#damn this is a deep brainrot hole /pos

[incogcheetah]

Alright ya nerds, it's time for more angst. This is just one of the ways I see this scene going, the brainrot is still so deep.

From @wolfythewitch 's zombie au

It was him, a part of her knew it was. The blonde hair falling messily around his head, the green jacket that he wore everywhere, the brown pants she had gotten him for one of their anniversaries. It made sense even if she couldn't wrap her mind around it. She felt frozen, as if her muscles had turned to ice. Even though it was warm outside.

But it felt like she was freezing.

A wild screech sounded and a small streak pelted out from the abandoned emergency vehicle to her right, stopping right in front of Phil. It was a teenager, about 15, so scared his hands were shaking, but determinedly leveling a handgun straight at her. Kristin didn't even see it, as the boy behind it made her breath catch in her throat.

Wilbur. Her son. He was alive. And he was here. Her chest felt light, but she also felt like she couldn't breathe, both at the same time. Wild emotions warred inside her. Even if he didn't recognize her, even if he looked like he had been through a tornado and was aiming a gun at her head, shouting to stay back. She would recognize those brown curls anywhere, the soft tilt of his eyes accented by his "seeing circles," as he called them, or as everyone else called them, his glasses.

She tried to say his name, only to have her voice crack back to a whisper in the middle, her throat closing up because of a burn that traveled down from her eyes, one so fierce that it kept her mouth from opening again. Her eyes ached from holding back tears as she looked at her son, then to her husband.

She couldn't seem to move. It was like she was a million miles away, looking down at herself facing the two people she couldn't see herself without, having spent so long trying to get to this point. But now that she had finally gotten here, she couldn't believe what she saw. She couldn't make herself take it in, to believe what was before her.

Her eyelids beat like a hummingbird's wings. She couldn't let any of the tears fall. No that would lead to something she never wanted any of the kids to see.

Instead Kristin looked back at Wil, and realized that he wasn't pointing the gun at her now. She turned her head. Techno, he had somehow come up beside her, and taken her gun, without her realizing. He was pointing it at Wilbur. "Kristin, step back."

She looked back and forth between them, realizing that Techno had spoken to her, and the reality of the situation smacked her in the face. They were going to shoot each other if she didn't do something. Finally able to make her limbs work, she reached towards Techno, and managed to find her voice. "Techno, Techno lower the gun."

The 16 year old looked at her like she was insane, but before she could open her mouth again, a groaning interrupted her, followed quickly by soft protests. Kristin looked back toward her family.

Phil was trying to move toward her, and Wil was trying his best not to let him stumble forward, his soft tone just loud enough to reach her, and a stark contrast from earlier. "No, no Dad don't, I'm not letting you go, they won't take you away again..."

Kristin's heart squeezed as she struggled not to imagine what happened to them on their way here. Her jaw tightened as she called out to her son once again, her voice emotional but strong.

"Wilbur."

He froze then, blinking twice, and she could see the moment the recognition appeared on his face as he looked back at them, at her. The emotions she saw cross his face, shock, joy, fear, exhaustion, were nothing compared to the tears that came into his eyes as he whispered the one word she was afraid she would never get to hear again.

"Mom?"

[firstclassattorney]

(ooc: I’ve been watching a documentary show abt two brothers that killed their parents and thought the whole time, hey!!! what if I ace attorney’ed this!!)

Klavier groaned in frustration, pacing relentlessly and running his hands down his face. He twirled and pulled his hair, glaring at the ceiling. 

“FUCK-!” he yelled, voice scratchy and torn. Klavier was utterly hysterical—all defenses dropped and persona forgotten. Kristoph watched Klavier slam his fist into the wall, making a hole in the dry-wall. 

“Do you not see what is happening, Kristoph?! They’re— They’re going to shoot us dead! Mother and father are going to kill us!” He ranted anxiously and irrationally, whipping to face Kristoph, who was sitting primly on the couch. “How can you be so.. so calm-?!”

“They think we’re going to go to the damn police, Kris—that we’ll get them the death sentence for everything they’ve done! There’s nothing we can even do..!”

Klavier thought differently than Kristoph though; his younger brother was more.. law abiding. 

(OOC: that is the most brainrotted thing I've ever heard /POS)

In all truth, Kristoph had prepared for something like this. It was at night when he restlessly laid on his bed that the most sinister scenarios creeped into his mind, intrusively in a way, akin to a parasite taking over his brain. Amongst these dark thoughts, killing his parents was one of the most common. His violent fantasies mostly consisted of slaughtering them, wishing he could do the same in reality without getting caught.

The reason he was so calm, however, is because he knew very well that he could turn those daydreams into a reality with an excuse. That's what the law was to him- rules you could technically break if you have a good reason for it. If he were to murder his parents, it could be classified as self-defense, and Klavier could be a witness to that fact. It was two people against two dead perpetrators. Surely, his chance of winning was high.

Kristoph bounced his leg as he stayed silent, deep in thought. Constantly trapped behind the bars of his own mind; thinking, calculating, acting. It was Klavier's question that snapped him out of his dazed state, earning another all-too-calm smile from the older man.

"Klavier," His voice sounded so soft you'd think he was singing a lullaby, "We're not going to die. Do you think I'd ever let them harm a hair on your head?"

He chuckled, slight arrogance creeping into his tone you couldn't recognize if you didn't know the man's soul. Kristoph twirled a strand of his hair absentmindedly while his other hand stayed folded in his lap, tapping against the fabric of his clothes.

"Murderers don't expect their victims to be able to fight back, most of the time. That's their number one mistake."