Realistic or Modern 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 — at the end of the world

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Cells​

Theo had never been to prison before. Not until now. Not before, when everything was normal. Sure, he’d seen snippets of them in movies and on television before, but it pales in comparison to the real thing. The only thing worse was the real thing after months and months of the world having ended and the inmates running the show. Truthfully, Theo had hoped that maybe the guards or police or army or something had the run of the place, but he wasn’t surprised to find out that the inmates run things here. He was pretty sure he saw that in a movie too.

That movie didn’t end well at all.

Planting their homemade radio-jamming devices hadn’t taken as long as he feared it would with Maren’s help. She didn’t talk much, which was unnerving - but maybe he talked too much. It was hard to tell. When they were done, Maren darted off elsewhere to go ‘take care of something’. He had a sneaking suspicion that meant she was going to go help make someone eat lead in a few minutes, based on the way she said it. He was probably better off sticking with Haewon, though she also looked mad enough to shoot someone at this point. He wasn’t about to ask why.

The next step of their plan was actual insanity and he really had to weigh his options here. Help, and probably die, or not help, and probably die.

Super great options! He hated this place.

Handgun in hand - which he did actually know how to use, thanks for asking - and pressed against a wall behind Haewon, he held his breath as she peered around the corner. They were in the solitary confinement wing, where supposedly some people were being held. One of which was a doctor. It seemed ridiculous to throw an important person like a doctor in a cell, and only after Maren had caught him up on the prison politics did he really fully appreciate the massive pile of shit he just stumbled into.

Being a rebel sounded more cool when it was in Star Wars. Being a rebel in real life was actually terrifying as shit.

Meeting Haewon’s gaze, he nodded as she silently counted down. Three…. Two…. one… and showtime. He followed a few steps behind Haewon, slipping in behind her after the guard hit the floor. He couldn’t help but flinch at the second shot to the temple to finish him off. Cold, but merciful, at the same time - and it kept the guard from coming back later as another problem.

Theo crouched down at the guard’s side, rummaging for keys. For some reason he expected them to just be dangling there at his side, all obvious-like, but of course they weren’t. He had to rummage through a dead man’s pockets, and when he couldn’t find them in the man’s pants pockets to the side, he grabbed the body and rolled it onto its side.

“Asshole kept them in his back pocket.” He grumbled, sliding a jangling circle of keys out of the dead guard’s back pocket with a look of distaste on his face. One thing they don’t often show in movies is how, once you’re dead, your bowels start to let loose.

Theo flipped through the keys as he stood. There were several of them, and it wasn’t very obvious which was a key to a jail cell and which wasn’t. Some of them looked weird, some of them looked like regular house keys of all things. He might just have to try all of them until one worked - presuming one would work at all.

“Keep keepin’ watch,” Theo asked, peering carefully up and down the hallway. Those gunshots made a hell of a lot of noise and he expected people to come running any second. Their time was limited. So far, nobody else was around.

It was a Godsend that each door had a little window in it - it meant Theo could peek inside before trying the door. This allowed him to skip several empty cells until he found one with someone inside.

“Oh fuck,” He breathed out. All he could see when he peered inside was a body laying on the floor from the waist down - stripped down to boxers and socks. Was that the doctor? Maren had told him the doctor’s name was Victor, but he’d never seen the doctor before so even if he’d seen the face, would he know? He had to check anyway, because if this was for nothing, they could at least get out faster.

Theo attempted to jam one key into the lock. It didn’t work - he couldn’t even get it in. He tried a second one. It slid in half way, then no more. Then another, and another, and fuck this wasn’t working. It was the sixth key he tried that finally slid in and turned. The click as the door unlocked made him sigh with relief - though he was still cautious about what he’d find on the other side with that body. Was it one of the wasted?

“Victor? We’re here to get you o-”

Theo flinched and sucked in a breath as suddenly he was met with a fist grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt and shoving him backwards into the opposite wall. Before he knew how to react, he was being pinned to the wall with a broken metal bar at his throat.

The man - late thirties, sweaty brown hair dangling in his face - was on him in an instant. The broken metal pipe was rusted and snapped off at one end, and he wasn’t sure what it was from. Too narrow to be plumbing, that was for sure. The man was dressed only in his boxers and a tank-top, stained with sweat, grime, and blood. Dark circles were under eyes that darted up and down the hall like a cornered animal. Dried blood covered the man’s hands, streaked his shirt, and was splattered in fine droplets on his neck and face. Bruises were everywhere - shoulders, arms, chest, and face.

Theo’s first thought was that he looked crazy.

His second thought was that this was a bad idea and he’d picked the wrong cell.

Miaow NanLia Bullyboy Squad Crono ​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Cells​

The scraping and chinking against the door’s keyhole filled the entire cell with noise. An easy thing to do, given how it was dead silent inside. Victor was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, metal bar in hand. Waiting for Elio.

He hadn’t noticed it while laying on the cot; it wasn’t until he needed something more firm under him to keep him grounded did he notice the rust on both ends of the leg of the cot's metal frame. It took a fair amount of effort and strength to wriggle the bar loose - first by kicking it free on one end, then wiggling it back and forth and back and forth until it snapped at the other end. The cot wasn’t so usable now, what with the way it slanted downwards away from the wall to the foot-end of the mattress, but he didn’t care. The ends of the bar were jagged, sharp, and rusty while the metal bar itself was otherwise solid and sturdy in the middle. It would make for a good weapon, whether it be to bludgeon or to shove it into someone.

That was precisely what he intended to do to Elio. No more games, no more fucking around, no more playing dumb, no more of all this bullshit. He’d heard the guards outside gossiping when they changed shifts: Weston was caught and was going to hang. While he doubted Weston would talk, he didn’t know what kind of shit they put him through first, nor did he know what anyone else knew. His thoughts drifted back to Tanner, and his grip around the bar tightened. Maybe Elio wasn’t going to be the only one to eat rusty iron.

Whatever else was going on out there, Weston hanging meant he was fucked and he needed to get free, find Hughes, find some damn clothes and shoes, and get the hell out of here.

Victor waited near the door, wondering why it was taking so damn long for it to be unlocked, but preparing himself to bullrush whoever opened it. He didn’t wait for the person on the other side to finish his sentence or step inside - the second the door was open, he was out - grabbing the man by the shirt, shoving him into a wall, and holding the bar across his throat.

The guy - the kid, honestly - wasn’t what he expected. He was expecting one of the enforcers, so he knew he had to move fast before he got shot, but instead he wound up with a scrawny kid that looked like he was about to piss his pants, giving him a wide-eyed stare and rambling something about getting out.

Wait, getting out? Victor felt his eye twitch and he glanced down the hallway, catching a glimpse of Haewon, before looking back to the kid.

“Give me this,” Victor growled as he yanked the handgun out of Theo’s hand as he took the metal bar off his neck, the kid offering essentially no resistance. Clearly on his side, and not an enforcer. At least he let Theo keep the keys - for now. Victor checked the weapon and made sure it was loaded and ready to fire.

Handgun in one hand, metal bar in the other, Victor stayed close to the wall and moved quickly towards Haewon - steps easier to keep silent even when moving fast thanks to his lack of footwear.

“I need shoes, clothes, a way out, and a goddamn cigarette.” He hissed at Haewon, peeking around the corner behind her. “So lead on.”

Miaow NanLia Bullyboy Squad Crono ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber

The kick slammed his lungs empty and he lost his footing. Cabrera dropped off height. He hit his head and ribs to the concrete, stars bursting behind his eyelids. His pistol skittered across the floor, just out of reach. Dazed and winded he dragged his chin up and looked around through the dust and chaos. People clashed, gunshots cracked through the air, bullets chewing flesh and concrete. Streaks of fresh blood dripped from his brow down his nose, threatening to sting in his eye and blind him.

His vision cleared just enough to catch Weston’s bulk charging across the room. Desperate. Running for his life. Arms tied he had no way to block the knife. Knife! Cabrera’s ribs screamed in protest, but instinct screamed louder—move. He hurled his weight and snapped up his gun, muscle memory kicking in. The weight in his palms familiar as breathing. His aim set on Weston’s back. Center mass. Perfect shot. But he let the iron sights slide and lock on the real target.

Clean shot under the armpit of the arm that raised the blade to strike Weston. The bullet pierced and jerked the attacker’s body. It dropped him spasming to the floor, blood rapidly pooling around him.

Concrete scraping his palm, Ignacio pushed up to his feet. The room tilted. His head throbbed, vision doubled, then snapped back into focus. Searching for one man now. He saw him, he saw King behind the VIP section where people lay hiding or shooting from cover. He saw King and his lips parted at the sight.

​

Namazu NanLia Tool @BeyondDandy Safton @spottednewt
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[Tool]

Lincoln
Execution Chamber​

Madison didn't have to wait long for Cabrera to get away from Weston, though not of his own volition; from Madison's perspective, Cabrera went pinwheeling off the gallows thanks to a well-placed boot on his keister. Now that Cabrera didn't have Weston behind him, protecting the former from Madison's bullet, she aimed at Cabrera's skull and made to squeeze one home..... but Weston's shouted plea stayed her hand. Only one eye had anybody home when she looked up at the leader of the Rebels, moving away from his swinging dissolution at a stumbling lope, but the intellect in her chestnut gaze remained sharp as a wet razor. Did Weston think there was a shortage of bullets to go around? Did he underestimate his hangman?

Detective Jones had a bad feeling about this.

Nonetheless, if there was any time to keep her trap shut and fall in line like a good little soldier, this was it. With only a hair's hesitation, her arm swung towards King. Or, more accurately, towards the thicket of guards, right-hand goons, and pompous pricks ready to throw themselves between King and harm's way.

Her way.

With a calm that came with clarity of purpose mixed with a rainbow of drugs, Madison let her breath out slow and chose another target. Compensate for the bad eye. Anticipate the movement.

Bang. Rinse and repeat. Apply directly to face. Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Maybelline.

It was way easier to get a nice, clean shot when one was standing in front of god and everybody, back straight and pathologically unafraid, accepting the inevitability of death as a fair trade for doling out death to others. Though she wasn't looking to get herself perished, there wasn't much to keep her going except what was right in front of her: monsters. And, to be fair, being on PCP helped with the bravery.

Several more guards went down, none of them with anything less than a headshot. Center mass would only compound the problem.

Keep calm. Do the job.

When Weston came near, yelling to be let loose, Madison wordlessly holstered the gun in her off hand and drew something between a machete and a military hunting knife, and though she put the blade in place against the rope, she didn't dare drop her primary weapon.

"Saw!" She yelled in Weston's ear, bracing the handle of the cutter against her hip and returning her gaze to the sights of her gun. If Weston sliced himself open, that was fuckin on him.

Line it up. Breathe. Be sure. Take the shot.

Bang. Repeat. Bang. Repeat. Bang.

Bullyboy Squad Namazu

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber​

Tigran thought all of this was fucking offensive. He’d seriously considered trying to find a way to poison the ranking leadership that gathered around King. Maybe a spiked bottle of wine or tampered-with soup. Unfortunately, he had zero knowledge of how such things worked, nor did he have a plan he could pull off in time for the execution.

The way the enforcers and trusted lackeys gathered around King, flocking to him like he was some fucking God, was cult-like and sickening. The way they talked about Weston - a man he knew better than all of them - was filthy and awful. They were all wrong. All of them. He’d never liked any of these people; he only ever tolerated them for his survival. But now? He could barely keep his mouth shut.

The worst of it was the way people who had previously called themselves his friend stood down and stepped away, clearing the path for him to die. Some friends they were. It only went to show the character of the people here if that was what they were willing to do. He cast a few burning glances at Temma. That black sequined dress, like the kind a cheap whore would wear to a funeral, got under his skin. Some friend she was. A friend doesn’t put more effort into their clothing, hair, and makeup for an execution than they did for trying to stop the execution. Not that he ever truly felt like Temma was his own friend. Oh sure, he acted friendly - because that was his fucking job.

He had been more or less willing to play the Samaritan’s stupid games to keep himself protected at first, even if he spent more than enough nights sobbing in his shower or hanging his head over a toilet sick at his own actions. But he knew he couldn’t do it forever. If it weren’t for the rebellion, if it didn’t look like there was any way out of this, he probably would have eaten a bullet already. That was the thing he couldn’t let die here. It wasn’t just about Weston. It was about hope. The hope that they could get out from under this torture and not live every day terrified and disgusted and contemplating whether life here was better than no life at all.

And that was exactly why Tigran came up with his plan.

The handgun was tucked under the front of his waistband, safety on but loaded. He didn’t dare put it behind his back or at his side, knowing how at any point any of these Samaritans could decide to get handsy with him. Many didn’t - many were toxically hetero, but that didn’t stop some people from trying to play grab-ass with him. He ducked down behind others as people started reacting to the shooting and shouting, watching as Derek covered Temma and started ordering people around. Some hit the floor and covered their heads, as if that’d stop a bullet, and others tried to take cover. Some whipped out their weapons but seemed uncertain who to aim for.

Bounding off the small stage area King had set up on and where some of the other “entertainers” were gathered, Tigran motioned for the startled whores around him to follow. “I’ll get them to cover!” he shouted, just in case anyone could hear him or noticed he was moving away. A likely story. Of course Temma had warned them more than once that if things get dicey, tuck tail and run. They were merchandise, and damaged merchandise doesn’t earn its keep.

The funny thing is, sometimes damaged people can do a lot more damage when they finally lash out. And that’s what they were. People, not merchandise.

Not all of the whores were in on it. The ones with the least backbone, the ones broken down so far that they could hardly function, were left out of the plan. Those were the ones that were being shepherded out a doorway, crying and shrieking and pale. Four others though, just as resolute and angry as Tigran, were ready to end this bullshit or die trying.

The small group, dressed in their nice and clean designer jeans, tailored suit jackets, and tight dresses, hopped off the stage and for a split second, looked like they were running too. Until, that is, they all pulled concealed weapons out, took aim, and started pulling the trigger. They’d cover the back as much as they could, squeezing King’s people in. There would be no easy sneaking out the back.

The five of them took down an equal number of enforcers - some directly standing with King’s entourage, others rushing towards them. None of them could get a good clear shot of King yet, but Tigran kept his eyes open for the chance. What he did have, though, was a split second opportunity of another kind in front of him.

The crowd parted slightly, and several feet in front of him lay Temma, with Derek over her and shielding her body. He had a clear shot of Derek’s head and back. Tigran raised his weapon and took aim.

NanLia Safton Bullyboy Squad ​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamer​

The moment Toni heard the lock explode, his body dropped into cover. Knowledge sharpened by instinct—he knew exactly what was going on. The world exploded in blinding white but his eyes were squeezed shut, covered with his palms. Screams erupted as the bangs went off, but they were muffled by his ear protection.

Rebels stormed in with gunfire. Brass casings pinged off concrete, bodies hit the floor. More screams. More chaos. Toni and his men didn’t join it. He stayed put, waiting and listening as both sides blazed through their magazines until they were halfway through and… Click. Click. Click. Dummy rounds you stupid fucks.

Toni and his men sprung up from cover. He zeroed in on the King nearby—a group of enforcers covering the big man from the other side, where the enemy was. They didn’t know shit. Toni stepped over and shoved the loaded Glock to the back of King's head. He didn’t even have to bark any orders. As confused shooters on both sides tried to check their ammo, one of Toni’s men aimed an automatic AK up and sent a burst of gunfire into the ceiling. To nail everybody’s attention when Toni shouted.

“Shut the fuck up!” His gaze skipped between faces of high ranked Samaritans as well as rebel leaders—his boys now aiming at both groups. Toni smirked when the chamber gradually grew quiet. “For once in your life, you gon’ shut the fuck up and listen.”

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber​

Neveah watched the gathered crowd in the pit, the various levels of elite gathered under King’s law, here to witness the death of one of his officers. It was … disgusting. Anyone else would have combated against a fighter from Derek’s team, had their skull crushed and then they would have gone one to party.

But of course not, the privileged get privileges even when their traitorous fucks. She snapped her gum, the noise muted from the earplugs, and after a rather loud bubble pop that earned her looks from solemn attendees, she raised her hands placating and moved away from them, further back and against the wall. It was almost time anyway.

The doors burst open and she turned her back, waiting for the feel of the flashbang in her core to dissipate before she turned back and the scene before her was glorious. The Monster, Dr. Frankenstein's, raged in glorious fury, aiming without second thought or consideration before firing. If she were anyone else, Nev might have idolized the bitch, or at least attempted to recruit her.

She kept herself busy, helping the rebels take out any elite that didn’t immediately cower though there was one person in particular she was looking for. Dutchess. That bitch needed to die, for real this time. She knew too much and if she uttered a word she was fucked. Unfortunately, she didn’t spot her before Toni was shouting orders from where the elites sat and she knew she didn’t have time to do it now … it’ll have to wait until later.

Neveah pushed and shoved her way through the infighting, blasting anyone that got in her way until she was there, behind Madison as she freed Weston. As silence broke over the pit, people looking to where Toni and his team were, Nev lifted her pistol, letting the barrel settle on the back of Madison’s skull. “Apologies, Monstrua. This isn’t going to go the way you had planned…”

Bullyboy Squad Safton Crono Namazu Tool Good_Morels Miaow kaileaf ​