The last bullet (Russian Roulette) IC

[SQJ]

The intro post.

If you are wondering what an intro post is. It's a post where you set your character up. This is how I find out who's playing and who isn't.

You don't have to post anything huge like I did but it would be nice if you had a little bit of back story to play off of. You dn't have to post more than a paragraph in the intro post.

The first firing of a gun and the game will officially kick off on Monday.

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Location:

Island home in surrounded by little more than palm trees and pure ocean.




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Intro Post

SQJ scowled at his reflection, the last thing he needed was a cut on the cheek. He hated shaving with a passion that would have absurd to the outside eye, but he needed to have a presentable face for the event.

His lips parted to form a grin that would frighten a shark as he dabbed on the cut. Yes, the main event. There was much work to be done and very little time to do it, but it was his duty. Anything less than perfection would be a negative reflection upon him.

Putting on the cuff links made the purest white gold was the final touch to the tux to make him look perfect. He leaned in on mirror to enjoy as much of his reflection as his eyes would allow, there was a tiny plaster on his cheek and he actually liked it. It was a rugged event, there should have been some part of him that at least looked rugged.

A perfect clean a handsome devil stepped out, his posture perfect, confidence pouring out of his like steam out a kettle as he stopped into the lounge. On the furthest wall from the door there were fourteen plasma TVs and with a technician typing frenetically at it's based. Each screen showed a filled room, from pent house suites to executive boardrooms. Men and women dressed as though about to watch the opera looked up at him, surrounding him with the stares of the super rich.

Confident, arrogant, cocky, god of the world, pure, he was staring at the richest one percent, the richest of the rich, those that mattered, those that steered the world and each any every one of them was looking up at him. They were the wolves and tigers of this planet, no, the bogey men, even the good ones and for the next two to three days they would be waiting on him.

He put his hands in front of his face to his the grin that had been uncaged.

"Good morning, Good evening, bonjour, Nǐ hǎo, oh-hah-YOH go-zah-ee-mahs and of course dobroe utro for my Russian friends," SQJ sat back on the edge of the conference table and crossed his arms. "We are brought together continue a tradition that has existed for over eight centuries since the days of the Chinese Yaung dynasty where the game was much simpler. Two men were given bambo, gun power, flame and each had to assemble their weapon and see who could kill each other first. A far simpler time for a far simpler people."

SQJ smirked at the chuckles that spread from screen to screen.

'They had used convicts, men and women destined for death who were determined to get at any glimmer of hope. But times changed as it was learned that the threat of death, though amusing, as not the only means to get people to participate. And for centuries we used honour to the hands of men and women to face death or commit to the ultimate act of human insanity, murder. Our ancestors watched amused as people put themselves on the line for, well, themselves. But we discovered still a more precious gem. What if it wasn't your honour or life on the line but others. The pain the desperation, the murderous determination. We had found something greater. But there was still something greater! Choice! Variance. We mixed things up and all the game became was finding the right people. Which is an honour bestowed to le Carabinieri for for this year was me. you have the profiles of every participant. Those who were forced to come, those who were offered an opportunity at honour, those who were offered cures, those who were shown wealth. I can hear them arriving. Each will have a three man escort to ensure they don't try anything foolish. These escorts will keep their pistols ready and clean and will make them as comfortable as possible until they are," SQJ couldn't help but smirk. "gravely uncomfortable. Just because it is their last days should not mean it should be uncomfortable days. And of course your bets are keenly waited upon to the winner comes the spoils."

SQJ turned to the conference table where there were over sixty black suit cases which were popped open one by one to reveal pure gold, bright gold bars, enough to make the sun jealous. One of the cases, the largest, remained closed.

"And of course the spoils of the survivor. They will have blood on their hands but they'll also have gold. I'd almost be jealous of them, almost." This was met with laughter and SQJ moved out of the room to the dining room. The room was open, bright, spacious. There was a nice Christmas spread, just in case any one was feeling nostalgic, food would be ready, entertainment, at was all rather lovely.

My he really was such a generous man he mused as he step up each gun.

---

[Elizabeth16]

"Fuck you."

The young woman landed hard on the floor, her blue eyes glaring with a internal fury stronger than the quivering of her bruised muscles. Her wrists were bound behind her, cuffs done tight enough they had begun to cut into her tan skin as she fought with every fiber of her being.

She had been at the gym. There was a early morning yoga class she had wanted to go to, out of her normal routine. Sweaty and still cooling off in her sports bra and defined yoga pants, she had gone outside to walk in the cool air. In a smooth and efficient manner of about four seconds, there was a sweet smelling cloth over her face and strong hands around her body. When she woke up, she was on the floor of a cargo plane, three men in suits accompanying her and bound and gagged.

It had been the most terrifying experience of her life. At first, she was quiet. She moved her hands gently against the cuffs, slightly testing the zip ties around her ankles. Bright blue eyes were confused behind messy light brown hair, looking up from the ground at the men. When the realization it wasn't a dream hit her, something inside her turned into a fire. She trashed against the bounds, hardly feeling the pain. There was only muffled screams for moments on end, until the woman had come to this state.

So, when the plane landed, and one of the men approached, taking off her gag, she had said nothing. She had been quiet, heart racing as one pulled her onto her feet with a bruising grip on her upper arm. As soon as the dark haired man had cut the zip tie, his nose was broken by her knee. That was the first time she had been thrown to the floor.

"If you make a move like that again, Elizabeth," the one with the broken nose laughed at her, wiping blood off his face as he leaned in front of the shaking girl on the floor, several drops of red landing on her face by how close he was. "I will kill you."

"Fuck you."

A grip stronger than she could handle grabbed her face with the speed of a cobra. "Easy," came a voice from the others. Elizabeth met the hungry gaze of the man in front of her with a silent fury, even though her lip was being split by the forced pressure of her jaw. After a minute of glaring, the man chuckled. "I'd put your money on this one. She's a little spitfire."

This time, she was held on the sides by the other two men, Broken Nose leading the way. A blindfold was slipped over her eyes, and except for a testing stop or bolt here and there, the walk was uneventful. But when the door closed behind her, the innate feeling of being shut completely away from the outdoors, Elizabeth fought.

Her slender body at its full force wasn't enough to break the steady hold of the men beside her, and she ended up being thrown on the floor again, the blindfold slipping off as she rolled. It was an empty room, with mirrored windows along the tops, and just a single door on the bottom. Broken Nose threw a key at her feet, his look almost sad when he closed the door, leaving her alone.

[Jacogos]

"So how did you get stuck in a job like this?" the next participant asked, a coy grin plastered on his face as he walked down the hall with his escort. The man, sporting sunglasses like any good faceless 'extra', said nothing. Continuing to grin, the dark-skinned competitor looked to the escorter on his opposite side.

"What about you? They payin' ya a lot? Perhaps a bit of Christmas bonus for the wife to spend on frilly things?" He laughed to himself, ignoring the third escort behind him; that would put a crick in his neck. In any case, he'd probably get the same answer he had gotten from the other two.

As he walked, Jacogos, as the man was known, began to amuse himself by thinking of how this scenario was going to play itself out. Russian Roulette, but you get to choose who to aim at. All the joy of murder with all the suspense of luck. And yet... there was a certain strategy to it that underlayed it all. Would aiming at someone and hearing a distinct click turn that person against you? Or were you simply playing to the odds? A game of getting into each others heads...

Jacogos's smirk widened. This was just the game for him. Hopefully these suits would get him to their 'destination' soon; his trigger finger was itching.

[StormyNyte]

Stormy strode casually through the door, escorted by three men in suits. Less than two weeks ago, the doctor had dropped two words on her that no one wanted to hear. Inoperable. Terminal. Such a bullshit fate. All the care she had given to others, all the time and energy spent to balance their needs and hers in their last days. She had cared for nearly every elder in her family until they passed, and for what? To finally be done with the task of easing their transition and able to start her life again only to have it cut short in one of the worst, most drawn out, and painful ways possible?

Piss on that! If she came out of this alive she would have more money than she knew what to do with. As far as she was told, that's the same reason everyone else would be here too. If she lived, at least the next six months would be worth it. She would be able to do all the things that she had wanted to do but never had the chance to. She smiled broadly as she finally entered a large room. Alive or dead, either way, she would be going out with a bang.

[Merry]

"knock, knock, knock" the soft tapping on the door broke her concentration. "Yes?" she replied quietly, keeping her eyes closed, holding onto the last peaceful thought before it was washed away.

"Your car is here Miss Gentry" came a tentative male voice on the other side of the door. "Thank you" she replied. "I'll be there in just a minute" with a last deep breath, she unfolded her legs, and stood up from the soft cushions on the floor. Her movements graceful and fluid.

Her lithe body was clothed completely in black. Easier to hide the blood splatters. She wore skin tight black leggings, and a tight long sleeve shirt that appeared to be of the same material as the leggings. She slipped her feet into knee length boots, zipping them up quickly. The leather arm sleeves were next, with two quick buckles, they were intact. She lifted up her solid gold cross off the top of her shirt, kissed it softly and tucked it under her shirt for safe keeping.

Last were the guns, lots of them, one in a shoulder holster. Two on her hips. One in the top of her boot. One in the holster across her lower back. Last was the knife, that went into the other boot. Long and lethal in the pocket inside her inner thigh. She slipped the rifle across her shoulder, and slid it to the back, fixing the strap so it was comfortable. Grabbing her sunglasses off the small side table, she slipped them on and with one last smile in the mirror, stepped out of her sanctuary into the waiting limo.

"Time to do some business" she told the driver.

[CrimsonLady180]

A rather upset Crimson was being taken to a special location for some kind of game. Sadly, she was going to miss out on a big date that she had been waiting for almost a week. Talk about bad timing, but at least she was nicely dressed in her long red dress with a long slit and black lace around the trim as well as the waist with a black satin bow in the back. Since she didn't have time to put on her contact she was still wear her black glasses which she was constantly adjusting due to her nervousness which didn't help with the three men guarding her. "So... What's your favorite color?" Crimson asked one of the men who didn't even bother to glance at her nor indulge her in some kind of conversation. After a few more moment a sale silence she leaned back with her arms and legs crossed then huffed slightly annoyed awaiting to arrive at her destination.

"We have arrive, Miss," said the driver then the three men moved to lead her inside. Crimson followed quietly with her arms crossed and occasionally running her hair long wavy auburn hair while everyone got the whole spiel of why they were here before leaving everyone to enjoy the "festivities". She shrugged and grabbed a glass of champagne and began sipping it stand by herself wonder if she should eat since she may not be able to later while glancing from person to person curiously before looking around the room.

[Breaking Point]

It wasn't easy to get her here.

She woke up with rag pressed to her lips, and instantly she had them thrown to the ground. She didn't let them take her without a struggle. She isn't the best fighter, but by no means was she weak or soft. Dirty moves are the center of her fight. She does nott stop until they were all covered in blood and someone was about to scamper off or die. Then, the most odd surprise.

"Ok, let's go then. Stop acting like pussies and move," she grunts. She submits. The questions repeat through her head as she follows them silently, surrounded by the three men. What are they here for? Do they know? How did they make it this far? Unless there were more of these men to begin with, there must have been some casualties, but Ellie would not know this. She frumps along, peering up at them and feeling short. "Want some band aids?" she asks, taunting them, only to receive an elbow to her ribs.

Forced out of her house, drug onto a private jet, she rests in a luxury seat with padding. "So who is the one with the money?" she asks, curious. THey must be expecting her to ask what they want with her, but she doesn't. She doesn't claim anything that could incriminate them.

"La dee daaa dee daa daa daa." Her phone rings from her pocket and she answers, "Yes."

"Eight men were killed. Of Seven, three escaped."

Ellie dips her head. "Oh," she murmurs. Everything makes sense. "I figured that." Here are my three. They all eye her, preparing to snap her phone in an instant. If she was to mutter anything of her location, her phone would be nonexistent. Of course, it will be tracked, so in the end, Ellie knows they'll destroy it anyway. She hangs up and tosses it to the guy closest to her. She has all the information she desired to know anyways.

"Trash it. Any way you like." This girl is feisty. Crazy. Nothing about her could possibly make sense. She isn't logical. The three guards glance at each other. This is not how things were theorized to go. Why is she submitting? The guard just holds the phone, staring at it oddly, then he passes it back and each of the other men stare at it. "Or look at it- isn't as though you'll find anything interesting." Anything found on her phone would not lead to them discovering any of her secrets.

The men simply leave her be, disappearing behind a curtain. "So I guess I'm a bad entertainer," she giggles softly, laying the seat back and rolling over. If it wasn't so cold on this jet, maybe she could sleep. Curling up into fetal position and wrapping herself up in a ball, she cuddles up to herself and eventually falls asleep.

Hands grip her by her arms, jerking her up and dragging her off the jet. "Really, no need to be handsy," she complains, feeling her shoulders being pulled and tugged harshly with no care for her, "I mean, if you're both really that attracted to me, we could work something out. I don't know how long I'll be at this... Event, but as soon as I'm free, I can pencil you both in." The guards weren't taking her nonsense. The two men drop her to the ground, and she receives a kick in the center of her back.

Well, at least they let her go. On solid ground, she peers at the huge mansion before her. So this is the man with all the money. What was wanted with her- or more importantly, what business was to be done?

[The Cockatiel]

Angry. That was the only word for what she felt. Okay, maybe “murderous intent" would work too. Yeah, that would work perfectly. Or, you knew, “premeditated murder", like they'd said three years ago at her father's trial. At the thought of the smug bastard that had ruined her family, Tiel kicked out again, this time in a different direction. She was still blindfolded, but her sharp ears caught the sudden intake of breath that strongly suggested she'd hit something. She hoped it hurt for a week. If she ever got this blindfold off... Tiel fell silent, and more importantly to her captors, still, as she thought out a plan of attack if these idiots took off her blindfold.

The car slowed, and Tiel tried once again tho break the zip ties around her wrists. But whoever had kidnapped her knew what they were doing, and all her tricks were useless. As the car stopped, she kicked again, her legs moving in a jerky motion like a drunk mermaid, and heard the thump of rubber against glass. The car door near her head opened and a hand touched her shoulder. Tiel immediately rated tried to bite it, and even though her teeth clicked on open air, she heard a string of curses and smiled. Then a sharp prick against her neck, and warmth spread through her body.

Sometime later that day, or maybe the next one, Tiel woke. She was laying in a reclining chair, one hand chuffed to the seat. She sat up, the cuff rattling annoyingly against the armrest. Four men in suits sat near the front of the compartment. Tiel looked to her left and slid up a small section of the wall that looked like a cover for something. Bright light nearly blinded her, and she slammed the cover down again. Rubbing her eyes with her free hand, she meted several impolite words. Then she tried again, residing the cover only a fraction of a way. Blue water shimmered beneath her as far as she could see.

Yelling at the suited men did nothing but make her voice echo, so Tiel shut up and glared out the window. Eventually the plane banked, circling as if for a landing, and Tiel looked out the window again. An island laid below her, pristine and threatening. The plane lost no time in landing, and the four men did up. One disappeared into the cockpit and the other three approached Tiel. This time she didn't trust, and flanked by the guards she entered the massive building that seemed to be her intended dedication. Glancing at her wristwatch, Tiel murmured, “Hmm, an evening death. Always thought I'd die at some dramatic time like noon."

[.Karma.]

Black, that was a good way to describe her. Not racial wise, she was actually quite pale, but she had black high heel boots, black leather skin tight pants, black top that didn't leave much to the imagination, black hair (that she usually had braided), black eye shadow and even black lipstick to top it all off. Was it mentioned that she also had black gauges in her ears and a black spiked piercing coming out of her lip and too many other piercings to count. All on a tiny 5'3" frame. She was probably one hundred pounds soaking wet, but if looks could kill, she was going for homicide.

She didn't understand why she needed these three escorts, she hated them, and they knew it. Probably because she told them so. She hated everything and everyone and everything about everything. EXCEPT danger, she loved it! The thrill, the adrenaline, EVERYTHING. She had played several dangerous games that could have cost her her life, but none like this one. She volunteered for this and she couldn't be happier. She had a smile plastered to her face, that didn't mix well with her black attire, she was ready for this. Abso-f*cking-lutely READY! Let the games begin. Let the best woman win.

[Mihkul]

The helicopter landed on the small small tropical island. Mihkul instinctively ducked his head to avoid the whirling blades but, at 5'6" he was well below them. He was followed closely by the three men that escorted him. He was more than willing to follow their instructions. After all, this was like someone giving him a Christmas present in July.

Mihkul, better known amongst his peers as Molotov Mickey, was one of the top enforcers for the Ivankov family. When people crossed the family, Mihkul would exact payment-more often than not a payment in blood. And now, here he was on a private island with his latest target. He was amused. Not only would he be paid handsomely by his Russian boss, he would also be a wealthy man. Screw the family; he would start his own. And here, there would be no extra worries of covering his trail, erasing the evidence.

He walked into the elaborate estate, led by his escorts, without a worry. After all, who better to play Russian Roulette than a pure-bred Russian. Let the games begin!