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Greg The Anti-Viking
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On the left is a mod, on the right is a pre-made psycho...get the picture?
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Nathan heard a pop and then there was a blank space. He blinked twice. He had fallen onto his back and found himself staring up at a canopy of green leaves. His breathing was heavy and his gut felt like...

Nathan moved his hands over his chest. It was damp, like some sort of syurp had been poured on him. He tried to bend up to a siting position, but there was a stinging pain protesting that he should not move up anymore. He lay back down and moved his hand up into his vision. His hand was stained with crimson.

Like he had been shot.

Nathan tried again to raise his head up, craning his neck to do so. He saw the gun in Brook's hands. Jason's head turned to Nathan. He said something, but his ears wouldn't stop ringing. Gravity forced Nathan's head back down to the ground.

Brook had shot him. Nathan grimaced, even though he knew Brook had snapped, he followed the trail to find him. Jason's hope had been infectious it seemed. Now he was paying for it. What was one more mistake to the pile?

He could hear the sounds of a scuffle taking place. Was it Jason and Brook fighting? He cursed his inability to make sense of the muted noises he was hearing.

Nathan's hands twitched and it dawned on him. His pistol was gone! Wait, not gone, nearby. It must have fallen when Brook shot him. His arms moved all around his body, groping in the dark to find his weapon.

This wasn't Jason's fault. It was his own for not speaking out against this plan. Jason did not deserve to die because of him. He needed to survive this. If Nathan was going to die. The least he could do for his friend is take out the man that was trying to kill him.

Despite his feverish searching, Nathan came up cold. It must be behind him, right behind his head or something. To reach it though, he had to turn himself around.

Breathing was becoming harder, more sporatic. Time was running out. He rocked back and forth as gently as he could. The pain in his gut was screaming at him, warning him that he would likely die faster.

So what, I'm a dead man anyways...

With a loud groan, Nathan flopped onto his belly the tingle of grass on his open wound shooting flashes of discomfort. The pistol was there, about an arm and a half out of reach. Nathan coughed, sending red spit to fly out into the forest floor. So he would have to crawl to get to it.


Nathan stretched out his arms and used his legs to push him on. He was moving up an inch with every push. It was taking too long. He wasn't going to be able to save Jason.

"God damn it legs work!"

His arm reached out to the pistol, straining, hoping to touch the handle.

"I'm running out of time damn it!"
v5 characters
B054:Oscar Trig-Smoker, Artist, Film Buff

Please, message me if you have ideas, I sure don't!

Fall down seven times...
Stand up eight...
Japanese Proverb
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Bloodgarden · The Woods: Coastal