Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence? (Yeah, Yeah!)

[CondorTalon]

Christopher pretty much called it.

As soon as the gun connected with Paris's cheek, the only thought in his head was that he'd called it.

Maybe it was a relief that Jasmine hadn't turned her rage at them. He was thankful that her target was very firmly Paris. Was it a nice thing to think? No, but nice thoughts weren't smart thoughts. Jasmine stomping on Paris's chest just reinforced that.

More people. This was turning into hell in a handbasket real quickly. Unlike Brigid, the thought of helping Jasmine never even crossed his mind. Jasmine was dangerous. That was obvious. And as the sound of the gunshot echoed through his ears, Christopher took a few quick steps back.

Brigid turned to him and told him to run. He didn't need to be told twice.

Christopher ran, and didn't look back. Whatever happened here wasn't his problem anymore.

((Christopher Schwartz continued in I Jumped Out and I Pranked Him to Death with a Tire Iron.))

[decoy73]

Shit. It had only been, what one, two hours, and people were already resorting to curb-stomping? If this got this bad now, it was bad. All four of them had started to run towards the action, in spite of the girl in question holding a fucking gun. Snake actually cussed her out and clocked her in the face before Maxie started to lay the hurt on

BANG

Sarah dove down, feeling herself up.

Legs: dry. Arms: dry. Chest and back: dry. Between the legs: dry for now.

She looked up. Maxwell had been thrown back and was chasing after the girl in question while bleeding copiously.

Rage is a hell of an anesthetic, huh? Sarah just got up and looked at

Oh, that's not good.

Paris was a mess, and Sarah had to resist not looking at him as he approached him (and his bag).

"Uh, does anyone have any idea what we can do? He doesn't look good."

[The Honeless Beard]

Aria attacked, punching Jasmine in the face, and Baxter turned in a stutter step, now racing for Paris' prone form. He slid on one knee as Maxwell took over, ending up at Paris' side, hands reaching for the other boy's wrist as he bent low over him.

"Hey, buddy," he said, other hand curling around Paris' neck, "we're-"

A gunshot had him throwing his body across Paris' in a rush of instinct, stomach over the cracked ribs. He squeezed the other boy for a moment as he threw a glance towards the combatants. Maxwell was standing, blood running down his arm, chasing after Jasmine.

"We're right here," Baxter said to Paris, his eyes on the two figures rapidly disappearing.

"Sarah, bring a medkit. Can you feel my hand, Paris? Can you look at me?"

[jimmydalad]

Aria didn't have time to follow up before he saw Lombardi rush in after him and tackle her to the floor. With Maxwell focused on Jasmine, Aria turned his attention to her colleagues. Her enablers. Brigid and Christopher. His fist hurt like a fucking bitch, but he wasn't planning on stopping. Not while he had the fire in his eyes.

Before Aria could even do anything, the sound of gunshots rang through the air. By instinct, he dived to the ground and turned his attention towards Jasmine. So much fucking shit was happening around him. The bitch, Jasmine, fucking shot Lombardi and ran, Lombardi quickly followed after. Brigid and Christopher were running as well, escaping any responsibility for their inaction and Baxter threw himself over Paris's body. He wanted to chase after Brigid and Christopher. Lombardi was already going after Jasmine and yet those two, who just fucking stood there and let their travel mate beat the shit out of Paris, could just run and pretend that it didn't fucking happen.

He needed to be with Paris, though. There was a chance, maybe just a little chance, that he could be salvaged.

Pushing himself up, his right fist still ringing after his punch against Jasmine, he rushed to Paris's side. As much as he wanted to make people pay, he needed to be with Paris. He was his friend. He couldn't just run away when he needed him. Not after not being there for him when Aria fucking should've been.

Aria approached Paris and saw what Jasmine did.

His heart sank. No one deserved that, especially not Paris. He didn't know what to do. He already thought Paris was in bad shape when he first saw him. Now, that all seemed really fucking minor.

"Paris, I'm here. I'm here!" Aria spluttered, falling on his knees on the other side of him. He didn't want to interfere with Baxter's work. He'd probably fuck it up anyway.

"Paris, I should've fucking been there. I should've stopped her before this happened."

Words came out of his mouth before he even had time to think about them. Paris couldn't die, not after he'd only recently found him. He had resolved to be there for Paris, but when he needed him there, he wasn't.

How the fuck did things go to shit so quickly? All Aria could do was fucking sit there and ponder that while watching his friend die.

[Cicadan]

Paris didn't notice how his chest barely rose with each new breath.

He heard gunshots, fleshy cracks of bone, people rushing to his side. He needed a moment to himself, before he could acknowledged all of that. That moment passed and Paris smiled weakly, up at the worried faces of Aria and an unknown. Good on them, that they'd take action when it was needed. They were the people Paris had been looking for, he was so sure.

"Don't worry, Aria." It was like it always was. Paris and his friends, looking out for each other. One worried, the other calm in the face of danger. Paris figured they'd all be laughing about this one in a moment. "No medkits needed, I can..." He realized that he couldn't feel a hand over his own. He tried to swivel his eyes to check, because there couldn't possibly be a hand there if he wasn't feeling it.

His eyes were heavy, stones in water. They were inert, refusing his commands. Paris realized he hadn't been looking at Aria at all, had only been implying the specter of a friend by beloved memories of a familiar voice.

A chill began to rise through his body.

An emotion he'd never felt before, that had always been far too heavy to drape over the light of his soul. It settled like the lid of a coffin over his still beating heart, and only then did Paris realize his heart beat only weakly. Like a song drawing out it's final measures, echoing out and away.

It couldn't be.

Paris fought the alien feeling of doom, of death. This wasn't him. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

"N-... no..."

The feeling only grew stronger, stronger, polluting his brain by the second with blasphemous visions of his own mortality, no, that wasn't true that was impossible he'd had a plan, he'd had righteousness itself by his side.

However he tried to deny it, it still happened.

"No... no, no... no- no, no!" His face was torn by a panic that had never once settled over his features before, such a dire expression of widened pupils and mad spittle dribbling over his lips marring his beauty, his evocation of His image.

His hand around Brandon's began to clench, in desperate spasms, the drowning man looking for his life-preserver. His eyes remained on His kingdom, but there was no answer to his pleading questions.

"N-nuh...n-..noo...." He began to weakly cry as his body slipped away from him.

[decoy73]

Things were going to shit. Jock Boy had asked for a first-aid kit. Sarah looked around at the bag that Paris had and dove in.

Food, food, map, bullets? Okay, that's why. Got it!

Sarah extricated the first aid kit and handed it to Jock, while stealing a look at Paris, who was looking pretty bad.

"N-nuh...n-..noo...."

He was crying. Given what had just happened, he was likely in so much pain that Sarah felt lucky that she didn't smell anything.

"Hey, hey. It's not that bad. Really. Just a little bit of rest and you'll be fine." Yes, she was lying through her teeth, but she still didn't have the heart to tell Paris that he was considerably and utterly fucked.

[jimmydalad]

This was so fucked up in so many ways.

Aria could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he watched Paris suffer. Paris didn't deserve a death like this. Paris was a good person. Each word that came out of Paris filled Aria with a despair that he had never experienced in his life. It worse than when all his old friends left him because of his father. It was much worse than all the stress and sadness that he put on himself when he refused to tell his parents how fucking awful school life was. He felt empty inside like something important had been ripped out from him. This all felt unreal, like some terrible fucking nightmare that he was just going to wake up from.

Aria couldn't watch this. No one should have to watch a friend die like this. This was just cruel. It was clear that Paris was in excruciating pain. He didn't want to watch his friend suffer like that. His suffering felt needless and unnecessary. He felt disgusting watching his friend suffer while he couldn't do anything. He felt so fucking useless, so pathetic and unable to stop all the tragedies happening around him. Aria knew that he couldn't just sit there and watch Paris die a painful death. If he was going to die, he deserved better.

His eyes traced over to Paris's gun. It was still in his pocket on Aria's side. It didn't have bullets, but his bag was nearby.

Aria quietly slipped the gun out of Paris's pocket, leaving the trumpet on the floor. Aria refused to just watch Paris slowly die. It was fucking sickening. Paris deserved to die a better death. One that didn't have him in excruciating pain to the end. One that was quick and painless in comparison.

Aria could provide that.

He slowly moved towards the bag, his face still painted with tears but contrasted with a look of purpose. Aria was trying to find the strength within himself to do it. The thought of killing a friend would've never occurred to him up until this moment. He thought back to what he said to Adonis. At the time, he felt like he was making sense. As soon as you kill, as soon as you play the game, you let them win. Now, he knew he was just being naive to the realities of the world around him.

This is for Paris. This is for Paris. This is for Paris.

Aria repeated that mantra to himself as he reached Paris's bag. With each step, that mantra pumped through his mind. The words gave him power, gave his actions a purpose. Each time he repeated it to himself, he found more strength to follow through. It was like he was hypnotising himself, his body loosening up and being carried away by the words that fully occupied his mind.

This is for Paris. This is for Paris. This is for Paris.

At this point, he had given himself away to the words, finding comfort in their booming tones as he loaded the cartridge into the gun. Aria's hands twisted themselves around the weapon as he stared down at it. He took a moment to acclimatise himself to the device. The words inside him gave him the strength to help his friend. The tool in his hand that once belonged to him would now be able to help alleviate his suffering. In the end, he was happy to take on the sin of killing to make sure his friend would stop suffering.

This is for Paris. This is for Paris. This is for Paris.

Aria continued to let himself be lost to the mantra. Aria knew he wasn't a good person, but maybe he could do something good with his actions. It was cruel to keep Paris alive and in pain. He could be the one that guided him to the heavens. Hopefully the angels would come for him.

[The Honeless Beard]

Baxter took the medkit without looking at Sarah, his gaze fully focused on Paris' face as it twisted, turned, running the gamut of terrified, afraid, in pain. His jaw set at the sight, hands flipping the latches of the medkit and pushing it open with a force that sent supplies jumping out of the bag, hitting the rough dirt of the cliffside.

"Just one 'no' would've done, buddy," Baxter said, grabbing the first thing he could find - disinfectant - and holding it in his left hand, the gauze in his right. "I'm not hard of hearing."

The smile tried and failed to form on his face as he ripped open the gauze packet with his teeth, hesitating with the cloth. He'd seen wounds cleaned, broken arms set on the sidelines, concussions wrapped with ice, but he was pretty sure gaping, bleeding indents in the center of someone's chest was slightly above his paygrade.

Then, Aria stood up, spun away, Paris' gun in his grip, and Baxter slowly rose to his feet.

"Aria," he said, softly, stepping over Paris so that he was between the living and the dead, gauze and rubbing alcohol still dangling from his fingers.

[Cicadan]

"Just one 'no' would've done, buddy."

Beside himself with existential agony as he was Paris found some small moment of comfort in the humor. It was a pretty good line.

He wondered where Aria was.

His chest continued to spasm. He could only even begin to comprehend he had a body below his neck, feeling searing gasps for air that were never enough. Long ago his hand had fallen away from clutching at a stranger's hand, or maybe it had only been moments. Paris serenely watched himself from somewhere above, contemplating the slow bleeding away of his vision and of his life. "I-... hh-hhuh-.. I..." His breath was a weak, rattling gasp. The air was beginning to escape faster than it could come in, and Paris could feel dregs of warmth seeping out through his teeth like a snowy Christmas night. Somewhere in the distance Mom echoed a call for him to come inside, to where it was warm.

It was too late for the warmth though. Paris finally accepted that. Dry tears crusted down the sides of his splotchy, ugly death mask.

Paris supposed this was His plan. This was the death Paris was worthy of.




He realized.

"... Gu-guh... guys."

He realized that he believed.

"I... It-it's... ok-okuh-..okay..."

Paris believed in Him. Paris believed in the plan. Paris believed nothing could stop him from believing, not even death itself could rob him. It couldn't take his faith, not his faith in Aria, not his faith in Maxwell, not his faith in Soren, not his faith in all the other friends he'd existed with on this Earth in a life so short yet so beautiful. His mortal shell would fail him, but Paris would not fail, would never fail.

He realized this. His voice began to boom with conviction, within his head, even beyond it was perhaps a worthy tone of a final sermon, strength fortifying every gasp and struggle.

"I... it's... it's the pla-..plah... the plan, guys... Ev-.. even... if I die... they c-cah... n't stop us. They.. they can never-... Never... stop us."

Paris felt power. It erupted like the brilliant light of the sun welcoming this Earth to a new day, it was within his chest, making even that gaping mortal wound vanish away.

".. W-we... You guys... You can d-... duh-.. do it! M-my death... it's juh-just... it's nu-nothing... It's.. only th-... beg... in.." Paris felt weights dragging at his eyes, the gentle press of his mother's fingers entreating him to restful slumber. He fought it. He could only see one last thing anyways, something radiant, something that blinded him with undying and immortal glow. "... F-fight... you guys... my gun.. fi-find... ever-... o-one... S-stop... Jasm...muh.. prote-.. tect... the flock..."

Paris, for a moment, felt as if he was standing. Smiling. One last time, giving a friend a friendly bit of advice before he wandered off to spread the word elsewhere.

This time, he wasn't coming back. And that was okay.

"It... it's g-gonna be... okay... I'll se-see yo-.. yu-... you guys... when I see you..."

They would meet again. But not for a long, long time.

This, Paris believed.

The twitching of his dying corpse was dramatic to slow.

[decoy73]

Wait, where was Jock going? Where was Snake going? Sarah didn't have any idea on how to use any of this.

Okay, that was inaccurate. Sarah didn't have any idea on how to use any of this for the injuries that mattered. Cuts? Sure. Bruises? Ignore. But how was she going to alleviate Paris of his chest problems, which included said chest being practically caved in?

".. W-we... You guys... You can d-... duh-.. do it! M-my death... it's juh-just... it's nu-nothing... It's.. only th-... beg... in.."

He was going delirious. Great.

"No. No, Paris, it just feels worse than it is." Yes, moral support was really going to help. This was just like Doctor Who.

"Guys," she said to the pair. "A little help here." Yes, Paris probably heard her "whisper." No, she didn't care.

[jimmydalad]

The sound of his name temporarily snapped Aria out of his self-induced reverie. His eyes were unfocused and disorientated as he slowly turned his attention towards the source of the voice that had called out to him.

"Baxter," Aria muttered, shakily pushing himself up.

"Baxter, he's suffering. He's suffering."

Words were becoming difficult to form. Thoughts swirled inside his head, informing his actions but staying just out of reach for coherent expression. Tear-streaked, pleading eyes stared directly into Baxter's as Aria tried to comprehend Baxter's betrayal.

"P-please. Let me end it..."

End what? The life of his friend, who was in excruciating pain? The swirling void that had coalesced within the last few moments that tore him apart from the inside?

"I-I can't watch. I n-need to do something..."

Words just spilled out of him, vaguely inferring the disorder that had seized his mind. All he could solidly grasp to was that he needed to help Paris. Paris had been there for him. Paris let Aria come with him. Paris was in so much pain, such pain that Aria did not even want to comprehend. Ending it all would be doing Paris a favour. It would help him on his way to heaven. Maybe he'd see Mr. Dolph there, Paris had told Aria he was going there. That'd be nice. So much better than how he was right now. Aria could finally help Paris, at least once, even if that resulted in his death.

As Paris spoke, Aria fell silent. The words, Aria could barely imagine the difficulty Paris had with the words. Yet, he talked. Pleaded? No matter the case, he hung on every word, enraptured by the sounds of his dying friend.

It was like a light had begun to sparkle inside, a few weak jolts of energy that would soon become an overwhelming sun. Paris was right. This was the beginning, the beginning of something greater than him. Something that spanned the entire island and inevitably entangled his existence. He would stop Jasmine. He would stop Brigid and Christopher too, who were just as bad as Jasmine. And he'd do it with Paris. He had Paris's weapon. It was there in his hands. He'd be able to bring Paris's ferocious justice on them, the killers who tried to destroy Paris. The traitors who watched an innocent boy get killed and did nothing to stop it.

Aria smiled. Was it the first time he smiled since he'd been here? Probably. He'd been lost, lost without a purpose. Yet, Paris, his friend, had given him something. Something to live for. Something to die for. He grasped the gun tightly, becoming familiar with the weapon for which he would judge the world. Judge those who dared try and hurt the innocents, like Paris would've done. He straightened his body, shooting Paris an appreciative look. He had such strength when at death's door. Aria could only hope he could achieve such strength one day.

"Thank you, Paris." Aria said, ignoring everything else as his world revolved around his dead friend. "Now, let me end your pain and guide you to where you truly belong."

Aria began walking forward, blissfully unaware of the world around him. Each step forward gave him strength and purpose. Paris had done so much for Aria, so he felt obliged to do the same. He could hear the words again in his mind.

This is for Paris. This is for Paris. This is for Paris.

However, the words were not filled with unfocused rage. They were filled with enlightened determination, guiding him on his path forward.

[The Honeless Beard]

With a quick flick of his wrist, Baxter uncorked the disinfectant and threw the liquid into Aria's face.

[Cicadan]

Paris could hear his friends, the rowdiness of their lives yet to be lived.

He knew they would handle the rest. He didn't have to watch them anymore. His thoughts turned away from them. His attention began to slip elsewhere, away from the cold and chill settling into his body, away from fingers that slowly curdled, limp, lifeless.

Paris basked in a serene feeling of contemplation and contentment. He now thought about things beyond this earth. He thought about his father, somehow, in those final moments. Wondering if his father had felt this same feeling as he'd lay dying in the wreckage of his car.

Maybe his father had accepted salvation, in his last moments. Maybe Paris would be meeting him again, in just a few moments, on the other side. Paris thought that would be pretty alright. He chose, in his final moments, to believe it was true.

And somehow perhaps, it was.

Paris Ardennes: Deceased

[decoy73]

"Hey, Paris? Come on. You're ..."

Fuck.

Nothing. He was gone.

"Uh, guys?" Sarah stood up and turned to the other two. "We have a problem ..."

[jimmydalad]

An ear-splitting screech ripped through the air as Aria collapsed to his knees. Aria had no chance to see the disinfectant flying at his face, so he got the full brunt of the blast on his face and in his eyes. His free hand clutched his face, covering his eyes as the antiseptic incinerated them. His hand gripped tightly onto Paris's gun, feeling the weapon dig into his skin in an attempt to distract himself from the suffering that was suddenly inflicted.

The world disappeared around him as he focused on the intensity of the pain in his eyes. His body shook wildly as his body tried to cope with the torture and he let out another feral yell as if trying to dispel it and energy from his body. The tears came back in full force as they tried to alleviate the suffering that he was going through but to no avail. Aria could only think of the pain. The excruciating pain. The pain that was inflicted by Baxter.

Fucking Baxter.

Raising his gun blindly in the general direction of where Baxter was, Aria began to wildly fire. While the recoil of the weapon rocked him backwards and smacked into his hand, it was nothing compared to the agony that Baxter had inflicted in his eyes. He was going to make Baxter fucking pay. Incoherent screams came out of Aria as he continued to fire, doing his best to bring his wrath upon the person who had inflicted him with such pain.

The pain, he couldn't escape it. His eyes were stinging. He tried to open them, but the sun just made it even worse. He tried it again, and almost instantly slammed his eyes shut as the burning intensified. At this point, Aria was weeping as bullet after bullet came out until the gun would fire no more. Aria tried to fire, but nothing came out. He tried again, attempting to will bullets to manifest out of nowhere. He didn't know if he hit Baxter, but he just wanted to hurt him. He wanted him to feel at least 50% of the fucking pain he was going through.

Eyes clenched shut, Aria weeped at the pain, fervently wishing that it would go away, but knowing that it wouldn't.