One more thing before we start the final face-off...

[president_evil]

WHO| Wesker, Barbara Gordon, Karis Needleteeth, and Clint Barton and Tony Stark
WHAT| It's the final countdown, ya'll.
WHERE| Tomorrowland
WHEN| End of Week 8ish
WARNINGS/NOTES| Wesker and not the bloody death Aunamee his fellow tributes were hoping for.



In the old restaurant that Wesker had claimed as his base of operations, on a table near the back - closest to where he slept - he was keeping count of his fellow tributes. Scratching hash-marks into the pale plastic for every death. It was a loose tally, allowing for the plus or minus of any newcomers who had debuted mid-arena or any deaths he might have missed, but even so, as the days stretched on and the tabletop was lost beneath a sea of pock marks, he knew.

Victory was close at hand.

The end was nigh.

Comments

[acro_bat_ic]

She'd never intended to come back. She'd barely escaped it the first time, and she had no intention of trying her luck again. But she was hungry and disoriented, tired and failing in strength. She had long since stopped watching where her feet were going, or caring where they took her. Any step that didn't leave her stumbling to the ground counted as a victory.

How long could that victory last her, though, now that her treacherous feet had taken her into Wesker's domain? There's a part of her that would have rather die from starvation than fall to him/ It didn't exactly seem like she'd have a choice, though.

[president_evil]

He kept the distance at first, watching her struggle along, waiting to see whether or not she would have the strength to flee once more - whether not she would recognize his presence.

(Had she learned her lesson?)

When it became apparent she did not, he gave up the pretense, his stride lengthening and eating up the ground between them.

He was on her in a heartbeat, past and present blurring as a thick, muscled arm roped around her neck, squeezing across her throat as she was hauled off her feet and clamped in the vise of his arms.

"Barbara," his voice as calm and cool as ever, not the least bit fatigued. As if he'd just casually strolled up her. "How nice to see you again."

[acro_bat_ic]

She was choking. Partly from his arm, wrapped around her throat - but more from the memories. Fear, clawing its way through her body. She'd lost Harley to him - she really didn't want to lose herself, too.

But wishing wasn't enough to get his hands away from her throat. Internal screaming did nothing to end the contact. Neither did her feeble writing, most likely, or her faint kicks in his direction.

[president_evil]

He felt them - a mild annoyance, like waves, splashing against his calves, beating at his shins - but they did nothing to stop him.

The arm over her throat tightened, the other moved; a large hand sweeping up to clamp over her mouth, her nose pinched between his fingers.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Barbara. It will end far more pleasantly for you, if you simply accept."

[acro_bat_ic]

"Easy for you to say..." she whispered, croaking words out through the tight throat. Her feet continued to wriggle, though she knew it wasn't doing any good.

[president_evil]

Every struggle cost her, his arms squeezing tighter, his hands holding harder. His heart beating, steady and strong, against her back as he slowly strangled her.

No escape this time, Barbara. No one to save you.

Just Wesker with his arms like a vise, his fingers like blunt knives.

[acro_bat_ic]

If he thought that was going to stop her... He could choke the life out of her. He could take the life out of her, if that was what he wanted - she couldn't stop him. But sh refused to stop fighting.

At least not yet.

she had to get out. She had to pry his arms off of her.

[president_evil]

"Enough."

No more struggles. No more pathetic desperation. Finality.

The last word of God.

His fingers dug into her cheek, his arm flexed, and snap.

[acro_bat_ic]

She laid limp, the last bit of life and struggle slipping away from her. It was almost peaceful.