No More Losers

"Just like the banker to the bank, the taxi driver to the taxi, and the President to the White House... All of the assassins arrived to this shithole of a city called Santa Destroy." A Skelter Helter RP blog.

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“Me?  My mornin’s been awesome, bro.”  After the first small hit of morphine for his leg pains, everything had been awesome.  The blood tests.  The X-rays.  The pain.  ”And I’m doin’ real good.  I mean, you’re actually takin’ the time to actually visit me and shit; so I guess I’m doin’ good.  How’s shit outside?  Everybody still hate me?”

At hearing the hipster’s imperious tone, he couldn’t help but grin.  Seems like so long ago, when he last heard ol’ Vinnie talking down at him.  Well, figuratively.  ”I dunno.  Thought ya might have had a change of heart, seein’ that the apocalypse is near.”  Gingerly, he accepted the gift, careful not to damage the already softened cover.  ”If it’s so important to you, then why’re you givin’ it to me?  I don’t read.”

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"That's good to hear, Charlie.  I'm glad you're doing better."  Better?  The guy was laying there, sick and useless, in what could be his deathbed.  They gave him something, he was sure.  No one could possibly be happy where he was now.  At his questions, he kept the truth hidden firmly behind his teeth.  The truth that everyone at school was jumping all over it.  Laughing at the constant re-tellings.  "Everything is doing well in the land of the normal people.  Well.  A lot of them miss you."

He smiled sadly at Charlie's remark.  "I'm afraid people don't change, Charlie.  If they did, we wouldn't even be in this mess."  He wasn't sure what the Army had planned for all of them, but they weren't going to just surrender like good, little sheep.  Not him.  Not his brother.  Not even Charlie.  A silent promise made itself known in his head, one he hadn't made in years.  He was going to stop the LB Army.  If not for his brother, then for his dying friend.  "We both know that's not true.  You need it more than me anyway.  It's a parting gift."

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He scooted himself into an upright position and smiled one of his old, toothy grins as soon as he saw a familiar, pale face peeking through the gap in the door.  ”What’s up, brah?  Didn’t expect to see you here.  Or anybody, actually.  So, you came to see MacD surrounded by nurses?  Dude, I’m real flattered.”

With a knowing grin, he watched Vincent’s hand slide a small book towards him.  Typical, hipster Vinnie.  The once great quarterback was probably in his deathbed, and the best thing that white son-of-bitch could bring him was one of his old, boring books. “Bro, is that a Bible?  Naw man,  I ain’t too into that stuff.  But hey, MacD appreciates your gift.  I’ll read every word of it; I promise.”

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Vincent smiled faintly at the greeting.  Same, old Charlie.  Close to death and still managed to be one of the friendliest pricks he had ever met.  "Good morning, Charlie."  Not, it is not a good morning.  "Just visiting to see how you are faring.  Are- are you doing well here?"

He flipped the worn paperback over, examining the picture of a small cluster of sylvant trees and a bull.  Underneath it, the dark, broken roots of an old tree.  Good and evil.  "I'm an atheist," he says with a terse, condescending tone.  "Why would I give you a Bible?  I- it's East of Eden.  Remember that word?  Timshel?  It's from this novel.  I thought you would appreciate it.  This book means a lot to me, especially now."

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The man in the white coat and scrubs smiles at him from the door. A sad smile.

Cardiomegaly is what he called it. Not the disorder, but a symptom of it. Or rather, an unfortunate development of the longer, crueler condition...

[nutella-assassin-blog]

"Charlie."  He barely opened the door before edging his way in and shutting it behind him.  The bedridden star quarterback didn't want anyone seeing him like that, he was sure.  "You probably think I abandoned you, but I rushed here as soon as I heard the news."

The ranks had taught him not to flinch at the mere visage of suffering, death, or illness.  Even then, the sight of his once mirthful friend, now weak and useless, brought him back a little.  Not taking his eyes off the (now former) athlete, he slid a small book upon his bedside table and shook his head.  "I- got you a present.  It isn't much, but you need this more than I do.  You can read, right?"

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She entered his room without permission, carrying over her shoulder the little injured Matt Helms, and in her right hand, a disfortunate LB Soldier who was missing his two arms and was churning to be freed from the poisonous vixen. "You wanted me to give your responses. This is the real response!"She lendd the little Matt over the bed and cornered the soldier, sitting him on a chair. "Perhaps he can shout us the repsonse we're awaiting, yes? Haha..."

Those red eyes widened from behind those glasses, although his mouth remained in a stiff life.  Without a word, he watched with quiet agitation as the serpentine assassin laid a battered Matt Helms onto his clean bedspread.  He didn't even have any commentary for the armless soldier, who was then spewing blood all over his chair.

"Where- where did you come from?  Where the hell have you two been doing?"  He grimaced at the sight of the armless man.  "And who the fuck is that?  I can't-"

This was the second time someone barged into his room with all this crazy shit.  By now, he should have been expecting it.

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Do you ever wish you were young again? Well *poof* This Magic!Anon is has now reversed your age *poof*

Are you insane?

Of course not.  Do you even know how difficult and complicated my childhood was?  (It wasn't included in the game, me being simply the tutorial boss.)

G- Get that thing away from me!  Stop.  What are you-

*POOF*

Damn it.  Fuck you, Anon.

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Helter´s defeated expression did not change. But his heart felt like being relieved by Vincent’s words. His eyes widened a bit. Was it real? Vincent apologizing…? Helter always thought he would be the one who had to apologize to his brother for leaving him alone for so long, for being another motherfucker assassin in secret. But he never did. And maybe he never would. Why? It was just absurd. The damage was already done, and saying sorry, would not change anything in their lifes. He doesn’t think it would make Vincent feel better anyway.  However, there was his little brother apologizing for his mistakes...

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Vincent had to stop himself from drawing back from the touch.  It was just a hand on his shoulder, yet it was something that meant that his brother was trying hard to express something.  Brother wasn't the type to pussyfoot around something; he always said what was on his mind, straight and clear.  Yet, he could not speak now, of all times.  The small gesture sent a current of fear wallowing in him.  What was his brother trying to tell him?  He was disgusted with him, maybe.  Disgusted by his outburst, his lack of emotion, his callous disregard for other human beings...

All these thoughts of flaws and failed friendships were ousted from his mind when Helter wrapped his arms around him.  Skelter squirmed uncomfortably, bewildered by the show unusual of affection.  His brother was warm, very unlike the cigar-smoking, sailor-mouthed, liquor-drinking assassin that the world knew him as.  It frightened him.  Angered him, almost.  This was not how assassins were supposed to act.  Assassins didn't have friends or family.  They only had weapons and cold, hard money.

He considered shoving him off in a fit of disgust, but he couldn't help but think about how they were when they were both still young and innocent.  A time when he was still happy and not this horrible, unfeeling, pretentious monster of a human being.  A time when all they had was each other.  The last time Helter held him like this was when they were forced to sleep in a park, and the brothers had to clump together for warmth.  It was cold as death, but Brother tried his best to keep him warm.  He didn't even care about himself; he bundled him up in his jacket and just hung onto his little brother as if Death were coming to snatch him away.

Why was he thinking about this now, of all times?  They were both "grown-up".  They no longer had to worry about getting adequate food or finding a safe place to sleep at night.  What was this he was feeling?  A deep pain?  Much worse than just physical pain, surely.  But from where?  His still-human side.  He didn't think it was still alive, but there it was.  Weak.  But still alive.

Mouth twisted into a frown, his own arms slowly raised themselves to return the hug.  This was very much unlike them.  If the other assassins saw this, they would probably murder themselves from disgust.  Yet, he understood now what his brother was trying to tell him, even if it was through such an insignificant gesture.  Even after all that he had done, his brother was still there for him.  Even after finding out about the evil and wicked person that he was, his brother still loved him.

"I guess we must fight for something now that we're alive.  I'm not sure what the army or whoever the fuck runs this place has in store for us, but we'll fight it together.  I'd-  I'd rather fight for a chance to live rather than not live at all."  What he was doing now was not living.  No.  Far from it.  It was simply surviving, just as he had done in the ranks.  "I guess we are worth fighting for."

When his brother finally released him, Vincent broke out in an angry blush.  He adjusted himself, trying to stick that indifferent expression back onto his face.  They were probably not going to talk about this moment for a long time.  "I always keep my revolver loaded, Helter.  After all, I am an assassin."

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OOC Post: Hey Guys, Sorry for the Inactivity

((My Internet was unexpectedly cut off for about three days due to issues with my ISP. 

Everything's back up.

Now if you excuse me, I have to type furiously.))

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” What the…Do not turn a deaf ear to your responsibilities, noting that we all joined the UAA so it’s all everyone’s fault! It was you who offended a fucking depressed psycho, who reacted that way at what your mind speaks! Am I right? Or accepting it maybe offends you?” Then he sigh looking down...

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"Of course I am offended, Brother."  His brother was really bringing out the pissed-off side of him that people rarely see, yet he couldn't help but think of their petty childhood arguments.  Only this was not childhood; this was the real world.  "I am being expected to take responsibility for murders which I did not commit.  I have every right to be offended.  Yes, I admit that I offended her.  Intentionally, too.  However, she is every bit as responsible for her own actions as I am for mine.  Your insinuation that my words pushed her into commiting those acts of violence is the same as blaming the media for school shootings.  It's sophmoric and absurd."

Perhaps his objectivist side was yelling out in protest.  He hadn't been this worked up since his battle with that prick Touchdown.  "Perhaps I did offend a certain Rank Twenty-three.  I'm afraid I cannot be held accountable for her feelings, either.  Last time I checked, I'm not accountable for anyone's emotions except my own.  It's called choice, Brother.  She chose to lash out in such a manner.  Even if we hadn't had that unpleasant exchange, she probably would have killed them anyway.  Besides, anger does not justify murder.  If that were so, then every woman beater and child abuser in this city would be let off the hook."  Ironic, coming from the same person who launched a three-year killing spree to find the murderer of his brother.

Watching his prideful brother's face twist in sadness put a stop to his harsh words.  He had never seen his brother like that, completely overtaken by despair.  It frightened him.  "I-  I'm sorry, Brother.  I should've-  I should've worded myself better."  He was a survivor, even since they were children.  It was in his nature to become defensive when under attack - to always carry a weapon, even if the weapon is his mind.  He never thought he would have to lash out at his own brother.

"Perhaps you're correct."  He had carried his attitude from the ranks with him into this seemingly peaceful world.  Maybe he lost the trust he once had in mankind.  Maybe he never had it to begin with.  Still, Brother's words were full of a kind of honesty he had never seen in him.  Who knew that the more humane of the brothers would turn out to be Helter, the rough-mannered cigar smoker?  "I-  I must be more lenient with people.  At least, for now."

Mercy.  A concept he could not embrace as an assassin.  Yet, if they had any hope for peace in this new Santa Destroy, then they all had to have mercy.  Not only on each other but on themselves, as well.  They had to get over whatever bitchfit they had as assassins and band together.  He wasn't sure what was happening down at the army base, but none of them would stand a chance against them alone.  Maybe it was simple intuition, but he had a feeling that future bloodshed may be necessary, if not inevitable.  "Alright.  My eyes are opened, Brother.  You have me on your side."

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She stopped right now, seeing the Skelter boy with judging eyes. The venomous vixen grabbed her forehead and frowned, negating with the head.”You don’t know anything at all…” babbled, with a strange serious tone.”Suddenly, you want to know everything about me, huh?What’s with the insultant child of the other day?Wanting to talk like an adult…?Let’s go, honey.”Cloe glared willpowered at him,enraged.This is going too far. This life of hers is twisting in ways she doesn’t like at all.

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His expression did not twist at the toxic vixen's notorious wrath. His three years in the underworld numbed whatever sense of fear he had left, yet the weight of their exchange sat heavily in his stomach. Right now was no time for snarky comments or defensive remarks. Every step they took could be on a land mine. "Alright, Cloe. Perhaps I was too quick to judge you the other day. I apologize. I should have not spoken to you in such an unpleasant manner. All I request is an explanation of sorts."

He didn't know much about the top-secret organization, other than the fact that they were the closest thing that Santa Destroy had to a standing military force. The citizens of Santa Destroy readily crawled towards them for leadership after Pizza Batt fell. The city rebuilt itself, destroying everything that it could not sustain. The job market increased. For once, the city was clawing its way out of a crippling financial depression. Her absolute disgust towards their new government made him raise a brow.

"Tools? What do you mean?" Barely any of them remembered how they came back to the world of the living. Most woke up in the most precarious places, no memory of how they ended up there. Yet, Cloe's words incite a feeling of dread deep in the back of his mind. "Why do they need us? What are we to them?" It was a humbling feeling, knowing that an intellectual like him failed to catch on to the possibility of a hidden agenda. Of course. How could he have not realized it sooner? After all, what is a roleplay without some crazy, secret plot?

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bondage-cake:

She was preparing to assault the LB and search for responses about the cheerleaders, but the albino prick just showed in her way. He was talking fast this time. She thought… Why was I naming him in the message…? Cloe bluffed away, trying to not laugh on his face. Violence? What a bad joke, coming from a coward.

“I’m sorry I bothered you with the indication on the message. You’re not related to this. Not really, so please… Stay away. I’ll say this with courtesy one time. Stay-away.”

She wasn’t stoping to chat, she was towards the entrance door.

“My life is something more complicated than the strange loyalty of a diffident hipster like you. This is about the LB army and me, not you. Never will be, so leave me alone. Charlie’s only a puppet for them. A puppet for the use to doom me and Becky. I felt culprit about the killing of the cheerleaders, but they’re the true evil behind this. I’ll kill them all if it’s necessary to stop this charade. Stay away and you won’t die… Last advertisement, child”

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Twenty-three.  This approaching war involves me as much as it does you.  At least, that's what I believe."  He disregarded her haughty indifference towards him.  This was no time for attitudes or snarky remarks.  As much as he didn't like Cloe at the moment, their interaction was crucial at the moment.  He should have realized it earlier.  "I may be a low-ranking assassin, but I feel I deserve an explanation."

He followed her to the entrance, talking at her side the entire time.  "Your life is about to get even more complicated if we don't sort this out right now.  Really, why are you so focused on taking down the LB Army?  What's your purpose?  You can't honestly be planning to march in there by yourself.  They're a powerful corporation, Twenty-three.  They're the only thing the city has left since Pizza Batt.  If you kill them, there will be anarchy.  Chaos in the streets.  For the love of-  Won't you just stop for a moment to talk to me like an adult?  I'm sure we can reasonably just talk this out."

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Helter went into the room and closed the door. He could not help glancing the room, and specially the book. He took it and a short sad smile appeared on his face. A small hit of nostalgia came over him. Since they were children and read stories together, so far, he remembers his brother always...

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"Always am, Brother."  Vincent pushed aside the doorstop of a book and sat down. "Objectivism.  A philosophy for living on Earth.  A logical one, at that."

He looked upon his brother with bored eyes fixed by frameless glasses.  What did Brother need from him so urgently?  Even when they were children, it wasn't common for him to come storming into his room, a serious expression planted on his face.  "Apology accepted, brother.  However, I do not view my isolation as a form of escapism.  Simply, I choose not to associate with the rest of the world.  After all, there aren't many people who are worth my time these days."

Of couse, he didn't mean Helter, even if they did clash once in a while.  With indifference, he took the note from his brother's hand and scanned its contents.  His eyes widened.  The slip fell from between his fingers.  He gazed up at Helter, a look of pure horror on his face.  "Who left this note on your table?"  Definitely not the only question he wanted to ask.  "So I take it that the news is already spreading throughout the school.  My, the student body seems awfully interested in our killing each other."

He shot up angrily from his seat when he heard his brother's accusation.  "Really?  And how is this my fault?  In case you didn't know, no one knows for sure who murdered those cheerleaders.  That besides the point, I simply speak my mind.  I am not responsible for the actions of others.  I did not force anyone to kill anybody.  Whoever the killer was, they chose to murder those girls.  I did not have to tell them."

His head hurt.  He almost regretted letting his brother into the room.  "If you haven't noticed, Brother, I did evolve.  I'm not the person killing people here and starting wars and all of that nonsense.  If you really want someone to blame, then blame yourself.  We've all had a part in this, whether we want to admit it or not.  We made the U.A.A. strong.  Now, we have to deal with it."

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Probity & Pretense: Guernica (The Aftermath)

Impossible.  The messages had vanished, leaving only red crusts gathering on the walls as the only evidence of their existence.  Whatever entity possessed Charlie's room left a myriad of bloody pocks and fingerprints everywhere, on the trophies and on the football particularly.  The whole place looked as if a severely wounded chimpanzee had wild sex with everything before tearing off down the hall.  He would've been willing to accept that explanation over the current one being offered to him.

Charlie hadn't returned for hours.  He began to ponder if the message was an elaborate trap set up to lure him to the army base.  There was nothing else his jock acquaintance could do but follow along.  The cops in Destroy didn't do shit.  Even if, hypothetically, they bothered to answer the call about some football star's room being ransacked, they were most likely going to laugh off their account of how the place ended up like this. 

He witnessed it with his own eyes, yet even he had trouble believing it.  There is no God; Vincent had been convinced a long time ago.  There was no almighty ruler that cared for the downtrodden and the defenseless.  There was no Heaven or Hell.  No dark tyrant to live in fear of.  Only black.  That's all he remembered of death.  Endless black.  Yet, he didn't even have to touch the blood to know that it was real.  He recognized that all-too-familiar scent anywhere.

Worse, the so-called demon had specifically mentioned him.  It was enough to make even a skeptic like him balk in shock.  But why him?  It had mentioned a message that he had failed to deliver.  Instantly, his mind snapped back to one small incident in the hallway with a certain redhead.  Assassin ranked twenty-three.  Cloe Walsh.

His body shot up from the disheveled bed.  He snagged his coat off the ground and hastily pulled it over his shoulders.  His assassin instincts were snarling in his head, telling him that he was being completely stupid for getting involved in the business of his fellow killers.  Yet, he's curious.  Curious, and a tad pissed-off.  Perhaps he should have a word with the notorious poison vixen.  He was sure that she had a lot to tell him, whether she wanted to or not.

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Did you missed your brother? Would you give him a hug? Just like all normal people would do after watching their lost brother appearing again in front of them?

Of course I did.  Why?  Did you honestly think that I am that coldhearted?  Or that my lack of emotion means that I do not possess the soul needed to love another human being?  Of course I missed my brother.  He was the only person I had left.

So we never had the traditional childhood, my brother and I.  In some ways, he was almost like a second parent to me.  I say second because our father, well...  I don't think I have the authority to tell a stranger about such personal matters.  There were some days when he wasn't around, but he always took care of me.  He didn't have to stay by me; hell, it would have made his life much easier if he had just left me on the streets.  He didn't.

But I don't think I'm comfortable with giving him a...hug.  We were never very affectionate, except when we were young children.  With my brother out all the time, I could not expect him to give me a hug whenever I wanted it.  So I simply stopped wanting it.  Do not mistaken this sentiment for lack of affection; I love my brother dearly.

I just sincerely hope that everyone can keep themselves together, not just my brother and I.  We thought that the game was over after our deaths.  It wasn't.  It was just starting.  If we don't do anything soon, it will start again.  This time, I fear that it will never end.

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*knock knock knock to Vincent's door * Vincent? Are you there? ,,, There's something I want to talk about

"Ugh."  His face twisted slightly.  Like some brooding teenager, he had an automatic reaction to being interrupted in such a manner.  He set aside his copy of Atlas Shrugged, not even bothering to mark where he was in the novel.  Galt's Gulch would evade him for yet another day.

He didn't ask who it was before opening the door.  The gesture is so familiar, yet alien to him.  Like a distant memory.  He found himself struggling to believe that it was real; that his brother truly was alive again and calling to him.  Just like before.  "Yes, I'm here.  Unfortunately.  What do you need, Brother?"

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I won’t leave you like this.  His eyes searched Vinnie’s solemn face, as if he expects him to take it back.  What is he supposed to say?  How can he respond to such honesty?  He doesn’t remember a time when someone showed that much concern for him since—  Well, a long time ago.  Worse, he’s actually caring about him.  MacD, their fearless quarterback — the guy whose job it is to haul the team on his back every game.  And an assassin, on top of it all.  ”Why’re you doin’ this?  I don’t think I can pay you or anything.”  Not with his reputation being passed around among the entire student body.

Even with his senses weighed down by the events of the last week, he feels a harsh warmth fill his head.  Cold sweat.  ”Skelter.”  He mutters idly in almost a whisper.  He had never noticed it before until now.  The bloodlust.  He witnessed it in his eyes when he spouted that ridiculous threat.  Bloodlust.  The badge that separated them from being average, good, happy human beings with average jobs and average lives.  He suddenly sees Vinnie, his strange, pale friend, as someone a lot more dangerous than he had been when he was just the hipster new kid.  Yet, the jock’s expression remains unmoved by the revelation.  ”Well, if you came here for my rank, you’re welcome to take it now.  The ball is in your field, broham. You can go ahead and shoot me now; I’m not gonna go home.”

A good quarterback doesn’t get happy feet.  A good quarterback stands his ground, even if he knows that he’ll get laid out.  He stays in his zone until the job is completed.  Assassination isn’t too much different.  Running away is a thing of his stupid childhood — a part of his life that no one wants to acknowledge.  That Charlie’s long dead and buried.  Buried next to the kid he put into the ground when he first realized that he was a murderer.  Yet, Skelter Helter is pleading for him to save himself.  To protect his humanity, as if he were worth more than just some minor, expendable bad guy.

“You really think you can save me, don’tcha?”  He can’t help but grin.  One person outside the Death Parade family that actually gives a shit about him, and he’s an assassin.  Giving life instead of taking life.  Maybe the ranks did change.  If not the ranks, then the people in it did.  ”You’re more of an optimist than I am, brah.”

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"Why?  We've finally reached an era of peace, Charlie.  One long fought for.  Anything we do in the next few days can ruin us."  It's in the human condition to destroy each other.  At least, that's how it is in the mind of one Vincent.  Humans are disgusting, evil, two-faced, uncaring creatures that would gladly screw one another over to get what they want.  Not trying to kill each other would go against the grain of nature - the grain of their little, fragile world.  Childhood memories of him and his brother always drift in at the worst times.  Even now, when he has to put on a serious face.  He almost prays that the others can control their bloodlust, at least enough for the war to fade into nonexistence.

Skelter.  A psuedonym that has been scarred by too many battles.  No one should remember that name.  After all, he had been simply the lowest ranked assassin in the Association's history, killed and tossed away as the first boss of the sequel.  Used as a fucking tutorial, nonetheless!  "Hello, Twenty-five."  Those frameless glasses of his are a nuisance.  He's glad to finally take them off.  "Don't be alarmed.  I don't want your rank, Charlie.  I don't want anything much these days.  All I ask is that you don't do something that will end up, you know, killing us all.  And keep those groupies under control."

His intuitive nature has never misled him before.  When his brother was slain, no one had to tell him.  There were no nighttime news reports or cops knocking on doors.  He somehow just knew.  But even he was dim enough to buy their facade of mindless smiles and empty eyes.  Those girls had the coldest gaze he had ever seen in his short life.  Eyes without depth or emotion, like a snake's.  Especially one of them.  The one labeled twenty-six.

"No.  I believe you can save yourself."  Timshel.  "All people can.  Some just choose not to."  Like himself.  "Blind, like the naked emperor."  Words he had used to describe his brother's murderer.  How ironic that he, too, would suffer from the same fault.  What did revenge ever teach him?  To shed his humanity?  To live only in death?  "Perhaps I am.  Be surprised.  I'm usually not like this around anyone."

[nutella-assassin-blog]

Wich are your real feelings for Charlie?

I assume you're not implying anything by that question.

Charlie is a bit dense, but he is a good person.  This is a rather strange sentiment to have for another assassin, but I am not lying when I say that he is a better person than most of us in the Association.  I expected him to be a total prick, but he has proven my judgments wrong (which doesn't happen often, I might add).

With everything happening now, it would be a wise idea for me to sit back and watch him burn.  I can't do that.  If he died, there would be no ounce of humanity left in this godforsaken place.  We're killers, but-  He reminds me that there might still be hope for us.