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Brackie
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personification of adhd
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They all acted with confidence. Rationality. At least they knew what they were doing, unlike him. He'd really only wandered into the whole thing, so it wasn't that much of a leap to say that he didn't belong here. He watched them, Mirabelle then Garrett then Jeremy, wander into the tunnel only a few moments after her. And he was left out there, alone.

Brendan'd been thinking it over. A lot. He had the only gun in the entire group, outside of what Liz had. He was basically...well, the guns of the group. But what did it really mean for him? He'd just be able to kill. But not just anyone, if push came to shove, he'd have to shoot of the death squad, right? Could he...really do that?

...I don't want to find out. I never hope I have to find out. If it goes to plan, then...Liz won't die. Liz won't have to die. She won't. Die. Never.

He watches the murky dark tunnel seep around, adjusting to the light. Morphing. Moving. God, don't think about that. If you go in there, you're a rat running around blindly, but if you're out here...then, well, you're a stone gollum, stopping anyone from crossing your path.

Anyone.

That means anyone.

Brendan took a deep breath, and scratched the back of his head. Still facing the cave. Deliberating whether to enter.

Fate made that decision for him, a long time ago it seemed.

"Guys..."

He whirled around on the spot.

"Carla?"

It was her, Carla Conners, that cheerleader. Cheerleader, what the hell, summing up a girl he barely even knew in so few words. But whatever her past, whoever she was, she was providing them with a hell of a good information. That, or hell of a bad turning to freaking worse information.

They were coming.

That's all that went through his mind before there was a loud bang, a fine spray of blood that coated his front, and Carla the cheerleader becoming no more.

He stepped back instinctively. Millions of emotions swamped his brain, all trying to battle each other out. Relief, despair, anger, sadness, flight, fight, vengance, EVERYTHING. This was a new experience, something he hoped he'd never have to face. Again, someone died in front of him. Again, he wanted to hurl, the fine coat of blood sprayed across his front fueling these senses and scents like the copper catalyst it was, again he wanted to grieve, but the moment Carla's body fell to the ground, her words struck their meaning.

It was them.

The death squad.

They were literally seconds away. Close enough to possibly kill him as he gaped at the dead body. Every instinct in his body screamed.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

Run. Run.

RUN.

RUN.

RUN.

RUN.

RUN.

RUN.


He didn't even realised he'd done it. He'd swooped down to Carla's body, and began rifling through her bag. Again, disgracing the dead, again not even trying to pay any mind to the people watching back home. He was doing this as blind as a bat, still on the lookout for the coming storm. They could have been right there.

His hands felt an ammo box. Paper. He knew what this meant now, a gun. Third time he'd done it, third time he'd disgraced a body by taking its belongings. Third time. He felt around more, skin touching metal, steel. Brendan yanked it out. A gun. He had two now. Two guns.

What the hell was he going to do with two guns? If a squad to kill him was really coming, he needed a fucking rocket launcher! But Brendan didn't have time to think about that.

He looked back, back to where she came from.






There they were.

Brendan's heart jumped up to his chest and floundered. ThumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpTHUMP.
The primal urges beckoned him to shoot. Kill them. They put you here. He resisted. He couldn't do anything except clench the two guns in his hands, and slowly back away. Slowly.
He went so slow it seemed like they'd overtake him.

His eyes caught one of them. He looked old. Moustache. Bald.

....what? I know him!

*~*

"-and there was Pandaemonium everywhere!" Chase exclaimed, already starting to giggle at her own little joke. Brendan had to let out a sigh. He'd heard that joke already about 10 times in his old science class, it was really already starting to get old. Well, it was one of the folleys of sitting next to a girl who was as bright and exuberant as Chase. She always liked making jokes.

"Chase, I think he needs to drive the bus or something, you might make him careen off the road if you make him laugh too much." Brendan commented to the goth girl sitting next to him, at least forcing a chuckle. It was that kind of joke he always fumbled, didn't remember the words correctly. She seemed to stop for a moment, almost as if she were considering what would happen if the bus careened off the road. He shook his head and laughed.

"Okay, I'm feeling a bit tired, so you just...keep talking to him I suppose, and I'm gonna nod off, okay?" Brendan said to Chase. He leaned his head against the window, before taking a look at two things that floated in front of his mind before he started to get heavy headed.

Is that...that's a nice necklace, wonder where she got that...

That's...a nice mask that guy has, I wonder what's it's for..

for...

for...

zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

*~*


It was him.

The bus driver.

He recognized that face, that head, anywhere.

And...he was the one who delivered the whole class to the terrorists.

He was the one who made occasional sarcastic jokes while noting the safety mechanisms of the bus.

He was the one who chuckled at Chase's jokes while he knowingly delivered that little girl, his best friend, to her death.

Brendan was still backing towards the cave, but his guns were both clenched tightly in his hands, aimed right at the upcoming group. But they had guns too. They had much worse than he could ever get.

His back-tracing steps almost stumbled over Carla's corpse. He avoided that grisly fate. He went around. Every little step brought him closer to the cave, while every tiny step only brought him closer to death...

Soon he was there. The darkness parallel. He stood there, breathing. There was an anger rising inside of him. He wanted to kill them.

A new decision popped up.

Run.

Shoot.

Run.

Shoot.

Run.

Shoot.

Run.

Shoot.

Run.

Shoot.

Run. Shoot.

Run. Shoot.

Run. Shoot.


He could hear one of them speaking. Were they speaking to him? He didn't care. He was only this close away from possible safety, or death. He didn't know what to choose.

Brendan turned his head towards the bald one. He had no idea whether their eyes met, he was too busy trying to shuffle into the cave.

"Three scientists work in a lab. The first one adds sodium sulfate to chlorine, and creates sodium chloride."

Run. Shoot.

"The second one adds a combination of sulfur to a magnesium compound, and creates Magnesium Sulfate."

Run. Shoot.

Run. Shoot.

Run....shoot...

"The last one adds a panda to a spread of ammonium-"

Run....

"-and there was Pandaemonium everywhere."

RUN!

He squeezed the trigger on his left finger. It wasn't aimed at them, they must have known that. He aimed it at the sky, above the terrorists. His flight instinct told him that he shouldn't be killing them. They detonated Carla's collar. She wasn't even a threat to them. If he shot one of them, it was all over. The bullet wasn't even meant for them. It was for himself.

Brendan bolted inside the cave.

"THEY'RE HERE!"
Edited by Brackie, Mar 6 2011, 12:26 AM.
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I can't sing but I wrote you a song

Wrong notes but the melody's so clear

When I'm lost, I'm still close to gold

cause I found my treasure in you
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