Simon winced, even though it wasn't him being hurt. It wrenched his heart to see Madison bleeding and in pain. He didn't know where their relationship stood, but Simon was certain of one thing at least: he loved her.
"I'm sorry Madi," he apologised. "But what uh... he says makes sense, we need to get it cleaned out, otherwise there's gonna be all sorts of crap inside the wound: it will make things worse than they already are." Simon gave the painkillers to Madison, smiling his thanks to Lenny. "Hey, I didn't get your name: I'm Simon. Thanks for the help,"
He didn't get a chance to hear the reply though, as another voice broke the silence. Simon's head snapped around, and he spotted two girls emerging from the bushes. He recognised neither, though he was reassured by the fact that the pair didn't appear to be armed in a way which was likely to cause them to be killed... at least from afar.
Simon place the water bottle down and drew his laser dazzler, resting it on his cast and aiming it towards the two girls. He was counting on the darkness, and the shape of the dazzler, to make it seem like he was directing a gun at them. He had no intention of shooting, but it paid to be careful.
"Someone's hurt here," he called in reply. "How many in your group?" Simon wanted to trust, like he had Brad and Terrie, but that had been an entirely different situation all over. He couldn't help but feel suspicion tugging at him.
(Bobby continued from: Misery's End
That poor, poor bastard... what a life he had, the Program was just the crowning moment of it. Oh yeah, and then I killed him. I wonder,,, was I putting him out of his misery, or just writing the last chapter of a book of torment?
Bobby Jacks, B06 sighed and kept pushing forward. His thoughts kept getting dragged back to his status... both morally and mentally. It was an undeniable fact to him: he was now a three
time murderer - four if he counted Wolfe, but he had his doubts about that one. Christopher Straton, Tyson Neills and now Ricardo Chee, that was what he knew for concrete. It didn't matter if he made it to the end without taking another life, he was damned even before he reached the game.
The burly boxer's body crumpled to the ground almost of its own volition. Bobby sat on the sand for a few moments, allowing the sounds of the sea to wash over him. It was a strange kind of peace, as always, it was fleeting. In the distance, Bobby heard voices, and the logical, methodical thoughts which had compelled him to start playing in the first place once again urged him to take up his carbine and pick up another couple of kills.
Bobby shook his head.
"No, I'm not some mindless robot, following my programming. I make my own
decisions," Bobby thought about that for a few moments: it wasn't true... no matter what he had to say about it, he was, and always would be a killer. The only way out was to kill even more... Bobby looked down at the scalpel in his belt, and after considering it for a second or so, tugged it out.
He raised the weapon to the light: noting that it still had a reddish tinge to the blade, and similar on the handle. It had found its mark no fewer than four times, even if twice it had been an accident on the part of its owners. Bobby shuddered: he hoped it would prove kinder to its newest master. He raised the blade again and touched it to his cheek: the point at which he had been cut in his last fight.
"Penance..." he murmured, cutting the skin gently with the blade. He felt blood trickle down his face, and pain began assaulting him, but Bobby ignored it, making another, long cut just above. Bobby could feel the flow of blood from the twin wounds now: not a great deal, but hardly inconsiderable. Bobby made not a murmur, swapping to the opposite hand, and scoring two similar lines across his other cheek. One for each death.
Bobby dabbed at the wounds with his shirt, staining it red, up until the point the bleeding began to slow and he felt sure he didn't look like he was wearing a crimson mask. He got to his feet and looked grimly in the direction of the voices, before heading in that general direction. Before long, he spotted the source: no fewer than six
people, quite an array. The 'player' part of him, would have liked nothing better than to charge in there and gun them all down: or at least as many of them as he could, but even if they weren't armed, it was much the same situation as with Ric. He just couldn't bring himself to shoot somebody. Was stabbing better? He didn't know. For some reason, much as he hated to think of it in that way: Bobby wanted to give the prey a sporting chance.
The boxer squinted, and realised that one of the faces in the distance was familiar: or at least, seemed so. It looked as if Madison was still alive... Putting the gun on one shoulder, he narrowed his eyes and continued to look at the group. Ideally, he would have tried a trick, but Madison being there blew that out of the water: unless of course, a haircut and a couple of cuts was enough of a disguise to stop somebody he had used as a human shield
from recognising him. Bobby decided to hover in the background and see what happened: two people appeared to be joining the group, it could end up giving him an opportunity to act.