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Idiot Launch; The morning before the Fourth Announcement
Topic Started: Jan 30 2017, 03:11 AM (1,394 Views)
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
He was exhausted.

((Jeremy Frasier, continued from Noland the Liar))

Breathing. Panting. Moving. Jeremy Frasier took his steps through the hallway he had found himself in. His chest hurt, his legs were screaming at him to stop, but he kept on moving forward. Through the hallway, then hopefully up the stairs if they happened to be here. Get up to the roof, and then wait. Yeah. That was the plan. Hopefully he’d be the first to get there. There was this whole thing he noticed with himself back then when he tended to be the first to get to class whenever the bell rang, so admittedly he’d want to keep that whole thing going as long as he could. Jeremy would still be the fastest kid in the school, right now as well as back then.


Back then.

Been a bit since he had thought about that.

He slowed. Kept trying to move forward. He had mentioned the radio tower, on his note. That’s where him and Hazel and Jordan were supposed to meet up. Well, ideally at least. He was going to avoi dthem a little. Check out the asylum again first. No real way to tell what they thought of him randomly ditching them, but in the case that they somehow were okay with it he had to get up there. His breath was short at this point from moving around the island, and his chest and legs hurt and he seriously wasn’t sure how much longer he could go, but he’d felt this before so he was fine and as soon as he got there he’d-

He tried to breathe in.

He couldn’t.


He couldn’t.

Oh god he couldn’t breathe and oh god it hurt and oh god he couldn’t move he had to stop he had to breathe he had to fucking rest for a bit but he had to move and he had to go forward and he had to get up to the rooftop but he couldn’t he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t move and

There was a door in front of him. A room. He’d be safe there.

He stepped forward, put his hand out. Knob. Open. Move. Close. He was inside now. He looked around.

Nobody here.

That was good.

His body moved forward. Stumbled. Stopped. He leaned forward. Clutched his knees.

He was alone.

He could breathe.

There was a whole world out there, one of people he knew fighting and killing until only one was left. His friends were out there. They could be fighting right now. They could be dying right now, before he ever got a chance to find them. He knew that. He knew what he had to do. He had to find them, as soon as possible.

But he could forget about that, for a moment.

He was exhausted. He couldn't move. He needed to breathe.

That's what mattered right now.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The world was laid around Jeremy. A room. Empty. Silent. Lifeless. There were chairs and tables. There were pieces of paper, on the walls. There was a door behind him, but there was nothing else. There was a room, around him. That was Jeremy’s world, right now. A room. An office in an asylum on an island somewhere far away from where he used to be. There were people out there. He knew that. There was a whole world behind that door. He knew that. But right now, as the air caused his lungs to start growing again, he couldn’t think about anywhere else. There was a room, around him. That’s all there was. That was Jeremy’s whole world.

The knocking on the door brought him back. The voice called. He spun around, gun coming out into his hands.

“Who’s there?”

Maybe, had the circumstances been different, his choice of words would have been deliberate.

It was not, though. The fear could be heard in his voice. The anger. The rising up of what he had wanted to hold down ever since that moment with Scout, in the church.

The gun was pointed at the door.

There was a whole world behind it, and for the first time since he woke up, Jeremy Frasier was scared of what was out there.
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The Past

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The door opened, and everything stopped.

There was a person, there.

One he recognised. A face. A name. Memories of time spent together memories of school memories of chatting in the playground memories of playing Street Fighter together memories of being with his friend. One that he knew about. One that he had remembered. He had forgotten to put her on the list but that didn’t matter. He found her. She was here. She wasn’t like the others, currently unknown. She wasn’t like Josh, killed far too quickly for him to even think about trying to find him. She was here. She was in front of him. Her face was one that after however long he had been here he got to finally see again.

The gun lowered.

His breath stopped.

The world disappeared from around him, if only for a second.

There was a joke.

There was a way that he could respond. That’d be funny. That’d distract him. That’d make him believe for just a moment that everything was just as it was before.

But that wasn’t what he was thinking of right now. She was there. In front of him.

He finally found her again.

“Wait, Junko?”
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It was Junko.

It really was her.

He finally did it he finally made it he got to someone he found her she was here she was right in front of him she was alive she was okay she was everything floating through his head running wild in his brain he was happy he was ecstatic she was here she was his friend she was uninjured and he was here. With her. Everything was going through his head at once. Thoughts. Statements. Expressions of happiness. He knew it wasn’t really normal but he didn’t care she was here in front of him maybe she wasn’t on his list maybe he had accidentally forgotten but that didn’t matter she was here now he had found her maybe if it happened to him maybe if he died he’d at least know that she was here. In front of him. He’d know that he had found her and-


She’d asked a question to him, hadn’t she?



“I’ve been doing okay, I guess. I’ve been trying to search for people. Do stuff with them. Give myself closure.”

He looked away for a second. Looked around. Turned his eyes back.

“Sorry, I’m just sorta happy I found you. Before… y’know.”
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The excitement had left his body. The feeling of finally succeeding for once wore off. The room was normal again. The tone had become what it always seemed to be these days. Empty. Blank. Barren. It was… disappointing. Disheartening. Disenchanting. He had been able to find Junko, yeah, but it seemed that that didn’t change much. He was back to talking about the game. He was back to talking about the fact that he was going to die. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to, honestly. He had found his friend. That was supposed to be a good thing. They could talk about what they did and what happened back then. They were going to distract themselves. That was what they were going to do.

But she had asked a question, and it was his duty to answer it. Explain his viewpoint. Talk, like they used to.

“I mean, like. I don’t really want to. Being on an island and playing a game where you’re supposed to murder your classmates probably isn’t really anyone’s ideal way of dying…”

He had wondered whether he had told this before. He knew that it had occurred to him when he was here. Several times, in fact.

But had he ever vocalised it? To Alex? To Hazel? To Jordan? They knew of his priorities. They knew about the list, but did they know the full story? Did they know why he was doing this?

He wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter, anyway.

He’d just tell them. If they came to him again. He could do that. There wasn’t a real issue with it. He’d just tell them, like he was going to tell Junko.

Simple as that.

“But I just sorta have to accept it, y’know? Like, I think there are bit over a hundred of us here. That’s less than a one percent chance of survival. Not odds I’d bet on.”

He paused, for a second. Took a breath. Continued.

“So it’s like… the Seneca thing I’ve probably told you about. The whole, like, hope cycle thing. If people are too optimistic at the fact that a certain thing is going to happen, then if it doesn’t happen like they think they get sad. If someone’s pessimistic, then they’re fine if it doesn’t happen, but happy if it does happen. I’ve been… sorta going by that. Just going by and doing as much as I can, so that when the time comes, I can look back and be happy.”

A pause.

“I mean…”

He looked away. Turned back.

“I don’t think either of us are going to live through this, so we may as well make the most of our time here, right?”
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So, here’s a fun fact: Jeremy had never been injured before in his life.

Well, yeah, there were the scratches. The scars. The lost teeth. Like, the playground things. Those probably officially counted as injuries, according to whatever sources existed out there. They didn’t count for Jeremy though. They were like… small things. Minor things. Things that didn’t count in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t like he would have remembered a cut he got in fifth grade on his deathbed when he was recounting through the highs and lows of his life. It’d be sorta hard to remember in the first place. They didn’t cause that much pain. Like, one day he just noticed a gash on his leg and the most he felt was confusion about how it got there.

But anyway, point was, Jeremy had never really been injured before. There was the small stuff, yeah, but that didn’t count. He was talking about, like… broken bones. Casts. The things he saw his classmates in occasionally whenever they had led a more exciting and fulfilling life than his was. His sister, when she went on that excursion once. When he had visited her in hospital, afterwards. Big things. Serious things. Things that counted. Jeremy hadn’t gotten any of those.


Until now.

He hadn’t noticed the signs. There was only a flash of movement.

And then there was a whump and a crack as the baseball bat found its mark, sending the gun clattering as Jeremy’s body hit the floor.
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His body hit the floor. His breath caught and stayed in his throat and the room was around him and he didn’t know what happened why did he hurt why was he on the floor and-

The second strike hit.

The third.

The fourth.

And it spiked and it hurt and the fifth and he didn’t know what was happening what had happened what was going to happen and there was a room around him and a person above him and the person was above him and he had to see them and it was-


His friend.

The person he finally found.

The person attacking him.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what he did. He didn’t know what she’d done.

But she was his friend.

Maybe he could talk to her.

Maybe he could stop this.

The sixth went down. His hand went up. There was a creak and a crack as the bat stopped.


He looked her in the eyes.

“Stop it.”

A pause.

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So this was how it ended.

For a moment, Jeremy thought he had her.

And for a moment, Jeremy thought he had been able to make her stop.

And then there was another crack as the bat came down once again and smashed against his chest.

It didn’t work.

Talking hadn’t worked.

The bat had come down again and again and nothing he could say could stop it. He knew that now. Maybe he didn’t know why, maybe he didn’t know what he had done, but at the very least he knew the consequences, now. He was going to die. The bat was just going to hit him again and again until there was nothing left to hit. Junko was going to go off and do something after, he didn’t know what. The game would end and only one person would be left standing and although he didn’t know who it would be the one thing he knew for certain was that the person deemed the Fittest wasn’t going to be him.

Jeremy Frasier. 0% chance of winning the game.


At least he knew it was coming, he supposed.

Because yeah. It sucked. Dying wasn’t fun. It was dull and it was painful and the hits of the bat lingered on his skin but he supposed he at least saw it coming? His friends and the people who cared about him would lose him but maybe they were like him too and they saw it coming and-



No no no no no what was he thinking? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t die here. There were people and a list that he had to fulfill and people who were out there probably looking for him and he couldn’t just let it all end here. No. He wouldn’t let it. He had to do something. He had to get away. His arm went out, trying to find something to grab and he needed to think he needed to figure out a way to stop her and he

Found a giant revolver.

Just sitting there on the ground.

He looked up at Junko. Met her eyes.

...He couldn’t do it.

She was his friend.

He couldn’t kill her, couldn’t he?

But there was nothing else. He couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight, otherwise. He was dead in the water. He was gone.

But he couldn’t die. There were still things he had to do. There were people out there. His friends. His… other people. He had to find them. He had to give himself that closure.

He had to live.

His hand was reaching out. Touching the gun.

The bat went down again.

There wasn’t a choice.

He clenched his hand. Lifted his arm.

Looked away from her eyes.

Pulled the trigger.
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Somehow, the sound of the gun still managed to surprise him.

The bullet travelled through the air, the bullet hit its mark, the bullet pierced itself through Junko’s body, but the only thing he noticed was the noise. The ringing. The sound that went over everything else that could have possibly reached his ears. The sound that defeaned him as it went through them, leaving only the ringing behind. It surprised him. It shouldn’t have. He had heard it before. At the beach. With Danny and Irene. They’d talked with each other, back then. About things that he couldn’t remember. The gun had fired. The other two had freaked out. They had gone off their own ways. He’d gone on his. That was all back then. Back when he had woken up. Back when he had failed to take this seriously. Back when he had joked with them on the beach.

Back when both of them had still been alive.

...Ha. Back then.

The bullet had hit it’s mark. Junko had fallen. He hadn’t seen where she had fallen. He hadn’t heard the thud. His body - his hands in the air and his chest and stomach tightened up - also fell. All he could hear was the ringing. All he could see was the ceiling of the room above him.

He was alive.

He could breathe.

There was a whole world he knew, of people out there. People fighting. People killing. His friends were out there, he knew that. He knew what he had just done. He knew that he had fucked up. Killed his friend. He knew that everyone would hate him for it. He knew that they’d turn on him. He knew that everything would be different for him, from there on out. He knew that everything would be worse, from there on out.

But he could forget about that, for a moment.

He was exhausted. He couldn't move. He needed to breathe.

That's what mattered right now.

A voice called out his name.

The person had asked him a question. Jeremy knew the answer to it. He knew the other person did, as well. It was sorta pointless, answering.

He had looked up - into the other person’s eyes - for a moment. Maybe slightly longer than that. He didn’t know.

And then his head went back down, breathing out as he began to stare at the ceiling again.
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Time passed.

Jeremy couldn’t really say that he’d seen anything happen during that time.The ceiling was still the same as usual. Maybe some flecks of paint had fallen off without him really noticing, but that… didn’t count. He didn’t really know why. It just didn’t. Nothing had changed, really. The voice from earlier moved closer. Started… doing something. Jeremy didn’t really know what. It didn’t bother him, though. So long as nothing was happening to him then he didn’t really feel fit to intervene. Probably best that he just stayed here. Laid down. Looked at the ceiling and hoped that something would happen to it in the time that he was here.

...He should probably get up, now.

But he didn’t really want to. Junko was there. He didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to see what he did.

But he knew he had to, at some point. He knew he had to get up. He knew that he had to face the music, at some point.

He laid under the ceiling of the office, breathing, for a little bit.

May as well make it quick.





It hurt, getting up. Ached. His bones and his muscles and his skin screamed as he moved his body up. This… was how it was going to be from now on, wasn’t it?

It probably was.


This was probably karma, for what he did.

His eyes found the corpse fairly quickly. It was laying there. Smiling. There was a grin on her face, as her blood fell out and spread itself all around her. He tried looking at her. Seeing into her eyes.

...He turned his head. Looked away again.

...Her baseball bat was still lying on the floor.

Should he take it?

He wasn’t sure. It was there and it didn’t really belong to anyone now and there was nothing really wrong with having anything else but should he? He wasn’t sure. It was wrong to do so, wasn’t it?

But he was a killer now.

And given the types of people out there, given how people would think of him now, he needed what he could get. He needed to protect himself.

Maybe the others. Maybe the people he found.

He supposed that that was a good enough excuse.

The gun went into his pocket. The baseball went into his left hand. The chisel - having fallen out of her body - went into his right.

He didn’t look back at anything as he left. Neither Junko, nor the boy searching her bag.

((Jeremy Frasier, continued in Jenny From The Block))
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