Exposure: The Hunt

Exposure: The Hunt Open

Adventures seldom turn out as planned, especially when your trapped in a facility miles underground in the Arctic.

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Owner: TheFlag
Game Masters: TheFlag
Tags: adventure, antarctica, death, expedition, isolation, mind, original, snow, trapped (Add Tags »)

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Amos Quintrell
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Setting: Antarctica2012-02-09 21:39:58, as written by Lukipyon
Amos stared at his hands. His large palms could still remember every last memory, that smooth feel of leather as the hand grip would slip easily into his hand. It always fell into a rhythm and Amos came to realise just how.. complete a gun could make him feel whenever it was in his hand. His Glock 19 was just resting in his rucksack among his supplies, it was so tempting.

After he was fired from the police force he made a mental vow to never touch, or hold, the weapon ever again. It was a mechanism that could kill people, it killed his mother's murderer. But it also killed his brother. Amos decided to encase the gun, along with its ammunition, in a glass box. He kept it in the storeroom located near the kitchen, but the presence was just too unbearable to work around so he decided to bring it up into the attic. Days before the expedition, he knew he knew he had to open it, if he didn't he knew he would hesitate when it came to the real thing. Who knows what could be out there in Antarctica. And besides, he had grasped a gun for the majority of his life; somehow it grew to become an important aspect of his very being. He opened the box with trembling fingers, it took him a while to prize open the lock before it popped open. He held it in his hand, gazing at it for what seemed a century, before he shook off the stiffness and hurriedly stuffed it into his rucksack.

Amos didn't understand why it was so important back then or why he seemed to ponder over it regularly. But he came to the conclusion that there didn't need to be a reason, it just occurred. He clasped his hands tightly together for a brief moment before sliding them into his coat pockets. He squinted at the group from a distance away, two of them had already greeted the leader; he assumed the leader was the one who had come from the boat. Amos then began to move. He was reluctant at first, deliberately taking slow steps before it revolved into a paced stride. He walked across the pavement of the cobble-street before heaving himself onto the wooden ramp. He was convinced that the gun was throbbing out an unavoidable aura but decided to ignore it as best as he could, instead Amos distracted himself by scrutinizing the first members of his team.

"Amos Quintrell," He said wearily, running a hand through his hair, "It's a pleasure to meet you."