[Closed] If I go, you go.

[justgaveup]

Who| Perry (justgaveup) and Albert (silberfuchs)
What| Death and destruction of property
Where| The gift shop, so second floor
When| Very end of week five
Warnings/Notes| Did you want to go to the gift shop? Whoops. Also death and blowing up.

Each week got progressively worse. The knowing, as he'd told Mindy, was the hardest part. Knowing that you could die any day, knowing that you were one step closer to victory with every death you heard about on the loudspeaker. Waiting to hear friend's names called out. Casual acquaintances called out. Any name called out.

When he was in the last arena, he hadn't had time to think about it. First you fought a bunch of monsters in a neighborhood filled with people you didn't know, in a country you didn't know anything about. And then you were thrown into an arena, and told to kill other people to survive. So you did.

All Perry had done last time was pull the jaw off a zombie, then died soon after. This time, he'd talked to people. Sort of made friends. And definitely killed two people with a trap he laid specifically to kill people with. Where do you go after that? What do you do?

Hide out with your crowbar, food, and knives in a tacky gift shop. Seemed appropriate enough. Lying in wait, and wondering why the hell he was even trying to survive.

Comments

[silberfuchs]

Three weeks. Three weeks and Albert had gotten away with killing no one, somehow. Even in the carnage of the elevators he'd managed to escape virtually unscathed with a firework. All he's done so far is scrape his shoulder trying to maneuver an air vent despite his looking like the specter of death in his blood-soaked stolen clothes; most of the blood isn't his.

Most of it belonged to his friends.

Friends who were brutally murdered. One who died in his arms.

That's when Albert stopped caring overmuch if he lived or died in this twisted place, so long as he was able to avenge Chaud. Avenge Jet. The sight of that ridiculously relieved little smile as the light went out of his partner's eyes still won't leave him. It probably never will, and so he uses it to fuel is frozen rage instead.

He's always been paradoxical like that; intense anger turns him chilly and hate drops him to sub zero. His thinking, instead of becoming clouded with blazing fire becomes icy clear, like crystal. These are the facts:

Jet and Chaud had been murdered with a blunt instrument that has a sharp enough edge to inexpertly pierce flesh yet leave the edges of the wound jagged. It has some kind of hook, else he wouldn't have found Jet in the state he did, innards barely kept from tumbling out of his body by a weakening grip. To cause that sort of damage, the person wielding the weapon was likely an adult (a sorry conclusion to have to state in this case; children never belong in a place like this) to have wrenched a wound so deep with a dull edge. This person had to be clever enough to get the jump on someone like Jet, too. Someone who's had decades of formal combat experience and grew up on the streets besides. Not fast enough that Jet hadn't told Albert what he knew even as he lay dying, though. Male. Dark hair. Average height. Average build.

All of this adds up to the hunched figure Albert had been watching from a point near to but out of sight of the windowed walls that separate the gift shop from the museum proper. Trinkets and baubles you'd expect to find lay strewn across the floor on both sides, shelves in disarray, and through the haphazard barricade Albert watches. For nearly an hour he just watches and waits, struggling to be absolutely certain he's got the right man.

Male. Dark hair. Crowbar. Average.

Soon to be deceased.

There's no dramatic flash of lightning, no roll of thunder from the storm that batters itself against the building as Albert unfolds himself from his own hiding place and walks with unencumbered purpose towards the shop, roman candle in one hand and a bit of flint from one of the caveman exhibit halls away.

It sparks as he scrapes it against the door frame.

"Stand up, Mörder. I know you're here."

[justgaveup]

He should have noticed him before this. Damn this place for making his senses duller, because that's exactly the thing someone would make sure of, first. A place that could be empty. But he was tired, and worn out, and sick to his stomach, and he wanted to rest and ignore the world for awhile.

And the world still came crashing down onto him. It's the scrape of something against another that gets him to really notice. Shoes would have been good for that, but bare feet just helped everyone in this place when they wanted to sneak around. But that sound. Like metal against metal, and not many things could make that sound.

Should he keep trying to hide? He knew he was here, but he didn't know where, right? Maybe he could get out of this, and he moved as stealthily as possible to a dark spot near the desk.

He called out, just before he moved. "I don't know what that word means!"

[silberfuchs]

"It's the title you earned when you killed my friends," he growls low into the dim room, soft and dangerous. He can hear the faint rustling of movement but he keeps his head turned away, his right ear towards where he guesses his quarry shifts positions. Albert makes sure he remains between that sound and the door, having little fear of the man trying to rush him for escape. He may have a crowbar, Albert has two inches on him and no broken ribs.

"Murderer, in the English." He scrapes the flint again against the wall with a grating shriek. "I thought it best you know why I'm going to kill you. I'm not prone to random acts of violence."

[justgaveup]

Murderer. He was a murderer. But if Perry was going to live in this world (really live, the kind of living he didn't ever want to do again), then it was a word he was going to have to get used to ignoring. And this guy was new as well; his friends were new, which meant he was new.

"It's not random in here." Perry called out again, before moving quickly. He wanted to get close, but only close when he wasn't expecting it. Which would be never, if he was honest with himself.

"If you don't kill, you don't survive. You'll learn." He has to stop talking for a second as a shudder of pain went through him. The Capitol was sure to repair his ribs when he got back, but for now it was awful.

[silberfuchs]

The boy's movements aren't difficult. It's a simple matter to listen for his voice. He's not stupid, moving right after he speaks in an attempt to keep Albert off balance, but he doesn't know the German's background, doesn't know that he's taught hundreds of special ops soldiers in the GSG-9 the very same tactic, that Albert's hearing is above par even without his cybernetics.

And that he doesn't mean to come out of this alive either.

"Nicht zu mir schmeicheln Junge." Instead of growling further, he simply falls silent again, a listening silhouette in the shop's only exit. He only needs one more movement to be certain, and then he'll have peace for Chaud, Jet, and himself.

[justgaveup]

"I don't know what that means, either!" Truth is, he wasn't trained for this sort of thing. Zombies are pretty easy to fight against, when you get right down to it. You moved slowly and stealthily, so they don't see you. You shoot for the head, and try not to attract a large group at one time. You didn't trade witty banter with them. You didn't try to throw your voice (and fail).

When he got to the desk, he stopped moving. Hiding out behind it as best he could, and still try to see in the darkness. All he could see was his silhouette. He had to try something.

"What were their names?" Perry called out. He should know that much, at least. Seemed right.

[silberfuchs]

"Eugene Chaud and Jet Link," the man is right, he should know, and Albert's voice turns sharp as well as stony. "Did you not hear the speakers announce your handiwork?"

If he's trying to hide his location, he's doing a terrible job, not that Albert couldn't find him anyway. He's a wounded animal, wheezing at intervals from the injury Jet had given him. That's his Jet, never going down without a fight, never on anyone else's terms.

"And you can call me the God of Death for all I care." It's an old nickname, something terrible and sick that he'd never enjoyed but for this it seems fitting and so he'll pull on the dusty mantel. His quarry's name he doesn't care to hear and he idly scrapes the flint against the wall again.

"That desk isn't going to protect you."

[justgaveup]

Perry knew it. He knew the names. Cringing when he heard them over the speaker. Knowing that he had killed them. When he looked at his scores, the death totals he had since arriving here, there would be two new names on that list.

He hoped none of them were from his district. "I heard it." Perry blew out some air. He had a trick up his sleeve, but he knew... this was going to be it.

"Sorry, but I don't believe in god." Perry stood up slowly, taking care for his ribs. "And I know it's not. But I'm not just going to stand here and let it happen without a fight."

At that, he quickly threw the two knives he had in each hand. He was good, and fast with a knife, and one went to his leg, and the other was thrown to his arm. Perry wanted to injure him in a way that made it impossible for him to blow this place, and Perry, up, without taking him down with it.

[silberfuchs]

Albert figured his opponent was going to try something and soon as the situation grew more desperate and escape less likely. The knife thrown at his arm Albert avoids easily, shifting to his right. The one in his leg he doesn't bother, taking the blow with a grunt and simply pulling the blade out of the meaty part of his thigh where it had landed, uncaring of the crimson stain that starts to spread over the wound. He'll need his hand to light the firework. His leg not so much. he doesn't have to be mobile when they're already in such tight quarters.

"You've got a good arm," if Albert meant to come out of this alive, he might be worried. Instead he just starts to walk forward slowly, stiffly because of the leg injury. "Not that it'll do you much good. Not now."

Putting the firework between his teeth, Albert strikes the flint against the edge of the knife blade, causing sparks and lighting the long, slow-burning fuse at the end of the explosive. He drops the knife and flint and holds the roman candle so Perry can see. "We're on a much shorter timer now."

There's something freeing about all this, something that makes Albert half want to run scared from himself. But it doesn't matter, or at least it won't matter much longer. He'll avenge his friends and then he'll be done. Neat and tidy. Well, figuratively speaking.

[justgaveup]

Well. He did accomplish what he wanted. Neither of them were getting out of here alive. He found himself wishing that he could have gotten farther, but maybe this was going to be better. Going out with a bang. Literally. He flinched, cringing at a terrible joke in his mind. That should not be his last thought.

Perry wanted to know when he was going to die, not be surprised by it. But looking at a countdown was terrifying. He's scared. Coming to the realization that you're scared is scary.

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you see your friends again?" The words come out as a croak as he stares wide eye at the bright fuse. "What's your name?"

[silberfuchs]

The first question he doesn't answer. If religion is to be believed, suicides don't go to Heaven. And if its not, well... then death is the end regardless.

Albert stops walking at the edge of what little barricade Perry's managed to take shelter behind, strangely calm for all the violent death that will be visited upon the both of them in a few moments. "Heinrich. Albert Heinrich. Not that it will matter much longer, but what's yours?"

He knew the second he asked that he shouldn't have. That makes this murderer cowering in the recesses of the gift shop an actual person, someone who's frightened and dealing with the same shit hand that everyone in this god forsaken place has been dealt. It makes Albert feel guilty for what he's about to do.

But he already feels guilt for so much, what's another drop in the bucket?

[justgaveup]

No religion here. Perry knew that when they died, they wouldn't get a chance to think about religion. Hell or Heaven, didn't matter. Because the only thing that happened when you died here, was you got brought back to life out there. So he really did have to think: What was the first thing you were going to say to your friends?

"Perry Kelvin." He said simply, still looking at the fuse. It kept getting shorter and shorter, and he had to decide right then if he wanted to keep his eyes open, or close them.

"Nice to meet you." Perry had died the first time with his eyes open, and the second as well. Time to continue the trend.

I couldn't think of how to stretch it any further, sorry x.x;

[silberfuchs]

No response. What do you say to that when you know you're both going to die? Moreover when you wish the one who said it had never cleaved their way into your life at all. Cleaved their way through the lives of others, people more important to you than your own life.

What do you say when you're facing down the person you're going to murder in cold blood?

There's nothing to say. And it's too late regardless.

Another moment filled only with the sound of the pounding rain outside and then everything goes white as the fuse burns out in Albert's hand.