eternalsnapshot-blog

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

“Fuckin’ hell, I forgot how much of an asshole ya were.” Ayumu took a sip from his milkshake, still keeping his shutters closed before opening them with a soft whir, letting a soft green glow emanate from them. “I mean, I didn’t, but I only remembered it, in like, an abstract sense, ya know? One a those things ya keep in your head but can never apply ta practical life. Like, ya know, everything you’ve done with your life.” 

He scratched at his neck, putting down a can of spraypaint to do so, skin peeling away under his nails to reveal reptilian scales in a shade of green that could only be described as ‘toxic’. “I don’t think I fuckin’ ruined anythin’. This place is already a shithole, and even if it werent, it’s a... fuckin’... what’s the word... a fuckin’ gilded cage. It’s a shithole prison, where they’re makin’ us kill each other, so excuse me if I don’t respect the fuckin’ God-given sanctity of this place.”

He very pointedly starts to spray a red ‘F’ onto a nearby surface. “An’ besides, they gotta be fuckin’ monitorin’ us, right? So I want them to see, I’m fuckin’ up their wallpaper and fuckin’, carpetry an’ shit, and sure, it ain’t much, but it’s a way of fightin’ back. When those fuckers look through their screens an’ they see someone’s scribbled, like. ‘fuck you’, it sends a fuckin’ message. Like... that the human spirit is fuckin’ indomitable an’ shit, you can lock us in a cage but you can’t fuckin’ break us, that message.” He pauses. “Also, the message a ‘fuck you’. That ain’t a bad message either.” Suddenly, he scowls. “Don’t see why it’s any a your business, who are you, the fuckin’ janitor?” 

not to scale [open]

Apollo half-stomped his way into the snack room, not terribly hungry but he knew he had to eat. It was a biological necessity, and all that. He knew someone was in there, though. Whatever the scientists had done to him, it had given him some sort of sixth sense, something that let him tell where everyone else was in the facility. He had to admit, despite the pain and concerning implications of everything, this one was actually rather useful, especially considering the rate at which people died around here.

So, yes, he had, in the short while since obtaining that power, gotten into the habit of pausing every so often and checking everyone’s positions. It helped him avoid people! Which he liked. And he was fully aware that Ayumu Asato was in the room ahead of him, although he hadn’t seen the photographer since the latest batch of changes, and had no idea what to expect.

“I’m not looking,” he said flatly, walking past him. Which he wasn’t. After the initial shock over the boy’s eyes had passed, Apollo’s feelings on them had faded into a vaguely nauseated indifference. He wouldn’t be looking at them even if Ayumu hadn’t said anything. “What, have your eyes somehow gotten ugl-”

And then the walls registered, and he paused, staring at the graffiti. He frowned. “What sort of tepid, idiotic excuse,” he said flatly, “Do you have for ruining this room with your garbage?”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu is no stranger to sad laughs. He gives a shrug. “We’re only human, ya know? And as much as humans can do amazin’ and wonderful things, humans can also be kinda shitty. And they can only take too much. Think, buddy. Ya don’t think they thought a somethin’ like all of us refusin’ ta kill? They’d just keep buildin’ the pressure, keep buildin’ and fuckin’ buildin’ until someone cracked. But... the fact that ya got hope, ya oughta hold onto that. That’s one a the fuckin’ amazin’ things about people, ya know? We got a remarkable will ta survive. We got hope.”

He chuckles. “Man, sorry, I’m gettin’ all fuckin’... philsophical an’ shit, ain’t I? Don’t wanna bore ya with it or anythin’. If you’re gonna be watchin’ me paint, I hope ya don’t mind me askin’ what ya got there-” He gestures vaguely to Calico’s carving with the hand not holding a spray can. “Just curious, that’s all. People can be fuckin’ amazin’, ya know? But they’re weird. People in general are just... fuckin’ weird.” 

The police comment gets him to laugh again, but this time it’s kind of bitter. “If they can fuckin’ murder kids, I think I’m fuckin’ entitled ta ruin their fuckin’ wallpaper. They ain’t never told me that I can’t paint on the walls, and if they want to fuckin’ murder me over it, I don’t give a shit. I’m not showin’ those motherfuckers any more respect than they deserve.” He gestures to his mural. “It’s them that deserve the respect. This is... one a the only ways I ever learned ta show it, ya know?” 

i saw a mother at her daughter’s funeral, ha ha ha, classic comedy [open]

Calico has never been too used to photographs, only having a couple from family events, and one time he’d played with a Polaroid Evan brought over. He doesn’t mind having his photo taken, though he feels a bit… vulnerable. Exposed. His work, however, he gets a bit more embarrassed about. When people were taking dozens of pictures of the carving that made him famous, he’d been proud and excited. But now, with smaller works like this, unfinished and with certain subject matter, he’s more self conscious.

While Ayumu’s words can’t be called comforting, Calico finds that they aren’t really harsh, either. Sure, his tone is rough, but his words ring true to the Scottish boy. He scratches his head and lets out a short, kind of sad laugh.

“Yeah, that’s true… uh, but, d’you really think it’d happen every time? I mean… sure, it’s happened twice, but with so many of us… there’s gotta be some kinda statistics, right?”

He was never good at math.

“I don’t wanna get my hopes up too high, y’know? But if there’s a chance everyone can manage to work together an’ refuse to give in, even if it’s not a big one… I kinda wanna believe in that.”

Ayumu says there’s nothing wrong with hope… and Calico does want to believe in that, too. But he’s still worried that too much hope could make everything much more painful if it doesn’t work out. He feels kind of like a hypocrit. Instead of saying that, he shifts his eyes away and fiddles with the pin on his hat, before turning his attention back to the wall.

“I think your art looks neat! It’s– wait, uh, police? Do you… think we could get in trouble for this…?”

It’s just hit him that what Ayumu’s doing is technically illegal. It’s not like Leroy’s gonna call the cops, but there’s the chance the vandalism might anger someone in charge, and that doesn’t seem like a good idea…

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu could feel his skin peeling - that was fine, he’d lost skin before. Memories flashed to his head of weeks spent in a hospital bed, fuzzily aware of doctors talking about skin grafts and rejection and internal bleeding. He felt the scales growing, and although now wasn’t the time to look at them he thought that they would probably at least match his aesthetic. 

All in all, as forced physical changes went, this wasn’t the worst thing that could happen - until his eyes made contact with Kerry’s and he felt a searing pain in his head, crying out in pain as he instinctively took a photograph, catching her as she spasmed. As soon as she closed her eyes, the pain subsided and he opened the shutters that he’d started to close as the pain built. 

Holding a hand to his head, he groaned for a few seconds before replying. “Apart from... whatever just happened, yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for askin’. Fuck, that hurt like shit. Ya ever get properly hurt? Like, seriously hurt? Because it ain’t as bad as that. but I get a feelin’ like it won’t be long before it is. You, uh, still need help with all your fuckin’ bottles, by the way? Which ya still haven’t told me what you’re doin’ with, by the way?” She seems okay, despite his natural inclination to dislike her- no need to rescind his offer of help just because of whatever the hell just happened to them. 

Waterfall || Ayumu

After the pain had passed, Kerry… didn’t feel THAT different. The feverishness was back; she felt like the temperature especially around her head had gone up something like ten degrees. The only outward physical change she could feel were her teeth. Her gums were tender still, as the once small fangs in her mouth had morphed into long, sharp teeth that protruded slightly over her lips. Kerry clacked them together, then looked over to Ayumu. “I think I’m okay… It’s just k-”

As soon as her eyes made contact with the photographer’s, Kerry felt herself seize up. She’d thought it was over, but that pretty clearly wasn’t the case. She nearly fell to the ground as she feels herself lose control of next to all of her muscles, like they were all cramping up at once but couldn’t do anything about it. Her eyes squeeze shut and her brow furrows. Kerry dropped to her knees, groaning and taking in sharp breaths all the while, before she finally feels the effects subside.

Despite the second wave of pain, nothing else had really seemed to change in her, at least that she could discern. Her eyes re-opened, glancing down at her body. Same ol’ Karina, from the neck down at least. She gave it a few more moments, not wanting to press her luck, before speaking softly. “…It… seems fine for now. What about you?” Her gaze stayed down at her body, trying to see if she’d missed something.

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

not to scale [open]

A lot of unpleasant things had happened to Ayumu over the course of his life, but he’d decided that ‘having biological changes forced upon your body by asshole scientists’ was probably in the top five. Maybe even top three. His skin felt like it was burning - he could handle that, that was fine. The scales that were slowly growing to replace his peeling skin were slightly irritating (although, not that he’d admit it out loud, he liked the fact that they were honestly pretty punk) 

However, the scales were not the most unpleasant part of the change. Not by a long shot. In fact, the scales were interesting enough to him that he was sat, in the snack room, with a milkshake, idly taking pictures of his scales in between spraying various obscenities onto the walls, when someone came into room. He looked up for a second, before the radial shutters over the lenses of his eyes quickly snapped shut as he waved a hand. 

“Yo! Yo, I’m gonna open my eyes in a second, try not to fuckin’ look at ‘em, because it fuckin’ hurts like shit for me and it won’t be a real pleasant experience for you, either. So, when I fuckin’ count ta three, make sure ya ain’t lookin’ at my eyes.” 

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Most people considered everything that Ayumu did rude, and they weren’t really wrong - he was a delinquent, after all, and had been responsible for his share of breaking and entering, his share of vandalism, his share of graffiti, et cetera. Generally, he just didn’t care much for etiquette, or politeness in general. He did and said what he wanted to, opinions of others be dammed. 

 His scowl only deepened, camera eyes zooming in so that he could get a better look at her face. “Fuckin’ bullshit. Nobody goes ‘oh, shit, what if I get hungry later and need ta drink an entire like, fuckin’ twenty bottles of water at once’ Seriously, tell me, what the fuck are you doin’ with these?” He was about to question her further when suddenly his head felt like it was burning, a pain that was almost but not quite as bad as the accident, and he dropped the bottles as he put both hands to his eyes, screaming incoherently for a few seconds before it started to fade. 

“FUCK!” Ayumu yelled, “Fuck, that hurts like a fuckin’ bitch, fuck! Fuckin’... fuck!” This display of eloquence over, he breathed heavily for a few seconds, as his skin began to peel away only to be replaced with scales so green it felt like just looking the colour alone could poison you, After a few seconds, he took one last deep breath before looking up at Kerry. “Well, ain’t that just fuckin’ great. You... you okay? Wait, stupid question. Ya need any help?” 

Waterfall || Ayumu

She wasn’t sure, but Kerry thought she might have heard a click coming from the boy’s direction. Was he using those eyes of his to take a picture…? She guessed there was no harm in it, but most people would consider that kind of rude. Then again, they’d probably consider most of what the photographer was doing to be rude. 

Kerry glanced down at the waters she was holding. Would it be good to show her hand as it was? She’d be more than happy to share the water in an emergency, but… “They’re just mine. I’m gonna drink them, I just, uh.” She shrugged. Lying wasn’t one of her strong suits. “Figured I’d get a bunch now.”

Despite his tone, the guy seemed agreeable enough. Her papa always said to judge people based on their actions and not their words, and if that was the case maybe he wasn’t as rough around the edges as he seemed. “Thanks, though. Feel free to take a couple if you want, too.” She chuckled. “Obviously I’ve got plenty.”

Hm. Kerry smacked her gums. Were they… sore? They weren’t sore a second ago, despite her fangs… And then it kicked in. Kerry’s composure was lost, and she found herself dropping the water in her hands all over again as she clutched her head in pain. Slamming her shoulder into the wall was all she could do to stop from keeling over. Ellen’s voice came over the intercom, but she could pick up little more than white noise. The entire world felt fuzzy. She looked to Ayumu desperately, just trying to find some kind of anchor of normalcy.

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu tilts his head for a second, eyes switching gears so that he can see the photograph he just took instead of what’s in front of him, before he returns to seeing mode. Ayumu, as someone who goes through life with no shame and with pretty much no regrets, can’t possibly imagine that his constant photographing of things would embarrass anyone. And even if he could, he’s a rude and unpleasant fucker. 

“Yeah, ‘course. None of us wanna find out, but if I’m honest, it ain’t like nobody’s gonna kill again. Both times, we’ve all been like ‘nobody’s gonna fuckin’ die, none a us are gonna kill nobody’, but then, whaddaya fuckin’ know, someone gets killed. It ain’t really a matter a ‘if’ anymore, but ‘when’. But just ‘cause I think that don’t mean you gotta think that. If ya wanna have hope, all the power to you, buddy. There’s nothin’ wrong with hope.”

Ayumu has a lot of strong emotions about friendship, but it would be a stretch to call him an optimist, or even a friendly guy. He also has strong feelings about people living on in memory - very, very strong feelings indeed. The photographer shakes the can in his hand as he proceeds to continue working on the mural, only turning to look back at Calico when he starts talking again. 

He smiles, not a grin, but just a small smile that conveys appreciation more than anything. “Thanks. I ain’t that much of a fuckin’ artist, but I got enough experience sprayin’ shit onto walls that costs people money an’ time ta remove. I hope that vandalizin’ this place costs these fuckers a fortune, ‘cause they fuckin’ deserve it. I just think everyone deserves ta get remembered for everythin’, not just the good an’ not just the bad, either. And sure, buddy, if ya wanna. I’m used to havin’ someone ta watch my back in case the police arrive, anyway.” 

i saw a mother at her daughter’s funeral, ha ha ha, classic comedy [open]

Calico flinches just a little when Ayumu takes a picture, more out of instinct than anything else. He’s never been a fan of sudden bright lights; lightning has always scared him. He knows well the destructive power it holds over forests, causing enormous trees to crash down and fires to start…

A camera flash is no lightning, but it was still sudden and startling. At least it’s helped him fully come back to the present. He glances down at the wood in his hand– in his intense concentration, he’d almost forgotten what it was he’d been carving. It’s not complete, but the figure of what looks like a boy with long hair and a fish’s tail is plain to see.

A brief look of embarrassment (and maybe a little fear?) crosses over Calico’s face, and he shoves the carving into his jacket pocket. Ayumu had taken a picture, hadn’t he? It would be rude to ask him to delete it… but…

Ayumu’s comments bring Calico out of his silent reverie, and stir up a whole new set of tumultuous thoughts. Images of the two past executions flash through his mind, and he shivers slightly. Something like that… for him?

“I’d, uh… rather not find out. The best case scenario is that no one does, right? I, um… well, I’m not plannin’ on hurtin’ anyone, and I hope no one gets hurt again, really. Maybe that’s�� kinda dumb to think, but… I don’ think it’s too bad to have some kinda hope, y’know?”

He scratches his head and looks down at the ground, a bit embarrassed to be rambling on about hope and friendship and that sort of stuff. Ayumu doesn’t really seem like the type to embrace the whole “friendship is magic” deal.

Calico moves closer to the wall, letting out a quiet noise of appreciation. It definitely looks cool so far, and he thinks it’s a good way to honor everyone. It’s not like they’re totally gone, right? They live on in things like these, in paintings and memories… he should carve them, he realizes. His eyes fall on what looks the most like Florian’s face. He’d tried carving him, before, but he hadn’t been able to finish. He’d been too upset. Now, he’s… well, he’s still shaken up by everything, but maybe he’s strong enough to try again. For everyone.

He turns to Ayumu after a while, with a smile that’s somehow both sad and bright. At least he’s not crying at the reminder of death. Maybe he’s starting to grow a little.

“It’s really good! I think it’s really neat that you’re doin’ something like this. Um, mind if I watch you work…?”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Generally speaking, Ayumu doesn’t like country people - one of his many biases. The photographer is enamoured with cities, with skyscrapers and busy streets, smog and chrome and glass. The idea of people still living in small communities surrounded by fields and animals is... irritating to him. But hey, these biases aren’t strong enough to stop him talking to someone who’s never done anything to lower his opinion of them. At least, yet. 

Looking down at the wood-carving-in-progress in Calico’s hands, Ayumu takes another photograph with yet another click, this time flashing a light from the cameras he has in place of eyes. Wow, this kid is definitely not a great speaker. But Ayumu doesn’t judge. 

“Kinda fucked up that someone took the time ta work out a fuckin’ elaborate execution for someone like that, ya know? Makes ya fuckin’ wonder if there’s one of those all set up for ya in case you lose it and fuckin’ murder somebody.” Great way to start off a conversation. 

Ayumu gestures to the graffiti with a hand still holding a can of spray paint - stylized images, half-finished, of all the kids that have died. “I'm fuckin’... paintin’. And takin’ photographs of that paintin’. I know I ain’t a fuckin’ artist or anythin’, but I wanted ta do somethin’ ta remember people, ya know?” 

i saw a mother at her daughter’s funeral, ha ha ha, classic comedy [open]

Perhaps Calico and Ayumu were somewhat similar, despite being complete opposites as a city slicker and a country boy. Calico, too, was the type to absorb all his thoughts and concentration into something, and most often, that something was wood carving.

After the trial ended, he returned to his room and grabbed a particularly thick piece of wood he’d taken from the forest simulation, beginning on a brand new project. His mind wandered to back before the trial, before the murder. He’d heard something during the motive, something that gave him hope and took it away all at once. He put those strange feelings into a carving, and at one point, he began to pace. It wasn’t enough to stay still right now. He needed to move.

Eventually, he ended up wandering out of his room, almost subconsciously. He wandered through the halls, concentration still focused on the emerging carving in his hands.

When he ends up wandering into the gym, Calico is startled by Ayumu’s voice, jerked back into the reality that had been just in his peripherals. He almost fumbles his carving, but his hand curls tightly around it, and he stands up straight. He adjusts his cap almost sheepishly, and offers a small smile.

“O-oh, um… yeah, eheh… I, uh… it’s pretty messed up, yeah, y’know…”

Two can play at the game of flawless eloquence. He turns his head and leans a little closer as he notices the spraypaint on the wall behind Ayumu.

“Um… so, what’re you doin’?”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu does mean well - he likes Matthias, he really does. The fighter reminds him, if only a little, of his friends back home. Sure, none of them were every geniuses or poets or whatever, but what Ayumu’s friends had in common was that they were people with their heads screwed on right and their hearts in their right places, and those are qualities he can see in Matthias. A lot of people that mean well, however, in Ayumu’s experience, just end up being sanctimonious patronizing know-it-all assholes. He’s punched more than one person who meant well in the past. 

“Yeah. Words are just fuckin’ words, ain’t they? I’d say they’re better than nothin’, but that ain’t even fuckin’ true half the time, ya know? I hate the kinda person who thinks that their words are all mighty fuckin’ important, and that just by talkin’ and statin’ their oh-so-mighty fuckin’ opinions they’re makin’ some kinda huge fuckin’ difference and everythin’ is gonna get better. Fuck, I guess I’m ramblin’. Point is, I been in bad places too, and I had a lotta fuckin’ people tell me things weren’t that bad, or to cheer up, or whatever, and I just don’t wanna be that kinda person.” 

He turns to open the door. “Fuckin’ great, follow me.” As he walks, hands still in his pockets, he keeps talking. “Just cause there’s nothin’ good you can do don’t mean you should do somethin’ bad just for the sake of it. There ain’t that many of us in this shithole, and I don’t want somethin’ happenin’ to one a the only fuckin’ reasonable assholes left here. So, I ain’t gonna tell ya how ta live your life, but cripplin’ yourself ain’t that good an idea, even if leads to some great photo opportunities.”

And then, after not very long at all, they arrive at Ayumu’s destination: the gym, apparently. What could he possibly have here to show Matthias? The answer is revealed as he gestures to a wall with cans of spray paint piled against it, and a mural painted onto it. The artwork is competent - decent, but not stellar - and it depicts four figures: Lacey, Florian, Arielle, and Marta, highly stylized, in bright colours, as if they were alive and non-monstrous. 

“Ta-fuckin-da. I, uh, figured that we oughta remember everyone, no matter what, so I did this. Big fuckin’ hurrah, whatever, I know, I just... thought someone oughta make sure they were gettin’ remembered, ya know? The good an’ the bad both. Everyone seems so quick ta just... condemn the killer, forget the victim, pick a side, an’ move on. But I don’t think that’s right. I guess I wanted ta know if ya have... any input, ya know? ‘Cause if anyone oughta get a say in how she’s gettin’ remembered, it’s you, I reckon.” 

Round.5 ✖ Bad Moon Rising ✖ Open

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu nods, speaking quietly, almost more to himself than Matthias. “Real fucked up.” He finds the executions quite frankly disturbing. The fact that someone went into so much detail planning and preparing these elaborate deaths for them - death machines that must have taken hours upon hours to set up... it got to him in a way he couldn’t explain. Not for the first time, he finds himself thinking the morbid thought: is there one of those death machines for him?

But then his attention is drawn back to Matthias in a rather dramatic fashion with a nasty crack as Matthias deals a blow to a tree that Ayumu, priorities ever in order, catches with a loud click, a quick closing of the shutters over his eyes, and a noticeable flash. He runs a hand through his long, red, hair, offering another shrug, this one more resigned. “Man. That sounds like it kinda sucks. Fightin’s always made me feel a bit more real, ya know? Fuck, I’m sorry for ya. But then again, I guess bein’ sorry never fixed shit, so I don’t know why I’m botherin’ ta tell ya that.” 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, thinking for a few seconds before he actually says anything else. “I wouldn’t worry too bad about hurtin’ me. Don’t think anythin’s ever gonna hurt like goin’ blind did. But hey, if it wouldn’t help, there ain’t a point. Still, if I’m totally honest, which I’m gonna be, ‘cause I always am, I don’t think breakin’ your bones on these trees is gonna do ya a world a good either. But then, what the fuck do I know? Nothin’, that’s what.”

He gestures vaguely in the direction of the door. “Ya know, uh, I did somethin’ you might like ta see. Again, I can’t say if it’ll do anythin’ ta help or not, an’ it probably won’t, but I still think ya oughta see it. I can show ya a photograph, if ya don’t wanna go fuckin’ walkabout with me.” He reaches to tap the back of his head, where a small slot lies alongside a metal protrusion from his head, mostly hidden by his hair.  

Round.5 ✖ Bad Moon Rising ✖ Open

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu had no deep thought process, emotional or logical, behind his expedition to the snack room. He’d just... gotten hungry, and so, still with his clothes flecked with paint, he’d gone towards the snack room, in the search of something he liked. Maybe... some instant ramen. He wasn’t a guy with high tastes or anything - and when given a world of options to choose from, his creativity suddenly dried up. Instant ramen was what he ate while he was out on photoshoots: it was quick to make, impossible to fuck up, and easy to carry around. No downsides. 

He was thinking about what a practical and brilliant foodstuff instant ramen was when he caught sight of Kerry. Someone he’d initially avoided as much as possible - he didn’t want to be around a so-called survivalist. Ugh. The idea that people would willingly eschew the wonders of technology and civilization in favour of the uncaring fallibility of nature made him sick. 

But on the other hand, considering how almost everyone else in this shithole had proven themselves to be unstable or arrogant or irritating or otherwise unpleasant, Ayumu figured that if he wanted any sort of halfway decent company he’d need to swallow his pride and try talking to people. The choices of whether or not to say something to her was made for him when she spoke up. 

With a scowl, he tilted his head, a soft click sounding as the shutters on his eyes closed, the lights changing colour as he took a succession of photographs through slightly different lenses. “What the fuck do ya need all this fuckin’ water for, exactly? Ya gonna fill up a fuckin’ inflatable pool or somethin’ similarly fuckin’ stupid? Wouldn’t put it past any a you fuckers.” Despite his aggressive tone and words, he still stooped down to grab bottles of water. because hey, might as well be helpful.  

Waterfall || Ayumu

What could they do? The worst scenarios had been playing out in her head ever since the trial. Clearly they had resources, clearly whoever was holding them was a pretty advanced organization. Government-backed, maybe? Was it something they could even hope to fight against? Kerry didn’t think of herself as a stress eater, but a snack at a time like this would be helpful.

“Bottled water,” she said, scanning her bar code. Out of the wall came a bottle of water. As she went to grab it, she looked down at it. Right now they were in a pretty ideal situation, basic-needs-wise; water, food, and shelter were plentiful. But… could they introduce a scarcity? In a survival situation, a fight for resources is one of the worst scenarios you’d have to deal with. Kerry eyed over the machine.

“…Bottled water,” she spoke into the microphone again, once again scanning her code. Out of the wall, yet another bottled water appeared. Okay, that worked. “Bottled water.” Another one. “Bottled water.” And again. Could she speed this up somehow? “Uh… 24 pack of bottled water.” The machine rumbled for a bit but, lo and behold, out popped an economy pack of bottled water.

Kerry picked up the waters and began carrying them out. Maybe it would be worth it to start hording some supplies… After all, she already ran into a scare with her medical supplies running low. That was a mistake on her part. One she didn’t want to repeat. She was the one with survival knowledge, if people died because of her she-

Fuck, fuck, shit, the plastic holding the water was really weak. Though she tried to hold on to the sides, a rip in the container caused bottles to tumble out to the ground and start rolling everywhere as she entered the hallway. With a cringe and a groan, Kerry kneeled over to begin picking up the waters.

She heard footsteps. Her attention turned from the water to whoever was joining her. It was the photographer- the one who didn’t seem to like her. Or… maybe she was just reading him wrong? “Um, hey,” she called. “Could you help me out real fast? I was trying to get these to my room but the thing broke.”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Ayumu’s initial reaction after the events of the trial had been a lengthy session of what could charitably be termed ‘art therapy’ and less charitably termed ‘mindless vandalism’. He didn’t care what it looked like to other people. He only cared about the art that he created, and more specifically the photographs he took of it. The graffiti would someday be gone. The photos he’d taken of it, on the other hand, were eternal now, etched onto tablets of silicon that would last for thousands of years. 

Or maybe that was an overdramatic way of thinking about it. He didn’t care. It was a comforting to think, that the pictures he took were permanent that way. The anger he felt at the whole situation was definitely permanent, now, the outrage and fury he felt at the injustices of this last trial just fading into the background noise of anger that was constantly there, in the background, informing his thoughts and actions. 

But putting that anger aside, he’d felt like he might as well explore the gilded cage they’d been given, even if with the state of these environments he felt like even ‘gilded’ might be too much of a stretch. Maybe ‘painted with flaky acrylic paint that looks kinda gold-coloured if you squint’. But then, that phrase didn’t have the same ring to it. With each room, he followed a routine. Open the door, take a photo, look around, take more photos, rearrange some things, take more photos, adjusts his focus and resolution and brightness and zoom and take more photos, then leave. This routine was disrupted when he walked into one of the rooms and saw that it was occupied. 

“I guess there ain’t. That was some fucked up shit that happened.” The punk shrugs, looking at Matthias’ bloody fists and closing the shutters of his camera eyes a fraction, his equivalent of raising an eyebrow. “Ya know, back home, me an’ my friends, when somethin’ is pissin’ one of us off and we don’t really wanna talk or think about it, sometimes we fight it out. Whoever’s shit’s gotten fucked up, they pick someone else and then the two just beat the shit outta each other. No hard feelings, no nothin’, and we stop when someone says ‘stop’.” He shrugs again, eyes clicking softly as he snaps a picture of Matthias because he just can’t resist. “I guess what I’m sayin’ is, if ya think it would make ya feel better ta go ta town on somethin’ that knows how ta hit back, just say the word.” 

Round.5 ✖ Bad Moon Rising ✖ Open

There’s a iron-y taste of blood in his mouth. When did that come to be? His memories had never been the best but they’d sure as hell been clearer than today. Right now everything felt… glitched. Like if he took one wrong turn he could just walk right out of existence. How did that work? God, even thinking about it made his head burn. It’s a subdued kind of rage. It’s like he’d gotten most of the frustration out of his system in the trial. And with that remaining… what was even left of him?

Without the anger, he was nothing… was that it? His own fault. He could admit that in some sense. Even now, he had trouble admitting Marta was wrong. In the trial, even towards the end, adamant in his beliefs, he’d said Squids was guilty. And yet even so… even then… he’d had to seen her killed. Paraded around in some gross mockery and then made to suffer. And yet, Squids had not suffered. Mayumi, with their obnoxious laughter, had not suffered. Loic, and his . Jericho and their lies, had not suffered. And Apollo… Apollo and his black heart had not suffered. Only Marta. And in a sense, him. So what was the crime here? Being lonely? Maybe so. Maybe the wanting of friends was the flaw in itself.

One thing was for sure, what he wanted was some alone time. And to hit something. Hard. It was at times like this he truly hated the lack of feeling. What he wouldn’t give to feel his own pain. To feel alive. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t really been alive in a while. Here, somehow, he’d felt… he was needed, helping even. Now? He realised it’d all been worth nothing. And it was a return to that nickname. The Dead Man.

The Environment Rooms are new and strange… and one in particular seems to appeal to him. A dark forest, mirroring his own destructive feelings. He feels like screaming but if he tried he was sure nothing would come out. Instead he can do what he’s always been good at.

One kick. Two kick. Three kick. Matthias is sure he’s getting bruised smashing the trees, a roundhouse replaced with a jab followed by another punch. But it doesn’t matter. In some sense, it’s good to find this normalcy. It’s good to feel in control. Of himself and his feelings. Worthless things they were in the end.

After a while he realises he’s huffing. His hands are soaked in blood. Honestly the time’s flown right by and he doesn’t quite remember how long he’s been here. Or how badly he’s messed himself up this time. But it doesn’t hurt. And as long as it doesn’t hurt, he’s fine.

As another person enters, he makes the minimal gesture of turning his head, a distant look in his once vibrant eyes.

“What…? Don’t reckon there’s much to say. Do you?”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

i saw a mother at her daughter’s funeral, ha ha ha, classic comedy [open]

Everyone had their own way of dealing, Ayumu had noticed. Some people turned quiet after the trial, walking off to stay on their own and process their thoughts in silence and peace. Some people did the opposite, becoming loud and energetic, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence left in the wake of so much death and suffering and misery with jokes and meaningless observations. Others lost themselves in something else, detaching themselves from the situation and throwing themselves into something else entirely so that they could, if only for a few seconds, forget about their circumstances. 

Ayumu was one of those in the third category. Always had been. Urban exploration, parkour, graffiti, the hobbies had come and gone through the years. But throughout his life, whenever something was bothering him, he’d always had something that he could escape to. And for the last few years, of course, that something had been photography. It was weird, really, that photographing this place could make him forget about... this place. But it did. 

And his special eyes afforded him some pretty unique photo opportunities, which is why he found himself at the arts and crafts room, loading up on what supplies he could find, taking a photograph with a soft click from his bionic eyes accompanying each one. Open a cupboard. Click. Reach a hand inside. Click. Arrange the contents of the cupboard to make for a good shot. Click. Pull out a can of spray paint. Click. And another. Click. 

Twenty-seven clicks later, with all but the best of the photos he’s taken deleted, Ayumu can found in the gym, spraying paint onto the walls and taking a picture every few seconds. Hearing someone come in, he turns his head, tilting it slightly to get a better angle. Click. “Hey. Shit’s pretty fucked, huh. What the fuck can ya do.” A master of eloquence. 

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

Taking a deep breath that wavered, he looked up from the floor, eyes clicking quietly as they readjusted to focus on her face. His expression was nowhere near a smile, sombre and sullen. “It ain’t really much of a fuckin’ bright side when two people are dead. I appreciate you’re tryin’ ta be positive, and if that works for you, great, but it don’t work for me. Don’t try ta make it work.” This was all said in a calm, measured, matter-of-fact tone, as if he was trying as hard as he could to avoid getting angry. 

“And... yeah. I guess I feel kinda lonely. I miss my friends, ya know?” His friends, all fellow punks and delinquents, most of them missing teeth or sporting scars from fights where he was there, fighting back-to-back with them. Ayumu really, really wished he had friends he trusted like that in this place. “I miss my... nevermind. Point is, I miss some people. Ain’t really had much time to make any friends in this place.” 

The idea of a sleepover made him laugh aloud, a smile cracking on his face, shutters briefly closing over the lights of his eyes as he chuckled. “Let me tell you, it ain’t often someone invites me to a fuckin’ sleepover. And let me be honest with ya, I don’t wear a lot of makeup.” He tilts his head slightly. “Though, if I’m honest, seems ta me like you ain’t been to any sleepovers before either.” 

Begrudgingly, he extends a hand to shake. “Asato. Ayumu Asato. Nice to fuckin’ meetcha, uh, Xue, if I’m sayin’ that right?” Well, he’s at least trying to. 

plastic power [reaction/open]

She snapped out of her trance once she had realized the execution was over, and the lights flickering in the room made a chill go down her back. She felt a rush go through her head, telling her to get out of there once the door opened and to just go to sleep. Maybe if she woke up, it had all been a bad dream and Lacey and Florian were alive. They were okay and breathing, no missing heads or wine filling their lungs. 

She shook her head of the images and turned her head once she heard the door open. Xue felt her body move, though she felt numb to her movements. Pulling up her sleeve to scan her arm before leaving, tugging her jacket to her body to shrivel up and avoid everyone leaving around her. Her room wasn’t very far from the classroom, if she just turned and ignored everyone around her, she could just go to sleep.

Xue was halfway there, seeing the game room first had her hopes up to make it there in time until she heard a voice. 

Slowly turning to face the person who spoke to her, she took a shaky breath. She just had to smile and respond like she normally would, it wasn’t that hard. She didn’t want her voice to crack or for her to suddenly burst into tears, but she offered a soft smile to Ayumu. 

“Yes, at least you have that.” That sounded too gloomy, she needed to be more energetic. “There is always a bright side, Mister! You do not need to worry, for the empty space in your room now, just think of it this way! You may now walk around in your underwear!” She winked afterwards, who knows if she was joking or not. 

She kept on talking, as if she never ran out of things to talk about. “Perhaps, do you feel lonely, Mister? We can have a sleepover then! Like in the movies and such, yes? We can do each other’s makeup and have the pillow of the fights! Very much fun.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head. “I believe I never got your surname?”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

metal crusher [closed for matthias]

The trial had been one hell of an experience, but people had found their own ways of coping with it. Some had laughed it all off, returning to a state of cheerful optimism. Some had done their best to forget about the ordeal, while some were still mourning those dead. Ayumu, however, had his own way of dealing with things. 

And of course, that method was his favorite hobby and his greatest passion. Photography. He’d spent a few hours setting up lighting and arranging a perfect shot of the place Lacey’s body had been. Cenotaph, he thought he’d title it. An ersatz tomb. After all, she’d be remembered only by her absence from now on. Defined by it. 

But he had no intention of letting himself dwell on these thoughts, and because of that, he was now focusing on slightly cheerier subject matter: the autumn preparation room. The coats, the scarves, hung up nicely on the walls just waiting to be used for fun, they simply begged to have pictures taken. For a moment, he was so focused on the photography, cybernetic eyes clicking softly every few seconds, that he completely failed to notice someone else entering. When he did, he turned around, eyes whirring softly as they refocused on someone he was fairly pleased to see.. 

“Hey, how’s shit been holdin’ up for ya? Last I remember, you were the only one at the trial with your head screwed onto your shoulders. Hope that’s servin’ ya well.”

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

backscatter [closed for ikura]

The trial, not that Ayumu would really call it that, had been a pretty upsetting experience for most parties involved. Apart from Florian, of course. He was a little bit worse off than upset. But there was one person that Ayumu had noticed being a bit more bothered by the tense atmosphere and vicious accusations than most, and that person was the fisherman. The very, very small fisherman. (So small.) 

Ayumu didn’t consider himself to be very good at stuff like helping people out, or looking after them. As far as he was concerned, he was pretty damn good at punching people, taking photographs, and that about rounded out his skillset. But hey, it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? Which was why he was keeping an eye out for the kid, just in case. 

And as luck would have it, that was the very same person Ayumu ran into when he entered the snack room, although he nearly missed him as his eyes zoomed in on the different kinds of food on the shelves. Finally, he could eat his favourite kind of food: unhealthy garbage. But first, he wanted to check on Ikura. 

“Hey, kiddo. That was some fucked up shit there. You still cool after that?” 

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

plastic power [reaction/open]

“The fuck was that shit?” 

This marvelous display of eloquence was the first thing out of Ayumu’s mouth after the video finished and his camera eyes finally stopped taking photographs. Scowling, his eyes glowing a bright green, he walked back to his room, hands clenched into fists in his pockets, taking deep breaths as he walked. Sure, seeing Lacey dead like that had been fucked up. 

But somehow, this was a whole new level of fucked up. At least what happened to Lacey was something he could understand. The florist considered his own life and interests more important than Lacey’s and so he used the weapons available to him and murdered her. But what happened to him, it was like someone had taken the time to sit down and coldly, calmly, devise a unique way to kill him. And maybe he’d deserved it, yeah. But it was a fucked up thing for someone to do. 

It got him wondering. Had the people behind this thing come up with a way for him to die, too. It was this cheerful thought that went through his head as he walked up to the room he shared with Lacey. Scratch that, the room he’d shared with Lacey. Past tense. Leaning his back against the door, the photographer looked down, massaging his temples. When he noticed someone walk by, he took a deep breath and looked up at them. 

“Hey. Least I got a room to myself now, huh? Ha, like there’s a bright side to this situation. I wish.” 

[eternalsnapshot-blog]

ultimatetrackstar:

Arielle had been meaning to chat with the strange-eyed man since the very beginning of their situation; she just hadn’t had the guts (or time) to do so yet. So when she saw him in the library, book in hand with no one else around, she approached, curiosity having gotten the best of her.

“I guess, when they said we’d have some changes to our bodies, that thing doesn’t count, right?” She said bluntly, pointing to the cybernetics where human eyes should be. She took a moment to read the title of the novel, before continuing to speak with him, blatantly not giving a crap whether she was bothering or not. 

“I saw you with, er, those on before. What are they?”

She then shut her mouth, giving him time to answer her questions. She wasn’t really one for small talk herself, and hell, she rarely spoke with people first and instead let them approach her, but she had to know. She couldn’t die in here without at least that much. 

Ayumu didn’t seem to really react at first, and he almost seemed like he wasn’t listening at all before he finally looked up, shutters over his lenses closing and reopening rapidly in a “blink” of sorts. The lights of the cybernetics turned from a brilliant white to a dull green in response to the increased light level from the open door. Closing his book, he took several photographs with a series of audible clicks. The way that students standing in front of the library door looked silhouetted in the light of the corridor really made for some nice shots. 

He grinned as he spoke, putting the book aside to gesture at the cybernetics. “Yeah, had these for a while. I’m a photographer, ya see, and these are my cameras. Not just that, though, they’re my fuckin’ eyes as well. Old ones got fucked up something bad a while back in an accident. These were experimental as all fuck, they told me I coulda died gettin’ em, but fuck it, they work just fine.” 

The photographer tilted his head slightly to one side. “Now that that’s out of the way, who the fuck are you? No offense meant.” He was used to people being curious about the cybernetics, so he didn’t really take offense. 

it’s our heart that makes the beat