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In all honesty, that was a little bit much. Alessio was dead. He had never known him - just a chance encounter, here - so seeing him dead came as something of a relief. He couldn't help but appreciate the others, this many days in. He figured that if he had to be killed by anyone, he may as well be killed by someone who's trying. Who was left? Nate, he guessed - his continued survival was surprising. He smiled, imagining Nate winning. Unlikely, but he'd managed to make it this far! Just full of surprises, really.

There was nothing worth taking on Alessio's corpse. He figured there couldn't be that many people left. Less than fifteen. That's a person to corpse ratio of - what - 1 to 7? If he had to die anywhere, he'd die right here.

But he could probably do that later.

((Matt Moradi continued somewhere else.))

I'll draw your character when I'm bored
hmm i see good art. i see good artist may be taking requests. cowardly dog that i am,
Matthew Moradi

Me & My Gun
That felt good.

He had never been outgoing. He was going to die a virgin, he figured. That didn't make him feel much. Resignation, more than anything else - this was what he was born to do. Ahmad Moradi had been born so he could sire Matt Moradi, so Matt Moradi could kill. Who was he to argue against that? Everything in his life lead up to this. Every single slight, argument, every single thing before this - it was meaningless. He was never going to have any children. He never really wanted children, anyways. He was better suited to taking other people's children away from them. Four people. Wade Cartwright. Benjamin Lichter. Aiden Slattery. Serena Waters. They were born into this world purely so he could kill them. That was what they were there for. Whatever plans they had were ultimately meaningless.

He climbed the stairs. Thinking about how Aiden did it same as he did made him smile.

He reached the top and looked to the sea. So beautiful. Slowly, he sat down, looking at the gun lying in his lap. It, too, was beautiful. He ran his hand along the long, slender barrel. One pull and he could change so many lives. Not just the receiver. All of their family, friends. They would know that he had killed them. They would belong to him.

Before coming here, he'd never really believed much in fate. He believed in himself. He still did. He believed - and he believed this deeply - that he was going to win. That the last shot would be fired by him, and then he would finally be alone in this place. No more screaming. No more crying. No more. And that would be more beautiful than any sea, any rotting insane asylum, any gun.

Part of him idly recognized that he wasn't thinking rationally. He was supposed to be a rational, moral person. His parents had raised him that way. He figured he was a rational, moral person before coming here. He wasn't. Everything he'd done here made him realize that absolutely nothing mattered aside from winning. You are either born to die a loser or you are born to die a winner. He wanted to be a winner.

He stood up, going towards the edge, lifting the gun up with him. He stood near the edge of the bell tower and thought of Aiden falling off, dying. He thought about Serena. All loose ends, gone. Dead. He ran his hand up and down the barrel of the gun. Quickly, he fired off one shot, towards the ocean. He stepped away from the edge, lowering the gun, moving towards the staircase.

He climbed down it. Aiden never had the chance to do that. He frowned, for a moment.

((Matt Moradi continued elsewhere.))

Not a single word.

That was fine. He didn't need any words. Everything said was a disgusting blasphemy against the silence of this place. Slowly, he began to nod, and then began to back way, before finally moving out of sight entirely.

((Matt Moradi continued elsewhere!))

He glanced down at the person whose death he had just made sure of. Looking back up, he saw her again. Hadn't said a single word so far. Not that he was in much of a mood for conversation after what had just happened. Slowly, he raised the gun.

"I'm getting out of here," he said, wondering how many bullets the gun had in it. At least nineteen, maybe more if his benefactor was feeling particularly generous when the gun was fitted with a magazine. "Do you object to that, at all? Me leaving? I've already killed someone today. I don't want to have to do it again."

Slowly, he stopped. His fists hurt. She was dead. Finally. He got off of her and briefly considered the notion that she was alive. He could see that she was not but still he took out his rifle and shot her once in the head to make sure. He looked back, searching for some sign of that other person. Gone, as far as he knew. Smart. He looked down at the corpse. As good as any other, he figured. He ran a hand across his face and pulled it back, hissing slightly. Pain. He called out.

"Where are you? It's over. She's dead. I killed her." And that was all he said.

This might have been the first time he was ever in a real fight. An actual, life or death situation - that was something he'd never gotten into before. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, maybe something like this might have happened. Today - well, most people wouldn't even imagine something like this going on. Not for something as simple and understandable as survival. The simplicity of it, really, robbed it of the virtue of being understood. In the 21st century? This?

Yes! Of course. He tackled her, doing everything in his power to get the gun out of her hands. And when he did, he tried to stand up. And when he tried to fire it? A can to the face. Matt let out a short screech of pain, yelling and dropping the gun, cursing and clutching his face. And then she was on top of him, stabbing him in the face. This was the first time he'd ever seriously been wounded - flailing, he managed to grab her by the hair and pull. And then he was on top of her. Still fighting, stabbing him. Screaming from who knows anymore.

And whatever he could do to her then, he did. He started beating her, not even thinking about the gun he still had anymore.

He had another gun. He just had to get it out and then she'd be dead. That was all he had to do - all he needed was a few second's time. And then the gun started firing again. Matt yelled and jumped forward, towards the doorway and out, towards Serena. He sees her and he lunges at her, eyes filled with something indescribable and terrible.

Matt started laughing. That dumb bitch. Figures that the moment she decides to try and kill him is the moment she decides to start shouting. "Call half the fucking island over here, why don't you?" he yelled, ducking out again, firing another two shots. Pulling back he realized that he hadn't been keeping track of how many times he'd fired this thing. Once at the tower.. another time at the beach - he couldn't remember how many times he fired at her when this whole thing started. Once, maybe? That's three.. four right now. Seven.

He ducked out again, firing another shot. And when he tried to fire it again - the clicking starting. He pulled back, throwing the shotgun to the ground. Getting closer. This was bad.

Matt spoke what might as well be his last words.

"You're a fucking idiot - you know that? - the only reason Aiden's dead is because you didn't kill me back at the gym. You dumb fuck!"

She'd found him. Okay, Matt thought. Sure. Why not. No easy way out of this. For a brief moment he heard Serena open fire at something after taunting him. Trying to make him jump out, or something. He'd wait for her for about as long as he could. The other occupant of this room - the only other living occupant - had started to move around. Very quickly, he put a finger up against his lips as he had earlier. "Be fucking quiet," he whispered harshly.

He gripped his shotgun tighter. He'd have to do this quick. Quicker than she could react to. He ran down all the possible scenarios in his head -

Serena was getting closer.

No screaming. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he ducked out from behind the doorway and raised his shotgun to meet the general direction she was approaching from. Fire, pump. Fire, pump. He shouted before ducking back inside, continuing to yell.

"Fuck you," he screamed. "You're fucking crazy."

He'd ran faster than he'd ever really ran before. Faster than he had ran from his friends in the basement. Eventually, he decided to stop. He'd wait someplace and ambush her, and kill her. One problem to cross off of the list. One less person to kill. One person closer to winning and finally being able to stop. He looked down. Shaking. Adrenaline mixed with the fear that Serena was going to kill him. She had every right to, really. But to him, the fact that he had killed her friend was outweighed by the fact that they were here. On the island. She had always had the right to kill him. Only now was she taking it.

He hadn't noticed anyone in the room. He stood by the doorway, shotgun in his hands, waiting to hear any signs of Serena approaching. His eyes eventually moved forward, in front of him, and he noticed her. Someone. Drawing a blank. He couldn't remember who this was. Slowly, he put a finger to his lips, asking her for silence. Quietly, he whispered something just barely audible.

"Someone's trying to kill me," he blurted out. "Keep quiet or I'll kill you."

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
Serena screamed something at him as he scrambled to his feet before firing off another burst of rounds at him. With a short screech and a half-hearted yell, Matt leapt out of the way, landing on his feet this time. Still yelling incoherence at her, he fired the gun again, missing a second time. Pumping the shotgun, he ducked for cover behind some worthless piece of refuse that would no doubt not save him should Serena choose to fire a third burst at him. Collecting his thoughts for a moment, Matt spoke up, the nervousness clear in his voice.

"Let's talk," he shouted. Quivering, Matt looked down at the gun and then looked up again. He was going to have to kill her. He'd idly thought about it before. In his mind, it would have been easy - he'd have gotten the drop on her. Not the other way around. It seemed unfair to him, being on the receiving end. More unfair was the fact that she was armed.

He took a deep breath, the span of which to him felt like an entire season. And then in the span of only a few seconds he came out yelling, shoving his way past Serena. And then he went through the hallways of the asylum, running, screaming, no direction or place in mind other than away.

((Matt Moradi continued elsewhere!))

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs
It was funny to him, in some morbid way, how there were more corpses on this island than actual people now. He wondered which area of the island had the most - the asylum, he figured, was a good guess. It was big enough, certainly, that he could imagine it being bestowed that most dubious of awards: most corpses.

It was aimless, mostly. The direction he took. He'd ended up here with no real intention in mind. The room to him held no special meaning. It was just another room. For a split second he tried to figure out which place on the island was his favorite. The bridge, probably, though he'd never really been there. He'd only ever seen it in the distance. From there, it looked beautiful, in a way.

Beautiful was a good word for most places here, really, he thought.

Then, she showed up. Serena. He was hoping he wouldn't have to see her again. This time, she didn't seem so set on talking. She opened fire. Matt dove to the ground, just barely avoiding adding a few lead accessories to his admittedly limited wardrobe. His thoughts now were some confused slurry of hatred, survival instincts, and swear words. Muttering some half-thought of slur against her, Matt raised his shotgun and fired, buckshot pellets finding new homes in the wall behind her. Sputtering more swears he pumped the shotgun and quickly began to scramble to his feet.