Game Start: Boy #76

[Cactus]

((Adam continued from: Mortal Combat at the Gazebo))

The setting sun cast a beautiful orange haze on the horizon of what appeared to be the ocean. As he sat on a flat grey rock, the young man couldn't help but think that with a sight so beautiful, this island should be an island paradise. He figured, that was the way that it should have been, and anything less would be uncivilized.

Of course, stealing lines from Charles Barkley in deoderant commericals didn't help take his mind off of what was really going on, and neither did the beautiful setting sun that kept on radiating its light across the calm ocean surface. No, there was no escaping reality for Boy #76, Gillaume "Gilbert" Archambault. Not as long as the metallic collar settled loosely across his throat, partially hidden underneath the collar of his open blue overshirt. Contrasting fairly heavily with the dark green underneath, the grey collar was a constant reminder to Gilbert that after all that he'd been through, after all the choices that he'd made to which he thought were the 'right' choices, after all of that, he was going to die anyway. His mother'd always pressured him to stay away from drugs, smoking, alcohol, and any kind of violent behavior, and yet...he'd done all of that, and he was still here, fighting for his life, on the edge of death, and he hadn't even turned 15.

Gilbert was always the kind of person who could never hurt a fly, and while much of the time he envisioned hurting people who made fun of him and talked down to him, that's really all that it was; fantasy. He knew that he could never actually inflict pain upon someone, not ever.

But was that even true anymore? Gilbert knew better than anyone that this was the kind of experience that could change even the most hardened souls, it was the kind of thing that not a single person would ever emerge from the same. Never.

So where does that leave me? I could sit here and play the game, start to kill people and try to do it without remorse...which isn't possible, and when I get out, if I were to even get out...what happens then? I have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

Or I could try and find a way off, and likely be killed by some crazy psychopathic peer, or fall victim to a bad attempt to get these collars off?

Gilbert inwardly sighed. For all of his confliction, he knew that he was essentially damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Which was the problem that he faced here. No matter what, he knew that he was pretty much doomed to die, mainly because he knew that everyone looked at him as 'easy pickings' in any kind of sport he had ever played; why would this be any different?

I'm five feet tall, scrawny, and I look like a nerd. Why wouldn't people come after me?

He then tilted his head to the side a little as he strained his eyes to look out to the ocean. An odd thought had come to him, and while he'd heard announcements and he knew that there were still plenty of students left alive...

I've five feet tall, scrawny, and look like a nerd. I'm the perfect target, so why is it that in five days, not a single person's come after me?

He let that thought sink in his head for a moment, letting that observation come floating through his mind at about the same time a large boot made direct contact with the side of Gilbert's head, sending him sprawling off of the large rock.

As he felt himself tumble head over heels, collapsing on the soft beach sand, a searing pain roared through Gilbert's head, blood spilling onto the sand fairly quickly, though in actuality the wound was nothing more than a flesh wound. As he turned to face his attacker, his eyes came upon an unfamiliar face, stained with tears and black eye shadow that ran down his red face. This boy was obviously sobbing as he attacked poor Gilbert, and as he tried feebly to block another kick to the face, he couldn't help but curse himself for thinking that he had been safe.

Great timing, Gilbert...

As Boy #62, Shoar Wilson kicked at the face of the downed teenager, he sobbed like someone who was frightened for their life. This was, indeed, the situation, as the faux-emokid knew that the only way that he could get off of the island of his own volition was to either kill himself or win. Shoar, being somewhat of a coward, had tried the first method, attempting to cut his wrists with the axe that he'd been given. After mutliple failed attempts that only hurt him and left blood dripping from his wrists, he had decided that to play would be the only way, and while he hated himself for making that decision, he knew that his time for the game probably wasn't that long.

You're weak, you pussy, and they all know it! The first person that comes along is going to kill you, just like that, and then everyone will be shitting on your memory! You'll put your parents to shame, and why? Because you're a pussy! It's just like prison! If you get to someone and you kill them, nobody will touch you!

Of course, the mindet of Shoar Wilson could not have been more wrong, for as he had been thinking that, hours earlier, Jacob Starr, killer of many had been put down by a former pacifistic, friendly type. Of course, Shoar could not know this, and decided to try and find the weakest person he could, and then show them who was boss. Finding Gilbert had been the luck of the draw, and while his wrists were hurting him immensely, the boy didn't look as though he'd be much trouble.

As he aimed another kick towards Gilbert's head, he tried to inflict as much pain on the small boy as he could, knowing full well that if the kid had a gun, it could be all over for him. As his second kick hit Gilbert in the head again, causing the boy to shiver, Shoar jumped on him, punching at his face and then straddling the boy and wrapping his hands around his throat, trying literally to choke the life out of him.

As the air rushed from his neck, Gilbert was only faintly aware of the fact that he was being strangled to death. In vain, he reached for his knapsack, the contents of which were spilled over the sand, a small pistol apparently his assigned weapon...

...if I can only get to it...

Alas, it was too far out of his reach, and as the blackness began to envelop him, Gilbert mused to himself that fate seemed to have a really, really sick sense of irony...


...and that was when the gunshots sounded off. As soon as the first gunshot sounded, the pressure around his neck vanished, and he was only faintly aware of the blood that splattered onto his face and glasses. A second, and then a third gunshot sounded, and finally, a final gunshot rang out across the beach, and Shoar Wilson slumped dead overtop of him. Shaking, Gilbert shoved the corpse off of him, and took off his glasses; now covered in blood. As he looked at the figure who stood on the beach in front of him, his memory jogged itself, and a small scene replayed itself in his head - a scene that had taken place on one of the first days of school...

It hadn't been the greatest day for Gilbert Archambault, for he'd lost his timetable, his schedule sucked, his locker was nowhere near his first period class, and he didn't have a lunch period with any of his friends. That had summed it all up, and as he'd waited in line in the guidance office, he'd (somehow) managed to end up talking to one of the older students, a guy who had just transferred there himself a year ago. The older student had been very kind to him, and had made the first few days a lot more bearable. He'd swapped lockers with him, helped him pick out a decent timetable, and had even offered to bring him along when he went out with his friends, an offer that the shy Gilbert had actually taken him up on once, and while it had been a fun day, he still seemed out of place. He'd dropped him off at his house at the end of the day, something he'd been thankful for (it meant no bus ride, which was always unpleasant).

As the day had ended, though, the boy had taken him aside, and he remembered his words vividly.

"Alright, dude...here you go...and oh...buddy, look - I know it's gonna be tough adjusting to a new school and all, but you know what? Just get involved, meet some people, and fuck, man...you'll be fine. Here's my cell number...you have any problems, you give me a shout, and I'll try and give you a hand, alright?"

He'd mumbled back a thank you and taken the slip of paper the boy had give him, surprised that people could be capable of such kidness. He'd recieved so much bullying that he'd forgotten what it had been like.

And as he'd shoved a corpse off of his body, he had looked up to see who his saviour and potential harbinger of death had been, and was surprised and shocked to see the same student standing before him that had helped him out those first few days. He looked almost the same, with his red hair stained and dirty, a nasty looking gash on his arm, and eyes showing a haunted look to them, but the rest of him was normal as ever. Gilbert felt a tingle run down his spine as he realized that the boy was wearing the exact same clothes that he'd remembered him to: a green Audioslave T-shirt and blue jeans.

Adam Dodd had never really been one to have an extravagent wardrobe, but as he lowered his pistol, sliding the weapon back into his jeans, Gilbert knew that the same happy-go-lucky, kind student from back in New York might not be the same now. As he'd thought before, the game changed people, and if Adam Dodd were now a changed man, he didn't know.

Staring at Adam, he couldn't help but wonder if the other boy was going to kill him or not. As such, he didn't move a muscle, waiting to see what the boy's reaction was. What eventually did happen was something that he definitely did not expect, not even at all.

Adam nodded to Gilbert, raised both eyebrows, and sighed a small little sigh. "Gilbert."

Startled, Gilbert had to force himself to reply.

"A-Adam..."

At that, Adam shot Gilbert a weak little smile, and nodded to the boy; the incredible sense of sadness apparent within Adam's eyes seemed to travel over and hit Gilbert right in the heart. "Good luck, buddy."

As the words came out of his mouth, Adam nodded again, and exhaled sharply, sauntering away from the area, reloading his pistol as he walked away. Gilbert didn't move a muscle, and waited a long time before he made another move. He waited long enough for Adam Dodd to disappear from view before he turned to look at the body of Shoar Wilson. Three shots in the chest, and one in the back of the head had been what he guessed the cause of death was, and while he was frightened to admit it, it had seemed that Adam Dodd had, for the second time (in his own opinion) saved his life.

Silently, Gilbert wondered if he'd ever get a chance to pay him back, as the waves made the only sounds in the whole area as they washed up on shore, washing away the blood of the one formerly known as Shoar.

Boy #62 - Shoar Wilson....DEAD.

((Gilbert continued in: Onslaught Redux))
((Adam continued in: Revisiting the Past...))