So...this isn't a RWBY story! I know I should be finishing what I've already started, but I wanted to branch off and try something new with a recent obsession of mine. A month ago, I started playing a fun little game called Life is Strange. And when I say 'fun little game,' I mean the best video game I've ever played in my whole entire fucking life! This game is absolutely amazing, it's a work of art, it's what all video games should aspire to be, it would win all the Oscars if it were a movie, and I could just go on and on praising its storytelling and characters and atmosphere and world-building. And Chloe. But I won't. I'll just say that I didn't think I'd find a franchise that could hold my obsession in the way RWBY has done, not for a while at least. But I did, and it's glorious! It's one of the few franchises I feel comfortable writing fanfiction of, and so that's what I'm doing. Anyway, if you're reading this and you like Life is Strange, you're awesome. Anyone who likes Life is Strange is awesome. Anyone who reads this and doesn't play Life is Strange is also awesome, but really needs to download the damn game and play it and recommend it to all his/her friends! Anyway, this is a small piece about everyone's favorite hipster and everyone's least favorite photography teacher. Enjoy (or not, I won't force you to)!
chloechloechloe oh god no chloe nonono
Everything was blurry. The world constantly eluded her focus like a broken camera, fading away into blots of dull colors. Mostly, it was white, but she saw black spots and a fleck of brown. She didn't see blue.
she can't be dead nonono not her please not chloe
Max found her thoughts as elusive as the world outside of her head, drifting away before they could complete. The only thought that stuck was that of death.
"She awakes." Chloe Price never would.
"Max?" The voice sounded familiar. Max knew it. She tried to find who it belonged to in her memories, but failed. All she thought of was the bullet entering Chloe's head and coming out the other side. She saw her friend falling to the ground, with no emotion on her face aside from shock. She saw the blood.
"...Take your time, then. I understand." Jefferson. That was who the voice belonged to. And the white belonged to the Prescott bunker. Max could see it now, her vision growing clearer along with her thoughts. She noticed that her arms and legs were bound with rope as well, yet they felt numb on her skin.
Chloe is dead.
Max would never see her best friend again. Not alive.
I can't go back.
Chloe had died before. Many times, in fact. Nathan shot her. A train hit her. Max had even killed her, once, in an alternate reality. But she always came back. Max always brought her back.
She's gone for good.
But now, she was lost to the winds of time. Max had promised to be with her, to never leave again. William had died, Rachel had died, and even Max herself left for years. She needed someone, just one person, in her increasingly unstable and lonely life. Max had wanted to be that person, but how could she now?
And Mr. Jefferson took her away.
If Max couldn't have Chloe, she'd have justice. What that meant, she didn't know. She was still confused, still surprised. She had liked Jefferson, trusted him, even had a small crush on him. It was nothing important, just a sense of childish admiration for one who was older, seemed wiser, and cared enough to be involved in her life. But it was enough to make her feel betrayed. She had been wary of so many people; David, Nathan, Frank...but the person she should have been looking for was the one she never would have suspected. Revulsion entered her mind as she recalled that Chloe had flirted with Jefferson.
"Well, you seem a little better now." In fact, now that Max's mind was shrugging off the effects of the drugs, she felt worse, but she was more alert. More aware. She was aware of the tears on her face, tears she hadn't felt before. She was aware that she needed to get out, find a way to escape. Then she needed to either call the police or deal with Jefferson herself.
But all I want to do is sit here and cry.
"I'm sorry about your friend, really. I didn't want to kill her, hard to believe as you may find that. I had little choice in the matter."
"...Why?" Max choked out, a new cascade of tears falling from her eyes. She didn't know if they were spurred more by sadness or rage.
"It was either me or her, and she wouldn't have hesitated to pull the trigger. It's self-preservation, not cruelty, that made me shoot her. I'm sure you can understand that, although I doubt you want to now."
Bullshit.
He didn't have to go after Max, to lead them to Rachel. He didn't have to make all those binders of all those girls. Chloe didn't have to die.
"Or were you asking why I didn't kill you?" The question had occurred to Max, but she saw it as largely unimportant in the face of all the other thoughts occupying her mind.
Because you're sick.
"I'm sure you were aware that I had taken an interest in you and your success in photography. I...well, let's just say that Victoria wasn't my choice to put on the next binder. You're an interesting young woman, Max. You have talent, clearly, but you chose to do nothing with it. In fact, you did little with your interest in photography aside from taking shots you liked...and selfies. Lots of selfies. You wanted to make it a career, but kept it as a hobby. You never put your work out there. You never put yourself out there."
I can't believe you're still pretending to give a shit.
Chloe was dead, and Max was being lectured on how to apply herself by the man who killed her. She wanted to scream, but bit her tongue and kept her mouth shut. Jefferson would get what was coming to him. She just had to figure out how.
And I can't believe I'm doing this. I just want to stop.
Chloe was dead, and she was trying to escape from Jefferson. She wanted to mourn, to reflect, to regret, to blame someone, and she could only do one of those things. She felt weak, and not just from the drugs in her system. Her body felt unresponsive. It didn't want to move, she didn't want to move. She just wanted to be back at the junkyard, back with Chloe. Max didn't ever want to leave her side, not until she was put into the ground for good. Part of Max wanted to go with her even then.
"You're quite the introvert, more so than most of Blackwell's introverted students. Most of the drama in your life goes in inside your own head, and you're often too occupied with thoughts to react to what's going on in the world around you. You're quiet and submissive...a good subject." Max saw where Jefferson was going right away. It made her sick.
"The outer struggle is obvious, boring. People who act more externally than internally don't make as good subjects as people like yourself. Victoria was like that, and I find that moments captured of people like her are less complex. They have more will to defy the photographer's vision, and just like a painter, a photographer has to exert their own will over their art to make it come alive and give it personality. Heh. This is something you wouldn't hear me say in class."
You just want someone who won't fight back...well, sorry to disappoint you.
Max would fight, and when she won, killing Jefferson seemed like an increasingly promising next move.
"Like I said in class, I could take any one of you and frame you in a dark corner, capture you in a moment of despair. A moment of weakness, even. It's what I do, for the most part, and it's what I enjoy. Vulnerability is a surprisingly powerful emotion, and creating a moment of it is quite difficult. To construct a true moment of vulnerability, you need both sadness and innocence, as it's only the innocent who are truly vulnerable. But you need a certain subject to capture that kind of moment, and that's why I chose you. It's why I chose Kate as well."
"Fuck you." Max found the words leaving her mouth faster than she even thought to say them, and she was reminded of yet another friend who she couldn't bring back. Jefferson didn't even have to be there to pull the trigger for her. All he needed was the cruelty of the students and Max's own ineptitude. She had failed to save Kate.
"...That probably wasn't the best thing to say. I apologize."
You apologize?!
"Still, my point does stand. It's more intense, more emotionally evocative, to capture a moment of vulnerability than of the alternative. And when I capture these moments, I go for emotional response. Sometimes it's for Nathan and his father, other times its for my own benefit. This would be the latter. I really do care about you, Max. Why else would I waste time telling you these things? I could easily get to framing and shooting, but I haven't yet. I even let you sober up."
Big mistake.
Max looked around the room now, using the time that Jefferson seemed to reserve for her response to take in her surroundings. She saw cameras, lights, and the same white tarp that lay at the end of the room when she and Chloe had been there. She was sitting on the couch with Nathan's sweater still hanging on it. It had some dried blood from when Warren had beat him. In front of her, there was a table littered with drugs. Max supposed they were for her.
"I really don't enjoy one-sided conversations, you know." Max knew that Jefferson was waiting, and she had to say something to appease him. She needed to buy time for when she felt well enough to rewind. Then, she could make a plan.
"So you're talking to the girl whose friend you shot in the head?!" Max blurted, internally cursing herself. She wasn't able to react quite as calmly as she'd planned. Whenever she tried to speak, she found hateful words pouring from her mouth. Hateful words for hateful thoughts.
"I don't expect forgiveness, just a chance to talk to you without the lies. A chance to explain myself. I...I'm glad to have this opportunity." Jefferson sounded almost genuine. It made her want to scream.
This is sick, this is so so sick. I don't know if he just wants pictures anymore.
Max was afraid, truly afraid. It was the first feeling of terror that she'd felt since awaking. It mixed with the despair and the fury, creating an unpleasant sensation that made her want to vomit. She hunched over and stared at the ground, not wanting to look at Jefferson's face.
"And there it is. The fear. I was wondering when you'd realize it. But don't worry; I don't want anything more than what I've just told you. I never abused any of my subjects. I'm an artist, Max. You are too. You capture moments that appeal to you, without worrying about what other people think. I wish I could as well, but...I know what people would think."
"Yeah, that you're a..." Max began to speak, fueled by more anger, but stopped herself halfway through.
I can't make him angry.
"I'd ask 'a what?' but I already know, like I said." A silence filled the room, as Jefferson had nothing more to say while Max tried to think of something. He looked at her with a terrifying interest, but she didn't look at him. Instead, she looked for the right thing to say.
Answers. I need answers.
"Then why Rachel? Why Victoria? They're not...like me," Max said, almost proud that she manged to say the one thing that her mind actually wanted to come out.
"Well...you'd have to ask Nathan and his father. They have some say in what I've been doing. As you know, this is the Prescott's bunker, in preparation for the storm."
He knows?
"The storm?" Max asked tentatively, not sure what to say next. She had no idea how Jefferson knew. How could he? Did he have visions, like her? Did he have powers, even? What if he had rewound already, taking pictures of her however he wanted and then going back to relive the moment?
No, no no. No way. No fucking way.
"You've been busy, Max, more busy than I expected. You and Chloe."
Chloe.
The name echoed in Max's head at the center of all her thoughts, constantly pressing down on her. It would almost be worth dying just so she wouldn't have to live in a world without her best friend. That's what Jefferson did; he took photos and then disposed of his subjects. The ones who knew too much, anyway, like Rachel. Max remembered the picture of her, tied up and furious. She had known what was going on.
"I'm touched by everything you've tried to do, especially when you went to save Kate. I would have taken a picture and entered it into the Everyday Heroes contest, if I could have. You really are special, Max. Why else would you have the power to control time itself?"
No. This can't be happening. He can't know, he can't.
"Tomorrow, the storm comes and destroys everything and everyone who isn't safely hidden away. Yet I can't feel sad or scared, not now. I have something to look forward to.
I need to find a way out of this!
"Do you have anything else to say? I'd like to get started now."
Say something!
"I..."
"Yes, Max?"
"Don't..."
Don't you dare beg with him. Don't give him the satisfaction.
"You'll hardly know what's going on. It'll be painless."
Clang
"What?!" Jefferson whirled around, craning his neck upwards. Something stepped on the bunker door. Max could tell. Something, or someone.
"...Well, our photo-shoot will have to wait. There's nowhere to hide, no weapons to use against me. You can look as best you can; I won't be insulted, but you won't find a thing. I'll see you, Max. This won't take long." Max had her chance now, her one opportunity. Jefferson walked off, grabbing his gun from one of the tables nearby. She heard him close the door and lock it. She could either escape or fight back. Maneuvering so that her arms slid under her legs, she pulled them from behind her back to the front of her chest. Now she could root around, hoping to find something. She couldn't rewind, not in the state she was in, but perhaps there was still hope.
What about the drugs? Maybe I can prick him with a needle...
Max reached for the drugs, but they were too far. She had to stand, and tried doing so, but only managed to stay upright for a second before falling back down on her side, grunting in pain. She needed more balance. Using the table to pull herself up, Max slid her feet so that she could sit up on her knees. She would have to lie down on the table, and so she did. The cold metal shocked her briefly, but she didn't stop. She inched over to where the drugs lay, and picked up a syringe.
I need to pocket this somewhere I can reach it.
She tried to stand up again, moving slowly and surely. However, she had little room. Her feet backed into the couch and she could feel the table slide away from her as she pushed herself off of it with her hands. She quickly stopped, moving her feet closer to her. Her head ached from the fall and she still felt groggy, but thought that with practice she could stand. She was wrong. In her panic, she moved too quick; Max thought she heard Jefferson coming back down. The movement made her head throb harder and she lost control. With a crash, she fell to the floor.
Shit shit shit!
She went to get up again, but noticed something at the edge of her vision. A white slip was peeking out of her pants pocket, something she hadn't noticed before. It had been knocked around by her falls. She reached down to pull it out, and found that it was exactly what she needed.
The selfie Warren took...oh my god.
Max had an idea, sudden and perfect. She smiled, ever so slightly, and began to cry.
I can get out of here.
Jefferson must not have known about her other power. How could he? She'd only used it once.
I can turn the tables on Mr. Jefferson.
She could strike before he knew she was onto him. He wouldn't surprise them; she would surprise him. Her and Chloe.
I can get Chloe back.
"Max? You there?" Max had never focused on a picture so intently before, but her tears spilled onto it and interfered with her vision. Just the thought of Chloe, alive and well, made her want to break down into sobs. Her throat quivered and her hands shook. She wanted to let out her relief, but couldn't.
You can cry later! Look at the fucking picture!
Jefferson unlocked the door; Max heard it open. She wiped away her tears and looked again.
"Max?"
LOOK AT THE FUCKING PICTURE!
"I see you tried escaping. You have more fight in you than I expected...I actually like that."
Please. Please, just look.
Well, that's all she (he) wrote. I tried a really different writing style for this; I hope people enjoy it! I really want to write more LiS stuff, preferably about Chloe, but this was fun too. I felt pretty weird writing it, but the whole situation is weird. I'm 100% sure that Jefferson has a creepy obsession with Max (and I'm sure everyone else is too), so I tried to convey that. He seems to pay more attention to her than to his other students, and he could easily have killed her along with Chloe. As always, I'd love critique, and hope that everyone enjoyed reading this one-shot. Also, I'm curious as to who people think made the clanging noise.
Also, Jefferson kind of reminds me of Hannibal, the way he stylizes his crimes and seems to actually care about the art of the whole thing. I think Hannibal would still eat him, though. Jefferson strikes me as someone he'd find rude.