Elevator: A Character Roleplay (IC)

by **Aelford** » Sun Jan 04, 2015 11:56 pm

Bob Dickson

A flickering light. A weird sensation. A fuzzy feeling all over.
"So the gods have let me die? At least they've given me mercy. Im not in hell." Bob said.
No sooner did he say that when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Then he felt no air, no breath. Tasted raw blood. And it ended as soon as it started.
"Dickson....Bob...Still alive...."
Bob turned towards the source of the sound. Was he dead?
He saw the glowing figure, standing on the floor in front of him. No, not standing. Floating.
It was him, or at least looked like him. Another version of Bob.
He then realised where he was.

They was standing, or floating on a white tiled floor, which shifted colours every moment. But a light, a glow shone through it, like how sunlight shines through the deep waves of the ocean.

Bob took his eyes away from the floor, and tried to look at the figure, but the figure was very blurry. Yet it radiated light and warmth. He took a shaky step towards the other version of himself.

"Confusing, isn't it. You are in the state of life and death. You've been blessed with life, yet you are trapped in death." The figure explained. "I am your brain talking to you, or maybe a god is talking to you, through your own brain?"

Bob tried to take all that in, until the figure asked, "Bob, what is the meaning of life?"

"I...don't know." he admitted.

The figure looked sad, and disappointed for a moment. Then, as though he understood something important, the disappointment was replaced with a smile on Bob number 2's face.

"Then go on. Live. Until you are ready to die an actual death. Goodbye. I hope we meet again,when you are ready to move onto the next life. Then we shall talk."

Bob heard the figure's last words, before collapsing into the floor, into darkness.

by **The New World Oceania** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 12:27 am

Robert Dickson

Blood loss of 24%. Heart rate 76 bpm. Left lung deflated. Blood filling mouth. Death rattle. Agonization phase (listen( a background) closure. Dendritic spine at final synapse.

A sudden release of urine and excretion and semen and stomach acid which burns through the rectum and 102 seconds remaining until free free free at last.

by **Aelford** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 1:34 am

Bob Dickson

Bob Dickson woke with a jolt. And his chest hurt because of his earlier attack. Damn.

Breathing heavily and wheezing, he took a deep breath. It hurt, but he ignored it and spit some blood out of his mouth.

"Damn i have to survive. " he thought.

He struggled and tried to speak, at least whisper. He managed to croak out, "Guys, im still alive. I want to live. I want to survive... "

OOC: OP do I really have to die so early? Lol its like you are extremely eager for me to be killed off.

by **Alleniana** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 6:30 am

"No, what the, fa, oh b, bu..."

Anna knelt on the ground in the midst of the pool of Bob's blood, looking around in near confusion, her hands making formless gestures. No, this wasn't real. It couldn't be. Absolutely no way, no way in any universe, nope nope nope nope nope.

She began to grope at the wound, still leaking bright red, and finally took off her jacket in a haze, managing somehow, most likely with adrenalin, to wrap it around his chest with no real exertion. She pulled it tight, hoping she was stemming some of the blood, buttons tight, and a huge, huge dark patch spreading, expanding in bursts as each new heartbeat ejected more lifeblood.

"No, come on, does anyone know anything? Help? The guy's dying."

Anna sat there dejectedly, almost disappointed. At some point, she'd just gone over the edge. She'd stopped thinking, and now she just responded. Responding to stimuli, making formless requests, reaching out at the world and hoping someone with more of a clue and more fortitude would pull her out. Of course, that wouldn't happen.

She pushed on this chest, applying pressure in a way that was supposed to help.

He wheezed, whispered.

"There there, everything will be alright."

No, her mouth was indeed no longer connecting with her brain.

She noticed a sticky note on her finger. She stuck it onto Bob's jacket, right in the middle of the big wet patch. It slowly turned a sort of red.

She nearly began to giggle, then hiccuped abruptly and began to sob, bloodied hands covering her face.

by **Krytonus** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 7:23 am

Rory O'Driscoll

"Okay hold the fuck up don't do anything please hold on hold on..."
My fingers are shaking as I type out another tweet.

Rory O'Driscoll
@RoDrisco
Bob DIckson has stabbed himself we need help quickly can someBody give us advice I don't think he has long will post picture if needed please help us
#Hellivator

I set my laptop to the side in a panic.
"Okay, listen, I'm in the Scouts, uh, we need to apply pressure to the wound, and uh, make sure he isn't choking on his own blood... Damn, uh... We never went over stabbings... Just keep pressure on the wound. Try keep it clean, I'm gonna try and find out what to do." I belt out as I desperately check #Hellivator. I quickly pull out my phone and snap a picture of the wound. I post it quickly with the hashtag, and hope for some advice.

by **The New World Oceania** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 9:39 am

Robert Dickson

Blood loss of 24%. Heart rate 0 bpm. Total organ failure.

Deceased, 1:24 p.m., February 12, 2013. The elevator remains still.

by **Krytonus** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 9:54 am

Rory O'Driscoll

Rory O'Driscoll
@RoDrisco
Bob Dickson is dead. He stabbed himself. To Bob's family, I'm so, so so sorry. He seemed like a good man. #Hellivator

I'm shaking.

by **Neo-Chicago** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 2:33 pm

Tom Walker
@Chicago_Tom
Yeah fuck you @erikrush. I'm more of a patriot than you'll ever be. Born in raised in Chicago, far better than the shithole called New York. Don't know why you're turning on a republican. #ProbablyALefty #Hellivator

Tom Walker
@Chicago_Tom
We should just nuke every country that threatens us, they think they can walk all over ever since they bombed us. #TruePatriot #Hellivator

Tom punched the wall, while the others still posted their sticky notes on the opposite one. He dragged Bob's body over to the upper-right corner of the elevator, probably the Northeast side of it. When he was sure no one was looking, he sifted through the man's pockets, and found an energy bar. Unwrapping it, he took a bite out of it, crumpled up the wrapper, and tossed at Dickson's face. He took out his Android, and blasted "Hey Man, Nice Shot" through his earbuds at full volume. Rage built up in him, and he kicked the elevator door so hard he actually left a minor dent in it. "FUCK YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT TERRORIST! YOU'RE GONNA DIE LIKE THE REST OF US, AND NO ONE WILL EVEN KNOW YOUR MOTHERFUCKING NAME TEN YEARS FROM NOW, YOU POINTLESS SHIT!" he practically screamed in rage. If that terrorist tried to kill him, he would wind up with a knife lodged in his windpipe, several broken ribs, and severe brain damage. He would watch the pathetic fuck beg for mercy, and just sit there, watching him bleed out. That briefcase would do some damage, considering it was made out of metal. "Is this how you get off, you sick fuck? What the hell is wrong with you, killing nine or so nobodies in an elevator?"

by **Cylarn** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 2:37 pm

While pure chaos was brewing in the elevator, Scott Depleur was motionless, seemingly either asleep or dead as he sat in a far corner of the elevator, his sensitive briefcase below his rump. Since his late-20s, he had been fighting the all-pervasive symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The most destructive symptom for him was when he'd black out and lose track of everything, and remain almost comatose for a while. Stress did that occasionally, though this time was much more different. Here he was, in a crowded, stuck elevator, with the end of his career waiting on him. He lost it, and he simply sat there, while God-knows-what happened around him. All he knew before he blacked out was that there was a bomb, but not much else.

Eventually, his eyes flickered open in the dark elevator, illuminated only by the dim lights of cell phones. He could hear the voices of panicking people, and he saw people hunched over what appeared to be one of the people aboard the elevator. Before he could even react, his nose was invaded by the god-awful smell of feces, urine, semen, and stomach acid, which he quickly deduced was coming from the dead body. The smell was known to him; dead bodies always voided their bowels. He didn't know what happened, but even he had the realization that yelling about a dead body would do little to help matters. So, he lifted himself up, and looked down towards the boy, who was desperately trying to figure out what to do to help the man.

Scott proceeded to set his hand down on the boy's shoulder, looking at the man's corpse.

"Step back, son," he said, edging a bit closer to the body as he examined it. "What happened? I....uh...blacked out."

Neo-Chicago wrote:-snip-

It was what Tom said and did that really got Scott's attention. His eyes shot towards Tom, giving him a firm glare.

"Pounding on the door isn't going to help," he said. "You freak out, you cry, you threaten him or her; you're giving them power."

by **Neo-Chicago** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 2:46 pm

Cylarn wrote:While pure chaos was brewing in the elevator, Scott Depleur was motionless, seemingly either asleep or dead as he sat in a far corner of the elevator, his sensitive briefcase below his rump. Since his late-20s, he had been fighting the all-pervasive symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The most destructive symptom for him was when he'd black out and lose track of everything, and remain almost comatose for a while. Stress did that occasionally, though this time was much more different. Here he was, in a crowded, stuck elevator, with the end of his career waiting on him. He lost it, and he simply sat there, while God-knows-what happened around him. All he knew before he blacked out was that there was a bomb, but not much else.

Eventually, his eyes flickered open in the dark elevator, illuminated only by the dim lights of cell phones. He could hear the voices of panicking people, and he saw people hunched over what appeared to be one of the people aboard the elevator. Before he could even react, his nose was invaded by the god-awful smell of feces, urine, semen, and stomach acid, which he quickly deduced was coming from the dead body. The smell was known to him; dead bodies always voided their bowels. He didn't know what happened, but even he had the realization that yelling about a dead body would do little to help matters. So, he lifted himself up, and looked down towards the boy, who was desperately trying to figure out what to do to help the man.

Scott proceeded to set his hand down on the boy's shoulder, looking at the man's corpse.

"Step back, son," he said, edging a bit closer to the body as he examined it. "What happened? I....uh...blacked out."

Neo-Chicago wrote:-snip-

It was what Tom said and did that really got Scott's attention. His eyes shot towards Tom, giving him a firm glare.

"Pounding on the door isn't going to help," he said. "You freak out, you cry, you threaten him or her; you're giving them power."

Tom sat down against the southwest wall, sweating. "...I know, it's just that there's nothing we can do. There's a 9/10 chance that we're all going to die in this elevator, even ignoring the bomb. I just..." he said, and he trailed off. "I just can't handle not being in control, this isn't like a courtroom or something. All I can do is lay here and die, and frankly, I don't want the terrorist to win. What can we do? You have more experience with terrorists, having served overseas. So tell me Scott, what can we do, besides shit here, and wait to die? Why this elevator, why kill a bunch of random people who don't even mean anything? Is it you? Does this guy have a grudge against you, or something? Do any of you know each other out of the elevator?" Walker asked, and he rested his head on his briefcase, feeling useless.

by **Jessjohnesik** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:00 pm

Johanna could only watch, from where she was situated, as effectively Bob committed suicide. She glared at his body with an emotionless face, while new sensations crawled through her skin. The oncoming of fear and onset of dazzling ringing in her ears was abruptly stopped by Tom's pointless rage and Scott's comments regarding the actions of Tom. Johanna was standing besides the other German woman, the name of whom she has yet to learn. The rather putrid, yet so far light smell of most notably faeces was registered by her smell. It was far from going to make their entrapment in the elevator any more pleasant.

Johanna was still offset by almost all of the statements Tom made. The fact that she was trapped with a psychopath who didn't like her and little amount of people who could back her up made her fear the situation more seriously. Surely, Johanna attended a few self defence classes, she is tall and not particularly a weakling, but she definitely wasn't too fit or athletic to properly make a coordinated defence or counter attack.

Fortunately, Scott seemed like a reasonable man, so far the second person to hold such a trait. Johanna had observed him previously, he apparently held, or used to hold, some sort of position inside the, possibly, US military. Johanna was glad a person with such training was actually objective at least, although the German woman, judging by her complexion, also seemed to be, or to have been, physically active.

Something else in particular her eye had caught was the way Tom treated Bob's lifeless body. It was barbaric to say at the least. She sincerely wished he was the terrorist, to some extent, despite knowing that this wasn't true. She hoped because otherwise, the terrorist is likely a level headed and intelligent person, which is far more dangerous for everyone on board rather than an obnoxiously outgoing psychopathic individual who wouldn't be able to properly coordinate his actions due to his mental state being clouded with baseless anger or rage.

"I must agree with Scott, we can't let rage get the better of us. " Johanna promptly stated, having wondered for a long time whether or not she should say anything at all.

by **Cylarn** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:08 pm

Neo-Chicago wrote:
Cylarn wrote:-snip-

"This isn't a courtroom, and this sure as shit ain't what I'm used to either," Scott said, slowly removing his jacket and looking at it for a second, caressing the decorations before looking back at Tom. "You think that these terrorists feel that we are innocent people? I've spent 20 years of my life working for my country, and terrorists don't think like you or I. We're baking alive in here - us infidels - and America is watching in shock. What more could a terrorist want than to make an example of enemy civilians? We're now symbols of their struggle; the sacrifices to their manifesto. Our agony, our misery, our infighting, our anger; it feeds them. This is terror, pure and simple."

He sat his jacket down on his briefcase, and looked back at Tom.

"I know no one in here, and I have no prior experience in this kind of situation," he said, keeping his composure. "I am a Lieutenant-Colonel of the United States Army, and the only thing I can readily fight right now is the fear and agony slowly chipping away at my head. I don't know if I'm the target, because I'm not the only one with brass on their shoulders. There's at least 3 one-stars, and one two-star."

Scott then sat back down, looking towards Tom.

"Let's all relax, and try to figure this out while the guys on the ground do their part. If we lose our shit, we're all pretty much fucked," he said. "Can someone bring me up to speed?"

Scott may have appeared calm and collected on the surface, but deep down, he was fighting a horrible coalition of rage, guilt, despair, and unbridled fear. He had to keep his wits; not only for his sake, but for everyone else. He was a man in a uniform, the representative of the US Army in this terrorist's little show. If he showed any more weakness, what would happen?

by **Jessjohnesik** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:29 pm

Johanna's memory jolted as she remembered what she had come to the building initially for. The superiors, or rather colleagues, in the conference could or couldn't know she was in the elevator. She had to call her co-worker Dr Shröder so as to explain the situation at hand. Calling Shröder was more important the calling the people at the conference right now, as she would then take the responsibility to do everything so as to not make Johanna call everyone on her own.

Johanna quickly took her smartphone out of her handbag and started dialling the number. In a matter of twenty seconds she had reached the German coworker.

Dorothea, das ist Johanna. Ich rufe euch von dem Felsen. hat es eine schwere Situation. Der Aufzug war ich in aufgehört hat, und es ist offenbar eine Bombe im Inneren des Gebäudes. Sie werden es jetzt Evakuieren und das, was mit uns geschehen wird, ist unklar. können Sie meine Familie anrufen und die Amerikaner sollte ich treffen Sie.

After brief pauses, made by Johanna so as to not interrupt the speaking Dorothea, Johanna spoke again, before finally ending the call. Dorothea was badly surprised by the sudden turn of events, as far as Johanna could tell. She was also quite worried for Johanna's safety.

Johanna wondered if she was getting worried about her safety as well, promptly coming to the conclusion that she was.

by **Neo-Chicago** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:41 pm

After Tom had calmed down, he caught a whiff of the various bodily fluids on the other side of the elevator, and he almost hurled. "Christ, anyone have air freshener or something?" he asked, somewhat humorously. "Anyway, to recap, I suppose, we've gotten absolutely nowhere. We've found that the PA is deafeningly loud when the hatch is open, there are four explosive devices located in the vicinity of the 40th and 42nd floors. One of them is in the elevator shaft, near this elevator. I've acted pretty rashly, we're writing on sticky notes from this stack here, that has a pen next to it. We're posting said sticky notes to the wall, and writing whether or not we're the terrorist, and if we are, why we're doing what we're doing. All of the notes are anonymous, Dickson stabbed himself with some kind of switchblade or something, and a bomb went off around the sixtieth or seventieth floor, I would say, so I wouldn't count it as one of the four. That's pretty much all." Tom said, completely calm.
He thought about the gun, and the three bullets that it contained. He decided against telling any of them about it, it was an... insurance. He had taken the pistol, a Colt Delta Eagle, from the body of a sheriff in southern Maine. The sheriff had been shot down by a man Tom was investigating, the same man who was the prime suspect in the current case. He neglected to tell anyone about it, and had kept it in a hidden compartment in his briefcase, the compartment being hidden by several manila folders. The gun was loaded, but he hadn't left it cocked obviously, because it would be unfortunate for it to discharge while inside of his briefcase. Tom had decided to take the weapon after he realized that there would be no stopping the man he had once known any other way, and he personally suspected the man to be in a deep psychosis. His thoughts didn't linger on the weapon long, however, although he feared he would be using it fairly soon.

by **The Almighty Bob** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:44 pm

Neo-Chicago wrote:
Cylarn wrote:While pure chaos was brewing in the elevator, Scott Depleur was motionless, seemingly either asleep or dead as he sat in a far corner of the elevator, his sensitive briefcase below his rump. Since his late-20s, he had been fighting the all-pervasive symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The most destructive symptom for him was when he'd black out and lose track of everything, and remain almost comatose for a while. Stress did that occasionally, though this time was much more different. Here he was, in a crowded, stuck elevator, with the end of his career waiting on him. He lost it, and he simply sat there, while God-knows-what happened around him. All he knew before he blacked out was that there was a bomb, but not much else.

Eventually, his eyes flickered open in the dark elevator, illuminated only by the dim lights of cell phones. He could hear the voices of panicking people, and he saw people hunched over what appeared to be one of the people aboard the elevator. Before he could even react, his nose was invaded by the god-awful smell of feces, urine, semen, and stomach acid, which he quickly deduced was coming from the dead body. The smell was known to him; dead bodies always voided their bowels. He didn't know what happened, but even he had the realization that yelling about a dead body would do little to help matters. So, he lifted himself up, and looked down towards the boy, who was desperately trying to figure out what to do to help the man.

Scott proceeded to set his hand down on the boy's shoulder, looking at the man's corpse.

"Step back, son," he said, edging a bit closer to the body as he examined it. "What happened? I....uh...blacked out."

It was what Tom said and did that really got Scott's attention. His eyes shot towards Tom, giving him a firm glare.

"Pounding on the door isn't going to help," he said. "You freak out, you cry, you threaten him or her; you're giving them power."

Tom sat down against the southwest wall, sweating. "...I know, it's just that there's nothing we can do. There's a 9/10 chance that we're all going to die in this elevator, even ignoring the bomb. I just..." he said, and he trailed off. "I just can't handle not being in control, this isn't like a courtroom or something. All I can do is lay here and die, and frankly, I don't want the terrorist to win. What can we do? You have more experience with terrorists, having served overseas. So tell me Scott, what can we do, besides shit here, and wait to die? Why this elevator, why kill a bunch of random people who don't even mean anything? Is it you? Does this guy have a grudge against you, or something? Do any of you know each other out of the elevator?" Walker asked, and he rested his head on his briefcase, feeling useless.

"Well, on the bright side, we'll all be dead long before cannibalism becomes an issue. On the other hand, that isn't much of a bright side, is it? No. Now, as for Bob-" Steve cut off abruptly as Tom began to drag the body into a corner. "Well. That is one resolution. Suppose it's for the best. I've been around enough of that to know it was either him or us in the end." He lapsed into silence and decided to check his phone, which he had almost forgotten he even had. The tweets on Hellivator were...less than good. "Fucking CNN, man. Of course it's CNN. Well, mystery solved," Steve said sarcastically, "it's Tom." He grabbed the note and wrote something down on it as well.

by **Krytonus** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:47 pm

Rory O'Driscoll

I took me a moment, sitting there with my laptop. My head was spinning. A man had just died. He had stabbed himself, he had-
Oh my God.
I was the one who thought it could be him. It was me who said he could've been the terrorist. It was my fault. He was dead because of me.
"It's my fault." I whisper. "It's my fault." I quickly scribble down a reply on the sticky note, which occupies me for a second, and then I'm back in this cold, metal box. I'm physically shaking. I'm barely able to stick the note on the wall, before I sit back and let out a deep, shaky sigh. I slowly sink a hand into my pocket, grasping the pocketknife. At least if something happens, I'll be able to defend myself.

by **Neo-Chicago** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 3:57 pm

Meanwhile, on Twitter...

Tom Walker
@Chicago_Tom
It's official, the liberal media is retarded. The Cobra thing was because the terrorists said "Myeh, consider us a serious threat! Respect our authoritah!" or some shit, and it was a reference to G.I. Joe. Fucking morons. #LeftyNonsense #Hellivator

by **Alleniana** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 7:44 pm

He died. He was dead. He was now deceased, pushing up daisies, gone to meet his maker, sitting their with her jacket around his torso and blood everywhere and releasing everything and unmoving and dead. What sense did that make? What sense did anything make?

Anna heard very little as she finally stood up, her clothing stained with bodily fluids. She took a few steps over to the corner, sat down, oblivious to what the others were doing, and then curled up, her knees up to her face and her eyes closed.

Her fingers, wrapped around her legs, began to tremble a bit, but then that ceased.

She went to sleep. Anna was taking a nap. Perhaps for the better.

by **The New World Oceania** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 9:39 pm

2:24 pm, February 12, 2013

Swipe across the plate, don't colony pick.
Bruce Edward Ivins

Dismissal of Juror 460, People of New York v. ___________

Juror 460: no, I had just gotten down from a meeting on floor 19.
The Court: but you had been in the building on the twelfth?
Juror 460: yes, I had been there.
The Court: and when did you leave?
Juror 460: at 2:20-ish, when the second one went off.
Mr. Rearden: could I—
The Court: and you opted not to mention this in the questionnaire.
Juror 460: I don't think there was anywhere to do that.
Mr. Rearden: there was.
Ms. Sartre: no, I recall there was not. That's not procedure.
The Court: if you'll excuse my ignorance I've seen quite a few of these.
Ms. Sartre: sorry.
The Court: the questionnaires, they make me read them.
Mr. Rearden: apologies, your Honor.
(brief pause)
The Court: you should have mentioned that under the voir dire portion on involvement with the crime.
Juror 460: oh.
The Court: this could put you under penalty of perjury. I hope you understand why we're serious about this
Juror 460: I am.
Ms. Sartre: couldn't we argue that the heading "involvement with the crime" insinuates guilt?
The Court: Mr. Rearden?
Mr Rearden: I think there's a fine line between the Fifth Amendment and voir dire proceedings.
The Court: we have been using this questionnaire on prevent for upwards of several decades now.
Ms. Sartre: right.
The Court: I know you, personally, Dian — sorry — Ms Sartre, you have vocally contested the proceedings but that's not what we're doing here.
Ms. Sartre: of course.
(brief pause)
Mr. Rearden: could we take this off the record for a moment?
The Court: sure.
Ms. Sartre: I'd rather — it would be beneficial to the process to keep any discussion with Juror 460 on the record.
Mr. Rearden: confidence in the system.
The Court: decorum, now. This isn't what we're here for. If the bailiff would escort Ms. Sartre and Juror 460 out for a moment.
(discussion held off record)
(brief pause)
(enter Ms. Sartre and Juror 460)
Mr. Rearden: yes, of course, your Honor, yes. Apologies.
The Court: I expect so. Hi Juror 460, how are you doing?
Juror 460: comme ci comme ca.
The Court: this is going to sound bureaucratic, but we need to have everything on the record in English.
(brief pause)
The Court: it's a real bother.
Ms. Sartre: it is.
Juror 460: yes, sorry. I'm good, I'm still — I'm going well, I've got it.
The Court: did you and Ms. Sartre exchange any words outside?
Juror 460: no, none that I know of.
Bailiff: I missed that.
Juror 460: no, no we did not.
The Court: stop that.
(Ms. Sartre stops clicking pen)
Ms. Sartre: sorry.
(discussion held off the record)
Ms. Sartre: did you actually, physically see any of the detonations, or the devices themselves?
Juror 460: no, I did not.
The Court: but you saw him exiting the building.
Mr. Rearden: I don't think it's fair to assume the gender of the individual.
The Court: Defendant is a male and can cope.
Mr. Rearden: but that's under the assumption it was the Defendant leaving the building.
Ms. Sartre: evidence to the contrary, I have to agree with Mr. Rearden.
Bailiff: watch that.
The Court: okay.
(brief pause)
The Court: did you see someone exiting the building, you said?
Juror 460: yes, I saw them.
Mr. Rearden: well—
The Court: we discussed the matter beforehand, Juror 460. And on that note you should have been excluded in the jury selection process. We enjoyed your service to us, but you have misconstrued justice and we will have to file charges against you for contempt of court, obstruction of justice, and perjury. I advise you enter a plea of no contest and the worst you can receive should be a fine since you don't have any record of this. We take this very seriously, I hope you can understand why we need to do this.
Juror 460: yes, your Honor.
The Court: on that note, are there any outstanding objections?
Ms. Sartre: none.
(brief pause)
Mr. Rearden: no.
The Court: Juror 460, you are dismissed. Ms Sartre, if you could enter the motion I'll sustain. Bailiff, please escort Juror 460 away.
Juror 460: bye.
Mr. Rearden: been nice having you.
(exit Juror 460)
Ms. Sartre: are we doing 1128 next?
The Court: is this the "literal pain in the ass?"
Mr. Rearden: that's the one.
The Court: I'm going to have Deputy Marx take care of that one.
Ms. Sartre: as much as I'd love a two hour conversation of exactly how this went down and whether or not it's causing an issue for the jury, prosecution might send Richard.
The Court: I take it you'll be there, Mr. Rearden?
Mr. Rearden: as always.
The Court: alright. File that motion, both of you need to be present for to-night's round of hearings, if the Bailiff could take a note of charges against 460, and we have an alternate?
Ms. Sartre: yes.
Mr. Rearden: that is correct.
(Adjourned until Thursday, June 6th, 2013, 7:18 p.m. EST in District Court of New York)

by **Saestea** » Mon Jan 05, 2015 11:25 pm

Knox Stanforth

Knox wasn't speculating at all on who could be the terrorist. There was no reason for him to. He felt bad for Bob Dickson as two other people he could no longer recognize suggested that he was the terrorist. It seemed unfair. The man showed no signs of being a terrorist at all. But Knox couldn't have told, could he? He was just a kid caught up in all of this crap, after all. He wasn't even supposed to be here. Then there was a strange sound from who he assumed was Bob. He sounded panicky as he spoke, but Knox wasn't surprised at all.

"GOODBYE F*CKAS!" the voice said, and by the sound of it, Knox could tell that someone had probably flipped out. There was a moment of silence, people panicking even more. Unable to handle the suspense, Knox turned his phone towards the wall on which Bob was leaning... And held his breath. Blood. Blood f*cking everywhere. The young boy folded his legs up close to his chest to avoid the expanding puddle of blood coming from Bob, who had apparently stabbed himself. Knox didn't know what to do. He was frightened out of his wits. Suddenly, his hand felt numb, and the phone fell to the elevator car's floor. Blood started to move around it. Knox closed his eyes and grabbed fistfuls of his hair as his breathing became worse, more ragged than before. He was distressed more than he needed to be. To add to this occurrence was a slightly distant explosion, and the sudden jerking of the elevator that made him yelp and whimper in terror. For a moment he thought they were falling. But a voice came from the speaker above the elevator car. "Take us seriously," it said. Knox felt something inside his head break. He began giggling wildly, digging his fingernails into his scalp, but not enough to make them bleed.

Today's a nice f*cking day, isn't it?

"Why me?.. Why me?.." Knox mumbled, tearing up, though he was still giggling. His mind wasn't nearly strong enough to keep out so much pressure. Someone here needed to die, or else everyone would. But he didn't want to die. Then there was Bob Dickson who was dying. Knox didn't know what to do with him either. And the bomb, oh the bomb... That silly f*cking bomb. Getting lost in this building and putting everyone in danger...

After a short while, it seemed that Bob was dead. The strange sounds coming from him were over, and there was a smell worse than the sight of blood. Knox almost immediately hurled. Yuck.

"I don't want to be here... I just wanted a book... Why me?.." the boy continued. He had stopped snickering, and was now crying. Harder than he'd done earlier. He wanted to bang his head against the walls or use Bob's knife to end it all. But that was stupid. They had a chance to live, and doing as these terrorists wanted might just help. Too bad Knox wasn't in any state to start thinking rationally. His head was all over the place, but still trapped. So many events were jamming themselves into his mind all at the same time that he could no longer manage.

"Mommy... Daddy... I want to go home... I-I just want to get my book and go home... I hate it here... I'm never coming back..." he continued crying, loud enough for anyone close to him to hear. He then suddenly pounded both hands against his ears that they began to ring. The sound mixed with the sirens outside, and the voice that said to take 'them' seriously. Why?
What the hell for? He'd never done anything to piss them off. He was just a regular schoolboy came to ask his dad for money. Was that such a sin that he had to die?..

Screw them. he thought sourly, shaking his head. Screw them all to hell.

He had nothing with which to defend himself if he needed to. All he could do was cower. He didn't even bother to write a note like Tom asked. He couldn't. He was feeling almost entirely numb in fear.

Outside the building, Knox's mother was sitting on the sidewalk, crying herself. For her son, of course. She saw a part of the building explode, and knew immediately that this was no joke, and her baby was in real danger. Her husband was already pressing the police to start thinking of a solution, but there really wasn't much they could do but watch and wait until someone on the elevator decided that it was time to get off. Right now, it seemed the only ones who could save them up there was themselves, if they banded up and thought of a solution to find the terrorist before their 10 hours were up.

by **Neo-Chicago** » Tue Jan 06, 2015 3:15 pm

"Since this is my only shot at saying it, why not? I know what you did. I will burn you if I get out of this box."

Tom repeated the words on the sticky note he had removed from the wall. "You know..." he began, and he sighed. "Yeah, this is real fucking clear right here. Thank you SO MUCH for this information. By the way, if you are in fact the terrorist, whoever wrote this note, you're not going to be the one getting out of here if any of us do. You know, you could've been clearer about who you were addressing, but I'm just going to assume it's me, because I just can't catch a break today." he told the writer of that note. "I'm going to stand here, and literally lecture you on how you could have done this better. If you were talking to Steven, and he murdered your cat or something, you could say 'Since this is my only shot at saying it, why not, Steve old pal? I'm sure you remember driving down 93rd, and running down my cat. I watched, and it looked to me as if you deliberately aimed at it, you sick fuck. I'm going to tie you up, and boil your skin off until the verge of death. And I won't let you die. That's the torture you did to me that day, on August 4th of '12.' That's just an example, no offense to you personally, Steven." Walker said, actually in a humorous mood at this point.
"I'm just going to assume you left out a name on purpose, so the target doesn't even know it's going to happen. In fact, if that's true, I think you actually intend for us to survive. Well, you and the person addressed by the letter, at least. I'm assuming these things because I'd rather not confront the fact that there's a human as stupid as you if I'm wrong." Tom said, because he honestly hated how mind-bogglingly idiotic people can sometimes be. Of course, when he read the word on the note, his thoughts immediately went back to Maine. It wasn't surprising, considering he has been thinking of the gun moments before. It dawned on Tom that it never said the writer was the terrorist, so there was still the possibility of this just being someone who has a grudge against him or another passenger. There was another sticky note, and it looked like someone had spilled sweet and sour sauce on it, or maybe some kind of cheese dipping. Whatever it was, it was really gross, and Tom wasn't even really sure what exactly the substance on it was, nor did he want to learn. He threw it down, in case the rest had wanted to look at it.

It was too orange to be blood, and it kind of looked like an orange ink or something. It vaguely looked like a fragment of one of those Captcha puzzles, considering the fact that it looked like the edges of letters.

by **The Almighty Bob** » Tue Jan 06, 2015 4:55 pm

Neo-Chicago wrote:(Image)

"Since this is my only shot at saying it, why not? I know what you did. I will burn you if I get out of this box."

Tom repeated the words on the sticky note he had removed from the wall. "You know..." he began, and he sighed. "Yeah, this is real fucking clear right here. Thank you SO MUCH for this information. By the way, if you are in fact the terrorist, whoever wrote this note, you're not going to be the one getting out of here if any of us do. You know, you could've been clearer about who you were addressing, but I'm just going to assume it's me, because I just can't catch a break today." he told the writer of that note. "I'm going to stand here, and literally lecture you on how you could have done this better. If you were talking to Steven, and he murdered your cat or something, you could say 'Since this is my only shot at saying it, why not, Steve old pal? I'm sure you remember driving down 93rd, and running down my cat. I watched, and it looked to me as if you deliberately aimed at it, you sick fuck. I'm going to tie you up, and boil your skin off until the verge of death. And I won't let you die. That's the torture you did to me that day, on August 4th of '12.' That's just an example, no offense to you personally, Steven." Walker said, actually in a humorous mood at this point.
"I'm just going to assume you left out a name on purpose, so the target doesn't even know it's going to happen. In fact, if that's true, I think you actually intend for us to survive. Well, you and the person addressed by the letter, at least. I'm assuming these things because I'd rather not confront the fact that there's a human as stupid as you if I'm wrong." Tom said, because he honestly hated how mind-bogglingly idiotic people can sometimes be. Of course, when he read the word on the note, his thoughts immediately went back to Maine. It wasn't surprising, considering he has been thinking of the gun moments before. It dawned on Tom that it never said the writer was the terrorist, so there was still the possibility of this just being someone who has a grudge against him or another passenger. There was another sticky note, and it looked like someone had spilled sweet and sour sauce on it, or maybe some kind of cheese dipping. Whatever it was, it was really gross, and Tom wasn't even really sure what exactly the substance on it was, nor did he want to learn. He threw it down, in case the rest had wanted to look at it.
(Image)

It was too orange to be blood, and it kind of looked like an orange ink or something. It vaguely looked like a fragment of one of those Captcha puzzles, considering the fact that it looked like the edges of letters.

Steve looked up at the mention of his name. He was so surprised by Tom's example that he actually started laughing. Slowly at first, it quickly built up to a huge crescendo and soon he was rolling around the floor laughing. "Sorry," he said, attempting to get control of himself, "I'm okay now." He calmed down and looked at the note more seriously. "Well, that's interesting, isn't it? It would seem somebody in this elevator knows someone else. I thought we were all strangers." He glanced around the room and, seeing nobody that he could recall having met before, passed the note along. "If anyone on this elevator knows one of their fellow passengers who would do this, volunteer now. They seem dangerous."

by **Alleniana** » Wed Jan 07, 2015 6:29 am

Anna rolled over in her stress-induced sleep, her upright fetal position relaxing. Most likely, due to the loud stimuli, beginning to filter into her brain, still working through what exactly was happening.

"Mmuh... buh... Allahu Akbar.... At-tahiyyatu lillahi wa 's-salawatu wa 't-tayyibatu as-salamu..."

Slowly, she began rocking back and forth, reciting those verses taught to her as a young child. Though she had never been a Muslim properly, having done this reciting before the age of seven when did it only because of her parents and not in prayer, the meaning of the words, their sound had been imprinted into her. Most people would have never remembered them again, but stress... stress, such situations as those of life and death, would invoke such memories, the mouth's motor memories flooding back in what was almost a sort of physical flashback.

"...ali Sayyidina Muhammadin kama barakta..."

There she sat, eyes closed, seemingly asleep but for her slow movements and the low sound of a salat issuing from her throat quietly.

"...Allahu Akbar..."

by **Cylarn** » Thu Jan 08, 2015 1:16 pm

As the others made accusations and gradually lost their sanity in the enclosed, cramped space, Scott sat silently, watching his counterparts in the dim light. He trusted no one in that elevator; he knew none of them, and any one of them could potentially be a terrorist. In his head, he was analyzing the sequence of events, trying to get to the bottom of the mystery. His first thought was that al-Qaeda or another Jihadist group was responsible, but this whole operation seemed to be more sophisticated than any previous al-Qaeda operation to date. Had it been the work of Jihadists, they would strive for immediate and violent shock, as was the pattern created by the 9/11 attacks as well as suicide bombings in Iraq and Afghanistan. Instead, this whole thing was more diabolical in nature; only one bomb had been detonated, and the world was watching the "Hellivator" chronicles in horror, waiting for the next episode in this terrifying saga. No, this was not the modus operandi of al-Qaeda, not in the slightest.

The young Arab woman had fallen asleep, though she began muttering what appeared to be some sort of pray. Scott listened closely to her; the young woman had gone through a horrible ordeal, and it was only going to get worse. He shook his head, and leaned it back against the wall, looking forward silently as he observed his fellow passengers.

by **The Almighty Bob** » Thu Jan 08, 2015 8:26 pm

Alleniana wrote:Anna rolled over in her stress-induced sleep, her upright fetal position relaxing. Most likely, due to the loud stimuli, beginning to filter into her brain, still working through what exactly was happening.

"Mmuh... buh... Allahu Akbar.... At-tahiyyatu lillahi wa 's-salawatu wa 't-tayyibatu as-salamu..."

Slowly, she began rocking back and forth, reciting those verses taught to her as a young child. Though she had never been a Muslim properly, having done this reciting before the age of seven when did it only because of her parents and not in prayer, the meaning of the words, their sound had been imprinted into her. Most people would have never remembered them again, but stress... stress, such situations as those of life and death, would invoke such memories, the mouth's motor memories flooding back in what was almost a sort of physical flashback.

"...ali Sayyidina Muhammadin kama barakta..."

There she sat, eyes closed, seemingly asleep but for her slow movements and the low sound of a salat issuing from her throat quietly.

"...Allahu Akbar..."

Steve looked up at the woman who had begun praying. He knew the words well, having studied Arabic in high school and Religions of the World in college. He glanced over at Tom, who had not exactly taken a reasonable approach to matters of...oh, fuck it, he was the most likely to flip out at the words he couldn't understand. Steve wondered if he should attempt to quiet the woman, but then decided he would welcome the chance to justifiably punch Tom in the face, if only to have done something.

Elevator: A Character Roleplay (IC)

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