Roleplay Online with RolePlayGateway

((Visit the OOC thread for rules and character applications! Here it is.


It was just after noon when the new arrivals to the island finally made it to their home, a place of shining beaches, cool forests, and shimmering Pacific waves as far as one was able to see. The sun was a scorching disc in the sky that day, and the temperature would have been very uncomfortable if it weren't for the breeze blowing in off of the ocean, cooling the groups of people as they made their way silently onto the beach. The first of the three helicopters, followed immediately by the other two, set down on the beach, whipping white sand up into the air as blades ripped the air and sent a wild wind about the surrounding area.

The helicopter didn't shut down. They wanted to be able to get out of here as quickly as possible. So instead, the door leading into the main body simply opened, and a female soldier exited, dragging along the first of the vehicle's passengers along with her. She didn't touch the young woman she was in charge of, she simply lef her along, speaking quietly to her as they went. Normally, some sort of physical force was required in these situations, but she'd found this particular case to be inrecdibly docile, even amiable, if you will. That is, as long as the only one near her was this particular soldiers. If any of the males on the helicopter had gone near her... the flight might not have gone so well. She remembered what had happened to the first male officer who had tried to take hold of this one.

She was a young woman aged twenty years, somewhat short for her age, with fiery red hair and eyes of a blue associated with stormy oceans. She was dressed in a tank top that fit to a slender, toned frame, and a simple pair of jeans, and an old pair of combat boots. However, both slender wrists bore a set of handcuffs, for which no one on the flight even had a key. Both hands gripped a weapon; in one was a long hunting blade, and in the other a simple handgun.

Near the middle of the beach they stopped, and the female soldier stopped speaking. She'd been telling the girl some of the basic information she'd need for living on this island; once a week supplies would be dropped off at this location for the people here to come and get as they saw fit. If they left them out and they rotted or went to waste, it wasn't the government's problem. A key for her shackles, as well as ammunition for her weapon, would be waiting at the house, which she could reach by heading directly straight along a man-made path leading away from the beach and into the forest. It would end at a clearing, and in the center of the large grassy space was their new home, a house big enough to fit all of them comfortably and that would support all of their basic needs. However, there would be no telephone, no radio, no television set. No contact with the outside world.

At this point, the woman turned and began to watch the helicopter. The young woman wasn't allowed to leave her sight until the vehicle had risen and flown away; they didn't want them sneaking off to get ammunition before they had a chance to be well out of range. Unfortunately, the soldier had to stay by her side until all of the convicts were out and assembled. At this point, she was just glad that the knife was sheathed. However, this one didn't seem like she had any particular desire to harm her, so perhaps it wasn't such an issue. But, it never hurt to be careful.

Next to get out of the chopper was a heavily muscular man, his physique a stark contrast to his much less formidable charge. The smaller man looked to be in his early twenties, but in reality he was closer to thirty. Baggy, nondescript clothes hung from his skinny frame. He was cuffed, and his revolver and knife were in his pockets, as his hands were currently holding a harmonica. He was holding the instrument close to his face, scrutinizing it with rapt attention.

He seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, so intent was he at examining the harmonica. The soldier had to practically drag him across the beach, and he wasn't particularly gentle. He came up beside the female soldier, letting go of Jimmy, who promptly sat down on the sun-warmed sand. The soldier considered filling him in on the basic information about his future island life, but didn't. The guy wouldn't have heard him. Besides, he had just raised the harmonica to his lips, and blew a clear, warbling note.

Getting the feel for the instrument, he blew a few more hesitant notes. Then, abruptly, he settled into a soft, melodious song, seeming to make it up as he went. The soldier looked at Jimmy with astonishment. He had never heard someone play a harmonica so...beautifully. He had been instructed to give the man an instrument as part of his things, to keep him docile. But he had never imagined that he could play like...that.

Third out of the helicopter would be "Mister Dangerlund".
Suprising the dark haired man was not handcuffed or restrained. One of the personel on the helicopter he could tell would whisper to his superior quite inquizitively as of why this...."MANIAC" was the word that he heard louder than the soft rest of the whisper was out of cuffs. Grudgingly his superior told him after thinking about it for a moment, maybe questioning why himself the man wasn't properly detained was.

He told him "It was too troublesome..its not like..we forced him into custody. He killed 11 people escaping when we tried to take him by force, he only heard about this project over the radio earlier in the mission to retrieve him and "wanted" to go. We considered this...a win win situation..he wouldn't be killing any of our team anymore...and we *technically* caught him.. Considering his...cooperation, we don't have him restrained. Command was sure if he was going to make trouble, it would have been far before this point."

At this point Seif would gaze over with an almost terrifying smile to the soldier in the helicopter. Maybe something like gazing into the abyss was returning that smile for the soldier who seemed immediately shaken up by the gesture towards him. Shaken only by the landing of the helicopter did he snap back to his senses. Watching the other two get out of the helicopter quickly, Seif stood up and decided he would be the 3rd out of the 4 on this helicopter.

Seif did not have his sneakers on for this occasion, sporting a pair of combat boots that looked like they were new, maybe buying a pair just for this island *paradise*. His outfit about the same as usual, his coat open as well. Walking over to the two soldiers he took a bow a moment and asked for his weapons. They seemed to be content with letting him stay uncuffed but not armed, but definitely not armed and uncuffed for the entire flight. Hijacking the copter would have been trivial at that point and Seif seemed fine to relinquish his weapons in the first place.

Taking his machette from the man first, the worlds "life reaper" etched into the blade's broad side, not visible within its sheathe anyways, but he decided to take it out a moment to check it. His sidearm would be the next thing he received. A classic handgun, sought out by enthusiasts and collectors alike, a genuine article CZ-75. Production stopped because they were too superior and costly of a gun to be given out en masse to the swiss guard, his was quite genuine.

A quick hop out of the helicopter would place him, feet firmly planted on the ground of the island. The roar of the chopper blades above him would drown out any naturally occuring sounds outside of the distinct melody of a harmonica the man who jumped out before him was playing. The somber melody quite trance inspiring, Seif took a moment to enjoy the sound.

"I think if I were to ever try to kill music....this would be a song fitting for its last."

Rigorous, intense, unrelenting. The blades whipped through the air periodically transforming the four razor edges into a single blur. The sky... its blue. How many moons has it been since he last saw the infinite horizon? The white clouds seem so carefree and the sun seems so gentle? Through the window was the vast expense and the infinite depth. It was an ocean that was actually blue.

"Don't you think he's a little too quiet?"
"shhh, don't agitate him. Its better this way."

How many hours past he could not say, but the sun was now high above them. Midday? Noon? As land appeared across the horizon, the soldiers began debriefing, providing useful information for survival on the island. The key to his chains and the ammunition to his gun would be located within the house and essentials would be provided weekly. His gaze drifted away to the green prison. It meant that he'll soon be free of the bonds that secured his mobility. But... was it really alright?

The helicopter began to descend but the blades refused to slow. Then the door opened the door and they shoved him out. These were ten criminals that even the government did not want to deal with. It would be best to have minimal contact. On reflex, his foot landed first, bent and he somersaulted forward along the sandy beach to redirect the force and reduce damage upon impact.

Standing at full height, he was perhaps five foot eight. They had offered him a slight change in attire than the standard prison gown. He was given old combat boots, dark jeans, tight top and a jacket to compete the set. His hair was still somewhat short as they shaved him when he entered prison, but it was beginning to grow back. His weapons were attached as gears and the thick chains bound his wrist together tightly.

One by one the other prisoners began to land. One by one, the countdown for "freedom" would begin. Already there was three others, one female and one playing the harmonica. He could hear its frequency. That, of the song. There was one more... his eyes seemed more dangerous but realizing the reason these ten were dispatched, those eyes were nothing too beyond expectations.

The deep, churning throb of the helicopters blades would slowly greet Havok as he regained himself. Sleeping half of the way to this unknown "Location" was all Havok could do as he watched kilometers of kilometers of water move by, the airborne craft no larger than a spot of water as it traveled low across the crest of the ocean. Havok leaned his head as he watched the ocean slip by. The helicopter seemed to be traveling fast, Havok used the constantly moving blur that was the ocean to judge his best at the speed.

Havok was jolted slightly from his gaze into the ocean as the helicopter banked. Bringing the island into view. He would jostle in his seat slowly, questioning the sudden introduction of the spec of land in the blanket of water as the helicopter sliced it's speed.
"Up. Now." Harrel commanded, the .357 magnum glistening in the cabin of the helicopter as Havok stood, noticing that the weapon was leveled directly with him. Stopping quietly to glance at the large handgun, he couldn't help but crack a smile and look up to the guard.
"You can pull the trigger ... you know." He laughed, Harrel giving nothing more than a smirk as he waved the weapon toward the bay door. Havok steadied himself as he felt the helicopter descend. Watching the flora and sand of the beach move closer to meet the helicopter as it prepared to touch down.


"We're golden." The Pilot muttered quietly, flicking several switches as he patted the co-pilot on the shoulder, who in turn looked back toward Harrel and nodded, anxious to drop their package off on the desolate island.
"So, am I getting a vacation?" Havok questioned, Harrel smiling timidly and quickly closing the distance between captive and hunter. Havok wincing, but hardly changing a single muscle on his face as he felt the steel and hardened metal of the .357 push into his gut. For a second, Havok thought this is where it would end, shot in the stomach with a .357 and dumped on a desolate island somewhere in the ocean after all he had accomplished in the Military. All he had done to aid the same type of men Harrel was working with before he was assigned to guarding him. For a split second, Havok glared proudly at Harrel, beckoning him to pull the trigger and steal away his existence.

Harrel slowly slid the .357 into a small holster Havok had strapped to his waist. The thought quickly fading from Havok's mind as he watched Harrel crack a smile, a wicked, twisted smile. Harrel wasn't going to kill him. No one would.
" ... Ditched on an island." Havok moaned to himself as the helicopter touched ground on the soft sand. The wheels sinking somewhat as Harrel swung the bay door of the helicopter open. With the rotors still churning, Harrel grabbed a covered object and hurled it out onto the sand. It landed easily as Harrel waved his hand for Havok to approach the bay door.
"You've done great things for your country!" Harrel yelled, attempting to overpower the sheer noise of the rotors as he grabbed Havok tightly by the arm, keeping him from falling outward as he spoke to him. A note in Harrel's voice told him that he was speaking truly, his feelings of the Mercenary. Havok thanked him under his breath, inaudible for Harrel, but the small "Thank you" he offered filled his head quickly.
"You've done great things, Havok. You saved lives!" Harrel screamed once again, Havok couldn't help but ponder why the man that had told him he'd kill him with his hands would dare compliment him.
"Why -- " Havok questioned, turning toward Harrel and squinting to keep the sand from obscuring his vision. Harrel was making the same motion, then he pulled Havok in close and leaned to his ear.
"Don't get up." He whispered before he thrust Havok out of the helicopter, Havok letting out a small yell as his face met the warm sand, his body moving with the force as he spun and eat a face full of sand.



"Time to die, Havok!" He heard Harrel yell, before he witnessed the first bullet smash into the sand near him. He cringed in fear as he felt the pressure condense around his face and sand spray against him as several more bullets impacted by him. Don't get up. Havok quickly set about to contort in his death throws, attempting to feel the bullet smash into his spine and head. Killing him instantly. It would have to do.
His leg shot out, contorting in a final lapse of activity ordered by his mind to put on a show, to finally make the world think Havok was dead. His head would lean sideways and would attempt to go limp, Havok let a pained moan escape from him as he heard the door close shut behind him.


With that, the helicopter began to lift from it's position. With it's mission complete, it would quickly move from it's position. Banking sideways as the pilots sent a final glance to the now motionless body.
"You finish him?" The Co-Pilot questioned, leaning into the bay and pointing a finger at him as Harrel cradled the M4. He had just began to withdraw the magazine from the well of the rifle as the Co-Pilot spoke.
" ... Yeah. I saw him. He's dead." He spoke quietly, the Co-Pilot nodded. Perhaps this wasn't exactly what he had planned to do today, when he woke up, but it was his duty. It was the Pilots duty to fly the aircraft which would transport a man to his death, it was the Co-Pilots duty to aid in the piloting of that same aircraft which would transport a man to his death. It was Harrel's duty to ensure the transportation of that same man to his death, and then initiate his death upon arrival. The others had completed their objective, Harrel had not.

The last soldier hopped out of the helicopter, cursing, as he reached inside and pulled out a man in a white straitjacket. He then proceeded to kick the figure, nursing the teeth marks on his hand in between the blows. A harsh word from the pilot calmed the soldier down though, and he grudgingly dragged the man by his collar to the others. Roughly.

When they finally reached the group of convicts, the soldier promptly kicked his "prisoner" again, and the man bended over in pain. However, it didn't erase the mad grin from his face, or the murderous look in his eyes. In fact, he even giggled a bit, as if enjoying the aggravation he was giving his captor.

"You fucking lunatic. Stop. LAUGHING," he yelled, ramming his rifle's butt against the side of the madman's head.

The laughter died away, leaving only groans of pain and a very pissed off soldier.

His eyes would light up to the familar symphony of gunfire from one of the helicopters dropping off "passengers." The smell of gunpowder wisked over by the frantically spinning blades of the helicopter right to Seif's nose like an express delivery truck high noon. His eyes would widen as he saw the main laying presumably dead on the beach. Such a feint would never fool Seif, so well versed in death's aways was he. Wanting to yell to the man "You can get up now, you clever clever fool." Holding back however, there must be some reason the man wanted to be feigning on the beach like that. A fitting beginning for the Island in Seif's opinion. A beautiful melody broken up by the crashing gunfire and the sound of lunatic screaming laughter. Bearing little in mind to the starkraving that crashed down onto the beach actually.

At this point Seif would check his firearm and accesories out to make sure they worked. Toying with his flashlight and gun, checking them with detail, checking his belt for the wire containted within the buckle. He would start taking strides towards the house. It would be best to get the layout of the house down as well as claim a room before any of the other "cheifitans" arrived. The room at the topmost of the house is where he would hunker down on the bed. Taking the bed by the window overlooking the entrance so he could gaze at the other inhabitants.

Sitting gazelessly at the window, staring out towards anyone else who might be heading towards the house he waited carefully. The view obscuring the beach with the trees between there and the house, not quite heavily folliaged but enough to block out any sight.

"How dreadfully boring so far..."

ooc: edited for trees. /boggle

((Blaze, you wouldn't be able to do that. The house is located in a clearing that's seperated from the beach by a bunch of trees >>))


Kira and her guard had remained silent, the young soldier getting more and more tense as the criminals unloaded one by one. The one with the harmonica didn't seem to be too threatening, and neither did the quiet one. However, the one in the straight jacket... He just seemed insane. She didn't think too much of it, though; soon enough she could ditch this forsaken island and these people along with it.

It was around then that a fourth helicopter unexpectedly arrived, some way down the beach. The young woman frowned and squinted a bit, trying to get a good look at what was going on, when suddenly a man was tossed out and a hail of gunfire sounded. Immediately, the man died. She considered shouting over for a moment, but the helicopter was already taking off again; apparently they'd decided not to give that one a chance. Oh well. They'd all end up like that soon anyways. Maybe he was lucky.

She was brought back to attention as she heard a shout from the helicopter she'd been aboard. It was empty of convicts now, so they were taking off. The young soldier spoke quietly to her charge, turning her in the direction of the forest and pointing towards a clearly man-made path. "The house is that way. It's just a short walk through the woods. Good luck." With that, she turned and hurried back to her ride out of here.




Kira turned and watched the young soldier leave, then glanced around the beach for a moment as the helicopter began to lift off, taking the other soldiers with it. All men... why did they all have to be men? Was this some kind of sick joke? She was interested in the fact that one was already dead, however, she couldn't help but feel suspicious. She couldn't see any blood on the beach. What a waste. She couldn't help but think, in the chance that he really was done with. What a boring way to go.

Finally, she turned and began making her way to the house, eager to rid herself of her handcuffs. She wouldn't be much use without her hands, and she didn't have any intention of dying here. The cool shade as she first entered the forest was a relief; it was scorching out on that beach. She'd have to avoid spending too much time there. As she allowed herself to wander into thoughts though, she heard the sounds of the other convicts beginning to make their way towards the house as well, and picked up her pace. She didn't want to miss out on her ammunition.

Within ten minutes, she'd reached the house, the clearing having been situated not far into the line of trees. It was a nice house, she supposed, with three floors, probably mostly taken up by bedrooms. But she didn't pay much attention to that. She headed straight inside and found herself walking into a kitchen. Sure enough, there on the table was a set of nine keys (someone had already shown up, apparently), and sets of ammunition. Quickly, she grabbed one of the keys and undid her handcuffs, then, with her hands now free, searched out the ammo for her handgun. Once she located it (only because she'd been told what to look for by the soldier... she didn't really use firearms often), she loaded her weapon and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, and slipped her knife inside of one of her boots. Then she sighed and tried to determine what the hell she was supposed to do with the rest of her life here.

Zeke sat up to the sound of the increasing whine of rotors, signaling a take-off. Apparently his Army buddy was leaving him on this nice, tropical island. It was a shame, he had already taken a liking to the soldier. He had left Zeke with new toys though, a machete and crowbar, and was even so kind as to loosen the straps on the jacket. A little wiggling would finish the job. He missed his friend, and he hope that perhaps they would meet again one day... Oh, the exciting games they would play. He was already giddy with the thought.

But, his buddy was gone, flown away from the Island. Zeke would just have to settle for a new friend to play with for now. After all, new friends are way better than old ones. They tend to be more exciting. In fact, he really liked the guy who played the harmonica. The song was beautiful, captivating... motivating. He almost felt human when he had heard it. Well... almost.
Being human was best left to the other one. He knew how that game was played. And he played it very well. Speaking of the other one, Zeke could already feel him stirring within his mind. He wanted out! No fair, he was only just getting started. Looks like he only had a few minutes before bedtime...




Doing a funny impression of a worm, he edged his way over to the harmonica player, grinning as he made himself comfortable beside the young man.

"Nice song ya got there. What's it called?" Zeke asked, his head cocked inquisitively to one side, like an innocent child.

Jimmy's harmonica solo had slowly decreased in intensity as well as volume until it had petered out altogether. He had stopped playing, and as he lowered the instrument he seemed to become fully aware of his surroundings for the first time. His eyes regained their focus, becoming clear. His "attack" had passed, and wouldn't return for some time. For now, he was calm. He was himself. For now.

He gazed about, eyes squinted against the blinding sunlight, and assessed his situation. He was sitting on the beach of an island...but what...

Then it came to him in a flash of memory. Of course. This was the island he had been shipped to, some sort of government project. And he had been given...weapons. Yes. He could feel them, in his pockets. Then he noticed that his hands were cuffed. They were cuffed because...because...he couldn't remember. But he knew one thing. He was dangerous. He had killed...many times. And he never remembered doing it. And that was why he was here, he was too dangerous for civilization. That was why...

At that moment, he noticed a figure, female he supposed, heading away from the beach, towards the trees. Now, normally, he wouldn't have taken much notice, but for one thing. Her hair. It was red, that fiery red that draws the eyes, that stands out from the much more commonly seen brown, black and blonde. That hair made him take notice. He had once known a girl...long ago...and she had had red hair like that. Their relationship hadn't lasted long, he had been so absorbed in his music. But he still had a fondness for her, though she was long since married off to another man.

For a single heart-stopping moment, he thought it was her, Adrienne. But then he realized it couldn't be possible. She had been shorter, for one thing, and had a fuller frame. This girl was thin. And she was leaving. There was a purposefulness to her manner, she seemed to have a definite destination in mind. Which was more than could be said for him.

"Nice song ya got there. What's it called?" a man asked, his head cocked inquisitively to one side.

Jimmy looked up, puzzled. "Song? What song?" He looked down at the harmonica cradled in his hands, and understanding came to him. He must have been...not himself, again. Spaced out, as the saying went. Like he had been when he killed...

He was startled from his reverie when the stranger shifted slightly. "Ah, I'm not sure," he stalled, thinking quickly, "It's just a little something I made up. Spur of the moment, you know." He shifted uncomfortably, and then abruptly stood up. "Ah, excuse me. I have something I need to attend to." Like finding out where that woman had gone.

He turned and set off in the direction that the red-haired woman had disappeared, walking with a quickness that belied his slight frame. Presently, he reached a clearing, and a three-story house. The front door was slightly ajar, and, looking warily around, he entered, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the decrease in brightness.

He was in a kitchen, and on a table lay several sets of keys. Remembering his handcuffs, he snatched up one and unlocked his restraints, slipping them and the keys into one of his voluminous pockets. Then, noticing several boxes of ammo also, he withdrew the revolver from his pocket. He didn't know the caliber of the gun, but selected a box at random. By a lucky chance they happened to be .44 caliber, the size that the gun utilized. He fitted six bullets into the magazine, and then pocketed the gun and ammunition. Then he looked up -- and nearly shouted in surprise.

The red-haired woman stood on the other side of the table. He hadn't noticed her when he had entered, though he couldn't imagine why. His body tensed, and he stared at her with apprehension, wondering how she was going to react to his presence...

Kohanna stared out the window and watched as she came closer to the island, the guard was staring at her, and it took everything in her being not to jump over there and kick his ass off the helicopter. A smirk graced her thin lips as she looked over at the officer batting her eyelashes mockingly

"Something wrong sir?" She said quietly as his face went red slightly and he looked off to the side with a scoff, Kohanna replied with one of her own as they finally landed. "A dead guy.........great." She thought as they chucked her, her off the helicopter making her land face first in the sand.

Annoyed at the rough treatment Kohanna dug her heel into ones foot and felt him kick her from behind again. Getting up, she dusted herself off before blowing a kiss to the officer who had watched her on their trip to the island. She waived at him and laughed quietly as he grew red and boarded the helicopter, watching it leave she sighed.

"They're not going to kill us, just let us die of boredom.....well this outta be fun!" she said sarcastically before she found herself staring around a few moments before she noticed another person a male. Unsure she simply walked over to small patch, she sat down and stared at the ocean "Amy how are you?" She wondered. She sat there for a while, just thinking something she often did before getting up off the ground and shaking her head. "No use is whinnying over it anymore. Beside this could be alot of fun!" She hoped there was another girl around not that she minded being the only.

Kira froze where she stood, visibly tensing as the young man who'd been playing the harmonica walked into the house. He seemed docile enough, he seemed innocent enough.. but they all seemed like that, every single one, until they showed their true colours at least.

She stood stock-still and watched as he hasitly removed his bondages (he didn't seem to be very fond of them) and then proceeded to load his weapon. She was hoping that perhaps he would just walk away, leave the house and not even notice her, perhaps go sit on a rock and play his harmonica or something of the sort. However, as he turned, he saw her, and their eyes locked for a moment. Her entire body went rigid, her face setting into an expression of utter loathing for a moment, her mind immediately racing with what she was going to do to him if he tried to come any closer.

However, as the slow moments dragged on, it quickly became clear that he wasn't going to do anything. He didn't act like the soldiers had; they were all afraid of her. He seemed... curious, but cautious. Of course. He wouldn't know about what she'd done, would he? No, no one here knew anything about the others. And if he was here, he was in the same boat as her, in a sense. Unlike some of the others, she was completely aware of her current situation and exactly why she was in it. She wondered if he was, or if he was one of the types who was literally half-gone and didn't even know what he'd done in the first place. And of course, that got her wondering what he had done. Quickly though, she no longer cared. He wasn't a threat to her right now, and that was all that mattered.

That matter settled in her mind, her expression brightened, and her eyebrows raised appraisingly, while she allowed a strange little half-smile to play across her lips. Then she simply turned and made her way to the front door, opening it up and heading outside, idly loading her weapon as she did so. She knew the drill here. If she didn't die, she won. So she just had to avoid dying. She had no particular ill-will towards any of these people yet; they hadn't earned a spot on her bad side. The ones who did... they would be the first to die. She'd already decided that. For now, though, she figured she'd get an idea of her new home.

"Thank you, ever so kindly, Sir. I understand that it must be a wary job having to deal with..." She stopped, her small eyes starting to cloud over. Thanks to her years of smoking, she had a rather automatonic voice and pale brown eyes. "criminals." She gave a small bow before precariously falling onto the sand from the helicopter. It had always been so difficult maneuvering due to her small stature. Oh well, it was the wind that blew her in the direction she was in now.

She had been brought into a holding cell. She smiled and asked what was going to happen. The deliberation took hours, but the decision ended up final: she had been deemed too dangerous. Her? Oki Yamagura was no danger to nearly anyone. She thought that was a little melodramatic, but she would not argue with nature's ways.

Now, in fact, she stood on the sandy beach of a deserted island with nine "other highly dangerous convicts." Oki bowed to the pilot as he waved her off, heading up the beach in the direction everyone else on her helicopter had already gone. Naturally, she was last in physicality. She was first, however, in the kitchen, which she would not be hesitant to show off later. That was her talent.

The group seemed either physically intimidating or rather pathetic attempts at intimidation. Like always though, Oki would keep her mouth shut. It was a proper Japanese woman's duty to not speak unless spoken to. And with a motley assortment of convicts like these folks, she knew her words would be as limited as a chicken feeding on a boat. Whatever the chicken got was all the chicken received.

She trekked towards the house. She put on a smile. Her smile showed her uneven and yellowing teeth (again, thanks to her smoking,) which had some fault of an inexperienced dentist as a teenager. Her skin had begun to sag and wrinkle, even though she was nowhere near the appropriate age for that sort of atrocity to begin to a woman. She cursed the smoking. And wished she had a cigarette or a cigar.

Deftly, she made her way directly to the house, surprised to see that not all of the Americans had made it there yet. Again, silly Americans and their need to dawdle. Why couldn't they just have one idea and stick to it? It's how the Japanese became so industrious. When she entered the home, she noticed first off the people inside. Or, rather, what she heard. The harmonica. What a terrible American creation. She avoided gaze, however, as was appropriate protocol in the presence of men, even though these men were mere boys. They had their rights. Oki Yamagura stood by the entrance, she figured she would greet the next couple of people to enter the house and be polite. It would be only the right thing to do to ask if anyone was hungry because she would be willing to prepare the meal.

Yes. The wind definately brought her here.
It couldn't have chosen a better spot, either.
The company, however, was dubious.

^^^^^^

ooc: Everyone except Mr. Dangerlundwould have had to head "directly" to the house to get the keys to their cuffs as well as ammunition. As noted Kira had made the observation that there was a key missing and that someone else had reached the house first. This is flawed logic as in there wasn't a 10th key in the first place but ended up being correct assumption someone had reached the house first. Will post when everyone reaches the house.

OOC:// Sorry for the late arrival, I'm winging it since everyone else seems to have already arrived and moved on. >_>

Jackson arrived to the island in a seperate helicopter, 30 minutes late. He had leaped out of the moving helicopter in flight over the city, as he was taken to the island, fallen roughly 20-30 feet to land roughly on a roof, falling through the skylight into the top floor of the building - the office of a prestigious news paper editor. He had then proceeded to kick the man's door down, tear down several floors of stairs, and jump out of the third story window onto a car, all without the use of his hands, due to the cuffs binding them. He had bounced off of the car onto the ground, and then immediately staggered to his feet and took off running. He had managed to evade the police on foot with no money, gear, and handcuffed hands, for the next 20 minutes, until he was caught, viciously stuffed into the copter, slammed in the face with a rifle butt, and held to the floor by a guns muzzle for the entire ride to the island.

They didn't even land, they stopped about ten feet from the ground, shoved the Sig Sauer and Combat knife into his hands, then threw him out of the copter onto the sandy beach below. And that was how Jackson came to be on the island, caught, bruised, and feeling good. At least he'd tried. He didn't wait to get to the house. He had picked his weapons carefully, and he knew a good deal about the weaponry, and handcuffs. Deftly, he shoved the bladed tip of the knife between two links, and prized them apart as much as he could without harming the blade. With the links bent out of shape and weakened, he flipped the knife, and with a few deft blows, cracked the chains enough to break them apart. it had been more difficult than he anticipated, having his chained together and all, but now they were free, with a cuff and a short dangling chain on each wrist.

Now, to get to the house and pick up my ammo. Jackson sheathed his weapons and headed off for the house in the jungle.