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96+ Quite Bitter Beings; Tagging Kami!
Topic Started: Aug 14 2016, 01:54 AM (759 Views)
TwelveFourtyFive
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((Darius Van Dyke continued from Something tells me this isn't Arizona anymore))

Welcome to hell, Darius, welcome to hell. Darius slowed down from his sprint as he reached the helipad. It was a less creepy area, but it still seemed extremely dangerous with the helicopter that appeared to be falling off the roof. A roof. Good. He had an overview, couldn't be surprised.

Darius breathed heavily. He was out of breath. It did not help that he just ran away from no one. Bad move.

But at least he had now more time think more rational. To recall everything properly. It was still hectic to him, but he felt calmer than when he woke up. He now could think about the obscure situation he is in. The terrorists. The game. The introduction. When Darius saw a gasmask, he held his breath. It did not help, he could not outwit the gasmask men, he still was knocked unconscious. And he wished he had remained so. This reality is worse. Darius can’t recall what he dreamt about while he was unconscious. Maybe it was a good dream, maybe it was a nightmare. Fact is, either way it would have been better than this reality. He wishes that this is just a nightmare. But he could feel the reality. It felt like an helipad of a video game he played, but he could feel the realness of the current situation. His shoes, his hair. He wore his clothes. Darius was Darius.

Yet, the situation seemed very surreal. Everything was so familiar and unfamiliar at once. The new locations he had not seen. That bag...oh, he should open the bag.

Crap, crap and crap, first aid crap, guide crap. His personal bag that contained absolutely nothing important anymore, with his electronic devices removed. Good, food. Water, excellent. A chisel. A piece of paper that confirmed that Darius had a chisel. A fucking chisel as a weapon. Chisel.

With a chisel in his hand, he went further around the area. He was not alone, probably. As he previously shortly glanced at the crap map he had in his bag, he could see that the island was rather small. People would be all over the place, and the likelihood of someone else being here earlier, was high. Darius did not know how long he sprinted, but he was not athlete.

The surreality is real. Such a bizarre situation. If he wore red shoes instead of his blue-white sneakers, he’d have clapped his heels and repeated ‘there’s no place like home’ over and over and then he’d be back at his home, waking up on his comfortable bed. He’d be able to chill at home, continue playing his games he still has to finish. Indeed, there was no place like home. This was not home. This is hell. And hell won’t become his home. No.

It was so surreal with the location he couldn’t recall and the faces he recalled, this could be a dream, right? Wait, faces he recalled. Was that…?
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TwelveFourtyFive
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It was Junko, right in front of him. With a bat, ready to hit him, if she wanted.

Well, he’d be fucked, if she wanted to hit him with it. But when he listened to her voice and words, he could be sure that..nothing. It was not certain that she was friendly, even if her voice seemed so. Even when she worded her words to be friendly and not hostile - if she was hostile, she would have done the same.

“Junko, hey”, he said calmly while slowly approaching the japanese girl. His hand holding the chisel and bag were not raised and if Darius’ arms were ten times longer, they’d have brushed the floor.

What now? No fucking way that they would start to fight now. That all of the puppets would do as the gamemasters say. Besides, chisel vs. baseball bat? Nevermind that, JUNKO vs. Darius? No way, dude.

“I know...have an idea how to get out of this place. Wanna join me? A group would be useful.”

Yeah, that sounded trustworthy. It implied that he would not be a person who would kill others to win. Create a group. Yeah, good rhetorics.

Not only good rhetorics, but a good plan as well. Darius could outwit the gasmask men. He wants to, he could. He was Darius Van Dyke. She was Junko Kurosawa. His class was from Cochise High, which actually is pretty much a shithole and has a high percentage of garbage students, but there were smart people out there on the island. People that could be a good helping hand.

I mean, what are the chances of dumb terrorists with technological gadgets like explosive collars against brains like the ones of Darius Van Dyke? Brains > Brawns.

1. Form a group, 2. get rid of the collars, 3. get the fuck out of the arena 4. come home

Darius was optimistic.

Hahaha, no he fucking wasn’t, everyone’s going to die. Everybody will die a terrible death in here, no peaceful one you’d get in the real world. No, a fucking terrible one where you get brutally murdered. The terrorists had done this shit for ten years. And while the chance of there being a loophole Darius could find were there, it was unlikely.

However, the first 2 steps seemed like a logical, non-risky thing. If it doesn’t end up killing him, it was maybe worth a shot. Yeah, groups are safe, no matter whether they’d escape or not. And collars...collars aren’t impossible to break. They had a motherfucking robotics club in Cochise. Science and shit.

He had to study the collars. They are explosive, so shooting them is a no-no. There might be other ways. Cutting them or deactivate them in some way. But studying them will be hard, considering that literally his time is running out. He has a time limit. Darius now imagined his lifespan to be count down just as in Death Note. It can be shortened, if he did the wrong moves. But, his goal will be to extend his deadline.
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TwelveFourtyFive
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“I am not joking. I am serious. I have a plan. Lemme show you.”

Well, he had absolutely no clue how to break the collars. But they were on an island, goddammit. And what has to be done was simple. How do you send out an SOS on an island, where you’re stranded? How far away is this island from civilisation or boats? Darius thought ACAB, but The Police indeed had a right idea.

Darius came closer to Junko, put the chisel in the pocket of his coat, takes out Danya’s book guide thingy bullshit and rips it. “Exclusive material from the terrorists. Proof that we are here,” he told Junko.

“Can I have one of your water bottles, please?”
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TwelveFourtyFive
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"No, I don't have my own anymore. I ran, like, a lot to come here and it was exhausting. I needed to drink."

It was the truth that it took some time to come from the building (it was fucking creepy there), to this one. It was not true that he had no bottles anymore. He started drinking from one, but still had his others full. Darius did not plan to make a fool out of himself, using his own bottles. No, he needed Junko's bottles.

"As for trusting, you can't trust anybody, you're right, you're smart. But you can trust me. Like, what do you think I'm going to do with the bottle? Beat you to death with it?"

Darius giggled. Oh man, he shouldn't laugh at such a situation, but the seriousness of it made it more funnier. He could compensate sadness with laughter. That was alright.

He reached her his hand.

"Also, hurry up. I want us to go home ASAP."
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TwelveFourtyFive
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Darius caught the bottle and hit it lightly against his head, closing his eyes, pretending to fall, as if he knocked himself out with the bottle

"Auurgh."

Then he recreated his balance and laughed at his fabulous acting. He looked at the water bottle and considered emptying it right away, but he really was thirsty. So he opened it, drank from it, and Jesus, it was refreshing. He did not care about spilling the contents of the water bottle, so his shirt ended up a bit wet. Finally, he emptied the bottle by letting the H2O hit the ground.

He picked up the pieces of paper that were parts of the Danya guide and put them inside the bottle and closing it with the cap.

"Look, Junko. A message in a bottle. We throw it into the ocean, a fisher will find it, will read 'Danya' and will think 'oh shit' and we will get rescued in some days."

Darius had a smug smile.

"Easy peasy."

He knew it wasn't going to work. That was an unrealistic plan. The ocean was big. But at least he showed Junko that his intentions were good and for the good of all and that crap. And he still had his water bottles while Junko had one less, which was also an advantage. He just needed to support his lie by revealing more false information to Junko.

"I already threw my bottles out, on the other side of the island. Now we just have to throw this one in this direction", he pointed at the horizon near to them, "and the chance of someone finding us increases."
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Junko looked pissed. He could understand why, but eh. Such is life. Wait, was she charging at him? The bat. Attack him over water? Fucking water? There were hundreds of students here, both with 4 bottles. Junko sucked at math, didn't she?

As Junko came forward, he dropped the br-bottle, watching it fall and roll on the ground, to take out his chisel to defend himself against Junko if she did anything suspicious.

He pointed his assigned weapon at Junko, hoping she might mistake it for a knife or something. Something threatening.

"You're the asshole. Go away."

Where to point it? He was fucked. He couldn't do shit with this chisel. He went steps forward, chisel pointing at her face, hoping Junko to retreat. Hush, hush.
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The slighty angered Dr. Kurosawa (sounds more like the title of a badly translated anime) was using a bat as a reflex hammer and must have realised that it fucking hurt.

"Sheesh!"

He hit a high note, losing his balance, letting the pain overcome his body. Darius had never been hit with a bat. He needed his fucking knee to walk, to survive. How the fuck should he escape without walking? Junko, fuck you.

Darius stumbled, gravity almost won, the pain dragging him to the ground, but Darius was not a loser, and kicked at Junko's foot with full force, resulting in both of them falling to the ground, both of them dragging the other down.

Darius wasn't the violent type of guy, but that felt satisfying. Revenge. Strength. Junko fought him. He fought back.

But: Junko fought him. Fuck.

Darius could feel less powerful bat swings hitting him. Ough. Also, fists flying. Against his chest. His beloved chest!

"Jesus Fuck!"

He breathed loudly. The water bottle did nothing, he was still exhausted. It was hard to ignore the pain in the knee, but now his body was reminding him of the hits that were making feeling well harder. As a reaction, he used his chisel to stab Junko's body with it...

It was just a chisel. You don't stab people with chisels. At most, poke them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Panic rushed through his body. He was done.

He could not use his weapon, he could not use his own force. He had no energy to escape. He was going to be buried in a pile of fists and bats.

Then, an idea came to save Darius' ass from getting murdered by his friend.

Using his chisel, he poked Junko's neck. No, goddammit, he did not want to poke the neck. Poke the collar, fucker. Activate it. Let it go 'boom'. Junko was threatening his life. She was going to murder him. That's enough justification for activating her collar.

He desperately looked at Junko's collar, trying to save himself. He also needed to know how these collars worked, so there's also that.
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TwelveFourtyFive
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Darius smelled liquid iron. Darius smelled pain. He failed activating the collar and was fucked. His weapon was gone.

If Junko could have read his mind, she probably could have responded with a 'your face' joke and it would have been equally true. Your face was gone.

Red liquid coming from the nose, his face also scarred with the cut Junko had caused. His face hurt. He kicked at Junko, punched at her with his bare fists, but he needed to get out of her range. Escape.

Next to him on the ground, the message in a bottle. He quickly reached out to grab it, throw it at Junko's face and used the surprise to stand up, kicked his bag he dropped while fighting in the direction of the exit and ran to get the fuck out.

That was not easy, though. He barely could walk straight, he had everything aching. Don't trip, don't trip, don't trip.

Grabbing his bag on the ground, he began to...run. A sprint, that unlike any sprint he did in PE. He wanted everything to hurt, to ache, just to get the fuck out of here. To let Junko not kill him.

Lung, face, nose, chest, knee. Too much pain to even speak a last word to Junko. It would have probably been an insult. He went down the Helipad.

His hand touched the area between nose and mouth, he could not feel his 'beard', but what surprised him was the amount of red coloured liquid that stuck on his hand now. He needed to aid himself. When he was out of reach of Junko, he began to walk in a slow pace again. He burped, wanting to get rid of all the pain that bitch had caused him.

He walked away. Bye, bye, Junko.

((Darius Van Dyke continued in 凸( •̀_•́ )凸))
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