Post by Patrick O'Connor on Nov 19, 2010 12:35:37 GMT -8
OOC: thread in jill. large italic junks are dream sequences, others from personal delusions
Theme
Patrick found himself in their bookstore. He called out for Zea finding it odd that the lights were off when the store was supposed to be open. He didn't get an answer so he went to go upstairs.
He picked up a not that was not in Zea's handwriting. In fact a picture of Zea tied up fell out. Patrick looked at it. For a reason he couldn't explain it hurt to look at it. He knew he couldn't dwell on why though, he had to go and save her. He started to make his way to where he hid his guns and hoped that he wasn't rusty, because after all he left this life a few months ago like she said and Conrad and him agreed.
Patrick found himself outside of his truck looking at the pier where Zea was held. It didn't look good. There were a lot of men that were armed to the teeth and ready. Even though he was supposed to give himself up they didn't think that was going to happen. Patrick was dressed in his usual gear; Black tactical pants, a bullet proof vest under his tactical vest and over his black tank top, he wore black tactical gloves to keep his finger prints to himself covering his vast arsenal of equipment was a black leather trench coat. The only thing that was different was the fact that he wasn't wearing his black balaclava. He had figured that it didn't matter any more. They saw his face and knew it anyway so hiding didn't matter anymore. He pulled out his silenced M-4A1 with a red aimpoint and checked his clip one last time.
Patrick fired the first shot into the man's head. Coolly he moved his gun and fired the next shot at the other man before he could react. Quick and easy, but that was the easy part. This was such close quarters that Patrick knew the next few would hear the bodies and then the party would really get going. As Patrick moved forward his sights trained where he guessed the next would come out he pressed the trigger letting three rounds hit the guys chest, the bullets tearing through his soft organs dropping him dead in a gurgled scream. No doubt the remaining men would have taken cover and now things would be brutally close range Patrick switched the assault rifle to his left and and fired bursts in the directions of the cover he figured the men were behind as he reached for his Serbu Shorty 12 gauge shotgun that was strapped to his right leg. As he let go of his rifle the tactical harness drew it back to his chest. He walked up the the big shed where the first man had run from. He passed the gun to his left hand as he heard heavy breathing on the other side of the wall. He stuck his arm around and pulled the trigger. Upon hearing the scream he heard to weapons open up on automatic fire. He tried to bring his arm back but he felt a few burning sensations. Luckily they were only scratches but they would still scar, something Patrick knew would be there in a few years. He shook his head at that not knowing where that came from.
Daniel groaned and tried to shift in his sleep his right hand brushing and running would his left forearm where some line scars were.
Patrick holstered the shotgun. He knew that two people the pump action shotgun would be useless in taking both of them out quick enough but he pumped it just in case he needed the gun. He pulled out his two Mk. 23s. He mentally counted to three before turning the corner into the shed and pulling the triggers where he had hear the men. He hit one on a guess incapacitating him for the time being but missed the other. The unwounded man was able to shoot a burst into Patrick's chest before Patrick hit and killed him. Patrick took a few steps back. He looked down briefly checking for wounds but his rifle's receiver and vest took the hits destroying the rifle and damaging the vest, by Patrick's count though he had at least two broken ribs. He walked up to the man that was down but still breathing. Whispered breathing begged him not to do it but Patrick put the gun to his face and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across Patrick's impassioned face.
Daniel tried to wipe something from his face in his sleep, that was getting evermore restless.
Patrick calmly limped forward with his right hand on his chest. As he counted there was one man left with Zea tied to a chair. It wasn't something Patrick couldn't deal with. He kept his left arm and pistol raised trained down range, about to round the final corner where Zea and the last guy was when he hear a man cursing.
It was then the sky turned from the black of night to red. Patrick found his heart to be racing and the pit of his stomach dropping. He felt that pain all over again. Like the times he hadn't drank. Untempered. Unhindered.
...
...
A single shot rang out as Patrick rounded the corner
...
and heard a whimper as he watched her head droop.
...
...
Patrick watched and looked at the man who had done it in disbelief. He felt his world being torn apart again. He saw all the other faces of loved one. He saw the man raise his gun as he watched Zea raise her head one last time giving him a look of painful accusation before dropping back down. Patrick wanted to scream, scream his regret and sorrow. Scream that he had stopped. That he hadn't broken the deal. Scream life back into her.
Daniel let out a muffled cry of anguish in his sleep…
He was pretty sure he had screamed but the ensuing shots had drowned that out. Three shots from a heavy duty pistol hit him. The first to bounced of the vest harmlessly, but the third pushed it's way through and exited him leaving the only blemish on his scar in the back. Unfortunately for him though it didn't hit anything important. Patrick took a few steps back, feeling darkness closing in. One last thing told him through the pain, whispering to him. He fought to raise the pistol one last time before falling off the pier into the water.
...
He pulled the trigger blowing of the last man's head.
Daniel stirred restlessly some more
He found himself on the pier hours later, the cleaners having been there already. He was covered in his own blood. The world was a shad of dark red. There was nothing but pain and regret. Regret of failure. Regret of life. He fell to his knees at the spot where Zea’s blood pooled, it was all he had left of her. He sobbed. With one final scream of pain,
“Zea!” Daniel screamed as he shot up his right hand on his chest where he could of sworn he had gotten shot. Panting, Daniel looked around and saw himself behind the bars. He was sitting upright on that metal rack that was his bed. Looking around rather fearfully and confused still clutching his chest Daniel sweat bullets, realizing only after his breathing slowed down that his hand wasn’t wet with blood but just sweat.
After being confused for just a moment or two more he realized that he was just in a prison cell. He was almost twenty, not sixteen. He had woken up from a dream, not reality. Even though it had felt like he had been shot he was fine. He was wearing a different shirt anyway. What he had dreamed wasn’t real. The reality was that he had woken up after his second night in jail after starting that riot. That’s right. The dream wasn’t reality. He was just having nightmares. It wasn’t real. But then again it had felt so real. Then the thought struck him. If it was real then he would have some sort of mark where he had been shot. Those sorts of things just didn’t go away.
Nervously Daniel’s hand shook as he placed it on his shirt. He pulled it away from his chest to look down it, but he stopped his eyes from actually looking. Daniel did and didn’t want to see it. If it was there then everything else had been true. If it wasn’t then she was still alive, it wasn’t all some sick joke. Daniel shook as he took a deep breath in preparing himself to look, but before he could…
“You know it’s there Patrick,” the red haired woman said softly, startling Daniel.
She stood beside him as he let go of his shirt and fell back on his
rack with sigh, “So everything was true?”
Daniel shook as he lie down sweating, curling himself into a ball. He spoke in his irish accent, unaware in his hallucination that this was not who Daniel Heart was. He shook in fear and anticipation for what came next.
“Yes Patrick.”
Daniel’s eyes teared up. He hated sleeping. There was no good of it. It didn’t leave him rested, it only tortured and tormented him. The dreams were getting worse too. Especially since he had come here. In his cell he had nothing to do but think. With nothing to occupy his mind he had nothing left to do but listen to the screams in his mind. Replay over and over the failure in his life. Face the pain he had been running from for the past few years. All this and he didn’t have alcohol to help him out either, and that was killing him.
After a few moments of lying in his rack he got up because he couldn’t take the silence and the every repeating memory in his mind. Finding it unfit to stand Daniel started to pace back and forth into his cell. He continued to sweat bullets and shook as he went through the withdrawals both physically, and mentally. Daniel’s mind raced as his mind couldn’t stay on one memory. It jumped between bloody images like a broken TV, all garbled up. He panted as he paced his hands finding the back of his head in discomfort. He spoke rapidly to the woman of his memories trying to sort things out:
“Zea why, why did ye do it?”
“Why did ye save me life?”
“What did I ever do fer ye but spit in yer face?”
“Ye knew I was only going to betray ye”
“Ye knew I was only going to murder ye.”
“I couldn’t Zea, I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Daniel fell to the floor, back to the bars, holding himself, shaking:
“Please forgive me Zea.”
“Forgive me.”
“Please…”
Theme
Patrick found himself in their bookstore. He called out for Zea finding it odd that the lights were off when the store was supposed to be open. He didn't get an answer so he went to go upstairs.
He picked up a not that was not in Zea's handwriting. In fact a picture of Zea tied up fell out. Patrick looked at it. For a reason he couldn't explain it hurt to look at it. He knew he couldn't dwell on why though, he had to go and save her. He started to make his way to where he hid his guns and hoped that he wasn't rusty, because after all he left this life a few months ago like she said and Conrad and him agreed.
Patrick found himself outside of his truck looking at the pier where Zea was held. It didn't look good. There were a lot of men that were armed to the teeth and ready. Even though he was supposed to give himself up they didn't think that was going to happen. Patrick was dressed in his usual gear; Black tactical pants, a bullet proof vest under his tactical vest and over his black tank top, he wore black tactical gloves to keep his finger prints to himself covering his vast arsenal of equipment was a black leather trench coat. The only thing that was different was the fact that he wasn't wearing his black balaclava. He had figured that it didn't matter any more. They saw his face and knew it anyway so hiding didn't matter anymore. He pulled out his silenced M-4A1 with a red aimpoint and checked his clip one last time.
Patrick fired the first shot into the man's head. Coolly he moved his gun and fired the next shot at the other man before he could react. Quick and easy, but that was the easy part. This was such close quarters that Patrick knew the next few would hear the bodies and then the party would really get going. As Patrick moved forward his sights trained where he guessed the next would come out he pressed the trigger letting three rounds hit the guys chest, the bullets tearing through his soft organs dropping him dead in a gurgled scream. No doubt the remaining men would have taken cover and now things would be brutally close range Patrick switched the assault rifle to his left and and fired bursts in the directions of the cover he figured the men were behind as he reached for his Serbu Shorty 12 gauge shotgun that was strapped to his right leg. As he let go of his rifle the tactical harness drew it back to his chest. He walked up the the big shed where the first man had run from. He passed the gun to his left hand as he heard heavy breathing on the other side of the wall. He stuck his arm around and pulled the trigger. Upon hearing the scream he heard to weapons open up on automatic fire. He tried to bring his arm back but he felt a few burning sensations. Luckily they were only scratches but they would still scar, something Patrick knew would be there in a few years. He shook his head at that not knowing where that came from.
Daniel groaned and tried to shift in his sleep his right hand brushing and running would his left forearm where some line scars were.
Patrick holstered the shotgun. He knew that two people the pump action shotgun would be useless in taking both of them out quick enough but he pumped it just in case he needed the gun. He pulled out his two Mk. 23s. He mentally counted to three before turning the corner into the shed and pulling the triggers where he had hear the men. He hit one on a guess incapacitating him for the time being but missed the other. The unwounded man was able to shoot a burst into Patrick's chest before Patrick hit and killed him. Patrick took a few steps back. He looked down briefly checking for wounds but his rifle's receiver and vest took the hits destroying the rifle and damaging the vest, by Patrick's count though he had at least two broken ribs. He walked up to the man that was down but still breathing. Whispered breathing begged him not to do it but Patrick put the gun to his face and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across Patrick's impassioned face.
Daniel tried to wipe something from his face in his sleep, that was getting evermore restless.
Patrick calmly limped forward with his right hand on his chest. As he counted there was one man left with Zea tied to a chair. It wasn't something Patrick couldn't deal with. He kept his left arm and pistol raised trained down range, about to round the final corner where Zea and the last guy was when he hear a man cursing.
It was then the sky turned from the black of night to red. Patrick found his heart to be racing and the pit of his stomach dropping. He felt that pain all over again. Like the times he hadn't drank. Untempered. Unhindered.
...
...
A single shot rang out as Patrick rounded the corner
...
and heard a whimper as he watched her head droop.
...
...
Patrick watched and looked at the man who had done it in disbelief. He felt his world being torn apart again. He saw all the other faces of loved one. He saw the man raise his gun as he watched Zea raise her head one last time giving him a look of painful accusation before dropping back down. Patrick wanted to scream, scream his regret and sorrow. Scream that he had stopped. That he hadn't broken the deal. Scream life back into her.
Daniel let out a muffled cry of anguish in his sleep…
He was pretty sure he had screamed but the ensuing shots had drowned that out. Three shots from a heavy duty pistol hit him. The first to bounced of the vest harmlessly, but the third pushed it's way through and exited him leaving the only blemish on his scar in the back. Unfortunately for him though it didn't hit anything important. Patrick took a few steps back, feeling darkness closing in. One last thing told him through the pain, whispering to him. He fought to raise the pistol one last time before falling off the pier into the water.
...
He pulled the trigger blowing of the last man's head.
Daniel stirred restlessly some more
He found himself on the pier hours later, the cleaners having been there already. He was covered in his own blood. The world was a shad of dark red. There was nothing but pain and regret. Regret of failure. Regret of life. He fell to his knees at the spot where Zea’s blood pooled, it was all he had left of her. He sobbed. With one final scream of pain,
“Zea!” Daniel screamed as he shot up his right hand on his chest where he could of sworn he had gotten shot. Panting, Daniel looked around and saw himself behind the bars. He was sitting upright on that metal rack that was his bed. Looking around rather fearfully and confused still clutching his chest Daniel sweat bullets, realizing only after his breathing slowed down that his hand wasn’t wet with blood but just sweat.
After being confused for just a moment or two more he realized that he was just in a prison cell. He was almost twenty, not sixteen. He had woken up from a dream, not reality. Even though it had felt like he had been shot he was fine. He was wearing a different shirt anyway. What he had dreamed wasn’t real. The reality was that he had woken up after his second night in jail after starting that riot. That’s right. The dream wasn’t reality. He was just having nightmares. It wasn’t real. But then again it had felt so real. Then the thought struck him. If it was real then he would have some sort of mark where he had been shot. Those sorts of things just didn’t go away.
Nervously Daniel’s hand shook as he placed it on his shirt. He pulled it away from his chest to look down it, but he stopped his eyes from actually looking. Daniel did and didn’t want to see it. If it was there then everything else had been true. If it wasn’t then she was still alive, it wasn’t all some sick joke. Daniel shook as he took a deep breath in preparing himself to look, but before he could…
“You know it’s there Patrick,” the red haired woman said softly, startling Daniel.
She stood beside him as he let go of his shirt and fell back on his
rack with sigh, “So everything was true?”
Daniel shook as he lie down sweating, curling himself into a ball. He spoke in his irish accent, unaware in his hallucination that this was not who Daniel Heart was. He shook in fear and anticipation for what came next.
“Yes Patrick.”
Daniel’s eyes teared up. He hated sleeping. There was no good of it. It didn’t leave him rested, it only tortured and tormented him. The dreams were getting worse too. Especially since he had come here. In his cell he had nothing to do but think. With nothing to occupy his mind he had nothing left to do but listen to the screams in his mind. Replay over and over the failure in his life. Face the pain he had been running from for the past few years. All this and he didn’t have alcohol to help him out either, and that was killing him.
After a few moments of lying in his rack he got up because he couldn’t take the silence and the every repeating memory in his mind. Finding it unfit to stand Daniel started to pace back and forth into his cell. He continued to sweat bullets and shook as he went through the withdrawals both physically, and mentally. Daniel’s mind raced as his mind couldn’t stay on one memory. It jumped between bloody images like a broken TV, all garbled up. He panted as he paced his hands finding the back of his head in discomfort. He spoke rapidly to the woman of his memories trying to sort things out:
“Zea why, why did ye do it?”
“Why did ye save me life?”
“What did I ever do fer ye but spit in yer face?”
“Ye knew I was only going to betray ye”
“Ye knew I was only going to murder ye.”
“I couldn’t Zea, I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Daniel fell to the floor, back to the bars, holding himself, shaking:
“Please forgive me Zea.”
“Forgive me.”
“Please…”