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Say You're One of Them; Day 5 evening/Day 6 early morning, Open
Topic Started: Feb 26 2017, 11:07 AM (1,347 Views)
Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
[ENTER: Alex Tarquin from Real Human Being]

You're a murderer in earnest now, Alex Tarquin.

Oh, you've played the role well enough. You were daunting and intimidating, and your blade frightened men and women across the past several days. Lily Caldwell, Jeremy Frasier, Hazel Jung, Sabrina Luz, Jordan Greene. You have survived where others have perished. You have outlived Lizzie Luz and Tara Behzad.

You are alone.

So alone. You've killed one of your friends, and scared the others away, one by one. You have lost them all. By your hand was this monstrous thing done.

You're a monster.

Yes. Yes. A monster, as he'd intended from the moment Rea fell. He had to be a monster, because the alternative was unacceptable. He would not be an accident. He would not be another victim of this mad, stupid game, that took and took and took and never gave. Over and over again, without end. A game that broke and made hateful puppets of its most proud participants.

He did not remember waking.

He had fallen asleep, slick with saltwater, in some dock warehouse. He had awoken, naked and aching, in that dark place, and set about making himself look properly villainous. Finding the right clothes--jet-black scrubs, and jeans, and other gear. He was almost suprised at what the island had given him. After all, it had given him so little. All his dreams and visions, frustrated and reduced to dust.

He had walked across the island. He had thought, and contemplated. No one had crossed his path. Hardly surprising. How many men and women had died, since they arrived? How many friends he had once known? Lips once kissed?

Crowe. Oh, Crowe. Why did you take my eye. Why did you give me no choice but-

That voice.

He knew that voice.

Crowe had fought him, when there was no need to fight. But Will Mckinley? Will, that nameless avenger in the dark, that first grim battle when all had been on the line, before either of them had really been killers?

Before Alex had shoved a shelf down upon the woman he'd tried to kill?

Will had been his hunter. The hero to his villain. The voice chasing him out of the dark, asking why and how and...

Alone, as he walked along beaches and clifftops, through the asylum he'd tried to master, through the mausoleum they had crafted for the children they'd decided must die.

Villain. Ha. Who was the villain, when the men and women who ran this mad game still thrived and survived. Isabel and Nancy and Kimiko and Alex, what did it matter? All the same. Pretense and pretension. 'Play the game better,' ha! How could you play the game better than the monsters who had made it.

And there was the voice of Will Mckinley, and Alex and his monstrous ilk might pretend to be more than the awful creatures who had set their stage but Will and his were worse by far. Will and Crowe and all their kind pretended that there was something bigger than this, some higher truth they could cling to.

There was no higher truth.

"Don't move," Alex said, as the tip of his machete dug into Will's unguarded back.
Edited by Grim Wolf, Mar 12 2017, 02:44 AM.
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V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players


V4 Players
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Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
He moved fast. Faster than Alex would have believed possible, already a step away with that gun trained of him, and here they were again. How many times was it now, that Alex had faced him down, sword in his hand, staring down the barrel of that gun? Why should he fear it now, after all he had faced and done?

Everything felt very distant, disconnected, dream-like. A lonely monster who couldn't be killed, whatever the world might hurl at him, lurching through a too-bright reality, an impossible world where Alex was a one-eyed killer of innocent women and men he'd once called friends.

And there was Will McKinley. His first enemy.

"Why the fuck aren't you dead yet?"

"What are you doing?"

That
was unexpected. His heard jerked towards the new voice (on his blindside, haha, get it, blind because Crowe took your eye in the dark) and found a woman there. Did he recognize her? Was it Isabel or Kimiko or...

Stay close. She's still in striking distance. But don't drop your guard.

(stupid stupid stupid you knew he was having a conversation you heard two voices why didn't you think about that other voice who it could be what it could do you how it could tear you apart end you this could be the end this could be)

(what role are we playing today).

"Your friend here keeps trying to kill me," Alex said, jerking his head towards Will. His voice still had that guttural rasp he rather liked, the one that made him feel every inch the monster he'd been trying to play

(that I have become)

"It hasn't quite taken yet." He turned back towards Will. "And he'll tell you that he's on the side of right, because I hurt his girlfriend. What he won't tell you is that he never gave me a chance. Fired on me while my guard was down. Because he's pretending he's better than me." What was it that had upset Crowe? Darius, right? "Is that how you killed Darius?" Alex asked. "Gunned him down without a word."

He shifted a little. "Put down the gun," Alex said. "I'll put down my sword. And..." An image flashed across his delirious, surreal mind, an image of Fezzik and Westley. "And we'll try to kill each other like civilized people."
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V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players


V4 Players
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Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Go to hell and burn, Alex!"

Movement. The faintest twitch, as Will made to pull the trigger, and Alex ducked low and

click

Failed again. Failed again. What were the odds? How many times could he be saved? As many as the drama required it? As many times as it needed, to establish that he was an indefatigable monster of another order, another caliber? To prove that he would be the monster he had always claimed to be? That he would become the mask he wore so well?

Focus. That man is still dangerous.

Alex came up from his duck in a rising slash. His mind was racing, fire and lightning sundering the lurching unreality he'd been moving in since Crowe took his eyes.

Words on his lips.

"You first."
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V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players


V4 Players
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Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The gun was gone from Will's hand (and Will's hand might soon be gone from Will's body, ha!) and Alex was already backing away and turning to face the other woman, might be Will's ally or might not but she had seen Will pull the trigger first so it couldn't be that hard to convince her that he didn't need to kill her

Except she was already pointing her gun towards him.

"Shit!" he hissed, and moved to step away, but there was a terrible, thudding pain against the side of his head, something heavy and hard and awful, and he cried out and stumbled backwards as the blow landed and then

Gunshot, like thunder (and how many times now had he heard that awful sound). Blood in the air.

Alex waited for the pain, and saw Will slump in front of him. His mouth opened, then closed.

She'd missed. She'd missed! Alive again! No gun could kill him!

Not as long as she doesn't fire again.

Alive. Alive! In spite of every trial this wolrd had hurled against him, he was alive! And he intended to stay that way. He intended to win.

He slashed at Will as the other man fell. He twisted, pulling the bag from his shoulder, weighed with weapons and goods, and hurled it at her. He sprang towards her from the corner, thinking madly of that paintball game with Gulley and Crowe, the one that had taught him this trick to make sure they couldn't get an easy bead on him, thinking of childish games and make-believe murder that had led him here, now, to this moment with a woman in front of him whose name he didn't even know, just like Rea-

And what felt like the fist of an angry god smashed into the back of his head.
Edited by Grim Wolf, Mar 15 2017, 05:43 PM.
Want to buy my book? See my short stories? Read my fanfiction? Visit my website!

V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players


V4 Players
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Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
And all my sins come home to roost.

He pivoted on his heel, fast as he could, swung his machete up, too late: again, something slammed home into him. And again. And again.

He moved, as best as he was able. He slashed, but there was his nameless assailant in his absurd fucking mask, swinging a...was that a god damn toilet seat? Was he trying to kill him with a god damn toilet seat?

This lunatic place run by lunatic people.

They danced, swinging and stabbing, trying to end each other, grunting and shouting. Alex drew blood. He was faster. He was sharper. He was-

He swung, and the masked man feinted, and swung differently. The toilet seat caught Alex's hand, and the machete fell to the ground.

Shit!

He reached back for his bag, forgetting he'd flung it at Amanda, weapons and all. A moment later, and the man was upon him, catching him with a walloping blow to the face. Teeth clattered against a far wall: aching tumors of emptiness and pain seizured up in Alex's mouth, as blood dripped down his chin.

And more. And more. He'd lost his balance, his rhythm. And the blows rained down, and Alex blocked and dodged as best he could, but his head was spinning and one eye was gone and then, in the midst of those blows he heard the voice.

Jonathan Gulley--little faggot Gulley, little coward, the only other man who'd fought with him in that abandoned paintball lot so long ago. Gulley, who'd kissed Crowe on the lips so soon before he'd died. Gulley.

"SAY. HIS. NAME."

And all my sins come home to roost.


Alex hit the wall. Jonathan raised his toilet seat again. Is this how it ended? One mad avenger, one old friend, a toilet seat ahead? Where was the justice in this, the honor, the theater? What notion of fittest would be served? What story?

I don't want to die.

This was not how Alexander David Tarquin died.

He raised his hands with sudden desperate strength, and caught the falling toilet seat. He felt the impact from wrist to elbow to shoulder, but did not yield.

"You ran."

The words came. Whose words? His, or the character he'd been trying to play? Was there any difference anymore? That moment when he and Crowe had clashed on the docks, he'd wanted it. His one remained eye bored into the matching mask hole. Fire in his gaze, and no artifice behind it, no difference between the man he was and the man he'd claimed to be. At this moment, role and player were in perfect harmony. He'd wanted to kill. No more hesitation. No more mercy. Something new had sharpened his awareness and his rage, transformed him into a monster in an earnest, and the truth was he longed for that feeling, because this place robbed him of any chance or impulse towards decency. He offered Crowe mercy, and Crowe punched him. He bared his back, and Crowe advanced with blade in hand. He offered Will a fair fight, and Will chose...

Again. And again. And again. Nothing fitting quite right. Nothing going the way it was supposed to.

"You ran," he said. "You knew what I aimed to do. I told you. I told you both. And you ran." His grip tightened on the toilet seat. He shifted to his full height, glaring into the mask holes.

"We live on the edge of life and death," Alex hissed. "We'd forgotten, but we remember now. What we are. What we can be. And what you are, Jonathan Gulley, is a coward, even worse than Crowe."

Gulley tensed, and tried to swing. Alex tensed, and wrested the toilet seat from him in one great stumbling heave. He turned that stumble into a charge, hammered his shoulder into Gulley's chest, slammed him back against the shelves. Gulley kicked, punched, and Alex kept moving, slammed him backwards once, twice, thrice, each time bouncing a different part of him against a wall or a shelf, and then he caught him and twisted and hurled him to the ground. Gulley scrambled to his feet, and Alex grabbed the back of his head, and hammered it home against the wall.

Again. And again. And again. Until Gulley was barely fighting him anymore, and blood dripped down the neck of that ridiculous fucking mask, and wasn't that just like Gulley and Crowe, refusing to fit into the story, refusing to behave the way they were supposed to, so Alex peeled the mask from his bloody face and glared into his eyes.

Alex looked monstrous. The blackened flesh of his taken eye, the blood dribbling down from his mouth, blood in his hair and blood on his clothes, ragged and ridiculous and just a little bit theatrical, even now.

"No more masks!" shouted Alex, and plunged Gulley's face towards the wall again.
Want to buy my book? See my short stories? Read my fanfiction? Visit my website!

V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players


V4 Players
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Grim Wolf
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The Very Best
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"S...s-shut up and do it already!"

Not bad, as last words went. Alex leaned back to smash his head against the wall again.

Thkkt.

He heard the sound first. Like leather cracking, clothes ripping. An odd sound, and so intimate, like he could hear it with more than his ears, like he could hear it with his whole body, and then there was the spice of cold in his guts, pressing in on him from the outside almost like a prostate exam but the angle was wrong and-

-and the icicle twisted, and Alex's world dissolved into agony.

no no no no no no no no

no no no No No
No No No No

No No No No No No No No No

No NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

NO NO


"NO!" he shrieked, trying to twist free of that awful pain, and trying to move just made it worse, murderous waves washing over his limbs and nerves and snuffing out every last one of his thoughts, and Gulley was twisting in his grasp too, clawing at his face (and for the first time that dead skin hurt) and then there was a kick and his lower body went numb and nausea rose in his guts, met the terrible penetrating pain and melded together and Alex tumbled away, shrieking still.

He hit the wall, hard. The handle of the machete hit the wall harder, so the blade pushed deeper, and with a crunching pop, its tip poked its way out of Alex's chest.

hello my baby hello my honey

He collapsed against the wall, breathing like a rabbit, too fast, his eyes glazed, staring at that sword poking out of his chest, raising his eyes to take in the scene. Bloody Gulley, clawing for the toilet seat. Bloody will, fallen backwards. The woman...Amanda? Amanda Tan?

This wasn't right. This wasn't right. Alexander David Tarquin was the villain here, he was supposed to outrun/outlast everyone, he was supposed to survive and prove himself the fittest. He'd already killed Crowe. Will had been next. He shouldn't be dying. He shouldn't be dying.

Tears on his face. He could feel them, and he couldn't stop them. Fucking Christ, this sword hurt. Everything hurt. His face, his ribs, his arms and legs, from shocks and fights and blows, and there was a pounding in his head and with every pound he could feel himself dying a little, the color washing out of the world as the blood flowed from his wound.

He'd killed Rea. He'd killed Crowe. And he was gonna die here, like this, in spite of everything. In spite of killing his friends, in spite of sending Jeremy away, in spite of...

Sobbing.

It's not fair. It's not




you gonna die like this?


What on earth did it matter now? They'd won, and what a victory. One man shot down by his would-be avenger, one avenger with his face bashed in, clawing for a toilet seat, and they man they'd killed crying as he died in a closet on an empty island.

Lunatics running everything.

You're dying.


I know I'm dying. You don't have to tell me. I can feel this thing in my guts. I can feel it killing me.

You're dying.

I know!

So how do you die?

What the fuck did that matter now?

You killed Rea. You took Crowe's finger. He took your eye. You killed Crowe. Tried to kill Will. Tried to kill Gulley.

And now he was dying. All pointless.

Not pointless.

Pointless!

You were gonna be a villain.

What kind of villain dies like this?

You ever watched a movie? Hans Gruber falls down a building like a bitch.

Hans Gruber. John McClane. Michael, I'm so sorry, I should have just-

You're dying. There's no time to lose. The cameras never stop rolling.

No, they were probably on him now, laying out the scene for all to see. The murderous villain comes back to finish the job. The man who will be the fittest, finally laid low. A small triumph for our heroes, in this hopeless place. They finished their mission, but the villain can't let them get out that clean, can he?

Fuck, it was so hard to think. It was so hard to breathe.

He chuckled.

It was hard. It hurt his chest, and his back. His wound heave with it. He felt like he almost vomited.

He kept chuckling. He didn't know what else to do. Blood pouring down his face and chest, tears dripping from his eyes, dying and laughing. That felt right, didn't it? Properly villainous.

"I was wrong!" he laughed, tears glistening on his cheeks. "Avengers...in earnest!" He bared his teeth in something between a grin and a grimace, showing the holes Gulley had left behind. "Even...in death, you..."

He coughed, and blood and bile flecked against his leg. He breathed, slow and steady, sobbing no more, laughing no more. He could barely see.

"No more...masks..." he mumbled, as his eyes flickered to Gulley's pitiful, crawling form. "No...see? This is...who we always..." He gestured vaguely around the room. "That's...the game. Take off...the mask, and..."

Fuck no the words were getting away from him. He focused on his breathing (breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out stay alive this isn't over yet they're going to watch this moment they're going to watch you die and is this how you're going to leave them is this how it ends is this)

"...off the mask," he mumbled. "And see...who's strong, and who's..."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Survival...of the..."

That's not it. There's more to say. It's curtain call and the play is coming down and you want to leave them with a memory of who you were and that's your last line? You can do better, you're Alexander David Tarquin, you have survived guns and lightning and bullets and blades you have fought over and over and over again you sent Jeremy away you killed your friend and you killed an innocent girl and this can't be how it ends, it can't.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe

ALEXANDER DAVID TARQUIN: ELIMINATED
Want to buy my book? See my short stories? Read my fanfiction? Visit my website!

V6 Players

Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

Lizzie Luz: "I don't want to go."

Alex Tarquin: "No more masks."

V5 Players


V4 Players
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