((Maxwell Lombardi continued from Cruel Justice))
He'd gotten carried away.
It had been several hours since Maxwell had fled from the changing room, leaving his work unfinished and at the mercy of some french ponce, and the young Brit STILL couldn't get over the fact that he had been so careless once again. That was TWICE in a row that he nearly got himself killed, maybe even three times... All for entirely pointless reasons as well, just to make it sting all the more.
Still, it didn't sting as much as the injuries Maxwell had received at the hands of BOTH girls.
Before heading into the tunnels, the ambitious young killer had decided to quickly stop off at one of the many shacks that made up the mines. Not just any old shack either, but one which he recognised far too well.
So... This is where it all began.
The shack which Maxwell had entered in was surprisingly untouched, considering how long it had been since he first woke up in the very same bunkbed that took up a good portion of building. There was the cobwebs, the dusty bed, the creaky floorboards...
...And of course, the camera that was STILL watching his every movements.
Still, ignoring the camera's ever watching eye, the young Brit quickly got to work on treating his injuries as best as he could. After all, he couldn't stay in this shack for long. Not with that french harlot looking out for him. At the very best though, he could make sure that his wounds don't get infected. Nothing said "anticlimax" better than dying from an infected wound. Thankfully, though, the injuries were not AS severe as Maxwell first suspected they were. The bullet had grazed Maxwell's right arm, and whilst it was an undeniably painful experience, he could still move it about without much trouble. However, the injury itself would need to be stitched. Something Maxwell didn't really have the time for... So, for now, he applied some antiseptics and bandaged it up so that he could properly treat it somewhere else. Other then that, the wound had proved to be more of an annoying then it had been crippling...
The injury to his face, however, was far more painful.
Not in a physical sense though. Whilst it certainly stung, it was nowhere near as painful as getting shot was. Plus, the cut itself had missed his left eye by mere inches, and the blood had thankfully been washed off long before he could dry on his face.
Nevertheless, that didn't change the fact that he now had a disfiguring scar across his cheek from just underneath his left eye to the left side of his chin.
A constant reminder of what happens when he let himself get carried away.
Now that he thought back on what he'd done, he couldn't believe how careless he'd been. At the time, he was so angry at that fact that the topless girl he'd fought had survived, so insanely furious that he'd nearly burnt to death for no reason, that the moment when Sarah sliced across his face only served to further infuriate him beyond recognition. After all the crap he'd been through on the island, all the complete and absolute BULLSHIT, that had quite possibly been the final straw.
That is why he had beaten her so thoroughly. Why he had treated her like some kind of human punching bag. Because in a sense, that's what Sarah Atwell became. A living dummy for him to vent all the frustration that had been building up throughout his stay on the island. As he'd continued to pummel her senselessly, in Sarah's face Maxwell saw the face of everyone who had ever dared to cross him and get away with it. Nick, Reiko, Whatshername... He even briefly glimpsed Danya for a second as he broke the girl's yapping jaw.
But that wasn't enough for Maxwell. No, physically beating someone to within an inch of their life was FAR too easy. Any old bastard with fists could that. Which was why he'd decided that it would be fun to be a little more... Creative. After all, it was only fair that Sarah would die in a manner eerily similar to how he suspected she'd won her little BKA. It was surprising how easy it was to inflict such painful injuries with such a little weapon, how simple it had been for him to make her life a living hell.
And STILL it hadn't been enough. No, Maxwell had to take it one step further. Had to drive the final nail in the coffin in order to completely satisfy his desire to quench the stress that had been building up since he first arrived. And seeing her like that, half naked and completely helpless, he almost couldn't help himself...
...That of course, was when the french bitch showed up.
In all the confusion, he'd only managed to grab his gun and his bag on the way out. His favourite white jacket on the other had, which he'd worn for god knows how long, was lost after he had left it back in the changing room. That was more than a little irritating, to say the very least...
Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now. After all, the end result was still the same. There wasn't any way on earth that Sarah Atwell would survive the night, not after what he'd done to her. Besides, he'd wanted to kill her himself ever since he first heard her name on the announcement. And, in retrospect, that's exactly what he'd done. So what if she happened to scar his face? At least he wasn't dead... Plus, once he won, he could always pay to have it removed. Come to think of it, it wouldn't hurt to have complete plastic surgery to change his appearance entirely. There would undoubtedly be many, many people out there who would want him dead after the actions he'd committed. Then again, whose to say that he couldn't simply move to some spanish island and spend the rest of his life in luxury?
The more Maxwell thought about it, the more he wanted to get this all over with as soon as possible.
However, before he left the shack, there was one more thing he needed to check. Throughout the island, whilst looting other people's bags, he couldn't help but notice that a lot of people seemed to have TWO packs. Their daypack and their usual schoolbags. At first, Maxwell simply assumed that you were only allowed the bag you got assigned with, but now...
After one last quick search, Maxwell found what he was looking for stuffed underneath his bed.
Namely his expensive brown dufflebag.
Well now, would you look at that...
As much as he wanted to get changed right there and then into something different, Maxwell also realised that doing so would only make him a target. Best to wait until he was somewhere that was DEFINITELY safe first before changing.
And so, with two bags over his shoulders and a glock in his hand, Maxwell made his way into the tunnel entrance in an attempt to bypass the mountain that stood between him and his destination...
...several hours later, he was still looking for an exit.
God damnit, there must be a way out SOMEWHERE around here!
With only his compass and a flashlight to aid him, Maxwell had wondered along the winding passageways almost nonstop, with only one or two breaks in order to catch his breath. He was beginning to consider that perhaps taking the direct route underneath the mountain wasn't such a bright idea after all, seeing as he was almost certain that he was completely lost by this point.
Nevertheless though, after walking around the hundredth corner in a row, there on the other side of the tunnel shone the telltale light of freedom.
Ah, FINALLY! Its about bloody time as well...
With a grin on his face, the ambitious young killer made his way out of the tunnel and back into the real world with a definite destination in mind, which from the looks of things wasn't that far away.
After all, what better place to treat a grievous injury then an infirmary?
((Maxwell Lombardi continued elsewhere...))
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- Joined: February 25th, 2010, 7:15 pm
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Brian Zhdanovich - Homestead
Ruby Forrester - Shopping Mall
Jenna Rhodes - Hotel
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