forum Those that survive hell don't do so kindly. || probably oxo || mature || closed

Started January 03, 2021 by @croccin-champagne

tune

Name:
Tango Varela

Age:
21

Gender:
Female

Sexuality:
"Who's asking?"

Down for romance/willing to consider/nah fam:
Down for romance babeyyy

Affiliations:
She's generally very good at networking, so even though she doesn't actually have a group, she's kept herself on okay terms with most everyone. Has a pal on the laundry crew, and has a weird respect-hate relationship with an old lady who hangs out around the couch section of the store. Definitely would throw down with the creeps in the electronics section.

Appearance:

Hair Color/Cut:
Warm brown hair with well done highlights, cut to a bit below her shoulders. It's naturally wavy and often tied in a high ponytail using her favorite yellow bandana.

Eye Color/Shape:
Almond eyes, a warm brown with little bits of green and gold.

Complexion:
Golden, honey-toned skin. Smoooth.

Height:
5'7

Build:
Athletic muscle from cheerleading. She's light, with just enough power to pack a decent force behind her kicks or a punch.

Scars/Identifying Marks:
Abdomen scars from knives–she wont answer questions about them. Other various nicks and scars on her arms and legs, including the tear from a bullet just catching her shoulder. One of her ears has a chunk of cartilage missing from a piercing being torn out.

Tattoos and Piercings:
A snake jaw with a carnation in the open mouth, and words in Spanish wrapping through.

Piercings include navel, ear lobes, and a cartilage.

Imprisonment outfit:
Her bandana, as she had her hair up when kidnapped. She was at school(college), wearing athletic shorts and her varsity jacket(both blue and yellow) and a blue bandeau top. School spirit babey. A pair of black sneakers, and a hair tie on her wrist with a compartment. I can vouch for their existence.

Backstory:
A very many secret, but I will say she's now the sole guardian of her little sister, who's in the hospital with cancer in her lung.

Particular skills they might have that could be of use:
While she's no A+ student, she can get by with some hard work, and is used to putting that work into the rest of her life as well. Definitely much smarter people and street wise, with a strong interest in psychology. Can pick locks, fire a gun, and fight well, evidenced by her lack of issue with the 'tasks'. Definitely more brawn than academic.

Other:
Really likes muffins.

Name: Silas Lee

Age(range 19+): 19

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Who knows.

Down for romance/willing to consider/nah fam: We’ll see.

Affiliations(enemies, groups, etc): Anyone who’s not trying to kill him is a potential ally unless they have bad vibes to him. Doesn’t have many who would consider him a friend, and even less that’s he thinks of as such. But he has a handful or two of “understandings” that he’s relatively polite and occasionally helpful to.

Appearance: Korean.

Hair Color/Cut: Dark hair that used to hang a bit low on his face but is now a badly done crew cut, done with some kiddie scissors he found in a back to school section.

Eye Color/Shape: Almond shaped eyes so dark they look black. Sometimes glinting with the lack of mercy.

Complexion: Pale.

Height: Barely under six feet.

Build: Thin and not well muscled.

Scars/Identifying Marks: The top of his forearms are covered in small scars, twice as many on the right.

Tattoos and Piercings: One in his right ear. Barely noticeable with nothing in it.

Imprisonment outfit(what they wear regularly, be it substitutions from the sketchy in store brand, a whole outfit from that, or what they were kidnapped in): Black jeans, white tee, covered by a thin navy sweatshirt.

Backstory(only what you want to share. secrets are fun): Rumors say that if given a name, he will kill without hesitation. Less trustworthy is the tale that he has a sibling outside.

Particular skills they might have that could be of use: Intimate knowledge of the human body, and pain.

Other: Rather good at reading people.

he and tango are either going to be best friends or that rivals-willing-to-kill-eachother-but-also-kill-for-eachother trope and i love it

also i forgot to mention, but i'm glad you picked up on it:

be creative! name parts of the store on your own, give them nicknames the captives might call them, and make up groups! you can even name the groups, just have fun because this is the kind of world best built by everyone involved!

1. bandeau ?
2. I insist they know each other, but have never officially met.
3. I agree. But it’s definitely because she’s just a good ally not like she’s actually my friend or even less Romantic Tension reasons. (He’s ace btw.)

one of these babies.

oh boy could i pm you to talk about that? figure out how they'd know each other?

they both understand the other would probably kill them if it was necessary but they also know they're pretty valuable to each other as allies

Name: Jukka Lavr Yurivich

Age(range 19+): 25

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual

Down for romance/willing to consider/nah fam: _{I mean…} I, the player of this character am down for it; if it happens, it happens.

Affiliations(enemies, groups, etc): He’s kind of the guy you might see hanging around in the distance, not really doing much. If you talk to him, he’ll respond, sure - can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy your response, though. Essentially, he’s not particularly close with any groups, nor has he made major enemies - surprisingly. Though, if it counts - a small group of three young adults have decided he’s either the most intimidating figure they’ve ever seen, or one of the nicest people they’ve ever met. No in between. Sure wonder where that impression came from. The group of three individuals calls themselves the ‘Starlings’, with their reasoning behind the name being unknown. Aside from that, Jukka has never bothered to branch out. He’s been noticed, sure, but not much can be said about his impression on others.

Appearance:

Hair Color/Cut: Chestnut brown hair. Longer towards the back, but it doesn’t even reach the base of his neck. He keeps it out of his face; it just manages to go below his ears.

Eye Color/Shape: Dark blue eyes with a green inner iris. Upturned.

Complexion: Pale ivory skin.

Height: A couple inches over 6ft, about 6’2” if we were to take a guess.

Build: Some muscle on him due to his lifestyle and habits. He’s got a lankier build though. Could be closest described as a ‘swimmers body.’

Scars/Identifying Marks: Two notable scars on his neck. The first is fainter and more off to the side. It’s also smaller. Looks to be a bullet scar. The second is less faint and easier to see should he show his neck; unlike the bullet scar, it’s towards the front of his neck. It’s a horizontal cut, almost perfectly centred. Smaller, fainter scar above his right eye from an accident when he was younger.
Burn scar on his upper left arm, and the underside of his lower left arm.
Severe scarring on his lower jaw. He refuses to say anything about how he got it, though he’s more than happy to speak about the rest of his wounds and the stories behind them.
Central heterochromia in both eyes. The insides are green; the outside are blue.

Tattoos and Piercings: Tattoo of a viper on his back. The tattoo looks to be the work of a professional. Must’ve taken a while to get that tattoo.
The viper itself closely resembles a Matilda Horned Viper, the scales of the viper coloured yellow and black, with the eyes being red. The fangs are displayed, as though the viper were moving in for attack. It’s a larger tattoo; the edge of the tail slightly curves around to the front of his torso, but not by much.

Imprisonment outfit(what they wear regularly, be it substitutions from the sketchy in store brand, a whole outfit from that, or what they were kidnapped in): His clothing isn’t too notable in terms of colour. Mostly shades of dark green or grey; his boots are rather heavy, almost like the types you’d see labour workers wearing, though he carries himself well enough in it. Commonly spotted sporting a lighter jacket that looks to be some sort of hybrid between a duster or a parka. His pants are similar to cargo pants. He’s also picked himself up a large fur coat - one of his only picks from the store - though he doesn’t always wear it, nor will he lug it everywhere with him.
He can usually be spotted sporting a shawl, which he manages to fold into a mask to cover his lower face, and occasionally pull over his head.

Backstory(only what you want to share. secrets are fun): Born in Russia to his mother, who was from Finland, and his father. An only child - according to himself, he led a particularly average childhood, even if his parents weren’t the best they could’ve been.
Again, as worded by Jukka, his late teen years and adulthood also led a life of questionable experiences. And questionable, as in, “I’ve come very close to being put in prison but I never have because I keep throwing money into the pockets of the law” sort of thing. That doesn’t really work forever, though. And though he himself never went to prison, some of his fellow people who also made questionable choices did, and Jukka thought, “well, maybe I should get far away from here.”
Moving away never stopped him from continuing with his lifestyle, though.

Particular skills they might have that could be of use: Highly flexible. He knows how to fight - combined with his ‘acrobatic’ skills, it makes for an interesting combination. Of course, rarely does he prefer to fight with his hands, preferring to actually hold a weapon. He’s good with certain knives, and he can handle a gun. He can also track. But tracking people down in giant stores is a bit different than in the wild, rendering that skill basically useless.

Other: he drinks maple syrup straight from the bottle.

Ahh nice. So we see her scars!

Sure if you want. I was just thinking ~reputation~. But if you have a better idea…

Definitely. Unless that changed later maybe. Thinking ahead? Yes.

snake tat bros. and criminal bros.

if mox has a matching character we could just straight up have a gang of morally questionable 'probably criminal' heroes

Oh I could definitely do that

I have a few questions (also sorry for being so late).
Is there alcohol in the store?
Is this kind of like Costco? This store is giving me Costco vibes, minus the pharmacy
Would our characters have already formed an alliance/gang of sorts or will we write that happening?

1. yeah probably

2. Costco-Ikea, yes

3. some of our characters could have already met/formed tentative alliances, but the actual group forming will be written as happening, yeah!

Oh I’m glad Mox is joining.

Also I too got those vibes.

Name: Evelyn James

Age(range 19+): 21

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Down for romance/willing to consider/nah fam: Yeah man

Affiliations(enemies, groups, etc): She's can be pretty cocky, so when she tried to make friends with the people in the bakery, it did not last long and they turned on her. She's healing from a black eye from that encounter. She is on good terms with the people who took over the clothing section, though she doesn't like them very much and tries not to hang out with them for too long.

Appearance:

Hair Color/Cut: Her hair is naturally brown but she dyes/bleaches it to look dirty blonde. Goes just past her shoulders and is kind of wavy/scraggly (even when she's not kidnapped and forced to survive in a weird store by a weird man)

Eye Color/Shape: Brown, almond shaped

Complexion: Medium skin tone

Height: 5'8

Build: Pretty thin. A little too thin

Scars/Identifying Marks: She has a thin, one inch, vertical scar on her jaw/chin. She also has freckles.

Tattoos and Piercings: Her left arm is sleeved in tattoos, from her mid-forearm to her shoulder. There a couple of knives, lightning bolts, and cigarettes in various stages. There is a woman, hunched over and crying, and a skull with some flowers around it. There is also a camera and a ballon. None of the tattoos are colored. She also has a bunch of tattoos on her right leg that goes from her mid-thigh to her calf. There are a couple of round smiley faces that look like stickers you would give to children. There is a mountain, some butterflies, a bottle in a paper bag, a scythe and two skeletal hands crossed over each other. One has a butterfly resting on the tips of its fingers, and the other grips a knife. She also has two piercings in each of her ears and a septum piercing.

Imprisonment outfit(what they wear regularly, be it substitutions from the sketchy in store brand, a whole outfit from that, or what they were kidnapped in): She was kidnapped in a black t-shirt, slightly baggy green pants that she keeps up with a belt, a green and blue flannel, a faded camo jacket, a beanie, and combat boots. She mostly wears this and sometimes switches out her pants with black pants that she found in the store, and will wear other shirts and flannels that she found in the store. She also found a pack of bandanas that she wears sometimes.

Backstory(only what you want to share. secrets are fun): Her parents are both dead. She was raised in England with her grandparents, who were really abusive. She's an alcoholic. I'll leave it at that for now.

Particular skills they might have that could be of use: She's pretty knowledgeable about medical stuff. Like she can bandage a wound and keep it clean, she can make a good splint, and a good tourniquet and she knows CPR, the Heimlich, and can tell when someone is concussed, plus a few other things. She's also never had any formal fighting training, but she can hold her own.

Other: Grew up in England, so she has a British accent. She had been sober for about a week before she got kidnapped. When she found out what was going on, she promptly started drinking again. She would also love to smoke but she hasn't found any cigarettes.

((no i don't know how math works please don't ask me questions about my understanding of basic subtraction))

Six days.

It had been six days since Tango had woken up in what could only be classified as some sort of living hell. It had been six days since she'd been taken from her college campus, taken out in the middle of a phone call with her best friend.

Six days of not knowing if she would ever actually make it out of this building.

The building in question was an almost exceedingly large store. Literally. Completely stocked and likely the size of an Ikea and Costco put together, the place wasn't missing the almost liminal atmosphere. An atmosphere made worse, at night, by the knowledge of what was likely happening at that exact moment.

They had started with sixty people. In just six days, that number had dropped by twenty. Forty of them left. It was a sick game, but one the captives couldn't choose not to play. Nobody wanted to risk the consequences. Everyone wanted out.

Each night, a handful of names were given up to other captives. Sometimes you got the name of a captive you knew. Sometimes you didn't even know they'd been imprisoned with you. But the photo was the worst part. To Tango, it was a sick reminder. Mocking, the way they appeared back in her small stash of belongings no matter how many times she tried to throw them out. Now, she kept them in a neat stack in the bag she carried. Like a memorial. She wouldn't let Chris win.

Unable to sleep, she had taken to wandering. She wasn't the only one. Of the five group 'camps' that had been formed, three were mostly up and about, the captives that were awake gathered together and talking quietly. Here and there, she spotted the 'Stranded' sleeping on furniture, no groups to keep them company. She was one of them.

Of course, not everyone was accounted for. They had been lucky to be 'gifted' with working public bathrooms, and nature called at all hours of the night. But be it in the bathroom, or a secluded corner of the store, at least one person was receiving a name. Tango was just hoping she wouldn't be given one of the next hits.

For a while, things were quiet. Nothing but the faint sound of chatter and snoring to accompany as she made her rounds.

As she approached the more populated part of the store though, that changed.

Where the bakery section met the start of the furniture sections, some sort of commotion had begun. As she got closer, one hand itching to grab the baseball bat affixed to her back pack, things started to piece together. At the center of the conflict stood two people, a tall man with what might have been blood on his shirt, and another man–shorter–who seemed to have the largest issue.

"–you killed her! She was a kid! Where the hell is your remorse, you–"

"That's what happens when you get a name, Marvin. You know that. Nothing's changed since we got stuck here, n matter how much you want to believe it."

Do you not have remorse for your sins?

What trails behind you?

What you’ve left behind?

Your sins will not go unpunished.

As unbothered as one could be in this situation, Jukka lay, on the rather large, tall shelves that were used to store various items. His eyes were closed and with now still he was, one could almost assume he were asleep. But he wasn’t, no. Just resting, remaining alert. He was confident, but not overconfident. Occasionally he would open his eyes if he were to hear something shift in the background, but it would always be quite a distance away from him, never directly on the shelves that he’d so claimed as his favourite spot in the store.
The shelves - Jukka hadn’t cleared them off, not completely. He had realized a tactical advantage with them, that being not many were willing to make the effort to climb the shelves, though he was aware that someone could probably get furniture to help make the climb. At least Jukka never settled down anywhere for too long, opting to stay a different spot each time he slept, if he did even sleep that day.

Along with the height advantage came the hiding advantage. You’d need to look up to even have a chance to see him, even then, the boxes that were resting on the shelves hid him pretty well. One of the only risks he could consider was how falling, especially from this height, would be bad. Really, really bad. Jukka had realized that when he climbed up for the first time, looking down at the hard, cold floor.
’Yeah, if I fall down there, I might die depending where I fall.’ That summed up his first thoughts. At the very least, injury, which would be a bit harder to treat.
Which was why he’d taken to laying in between the boxes already on the shelves. They’d shield him from sight, and serve as barriers, in case. But he wasn’t here to peacefully drift into his thoughts.

The killings. The killings definitely caught Jukka off guard, when he’d first heard of them. Some of the people he’d seen here didn’t even look like they could kill at first. Sometimes the most unexpected things happen. People had begun to drop like flies. It was less than a week, and Jukka could already observe the numbers had dropped significantly. Jukka could say he contributed to that.
Because he’d already gotten one name. Only one name, but it was still a name, a person he had to find. He was quick with it, the longest part of the job was finding the person to begin with. When he killed, he killed - never slowly, occasionally messy but that only had to do with what weapon he had on him at the time. Jukka would only ever make someone’s death slow if he truly hated them. Which he rarely had a person he hated, and he was sure that any of his ‘enemies’ weren’t apart of this thing. He was sure. He was sure that he’d known already if they were here. They would’ve already made their presence known to him, wouldn’t they?

Jukka stretched briefly, opening his eyes again to the next shelf that was above him. That was right. He couldn’t look at the sky, couldn’t see it anymore. Parts of him hadn’t noticed it. Parts of him did notice, and somewhat missed seeing the stars, the moon in the sky. The weather.
He sat up, lifting his hands in front of his face and cracking his knuckles. It was about time to get moving, do some things. See who recently died, or find out. He wondered if it was any of the Starlings - the three young adults, who had taken to becoming wanderers of the store, not quite settling in one place, ever. He wondered if the Starlings copied him. He didn’t care.
That was the other con - getting up was faster than getting down. Jukka was careful not to slip when he moved through the boxes and worked at getting down, jumping on the lower shelf to the next shelf and so on, until he either reached a good distance to jump or just completely went to the bottom.

When he’d finally made it, he brushed the dust from his clothing - or what dust he could, and strolled onwards. It’s time to find out who died. Someone always died, after all. He was sure that he wasn’t the only person killing that night a few days ago. Just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.
But maybe he’d find something to eat first.

The floor was made of solid concrete. Perfect for injuries. A simple trip could have a person disadvantaged for a week if it was bad enough. Not to mention the way a skull would break on it, a simple cut on the outside, dripping blood heavily, then a crack in the bone; an injury that could take months to recover from, exposing the innards of a head to the harsh realities of bacterial warfare. Then, of course, the bruising to the brain, caused by blunt trauma.
Silas kept that in mind as he walked quickly through the shelves; not dodging from one to the other, but always moving quickly, his feet always ready to dance lightly away when trouble seemed close.
He was now entering Rat Clan territory. For many people this would have been a dangerous move, though sometimes one would stray into it anyways. Rat Clan had a habit of packing and setting new camps, rarely bothering about who had been sleeping there before. Nevertheless, Rat always slunk away from him the moment he dared them to try anything. A week before he had gotten the name Ethan Hollister. Leader of Crocodile Clan. Ethan had found out beforehand. Silas found it interesting how information got around. He was smarter than some of the others. He had made a pretense of buying him off over drinks. He only had beer, which Silas hated—Rat at that time had been camping in the wine section. But Silas dutifully came, substituting the drink for his own, knowing his would be poisoned, no matter how untampered it looked. The conversation had been short, but both left satisfied. Silas even more so. Their final handshake had been a little warm and slippery, but Silas knew he would never have to see Ethan again. Ethan died that night, his blood pressure dropping like a stone. Silas wondered if he had turned blue as his breathing became labored and heart murmured quieter and quieter. It was a pity he hadn’t been there to see it.
Silas picked up a bottle of wine to go. He didn’t drink. But others did. He slipped it away a few aisles from the Rat border. He would collect it later. No one knew when they could be the next target and so the smart ones assumed it would be any. And murder was always easier at night. None of them were certain bout what time it was, except for a boy called Ed, who claimed to be able to tell the time within 180 seconds. Silas knew he said it that way to sound more impressive. The idiots wouldn’t know.
Ed aside, all the residents had a general agreement about when night was. The more fortunate spent that time sleeping. Others hid or sought.
Screaming shot through the air about six aisles to his left, and a little forwards. Silas frowned. He had wanted to go that direction.
With the speed of a snake, an arm wrapped around his neck.
“Don’t move, Squinty,” a dark voice muttered. He clearly meant business. Silas sized up the situation, realized he was overpowered, and yanked away hard, flexing his neck and lifting his feet from the ground to force his enemy’s face closer to the ground. Hopefully forcing him off balance. His adversary took this as an opportunity to slam Silas down, using his rib cage to ram him in the back, sending a sharp shock through his knees. His enemy was now crouched over him. Silas had no position to use his now throbbing knees. The pressure on his back increased, though not enough to break his arm’s position that was keeping his head away from the concrete.
“Nice try,” the young man said. “But you’re still dead.”
Silas responded as eloquently as he was able, sending his spine into the other man’s stomach, straining his leg muscles to send his vertebrae crashing into him with enough force to knock the wind out of him. The force holding him down lessened, and Silas rolled out from under him, sweeping the arm aside, and rising to stand in one motion. The man was gasping, his mouth gaping comically like a koi fish. Silas’s foot flashed out and the man fell to the floor, his cheek split under the ear. He was knocked out instantly, but Silas took the one second to appreciate how his head flew upwards before making a nauseating cluck on the concrete floor. He searched the body quickly and efficiently, finding a lovely foot long knife with a glossy wood handle. With a deft slash, Silas sliced down the man’s spine, for half a second exposing bits of bone among the shredded cloth before the cut flooded with blood. Silas decided to keep the knife. He walked away, unconcerned, the dripping knife like a torch in his hand as he walked the halls of products. He had some business to attend do before he could sleep. And he needed to get some pain pills for his knees.

Evelyn looked up. She was standing in the very center of the store, with boxes and shelves stacked up all around her. A man much taller and larger than her charged at her from the shadows. She narrowed her eyes and ran a sword through his side with perfect precision. He fell to the floor on his back and looked up at Evelyn as he died. "Well . . . done," he whispered, as the light left his eyes. The concrete floor transformed into an antique rug. Evelyn looked up and saw an intricately carved table with tea and scones set at it. Her grandfather sat at the head of the table and her grandmother sat at his left. Her grandfather read the newspaper. "Well done," her grandmother said. "Now sit dear." Evelyn sat across from her and sipped tea from the cup in front of her.

"I don't like doing this," Evelyn mumbled into her teacup.

"Speak up dear. Mumbling is unseemly. I taught you better."

"I don't like doing this," Evelyn practically shouted.

Evelyn's grandmother smiled and stood, leaning over the table until her face was right in Evelyn's. "But you're so good at it darling."

Her mind went blank.

She sighed and turned over in her sleep. There were screams, there were almost always screams, echoing throughout the store. But Evelyn slept through them. She had slept through worse before she ever showed up in this hell hole. Plus, the bottles in her bag helped quite a bit.

After managing to grab a swiss army knife and a bag on that first day, Evelyn had booked it, trying to find the liquor section. She had grabbed a three-pack of 64 oz plastic water bottles on her way and started filling them up with all the vodka she could find, before putting them in her bag. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she knew that she wouldn't get through it sober. She found a couple of other bottles of liquor that were made out of plastic and took those too, before booking in the opposite direction, careful to avoid meeting anyone. It might make her life a lot harder if people knew about her stash, and Evelyn wanted to avoid unnecessary fights.

The bright, fluorescent lights clicked on, waking her. Evelyn groaned and sat up. She had no way of knowing, but it really felt like the lights always come on at an ungodly hour. She could have sworn they were extra bright, too. Knowing Chris, he probably found a way to do that. "I'd like to kill him for a change," Evelyn muttered to herself. She took her swiss army knife out of her bag and used to pen to mark her arm. She had taken to doing that every "morning". It was hard enough keeping track of the days when she was living her normal life, without adding a lack of sunlight to the mix.

As Evelyn climbed out of her hiding place, she heard yelling, and her eyes immediately lit up. It was close, too. She snuck around some shelves and found a crowd. One man was yelling at another, and more people started to yell. She came up behind a girl in a yellow bandana who was also watching the commotion. Evelyn grinned at her. "Finally, some entertainment, right?"

Tango spared the girl next to her a glance, before her attention focused back on the commotion. She hummed in what might have been agreement, before actually speaking. "Finally implies this whole situation isn't already too exciting, all the time." And it was. If excitement didn't refer to anything good, that was.

The taller man, who appeared to be the most calm, held up a hand in warning as Marvin moved closer to him.

"I don't want to have to hurt you, Marvin. Don't start something you can't finish."

"Don't tell tell me what to do! Why the hell would I listen to a child murderer. I should kill you right here, for what you've done."

"She was sixteen–" Tango's lips parted so she could inhale, teeth closed and making the sound a bit louder than it would have been. "–and I didn't want to kill her. But you know how this works." The tall man said. His tone was weary, that of a man tired from the weight of what was happening around him. No one could really blame him. Not in this situation. "I got her name. She knew what that meant, even if she fought it."

Marvin let out a strangled sob and lunged, the attack easily stopped by the larger man. Both of them ceased moving when Tango's voice carried to them, heads turning in her direction as she crossed her arms.

"Beating the shit out of him might feel good, if you can manage it, but it won't bring her back. If it could, everyone here'd be starting fights left and right, man."

You can’t push the memories back.

Not these memories, anyway.

With a skip in his step, Jukka looked particularly happy for someone to be in such a grim setting. Maybe it was just the walk style - one couldn’t see his expression, after all. Maybe he was unhinged, or perhaps just trying to make the best of his situation. But those who knew Jukka for a period of time would often lean towards him being unhinged.
Through his short trip in the store, he’d acquired a bottle of perhaps his all time favourite drink, maple syrup. Alright, so maybe it wasn’t a drink in the traditional sense - it was definitely something that would get you noticed if you pulled out some maple syrup and started drinking it. And it wasn’t his first favourite drink either - unfortunately, maple syrup only ranked second place on his personal list.
Within minutes after he’d resumed walking, Jukka had heard the noise of an argument.

Arguments seemed to be a somewhat common thing. They didn’t often escalate into fights, from what Jukka had witnessed, but then again, this store was big. There was no way he was going to see everything that happened, know every word that was spoken. There were plenty of things that stayed away in secluded areas, some things perhaps better off over there then out where many could see.
Jukka stopped and listened, looking for the direction of the voices. Somewhere to the left of them, he figured - Jukka liked to believe, despite his history, he had good hearing. And that he did, surprisingly.
Spinning around on his heels, Jukka strolled over, his eyes, though primarily focused on the area ahead of him, glancing around, taking everything into consideration. Any people, any escape routes, anything nearby. He didn’t often interact with others, and he didn’t plan to this time either, though he decided he’d see how this situation unfolded. Jukka made his appearance, stopping just at the edge of the situation. It seemed he wasn’t the only other ‘outside party’ here.
Two women stood out to him, who stood across from him, but closer to him were two men, who seemed to be the ones in conflict. It wasn’t much of a conflict, Jukka mused to himself, twisting open the bottle and tilting his head to the side. He managed to obscure his facial features to any onlookers, sipping from the bottle - executing the same precise and fluid motions, he moved his mask back up again, all while hiding his lower facial features.
Jukka pressed the lid back on and continued to observe.

Silas had woken up just before the lights went on. He quickly considered what this might mean. Either the lights actually did correspond to night and day… or it was merely coincidence. He would have to wait a few more days—if that’s what these intervals were—to see. The knife he had taken before he had gone to sleep lay by his side, on the shelf with him. He had decided that a lower shelf—ten feet up by his reckoning—would be good enough for the night. He had cleaned the knife before he had gone to sleep, not willing to carry the possible diseases of a person he did not know, even if the thought of carrying a bloody knife appealed to his aesthetic preferences. He had cleaned it off on a pair of woman’s underwear he had snagged to be used as cleaning rags if necessary. Anything that might work as a deterrent to an idiot worked for him. And so now the knife shone like a mirror next to him, with the added precaution of a scrub with hand sanitizer, something he always tried to keep a bottle of around. Silas wouldn’t have been surprised if a simple thing like cleanliness killed some of the people off in time. Humans did not disappoint him anymore. He just added their possibilities to his calculations.
He packed all his things that would’ve been a nuisance to carry into a bright pink Barbie backpack. It amused him slightly to have the certainty that even in the direst of circumstances, people would hold to the meaningless social conventions they had been taught to follow from birth. Silas was different. And he knew no one would even be seen touching his backpack as long as it didn’t look to full of what might have been useful tools to survive. Satisfied, he put on the backpack and scooted off his perch, turning slowly to avoid falling. He came down slowly, like a spider, his feet just brushing the shelves to keep himself steady, before resting his weight on his feet fully. The dull ache in his knees did not surprise him, he was too certain of how he would feel after sleep for that, but it still annoyed him. No matter. The one who did this to him was suffering far worse. That was enough. Though Silas did not believe in morality, he understood justice well enough. Well his enemy had certainly paid the eye, and deserved no more thought.
He walked off a little gingerly, though to an outsider it looked more like the slinking of a cat. He knew the girl at the frozen food section was an alcoholic, new to it he guessed. He had a craving for a pot pie that he was sure she could supply. He left his pink backpack where the toy aisle connected to the clothing racks, and switched to a more muted one, not wanting to draw rude attention to himself.
Silas made his way across the store, taking the longer way in order to avoid the smell of rotting fruit that now permeated about half of the food section. Someone should have figured out a way to deal with that, but Silas would probably have to come up with it himself. He couldn’t be the only person disgusted by it. So it was that he saw from a distance a group of people. Silas wondered if it was a brawl. It wouldn’t have been the first. There was even talk of starting a fight a night sort of thing. They were going to call it Fight Club. Typical. Perhaps it wasn’t their fault for their lack of creativity, what with the thousand videos available to watch on the promise that no killers entered. An amendment was made later that any Name would be shoved out so that the rest could enjoy the movie. Predictably the ones running the thing were called the Theater Kids. A girl named Chelsea normally chose the movie for the night. He had stayed away, not wanting to be outed when hunted. But now, he supposed, he could see if Chelsea had any taste.
He looked around the group coming next to a rather thin girl with tattoos and another in a yellow bandanna and some kind of sports bra.
He had heard Sports Bra say something as he came up, so he turned to her as he asked “What’s going on?” careful to keep his voice cool and unconcerned.
Both she and Tattoo turned around, showing him that Tattoo had acquired a black eye. Interesting.

Tango wasn't sure how to feel about the way the man speaking to her eyed her up and down. There was nothing even close to perverted in the look, but she almost might have preferred that. She knew how to deal with that. But this look? She knew it, almost. It was a look she was just familiar enough with to hate. The sizing up of a potential threat.

"My guess? Tall man over there–" She jerked a thumb behind her, shaking herself out of the suspicion for a moment to speak. "–killed a friend of Marvin's. He's the one who's yelling a lot." Marvin, still wide-eyed and held at arm's length by the man he had tried to assault, looked simultaneously guilty and distraught. "Sixteen year old girl. Which, I'd like to remind you, really isn't his fault." Directing her sentence at Marvin, she arched a perfectly shaped brow. "That's the game, right? It's not his fault he got her name, or was put in here in the first place, or that she was in here. We all know who's actual fault it is."

There were a few scattered and hesitant agreements from the small crowd.

"Commotion didn't wake you, did it?" She asked the man, once again returning her focus to him. Her hands had taken to the pockets of her shorts, pale scars standing out against her skin. Some of them were only healing, wounds from a miss-step during a kill. Others were old, those were the ones that stood pale compared to the pink and red of healing wounds.