Snippet #1690880

Boredom. Boredom. Boredom. This was getting dangerous.

Elliott continued to twirl his coin over his knuckles for a while, watching as people went on about their daily business. Working, talking, doing their best to survive and forget why they were all here. Trying to forget whether or not their loved ones had survived, or if the survivors were the same people they left behind.

Well. Enough was enough. Rising from his seat, Elliott bent down to pick up an abandoned shovel, and continued walking, as nobody seemed to mind. As those who saw him assumed he had been given a mission of manual labour or the like, he wasn't hindered in passing through the camp, and very few noticed him as he slipped outside of sight.

His suit jacked was discarded and left on the ground as he lifted the shovel in a defensive stance. He imagined an opponent, someone he would be likely to meet during his time on the island - and found himself faced with some young arse from the Band of Bullets, with a gun pointed in his direction.

The punk smiled, grinned even, as he raised the gun to level with Elliott's head. He hadn't expected the older man to take a quick step to the left, smashing the edge of the point into the poor boy's neck. He moved quickly to make sure his imaginary adversary was dead, and continued to up the difficulty for himself from that point on, swinging the shovel like a blade.

In a real life situation he would now have been in possession of a gun, but it would also have been more difficult to get it - even though he had been trained not to panic, and make use of his adrenaline, it was difficult to keep a calm mind with a gun to your head. Even more so, if faced with the prospect of being mauled to death by the deranged "undead".

Elliott continued to train for a good while, happy to have found some way to keep himself entertained while the dreary day continued around him.