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- One post per week
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PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Personal purgatory
Out of the assorted weaponry Mr. Green had collected for their expedition, the Model 97 was by far the most powerful gun they had. The monstrous force of the shotgun was a sight to behold. In fact, it worried Peter; so strong was the bullet's impact, that a man not need to be a good shot to do detrimental damage to its intended target. It was cutting-edge technology, new and untested. Untried by his own hand. Roland had apparently made quick use of it. The M97 lay jammed between his lips, one thunderous shot from it having scattered the contents of his head against the far wall. The same gun that Roland had insisted on keeping in his quarters, against all common sense.Location: Personal purgatory
Perhaps that wasn't the first thing Peter should have noticed. But it was.
The biting scent of gunpowder bleeding into smoke spilled out from the space beyond him. The room was made all the more smaller by their shared presence: his, Roland's, and Miss Volkov. The latter of them had nearly slipped his notice when he'd first barreled in behind her. The young woman remained off from the doorway on her knees, hand pressed trembling over her mouth. The hellish sight of Roland's corpse had paralyzed her; a terrible shock to her, no doubt. Peter, on the other hand, could only feel his own feelings shriveling up inside of him as his eyes landed next on the dying fire burning by the dead man's foot. There within lay the golden demonic baby: unburnt, unharmed, and ungodly. Roland had tried to destroy the Khuman Tong before he died.
Peter wished he didn't understand the implications of that act. But he did.
When he reached the former rifleman's body, he dropped down into a low crouch, studying Roland intently. His jaw hung unhinged, the force of the shotgun blast having blown out the sides of his head and shattering his jawbone. And Roland's eyes...
Eyes, dull and listless, peering into nothing. The thousand-year stare of a military man, preserved in time memoriam.
The war was over. But the battle raged on.
When Peter's hands lifted to gently smooth down Roland's eyelids, it was an action done out of repetition, the countless eyes of others having looked so balefully into his own as he closed them. When he jerked the scalding hot rifle barrel from between the rifleman's locked teeth, pushing closed the bloodied mouth with his forearm, he wondered how long it would take for him to get that point, for someone else to stumble across his battered corpse, killed in a fit of madness.
His gruesome work allowed him to drown out the loud chatter that went on behind him. It was not until he physically rose back to his feet that he saw what was transpiring behind him. Peter appeared surprised, but not affronted, to see their guide standing there in the doorway.
"Lung El. Miss Volkov."
His attentions wavered between the both of them. Ana was still on the ground. The young Russian woman was clearly shaken, as she ought to be. This was something that would be seared irreparably into her memory, and he felt guilt, guilt that he could not do anything to prepare her for the nights to come. A long pause drew out before him, his own personal ethics warring with concern for the writer. In the end, duty prevailed, and his expression flattened.
"Please help me...clean up, if you can stomach it," He said, pointedly directing his words at Lung El, "Get his affairs into order. I don't know if he has family..."
The faint gleam of the Khuman Tong beckoned to him once more. He peered at it momentarily, a wary look passing over his features. His next decision was executed promptly; with a resounding stomp, Peter snuffed out the remnant embers of the dying flames. He did not realize his hands were shaking as did so. His eyes drew up haltingly to meet the others' before him.
Eyes that mirrored Roland's deadened gaze.
"Please. Help me tend to him, so he can be buried proper. After that...after that, I'm done. Done for good. I want no more part of this cursed mission. This...is not what I signed on for."