[[Luke Mendoza Continued From: Out of the Darkness, into the Night.]]
Partly Cloudy.
Just Perfect...
He pulled off his shades and shoved them in his bag. With the change of emotion Luke was feeling, it seemed the weather followed suit.
He lost her.
While running away from the living Mason's gunshots; he lost her. Ryan.
He couldn't keep up. The injuries sustained from his encounters with Joanne and Matt, had taken their toll on Luke's body. He had tried to keep up with Louis and Ryan running away from those gunshots, but he couldn't.
Luke had a noticeable limp, as he tried to run. To prevent himself from getting killed, Luke hid in one of the rooms of the Officer's Quarters. He stayed hidden for a long time, and left the building when he felt it was safe.
He'd seen that box cutter Louis had as he chased Ryan with anger in his eyes. Louis was a friend of Stephanie Mason, the twin who was probably the one who Ryan shot dead there. For all Luke knew, Ryan was now dead. So now Luke felt like shit.
He couldn't really blame Louis for getting angry about his friends' death and wanting revenge for it. He couldn't blame anybody for that. Heck, wasn't he the guy who vowed to do that exact same thing, when his good friend Sor was killed by those twins back then? He knew all those feelings. He experienced them himself, and understood it. He knew what was to be expected.
It didn't help that his limp was holding him back a bit. What was it from? Was it that axe crazy Joanne who did it? She had sliced him in several spots, and attacked a bit during the struggle on the floor. Or was it Matt? Who did a full body MMA takedown on him and proceeded to pummel Luke in the arms, body and face. Luke could still feel the bruises on his face. Luke took a look down.
Son of a bitch.
There was a hole in the side of his legging. It turned out Luke was nicked by a spray from the bullets of the other living Mason Twin. The one who was Sophie. He lifted his pants up to examine the wound. There it was. A little lower, than the back of his knee, and to the side of his calf, near his joint that connected his knee to his upper leg. Luke was lucky the bullet didn't have a direct hit, or else, he wouldn't have been moving anywhere. It was still oozing blood, however.
Luke found an isolated spot somewhere in the south east of the compound to begin treating his wound before continuing. He looked at his gun. For the first time in the game, he looked at his signature weapon in disgust. What was he? He had shot at people with it. Used it to kill them. He couldn't look at it anymore. He shoved it in his bag as well. It wasn't what he was supposed to do. He wasn't supposed to do any of it. Any of the killing. That was someone else's job.
There was... a broken baseball bat here. The same one from the garage, where Luke left Jethro to be killed with. Calling for another person who was better inclined to do it for him, with his three gunshots.
Now it was here.
There was also something else, that made Luke drop his bag on the ground in shock.
He took a step backward. And then another. And another.
He started backing away faster now. Closing his eyes, thinking about turning around and running away, pretending he didn't see what he had just seen. He was supposed to be desensitized now. He had seen several dead bodies. Luke didn't even care or even realize he had just left his bag near the body.
Why was seeing his former track and field team-mate Johan Luther's shot up and smashed up body on the ground so disturbing for him?
Sure Luke liked Johan well enough back before he quit the team, but they weren't exactly particularly close. This shouldn't have shocked Luke, being as Johan was on the announcements. But it did.
Reason... Luke Mendoza was indirectly responsible for his team mates' death.
Luke was the one who called the killer: Madeline Harris to the Garage, jump starting her killing spree, and leaving her with that bloody baseball bat. All with his dinner bell like gunshots. To kill Jethro, and now Johan, who he didn't plan on at all. He liked the kid.
He thought of what he told his "Hit Girl" Kami Steele. To take out any person who got in her way. What if that person who got in her way, was a friend of Luke's? What if it was Megan? Or Brendan? Heck even fucking Chalmers?
Luke would have been indirectly responsible for that. Even though he wasn't the actual killer, Luke realized now, that it was equally disgusting to be someone who helped initiate those kills. He was just following Sor's plan. He wanted to live, and honor her wishes, but he really didn't think things through. Now Luke was having second thoughts on all of this...
He had frozen in spot, contemplating what to do next. He needed people. Allies, to keep him in check or his mind was gonna descend into flurries of thoughts like this over and over again. He needed his allies, no... his friends, to help restore him to his normal, audacious and confident self.
He put his hands on his face. Then slowly moved them down his face. He looked at them: Swollen, bruised, and cuts all over. He couldn't do it with just the backs of his hands though, or could he? He took a deep breath.
Conflicting emotions all around.
Show Them What the Backs of Our Hands Are For
PM for entry.
Moderator: Sh4dE
Bryant Carver continued from Don't Be Just an Observer))
It was in the afternoon, and school was out for the day. Bryant was walking home from the bus stop (having spent the whole ride in the back, of course), and he had just made it to the front porch of their small ranch-style house.
He was proud of himself. Another white boy fucked up, scared to fuck with him. Ever since boxing, he had made sure kids knew it. People didn't tell on him so much if they knew the dynamite in Bryant's fists was what they'd be dealing with next. Except for Karl Chalmers, anyway. That little motherfucker always managed to rat.
Ronnie had approved; after all, he had put Bryant into boxing and turned a blind eye every time he came home with bruises or the like. But this wasn't Ronnie's house. Bryant's mother had been spending more time at home after she got that job with that (Thompsons? Richardsons? Something crackery) rich family, and he'd been foisted off on Ronnie less. She had scathed at the idea of boxing, but tolerated because her son loved it.
He pushed open the door of the house after fumbling with his key, and he walked in. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, he heard his mother's voice from her bedroom.
"Bryant, come in here, please."
Bryant paused for a minute.
"Now."
He shrugged his bag off his shoulders and walked to the back, wondering what he had done. His mother's voice had taken a stern rise.
She was perched on her bed, in her housecoat with curlers in her hair and the TV on. Laid out on the bed like that, Bryant figured she looked like some nigger mockery of a Greek painting. He had to stop himself from laughing.
As soon as he walked in, she was examining his face, looking for something. Then she looked down at his hand, and her face darkened.
Bryant looked down where she had, saw a spot of blood on his knuckles.
Shit.
"'Lord Jesus, boy. I got a call from the school said you been fighting."
Who? Probably fucking Chalmers. I'm gonna wear that little motherfucker out when I get a hold of him.
"Bryant Demetrius Carver-" He flinched at that, hated when she used his middle name. "Don't you dare lie to me. You been fighting?"
He was silent for a second, unsure of how to proceed. Then he straightened, stood to his full 5'7", imagining that was how the African people had stood before being dragged to the United States to pick cotton and take whippings.
"Ma, I ain't been fighting."
His mother's eyes narrowed, an indication she was getting angrier. He wasn't done, however.
"I been winning."
- - -
Bryant had left probably fifteen minutes after Jennifer had
Can't believe I fucking fell asleep.
and found himself outside again, almost aimless. He knew he wanted to check out the mess hall, but something held him back, like he had a feeling something would be going wrong (like that hadn't happened everywhere he went) if he finally got there.
Was a good thing, too, because he would have missed seeing Luke Mendoza, out in the open.
He wasn't entirely familiar with the kid, knew him from school. Also, the kid was a fight fan or something, because Bryant was sure he'd seen him in the crowd during one of the smokers he'd been too.
But Luke was important because he was the one that had killed Joanne.
Bryant didn't really have friends at school. Juliet tolerated and bitched at him, Marilyn was..well, Marilyn. But Joanne gave him some good back-and-forth in the weight room, and much as she got on his nerves, he respected how the bitch had worked out. Any white bitch that could put in that kind of work was notable. And Luke had killed her, for whatever reason.
Bryant started to raise the shotgun, shouldered it. The kid was standing in the open, not noticing anything. He could do him right here, easy.
Marilyn, sitting down in the gatehouse. A ghost of a smile touching her lips.
This isn't you.
Bryant raised the barrel up, tightened his grip.
Kendra, watching him in his weakness, almost crying. "Do what you have to, dude."
We got past this.
He stuck his finger in the trigger guard.
Megan, smiling, in his arms. "It's okay. I just...I guess there aren't any real villains here, huh?" She says. "It's...it's not a movie. Just kinda sucks, you know?"
Are you a killer? Let's decide right now.
Bryant almost squeezed, almost fired, almost killed Luke. He had wanted to, almost needed to. But he had learned something about himself in the past few hours, and that was that he could barely live with himself now.
Bryant dropped the shotgun, started moving. Luke would live. But Bryant wasn't gonna let shit go. Megan had wanted him to deliver a message to Luke. Well that message would be delivered with payment. Payment that Bryant was going to take out of the hispanic kid's ass.
He strode up, right hand cocked. Luke was busy staring at his hands, and that made the next part easier. He wound up, dropped his hips, and fired a right cross once he was in range, right through Luke's hands and into his face.
The kid staggered back, managed to hold his footing. Bryant was impressed. Luke had some kind of a chin, and he wasn't going to make this easy.
"What's up, Mendoza! I heard who you killed on the announcements, spic motherfucker. Joanne was a bit of a buddy of mine." Bryant had the shark grin on now. The pain in his side was starting to burn a little again, and he ignored it.
"See, I WAS gonna kill you. Just fill you full of fucking lead and be done with it. But I just can't do that shit anymore. Plus I made a promise to somebody I'd deliver you a message."
Bryant raised his wrapped hands up, popped the knuckles on each of them before dropping into boxing stance.
"But first, Lukey? I'm 'bout to whoop your wetback ass."
It was in the afternoon, and school was out for the day. Bryant was walking home from the bus stop (having spent the whole ride in the back, of course), and he had just made it to the front porch of their small ranch-style house.
He was proud of himself. Another white boy fucked up, scared to fuck with him. Ever since boxing, he had made sure kids knew it. People didn't tell on him so much if they knew the dynamite in Bryant's fists was what they'd be dealing with next. Except for Karl Chalmers, anyway. That little motherfucker always managed to rat.
Ronnie had approved; after all, he had put Bryant into boxing and turned a blind eye every time he came home with bruises or the like. But this wasn't Ronnie's house. Bryant's mother had been spending more time at home after she got that job with that (Thompsons? Richardsons? Something crackery) rich family, and he'd been foisted off on Ronnie less. She had scathed at the idea of boxing, but tolerated because her son loved it.
He pushed open the door of the house after fumbling with his key, and he walked in. As soon as he stepped across the threshold, he heard his mother's voice from her bedroom.
"Bryant, come in here, please."
Bryant paused for a minute.
"Now."
He shrugged his bag off his shoulders and walked to the back, wondering what he had done. His mother's voice had taken a stern rise.
She was perched on her bed, in her housecoat with curlers in her hair and the TV on. Laid out on the bed like that, Bryant figured she looked like some nigger mockery of a Greek painting. He had to stop himself from laughing.
As soon as he walked in, she was examining his face, looking for something. Then she looked down at his hand, and her face darkened.
Bryant looked down where she had, saw a spot of blood on his knuckles.
Shit.
"'Lord Jesus, boy. I got a call from the school said you been fighting."
Who? Probably fucking Chalmers. I'm gonna wear that little motherfucker out when I get a hold of him.
"Bryant Demetrius Carver-" He flinched at that, hated when she used his middle name. "Don't you dare lie to me. You been fighting?"
He was silent for a second, unsure of how to proceed. Then he straightened, stood to his full 5'7", imagining that was how the African people had stood before being dragged to the United States to pick cotton and take whippings.
"Ma, I ain't been fighting."
His mother's eyes narrowed, an indication she was getting angrier. He wasn't done, however.
"I been winning."
- - -
Bryant had left probably fifteen minutes after Jennifer had
Can't believe I fucking fell asleep.
and found himself outside again, almost aimless. He knew he wanted to check out the mess hall, but something held him back, like he had a feeling something would be going wrong (like that hadn't happened everywhere he went) if he finally got there.
Was a good thing, too, because he would have missed seeing Luke Mendoza, out in the open.
He wasn't entirely familiar with the kid, knew him from school. Also, the kid was a fight fan or something, because Bryant was sure he'd seen him in the crowd during one of the smokers he'd been too.
But Luke was important because he was the one that had killed Joanne.
Bryant didn't really have friends at school. Juliet tolerated and bitched at him, Marilyn was..well, Marilyn. But Joanne gave him some good back-and-forth in the weight room, and much as she got on his nerves, he respected how the bitch had worked out. Any white bitch that could put in that kind of work was notable. And Luke had killed her, for whatever reason.
Bryant started to raise the shotgun, shouldered it. The kid was standing in the open, not noticing anything. He could do him right here, easy.
Marilyn, sitting down in the gatehouse. A ghost of a smile touching her lips.
This isn't you.
Bryant raised the barrel up, tightened his grip.
Kendra, watching him in his weakness, almost crying. "Do what you have to, dude."
We got past this.
He stuck his finger in the trigger guard.
Megan, smiling, in his arms. "It's okay. I just...I guess there aren't any real villains here, huh?" She says. "It's...it's not a movie. Just kinda sucks, you know?"
Are you a killer? Let's decide right now.
Bryant almost squeezed, almost fired, almost killed Luke. He had wanted to, almost needed to. But he had learned something about himself in the past few hours, and that was that he could barely live with himself now.
Bryant dropped the shotgun, started moving. Luke would live. But Bryant wasn't gonna let shit go. Megan had wanted him to deliver a message to Luke. Well that message would be delivered with payment. Payment that Bryant was going to take out of the hispanic kid's ass.
He strode up, right hand cocked. Luke was busy staring at his hands, and that made the next part easier. He wound up, dropped his hips, and fired a right cross once he was in range, right through Luke's hands and into his face.
The kid staggered back, managed to hold his footing. Bryant was impressed. Luke had some kind of a chin, and he wasn't going to make this easy.
"What's up, Mendoza! I heard who you killed on the announcements, spic motherfucker. Joanne was a bit of a buddy of mine." Bryant had the shark grin on now. The pain in his side was starting to burn a little again, and he ignored it.
"See, I WAS gonna kill you. Just fill you full of fucking lead and be done with it. But I just can't do that shit anymore. Plus I made a promise to somebody I'd deliver you a message."
Bryant raised his wrapped hands up, popped the knuckles on each of them before dropping into boxing stance.
"But first, Lukey? I'm 'bout to whoop your wetback ass."
A fist came flying through Luke's hands and straight into Luke's face.
There was only miniature white dots spinning in Luke's vision, as he reeled backward, staggering back, with his injured leg almost buckling, and nearly collapsing in a heap onto the ground. But he managed some strength to keep balance. His vision was blurred however.
Despite the stunned daze he was in, from the sneak attack... Luke was pissed.
Some dumb ass motherfucker just decided to waltz in and punch him in the face.
So, real life things didn't work the same way as they did in the movies it turned out. Someone could just punch you in the face interrupting you, while you were having a "moment" Hardy Har. Maybe in comedies...
"Awwwwwwww, SHIT MAN! What the FUCK?!"
He still couldn't see very well; vision was still white and blurred in his daze, but he spoke anyway in the direction of the prick face puncher.
"Listen asshole, whoever the fuck you are, you just made a huge fuckin' mistake."
Luke rolled his jaw as he attempted to adjust it to it's proper position, making sure he didn't lose a tooth or something. However, he did taste some new rusty flavor in his mouth. Play fighting, he knew exactly what is was.
As Luke's vision cleared he could begin to see who the face puncher was.
He knew that snarling, bitter black grin anywhere: "Bryant. Carver." 'Also from the announcements' Shit...
Suddenly Luke wasn't feeling all that confident in fucking up his attacker. This wasn't some weak looking fat chick with a speech impediment he was talking to, like the other psycho he met today. Fear tactics weren't gonna work. Luke knew full well how skilled of a boxer Bryant was. Which means he knew how to fight, properly. He watched Carver in some of his fights back home. The guy was usually a freaking winner, which impressed Luke, also filling up Luke's pockets with some cash, during some bets. Luke wouldn't admit it out loud, but he thought Carver was pretty fucking bad ass.
Now though... Not so much, especially with the asshole breathing down his neck, threatening him in the face both verbally and physically.
He was calling Luke a bunch of racial slurs about Latinos. Spic and wetback for example. Unlike, with his dead friend Matt Payne, the words didn't burn nearly as much. It wasn't like the guy was a friend anyway, so he didn't care too much. In fact coming from an even worse off minority like Carver, the words kinda felt like some sort of compliment, even.
Then he heard it. The name. The name of that girl he killed. She was his friend. Luke was surprised, he didn't expect Carver to have any friends, especially not with a white girl.
It was at this point that he remembered, from the announcements that Carver had killed one of Luke's own friends: The passively-racist, but usually good natured, Benjamin Latimer.
Then Bryant revealed he was planning to shoot and kill Luke.
Then Bryant said he had a message to deliver Luke.
But before that, Bryant threatened to whoop Luke's wetback ass.
Luke took a look at Bryant's boxing stance. There was no way Luke was gonna win in a regular fight.
"Whoa, Whoa Whoa, Whoa, HOLD it!" Luke yelled out, spitting a mix of blood and saliva, courtesy of Carver's initial blow onto the concrete.
He quickly eyed the slightly bloody patch on Bryant's side, with bandages. A weak spot. At least Luke knew where to target, should push come to shove.
"Wait... Joanne? Joanne Seguin? That crazy bitch, was your friend?" Luke said with not much tact at all.
There was only miniature white dots spinning in Luke's vision, as he reeled backward, staggering back, with his injured leg almost buckling, and nearly collapsing in a heap onto the ground. But he managed some strength to keep balance. His vision was blurred however.
Despite the stunned daze he was in, from the sneak attack... Luke was pissed.
Some dumb ass motherfucker just decided to waltz in and punch him in the face.
So, real life things didn't work the same way as they did in the movies it turned out. Someone could just punch you in the face interrupting you, while you were having a "moment" Hardy Har. Maybe in comedies...
"Awwwwwwww, SHIT MAN! What the FUCK?!"
He still couldn't see very well; vision was still white and blurred in his daze, but he spoke anyway in the direction of the prick face puncher.
"Listen asshole, whoever the fuck you are, you just made a huge fuckin' mistake."
Luke rolled his jaw as he attempted to adjust it to it's proper position, making sure he didn't lose a tooth or something. However, he did taste some new rusty flavor in his mouth. Play fighting, he knew exactly what is was.
As Luke's vision cleared he could begin to see who the face puncher was.
He knew that snarling, bitter black grin anywhere: "Bryant. Carver." 'Also from the announcements' Shit...
Suddenly Luke wasn't feeling all that confident in fucking up his attacker. This wasn't some weak looking fat chick with a speech impediment he was talking to, like the other psycho he met today. Fear tactics weren't gonna work. Luke knew full well how skilled of a boxer Bryant was. Which means he knew how to fight, properly. He watched Carver in some of his fights back home. The guy was usually a freaking winner, which impressed Luke, also filling up Luke's pockets with some cash, during some bets. Luke wouldn't admit it out loud, but he thought Carver was pretty fucking bad ass.
Now though... Not so much, especially with the asshole breathing down his neck, threatening him in the face both verbally and physically.
He was calling Luke a bunch of racial slurs about Latinos. Spic and wetback for example. Unlike, with his dead friend Matt Payne, the words didn't burn nearly as much. It wasn't like the guy was a friend anyway, so he didn't care too much. In fact coming from an even worse off minority like Carver, the words kinda felt like some sort of compliment, even.
Then he heard it. The name. The name of that girl he killed. She was his friend. Luke was surprised, he didn't expect Carver to have any friends, especially not with a white girl.
It was at this point that he remembered, from the announcements that Carver had killed one of Luke's own friends: The passively-racist, but usually good natured, Benjamin Latimer.
Then Bryant revealed he was planning to shoot and kill Luke.
Then Bryant said he had a message to deliver Luke.
But before that, Bryant threatened to whoop Luke's wetback ass.
Luke took a look at Bryant's boxing stance. There was no way Luke was gonna win in a regular fight.
"Whoa, Whoa Whoa, Whoa, HOLD it!" Luke yelled out, spitting a mix of blood and saliva, courtesy of Carver's initial blow onto the concrete.
He quickly eyed the slightly bloody patch on Bryant's side, with bandages. A weak spot. At least Luke knew where to target, should push come to shove.
"Wait... Joanne? Joanne Seguin? That crazy bitch, was your friend?" Luke said with not much tact at all.
I'm bout to savor this ass-whoopin'.
Bryant advanced, hands cocked to either side of his eyes.
"She wasn't a friend, exactly. But you managed to kill somebody I gave a fuck about. Your mistake, nigga."
He moved slowly back into striking range, shuffling in at an angle. The grin on his face had fallen back to a smirk.
"See if you learned anything from watching shit."
Bryant pushed off his back leg, sliding in fluidly. He fired his jab out, slid in another step, and pumped it again. He didn't expect or really needed to make contact with either of the punches, just wanted Luke to think about his face. Bryant wanted to punish the kid, and for that he wanted to work his body, slam his organs.
Bryant advanced, hands cocked to either side of his eyes.
"She wasn't a friend, exactly. But you managed to kill somebody I gave a fuck about. Your mistake, nigga."
He moved slowly back into striking range, shuffling in at an angle. The grin on his face had fallen back to a smirk.
"See if you learned anything from watching shit."
Bryant pushed off his back leg, sliding in fluidly. He fired his jab out, slid in another step, and pumped it again. He didn't expect or really needed to make contact with either of the punches, just wanted Luke to think about his face. Bryant wanted to punish the kid, and for that he wanted to work his body, slam his organs.
Another fist flew into Luke's vision, cracking him square center in the face.
Ok, yeah he deserved that one. It was pretty stupid, telling an angry black guy, the friend that he killed was a crazy bitch. Should'a expected that one.
The punch, sent Luke back, and almost to the ground, but he managed to compose himself. He didn't know if he could continue taking these hits for very much longer.
And then another fist planted itself on the side of Luke's head as he was trying to steady himself.
"Aww sonofabitch!" Luke yelled holding his face. Was his nose broken too? It was sure as hell bleeding at least.
So, the freaking face punching prick was gonna continue using his head as a punching bag then?
Luke kept his hands up, protecting his face. Too much damage already, his poor freaking face.
He looked at the injury at Bryant Carver's side once more. Luke's knees were totally going up in there. Weak Spot.
Now Luke wasn't really thinking anymore. Carver was hitting him and taunting him. He wasn't considering the fact that Bryant was a much more skilled of a fighter than he was. All Luke could think about was the pain in his face, and the bruised ego as well. A real guy, doesn't just let some fucker initiate a fight, and hit him repeatedly, no matter how tough the other guy is. That was the male freaking code!
Putting the hurt on this motherfucker was what Luke's instinct was telling him now. Seriously, fuck this guy!
He turned around, spitting more blood onto the ground, before swinging his own fists.
Ok, yeah he deserved that one. It was pretty stupid, telling an angry black guy, the friend that he killed was a crazy bitch. Should'a expected that one.
The punch, sent Luke back, and almost to the ground, but he managed to compose himself. He didn't know if he could continue taking these hits for very much longer.
And then another fist planted itself on the side of Luke's head as he was trying to steady himself.
"Aww sonofabitch!" Luke yelled holding his face. Was his nose broken too? It was sure as hell bleeding at least.
So, the freaking face punching prick was gonna continue using his head as a punching bag then?
Luke kept his hands up, protecting his face. Too much damage already, his poor freaking face.
He looked at the injury at Bryant Carver's side once more. Luke's knees were totally going up in there. Weak Spot.
Now Luke wasn't really thinking anymore. Carver was hitting him and taunting him. He wasn't considering the fact that Bryant was a much more skilled of a fighter than he was. All Luke could think about was the pain in his face, and the bruised ego as well. A real guy, doesn't just let some fucker initiate a fight, and hit him repeatedly, no matter how tough the other guy is. That was the male freaking code!
Putting the hurt on this motherfucker was what Luke's instinct was telling him now. Seriously, fuck this guy!
He turned around, spitting more blood onto the ground, before swinging his own fists.
Bryant got the desired reaction out of the jabs; Luke raised his hands up to guard his face. The other reaction, to start swinging at Bryant, wasn't desired, but wasn't unexpected.
Luke was throwing wild, looping punches that were the hallmark of an untrained fighter. Full of power, but no control and telegraphed as hell. Bryant slipped under the left, and "answered the phone" for the right, bringing his left arm up and tight to his head so the second punch bounced harmlessly off of his forearm. Bryant laughed, amused by Luke's attempts at "offense".
Get inside, kid, punish him.
Coach Washington's voice rang out in his head, and he adhered to the advice. Bryant came under Luke's arms, driving his head into Luke's neck and his shoulder into his sternum. Bryant drove him back, pushed him against the wall of one of the buildings. His right arm, already wound up and ready to fire, lashed out and around in a powerful body hook that pounded into Luke's kidney. He felt the taller boy fold. He wished he could see Luke's face.
Bryant kept Luke pressed against the wall, worked short, tight punches into Luke's body, his trademark. He was hoping he was wearing him down, making him too tired to put up much of a fight.
Luke was throwing wild, looping punches that were the hallmark of an untrained fighter. Full of power, but no control and telegraphed as hell. Bryant slipped under the left, and "answered the phone" for the right, bringing his left arm up and tight to his head so the second punch bounced harmlessly off of his forearm. Bryant laughed, amused by Luke's attempts at "offense".
Get inside, kid, punish him.
Coach Washington's voice rang out in his head, and he adhered to the advice. Bryant came under Luke's arms, driving his head into Luke's neck and his shoulder into his sternum. Bryant drove him back, pushed him against the wall of one of the buildings. His right arm, already wound up and ready to fire, lashed out and around in a powerful body hook that pounded into Luke's kidney. He felt the taller boy fold. He wished he could see Luke's face.
Bryant kept Luke pressed against the wall, worked short, tight punches into Luke's body, his trademark. He was hoping he was wearing him down, making him too tired to put up much of a fight.
[[OOC - Fighting stuffs, is approved by outfox'd y'all!]]
Bryant was laughing at him, and the next thing Luke knew, he was being forcefully shoved up against a wall.
Where had he seen this before?
With Matt Payne. Except this time Luke was on the receiving end of the punishment. Purely Karmic.
Luke desperately attempted to push Bryant off him, with his elbows, to circle out and escape, but Bryan stuck to him - like shit on a poncho. Luke could only watch as Bryant launched his arm forward, powering a fist into his unguarded and exposed midsection.
Sweltering pain rose up from Luke's body up. He felt his body buckle forward at the impact of Bryant's body hook to the kidney. His eyes popped completely open, his mouth, agape. He could feel his body fold with the pain, and nearly threw up right then and there.
More quick-fast body shots came reeling in consecutively into Luke's abdominals. Luke knew these, he'd watched Bryant use them in pretty much all of his fights. It was Bryant's signature fight tactic, and now Luke knew exactly why it was so damn effective.
Luke's energy was quickly fading with every consecutive blow. He.. had to get away from this guy now. He wasn't a trained fighter, in a fair fight, he had no chance in hell.
Time to play dirty: Weak spot.
Logan Sorenson's voice reminded Luke about Bryant's body wound. Of course.
With what energy he could muster up, Luke spread his arms, and pulled Bryant into a clinch.
Quickly, Luke brought his leg up, putting as much force and effort as he could.
He sent his knee straight up, right center into the position of Bryant Carver's wound.
Luke could feel some space developing from himself and the wall.
And again.
The second knee felt like it both hit the wound and grazed somewhere on the other boy's lowered head.
There was separation now - what Luke needed, but it was short lived as Bryant, who was still obviously feeling the effects of the knee strike, attempted to launch another fist at Luke. But this one felt different. Like Bryant wasn't fighting at full potential, so soon after the knees.
Again, the scene was oddly similar to Luke's fight with Matthew Payne, in the Administration building. When Matt had tried stabbing him with the shard.
Adrenaline now running - he knew what to do next.
Luke backed up and grabbed Bryant's wrist, twisting him around, to resist the attack. With his other hand, Luke readied a punch. He closed his hand into a fist, rotating a few degrees to the right, and swung. The haymaker made full contact to the side of Bryant's face.
At this same moment, Luke felt himself completely run out of all his energy. He was exhausted, in pain from those body shots, and just plain gassed.
He collapsed, but pulled himself up as quickly as he could. His hands were clenched on his midsection. The body blows still showing it's effect.
He scattered. Trying to just get away. It wasn't working well, as Luke, merely, and pathetically limped in his attempt to escape. He made no more than 2 feet in distance, before falling to his knees.
He felt groggy... feeling the contents of whatever was in his stomach, rising in his throat. He held it back. Swallowing it down. No time to vomit.
Luke turned around to see Bryant's shark like expression. No, Luke wasn't getting into that shit again. He braced himself.
All this punishment... for Joanne, a friend Luke didn't even mean kill, until he had no choice, but to.
Bryant was laughing at him, and the next thing Luke knew, he was being forcefully shoved up against a wall.
Where had he seen this before?
With Matt Payne. Except this time Luke was on the receiving end of the punishment. Purely Karmic.
Luke desperately attempted to push Bryant off him, with his elbows, to circle out and escape, but Bryan stuck to him - like shit on a poncho. Luke could only watch as Bryant launched his arm forward, powering a fist into his unguarded and exposed midsection.
Sweltering pain rose up from Luke's body up. He felt his body buckle forward at the impact of Bryant's body hook to the kidney. His eyes popped completely open, his mouth, agape. He could feel his body fold with the pain, and nearly threw up right then and there.
More quick-fast body shots came reeling in consecutively into Luke's abdominals. Luke knew these, he'd watched Bryant use them in pretty much all of his fights. It was Bryant's signature fight tactic, and now Luke knew exactly why it was so damn effective.
Luke's energy was quickly fading with every consecutive blow. He.. had to get away from this guy now. He wasn't a trained fighter, in a fair fight, he had no chance in hell.
Time to play dirty: Weak spot.
Logan Sorenson's voice reminded Luke about Bryant's body wound. Of course.
With what energy he could muster up, Luke spread his arms, and pulled Bryant into a clinch.
Quickly, Luke brought his leg up, putting as much force and effort as he could.
He sent his knee straight up, right center into the position of Bryant Carver's wound.
Luke could feel some space developing from himself and the wall.
And again.
The second knee felt like it both hit the wound and grazed somewhere on the other boy's lowered head.
There was separation now - what Luke needed, but it was short lived as Bryant, who was still obviously feeling the effects of the knee strike, attempted to launch another fist at Luke. But this one felt different. Like Bryant wasn't fighting at full potential, so soon after the knees.
Again, the scene was oddly similar to Luke's fight with Matthew Payne, in the Administration building. When Matt had tried stabbing him with the shard.
Adrenaline now running - he knew what to do next.
Luke backed up and grabbed Bryant's wrist, twisting him around, to resist the attack. With his other hand, Luke readied a punch. He closed his hand into a fist, rotating a few degrees to the right, and swung. The haymaker made full contact to the side of Bryant's face.
At this same moment, Luke felt himself completely run out of all his energy. He was exhausted, in pain from those body shots, and just plain gassed.
He collapsed, but pulled himself up as quickly as he could. His hands were clenched on his midsection. The body blows still showing it's effect.
He scattered. Trying to just get away. It wasn't working well, as Luke, merely, and pathetically limped in his attempt to escape. He made no more than 2 feet in distance, before falling to his knees.
He felt groggy... feeling the contents of whatever was in his stomach, rising in his throat. He held it back. Swallowing it down. No time to vomit.
Luke turned around to see Bryant's shark like expression. No, Luke wasn't getting into that shit again. He braced himself.
All this punishment... for Joanne, a friend Luke didn't even mean kill, until he had no choice, but to.
You dirty motherfucker.
Bryant wasn't used to fighting with injuries. The closest he ever had was when he had busted his hand on someone's skull during one of his early fights, and even then that was in the waning rounds of the match where it was almost over anyway.
He had to give it to Luke; motherfucker knew how turn the tables.
And now he was trying to run. At least for a second. Bryant watched him as he took off, while he clutched his own side where Luke had kneed him. If it was throbbing dully before, it hurt like a motherfucker now. He tried to push it out of his mind, tried to not think about the pain. It was hard.
Luke turned back, and Bryant sneered.
Bryant roared in an inarticulate, animal cry of rage, and ran as fast as he could at Luke
Like that Michael kid, cept you ain't got no shovel.
thinking to punch him, but to his surprise Luke ducked and adopted a defensive stance. Bryant dropped his head and his hands to adjust, and the momentum from his run turned into a sloppy football tackle. The two boys went rolling to the ground, with Bryant momentarily on top.
Bryant had very little idea what to fucking do here. He never wrestled or did that judo shit. He always thought wrestling was just a little bit gay, and Judo was some Nip bullshit that had no place in America anyway.
So he did what he knew how to do, which was wing punches down at Luke as he sat up on his knees. He couldn't land too many of them, because even though Luke had no formal MMA training, he'd probably watched enough to know that when on your back, you wanted to wrap your legs around your opponent instead of him sitting on your chest in mount, where you couldn't control his posture and body.
Almost every time Bryant threw a punch, Luke managed to cover up or push Bryant off balance.
Bryant dropped his head instead, wound his right arm up, and slammed another punch into Luke's kidneys.
"Why'd you fucking kill her, you spic ASSHOLE?!"
Bryant punctuated his point with another swing at Luke's face.
Bryant wasn't used to fighting with injuries. The closest he ever had was when he had busted his hand on someone's skull during one of his early fights, and even then that was in the waning rounds of the match where it was almost over anyway.
He had to give it to Luke; motherfucker knew how turn the tables.
And now he was trying to run. At least for a second. Bryant watched him as he took off, while he clutched his own side where Luke had kneed him. If it was throbbing dully before, it hurt like a motherfucker now. He tried to push it out of his mind, tried to not think about the pain. It was hard.
Luke turned back, and Bryant sneered.
Bryant roared in an inarticulate, animal cry of rage, and ran as fast as he could at Luke
Like that Michael kid, cept you ain't got no shovel.
thinking to punch him, but to his surprise Luke ducked and adopted a defensive stance. Bryant dropped his head and his hands to adjust, and the momentum from his run turned into a sloppy football tackle. The two boys went rolling to the ground, with Bryant momentarily on top.
Bryant had very little idea what to fucking do here. He never wrestled or did that judo shit. He always thought wrestling was just a little bit gay, and Judo was some Nip bullshit that had no place in America anyway.
So he did what he knew how to do, which was wing punches down at Luke as he sat up on his knees. He couldn't land too many of them, because even though Luke had no formal MMA training, he'd probably watched enough to know that when on your back, you wanted to wrap your legs around your opponent instead of him sitting on your chest in mount, where you couldn't control his posture and body.
Almost every time Bryant threw a punch, Luke managed to cover up or push Bryant off balance.
Bryant dropped his head instead, wound his right arm up, and slammed another punch into Luke's kidneys.
"Why'd you fucking kill her, you spic ASSHOLE?!"
Bryant punctuated his point with another swing at Luke's face.
Luke remembered how effective the take down Matt used, was on him. Now he was on the ground again. There was no use fighting Bryant on the stand up anyway. The ground wasn't Carver's forte', but neither was it Luke's really. He had no formal training, but he done pretty well for himself on the ground when he fought off Matt and Joanne at least right?
It was like the MMA shit again, with Matt. The punches flurrying down on him. At least, Luke managed to get in a better position, then he had with Matt, at the time. He covered himself, and fended off some of the blows.
Then the kidney shot again. This caused Luke's guard to fall.
"Why'd you fucking kill her, you spic ASSHOLE?!" Carver screamed then punched Luke in the face again.
Luke felt disoriented, but quickly put his hands back up to protect himself from being knocked out by the angry black man.
This was crazy, Luke felt fucking pathetic, he was getting his ass handed to him hard. He was in so much pain, he didn't know what to do with it anymore.
"That Fuckin' Bitch KICKED MY ASS!" He spat out, with a fuckin' laugh.
The response seemed unexpected and confused Bryant momentarily, leaving Luke with an opening. Quickly, Luke threw his own rapid punches, straight into Bryant's injured side. That split second, allowed Luke to reverse the position, with himself on top.
Adrenaline pumping in him once again.
"YEAH SON!" Luke screamed into Carver's face, mimicking the voice of a crazy black thug, before ground and pounding him the same way the other boy had done to him just moments earlier. Copying the same shit Carver did to Luke earlier, with the bodyshots and what not.
His muscles felt tired, but he kept his arms ready, just in case Bryant tried to do something during his explanation.
"OK listen up ASSHOLE!" He showed Bryant his back hand - up close. For his attention.
"I didn't want to kill Joanne. I told her my fuckin' name, then she came running at me with a BIG FUCKING AXE, BITCH! What the hell was I supposed to do? Take the axe to face and let her kill me?" He spat some blood out to the side, followed by a punch to the ribs again, to let Bryant know not to try anything stupid.
"Even then, in the middle of her trying to KILL ME, I tried talking her out of it. Trying to REASON with your friend to stop. But she just wouldn't listen. She took me to the ground. It was a good thing I found my gun in time. Or she would have taken my head off."
"Your friend was a fuckin' trooper, Carver. I didn't want to kill her - but I had no choice. It was me or her."
Luke fell silent almost, reflecting on his actions, the guilt of it.
"And you killed Ben... not my closest friend, but someone I got along with. So maybe we're not so different afterall..."
During all this reflective thought and guilt, Luke lost the tenacity and spunk he had just a moment ago.
He also dropped his attention on Bryant.
It was like the MMA shit again, with Matt. The punches flurrying down on him. At least, Luke managed to get in a better position, then he had with Matt, at the time. He covered himself, and fended off some of the blows.
Then the kidney shot again. This caused Luke's guard to fall.
"Why'd you fucking kill her, you spic ASSHOLE?!" Carver screamed then punched Luke in the face again.
Luke felt disoriented, but quickly put his hands back up to protect himself from being knocked out by the angry black man.
This was crazy, Luke felt fucking pathetic, he was getting his ass handed to him hard. He was in so much pain, he didn't know what to do with it anymore.
"That Fuckin' Bitch KICKED MY ASS!" He spat out, with a fuckin' laugh.
The response seemed unexpected and confused Bryant momentarily, leaving Luke with an opening. Quickly, Luke threw his own rapid punches, straight into Bryant's injured side. That split second, allowed Luke to reverse the position, with himself on top.
Adrenaline pumping in him once again.
"YEAH SON!" Luke screamed into Carver's face, mimicking the voice of a crazy black thug, before ground and pounding him the same way the other boy had done to him just moments earlier. Copying the same shit Carver did to Luke earlier, with the bodyshots and what not.
His muscles felt tired, but he kept his arms ready, just in case Bryant tried to do something during his explanation.
"OK listen up ASSHOLE!" He showed Bryant his back hand - up close. For his attention.
"I didn't want to kill Joanne. I told her my fuckin' name, then she came running at me with a BIG FUCKING AXE, BITCH! What the hell was I supposed to do? Take the axe to face and let her kill me?" He spat some blood out to the side, followed by a punch to the ribs again, to let Bryant know not to try anything stupid.
"Even then, in the middle of her trying to KILL ME, I tried talking her out of it. Trying to REASON with your friend to stop. But she just wouldn't listen. She took me to the ground. It was a good thing I found my gun in time. Or she would have taken my head off."
"Your friend was a fuckin' trooper, Carver. I didn't want to kill her - but I had no choice. It was me or her."
Luke fell silent almost, reflecting on his actions, the guilt of it.
"And you killed Ben... not my closest friend, but someone I got along with. So maybe we're not so different afterall..."
During all this reflective thought and guilt, Luke lost the tenacity and spunk he had just a moment ago.
He also dropped his attention on Bryant.
Maybe it was the spark in his side that was rapidly growing in his side. Maybe it was the look on Luke's face
Motherfucker looks like me.
that made Bryant listen. What was important was that he did, at least for a second.
Joanne had attacked him. Made sense. That bitch was ok, but she was fucking crazy, too. Shit, Ben had opened fire on Bryant for no fucking reason, and the audience at home sure as fuck knew how that went.
Bryant knew this wasn't his enemy. Not that he had planned on killing him. Just needed a little justice. Said justice had taken more out of Bryant than he had expected.
Luke sat back on his heels, distracted by whatever he was thinking about.
You backhand me like a little bitch, though? Hell no. HELL no. Ain't letting that shit slide.
Pushing past the burning ache in his side, Bryant sat up explosively, grabbed the sides of Luke's head, and pulled the hispanic boy's jaw to the crown of his own skull. Bryant could feel the impact of the headbutt through his teeth, even as Luke rolled off, stunned. Bryant, gassed, laid back down, even though he was free of Luke's mount.
Bryant took in great gulps of air, before saying. "We done now."
The two battered high schoolers laid there, sprawled out next to each other on the floor of the compound.
"Megan Jacobson's looking for your ass. Wants to talk to you." Bryant managed once he had gained back his wind. He stayed laid out on the ground.
Motherfucker looks like me.
that made Bryant listen. What was important was that he did, at least for a second.
Joanne had attacked him. Made sense. That bitch was ok, but she was fucking crazy, too. Shit, Ben had opened fire on Bryant for no fucking reason, and the audience at home sure as fuck knew how that went.
Bryant knew this wasn't his enemy. Not that he had planned on killing him. Just needed a little justice. Said justice had taken more out of Bryant than he had expected.
Luke sat back on his heels, distracted by whatever he was thinking about.
You backhand me like a little bitch, though? Hell no. HELL no. Ain't letting that shit slide.
Pushing past the burning ache in his side, Bryant sat up explosively, grabbed the sides of Luke's head, and pulled the hispanic boy's jaw to the crown of his own skull. Bryant could feel the impact of the headbutt through his teeth, even as Luke rolled off, stunned. Bryant, gassed, laid back down, even though he was free of Luke's mount.
Bryant took in great gulps of air, before saying. "We done now."
The two battered high schoolers laid there, sprawled out next to each other on the floor of the compound.
"Megan Jacobson's looking for your ass. Wants to talk to you." Bryant managed once he had gained back his wind. He stayed laid out on the ground.
For a minute all Luke could see was white. Everything. Just white.
The events of the worst day in his life flashing before his eyes. Like what supposedly happened when you died. But that couldn't be right. That head butt didn't kill him did it?
Slowly but surely blue color went into vision. The white became clouds.
He laid there, completely, and utterly spent.
"We done now." Bryant told him, laying there next to him in the same position; back down, looking up at the same blue sky above them.
In any case, it seemed clear that Bryant was telling the truth and satisfied enough with his punishment on Luke. So Luke didn't bother moving. He just couldn't. He could feel bruises developing all over his body. Luke's eyes felt swollen, and the bright sunlight wasn't helping in the least. Using the backs of his hands, he shielded his eyes from the sun. His eyes were probably gonna turn black soon.
Just need to cover them, with my shades...
His bag was far away though, near Johan Luther's body. Maybe later.
"Megan Jacobson's looking for your ass. Wants to talk to you." Bryant said. Megan? huh wha.. his mind couldn't really comprehend the words very well, yet.
"Yeah." Luke said in response.
The two of the boys laid on the ground... like... like Jethro in the Garage. Completely easy pickings for anyone to waste them. Two killers.
"Sorry, man." Quietly. Just like he said to Sophie Mason in the building. Apologizing for what? Luke couldn't remember yet, but it seemed the right thing to say at the time.
The events of the worst day in his life flashing before his eyes. Like what supposedly happened when you died. But that couldn't be right. That head butt didn't kill him did it?
Slowly but surely blue color went into vision. The white became clouds.
He laid there, completely, and utterly spent.
"We done now." Bryant told him, laying there next to him in the same position; back down, looking up at the same blue sky above them.
In any case, it seemed clear that Bryant was telling the truth and satisfied enough with his punishment on Luke. So Luke didn't bother moving. He just couldn't. He could feel bruises developing all over his body. Luke's eyes felt swollen, and the bright sunlight wasn't helping in the least. Using the backs of his hands, he shielded his eyes from the sun. His eyes were probably gonna turn black soon.
Just need to cover them, with my shades...
His bag was far away though, near Johan Luther's body. Maybe later.
"Megan Jacobson's looking for your ass. Wants to talk to you." Bryant said. Megan? huh wha.. his mind couldn't really comprehend the words very well, yet.
"Yeah." Luke said in response.
The two of the boys laid on the ground... like... like Jethro in the Garage. Completely easy pickings for anyone to waste them. Two killers.
"Sorry, man." Quietly. Just like he said to Sophie Mason in the building. Apologizing for what? Luke couldn't remember yet, but it seemed the right thing to say at the time.
Bryant heard the apology. Tried to pull himself up to a sitting position, but the pain in his side wouldn't let him. Not right now, anyway.
"Shit happens. Sure she had a reason for what she did..and..and you had a reason for what you did."
Bryant coughed, and the exertion put more pressure on his side, dragging a light gasp of pain out of him. When the wave of pain that settled subsided, he kept talking.
"Your boy Ben opened fire on me. I still don't know why. We were just...Shit, just walking around. Wouldn't stop, either. I had to take him out."
He left out the part that he did it to protect Marilyn. Wouldn't seem like a very Bryant Carver thing to do.
Maybe I'm just full of surprises.
"Shit happens. Sure she had a reason for what she did..and..and you had a reason for what you did."
Bryant coughed, and the exertion put more pressure on his side, dragging a light gasp of pain out of him. When the wave of pain that settled subsided, he kept talking.
"Your boy Ben opened fire on me. I still don't know why. We were just...Shit, just walking around. Wouldn't stop, either. I had to take him out."
He left out the part that he did it to protect Marilyn. Wouldn't seem like a very Bryant Carver thing to do.
Maybe I'm just full of surprises.
-
Casey The Undead*
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Aug 14, 2018 3:44 am
((Megan Jacobson continued from I'm Younger Than That Now))
Megan was pissed off. She was sad and she was pissed off. She was sad and tired and pissed off. She was sad and tired and craving giant amounts of caffeine and alone, again, which all made her incredibly, undoubtly, majorly pissed off.
She was wandering now. She had no idea where she was going, what she was doing. She was lost in a giant sea of bodies, without any allies. Team Bitchin was gone. Either dead or mad at her. She was too emotionally spent to cry. She was trying to fuck up a game that was somehow fuck proof, trying to teach a nation that didn't want to learn that what they were doing was wrong.
Megan Jacobson was the universe's bitch, and she was getting pimp-smacked around like she'd skipped out on delivering the money.
And all of that? All of that made Megan fucking mad.
And now she was lost. "Peachy fucking keen."
Megan rubbed her temples, wondering where to go next. What was she even aiming for? How was she supposed to change things? "Gaaaaghh!"
She looked up. "You know what? Fuck it."
Megan held her hand out, pointing her finger in front of her, before spinning around in a circle. After a few seconds she stopped abruptly. Nodding to herself, she headed the direction she had been pointing.
"Oh yeah. Real healthy way to make decisions. I know how to do shit, man. Priorities and all that. I am fucking beast at this!"
Megan walked for a bit after the dizziness went away, wondering where she was headed for. Her map was useless, and she was already bored. She needed someone to talk too. "Much as I am an awesome conversationalist, it's really just creepy and weird to be talking to myself, isn't it?"
She sighed again, continuing her jog forward. "Got places to go, people to see, bitches to fuck up, lets do-"
Megan stopped dead. Something caught her eye. Lying there, in the middle of the field was-
"Bryant?! Luke?! What in the name of President Jimmy Carter is going on here?"
She ran up, dropping her bag a few feet in. Had to go fast, be speedy, don't be dead, oh god, oh good god please don't be dead, oh good fucking lord.
She stopped in front of them, putting her hands on her knees and panting heavily. She looked them over, nodding. "Oh hey look you are't dead that's good, in other new what the fuck is going on here?"
Actually, no, Megan could do that math in her head. Two bloody boys, both of whom had killed friends of the other, severely beat up, which meant-
"Bryant, I told you to TALK to him, not make him an offer he couldn't refuse! What the hell man! I stuck my fucking ass out, you know? I defended you, and I got kicked out of my team and yelled at for it, and you repay me by acting like a fucking villain, like exactly what I said you weren't, I mean, what the flying fuck!?
"And Luke, you, picking a fight with someone who could easily kick your ass? You are not as badass as you think you are Mendoza, use your head!"
She groaned, offering her hands to both boys to help them stand. "Alright ladies, get your asses off the ground, fix your earrings and makeup, and man the fuck up, because we are going to talk about this, okay? Straight and simple, man to man to helmet."
She situated herself, preparing to break up any more fights that sprang out. "Alright. Now down to business. Luke, why the fuck did you kill Matt? Since when is that okay? Killing is a no no, remember, basic laws of morality and shit!"
"And Bryant, why did you find the need to go axe crazy and beat the shit out of him when you know that it would just make things even worse for you? America already hates you, I'm practically the only person on your side! Why the fuck aren't you thinking damnit!"
Megan paused, waiting for a response. There was a slight silence. "Well?" She gestured to air in front of her. "Anytime this century would be good, yeah?"
Oh yeah. Megan Jacobson was pissed off.
And she wasn't gonna fucking take it anymore.
Suck it universe. My pimp-hand's in control now, beyotch.
Megan was pissed off. She was sad and she was pissed off. She was sad and tired and pissed off. She was sad and tired and craving giant amounts of caffeine and alone, again, which all made her incredibly, undoubtly, majorly pissed off.
She was wandering now. She had no idea where she was going, what she was doing. She was lost in a giant sea of bodies, without any allies. Team Bitchin was gone. Either dead or mad at her. She was too emotionally spent to cry. She was trying to fuck up a game that was somehow fuck proof, trying to teach a nation that didn't want to learn that what they were doing was wrong.
Megan Jacobson was the universe's bitch, and she was getting pimp-smacked around like she'd skipped out on delivering the money.
And all of that? All of that made Megan fucking mad.
And now she was lost. "Peachy fucking keen."
Megan rubbed her temples, wondering where to go next. What was she even aiming for? How was she supposed to change things? "Gaaaaghh!"
She looked up. "You know what? Fuck it."
Megan held her hand out, pointing her finger in front of her, before spinning around in a circle. After a few seconds she stopped abruptly. Nodding to herself, she headed the direction she had been pointing.
"Oh yeah. Real healthy way to make decisions. I know how to do shit, man. Priorities and all that. I am fucking beast at this!"
Megan walked for a bit after the dizziness went away, wondering where she was headed for. Her map was useless, and she was already bored. She needed someone to talk too. "Much as I am an awesome conversationalist, it's really just creepy and weird to be talking to myself, isn't it?"
She sighed again, continuing her jog forward. "Got places to go, people to see, bitches to fuck up, lets do-"
Megan stopped dead. Something caught her eye. Lying there, in the middle of the field was-
"Bryant?! Luke?! What in the name of President Jimmy Carter is going on here?"
She ran up, dropping her bag a few feet in. Had to go fast, be speedy, don't be dead, oh god, oh good god please don't be dead, oh good fucking lord.
She stopped in front of them, putting her hands on her knees and panting heavily. She looked them over, nodding. "Oh hey look you are't dead that's good, in other new what the fuck is going on here?"
Actually, no, Megan could do that math in her head. Two bloody boys, both of whom had killed friends of the other, severely beat up, which meant-
"Bryant, I told you to TALK to him, not make him an offer he couldn't refuse! What the hell man! I stuck my fucking ass out, you know? I defended you, and I got kicked out of my team and yelled at for it, and you repay me by acting like a fucking villain, like exactly what I said you weren't, I mean, what the flying fuck!?
"And Luke, you, picking a fight with someone who could easily kick your ass? You are not as badass as you think you are Mendoza, use your head!"
She groaned, offering her hands to both boys to help them stand. "Alright ladies, get your asses off the ground, fix your earrings and makeup, and man the fuck up, because we are going to talk about this, okay? Straight and simple, man to man to helmet."
She situated herself, preparing to break up any more fights that sprang out. "Alright. Now down to business. Luke, why the fuck did you kill Matt? Since when is that okay? Killing is a no no, remember, basic laws of morality and shit!"
"And Bryant, why did you find the need to go axe crazy and beat the shit out of him when you know that it would just make things even worse for you? America already hates you, I'm practically the only person on your side! Why the fuck aren't you thinking damnit!"
Megan paused, waiting for a response. There was a slight silence. "Well?" She gestured to air in front of her. "Anytime this century would be good, yeah?"
Oh yeah. Megan Jacobson was pissed off.
And she wasn't gonna fucking take it anymore.
Suck it universe. My pimp-hand's in control now, beyotch.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Casey The Undead. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
It was nice, just laying there. Just resting. He hadn't really laid down and rested like this - not since Sor died anyway.
It was also nice to have someone with him, just talking to him, staring up at the sky. This was what Luke needed to keep himself sane. Another person to keep him from being alone and losing his mind... Even if said person just whooped his ass, and gave him one giant headbutt just minutes earlier.
Bryant seemed really forgiving. He had actually listened and stopped his attack. He even told Luke what happened with Ben. Luke could definitely relate with that.
In a way it felt to Luke that Carver's beat-down and finishing headbutt was a clear: 'There NOW We Even!' type of thing.
Kinda of like an unspoken truce between the two right now. Luke really wished it had been this way with Joanne and Matt. No one was dead. That was nice.
He had only closed his eyes for a few minutes before someone started yelling at them. The groggy feeling kept Luke from processing the voice right away. He opened his eyes, looking up to see an open hand offering him up. Honestly, Luke felt like ignoring it and continuing to lay there, until he saw her face.
"Megan?" He took her hand.
Bryant said something about Megan wanting to talk to him, and conveniently, she was here. Luke didn't need to move a foot. Now, as Bryant had with Joanne, she was questioning him about Matt's death - minus the punches, thank goodness.
A pause. Luke looked at Bryant, seeing if he would speak first, before Megan started showing her impatience. Luke was in pain and didn't feel like standing, nevermind talking, but he had to. The girl was very annoyed and pissed off - and she wanted answers.
Luke took another look at Bryant before speaking first.
"Um, Matt... saw what I did to Joanne. I think he assumed the worst..." Jeezus, Luke's everywhere hurt. He wanted to lay down again.
"Self-defense is what I told myself. Tried to explain that to Matt, but he found my gun. He shot at me. Was empty, but it still hurt..."
Alright, fuck standing. Luke squatted back down.
"He's my friend. I didn't want him dead. Tried my damn best not to hurt or kill him. But it was hard, cause he kicked my ass."
Luke took a look at Bryant again. "Three times that shit happened to me today..."
"I only wanted to subdue the guy. Was gonna give Matt a new weapon too, if there was cooperation, but his mind was already set. He thought I was a psycho, and there was no getting past that."
Luke wasn't crying. It's like his tear ducts weren't working anymore.
"Then before I knew it. He was on the floor, dying. I think he was actually kinda forgiving me for it at that point. Like we were still friends. H-He told me a few things he wanted me to do before he died. I sure as hell am gonna honor them..."
Luke looked up from his squatting position and realized that Brendon was missing. He didn't even wanna think about the worst here.
"Megan, one of the things he wanted was for me to help you and Brendon out - I have some weapons in my bag." He pointed at the bag next to Johan Luther's body.
"Matt also wanted me to tell Alex Tartaglia something. But before Matt died..."
Luke's cheeks heated up, from the embarrassment he was feeling from what he was about to say. His mouth lifting into a nervous smile, about Matt's unprecedented final moment. But Luke needed to say it. Show them that he wasn't making shit up. Luke Mendoza wouldn't be lying about something like this...
"Well um... he sorta made out with me for about 10 seconds."
It was also nice to have someone with him, just talking to him, staring up at the sky. This was what Luke needed to keep himself sane. Another person to keep him from being alone and losing his mind... Even if said person just whooped his ass, and gave him one giant headbutt just minutes earlier.
Bryant seemed really forgiving. He had actually listened and stopped his attack. He even told Luke what happened with Ben. Luke could definitely relate with that.
In a way it felt to Luke that Carver's beat-down and finishing headbutt was a clear: 'There NOW We Even!' type of thing.
Kinda of like an unspoken truce between the two right now. Luke really wished it had been this way with Joanne and Matt. No one was dead. That was nice.
He had only closed his eyes for a few minutes before someone started yelling at them. The groggy feeling kept Luke from processing the voice right away. He opened his eyes, looking up to see an open hand offering him up. Honestly, Luke felt like ignoring it and continuing to lay there, until he saw her face.
"Megan?" He took her hand.
Bryant said something about Megan wanting to talk to him, and conveniently, she was here. Luke didn't need to move a foot. Now, as Bryant had with Joanne, she was questioning him about Matt's death - minus the punches, thank goodness.
A pause. Luke looked at Bryant, seeing if he would speak first, before Megan started showing her impatience. Luke was in pain and didn't feel like standing, nevermind talking, but he had to. The girl was very annoyed and pissed off - and she wanted answers.
Luke took another look at Bryant before speaking first.
"Um, Matt... saw what I did to Joanne. I think he assumed the worst..." Jeezus, Luke's everywhere hurt. He wanted to lay down again.
"Self-defense is what I told myself. Tried to explain that to Matt, but he found my gun. He shot at me. Was empty, but it still hurt..."
Alright, fuck standing. Luke squatted back down.
"He's my friend. I didn't want him dead. Tried my damn best not to hurt or kill him. But it was hard, cause he kicked my ass."
Luke took a look at Bryant again. "Three times that shit happened to me today..."
"I only wanted to subdue the guy. Was gonna give Matt a new weapon too, if there was cooperation, but his mind was already set. He thought I was a psycho, and there was no getting past that."
Luke wasn't crying. It's like his tear ducts weren't working anymore.
"Then before I knew it. He was on the floor, dying. I think he was actually kinda forgiving me for it at that point. Like we were still friends. H-He told me a few things he wanted me to do before he died. I sure as hell am gonna honor them..."
Luke looked up from his squatting position and realized that Brendon was missing. He didn't even wanna think about the worst here.
"Megan, one of the things he wanted was for me to help you and Brendon out - I have some weapons in my bag." He pointed at the bag next to Johan Luther's body.
"Matt also wanted me to tell Alex Tartaglia something. But before Matt died..."
Luke's cheeks heated up, from the embarrassment he was feeling from what he was about to say. His mouth lifting into a nervous smile, about Matt's unprecedented final moment. But Luke needed to say it. Show them that he wasn't making shit up. Luke Mendoza wouldn't be lying about something like this...
"Well um... he sorta made out with me for about 10 seconds."
Bryant had pulled himself to his feet as quickly as Luke had, despite the burning pain in his side. This little bitch had some kind of presence, that was to be certain. He stood there with Luke as she berated them, his head hanging like a sullen child being scorned for sneaking a cookie out of a forbidden jar.
Gotta be fucking kidding me.
Any other bitch, Bryant woulda laid her ass out and been on his way. But it would be a fine thing to do to the girl that spared his life, however worthless he thought it was at this point.
Bryant was about to chime in with his part, that he was only going to rough Luke up a little, and that he had delivered her message just like she asked, when Luke said his last part about the making out.
Bryant looked up from his shoes, a mildly disgusted expression on his face.
He looked over to Luke.
He took a step away from him.
He spoke.
"Nigga, you gay."
He turned back to Megan.
"I ain't know he was like that. Honest. Wouldn't have laid a hand on his ass if I'da known that."
He coughed, looked at Luke, took another step back.
"You think I caught it?"
He almost laughed.
Gotta be fucking kidding me.
Any other bitch, Bryant woulda laid her ass out and been on his way. But it would be a fine thing to do to the girl that spared his life, however worthless he thought it was at this point.
Bryant was about to chime in with his part, that he was only going to rough Luke up a little, and that he had delivered her message just like she asked, when Luke said his last part about the making out.
Bryant looked up from his shoes, a mildly disgusted expression on his face.
He looked over to Luke.
He took a step away from him.
He spoke.
"Nigga, you gay."
He turned back to Megan.
"I ain't know he was like that. Honest. Wouldn't have laid a hand on his ass if I'da known that."
He coughed, looked at Luke, took another step back.
"You think I caught it?"
He almost laughed.