"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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Viewing Single Post From: Flowerhead
MK Kilmarnock
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Hate, hate, HATE!!!
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Wake up, Liam.

Wake up, you're going to be late for school, and you have to work after! You can't get detentions!

Come on, now, the bus is almost here, get up!


Liam "Brook" Brooks, Male Student No. 025 Start

Brook squinted his eyelids shut. They felt heavy, but dry and itchy all at the same time. His back ached. His legs felt cramped. His ribs were a bit sore, and worst of all, his hair seemed tangled beyond belief. His bed was lumpy as hell, and whatever his mother was cooking... well, it didn't stand up to the breakfast of previous mornings. In fact... nothing stood up to anything of the previous mornings. Something was terribly wrong.

With a groan on his lips and an audible creaking in his back, Brook sat up with some help and leverage from his arms. All along his legs, through the seat of his pants and up his back, there was an undeniable damn feeling. Where the hell was he? Morning crust still laced his eyes, keeping them shut until Brook took the time to carefully scrape the gunk from them with his fingertips. Giving a ragged breath to hopefully yet futilely combat the cold, dew filled air, Brook opened his eyes to learn the falseness of his dream.

He could only look at the desolate scene for a moment or two before his head bowed. He had not been dreaming. The kidnapping was real, being strapped to that chair while his classmates, friends and foes alike were probably pissing themselves in terror, that was real. His teachers... what happened to some of them... the spattering of blood. When it happened, Brook could have sworn that a drop of it got on him, and the hyperventilation was uncontrollable from that point until...

What happened? Brook had been caught up in the moment to the point where it all just... blacked. He tried to remember the point at which it all went away from him, but was unable to pinpoint it. What was, important, however, was now. Now he was on an island, set to die, unless he could perform a mission simple in concept: kill every other Bayview senior on the island.

Brook's head pressed further into the cold comfort of his hands, a small, whimpering sob coughing up from his throat. He couldn't even fathom killing anybody, much less people that he had gone to school with, and his friends. He clutched at the device strapped around his neck - the device that would force him to obey the sick will of this organization.

I have no choice! No choice! I have to either play the stupid game or... no... there's gotta be something else I can do! Brook lowered his hands, standing up. "My friends... gotta find anybody, they could b-"

The sharp pang of realization pulsed through Brook's mind, fully waking him up to his surroundings and situation. He had to be quiet, and to be careful. He had to find his friends, to be with somebody who could make him feel safe, but words from last night (or was it last night at all? Maybe it was minutes ago, he had no way of telling as it still felt so much like a dream) spoke themselves in his head again.

You can't bring yourself to kill your friends? What if your friends could kill you?

Brook uttered a muffled whimper once more and turned around a full three hundred sixty degrees to get a full look at his surroundings. This area was a sad, sad waste, with trees cut down with reckless abandon... Clear cutting. He always hated the clear cutting method of woodsmanship, but there was no time to argue that now. Seeing a pile of lumber very near to where he had woken up, Brook tucked behind it. His knee brushed up against something, which upon closer observation was revealed to be the daypack that the terrorists had told him about.

He hurriedly sifted through it. There had to be something, anything he could use. Flashlight, first aid kid, water... everything that he had been told about. His groping hand felt something... cold and metal. He pulled his hand out with the heavy object to reveal a small, home-made looking gun.

"Oh... oh god..."
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Flowerhead · The Felled Forest: North