02-09-2021, 02:02:08 AM
[Still collapsed on the ground and crying, Pico looks up and sees, through bloodshot and teary eyes, Skiggs going to give Dr. Frankie a piece of his mind, and then Percival doing the same. He wants to join them. He wants to pick himself up off the ground, barge into her office, and tell that bitch exactly how he feels about this whole situation. Maybe even bash her skull in with his Uzi, if he could find the chance...
...But he can't. He can't even muster enough strength to move from his current position. The day's events—hell, this whole week's events have sapped every last ounce of energy from his body. The crazy animals, the jackass boss, the gruesome murders, the meetings and executions, the deaths, the deaths, the deaths—why is he so hung up on the deaths? He's killed people before. Not on this island, mind you, he cares too much for everyone else who was roped into this alongside himself. But he's done it. He thought he was desensitized to death and murder. What was it about this that made it so different?
He angrily slams his fist into the ground, gripping the Uzi with his other hand so tightly that his knuckles have turned stark white. He thinks back to the first day on the job, where he complained about having completely forgotten to bring any ammunition. Looking back, that might've been both a blessing and a curse: His lack of bullets is the only thing keeping him from pointing his gun in his mouth and ending it all right then and there. But it's also the only thing keeping him from blowing Dr. Frankie's head clean off.
Two more days. Two more days, that's all, and this will all be over. He'll be able to go back home, back to Darnell and Nene, back to the Boyfriend and the Girlfriend, back to everyone he cared about before all of this. He might not get to see anyone here ever again, but... he'll always have the memories, right? And besides, he'd also never have to cross paths with her again. He needs to survive this. He needs to win this. He needs to get out. But first, he needs to put up with this bullshit for juuust a little while longer.]
...But he can't. He can't even muster enough strength to move from his current position. The day's events—hell, this whole week's events have sapped every last ounce of energy from his body. The crazy animals, the jackass boss, the gruesome murders, the meetings and executions, the deaths, the deaths, the deaths—why is he so hung up on the deaths? He's killed people before. Not on this island, mind you, he cares too much for everyone else who was roped into this alongside himself. But he's done it. He thought he was desensitized to death and murder. What was it about this that made it so different?
He angrily slams his fist into the ground, gripping the Uzi with his other hand so tightly that his knuckles have turned stark white. He thinks back to the first day on the job, where he complained about having completely forgotten to bring any ammunition. Looking back, that might've been both a blessing and a curse: His lack of bullets is the only thing keeping him from pointing his gun in his mouth and ending it all right then and there. But it's also the only thing keeping him from blowing Dr. Frankie's head clean off.
Two more days. Two more days, that's all, and this will all be over. He'll be able to go back home, back to Darnell and Nene, back to the Boyfriend and the Girlfriend, back to everyone he cared about before all of this. He might not get to see anyone here ever again, but... he'll always have the memories, right? And besides, he'd also never have to cross paths with her again. He needs to survive this. He needs to win this. He needs to get out. But first, he needs to put up with this bullshit for juuust a little while longer.]
SYMPTOMATIC
THIS DISEASE
SO DRAMATIC
PANIC AUTOMATICALLY
THIS DISEASE
SO DRAMATIC
PANIC AUTOMATICALLY