Tell me, why don't you kill me, and put a gun against my head

Entry tags:

Tell me, why don't you kill me, and put a gun against my head

Who | Maximus, R, Eponine, Sigma and maybe Wyatt at the very end (Closed!)
What| Maximus has decided that to keep R from killing Wyatt, he needs to keep him fed, so they're off looking for 'food'.
Where | Desert arena.
When | Whatever time it is right now.
Warnings/Notes | Death, Violence, Cannibalism, Gore, uh... probably a host of others. Nothing sexual though!

Maximus felt a lot more at ease, now that the days and the nights were their usual length again. He and R set off at dusk in search of 'food'. Maximus and Wyatt didn't speak about it, which at least meant they didn't argue. R needed to eat, and Maximus knew what that entailed, and he would see it done.

The sun was low and sinking lower, which meant that it wasn't quite as warm as it could be, but there was still plenty of light to operate by. No storm, though the sand still whipped across the dunes with the wind.

He was running low on water, saving his last gulps, his mouth and throat dry and parched. The skin at the edge of his lips beginning to crack.

He stopped, letting his bag drop to the ground, his crossbow with it.

"Hold up, R," he said as he retrieved the flask at his hip. "Need a drink. You smell anything?" He asked as he raised it to his lips, taking a single sip of the precious fluid.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The silence went on long enough for R to think he'd hear that machete's whisper before it sliced off an arm as a warning. Max bellowing bloody murder in his face was about the last thing on his mind, R starting after the fact and flinching. He was left staring stupidly as Max's blurry shadow wheeled around and booked it toward the Tribute he'd...totally missed somehow. Some guard!, R thought, annoyed, trying to remember which foot went first. Right? Left? Right sounded good. He liked right.

R stuck his right foot out and staggered after Max, following that Living scent and starting to get into the hungry corpse's idea of a run - an awkward, hunched over lope, his knees locked stiff as he kicked up sand. Even at his fastest, R was still trailing behind Max, unable to see who this Tribute was aside from another human-shaped blur.

All he knew was maybe he'd get something to eat after all. He just hoped this wasn't going to be a repeat of Aun - of last time. Please, not that again!

Eponine looked up as soon as she heard the cry. He'd seen her - they'd seen her. And he didn't look happy. Eponine gaped for about half a second, before she stood and turned to run, dropping tins haphazardly as she felt desperately in her sleeve for her knife. Come on, come on. She gasped in pain as she staggered as fast as she could, her right hand still clutched to her chest.

He tore through the sand, white robes whipping around him as the wind suddenly picked up.

Grit in his eyes and a roar on his tongue, he was on her in seconds, the machete slashing down to where she was a mere second before. Up came the blade, curving back down in a sharp and violent arc towards her.

Thought was something that was only detriment, in a fight. But somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized her, knew her.

And nothing in him could bring himself to feel bad.

Eponine froze as the swoosh of the blade came down, sure that this was the end. But when it didn't hit her, in that split second, she turned to face him, staggered and fell back on the ground.

She sat up, and lunging forward, she tried to jam her knife into his leg, crying out as the pain in the chest overtook her. But even as she whined, the machete was flashing down again and she was forced to throw herself backwards, lying flat on the sand. From this position, she could only cry out,

"Monsieur - Monsieur, please do not hurt me - please. I have food I can give you - I can give you whatever you want - Sir. I can make you happy, Sir. I took nothing - please don't kill me, Sir."

He didn't even noticed the irritating sting on his calf, too focused on the task at hand.

His foot found her shoulder, pinning her hard down into the sand.

"You belong back in the capitol," He said, flatly.

It was the only reply he gave her before the tip of his machete found the soft flesh between her ribs - before he sank the entire blade deep into her chest.

Eponine screamed loud and hard as she realised what Max was going to do, a scream that only grew louder as the blade met her chest and her poor broken ribs met the machete.

"Monsieur - Monsieur -" Eponine had ceased to struggle as realisation dawned that she could not win, could not flirt her way out of if. Now, she wished only for a quick death.

She could feel it, sticky blood dripping out of the wound, soaking her velvet tunic and the makeshift bandages about her chest. She could feel her breathing starten to lighten, that too-familiar heaviness wash over.

She lay in the hot sand, the 'Prince of Thieves', still crying a little, still upset, and she waited to die.

When Sigma heard Eponine scream, he'd thought he'd come across another antlered rabbit. Turning away from the voice stubbornly, Sigma tried to block out the noise and continue forward. But then the wind carried a new sound, a single word and desperate sobbing, and Sigma's stomach tightened and twisted. That was no sound any animal could copy. The Doctor was off like a shot, sprinting in the direction he'd heard her cry with bated breath. The usually rational man felt panic surge in his blood.

When he was close enough for his electronic eye to compensate for his failing vision, he zoomed in and went cold at what he saw. The world seemed to slow down. He recognized the man who had run Eponine through, he'd seen him with Donatello shortly before his last death, and while he hadn't labelled him as a threat then he now knew Maximus was no different than that thing that had killed his son - an animal.

Sigma was rarely a violent man unless the fate he'd seen in his visions demanded he be. But this time there was no foresight to use as judgement, no time for consideration. Without hesitation, the Doctor drew his throwing knife. With the speed and precision only a man half machine could make, Sigma lobbed it in a fatal line towards Maximus - a shot aimed directly at his head. As soon as the knife flew did Sigma charge forward, screaming, his green eye bright with hate. He wasn't a runner by nature, having worn weighted steel boots most of his life, but getting there quickly was not a choice but a matter of necessity. Sigma gasped through steps, breathing difficultly but never slowing down - Hang on, Eponine!

The time in the snowfield he'd held Howard back from saving her, Sigma had known it was far too late, that to press on would be suicide for either of them. But as adults often did when it came to children, their children, clinging uselessly to hope Sigma knew he had to intervene for Eponine's sake. Some part of him foolishly believed he could still help.

The scream jerked R forward.

Even blind he could smell fresh blood like a stab right where it counted, flooding the roof of his dry mouth and tingling all across the board and drowning everything else out. He dimly registered Max as this blur looming over the dying Tribute - a girl, a voice whimpering and begging and struggling to gasp for breath - and he couldn't help it. It set him off. His lope turned almost into a jog, R shouldering past Max with an urgent moan, forgetting all about that invisible line he wasn't supposed to cross. He barely registered what was going on around him, too busy dropping to his hands and knees and getting right to business, audience or no audience.

(He'd be ashamed later. Right now his hunger was practically dancing in anticipation).

R's hands clawed at the dying girl. So what if she was still moving? The zombie dragged himself closer as he jerked his mouth open, closed his eyes, and ripped a big chunk out of her leg. Oh man. Even the sound of new screaming - a man's, familiar in a way maybe the girl's might've been - wasn't enough to drag R off Max's kill. He worried at her leg like a dog, thinking in the back of his mind maybe he better move up to to the jugular or, better yet, get to the good stuff.

If he kept his eyes squeezed shut, maybe, just maybe, R could pretend he wasn't showing his true colors in front of Max. Yeah, right, the hunger sneered and R drooled the girl's blood as he chewed away for all he was worth.

Edited (fixing post) 2013-07-24 10:53 (UTC)

Many things happened in that few seconds.

He pulled the blade out of her chest just as he heard the scream, just as R pushed passed him and started tearing at her leg. The pit of revulsion opened up in his stomach just as the blade flashed by his face.

He'd thought it'd missed, at first, until a long line of fire traced over his cheek.

He ignored it.

He gave her what he knew she wanted - what he would have wanted - the blade flashing down to slice through nearly the entirety of her neck in one blow, though he didn't quite decapitate her.

He had half a mind to kill R right then. Right there. But there was no time - the man that had thrown the knife at him was barreling down towards them and Maximus twisted to meet him, the blade flashing with light, blood, and death.

Sigma had been certain the sting of the knife would pull Eponine's attacker from his goal - and when the blade came down on her throat Sigma flinched, slowed his pace for the first time. Above them, around them, somewhere a canon blared. Hers was the first death Dr. Klim had been present to witness... He felt sick. He wanted to curl up, cover his face, block out the world. Sorrow welled up within him and clogged his throat - she was just a child! Wesker's mercy kill had been one thing, it could have been called humane. The rage in his eyes changed to anguish and bloodlust, and then he was back in his sprint, perhaps faster than before despite his body screaming for him to stop.

Though Maximus terrified him, he did not turn back. Running directly towards the trained killer, Sigma dare not let fly his last weapon, and instead clung onto it like a lifeline. The arm that held it was already mangled, bits of wire and metal sticking out of blue fabric, revealing what would have been his secret weapon in the fight. His only choice was to grab the machete with his cybernetic arms, as much as he knew it would hurt. Then, perhaps, he could get close enough to deliver a killing blow.

And even if he didn't win, he could die with his metal hands wrung around Maximus' neck. As the distance closed between them, Sigma kept his knife to his side and raised his left and undamaged arm, ready to seize the blade, whatever direction it might come down.

He flipped the blade in his hand, stepping away from her body, trying to ignore R feasting upon it.

He didn't understand what was wrong with Sigma's arm, and didn't spare a lot of thought for it. It was a warning signal, sure, but he didn't have the depth of knowledge to understand what it meant. So thought he noted it, he didn't waste any precious thought on it.

He only thought of what he would do next.

He didn't rush to meet him - instead pushing his back foot hard into the sand, raising the machete defensively, waiting for the attack as it came barreling down towards him. Only when Sigma was effectively on him did he move, flashing the blade in an arc from his hip, upwards towards Sigma's chest, trying to get the blade up under the man's guard.

Close now, Sigma at last took notice of R feasting on Eponine, but decided to stay focused on his enemy. Though he was appalled at the desecration of her corpse, he'd been in a similar condition enough times to guess that R was acting on instinct. So, even in close range as R ate his fill, his attention fixed on Maximus. Sigma nearly collided with the gladiator, expecting the first swing to come sooner than it did.

This mistake would perhaps prove fatal. He raised his knife for an unplanned attack just as the blow came. His cybernetic eye caught his opponent's movement before he consciously perceived it: reflexively Sigma lurched to his right and tried to block the strike with his other arm, but the blade snuck underneath his elbow and sliced half an inch deep through the bottom of his chest. Very real, very red blood sprayed through blue fabric, and though Sigma cried out, he did not flee. Readjusting his knife - which was not intended for close-range enounters - Sigma rushed forward, moved his left arm to block lower, and went in for an uppercut stab.

Maximus never paused, the initial thrust of his sword turning smoothly into his next attack, his shoulder twisting, pushing forward so he could slam it into Sigma and throw the man off balance. It had the effect, however, off putting his arm directly in the path of Sigma's blade, and he could feel the sharp edge cut deep into the flesh of his arm, skirting past hitting anything important but bleeding profusely.

He felt the fire, the sting, but it didn't cause him to pause, didn't cause him to stop, his shoulder slamming into Sigma just as the blade flashed for another blow, aimed straight to his gut.

For the first time in his life Sigma relished drawing blood, as though he were watching evil leach out of something that had once been human. But before the Doctor could fully appreciate it, he was knocked backwards and time slowed down. At over six feet tall and half of him metal, Sigma was not a small man by any means and was not easily thrown, and in his last moments of blissful painlessness he realized he may be looking upon the Arena's next victor. Before he could fall, even before his feet could leave the ground, something of rigid iron would correct his posture, force him upright. He saw the flash of metal just before the sword sank itself into his stomach.

All breath left his body and Sigma was left with blinding pain - something so strong and so terrible it would have forced him out of this timeline had his powers been active, away from one cruel world of games and back into his own. Instead he would live through a pain so great it consumed his whole body and mind. It suffocated him, and he wanted to submit to it, to allow it to consume him, to give up and accept death. But he knew he could not. Don't stop, don't stop-

Even in the face of certain defeat, something reminded him he needed to remain focused, to survive for as long as he could manage. He took a shallow, staccato breath.

With a closed eye (and one ever fixed on Maximus, for it needed never to blink or rest) and shaking all the while, Sigma forced himself to curl his metal hand around the couple inches of blade between his stomach and the hilt. The skin that remained on his fingers was sliced through, trailing inky white fluid down the machete, and once they were worn down to the metal bone, Sigma squeezed. He clamped down onto the blade as though it were Howard's silly knife, as though he were trying to save an adolescent kid from his own poor decisions again. He wasn't entirely sure if even a titanium grip could prevent this beast from pulling it out, but when he would surely try, Sigma wound up to hit him with another slice from the throwing knife.

Monsters.

This entire world was filled with monsters.

His teeth bared as the blade caught between Sigma's hands - inhumanly strong. Where usually it would cut through flesh and bone like butter, the blade was trapped and would not come lose.

He wondered dimly if he'd stumbled along another Wesker - wondered if he would watch this one heal and stitch himself back together too - but it didn't give him pause. It only made him more desperate to finish this, as quickly as he could manage. Even Wesker went down for a few moments. Surely he could manage that...?

Though his sword was useless he didn't let go of it, instead kicking out, earning himself another long cut along his leg and a second to draw a knife with his free hand.

Edited (butter, not button........) 2013-07-28 15:42 (UTC)

Sigma groaned as Maximus tried to withdraw the machete, yet held on persistently through his pain. Though the stab had been overwhelming, resisting the pull of the blade made him suffer, and despite his best efforts to keep it still the blade occasionally shifted forward or backwards in their miserable tug of war. Though not even Maximus' kick was enough to get him to release the sword, it was the blow that broke his determination to survive and Sigma slackened, doubling over the machete with a sob.

He was weary, and the sight in his cybernetic eye began to waver, a sure sign the last of his energy was spent. He was too old, now, for battles so fierce.

Exhausted, Sigma watched Maximus draw his knife with near indifference. The Doctor was no fool. He had not had the time to note his opponent's other weapons, and with the arrival of the knife, accepted silently that the killing blow would come soon. Though the sword was a plug that kept him from bleeding to death, it left them at close range. Sigma had nothing left but to raise his head and lift his knife defiantly, near Maximus' throat but not quite reaching, physically unable to swing it again but hopeful he could stab his opponent once they tried to deliver the final strike. And while he was still close enough to be seen, for any expression other than pain to be recognized, Sigma narrows his eye in complete contempt... and in challenge. He'd give it one last shot for her sake, prove that no would would kill a friend of his and walk away from here unharmed.

There's no contempt in Maximus' eyes. In fact, his face is almost completely impassive. The face of a man doing his job, in a way that he doesn't necessarily like but isn't about to question.

He keeps his neck taut, out of the way of the flailing knife, his racing heart calming now that he saw the end.

He lashed out first to drag the blade over Sigma's wrist, to try to get him to drop his own. Only then does he go for the throat.

Sigma had resolved to keep the blade in his hands no matter what, down to the last breath, but the pain in his arms has become so overwhelming that even resolve cannot save him. Despite the fact that limb injuries are rarely fatal for a cyborg, days of living with mangled flesh and ripped-out nerves that would never heal or rot off drove him mad. The slash on his wrist which sends out the very last of his fake blood is the straw that breaks the camel's back, and the knife slips from Sigma's grasp. He can only watch now as Maximus' weapon sinks into his throat.

Again. Sigma could not save anyone. Again, he couldn't even get vengeance. It's futile, now, but even in his death throes Sigma tries to grab Maximus' wrist, to try and break it in half so that maybe he'll not kill again, but this plan is fruitless in his weakness. Even the arm gripping the machete releases. His eyes unfocus and he falls to his knees, and he realizes with disgust that R's next meal is secured. What a fool he was to think of that boy as human...

Edited (mistakes, I probably shouldn't tag in the morning) 2013-08-07 17:26 (UTC)

Down, down, down went the knife, through flesh and bone and sinew. Deep until Sigmas was well and truly dead.

Only then did he stand up. Only then did he raise his head, breathing hard. Carefully he bent over the body, searching for any sort of food or water. He left Eponine's - R was still there, feeding furiously, and the sight made Maximus queezy. So instead he gathered up the items she had stolen, strewn across the sand, and his crossbow.

He didn't say a word to R, just turned his back and left the zombie to his feast.

It took R awhile to finish up: he was only one corpse here and there was a saturation point where even he really couldn't eat anymore.

R wiped at his mouth as he stood up, his head lolling toward the new dead man sprawled across the sand, just this blur he could barely make out in the deepening dusk. Big guy. Really big guy. R didn't need fully working eyes to get that impression. Seemed like a waste to just leave him here.

Jesus, he wish he didn't have to ask this.

R came shuffling up toward Max, dragging the man he'd just killed behind him like luggage and leaving a wet trail in the sand that didn't smell quite right. Food was food, though, and he'd already mowed through most of the girl. No point being picky. R was already avoiding Max's eyes as he started groaning, staring at his feet instead of his face. Guilty and just as red-handed. These people probably would've been alive if things had been different.

"Take. For...later?" R kept right on staring miserably at Max's feet, trying not to let the fresh blood distract him. The hunger was being greedy, eyes always bigger than R's stomach, and sniffing at Max because he was even fresher than the others. "Don't...want this - "

He waved a hand back at Max's kill-site back there. Enough was enough. No more feeling horrified Wyatt's buddy had to murder people who didn't deserve it, just because they were there, convenient, not Wyatt.

Edited 2013-08-10 12:21 (UTC)

Maximus didn't really want to look at R but he did, coming to a halt, turning in the sand. He hurt everywhere, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving throbbing pain in its wake, but he forced it to the back of his mind, to deal with later. He needed to get back alright.

He watched the zombie miserably drag the body behind him, watched his vacant, sand-blasted eyes. Don't... want this-

He let out a hard breath.

"No. Nor do I." He said, his voice hard as he looked down at the body, then back up at R. "But you can't bring it back. We can't keep a corpse at the camp, even if Wyatt--" He cut himself off. Even if Wyatt wouldn't be upset. He shook his head.

"You can't even eat the whole thing," He pointed out, gesturing at the arms.

He couldn't? Oh, the whole humans didn't like to be neck-to neck-in- dead-bodies thing. Diseases and infections. R sometimes forgot about that. He dogged on anyway, his leathery mouth pressing into a line as he decided you know what, he wanted to argue for a change. Make a stand.

"Keep it...away. Eat...when hungry. Make it...work," R said, blowing out that last word with the gasp of a boy's death rattle, the most he's dared to say directly to Max. Arguing was harder than it looked. Feeling that cool stare, flat and hard, didn't help. "Please."

It was either that or Max murdered someone and left him out here to rot for the coyotes. Seems messed up if you ask him.

He guessed something was up with the arms when he'd grabbed one - it didn't feel right, the blood oozing out this weird white color he felt seemed vaguely familiar. Another friend? Should he be upset? R searched inside himself , waiting for that moment where it'd dawn on him like it had with Aunamee, and got nothing. R shrugged. Like he told Max, he'd make it work. Eat around the parts the hunger turned its nose at.

Maximus lowered his gaze to the body - to the inhuman arms. What would happen if R tried to eat them? Could monsters even eat monsters?

"Fine." He said finally, flatly. "Bring him. We don't take him into the shelter. We'll find somewhere close by where you can... stash him." He looked vaguely disgusted at the idea. "But don't eat the arms. Whatever they are made of, it isn't flesh and blood."

He considered just cutting them off, right there, but he was tired, losing blood, and besides, R should be able to eat around them.

It disconcerted him, to have the zombie speak to him like this. It was almost easier to forget that there was a boy under there somewhere, that R was something too far from human to ever consider the same. But it wasn't true, and something about that truth bothered him more deeply than the eating and the hunger ever did.

R was only to happy to agree. No problems there. Surprised it'd gone that easily, R bobbed his head in a nod. "Okay. Thank...you."

He meant it, and not just about the dead man he planned to drag around. For the other stuff. Playing corpse-sitter. Giving him another chance despite what happened with Javert. R peered at Max, straining to make out his face; between the dark and his failing eyes, he couldn't make out much, nothing to work with aside from his voice and his smell. Giving up, R grunted and turned. Struggling to hold his breath because Max was still bleeding, R obediently started to shuffle ahead of him, dragging his leftovers. Stay in front where Max could see him. With that girl fluttering around in his body, he could concentrate now, remember all the stuff like the rules like No Biting and Hands To Yourself - maybe even remember which way was back "home".

Maybe today wasn't such a bad day. Murdering and cannibalism aside.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tell me, why don't you kill me, and put a gun against my head

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

zombie cannibalism warning

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Wrap up here?