((Khalid Shamoun continued from Catch and Release))
The island hadn't changed a single bit, not since the last time he was here. Every tree looked the same; every path; every stretch of grass - all so familiar. Just like the C-subjects, he and his group had been given 3 days to finish each other off in the name of "science", but it was just enough time to let him figure out the lay of the land. It wasn't an enormous place anyway, just big enough for people to get lost if they didn't follow their maps like they should've. Like he had. Even so, traversing the areas seemed like a simpler task this time around; so much so in fact that he didn't even feel the need to use his map at all.
Which, in hindsight, was a pretty bad idea.
He hadn't paid as much attention as he first thought, and his overconfidence had left him wandering about in the heat of the afternoon sun for a good few hours until he finally gave in and found out where he'd ended up. Just ahead of him, he saw, were a cluster of houses. Good. He could start there - look for anyone who might've been hiding. There wasn't any solid plan here, he just wanted to see what these kids were like; see if they shared any common ground. Maybe then he could convince them to join up with him, then they could come up with a way off this rock for good. For all their threats and bluster, surely the guys back at the base would pick him up soon, right? They couldn't just leave him here, could they? They were colleagues, or so he thought.
Then why the hell would they bring you back, huh? Think about it. You're just a coffee boy - not important - but you've got a gift, man. A legitimate ace in the hole. But again, think about it. It's never taken you this long to wake up before - never. Which means something's gone wrong. I dunno what it is, but I think your power might be fucking up big time.
Though the question still remained: why was he back here?
They could've easily put him into a coma, trapped him in his head if they couldn't find a way of killing him. So why throw him back into the game? Surely this would just fuck up their results? It didn't make any kinds of sense, no matter which way he approached it. But then... there had been a lot of tension back at the base lately. People were getting pretty nervous about something, like they were waiting for someone to pay them a visit; someone from HQ, maybe? If that was the case, then that would've meant squat to Khalid - nobody told him anything. Such is the life of the new guy, he guessed. Although, having said that, everyone took to the new girl pretty quickly. What was her name... Lizzie? Yeah, that rang a bell. One of the B-subjects, he assumed, which made her even newer than he was. She even got a better job than him, too. Research and announcements. Lucky bitch.
Still, it could've been worse. Not much worse than this, but still, at least he was conscious and able to move. It meant he could plan, win over the others, and if needed to, run. Back there, on the other island, who knew where he could've ended up. There were a lot of rumours floating about concerning the higher-ups of the organization - at least, of the Island Team. Thinking back, he remembered only seeing their boss once, straight after he won the year before. After that though, not a whisper. She had an office, and they all thought she had her bunk in there too, but aside from that nobody knew anything about her, or even saw her outside of congratulating the winners. If he recalled correctly, he thought he saw someone delivering food through her door once, but he didn't stick around to check whether she took it in or not. Weird.
After snapping out of his daydream, he realized his feet had carried on walking without his command, following a set of tire tracks down a steep hill. Out in front of him sat the settlement - strangely, the place he had awoken the first time - and it appeared as run-down and bullet-riddled as ever. In fact, he was pretty sure he could make out the very house he woke up in. Yep, there it was. Home sweet home indeed. Making his way over to the front door, his nostrils flared for a second before he covered his face with his hands. Something around here absolutely stank, and judging by the blood spatters on the ground, he could figure out why.
Turning past the door, he moved quietly along the wall of the house, making sure his gun was sat snugly in his hand, anxiously awaiting a surprise attack. He felt a bit guilty though, for these poor kids. After joining the Organization he'd received a fair amount of training with firearms and the like in case one of the subjects broke loose and they needed bodies to protect the base. It wasn't something he enjoyed having to learn, but hey, at least he had an edge. That said, he remembered how dangerous the kids had been last time without training, and how he'd wished he had this kind of advantage back then. It was funny really, in a twisted kind of way, but as he stepped out from the shade and into the open air, he wasn't in the mood to laugh.
A boy, about a year or so younger than himself, lay face-down in the dirt. That wasn't so odd - he'd heard the announcements too, and he knew that people were playing to win out here, but this... this wasn't just about winning. Not this time. There was no way this poor guy needed this many bullets to die, he was pretty sure of that. So much blood, and the acrid stench... it was enough to make him sick. Deciding he'd seen more than enough, he stumbled back to the front of the house, where he leaned against the entrance with the awful feeling that he was about to vomit. Ah well, he knew it couldn't possibly make the smell any worse.
The Second Kill is the Hardest
private thread
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Hallucinogenic*
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The Second Kill is the Hardest
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((Raymond Pietrowski continued from The Wonders of Memory.))
Such a long walk.
His legs hurt, and he wanted to rest. He couldn't rest though. So little resistance. Not a single soul the entire walk down. He hadn't seen Taryn, or that other girl... Or any of the other four people running about the island. Too much tension. He had no idea where he was going, or what he would do when he got there. He just knew he couldn't stay where he was. So little motivation to keep living... He'd only contemplated suicide twice in his life. And this time, frankly, it was a warranted thought.
So, as Ray gingerly approached the group of houses, pistol white knuckled in his hand, he glanced around in sheer paranoia. No signs of life here. Was that good or bad? It prolonged his misery here, that much is for sure.
Again, did that make this a good thing or a bad thing?
"...Please, whatever you do, don't... Become one of them."
He couldn't just sneak up on a person and kill. He'd made a promise. He would keep that promise. But... How would he offer any kind of diplomacy? Especially when less than 24 hours remained on the lives of every single person here but one? Hey, let's be allies but I'm gonna shoot you in a few hours? No, that was dumb. The idea of friends this late was dumb. He was alone for the count. If he was going to survive, he'd have to stoop to that low.
If he was going to die, he should do it now, on his own terms.
Why was he still cowering like a cornered rat then? Why was he being weak?
He found himself standing in front of a house. How did he get here? He didn't remember his feet carrying him from the hill he was just on. The house was very dilapidated, just as every other one was. But he was already standing in front of this one, wasn't he? Rest. He only had something on the order of 20 hours left to decide his own fate, but he had to rest.
Who knows? When he woke up, there may have only been two left. He might not have to carve a path of blood through the island to get home.
Still, murdering one other innocent eighteen year old... That would still be murder.
All he knew for a fact was he was never going hunting again. Now he knew how the damn deer felt, and where all those "Greenpeace hippie bastards" as he used to call them were coming from.
He rounded the corner, feet making soft noises as they contacted the cobblestone, and he was suddenly met face to face with a dark skinned boy, leaning against the door frame of the door he had just pushed open. His eyes shot wide, as he leapt back into the cobblestone path, his gun clenched tight in his hands. He should have known this was bound to happen. What should he do?
"Don't move!"
Please don't move...
He didn't want to kill anyone today.
Such a long walk.
His legs hurt, and he wanted to rest. He couldn't rest though. So little resistance. Not a single soul the entire walk down. He hadn't seen Taryn, or that other girl... Or any of the other four people running about the island. Too much tension. He had no idea where he was going, or what he would do when he got there. He just knew he couldn't stay where he was. So little motivation to keep living... He'd only contemplated suicide twice in his life. And this time, frankly, it was a warranted thought.
So, as Ray gingerly approached the group of houses, pistol white knuckled in his hand, he glanced around in sheer paranoia. No signs of life here. Was that good or bad? It prolonged his misery here, that much is for sure.
Again, did that make this a good thing or a bad thing?
"...Please, whatever you do, don't... Become one of them."
He couldn't just sneak up on a person and kill. He'd made a promise. He would keep that promise. But... How would he offer any kind of diplomacy? Especially when less than 24 hours remained on the lives of every single person here but one? Hey, let's be allies but I'm gonna shoot you in a few hours? No, that was dumb. The idea of friends this late was dumb. He was alone for the count. If he was going to survive, he'd have to stoop to that low.
If he was going to die, he should do it now, on his own terms.
Why was he still cowering like a cornered rat then? Why was he being weak?
He found himself standing in front of a house. How did he get here? He didn't remember his feet carrying him from the hill he was just on. The house was very dilapidated, just as every other one was. But he was already standing in front of this one, wasn't he? Rest. He only had something on the order of 20 hours left to decide his own fate, but he had to rest.
Who knows? When he woke up, there may have only been two left. He might not have to carve a path of blood through the island to get home.
Still, murdering one other innocent eighteen year old... That would still be murder.
All he knew for a fact was he was never going hunting again. Now he knew how the damn deer felt, and where all those "Greenpeace hippie bastards" as he used to call them were coming from.
He rounded the corner, feet making soft noises as they contacted the cobblestone, and he was suddenly met face to face with a dark skinned boy, leaning against the door frame of the door he had just pushed open. His eyes shot wide, as he leapt back into the cobblestone path, his gun clenched tight in his hands. He should have known this was bound to happen. What should he do?
"Don't move!"
Please don't move...
He didn't want to kill anyone today.
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Hallucinogenic*
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"Woah! Hey! Easy there!"
A kid, his age, was suddenly stood in front of him with a fucking gun in his hands, and who was he aiming it at? Well it certainly wasn't the dead kid behind the house, and since there was no-one else around and he was looking directly at Khalid, he had to guess that the guy was talking to him. Great start. Brilliant. He'd only been awake for 12 or so hours and there was already someone trying to kill him. Maybe the guy was racist or something. He did look a little redneck.
"Fuck, man, look - I'm not here to hurt you, okay? I dunno why I'm back here myself, but as far as I'm concerned, none of you are a threat to me. So let's put down the gun and we can start talking."
His words rang with all the honesty he possessed, since he was speaking the truth. There was no reason to get caught up in all their shit, so if he could just talk his way out of this little jam without anyone getting hurt, that'd be peaches and cream for him. Alright, so he couldn't stay dead even if he wanted to, but that was no reason to get himself shot now, was it? It still hurt, after all; still added to his death count. It wasn't as though he liked to brag about the amount of times he'd died over the past year, and it sure as hell wasn't something he wanted these crazy-assed kids to know.
That boy's body flared up in his mind - a warning. These people really were crazy. How many rounds were in that guy's back? 10? 12? 15? No matter what happened next, he needed to steer clear of becoming a human cheese grater. It didn't look like the most pleasant way to go, and there were still many questions gnawing away at his mind, making him doubt his abilities; making him doubt himself, but they could wait. If there was a way to escape and get back home, now was the time to find it.
"Come on now, you can trust me. Trust Khalid. Khalid Shamoun."
A kid, his age, was suddenly stood in front of him with a fucking gun in his hands, and who was he aiming it at? Well it certainly wasn't the dead kid behind the house, and since there was no-one else around and he was looking directly at Khalid, he had to guess that the guy was talking to him. Great start. Brilliant. He'd only been awake for 12 or so hours and there was already someone trying to kill him. Maybe the guy was racist or something. He did look a little redneck.
"Fuck, man, look - I'm not here to hurt you, okay? I dunno why I'm back here myself, but as far as I'm concerned, none of you are a threat to me. So let's put down the gun and we can start talking."
His words rang with all the honesty he possessed, since he was speaking the truth. There was no reason to get caught up in all their shit, so if he could just talk his way out of this little jam without anyone getting hurt, that'd be peaches and cream for him. Alright, so he couldn't stay dead even if he wanted to, but that was no reason to get himself shot now, was it? It still hurt, after all; still added to his death count. It wasn't as though he liked to brag about the amount of times he'd died over the past year, and it sure as hell wasn't something he wanted these crazy-assed kids to know.
That boy's body flared up in his mind - a warning. These people really were crazy. How many rounds were in that guy's back? 10? 12? 15? No matter what happened next, he needed to steer clear of becoming a human cheese grater. It didn't look like the most pleasant way to go, and there were still many questions gnawing away at his mind, making him doubt his abilities; making him doubt himself, but they could wait. If there was a way to escape and get back home, now was the time to find it.
"Come on now, you can trust me. Trust Khalid. Khalid Shamoun."
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Paranoid might have been an understatement. He could account for three of the people alive. Ashlie, the one he'd heard about. Taryn, and Kate, the pair that he owed a confrontation. This was the fourth, he was sure of it. Even though he hadn't heard Khalid on the announcements whatsoever... Wait. Yeah. One name unaccounted for.
Little did he know that Simon was the other legitimate "contestant" of this "game". Not Khalid.
However, Khalid's easy demeanor was doing nothing but sparking his paranoia.
"Come on now, you can trust me. Trust Khalid. Khalid Shamoun."
"Listen man, I've seen so many fucked up things on this island. Smoke pouring out of a girl's mouth. Blood turning to crystal. I've seen my only friend on this god forsaken island die bleeding in my arms! Give me one good reason I should actually trust you. I mean I haven't heard your name on the announcements yet either. I guess that makes us the only two."
He took a breath, steeling himself.
"But forgive me for not being the most trustworthy person. Kiera and I just wanted to find a place to sleep, and she got taken hostage by some crazy bitch Taryn. What's your power? How are you getting out of here if you don't want to fight? Not that I want to either. Shit I haven't killed anyone yet, I should really ask myself the same question."
The gun wavered just a bit, but didn't lower far enough to bring Khalid completely out of the line of fire.
Khalid's assessment had been half right. Ray was a little rednecky. Actually a little is an understatement. The only non-redneck thing he liked was rap music, and even that was stuff like Afroman. And sure, he was a little racist, but he was more than intelligent enough to know that this was not the fucking time for that. Even so, even barring the world's assessment of him, he didn't view himself as racist really. What was tossing the N word around among friends anyways?
The silence was unnerving. Ray hadn't slept in nearly two days now. Not before Joel had stumbled into their cave back then. His judgment wasn't proper. He was close to getting desperate, and he was worried that Khalid was in the same boat. They had like no options left. Six kids were still standing. They couldn't dick around any longer. Kill or be killed.
The houses were covered in bullet holes, and the smell of death wafted into his nostrils. All this did was serve to strengthen the paranoia he was already feeling. What if he'd killed between announcements and there were only five people now?
I need to know more. Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to know? How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?!"
"I really don't wanna fuckin' hurt you man. I really don't. Talk to me though. Where's the gun you were given? Where's the bag?"
Cover your bases. Assess the situation. Just because the kid might not be a murderer yet doesn't mean he's not gonna turn into one.
Little did he know that Simon was the other legitimate "contestant" of this "game". Not Khalid.
However, Khalid's easy demeanor was doing nothing but sparking his paranoia.
"Come on now, you can trust me. Trust Khalid. Khalid Shamoun."
"Listen man, I've seen so many fucked up things on this island. Smoke pouring out of a girl's mouth. Blood turning to crystal. I've seen my only friend on this god forsaken island die bleeding in my arms! Give me one good reason I should actually trust you. I mean I haven't heard your name on the announcements yet either. I guess that makes us the only two."
He took a breath, steeling himself.
"But forgive me for not being the most trustworthy person. Kiera and I just wanted to find a place to sleep, and she got taken hostage by some crazy bitch Taryn. What's your power? How are you getting out of here if you don't want to fight? Not that I want to either. Shit I haven't killed anyone yet, I should really ask myself the same question."
The gun wavered just a bit, but didn't lower far enough to bring Khalid completely out of the line of fire.
Khalid's assessment had been half right. Ray was a little rednecky. Actually a little is an understatement. The only non-redneck thing he liked was rap music, and even that was stuff like Afroman. And sure, he was a little racist, but he was more than intelligent enough to know that this was not the fucking time for that. Even so, even barring the world's assessment of him, he didn't view himself as racist really. What was tossing the N word around among friends anyways?
The silence was unnerving. Ray hadn't slept in nearly two days now. Not before Joel had stumbled into their cave back then. His judgment wasn't proper. He was close to getting desperate, and he was worried that Khalid was in the same boat. They had like no options left. Six kids were still standing. They couldn't dick around any longer. Kill or be killed.
The houses were covered in bullet holes, and the smell of death wafted into his nostrils. All this did was serve to strengthen the paranoia he was already feeling. What if he'd killed between announcements and there were only five people now?
I need to know more. Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to know? How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this?!"
"I really don't wanna fuckin' hurt you man. I really don't. Talk to me though. Where's the gun you were given? Where's the bag?"
Cover your bases. Assess the situation. Just because the kid might not be a murderer yet doesn't mean he's not gonna turn into one.
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Hallucinogenic*
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"I-"
Cut off. The gun was still hovering around, and it was making him uneasy. This guy seemed so desperate; so ready to fight if it meant getting out of here alive. What could he do to calm things down? All he wanted was to help the poor guy - maybe they could help each other out, or find some way of getting everyone together to talk things through.
Then more questions - rapid succession, no real chance to answer in time.
"My bag? It's here, man, look-"
With a swing, he pulled his bag around his body, catching it as it hit his stomach with a little "umph". It was the same kind as Ray's - two straps for his shoulders, zipped-up pouch - all the same. Even Stevens. The only difference he could see between the two was that Khalid's was his own, and he made a great effort to try and hide the stitching on the back of it which spelled out his name and identification number. The last thing he needed was for this guy to make his own assumptions about his origins, and he definitely wasn't ready to start talking about his personal life when it was pretty clear this guy could end it in a second.
"See, same bag. Same colour, same straps; it's all good, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."
Keeping his eyes focused on Ray's, he made it as clear as he could by way of expression and his left hand raising as a sign of peace that he wasn't intending to harm the poor guy. As he did so, he brought up his right hand - the one with the gun.
"It's alright, my friend. I'm not going to shoot you. Okay? You hear me?"
Letting his daypack hang loosely from his shoulder, Khalid kept his eyes on Ray as he tossed his weapon to the ground. Hopefully this would make him realize how sincere he was. If it didn't, well, he didn't want to think about it. Put that plan right out of his mind. This wasn't the time for sneak attacks and dishonour, oh no. This was the time for talking; for calm words and sympathy. This time was crucial if they wanted to stick together. Even for a little while.
"Now, how about you? You going to shoot me? Or are you going to be man, and talk this over?"
Cut off. The gun was still hovering around, and it was making him uneasy. This guy seemed so desperate; so ready to fight if it meant getting out of here alive. What could he do to calm things down? All he wanted was to help the poor guy - maybe they could help each other out, or find some way of getting everyone together to talk things through.
Then more questions - rapid succession, no real chance to answer in time.
"My bag? It's here, man, look-"
With a swing, he pulled his bag around his body, catching it as it hit his stomach with a little "umph". It was the same kind as Ray's - two straps for his shoulders, zipped-up pouch - all the same. Even Stevens. The only difference he could see between the two was that Khalid's was his own, and he made a great effort to try and hide the stitching on the back of it which spelled out his name and identification number. The last thing he needed was for this guy to make his own assumptions about his origins, and he definitely wasn't ready to start talking about his personal life when it was pretty clear this guy could end it in a second.
"See, same bag. Same colour, same straps; it's all good, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."
Keeping his eyes focused on Ray's, he made it as clear as he could by way of expression and his left hand raising as a sign of peace that he wasn't intending to harm the poor guy. As he did so, he brought up his right hand - the one with the gun.
"It's alright, my friend. I'm not going to shoot you. Okay? You hear me?"
Letting his daypack hang loosely from his shoulder, Khalid kept his eyes on Ray as he tossed his weapon to the ground. Hopefully this would make him realize how sincere he was. If it didn't, well, he didn't want to think about it. Put that plan right out of his mind. This wasn't the time for sneak attacks and dishonour, oh no. This was the time for talking; for calm words and sympathy. This time was crucial if they wanted to stick together. Even for a little while.
"Now, how about you? You going to shoot me? Or are you going to be man, and talk this over?"
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So many sudden movements. Ray was terrified, to put it bluntly. His eyes kept twitching back and forth over the boy's form, watching as he showed him everything that he asked for. First, the bag. How could he not see it right there on his back? He swung it around, and clutched it tight to his chest, as if it were a bullet-proof vest. The gun was still nowhere in sight, however.
"See, same bag. Same colour, same straps; it's all good, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."
Something about Khalid didn't seem quite right. It may have just been the paranoia, but everything seemed way too calm, way too... overly explained. As if he was trying to lull Ray into a false sense of security or something. Either that or Khalid was just being condecending, which really wasn't cool.
His left hand rose, empty. He displayed the peace symbol. That was beyond cliche. It seriously felt like he was trying to make Ray drop his guard...
Really?
His right hand rose. A black glint. The gun that Ray held snapped right to Khalid's right hand, but it didn't fire. He watched as the gun, pointed at the ground, rose.
"It's alright, my friend. I'm not going to shoot you. Okay? You hear me?"
And then fell. Right to the ground. The metallic clack as the solid steel weapon skittered accross the cobblestone was just as satisfying as any noise he had ever heard before in his life. It marked true safety, there was no way a gun was pointing at him from somewhere he couldn't quite see. No fear, no danger.
"Now, how about you? You going to shoot me? Or are you going to be man, and talk this over?"
...Be a man?
Be... a man?
"Be a man?!"
He blinked, almost unable to comprehend that particular statement. This kid had NO idea what he had gone through. Well, he probably did, but still. To insult someone who had survived into the final five or six people on an complete and total bloodbath? And he dared to call Ray not a man?
"Seriously, what do you think we just went through?" His gun flew wildly as he gesticulated back in the direction he had come. "I just left someone so close to me behind out there. She didn't make it dude. I'm sure you've lost someone too. An ally you made here, something! Yet you and I are still standing here, still breathing. And you have the balls to suggest I'm not a man?! Fuck you dude!"
His breathing was labored, and the gun hung at his side. He was just plain pissed. Perhaps it was the stress from the past three days making him that much easier to snap. Maybe it was the withdrawls from the cigarettes. Maybe it was the absolute horrors he had seen just a few hours before. Maybe it was him finally realizing how much he had to fight for. But at that split second, he seemed to lose his mind.
He brought the gun to bare again, pointing at the ground before Khalid's feet.
"You want to talk?"
"Talk."
"See, same bag. Same colour, same straps; it's all good, yeah? No need for anyone to get hurt."
Something about Khalid didn't seem quite right. It may have just been the paranoia, but everything seemed way too calm, way too... overly explained. As if he was trying to lull Ray into a false sense of security or something. Either that or Khalid was just being condecending, which really wasn't cool.
His left hand rose, empty. He displayed the peace symbol. That was beyond cliche. It seriously felt like he was trying to make Ray drop his guard...
Really?
His right hand rose. A black glint. The gun that Ray held snapped right to Khalid's right hand, but it didn't fire. He watched as the gun, pointed at the ground, rose.
"It's alright, my friend. I'm not going to shoot you. Okay? You hear me?"
And then fell. Right to the ground. The metallic clack as the solid steel weapon skittered accross the cobblestone was just as satisfying as any noise he had ever heard before in his life. It marked true safety, there was no way a gun was pointing at him from somewhere he couldn't quite see. No fear, no danger.
"Now, how about you? You going to shoot me? Or are you going to be man, and talk this over?"
...Be a man?
Be... a man?
"Be a man?!"
He blinked, almost unable to comprehend that particular statement. This kid had NO idea what he had gone through. Well, he probably did, but still. To insult someone who had survived into the final five or six people on an complete and total bloodbath? And he dared to call Ray not a man?
"Seriously, what do you think we just went through?" His gun flew wildly as he gesticulated back in the direction he had come. "I just left someone so close to me behind out there. She didn't make it dude. I'm sure you've lost someone too. An ally you made here, something! Yet you and I are still standing here, still breathing. And you have the balls to suggest I'm not a man?! Fuck you dude!"
His breathing was labored, and the gun hung at his side. He was just plain pissed. Perhaps it was the stress from the past three days making him that much easier to snap. Maybe it was the withdrawls from the cigarettes. Maybe it was the absolute horrors he had seen just a few hours before. Maybe it was him finally realizing how much he had to fight for. But at that split second, he seemed to lose his mind.
He brought the gun to bare again, pointing at the ground before Khalid's feet.
"You want to talk?"
"Talk."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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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Hallucinogenic*
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- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
Ohhhh, fuck.
This was exactly where he'd hoped he wouldn't end up, but here he was, being threatened by a guy who just a few seconds before seemed like he might have turned out to be a reasonable guy. But no. Apparently his "be a man" comment struck a nerve, and what was starting to become the kindling of a great partnership soon erupted into the great flames of distrust.
And boy, was it getting hot out here.
"L-look man, it's fine. I get it. I get why you're angry and I know what it must've been like these past few days. When I had to do this, I... well, I did some things I'm not proud of either. People died because of me. Me and my cowardice. But I'm not the same person any more. I can help you all. I can try and talk with the guys back at the base - see if they'd-"
And it was going so well, too.
All passionate and fired up, hoping his words would reach the ears of the guy with the gun so that they could both calm down and try to settle this together, as a team. They could've banded the others into their cause and found a way to get into contact with the other island. The radio tower, perhaps. It hadn't been running for years now, but with the power still on in the cable cars and the houses, maybe they could've worked something out? Diverted it to the generator behind the building.
Maybe.
Not now though.
Not after he'd said all of that shit.
He'd let it slip that he was "familiar" with the Organization who brought them here, and that would never have been a good thing. Especially now, with the guy with the gun looking so fucking angry and so ready to take Khalid down just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Kill the guys who brought them here. Okay, it was understandable. A year ago, he felt the same way. He wanted nothing more than to take on the bastards who ripped him away from his life; from his family; from his home, but he knew better now. He knew what they wanted to do, and why they'd gone to all this trouble and hidden in the shadows and the dark.
They really weren't the terrorists they made themselves out to be.
But Ray wouldn't listen.
After all, Khalid was a part of this.
And that made him the enemy.
This was exactly where he'd hoped he wouldn't end up, but here he was, being threatened by a guy who just a few seconds before seemed like he might have turned out to be a reasonable guy. But no. Apparently his "be a man" comment struck a nerve, and what was starting to become the kindling of a great partnership soon erupted into the great flames of distrust.
And boy, was it getting hot out here.
"L-look man, it's fine. I get it. I get why you're angry and I know what it must've been like these past few days. When I had to do this, I... well, I did some things I'm not proud of either. People died because of me. Me and my cowardice. But I'm not the same person any more. I can help you all. I can try and talk with the guys back at the base - see if they'd-"
And it was going so well, too.
All passionate and fired up, hoping his words would reach the ears of the guy with the gun so that they could both calm down and try to settle this together, as a team. They could've banded the others into their cause and found a way to get into contact with the other island. The radio tower, perhaps. It hadn't been running for years now, but with the power still on in the cable cars and the houses, maybe they could've worked something out? Diverted it to the generator behind the building.
Maybe.
Not now though.
Not after he'd said all of that shit.
He'd let it slip that he was "familiar" with the Organization who brought them here, and that would never have been a good thing. Especially now, with the guy with the gun looking so fucking angry and so ready to take Khalid down just because it seemed like the right thing to do. Kill the guys who brought them here. Okay, it was understandable. A year ago, he felt the same way. He wanted nothing more than to take on the bastards who ripped him away from his life; from his family; from his home, but he knew better now. He knew what they wanted to do, and why they'd gone to all this trouble and hidden in the shadows and the dark.
They really weren't the terrorists they made themselves out to be.
But Ray wouldn't listen.
After all, Khalid was a part of this.
And that made him the enemy.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
Something Khalid had just said was driving him crazy. The gun was pulled to bear. Barrel pointed directly at Khalid's center of mass.
And he rolled the words around in his head for a minute. Trying to comprehend. Trying to realize the implications.
"L-look man, it's fine. I get it. I get why you're angry and I know what it must've been like these past few days. When I had to do this, I... well, I did some things I'm not proud of either."
That meant he wasn't a participant. When he had to do this. This wasn't the first time this damned game had been hosted? And... What did he mean when he had to do this? He wasn't one of the kidnapped kids? He looked about Ray's age...
"People died because of me. Me and my cowardice. But I'm not the same person any more. I can help you all. I can try and talk with the guys back at the base - see if they'd-"
And then Ray watched Khalid's face contort into concern, and then worry. Something akin to panic.And that's when it clicked.
Khalid wasn't another scared, kidnapped 18 year old like everyone who had died. Khalid wasn't a participant. He was talking about the organization that was forcing these kids to die like they were just buddy buddies. Co-workers. "The guys back at the base." Like it was nothing.
Like...
He was one of them.
If Ray had been in a more rational state of mind, maybe; just maybe he would have realized the opportunity before him. If he had been thinking, he would have realized that if Khalid was really against him that he would have been killed on site. Khalid wouldn't be in a T-Shirt, he would be in riot gear. He wouldn't have had a pistol, he would have had an assault rifle.
But Ray was in a panic. Ray was in a rage.
"Oh. Hell. No."
This would be how he would keep himself from becoming one of them. This is how he would get back at those bastards who forced him to watch Kiera die.
BANG.
BANG.
Two in the chest. One at gut level, one at lung level. He watched the red pierce the sky, Khalid's blood flying. He watched Khalid begin to fall. His focus was impenetrable.
Wait for it...
Falling, falling.
Wait for it...
BANG.
One in the head.
And he rolled the words around in his head for a minute. Trying to comprehend. Trying to realize the implications.
"L-look man, it's fine. I get it. I get why you're angry and I know what it must've been like these past few days. When I had to do this, I... well, I did some things I'm not proud of either."
That meant he wasn't a participant. When he had to do this. This wasn't the first time this damned game had been hosted? And... What did he mean when he had to do this? He wasn't one of the kidnapped kids? He looked about Ray's age...
"People died because of me. Me and my cowardice. But I'm not the same person any more. I can help you all. I can try and talk with the guys back at the base - see if they'd-"
And then Ray watched Khalid's face contort into concern, and then worry. Something akin to panic.And that's when it clicked.
Khalid wasn't another scared, kidnapped 18 year old like everyone who had died. Khalid wasn't a participant. He was talking about the organization that was forcing these kids to die like they were just buddy buddies. Co-workers. "The guys back at the base." Like it was nothing.
Like...
He was one of them.
If Ray had been in a more rational state of mind, maybe; just maybe he would have realized the opportunity before him. If he had been thinking, he would have realized that if Khalid was really against him that he would have been killed on site. Khalid wouldn't be in a T-Shirt, he would be in riot gear. He wouldn't have had a pistol, he would have had an assault rifle.
But Ray was in a panic. Ray was in a rage.
"Oh. Hell. No."
This would be how he would keep himself from becoming one of them. This is how he would get back at those bastards who forced him to watch Kiera die.
BANG.
BANG.
Two in the chest. One at gut level, one at lung level. He watched the red pierce the sky, Khalid's blood flying. He watched Khalid begin to fall. His focus was impenetrable.
Wait for it...
Falling, falling.
Wait for it...
BANG.
One in the head.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
-
Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
That last shot wasn't necessary.
Not after the first two.
----
Khalid awoke several hours later, after the sun had set and the winds had changed direction. There was blood in the air tonight, and if he hadn't been busy making deals with God he would've laughed at the shade of red the sky had turned before it blackened.
Shepherd's delight indeed.
What did that make him then? A happy little sheep? Maybe he could go out into the fields and munch on some grass, or better yet, make himself a lovely woollen hat out of the fluff on his back. He couldn't knit though, which was a problem. If only he knew someone nearby that knew how to knit. Perhaps the kind-hearted fellow who'd placed him down beside the very same body he'd found here earlier. What a lovely man he must be.
He rubbed the sand out of his eyes with the backs of his hands.
Afterwards, he stared at them for a good few minutes, letting his vision settle back into place as it blurred and frayed in its recovery. He noticed how dark it'd gotten too, staring up through his fingers at the wide moon above with deep contemplation. He only ever wanted to help the stupid fuck, but now here he was, lying on the cold hard ground with two fresh holes in his clothes and a sleeping companion who surprisingly managed to keep a lively conversation - if only to himself.
Khalid chuckled.
Coughed.
His throat was parched, as it always was when he revived. His body was still cool too, as the blood began rushing about his body, doing all it could to get everything up and running again. Like intricate clockwork, his organs slowly ticked back to life, with the beating of his heart becoming more rapid as the life flickered back again inside his head. It was a quick process - or it used to be, at least. The first time he resurrected had been so surreal that he didn't notice the painful little flashes darting around his body, or the odd tingling that filled his head as it warmed itself up to top condition.
And yet, he wasn't given the same relief that he often acquired after springing back to life.
He knew something was wrong now; that his body was changing, breaking down. He could feel it in every crackle that burst in his brain; they didn't have the same spark any more, the same fire.
His body was rejecting the mutation that the serum had introduced to it, and he was sure that any day now he would die for the last time.
Of course he'd thought about the effects, the... ramifications of death. There wouldn't be any more waking up, just like there wouldn't be any more morning coffee, or reports due in. There wouldn't be any more thoughts of home, and that horrible aching he felt whenever he looked back to the boy he used to be.
A whole year though.
It didn't sound long enough.
Didn't sound right.
Had he only been here for a year? Really?
He sighed heavily, attempting to put such troubles at rest for the time being, as he began to move his body up off the floor. Shaking all over, he used the nearby wall as a crutch for him to lean against; his legs slowly thawing out and lifting his shambling frame away from the stench of the bullet-riddled boy and out into the open.
Not after the first two.
----
Khalid awoke several hours later, after the sun had set and the winds had changed direction. There was blood in the air tonight, and if he hadn't been busy making deals with God he would've laughed at the shade of red the sky had turned before it blackened.
Shepherd's delight indeed.
What did that make him then? A happy little sheep? Maybe he could go out into the fields and munch on some grass, or better yet, make himself a lovely woollen hat out of the fluff on his back. He couldn't knit though, which was a problem. If only he knew someone nearby that knew how to knit. Perhaps the kind-hearted fellow who'd placed him down beside the very same body he'd found here earlier. What a lovely man he must be.
He rubbed the sand out of his eyes with the backs of his hands.
Afterwards, he stared at them for a good few minutes, letting his vision settle back into place as it blurred and frayed in its recovery. He noticed how dark it'd gotten too, staring up through his fingers at the wide moon above with deep contemplation. He only ever wanted to help the stupid fuck, but now here he was, lying on the cold hard ground with two fresh holes in his clothes and a sleeping companion who surprisingly managed to keep a lively conversation - if only to himself.
Khalid chuckled.
Coughed.
His throat was parched, as it always was when he revived. His body was still cool too, as the blood began rushing about his body, doing all it could to get everything up and running again. Like intricate clockwork, his organs slowly ticked back to life, with the beating of his heart becoming more rapid as the life flickered back again inside his head. It was a quick process - or it used to be, at least. The first time he resurrected had been so surreal that he didn't notice the painful little flashes darting around his body, or the odd tingling that filled his head as it warmed itself up to top condition.
And yet, he wasn't given the same relief that he often acquired after springing back to life.
He knew something was wrong now; that his body was changing, breaking down. He could feel it in every crackle that burst in his brain; they didn't have the same spark any more, the same fire.
His body was rejecting the mutation that the serum had introduced to it, and he was sure that any day now he would die for the last time.
Of course he'd thought about the effects, the... ramifications of death. There wouldn't be any more waking up, just like there wouldn't be any more morning coffee, or reports due in. There wouldn't be any more thoughts of home, and that horrible aching he felt whenever he looked back to the boy he used to be.
A whole year though.
It didn't sound long enough.
Didn't sound right.
Had he only been here for a year? Really?
He sighed heavily, attempting to put such troubles at rest for the time being, as he began to move his body up off the floor. Shaking all over, he used the nearby wall as a crutch for him to lean against; his legs slowly thawing out and lifting his shambling frame away from the stench of the bullet-riddled boy and out into the open.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
It had been hours. He just couldn't stop staring at his hands. A creeping feeling. An oozing feeling. Khalid's blood was on his hands, and it was a feeling that would never go away. He knew that.
It was like when he lost his virginity. Just that feeling that things would never been the same. That same surreal feeling. However, that was a very, very good surreality. This; this was a bad feeling. Like nothing he had ever felt before. He had tried to sleep. He could just feel a cold, oozing feeling. All over his hands. All down his arms. It was so unsettling. Every few moments, he opened his eyes to look down, and the feeling went away. But as soon as his eyes had closed, it came back just as strong as before.
So directly afterwards, he had decided to try to wash the feeling away. Much to his pleasant surprise, the water was still running even if the power was out.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
His eyes pointed at the mirror.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
He felt the sickly oozing, even through the rushing water.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
His eyes were so low. The bags made him look nearly a decade older. His beard was starting to grow back; fuzz. It had been two... three days since his last shave. His entire appearance was haggard. His T-Shirt was ripped in places; when did that happen? Probably running through the brush... There were probably prickers of some kind in there. It really wouldn't surprise him.
He took it off. The garment fell in a heap in the corner of the room.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
A red color made itself known out of the corner of his eye. Below. His eyes turned. The water was a hue of red. It terrified him, made him jump back in fear. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Trying to make the hallucinations go away.
That they did.
And that's when he finally noticed the shower in the corner of the room. What better way to wash away his sins?
The running water echoed through the building. No real shower materials were available, so the hand soap from before would have to do.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
Even the shower was not enough. The water rolling down over his scarred and red back just served to remind him of blood. Warm, oozing, blood. Not his own.
His head slammed into a wall with a resounding thud.
And suddenly, water was not the only liquid falling to the shower floor. Another clear liquid, this one salty, now came from the boy's body.
He cried for what he had done. So unceremoniously dropping Khalid's body next to that of the other boy. Pointing the gun at him in the first place. Being so paranoid before that.
He had rationalized away his actions at the time. But now he realized. Kiera was staring down at him from heaven. Shaking her head in disappointment.
"I really became one of them..."
---
That was then. Dusk had broken, the sun gone away. His bag was hefted over his shoulder, the tattered and bloody shirt back upon his body. And yet he stood, leaning on the sink, staring at those bags under his eyes.
Trying not to focus on the blood on his hands.
He spun, tears still welling in the corners of his eyes. Tears not for Kiera or Khalid, but for himself. For his own regrets. Selfish tears.
Down the stairs. He needed to leave this place, as comfortable as that bed looked right now.
He looked over at the TV and couches, obscured by the inky blackness of night.
Right, to the dining table, candles all missing from the holders upon the tablecloth.
What he wouldn't give for a nice home-cooked meal from Mrs. Fitz right now.
The door to the path, his only way outside opened. The blood on the ground where he had ended Khalid's life. The small pool was still there. The drag marks to the other house which he had left the body of the boy.
His eyes rose to follow them. Like a dog having his nose rubbed in his shame.
And at the end of the trail of blood stood a boy. Who looked much more familiar than he should have. Ray's eyes squinted at the figure in the distance, in the darkness who he couldn't quite identify. Khalid's doppleganger, coming straight from the place of Khalid's demise.
And with a morbid curiosity and fascination, he stood rooted to the ground, staring as the weary person slowly made his way out into the open.
It was like when he lost his virginity. Just that feeling that things would never been the same. That same surreal feeling. However, that was a very, very good surreality. This; this was a bad feeling. Like nothing he had ever felt before. He had tried to sleep. He could just feel a cold, oozing feeling. All over his hands. All down his arms. It was so unsettling. Every few moments, he opened his eyes to look down, and the feeling went away. But as soon as his eyes had closed, it came back just as strong as before.
So directly afterwards, he had decided to try to wash the feeling away. Much to his pleasant surprise, the water was still running even if the power was out.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
His eyes pointed at the mirror.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
He felt the sickly oozing, even through the rushing water.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
His eyes were so low. The bags made him look nearly a decade older. His beard was starting to grow back; fuzz. It had been two... three days since his last shave. His entire appearance was haggard. His T-Shirt was ripped in places; when did that happen? Probably running through the brush... There were probably prickers of some kind in there. It really wouldn't surprise him.
He took it off. The garment fell in a heap in the corner of the room.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
A red color made itself known out of the corner of his eye. Below. His eyes turned. The water was a hue of red. It terrified him, made him jump back in fear. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Trying to make the hallucinations go away.
That they did.
And that's when he finally noticed the shower in the corner of the room. What better way to wash away his sins?
The running water echoed through the building. No real shower materials were available, so the hand soap from before would have to do.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
Even the shower was not enough. The water rolling down over his scarred and red back just served to remind him of blood. Warm, oozing, blood. Not his own.
His head slammed into a wall with a resounding thud.
And suddenly, water was not the only liquid falling to the shower floor. Another clear liquid, this one salty, now came from the boy's body.
He cried for what he had done. So unceremoniously dropping Khalid's body next to that of the other boy. Pointing the gun at him in the first place. Being so paranoid before that.
He had rationalized away his actions at the time. But now he realized. Kiera was staring down at him from heaven. Shaking her head in disappointment.
"I really became one of them..."
---
That was then. Dusk had broken, the sun gone away. His bag was hefted over his shoulder, the tattered and bloody shirt back upon his body. And yet he stood, leaning on the sink, staring at those bags under his eyes.
Trying not to focus on the blood on his hands.
He spun, tears still welling in the corners of his eyes. Tears not for Kiera or Khalid, but for himself. For his own regrets. Selfish tears.
Down the stairs. He needed to leave this place, as comfortable as that bed looked right now.
He looked over at the TV and couches, obscured by the inky blackness of night.
Right, to the dining table, candles all missing from the holders upon the tablecloth.
What he wouldn't give for a nice home-cooked meal from Mrs. Fitz right now.
The door to the path, his only way outside opened. The blood on the ground where he had ended Khalid's life. The small pool was still there. The drag marks to the other house which he had left the body of the boy.
His eyes rose to follow them. Like a dog having his nose rubbed in his shame.
And at the end of the trail of blood stood a boy. Who looked much more familiar than he should have. Ray's eyes squinted at the figure in the distance, in the darkness who he couldn't quite identify. Khalid's doppleganger, coming straight from the place of Khalid's demise.
And with a morbid curiosity and fascination, he stood rooted to the ground, staring as the weary person slowly made his way out into the open.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
-
Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
He looked up, through the dark of the night, waiting for his vision to clear. Someone stood close by, staring at him as he made his way over to the familiar outline of the guy who'd left him in the dirt. He didn't know how to react. This little redneck didn't know he could come back to life, and yet he wasted him like it was no big fucking deal. Which raised the question: just how many people had he killed so far? It didn't seem like he even cared - though the look on his face as Khalid approached him painted a wonderful picture of how insanely stupid this guy really was.
He tried to speak, but his throat scratched itself raw as he coughed up nothing but dry air. He needed water, something to drink. Something that would bring his words back. Anything really; tea, coffee, motor oil, it didn't matter. His body needed liquid, and he wouldn't rest until he got it. Coughing violently, his eyes almost watered and he doubled over in pain as he rubbed at his neck with his hands in a vain attempt to soothe the burning in his skin.
Staring up at the boy in between fits, he latched on to the window of the house he'd been dragging himself along, reaching out to him with eyes of madness and distress as he desperately tried to work out why he'd just been killed.
Why did you shoot me?!
"Haa... kah, ahhh-"
His speech was raw and bloody, his tongue smacking itself against washed-out walls that used to drip with life.
Tell me!
"Taaah-ah!"
Manic now. He wanted answers that the boy was too afraid to give. The sight of the spectre had stilled his quivering heart, and turned his face to stone.
Tell me what I did to deserve that!
"Tarr, maa-ak, sssehk-"
Slowly, the colour filled back into place, and the water he so urgently needed began to flood seep out through the lining of his cheeks.
What gives you the right to shoot me, asshole?!
"Whaaa-ah giisss ooh tharatoo shoo-"
Letters and sounds were falling back in line, and as Khalid dragged himself towards his killer, his voice splintered and snapped as the words came back to him in a bewildered, furious rage. Who did this guy think he was?! Who was he to decide when people died?! This guy was nothing sacred - no deity or idol, and if he thought a man like Khalid would bow down and worship him then he needed to find himself a new fucking religion.
I'm asking you a question!
"I'm ask-in' you a quessstion!"
He staggered away from the building with a heavy lurch.
No longer needing its support.
No longer driven by thirst.
The colour of vengeance had returned to his face, and the water of speech was flowing fast in his veins, and with a far-heard cry and a gnashing of his teeth, he erupted into madness and lunged at the boy with fingers flailing madly as they grasped for flesh to tear from wicked bone.
"Who made you fucking God?!"
Falling to the ground, the two entangled themselves in one another's bodies as they ripped away the last shreds of innocence either of them had left to give.
"Who made you fucking GOD?!"
He tried to speak, but his throat scratched itself raw as he coughed up nothing but dry air. He needed water, something to drink. Something that would bring his words back. Anything really; tea, coffee, motor oil, it didn't matter. His body needed liquid, and he wouldn't rest until he got it. Coughing violently, his eyes almost watered and he doubled over in pain as he rubbed at his neck with his hands in a vain attempt to soothe the burning in his skin.
Staring up at the boy in between fits, he latched on to the window of the house he'd been dragging himself along, reaching out to him with eyes of madness and distress as he desperately tried to work out why he'd just been killed.
Why did you shoot me?!
"Haa... kah, ahhh-"
His speech was raw and bloody, his tongue smacking itself against washed-out walls that used to drip with life.
Tell me!
"Taaah-ah!"
Manic now. He wanted answers that the boy was too afraid to give. The sight of the spectre had stilled his quivering heart, and turned his face to stone.
Tell me what I did to deserve that!
"Tarr, maa-ak, sssehk-"
Slowly, the colour filled back into place, and the water he so urgently needed began to flood seep out through the lining of his cheeks.
What gives you the right to shoot me, asshole?!
"Whaaa-ah giisss ooh tharatoo shoo-"
Letters and sounds were falling back in line, and as Khalid dragged himself towards his killer, his voice splintered and snapped as the words came back to him in a bewildered, furious rage. Who did this guy think he was?! Who was he to decide when people died?! This guy was nothing sacred - no deity or idol, and if he thought a man like Khalid would bow down and worship him then he needed to find himself a new fucking religion.
I'm asking you a question!
"I'm ask-in' you a quessstion!"
He staggered away from the building with a heavy lurch.
No longer needing its support.
No longer driven by thirst.
The colour of vengeance had returned to his face, and the water of speech was flowing fast in his veins, and with a far-heard cry and a gnashing of his teeth, he erupted into madness and lunged at the boy with fingers flailing madly as they grasped for flesh to tear from wicked bone.
"Who made you fucking God?!"
Falling to the ground, the two entangled themselves in one another's bodies as they ripped away the last shreds of innocence either of them had left to give.
"Who made you fucking GOD?!"
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
((I am so sorry for the epic delay on this to both Stef and everyone in end game.))
Even though it was so slow for Khalid to regain his bearings, it still felt all so fast to Ray. He was in shock, awe, disbelief, and his feet were completely rooted to the spot as he watched his once deceased foe slowly limp towards him. He couldn't comprehend... This was the same guy, the broken and unformed words confirmed that.
"Haa... kah, ahhh-"
"...How..."
So many thoughts flashed through his mind, mainly that feeling of blood. He remembered it, he feared it, and it was still there... Even when the boy who's blood was on his hands was standing right in front of him. As a scout who's eyes flick over the forest, his mind flicked this way and that, from the kill itself to that feeling, to Kiera, to that night at the Church, to home, and back to the feeling of blood.
"Taaah-ah!"
"How did you... Live through this..."
He stumbled backwards, his eyes glued to Khalid as everything seemed to reanimate. His speed was slowly beginning to increase, and any and all semblance of sense went right out the window. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend, couldn't rationalize why the boy that he had shot just hours before was now shuffling, shambling towards him. So his brain glued to the only thing in the library of his knowledge that seemed to fit; even though it was bloody impossible.
"Tarr, maa-ak, sssehk-"
His mind was tapped, exhausted, sleep deprived, and close to it's breaking point. "Holy shit, you're a Zombie!" He shrieked. His feet scrambled for footing as he reached to his hip. The holster was empty. Where was his gun? Shit! Where was his gun? This felt right out of a horror movie. Khalid was speeding up, faster and faster, and Ray was fumbling about his belt uselessly.
"I'm ask-in' you a quessstion!"
Pretty much basically caught with his pants down as his foe moved closer and closer to him. His jaw almost dropped as his hands stopped where they sat, a finger on the hilt of his knife. His head snapped back towards Khalid, the boy suddenly seeming a lot larger, and closer than before. His eyes widened, staring into the face of his assailant once victim. The living once deceased. Khalid was definitely not a Zombie... What the flying fuck was he?
"Who made you fucking God?!"
"Oh shi-" Ray suddenly felt his back meet cobblestone, his body receiving a pulse of pain as the wind was knocked out of him, a sharp yelp coming from his throat. His arms lay at his sides, and his head rolled to the side, completely dazed from the sudden impact.
"Who made you fucking God?!"
A fist sunk into his face. Well. At least he watched it fly towards his face. But for some reason, as he closed his eyes to brace for the impact... He didn't feel it. He just plain didn't feel it. Instead, he heard what sounded like human bone and flesh slamming into a building, and he felt an intense pressure on his cheek; but no pain. His eyes shot open, and with a snap decision he realized that questioning what had just happened would be a bad idea, and launched a punch of his own, smack for Khalid's nose.
Even though it was so slow for Khalid to regain his bearings, it still felt all so fast to Ray. He was in shock, awe, disbelief, and his feet were completely rooted to the spot as he watched his once deceased foe slowly limp towards him. He couldn't comprehend... This was the same guy, the broken and unformed words confirmed that.
"Haa... kah, ahhh-"
"...How..."
So many thoughts flashed through his mind, mainly that feeling of blood. He remembered it, he feared it, and it was still there... Even when the boy who's blood was on his hands was standing right in front of him. As a scout who's eyes flick over the forest, his mind flicked this way and that, from the kill itself to that feeling, to Kiera, to that night at the Church, to home, and back to the feeling of blood.
"Taaah-ah!"
"How did you... Live through this..."
He stumbled backwards, his eyes glued to Khalid as everything seemed to reanimate. His speed was slowly beginning to increase, and any and all semblance of sense went right out the window. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend, couldn't rationalize why the boy that he had shot just hours before was now shuffling, shambling towards him. So his brain glued to the only thing in the library of his knowledge that seemed to fit; even though it was bloody impossible.
"Tarr, maa-ak, sssehk-"
His mind was tapped, exhausted, sleep deprived, and close to it's breaking point. "Holy shit, you're a Zombie!" He shrieked. His feet scrambled for footing as he reached to his hip. The holster was empty. Where was his gun? Shit! Where was his gun? This felt right out of a horror movie. Khalid was speeding up, faster and faster, and Ray was fumbling about his belt uselessly.
"I'm ask-in' you a quessstion!"
Pretty much basically caught with his pants down as his foe moved closer and closer to him. His jaw almost dropped as his hands stopped where they sat, a finger on the hilt of his knife. His head snapped back towards Khalid, the boy suddenly seeming a lot larger, and closer than before. His eyes widened, staring into the face of his assailant once victim. The living once deceased. Khalid was definitely not a Zombie... What the flying fuck was he?
"Who made you fucking God?!"
"Oh shi-" Ray suddenly felt his back meet cobblestone, his body receiving a pulse of pain as the wind was knocked out of him, a sharp yelp coming from his throat. His arms lay at his sides, and his head rolled to the side, completely dazed from the sudden impact.
"Who made you fucking God?!"
A fist sunk into his face. Well. At least he watched it fly towards his face. But for some reason, as he closed his eyes to brace for the impact... He didn't feel it. He just plain didn't feel it. Instead, he heard what sounded like human bone and flesh slamming into a building, and he felt an intense pressure on his cheek; but no pain. His eyes shot open, and with a snap decision he realized that questioning what had just happened would be a bad idea, and launched a punch of his own, smack for Khalid's nose.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
-
Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
A crack - his fingers breaking.
Another - his nose following suit.
As he fell, he thought he saw sparks, but when his back hit the ground the lights faded from view. He was undeniably in pain, but it gave him some relief, re-awakening his rational side. Looking past the gnarled bones of his right hand, he saw the damage he'd done to the one he'd been attacking so unlike himself. Where skin used to be on his cheek, there was now stone; cold and grey, it weighed down the boy's face, giving him a somewhat Monster-like appearance as he caressed it with his palm, feeling it for any sign that he could somehow change it back.
A fruitless endeavour, which only served to bewilder them both as they watched each other closely. Who was going to make the next move? Would Khalid? Would Ray? Then the Arab's eyes met the steel that swung so freely within the redneck's reach, and once they had, so did Ray's. Lunging forward, he grabbed at the air, trying hopelessly to catch it time, but it was no use. With all the fluidity of a dancer, the boy unsheathed the blade from his trousers and struck forth, sending lashes of blood across his face as he dug the knife deep into Khalid's shoulder. He let out a primal scream as he pulled it loose, then struck again.
This time, Khalid reacted, crying out as the metal pierced his palm and tore through to the other side. But as the pain worsened, it gave him a strength he didn't know he had, and as he bled out onto his clothes, he wrapped his hand around the other's and pushed back against the force of the blow. There was a look of brief understanding between the two of them, and before they knew what was about to happen, they knew how it was going to end.
Their faces drew into one another, pulled together by an unstoppable will to live, and once within reach, Khalid struck out with the weight of his head and sent his enemy back with the sickening sound of bone on bone.
Once Ray was down, he watched in astonishment as Khalid pulled out the weapon from the widening wound and gripped it tightly in his one clean hand. Falling heavily onto his knees, he pinned down his struggling prey and held his trophy high above for him to see. He would savour this moment as one of triumph, and if Ray didn't appreciate it, then he would be taught how to.
The moon gleaming off the bloodless parts of the blade, he brought it down with both his hands, sending ribbons of flesh flying out into the air as the knife dove deep into the body of his killer; deeper and deeper with every stab until his chest resembled something one would find in the basement of a butcher's shop - the offal and the bone - the bits nobody wants to eat. But still the boy's breath came to him, and unsatisfied with his work, Khalid paused for a closer inspection. Parts of his body had turned themselves to stone, encasing his organs in a cage his meagre blade would never penetrate.
And so he looked to the face, where the fleshiest of all his flesh sat so alluringly; their sockets like little thrones or velvet cushions, displaying the finest targets his body had to offer.
Taking up his weapon - scalpel now, precise - he greatly obliged, and with a series of grunts and gasping screams he drove the knife into his eyes again and again until there was nothing left of them. Save, for the whitening ooze that dripped out so carelessly down the hard of his skin.
Another - his nose following suit.
As he fell, he thought he saw sparks, but when his back hit the ground the lights faded from view. He was undeniably in pain, but it gave him some relief, re-awakening his rational side. Looking past the gnarled bones of his right hand, he saw the damage he'd done to the one he'd been attacking so unlike himself. Where skin used to be on his cheek, there was now stone; cold and grey, it weighed down the boy's face, giving him a somewhat Monster-like appearance as he caressed it with his palm, feeling it for any sign that he could somehow change it back.
A fruitless endeavour, which only served to bewilder them both as they watched each other closely. Who was going to make the next move? Would Khalid? Would Ray? Then the Arab's eyes met the steel that swung so freely within the redneck's reach, and once they had, so did Ray's. Lunging forward, he grabbed at the air, trying hopelessly to catch it time, but it was no use. With all the fluidity of a dancer, the boy unsheathed the blade from his trousers and struck forth, sending lashes of blood across his face as he dug the knife deep into Khalid's shoulder. He let out a primal scream as he pulled it loose, then struck again.
This time, Khalid reacted, crying out as the metal pierced his palm and tore through to the other side. But as the pain worsened, it gave him a strength he didn't know he had, and as he bled out onto his clothes, he wrapped his hand around the other's and pushed back against the force of the blow. There was a look of brief understanding between the two of them, and before they knew what was about to happen, they knew how it was going to end.
Their faces drew into one another, pulled together by an unstoppable will to live, and once within reach, Khalid struck out with the weight of his head and sent his enemy back with the sickening sound of bone on bone.
Once Ray was down, he watched in astonishment as Khalid pulled out the weapon from the widening wound and gripped it tightly in his one clean hand. Falling heavily onto his knees, he pinned down his struggling prey and held his trophy high above for him to see. He would savour this moment as one of triumph, and if Ray didn't appreciate it, then he would be taught how to.
The moon gleaming off the bloodless parts of the blade, he brought it down with both his hands, sending ribbons of flesh flying out into the air as the knife dove deep into the body of his killer; deeper and deeper with every stab until his chest resembled something one would find in the basement of a butcher's shop - the offal and the bone - the bits nobody wants to eat. But still the boy's breath came to him, and unsatisfied with his work, Khalid paused for a closer inspection. Parts of his body had turned themselves to stone, encasing his organs in a cage his meagre blade would never penetrate.
And so he looked to the face, where the fleshiest of all his flesh sat so alluringly; their sockets like little thrones or velvet cushions, displaying the finest targets his body had to offer.
Taking up his weapon - scalpel now, precise - he greatly obliged, and with a series of grunts and gasping screams he drove the knife into his eyes again and again until there was nothing left of them. Save, for the whitening ooze that dripped out so carelessly down the hard of his skin.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.
As Khalid recoiled, Ray glanced up to see the damage he had done. The redneck had always been one of the stronger kids around town, so the fact that Khalid's nose was broken and bloodied wasn't even a remote shock to him. But what did shock him to his core was the had that his foe had thrown the punch with. It was scraped, bloodied, and there was even a little piece of bone sticking from the skin. That fist had connected to his cheek, and at best he had felt a slight bit of pressure. Having originally written it off as adrenaline or the pussy not being able to throw a good punch, he now re-evaluated that. And his palm rose to his cheek as he watched Khalid's eyes go wide with horror.
His skin seemed to be gone. It felt more as if his cheek had become a piece of the cobblestone that he was current lying on. His own eyes quickly grew to saucers, matching his foe's. For a brief moment, he thought; nay hoped that this revelation would bring the two back to speaking terms.
Instead of focusing on his newly modified face however, he really should have been focusing on the man he was facing down, who was already mid air, jumping towards his crotch.
The FUCK?
Ray didn't have time for another thought as with speed and grace that he had once written off as the stuff of movies, he instinctively pulled the knife from it's sheath, this time making a note to never be so stupid as to face someone on this island unarmed again. With a backhand, the knife's blade cut through Khalid's face as if a freshly tempered block of steel, how it's white hot side would slice through ice as if it were air. With a flourish that only skilled hands could accomplish, the blade was suddenly brought to bare, and sunk into the scrawny little kid's shoulder. The following scream on a level was satisfying; and on hundreds more mortifying. He had brought this man to death once, yet here he stood, fighting harder than he ever had before.
But he had to keep going. This was a fair fight. This was a fight that he could wash his guilts away with. Khalid had been given a second chance for the honor that Ray had once denied him. Ray was given a second chance to redeem himself. A quick word with God would definitely be in order once he was done.
The knife raised again, coming back down with another sickening splat, a rip, and another scream. The boy had blocked it, but had obviously not been trained as now where once was a whole, smooth, naive to the world palm, now was a hole, and a piece of steel sticking through both sides.
He needed to end this.
But he would never get the chance.
The palm pushed up on the blade. It was something out of a different kind of movie, where the hero doesn't die without taking down his enemy first. And suddenly, Khalid's head was against Ray's, still moving at a high rate of speed. He didn't even have the comprehension to wonder why his forehead hadn't turned to stone as with his cheek, just instead seeing a bright white star, the rest of his vision blacked.
It only took literally a second for Ray to regain consciousness, but that was all the time Khalid had needed. By the time his eyes had opened again, Khalid's weight was falling upon him, his lungs forcing all the air out with a resounding "Oomph". Blood leaked around his neck as Khalid held him down, the knife high above both of them.
He closed his eyes, and braced for the impact.
The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Sure, he had gotten cut a couple of times in knife fights before. But nothing ever like this. Nothing that pierced his chest, revealed what was truly inside to the world. And then even once the cold steel had pierced his chest, it pulled, carving a path through Ray that almost brought him to tears in pain. He willed his arm up, to fight back, to punch his foe, something. It just wouldn't move. Each millimeter it crept was another shockwave of pain that Ray's three day battered body could not physically endure.
But somehow, even through the pain, he lived. It was growing hard to breathe, and he didn't know whether to attribute that to the pain or something being broken, deep inside. But it wouldn't matter to him for long.
A bright glint in the air, which grew closer and closer. Something pushing through his eye. Through the pain, out of pure reflex, his hands flew to his face, clawing and flailing as he screamed, the point of the blade repeatedly turning his eyes to complete mush.
It wasn't long before Ray's body had blacked, his mind shutting down to avoid the unimaginable pain.
---
A rainy afternoon in May 2012.
A boy stood on a podium, clutching a damp, musty piece of gauze. An audience in front of him, 460 behind. Those before him sat in various states of readiness, umbrellas, ponchos, and the announcer's booth above was even fitted with a lightning rod.
And though not a soul could see it through the God's mourning, falling upon their heads, the scrawny boy with short red hair, face scraggly and unshaven, was misting his own glasses with the salty tears of remembrance.
He held the ribbon aloft. Blood long since dried. Words, barely legible, that had taken painstaking hours two mornings before to decipher.
"As you all know... One of our own went missing close to two years ago today. Raymond, E. Pietrowski."
Feedback echoed throughout the rain soaked field, the class of 2012 somber at the name that they almost all had once known.
"Something came into my possession a few days ago. It's funny how things work... If a message is important enough, it will always find it's destination."
His voice was wavering, already becoming choked with sobs.
"So I come to you not as Valedictorian. I come to you not with a long speech echoing sentiments of the past and hopes for the future. I come to you instead with one sentence. One sentence that has filled me with sorrow and longing, but will also give me strength through the rest of my life."
He lowered the red and white object, which had until then been flying like a flag; a testament to the strength that he had shown. It unfurled.
"Trav, You wouldn't believe what happened to me if I tried to tell you. Just know I'm pulling for you. Graduate, move on with your life, and don't forget me. Ray."
A man, standing against the bleachers, just outside of the fence wept; the first show of true emotion on his face since the day he was old enough to understand it.
---
As the life slipped from Ray's body, no revelations came to him. Unconsciousness was all, a warm, and peaceful sleep. He saw no angels, heard no choirs, not even a light at the end of the tunnel.
He just wept, the battered form finding it's own way to mourn. A tear, formed not of salt and water, but of his body himself, rolled from the cobble of his body, and to the stone below.
C10: Raymond Edward Pietrowski: DECEASED
His skin seemed to be gone. It felt more as if his cheek had become a piece of the cobblestone that he was current lying on. His own eyes quickly grew to saucers, matching his foe's. For a brief moment, he thought; nay hoped that this revelation would bring the two back to speaking terms.
Instead of focusing on his newly modified face however, he really should have been focusing on the man he was facing down, who was already mid air, jumping towards his crotch.
The FUCK?
Ray didn't have time for another thought as with speed and grace that he had once written off as the stuff of movies, he instinctively pulled the knife from it's sheath, this time making a note to never be so stupid as to face someone on this island unarmed again. With a backhand, the knife's blade cut through Khalid's face as if a freshly tempered block of steel, how it's white hot side would slice through ice as if it were air. With a flourish that only skilled hands could accomplish, the blade was suddenly brought to bare, and sunk into the scrawny little kid's shoulder. The following scream on a level was satisfying; and on hundreds more mortifying. He had brought this man to death once, yet here he stood, fighting harder than he ever had before.
But he had to keep going. This was a fair fight. This was a fight that he could wash his guilts away with. Khalid had been given a second chance for the honor that Ray had once denied him. Ray was given a second chance to redeem himself. A quick word with God would definitely be in order once he was done.
The knife raised again, coming back down with another sickening splat, a rip, and another scream. The boy had blocked it, but had obviously not been trained as now where once was a whole, smooth, naive to the world palm, now was a hole, and a piece of steel sticking through both sides.
He needed to end this.
But he would never get the chance.
The palm pushed up on the blade. It was something out of a different kind of movie, where the hero doesn't die without taking down his enemy first. And suddenly, Khalid's head was against Ray's, still moving at a high rate of speed. He didn't even have the comprehension to wonder why his forehead hadn't turned to stone as with his cheek, just instead seeing a bright white star, the rest of his vision blacked.
It only took literally a second for Ray to regain consciousness, but that was all the time Khalid had needed. By the time his eyes had opened again, Khalid's weight was falling upon him, his lungs forcing all the air out with a resounding "Oomph". Blood leaked around his neck as Khalid held him down, the knife high above both of them.
He closed his eyes, and braced for the impact.
The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Sure, he had gotten cut a couple of times in knife fights before. But nothing ever like this. Nothing that pierced his chest, revealed what was truly inside to the world. And then even once the cold steel had pierced his chest, it pulled, carving a path through Ray that almost brought him to tears in pain. He willed his arm up, to fight back, to punch his foe, something. It just wouldn't move. Each millimeter it crept was another shockwave of pain that Ray's three day battered body could not physically endure.
But somehow, even through the pain, he lived. It was growing hard to breathe, and he didn't know whether to attribute that to the pain or something being broken, deep inside. But it wouldn't matter to him for long.
A bright glint in the air, which grew closer and closer. Something pushing through his eye. Through the pain, out of pure reflex, his hands flew to his face, clawing and flailing as he screamed, the point of the blade repeatedly turning his eyes to complete mush.
It wasn't long before Ray's body had blacked, his mind shutting down to avoid the unimaginable pain.
---
A rainy afternoon in May 2012.
A boy stood on a podium, clutching a damp, musty piece of gauze. An audience in front of him, 460 behind. Those before him sat in various states of readiness, umbrellas, ponchos, and the announcer's booth above was even fitted with a lightning rod.
And though not a soul could see it through the God's mourning, falling upon their heads, the scrawny boy with short red hair, face scraggly and unshaven, was misting his own glasses with the salty tears of remembrance.
He held the ribbon aloft. Blood long since dried. Words, barely legible, that had taken painstaking hours two mornings before to decipher.
"As you all know... One of our own went missing close to two years ago today. Raymond, E. Pietrowski."
Feedback echoed throughout the rain soaked field, the class of 2012 somber at the name that they almost all had once known.
"Something came into my possession a few days ago. It's funny how things work... If a message is important enough, it will always find it's destination."
His voice was wavering, already becoming choked with sobs.
"So I come to you not as Valedictorian. I come to you not with a long speech echoing sentiments of the past and hopes for the future. I come to you instead with one sentence. One sentence that has filled me with sorrow and longing, but will also give me strength through the rest of my life."
He lowered the red and white object, which had until then been flying like a flag; a testament to the strength that he had shown. It unfurled.
"Trav, You wouldn't believe what happened to me if I tried to tell you. Just know I'm pulling for you. Graduate, move on with your life, and don't forget me. Ray."
A man, standing against the bleachers, just outside of the fence wept; the first show of true emotion on his face since the day he was old enough to understand it.
---
As the life slipped from Ray's body, no revelations came to him. Unconsciousness was all, a warm, and peaceful sleep. He saw no angels, heard no choirs, not even a light at the end of the tunnel.
He just wept, the battered form finding it's own way to mourn. A tear, formed not of salt and water, but of his body himself, rolled from the cobble of his body, and to the stone below.
C10: Raymond Edward Pietrowski: DECEASED
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler T-Fox. 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.
-
Hallucinogenic*
- Posts: 69
- Joined: Wed Aug 22, 2018 12:02 am
And just like that, it was over.
There were no more screams, no more struggling - only a thick and heavy silence which smothered Khalid's cries as he stepped away from the body.
It took him a good while to stop himself from shaking, but once he did, he began to move autonomously; his head wrapped in thoughts of the deed just done.
Quietly, with little fuss, he looked around for his belongings, and stepped inside a nearby house to wash himself down. Once finished, he treated his wounds and did his best to rid his clothes of the bloodstains, persistent as they were. Then finally, wrapped in gauze and numbed adequately with medication, he left the vicinity of the fight and headed towards the mansion, clutching the knife to his chest like a baby would its toy.
He would spend a few hours there, attempting to sleep, but none would come for him.
Instead, he waited, sobbing in the dark, for the last announcement to crackle into life outside.
((Khalid Shamoun continued in Paper Dolls))
There were no more screams, no more struggling - only a thick and heavy silence which smothered Khalid's cries as he stepped away from the body.
It took him a good while to stop himself from shaking, but once he did, he began to move autonomously; his head wrapped in thoughts of the deed just done.
Quietly, with little fuss, he looked around for his belongings, and stepped inside a nearby house to wash himself down. Once finished, he treated his wounds and did his best to rid his clothes of the bloodstains, persistent as they were. Then finally, wrapped in gauze and numbed adequately with medication, he left the vicinity of the fight and headed towards the mansion, clutching the knife to his chest like a baby would its toy.
He would spend a few hours there, attempting to sleep, but none would come for him.
Instead, he waited, sobbing in the dark, for the last announcement to crackle into life outside.
((Khalid Shamoun continued in Paper Dolls))
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Hallucinogenic. 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.