Bobby cursed softly when all of the remaining people standing around outside the hospital decided to make a break for it. Evidently, his attempt to change his appearence hadn't gone very well... The boxer thought about loosing a shot after those fleeing, but the distance was so great as to make it an exercise in futility and a simple waste of bullets. Well... at least until one of them tripped and fell whilst they were running away.
He immediately began to sprint - hoping to catch them before they could scramble to their feet. When he felt he was close enough, Bobby snapped off a shot with his carbine: feeling both exhilarated and somewhat sad as he saw the shot tear into the back of his prone classmate. Bobby's justification was shakey at best, all he could come with was: nobody would believe that he was acting in self-defence when he killed Tyson. It was a flimsy excuse and he knew it, he had attempted to trick and kill those at the lookout before
the announcement. The only real reason Bobby could find was fear, and a primal instinct for self-preservation, just as he had said to Danya via the camera.
"I am steeped in blood, so deep that to return would be as tedious to go o'er..." Bobby smiled ruefully. He might not have quoted that exactly right, but it described his predicament to a T. He had pledged himself to this, and there was no going back now. Bobby forced himself not to look away as he flipped the corpse over. Aside from the bullet hole in his chest, there also appeared to be some sort of metallic implement wedged in his ribcage. The boxer frowned and wondered: was it the blade, or the bullet that killed him? He supposed that the second announcement would enlighten him, when it finally came about.
Bobby grimaced and tugged at the instrument stuck into the body, and, with a little effort, pulled it free, revealing it to be a rather bloodstained scalpel. Glancing sidelong at one of the other bodies on the ground (this hospital was a damn charnel house!) Bobby saw that its throat was torn open. Bobby presumed she had suffered a similar fate to this unfortunate before him. When he pocketed the scalpel, alongside his bloody syringe, Bobby took great care positioning it so that it wouldn't
risk stabbing him. He could most certainly learn from the misfortune of others.
Bobby was surprised to spot another two daypacks just lying on the ground nearby, and he was eager to check through them as well. However, it came to nothing. He already had three times the initial number of supplies, any more would simply be uneccessary encumberance. Whilst he believed weapons were good to have, Bobby had to draw the line here. The ski pole he found in the pack labelled 'B26 - McCallum, Gabe' would merely be a less effective version of his golf club, and the fire extinguisher he discovered in the second pack would be too heavy to haul around and also of limited use.
With the area deserted, Bobby relaxed - marginally, for the first time since the game had begun. Sure, there were three dead bodies strewn around outside, but Bobby could be thankful he was not one of them. Judging by Danya's announcement, there was a fourth dead person, Heather Tilmitt, inside, and horribly, that patch of disturbed earth could very well conceal a developing baby.
"Here I am, surrounded by the dead, and all I can think about is that it's four less I have to deal with... I could have killed a second person, if that scalpel didn't already do for him, and I could barely care. What is this game doing to me...?"
Bobby sighed and gratefully sank down to the ground, propping himself up against the wall of the hospital. Although his stamina was prodigious, stress and fatigue were draining even his large reserves. Swinging his pack from his shoulder, Bobby opened it up, pushing aside the ammo and wrench, before grabbing a loaf of bread and a bottle of water, of which he had six and twelve (due to his looting) respectively.
Taking his time, Bobby steadily ate the entire loaf - as he hadn't realised quite how hungry he was before he had started eating. Bobby sighed again, knowing that he had to keep moving, but first, he really had to do something... His dreadlocks were far too conspicious, and, much as Bobby hated to say it, they were hindering his progress.
With a touch of remorse, and a little ceremony, Bobby methodically sawed off each and every one of his long locks, utilising his newly aquired scalpel. The boxer looked down at each of the several tails, and, with a moment's thought, picked one up and stashed that in his pack too, a memento of sorts. It was peculiar to become sentimental about something as trivial as hair, but Bobby had been cultivating it for a long time, cutting it was like saying good-bye to an old friend.
Bobby stood up, and replaced his pack on one shoulder. he regarded the carnage all around him, then set off back into the jungle, his head feeling as if a massive load had been removed from it.
(Bobby continued Misery's End