Russian Roulette

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Asmodeus

Asmodeus

Certified Subdomain
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
MYTHICAL MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. Speed of Light
Writing Levels
  1. Douche
Preferred Character Gender
  1. No Preferences
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RULES

The dice code is [noparse][dices=1]X[/dices][/noparse], with 'X' being the number of sides on the dice.

First player writes a post, spins the revolver, then rolls a 6-sided dice.

Second player takes the gun, posts and rolls a 5-sided dice.

Third player rolls a 4-sided dice, and so on. Whoever rolls the 2-sided dice
ends the round and everyone then waits till I make the next GM post.

If you get a 1, you blow your brains out. o_o You must make a second post
describing your brain hitting the wall or you decapitated corpse soiling itself,
or whatever.

TYPE THE DICE CODE AT THE END OF YOUR POST. YOUR RESULT WILL APPEAR
AS YOU CLICK THE POST BUTTON. NO EDITING IS ALLOWED. IF I SEE YOU HAVE
EDITED YOUR POST, YOUR HEAD WILL SPONTANEOUSLY EXPLODE. SO MAKE
SURE YOU GET EVERYTHING RIGHT BEFORE CLICKING THAT POST BUTTON.​
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Lewis sat at the table, looking forlornly at the other players. His eyes were bloodshot, his face overgrown with stubble and his breath awash with alcohol. He was trembling, but everything else was numb.

He needed this money... it was his only way out. The debt-collectors were breathing down his neck, his wife and kids had left, he had lost his job and his home. A million dollars... or death... he had to take the chance.

There was nothing left to live for.

Downing his drink in one swift movement, Lewis reached out and took the gun from the middle of the table. There was a tense silence from the audience, a motely crew of criminals and gangsters who were supplying the prize money. He spun the chamber and put the gun to his head.

[dices=1]6[/dices]
 
Anya felt swallowed hard as the man took up the gun and put it against his head. She hoped that he would be unlucky and get the bullet, but that wasn't the case. She cursed to herself. She weren't afraid of dying, but she rather not die this way. But it was the last way out. She had always been so lucky, always gotten everything she wanted, always won everything. But suddenly her luck disappeared and now she had nothing. She was ready to die to get everything back. But she wouldn't die. Her luck would save her. She was certain.

The gun was in her hand, she had barely noticed the movement she had made to take the gun. Her heart beat pretty fast, it surprised her, she didn't think she would be so scared. But there was no turning back. Even if she would be able to turn back there was nothing to turn back to.

Suddenly it felt like everything were going on slow motion, her heartbeat weren't as fast anymore, her breathing was heavy. Maybe this would be the last time she would hear her own heart. She felt her fingers tremble as she pushed the trigger.

[dices=1]5[/dices]​
 
Rebecca sat trembling in the weak wood-back chair. The first player seemed relatively calm, lifting the gun to his withered mug and snapping the trigger. The second player even managed to pull the trigger without too much hesitation. As she watched, Rebecca clenched her teeth, half expecting to witness something nightmarish and gruesome.

Both times the trigger was pulled, her eyes closed on instinict. It felt like a fight of flight moment, but there was no flight; her wings were clipped.

"e-egh..." She whimpered, bottom lip trembling as the gun was set down again. Her brown eyes stared for a moment, saliva gathering in the back of her throat as her hesitation built. Her fingers crawled to the gun, wrapping around the barrel and retracting, as if it were scalding hot. Coffee stained teeth reached out to chew on her lips, fighting off fear with insecurity.

Rebecca grabbed the gun in a clumsy show, twisting it and forcing the barrel to her head as her finger laced through the trigger hole. Her heart jumped into her throat as she twitched her index against the metal, the overwhelming reaction to piss herself tugging at her body.

'CLICK'

[dices=1]4[/dices]
 
Blood sprayed back against the wall as the bullet barged it's way through her temple and straight through the side of her head. Rebecca's body was shoved out of the chair with the impact. Her suspender strap caught the post on the back of the chair, holding her lifeless shell to dangle over the floor. Jelly-like chunks of brain slowly dripped out to the floor, sploshing into the puddle of blood that had drained from the wound.
 
The gangsters and lowlifes cheered, those who had bet on Rebecca flinging down their money and storming out. The dropped loot was gathered by the other heavies, who kept a close watch on the tables as the excitement continued.

Two of the gangsters dragged Rebecca's shattered body away to the back room, while at the table the game's organiser chuckled and reloaded the revolver. He placed it back on the table for the other players.



[Begin again with a 6-sided dice]
 
Watching Rebecca being dragged out caused Mel to cry out in terror. Her late reaction warranted snickering and hoots among the audience.

I don't want to die here.

She was going to die anyways if she wasn't here. Cancer in her stomach was making short work of her middle-aged body. Her cats would be nothing without her, and she couldn't bear to let that happen to them.

The gun was placed in front of her.

Stretching out a shaking hand she took the revolver and spun the barrel. Placing it on her temple she closed her eyes.

[dices=1]6[/dices]

​
 
OOC: Hope I'm doing this right

Natsha is sitting in metal fold up chair. She takes the gun almost dropping it. It was so heavy in her thin frail scarred hands. 'This is it, this is what your going to do. Mama and Papa can't make you get this money and they can get you from hell' With this thought she grasps the gun tight and puts it to her temple. The audience was watching her intently. She say drunken men even women watching her. 'These are the last faces I'l see' She closes the gap from her finger to the trigger and shoots.
[dices=1]5[/dices]

​
 
She was so small the bullet goes through her skull and out the other side. She insantly dies screaming. Blood and brains are flying. They splatter the walls and the audience move back a bit. Her bright blue eyes open as her head rolls back and the chunks of brain and blood drip out smile frozen on her face. It will take a lot of bleach to clean this if it is cleaned.
 
o_O You rolled a 5...
 
*contacts the server guy*

*waitress serves drinks to the trembling survivors*
 
How long had it been since the last one--the last game? She'd been making an effort to never forget, honestly she had. It was to be part of her new outlook on life. Cherishing opportunities. Seeing the bigger picture. Remembering the starving children that are supposed to be somewhere or something. She'd already lived through one of these to tell the tale to her therapist. Since then, she'd counted the passage of time in pharmaceutically assisted highs and lows up until the moment she lost count which was approximately--


Hell if she knew.


Piper slouched forward to keep herself from having to risk pouring the rest of her Coach bag's contents while chugging the Jack. Normally, she'd be a bit more concerned with how unladylike it might have seemed, but "normally" was fast becoming one of those mythical times that never came, even when you thought they had. Like the wedding bells when you find "The One." Now all those smartly dressed beautiful broke strangers were gone, taking with them whatever the renovations and cosmetic "touch ups" hadn't. Winning the lottery was unlikely. Her friend with the cats had explained it with some math once, but experience had told Piper that here the odds could be favorable.


Stepping over a few bloody smears, she suddenly cursed her decision to go open-toed. The floor probably had roaches too. She curled up in her chair, tucking her knees against her chest. She took a cursory glance at her competition. No one she recognized from last time. Hm. She placed the barrel against her temple carefully as if she might receive feedback or pointers about her form. Nobody?

right. All amateurs except for me! She pulled the trigger.

2.gif
Total=2
 
It's just three rounds. If he made it three rounds it'd all be over.

Richard was a fat man. The product of too many comfort foods and broken new years resolutions. Sweat dripped off the round silhouette of his face as he approached the table, clenching his bottom lip in his teeth. His house had been condemned, His wife had left him as a result of his crippling debt, and loan sharks legal and otherwise had been beating down his trail for their own pound of flesh. If he made it through this, it'd all be over. That was the deal. Three rounds, three hundred large. That's not so bad. Desperation was the incentive for all manners of risk in history which lead to favorable results.

The wooden chair creaked out as the large man found himself within it, managing to hold shy of a prayer. As his short fingers in front of the gun, he managed to find second wind. He could do this. He would do this. He'd show everyone he wasn't the sniveling coward leeching off the dirges of society and take matters in his own hands. This would fix everything, a quick dance in the jaws of death for honest to God freedom.

His hands clenched around the cool frame of the revolver, trembling lightly. The flesh behind a yellow thumbnail pulled back the weapon's hammer with a resounding click. He stared a while upon the weight in his hand as the cylinder rotated ominously. Doubling his grasp, the man raised the barrel of the weapon to set against his temple and he felt his teeth grind. His hands trembled violently and tears began to stream down his face. Was this how he'd meet death? Bawling like a child? Was this how he faced down everything in life? The fat man swallowed hard and took hold of his senses as best he could. It was too late for second thoughts now. Either this would pay off... or it wouldn't matter.

With that, he pulled the trigger.

2.gif
Total=2

(the numbers on this sucker are changing for me too)
​

A resounding click sounded from the first round and a hail of voices watching the table from all ends erupted in a slew of laughter. The man threw down the revolver on the table, horrified at how close to death he just came. As the turn cycled once more the man found his head in his hands, trying to hold back his tears as he looked upon his life. How he got in in spite of everything.





 
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