The "No Fandom Politics" Dressing Room RPG's Journal

Throwing a Nick in here, make of him what you will.
[And in runs a man, in a panic, desperate to get... somewhere.
His obscenely expensive suit is stained with blood and slime. The rifle clutched in his hand and a cut on his forehead showing signs of some kind of fight.
And he's just running, frantically running. He needs to get away.
Until he realises... This isn't the bridge.]

Wait... What the hell? Did we make it? [He reaches a hand out towards the walls. This isn't where he was.] Guys, you there? [He calls back over his shoulder. No sign of anyone. No sign of the bridge.]

Hey, where are you? ...The fuck is going on? Where's the fuckin'... Dammit!
[He slams his fist against the wall.]
We were almost out, we were going to make it. We were gonna survive.
[He sighed, falling back against the wall, defeated.]
Everybody's gone now... Everyone.

Current Mood: crushed