The Shape

[ItzToxie]

It was a cold night in the asylum, even colder since Jon left his shirt on Barry's corpse.

He couldn't believe Alvaro did that... What was wrong with him? Why? They only wanted to help, he just... he just couldn't believe it.

He hadn't found anyone since then.

Nobody.

He was alone.

It was as if the entire island died in one night.

Not a voice, not a soul.

This type of quiet was wrong. It wasn't quiet in the sense he could only hear his own breathing, or his own footsteps, he couldn't even hear that. He couldn't hear his own heartbeat, or anything. it was as if he'd gone deaf.

Everything was still, nothing moved in the slightest. If Jon stood still, it felt as though he was looking at a painting, or a photograph.

Footsteps stirred behind him. It should have been a relief, but something had risen in his chest. This wasn't any type of fear he had felt before. It was something worse, something inhuman. It was the real definition of terror, it was the most primal fear one could experience.

Jon turned around to look at the directions the footsteps were coming from. He opened his mouth to call out at it, but no sound came out.

The footsteps grew louder, they inched closer. Jon could only see the shape of a creature pursuing him.

He backed away slowly at first. The Shape had only walked towards him, it didn't run, it didn't jog.

It just walked.

Jon ran.

Corridor after corridor he ran, the asylum becoming a maze.

At this point, Jonathan started screaming for help. No one would hear him of course, he couldn't even hear himself. His feet didn't even make a sound as they hit the ground running.

He turned the next corner, and The Shape was down the hall in front of him, more visible than a silhouette this time. What little he could see of it's face was grotesque, like a parody of a smiling old man, with warped, exaggerated features. The Shape walked closer still.

Jon turned the other way and ran again. His breathing felt heavy, and his peripherals blurred. Fire was running up his throat by now, all though he couldn't hear it, he could feel it.

He turned the next corner and The Shape was right in front of him now, reaching out at him. Jon tried to turn around, but another one was right there behind him.

Jon fought back, swinging his arms every which way, but it didn't matter, The Shapes overpowered him, and held him by the arms. Jon called out in protest, he tried to scream, he tried threatening, he tried pleading. No sound came out.

The Shapes dragged him down the halls, where distant screams started to become louder, closer.

Jon looked left and right at the doors, and saw all manners of horrors.

They were all his classmates, all mutilated. All dead, well, they should be, but they weren't. Their bodies moved to the best of their abilities, screams and moans of pain coming from the ravaged piles of meat.

One lay against the wall, his face mangled, his lower jaw was hanging halfway on his face as parts of it sloughed off, one arm split in two reaching out of the bars. Another was a figure lying in the prison's bed, covered in a blood stained sheet, flailing around as it constricted around him, suffocating him. Next door down, there was a girl with her head chopped off at the jaw, gurgling pitifully as it's eyes darted around in fear and pain.

A figure of warped limbs cracked it's ways towards it's bars inhumanely fast, begging, pleading for help. It's neck twisted and turned, snapping around as it looked at Jon. Jon recognized him.

The next door was two in a room, perpetually killing each other. The first was a shirtless figure with a half melted face around the eye,  being stabbed through by a man in bloodstained hunting attire. He stole the blade from the man's hands, and began slashing back at him. From the damage on the both of them, this has been happening for a while.

Gunshots went off in the distance as screaming increased. Jon panicked and flailed, but to no avail. He saw Amanda walk up to one of the bars, covered in bullet holes, the most notable was an exit wound where her nose used to be. She stared at Jon with absolute hatred.

Darius was looking at him from his cage next, an entire corner of his skull was blown off. He was smashing his head against the bars, brains leaking out of him, reaching his arms out at Jon. Michael was next, his mouth split wide open, his tongue drooping down unnaturally low. His eyes trailed towards Jon's, as if to say, "You're in a world of shit now, buddy..."

As Jon was being dragged to the solitary confinement rooms, the area he woke up, he heard sobbing.

He saw Brendan in the corner of the room, curled up crying to himself before the door slammed shut. Jon was thrown into the room next to him.

The door slammed shut, and everything was just dark. All Jon could hear was the sobbing in the next room. There was the sounds of something shifting, and the sobbing stopped, as if Brendan realized something was in there moving.

The next thing Jon heard was tearing and screaming, then... silence.

It was silent once more. It was all black.

Not lights. No sound. Nothing.

Jon felt around the ground around him tremble as the wall behind him began to morph. He looked behind him, and saw a wall of flesh, faces and arms staring back.

He woke up just before he was pulled into it.

(( Jonathan Gulley continued from We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed with Our Classmates))

Jon sat up unaware of what had happened at first. He was cold, he was sweating, and he was shaking. He had awakened in the room it all started. His skull was throbbing, and it felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself alive.

He wondered if everything that had happened up to this point was a premonition, and that he had a second chance to change things. It didn't take but one look into the mirror, and a view of his fresh bandages and now covered eye to tell him otherwise. Everything happened, and there was no way he could change that.

The dead were still dead.

His stomach growled, practically pointing a knife at his throat telling him that it'd eat his kidney if he didn't feed it soon.

The first thing he did was open the bag with him, pull out an energy bar, and scarf it down in as few bites as possible. He helped it down with half a bottle of water.

He grabbed his supplies and walked out the room, remembering what he did last night. After he left Brendan, he went here and patched himself up. A horrible stench filled Jon's nostrils, as he looked at a room down the hall.

He also found what remained of Conrad. That was fun.

He wasn't sure what else to do at this point, he honestly didn't think he'd live this far. He didn't want to either, but that was another issue he had to deal with. From what little sunlight that got into the halls, he knew it was around morning time, and he should hear the announcements soon.

He should hear his own name.

Until then, he didn't know what to do.

Hell, even after then, he didn't know what he was going to do.

He looked at the blood stained mask halfway hanging out of his coat pocket. The damn thing was starting to piss him off, but for some reason, he felt as though he couldn't part with it.

[ItzToxie]

Jon sat still for what felt like hours. Hell, it probably was hours, maybe more, then again, it could've been less. Time went by fast when he was doing something, but sitting still, it just dragged on and on. Nothing to do, nobody to talk to, except maybe Conrad, but let's face it, Jon wasn't going to talk to a corpse, not one who's been dead and rotting for over a week now. To be fair, he should find something to cover him with, if anyone needed to be covered, it was Conrad, after the shit his corpse has been through, most of it probably pre-death.

The announcements caught his thoughts as he awaited to hear his name.

Double tap. That's what Danya called it. In his eyes, unloading half a magazine into someone's back was only a double tap... In the context of the situation, however, he would be right.

Michael stabbed Alex, and he got back up. Jon shot Alessio, and he got back up. Amanda shot Jon, he got back up.

Jon shot Amanda a few more times. She didn't get back up.

It wasn't like that though. He replayed the scene again and again in his head. It was mechanical, almost as if it was a reflex of his. He could have shot her once, or even twice.

He shot her five times. That's... there was something more to it, but he didn't know what.

He knew he didn't want to have to do it again.

He just wanted this to be over, but he couldn't end it now.  It was too late to kill himself, he'd already taken someone else's life. Amanda's life was taken by him, and it wouldn't come back if he died. It would just move to the next person.

As much as he wanted to be done with it all, he couldn't give up. Everyone who's died has to have died for a reason.

He knew he wouldn't make it home, even if he did win.

Maybe he had to win. If he could kill Danya... Everyone might get some closure.

Jon looked across the hall at that one room. The one with Conrad.

"What do you think I should do?"

Jon said it almost sarcastically. A serious question, but told in a really darkly humorous manner. He couldn't have expected what happened next.

It moved.

Jon looked away, then looked back again, just to clarify if what he saw was real.

The corpse's tattered face turned his direction. Conrad looked at him.

Jon quickly closed the door, now more shaken then ever.

That... No way th-that just happened.

Jon got to his feet, the world spinning around him, he felt dizzy again.

He had to leave, he needed some fresh air, that wasn't... that was twenty levels of wrong.

He couldn't stay here any longer.

((Jonathan Gulley continued elsewhere...))