Her forehead struck Shawn's nose with a sickening crunch, causing him to violently tear his fist back, with it her headwrap and a bloodied clump of hair.
Before he even had a chance to cuss her out again, Letitia's boot then collided with his family jewels, his eyes bulging and mouth agape. He felt in that moment an agony men dreaded more than any other, his legs turning to jelly as his body momentarily gave up on him.
He fell back like a ragdoll, letting out a gargled squeal of pain, unsure whether to cup his crotch or his nose first. Warm crimson dribbled from his nostrils and over his lips, causing him to spit red droplets the moment he tasted iron on his tongue.
Realising that he was momentarily helpless, he tried to fight past the pain and scramble for his shotgun, attempting to grab it before...
Oh fuck.
"W-W-WAI-"
HBIC
Day 11, late morning (private)
The hits connected, and the boy was now on the ground with a bloody nose and fewer chances of having children. Letitia had a second to touch her head, feeling the blood on her scalp and the missing track of hair that was now on the ground. The rest of her hair was now spilling out down her shoulders, but her eyes drifted towards the shotgun.
She quickly dashed to grab the shotgun. She had it scooped up in an instant, aiming it at the boy as he protested.
She knew he had to have it loaded. She had over a week to become familiar with her rifle, so surely she'd just have to use this gun the same way.
Letitia aimed it at the boy's chest and moved her finger to the trigger. She was too angry to even respond to his protests.
She quickly dashed to grab the shotgun. She had it scooped up in an instant, aiming it at the boy as he protested.
She knew he had to have it loaded. She had over a week to become familiar with her rifle, so surely she'd just have to use this gun the same way.
Letitia aimed it at the boy's chest and moved her finger to the trigger. She was too angry to even respond to his protests.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 447
- Joined: Fri Jul 03, 2020 8:46 pm
- Location: In a magical place
Before she could pull the trigger, Matthew did.
He'd rushed as he heard the collision, hampered by the office's layout - he had to fucking knock over a divider like it was a football game and he was running with the ball, but that was a stupid idea because he nearly tripped and cost himself some time, but then Shawn and Le Tits were fighting and he couldn't get a clean shot without hitting Shawn.
At least, uh, Shawn getting nutshot solved that problem. So, finger on the trigger, gun aimed right at the back of her skull, Matthew squeezed - not pulled, because that was shitty gun handling skills - the trigger.
Bang.
He'd rushed as he heard the collision, hampered by the office's layout - he had to fucking knock over a divider like it was a football game and he was running with the ball, but that was a stupid idea because he nearly tripped and cost himself some time, but then Shawn and Le Tits were fighting and he couldn't get a clean shot without hitting Shawn.
At least, uh, Shawn getting nutshot solved that problem. So, finger on the trigger, gun aimed right at the back of her skull, Matthew squeezed - not pulled, because that was shitty gun handling skills - the trigger.
Bang.
Letitia May had been born to leave her mark on the world. With the full support of her wealthy parents who could allow her to pursue her interests and provide her the funding she needed, Letitia was practically guaranteed an incredible life as a fashion mogul. Her brand, Leti M., would make incredible appearances at New York Fashion Week, she'd have Anna Wintour and Naomi Campbell at the top of her contacts list, and she's stand as a paragon of success and creativity for black girls to look up to. Sure, she was a bit haughty and arrogant, but that just meant she had the drive to succeed and make everything go the way she wanted it to. She could be pleasant, friendly, and magnanimous when she needed to.
If Letitia was the sole survivor of Version 8 of Survival of the Fittest, she would have been able to use it as an integral part of her story. She'd have all the defenses to the criticism she faced in the game, she'd have the tenacity to thrive and survive following the incident, and she'd have the capital and grit to channel it into a New York Times bestselling memoir and potential Leti M. lines that fed into the emotions and feelings she felt while she fought for her life and as all her peers died all around her. She'd put money towards a memorial at Endecott and make it part of her tribute to the fallen to make appearances at anniversaries. People would love and sympathize with her for that, and even the haters would have to admit she wasn't as bad as some of the other people who survived Survival of the Fittest.
Letitia had spent days mulling this over, telling herself everything she'd have to say to those who spoke to her about this experience back home. She knew her family wouldn't judge her harshly for what she did to survive here. Her father had expected all of them to try their hardest at anything they did, and he would see that his first daughter took that to be truly the best of the best, someone who survived against the odds of being selected and the odds of surviving one of the worst games in human history. Her mother would comfort and coddle her, doing whatever she could to ensure Letitia was happy and healthy back home. Her siblings would cherish her even more, becoming prouder of their sister and becoming more tolerant of her because of what she went through.
Letitia could convince herself she was right and she was deserving to survive. She only killed one person, while others had killed scores of students. She was a thief, but she was willing to negotiate and let some keep their wares. She was willing to stay out of the way and not get involved with others in the event that they would turn murderous because of her or that those who had given into their murderous urges wouldn't see her as another person to sacrifice to their base desires. She was sure she was playing the game the right way for her, and that others would see and appreciate it.
Letitia had spent days thinking over what her life would be like, how others would see her, and how she would be remembered.
And then a bullet entered the back of her head, and she never thought again. No time for final words, no time for regrets, nor was there time to realize it ended.
It just did.
As her forehead opened, spraying her brain matter and skull fragments over the boy she was holding a shotgun to, everything else vanished with her.
There were no more ideas for dresses and jewelry.
No more imagined conversations with friends, family, nor foes.
No more fine dinners.
No more shopping trips.
No more hair appointments nor manicures.
No more plans for college.
No more interviews with investors.
No more store openings.
No more magazine interviews and photography shoots.
No more romantic ambitions, future weddings, nor future children.
No more vacation homes and holiday destinations.
No more penthouses in the heart of Manhattan.
No more Met Galas and red carpets.
No more dreams of dying in a king sized bed after over fifty years in the fashion industry.
No more knots in her hair.
Out with those went the ephemeral.
There were no more justifications.
No more rationalizations.
No more rebukes.
No more snarks.
No more frustrations.
No more chills.
No more stings.
No more ambition.
No more hope.
As Letitia fell to the ground, it all ceased to be.
Everything Letitia May was and could have been disappeared when Matthew Bell pulled the trigger.
After that, she would be forgotten. Everything about her would vanish from the world.
And this is what would be said about her:
And then there'd be nothing more.
If Letitia was the sole survivor of Version 8 of Survival of the Fittest, she would have been able to use it as an integral part of her story. She'd have all the defenses to the criticism she faced in the game, she'd have the tenacity to thrive and survive following the incident, and she'd have the capital and grit to channel it into a New York Times bestselling memoir and potential Leti M. lines that fed into the emotions and feelings she felt while she fought for her life and as all her peers died all around her. She'd put money towards a memorial at Endecott and make it part of her tribute to the fallen to make appearances at anniversaries. People would love and sympathize with her for that, and even the haters would have to admit she wasn't as bad as some of the other people who survived Survival of the Fittest.
Letitia had spent days mulling this over, telling herself everything she'd have to say to those who spoke to her about this experience back home. She knew her family wouldn't judge her harshly for what she did to survive here. Her father had expected all of them to try their hardest at anything they did, and he would see that his first daughter took that to be truly the best of the best, someone who survived against the odds of being selected and the odds of surviving one of the worst games in human history. Her mother would comfort and coddle her, doing whatever she could to ensure Letitia was happy and healthy back home. Her siblings would cherish her even more, becoming prouder of their sister and becoming more tolerant of her because of what she went through.
Letitia could convince herself she was right and she was deserving to survive. She only killed one person, while others had killed scores of students. She was a thief, but she was willing to negotiate and let some keep their wares. She was willing to stay out of the way and not get involved with others in the event that they would turn murderous because of her or that those who had given into their murderous urges wouldn't see her as another person to sacrifice to their base desires. She was sure she was playing the game the right way for her, and that others would see and appreciate it.
Letitia had spent days thinking over what her life would be like, how others would see her, and how she would be remembered.
And then a bullet entered the back of her head, and she never thought again. No time for final words, no time for regrets, nor was there time to realize it ended.
It just did.
As her forehead opened, spraying her brain matter and skull fragments over the boy she was holding a shotgun to, everything else vanished with her.
There were no more ideas for dresses and jewelry.
No more imagined conversations with friends, family, nor foes.
No more fine dinners.
No more shopping trips.
No more hair appointments nor manicures.
No more plans for college.
No more interviews with investors.
No more store openings.
No more magazine interviews and photography shoots.
No more romantic ambitions, future weddings, nor future children.
No more vacation homes and holiday destinations.
No more penthouses in the heart of Manhattan.
No more Met Galas and red carpets.
No more dreams of dying in a king sized bed after over fifty years in the fashion industry.
No more knots in her hair.
Out with those went the ephemeral.
There were no more justifications.
No more rationalizations.
No more rebukes.
No more snarks.
No more frustrations.
No more chills.
No more stings.
No more ambition.
No more hope.
As Letitia fell to the ground, it all ceased to be.
Everything Letitia May was and could have been disappeared when Matthew Bell pulled the trigger.
After that, she would be forgotten. Everything about her would vanish from the world.
And this is what would be said about her:
Letitia May (S049) died on December 17, 2021 at age 18.
She managed to last until the Final 25 of Survival of the Fittest, Version 8, before being killed by Matthew Bell (S078).
She killed one student, Joan Leaven (S103), and spent most of the game quietly hiding.
She managed to last until the Final 25 of Survival of the Fittest, Version 8, before being killed by Matthew Bell (S078).
She killed one student, Joan Leaven (S103), and spent most of the game quietly hiding.
And then there'd be nothing more.
Shawn lay there in stunned silence, his chest heaving in and out and bottom lip quivering, vision blocked by a red smear on his glasses.
One moment he was staring death right in the face, his eyes pleading with Letitia to spare his miserable life.
Then her skull burst open, splattering his face with a spray of viscera. After which he felt something heavy slump against his chest, unable to make out what exactly as he found himself rendered blind.
His cheeks felt wet, coated in a warm viscous liquid and covered in tiny giblets, some hard and others soft. It was like someone had sneezed right in his face, only infinitely worse.
Eventually, a jittery hand hesitantly reached up for his glasses, shakily pulling them off and wiping them clean as best he could, before putting them back on so that he could see again.
Shawn's eyes immediately fell upon the corpse lying face first against his chest.
"Aaugh..." he gasped, panic quickly gripping him. "AAAaaaugh... AAAAaaah!" he cries out, flailing and shoving the corpse off of him before frantically trying to wipe his chest clean. He then looked down at his shaky hands, his eyes widening in horror at just how red they looked, instinctively reaching down to wipe them on his sleeves before thinking better of it. Instead, he grabbed Leticia's sweater and tried to wipe the blood off that way, before using it as a makeshift towel to clean his face.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god..." he gasped over and over, pulling back and wiping his brow before finally turning to Matt, a haunted look in his eyes. "H... Holy shit, dude..."
One moment he was staring death right in the face, his eyes pleading with Letitia to spare his miserable life.
Then her skull burst open, splattering his face with a spray of viscera. After which he felt something heavy slump against his chest, unable to make out what exactly as he found himself rendered blind.
His cheeks felt wet, coated in a warm viscous liquid and covered in tiny giblets, some hard and others soft. It was like someone had sneezed right in his face, only infinitely worse.
Eventually, a jittery hand hesitantly reached up for his glasses, shakily pulling them off and wiping them clean as best he could, before putting them back on so that he could see again.
Shawn's eyes immediately fell upon the corpse lying face first against his chest.
"Aaugh..." he gasped, panic quickly gripping him. "AAAaaaugh... AAAAaaah!" he cries out, flailing and shoving the corpse off of him before frantically trying to wipe his chest clean. He then looked down at his shaky hands, his eyes widening in horror at just how red they looked, instinctively reaching down to wipe them on his sleeves before thinking better of it. Instead, he grabbed Leticia's sweater and tried to wipe the blood off that way, before using it as a makeshift towel to clean his face.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god..." he gasped over and over, pulling back and wiping his brow before finally turning to Matt, a haunted look in his eyes. "H... Holy shit, dude..."
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Applesintime
- Posts: 447
- Joined: Fri Jul 03, 2020 8:46 pm
- Location: In a magical place
Lead through skull, skin and brain and Letitia ceased to be a problem for any of them. She tumbled onto Shawn, splattering him with blood like some sorta fucked up piñata, and Matthew just sorta stood there, breathing in, processing. Christ, they'd just wanted to take a break. A fucking break. Five minutes without worrying for their life, take a seat, and chill. And now... what, fifth person he'd killed? It was self-defense, he knew that. Her own goddamn fault. (although really, Shawn didn't help)
"Sorry. I, uhm, didn't really have a better shot. It was that, or..." Helping Shawn tug the body (god, he really transitioned smoothly from thinking of someone as alive to not, huh?) off of him, Matthew's first instinct was to grab the rifle, gently wiping it on Letitia's pants to get rid of the little bits of blood and brain splattered on it. It was, uh... a Mosin. Some real experienced gun nerd would confidently tell you it was an M1891 made in 1893 by Georgi in Moscow and the ATs had bought it in Georgia for a hundred bucks or some shit, but to Matthew, it was just a Mosin. A better gun than the Grand Power, anyway.
"Hang on, she's probably got a towel or something in her bag..." Propping the Mosin up against the desk for now, Matthew didn't see a bag on her. So he went further into the police department, eventually finding the bag and tossing the towel to Shawn as he emptied it onto the floor. Plenty of food, water and stripper clips for the Mosin.
Finally, he could LARP as a commie. If only Abhishek or Natasha were here to see it.
"Sorry. I, uhm, didn't really have a better shot. It was that, or..." Helping Shawn tug the body (god, he really transitioned smoothly from thinking of someone as alive to not, huh?) off of him, Matthew's first instinct was to grab the rifle, gently wiping it on Letitia's pants to get rid of the little bits of blood and brain splattered on it. It was, uh... a Mosin. Some real experienced gun nerd would confidently tell you it was an M1891 made in 1893 by Georgi in Moscow and the ATs had bought it in Georgia for a hundred bucks or some shit, but to Matthew, it was just a Mosin. A better gun than the Grand Power, anyway.
"Hang on, she's probably got a towel or something in her bag..." Propping the Mosin up against the desk for now, Matthew didn't see a bag on her. So he went further into the police department, eventually finding the bag and tossing the towel to Shawn as he emptied it onto the floor. Plenty of food, water and stripper clips for the Mosin.
Finally, he could LARP as a commie. If only Abhishek or Natasha were here to see it.
Shawn blinked, staring up at Matt behind fogged lenses.
It was tempting to snap at him, vent all his frustrations. The fuck took you so long? Why didn't you nail her whilst she was back in the office? Look at the fucking mess you've made! Something to that effect.
In the end, Shawn had enough sense to hold his tongue, sniffling as he ran a hand through his bloodied scalp.
"Its... Fine. Its fine..." he grunted through gritted teeth, picking out a blob of bloody pink flesh that was stuck in his hair, flicking it away with a shudder.
"Just... Need a minute to a-AAaack!" he cries out as he felt his snoot, a fresh splurt of blood trickling out. "Fucking bitch broke my nose!"
He spat on the ground, nodding his head in agreement as he followed Matt inside, making sure to scoop up his shotgun and close the door behind him. His eyes remained focused on Matt as they returned to the reception area, briefly glancing at his ally's new weapon. That was a second world war rifle, right? He didn't know his guns as well as Matt did, but he knew a thing or two about WW2. Enough to recognise that rifle as a... Garand? No, Garands weren't bolt-action. A Springfield, maybe? Or was it the Russian one with the funny name... Moist Nugget, or something?
Either way, it was enough of a distraction to calm him down, put himself at ease now that he was away from the body outside. He had to stay focused, emotionally distance himself if he was to have any hope of leaving this island with his sanity intact. She was just another casualty, just like Karin or the boys up on the mountain. This wasn't how he wanted things to go down, but... Well, shit happens.
He fetched a water bottle from his bag, splashing his face and soaking his hair before grabbing the towel Matt tossed him. As he wiped the gore off his face, he couldn't help but find himself praying that his gut was wrong about their supposed rescue. At least then it'd be easier to justify all the things he's done, all the people he's screwed over to make it this far. Shem, Andrew, Be-
Shawn froze the moment he pulled the towel away, finally spotting who was in the cell.
It was tempting to snap at him, vent all his frustrations. The fuck took you so long? Why didn't you nail her whilst she was back in the office? Look at the fucking mess you've made! Something to that effect.
In the end, Shawn had enough sense to hold his tongue, sniffling as he ran a hand through his bloodied scalp.
"Its... Fine. Its fine..." he grunted through gritted teeth, picking out a blob of bloody pink flesh that was stuck in his hair, flicking it away with a shudder.
"Just... Need a minute to a-AAaack!" he cries out as he felt his snoot, a fresh splurt of blood trickling out. "Fucking bitch broke my nose!"
He spat on the ground, nodding his head in agreement as he followed Matt inside, making sure to scoop up his shotgun and close the door behind him. His eyes remained focused on Matt as they returned to the reception area, briefly glancing at his ally's new weapon. That was a second world war rifle, right? He didn't know his guns as well as Matt did, but he knew a thing or two about WW2. Enough to recognise that rifle as a... Garand? No, Garands weren't bolt-action. A Springfield, maybe? Or was it the Russian one with the funny name... Moist Nugget, or something?
Either way, it was enough of a distraction to calm him down, put himself at ease now that he was away from the body outside. He had to stay focused, emotionally distance himself if he was to have any hope of leaving this island with his sanity intact. She was just another casualty, just like Karin or the boys up on the mountain. This wasn't how he wanted things to go down, but... Well, shit happens.
He fetched a water bottle from his bag, splashing his face and soaking his hair before grabbing the towel Matt tossed him. As he wiped the gore off his face, he couldn't help but find himself praying that his gut was wrong about their supposed rescue. At least then it'd be easier to justify all the things he's done, all the people he's screwed over to make it this far. Shem, Andrew, Be-
Shawn froze the moment he pulled the towel away, finally spotting who was in the cell.
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Applesintime
- Posts: 447
- Joined: Fri Jul 03, 2020 8:46 pm
- Location: In a magical place
Scooping stripper clips into his bag, Matthew grabbed one and loaded it into the Mosin. All five went in, so she'd been out of ammo. Explained why she needed to grab Shawn's gun. Good thing, given if a single thing had went wrong — she had another bullet in the Mosin, or Matthew had actually tripped and fallen over that divider, or if he was slower or she was faster — Shawn would be another body on the floor alongside Letitia. And honestly, their whole rapport was something that was keeping him going. Reminding him that yeah, there were still decent people on the island.
Even if he'd gunned down one and Shawn'd killed the other. That was a mistake, one he would never make again. He didn't think he had the guts to kill innocents just walking around. If they'd been hanging around with Katelyn and her gang, then sure. If you were chummy with a killer, it didn't seem like much of a stretch to say you were allied with them. But just gunning them down on the road, not even taking anything of theirs? Didn't sit right with him. He'd made a few mistakes on this island. None of them had led to his death, but if he kept making them, one would.
"Shawn, you, uh..." Matthew trailed off, following his friend's line of sight to the body in the cell. Yeah, it was Bethany alright. Looked like she'd been smacked in the head by something. What had Shawn said, they got split up fighting Aracelis and Leslie and then she got killed by Rebekah and killed her?
He wouldn't say it, not here, but he was a little suspicious of the idea that Rebekah had just decided to kill someone out of nowhere. Didn't see her style.
"Uhhh... want me to give you a minute?" He eventually decided on those words, placing a hand on Shawn's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Even if he'd gunned down one and Shawn'd killed the other. That was a mistake, one he would never make again. He didn't think he had the guts to kill innocents just walking around. If they'd been hanging around with Katelyn and her gang, then sure. If you were chummy with a killer, it didn't seem like much of a stretch to say you were allied with them. But just gunning them down on the road, not even taking anything of theirs? Didn't sit right with him. He'd made a few mistakes on this island. None of them had led to his death, but if he kept making them, one would.
"Shawn, you, uh..." Matthew trailed off, following his friend's line of sight to the body in the cell. Yeah, it was Bethany alright. Looked like she'd been smacked in the head by something. What had Shawn said, they got split up fighting Aracelis and Leslie and then she got killed by Rebekah and killed her?
He wouldn't say it, not here, but he was a little suspicious of the idea that Rebekah had just decided to kill someone out of nowhere. Didn't see her style.
"Uhhh... want me to give you a minute?" He eventually decided on those words, placing a hand on Shawn's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Shawn's eyes never left the crumpled body laying before him, her blonde hair now a blackish red. She hardly looked any different from the last time he saw her.
Frankly, he could have happily gone the rest of his life without ever seeing her again.
But, that hadn't stopped him from catching fleeting glimpses of her all across the island. Not hallucinations, god forbid. More little reminders that dredged up memories he was trying to suppress, intrusive thoughts given visual form. He had finally managed to get her out of his head after acquiring his shotgun, focusing entirely on the task at hand.
Of all the buildings across the island they could have picked for shelter, why the hell did they have to go with this one?
Shawn grit his teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain between his eyes as blood continued to trickle out his nose. It had crossed his mind, back at the campground after their encounter with Aracelis, to put Bethany out of her misery. To sink her... Shem's... HIS pickaxe into her skull, relieve her suffering and make her his first. He decided against it in the end. Didn't want to draw too much attention, or rob Aracelis of a kill that'd make it harder for her to go unnoticed. The fact that he'd known Bethany since they were kids didn't exactly help, either.
He never expected her to last long enough to take another competitor down with her, though. It was the only useful thing she ever managed to achieve in the end.
There was a time when he saw promise in Bethany. A time he truly believed that she could be his sword, his weapon. She was - to use a predictable analogy - his Queen. But when the time came to put her money where her mouth was, she bungled the execution. Let Aracelis get the better of her.
But, like a true grandmaster, Shawn knew exactly what to do after losing his Queen - He promoted a Pawn.
When Matt placed his hand on Shawn's shoulder, he considered for a moment whether he ought to say anything. Something poetic, or heart-wrenching, or even offer a small prayer. It's likely what she would've wanted.
Instead, he simply shook his head. "No need..." he replied, wiping the blood trickling down his face. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
Frankly, he could have happily gone the rest of his life without ever seeing her again.
But, that hadn't stopped him from catching fleeting glimpses of her all across the island. Not hallucinations, god forbid. More little reminders that dredged up memories he was trying to suppress, intrusive thoughts given visual form. He had finally managed to get her out of his head after acquiring his shotgun, focusing entirely on the task at hand.
Of all the buildings across the island they could have picked for shelter, why the hell did they have to go with this one?
Shawn grit his teeth, ignoring the throbbing pain between his eyes as blood continued to trickle out his nose. It had crossed his mind, back at the campground after their encounter with Aracelis, to put Bethany out of her misery. To sink her... Shem's... HIS pickaxe into her skull, relieve her suffering and make her his first. He decided against it in the end. Didn't want to draw too much attention, or rob Aracelis of a kill that'd make it harder for her to go unnoticed. The fact that he'd known Bethany since they were kids didn't exactly help, either.
He never expected her to last long enough to take another competitor down with her, though. It was the only useful thing she ever managed to achieve in the end.
There was a time when he saw promise in Bethany. A time he truly believed that she could be his sword, his weapon. She was - to use a predictable analogy - his Queen. But when the time came to put her money where her mouth was, she bungled the execution. Let Aracelis get the better of her.
But, like a true grandmaster, Shawn knew exactly what to do after losing his Queen - He promoted a Pawn.
When Matt placed his hand on Shawn's shoulder, he considered for a moment whether he ought to say anything. Something poetic, or heart-wrenching, or even offer a small prayer. It's likely what she would've wanted.
Instead, he simply shook his head. "No need..." he replied, wiping the blood trickling down his face. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
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Applesintime
- Posts: 447
- Joined: Fri Jul 03, 2020 8:46 pm
- Location: In a magical place
Matthew glanced around the sheriff's office.
Bethany's body.
The shattered window that he'd broken what must have been a week ago.
The rifle he now held in his hands.
The owner — prior owner's body, with the blood pool below her slowly increasing.
He let out a sigh, his hands clenching around the rifle.
"Yeah. Let's get the fuck outta here."
((Matthew Bell and Shawn Bellamy continued in Spoiler Alert))
Bethany's body.
The shattered window that he'd broken what must have been a week ago.
The rifle he now held in his hands.
The owner — prior owner's body, with the blood pool below her slowly increasing.
He let out a sigh, his hands clenching around the rifle.
"Yeah. Let's get the fuck outta here."
((Matthew Bell and Shawn Bellamy continued in Spoiler Alert))