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Dear God; The house of God is always open!
Topic Started: Aug 13 2016, 05:12 PM (848 Views)
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((B008 - Nate Turner: start))

Nate Turner had been crying. Of course Nate Turner had been crying. He was small, and weak, and he was going to die.

He hadn’t been awake for long, but he’d been staggering the short distance between there and here for most of that time. He gripped his staff in his hand, too dazed to think about it and too distraught to care about it. His bag was slung over his shoulder; it was heavy, but nothing he couldn’t manage, compared to the much heavier fate hanging over him like the sword of Damocles.

“What’d I do?” he cried to himself, making his way through the overgrown gardens and coming across the chapel. “I’ve been a good person, I always try to do what’s right and think the best in people. I don’t go out of my way to be a jerk to anyone.” He pushed open the door to the building, needing some solace from his burden.

“Why me?”

He recognised the interior, being the good church-going boy that he was. It wasn’t a proper church, but it had the features of a house of God. It wasn’t his church back home, his church full of his family and his mom and his friends from the congregation. He wanted to think “Hey, at least it’s something”, but who would he be kidding?

He slumped down in a seat, staring at the stained light coming through the windows. He took a moment to ponder.

He put his head into his hands again, though not to cry this time. Well, not entirely. He did the only thing he could think to do in that horrible, mortal, unescapable situation.

He prayed.
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((Yeah go B024 - Matthew Moradi))

Don't panic, everything's going to be fine. Just stay calm and you can get out of this. You're smart, you can do this.

Sitting with his back to the wall of some run down building, that was what Matt had been telling himself, repeatedly, for the past couple of minutes as soon as the fear had set in. The fear that he was going to die and that a bunch of god damn criminals were going to make some kind of spectacle out of it - what for? He didn't pay attention to that 'Survival Of The Fittest' bullshit. Getting kidnapped by these sick fucks was something that happened to people that weren't him, people who he didn't know and didn't care about. Why the hell were they doing this?

First he felt afraid - then he got mad. Mad that this was happening to him, of all people, and for no good reason. He was going to die and it wasn't even going to be for a good reason. Why?

Desperately, he tried to calm himself down. Just keep calm, you can do this. You can make it out of this incredibly fucked up, outlandish situation.

Just figure out where you are, and..

Matt stood up and slowly backed away from the building he had woken up in front of.

He was right outside of a god damned church, or something. The universe had a fucked up sense of humor, he guessed. Matt went inside - maybe avoiding the great outdoors was a good idea. Why run off to find a hiding place when there was one right in front of him?

He wasn't exactly prepared to see another person - not this soon. And someone praying, at that. Fighting back the urge to immediately leave and find some other place to sit and figure out what the fuck he was going to do, Matt decided to interrupt this kid's little moment of quiet contemplation.

"Hey."

That was it - just hey. Slowly, he shut the door behind him, starting to move towards the back of the chapel. The kid was praying, so he guessed that he might have had some morals in him - irregardless of how backwards they seemed to Matt.
Edited by Privyet, Aug 13 2016, 05:40 PM.
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Nate screamed. He jumped and span around. He tripped on his bag and fell over. He smacked into the bench ahead of him on the way down, and caught his shoulder at a painful angle.

In that moment, he was so focused on pleading with God to save him, to not condemn him to this hell that, as far as he knew, he didn’t deserve, that he had lost sight of everything else. No, rather, he was shutting himself out to his grim reality, taking solace in prayer to protect himself from a terrible fate. What was actually happening was unkind, though, and was not going to let him sit there in silence.

He groaned and rubbed his shoulder, a sharp pain resounding through him. He eventually came to his senses, grabbing for the pew to pull himself back up to his feet, before poking his head over the back of the seat.

Nate didn’t recognise Matt, beyond being a familiar face from the school hallways. They moved in different social circles, different year groups; they had nothing in common, and no reason to trust each other.

When thrown into a ilfe or death situation with a trigger around his neck, though, who was Nate to complain about company?

“H-hi…” he replied, still hiding behind the back of the seat. He gripped the wood, every muscle in his body as tight as steel.

“Who are you?”
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Matt cringed. Screaming - why, why screaming? Of all the things he could possibly have done.. run away, attack him, shoot him, something, why did he choose to scream? Jesus, he really hoped no one else heard that. No one who's itching for a chance to kill someone, that is.

Then it hit him.. what if he was like that? What if this guy had a gun? A million different scenarios ran through his head, every single one of them somehow ending up with his death at the hands of what could be the world's jumpiest murderer.

Matt slowly started to move closer to the door, not taking his eyes off the nervous wreck currently getting up off the floor.

"Hey, uh.." He tried to think of a more eloquent way to say 'don't shoot me'. He couldn't. Not now, anyways.

"You don't have a gun, do you? I, uh, really don't want any trouble. Shit."

Failing to meet Matt's expectations of immediately trying to murder him, Matt eased up. Slightly. This might have been a mistake - he had no reason to trust this guy to walk in a straight line. He didn't know him, so why the hell would he trust him with his life?

Still, he asked for his name. Mistake or not, the consequences didn't seem to be too immediate.

"Matt. And, uh.. you are?"
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“Nate…I’m Nate.”

He was still crouching behind the seat, trying but struggling to expose himself. He was normally pretty open and confident when meeting new people, greeting them with a happy smile and an eager interest in getting to know that person just a little bit better. Maybe it would work out, maybe it wouldn’t, but there was no harm in trying.

It was no shock that Nate wasn’t his normal self right now. Had he become scared of Matt? Or was he just scared of the situation? People didn’t scare him, he knew that. He knew that he didn’t need to start being scared of people. That was one of the things he was good at. People was something he could do.

He still couldn’t stand up straight, though. The best he managed was getting his shoulders past the top of the wood, where he looked at Matt with an expression not unlike that of a startled, helpless puppy.

“No, I don’t have a gun.” He trembled. Of course: people had guns. That was something that the terrorists had said, wasn’t it? Some of his classmates had guns, and they were going to try and kill everyone and try to kill him. That was what Survival of the Fittest was all about. Still, he knew he wasn’t one of those people with a gun. He didn't want to be one of those other people, either. “I just have this stick.”

He moved to show his staff to Matt, but it was lying on the ground at his feet, dropped in his panic. He had to bed down, out of sight again, to reach it.

He came back to his feet and it held it up. He was stood there, in the chapel of an abandoned asylum on an island, holding up his assigned weapon to convince one of his schoolmates that he wasn’t about to shoot him.

The tears were starting again.

“What’s happening to us?”
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"That's a real relief," Matt said, not sounding the slightest bit convinced. Slowly, he moved to sit down - might be the last chance he has, for all he knows.

Looking at Nate, Matt unconsciously began to size him up. He was... short. Extremely short. That, and he looked too young to be in high school. Considering that a few terrorists had just managed to kidnap and transport god knows how many people to god knows where in god knows how little time undetected, he decided not to think about it too hard.

He really wasn't thinking too hard about what was going on. Mostly, he thought that the size difference between Nate and the staff was almost funny. Any other situation and he might've laughed, but waking up outside tends to leave him in a bad mood.

What he said next, he didn't really have any answer to. Just silence.

He was starting, slowly, to take in the gravity situation he was in - no more panic and anger, just fear. Pure, unadulterated fear that he was going to die here. That he was going to die a virgin, that he wasn't going to do any of the other things he had wanted to do with his life, that he was d-e-a-d, dead.

He looked down and held his head in his hands - this was definitely happening, wasn't it? It wasn't some vivid nightmare he was having the night before the senior trip. This was, for now until what might be the end of his life, reality.

He had to try, of course. He was trying to remember the lecture Danya, contender for world's biggest asshole, had given. Last man standing wins, but if you don't kill anyone, you win the grand prize of participating next time around. Great.

He was trying his best not to think about what he'd have to do if he wanted to win.

Looking up to talk, Matt pulled out and displayed his assigned "weapon". "Selfie stick," he said, sounding the slightest bit disappointed.
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Matt didn’t really answer him, and that did nothing to help Nate feel any better. He didn’t back away when Matt took a seat, as Nate slowly accustomed to his company, but he still couldn’t relax either. Considering the situation though, who could blame him?

He watched Matt grip his head in his hands, as he rubbed the tears out of his own eyes. He didn’t want to keep crying, he never liked crying, but he knew that he was so stupid when it came to his emotions sometimes and keeping himself under control. Seeing someone else struggling stirred something in Nate, though, something that let him stop focusing on himself for just a moment and hold back the tears.

He could never stand to be around unhappy people. He just wanted everyone to get along and feel okay, even if that was naíve. Suffering was a part of life, but that didn't mean he couldn't do something to help.

When Matt produced his ‘weapon’, Nate had to take a moment to realise just what he meant. He really hadn’t given any thought to whether someone could get assigned something good or assigned something bad; he’d woken up with a stick, some people had guns, that was all there was to it. Still, it seemed almost unfair, like Matt had gotten even worse luck than him.

He needed to do something to make Matt feel better.

“I guess…” he sniffed again, trying to put on a straight face.

“I guess they really wanted to stick it to us?”
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Matt couldn't help but feel as though he'd gotten gypped - a selfie stick, really? Someone must've thought they were real funny, huh? He'd have liked a gun, or a sword, or something, but a selfie stick? Hell, he didn't even know if the terrorists had let him keep his phone. He sighed, expecting to find nothing immediately useful in his Danya brand bag. First-aid kit. Food. Water. Map. Remarkably generous for a bunch of pricks, but unsurprisingly lacking his phone.

He doubted he could even get a signal out here, anyways. Feeling just the slightest bit stupid for getting his hopes up (assholes or not, the terrorists knew what they were doing), Matt took out his map and looked over it. Seemed like they were on the eastern part of whatever rock they'd been dumped onto, located off the coast of scenic who the fuck knows where. Folding it up and putting it away, Matt started to stand up.

The look on his face was still fearful - he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Not the slightest bit athletic and lacking in any kind of weapons training, he noted that his odds of winning any fights with his selfie stick were poor. Naturally, avoiding that kind of thing was going to be one of his top goals. Maybe the first few days were the worst, he thought. Just have to get past this and figure out the rest later.

He was at a complete loss as to what he was supposed to do to actually survive, of course. Hiding could work - find some place to ride out the first couple of days. Maybe by then, rescue would come. Rescue would have to come, he thought. You can't just kidnap this many people and have wherever you dropped them off remain a complete mystery, can you?

Then, it happened. A pun. Matt hated puns for one singular reason: they just weren't funny. His reaction to this crime against humanity disguised as humor was immediate.

"Oh, come on.." Matt said, his contempt for Nate's joke clear. He could do better. "Let's just try and stick together, alright?"

He cleared his throat, trying to forget his equally awful pun. Figuring that sharing the easily accessible info he had was a good idea, Matt started to talk again. "We're on the east side of the island.. right outside an asylum, too. If you have any ideas, then.. uh, just say 'em, I guess."
Edited by Privyet, Aug 15 2017, 02:10 AM.
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Nate tried to laugh back at Matt’s own joke. He tried so damn hard, but no-one was going to believe the smile he was wearing was sincere any time soon. Still, it had seemed to put Matt in a marginally less stressed out mood, and that was enough for Nate. Seeing Matt loosen up just a little bit was enough to calm his own nerves just a little bit too.

“An asylum?” he replied, an earnst look of confusion replacing his decidedly fake cheer. He had mostly just ran here since he had woken up, so he hadn’t taken any time to check through his provisions or look at a map. The only reason he knew about his staff was because the terrorists had left it lying next to him, far too big to fit in his duffel bag (which was itself contrastingly large on Nate, the terrorists apparently not being considerate enough to find him one more suitably sized).

It was a weird place to find himself in the middle of all this, that was for sure, but that was never going to top the list of strangest things about the whole scenario. He’d think about it later.

The other part of Matt’s statement required more due thought. Just what were they supposed to do?

“Well, when there’s shootings and things like that they say you’re supposed to try and hide until you can run to safety.” he muttered, scratching the side of his face in thought as he stared down at the floor. Was that a bad plan? Look for an opening to run away, if help didn't come first?

Oh, right, the collars.

“I don’t know if we can get away from here, though. Not with these things on.” He pointed at his own collar to demonstrate. He’d barely even realised he was wearing it until that moment.

It was suffocating.
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Maybe things were going to be okay. Matt wasn't normally the optimistic sort, but trying to keep positive - or at least as positive as he could be about this sort of thing - seemed better to him than lying down and letting someone kill him.

Nate seemed confused that they were on an island with an asylum on it - Matt was also confused, but more over the logistics of the whole thing. If the place used to be an asylum, then that meant it couldn't be all that far from civilization, right? Help would have to come eventually. Someone would eventually figure out where they were. They had to.

Then he pointed out the collars.

Of course. The collars. Almost immediately, he wanted to take it off, but he fought the urge. Who the hell knew what could set these things off? Tugging, slight winds, harsh words.. it didn't take a genius to figure out that testing the limits of these things wasn't a smart idea.

"Oh. Shit. Guess that kinda.. ruins any chance of a rescue operation. They'd probably blow all the collars if someone showed up."

He wasn't exactly keeping positive.
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“Oh. You're right.”

He tried to look down at his neck, but of course he just wound up looking at the floor. Matt was right: someone could just blow these things up, and he’d be dead and he wouldn’t even know why or who was close to coming to save him. Someone could be coming to save him right now, and he wouldn’t even know it and they probably wouldn’t know it either, and then he’d be dead.

“Oh no.” he whispered, staring back at Matt.

He suddenly couldn't breathe.

Sweat started to seep all over him, and tears started pooling in his eyes again. A relentless shaking was spreading through his body like an electrical shock, and his thoughts were rushing through his head at a million miles a minute.

Kaboom. Blown up. Nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop it.

One hand went for the metal band. Then the other.

“Get it off.”

He started to pull. He had to get it off. It was choking him, and it would kill him. It was only a matter of time. It needed to come off right now.

“GET IT OFF!”
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Okay. Maybe rescue wasn't going to come. Maybe that's why it had really never happened before, as far as he knew. Because they knew that everyone would die if they even tried.

This wasn't going well. Not one bit. Not that it started off particularly good, but he almost would have liked to not have the proverbial noose around his neck pointed out so suddenly. He would have preferred to have his own crisis about this later on - right now, he felt like he should feel more concerned about avoiding getting murdered.

He was tugging on it. Trying to get it off. Slowly, Matt started to back away before tripping backwards onto the floor. Expecting Nate's collar to detonate at any moment, he put his arms up in front of his face in a pathetic attempt to shield himself from getting showered with bits and pieces of the other boy.

After a few seconds, nothing happened. Still half expecting him to explode, Matt stumbled to his feet, sputtering out some words of admonishment.

"Fuck, just - don't do that! You could get us both killed, or something! Fuck, oh shit.." He really hoped no one was hearing any of this.

So maybe this thing wasn't going to come off anytime soon. That was fine. Perfect, really. He was just so okay with this right now. Really, he'd never felt better in his entire life. Hand him one of these on the streets and he'd have gladly accepted it.

Or not. Maybe it was time to panic again.
Edited by Privyet, Aug 19 2016, 01:50 AM.
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Too blinded by tears and deafened by the pounding of his racing heart, Matt’s pleas for Nate to stop fell on deaf ears as he continued to tug hopelessly at the bomb. Eight years earlier and he’d be dead by now, but some stroke of luck had fallen upon him through the terrorists revitalised designs. Instead, he just flailed in a futile manner like a fish caught on a line: doomed to their fate, but struggling until the life left their body all the same.

Eventually he tripped over his own two feet, falling backwards in a mirror image of Matt and landing painfully on his rump. He stopped pulling, if only because he was finally exhausted rather than due to any realisation that he was just wasting his time. He stared back at Matt from across the room, still gripping the collar in his hands as he struggled to catch his breath. It wasn’t long before his pants turned to cries.

He asked Matt again, “What’s happening to us?”
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So maybe he could die suddenly, without warning, at any time. He was having trouble remembering what exactly could cause the collar to detonate aside from trying to escape - something about going into certain areas at certain times. How he was supposed to know where to not go was entirely beyond him. Loudspeaker, maybe? He'd have to keep and eye out for something like that. See if they had set up some kind of PA system on the island, or something. Maybe they just expected everyone to know.

Or maybe not. That was the point. He couldn't know, could he? It was all part of the game.

Game. One word good at describing this situation. To some people, he assumed, this was like a game. Something fun. An adventure. To him, it was a nightmare. He wondered if anyone was watching him right now. Paranoid, Matt looked around the room - they'd have to have set up cameras so people could watch this, right? There weren't any cameras in this room, were there? The idea of someone watching all this made him feel... uneasy.

He wanted to leave.

"I, fuck.." He started talking, pacing around the room. "I don't know. I don't know, I don't fucking know. I just want to get the fuck off this shitty god damn island or wherever the fuck it is we are."
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Nate really needed answers, but of course Matt couldn’t provide them. He was just as much a victim of this terrible situation as Nate was, and Nate knew it was stupid to always expect other people to be able to instantly calm the anxieties that plagued him.

How was he supposed to cope with this, though? His muscles burned from the panic he’d just experienced, and his eyes had turned a puffy red from all the agitation. His heart was still racing, refusing to slow down, and his fingertips ached from gripping the collar so tightly.

He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to go find his mom, get a hug from her and let her tell him that it was all going to be okay. He didn’t care if that sounded babyish or made him look like a little kid right now; he just needed someone to wake him up from this nightmare.

He couldn’t expect Matt to be that person, though. He really wanted to do so, shift his problems onto someone else and let them take care of it like he always did, but he knew that that wasn’t the right way to handle things, even if it was the easiest.

So what was he supposed to do?

“My head hurts.” he muttered, pressing it back into his knees as he sat there for a moment. He felt like collapsing there and then, so exhausted from everything, but the tingling sensation from the panic still coursed through his veins, keeping him consciously in his plight. When he was sick like this, he always liked a hot drink to calm him down, but it was probably stupid to hope for any hot cocoa where they were.

After a pause, Nate looked up at Matt again. "What are we supposed to do, now? I feel sick.” The exhaustion was getting to him, and the small musty room they were stuck in wasn't helping, even if it was a religious building: this one just felt spiritless and hollow. Getting fresh air with friends proved a good alternative to hot drinks when they weren’t available, and if nothing else a wander might let him see something distracting.

“Could you come outside for a walk with me?” he asked, having no better thoughts on how to phrase a fairly absurd question in their situation. "I really want some fresh air right now.”
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