end?
But all it took was one look at her face to know that she was serious about this. She was looking at him with that tear-stained, serious, goddamn stubborn look and Brendon knew that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to convince her that this wasn't the way. She told him why she thought this way, explained how it'd be for the best, explain how that...somehow, this would help him win. That without her holding him back or just being around or just something, he'd be able to rise to the top of the murder pile and survive for yet another day.
He didn't want this. He was supposed to be a hero. This was supposed to be an uplifting a tale of two people fighting against the rules laid down in this game...it wasn't supposed to be a tragedy. It wasn't...this wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't right. And she wanted him to pull the trigger? Another name he could mark down on his growing list of people who've died in front of him. And this time, he was the one who would be the direct cause of it...his fists clenched as he looked at Megan with despair.
"You can't...you can't really mean that, do you?" He said haltingly, his eyes trailing down to the gun she held in her hand. The handgun that had lead to the deaths of Wendy and Chris. The handgun used by John Ferrara to commit suicide. The handgun that could quite possibly lead to the death of one of the greatest girls on the island. He shrugged his boxing gloves off, letting them drop with a soft thud on the ground as he took it from her hands. The weight was unfamiliar in his hands and he couldn't help but marvel at the fact that although he had been on this fucking island for days, maybe even a week, he had never touched a gun until now.
He took a deep breath. He knew that Megan wouldn't change her mind. He knew that in the end, there was only one way to resolve this. He didn't understand why she wanted this and probably never would, but if it was really her wish to go through with this, he could see no other path besides obliging her wish. It was laid down in stone...she was too stubborn to think of anything else and he didn't want her to get killed by anyone else. He didn't want her to run into someone like Maddie who would torture and mutilate her.
At least he could make it quick. Or try too.
But even if that was the only choice left in front of him, that wouldn't mean that he wouldn't fight against it. He would...He had to rail against this, to fight against this injustice. He wouldn't sit down and take it...even when it was hopeless, he had to try to keep going.
"Come on, Megan." He began, trying to make his tone light and joking. "Don't be crazy. Look, you don't need to kill people. I mean...I'll protect you. I can. We're Team Bitchin', aren't we? We aren't going to let this fucking island and that damn Brigadier General stop us, are we? We're supposed to be the best of the best."
His voice broke slightly and he knew that he sounded desperate. "Dammit, Megan! I...look, I don't know. I don't understand. This isn't...This isn't something I know. This isn't something I've ever considered. You can't just ask me to shoot you! That's just...that's crazy talk! Dammit...Dammit! We're...you're the best fucking person on this island and...and American...dammit, I can't lose you like this! It's not fair!"
His throat was hoarse and beginning to hurt. "Come on...there's...there can't be that many people left, right? Let's just...let's just keep moving. Try to avoid the killers and maybe they'll all just kill each other off and then it'll be us two and we'll just be fuckin' scot free because Adams can't do anything about it or he'll just send that fucking sniper copter but that's fine! Just...come on, Megan...just a little bit longer."
No, no, whoa no, that wasn't supposed to happen. What was supposed to happen was maybe some more tears and hugs and more talking and then eventually some cheery proclamation for the future. But what Megan was doing now, that wasn't in the script at all. Brendon felt his heart sink into his stomach as he heard Megan continue to talk and explain and try to make him understand but he didn't understand any of this. He didn't understand at all. After all that he had done...after all they had done together, this is how she wanted it to end?
But all it took was one look at her face to know that she was serious about this. She was looking at him with that tear-stained, serious, goddamn stubborn look and Brendon knew that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to convince her that this wasn't the way. She told him why she thought this way, explained how it'd be for the best, explain how that...somehow, this would help him win. That without her holding him back or just being around or just something, he'd be able to rise to the top of the murder pile and survive for yet another day.
He didn't want this. He was supposed to be a hero. This was supposed to be an uplifting a tale of two people fighting against the rules laid down in this game...it wasn't supposed to be a tragedy. It wasn't...this wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't right. And she wanted him to pull the trigger? Another name he could mark down on his growing list of people who've died in front of him. And this time, he was the one who would be the direct cause of it...his fists clenched as he looked at Megan with despair.
"You can't...you can't really mean that, do you?" He said haltingly, his eyes trailing down to the gun she held in her hand. The handgun that had lead to the deaths of Wendy and Chris. The handgun used by John Ferrara to commit suicide. The handgun that could quite possibly lead to the death of one of the greatest girls on the island. He shrugged his boxing gloves off, letting them drop with a soft thud on the ground as he took it from her hands. The weight was unfamiliar in his hands and he couldn't help but marvel at the fact that although he had been on this fucking island for days, maybe even a week, he had never touched a gun until now.
He took a deep breath. He knew that Megan wouldn't change her mind. He knew that in the end, there was only one way to resolve this. He didn't understand why she wanted this and probably never would, but if it was really her wish to go through with this, he could see no other path besides obliging her wish. It was laid down in stone...she was too stubborn to think of anything else and he didn't want her to get killed by anyone else. He didn't want her to run into someone like Maddie who would torture and mutilate her.
At least he could make it quick. Or try too.
But even if that was the only choice left in front of him, that wouldn't mean that he wouldn't fight against it. He would...He had to rail against this, to fight against this injustice. He wouldn't sit down and take it...even when it was hopeless, he had to try to keep going.
"Come on, Megan." He began, trying to make his tone light and joking. "Don't be crazy. Look, you don't need to kill people. I mean...I'll protect you. I can. We're Team Bitchin', aren't we? We aren't going to let this fucking island and that damn Brigadier General stop us, are we? We're supposed to be the best of the best."
His voice broke slightly and he knew that he sounded desperate. "Dammit, Megan! I...look, I don't know. I don't understand. This isn't...This isn't something I know. This isn't something I've ever considered. You can't just ask me to shoot you! That's just...that's crazy talk! Dammit...Dammit! We're...you're the best fucking person on this island and...and American...dammit, I can't lose you like this! It's not fair!"
His throat was hoarse and beginning to hurt. "Come on...there's...there can't be that many people left, right? Let's just...let's just keep moving. Try to avoid the killers and maybe they'll all just kill each other off and then it'll be us two and we'll just be fuckin' scot free because Adams can't do anything about it or he'll just send that fucking sniper copter but that's fine! Just...come on, Megan...just a little bit longer."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tythanin. 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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Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
((GMing Approved))
Megan smiled at Brendon, ignoring the tears on her face and the knot in her stomach and the pain in her throat and the horrible thought of her parents sitting and watching this at home. She shook her head, laughing a terrible, sobbing laugh. She bit her lower lip. For the last time?
"I can't Brendon. There's no more time. This is...this is the end. And you need to get there. I can't take anymore. I can't walk anymore."
She swallowed, with some difficultly, before leaning towards Brendon. She put her hand on his cheek, suddenly feeling small. "I'm not the best person in this. You are. You can do this. For me."
Megan closed the distance between them, kissing him gently on the lips. It was quick, and she had pulled away before he could kiss her back, not wanting to know how he felt. It was too much. This was too much.
I don't want to die, I'm not ready, God please I'm not ready. What even happens now? I just stop? That's it, game over, lights out? No more laughing, no more walking in grass after it rains, no more singing to music on the radio? No more dancing? No more anything? I don't want this. I don't want to end, I don't want to stop, please, please, there needs to be another way. I need to wake up in my bed, warm and safe and as far away from all of this as possible. Please. Please. I want to go home.
Megan shook her head, pursing her lips together. Her hand found Brendon's, still clutching the gun. She wrapped her fingers around his, bringing the gun to her temple. She let her hands fall.
There's no more home. This is the answer I've always wanted, isn't it? I get to know what happens next. I get to see everyone again. I get to decide. And this is my choice. Just another adventure. That's all.
"Brendon, just...one thing, yeah? Never look back with regret. This wasn't your fault, it was my choice. And this...this is the greatest thing you could ever do for a person. You're a great person. You're amazing. The best friend a girl could have, really."
She laughed, laughed until new, happier tears formed to replace the dried up sad ones. Last laugh. At least I get the last laugh.
"Win, Brendon. Win. Kick ass. Take names. Never look back and regret what you did, because none of this was your fault. You're beautiful. So don't...don't ever hate yourself, okay?"
She held out her pinky, smiling. "Pinky swear?"
Megan closed her eyes, breathing as deeply as she could manage. Last chance. Any regrets?
She nodded slowly, signaling that she was ready. No. Come on death. Show me what you got.
In her last moments, everything became stunningly clear. Every molecule of air around her, every breath in the atmosphere, every sound in the distance became sharp. Megan understood the world. She was ready to let it go, even.
Her last thought wasn't of her parents, or of Brendon, or of anyone else in the Program. It was of her brother, reading a book, one leg crossed over the other.
He looks up at her, smiling. She smiles back, as best as she can, but she's scared. "Did I...are you proud, Martin?"
The safety clicks off.
Martin smiles.
The trigger pulls. Megan doesn't even feel the bullet. She doesn't feel anything. In less than a second, every breath of life in her is gone, and she falls to the floor, the only traces of her soul left in the ghost of a smile across her lips.
You did good, Megan. You did really, really good.
F20- MEGAN JACOBSON: DECEASED
Megan smiled at Brendon, ignoring the tears on her face and the knot in her stomach and the pain in her throat and the horrible thought of her parents sitting and watching this at home. She shook her head, laughing a terrible, sobbing laugh. She bit her lower lip. For the last time?
"I can't Brendon. There's no more time. This is...this is the end. And you need to get there. I can't take anymore. I can't walk anymore."
She swallowed, with some difficultly, before leaning towards Brendon. She put her hand on his cheek, suddenly feeling small. "I'm not the best person in this. You are. You can do this. For me."
Megan closed the distance between them, kissing him gently on the lips. It was quick, and she had pulled away before he could kiss her back, not wanting to know how he felt. It was too much. This was too much.
I don't want to die, I'm not ready, God please I'm not ready. What even happens now? I just stop? That's it, game over, lights out? No more laughing, no more walking in grass after it rains, no more singing to music on the radio? No more dancing? No more anything? I don't want this. I don't want to end, I don't want to stop, please, please, there needs to be another way. I need to wake up in my bed, warm and safe and as far away from all of this as possible. Please. Please. I want to go home.
Megan shook her head, pursing her lips together. Her hand found Brendon's, still clutching the gun. She wrapped her fingers around his, bringing the gun to her temple. She let her hands fall.
There's no more home. This is the answer I've always wanted, isn't it? I get to know what happens next. I get to see everyone again. I get to decide. And this is my choice. Just another adventure. That's all.
"Brendon, just...one thing, yeah? Never look back with regret. This wasn't your fault, it was my choice. And this...this is the greatest thing you could ever do for a person. You're a great person. You're amazing. The best friend a girl could have, really."
She laughed, laughed until new, happier tears formed to replace the dried up sad ones. Last laugh. At least I get the last laugh.
"Win, Brendon. Win. Kick ass. Take names. Never look back and regret what you did, because none of this was your fault. You're beautiful. So don't...don't ever hate yourself, okay?"
She held out her pinky, smiling. "Pinky swear?"
Megan closed her eyes, breathing as deeply as she could manage. Last chance. Any regrets?
She nodded slowly, signaling that she was ready. No. Come on death. Show me what you got.
In her last moments, everything became stunningly clear. Every molecule of air around her, every breath in the atmosphere, every sound in the distance became sharp. Megan understood the world. She was ready to let it go, even.
Her last thought wasn't of her parents, or of Brendon, or of anyone else in the Program. It was of her brother, reading a book, one leg crossed over the other.
He looks up at her, smiling. She smiles back, as best as she can, but she's scared. "Did I...are you proud, Martin?"
The safety clicks off.
Martin smiles.
The trigger pulls. Megan doesn't even feel the bullet. She doesn't feel anything. In less than a second, every breath of life in her is gone, and she falls to the floor, the only traces of her soul left in the ghost of a smile across her lips.
You did good, Megan. You did really, really good.
F20- MEGAN JACOBSON: DECEASED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. 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.
He had known it. Nothing he could have said would have changed her mind and in that moment, Brendon felt something in his chest shrivel up and die. He didn't know what it was, but the feeling was painful. Too painful for something that didn't leave a mark. He felt her hand against his cheek and it almost felt good...if it had been any other situation, this really would have been the scene out of some romance. But it wasn't...this was their last goodbyes.
She had kissed him. Her lips were soft, sweet. He wanted to kiss her back, to tell her that he cared about her, to tell her...tell her anything that would make her stay. But the kiss was short and she quickly moved away and Brendon found his words dying in his throat as he saw the expression on her face. What if he had told her and she had agreed to live another few days with him? She was tired...they were both tired, could he really drag her through the remaining days of hell just because he wanted to? No, that would be too cruel, wouldn't it...?
But for her to leave him alone like this. Wasn't that crueler?
She brought his hand up to her temple and pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of her head. He held it there, unwilling and unaccepting, but unable to do anything else. He heard her try to reassure him...try to harden his will, but none of it worked. Even though he hadn't said a word, inside he was screaming. He was going to become a murderer and it wasn't the blood of some killer that would wash over his hands, it would be the blood of his best friend on this whole damn island.
He took one last look at Megan through blurry eyes and saw that she had extended one hand out, her pinky outstretched. A weak, sad smile crossed his lips as he wrapped his own pinky around hers. He choked out a laugh. "Sure...pinky swear. You never break a pinky swear..."
Megan nodded. She was ready.
Brendon wasn't, but that was fine. He would never be ready, but if this was what Megan truly wanted...it was the least he could do as a friend, wasn't it? He closed his eyes, his breath shaky and ragged. 'I...I'm so sorry...'
BANG
'Ah.'
It was over in an instant. One pull of the trigger and seconds later, Megan was nothing more than a corpse on the ground with a bullet in the side of her head. Gone were her hugs, her crazy personality, her cheerfulness, her everything. He'd never hear her talk about how awesome they were or how they had a plan or...hell, he'd even be okay with her ranting and screaming at him again if it meant that she was still alive. The only thing that was left was her smile.
He didn't want that smile. It meant that she was okay with what had happened. It meant she was happy wherever she was right now. She was in a better place right now...better than hell on earth and better than with him. It was a bad thought and wrong in so many ways, but he couldn't help it. Now he had no one else left in the game to protect. There was no team, there was no one he could see behind him that shared the same hopes and goals as he did.
Brendon was the only one left that he knew on the island. Sure, there were others out there. Luke. Bryant. Alex. Perhaps they were still kicking around. Perhaps he could run into them sometime and still somehow climb to the top.
But it would never be the same.
He felt his throat tighten...he wanted to say something. Say anything. But there was no script, no prior experience...nothing he could call upon without being trite or cliche or just ripping off of something else.
So be it.
"Hey...hey Megan." He said, his voice soft as he knelt next to her body, placing a hand on her cooling skin. "Thanks for everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. So that was it. He stood alone.
But as he thought about all the others he had stayed with...Wendy, Chris, Matt, Abby, and Megan. He could remember their faces and their words. Their memories. That would have to be enough. Even if he stood alone, he still had their voices in his spirit. He would just have to keep going for them...to keep going for himself. He had made a pinky swear...you never break pinky swears.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the body. It was odd to think that this was the first time after a death that he wasn't running for his life. He could actually do something. Pay his respects. He would have dug a grave for her, but they were inside a building and there was no way he was going to try carrying her corpse all the way outside. It just felt...wrong to do that. So instead he brought her to one of the cleaned out rooms and placed her gently on one of the desks.
"All right...I'm going." He heard himself say. "I'll win this...I'll climb to the top. I'll see if there are others that don't want to fight and I'll stick with them and I'll continue trying to be that hero I've always wanted to be. That's what Team Bitchin' is all about. We'll always be the best. We'll live forever in each others' hearts."
He wondered who he was talking to. Was it to the cameras? Was it to the spirits of his dead friends who were watching down from heaven? He didn't know, but he didn't care. It felt right.
He left the room, locking the door behind him. He wasn't alone. There were others. He'd have to keep looking. He needed to find Alex, Luke, or even Bryant. They were possible allies...he'd keep his faith strong. He'd keep his spirit strong.
It was all that he had left.
(Brendon Arrington continued in I Need To Know.)
She had kissed him. Her lips were soft, sweet. He wanted to kiss her back, to tell her that he cared about her, to tell her...tell her anything that would make her stay. But the kiss was short and she quickly moved away and Brendon found his words dying in his throat as he saw the expression on her face. What if he had told her and she had agreed to live another few days with him? She was tired...they were both tired, could he really drag her through the remaining days of hell just because he wanted to? No, that would be too cruel, wouldn't it...?
But for her to leave him alone like this. Wasn't that crueler?
She brought his hand up to her temple and pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of her head. He held it there, unwilling and unaccepting, but unable to do anything else. He heard her try to reassure him...try to harden his will, but none of it worked. Even though he hadn't said a word, inside he was screaming. He was going to become a murderer and it wasn't the blood of some killer that would wash over his hands, it would be the blood of his best friend on this whole damn island.
He took one last look at Megan through blurry eyes and saw that she had extended one hand out, her pinky outstretched. A weak, sad smile crossed his lips as he wrapped his own pinky around hers. He choked out a laugh. "Sure...pinky swear. You never break a pinky swear..."
Megan nodded. She was ready.
Brendon wasn't, but that was fine. He would never be ready, but if this was what Megan truly wanted...it was the least he could do as a friend, wasn't it? He closed his eyes, his breath shaky and ragged. 'I...I'm so sorry...'
BANG
'Ah.'
It was over in an instant. One pull of the trigger and seconds later, Megan was nothing more than a corpse on the ground with a bullet in the side of her head. Gone were her hugs, her crazy personality, her cheerfulness, her everything. He'd never hear her talk about how awesome they were or how they had a plan or...hell, he'd even be okay with her ranting and screaming at him again if it meant that she was still alive. The only thing that was left was her smile.
He didn't want that smile. It meant that she was okay with what had happened. It meant she was happy wherever she was right now. She was in a better place right now...better than hell on earth and better than with him. It was a bad thought and wrong in so many ways, but he couldn't help it. Now he had no one else left in the game to protect. There was no team, there was no one he could see behind him that shared the same hopes and goals as he did.
Brendon was the only one left that he knew on the island. Sure, there were others out there. Luke. Bryant. Alex. Perhaps they were still kicking around. Perhaps he could run into them sometime and still somehow climb to the top.
But it would never be the same.
He felt his throat tighten...he wanted to say something. Say anything. But there was no script, no prior experience...nothing he could call upon without being trite or cliche or just ripping off of something else.
So be it.
"Hey...hey Megan." He said, his voice soft as he knelt next to her body, placing a hand on her cooling skin. "Thanks for everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. So that was it. He stood alone.
But as he thought about all the others he had stayed with...Wendy, Chris, Matt, Abby, and Megan. He could remember their faces and their words. Their memories. That would have to be enough. Even if he stood alone, he still had their voices in his spirit. He would just have to keep going for them...to keep going for himself. He had made a pinky swear...you never break pinky swears.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the body. It was odd to think that this was the first time after a death that he wasn't running for his life. He could actually do something. Pay his respects. He would have dug a grave for her, but they were inside a building and there was no way he was going to try carrying her corpse all the way outside. It just felt...wrong to do that. So instead he brought her to one of the cleaned out rooms and placed her gently on one of the desks.
"All right...I'm going." He heard himself say. "I'll win this...I'll climb to the top. I'll see if there are others that don't want to fight and I'll stick with them and I'll continue trying to be that hero I've always wanted to be. That's what Team Bitchin' is all about. We'll always be the best. We'll live forever in each others' hearts."
He wondered who he was talking to. Was it to the cameras? Was it to the spirits of his dead friends who were watching down from heaven? He didn't know, but he didn't care. It felt right.
He left the room, locking the door behind him. He wasn't alone. There were others. He'd have to keep looking. He needed to find Alex, Luke, or even Bryant. They were possible allies...he'd keep his faith strong. He'd keep his spirit strong.
It was all that he had left.
(Brendon Arrington continued in I Need To Know.)
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Tythanin. 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.