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Welcome to Survival of the Fittest, a RPing board loosely based off of Koshun Takami's Battle Royale, with its own unique plot and spin on the 'deadly game'. We've been around quite a while, and are now in our thirteenth year, so don't worry about us going anywhere any time soon!

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Pomme de Terre
Topic Started: Feb 13 2008, 02:02 AM (3,122 Views)
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((Continued from Nothing Left to Say but Goodbye...))

That's not a knife...THIS...is a knife...

Sanity wasn't something that was coming at a premium to Adam Dodd right now. The fact was, he wasn't quite sure that he hadn't snapped and was making any semblance of sense as he traversed the island, trying to get a feel for where he was this time around. He could say for certain, it was very different from the first island, as it looked as though it was some sort of military complex.

"Looks like something right outta' the X-Files..."

It was really all that he could do to convince himself that he was still alive, and more importantly, had full control of his mental faculties. Pop culture references were bound to be around in most media nowadays, but for Adam, it served as almost an anchor. The more he could remember about the "real" world, the more it seemed as though he felt like he was in control. And all that he could think about as he wandered down the path, was that Austrailian character from the Simpsons...

THIS...is a knife...

He found it very strange that he hadn't yet happened upon any other students, but it was probably for the best. Every single person at Southridge High School knew who he was, and it was a fact that he was painfully aware of. He was something of a celebrity or a pariah - just fuckin' pick one thanks to his survival of the terrorist attack.

And here he was, again. It really WAS enough to drive a guy crazy. The psychologists that he'd spoken with after his experience had expressed a bit of an admiration that he'd managed to hold out without cracking as long as he had. Adam knew that the truth was if he hadn't been so focused upon avenging Madelaine and Amanda's horrific deaths at the hands of Cody Jenson, he probably would have lost it a long, long time before he did.

But as he found himself in front of the enormous storage warehouse, Adam couldn't help but figure - that at least something inside of him was still shooting straight, and guiding him to make sane-looking decisions.

We'll see how that works out. With my luck, I'll run into one of my few friends, and they'll take me out without a second glance. And children everywhere will cry, for their hero got eliminated. Not realizing that it's not some ridiculous reality television show, it's real fucking life. Though if it is some kind of ridiculous reality show, they sure have me fuckin' fooled.

Listening carefully as he stood outside the storage building, he tried to hear any kind of telltale noise that someone else had beaten him here. But after a full five minutes of standing in silence and looking around the perimeter of the warehouse, it seemed as though he was the first.

"Gee, I just feel so incredibly blessed. Better be something in here that I can use for more than making a motherfucking grilled cheese sandwich."

Musing out loud was something he'd become acustomed to during his first go-round. All of his allies had died fairly early on, and Adam had gone approximately four days without having a real person to converse with. This time, he certainly didn't see that changing all that much.

"Fact is, everyone's scared to death of me. Adam Dodd, the only tried and true cold-blooded killer who attends Southridge High. Everyone else has their demons, sure...but mine're fucking aired in front of the whole world...no escaping that..."

Slowly opening the door to the warehouse, Adam peered in slowly, to make sure that he hadn't been dead wrong about the lack of people in the warehouse. It seemed that for now, he'd been correct. Quickly slipping in and locking the door behind him, Adam set to work at taking an inventory. During his last stay in the SOTF Hotel, he'd been something of a pack-rat, collecting weaponry and items off of all kinds of corpses and basically anything that was left behind.

You never know when the most useless of items'll come in handy...like the taser with Lamika...

Grimacing, Adam visible, recoiled against the unpleasant memory. He'd escaped that encounter by the slimmest of margins, and it had been solely because he'd had the presence of mind to pick up a taser off a fellow classmate who didn't have much use for it anymore. As soon as he'd assessed his situation, Adam confirmed to himself that he'd try and do the same thing again.

Making his way around the deserted storage-room, Adam looked for anything that could be used as a weapon. There didn't seem to be a lot in the way of left-over equipment, and if the graffiti on the crates was to be any guide, any medical supplies or perishables had almost certainly, well...perished. It wasn't that his knife was a poor weapon - it was quite the opposite, in fact. Notwithstanding his earlier thought about it being useful strictly for making a sandwich, the blade was wickedly sharp and had a vicious-looking serrated edge on it. The fact that it folded up was almost like a bonus.

It slices, it dices, and then it folds up so you don't prick yourself in the leg with it! Or prick your prick - that'd be far, far worse. This wonderful item'll be yours for only five easy payments of $17.99! We accept all major credit cards and cheque or money order. Please allow six to eight weeks for delivery, complete with Danya's smiling monkey-fucker face on the box.

The knife would be good for close-in work, but against any kind of projectile weapon, he'd be a sitting duck. Essentially, running would be his best course of action in any such scenario. Silently, he missed his pistol, and Hawley's shotgun.

"Hmmph. How fucked is that...?"

Grumbling, Adam finally opened up a crate and found something that he could use. Sort of. A box of flourescent light tubes wasn't exactly something that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, but if push came to shove, he figured that he could always find some use for them.

I'll just bring this to the roof and fuckin' throw them at people, give 'em a real nice scare when they start hearing cracks and pops around them. And then stare up at the ceiling and ask who the crazy fucker throwing lightbulbs at them is...

Sighing, he turned away from the box. It was worth a shot, anyways. Wandering over to the other side of the warehouse to where the card table was set up, he put himself down in one of the chairs and raised an eyebrow at the fact that there was still a package of cards left upon the table.

"What an archeological find, fuck..."

Quickly counting the cards, he found that the deck contained 52 cards, and was definitely usable. Thinking for a moment, he shrugged, and dealt himself in to a hand of solitaire. Being as he'd locked the door, and there didn't appear to be any other way into the warehouse, calming himself down seemed to be the best option, and instead of running into a homicidal Southridger, perhaps, he figured, that he'd just let them come to him.

As he flipped over the first three cards, he smirked at a memory that brought itself back up to the surface. It had been a long time ago, and he'd been talking with the late Alan Shinwrath and Hawley Faust during his first day in SOTF. He'd said something like "I don't think anyone woke up this morning saying 'man, I think I'll go kill myself some Dodd'". Sadly smiling at the memory of his fallen friends (though Alan wasn't much a friend as an aquaintance), Adam couldn't help but reassess. Seemed he was doing a lot of it lately.

This time, I can almost promise that someone did wake up and decided to go get themselves some Dodd. And the fucking exclaimation point? If they do come knocking on my door?

Adam slid the Ace of Spades onto a new pile, and finished his thought aloud.

"Well, then I'm totally fucked."
---
The Future

The Past

Meanwhile...
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((Paul Smith, Continued From: Just a Mirage))

Highland Beach, June 28th, 2005

"I'm telling you Mel, Dodd has this in the bag!", said a slightly fuller faced Paul Smith as he sat upon a very fancy couch and snuggled up against a very pretty girl. For a moment it looked like they where both watching a very romantic movie, but if one where to zoom out and observed you would note that where instead observing a TV with four mini-screens focusing on four different men. The thing with all these men where however was that they where cold blooded killers, the thing that separated them from murderers and put them with heroes was the fact that their deeds where being broadcasted for the world to see, some people doubted SOTF's reality, Paul Smith was not one of them. Yet, despite being aware of the horror and general shittiness of the situation, Paul decided to shrug it off and say, 'The only thing that this game does is provide me with a very interesting date'.

"He's not going to beat Jenson," the girl said calmly and rationally, her voice had a much more intellectual edge as compared to Paul's, but as she directed her attention to her boyfriend she continued, "I mean look at Adam, he's perfectly rationale and Jenson is crazy. That surprise? That gives Jenson an edge! And then look at the fact that Adam's spent the last few hours TALKING to himself, I mean he's about to prepare for the biggest battle of the game and he's just talking? I mean I know the audio is shit on this thing, but c'mon give Jenson some credit."

Paul paused as the TV went out for a moment, it had happened every few hours only to come up minutes later, he could've only assumed that it was because of the hacking he had observed O'Connor do a day or so ago and as he waited a full five minutes of silence went by. The picture never came back and it was now obvious that the cameras where officially gone, they could only watch and wait for the SOTF winner to become public. Finally though has he got up to get himself a beer he smirked at Melanie.

“Take a look at Dodd’s eyes, he wants to win and he’s been through enough shit to know what he has to do in order for that to become a reality,” he smirked, “Jenson’s been a dead man since he’s raped Shirohara and if Dodd doesn’t win it, well I can guarantee you it’ll be because he’s tired after showing Jenson whose boss, anyway Mel, this is a game and Dodd knows what he’ll have to do to win it. I kind’ve respect him for it, if it where me instead of him out there...I don’t really know what I would do...”

She smiled at him as she got up and kissed him lightly on the lips, a small twinkle in her eyes.

“You’d win it.”

SOTF Island, Present Day

Paul Smith stared out the outside of the Storehouse with a confused look on his face, for one the door was obviously locked and judging by how early in the game it was it would be improbably for someone to come in and already lock the door from the inside, unless of course they had started in there, an impenetrable fortress, it was an interesting prospect. Now if only he had some grenades to fish whomever was in, out. Paul of course was joking to himself, he wasn't coming towards the storehouse to kill anybody, but instead to pick up supplies. Some Molotov Cocktails or something similar would be a good range attack as he still had to deal with the ammo conservation problem.

But, still we had to deal with the locked door, turning to the side of the building it was there that he noticed a window and through that window gave him a perfect view of the storehouses inhabitant: Adam Dodd. He wasn't scared of Dodd, perhaps he felt that Dodd was the only person on this island who could sympathize with the thoughts that where going through his head, that killing was the only way to get off this island.

In order to get off of this island, I've gotta do what I've gotta do.

No matter how much it fucking eats me up inside.


These thoughts radiated through Paul's head as he lifted up the window from the outside and entered the room, realizing that this was the first time he was going to be talking to Dodd. He had always wanted to talk to the survivor, but circumstance had prevented it and caused him to instead stray away from the interrogation that would've ensued if he had done so.

"You ever play a game called twenty-one?"

Now that he was fighting for his life he figured he should've asked Dodd all the questions he wanted to...

But that would most likely be in bad taste, and as he sat down on a chair right in front of Dodd’s he could only nervously smile as he reached into his bag and pulled out of tin of crackers, it was then that he first saw his number ‘B03’. Being a SOTF ‘fan’ if you will it immediately drew the comparison to version one: Alan Shinwrath. He shared the same number as Alan Shinwrath and was now talking to Adam Dodd as if they where best friends? Really, the parallels where almost odd, but what really struck him was he offered the tin.

“Cracker?”

What the fuck Smith! He’s probably already going through god knows what type of deja vu and you’ve to come here doing unintentional SOTF references? You’re a fool and if Adam Dodd attacks you, well you’re going to’ve to kill the previous winner on the first day?! Fuck man, that’d just make the comparisons BIGGER! Because I assure you that Dodd is no Moravan, right? Well I at least hope so...

He took one of the crackers out himself and began lightly chewing on said cracker and then staring at Dodd again, waiting for a response. Strangely enough he was slightly more nervous than he had been before, but he still kept this aura of calmness going as he asked Dodd whether or not he knew how to play this simple card game.

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
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As Paul Smith entered the room via the window, Adam paid him virtually no attention. He'd heard someone come towards the door, try it, and find it locked. And he'd seen, from the corner of his eye, the boy come around the window and lift it, entering in from the far side. And instead of springing into a defensive posture, Adam saw the MP5 that the boy had on his person, and realized that he was instantly in a position of weakness. But if he played his cards right...

What a god-awful pun. Jeez, that one hurt even me.

...if he played his cards right, maybe he could secure himself an ally, or at the very least manage to get himself out of the storeroom intact (and maybe pick up some lightbulbs on the way). Flipping a few cards over, Adam found that his game of solitaire was quickly coming to an end. The cards weren't exactly in his favour, and internally he knew that was likely a terrible omen for his potential future.

Lightning never strikes the same place twice, so if I choose to look at it that way, there's no way in hell that I can win again...but sitting down and dying? No fucking way. That...that ain't happening.

As the boy came around and sat opposite from him at the card table, Adam didn't even look up. He knew who it was - it was one of the few people who had any sort of celebrity status at Southridge High. Paul Smith was considered something of a pseudo-rock-star around the school, though Adam'd barely ever said a word to him. He really couldn't have cared less. For most of his time spent at Southridge, he'd kept to himself, trying to fight off his demons.

But in the long run, he supposed that he should have expected it not to matter.

As Paul addressed him, breaking the silence, Adam looked up for the first time, a blank look on his face. It was a non-threatening look, but he knew that most people were intimidated by his 'veteran's eyes'. The look of someone who'd seen far more than their years might indicate. Flipping over another three cards, Adam nodded slightly.

"Of course."

Finding the seven of hearts, Adam grabbed it and stuck it on top of the six. Perhaps the game wasn't as over for him as he might have thought. Grabbing the eight from one of his lower piles, he then moved half a stack over to where the eight had been.

All it ever takes is one move, and everything changes.

He'd looked back down at the cards, and hadn't said anything more to Paul, who didn't seem to be intimidated by Adam's presence. It was almost refreshing - or at least, it would have been, if he weren't in the same situation all over again that had caused most of the intimidation in the first place.

That was how it was, only one person didn't seem to care about what I'd done and where I'd been...thank God for her...

Feeling his mind about to wander off to think about Izzy and her possible whereabouts and fate, Adam snapped himself back into the present. His current situation was not a favourable one, as Paul Smith looked to be the kind of guy who wouldn't have much of a problem with shooting him down. He was always a confident son-of-a-bitch, and while he'd heard mumblings that some of that cockiness was simply just a front, Adam wondered if the smart thing to do would be to challenge it.

Not if I don't want to get shot, it isn't."

Flipping another three cards over, he Paul remove something from his pack and extend it towards Adam. He kept his eyes down at the cards. If this was how it was going to end, then he was certainly already dead. No amount of running away would change any of that. It wasn't until Paul said something else that Adam looked up, smacked in the face with a wave of deja vu.

Adam reached into his bag and pulled out one of the tins of crackers that he'd hardly touched since he'd been on the island. Opening it, he took one out and crunched the stale cracker in between his teeth. Extending the can to Jacob, he shrugged a little.

"Cracker?"


It'd been him sitting with Jacob Starr, days after he'd followed Adam around the island trying to kill him and Hawley Faust, eventually succeeding with Hawley. He'd just lost Amanda, and he'd just lost Madelaine. David had been killed, as he'd been about to find out - by Jacob himself, and within the last day he'd been forced to put a comatose Marcus out of his misery. Suffice to say, the encounter had been brief, had been tense, and had ended with the two boys fighting to the death - the first time Adam had actually engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with someone.

Even more surprisingly, he'd won.

So as he looked up at Paul Smith with a faraway look on his face, he couldn't help but wonder if the boy knew very well what he was doing, and what he was saying. The parallells were far too eerie. And as Adam let himself finally see out of his open eyes, he saw the look on Paul's face, which confirmed it. And finally, he slipped out of his stoic mask, and posed a simple question to the boy in front of him, ignoring the cracker tin completely.

He wasn't about to LET lightning strike twice.

"Are you mocking me?"

He paused, and let it settle in what he'd asked, and before he waited for a response, he continued, noting that something in the boy before him had faltered, ever-so-slightly.

"...because if you are, you can just stop right there. Maybe you're one of those guys who wakes up and decides 'fuck this, I'm going to kill whatever I have to in order to drag myself to the end', or whatever. I don't know. I don't know you, man. But if you're mocking me...don't. Just because you saw me on a fucking television set fighting for my life doesn't mean that you know me. Fuck, you don't know me at all. Is that the kind of person you are, Paul? The kind of guy who wanders into a room and mocks someone that they don't even know?"

Adam's expression hardened a little bit, but he still kept his gaze directly at Paul's forehead, staring a hole right through him.

"'Cause if you are? I don't know how it is where you were brought up, but that makes you a bit of an asshole. Are you an asshole, Paul? I know you think you're a rock star. At least, that's what people say. I don't personally know, Paul. I don't know you. I've barely ever met you. And frankly, up until this very moment, I didn't care to meet you. I mean...no offense intended, but I've got my own shit to worry about, yeah? I don't need some rock star judging me based upon what the United States of America's seen on their fucking television screens."

Adam paused again and looked down at his card game. Slowly, he moved the four of spades onto the top pile, and looked back up at Paul.

"Or...maybe you're a comedian, y'know...trying to be funny. So once your music dies down, you can go on the stand-up circuit. Are you a comedian, Paul? Are you a funny guy? Again...I can't say. I don't know you. You notice...you might want to notice that I'm not making any kind of prejudgements about you, Paul. I'll make observations, sure. Like the fact that you weren't at all intimidated by my presence in the room to come sliding through the window. Which, I might add, you did loudly, and if I was the kind of psychopathic killer that certain people believe me to be, you'd be lying in a pool of blood over by the window and I'd be holding that pretty MP5 of yours."

Slowly breaking out into a bit of a smile, Adam found himself slightly amused, though his heart was racing and he knew that the odds were he'd probably find himself dead before he ever finished his game of solitaire. Pissing off a guy with a gun wasn't the most productive way to go.

"Yes, I did notice that. One thing that this shitty little game has taught me how to be is observant. I saw your MP5, and whatever other weapon you've got on your person. I don't know what it is, but only that you're holding it in your pack, because obviously the MP5 is better. I can't say which you started with, but I'm willing to bet that it wasn't your machine gun. And since you aren't completely covered in blood, I'm guessing you haven't quite killed anyone yet. So maybe you took it from a body, maybe you intimidated someone into giving you their gun. I don't know, I really can't say. I can't tell THAT much from looking at you, Paul. Appearances don't say it all."

Adam flipped over another three cards.

"But if you are one of those guys who feels like...what do they call it? Playing the game? If you want to play the game, Paul...and you feel like you have to mock me before you do me in? That you feel you want to piss me off before killing me? Do yourself a favour, and don't bother. I'm not biting. I've done this before, and you and I both know that if you decide to take out your machine gun and shoot me, at this distance, I haven't a chance in hell. What is it you expect, Paul? You expect me to fight back? To beg for mercy? Beg for my life? Beg for fucking forgiveness, is that what you want? I'm just guessing, really."

Eight of Diamonds. Adam put it on the top pile. The game hadn't been over as quickly as he might thought, and as he got closer he saw that he stood quite a good chance of winning.

"You know, Paul...there's not a day goes by I don't feel regret. Not because I'm in here, or because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then: a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try and talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can't. That kid's long gone and this old man is all that's left. I got to live with that. Rehabilitated? It's just a bullshit word. So you go on and stamp your form, sonny, and stop wasting my time. Because to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit."

Adam paused, and smirked.

"That's from the Shawshank Redemption. The most tremendous film of our time, in my humble opinion. But that's it, laid out for you in very clear, very obvious print for you. You want to shoot me? Go ahead and do it. I couldn't give a fuck. If that's the way you want to do it, you've already decided you're going to. So quit with the fucking foreplay, Paul, and go ahead and FUCKING DO IT."

The smile was gone, and Adam's voice rose as he had picked up the ten of hearts. Holding the card in his hand, he glared an icy stare at Paul. Truth was, he was tired of this. He was tired of playing the game. He was sick of having people think of him as a cold blooded killer. There was a time...way back, when he'd been a good friend to many. Now all of them were dead, and he had very few left. If this was to be Adam's own personal Angel of Death, he figured that he might as well just get on with it, instead of trying to provoke him into a fight. Holding the ten in his left hand, he held his hands out in front of him, as if to say 'well, what are you waiting for?'

To many, it seemed like a stupid move, but to Adam...it was that slight falter that he'd seen. It was intimidation, and it was what he'd opted to try and use to work his way out of the mess that he found himself in. Playing it cooly and calmly, Adam hoped that his wager wouldn't blow up in his face.

Of course...that's why I always hated to gamble - because I really...really fucking hate to lose...



---
The Future

The Past

Meanwhile...
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“The knife, is in my right sleeve,” Paul said calmly when Adam finished speaking, the rage was understandable, really, but Paul couldn’t help but shake his head when the whole thing was over and simply sigh as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette and put it to his mouth and smoked.

“Y’know I hope you don’t mind Adam, really I don’t, because let’s be honest here. If I where a so called ‘player’, I would’ve already shot you, nah just like you’ve guessed I’m too much of a pussy to take someone out much less you. Fuck yeah, I’ve seen you do some crazy ass shit, but yeah I was one of those douche bags you hate, y’know the one watching the TV and musing, “Well fuck yeah, at least it ain’t me.” and you know I just can’t help but be grateful that I ran into you first, if you kill me, fuck I’m kill number what? 13? It’d be almost fitting for me to die on a card table and if I kill you -trust me though, I’ve yet to even pull the goddamn trigger to this thing so it ain’t going to happen- I’m the guy who killed Adam Dodd, fuck I bet that prick Danya would send me off the damn island.”, he took a long puff out of his cigarette and continued, “But, y’know, that’s probably wishful thinking. You’ll have to excuse that Mr. Veteran, I’ve spent the last hour of my life trying to figure out away to get off this hell hole all the while dealing with the fact that unlike you I am a big pussy who couldn’t shoot anyone if his life depended on it.”

He put the cigarette out on the card table and pulled out another one, this time staring directly at Dodd before lighting it.

“And then we’ve got the third option, an alliance or some shit. Nah, I’m not naive enough to think that those things last very long, thanks for teaching me that Mr. Dodd, but I won’t lie even though I’d be sleeping with one eye open -like I do when I’m awake-, I’d be happy to be with you, at least you’ve some idea what you’re doing and what we’ve got to do to get out of here. Fuck, I heard some kids from Japan -where they got a similar thing going on- managed to get out of here due to some crazy veteran returning, maybe you’ve got similar tricks. But, once again excuse me it’s wishful thinking.”

He smirked a bit as he pulled out his third cigarette and lit it up, seven now had gone in the day, he was probably going to run out of his pack very soon and that would’ve sucked.

“So here we are, you’re asking me to kill you and I’m a fucking little bitch who can’t do anything but say, ‘Fuck you Dodd it was a goddamn misunderstanding!’, really man, we’re sure having a gay ol’ time down here on this fucking island.”

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
Ace Beats: Varsity Blues - Wale
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Adam's composure broke as he listened to Paul's retalitory musing against his near-tirade. The guy just hadn't seemed to understand what Adam was trying to tell him. Putting the card down on the table, he leaned forward a bit, scoffing as he did.

"Man, you're not hearing anything that I'm trying to fuckin' tell you. This guy that you seem to think exists? This veteran, this crazy guy who went around and killed twelve people? This guy is a made up creation of a sick fuck in a media truck somewhere. That ain't me, man. You really wanna know what I did? The whole time, I simply worried about finding my friends and getting off the hell of an island that we were on last time. And before we had a chance to think of a plan, everybody died but me. So from there, I just tried to survive. So what, you think I taught you something? You think that I was trying to teach anyone anything? Fuck no! I was trying to survive, to get by."

Adam shook his head at Paul.

"I know how to play this game about as well as you do. The only advantage that I have over someone else is that if I have to kill someone to survive, I won't hesitate. That's it. I'm not some big fucking god, I'm not some hot-shot game player. I'm an unlucky sonofabitch who managed to fluke his way through a hundred and twenty other kids. This guy that everyone seems to fucking think that I am? This guy that virtually everybody just assumed I am?"

Adam picked up another three cards, and got the last one he was looking for. Placing the eight of diamonds on the pile, the game was now all but over, he just had to finish it off and he would win.

"He doesn't fucking exist. Hell, I've never met him. Can't imagine that I ever will. But if any of you fuckers had ever even bothered to try and get to know me you'd have realized that. SOTF fucked me as bad as it fucked any of those hundred and twenty kids the first time around, fucked me as bad as it did any of that hundred and twenty kids the second time around, and as bad as it did for however many poor bastards they've got here this time. Only one person in the entire world could ever know what the fuck's going through my head, and that's Bryan Calvert. I've never met him, we don't have weekly 'SOTF Winner' get-togethers, but the guy knows what it's like. Fight your way through your classmates while getting blood on your hands? That does shit to you, Paul. And you have no. Fucking. Idea."

Quickly finishing the game of solitaire so he had the suits arranged in numerical order, Adam stood up and kicked the chair back behind him slightly, so he had room to leave. Stooping down, he picked up his pack, and wandered over to the crate with all of the flourescent light-tubes. Grabbing about ten of them, he fitted them in his pack, and tightened it up so that they stuck out the top. Turning back to Paul, he shook his head again.

"It's like I said right from the start. You don't fucking know me, Paul. Nobody does. But this wonderful little image that you all have of me, as some 'crazy veteran'? It's going to do me in. An alliance? No thanks. I guess you were right about one thing."

Adam spat onto the wooden floorboards.

"I know better. You go find yourself an alliance, and then become close with them, then watch 'em all die within hours of each other. Then you come back to me and see if I want to form an alliance there. Fact is, with the image that basically all of Southridge has of me, I trust very few of you fuckers. I know most of you would put a knife in my back without a second thought, because you're afraid of me."

Adam scoffed again at the notion.

"Afraid. Of me? Jesus Christ, my friends back up in Toronto would be laughing at that. But that's how it is, Paul. That's how things really are."

Adam turned around towards the door, but stopped and turned back.

"Have fun with the cards."

And with that, he turned, making his way towards the door.

---
The Future

The Past

Meanwhile...
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Bukowski
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[ *  *  * ]
And now is when Paul Smith snapped.

Adam Dodd had pressed a few buttons, hell that was one way to completely and piss him off. The talking down to him? The accusations of just following what the media told him, it caused Paul to feel childish and more importantly just overwhelmed him with anger and as Adam Dodd walked away Paul decided he wouldn’t let this guy just get away after such disrespect towards him. He could’ve just shot Dodd in the back, hell that might’ve been a better decision, but Paul was no killer no Paul was a fighter, a bouncer and he dealt with disrespectful little shits every day of the week. Given none of them have survived SOTF, but y’know that’s pretty much relative to the whole situation.

Paul got up and swiftly ran towards Adam Dodd, Paul was blindingly fast and a tempered fighter, hell if Dodd had seen the tournament final he would’ve known that Paul had always been an exceedingly fast person; though now that speed seemed to be tempered with the experience of tons of hand to hand brawls. The knife in his sleeve was easy enough to slip out, the MP5K in his left breast pocket was also quick on the draw in case something went wrong, but Smith knew nothing would, Dodd could shoot a shotgun...but there was no way and hell the guy knew how to take a punch as well as Paul could give them out. Cocking his fist back Paul would send out a blow with power that’d continue to build like a snowball in an avalanche. The definition of a haymaker punch.

Paul had left no margin for error and once the blow connected with the back of Adam Dodd’s skull it would be a knock out punch, even more so due to the proximity of the fighters Dodd would’ve no choice but to either take the punch or if he somehow managed to turn around block it with his arms, but that of course would probably heavily bruise his forearms before sending him sprawled out on the floor. If the blow hit Paul Smith would spit upon Adam’s crumpled form and begin speaking again.

“Before you fucking start bitching about people making assumptions about you perhaps you should take your own advice and take a look at everybody goddamn else,” he paused, “You’re right, you ain’t special and we’re all scared for our goddamn lives out here, fuck maybe I’m wrong in assuming that you’re, but really I don’t even give a shit man when I say this to you. Adam Dodd. Not the winner of SOTF, just the douche bag laying down in front of me: Fuck you.”

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
Ace Beats: Varsity Blues - Wale
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Experience.

That, of course, was all that anyone could ever hope for in certain situations. Take gambling, for instance. Gambling had quite a bit to do with luck, but the other variable was experience. If you knew when to quit, knew when to draw in, when to stay out...that was experience.

Adam wasn't kidding, either. He didn't believe that he was some superman. He didn't figure himself for some larger-than-life figure. That much was true. He figured that all in all, he was just an unlucky SOB who'd managed to wade through a field of shit and come out smelling like roses on the other side. Clichés aside, Adam knew what was coming as soon as he heard the dead giveaway for any fighter before they started fighting - hell, he did it himself all the time. Paul probably didn't have a clue that he did it, but it was all that stopped Adam from taking a punch in the back of the skull.

Paul stopped breathing.

It was the momentary drawing in of breath that usually signified the seconds before an attack was sure to come. Adam had noticed it during SOTF 1.0, and now in round 3, he knew the sound well. As soon as he heard it, he tossed his pack to the side and made a move to hit the deck.

Alas, Adam Dodd WAS no Superman, and he still managed to take the punch right in the shoulder. Thankfully for him, it was the side of his body that had managed to avoid injury the last time around, but the punch still hurt like a son of a bitch, and Adam's self-preservation instincts seemed to reactivate themselves from their flaccid, dormant state. Grunting as his shoulder screamed at him, Adam ripped the switchblade out from his pants, and rolled as soon as he felt himself falling to the ground.

That's gonna fuckin' bruise in the morning...if there is another morning...

As he held the blade in his right hand, he felt a strangely familiar sensation overtake him. It was then that he realized he'd been wrong. He HAD used a knife the first time around - it was what he'd killed Jacob Starr with. The familiar instincts took over, and Adam quickly assessed his situation, as Paul was telling him to fuck off.

Quickly dragging himself to his feet, he shook his head in an almost sense of awe. Obviously, he'd struck a nerve with Paul. But Paul had thrown the first punch, and if that meant that Adam would have to pick up exactly where he left off, then so be it.

"Fuck me? No, Paul. Fuck you. I am taking my own goddamn advice, and I'm walking the fuck away from someone who's probably going to get me killed if I stay waiting around for it. Look at what we have here, Paul? We have a situation on our hands, eh? There's no whining going on here, Paul. There's me, showing you the straight up, cold, hard truths. And it looks like that's a hard little pill for you to swallow. So you know what, Paul? You open up the can of worms, and you're going to have to deal with what happens when they spill all over the motherfucking floor!"

It was unfortunate; that the situation at hand had escalated to how it was. But Paul Smith had thrown the first punch, and for that, he wasn't walking away unscathed. Adam didn't really want to kill him, for he wanted to shed the image that he thought he might have, but the other boy might not have left him much choice. Without wasting any time, Adam struck even before he finished his retort, taking a strateigic swipe at Paul's right hand. Adam knew that if the other boy felt threatened, it wouldn't matter how much of a pussy he claimed to be. If he took out the MP5, it was all over for him. The only thing Adam figured was that one couldn't shoot a gun if they didn't have fingers to shoot it with.

But if this doesn't work, then I'm not stickin' around to get my ass shot full of bullets...
---
The Future

The Past

Meanwhile...
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Bukowski
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[ *  *  * ]
Paul was the worse type of person to fight , mostly because he was what some people liked to call: a counter specialist. When someone struck Paul he didn't get on the defensive and instead usually tried to counter his opponent, seeing Adam Dodd rise up and speak and then attack him caused a similar reaction and that was simply Paul pulling his wrist back and causing Adam Dodd to miss, during this period Paul would go and grasp Dodd's arm by the wrist making sure that the knife was no longer a problem. Bending the grasped wrist downward Paul was in a perfect position, Adam Dodd would die and Paul would be the one to kill him. Really it was just a matter of reaching into his jacket and pulling out the gun and unloading a bunch of bullets into the previous winners sternum.

Paul nearly sighed as in that brief second he once again came to the conclusion that no matter how much Dodd had pissed him off Paul was still scared to kill the boy, to pull the trigger of the gun. Just like he had promised last time, if he pulled out the gun it would be to kill and despite how much he wanted to shut Dodd up, he didn't want to kill him.

Slipping his leg behind Dodd's Paul smiled as he did a trademark move of his and cocked his fist back, a very quick and powerful punch would be let out and go straight towards Adam Dodd's nose, once the blow connected Paul would let go of the wrist and allow Dodd to stumble back, doing a fairly standard back trip. The punch would leave Dodd on the floor and it would be then that Paul would snort once again.

"The only thing spilled all over this fucking floor, is you."

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
Ace Beats: Varsity Blues - Wale
C.C. Mac: I Do - Cardi B
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do you want to go to war, balakay?
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
If Adam didn't know any better, he'd assume that Paul himself was trying to imitate what had almost become a trademark witty banter. At least, Paul had made the effort to try and intimidate him by mimicing him once before, and if mimicry was the sincerest form of flattery...?

But he couldn't say he was flattered, more annoyed. As Paul grabbed his wrist, incapacitating his knife hand, and then aimed a punch at his face, Adam ducked and went limp, surprising Paul and rendering his next move useless. Falling to the floor, Adam rolled towards his pack, and quickly closed his knife, sliding it in his pocket. Until he got some sort of better weapon aside from lightbulbs and a knife, Adam wanted to stay far, far away from any kind of combat.

Hell, I'd rather stay far away from any fucking combat as it is, anyway. For the time being, anyway...got to find myself a fucking gun...

Grabbing one of the lightbulbs from his pack as he slung it around his shoulders, he knew exactly what would be coming, and swung the long white tube like a baseball bat, catching the onrushing Paul Smith right in the chest, and shattering in Adam's hands with a loud crunch, sending the boy crashing to the floor with a terrified expression on his face. Adam wouldn't stick around to see how that worked out for him, as his main objective now was to get the fuck out of dodge.

Quickly reaching the door, Adam unlocked it and threw the door open as quickly as he could. Stepping through, he took one glance back at Paul, and threw a passing retort over his shoulder.

"Oh, and give up on the one-liners, Paul. You fucking suck at them!"

With that, Adam ran into the woods as fast as he could, away from the undoubtedly furious Paul Smith, and hopefully not into a situation that could possibly get any worse.

((Continued in Archangel))
((PS: Had permission from Bukowski to control Paul there))
---
The Future

The Past

Meanwhile...
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The Burned Handler
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Well, that was pointless. And an awfully poor performance from the so called 'second best fighter in Southridge'."

Worthless he may have been, but if there was one thing Daniel Brent (Male Student No. 35) was good at, it was feigning confidence. This was especially true when the boy had a plan he was ready to set in motion, such as now. He had woken up somewhere in the jungle at the very start of the game, and had made his way to the hospital before the action there started, quickly falling asleep. Waking up some time after the chaos had died down, he was at first convinced he was dreaming. After all, he had dreamt of being in SOTF for the past two years, and wasn't surprised to find a collar around his neck and cameras in the room he slept in. He had been a fan of Hawley Faust during the first game, as he could identify with the poor boy (well, except for all those wounds and dying of a nasty infection), but he wasn't pleased to find a bobblehead doll of him as a weapon. Fortunately, despite still being exhausted, Dan quickly found something better; a mop. Yes, a mop, but he didn't leave with just that. Bracing the mop against one of the cots, he was able to break it with a kick due to the pressure being put on in two different directions. Using the broken handle to smash a medicine cabinet, he had taken a particularly large and sharp piece of glass and used it to tear a strip off of the sheets on one of the cots, using it as a makeshift rope to tie the glass and mop handle into a makeshift spear, a few test thrusts proved that it worked fine, though Dan took the liberty to tighten the sheet a bit just to make sure it wouldn't come loose when he really needed the spear to work before he headed out the door.

While leaving, he was unsurprised to find Lance Barret's corpse (as he still thought it was a dream) outside, and decided to stab the corpse as a test of the spear. Much to his surprise, not only did it successfully pierce the dead man's flesh, proving the spear's sharpness, but the resistance the body offered to Dan's stab was all too real. He was understandably alarmed at first, but was able to quickly regain his composure, get his pack (throwing away the bobblehead), and leave.

That was what had brought Dan to the abandoned storehouse. Moving quickly despite his fatigue, he was able to climb up to an empty window-frame with some difficulty, climbing in and going down the stairs to the first "floor" of the storehouse. Hiding behind a crate not faced by any cameras (thus obscuring him from view of anyone watching SOTF at the moment), he had started to formulate a plan. Unfortunately, he had more or less promptly fallen asleep. He had woken up again not too long after, right in the middle of the conversation between Adam Dodd and Paul Smith. Frozen in a mixture of fear and surprise, he was only able to slightly turn himself around and adjust the "spear" so that he was able to watch from behind his crate as they started to fight. He nearly shouted in surprise when Adam easily defeated Southridge's second best fighter (which made him wonder how Adam would have done if he had joined the tournament) and ran off, but was able to keep his composure. After a couple of seconds of internal debate, he rose to his feet, took his spear, and walked over to Paul, who had yet to get up, voicing a quick taunt as he raised the spear and placed it more or less over where Paul's heart would be from Dan's position (Dan was standing just behind where Paul's head was).

It was worth noting that Paul Smith, for all of his arrogance and all of the humour Dan gleaned from the fact that Adam had kicked his ass in about two seconds, was one of the only people in Southridge High School Daniel Brent truly didn't have anything against. His antics sometimes made Dan laugh (and sometimes made him sigh), and despite his attitude he struck Daniel as something of a nice guy. This, however, didn't mean Paul Smith was not a threat to Dan. In fact, for a second Dan mused that he might be better off simply slipping his spear between Paul's ribs, killing him, but Paul would be better as an ally than as a corpse.

"First, don't move. You wouldn't want this spear to slip, would you? Anyway, that was some hit you took, Paul. That fight would've been easier if you had some backup. You're a big guy, and one of the toughest people in this school, but even you need someone who can watch your back while you sleep. How about we join up for a bit? It'd certainly be easier than toughing it out alone."

Normally Dan wouldn't have ever thought of talking to Paul that way, but for once his confidence was real. If Paul did anything, a simple push downward on the spear would seal the fate of the cyclops. He was in charge, for now at least.
MurderWeasel getting impatient
 
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.


Quote:
 
18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!


Quote:
 
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene


Things SOTFers say
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Bukowski
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[ *  *  * ]
From what it seemed Paul had gotten his ass kicked, this for the most part was not true. When hearing the shattering glass from the tube he immediatly thought it had pierced his skin and had thus fallen down on his back to avoid any more punches and by the time he was on the floor and reaching for the MP5 concealed in his breast pocket he felt a slight pressure holding the gun down, looking up he noted that Daniel Brent was poking him with what seemed to be a make-shift spear. A precarious position for the eye patched boy was that his right hand (where held his knife), was now in his jacket going for his left breast pocket where his gun was being held.

The good thing? The boy's spear was pressing against the gun and for the most part Paul was safe for now, even a thrust would only lead to meeting a dead end, but still submissive position was a shitty thing to be in. Though has he looked up at Brent he didn't make any effort to show fear, but rather calmness and while he smirked a bit at Brent (whom he hadn't had the pleasure of meeting, but had heard the name ever so often when mentions of graduation came up), it was odd now that he found himself in the same position he had placed Melina in, but sometimes you've to make due.

"Well, Dodd's shoulder is going to be nearly incapable of movement for the next few days and I'm just going to have to wipe some glass off my jacket, I think I did pretty well for myself," he smirked a bit, "C'mon Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling... for you to get that spear off me. I'm sure we can both help each other-for the moment."

Truthfully Paul had no intention of an alliance with the boy, but if he had to tell him what he wanted to hear in order to get out of this position, if he had to stay with the boy for a few seconds in order to live than Paul was all for it.

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
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C.C. Mac: I Do - Cardi B
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Cute...

In all honesty, Daniel wasn't sure whether or not to believe Paul when he said he'd be willing to work with him if Dan took his spear off of his chest, as he had already decided he couldn't afford to really trust anyone. Cracking a small grin at Paul, he realized that if the positions were reversed he would probably just tell Paul whatever he wanted to hear in order to give him (Dan) a chance to get up and retaliate. How could he know Paul wouldn't just pull out a hidden weapon and kill him the second he was allowed to stand? He couldn't. Of course, Paul seemed honest enough, but anyone could be playing this game. Everyone probably was. Really, killing everyone else was the only way off the island, it was stupid to think escape was possible. This was the real deal, after two years of dreaming, and the only person he could afford to trust was himself. They'd all be gunning for him anyway, the least he could do would be to return the favour. Nothing against Paul, but he had to do what he had to do.

Guess I should've expected him to mouth off to me like this. This is Paul Smith, after all.

"Don't be a smartass, I'm the one with the spear," Dan said, poking his spear into Paul slightly, though not enough to hurt Paul, "I'm about to take this spear off you, so just get up, an-hey, wait a second."

It had been the poke that had tipped Dan off to the fact that something was up. After he had initially "made" his spear, he had stabbed Lance Barret's corpse to test it. Because of that, he knew what pressing a spear against flesh felt like. However, poking Paul had felt entirely different. It seemed more like his spear was against a wall or something metallic than flesh and blood. He had also noticed the positioning of Paul's hand, as if he were reaching for something in his coat. The logical solution came easily: Dan's spear was on top of a concealed weapon. Paul Smith had tried to trick him, proving he could not be trusted. Clearly it was a mistake to think of him as a possible ally. Dan did indeed lift the spear off of Paul's chest, but instead of taking it away he immediately shifted it so that it was resting on Paul's throat, a bit above the collar, pressing hard enough to just barely start to break the skin.

"You little rat," snarled Daniel Brent, his face twisting into a grimace, "you tried to trick me! You were going to use that weapon you've got hidden to kill me the second you had the chance, weren't you?! Worthless one eyed prick, I knew I couldn't trust you!"

This guy would've killed me if I had done what he asked! Too close...can't make this mistake again.

"So...here's the deal," said Dan after he had taken literally a second to gather his breath and thoughts, "you're going to SLOWLY take out whatever weapon that was in your jacket, and you are going to hand it to me. When I get the weapon, I will take away this spear, and you will leave. Your pack stays here, too. If you do anything else other than what I said to do, you're a dead son of a bitch." he pushed down the spear a bit harder, just to prove his point (pun not intended), twisting it just a small bit.

"Understand?"
MurderWeasel getting impatient
 
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.


Quote:
 
18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!


Quote:
 
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene


Things SOTFers say
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Bukowski
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[ *  *  * ]
"Now, now, take it easy playa," Paul said calmly before removing his hand from his shirt, he'd have to play this cool. He'd have to gain Dan's trust, it would be difficult, but Paul Smith was by his very nature a charming person. One does not get to be prom king and the first sexual encounter of half of Southridge's underclass if one cannot maintain a certain level of charm, Paul was first and foremost a social demon. He laughed lightly (as to avoid raising his throat too much and having Danny actually draw blood as despite all the pain the spear still lacked the pressure to break the skin) and then brought out his hand and brought it to his outward breast pocket -where Dan had just had his spear-.

"Surely you didn't think Paul Smith of all people wouldn't bring some liquor, right?", he said with a small smirk bringing out the flask, of course Dan had been poking the gun, but the flask was in the same area and there was almost no way for Dan to think that the flask was anything BUT the metal object he had just been poking.

"C'mon Dan, we can't be getting ahead of ourselves right now," he lightly smirked, "Just calm down and take the spear off my throat, I promise, hell I swear on all my lighters and cigarettes -you should know that's a big deal- that I won't kill you or even attack you if you let me up. Honest."

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
Ace Beats: Varsity Blues - Wale
C.C. Mac: I Do - Cardi B
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Ciel
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"That’s not a prediction, that’s a spoiler.”
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
(Owen Fontaine continued from I'll Follow You Into The Dark)

"Al'ight, bitches! Drop all your shit on the ground, cuz this is a stickup!"

Owen Fontaine bared his sharp canines, putting his weapon directly at both of the boys standing in front of him. One of whom he knew quite well from around Southridge, a slick boy by the name of Paul Smith. He made Owen laugh his ass off numerous occasions. Then the other boy... he really didn't know who he was. Frankly, Owen didn't exactly CARE who he was either. He twirled his imitation pistol around his finger. From the distance he had been standing from, the two boys could have mistaken his weapon for something much more lethal.

"Alright boys. Nothing personal, but I want every single lethal weapon you've got on ya. And don't think you can fuck around and say that you ain't got shit, because I know that you do. That spear you've got there. It ain't much, but it makes a boy like me wonder. I know you guys have some stuff, and I want it all. Right. Now."

The boy cackled softly, cocking the gun. "This is a real gun, and you really don't want to know how many people I've killed today with this thing alone! And I'm crazy enough to shoot you both here and now if you don't cooperate with me. Nothing personal, but I'm not going to get the short end of the stick when I have a gun, and some maniac has a RPG. So instead of pulling hairs with all of this, I'm just going to ask you nice and all to just give me everything you got, or I'll kill you both. It's as simple as that, really."

Owen hesitated, waiting for one of them to answer. "Well... come on. Don't fuck around with ME!"
V6

G052 - Reed, Jasmine - 0% - Falchion - START END
G060 - Pfeiffer, Scout - 100% - Sawlaska Thunderfuck 5000 - START
G025 - Reyes, Audrey - 0% - Nunchaku - START END

releases greatest hits album, is an one-hit wonder
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Bukowski
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[ *  *  * ]
OoC- Obtained Meg's permission for this, sorry bro, but I've been waiting for going on ten days now and it was just getting frustrating. If you're pissed, well...I guess we'll fight it out on AIM.

BiC- And soon Owen Fontatine entered the room screaming random gibberish about a gun and Paul was overwhelmed with a strong aura of fear for the second time in this game and stood focusing on Dan and noted that a similar reaction was occurring in him: perhaps fear was useful for more than just causing him trouble and soon Paul Smith twisted his neck slightly causing the spear to drop downwards on the floor, grazing his skin and barely missing the jugular, Paul Smith was bleeding and scared, but he was free.

Jumping upwards he smirked confidently as the blood went down his neck due to the newly gained vert and he stared at Owen with a smirk that pretty much dared to be shot at and soon Paul was running towards the exit, using a similar strategy as he did when he took the gun from Melina: a zigzag pattern, of course this time he didn’t take the boy out and instead outstretched his arm as he ran past him...ideally this would cause Owen’s nose to collide with Paul’s forearm, but Paul didn’t exactly care as he would soon make it to the door and burst through it, running at a shocking speed.

You got luck in there Smith, if it wasn’t for that Owen kid you would’ve been dead... he thought while hissing due to the stinging of the air hitting his small cut in his neck gave him.

((Continued in Motion Isn't Meaning))

"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” - Charlie Murphy


v7
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