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Biting The Hand That Feeds
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((AE3 - Shawn Thornton: Right here, but not all there))

Was it possible to be allergic to sleeping gas? Because if so then it might explain the headache and lingering grogginess that Shawn was feeling. He’d been lying there for maybe twenty, twenty five minutes on the floor of what his limited view of the ceiling from his position was telling him, was an old fashioned movie theatre and he had yet to muster the will, the desire or the energy to even sit up.

Maybe those bastards gave him an extra dose? He supposed that was what he got for trying to run, because, yes, he had run. When an unmarked black van pulls up alongside you when you are walking to school and a couple of thugs jump out, running is what you do. He’d gotten pretty far too before a beefy arm had grabbed him and an equally beefy hand had clamped something over his mouth and nose until everything went dark.


The only thing he remembered since then was this; lying on the floor with a pounding headache and a body that still felt numb even now. He didn’t even remember the introduction in the studio; there was always one of those, right? Either they had skipped it this year or Shawn had slept right through it.


He turned his head sideways in his first real action of the game. He saw the non-descript pack next to him. There was something lying on top of it; two thing actually, something colourful on top of something small and dark. Must be his bandana and maybe his weapon?

Why hadn’t his collar started beeping yet, telling him to put his bandana on? Maybe the producers didn’t realise he was awake yet?


Add ‘who the hell is shouting out’ to the list of questions as well. The idea that someone else was in the building with him didn’t concern him as much as it should right now. He’d be damn happy once this gas wore off; or more likely he’d be scared because he’d finally be able to think straight. But he’d be happy to be thinking straight enough to be scared… or something like that.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?"

Oh, new voice. Girl voice. Familiar girl voice.

"This is Anastasia Arcadi… I'm from Davison Secondary. I mean you no harm."

That was a reason to sit up, which he did so, slowly and carefully with much effort put into bracing himself with his arms so he didn’t fall back down. He felt his head clearing as he did so as well, but unfortunately the pain didn’t follow it.

“Fffffff-“ The curse slowly made its way past his lips, finally breaking free as he made it to a sitting position. “-uck this shit.”

He turned his head again to look at his pack, seeing more clearly this time the brownish bandana with a black silhouette of a bird on it. That was his team he guessed. Aware of the time constraint against him he picked it up and wrapped it around his wrist so that it was visible and tucked the end under the rest of the fabric to hold it in place. He’d tie it better later.

Under where the bandana had been was the small, dark object he saw earlier. Picking it up gingerly he could see that it was a knife in its sheathe. This wasn’t no kitchen knife either, this was an army knife, it was quite long, could be clipped to his belt and, if he dared pull it out, he assumed deadly sharp.

Seeing something like that really brings the whole situation into focus. Grogginess, fading, fear, imminent.

"Uhh... so, whoever's here... anything good playing?"

Things began to snap into focus with startling rapidity. Anastasia was here, which was good if it didn’t also mean she was here. But she wasn’t the only one; someone else was here as well, if that voice he heard earlier wasn’t his own, which he couldn’t be sure of.

Grabbing the nearest solid object Shawn pulled himself up and soon found out exactly where he was. He was on a balcony overlooking a large movie theatre, rows and rows of plush red velvet seats and a large, currently blank, screen on the far side. He also saw something else, a person, standing in the aisle almost directly in front of him. He was fairly sure it wasn’t his girlfriend either.

Great, barely awake five seconds and already he had to deal with his first threat, and just to make it extra exciting his girlfriend might be in danger as well.

He hurriedly clipped the knife’s sheathe to his belt, reached down to grab the pack by its straps and scrambled up the low and long set of steps towards the exit of the balcony, almost stumbling over with the sudden weight of the pack and his own lingering sluggishness and headache. Each footstep sent a stab of pain through his temples but he kept going for those stairs.

“Fuck, shit, piss. That gas sucks.”
Edited by Fenrir, Mar 11 2014, 01:29 PM.
Program V3 Prologue
Michael Bair - Proud to be an American
Quote: N/A
Weapon: Brass Knuckles, Heckler & Koch FABARM FP6 Entry
Location: N/A
Status: Alive

The Departed
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