APEX PREDATOR
Posted: Tue Mar 28, 2023 10:09 am
((Katelyn stepped inside the Hunting Lodge Bar, shutting the door behind her.))
The bar was as musty-smelling as any other wooden structure on the island. More so, even, given the stuffed animal heads that lined the walls, telling tales of previous, successful hunts. A fitting enough place for Katelyn to receive her prize, hunter as she was, with six tally marks so far to her name. The floorboards squealed under the impact of her boots, but the rest of the bar remained comfortingly quiet. Dim winter light filtered in through the windows, highlighting the errant motes of dust floating through the air. For a while, this would be her home.
It didn't take long for her to spot her prizes, sitting plain as day on one of the large, circular tables near the center of the room. She eyed them greedily, ignoring the bulbous weapon for a moment to focus in on her meal, peeling open the insulated package it was placed in. She was given two large hotdogs dressed in multiple condiments, with some baked beans, and a 2-liter bottle of cola. Lackluster as the meal was, she was so grateful she almost wanted to cry. Her stomach growled, and shortly thereafter she began devouring her food, stuffing her face with the lukewarm sausage and cold beans in no time flat, and drinking a quarter of the 2-liter in under a minute.
She burped, and then smiled, satisfied with herself. The meal wasn't great, at best only average compared to many good meals she had outside this place, and likely worse given how cold as it was in this weather. Still, it was still the best thing she had eaten since she arrived here, having actual flavor instead of just bland nutrition. She wished she had taken the proper time to enjoy it once it was gone, but what was done was done, and she still had the rest of the soda.
Placing the bottle down on the table, she sidled over to what she guessed Alex likely would've consider the real prize. The weapon was a large, round thing, painted black all over, with a sling buckled to the stock. Its name, printed on the manual in big block letters, read "RG-6 GRENADE LAUNCHER". Next to it sat six enormous shells. Katelyn placed her hand on it, and she felt more powerful than ever.
So, this was what Taylor died for.
The terrorists had approved of her selfish little murder, done solely in a vain attempt to make herself feel better. Their approval filled her with shame, yet, she had to acknowledge that her plan had sort-of worked in hindsight. She might've felt dead inside in the immediate aftermath of the killing, but now? She knew who she was, and where she stood. She accepted that the rules of this place were different, and that she was a killer, and she would die as one. There was nobody she had to impress except herself, and she already knew that no matter what she did, she'd never manage to get that bitch to be proud of her.
Katelyn inhaled sharply through her nose, then picked up the grenade launcher. In a way, she needed to thank Taylor, both for this weapon and her newfound clarity. She hoped that, if there was an afterlife, that they were in a good place. She hoped, even though she knew deep down that there was no other side. This one fragile life was all she, and anyone else, would get. She would hold onto it as long as she could, no matter what it took.
--
For a while after collecting her weapon, Katelyn loitered around the bar, pacing around and around in circles. She intended to stay for as long as the terrorists would allow her to. In the meantime, she read through the weapon manual she had been given cover to cover, nervously glancing over and over between it and the windows for any sign of her friends outside. They weren't showing up. Had they foolishly not taken the opportunity to see her, or had they abandoned her? Had the many, many murders she committed been a step too far for them? She couldn't blame them if so, but her heart still ached in their absence.
This is what she deserved she supposed: to be alone, truly alone, until the end.
Then her collar beeped, and she yelped, slipping and falling over into one of the booth seats. Her heart hammered in her chest, but the beep did not repeat. She understood a warning when she got one, and she rushed to gather up her belongings, making sure not to forget her prizes.
((Then, without waiting for another beep, she ran away.))
The bar was as musty-smelling as any other wooden structure on the island. More so, even, given the stuffed animal heads that lined the walls, telling tales of previous, successful hunts. A fitting enough place for Katelyn to receive her prize, hunter as she was, with six tally marks so far to her name. The floorboards squealed under the impact of her boots, but the rest of the bar remained comfortingly quiet. Dim winter light filtered in through the windows, highlighting the errant motes of dust floating through the air. For a while, this would be her home.
It didn't take long for her to spot her prizes, sitting plain as day on one of the large, circular tables near the center of the room. She eyed them greedily, ignoring the bulbous weapon for a moment to focus in on her meal, peeling open the insulated package it was placed in. She was given two large hotdogs dressed in multiple condiments, with some baked beans, and a 2-liter bottle of cola. Lackluster as the meal was, she was so grateful she almost wanted to cry. Her stomach growled, and shortly thereafter she began devouring her food, stuffing her face with the lukewarm sausage and cold beans in no time flat, and drinking a quarter of the 2-liter in under a minute.
She burped, and then smiled, satisfied with herself. The meal wasn't great, at best only average compared to many good meals she had outside this place, and likely worse given how cold as it was in this weather. Still, it was still the best thing she had eaten since she arrived here, having actual flavor instead of just bland nutrition. She wished she had taken the proper time to enjoy it once it was gone, but what was done was done, and she still had the rest of the soda.
Placing the bottle down on the table, she sidled over to what she guessed Alex likely would've consider the real prize. The weapon was a large, round thing, painted black all over, with a sling buckled to the stock. Its name, printed on the manual in big block letters, read "RG-6 GRENADE LAUNCHER". Next to it sat six enormous shells. Katelyn placed her hand on it, and she felt more powerful than ever.
So, this was what Taylor died for.
The terrorists had approved of her selfish little murder, done solely in a vain attempt to make herself feel better. Their approval filled her with shame, yet, she had to acknowledge that her plan had sort-of worked in hindsight. She might've felt dead inside in the immediate aftermath of the killing, but now? She knew who she was, and where she stood. She accepted that the rules of this place were different, and that she was a killer, and she would die as one. There was nobody she had to impress except herself, and she already knew that no matter what she did, she'd never manage to get that bitch to be proud of her.
Katelyn inhaled sharply through her nose, then picked up the grenade launcher. In a way, she needed to thank Taylor, both for this weapon and her newfound clarity. She hoped that, if there was an afterlife, that they were in a good place. She hoped, even though she knew deep down that there was no other side. This one fragile life was all she, and anyone else, would get. She would hold onto it as long as she could, no matter what it took.
--
For a while after collecting her weapon, Katelyn loitered around the bar, pacing around and around in circles. She intended to stay for as long as the terrorists would allow her to. In the meantime, she read through the weapon manual she had been given cover to cover, nervously glancing over and over between it and the windows for any sign of her friends outside. They weren't showing up. Had they foolishly not taken the opportunity to see her, or had they abandoned her? Had the many, many murders she committed been a step too far for them? She couldn't blame them if so, but her heart still ached in their absence.
This is what she deserved she supposed: to be alone, truly alone, until the end.
Then her collar beeped, and she yelped, slipping and falling over into one of the booth seats. Her heart hammered in her chest, but the beep did not repeat. She understood a warning when she got one, and she rushed to gather up her belongings, making sure not to forget her prizes.
((Then, without waiting for another beep, she ran away.))