The Rebel [KurtH6355]

[Lorsh]

"Cool," he says after you tell him about how you view your job in the resistance. He smiles a little at your statement of submission, and continues to ask you questions. "Do you have any family in the city? Mommy and daddy, maybe?" he asks. "I advise that you be truthful."

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"No. I'm an Islander, from Woch. The part controlled by the C.O.F.N. I came here to join the rebellion, to avenge my father and older brothers' deaths in the Mirian Occupation of Eastern Woch." Francis says, speaking freely of his history. "I have but a cousin whom also lives in Miria. In Fosterland."

 

[Lorsh]

"Ah, well... That's all pretty unfortunate, I guess," the man tells you with mock sympathy. "I was thinking we could maybe force you to work for us, but considering you have no family to threaten, I don't see that happening," he says. "Sucks for both of us I guess," he says as he begins to pick at something in his teeth.

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"I suppose it does." Francis says. "However I'd much more prefer me suffering than a member of my Family, so that's good. I'm a half-glass full kinda guy. You cut me, and leave a sick scar, I can show it off to the ladies. Half-glass full kinda guy." Francis continues to his captor.

 

[Lorsh]

"Don't worry. Nobody needs to be cut," the man says. "Though, I'm sure you understand that we can't let you outta here." He thinks for a moment, before looking at you. "Do you really, really enjoy being alive at any cost?" he asks, smirking slightly.

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"If you're asking to what length I'll go to be alive...Within extreme, reason I'd say. Depends on the cost." Francis says, thinking in the middle of his sentence. "However, I would like to be let out of here. What if I say please?" He says, with a charming smile, aiming to be comical. He cracks his neck slowly, his eyes actually wandering to the restraint on his left, looking to spot a weakness in the leather strap. He disguises this act in the subtle and common subconcious gesture. "D'you mind if I spit? I've got somethin' in my throat."

 

[Lorsh]

You can't see anything that would signify a weakness in the strap-- it looks the same throughout its length. Wait. Well, it does look like there is a slightly worn-down, frayed portion. Still, you're handcuffed.


"Spit on your shirt," the man tells you. "That shit's not getting on my floor."

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"I'll just let it sit in there." Francis responded, before relaxing himself and leaning his head back. How the hell did it get like this? Where the fuck were the rebels when they attacked the house?

 

[Lorsh]

"Now, listen. I can arrange for an... alternative to death. We can mess with your head a little-- make you obedient, but it'll cost you your memories and intelligence. Still, you'll be alive. Everybody wins, am I right? Then you'll be our retarded janitor." He chuckles. How merciful.

 

[Lord Bradorian]

"No, I don't accept that alternative. I'd rather you kill me." Francis says simply. "If there's no other option, I accept death." Francis states.

 

[Lorsh]

"That's cool," the man says. Without further ado, he stands up and withdraws his shiny revolver from its holster in one fluid motion.


He then levels it towards your head, and you can see his finger pulling the trigger. For a few moments, it's almost as if everything is seemingly in slow-motion.


The last thing your brain registers is the sound of the gun crashing.








You are dead.


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[Lord Bradorian]

fuck me