Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
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!

If you're a newcomer and interested in joining, then please make sure you check out the rules. You may also want to read the FAQ, introduce yourself and stop by the chat to meet some of our members. If you're still not quite sure where to start, then we have a great New Member's Guide with a lot of useful information about getting going. Don't hesitate to PM a member of staff (they have purple usernames) if you have any questions about SOTF and how to get started!

Let the games begin!

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
A Moment Remembered; A strong boy dies, a weak girl lives. Fair Trade. PM for entry
Topic Started: Nov 13 2010, 10:09 AM (1,908 Views)
chitoryu12
Member Avatar
Leader
[ *  *  * ]
((Christopher Carlson continued from The Moon is Laughing at You))

I hate this fucking pack.

This was the mantra Chris kept up in his mind for an entire day of walking. It wasn't that heavy, but the balance was awkward and made it uncomfortable to lug around. He felt like a zombie; he barely rested on the third day of his personal hell, just kept walking. He didn't even think to pull out his compass. He figured he would head toward the mountain and try to clear his head up in the cool air. Of course, walking with nothing but a landmark wasn't the easiest way to get around. Without knowing it, he ended up walking in circles in the forest and losing track of time. Then suddenly, it was night.

He fell into a deep, almost dead sleep with his daypack as a pillow. When he got back up, he felt something digging into his skull from where he rolled over. He fished around in his pack, finding a little circular object. His compass.

Motherfuck, I still had this thing?

With his sense of direction firmly set and half a loaf of bread in his stomach, he was off.

He had been in the mountains a couple times. Driven through the Appalachians, hundreds to thousands of feet above the ground. But the Appalachians were nothing like this; it was a lone, brown peak. A sparse rock providing a sharp contrast to the mostly flat grass and treelines he had seen.

The path up was rugged, almost like a well-worn path trod into the ground eons ago that had been vaguely smoothed out by the modern inhabitants, wherever they went. The rocks were murder on his feet, and as he reached the halfway mark he finally stopped, practically collapsing on a rock.

Something whirred.

His head snapped toward the noise, and his eye caught a tiny motion just ahead and above him. Somehow, he had never seen these before. During all his time on the island, he had been so preoccupied that he never once noticed them.

He guessed this one was sensitive to motion, as now the lens was staring straight at him. A single black eye looking him right in the face.

He didn't know where it came from, but a sudden surge of anger hit. In one swift motion, he bent down, scooped up a rock, got to his feet, and hurled it with all his might.

"GRAAAAGH!"

It missed, of course. He was never an accurate thrower, and the rock simply smacked into the stony face a foot to the left of the camera. There was a light puff of dust from the impact, and then the fist-sized chunk of silicate rolled down the slope and out of sight.

Chris paused, panting and sweating. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He wanted no more to do with this damn contest. Whether by death, escape, or survival, he just wanted off this damn island. He was hot, tired, and drained. He had witnessed one of the most brutal accidental deaths known to mankind. He popped a guy in the head with brass knuckles and barely made a dent. What the fuck kind of chance did he have?

The same rage welled up again, and with a loud grunt he turned and kicked the boulder he had been sitting on. Precariously close to the edge, his powerful legs sent the huge ball of stone over the edge and down to a distant thud below.

And that was that. He fell to his ass, head hanging between his knees, and sighed.
Characters for v4

Christopher Carlson: B052
Weapons: Brass knuckles


Jake Crimson: B084 (Adopted)
Weapons: Cinderblock

Characters for v5

Clayton Leven: B050
Weapons: Handcuffs

Shit people say

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
chitoryu12
Member Avatar
Leader
[ *  *  * ]
((All GMing approved))

For all his love of guns, Chris had never actually fired one in his life.

He had been around a few gunshots, including a lot of blank guns for stage shows, but he had never gotten the chance to fire one. He wanted to make sure that when he finally bought one or got taken shooting, he would know how to work whatever he was given right out of the car. So he almost obsessively learned the trade; more than almost any kid in Bayview, he could tell you the exact difference between every type of gun, explain how to load and fire anything from an old matchlock musket to an HK416 assault rifle, and be appropriately exasperated when a video game or movie got something wrong.

And never, EVER call a magazine a "clip" around him.

So when he turned at the sound of footsteps and saw, of all people, his prom date running up the hill after him and berating him about expensive rocks, he was caught slightly off-guard at the appearence of a gun in his face. The sheer shock of being threatened threw his body into fight or flight, not giving his brain enough time to express joy, then fear at the sudden coming of a girl he knew so well.

He instinctively ducked to the side as she raised the gun and pulled the trigger. He didn't see much detail; it was a Smith & Wesson Sigma 40P handgun, but unless he actually looked at the slide he wouldn't know. All he could see was, judging from the small size, it was probably 9x19mm Parabellum. Not the top manstopper in the world, but it would certainly stop him.

Needless to say, he didn't expect to see Sarah looking so frustrated with the gun. As she turned the gun to the side at the sudden stiffness of the trigger, he recognized the tell-tale sign of someone flipping the safety off. One of the best things about knowing when your opponent is going to shoot is knowing when to dodge. As the gun lowered to point at his half-bent form once more, he dove to the right, bracing himself against the mountainside.

BLAM

The report of the gun was followed by his ears ringing. He flinched, one hand going slightly up to his ear in pain. It would take another 30 or 40 years to notice, but he had definitely lost some of his hearing. He also knew that he would need to act NOW to keep himself from getting a new bellybutton or nostril. Considering Sarah's aim, probably the former.

He pushed off the rocky face with one hand and lunged forward, passing through the acrid cloud of smoke and aiming for the gun. He had remembered something from a self-defense book that gave the account of Kip Kinkel's rampage at Thurston High School; Jake Ryker -- acting with a bravery almost unheard of at his age -- tackled the bastard. He had tried to push Kip's Glock out of battery by grabbing the slide and shoving it back to keep the gun from firing. He didn't grab it right, but he did manage to push the plastic pistol out of the way and avoid taking a fatal wound.

Chris had MUCH more luck on his side than Jacob Ryker. His left hand shot up and grabbed the shining target, pulling it back as far as it could go. A tiny gold sheen appeared in the corner of his eye; the cartridge in the chamber being ejected and clinking its way down to the base of the mountain.

His right hand, meanwhile flew into Sarah's chest. He felt a twinge of shame and embarassment at copping a feel, but that thought was overridden by the fact that this girl was pointing a gun at him and trying to kill him. A survival grope, if you will.

And thus the prom couple went tumbling to the ground, landing with a thud. Sarah absorbed most of the impact, and was BARELY enough to keep him from knocking the wind out of himself. It wasn't the best tactic to disable yourself while attacking an opponent. Had this been a situational comedy, his girlfriend would have walked in at this point and discovered him in a highly compromising position. Not being a situational comedy, he ignored the fact that he was as close to Sarah as humanly possible and reached over to tug the gun from her hand.

Chris had the gun in his right hand, perfectly positioned to shoot anyone in front of him. Sarah wasn't in front of him, though. She was under him. It turned into a lame struggle to point the gun at her head, all the while every nerve in his body screaming NO. And then, the cold steel of the barrel was against her temple.

What do you do when you have to kill a beautiful girl that just tried to murder you? When your prom date goes nuts and shoots at you? When you've never purposefully injured a woman in your life?

Nothing.

And that's exactly what Chris Carlson's trigger finger did.
Characters for v4

Christopher Carlson: B052
Weapons: Brass knuckles


Jake Crimson: B084 (Adopted)
Weapons: Cinderblock

Characters for v5

Clayton Leven: B050
Weapons: Handcuffs

Shit people say

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
chitoryu12
Member Avatar
Leader
[ *  *  * ]
The feeling was odd.

It felt like a combination of a punch and a pinprick. At least at first. It was like the time he stepped on a sewing needle as a kid; it went straight through his foot, missing all the nerves. Only caused a little pain.

Suddenly, all the wind was knocked out of him. His breath disappeared in one gasp, and his chest seized up. As he rolled off of the smiling young girl, he felt something rubbing against his ribs. His finger tightened, too late.

BAM

His ears were ringing again. The gun jerked, his hand too numb to hold it, and it limply clattered to the ground. The nine millimeter copper-jacketed piece of lead was never seen again; it smacked into the side of the infirmary far below, flattening into a little pockmark that would barely be noticed.

His hands groped for his chest, blindly searching for an answer to this feeling. They touched warm steel, and he tilted his head to look.

A scalpel.

It had gone in deep; it slid straight through the ribs and into his heart.

Now the pain was coming back. A sharp, twisting pain. Burning. A never-ending fire.

He knew he wasn't going to be coming back from this. He'd never get to his bandages in time, and it would only delay the inevitable. He couldn't do anything but solve the immediate problem.

Kill Sarah Atwell.

Getting up was an amazing feat. It felt like all of his bones were disconnected from the muscles, muscles disconnected from the nerves. Nothing was working right. It was like moving underwater while half-asleep.

Somehow, he made it. The shining handle was protruding from his chest like an exclamation mark on his vanishing life. He knew it was a stupid idea, one that would kill him faster. But he had no choice. You can't kill someone with your bare hands.

The scalpel came out.

More pain, almost dropping him. Blood spurted from the wound, staining his shirt. It spattered into a few red drops on the gravel. He could feel the warm fluid seeping down his chest and stomach, his heart starting to beat slower and slower. Each beat thudded in his ears, pushing more blood from the hole.

"You....."

He stumbled a few steps forward. The blade, already covered in dried blood, was slick with crimson once more. A stain on a stain.

"Fucking......kill you......."

Another step. His knee failed him. Gravity took hold and he fell, barely catching himself on his red palms. He made it back to his feet.

He grunted and fell to his knees once more. The scalpel dropped to the ground, a light thud in his ears. Thought was becoming harder. He was tired. The pain was fading.

He tried to get up again. He failed. He fell forward, landing flat on his stomach. His head tilted to the side, he looked out on the blue sky, level with him now. His eyes started to close.

Darkness overtook him.

Christopher Carlson fell asleep.


B52: Christopher Carlson - Dead
Edited by chitoryu12, Nov 17 2010, 02:35 PM.
Characters for v4

Christopher Carlson: B052
Weapons: Brass knuckles


Jake Crimson: B084 (Adopted)
Weapons: Cinderblock

Characters for v5

Clayton Leven: B050
Weapons: Handcuffs

Shit people say

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
DealsFor.me - The best sales, coupons, and discounts for you
« Previous Topic · The Mountain · Next Topic »
Add Reply