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No Rest for the Obsessed; tagging Zee!
Topic Started: Jul 9 2017, 04:18 PM (244 Views)
ToxieTheToxicAvenger
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(( Jonathan Gulley continued from Getting Ahead of Yourself))

Jon wasn't sure what brought him back to the bell tower after so long. It was such a different feeling back then. There was still fear, still anxiety, but... there was a chance for things to go right. Jon wished he knew all of it would have died with Barry back then. He wished he could have just lost it then and there and joined the monsters. No regrets, no pain... He wished he could have really gone crazy instead of pretended to, maybe then he would have had an excuse for how terrible he was.

Jon looked at the mask in his hand in the eyes for a minute straight, before he put it on and went inside. Jon didn't want Barry to see him like he was. It was a shame that had to happen to him, he never deserved it. Barry only died because Alvaro was scared of him, of who he was friends with. Jon knew he hung around the wrong people, but he never thought he was hurting anyone, he didn't think it could have hit Alvaro as hard as it did.

Jon should have fell off the tower instead. Barry would have found Brendan, and Darius, and Alba... He was an actual leader, he would have done something, he would have helped everyone... Wait, who was that over there?

Jon's eye hovered over to the second crumpled body at the stairwell. He got himself closer and recognized the boy.

Aiden! He... He was the only other person who survived... That first day, when Barry had opened the gate to Jon's freedom... Aiden was there. There were... Five of them, including Jon. Him, Barry, Aiden, Tina, and Scarlett... All of them died that day except him and Aiden, and Jon never seen him again until now. Jon didn't even know who did this, or how long it had been since he died. He wasn't sure if he was unconscious or just... forgot.

Jon felt heat rise up in his face, he could feel the pressure building in his remaining eye, and a fire building in the one that didn't exist anymore. How many people actually died? How many could Jon actually remember? How many people died alone, with no stories to bring home? How many were faceless?

Jon realized that nobody would remember the majority of them, that they'd all be drowned out by the stories of the 'heroic' winner, or the disgusting horror stories of the cruelest creatures here that could barely be called human anymore... Jon wondered how the winners felt, if they even remembered the faces of the people they killed, or the people they lost. Would they try to black it out? Or could they never forget it?

Jon started climbing the stairs to the top.

Jon wished he could go back, he wished he could change things. He wished he could go back to being a decent person again, and not the cold, cold, Shape he was now.

Jon walked to the broken balcony that Barry had been shoved through, he looked down. How long of a drop was it? How long would it feel? Three seconds? Five? Ten?

Jon didn't know as he stepped through the opening, stepping over the edge...

















He wouldn't find out either, his foot resting on the support beam just below it. One hand held onto the barrier, the other his AK as he stepped his other foot on the beam, and shimmied along it until he reached the wall to his right.

There was another reason he came back here...

The bell tower was a great vantage point, the main problem being the fact the open area at top faced the wrong side, however, the openings on the other side despite not having floor boards or railings had the beams that edged along the walls. He had to pull a balancing act to get to the other side, and again to get back, but it gave him a good view of the island, probably the best. It was an area where if you saw it, you could shoot it semi-reliably.

Jon continued to shimmy along the wall until he reached the corner he was going to nest up in. He shimmied to the left of it, resting the AK along it to steady his aim. He wrapped his arm around the corner as he crouched down, making sure to watch his footing. One he got in position, he leaned the barrel of the rifle out of the window opening, his arm moved from the corner to the grip, pointing down at the path below.

Along the path, there was a little red and black bump that used to be Alessio. Jon laid his sights on it, his eye scanning the rest of the area as he waited. For most people who would come by, if they weren't scared off by the obvious warning, he would fire a warning shot to try again, hopefully they would get the message a second time, though by now the message should be pretty clear.

The reason he came back here was for a trap, and this trap wasn't for them. It was for someone special. Someone who was going to deserve everything that was about to happen to them...

There would be no warning shot for the one it was intended for.

Jon flipped the AK into Semi-Auto, his breathing underneath the mask slowed as his eye matched up with the iron sights of the rifle...
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((Min-jae Parker continued from Chew Until It Bleeds))

Jae avoided the asylum this time around. Lesson learned.

(Except of course not, because he never learned anything from his mistakes. What lesson even was there to hold over his head - avoid buildings full of corpses at all costs? As if he had much choice in the matter.)

He hadn't been to the bell tower before today either. It was a tall building full of stairs (and, probably, corpses) and thus didn't hold much appeal to him. His other options were diminishing, though. There was the utility area with the garage where Jae had killed and buried whatever feelings he and Hazel might have had for each other, and the cliffs where Hazel had died. There was the chapel where he had spent his last moments of peace with Asha and the garden where he had tried to shake off the haze of grief her death had settled over him. There was the asylum, and the rapidly-growing list of reasons why Jae didn't want to set foot in it again if he could help it.

At least the bell tower offered some novelty in whatever awful thing it was going to introduce.




...Or maybe not.

Maybe, instead, there was going to be a bloodstained lump in the middle of the walkway, and when he got close enough to it he would recognize what was left of Alessio.

The paranoia rose again, wrapping cold claws around his chest and throat. It was soon rewarded with the first spray of bullets throwing up dirt and gore when one struck Alessio's head.

Jae didn't pause to think about it. He clutched the rifle, even as his hands were longing for the more familiar weight of the crossbow, and he broke into a limping run towards the meager shelter the bell tower offered.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Jon Gulley finally saw the bastard, and he had a new weapon from what he had done to Brendan. Jon wasn't going to let him get the chance to use it.

He breathed in a few times to steady himself, before he trailed the barrel into his direction.

One... Two... Three...

Jon let off four shots, all of them low of where Jae was.

He saw a pop of red shoot up as Jae made a sudden movement. It got Jon's hope up as he watched, until the realization that it wasn't him he shot. It was his bait.

"Fuck!"

He flipped the assault rifle into burst fire, firing more shots at the target moving his way towards him.

Jon took a few more breaths before firing his shots down at him. He had to slow him down, he couldn't let him get in here, or else he would be exposed in a very bad place. If he could slow him long enough to get a hit in, then he could finish this!
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Jae wasn't sure if he was hit - he didn't think so, but he didn't have time to stop and check, and who knew what the adrenaline would block out. Some of the bullets were so close that he could feel heat as they flew past him, and he wasn't sure if whoever was firing at him wasn't actually trying to hit him or if they just had terrible aim. If the person at the top of the tower was who he expected, chances seemed about equal either way. They were playing some kind of fucked-up cat and mouse game, and nobody had bothered to clue Jae in to the rules.

He made it into the shadow of the bell tower without getting popped in the head, so there was that. It took a few moments of edging around the side, heart hammering in his chest, to get to the door and slip inside.

His first hesitant steps through the door were met with a burst of automatic fire straight down from the top of the tower, and Jae threw himself back, flattening himself against the inside of the door. His lungs were protesting, but he held the cough in to the best of his ability. He wasn't hidden, not in here, but he wasn't about to give his exact location away if he could help it.

Jae wasn't sure if he heard a shuffling from the top of the tower or if his imagination insisted that he did. Didn't really matter.

He had nowhere to go but up, and the person who had been tormenting him for a day had nowhere to escape to.

Jae scanned the interior of the ground level but turned up nothing that might help him actually get to the stairs without getting riddled with bullets. He glanced down and was briefly sidetracked by a few splotches of gray on one of his boots; after a moment it clicked that he was looking at blobs of Alessio's brain matter, thrown up by the shot that had hit the severed head. Jae grimaced and scuffed his foot against the doorframe to try and scrape it off.

There was no more fire as long as he didn't show himself. No way to get up there and put an end to this without moving out of cover. Jae eased his bag off his shoulder and set it down so that he could handle the rifle properly. He was tempted to take the crossbow out for the familiarity, but it wasn't going to do him as much good as the rifle here.

Jae glanced up again, sucking in a frustrated breath through his teeth. Without the immediate threat of gunfire, he could think more clearly, but he was mostly just agitated when not running scared.

He eyed the bell.

Jae closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and remembered what it felt like to be caught off-guard, to be cornered and praying for mercy, to have his privacy and security violated for a cheap scare. To be here. He dredged his anger up and took a moment to just... appreciate it. It didn't feel like he knew what he was doing, but it felt like he was doing something. It felt like purpose.

He reopened his eyes and raised the rifle, flicking the safety off and curling his finger around the trigger.

He found the bell through the scope and fired.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Jae just got closer and closer, and none of Jon's shots seemed to hit. It didn't hit him until Jae was under him that he was supposed to shoot at where he was going, not where he was at.

He kept his rifle trailed under him, he had to get out of this position or else he was done for. If he even slipped an inch, he would smack into the ground like Aiden, like Barry.

He shimmied along the wall again, splinters jamming into his exposed back as he slid along it. He was cold, shirtless, in a lot of pain, and probably going to be in a lot more if he survived this. It didn't take much to get the bastard to come for him, but he came.

Jon just might be getting what he spent all these days wishing for.

He reached the barrier and climbed back up it. He turned around and aimed the rifle there at the doorway. If he knew which side Jae was hiding on, he would shoot through the wall...

Jon made a guess. He aimed towards the wall to the right of the doorway, and switched to fully auto.

Jon opened fire, spraying the wall down, unloading bullet after bullet into it, when he saw movement, he saw it too late due to his lack of depth perception.

Jae moved out, and aimed at him.

Jon tried to move the barrel towards Jae with his finger still locked around the trigger.

There was an ear shattering blast coming from right in front of him. The bell gonged vibrating Jon's brains through his skull. Jon's arm left the grip and moved towards his ear, as his other arm held the AK down still unloading. Jon screamed as he waved the spraying AK back and forth down the well. The bell screamed that his time has come, his ears screamed for the noise to stop, his elbow and shoulder screamed for support to hold the AK, and Jon himself screamed in pain.
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As soon as there was a pause in the gunfire, Jae made a break for the stairs.

Between the cacophony of the bell, the screaming from upstairs, and the roaring of blood in his ears, there wasn't much room for any coherent thought. Just the urge up, up, ignoring the burning of his lungs and the way he stumbled every few steps as his injured leg didn't quite make it to where it needed to be. He kept close to the railing nearest the wall, more for support than strategy.

One thought did float up as the bell's ringing began to fade, though.

I'm going to fucking kill you.

He didn't have a name or even a face for the person at the top of the tower. He didn't need one.

Before the bell could really begin to quiet, Jae shot it again.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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The bell's ringing started to cede, and Jon got up, ready to fire down at the stairwell again, this time ready to hit the target.

He got up and stumbled forwards, the ringing in his ears pounding his skull. He moved over to the edge, aiming his assault rifle down.

He'd only get a glance of the target before the bell roared again.

Jon screamed and raised the rifle, unloading it's contents down the well. The intense recoil sent the rifle upwards, and Jon inadvertently shot the bell himself multiple times.

Jon screamed again and let go of the rifle holding his hands over his ears, it fell down the stairwell, still firing until it hit the ground, fired some more, then quit when it ran out of ammo.

Jon fell to his back, rolling around on the balcony, hands gripping his ears through the mask. He rolled to his front, and curled his knees under him, holding his arms over his head, rocking back and forth. His screams of pain melting into snarls of fury. Jon smashed his head into the ground, forcing himself to get out of this position, to get up and do something!

His arm reached away from his head and into his bag, pulling out the machete he had kept for so long. He crawled behind the stairwell, and waited for his target to climb up.

He stood there waiting, the pounding ringing dulled, his skull on fire once more.
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Jae clutched onto the railing as the gun went plummeting past him, haphazardly spraying bullets. His ears were ringing as he neared the top of the stairs, the vibrations of the bell resonating in the pit of his stomach, but he was evidently taking it better than whoever was laying in wait for him. The tables were turning.

Emboldened, Jae climbed the last few steps. He couldn't see anyone from where he was standing, but there weren't many places to hide up here. Just...

"There you are, you fucking gremlin."

He didn't know what was coming, and didn't have time to think about it. As the person in the shadows stepped out and Jae caught sight of the rusty-looking blade, he swung the butt of the rifle towards the mask.

They both made contact. There was a sickening noise as the swing connected and the bite of the machete against his ribs, tearing the gash on his side open again and sending Jae back with a yell.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Jon saw his target and swung, before something caught him right in the mouth. He felt the blade catch onto something as he stumbled back, the taste of iron filling his mouth as small things crawled and moved around inside of it. He stumbled back, feeling as if he was choking on something. His back hit the railing, and he swore he could almost feel it give way from behind him. He stumbled forwards, his free hand gripping his face as he spit up the excess fluid in his mouth. He could feel a numbness in his gums as things slid out from them, falling through the mask and clattering on the ground. He puked up more blood coming from his mouth, it pooled inside his mask before leaking out of the various orifices inside it.

The Shape look up towards it's victim, crimson draining from the nose, mouth, eye sockets, and neck seam. Blood dripped from the plastic parody of a face down across the shirtless emancipated figure. The cyclops eyed it's target, and realized how easy it could be to finish this. Min Jae was a mess, practically falling apart at the seams, all The Shape had to do was stay on the offense, and it could cut him down. The Shape lurched forwards.

Jon raised his machete and chopped down at Min Jae, the blade connecting to the rifle's barrel, he did this multiple times before Min Jae shoved him back. Jon shrugged the push off and shot back towards him.
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Jae could feel blood seeping into his shirt again, should have taken the time to zip up his fucking jacket-

He raised his arm as the machete swung down again and the shock of the impact rattled all the way up to his shoulder but the thick leather of his sleeve kept the blade from slicing in again-

He had Jae on his back foot but Jae was bigger and better armed and at least his head didn't look like a sack full of blood that was about to slough right off his shoulders-

(What the fuck do you want from me, who even are you, I'll fucking kill you I'll fucking kill you I'll fucking kill you-)

Jae snarled, struggling to find a moment in between the blows to get a grip on the rifle again. He couldn't manage to adjust it for a shot and instead drove it forward, putting his weight behind it as he slammed the butt of the rifle into the other boy's chest.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Jon was bolting forwards, machete raised. Min Jae simply pushed him back again, slamming the butt of his gun into Jon's chest, winding him. Jon stumbled back, out of breath, as Jae moved in, wailing on him with the rifle, hitting him again and again.

Another smack to the side of the head sent Jon stumbling to the right. He turned his head to look back and saw it, Min Jae was aiming his rifle at him, ready to finish this. Jon shot forward once again, smacking the barrel of the gun downwards, the discharge sent protests through Jon's ears as the bullet shot through the ground. Jon smacked the rifle again, knocking it to the ground.

Jae hobbled back, trying to gain ground, but Jon wouldn't ease up. He kept moving forwards, swinging his machete in a blind rage, most of the time missing, but he got a hit off here and there. Jon sent a kick to the leg Jae tried to favor, and got a squeal of pain from him in return.

Jon's free hand wrapped around Jae's throat as he forced him into the wall, raising the machete behind him. He pointed the sharp end towards Jae's face. In a few moments, The Shape would send the blade into his mouth and through his throat, and it would be the end of it. Jon's eye locked onto Jae's as he tried to get the final word in.

"Brendan forgives you... I don't."
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The tide was turning too quickly, back and forth in Jae's favor and then his opponents, no way to keep the upper hand-

The kick to his injured leg combined with his half-lunge to try and keep from dropping the rifle and set him tilting to the side, pain shooting through his knee once again. He didn't have time to regain his balance before a hand wrapped around his throat. The grip was weak, but hell - after ten days with no proper food and barely any rest, to say nothing of his injuries, Jae was weak too when it really came down to it.

He saw the end of the machete leveled at him, and for a moment, it was alright not to think. To accept it, even.







Brendan.











And Jae wheezed out a laugh that was more irony than humor because god, he'd never be free, would he?





And he bared his teeth in an expression that was only a smile in the barest description of the word and lurched forward, digging his fingers into the mask's one empty eye socket and gouging, adrenaline rising again at the noise of shock and pain that he drew forth. The other boy recoiled, but Jae had a grip on the mask now, and it slid off with a wet noise as they broke apart again.

Jae recognized the face under the mask, mutilated as it was, and he couldn't help the disdainful curl of his lip even under the circumstances.

"You little fucker."

His voice was a low growl, animal-like. He lunged for Jon.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Jae laughed...

He fucking laughed... Jon was disgusted by this callous bastard... no... a blade to the face is too good for him, Jon would blind him, flay his face, cut this bastards cock off before he fini-

Jae's hand lunged to his face. Jon screamed as he felt the slimy fucker's fingers enter his skull, as the clench tightened, and grabbed, and pulled. Jon reeled back, and The Shape was no more.

Jon blinked his remaining eye in shock, stairing at the bloodstained fold of plastic in Min Jae's hand. He froze and stared at the mask. His body shaking, his remaining eye twitching, he stood, and he stared. His grip tightened on his machete.

Jon screamed and raised his machete once more as Min Jae lurched forwards, pushing him back. The railing behind Jon snapped, and for a moment, Jon felt weightless. In the split second he was still going back and not down, Jon imagined flying away, he imagined that none of this was real, that this nightmare would be over soon. Once reality hit Jon, he reached out in an attempt to grab Jae and bring him down with him.

He missed.

Down and down he fell, the world slowed down for him. All the things he experienced over these last two weeks. Friends he never knew, enemies he thought were friends, the lover who died for nothing, the killers who killed for nothing. Jon took comfort in the fact that he would see them soon. He would see him soon too...

It didn't help that he failed though... He never was able to save anyone. Barry, Darius, Michael, Brendan, Coleen... There was nothing he could do now... It was over now.

All he could do was try to enjoy the ride until he reached the destination.

Jon watched the world spin as he got closer to it. He saw the sky, then the ground, as he flipped heads up, tails up.

Sky.

Ground.

Sky.

Ground.

Sky.

Ground.

Sky







*THWACK*
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Momentum kept Jae pitching forward, and he crashed chest-first into the floor, knocking the wind out of him.

As he lay gasping, there was a noise rather like a splat from somewhere far below.

No other noise followed, and after several long moments, Jae dragged himself up and over to the broken railing to peer over the edge. Jon's body was crumpled and twisted.

Jae flopped onto his back with a groan. As he came down from the adrenaline rush, all his aches and pains, old and new, made themselves known. He was bleeding and bruised, but he had won. He wanted to hope that Brendan's little friendship posse would leave him the fuck alone, but at least one of them was still unaccounted for as far as he knew. Maybe she would go and get herself killed somewhere far away from him, but Jae wasn't much for hope or luck by now.

Would he have let Jon kill him if he hadn't mentioned Brendan? Maybe. Maybe. God, he was tired of fighting. His body and mind were both falling apart.

Wouldn't it be easier to die? To start over? What was he afraid of? Hell? He knew he was going to Hell, or at least to somewhere unpleasant, and that he was going to be there for a long time. Odds were that he would never have the chance to make up for what he had done in this lifetime, so he would have to make up for it in the next.

Fuck, even if he were to live, what did it even mean to make up for this? Sending out apology letters to the families of people he had killed wasn't going to cut it. They wouldn't forgive him no matter what he did. He wouldn't have wanted his parents to pat his killer on the back and tell them that everything was okay. He had hurt people because he was angry and scared, because he hated, because it was easy to lash out, because he didn't know what to do if he just gave up. And he had always been that way.

None of them had changed all that much, here.

Jae stared blankly at the tower's ceiling until he realized he was still holding onto the bloodied mask, and he flung it away with a noise of disgust.

He sat up slowly, groaning. He wasn't sure what he still had left in the way of first-aid supplies, but it was all back on the ground floor regardless. Patching himself up was getting to be more a matter of comfort and keeping himself busy than practicality. He probably wasn't going to live long enough for infection to set in even if he didn't bother.

He located the rifle and flicked the safety back on so he wouldn't go and render his leg completely useless by shooting himself in the foot. He spared one last glance over the side at the body and






















it was gone.

Jae stared at the spot on the ground where Jon had been. Had been. He wasn't there anymore. There was a faint, unsteady trail of blood spatter leading back around the side of the tower, towards the path that led to the asylum.

Shock gave way to the trickle of paranoia again, and then aggravation. Not true anger, just... frustration, more than anything. Was it too much to ask for people to die and stay fucking dead? How did someone that beat to hell survive a multiple-story fall?

Jae ground his teeth, but forced himself to breathe steadily. Back down to his things first, then patching himself up. Then... dealing with loose ends.

Wherever he had gone, Jon was on the run now and Jae was the one on the hunt.

He couldn't have gone far.

((Min-jae Parker and Jonathan Gulley continued in Talons))
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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