Until the 6th of December, 2021 had been an excellent year for Derek Caldwell.
He had managed to elude both bullies and bothersome classmates at school, leaving him time for the important stuff.
His art was improving, or at least the rising number of his follower count told him so.
He had written to a few universities and gotten more answers than expected.
Abel was doing well in school, having been integrated into a solid group of friends.
Part-time after school still sucked, but Derek made good money.
Even his parents were less aggressive lately, apparently running out of new reasons to argue with each other. If luck would have it, they would divorce soon.
And his aunt Polly was going to visit them over the holidays with her family. Abel doted on her every time they managed the journey across five states and their parents knew when to act like a happy family, so that would be a nice christmas.
Maybe it was because of all these things that getting thrown into SOTF didn’t feel as shocking as it should have. One day, the pendulum had to swing back.
It was still terrifying.
((S007 Derek Caldwell - Start))
Whatever weird knockout gas the AT used, it had preserved his memories. He remembered dozing off in the bus. He remembered Mr Pérez getting shot and Mr Ramos blowing up. He remembered that smug bastard Danya, acting as if this was some sort of gameshow.
And most importantly, he remembered his situation.
Kill to survive. Only one goes home.
“What a load of bull,” he muttered under his breath.
The same could be said about his starting point. Opening his eyes, Derek found himself entangled in a scrub in the middle of a forest, as if someone had thrown him away. There were two backpacks, one of which Derek recognized, lying in front of the bushes.
A few curses later, Derek had freed himself. Now it was time to check what weapon the terrorists gave him. He was far away from thrilled when it came to using it, but he couldn’t afford to die here. Abel was waiting for him to come home, after all.
Before he could zip open the second backpack, Derek spotted something long lying close to his former resting place. Some kind of sword in a hilt, it appeared.
Well, better than nothing.
Crouching down, Derek grabbed the sword. Unfortunately, it had gotten tangled up pretty good. Maybe this was another cruel joke from his captors.
He didn’t know and didn’t care as he started to free the weapon from the grip of the green.
UWU with the best of 'em
Closed!
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DerArknight
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If Donovan knew anything, it was competition. Some people won, and some people lost. If Donovan knew anything else, it was this: he wasn't a loser. No. He wasn't a loser. He was a winner in the making.
So, the first thing he did was check his weapon. A pistol, polymer-framed, big words on the side, said MASADA. He'd gotten lucky for once with a draw like this. Nobody wanted to fuck with the guy with the gun. Not unless they wanted to eat lead, anyway.
So he picked it up, hands creeping across the grip. Donovan had never held a gun before, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to work it. Call it the influence of the music. Load the magazine, and rack the slide.
Donovan ignored the pit in his stomach and the shaking of his hands. He just needed to psyche himself up. He just needed to get his head in the game. Play smart, not hard. If he did that, he'd be fine.
His eyes caught a figure on the other side of the tree line. Then, he knew.
It was game time.
S043: DONOVAN LAUER — GAME START
He stepped through the trees, eyes locked on the other kid, Derrick, or something if his memory wasn't failing. He was too young for dementia, so he figured he was right. He knew the kid, but only just; some unhappy loner, beatbox guy.
Loner. That was a keyword: nobody gave a fuck about the weird goth with the resting bitch face. Easy pickings. Donovan needed to do it quickly before anyone tried to stop it. In and out, over with, get it done. He didn't need to like it. He just needed to man the fuck up and do it.
Donovan walked forward, stepping from the tree line, pistol already drawn. He caught a glimpse of the boy's hands, trying to pull something from the bushes. It had a handle like a sword, so that's what he figured it was.
"Keep some distance then," he thought, "so he can't pull anything."
Donovan raised the gun with one hand, his right, his bag still dangling from his left shoulder, his left hand gripping the strap. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. There was no time to be weak, to cry; he was better than that.
"Ay, hands up, this is a fucking robbery," he called out, raising his voice instinctively, "Try anything, and you're dead, got it?"
He swallowed. There was no going back now.
So, the first thing he did was check his weapon. A pistol, polymer-framed, big words on the side, said MASADA. He'd gotten lucky for once with a draw like this. Nobody wanted to fuck with the guy with the gun. Not unless they wanted to eat lead, anyway.
So he picked it up, hands creeping across the grip. Donovan had never held a gun before, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to work it. Call it the influence of the music. Load the magazine, and rack the slide.
Donovan ignored the pit in his stomach and the shaking of his hands. He just needed to psyche himself up. He just needed to get his head in the game. Play smart, not hard. If he did that, he'd be fine.
His eyes caught a figure on the other side of the tree line. Then, he knew.
It was game time.
S043: DONOVAN LAUER — GAME START
He stepped through the trees, eyes locked on the other kid, Derrick, or something if his memory wasn't failing. He was too young for dementia, so he figured he was right. He knew the kid, but only just; some unhappy loner, beatbox guy.
Loner. That was a keyword: nobody gave a fuck about the weird goth with the resting bitch face. Easy pickings. Donovan needed to do it quickly before anyone tried to stop it. In and out, over with, get it done. He didn't need to like it. He just needed to man the fuck up and do it.
Donovan walked forward, stepping from the tree line, pistol already drawn. He caught a glimpse of the boy's hands, trying to pull something from the bushes. It had a handle like a sword, so that's what he figured it was.
"Keep some distance then," he thought, "so he can't pull anything."
Donovan raised the gun with one hand, his right, his bag still dangling from his left shoulder, his left hand gripping the strap. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. There was no time to be weak, to cry; he was better than that.
"Ay, hands up, this is a fucking robbery," he called out, raising his voice instinctively, "Try anything, and you're dead, got it?"
He swallowed. There was no going back now.
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DerArknight
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Derek froze.
To be fair, he had already done so before. He was in a forest in the middle of winter, after all. Only that before, there had been no alleged weapon aimed at him.
"I am going to stand up," he uttered, while slowly doing so, his hands somewhat raised. Once he was in a position to afford, he turned around to face his new enemy.
Donovan Lastname, one of the jocks. Or wanna-be jocks, seeing how pathetic JEM's sport-section was. The gun in Donovan's hand was anything but wanna-be.
Derek took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to lose his stuff here to this random jerk. But he also couldn't just rush the other boy. He had to find an opening.
"Sure you are doing the smart thing right now?"
To be fair, he had already done so before. He was in a forest in the middle of winter, after all. Only that before, there had been no alleged weapon aimed at him.
"I am going to stand up," he uttered, while slowly doing so, his hands somewhat raised. Once he was in a position to afford, he turned around to face his new enemy.
Donovan Lastname, one of the jocks. Or wanna-be jocks, seeing how pathetic JEM's sport-section was. The gun in Donovan's hand was anything but wanna-be.
Derek took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to lose his stuff here to this random jerk. But he also couldn't just rush the other boy. He had to find an opening.
"Sure you are doing the smart thing right now?"
"Sure as hell," he snapped back.
No hesitation, no remorse: that was the kind of person he needed to be, he told himself, so that was who he was now. If you wanted something, you had to take it for yourself.
"If you're going to play anything," he told himself, "you play to win."
His hands adjusted themselves on the grip to make themselves more comfortable. His finger hovered away from the trigger. He didn't want some stupid misfire.
"Now, listen, you do what I say," he spat, "or I pull this trigger. Understand?"
He paused, the reality of the words still sinking in on him.
No hesitation, no remorse: that was the kind of person he needed to be, he told himself, so that was who he was now. If you wanted something, you had to take it for yourself.
"If you're going to play anything," he told himself, "you play to win."
His hands adjusted themselves on the grip to make themselves more comfortable. His finger hovered away from the trigger. He didn't want some stupid misfire.
"Now, listen, you do what I say," he spat, "or I pull this trigger. Understand?"
He paused, the reality of the words still sinking in on him.
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DerArknight
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Donovan did his best to aappear threatening, but Derek saw through. The way he nervously played with his gun told a clear language of a boy trying to convince himself he was heartless. That was an oppportunity.
"So you kill me... and then what?" Derek raised an eyebrow.
"Then you have about a day before everyone will know that you are the first killer of this shitshow. And the first one will surely get a lot of attention. Once more and more people kill, it will seem less relevant, but the first few will stick in everyone's minds. Especially those who want to be heroes and take out the dangerous ones.
"So how far do you think can you last if everyone sees you as the first one to snap? You will have to defend yourself in many fights, take many injuries and eventually burn out around the halfway point. All of which could have been avoided if you didn't put this huge target on your back.
"And for what? This sword looks like you need two hands to properly wield it, so it would suck as a secondary weapon, and it is not better than your gun. Oh, and I have nothing you couldn't get from anyone else.
"So let me repeat myself: You sure you know what you are doing?"
"So you kill me... and then what?" Derek raised an eyebrow.
"Then you have about a day before everyone will know that you are the first killer of this shitshow. And the first one will surely get a lot of attention. Once more and more people kill, it will seem less relevant, but the first few will stick in everyone's minds. Especially those who want to be heroes and take out the dangerous ones.
"So how far do you think can you last if everyone sees you as the first one to snap? You will have to defend yourself in many fights, take many injuries and eventually burn out around the halfway point. All of which could have been avoided if you didn't put this huge target on your back.
"And for what? This sword looks like you need two hands to properly wield it, so it would suck as a secondary weapon, and it is not better than your gun. Oh, and I have nothing you couldn't get from anyone else.
"So let me repeat myself: You sure you know what you are doing?"
He knitted his brows.
"Yeah, no shit? I'll be alive and hunted," he nodded, "and you'll still be a dead man."
Donovan shook his head and rolled his shoulders. Big talker, but it didn't matter. He'd met people who flapped their gums a lot before, and he loved to shut them up.
"The answer isn't changing, so make it easier on us both and hand the bag over," he continued.
His eyes honed in, gun barrel hovering.
"Yeah, no shit? I'll be alive and hunted," he nodded, "and you'll still be a dead man."
Donovan shook his head and rolled his shoulders. Big talker, but it didn't matter. He'd met people who flapped their gums a lot before, and he loved to shut them up.
"The answer isn't changing, so make it easier on us both and hand the bag over," he continued.
His eyes honed in, gun barrel hovering.
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DerArknight
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Okay. If this guy wanted a pissing contest, he would get one.
"If you really had the balls to shot me, you would have already done so during my monologue, dipshit." Raising his right arm forwards, Derek showed Donovan the middlefinger. "And now drop the bandit-roleplay."
"If you really had the balls to shot me, you would have already done so during my monologue, dipshit." Raising his right arm forwards, Derek showed Donovan the middlefinger. "And now drop the bandit-roleplay."
Donovan moved the gun a little to the left.
Then he fired.
Then he fired.
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DerArknight
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It had most likely been inevitable.
Derek was too stubborn to give in just because of a gun and Donovan was too stubborn to actually consider backing off.
The result of those two stubborn teenagers clashing was that the bullet ripped through Derek's outstretched hand, turning it into a bloody mess missing index and middle finger, with the ringfinger being only partly connected. The impact dragged his entire arm backwards.
For a moment, Derek failed to realize what had transpired, the echo of the shot still ringing in his ears.
Then came the pain.
"UUAAAAGGGHHH!"
Holding what was left of his dominant hand, Derek sunk to the ground while the snow around him became a lot more red.
"... Fucker."
Derek was too stubborn to give in just because of a gun and Donovan was too stubborn to actually consider backing off.
The result of those two stubborn teenagers clashing was that the bullet ripped through Derek's outstretched hand, turning it into a bloody mess missing index and middle finger, with the ringfinger being only partly connected. The impact dragged his entire arm backwards.
For a moment, Derek failed to realize what had transpired, the echo of the shot still ringing in his ears.
Then came the pain.
"UUAAAAGGGHHH!"
Holding what was left of his dominant hand, Derek sunk to the ground while the snow around him became a lot more red.
"... Fucker."
Donovan marched forward towards the heaped body of the other boy—still breathing, just as he'd wanted. He grimaced, ears filled with pain and ringing. It hurt, but not as much as the wound he'd dealt.
And if there was ever some karma, that was it. The guy had taken him for a joke, and he'd learned a lesson; as far as Donovan was concerned, that was a fair trade.
He let out a small huff of white vapor as he loomed over the downed boy. Then, he raised his right foot and brought it down hard. It collided with the boy's back with a thump, sending him back to the dirt.
"Stay down!" he hissed.
"If you want something," he thought, "you take it yourself."
And then he did, scooping the boy's two bags—one a standard daypack, the other the boy's luggage—up and slinging it over his other shoulder. He'd sort through it later. For now, this was good enough.
As suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone again.
S043: DONOVAN LAUER — CONTINUED IN "How Did I Get Here"
And if there was ever some karma, that was it. The guy had taken him for a joke, and he'd learned a lesson; as far as Donovan was concerned, that was a fair trade.
He let out a small huff of white vapor as he loomed over the downed boy. Then, he raised his right foot and brought it down hard. It collided with the boy's back with a thump, sending him back to the dirt.
"Stay down!" he hissed.
"If you want something," he thought, "you take it yourself."
And then he did, scooping the boy's two bags—one a standard daypack, the other the boy's luggage—up and slinging it over his other shoulder. He'd sort through it later. For now, this was good enough.
As suddenly as he had arrived, he was gone again.
S043: DONOVAN LAUER — CONTINUED IN "How Did I Get Here"
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DerArknight
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- Joined: Sat Mar 06, 2021 10:52 am
Shit!
Derek took a few moments to push through the pain and finally get control over his actions again. By pressing his hand into his clothes, he could kind of keep the bleeding under control. For the moment.
That didn't do jack shit about how messed up the situation was. The jerk Donovan had taken his stuff, leaving only the sword - which was still entangled in the bushes and required two hands to be wielded properly.
It appeared that whatever higher power had thrown him here was not done with Derek Caldwell.
He struggled to get into a seating position, leaning against a tree. Then he swallowed his pride and did something truly pathetic.
"HELP! ANYONE, I AM HURT AND NEED FIRST AID!"
He prayed that Abel would never get to see this.
Derek took a few moments to push through the pain and finally get control over his actions again. By pressing his hand into his clothes, he could kind of keep the bleeding under control. For the moment.
That didn't do jack shit about how messed up the situation was. The jerk Donovan had taken his stuff, leaving only the sword - which was still entangled in the bushes and required two hands to be wielded properly.
It appeared that whatever higher power had thrown him here was not done with Derek Caldwell.
He struggled to get into a seating position, leaning against a tree. Then he swallowed his pride and did something truly pathetic.
"HELP! ANYONE, I AM HURT AND NEED FIRST AID!"
He prayed that Abel would never get to see this.
((S30 Chiara Masina: START))
Chiara felt the bark of the tree dig into her back as she hugged herself close to it. Her hand was clasped tightly over her mouth. She tried everything she could to slow her breathing down, then closed her eyes. She prayed that she wouldn't be spotted. She knew she had to look like a large black mass against the snowy floor, and she hoped she could remain hidden.
Chiara had woken up a few minutes prior a little ways away in the forest. After a moment of panic, she had quickly thrown the windbreaker on. She had a jacket on the bus, but since it was stored away from her bag, it was likely left behind. Or it was in her bag and she couldn't see it. She wasn't sure at the moment. She was in light clothes and laying in snow, and she was sure getting her clothes wet would be dangerous down the road. She had to get to shelter and dry off as soon as possible.
She had gone through the assigned bag as well. She was shocked to see there was a revolver in the bag, something called a Nagant. Chiara had skimmed through the instructions so she could at least know how to load and fire it before stuffing it in the windbreaker jacket.
She had glanced at the map to see where the nearest shelter was and began her trek when she heard the voices. It sounded like two boys, not that Chiara knew who they were. It sounded like they were fighting, but as she leaned out to see who it was, she heard the gunfire. She quickly pulled behind the tree.
The other boy was screaming for help while she heard the other disappear. After a few seconds of silence, she leaned back out and saw the injured boy was alone. Chiara had a moment to think. Hurry away and leave the boy to his fate? Or help him despite the danger of getting close to him. Chiara wasn't one to get close to people.
She shook her head and opened her eyes.
No, she had to help. Her family would be ashamed if she didn't.
Chiara slowly leaned out and began to quietly make her way to the boy. She saw him against a tree with a bloody hand. Once she was within view of the boy, she raised a finger to her mouth and shushed him.
They had to be quiet if they were going to leave the forest, and by extension the island, alive.
Chiara felt the bark of the tree dig into her back as she hugged herself close to it. Her hand was clasped tightly over her mouth. She tried everything she could to slow her breathing down, then closed her eyes. She prayed that she wouldn't be spotted. She knew she had to look like a large black mass against the snowy floor, and she hoped she could remain hidden.
Chiara had woken up a few minutes prior a little ways away in the forest. After a moment of panic, she had quickly thrown the windbreaker on. She had a jacket on the bus, but since it was stored away from her bag, it was likely left behind. Or it was in her bag and she couldn't see it. She wasn't sure at the moment. She was in light clothes and laying in snow, and she was sure getting her clothes wet would be dangerous down the road. She had to get to shelter and dry off as soon as possible.
She had gone through the assigned bag as well. She was shocked to see there was a revolver in the bag, something called a Nagant. Chiara had skimmed through the instructions so she could at least know how to load and fire it before stuffing it in the windbreaker jacket.
She had glanced at the map to see where the nearest shelter was and began her trek when she heard the voices. It sounded like two boys, not that Chiara knew who they were. It sounded like they were fighting, but as she leaned out to see who it was, she heard the gunfire. She quickly pulled behind the tree.
The other boy was screaming for help while she heard the other disappear. After a few seconds of silence, she leaned back out and saw the injured boy was alone. Chiara had a moment to think. Hurry away and leave the boy to his fate? Or help him despite the danger of getting close to him. Chiara wasn't one to get close to people.
She shook her head and opened her eyes.
No, she had to help. Her family would be ashamed if she didn't.
Chiara slowly leaned out and began to quietly make her way to the boy. She saw him against a tree with a bloody hand. Once she was within view of the boy, she raised a finger to her mouth and shushed him.
They had to be quiet if they were going to leave the forest, and by extension the island, alive.
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DerArknight
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For twenty seconds, Derek saw himself dying.
Apparently no one answered to his screams. Meaning he was alone. Meaning he would wander the forest aimlessly and eventually freeze to death, if the blood loss didn't do him in sooner.
But then he saw a head peaking out from behind a tree, gesturing at him to be silent.
His relief of seeing someone was spoiled by the girl implying that there was a third, dangerous, person nearby. Or maybe even a bear.
Derek did his best to show her his damaged hand without letting go of the pressure to much. Then he formed the words "First aid" with his mouth.
Or at least he tried. He had never really done soundless speaking before.
Apparently no one answered to his screams. Meaning he was alone. Meaning he would wander the forest aimlessly and eventually freeze to death, if the blood loss didn't do him in sooner.
But then he saw a head peaking out from behind a tree, gesturing at him to be silent.
His relief of seeing someone was spoiled by the girl implying that there was a third, dangerous, person nearby. Or maybe even a bear.
Derek did his best to show her his damaged hand without letting go of the pressure to much. Then he formed the words "First aid" with his mouth.
Or at least he tried. He had never really done soundless speaking before.
Chiara watched as the boy revealed his bloody mess of a hand to her. She had to grimace a bit from the sight. She wasn't used to see that much blood in person. Frankly, no one in her school should, but Chiara lived a very boring, safe life, so already she was challenging her experiences with these new ones. She turned back and noticed the boy mouthing "first aid" at her. She quietly nodded and made her way over.
Chiara knelt down by the boy, already something she was regretting due to how cold the snow was against her knees. Somehow the fear and adrenaline was already making her forget about it. She could dry her stockings later. There was a boy bleeding horrendously in front of her.
She began to rifle through her bag. The boy had lost his bag to the robber, so Chiara was the only one who could help him. She had spotted a first aid kit earlier and pulled it out. Chiara didn't have first aid experience, but she had seen enough movies and TV shows to know it was mostly about disinfecting, applying pressure, and bandaging the wound.
Chiara found some alcohol wipes. However, another thought came to her. If the robber was close by, or if anyone else heard him screaming, then she and the boy were both vulnerable. And she knew from movies and TV that alcohol added to open wounds makes people scream like banshees.
Chiara noticed a stick on the ground by her. She quickly picked it up and began to move it towards the boy. She continued to shush him and she pushed it past his lips and under his teeth so he could bite down.
She nodded, then pressed the alcohol wipe to what remained of his fingers.
Chiara knelt down by the boy, already something she was regretting due to how cold the snow was against her knees. Somehow the fear and adrenaline was already making her forget about it. She could dry her stockings later. There was a boy bleeding horrendously in front of her.
She began to rifle through her bag. The boy had lost his bag to the robber, so Chiara was the only one who could help him. She had spotted a first aid kit earlier and pulled it out. Chiara didn't have first aid experience, but she had seen enough movies and TV shows to know it was mostly about disinfecting, applying pressure, and bandaging the wound.
Chiara found some alcohol wipes. However, another thought came to her. If the robber was close by, or if anyone else heard him screaming, then she and the boy were both vulnerable. And she knew from movies and TV that alcohol added to open wounds makes people scream like banshees.
Chiara noticed a stick on the ground by her. She quickly picked it up and began to move it towards the boy. She continued to shush him and she pushed it past his lips and under his teeth so he could bite down.
She nodded, then pressed the alcohol wipe to what remained of his fingers.
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DerArknight
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"Gnnnhhh!!!"
Derek knew enough about wounds to put up with the stick in his mouth, but not enough to fully brace for the searing pain that assaulted his hand. A pained noise escaped his lips and he bit down so hard that the stick almost broke in two.
It was only now that he got a decent look at the damage. His ringfinger was off worse than he thought, only hanging on a rag of skin. As brutal as it was, he would be better off removing it completely.
But not now. He was hurting enough.
Derek knew enough about wounds to put up with the stick in his mouth, but not enough to fully brace for the searing pain that assaulted his hand. A pained noise escaped his lips and he bit down so hard that the stick almost broke in two.
It was only now that he got a decent look at the damage. His ringfinger was off worse than he thought, only hanging on a rag of skin. As brutal as it was, he would be better off removing it completely.
But not now. He was hurting enough.