"You cannot make a revolution in white gloves." - Vladimir Lenin
"If the opposition disarms, all is well and good. If it refuses to disarm, we shall disarm it ourselves." - Joseph Stalin
"What do we do, what do we do?" Courtney shivered, clinging a hand on Victoria's shoulder, terrified of the reality they face. Everyone shared that sentiment, speaking it through how they hunched themselves, faces angled down and with terrible, mad looks in their eyes.
Fear gripped their hearts. They were caught in between two uncertainties, yet they had to make a choice.
"W-we should listen to him," Chase stuttered, then, more clearly, "it might be our only chance, if we want to get out alive."
"You'll get to leave alive, but us?" Stella rasped, gesturing to herself, Brooke and Alyssa, "he'll shoot us in the kneecaps and toss us into the pool before he considers letting us go free."
"It doesn't have to be that way," Victoria countered. Assuring herself, the blonde then set her submachine gun against the wall of lockers, adamantly crouching her way to the battered, bullet-torn threshold, "I can ask him to spare you all—"
"We will not surrender," Alyssa interrupted as the Queen crawled closer, "I'd rather perish fighting, than on my knees at their mercy."
"Oh fucking hell, not you too," the pixie blonde groaned, "look, it doesn't have to be this way. I will talk to him, I will make him see reason. We are not wasting our lives over this."
"Waste our lives?" Brooke muttered, a bit puzzled at the logic.
"Nathan cares for you, Victoria. But he doesn't care about the rest of us," Caulfield reasoned, "He might spare you, but he won't think twice of what he'll do to us. There's too many reasons he'd want us dead for us to take that chance."
And Victoria rounded on Max then, seizing at the straps of the brunette's plate carrier and spitting down at her, scornfully, "I fucking told you it was a bad idea to go up, I told you we should've ran, but you just had to listen to that crazy blueberry, didn't you? If you had just listened to me and bothered to get out of here, we wouldn't be sitting here in this mess!"
"I can hear you, y'know," came a call from the first flight of the steps, as both Victoria and the accosted Max looked towards the voice, "not only are you a bitch to other people Vicky, you're also a bitch 'cause you'd throw us at Prescott's feet if it meant your ass would be spared," then Price emphasized her frustrations by giving a one finger salute from just over the observable railing.
"What she said!" Juliet's own visible hand pointed in solidarity towards the punk's brash gesture, and beside them a third hand, Dana's, swiftly agreed with a thumbs up.
"Victoria's right though, we can get out of this," came a reply from Taylor, "if we back each other up, Nathan will reconsider. He knows he can't single others out when Vic's with them. He won't risk it, she means too much to him," from beside the long haired blonde, Kate spared a disagreeing sidelong glance before turning her attention back to beyond the threshold, ever silent.
"How do you know that's the case, he could have changed his mind by now, what with all we've done," Anderson dared another peek, looking at the lone body that laid between them and the tyrant across the hall, seeing the shiny ichor pooled around it and shivering.
"It's our only chance, if we don't want to get shot to pieces," Courtney had already unloaded her Mauser and set it aside, sounding a clatter as she nervously undid the straps of her helmet, "I want to live, I don't want to die here!"
"Verdammter Feigling," Stella barbed at the Queen's aide, clutching her own Mauser with the intent to fight, "Go be a coward for someone else, why don'tchya," and likewise, Brooke held her rifle in equal fashion, eyes fixed to the tile floor.
"I've made my mind up on this," Max declared, pointing the notion towards the scowling Queen next to her, "I need you to make up your mind as well, Victoria."
"The hell do you want me to make up my mind for? You're telling me you'd rather go guns blazing against him when I can give us a chance to get out of here alive, all of us—is that not what you wanted?" and an unusual mixture between frustration and pleading adorned Chase's brow as she whispered to her, "I can't just let this go, Max. You wanted me to change, and change I did. Now give me a chance."
Sharp, nervous green eyes met their brazen cobalt blue counterparts, and sparred a silent clash of the wills.
"This is your final warning!" came a rabid shout from down the hall, "We have you surrounded, come out with your hands up, NOW!"
"If it goes south, be prepared to duck into cover," Caulfield relented, giving a small nod. Chase wasted no time standing and mentally preparing herself, chin up, brow straight; have no fear, not here, not now.
Proudly, at the awestruck glances of the others did Victoria stand and confront the Prescott heir.
"Vic?!" Nathan blurted, dumbstruck, "The fuck are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here!? What the fuck is going on, Nate!?"
"This was inevitable, Vic. It was only a matter of time," he shouted back, miffed, "why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be long gone by now."
"I tried to, but your friends weren't as interested in letting me go."
Chase could see Nathan turn to the hound on his right, giving him a terrible, murderous stink eye. The boy nervously shrugged and shirked a couple steps back.
"You shouldn't be here Vic. Stop fighting this, stop fighting us," Prescott ordered to her, "Just drop your weapons and walk with me, that's it."
"Why are you doing this, Nathan?" she countered, she wanted an answer.
He hesitated, and that length of silence extended as he looked at her, pleading. The pistol in his right hand was trembling ever the slightest.
"I'm tired, Vic. All of us are," he gestured with his free hand to the armed guards flanking him, "we're all tired of this world, of its injustice. Day by day we watch as our way of life, the ways of the modern Man are tarnished by tyrants, by politicians who value the dollar over a human life."
"We are tired of being lied to, we are tired of living in the slums and in the streets," the rich kid continued, "We wish for nothing less than a sanctuary, a place to call our home. Already has the elitist utopia up north, Pan Estates, been torched; its bourgeois rats have been driven off, and away from our land. We will not stop until every corrupt, and conspiring official to this system, this oppressive system, has been driven out or into the ground."
Victoria felt her spine crawl.
"The world is slowly going mad, and I don't want any part of it. Neither do I want you to be a part of it," and that free hand of his reached out to her, inviting, "I'm asking of you as a comrade, as your friend. Embrace the storm, and I will keep you safe."
The pixie blonde found her attention transfixed on the corpse that lay still between her and Prescott. Much like Alyssa, Chase's trembling green eyes fixed themselves to the crimson-black ooze surrounding the body, and whiffs of that rancid, iron tang twisted her guts into knots.
Embrace the storm.
"...then what about the innocents?" she asked, then more accusingly, "what about the people who resist? The hundreds of people in Arkadia who aren't your enemies? What if they don't want this, what if they don't want you?"
She hated the way the hallway lights above them casted those shadows over his eyes, and she hated even more the faint sound of snickering coming from the hounds. Nathan may not have shared their apparent glee, but his voice became emboldened, "They stand in the way of the ideals of the storm, the true destiny of our home. If they cannot respect that destiny, then there's no place for them."
Behind Victoria, she could hear the shuffle of a combat vest, and the ker—chak of a rifle.
"Please Vic, just tell whoever's with you to drop their weapons and come out, I don't want this to get bloody," and he extended his hand out again, looking her dead in the eyes. She hadn't noticed though, she'd gone back to staring at the body, watching the skin sickeningly pale under the blue fluorescents.
"Get ready to duck," came a hiss from behind, and Chase snapped from her trance at Max's warning. The pixie blonde felt panic seize her, and swiveled her head to look back to the huddle.
"Fucking don't, I still have a chance—"
"Vic, please, I'm just trying to make this peaceful," Nathan called, growing impatient, "Just tell them to come out—however many there are."
"I'm trying, just—just give me a second!" and the blonde looked back to Max, begging her with her eyes to not fuck this up. Yet, the brunette did not budge, and defiantly stayed in place.
"Max, just fucking do it, please," Chase exasperated, growing even more irate, "everyone, please, this is our last chance. Leave your weapons and follow my lead."
Nervous, indecisive looks from Stella and Brooke brought hope to the pixie blonde, and Alyssa was looking anxiously back and forth between the beckoning royal and her friends, looking so pale, so distraught. Already did Courtney and Taylor forego their rifles and edge closer, ready to give themselves up. No movement came from the railing.
Max did not move. Cobalt blue eyes were widening in desperation, from what, Victoria was unsure.
"Victoria, I'm sorry. The others can go, but I just can't—"
"Don't fucking chicken out on me Caulfield, you promised me this," and at the mousy brunette's fervent shake of the head to stay, the Queen grabbed at one of her arms, and pulled her from her crouch next to the door.
"Wait, don't—!"
"Vic, what's going—" and whatever Nathan was going to say was cut short, as the last person he expected to see presented themselves at the threshold, right next to his best friend. From across the way, Victoria was ready to answer him, but paused at the wild, fearful look in Prescott's eyes, wide like saucers. He murmured something harsh to his guards and suddenly they raised their rifles, the fear in her best friend's eyes was swiftly replaced with an all-consuming rage as he barked to them, raising his pistol, "Hands up—HANDS UP, NOW!"
"Nathan, wait—!"
"COVER!" Max cried, curling her arms around Victoria's waist and throwing both of them out of the doorway, just in time to miss the salvo of lead tearing at where they stood moments ago.
Taylor and Courtney recoiled, ducking to the floor on their respective sides and clutching at their heads, hands over ears as the sharp cracks of gunfire erupted once more. Next to the denim blonde on the floor, Kate took advantage of the lack of incoming fire on the left side of the threshold, poking her rifle out and scoring a lucky hit on the guard to the left of Prescott, clipping them in the lower abdomen and sending them doubled-over to the floor.
Alyssa clumsily reciprocated the hounds' volley, daring to blindly fire around the besieged corner and sending Prescott and his other lackey running for cover, a stalemate erupted as both sides exchanged a furious torrent at each other.
"What the fuck, what the fuck—!" Chase had freed herself from Max's loose grip and now crawled on her back in a frantic search for safety, lunging for her MP5 and clinging to it for dear life. Max wasn't faring much better, having slid into the nook of space behind Stella and Brooke as they crouched forwards, inching their way just behind Anderson to help with suppressing the tyrant and his hounds. Farther beyond, Christensen brought herself together and held her rifle at the ready, providing cover as Kate quickly searched her bandolier for another clip of rounds.
"Stella! Spare mags, quick!" and the ebony brunette fished for a spare magazine from her vest and handed it to Alyssa, who had now burned through her own supply.
"Not enough ammo—we gotta get out of here," Max muttered to herself, glancing back down the empty hall of the school's south wing and hatching an idea. The brunette rolled, clutching at a still hysterical Chase with a hand on the shoulder, hoping Victoria was still conscious through the fear, "Victoria, I need your help, we gotta get to the end of the hall!"
Wide, dilated green eyes locked to Max's own, and she repeated, "Vic, listen to me—take Courtney, and make for the room at the end of the hall, we're gonna leg it out of here!"
"Chloe, Dana, Juliet, get ready to move!" came Caulfield's cry over the gunfire, and the three huddled at the landing clamored to life at the promise of action. Price tensed, never straying her AR from the second floor's shredded railing as the sound of voices could be heard from above. Watson and Ward also hunched themselves, the auburnette using the more intact section of drywall to mount her R75A, waiting for something, anything.
For a brief second, it seemed that they would be able to book it down the stairs and reach their comrades on the first floor below.
PAKPAKPAK—
Hot lead burst through the obstructing debris, impacting the wall just above the girls and sending shards of concrete flying. Immediately did Chloe counter with a spamming of the trigger, firing blindly at the shredded railing. Whoever had opened up on the three then ceased, and a baritone voice called for backup, sounding close, too close. From behind the shredded drywall, they could discern movement through the many holes riddled in the plaster.
"He's right there, hit that sonuvabitch!" Price barked, Dana obliged and fired a burst from her automatic rifle, the thirty-aught six rounds eviscerating the bullet-ridden concealment and hitting their mark, the poor soul shrieking before being abruptly silenced. Spurred by the blood rush, Ward dumped the rest of her magazine at the spot then made to stand, angling her head down to search for a new mag.
"I'm out, cover—!"
PA—DING
A stray bullet careened through the torn upper railing, striking the auburnette's steel helmet. The cheerleader's head jerked back and she collapsed just before the descending steps, her weapon clattering down the flight and out of reach.
"Dana!" Juliet lunged for her unconscious best friend, pulling her back into cover as Chloe tore at the hounds above with suppressive fire, the bronze-brunette shakily felt for the impact and begged to not see blood. The gash in the steel frame was prominent under the sheen of the stahlhelm, yet the panic in Watson's heart subsided the slightest; the round had glanced off the hard angle, unable to penetrate.
"We gotta move, move!" the bluenette watched uneasily as Juliet tried to carry the dead weight in her arms, but Watson was going far too slow to make it out. Already could Chloe hear the vicious growls from above, the hounds were preparing to rush them. Price had to take the gamble, while she still could.
"I got her, I got her, just cover me!" and Chloe roughly took the unconscious girl from Juliet, who hastily clutched her Mauser and aimed, awaiting, shaking from fear. Price was lugging Dana down the steps when the first of the hounds showed themselves, for he charged down the stairs screaming bloody murder. Juliet met him with a round to the chest, and he tumbled down the flight in a twisted heap, lifeless.
"Get those cunts, now!"
It was as Watson cycled the bolt forward with a new cartridge that a second hound came at her, peeking over the railing with a rifle of his own and shouting, "Fucking bitch—!"
They both fired, and even with the muffs in her ears, the reporter flinched at the harsh whizzing of the round missing her head by a hand's length, burying itself into the wall behind her. Her own shot had struck him, and all that could be heard was a pitiful wailing as he fell out of sight, wounded.
Driven by instincts and a burning rage, Watson cycled a third time and fired, missing him completely. Irritated by the hound's cries for help, she cycled the fourth round, firing again and taking sadistic glee as his howling could be heard, she'd struck him again.
"AW fuck it hurts, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die oh jesus—!"
"Drake! Drake, keep crawling!"
Chew on lead, you fucking rat!
The spent casing bounced off the tile as she cycled the bolt a fifth and final time. The sounds of chaos down on the first floor seemed lost on Watson, too focused on the familiar hound—Drake—and his incoherent babbling to one of his comrades. The senses were heightened, every brief wisp of floating dust and bright muzzle flash made her eyes twitch, her heart drummed loudly in her deafened ears.
A large, ominous shadow rose from the top of the upper flight of stairs, and Juliet swiveled, clenching the trigger as her rifle crossed the hound's path.
KRAK
The force knocked them against the wall behind, but they still pressed on, coming down the steps towards her. Juliet's eyes widened at the large gash in their AR, her shot had torn through the metal at an angle but stopped short of its death blow. A war cry erupted from the hound as he rushed her, heaving the useless gun at her and then slamming into her like a bull. The momentum drove them into the wall, squishing the backpack Watson wore as her head thudded against the concrete.
Using his grip around the disoriented reporter's waist, he hoisted then threw her to the floor, screeching as he did so. Already had Juliet lost her rifle, and now as the hound's iron grip wormed around her neck and squeezed the life from her, did she claw at his arms and face in a panic. Fight or flight ruled her conscious, and she jabbed at his eyes, desperate for an escape. One hand of his came off her throat only to come back swinging hard into her cheekbone, sending her vision askew and blurry. Hot tears burned her eyes as she saw him raise his fist again, roaring down at her like an animal, spitting and swearing, "I'LL KILL YOU, FUCKING WHORE—!"
KRAK
The hound's head spun, snapping and exploding as a bullet traveled through his cranium, tearing apart the skull and brain and sending the contents in all directions. Juliet gasped as the grip slackened off her windpipe, then screamed as the rest of the body fell on top of her. She pushed it away and scurried against the wall, coughing.
A hand grabbed at her right arm, and Watson looked to Max, a smoking Mauser in her other hand. The mousy brunette was begging to her, shouting over the din, "Come on, we gotta get out of here!"
Watson was pulled up and down the steps, then along the hallway as Kate and Taylor dove across the threshold, being supported by Alyssa as the stocky girl let loose with her Mini-14. A sort of unseen, intangible force spurred the girls onwards as they all collectively dashed down the south wing, towards the room at the end of the hall. Victoria stood at the open threshold, and madly beckoned to them with a wave of the arm.
"Alyssa, displace, displace!" Juliet looked back to see Brooke, then Stella, then Anderson stand and dash for the exit, with Max's incessant tugging nearly driving the bronze-brunette off her feet as they quickly sped for the door.
A/N - "Verdammter Feigling," German, "[You] damn coward"
When I had first conceived Nathan's character as the "antagonist," I had considered the possibility of going about this scenario in a more peaceful light, in which Nathan's sympathies to Victoria would make him seem more true to his word. Yet this would serve to go against all that I have built in Part One and up until this point in Part Two (harken to Markson's comments, once he had captured Juliet's group in Chapter One). I have already established Nathan to be significantly different from what he is canonically, so I cannot revert him to something that is more expected. So, we have what we see here.
Nathan is the antithesis of the protagonists. Him, and by extension all that are loyal/close to him, in some way or another are set against the protagonists and their goals. This means, by Nathan's case, he stands for the extreme, the dangerous, for that which one may consider atrocious. He is not bound by any specific ideology, nor by any creed, unlike what our protagonists abide by (either by Faith, or Family, or Friends). His only oath is that of destruction, a destruction of the old world, of the old values, of anything that the protagonists love and care for.
Naturally, he did not wake up one day and choose to become the way he's portrayed. I do intend to create a backstory for Nathan, one that will show his change into the character we see now (understand that this project is separate from what I'm currently working on, and it will be a long time before I can attempt it). As it stands, Nathan is a hypocrite, he is manipulative, he dares to use force and intimidation to suppress his opponents, he is prone to anger and keen for brutality; he finds his place amongst devils of all kinds, like Frank, and Mr. Wells, and Jefferson. He is full of the vices that everyone should do their best to avoid. And it is true that violence may become necessary in times of duress, but violence for the sake of violence itself, is a terrible and despicable thing.