"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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RedAstaire
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grim wolf wannabe
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((Darius Van Dyke continued from Something tells me this isn't Arizona anymore))

Welcome to hell, Darius, welcome to hell. Darius slowed down from his sprint as he reached the helipad. It was a less creepy area, but it still seemed extremely dangerous with the helicopter that appeared to be falling off the roof. A roof. Good. He had an overview, couldn't be surprised.

Darius breathed heavily. He was out of breath. It did not help that he just ran away from no one. Bad move.

But at least he had now more time think more rational. To recall everything properly. It was still hectic to him, but he felt calmer than when he woke up. He now could think about the obscure situation he is in. The terrorists. The game. The introduction. When Darius saw a gasmask, he held his breath. It did not help, he could not outwit the gasmask men, he still was knocked unconscious. And he wished he had remained so. This reality is worse. Darius can’t recall what he dreamt about while he was unconscious. Maybe it was a good dream, maybe it was a nightmare. Fact is, either way it would have been better than this reality. He wishes that this is just a nightmare. But he could feel the reality. It felt like an helipad of a video game he played, but he could feel the realness of the current situation. His shoes, his hair. He wore his clothes. Darius was Darius.

Yet, the situation seemed very surreal. Everything was so familiar and unfamiliar at once. The new locations he had not seen. That bag...oh, he should open the bag.

Crap, crap and crap, first aid crap, guide crap. His personal bag that contained absolutely nothing important anymore, with his electronic devices removed. Good, food. Water, excellent. A chisel. A piece of paper that confirmed that Darius had a chisel. A fucking chisel as a weapon. Chisel.

With a chisel in his hand, he went further around the area. He was not alone, probably. As he previously shortly glanced at the crap map he had in his bag, he could see that the island was rather small. People would be all over the place, and the likelihood of someone else being here earlier, was high. Darius did not know how long he sprinted, but he was not athlete.

The surreality is real. Such a bizarre situation. If he wore red shoes instead of his blue-white sneakers, he’d have clapped his heels and repeated ‘there’s no place like home’ over and over and then he’d be back at his home, waking up on his comfortable bed. He’d be able to chill at home, continue playing his games he still has to finish. Indeed, there was no place like home. This was not home. This is hell. And hell won’t become his home. No.

It was so surreal with the location he couldn’t recall and the faces he recalled, this could be a dream, right? Wait, faces he recalled. Was that…?
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96+ Quite Bitter Beings · Helipad