From behind the door to the robotics lab, a voice yelled through the walls.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID THEY DO WITH MY DICK?"
I Don't Hate My Body, I'm Just Afraid of It
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Moderator: SOTF: Cyber Staff
No matter how many times Nicholas had considered what it would be like to die, there was still something surreal about having the possibility thrown right into his lap. For his as long as he could remember, the possibility of dying always felt like something that was his choice, an escape hatch that lay just beyond the barrier of his own cowardice. To still feel that fear and yet have the barrier removed, well, it felt wrong somehow, as if the rules of nature had somehow been broken. He sighed as he glanced down at the crossbow in his hand, stopping to lean against the door to a nearby classroom. If there was anything he didn't need any more of in his life, it was confusion.
Mercifully, his thoughts were interrupted by a shocking exclamation coming from behind the wooden support. Not necessarily due to the content - Nicholas had heard that particular phrase plenty of times in fiction, and with the varying levels of censorship that CR servers had, it wasn't uncommon to hear a newbie suddenly run into an enforced change to move their avatar in a more, er, family friendly direction. It was more that, assuming he had correctly placed the voice, the shouting was coming from a classmate that he had never seen express much emotion about anything, least of all his avatar's naughty bits.
Nicholas paused for a moment, debating whether or not to get involved, before his curiosity finally got the better of him. He reached up and rapped his knuckles against the door, calling out to the person behind it in a voice that came off as just a little more amused by the whole situation than he intended.
"Hey, buddy, are you alright in there?"
Mercifully, his thoughts were interrupted by a shocking exclamation coming from behind the wooden support. Not necessarily due to the content - Nicholas had heard that particular phrase plenty of times in fiction, and with the varying levels of censorship that CR servers had, it wasn't uncommon to hear a newbie suddenly run into an enforced change to move their avatar in a more, er, family friendly direction. It was more that, assuming he had correctly placed the voice, the shouting was coming from a classmate that he had never seen express much emotion about anything, least of all his avatar's naughty bits.
Nicholas paused for a moment, debating whether or not to get involved, before his curiosity finally got the better of him. He reached up and rapped his knuckles against the door, calling out to the person behind it in a voice that came off as just a little more amused by the whole situation than he intended.
"Hey, buddy, are you alright in there?"
Boston wasn't stupid, in spite of his brother's occasional words to that effect. In the years he'd been at Sycamore, he'd been well aware of what was stolen from him - his genitals, his active lifestyle, the popularity he was supposed to have, all of that camped at the back of his brain. But when he saw what he saw that morning, and woke up in a horrible replication of the school's robotics lab, he thought he'd have something returned to him.
But no, when he stripped all of his clothing off and tried to rip off his underwear in turn, it all came back to him. Cyber Reality had taken his genitals, on top of every other indignity, and these terrorists who had hijacked his brain weren't giving it back. Of course, his actual penis was still back in his house, on his actual body, but as far as the colours and shapes were concerned it was gone. He'd ripped at the underwear, but it moved with his skin, like he was trying to move a recently nailed carpet from the floorboards. That was when the yelling started.
And that was when he got the knife out.
Boston had taken stock of everything when he woke up, not as scared as he should have been. The urge to simply throw all of the food into the trash presented itself to him like a big red moving target, but in spite of how much Boston knew that the food wasn't real, he stayed his hands from the slam dunk. It wasn't real, but it felt real, and that was the important part right now. As long as he kept track of his senses, understood what felt real and should have felt real, he'd be alright. His anger and fear felt real, bubbling in his stomach. If they were telling the truth, he was angry that he was subject to degenerates who'd hijacked his mind, and afraid of what they'd do to him. The linoleum of the lab felt real when he'd woken up. That knife, with instructions on its invisibility, also felt real in his hand, but the realness was going to have to take a backseat as he decided it was time to get to work with it.
He was going to find his dick.
Years of high school taught him the importance of inane questions, and one of those inane questions was about how this cyber reality worked, specifically the school. What he'd never asked about was what would happen if he tried to stab his underwear off, whether it would reveal what was trapped underneath, or simply peel his skin off like a Bolton banner. There was only really one way to figure that out, and that was through getting active with his own hands.
He'd raised the now-invisible knife above his thigh, ready to see how CR fabric split, when there was a knock at the door, and suddenly his fear of self-mutilation was replaced by a reminder of the life he'd lived.
Boston had made himself too boring to remember as a literal front. He'd hated having to do this, but it was just until he survived high school and went back into the real world, one where he didn't have to be online. It was supposed to be a thing he endured, he existed around, and not something that informed his life, but instead it had ruined high school for him. So many people he could have been friends with, so many milestones left behind, replaced because the freaks who lived here, who liked it here, had it better than him.
And that was when he sheathed the knife, threw it back in his bag, and opened the door in his underwear to Nicholas Cameron.
"The fuck you think, dude? We're supposed to die here, how the fuck are you?"
Suddenly, the boring Boston was gone. The boisterous jock had returned, even if it was three years late, and even if the pudgy nobody standing before the other boy could have betrayed that. He knew it didn't match his body, but this body wasn't actually Boston's, so who cared?
But no, when he stripped all of his clothing off and tried to rip off his underwear in turn, it all came back to him. Cyber Reality had taken his genitals, on top of every other indignity, and these terrorists who had hijacked his brain weren't giving it back. Of course, his actual penis was still back in his house, on his actual body, but as far as the colours and shapes were concerned it was gone. He'd ripped at the underwear, but it moved with his skin, like he was trying to move a recently nailed carpet from the floorboards. That was when the yelling started.
And that was when he got the knife out.
Boston had taken stock of everything when he woke up, not as scared as he should have been. The urge to simply throw all of the food into the trash presented itself to him like a big red moving target, but in spite of how much Boston knew that the food wasn't real, he stayed his hands from the slam dunk. It wasn't real, but it felt real, and that was the important part right now. As long as he kept track of his senses, understood what felt real and should have felt real, he'd be alright. His anger and fear felt real, bubbling in his stomach. If they were telling the truth, he was angry that he was subject to degenerates who'd hijacked his mind, and afraid of what they'd do to him. The linoleum of the lab felt real when he'd woken up. That knife, with instructions on its invisibility, also felt real in his hand, but the realness was going to have to take a backseat as he decided it was time to get to work with it.
He was going to find his dick.
Years of high school taught him the importance of inane questions, and one of those inane questions was about how this cyber reality worked, specifically the school. What he'd never asked about was what would happen if he tried to stab his underwear off, whether it would reveal what was trapped underneath, or simply peel his skin off like a Bolton banner. There was only really one way to figure that out, and that was through getting active with his own hands.
He'd raised the now-invisible knife above his thigh, ready to see how CR fabric split, when there was a knock at the door, and suddenly his fear of self-mutilation was replaced by a reminder of the life he'd lived.
Boston had made himself too boring to remember as a literal front. He'd hated having to do this, but it was just until he survived high school and went back into the real world, one where he didn't have to be online. It was supposed to be a thing he endured, he existed around, and not something that informed his life, but instead it had ruined high school for him. So many people he could have been friends with, so many milestones left behind, replaced because the freaks who lived here, who liked it here, had it better than him.
And that was when he sheathed the knife, threw it back in his bag, and opened the door in his underwear to Nicholas Cameron.
"The fuck you think, dude? We're supposed to die here, how the fuck are you?"
Suddenly, the boring Boston was gone. The boisterous jock had returned, even if it was three years late, and even if the pudgy nobody standing before the other boy could have betrayed that. He knew it didn't match his body, but this body wasn't actually Boston's, so who cared?
Nicholas stood there for a moment, staring in shock at his partially dressed classmate. There wasn't much to look at - the guy didn't have the most attractive avatar, and even if he did, these avatars didn't have much to see down there, anyway. Still, it was difficult to not look, and it took a moment for Nicholas to pull his eyes away from Boston's undergarments and meet the guy's angry gaze. Awkward tension filled the air as he lowered his crossbow, hoping that it'd help if he looked a little less threatening while he attempted to defuse the situation the only way he knew how.
"Well, uh, point taken, but still, forgive me if I wasn't exactly expecting to be hearing about weiners, at least not this early into the game. What did they do, turn yours into a rattlesnake or something?" He paused for a moment, continuing rapidly, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Sheesh, don't tell me that's your assigned weapon - that would suck." He knew poking at the guy wasn't exactly the smartest of ideas, but once he got started, it was hard to stop, and besides - he was curious about what had actually happened down there. Countless hours in CR had made it easy to take for granted that there'd be nothing down there, but, like, if their kidnappers had modified their avatars to be able to take injuries and die, who knows what else they had changed?
He briefly glanced over to one side, adjusting the strap of his bag before returning his attention to the conversation at hand. The situation was bad enough already without having to deal with... that. Strangely, thinking about it was almost more uncomfortable than the much more present possibility of imminent bodily harm, but at the very least he had a bit of a distraction standing in front of him. For now, anyway.
"Well, uh, point taken, but still, forgive me if I wasn't exactly expecting to be hearing about weiners, at least not this early into the game. What did they do, turn yours into a rattlesnake or something?" He paused for a moment, continuing rapidly, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. "Sheesh, don't tell me that's your assigned weapon - that would suck." He knew poking at the guy wasn't exactly the smartest of ideas, but once he got started, it was hard to stop, and besides - he was curious about what had actually happened down there. Countless hours in CR had made it easy to take for granted that there'd be nothing down there, but, like, if their kidnappers had modified their avatars to be able to take injuries and die, who knows what else they had changed?
He briefly glanced over to one side, adjusting the strap of his bag before returning his attention to the conversation at hand. The situation was bad enough already without having to deal with... that. Strangely, thinking about it was almost more uncomfortable than the much more present possibility of imminent bodily harm, but at the very least he had a bit of a distraction standing in front of him. For now, anyway.
Someone was yelling about dicks.
Raj Jarrell Aleksander, start.
Raj lay on the floor in the fetal position. His left shoulder ached. He smelled something familiar - acrylic paint. And something lay in his arms. Something rigid and smooth like plastic.
He forced his eyes open, just a smidge. His aching shoulder was pressed against the hard vinyl floor; he must have been lying there for a while. It took a few seconds, but he recognised his surroundings: He was lying in the middle of the Art Club's clubroom. Brushes, cups, paint tubes and other art supplies were organised neatly on shelves placed around the room. Two-person-wide desks were arranged in a U pattern, with chairs around the outside, and smack-dab in the middle lay Raj. From memory he knew that the art supplies were all cheap, copy-pasted assets, such that there were only a handful of distinct paint colors, brush types and only one type of cup. A semi-random scattering of these supplies around the room did little to hide that fact. Raj was very artistic, being an avid painter and graphic designer, but he had taken one look at the meagre offerings the Art Club provided and decided he could do way better by himself.
That was a few years ago.
He glanced down at the object he'd been spooning. It was... a power washer? Weird. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Other than him, the room looked empty. Paintings and other artworks he didn't recognise dotted the walls. Other than that, it didn't look like much had changed, and Raj's focus quickly left his surroundings and went to how the fuck he'd ended up sleeping on the floor of his school. In Cyberspace.
It had to have been a dream, right? Or rather, a fucking nightmare. And yet, the sight of Mr. Franklin's brains splattering the wall was just too vivid to have been a dream.
But what else could it have been? You don't die in Cyberspace. And certainly not like that.
He stood up, turned, and another discrepancy hit him in the face: Someone had altered his backpack. The colors - his design - those were the same, but the model... someone had changed it to a... to like something a soldier would wear.
Something very weird was going on. Something very wrong.
And someone had been yelling about dicks. Maybe they knew what the fuck was going on.
He quickly strapped on the new backpack and went for the door. Then he hesitated, and grabbed the powerwasher too, wheeling it behind him. He needed answers, so he opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
But as the faint images of Zeph blowing out Mr. Franklin's brains and Mr. Franklin spasming on his couch played in his mind, he knew that whatever the truth was, it frightened the hell out of him.
And then he heard people talking.
Raj Jarrell Aleksander, start.
Raj lay on the floor in the fetal position. His left shoulder ached. He smelled something familiar - acrylic paint. And something lay in his arms. Something rigid and smooth like plastic.
He forced his eyes open, just a smidge. His aching shoulder was pressed against the hard vinyl floor; he must have been lying there for a while. It took a few seconds, but he recognised his surroundings: He was lying in the middle of the Art Club's clubroom. Brushes, cups, paint tubes and other art supplies were organised neatly on shelves placed around the room. Two-person-wide desks were arranged in a U pattern, with chairs around the outside, and smack-dab in the middle lay Raj. From memory he knew that the art supplies were all cheap, copy-pasted assets, such that there were only a handful of distinct paint colors, brush types and only one type of cup. A semi-random scattering of these supplies around the room did little to hide that fact. Raj was very artistic, being an avid painter and graphic designer, but he had taken one look at the meagre offerings the Art Club provided and decided he could do way better by himself.
That was a few years ago.
He glanced down at the object he'd been spooning. It was... a power washer? Weird. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Other than him, the room looked empty. Paintings and other artworks he didn't recognise dotted the walls. Other than that, it didn't look like much had changed, and Raj's focus quickly left his surroundings and went to how the fuck he'd ended up sleeping on the floor of his school. In Cyberspace.
It had to have been a dream, right? Or rather, a fucking nightmare. And yet, the sight of Mr. Franklin's brains splattering the wall was just too vivid to have been a dream.
But what else could it have been? You don't die in Cyberspace. And certainly not like that.
He stood up, turned, and another discrepancy hit him in the face: Someone had altered his backpack. The colors - his design - those were the same, but the model... someone had changed it to a... to like something a soldier would wear.
Something very weird was going on. Something very wrong.
And someone had been yelling about dicks. Maybe they knew what the fuck was going on.
He quickly strapped on the new backpack and went for the door. Then he hesitated, and grabbed the powerwasher too, wheeling it behind him. He needed answers, so he opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
But as the faint images of Zeph blowing out Mr. Franklin's brains and Mr. Franklin spasming on his couch played in his mind, he knew that whatever the truth was, it frightened the hell out of him.
And then he heard people talking.
Boston had no prior opinion on Nicholas, but that lack of opinion was turning into a negative one the more he spoke.
He know of Nicholas, of course, but it wasn't exactly the biggest class, he knew basically everyone there. They probably didn't remember shit about Boston, by design. All he could remember about Nicholas was that he thought he was a comedian, but no shit, who didn't? Boston told jokes amongst his actual friends, and they laughed, so did that make him a comedian as well? Was he the comic relief of the Adventure Race? Was he going to die first in his football team's slasher movie? No, of course not, for every good joke he told a million bad ones that got the laughs they deserved. Whatever, though.
There was a brief silence after the joke as the two stood there, and Boston exhaled through his nose. That was all that deserved.
"Yes, they turned my dick into a rattlesnake."
Without even waiting for a response, he turned back around towards his clothing, putting it back on piece by piece starting with his pants.
"No, it's the same as school, which means even fucking terrorists couldn't give back-"
Boston's shirt slid over his head, back over the wrong body, before he stopped. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, he'd been taking shorter and shorter breaths, and he was now screaming his problems to an essential stranger. Yep, this was bad, he was handling this badly. His brief stop stayed brief when he started back up again, grabbing his hoodie and zipping it back up over his body's chest.
"Doesn't matter. What's your plan, dude?"
He know of Nicholas, of course, but it wasn't exactly the biggest class, he knew basically everyone there. They probably didn't remember shit about Boston, by design. All he could remember about Nicholas was that he thought he was a comedian, but no shit, who didn't? Boston told jokes amongst his actual friends, and they laughed, so did that make him a comedian as well? Was he the comic relief of the Adventure Race? Was he going to die first in his football team's slasher movie? No, of course not, for every good joke he told a million bad ones that got the laughs they deserved. Whatever, though.
There was a brief silence after the joke as the two stood there, and Boston exhaled through his nose. That was all that deserved.
"Yes, they turned my dick into a rattlesnake."
Without even waiting for a response, he turned back around towards his clothing, putting it back on piece by piece starting with his pants.
"No, it's the same as school, which means even fucking terrorists couldn't give back-"
Boston's shirt slid over his head, back over the wrong body, before he stopped. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, he'd been taking shorter and shorter breaths, and he was now screaming his problems to an essential stranger. Yep, this was bad, he was handling this badly. His brief stop stayed brief when he started back up again, grabbing his hoodie and zipping it back up over his body's chest.
"Doesn't matter. What's your plan, dude?"
Practically speaking, it seemed like a pretty pointless complaint. Even if their avatars had genitals, it was a struggle to imagine what they would even do with them. Sex obviously wasn't on the table - the only possible outcome of having more body parts here was pain, not pleasure. Besides, the thought of having to deal with finding a toilet in a building designed not to have any was nightmarish, to say the least. Were normal guys really that attached to their dicks that they'd still want them around despite all that? It was a question that, while interesting, was likely one that Nicholas definitely wasn't about to find the answer to any time soon. Best to just silently concur with Boston that it didn't matter, and to continue on with the conversation.
As far as continuing on with the conversation went, well... Nicholas shrugged. "What do you mean, plan? All I've been thinking about is whether or not I've secured my computer well enough to so stop my family going through my stuff once we all inevitably die here." He paused for a moment, taken off guard by how casually he was talking about death. Perhaps all those hours of tossing it over in his mind had finally broken something inside him. After all, it wasn't like he had much to look forward to in the future, so having things cut short so soon was, while not exactly something he was looking forward to, not much of a shock either. At least it was to him, anyway; he didn't know much about Boston. If his initial impressions were correct, the guy seemed like a total normie, and so perhaps it would be best to steer the conversation in a slightly less morbid direction. Nicholas continued, speaking quickly as if to push his previous statements off the screen in some invisible chatlog.
"What about you, any ideas on that front? Did you find out what weapon they gave you, yet? I'm guessing it's something small enough to fit in your bag, since if it was something like this..." He hefted the crossbow lightly for emphasis. "...you'd probably have seen it right away." It wasn't exactly much better of an conversation topic, but there wasn't much else to go over, given the circumstances. Besides, Nicholas was curious to see what other people got - a crossbow wasn't terrible, but it'd be a lot better of a tool if his classmates were all carrying, like, knives and hammers as opposed to, well, guns. His free hand reached up to play with his hair as he awaited Boston's reply, fiddling nervously while he desperately tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of awkwardness that was beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders.
As far as continuing on with the conversation went, well... Nicholas shrugged. "What do you mean, plan? All I've been thinking about is whether or not I've secured my computer well enough to so stop my family going through my stuff once we all inevitably die here." He paused for a moment, taken off guard by how casually he was talking about death. Perhaps all those hours of tossing it over in his mind had finally broken something inside him. After all, it wasn't like he had much to look forward to in the future, so having things cut short so soon was, while not exactly something he was looking forward to, not much of a shock either. At least it was to him, anyway; he didn't know much about Boston. If his initial impressions were correct, the guy seemed like a total normie, and so perhaps it would be best to steer the conversation in a slightly less morbid direction. Nicholas continued, speaking quickly as if to push his previous statements off the screen in some invisible chatlog.
"What about you, any ideas on that front? Did you find out what weapon they gave you, yet? I'm guessing it's something small enough to fit in your bag, since if it was something like this..." He hefted the crossbow lightly for emphasis. "...you'd probably have seen it right away." It wasn't exactly much better of an conversation topic, but there wasn't much else to go over, given the circumstances. Besides, Nicholas was curious to see what other people got - a crossbow wasn't terrible, but it'd be a lot better of a tool if his classmates were all carrying, like, knives and hammers as opposed to, well, guns. His free hand reached up to play with his hair as he awaited Boston's reply, fiddling nervously while he desperately tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of awkwardness that was beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders.
The voices were coming from some ways down the corridor. From around a corner. Raj walked in their direction, wheeling the power washer behind him. The closer he got, the better he could make out certain words - and the faster his heart beat.
Fear is a rare occurrence nowadays. Few people are used to feeling it. If you're not used to it, it's difficult to predict just how it will grab you and control you, like a wind-up toy being snatched up by an irate child. Raj hadn't planned to stop when he reached the corner, but when he did his stomach dropped, a giant hand yanked at his torso, and he just couldn't bring himself to take another step. His heart raced and he took long, shaky breaths. The memories he was suppressing had been wrenching and tearing at their chains. And one - just one - had managed to reach the door of its lightless cell and whisper through the bars: "At the end of this game, only one may live. Kill, or be killed.".
Kill, or be killed. Everyone who he met would be a potential danger. But he wasn't going to kill anybody. So others might not either. Probably most people. And there was safety in numbers.
People were talking. Not screaming, not jeering, not crying, not killing - talking. He should go talk with them too. And so, very deliberately, he rounded the corner, taking deep breaths the whole time. Standing in a doorway at little further than he'd already walked was a familiar figure, a friend - Nicholas. Elated, Raj took a few more steps before he exclaimed "Hey!"
Or tried to. In fact, the sound stayed stuck in his throat, only coming out as a hoarse whisper. Reason, it seemed, could overcome fear, but not banish it. He cleared his throat, kept walking and tried again, this time with success. "Hey, Nicholas! It's me, Raj." The grin he made at his friend was one of genuine affection - and the nervous, shaky breaths he took were a result of genuine uncertainty and fear. In such a flood of genuineness there was little room for the cool persona Raj preferred to put on around other people. Inadvertently, in a very real way, he was baring his heart.
Fear is a rare occurrence nowadays. Few people are used to feeling it. If you're not used to it, it's difficult to predict just how it will grab you and control you, like a wind-up toy being snatched up by an irate child. Raj hadn't planned to stop when he reached the corner, but when he did his stomach dropped, a giant hand yanked at his torso, and he just couldn't bring himself to take another step. His heart raced and he took long, shaky breaths. The memories he was suppressing had been wrenching and tearing at their chains. And one - just one - had managed to reach the door of its lightless cell and whisper through the bars: "At the end of this game, only one may live. Kill, or be killed.".
Kill, or be killed. Everyone who he met would be a potential danger. But he wasn't going to kill anybody. So others might not either. Probably most people. And there was safety in numbers.
People were talking. Not screaming, not jeering, not crying, not killing - talking. He should go talk with them too. And so, very deliberately, he rounded the corner, taking deep breaths the whole time. Standing in a doorway at little further than he'd already walked was a familiar figure, a friend - Nicholas. Elated, Raj took a few more steps before he exclaimed "Hey!"
Or tried to. In fact, the sound stayed stuck in his throat, only coming out as a hoarse whisper. Reason, it seemed, could overcome fear, but not banish it. He cleared his throat, kept walking and tried again, this time with success. "Hey, Nicholas! It's me, Raj." The grin he made at his friend was one of genuine affection - and the nervous, shaky breaths he took were a result of genuine uncertainty and fear. In such a flood of genuineness there was little room for the cool persona Raj preferred to put on around other people. Inadvertently, in a very real way, he was baring his heart.
So this guy's plan was to die. Great.
At least he had a plan - Boston didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't want to die, so he was probably inevitably going to have to kill people if he wanted to live. But what kind of life was that going to be? Killing his entire class until he was the last one standing? He'd never liked his classmates, since they'd always been the ones trapping him in this social hell, but that didn't mean they deserved to die. He didn't even know if he could live with himself afterwards if it had to come to that, so what was the actual plan here, Boston?
Nicholas asked about his weapon. It was at that point Boston became aware of the gigantic crossbow sitting in his hands, a hell of a lot more power than the knife sitting in his bag, for which Boston was becoming increasingly unaware of the point of it. But before he could divulge any of it, just as he was about to say some words which hadn't even formed in his head, someone else decided to join the fray outside of Boston's field of vision.
Just based on the voice it sounded like Raj, someone Boston always hated for being what Boston wanted to be. Boston was increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation with Nicholas right now, so it was time to go back to his boring roots - he turned his head towards where it sounded like Raj was coming from outside, and took a few small steps back, removing himself as the focus here.
Same as it always had to be.
At least he had a plan - Boston didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't want to die, so he was probably inevitably going to have to kill people if he wanted to live. But what kind of life was that going to be? Killing his entire class until he was the last one standing? He'd never liked his classmates, since they'd always been the ones trapping him in this social hell, but that didn't mean they deserved to die. He didn't even know if he could live with himself afterwards if it had to come to that, so what was the actual plan here, Boston?
Nicholas asked about his weapon. It was at that point Boston became aware of the gigantic crossbow sitting in his hands, a hell of a lot more power than the knife sitting in his bag, for which Boston was becoming increasingly unaware of the point of it. But before he could divulge any of it, just as he was about to say some words which hadn't even formed in his head, someone else decided to join the fray outside of Boston's field of vision.
Just based on the voice it sounded like Raj, someone Boston always hated for being what Boston wanted to be. Boston was increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation with Nicholas right now, so it was time to go back to his boring roots - he turned his head towards where it sounded like Raj was coming from outside, and took a few small steps back, removing himself as the focus here.
Same as it always had to be.
Nicholas' head whipped around as the sound of a familiar voice mercifully cut through the awkward silence, rescuing him from having to figure out a way to make this conversation somehow tolerable. It wasn't long before his forced smile gave way to a genuine grin of relief at having run into one of the only people in his class who was actually fun to talk to. It was almost enough to make him forget the sensation of impending doom, relegating the dark presence to nipping at his heels rather than clawing at his back.
In retrospect, it was a somewhat foolish idea to turn his back on Boston without actually finding out what the guy's weapon was, but as far as Nicholas was concerned, all the wanted to do was cut himself loose from this uncomfortable conversation as soon as possible. Not that he was, like, ditching Boston or anything, but it was impossible to hide who he'd much rather be talking to. Nicholas took a few steps forward, lifting a hand in greeting as he called out to his friend, gesturing him to come closer.
"Hey, good to see a familiar face. How are you holding up?" He paused for a moment before tacking a further question on to the end, deciding to try pushing his luck even further. "Have you run into C yet, by any chance?"
It didn't seem likely, since if they had met up already, they'd probably be together, but it was worth a shot to ask. The idea of having both of them around made the situation almost feel tolerable, even if they were still somewhat screwed in the end. As guilty as it made him feel to think about it, he'd much rather be stuck in here with the two of them than stuck outside of CR at a family Christmas party or something, at least. At least that way he'd be able to distract himself from thinking about dying, rather than using thoughts of dying as a distraction.
In retrospect, it was a somewhat foolish idea to turn his back on Boston without actually finding out what the guy's weapon was, but as far as Nicholas was concerned, all the wanted to do was cut himself loose from this uncomfortable conversation as soon as possible. Not that he was, like, ditching Boston or anything, but it was impossible to hide who he'd much rather be talking to. Nicholas took a few steps forward, lifting a hand in greeting as he called out to his friend, gesturing him to come closer.
"Hey, good to see a familiar face. How are you holding up?" He paused for a moment before tacking a further question on to the end, deciding to try pushing his luck even further. "Have you run into C yet, by any chance?"
It didn't seem likely, since if they had met up already, they'd probably be together, but it was worth a shot to ask. The idea of having both of them around made the situation almost feel tolerable, even if they were still somewhat screwed in the end. As guilty as it made him feel to think about it, he'd much rather be stuck in here with the two of them than stuck outside of CR at a family Christmas party or something, at least. At least that way he'd be able to distract himself from thinking about dying, rather than using thoughts of dying as a distraction.
Raj grinned and raised his hand in response. "I've... been better, I think.", he said as he took the last few steps, stopping about three feet away. Then he swallowed - and let out a nervous laugh while he glanced around demonstratively. One of those glances was at the doorframe Boston had just vanished from. Raj had intended to give him a nod in greeting; you know, establish a baseline human relationship to prevent future hostilities, but that only works if the person you're nodding at can see you.
Of course, as he later realised, he could just have called out to him to greet him. But he wasn't exactly in top form today, so the furthest that idea went was his glance lingering just a tad longer on the doorframe than elsewhere.
"God, no, I haven't seen anybody.", he continued, still looking around. "I've literally just woken up. Back there." He gestured over his should with his with his left thumb. "I..., uh, I heard someone yelling. About dicks." Then he looked Nicholas right in the face, his eyes widening. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm distracted, how are you, are you ok?"
Of course, as he later realised, he could just have called out to him to greet him. But he wasn't exactly in top form today, so the furthest that idea went was his glance lingering just a tad longer on the doorframe than elsewhere.
"God, no, I haven't seen anybody.", he continued, still looking around. "I've literally just woken up. Back there." He gestured over his should with his with his left thumb. "I..., uh, I heard someone yelling. About dicks." Then he looked Nicholas right in the face, his eyes widening. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm distracted, how are you, are you ok?"
"Yep, that was me."
Boston was now seated in one of the chairs near the entrance, fascinatingly engaged with the back of one of the metal lunchboxes that had no label on it, his eyes not even moving up to meet the two he was supposedly talking to.
"Don't mind me."
Boston was now seated in one of the chairs near the entrance, fascinatingly engaged with the back of one of the metal lunchboxes that had no label on it, his eyes not even moving up to meet the two he was supposedly talking to.
"Don't mind me."
Was he ok? Nicholas almost wanted to laugh - the answer was so obvious that he couldn't really think of a way to reply. In the general sense, anything he could say would be a useless description of what everybody around him was going through, and in the specific, he didn't feel comfortable talking about it here, for one very obvious reason. He threw a quick glance over in Boston's direction, confirming that he was in fact there, and in earshot of their conversation. It made him feel like an asshole to even think about it, but something about that guy made him uncomfortable. At the very least, Boston gave off major normie vibes, and normies tended to be a little too judgemental for his liking, especially if his family were anything to go by.
Turning back to Raj, Nicholas gave a little cough, the gesture more of an affect than an expression of a genuine bodily need. His words tumbled out quickly, as if the awkwardness from before was somehow still in the air. "Uh, well, I guess I'm doing as ok as I can be, right now. Looks like I haven't been awake for much longer than you." He paused for a moment, struggling not to look over at the stranger listening in on the pair before he continued. "I'm sure C's ok too, but it wouldn't hurt to go looking and, uh, gather the party, you know?"
Turning back to Raj, Nicholas gave a little cough, the gesture more of an affect than an expression of a genuine bodily need. His words tumbled out quickly, as if the awkwardness from before was somehow still in the air. "Uh, well, I guess I'm doing as ok as I can be, right now. Looks like I haven't been awake for much longer than you." He paused for a moment, struggling not to look over at the stranger listening in on the pair before he continued. "I'm sure C's ok too, but it wouldn't hurt to go looking and, uh, gather the party, you know?"
That made sense - who would be ok in a situation like this? Stupid, Raj, stupid. Even just forming his thoughts felt clumsy and awkward. But then again, Nicholas seemed to be feeling awkward too. Who wouldn't feel awkward? This was a brand new situation.
So the obvious way forward was to get a handle on things. Understand how the game was played here. Then maybe he would know what to do, how to act, feel confident again.
...but first, he needed to find his friends. To make sure they were ok. Well, "as ok as they can be". He nodded at Nicholas. "That's a good idea.", he said. "Let's do it, let's go find them."
Then he frowned, and jerked a thumb towards the doorway. "Should we...?" he mouthed, a question written on his brow. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of taking someone who was essentially a stranger to him with them - in fact, he was downright fearful -, but leaving the guy here, alone, when there was... danger... felt wrong.
So the obvious way forward was to get a handle on things. Understand how the game was played here. Then maybe he would know what to do, how to act, feel confident again.
...but first, he needed to find his friends. To make sure they were ok. Well, "as ok as they can be". He nodded at Nicholas. "That's a good idea.", he said. "Let's do it, let's go find them."
Then he frowned, and jerked a thumb towards the doorway. "Should we...?" he mouthed, a question written on his brow. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of taking someone who was essentially a stranger to him with them - in fact, he was downright fearful -, but leaving the guy here, alone, when there was... danger... felt wrong.
"Boy, there sure is a lot of sodium in these lunches," Boston said, still pretending to read the empty back of the lunchbox, acutely aware of the conversation painstakingly maneuvering its way around him.