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otp (art by Kotorikun)
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Ryan wasn't exaggerating: their trip from their little meeting to the kitchen, two buildings that were next door to each other on the map, had taken three damn hours. After the first thirty minutes of wondering around in the same building, he was starting to get real tired of seeing the same doors over and over again.

They made it eventually though, and six hours after their team up he was long back to his usual, calm self. There hadn't been that much conversation during their stint, which bothered Jethro: sitting alone with a girl he had almost shot was awkward, but the fact that she was saying next to nothing just made it worse. Did he scare her? She was really jumpy on their way over, after all.

Jethro sat atop a preparation table as he bounced a ball off the wall in his head, his concerns overpowered by a sense of boredom that was starting to become stronger than the fear. With his loaded gun at his side, a full view of the kitchen's front entrance and three hours of nothingness, it was starting to look like this was gonna be the rest of their time in the Program.

The announcement was a welcome change of pace, even if Jethro didn't realise it.

“Fucking nutbag of an officer.” Jethro muttered quietly, spitting on the floor in disgust as he listened to what could have passed for an escaped mental patient. Only one person had died, huh? That had to be some kind of record for the Program not doing what it was meant to be. The other guys weren't as nuts as the general, that was for sure.

Then again, someone had to have been the one who had killed Gourlay; the name stuck out in his mind as he imagined the dead body with pit. Someone out there was playing to win. The two of them had to be careful, unless he'd done it in self defence. But if it wasn't they definitely needed to be careful, but who did they have to watch out for? Anyone else could've done it; anyone else could've been a killer.

Stay cool man, stay cool. Start getting paranoid, and everyone's gonna look like they're trying to kill you.” He glanced at Ryan out of the corner of his eye, appearing to him as nervous as ever. At least he knew that she hadn't done it. She couldn't have, unless she had managed to do someone in with that card box of hers when he wasn't looking.

It was comforting.

“You know him?” she asked, the first words spoken between them in for a while.
“Nah,” he replied “not closely. Knew who he was,” knew that he was a racist asshole “but I never had much to do with him.”

He was dead. Racist asshole or not, the guy was dead. Even if he had spent his life harassing people for whatever his reasons were, there weas nothing to be happy about; nothing happy about him being dead. He was only sixteen, tops; he shouldn't have died so soon. He shouldn't have been in the Program. He should've had a life.

He let out a long sigh as he faced the death in words, placing his hand on his gun. He had no reason to touch it, but he found the weapon both comforting and disturbing at the same time. It kept them both safe, and it would end someone else. If someone tried to kill them, he'd have to do the shooting.

“Shit.” he sighed once again.
Program VAM3RICA
Posted Image Eleanor 'Nellie' Fitzpatrick' - DECEASED - 1 - 2 - 3

Second Second Chances
Posted Image B09: Jay Harland - DECEASED - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
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Vioectrolysis · The Mess Hall
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