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Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee; (Private, Take 2)
Topic Started: Nov 12 2013, 09:53 PM (1,210 Views)
Laurels
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Cause what you see isn't always the truth
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Claire Monaghan continued from Come on Everypony! Smile, smile, smile!))

((All GMing and handling of Adonis Alba's body approved))

Claire looked at the body on the gurney. It had been over a day since they found another body, and they had the misfortune of discovering the corpse of Adonis Alba in the golf course clubhouse. She and Kyle had found him on the floor covered in towels, with blood coloring them red. Claire didn't want to spend too much time with this body. They could find a clear spot in the golf course and bury him then move out.

Day 3 was not a pleasant day for Claire. Early in the morning, the announcements revealed that Chuck was killed by that Miles guy. She had her fit of anger, sadness, and rage, but composed herself for her allies. They had a job to do. No one was going to give any respect for their dead classmates, so they had to. Arthur had wandered off at some point, and the rest of the day was spent aimlessly wandering. They didn't find anyone else to bury, so they decided to try again the next day. Claire had hoped that they could find Chuck and give him a proper funeral. He was a good friend, and he didn't deserve to die in such a way.

This morning, she received more unpleasant news. Amy and Alex were also dead. Claire couldn't believe her friends were all dying so suddenly. She had been more forward with leading Kyle around. Now there were three people she wanted to bury. She, who only two days earlier was disgusted with the idea of burying her classmates, was now driven to find her former friends. If she had time to think about it, she'd have noted the irony. But now was the time for paying dues to her friends.

Until they found her friends, they'd have to make good on burying anyone they could find. Adonis was a prick back at school, but that didn't matter anymore. They had worked hard to get his body on the gurney, making sure to keep him covered with the towels.

"Let's get him out of here," Claire demanded. "I'll push, you lead."

Let's just get this over with.
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Skraal
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[ *  *  * ]
((Kyle Fitzpatrick continued from Come on Everypony! Smile, Smile, Smile!))

Another day, more bodies to bury. Kyle yawned. He hadn't got much sleep the previous night. Even after his watch had ended, visions of the dead still filled his head as he tried desperately to get some rest.

Kyle winced as the squeak of the gurney's wheels penetrated the silence of the clubhouse. They had found another one. He didn't know the guy personally, but from the stories people told, he must have been a pretty huge jerk. 

It was funny, wasn't it? No matter what a person was like in like, they all end up as the same cold, unmoving piles of decaying flesh. Kyle scratched an itch on his arm as he sighed. There wasn't much point in complaining. This was his life now.
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In the grass to the west of the clubhouse, Kyle and Claire were being watched.

(Hansel Williams, A man deserves a second chance, but keep an eye on him.)

The young man had been waiting there for longer than he could admit, sober eyes watching the activities of Claire and Kyle with no shortage of bafflement, his eyes straying to the gurney they were pushing. Two of them, one of him. He could just creep back down, slip away - but he had heard crashing from the golf course itself, and a bigger group of kids were there already.

He’d glimpsed what he thought was Joe, and had shied away from encountering his old friend. Besides, Joe had killed. Who knew what he was capable of now? Who knew what Joe would think of him, with two notches in his belt?

So here he was. Watching the two below as they wheeled the gurney out into the open. Two targets who couldn’t have seen him coming.

Wouldn’t see him coming.

He was tired of feeling guilt for the things he’d done. He was exhausted by the weight of regret on his shoulders. He was put here to kill his classmates, to cause destruction, damnation, to raise hell and burn in it. He just needed to turn it off - turn it all off - and focus on nothing but the task at hand.

Nothing but the task.

Quietly, he pulled his shoulder out of the strap of the bag, laying it gently on the grass. He straightened the rim of his hat, squinting down at the two moving the corpse across the field. With one hand, he brought the FAMAS around, releasing the catch for the footstand until they flipped outwards and locked in place.

Hansel got to one knee, resting the barrel of the gun on the grassy hillside, and rested his cheek against the gun, sighting the gurney as it moved. He lead it, tracking it slowly, his finger disengaging the safety as he went.

Nothing but the task at hand, Hansel. Thin out the competition, go home.

He opened fire.
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((All GMing approved))

Claire and Kyle were on the move. They had Adonis on the gurney, and they were ready to bury him out on the golf course. Claire pushed the gurney while Kyle walked ahead. Once they reached the entrance of the clubhouse, Claire was momentarily stalled by the hump in the doorway. She had to push hard to get the first set of wheels over the hump, but had a bit more trouble with the second one.

Come on, you stupid bastard. Work for me!

Claire shoved her whole body into the gurney, getting the wheels over the hump. A few of the towels fell off Adonis' body, but she didn't pick them up. She needed to get moving.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen. The wheel lock on the gurney had somehow flipped when she pushed it over.

"Hang on a sec," she shouted to Kyle.

Claire knelt down and looked at the wheel lock. The stupid thing had bothered her enough on this island. Still, it was easy to deal with. Claire reached for it to flip it back and get going again.

Before she could touch it, a loud popping sound emerged. Claire's eyes widened as she froze in place. She lifted her head up and saw Kyle fall to the ground. Someone had shot him, and they were probably going to come after her next. It didn't look so good for Kyle, and she got scared really quickly. She wanted to scream, but she knew she had to run.

"I'm sorry," she quickly shouted towards Kyle.

Claire stumbled backwards and ran into the clubhouse. As she stumbled, her beret fell off her head and landed on the ground. She didn't bother to pick it up, as she awkwardly ran into the building before she realized she lost it. She didn't know if she could find a back exit, but the building was large enough that she could surely find a place to hide and avoid the attacker.

Claire felt tears begin to fall down her cheeks as she ran further into the clubhouse. This really couldn't be happening.
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[ *  *  * ]
Kyle's thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud noise, followed by a flash of pain in his upper body. Warmth spread through his jeans as his vision blurred. Before he could make any sense of what had happened, he found himself on the ground, looking up into the blinding light of the sun.

As Kyle gasped and choked for breath, , the space around him exploded in a flurry of movement. Despite the ringing in his ears, he could hear the shouts of his companion and frantic footsteps all around. 

She was leaving him.

Fear wracked his body as he tried to stand up. Each new effort brought a burst of pain. He didn't seem to be bleeding, but he could tell that something was broken inside of him, and that it was something important.

Damn it. This was the end, wasn't it? It wasn't like anyone was going to save him. He lay back on the ground, taking shallow breaths as pain engulfed his body. There were no happy endings here.
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As the shots connected and the figure fell earthward, Hansel sprang to his feet, leaving the pack behind as he moved at a brisk walk, the FAMAS held up so that the ironsights framed the clubhouse doors. He thought he had seen movement, a door being flung open, but he couldn’t be sure, didn’t want to take the risk.

He had been beaten on this island. He had been forced to flee, to lie, to kill. He had been shot at, verbally taunted, rebuffed, sworn at. He bore the wounds of his classmates, the marks of their viciousness.

His stride took him to the side of the building, glancing around the corner at the still swinging door of the clubhouse, his eyes narrowing in thought. Without hesitation, he shifted around, the gun sweeping the doorway as he walked towards Kyle, his motions slow, careful, easy. There was no blood pooled below Kyle, no visible wounds, but he was sure he had been hit.

Hansel didn’t take any chances. As he raised the FAMAS and pressed the muzzle squarely to the center of Kyle’s forehead, he didn’t flinch, didn’t show expression, didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t meet the boy’s eyes.
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Claire hurried further into the clubhouse, finding herself in the indoor tennis court. She needed to find a way out of the building, away from whoever attacked her and Kyle. Kyle was probably dead, and she had to ensure she wouldn't fall the same way. She owed a lot to that boy, and she needed to make sure she could pay her respects to him once she was out of harm's way. That's when she realized something.

Fuck, I guess that means I can't really just run away. I can't just leave Kyle rotting in front of the clubhouse. He deserves a proper funeral, like everyone. Great, just defy horror movie conventions out of sentimentality. Real smart move, Claire. Wait, maybe that's why people in those movies make dumb decisions. Ack, what do I do?

That's when an idea came to Claire.

Whoever shot at us probably would assume I ran out of the clubhouse and away from here. I just need to hide under their nose.

Claire looked around the area. That's when she noticed a pair of restrooms nearby.

"Bingo," she muttered as she ran towards the men's restroom.

Claire hurried inside and looked around. Sure enough, there were a few toilet stalls and showers inside. She could easily hide out in one of them and wait a few hours. Hopefully, Kyle's killer would be gone by then, and she could bury Adonis and Kyle somewhere on the Greens.

She walked over to one of the shower stalls and went inside it, closing the mildewed curtain behind her. All the other stalls were similarly covered with curtains, so nothing should look out of the ordinary. Claire sat on a ledge in the stall, pulling her feet off the ground and sitting on the rotting tiles. She placed her bag on her lap and opened it up.

She had to be ready. She left the shovel back with the gurney, and she only had one other weapon on hand. She reached into the bag and removed the shotgun flashlight. She had read the instructions a few days ago. All she had to do was remove the pin, point the back at someone, and press the button. Then a single shell would fire. She had one shot, and in case the assassin came into the bathroom, she needed to be ready.

Claire gripped the flashlight in her hands and tried to calm her breathing down.

Just try and come for me, you fucker. I'll ensure that you have a one way ticket to Hell where you belong.

Claire felt her hands begin to shake as a few more tears fell down her cheek. She prayed this strategy would work. If it didn't, she'd be seeing Kyle, Amy, Chuck, and Alex real soon.
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Kyle's heart was pounding. The pain was almost unbearable. It seemed as if he had spent an eternity on the ground, hoping desperately for fate to take pity on him. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his side today.

A shadow fell over Kyle's face. His body went still for a moment before he finally looked up to see a rather imposing figure standing over him. 

His eyes were instantly drawn to the powerful looking rifle that was now pointed right at his face. 

A wave of fear washed over Kyle as he he came to understand his situation. There was no doubt about it. He was going to die. Despair flooded through him as the last few seconds of his existence ticked away. He held his breath, looking away as he waited for the final shot.

All his thoughts, his dreams, his memories...everything would soon be gone forever.

He closed his eyes.

Time to go.

B075 KYLE FITZPATRICK: DECEASED
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The sound of the gunshot registered more than the kick in his hands, a loud boom that reverberated through his mind, muffled by the determination, anger, and fear that drove him. Hansel didn’t stop to reflect. He didn’t wait for the guilt to consume him, or drop to his knees in anguish.

There had been two figures pushing the cart, and there was only one corpse.

Wheeling around to face the clubhouse door, rifle aimed towards it, Hansel approached carefully, stepping with the gun in firing position, nudging the door open with the toe of his boot, wincing at the loud creak of the door. He stood in the doorway, sweeping the interior of the clubhouse slowly, carefully.

Seemingly empty.

Hansel lowered the gun, stepping through the doorway, keeping his bootsteps quiet and measured. His eyes darted everywhere, taking in the lobby rapidly, absorbing nothing about it other than the lack of human activity.

Ghost town.

Hansel stopped moving, shifted the rifle on his shoulder, and took a risk.

“I know you’re in here,” he intoned, at a volume slightly louder than speaking voice, “and I’m going to give you thirty seconds to come out with your hands behind your head. I won’t kill you. If you duh-on’t,”

Hansel swallowed, fighting against the shaking in his voice, biting the stutter back down. “If you don’t, I’m going to start shootin’, and y’all will take your chance. Countdown starts now. Make your choice.”

Lifting his rifle to his cheek again, Hansel started counting.
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Claire remained in the shower stall, keeping a tight grip on the flashlight. She had her index finger on the safety ring, ready to go if she needed to yank it out quickly. Her breathing began to slow down.

"Just go away," she muttered under her breath. "Get far away from this building, you psychopathic fuckwad."

Claire closed her eyes and tried to relax as much as she could. She began to think of anything that could calm her down: a funny line from a movie or a show, something Mason might have sent her that he found on YouTube, even something as delicious as a fresh cup of coffee. She would probably have to wait a few hours before leaving the stall, so anything that could help her pass the time would be for her benefit.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. She tried to distract herself, but found her thoughts drifting back to those left outside.

I'm gonna have to bury Kyle and Adonis. Shit, I didn't think I'd have to bury any of my companions. Well, I better collect something from him to take back home. If whoever killed him robbed his bag, he probably would have left some of Kyle's personal stuff behind...

That's when Claire smacked her hand to her forehead. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Dumbass! Kyle had a kevlar vest! He was still alive when you left him! You ran away and left him at the mercy of some jackass murderer!

Claire hit her forehead with her palm a few more times. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes again.

You left your friend to die. You deserve to get shot in this stall if the killer comes by.

She dropped the flashlight on the ground and buried her face in her hands, pushing her glasses up as she began to sob. She had no idea that Kyle's killer was in the clubhouse calling for her, ready to go on the prowl if she didn't reveal herself.
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Five. Six. Seven.

As he counted, Hansel moved. Movement helped keep the doubts at bay, helped keep his focus on the task at hand. He stepped slowly around the lounge, leaning to peek into doorways, his gun at the ready as his eyes cut through the semi-lit area.

When he reached ten, he stepped out onto the tennis courts, his gun swivelling around the open space, a frown of concentration fixed on his face.

His wandering took him out to the tennis courts as he passed fifteen, his footsteps less cautious as he found increasingly less signs of life. Maybe she slipped out the back, ducked away. That was a good outcome - it meant that he didn’t have to do anything rash, he could go and pick up Kyle’s stuff and get on out of here.

Just as he was about to say Ten seconds left, he heard a muffled thunk.

He froze, ears perked, eyes wildly trying to pin down the noise-

A sob.

Bathroom.

Hansel whirled towards the door, his shoulder aching as he brought the rifle to bear. He shifted his neck, adjusted his cheek against the barrel of the gun, grimacing tightly.

“Get out here,” he called.
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Claire continued to cry in the shower stall. She had removed her glasses and held them in her hand. As she wiped the tears from her eyes, she heard someone shout. Claire froze. The killer had found her.

She looked at the flashlight on the ground, then at the curtain. The guy knew where she was. She couldn't hide in the bathroom any more. If she didn't go out, the monster would probably come in looking for her. She had to accept it.

This is how it ends. Might as well go out with some pride. Like Don Lockwood always said, 'Dignity. Always dignity.'

Claire rubbed her eyes again.

"Okay, I'm coming out! Hold on!" she shouted.

Claire put her glasses back on and sniffled. She knelt down and picked up the flashlight before she grabbed her bag. She stepped out of the shower and made her way to the door. She pressed her hand on the door. She closed her eyes, giving one last inhale and exhale. Time for final words.

"I'm sorry, everyone, but looks like this is it. I love you all. Please remember the Claire who existed off this island."

Claire opened the door and found herself facing Hansel Williams. She remembered that he had killed two people already, and it looked like he was ready to kill another. Claire stared at the boy holding the rifle, keeping a tight grip at the flashlight she kept pointing at the ground. Her face was still flushed from crying, and she could feel her heartbeat starting to increase. She felt like she should say something to the boy.

"Williams," she said.

That was as much as he deserved from her.
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“Drop the flashlight and the bag,” came the response from behind hard eyes. Eyes that stared hard at the spot between the girl’s eyes, right on the bridge of her nose.

Tear tracks still showed on her cheeks, her eyes red and puffy. She looked miserable, achy. Could he really do this? Was he really going to?

“Kick them over to me, and kuh-heep your hands where I can see them.”
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Claire stood there puzzled. He wanted her to hand over her stuff? He could easily shoot her and take the stuff, so why did he want it kicked over? She didn't understand it, but then again, she wasn't trained to analyze people like this. It was probably best to comply.

"Um, sure," she said.

Claire dropped the bag and the flashlight on the ground. She then kicked them towards Hansel before putting both her hands on the back of her head.

"There you go," she said. "Anything else?"
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((Actions by Claire are approved by Laurels.))

Hansel nodded as she complied, glancing down at the flashlight and bag.

“Turn around.”

When she complied, he stooped to shoulder the bag and snag the flashlight - frowning at the weight of it - before slipping it into his front pocket. Holding the rifle back on her, he paused.

She was facing away from him, defenseless. She’d never see it coming, never feel pain. Just a quick squeeze of the trigger, and everything for her would go dark.

Everything.

Her eyes had been puffy and red, tracks from tears still down her cheeks, the sound of that echoing sob.

You could be wrong.

“You’re going to walk out of here ahead of me,” he said, slowly, “in case you had any other friends lying in wait. You’re going to kuh-”

He paused, swallowed. “You’re going to have your hands on your head, walk slowly, eyes on the ground. Run and I shoot you. Try to fight and I shoot you. Say anything - do anything - out of turn, and I shoot you.”

He should be shooting her now.

“Any que-hehstions?”
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