Watching that scene on the TV had made Feliks feel another heavy weight of reality, but it seemed people were just dying all around them anymore. Yet, there he still stood, facing a hall of numbers once again, and feeling confused. He was so over these stupid, stupid games, he felt he wasn't winning and that there wasn't really a chance to anyway.
For the first time, head just poking out of her room, not wanting to join the others, she watched the video, forced herself to pay attention. It was okay, Arthur's not here, he's at his delightful house recording this for some silly wee game show that's happening back in Britain. Just a coincidence that the sick bastard behind this was using the footage...b-but then why do they seem... "N-no," She whispered, finally leaving the room and instantly grasping at Ivan's arm, "This is for the Beeb, he's not here...he can't be
( ... )
He can't feel anymore. Nothing. He can't cry. He can't smell, taste, feel, touch - but he knows Rory is in his arms. They look like ghosts, eyes like a cat's, so wide and catching every wavelength of light that falls upon them and then reflecting it back, rejecting it.
He hopes that Ion's neck snapped before asphyxiation took him. He hopes that Natalia went down with a fight. He hopes Alfred went numb before the pain took him. Stupid boy... Superman was supposed to be able to stop bullets. Why couldn't he... why did Ivan envy him? Why did he want that bullet?
He moves like a puppet. His ties off his scarf behind his head - he can't see, even with eyes open, he doesn't want to see. He doesn't want to see Rory cry even though no tears come from her eyes. He doesn't want to see the white room, the visage of his great-grandfather looming over him. He can't feel that clammy yet comforting hand on his shoulder because he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to feel.
Sindre stared expressionlessly at the doors. Random chance lay between them and the final round of voting. One round away from going to his brother, or going on without him.
Pain. Everything she saw was pain. Pain on the screen, in the people around her, in Remy. Thera took her partner's hand hand tightly in her own, though for who's comfort exactly none could say. Thera didn't know what to think- how to react to Alfred and Arthur's deaths. They were the ones she'd envied (and hated due to that envy) since the beginning of the game, and now?
"C'mon," she whispered to Remy, giving the girl a tug to usher some semblance of life back into her. "Let's pick a door."
;A; Broked mah brainz.remyleeNovember 8 2010, 19:11:22 UTC
Remy barely heard Thera, and just let herself be towed along, numb. Rory's screams echoed through her chest, and something in her answered, but.... It was just too much. She didn't have any more tears, any more shock or horror to spare for this. It was the last straw, and her mind just ... broke
( ... )
Comments 11
He took his luck with Door Number 7.
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He hopes that Ion's neck snapped before asphyxiation took him. He hopes that Natalia went down with a fight. He hopes Alfred went numb before the pain took him. Stupid boy... Superman was supposed to be able to stop bullets. Why couldn't he... why did Ivan envy him? Why did he want that bullet?
He moves like a puppet. His ties off his scarf behind his head - he can't see, even with eyes open, he doesn't want to see. He doesn't want to see Rory cry even though no tears come from her eyes. He doesn't want to see the white room, the visage of his great-grandfather looming over him. He can't feel that clammy yet comforting hand on his shoulder because he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to feel.
Door Number 10.
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He wasn't sure which he'd prefer.
He opened Door Number 3.
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"C'mon," she whispered to Remy, giving the girl a tug to usher some semblance of life back into her. "Let's pick a door."
She scanned her bar code at door eight.
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door number 9.
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