Dramatic Death Scenes!

Cricket

His voice had a certain tone to it that didn't sound quite right. Then, his voice never sounded quite comforting, so I didn't think anything of it. "Aye," I said, staring down at the symbols. "Keep your word."

Mr.Face:

I had to laugh at that. Someone had once described the sound as 'sounding like dead babies'. "Have I ever been outright dishonest to you? I am allowing you to walk out of here alive. Just as we'd planned earlier." I continued grinning.

Ah, loopholes. Best thing about being in charge...I could write them all in, and exploit them as often as I saw fit.

Cricket

I . . . didn't like that sound. It rang in my ear like . . . well, have you ever been sifting through old, lost things in some attic or whatnot, and happened to listen to an old music box all alone? It was like that. Laughter; it represented something that might have been happy, but nonetheless, it was only ominous. I felt myself grow tense.

My gaze flitted up to him after a moment. Sure enough, he was grinning like an evil little kid who was cheating, and winning, and knew it. I should know. "Sly bastard."

Mr.Face:

"You are not the first to misuse that term, My Prisoner." I informed him pedantically. "I trust you can find your own way out...oh, wait...The halls are...rather labyrinthine aren't they? It would be... rude of me to not show you the way out." I continued grinning. This was so delightfully simple. Such a nice little loophole. No red tape or anything.

Cricket

I knew I would die anyhow. Of course, I hadn't listened to my own reason. I would be dead sooner or later, so might as well spend a few extra hours putting myself up for free labour in order to help a big enemy overcome an emotional crisis. Aye. Aye? What was wrong with this picture? Idiot idiot idiot.

Well . . . I was dead. I was reminded of that every time I saw his smile.

"If I don't leave?" I asked. It was so tedious, squeezing what was running through my head into . . . sentences without commas. I'd learned what a comma was somewhere in my typing adventures. I had so much more to say, honestly. Such as: You're that 'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours with a gun' type, aren't you?

Mr.Face:

"I can have you arrested for loitering...trespassing... Failing to comply with several standing ordinances, not having a visitor's pass... Really the list goes on. I could probably arrest you for bleeding on my floors." I paused there. Could I do that? hm. Interesting idea.

After I dealt with this, I would reinstall the disk with all the laws and by-laws of this place. It did not do to be running the place off memory.

"But really, I thought you wanted to leave?" I asked.

Cricket

". . . Leave. Die. Not th' same thing . . ." I paused. "But close." It wasn't what I'd bargained for, though. This wasn't the same deal. Although, everything was still a haze, and if I did live, I might not make it far with the fires--

The fires. I'd forgotten about the fires. If I lived, I would have to get past them.

Mr.Face:

Really. I had no idea that he'd see that far into it. It was unanticipated. " So then, shall I have you arrested for any and or all of the above?" I asked him, still grinning.

Now that I had my head on straight this was really amusing. Listening to him squirm like this.

Cricket

Well. I was dead, anyhow. What would you do, say, if you were in my position? I had two choices: accept death gracefully, or, like the typical Nuovan kid off the streets, make sure to slip in one more act of rebellion before I braved the bullet. So . . . I went with the more cultural option.

I may not have been a dictator with an army behind me, and I might not have had the nerve to fight back too hard, but I did have my voice. Perhaps it wasn't much. A one-sided battle, at best an empty victory. Even so, he couldn't take that, too. So, I breathed, and wet my lips, and . . .

Nothing came out the first time. I tried again. Suddenly, there were two beautiful, short swooping notes in the air. Better luck next time, they said.

Mr.Face:

He whistled.

Really, I was glad that I had regained some semblance of self control or whatever weapons I had left in my suitcoat would have been in his other lung, regardless of bargains.

"Start walking now, before I decide that this is too good for you and drag you back downstairs and throw you in my hollow iron bull." Although that would be quite nice... No. No I made a deal. With resultant loophole. I was not going to cut out the follow through just to hear him scream.

Even though that seemed like a wonderful Idea.

Cricket
Hah. Who's squirming, now? The irritation is his voice was satisfying, in an ominous way. With a smirk, I stood from his chair and-- Oh bother, my vision spotted with numb black patches, the room seeming to tip from under me. I grabbed the chair to steady myself. "Walk . . . Gladly." The black spots faded away. Oi my my, I tried to whistle, just because I was surprised that I could. It was quiet and airy-sounding, but it was there. Then, I started walking.

Mr.Face:

More of that whistling nonsense. If I wasn't bound by my own fragmented moral code...

I followed him out of my lab, and then slammed the door behind us as we left. I loved slamming doors. They sent a wave of sound vibrating across the place that only served to further confirm my exact location in space.

"You take the next right, then the next three lefts in a row, there will be a staircase, you go down it, take three rights, a left, a right and another left, immediately followed by another staircase and then the lobby." I stated. I knew the government building like...well, like I had known my own filing system before its untimely demise.

I continued about three feet behind him. Three feet was standard following distance for walking people out of places, I had found, and liked to keep to that in most cases, unless I was attempting to scare the person in question. In which case...if one was quiet enough, you could follow six inches behind someone, and then listen to them jump as you spoke and they discovered that you were right behind them. That was particularly amusing.

I allowed myself to smile further at that thought.

Cricket

Those halls were a death march. Neverending, it seemed like, all identical except for the occasional blank-faced guards that walked past. And . . . ah, was it just me, or did the ground occasionally dip and sway like the place was floating on water? Oi my my. My hand feathered along one wall, so I could get some feedback as to whether or not I was walking in a straight line. Don't pass out. That would be bad . . . aye?

Well, honestly, it wouldn't be so bad to pass out if I never woke up again. Spare myself the feel of a bullet. My thoughts kept swaying between wanting to black out --just . . . lay down and black out. On the nice cold floor. Aye. That would be nice-- and my pride, telling me I couldn't just pass out in front of Mr. Face.

And finally . . . I had a feeling I'd found the door. "This it?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

Mr.Face:

"Yes. Yes it is, My Prisoner. Have a nice life." I told him, still grinning. I held the door open for him, already reaching for my pistol with the other hand.

As soon as he left the premises, I was not bound by the bargain to allow him to remain alive. And I was not going to let him get far. As I have stated, I am not particularly good with ranged weaponry...especially outside.

I then realised that I would have to get the crematorium workers to walk all the way to the lobby to take care of this mess.

That is why I paid them though. To do things like that.

Logistic problem solved.

Cricket

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for a gun. On a normal day, that would be all I would need; I now knew where the gun was, and it would be easy to snatch it away and turn it on him . . . but I had a feeling that right now that would be a bad idea. With a clenched jaw, I reminded myself that I couldn't walk in a straight line, let alone be quick enough to pickpocket.

There it was again. I'm not fast enough, I'm not strong enough, I'm too young, too dumb, too odd, too flawed . . . the list went on and on, all leading up to that fact that I couldn't do it. Somehow, I'd screwed up again. Perhaps I'd been cheated, but I was a thief! I saw it from a mile away, and I didn't do anything, because perhaps I'd gotten too wrapped up in shielding myself and getting myself out of the situation. I wasn't a hero at all. I was just a dumb kid from a place nobody's heard of.

The window of opportunity passed, anyhow. Mr. Face had the gun. I stood there a moment, fists clenching as if I could crush every past mistake in my hands. I was sorry, so sorry. Why was I such an idiot?

My hands quivered as I pushed the door open. "If you want t' get technical . . . Mr. Face," I said between breaths. "I'm-- still th' first t' get out of Cellblock Five . . . alive. Food for thought. I've broken th' streak." My footsteps were unsure as I stepped through the doorway, and turned back around to face him.

Mr.Face:

...Clearly the renovations could not start soon enough. Things were becoming too lax around here, and I needed to up the anti a bit; My Prisoner's statement confirmed it.

As soon as I heard him leave the building, I pulled the pistol out of my pocket. "Seems like you knew this was coming, For a while My Prisoner. In which case...I really have nothing profound or interesting to say, other than... Good thing I'm renovating the place then, isn't it?" I expanded my smile to it's maximum width, exposing most, if not all, of my teeth. Then I shot him. I think. Well, I shot him eventually. I unloaded the entire round into his general direction, because well, with ranged weapons and bad acoustic variables such as...your victim being outside... there is no kill like overkill.

Cricket

There was a grin, and then blood river. Nothing much to say.

I'd like to say that when I was hit, my mouth was in a defiant smirk despite the self-depreciating thoughts running through my head. Quite honestly, I don't know whether that's the truth, and Mr. Face couldn't see the expression even if it were. But that's what I like to tell myself.

That was that: I felt three shots drive into my chest. The world spotted in a flurry of black, only to fade away, and the last thing I knew . . . I was falling.

((MOVED FROM THE ARCHIVES.

LET'S NEVER...EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER LET IT GO IN THE ARCHIVES EVER EVER AGAIN.))

AGREED

LET'S KILL SOMEBODY

ENDE WE GOTTA DO ANDY

OKAY, SHOULD WE DELETE THE DEVIATION?
(not really here, just popping in. have company over)

UM UM IF YOU WANT YOU CAN, BUT SINCE I DID POST THERE COULD YA COPY PASTE AND POST YOUR OWN?

OKAY. ILL DO THAT WHEN I GET TO A CPU
CAN WE SAY SINCE THIS ISNT A BREAKING FOURTH WALL THING, ANDY AND DOR DUN KNOW EACH OTHER AND DORIAN WAS JUST HIRED TO KILL HIM? ER...I GUESS DORIAN WOULDNT HAVE AS MUCH FUN THAT WAY, THO.

IF YOU WANT, BUT I THINK DORIAN WOULD HAVE MORE FUN THE OTHER WAY. I SAY WE RISK BREAKING THE FOURTH WAAALLLZ!