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In Hindsight, This Was A Terrible Idea; Open
Topic Started: Jan 5 2013, 04:23 AM (2,213 Views)
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((Dylan Walker continued from 2 B A Patriot.))

Dylan didn't wander far. Just to the other side of the town. So there were two guys reciting the pledge of allegiance on the other side. At least she knew they were there. She knew what to expect. And judging by the sounds, either there was no-one else in the town or they were hiding.

Either way... it was better than standing around in the pine trees. And it'd been hard enough to find the town in the dark as it was. She wasn't leaving until daybreak, at least.

Dylan didn't dare turn on her flashlight. She just felt around. She slid along to the house closest to the other side of where Callison and Damien had been. Someone else could have been hiding in there, naturally. Dylan sat down, feeling around for something on the ground. Tiny rocks, not large enough to be a weapon like the one in her pocket. She tossed a couple of little rocks at the front door, then slid around the corner and waited.

No sound. No-one was in there. She slid inside and shut the door.

Ohhh, how she'd missed having a roof above her. Even before Program, Dylan had always preferred buildings to nature. Buildings had character and history. Sure, there wasn't much in here. But even that raised their own questions. Who'd lived here before? Why was it empty now? Decrepit, which meant it would have been empty for a while...

Dylan raised her fingers to frame the house, as if she were taking a picture. She missed her camera. She might have had it with her on Annoucement Day, had Maxim not been a dick and ruined it a few weeks beforehand. She'd been saving up for a new one, but that old one had been precious to her. Years of taking photos, of stalking old buildings, sometimes illegally. The photos existed, of course, but the camera had been with her through all of it.

If she saw Maxim again, she was going to club his brains out.

Dylan realised she was more angry about the camera than about him shooting her ear off. But she couldn't really talk. So he'd realised that playing was better than sitting down and dying. So had she. She couldn't fault him for that. Only for being a jerk about it.

The bed was rickety, but compared to lying on the ground it looked so comfortable. Dylan didn't want to be caught with no warning and pondered alarms. Though she didn't really know what would work as one, she had no string to set up a tripwire. She just had to try to be as hidden as possible. Given how small and empty the cabin was, there wasn't anywhere to hide except...

Dylan checked underneath the bed, turning on and shining her flashlight underneath briefly, being careful not to keep it on too long or to point it at the windows. Once she'd made sure there was nothing dangerous underneath, she rolled underneath and pulled her bag underneath with her.

Uncomfortable. But it would do.

Dylan curled up, used her bag as a pillow, and tried to sleep. Despite her impromptu nap earlier, she was asleep within minutes.
Program V2

F04 - Dylan Walker - Weapon: Formerly a case of Stars and Stripes Cola (currently a rock and a Ruger Blackhawk) - DECEASED - "I can't make you proud. I just don't have it in me."
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

M05 - Marley Jenkins - Weapon: A red, white and blue dildo - DECEASED - “But this ain't a fucking war. It's just bullshit.”
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3
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((Tas continued from I Know You))

Tas had finally caved and put her glasses on, taking them from the case in her pocket. She'd never liked them, but right now, with the light rapidly failing, they were better than nothing - no point intentionally handicapping herself. Plus, she was reluctant to bring out the flashlight. She'd left the town in the first place because it was drawing people in, there was no sense to draw a huge arrow to her position. Besides, from what Tas had seen of the valley, a light would probably be visible from a long way away. Best not to risk it.

As such when Tas stumbled out of the darkness and straight into a wooden wall, she decided the search was over and that this was where she was going to bunker down for the evening. Night. Whatever. Keeping one hand on the wall, Tas groped her way around to what seemed to be the door, opened it, stepped in, closed it.

Dark in here, and the log walls would mute the light. Maybe a little would filter through the windows, but she couldn't just grope her way around a dark house. Tas slipped out the flashlight, switched in on, the narrow beam illuminating the building's interior. ...Crap, she couldn't hold it and the gun properly at the same time, not unless... Tas palmed the flashlight, then, straining her fingers, managed to grip it at the same time as the gun's underside, meaning the light travelled with the rifle's barrel. It worked, just about.

The flashlight's beam traced the cabin. Basic. A bed, the odd picture frame. A few discoloured patches on the floor next to the walls, indicating that maybe some of the stuff that was in here had been removed. Briefly, Tas wondered how long it took them to prepare places like for the Program, then decided that she didn't care.

Seemed empty. Safe, maybe. That torch beam kept scanning, scanning...
~*~

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When Dylan dreamed this time, it wasn't anything clearly weird. No playing golf with corpses this time. She just dreamed that she was curled up and leaning on her grandmother's lap, like when she'd done when she was little after a day where the kids at school had been mean and called her names like 'brownie' and 'niglet.'

Little Dylan had cried and asked why they did that. And her grandmother, in her soothing, motherly voice, had told her it was because black people deserved it, because they were cowardly, unsophisticated people who only managed to survive through treason and plotting. And when Dylan asked if that made her a savage coward, her grandmother had told her that it depended on if she let the nigger side win out over the rational, powerful white side.

From then on, Dylan had always claimed she was tan. If she denied her black ancestry existed, it could never win out and make her one of them.

But those weren't the exact words that came to her in the dream. In the dream, her grandmother's voice was that of Smiley, who repeated the words that she'd heard on the announcement, right after the confirmation that she'd murdered Brigid.

“...just cause they've got different colour skin doesn't mean they can't kill you.”

And when Dylan—little Dylan or present-day Dylan, which was she in the dream?—looked up, she saw not her grandmother, but a bright light charging towards her, like a truck about to flatten her—

Dylan woke up to bright lights. There was a light being shone around the cabin. She could see it slide past on occasion. Someone was there. Though where Dylan was, she could only see shadowy feet.

Still blinking sleepily, Dylan stuck her hands through the gaps in the wooden frame of the bed and pushed the mattress up at the edge slightly, just so that she could see through a sliver between the mattress and the frame without getting too close to the edge.

She saw enough. She saw a glimpse of skin—beaner skin—and a very dangerous looking rifle.

Dylan immediately let go of the mattress, letting it settle and seal up the sliver of sight she'd had for a moment. There was a tiny, rusty squeak as she did so, though Dylan didn't even register it.

Rifle.

The last time she'd seen a rifle, she'd lost her ear.

The rational part of her mind screamed at her to come up with a plan. A rational plan that would leave her alive at the end of it.

But all she could think about was the rifle and the pain and all the blood. She could practically feel the injury throbbing at her—maybe the painkillers were wearing off—and a sudden onset of fear again. It wasn't like many of the other potential threats. When Callison and Damien had been nearby, she hadn't seen any guns. And even with Clara, Louisa had been between them and Dylan had been far enough to run before she was in any intense danger. Now...she was trapped. Death was only a trigger-pull away, and she couldn't count on this beaner 'merely' shooting off her other ear.

She couldn't do anything. She was so terrified she couldn't even breathe. She just lay there, fingers still pressed against the wooden frame of the bed that had been her hiding place and was likely to now be her grave.
Program V2

F04 - Dylan Walker - Weapon: Formerly a case of Stars and Stripes Cola (currently a rock and a Ruger Blackhawk) - DECEASED - "I can't make you proud. I just don't have it in me."
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

M05 - Marley Jenkins - Weapon: A red, white and blue dildo - DECEASED - “But this ain't a fucking war. It's just bullshit.”
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3
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Namira
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Things looked safe, at least on first glance. Tas's shoulders slumped, ever so slightly, and she let out an almost imperceptible sigh. Letting her guard down would be a bad move, but at least for now she could catch her figurative breath. Reassess. The torch beam stopped its sweeping and began a more careful, thorough movement, scouring for the room's details. There was a door, there was what seemed to be a bed... In the meantime, Tas's thoughts ticked over.

The situation was... well it would be ridiculous to say that it was good. Yeah, death valley, bombs strapped to her throat - best vacation ever, right? On the other hand, encounters had been mercifully few and it looked like, at least for now, she'd have somewhere to stay. Tas wasn't holding any illusions about what kind of haven the building would be; holing up had its appeal, and out of the wind it was a lot warmer, but staying in one place... and what was apparently the most built up area of the whole valley? Yeah, she'd be asking to be found.

Tas was all set to slump down on the bed when alert senses picked up on something. A sound, a slight sound - the squeak of metal. She immediately froze, beam hovering on a non-descript patch of wall. That could've just been the bed settling, but...

"Hello?" her voice was cracked, hoarse. She'd barely spoken a word all day. "If someone's here, they'd better come out."
~*~

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Come out? Into shooting range of a beaner?

Dylan knew better than to do that. Like that girl would be able to stop herself pulling the trigger. Why were all the beaner girls waving guns, anyway? Must have been a beaner sorting the weaponry or something.

And even if the beaner had the self-control to not shoot Dylan in the face... why would she use that self-control? It was one more step towards winning and Dylan... well, she'd probably bullied this girl at one point or another. Which she wouldn't take back, but it made the odds of face-shooting much... much... higher.

So leaving while that girl was there was a death sentence, unless Dylan could use her rock to smash the girl's feet or something similar, and she couldn't do that right now because... well, moving would let the girl hear her. But the girl would have to leave or sleep eventually.

So she didn't move. She didn't even breathe. She stayed still as a statue, except for her hands which were slightly shaking against her will, and hoped the girl was dumb enough not to check underneath the bed.
Program V2

F04 - Dylan Walker - Weapon: Formerly a case of Stars and Stripes Cola (currently a rock and a Ruger Blackhawk) - DECEASED - "I can't make you proud. I just don't have it in me."
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

M05 - Marley Jenkins - Weapon: A red, white and blue dildo - DECEASED - “But this ain't a fucking war. It's just bullshit.”
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3
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There wasn't a reply. Tas didn't know if she had even been expecting one. If she was hiding, she certainly wouldn't have been jumping out into the open saying 'Ooh, ooh I'm here, please shoot me!' - in case it was a crazed...

killer...

She wasn't though, right? Tas had just yelled at the only person she'd previously met to back off. Hadn't threatened them or anything. She'd been practising with the gun but that had been a matter of self-defence and knowing how to use what she had. Right? ...

Tas swallowed down the bile that had suddenly crept into her throat. Now wasn't the time for this kind of thought exercise. She'd definitely heard something, and the size of this building didn't leave a lot of room for interpretation. If it hadn't been for the distinctly metallic squeak, Tas may have chalked it up to the timbers groaning and settling a little. Maybe not though - her paranoia was at a very high tide. Sweeping the cabin again, not much looked like it was made of anything metallic. Save...

Bedsprings.

Winding back, Tas lifted her foot and stomped on the side of the bed's frame, just below the mattress.
~*~

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For a few moments, Dylan thought the girl was giving up. Just a few, euphoric moments of 'I get to live.'

Then a foot crashed against the side of the bed, only a few inches away.

Dylan realised the girl knew where she was.

There was nowhere to run. No way to fight against a rifle. No chance of reasoning with a minority.

Dylan's instincts were roaring at her to do something, anything, but they came up with nothing. Because there was no way out. No chance of flight or fight. And there was such a wave of terror that she couldn't even try to think rationally or to pretend everything was fine, because it wasn't.

So despite her earlier promises to herself, she started crying like an infant in a meatgrinder and babbling, "I don't want to die! I don't want to be like Brigid!"

She knew the girl would be able to hear her, but it no longer mattered, because she was a dead woman. All she could do was curl up, as if that would give her protection against a rifle, and sob and plead for mercy against someone who would never give it.

"I don't want to die..."
Program V2

F04 - Dylan Walker - Weapon: Formerly a case of Stars and Stripes Cola (currently a rock and a Ruger Blackhawk) - DECEASED - "I can't make you proud. I just don't have it in me."
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

M05 - Marley Jenkins - Weapon: A red, white and blue dildo - DECEASED - “But this ain't a fucking war. It's just bullshit.”
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3
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Namira
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"¡Joder macho!" Tas spat, backing off a couple steps from the bed, which had ... started crying. Um. Right. Okay then.

Whoever was under there was crying and wailing, talking about Brigid - one of the ones that had died during the first 12 hours or so. A friend of hers then? Gah, Tas didn't know. She couldn't recognise the voice, not when they were blubbering like that.

She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or wound up. Sneaky death-murderers would not be bursting into tears at the first sign of trouble, but this put Tas somewhere awkward. She'd come here for shelter, and now someone else was here, knew where she was and... well, what now? Kick them out? Try and find another place to stay? Tas was uncomfortably aware that the most pragmatic thing to do in this scenario was to pull the trigger. One less opponent, that much more security, no groping around in the dark...

Her finger started to squeeze the trigger... then relaxed.

No, fuck that. Shooting someone just because it was convenient? What the hell kind of fucked up morality was that supposed to be?

Tas swallowed, crouched down, the torch beam shining directly underneath the bed now. She could see someone curled up under there, though the torch's glare made it a little difficult to tell exactly who they were. Dark skin though... not that that meant anything. Wasn't like non-whites weren't killing too. Tas didn't know if she would trust herself in this scenario, so...

Whatever.

"I'm not going to shoot you," she told the trembling, whining girl. "Just come out from there where I can see you, all right?"
~*~

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She wasn't going to shoot? Dylan had heard those words before. Maxim had said them just a little before he blasted her ear off. No, she was just biding time until... until...

Uh...

...Well, she had to be plotting something. That's what her kind did. That's what Dylan told herself. She'd clung onto that all her life, no reason to stop now because she couldn't figure out what the rifle girl had to gain.

Dylan kept sniffling for a few moment. She was still afraid. If anything, the assurance of not being shot had caused the opposite effect. But... clearly the rifle girl wanted something from her before she put a bullet in Dylan's brainpan.

That meant a few more seconds of life.

That meant one more chance to escape.

And as far as the other girl knew, Dylan was now just a whiny baby. Dylan felt more shame at being caught like that. She was meant to be brave. She was meant to make her grandmother as proud as possible, so that people wouldn't laugh at her for having a cowardly half-breed for a granddaughter. So that Nana would know that Dylan was a proper American. Not like her parents. There had to be someone after Nana that wasn't a complete disappointment.

But if she got out of this... she could spin it that the crying had been on purpose. Hell, it didn't hurt her chances here. It's harder to hurt someone when they're acting like a baby.

Yeah, she'd totally done it on purpose. She... she wasn't a crybaby...

So Dylan mumbled, "Alright. I'm... I'm coming out." Her voice broke here and there, since she was still trying to keep her sobbing under control. But that was okay. All an act. Just an act. She kept her head down as she crawled out. The amount of panic lessened once she was out. God, what had she been thinking, hiding under there? Stupid, stupid idea.

Dylan clambered slowly to her feet, not looking at the gun or the girl holding it. She stared at the floor and continued to sniffle, wiping the muck away from her nose.
Program V2

F04 - Dylan Walker - Weapon: Formerly a case of Stars and Stripes Cola (currently a rock and a Ruger Blackhawk) - DECEASED - "I can't make you proud. I just don't have it in me."
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

M05 - Marley Jenkins - Weapon: A red, white and blue dildo - DECEASED - “But this ain't a fucking war. It's just bullshit.”
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3
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Fenrir
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((Gerald Lawson Continued From 100.2°))

It took quite a while to make it to the Town from the Mountain Trail, longer than you would think given their relative closeness on the map, but between the rough terrain, the cold affecting your movements and the paranoia of someone jumping out at you making you move quite cautiously, it probably takes a long time to get anywhere in The Program.

It was already dark by the time Gerald could see the buildings in the distance, but he kept his flashlight in his bag rather than bringing it out for fear of drawing the attention of someone unfriendly onto him and his companions. Well, just him at the moment actually; he was scouting ahead, checking out the Town for Bailey and Felicia to make sure it was safe. If he thought it was too dangerous, if there were too many people or he saw something he didn’t like, he was to go back and tell them so. If he felt it was safe, he was to stay where he was and the girls would catch up in their own time.

The teen should probably feel bad about being used as the figurative canary in the mines to test for danger, but then he was the one who suggested the idea. It made sense not to risk the whole group and really, Gerald could do with some time to himself. Being an unsociable sort he was getting a little uncomfortable in a group and scouting ahead gave him a chance to move at his own pace for a bit.

Crouching his small frame even lower Gerald moved further along the path towards the Town, soon moving into the Town itself and passing by buildings on both sides of the street. All the building he passed were dark, there were no sounds that he could hear and for all appearances the town appeared to be deserted.

After several minutes of nothing bad happening Gerald gave up on the stealthy-stealthy approached and just stood up straight in the middle of the street. Stretching his legs out he decided it was probably safe to start checking out the inside of some of the buildings in preparation for his companions arrival when he caught sight of something a few buildings over. A light, thin and directional like a torch beam rather than a light bulb, shone against the window of one of the buildings further down. The teen frowned and began to move in that direction. Not crouched anymore but still trying to move quietly, Gerald moved in that direction. It seemed as if the town wasn’t as abandoned as Gerald thought.

Soon Gerald was standing outside the building, moving along the outside wall while crouched low just like he had when he had arrived at the Crag Cabin a few hours ago. Rather than move to the door this time he stopped beneath a window instead, the same window that he had seen the light through. He straightened slowly, raising his head up to peer through the glass. Much to his annoyance however he found he wasn’t tall enough to see much higher than the base of the window.

Very carefully and trying to be quiet he found himself a loose foothold at the base of the building and, placing his hands on the windowsill, pulled himself up to look more easily through the glass, ready to let go at a moments notice and drop back out of sight.

Inside the building he could make out two figures, one was hidden in darkness but the other was considerably easier to see with the light shining on her. It was a girl, scrawny but probably still taller than Gerald, with very blonde hair and light brown skin, probably tanned. He didn’t recognise her. What interested him more was the other person he couldn’t see. It seemed strange that the two would be standing this way, one holding the light and shining it on the other; had the first figure walked in on the second and had still to let down their guard? Seemed likely, it didn’t look like a friendly situation.

There was something in the other figures hands, something long and thin, with the flashlight being held far from the person’s body near the end. Gerald couldn’t see it clearly enough to be sure, but he had an idea what it was. Long, thin, and held pointed at another person? Definitely a gun.

He was about to drop down from the window, make his was from the Town and tell the others that, sorry, the Town wasn’t a good place to be right now. He was just working out how to lower himself down without making noise when the choice was made for him; his foot slipped, his hands didn’t and he found himself falling against the wooden wall of the building and to the ground shortly after, making quite a bit of noise along the way.

Yeah, yeah they definitely heard that.
Program V3 Prologue
Michael Bair - Proud to be an American
Quote: N/A
Weapon: Brass Knuckles
Location: N/A
Status: Alive

The Departed
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Namira
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The voice was muffled, but it was there. Thick with tears, but an actual response - wondrous! They could actually speak coherently! Tas backed up a step and waited for the girl to extricate herself from under the bed. In the meantime, Tas tried not to shine the torch straight into the other's face. Blinding people wasn't fair. ...She wasn't sure why she was really thinking of being polite just this second.

Even so, pointing the light at the girl's torso made her identity - now that she wasn't half obscured underneath the bed - readily available. Tas's jaw tightened. Fuck.

It was Dylan. Someone Tas didn't really like, because fuck, if you're taking shit, denying your ancestry was just a cowardly, chickenshit thing to do. Now though, in the Program? She was Dylan-that-had-killed-someone. Brigid, who admittedly Tas only knew a little, but in any case... the who took the backseat to the why. And the why took the backseat to the -fuck, Dylan had straight-up murdered someone with a rock. Maybe Brigid hadn't had a gun, maybe it had been a different situation there, things that Tas didn't and couldn't know about. And yeah, this girl was crying and looking kind've pathetic and maybe someone had called her black or something. She didn't care.

This was a murderer.

Anastasia didn't say anything for a long time, just looking at Dylan, watching her sniffle and rub her sleeve across her nose. The Repeater was pointed at the dead centre of Dylan's chest, the beam of the flashlight almost like a target. Shoot here, it said. Tas could kill her. She could kill her right now. It was practically point blank range. Issues with the rifle aside there was no way Tas could possibly miss. Then she would be down a murderer, down someone who could stab her in the back - it had moved from that horrible... convenience to eliminating a threat. Tas's whole body tensed up.

A threat.

Was Dylan really one? She was in tears. She'd obviously been hiding, or sleeping, one of the two. Did Tas need to do this? Could she do this?

If Tas fired that gun, the Program would be down one killer.

But then that number would be right back up. The only thing that would change was one less person running around. And the blood on Tas's hands.

She swallowed.

There was a muffled but definite thump from outside, Tas jumped, the shock jerking the gun's barrel in the air just as it made her finger reflexively tighten.

The rifle fired.
~*~

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((Bailey Williams continued from 100.2°))

Just outside the town, Bailey waited for Gerald. He said that he would go on in ahead of them just to see how the town was. While initially hesitant to allow him to do so, Bailey eventually conceded. So there she waited, sitting on the floor as she waited for a sign of any life. She wasn't sure where Felicia was, but at the moment, that didn't matter.

She remained silent and still, not wanting to draw attention to herself and get herself killed, a prospect that was becoming more apparent as time passed. The thought that people were killing was enough to scare her. It could have very easily been her who was dead and with her weapon, she could have been the one who started to kill. Bailey didn't want to kill. If she had to kill, she would, but she'd rather avoid it.

Reaching into her satchel, she lightly touched her tiny gun, just to see if it was still there. She had it for protection only. That's what she had told herself. She wasn't going to succumb to the game. She had to stay strong. After all, America was watching. She had to put on a brave face and a good show for them. It was required of her.

After touching her gun, she picked up her cards and started to shuffle them, the process of doing so helping her take her mind off of the game in general. She had to cope. Stay strong. Not lose herself in fear and paranoia. She told herself this repeatedly. It was something she had to do. After all, she was Bailey Williams. She wouldn't have it any other way.

It was then that she heard it. The gunshot. She immediately sat up and stopped shuffling, shoving the cards into her bag as she looked around for the source of the sound. It sounded like gunfire was happening nearby. Could it be in the town? Was Gerald hurt? Bailey didn't know what to do. Should she stay? Should she go? Her mind started to whirl as all these contrasting thoughts appeared in her head. Maybe she should stay for a bit? If he doesn't come, then go to town and see what was going on.

So therefore Bailey stayed for the moment, waiting to make her move.
The Program V2


TV V2


Second Chances


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Dylan stood still. She didn't trust herself to do anything else. Last time she'd been cornered by a minority, she hadn't been able to stop herself from making smartass remarks that got her punched in the face. That had been against a girl with an icepick who'd been willing to talk, however. And that'd been before Dylan was a well-known murderer.

So she stayed quiet and sniffled and time stretched on. The gun was pointed at her chest. If the girl shot, Dylan wouldn't stand a chance. Even if she didn't die immediately, she'd bleed out long before the game finished. What was to stop her? Dylan was a killer. No-one would care if she was killed. It would be a relief for most.

...So why was the girl still hesitating.

Dylan glanced upwards, face still scrunched up as she sniffed, trying to figure out what the girl was thinking. Why hadn't she just gone for it? It was the perfect opportunity, and... and minorities were stupid, violent people.

Or am I just saying that because I'm being a stupid, violent person?

But Dylan didn't have a chance to think about it any more. Because there was a noise from outside. The gun suddenly jerked to the side, and it'd barely moved away from Dylan when it went off.

Dylan shrieked, convinced for a moment it had hit her, just like the first time -- but it hadn't. Without thinking, she grabbed her daypack and swung it at the girl, hitting her in the back. Not maliciously. Dylan wasn't thinking clear enough to be malevolent. The girl was just between Dylan and the door, so Dylan swung the backpack, knocked her enough to the side and ran out the door before anyone could stop her.

She ran right by a boy that was outside. Another minority. Were they swarming? Was it an ambush?!Had the girl missed by accident? Or was that why she'd been waiting? Dylan's mind buzzed with questions. What was going on?

Didn't matter. She ran like a frightened deer. Never mind if Brian and Damien were still lingering in the town. They weren't carrying rifles.

Well, she hoped they weren't.

((Dylan Walker continued in Leprechaun Luck.))
Program V2

F04 - Dylan Walker - Weapon: Formerly a case of Stars and Stripes Cola (currently a rock and a Ruger Blackhawk) - DECEASED - "I can't make you proud. I just don't have it in me."
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

M05 - Marley Jenkins - Weapon: A red, white and blue dildo - DECEASED - “But this ain't a fucking war. It's just bullshit.”
Sandbox: 1 - Program V2: 1 2 3
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[ *  *  *  * ]
The gun went off almost before Gerald even hit the ground from his fall, a sound that was deafening in the quiet night air, that cracked like a whip through Gerald’s mind and told him in no uncertain terms that for the first time since he had woken up in the valley he was in a situation that was deadly serious.

Gerald pulled himself to his feet in an instant, around the same time the girl in the cabin screamed out, not a ‘oh God I just got shot’ scream, but a ‘crap that scared me’ scream. So, if it was any consolation, his little stumble hadn’t gotten anyone else killed.

It remained to be seen whether it would get him killed.

After the scream died away he heard the sounds of a brief scuffle inside and before he could work out what to do next the door was flying open and the girl was running in her direction. It was the girl with the blonde hair, not the person with the gun, but even so this was the closest he had come to a panicked, life-or-death situation so far. So, what would his response be? Fight, flight, or deer-in-a-headlight?

The girl ran right past him, not even brushing by in her rush to get the hell out of there and disappearing before Gerald could even formulate a plan of action.

Deer in a headlight it is. Good choice.

If he was smart at this point he would have turned tail and ran right after her, but then Gerald had never claimed to be smart and something at the back of his mind told him that trying to outrun bullets wasn’t going to work here, no matter how fast he was. Instead he went forward, towards the door, and stopped when he was standing just to the side of it, crouched down again to lower his profile. Rushing in was a good way to get killed he knew, but if he could wait right here, wait for whoever it was inside to step into view, maybe he could get the drop on them and get the gun away from them. What he would do at that point was something he wasn’t thinking too hard about right now.

Yeah, this could work. The person was probably still dazed by whatever blondie had done to get away and he was a wily little sonofabitch when it came down to it. He could do this. His only concern was whether or not Bailey and Felicia would come into town before he dealt with this. Hearing the gunshot could have drawn too responses; run, or come and help. As sweet as the latter might have been on paper he hoped it was the former they went with.

He hoped they didn’t care enough to come after him and get themselves killed.
Program V3 Prologue
Michael Bair - Proud to be an American
Quote: N/A
Weapon: Brass Knuckles
Location: N/A
Status: Alive

The Departed
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Namira
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Paint me like one of your Sith girls
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
There was scream, a blur of motion, Anastasia managed a panicked - "I didn't mean-!" before Dylan careened into her and went charging past before Tas could even tell if the accidental shot had hit anything. She assumed not, given the girl was still ABLE to run, but as Tas whirled around to try and see where Dylan was going, she lost track of the other girl in the darkness. Her heart was hammering at what felt like a thousand miles an hour, so hard that it seemed likely to burst.

Jesus Christ. That had been close. Tas had nearly shot her. She had no illusions about actually firing being an accident, but she had been so, so tempted to visit vigilante justice on Dylan. As if killing her would somehow be the right thing to do, or avenge anyone. Like hell it would've done. Now that Dylan was gone and the immediate threat was out of her face, NOW it was easy to say that, but it would have been so... simple.

She shook herself. No time to sit around thinking about this. Tas couldn't forget the reason she'd accidentally pulled the trigger in the first place; there was someone out there. They'd been... well it could have been a lot of things. A scuffle seemed unlikely considering it had only been the one thump, someone just falling over? Waiting outside right now? Dammit, why did it have to be so dark out? Now she just felt trapped.

Tas stared at the open door, the cold air flowing into the room and chilling it. The blackness of the night yawned like a chasm. There was someone out there. Friend, foe, murderer. Anything. But then if they were, then wouldn't they have attacked Dylan?

"I didn't mean that," Tas called, taking a step closer to the door, edging there, bit by bit, gambling on, banking on whoever was out there not being hostile. "It was an accident."

There was a long pause.

"Chill your ass, whoever it is. I'm coming out."

The narrow flashlight beam seemed weak and pathetic as Tas exited the building-
~*~

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