"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
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((Steve Dobson continued from The Gadfly Cometh))

He sat at the edge of the plateau on the island's local maxima, gazing out at the boundaries of his wall-less prison while his fingers rifled dumbly through the medical supplies spilled out around him.

Turns out sickles didn't really do well in bags.

Like people on islands. Or inside walls. He twitched the corner of his mouth and pulled his hoodie tighter against himself as a stray breeze wandered by. If only the wings on his back would sprout and he could fly... where? There was nothing over that horizon. Just a straight shot through the narrow inlet into nothing whatsoever. More glittering water, more aimless gusting air, more birds. And beyond that, even more nothing. He shivered again, not from the cold. As wide as Evangelion was good. There you go, that was language you could use to put a point across. Some might even consider it an understatement.

He turned back to the blood oozing from his leg. Bump after bump after bump - not that it really took that long - the razor edge of his designated weapon ate through the thin-walled canvas bag. And then, stupidly on his part, it broke through his flesh just beneath his hip. That was what he got for his sudden wanderlust. Running to and fro like they were trapped in a blender - did that not tire his classmates out? Provoke stress and surprises and dramatic sudden meetings? Which was why

That thought, and the unrolling of something promisingly white and medicinal-looking, was interrupted by a mechanical whine that nearly jolted him over the edge of his perch. Apparently this was a good place for sound to carry from, because the list of gruesome deaths blared painfully loud from close by, rattling his bones as the news quite literally flooded through him. Some were sliced and some were shot and one of his classmates had simply offed himself. For some reason, that was the one that stopped the breath in his throat. Maybe he was just feeling particularly wretched at the moment, but he couldn't help feeling like they were kindred spirits, connected in some profoundly disturbing way he didn't want to think about - though there were a lot of things recently that weren't exactly his choice.

And then it ended, and only the screech was left in his ear to attenuate gradually towards thick, heavy silence. Aside from absolutely everything, nothing seemed amiss.



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TFW you will never find out what's in the basement · Helipad