((Ben Fields continued from Good Omens))
Ben looked like hell, especially the pits. Not much perspiration on the run, yet, but he took no pride in that. Problem was, it was like the old spastically skip rope with your own two left feet' routine for Ben. Running after guys like a fag, and nothing to show for it but a crushed bag of chipotle. That was all the problem. Here and now, it was time for the solution.
He'd been leery of the bridge, and of the tall buildings and wide open spaces beyond. Had half jumped when the bell had suddenly rung again. Like once wasn't enough and they were tying to start a damn cookout over there. He was leery of approaching the tower, and caution was a fair call from the playbook. Same old shit. Headbob left and right like he was the six year old crossing the street for the first time. Extra times each way, to be sure. Nobody around, though he occasionally swore he caught a whiff of a body and a gun. Nobody and nothing to see when he double checked. Just trees and grasses untrimmed since post the dawn of civilization.
His feet were beginning to canker and cramp up. Not so bad, but Ben still wanted to assume conserving energy meant something. No baseball field for miles in the thousands, but he needed himself a dugout. Had to be benches in that big ass building that was apparently the asylum, the heir apparent to the island. Had to be bodies too. Hopefully still like him, still warm and breathing. Still thinking and praying. One up to you, guy in the sky. He'd thrown em all a curveball, these one hundred whatever assholes who had put themselves on buses to say we who are about to die'. However that went in Latin, Ben couldn't recall that one.
Halls and stairs were quiet. Nothing moved except him, even as his collective six senses told him there were a hundred shadows and a hundred rats and a hundred undead around every corner. Jerry Fury eat your dumbass heart out. Personally he was beginning to really get sick of all the adrenaline. Every few fucking minutes there was something for his heart to beat itself into submission with. Cameras up and down his ass too. Kept scrolling over him as he passed by.
Here, this looked like a good spot. Second floor, some kinda dark room with the doors ajar as if folk had been by recently. Ben advanced in, foraged for the lights all slow as molasses. Trip hazards, sharp objects, attracting unwanted attention. Lights... still off. Shit, no power.
Most of the doors were shut, and he quietly shut the sole open left one to give himself a moment's warning if yet something else was on his ass. Stayed near it so a little light from outside could stream in. He cleared a little space on a shelf. Tested it a bit, shrugged off the subsequent wobble and flex from the metal sheet. Sat his ass down, right in front of a red-dot-in-the-darkness camera casually playing voyeur. Yep, take a look. Ben Fields, right here. The dude who was feeling a little bit of bigass weight on his shoulders that he was sure drooped them all unattractive-like. Shit like confidence was worn easy, was fashionable. This shit he had on right now? Probably dug up from a dumpster somewhere, the sort you found the homeless and prom babies in.
Alright. Clear it all, all those words he'd said for the cameras. Find new ones, better ones. And put his goddamn shoulders back up on the shelf where they belonged.
"Yo. Mom. Lana
" Hard to keep his chin up. But he kept his gaze right on that camera, and every pair of eyes that lay beyond. The two pairs he did cared about. "I
heh, fuck. Eh. Sorry bout the cussing mom." The breathy chuckle was forced, didn't take an Enigma decode to intuit that one. "This ain't some easy stuff for me to say. You both know it how it is. Really don't talk right unless the two of you are around
"
B036 : Benjamin 'Ben' Fields
Start
Ben drew a breath. Maybe he needed it, maybe he didn't. What was it they had said about those broadcasts years ago? That they were released on a delay?
In his resting place it was only himself and the audience he didn't have.
Forget About What I Said
Forget About What I Said
((Nate Turner continued from Dear God))
Nate and Matt's hike from the chapel to the asylum had managed to be quiet, which was quite impressive in itself considering where they were. There had been the unmistakable ringing of the Asylum's bell, not that Nate had ever heard it before, but the two had more or less glossed over it. Nate was far too wrapped up in his own panic to think too hard on such things.
He still felt nauseous and horrible, failing to stop gripping his arms as needles pressed on the back of his eyes, but the fresh air was helping. The two didn't really talk about very much, but that was ok. As long as Matt was next to him at the time, someone to keep him company and share his emotional burdens, that was enough to help Nate. How much he could help was relative given the circumstances, of course, but Nate appreciated it oh so much all the same.
They'd finally decided to enter the asylum itself, rather than hang around outside forever. Nate really wanted to sit down somewhere, and a look at the asylum map had lead them to consider the staff area. There was a lounge up there, and doctor's offices, so maybe they had aspirin (of which Nate was unaware that there was a supply in his medkit) which he could use to alleviate panic-induced pains that were coursing through him.
So the two had trekked up to the second floor, the asylum appearing just as creepy as you'd expect an old building full of the mentally ill to be. He might've thought on all the patients and what living there might've been like for them, but he was far too exhausted for imagining much of anything. Checking the map as they walked, Nate called Matt to stop outside the storage closet, a likely home for medicine.
"Should we look in here? Maybe we'll find something useful."
Nate and Matt's hike from the chapel to the asylum had managed to be quiet, which was quite impressive in itself considering where they were. There had been the unmistakable ringing of the Asylum's bell, not that Nate had ever heard it before, but the two had more or less glossed over it. Nate was far too wrapped up in his own panic to think too hard on such things.
He still felt nauseous and horrible, failing to stop gripping his arms as needles pressed on the back of his eyes, but the fresh air was helping. The two didn't really talk about very much, but that was ok. As long as Matt was next to him at the time, someone to keep him company and share his emotional burdens, that was enough to help Nate. How much he could help was relative given the circumstances, of course, but Nate appreciated it oh so much all the same.
They'd finally decided to enter the asylum itself, rather than hang around outside forever. Nate really wanted to sit down somewhere, and a look at the asylum map had lead them to consider the staff area. There was a lounge up there, and doctor's offices, so maybe they had aspirin (of which Nate was unaware that there was a supply in his medkit) which he could use to alleviate panic-induced pains that were coursing through him.
So the two had trekked up to the second floor, the asylum appearing just as creepy as you'd expect an old building full of the mentally ill to be. He might've thought on all the patients and what living there might've been like for them, but he was far too exhausted for imagining much of anything. Checking the map as they walked, Nate called Matt to stop outside the storage closet, a likely home for medicine.
"Should we look in here? Maybe we'll find something useful."
((Matthew Moradi continued from Dear God))
Matt was still uncomfortable with the idea that he was being watched. Of course, it had only been a few minutes - not even close to having enough time to come to terms with this kind of thing - but he'd been mulling it over quite a bit during the walk to the asylum.. he was hoping his parents weren't watching. That was his one wish, if he was going to die here: that he could die somewhere his family wouldn't see him. And, if Lady Luck were feeling particularly kind - don't laugh - that he could die quick and painlessly.
Until today, he'd never really thought about his mortality. Today was a shit day to start, he thought.
Common sense winning out in the end, the two came into the asylum - the closest thing to a good hiding spot on this rock - and they began to wander around. It was a good place to think, he supposed. Better than the chapel, anyways. He was too busy looking around for cameras to give much thought to whatever had gone on here so many years ago.
Nate pointed out a storage closet.. of course, a storage closet! Maybe there'd be something useful in there!
"Oh, man.. good thinking." Matt moved to open the door. He was hoping there'd be something useful inside, thought he wasn't entirely sure what. His hopes were high.. he almost felt a touch of excitement.
Matt opened the door. A person was inside. "Oh." was all he could think of saying.
Matt closed the door, fast, and looked at Nate. Panicking came secondary to fear, of course.
"There's someone in here, dude." If Matt's face were the cover to a book, the cover would have no title - instead, it would be a picture of someone who seemed just one step removed from shitting themselves.
Matt was still uncomfortable with the idea that he was being watched. Of course, it had only been a few minutes - not even close to having enough time to come to terms with this kind of thing - but he'd been mulling it over quite a bit during the walk to the asylum.. he was hoping his parents weren't watching. That was his one wish, if he was going to die here: that he could die somewhere his family wouldn't see him. And, if Lady Luck were feeling particularly kind - don't laugh - that he could die quick and painlessly.
Until today, he'd never really thought about his mortality. Today was a shit day to start, he thought.
Common sense winning out in the end, the two came into the asylum - the closest thing to a good hiding spot on this rock - and they began to wander around. It was a good place to think, he supposed. Better than the chapel, anyways. He was too busy looking around for cameras to give much thought to whatever had gone on here so many years ago.
Nate pointed out a storage closet.. of course, a storage closet! Maybe there'd be something useful in there!
"Oh, man.. good thinking." Matt moved to open the door. He was hoping there'd be something useful inside, thought he wasn't entirely sure what. His hopes were high.. he almost felt a touch of excitement.
Matt opened the door. A person was inside. "Oh." was all he could think of saying.
Matt closed the door, fast, and looked at Nate. Panicking came secondary to fear, of course.
"There's someone in here, dude." If Matt's face were the cover to a book, the cover would have no title - instead, it would be a picture of someone who seemed just one step removed from shitting themselves.
No audience, no words.
That's how Ben had always felt on stage. Felt like something of a white trash douchebag if he was just blurting lines at the ceiling and the tiling and the three sets of bored eyes watching the rehearsal. 'Alas, Horatio, I knew him well'. Fucking Horatio wasn't even up there with him, busy playing hooky and letting down Denmark or Memento Mori or whatever it was Shakespeare had spewed. It had just been Ben with a sad, single spotlight to be clicked off when someone barged into the room and hit the wrong light switch. Shut him right up, that kinda thing did. Made the reading all cold and halfhearted and interrupted by lunch bell. No audience. No words.
He fucking needed some words though. If he sat still in the dark long enough and put the discount almost-expired cottage cheese he called a brain through the wringer...
... Then someone could open the door and Ben's face could suddenly ratchet away from Lana's.
The camera, of course, followed suit.
He had only caught the barest glimpse of a face before the door had swung back shut. Had to wonder how he looked now, gaping vacantly at a piece of wood with a doorknob attached. "Yo, I'm friendly. Come on in." He figured no guns were involved. If they were he'd be seeing holes and hearing bullets right about now.
That's how Ben had always felt on stage. Felt like something of a white trash douchebag if he was just blurting lines at the ceiling and the tiling and the three sets of bored eyes watching the rehearsal. 'Alas, Horatio, I knew him well'. Fucking Horatio wasn't even up there with him, busy playing hooky and letting down Denmark or Memento Mori or whatever it was Shakespeare had spewed. It had just been Ben with a sad, single spotlight to be clicked off when someone barged into the room and hit the wrong light switch. Shut him right up, that kinda thing did. Made the reading all cold and halfhearted and interrupted by lunch bell. No audience. No words.
He fucking needed some words though. If he sat still in the dark long enough and put the discount almost-expired cottage cheese he called a brain through the wringer...
... Then someone could open the door and Ben's face could suddenly ratchet away from Lana's.
The camera, of course, followed suit.
He had only caught the barest glimpse of a face before the door had swung back shut. Had to wonder how he looked now, gaping vacantly at a piece of wood with a doorknob attached. "Yo, I'm friendly. Come on in." He figured no guns were involved. If they were he'd be seeing holes and hearing bullets right about now.
"Really?" Nate replied, looking past Matt at the now closed door. "Who is it?"
Nate returned Matt's alarmed expression with a quizzical one of his own. Matt clearly hadn't expected to find someone else in the supply cupboard, but why did he look so freaked out by it? Someone else didn't seem like something to be nervous about to Nate; quite the opposite in fact. He reached past Matt for the door handle, when the room's inhabitant called back out to them.
The voice sounded familiar, Nate realised, as he pulled the door open, calling back an "Ok!" as he did so. At this point, he was thoroughly distracted from any concerns Matt might've still had.
His eyes squinted in the darkness as the door swung open, the ill-lit room being just as advertised. The air was musty, something that Nate's nostrils picked up on straight away, and from what he could see the contents looked cluttered. Never the less, it didn't take him long to spot the room's sole occupant, and it took him no more time to recognise the familiar face.
"Ben!"
Nate returned Matt's alarmed expression with a quizzical one of his own. Matt clearly hadn't expected to find someone else in the supply cupboard, but why did he look so freaked out by it? Someone else didn't seem like something to be nervous about to Nate; quite the opposite in fact. He reached past Matt for the door handle, when the room's inhabitant called back out to them.
The voice sounded familiar, Nate realised, as he pulled the door open, calling back an "Ok!" as he did so. At this point, he was thoroughly distracted from any concerns Matt might've still had.
His eyes squinted in the darkness as the door swung open, the ill-lit room being just as advertised. The air was musty, something that Nate's nostrils picked up on straight away, and from what he could see the contents looked cluttered. Never the less, it didn't take him long to spot the room's sole occupant, and it took him no more time to recognise the familiar face.
"Ben!"
Hmm.. perhaps he was overreacting. Surely, not everyone on this island would leap at the chance to murder him?
No. Definitely not. Feeling totally justified in slamming the door shut in the closet dweller's face, Matt slowly began to back away from it, watching things unfold. The closet door could be described using several words, one of them not being the word thick, so he could hear the stranger call out that he was friendly. Feeling somewhat relieved, Matt moved to open the closet door.. Nate, however, had beat him too it.
They knew each other, somehow. Nate and the closet dweller. He didn't bother to think about how lucky they were - he didn't believe in luck.
"Ho-ly shit.. you guys know each other?"
No. Definitely not. Feeling totally justified in slamming the door shut in the closet dweller's face, Matt slowly began to back away from it, watching things unfold. The closet door could be described using several words, one of them not being the word thick, so he could hear the stranger call out that he was friendly. Feeling somewhat relieved, Matt moved to open the closet door.. Nate, however, had beat him too it.
They knew each other, somehow. Nate and the closet dweller. He didn't bother to think about how lucky they were - he didn't believe in luck.
"Ho-ly shit.. you guys know each other?"
Back to reality. Would've continued to make an ass-looking idiot of himself if he'd been left in a blacked out closet, failing to murmur pointless shit at the sister he was likely never seeing again.
She'd be seeing him, though. One of those kinds of thoughts that made Ben's adrenaline prick at the bitty delicate nerves in his fingertips. But he held them steady. He had company, he had to keep all digits under control and all hands on deck... Hold up. That voice sounded familiar.
Yeah. Because familiar voices had certainly been harbingers of good news so far.
Ben almost got himself a flashbang to the face when the door opened, but he anticipated and blinked. For just a moment. Had to open his eyes quickly before a weeaboo sword was stuck halfway up his...
Nate. Hm. A spotlight with one of his old theater buddies. Nate was one of those sorta awkward needy talky types, but passably cool, and he put on some killer performances of the sort that had Ben thinking back then they didn't do this little dude justice with the casting. Little dude Nate was also one of the kids in Cochise that didn't have Ben beat height-wise. Winning out against the kid with bad genes was hardly something to be proud of, but with Ben's own genetic inheritance it was a take-what-you-get sort of affair. Other kid was a mystery. Matthew? They might have shared a class. They definitely shared an island.
Ben could smile, though it was hesitant, gruff and grinding up against the peach fuzz he'd been cultivating with long nights of practice out at Sumac. Ben was all about his history, and recent history had taught him not to take another face for granted. Let alone two of them. At least he didn't have to camp out behind a wall two inches from the other guy this time around. He could stand, meet his comrades with respect.
"Yeah, we were in drama together." Ben kept his tone and stance relaxed, his fingers resting on his jeans. Like this was just some after school shit. "Who the hell were you in Hamlet Sophomore year, Nate?" Shit, had Nate even been in that? Ben swore his brain had been all sluggish since he'd first been cocking up plans and taking no names. Maybe it was all the excess adrenaline. "Think we could keep the door open for a bit or we all hole up in the dark? And have you guys..." It only took him a moment, but he had to consider the question. If it would go over well, if it implied anything uncomfortable considering... Damn. Wasn't an easy question to answer.
"Seen anything bad yet?" Easy question to ask, though.
She'd be seeing him, though. One of those kinds of thoughts that made Ben's adrenaline prick at the bitty delicate nerves in his fingertips. But he held them steady. He had company, he had to keep all digits under control and all hands on deck... Hold up. That voice sounded familiar.
Yeah. Because familiar voices had certainly been harbingers of good news so far.
Ben almost got himself a flashbang to the face when the door opened, but he anticipated and blinked. For just a moment. Had to open his eyes quickly before a weeaboo sword was stuck halfway up his...
Nate. Hm. A spotlight with one of his old theater buddies. Nate was one of those sorta awkward needy talky types, but passably cool, and he put on some killer performances of the sort that had Ben thinking back then they didn't do this little dude justice with the casting. Little dude Nate was also one of the kids in Cochise that didn't have Ben beat height-wise. Winning out against the kid with bad genes was hardly something to be proud of, but with Ben's own genetic inheritance it was a take-what-you-get sort of affair. Other kid was a mystery. Matthew? They might have shared a class. They definitely shared an island.
Ben could smile, though it was hesitant, gruff and grinding up against the peach fuzz he'd been cultivating with long nights of practice out at Sumac. Ben was all about his history, and recent history had taught him not to take another face for granted. Let alone two of them. At least he didn't have to camp out behind a wall two inches from the other guy this time around. He could stand, meet his comrades with respect.
"Yeah, we were in drama together." Ben kept his tone and stance relaxed, his fingers resting on his jeans. Like this was just some after school shit. "Who the hell were you in Hamlet Sophomore year, Nate?" Shit, had Nate even been in that? Ben swore his brain had been all sluggish since he'd first been cocking up plans and taking no names. Maybe it was all the excess adrenaline. "Think we could keep the door open for a bit or we all hole up in the dark? And have you guys..." It only took him a moment, but he had to consider the question. If it would go over well, if it implied anything uncomfortable considering... Damn. Wasn't an easy question to answer.
"Seen anything bad yet?" Easy question to ask, though.
Nate looked at Ben for a moment, processing his question, then shook his head. No, he hadn't seen anything bad' yet; he'd only really seen Matt and the asylum, after all. Did that make him lucky? It was unpleasant to think about.
Deciding not to dwell, Nate took the conversation back a question. "Well, I wasn't in Hamlet." He replied, stepping into the room and looking around the inside. "They did that when I was a Freshman, and I hadn't joined drama yet." He was still adjusting to the school at the time, after all, and had only joined soccer at that point. Bit of a shame, since Hamlet was a good play; he wasn't sure who he would like to play in it, but it would've still been fun to take part.
It dawned on Nate that this wasn't really the right time to be thinking about such nostalgic things: Ben had just asked them if they'd witnessed anything horrible, after all, and here he'd decided to think about what theatre he liked? He couldn't help but feel a little guilty.
Remembering that he hadn't been travelling alone, Nate turned back to Matt. "Matt, if you don't know him, this is Ben. Ben, this is Matt. He found me in a little chapel, and we basically just came here from there."
In the moment of finding a familiar face, Nate had forgotten about the aches and pains that had brought them looking for medicine in the first place. Realising this only brought them right back, though thankfully they were dulled as his tensions had eased just a little.
"Is there any aspirin in here? I'm not feeling so good."
Deciding not to dwell, Nate took the conversation back a question. "Well, I wasn't in Hamlet." He replied, stepping into the room and looking around the inside. "They did that when I was a Freshman, and I hadn't joined drama yet." He was still adjusting to the school at the time, after all, and had only joined soccer at that point. Bit of a shame, since Hamlet was a good play; he wasn't sure who he would like to play in it, but it would've still been fun to take part.
It dawned on Nate that this wasn't really the right time to be thinking about such nostalgic things: Ben had just asked them if they'd witnessed anything horrible, after all, and here he'd decided to think about what theatre he liked? He couldn't help but feel a little guilty.
Remembering that he hadn't been travelling alone, Nate turned back to Matt. "Matt, if you don't know him, this is Ben. Ben, this is Matt. He found me in a little chapel, and we basically just came here from there."
In the moment of finding a familiar face, Nate had forgotten about the aches and pains that had brought them looking for medicine in the first place. Realising this only brought them right back, though thankfully they were dulled as his tensions had eased just a little.
"Is there any aspirin in here? I'm not feeling so good."
Really, things were almost going too well. Sure, he'd only been here for - what, an hour? - but he'd managed to run into Nate and one of Nate's friends. No one with a gun. No one who wanted to kill him. No one who really wanted to do anything, it seemed. Maybe things were going to be okay. Of course, he guessed he was the odd one out in this group.. Nate knew Ben and vice versa, but neither of them knew him. He didn't want to think about what that might eventually entail. At least not now.
Matt put his hands in his pockets, trying to seem as casual as possible without actually feeling at ease. Had he seen anything bad - good question, he thought. It was going to happen sooner or later, but he hadn't seen anything yet.
"Uh, no. Can't say I have. Just the chapel and this place." He looked around. "It's, ahh.. pretty.. hm, something." He hadn't thought too hard about what this place really was. An asylum. An old one. The kind where they were probably still doing lobotomies and electroshock therapy before it got shut down, abandoned, whatever.
"Yeah, hey. Matt Moradi. It's good to meet you, I guess."
Nate wanted aspirin. Matt didn't really want anything, just someplace to sit down where no one was going to sneak up on him and shoot him, or something crazy like that. Matt moved to enter the storage closet, not saying anything else.
Matt put his hands in his pockets, trying to seem as casual as possible without actually feeling at ease. Had he seen anything bad - good question, he thought. It was going to happen sooner or later, but he hadn't seen anything yet.
"Uh, no. Can't say I have. Just the chapel and this place." He looked around. "It's, ahh.. pretty.. hm, something." He hadn't thought too hard about what this place really was. An asylum. An old one. The kind where they were probably still doing lobotomies and electroshock therapy before it got shut down, abandoned, whatever.
"Yeah, hey. Matt Moradi. It's good to meet you, I guess."
Nate wanted aspirin. Matt didn't really want anything, just someplace to sit down where no one was going to sneak up on him and shoot him, or something crazy like that. Matt moved to enter the storage closet, not saying anything else.
Shit, that was right. Nate was just a junior and all. His brain really was on the fritz then. Memories and thoughts something of an afterthought.
"Huh, sorry. Could'a sworn for a second there that we were in the same grade." Dumb, only word for it really. Ben felt the familiar rush of busywork to distract himself from his own treacherous thoughts, though it didn't settle quite as easily over his adrenaline ravaged body. He swore he felt slower or something, like he had taken a quick shower in syrup before meeting the day forehead-on. Slower or not he was riffling through his bag, keeping all of the weapons he didn't have close as he dared. Nate wanted pills anyways, and Ben remembered that he'd glimpsed the familiar medical symbol in olive steel while searching for his map.
"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Matt. Or as nice as possible given the circumstances." Ben's hands closed over stale plastic. A flashlight. "Close the door behind you, Matt. Think we could hide out in here a bit, maybe."
Ben's first assumption when he'd come to life was that he'd overslept. That he had to haul ass over to Lana's room before she overslept even harder. There would be baseball practice today. He'd he'd have to finish up the post-trip report. But first he'd have to open up his eyes, ignore the grog, get right down to his day.
Didn't last that long. About the few seconds of time it took for his eyes to unweld themselves and suddenly there he was. Laying prone in the middle of an abandoned asylum, ass aching from a few hour's worth of cold hard floor.
A hand felt at his collar. Still there, just enough to be a reminder. First full day of Survival of the Fittest, and he'd lived to tell the tale. That meant something of course, but Ben wasn't sure he wanted to spell out the obvious this time around. Even to himself.
They'd done their shifts, all three of them. Lot of talk but not much had really been said. Just like good old times back home. But folks had to sleep too, and Ben had spent a good chunk of the evening uncomfortably alone in the presence of warm bodies. Had probably stared at the camera soundlessly enough to be an extra in a low-budget horror film. He wondered who had been up when the nonexistent clock had struck midnight, thinking fragile and mortal thoughts alone in the dark.
Ben almost blurted greetings out, but something stopped him. Words on the tip of tongue. Good morning, good day. Thoughts holding em back. This was the part where the terrorists started listing off names, right? His circadian was telling him that much. He lay there, still as the dead. Waiting for announcements for just a bit. Thinking only of an intercom voice, of having told Jerry an eternity and a day ago that Cochise names wouldn't ever be heard from terrorist lips... Maybe also the location of his bag. The location of a door.
The names that came up on that announcements could so easily, innocuously, have included either of the names he'd shared a room with that whole night.
Stupid thoughts. But he was thinking them all the same.
"Huh, sorry. Could'a sworn for a second there that we were in the same grade." Dumb, only word for it really. Ben felt the familiar rush of busywork to distract himself from his own treacherous thoughts, though it didn't settle quite as easily over his adrenaline ravaged body. He swore he felt slower or something, like he had taken a quick shower in syrup before meeting the day forehead-on. Slower or not he was riffling through his bag, keeping all of the weapons he didn't have close as he dared. Nate wanted pills anyways, and Ben remembered that he'd glimpsed the familiar medical symbol in olive steel while searching for his map.
"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Matt. Or as nice as possible given the circumstances." Ben's hands closed over stale plastic. A flashlight. "Close the door behind you, Matt. Think we could hide out in here a bit, maybe."
Ben's first assumption when he'd come to life was that he'd overslept. That he had to haul ass over to Lana's room before she overslept even harder. There would be baseball practice today. He'd he'd have to finish up the post-trip report. But first he'd have to open up his eyes, ignore the grog, get right down to his day.
Didn't last that long. About the few seconds of time it took for his eyes to unweld themselves and suddenly there he was. Laying prone in the middle of an abandoned asylum, ass aching from a few hour's worth of cold hard floor.
A hand felt at his collar. Still there, just enough to be a reminder. First full day of Survival of the Fittest, and he'd lived to tell the tale. That meant something of course, but Ben wasn't sure he wanted to spell out the obvious this time around. Even to himself.
They'd done their shifts, all three of them. Lot of talk but not much had really been said. Just like good old times back home. But folks had to sleep too, and Ben had spent a good chunk of the evening uncomfortably alone in the presence of warm bodies. Had probably stared at the camera soundlessly enough to be an extra in a low-budget horror film. He wondered who had been up when the nonexistent clock had struck midnight, thinking fragile and mortal thoughts alone in the dark.
Ben almost blurted greetings out, but something stopped him. Words on the tip of tongue. Good morning, good day. Thoughts holding em back. This was the part where the terrorists started listing off names, right? His circadian was telling him that much. He lay there, still as the dead. Waiting for announcements for just a bit. Thinking only of an intercom voice, of having told Jerry an eternity and a day ago that Cochise names wouldn't ever be heard from terrorist lips... Maybe also the location of his bag. The location of a door.
The names that came up on that announcements could so easily, innocuously, have included either of the names he'd shared a room with that whole night.
Stupid thoughts. But he was thinking them all the same.
All things considered, Nate had actually slept well.
When Nate first had a bedroom to himself after spending so much of his life sharing with Simon, it had been horrible. The room was so quiet and empty without his big brother around; it had taken him so long to actually fall asleep that the sun was practically shining through the curtains. Eventually he'd gotten used to it, and it was nice to have his own space when he absolutely needed it, but on some level he'd always wished that he could have gone back to sharing.
That was probably why he'd been able to get such a good night in the situation they were in. The exhaustion probably played a factor, but the fact that he could hear Matt and Ben, make small talk with them as the day went to its end, wish them a good night as he was the first to hit the hay, made all the difference. Having a cold floor for a bed was nothing to be glad about, and he had had a hard time keeping his eyes open when it was his turn to take watch (he had in fact dozed off for a half hour, unbeknownst to anyone including himself) but he lay in the morning ambience feeling all the fresher for his friends' company, and realised that he was quietly thankful that he'd found them so fast.
He was just stretching out the nightly stiffness when the announcements made themselves known.
The audacity of it caught his attention straight away, as he listened in a submissive silence, only taking the moment to try and read Ben and Matt's own faces before it really got going.
It would've been hard enough to hear that people were in fact killing each other, but the inescapable truth made it unbearable: he recognised so many of the names.
Jennifer who he knew from cooking class, even if she did keep to herself; Barry from soccer who wouldn't hurt a fly; Conrad from the swim team who was just as friendly; Joshua whom he'd shared a brief study session with in the library, who was so switched on and confident.
All dead.
He turned back to Ben and Matt. He tried to speak, wanted to say anything, but instead he just started crying again.
When Nate first had a bedroom to himself after spending so much of his life sharing with Simon, it had been horrible. The room was so quiet and empty without his big brother around; it had taken him so long to actually fall asleep that the sun was practically shining through the curtains. Eventually he'd gotten used to it, and it was nice to have his own space when he absolutely needed it, but on some level he'd always wished that he could have gone back to sharing.
That was probably why he'd been able to get such a good night in the situation they were in. The exhaustion probably played a factor, but the fact that he could hear Matt and Ben, make small talk with them as the day went to its end, wish them a good night as he was the first to hit the hay, made all the difference. Having a cold floor for a bed was nothing to be glad about, and he had had a hard time keeping his eyes open when it was his turn to take watch (he had in fact dozed off for a half hour, unbeknownst to anyone including himself) but he lay in the morning ambience feeling all the fresher for his friends' company, and realised that he was quietly thankful that he'd found them so fast.
He was just stretching out the nightly stiffness when the announcements made themselves known.
The audacity of it caught his attention straight away, as he listened in a submissive silence, only taking the moment to try and read Ben and Matt's own faces before it really got going.
It would've been hard enough to hear that people were in fact killing each other, but the inescapable truth made it unbearable: he recognised so many of the names.
Jennifer who he knew from cooking class, even if she did keep to herself; Barry from soccer who wouldn't hurt a fly; Conrad from the swim team who was just as friendly; Joshua whom he'd shared a brief study session with in the library, who was so switched on and confident.
All dead.
He turned back to Ben and Matt. He tried to speak, wanted to say anything, but instead he just started crying again.
This was a shitty day, all things considered. Sure, he'd had some real bad days in the past - he could recall more than a few - but this really took the cake. Getting trapped on a fucking island after being kidnapped by terrorists. Meeting Nate and Ben didn't do much to make him feel better about it, mostly because neither of them were assigned a boat. He guessed that he appreciated their company, at the very least. Two people who weren't threatening that weren't going to kill him.
He tried to sleep when it wasn't his turn to watch. He was tired, sure - getting thrown into a life or death situation can do that - but he had a lot to think about. This meant he didn't sleep well at all, of course. Sure, he'd been fortunate to find not only Nate, but Nate's friend, of all people shortly thereafter.. but maybe anyone else they ran across wouldn't be so.. normal. So willing to not take advantage of this whole situation everyone was in.
Give it another day or two, he thought. Everyone but them is going to be going fucking crazy by then. Who knew - maybe Cochise's best were already busy putting on a good show for the sick fucks who watch this? He could only guess.
So he slept. Poorly. He dreamed that he was in middle school again - up until now the closest analogue to hell that he knew - and getting the shit beaten out of him by someone he didn't know. Someone big, dumb and fuckin' mean. Out of nowhere, the guy beating on him produced a hammer, raised it above his head.. the announcement came, waking him up.
Nine people, dead. No one he knew. Nine less people who might have killed him, he thought. Nine less people that he might have had to kill. He didn't have to guess anymore, at least.
He had nothing to say, but he wanted to fill the silence that hung in the air. He wanted to, but he just couldn't. He really had nothing to say. So he just sat there, waiting for nothing in particular.
He tried to sleep when it wasn't his turn to watch. He was tired, sure - getting thrown into a life or death situation can do that - but he had a lot to think about. This meant he didn't sleep well at all, of course. Sure, he'd been fortunate to find not only Nate, but Nate's friend, of all people shortly thereafter.. but maybe anyone else they ran across wouldn't be so.. normal. So willing to not take advantage of this whole situation everyone was in.
Give it another day or two, he thought. Everyone but them is going to be going fucking crazy by then. Who knew - maybe Cochise's best were already busy putting on a good show for the sick fucks who watch this? He could only guess.
So he slept. Poorly. He dreamed that he was in middle school again - up until now the closest analogue to hell that he knew - and getting the shit beaten out of him by someone he didn't know. Someone big, dumb and fuckin' mean. Out of nowhere, the guy beating on him produced a hammer, raised it above his head.. the announcement came, waking him up.
Nine people, dead. No one he knew. Nine less people who might have killed him, he thought. Nine less people that he might have had to kill. He didn't have to guess anymore, at least.
He had nothing to say, but he wanted to fill the silence that hung in the air. He wanted to, but he just couldn't. He really had nothing to say. So he just sat there, waiting for nothing in particular.
Staring at the ceiling. Wasn't much else to do while he took it all in.
The terrorist dude didn't even have the decency to sound like he'd been entertained.
Every name and face that the dude rattled off, Ben felt something burned into his brain. Scorch marks crusted into a pan. Jennifer. Florentina. Scarlett. Cristobal. Barry. Abigail. Harold. Rea. Joshua. Too many damn names. He couldn't dwell on it too much. There was no time. But here he was, fucking at it while his back continued to erode into fleshy chunks against the cold concrete floor. He'd set up plays on the field with Cristobal, they'd had victory huddles and IHOP after game dinners. He'd gone to Scarlett's home, pitied her for having to deal with Beaks' bullshit. He'd befriended Rea his sophomore year, kept her safe as he could, watched her meet the maybe teenage sweetheart love of her life. He wasn't going to write a damn eulogy for any of them. It was a moral obligation, but it wasn't going to be him. Words were wasted, here and now.
He'd called the others peers once. He'd known their names and faces, and yet.
They'd let the terrorists have their names. Names were all they were now. Isabel. Nancy. Kimiko. Alvaro. Conrad. Alex. Jasmine. For fucks sake. He could still recall Lana's love of Alvaro's cafe, protecting him from bullies like Darius, debate prep with Alex-
Words wasted, natch. Ben could feel adrenaline again, it was peeling his ass off the floor in a millisecond and locking his shoulders square into place. It was familiar this time, comfortable. No more words, not any more. He'd already tried words, failed words, and what the fuck was the famous quote? Insanity was doing the same thing expecting different results. Maybe Lana'd read him that. Ben's plans so far had been all words. High time for actions.
Time to move to Nate's side. Ben felt guilty, treacherous for having ever doubted either of the other dudes in the room. Quick to strong conclusions, but they hadn't yet been good ones. Ben scuttled across the floor, shot Matt a side glance. Seemed he was out of words himself.
"Hey Nate." Ben put a strong, firm hand over Nate's shoulder. No tremble to that cramped malignant tumor of a hand, he was watching it carefully. "It's alright dude, we're gonna..."
Hm.
"... Make 'em pay. We're gonna stop them from hurting anyone else. We're gonna try." Ben watched Nate of course, but he also had an eye on the bags. They had to calm down, take it all in. Get to the fight, after.
The terrorist dude didn't even have the decency to sound like he'd been entertained.
Every name and face that the dude rattled off, Ben felt something burned into his brain. Scorch marks crusted into a pan. Jennifer. Florentina. Scarlett. Cristobal. Barry. Abigail. Harold. Rea. Joshua. Too many damn names. He couldn't dwell on it too much. There was no time. But here he was, fucking at it while his back continued to erode into fleshy chunks against the cold concrete floor. He'd set up plays on the field with Cristobal, they'd had victory huddles and IHOP after game dinners. He'd gone to Scarlett's home, pitied her for having to deal with Beaks' bullshit. He'd befriended Rea his sophomore year, kept her safe as he could, watched her meet the maybe teenage sweetheart love of her life. He wasn't going to write a damn eulogy for any of them. It was a moral obligation, but it wasn't going to be him. Words were wasted, here and now.
He'd called the others peers once. He'd known their names and faces, and yet.
They'd let the terrorists have their names. Names were all they were now. Isabel. Nancy. Kimiko. Alvaro. Conrad. Alex. Jasmine. For fucks sake. He could still recall Lana's love of Alvaro's cafe, protecting him from bullies like Darius, debate prep with Alex-
Words wasted, natch. Ben could feel adrenaline again, it was peeling his ass off the floor in a millisecond and locking his shoulders square into place. It was familiar this time, comfortable. No more words, not any more. He'd already tried words, failed words, and what the fuck was the famous quote? Insanity was doing the same thing expecting different results. Maybe Lana'd read him that. Ben's plans so far had been all words. High time for actions.
Time to move to Nate's side. Ben felt guilty, treacherous for having ever doubted either of the other dudes in the room. Quick to strong conclusions, but they hadn't yet been good ones. Ben scuttled across the floor, shot Matt a side glance. Seemed he was out of words himself.
"Hey Nate." Ben put a strong, firm hand over Nate's shoulder. No tremble to that cramped malignant tumor of a hand, he was watching it carefully. "It's alright dude, we're gonna..."
Hm.
"... Make 'em pay. We're gonna stop them from hurting anyone else. We're gonna try." Ben watched Nate of course, but he also had an eye on the bags. They had to calm down, take it all in. Get to the fight, after.
Nate looked up at Ben as he felt the reassuring hand on his shoulder, trying to nod in agreement with his words. Instead, he found his face buried in Ben's chest as he gripped at his shirt, the tears still flowing and the cries not ceasing.
This really was real: they really were going to die. His friends were dying, his friends were killing, everything that he'd heard about this nightmare was coming true in less than twenty-four hours, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He felt so helpless and small; it was no wonder that he was reduced to drenching his company in his tears.
"Why? Why's this happening?"
Time passed, and eventually Nate calmed down. He hadn't really said much, apart from muttering an apology to Ben for having such a dramatic, childish response, but he'd since taken to quietly huddling in the corner. He occasionally glanced aside to make sure that his friends were still there, that he still had someone he could talk to, but he couldn't bring himself to reengage. He didn't like sitting out, but he was too embarrassed to do otherwise just yet.
He'd taken the time to think about all the people he knew who had died, their familiar faces greyed out as they passed on to the afterlife. He hoped that they'd go to Heaven, although of course not everyone shared his beliefs about life after death. That was ok, but at the same time, by his faith people had to do enough to get into Heaven; it wasn't fair that those people killed had had their lives cut so short, so fast, before they'd had a real chance to save themselves. Still, he clung to the hope that whatever they had managed had been enough.
It wasn't really helping.
On the other hand, there were people out there who had killed them, and they were his peers too. They'd done something bad enough that they'd go to Hell usually, but surely these were exceptional circumstances? Would God really damn them for being forced to kill?
He didn't want to think about what would happen if he actually met one of those people, either. Not yet.
And what about Conrad, whom he'd cried for but at the same time was responsible for someone else's death (at least, that's what the announcements had made it sound like). Once he'd calmed down enough to realise what he had heard, what it meant, it just made it even worse. How could he grieve for him, when Harold had been his victim? Conrad was his friend, after all, but Harold had been other people's friend and probably hadn't done anything to deserve it. If he forgave Conrad, said he understood given the circumstances, what was that saying to Harold?
He wished he could ask his mom, like he'd often done when faced with these moral quandaries. He wished he could say a lot of things to her right now, but more than anything he wished he could be with her instead of where he was.
He continued to sit there in his silence, still gripping his knees, as he tried to make just a lick of sense of what was going on.
This really was real: they really were going to die. His friends were dying, his friends were killing, everything that he'd heard about this nightmare was coming true in less than twenty-four hours, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He felt so helpless and small; it was no wonder that he was reduced to drenching his company in his tears.
"Why? Why's this happening?"
Time passed, and eventually Nate calmed down. He hadn't really said much, apart from muttering an apology to Ben for having such a dramatic, childish response, but he'd since taken to quietly huddling in the corner. He occasionally glanced aside to make sure that his friends were still there, that he still had someone he could talk to, but he couldn't bring himself to reengage. He didn't like sitting out, but he was too embarrassed to do otherwise just yet.
He'd taken the time to think about all the people he knew who had died, their familiar faces greyed out as they passed on to the afterlife. He hoped that they'd go to Heaven, although of course not everyone shared his beliefs about life after death. That was ok, but at the same time, by his faith people had to do enough to get into Heaven; it wasn't fair that those people killed had had their lives cut so short, so fast, before they'd had a real chance to save themselves. Still, he clung to the hope that whatever they had managed had been enough.
It wasn't really helping.
On the other hand, there were people out there who had killed them, and they were his peers too. They'd done something bad enough that they'd go to Hell usually, but surely these were exceptional circumstances? Would God really damn them for being forced to kill?
He didn't want to think about what would happen if he actually met one of those people, either. Not yet.
And what about Conrad, whom he'd cried for but at the same time was responsible for someone else's death (at least, that's what the announcements had made it sound like). Once he'd calmed down enough to realise what he had heard, what it meant, it just made it even worse. How could he grieve for him, when Harold had been his victim? Conrad was his friend, after all, but Harold had been other people's friend and probably hadn't done anything to deserve it. If he forgave Conrad, said he understood given the circumstances, what was that saying to Harold?
He wished he could ask his mom, like he'd often done when faced with these moral quandaries. He wished he could say a lot of things to her right now, but more than anything he wished he could be with her instead of where he was.
He continued to sit there in his silence, still gripping his knees, as he tried to make just a lick of sense of what was going on.
((Henry Spencer continued from To Dine With the Devil))
It was maybe a bad idea to rob someone unarmed. But Henry had a plan for that. Sort of.
It was a little tougher than he'd expected to make his way down (or up? the map had implied up) the island towards the asylum. But he managed, and besides, that's where people would be. Also he had no clue what the place looked like now, so he miiiiight have wandered in by chance. Oops.
It was creepy in the asylum, but Henry liked it. The spooky, decaying place made him think of a haunted house or a film, not something he'd find dreadful in the real way he'd felt from being here. He heard noises, tiptoeing (perhaps with greater exaggeration than necessary) towards the source of the sounds, which seemed to be descending from above him.
It was maybe kinda sorta not the brightest idea to knock on the door of the huge closet thing when he heard noises from outside. But if he was intending to take people's stuff, he didn't have to be a jerk about it, right? He could just...meet up, hang out, and if they weren't accommodating to his biological need for food and beverage he'd slip off with some essentials to survive on. That was okay, right?
Oh, look, a spider! It was huge, like half an inch long, and light brown. Henry crouched on his knees with his face inches from the floor, studying the spider as it skittered about in the gap under the door. He watched as the little arachnid scuttled under the door and out of sight.
It was maybe a bad idea to rob someone unarmed. But Henry had a plan for that. Sort of.
It was a little tougher than he'd expected to make his way down (or up? the map had implied up) the island towards the asylum. But he managed, and besides, that's where people would be. Also he had no clue what the place looked like now, so he miiiiight have wandered in by chance. Oops.
It was creepy in the asylum, but Henry liked it. The spooky, decaying place made him think of a haunted house or a film, not something he'd find dreadful in the real way he'd felt from being here. He heard noises, tiptoeing (perhaps with greater exaggeration than necessary) towards the source of the sounds, which seemed to be descending from above him.
It was maybe kinda sorta not the brightest idea to knock on the door of the huge closet thing when he heard noises from outside. But if he was intending to take people's stuff, he didn't have to be a jerk about it, right? He could just...meet up, hang out, and if they weren't accommodating to his biological need for food and beverage he'd slip off with some essentials to survive on. That was okay, right?
Oh, look, a spider! It was huge, like half an inch long, and light brown. Henry crouched on his knees with his face inches from the floor, studying the spider as it skittered about in the gap under the door. He watched as the little arachnid scuttled under the door and out of sight.