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Dénouement; V3 Endgame
Topic Started: Jan 30 2010, 06:59 PM (5,830 Views)
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(OOC: Any God-Modding of characters in this thread was approved by each character's handler.)

(Trish McCarroll continued from When There's Nothing Left to Burn)

Noon eventually came, and unfortunately for Trish, she could still see. James' ghastly corpse now emitted the same stench that she'd been trying so desperately to avoid for the past two weeks, and her pants were now stained with his blood. Anyone else might have found it disgusting or oddly sentimental, but she doubted she could comprehend either of those feelings at the moment. Nothing made sense to her right now.

The familiar crackling of the P.A system roused Trish from her living coma and prompted her to remove herself from her now uncomfortable sitting position beside James. Her leg was asleep, as was to be expected, but she found herself paying more attention to the speakers than her ailing limb. The familiar voice that rang through them no longer had the capacity to irritate her.

"You'll be happy to know that thanks to the relentlessness of you kiddies, we're finally down to the last four!"

Danya's revelation wasn't surprising. It had been two full weeks since the Southridge High class was dumped on the island, and his mission had been a success. The grand majority of them were dead, and the other three that were still alive...well, surely they had to be at least half as mindfucked as she was. He certainly sounded pleased with himself.

"Ms. Trish McCarroll...not only have you managed four kills of your own, you even managed to get all of your closest friends killed! How's that for a piece of art?"

"FUCK YOU!" She screamed suddenly in protest, infuriated by Danya's implication and disproving her original belief that Danya could no longer get under her skin. She wasn't hearing the rest of his announcement - really, she couldn't give a damn who else was left alive anymore. Any and everyone she once considered a friend was now dead, and ultimately their sacrifices had been in vain. Even if Trish survived, they all died for nothing. Danya's disgustingly suave voice made that all too clear. Trish would've liked nothing better than to rip into him with her rifle at that moment...

...which she was no longer carrying.

Turning back towards the control tower where she'd left her equipment, Trish made her way into the building as Danya ordered the remaining students to make their way to the airfield. Any other day she'd have considered herself fortunate not to have been caught in a danger zone, but now she had only one thing in mind. Blowing Danya's brains out seemed like a fantastic idea. Cliche? Sure, but it was the only thing that kept the scarring image of James, Danni, and Jake's corpses out of her head - that, and the vague and distant possibility that she might get to hug her mom one more time.

Her body was wounded, her mind was beyond repair, and her spirit was completely shattered, yet somehow Trish managed to kneel down beside her trusty assault rifle and begin the tedious process of preparing for what would be her penultimate battle. Three more attacks to survive until she avenged her friends. It was the least she could give back to them, all of whom having made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of keeping her alive.

Her first step was hiding Lex's supplies in the now somewhat destroyed locker upstairs in the control tower. She highly doubted anyone in the final four was going to run around looking for more guns in lockers at this point, and that way if the AK failed her she'd have a backup plan. Something about the grenades made her uneasy - subconsciously she was sure it was memories of James' recent demise - so she stashed them in the locker along with the rest of Lex's supplies.

Afterwards she reloaded the AK, storing two more clips in her pockets and finally zipping up and hoisting the day pack back over her shoulder. She didn't have time to make mistakes anymore...there were no other friends who could save her. This time, she had to do it alone.

Ducking down behind the window in the control tower, Trish gathered herself and waited.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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Trish's eyes unfocused for a second. She hadn't taken time to change or moisturize her contacts recently, and the dry irritation was beginning to impair her concentration. She closed her eyes as her muscles clenched, becoming visibly frustrated by the newest roadblock to present itself. After all, all she needed was another disadvantage when she was this close to getting home, wasn't it?

"Why now..."

Her eyes welled up in response to the pressure, which, fortunately for her, eased the pain of the hardened lenses against her cornea. Pulling up a stray finger to wipe away the damp spots in the inner canthuses, she re-gripped the handle of her gun and stole another cursory glance out the control tower window. This time, a foreboding sight met her eyes.

"Two of them are together...?"

Her mind wandered for a minute. She'd been distracted from the final announcement by James' demise. She at least remembered who the other three students were that remained however, and armed with that knowledge, she stole another quick glance before retreating behind cover for safety.

"Lenny and Lulu. Shit."

Were she to have cared more, she'd probably have wondered why a sweetheart like Lulu Altaire was helping a psychopath like Lenny Priestly, but she found the trivial question outside her realm of concern. Right now, Trish's only focus was on staying alive. After surviving for two weeks in SOTF, she now knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was capable of doing whatever it took to make sure that happened.

"Gotta separate them somehow..." She thought to herself. It was the most rational plan. Hopefully J.R could distract one of them while she managed to handle the other, and she'd face the winner afterwards. Right now, even a docile, innocent creature like Lulu wouldn't be garnering any mercy from her. She'd lost too much to give up now.

Suddenly, the memory of her and James approaching the control tower mere hours before flashed through her head once more, and as Lex's battered, spewing visage once more traipsed through Trish's memory, the resulting idea hit her like a ton of bricks.

Quickly and quietly, Trish scrambled across the floor to the locker, pulling it open and removing two of the remaining concussion grenades from its contents. She didn't feel very comfortable carrying them, sure, but that didn't mean she couldn't use them to separate Lenny and Lulu - or maybe, in an ideal world, even finish one of them right there and then. The idea of having to kill them didn't bring her any satisfaction, but for the moment she was desensitized to its repercussions.

"They're still too far away..."

Crouching in suspense, Trish clutched the concussion grenade for dear life and said a silent prayer to the God she barely believed in that it wouldn't be too much longer before the game was over.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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Trish's heart bounded as she anticipated what was to come. The climax of the game was right in front of her, and the pressure associated with having to strike the final blow was immense. With the rest of the game she'd been protected by the ambiguity of what may or may not lay around every corner, which had served to keep her on her toes. Now, however, she knew what was coming - all she could hope for was that the other three didn't.

Stealing another glance out the shattered window, Trish had just enough time to notice that Lulu was now leading the pair closer to the control tower. Her grip on the grenade tightened reflexively, and she felt her breathing become shallow and laboured. The cold feeling of metal against her fingertips reminded her of her fear of the grenade exploding in her hand, however, and she loosened her grip to compensate.

Trish's sweat glands were working overtime now; the heat of the mid-day sun combined with her anxiety made for some rather unattractive patches showing through her now worn and ragged t-shirt. In the back of her mind Trish noticed for a second that she smelled similar to a used jockstrap at the moment, but despite the unpleasant and uncomfortable feeling the uncleanliness brought her, it didn't hold a candle to how nervous the prospect of having to mow down another three of her classmates made her feel. The shred of her conscience she held onto reminded her that she could try to wait out the impending collision between the other three and save herself some blood on her shirt, but her desire to survive won out.

Her mouth was dry, but Trish swallowed in a vain effort to regain some sense of control. She closed her eyes forcefully for a second, whispering some rushed words of encouragement to herself before repositioning and taking another glance out the window. It was now or never.

Hesitantly, Trish moved into a kneel behind the windowpane. She counted herself down from five, and when she'd finished, she removed the pin from one of the concussion grenades and swung her arm forcefully towards Lenny and Lulu, releasing the doombringer in her stride.

"Please just do me a favour and fucking die..."

Moving with the momentum, Trish heaved the AK up into her arms and balanced it on the windowpane, gripping it forcefully to hold her position with as little recoil as possible and firing short bursts from the rifle out towards the pair.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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Click.

Trish ducked her head behind the ledge near the window, then scrambled across the room to get as far away from it as she could. Knowing her luck, one of them had a couple grenades up their sleeve, too. Even a bullet wouldn't have been a welcome grievance. Still, for now she remained unscathed, and the nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her that if she had any chance of making it out alive, she'd have to stay that way.

Ejecting the empty clip from the rifle and slamming a new one in, Trish barely had time to notice that the process had almost become automatic for her. The strategical way she had to think out every second of her life, the constant awareness of what was around every corner, the completely inability to trust anybody other than herself...

In passing, she couldn't help but wonder if her life would always be like this, even if she escaped.

"Worry about that when they're dead!"

"Ugh," Trish grunted suddenly to nobody in particular as she kicked the empty clip out of her way. That inner voice of hers was starting to get really annoying.

Retrieving another AK clip, which she thankfully had plenty of, she replaced it into her pocket where her old replacement had been. While quickly rummaging through the daypack, she decided that keeping the handgun within close reach would be a good idea too incase she ran out of time to reload, and with some effort (and after making sure the safety was on) she managed to shove it in her back jeans pocket, making sure to tuck her shirt over top of it to conceal it, just in case.

Zipping up the pack, she realized that she could no longer afford to heave it around. It was now or never.

"Three magazines for the rifle, and whatever rounds are in that handgun. Better hope luck's on your side, bitch."

That time was different than the others. The voice in her head had materialized in the form of Danni Champney - but the reminder of her death was the furthest thing from motivating. Trish shook her head. After two weeks in Survival of the Fittest, it was surely natural for anyone to be slightly delusional - but now was the most inconvenient of times.

"What are you waiting for? Go kick some ass!"

The image of Danni breathing her last breath flashed through Trish's head, which she quickly managed to shake off...but with it, there was yet another memory that resonated deeper. This one, however, came in the form of a revelation.

Subconsciously, Trish's fingers reached down into one of her pockets. The crumpled slip of paper she retrieved had gone untouched by her for almost two days at this point, but her stomach sank as she realized what it held. They were the only keepsake she had left to remind her of Danni...

*BANG! BANG!*

Two shots rung out clearly across the airfield, and Trish was snapped out of her distraction harshly. She crouched just above the stairwell against the wall, and hastily opened the piece of paper reflexively before reaching for her gun. She could only hope that Danni's "last words", as she had labeled them, weren't written in the form of a poem.

Trish smoothed out the wrinkles of the paper. It was blank. Her eyes frantically scanned its surface, but as gullibility faded away after an instant, she managed to turn it over.

"LIVE! :)"

Trish, stunned by the contents (or rather, the lack thereof) of the note, would have smiled had she time. Now, however, she had to take Danni's advice.

"As you wish," she whispered to herself and to Danni, shoving the note in her pocket and regripping the rifle. Trish bounded down the stairs, taking a moment to compose herself against the first floor wall of the control tower before sweeping across the doorway, firing a burst of bullets towards a figure running across the airfield. She clambered against the opposite wall, her breathing picking up as she waited for the inevitable return fire to pass, protected by the safety of the tower's steel walls.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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*BANGBANGBANG!*

Trish jumped, startled by the sounds of bullets erupting from an opposing firearm and burying themselves into various parts of the control tower. She still hadn't quite trained herself to be a super-human fighting machine, much to her chagrin, and the explosive impact of gunfire was still enough to make her shake with fear.

Unfortunately for her, she didn't have time to be scared.

"Come on! That's the best you can fucking do!?!"

The raspy baritone of Lenny Priestly rang out through the dense, early afternoon air. Trish swallowed a lump in her throat, catching a couple breaths before responding quickly.

"You wish!"

It was lame, but it was the burst of inspiration she needed. She darted back across the room, firing the AK through the open doorway in the hopes of catching sight of Lenny once again. Her effort, however, turned up futile.

"You're exposed! Get the fuck away!"

Surprised by the lack of a formidable opponent in your field of vision, Trish panicked and began to retreat up the control tower stairs.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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"Come back here!"

Trish, as much as she wished not to, almost obliged.

The first thing she felt as she neared the top of the stairs was a sense of relief that she'd be out of Lenny's line of sight, but that hopeful thought was soon replaced by the burning agony of hot lead ripping its way through her stomach and left leg. She collapsed against the final few stairs, the impact against the concrete causing her to draw in a sharp breath. Her gun hit the floor and clattered against the upper level with a thud that sounded a thousand times louder to her than it probably was. She wanted to scream like a feral, caged animal, but she felt as though the air had been vacuumed out of her lungs and replaced by waves of fiery death.

Survival instincts taking over, Trish dragged herself up over the last couple stairs, her remaining senses detecting that Lenny was now on her ass. She desperately reached for the rifle, grabbing it by the hilt and dragging it towards her. She threw herself over on her back with her remaining strength and leaned up slightly, firing the rifle towards the stairwell. She was no longer strong enough to handle the recoil of the heavy duty assault rifle, however, and after a few shots she fumbled the unsteady gun with her diminished grip.

Trish shuffled backwards on her hands in an attempt to get back towards the locker at the back of the room, but the progress she made was slower than she anticipated. With every ounce of energy remaining in her, she managed to drag herself away from the top of the stairs and began sliding across the floor to the center of the room.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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As the weight of the heavier, foreboding killer made its way down on top of her, Trish began to feel her chances of surviving this encounter slowly slipping away. The haze of thoughts that raced its way through her mind did nothing to help her as Lenny pinned her arms to the ground with his knees, and the electrical impulses firing through her body weren't much more effective as he slammed his elbow down against her trachea, cutting off her breathing. The only thing Lenny hadn't completely broken yet was her spirit.

The psychotic twin ranted and raved at her as he attempted to bring her game to an end, but the taunting was completely lost on Trish. All she heard was a jumbled concoction of screams and the sound of her own hoarse voice gasping for air, her body reeling in shock at the loss of its power supply. Her limbs were now moving as frantically as her nerve impulses could muster, her forearms and shins flailing and thrashing about with no clear intention. Her vision blacked out for a second, and as it returned and she saw the twisted grin on her reaper's face, three words rang out clear as a bell that reminded her of her own mortality.

Jake's corpse fell down in front of Trish, his teeth shattered and blood pooling in his mouth as he gasped for air. His panicked gasps faded to silence as his eyes closed, but the silence was shattered within nanoseconds by Danni begging Trish not to read her last words in front of her. Danni's corpse then became riddled with bullets as her face morphed into James', who collapsed to the ground right in front of her. Finally, James opened his eyes, and the sadistic gaze of Lenny Priestly fixated itself on her as those three perilous words erupted from his mouth like molten lava and pyroclasm.

"No hurt feelings."

Trish's eyes shot open, her pupils fully dilated.

"I'll hurt more than just your fucking feelings, you dirty CUNT!"

Unfortunately for Lenny Priestly, the somewhat-forgetful Trish had neglected to bring a pair of nailclippers on the trip, which proved to be the perfect reinforcement to her feral awakening. Curling her hands as much as she could, Trish dug her nails into Lenny's legs with as much force as she could muster, tearing and clawing at his skin until he reared back and relinquished the hold he had on her windpipe.

Trish, not one to lose momentum, seized the opportunity to free her arms from underneath Lenny's knees and tear at him with her nails once more, this time right against the bullet wound that her AK had left in his side. Lenny cried out primally, and Trish kept digging until his body gave out beneath him and he rolled off of her and onto the cold steel floor of the control tower.

Another wave of searing pain overtaking her from the bullet wounds that still plagued her torso, and still struggling with barely any breath, Trish turned over onto her side and crawled a few feet away, barely managing to stumble to her feet with the aid of a wheel-equipped office chair. As she got up, the familiar, comfortable weight in her back pocket reminded her of what she now had to do.

Trish reached underneath her shirt and into her jeans to withdraw the Springfield, but as she turned to face Lenny and pulled the trigger she was met with the sound of resistance from the gun. In her panic she hadn't realized that the safety was still on, but before she could adjust the firearm, Lenny was back on his knees and lunging towards her.

Operating solely on instinct, Trish raised the gun and brought it down hard, smashing the barrel across Lenny's face and sending him once more sprawling down onto the blood-soaked floor. After disabling him she reflexively took a couple steps backwards, able to now consciously remove the safety from the gun.

Having caught her breath, Trish aimed the bloodthirsty steel towards her adversary.

"Say hi to Liz for me," she sputtered, bracing her saviour with both hands as she squeezed the trigger four times.
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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Lenny Priestly's body hit the floor.

Trish was frozen in place for a moment, her gun primed against the corpse as if it would get up once more, hellbent on her destruction. Her experience in the game had taught her that if anything seemed too good to be true on this God-forsaken island - especially with the luck she'd had over the past two weeks - it most definitely was.

Lenny, however, remained silent. As a small stream of crimson snaked its way around his torso and lower body, Trish dropped her guard and slowly lowered the Springfield to her side. Her exhausted, aching body mustered up the courage to take a few steps towards him.

The sight of Lenny Priestly's smiling face both disturbed and re-assured her. There was no more pain in his body. He had relinquished any grip he had on life. It was a sight she was now all too familiar with.

The sight of a corpse.

Trish's body recoiled, and gradually the pain that her adrenaline rush had masked returned to her. Blackness clouded her vision and hot waves of nausea rebounded off of her like she was in a wind tunnel, and she found herself dropping her handgun and lowering herself to knees, arms clutching the two gaping wounds in her stomach.

"Not now...so close..." her broken thoughts urged as she fought the pain in her stomach, her survival instinct reminding her that now that Lenny had been offed, there was a good chance she was about to win the game. Gunshots were ringing outside, though, which meant that the other two (she was no longer alert enough to identify either of them) were still hanging around. She wasn't quite out of the woods yet.

Fumbling through her pocket for another magazine for the AK, Trish stumbled over to where she'd left it on the ground, kneeling down to retrieve it. As soon as she shifted her weight away from her trembling feet, however, she felt the rest of herself come crashing down to the floor beside the rifle. The searing pains now coursed through her entire body, prompting her to let go of the ammunition and wince, barely making the gun out against the cold concrete.

Trish tried to clamber back to her feet, but the attempts were met with gradually more resistance each time, until finally she gave up completely. The realization that she wouldn't be walking anymore, however, didn't bother her so much, for it came embedded in an even greater revelation altogether...

...Trish wasn't going home.

For the first time in two weeks, the realization that she was going to die plagued G23's mind. She'd done everything she could to stave off that reality, but ultimately, when push came to shove, she wasn't strong enough. Now that her friends weren't around to be meat shields for her, Trish really couldn't do anything at all.

At some point in time, somewhere in her conscience, Trish had attempted to justify each of the five murders she'd committed. Killing Jeff was revenge for Jake...killing Sloan, Nick and Lenny was self-defense...killing Lex was to avenge James...but in the end, she didn't feel any better. All she felt was hot lead eating away at her insides, and dizziness at the loss of her vital fluids...

But most of all, she felt the stinging, bitter, all-encompassing regret of having dragged three innocent people down with her.

Jake. Her best friend, whom she'd convinced to come on the trip despite his protests of not wanting to go. True to that friendship, he'd spent his entire stay on the island searching for her...and in all that time, not once had he crossed her mind. She had been so consumed with her own welfare that Jake's never even made a dent in her memory. Now, the only memory she had of him was of when they'd finally been reunited...only for him to have received two bullets through his face as thanks for his eternal devotion. There was no escaping the harsh truth - Trish was entirely responsible for his demise.

Danni. The girl from art class whom Trish had envied for having kickass hair. The same girl whom Trish was sure she'd labelled as an "attention whore" multiple times back at Southridge. A girl who ended up being one of the most genuinely sweet people she'd ever met. And, of course, a girl who tagged along with Trish until she was met with a gruesome death...the absolute last thing she deserved.

The fact that Trish had nothing to do with the inevitability of that fate escaped her mind entirely. Her convoluted thoughts told her that if Danni had never joined up with her and James, she'd still be alive at this very moment, probably kicking the shit out of whoever was firing guns outside.

And, of course...

James.

Despite his unwavering loyalty, attempts to cheer her up with obscure video game references and comical quips, and unrivaled ability to make the brightest of any situation, Trish couldn't even count how many times she'd thought of James as a burden over the past fortnight. He was always either too slow for her, or too cautious for her, or too reckless...nothing he'd done was ever good enough.

Not even throwing himself into Lex's line of fire.

Trish's vision blurred. Not as a result of the pain, or the steady retreat of consciousness, but instead the poisonous tears of regret she wept clouded her eyes. She no longer cared enough to sob, and couldn't bring herself to clear her throat or wipe her eyes. Every thought of one of her friend's faces brought more pain than any amount of lead or steel could hope to. What she wouldn't give to see one of them one more time...

...and she could.

Trish regained some of her composure. Her vision was still foggy, but she mustered up enough strength to drag her arms and torso up off the floor, and steeled herself as she began to pull the dead weight that was her legs towards the stairs. Thankfully she'd made it pretty close to them before her collapse, and she managed to heave her arms down a couple steps and grip one of the raised (or lowered, from her perspective) levels.

With robotic determination, Trish dragged herself down the stairs, step by step, her exposed bulletwound colliding with the cold concrete every so often and sending agonizing waves of searing pain up through her body. She managed to put mind over matter, however, and soon found herself dragging her feet across the cold, vile corpse of Alexis Machina.

Her feet and legs hit the ground hard after she made it over the road block that was Lex's body, and the rousing sounds of gunshots brought her back to reality. She thought she could see faint outlines of people outside the control tower doors, but to her, the figures were distant blurs. Instead, her failing eyes managed one last achievement - an intense focus on the body of James Brown, who was now only meters away.

Trish reached across the floor, but with nothing to grip, she found herself barely able to shimmy two to three feet forward before her body recoiled in pain. James still seemed just as far away as before. Just as out of her reach.

Despite her best efforts, Trish could no longer will her body to move. The blood she'd lost upstairs and on her trek down had finally gotten to her, and her circulation was failing. Instead, she was left staring across the abyss, James' pale face against the tarmac staring right back at her through sunken eyelids.

All this time, people had thrown themselves into the fray for the sake of protecting her. All this time, Trish had never managed to return the favour to any of them. And now, here she was, bleeding out on a barren floor. All of their sacrifices were for nothing. All of their deaths, pointless.

"James..."

Trish could feel the tears returning, but not much else.

"I..."

"You're...?"

"I'm so..."

"You're what, sorry?"

With James' death, part of Trish had died with him. Were she conscious enough to be aware of it, she'd probably have guessed that it was that very part of her that she was now internally at war with.

"I..."

"You're not sorry. Sorry's what you say to somebody when you want them to forgive you."

Trish paused, futilely blinking the steady stream of tears away and swallowing a lump in her throat.

"James can't forgive you anymore, you selfish bitch. James is dead."

Her conscience...or whatever the hell she was hearing, was right. James couldn't tell her it would be okay anymore. Nothing about this situation was okay. But there was one other truth that the voice was forgetting about.

James was dead, and soon enough, Trish would be too.

She had to tell him. Talking to him in the afterlife that may or may not have existed was no longer good enough for her. In death, she had to say everything to James that she couldn't in life.

The black haze that swarmed her from all sides began to grow heavier, like a thick fog that slowly unraveled her final threads of life. There was no time to give a Nobel Prize acceptance speech. No time for a eulogy. No time to say goodbye to her mother, sitting on her couch at home, bawling her eyes out.

Trish's time had run out.

"James..." she managed, in a barely audible voice that she couldn't register.

Trish's eyes closed, and her face lowered itself to the floor. It was cold. Trish had never liked the cold, but now...it felt nice. Like the stinging remnants of pain that accompanied her last grasp on life were slowly being washed away by its chilly embrace.

"...thank you..."

The words never left her lips, but Trish had left nothing unsaid.

Her mother watched.

Her father waited.

Trish moved on.

G23: TRISH MCCARROLL -- DECEASED

2 STUDENTS REMAINING
v4 Characters:

G23: Claire Lambert: Property of the Fabulous Mr. Toben

v3 Characters:

B65: Dorian Ibanescu: Coastline

Deceased:

B57 - Jeff Marontate: Cleaved
B120: Jim Middleton: Pummeled
G61: Anna Grout: Submitted
G62: Andrea Vanlandingham: Martyred
G39 Alexis Machina: Crushed
G23: Trish McCarroll: Defeated


natlei was sleeping in her bed when someone came thru her window "get away rapist" she said still half asleep and hit one of them in the head with her liucky frying pan then went back tyo bed them men the injected her with a sedative and carried her off
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