D9 Riots: Town Square

[Tom]

Jordan Temple

Jordan Temple.

Son to two gang leaders, twin to an eightieth tribute, and the last remaining Temple in Nine. The tables have turned now and he's no longer the same kid with a smile on his face or the belief that the world was a good place. That image burnt up with Maxwell's death in a sea of gunpowder and grief. He's no longer surrounded by love, but instead death follows his every step now. Blood stained hands, metallic glare of two guns, and the heat of a burning building reaching his back sends him back into reality as his shifts the barrels with his thumbs, letting the next bullet be ready.

It's bitter.

Oh so fucking bitter.

Snow's cackling from wherever he resides. A desk with white roses on it as he probably stared through a camera watching Jordan Temple's rise to something else. If he's to die here, this would be enough for his voice to be heard around the country. Enough for the rise of something, the rise of a rebellion made by him. A martyr of sorts to become something more than just this mortal being, but he's not going to die here. No, he's got more things he has to finish. The zither plays and a pot slams into a hand as Jordan points and steadies himself to aim.

"You are going to die here, recruit."

Teeth gritting as he tastes blood in his cheek from where he's been biting it.

"Hope killing a Delacroix was worth it."

The smell of gunpowder and roses fills his nose as he imagines the one and only Cornelius Snow standing in the recruit's place.

"I'll make sure you both die here."

Click. Click.

"Your blood will be the spark."

Fire.

(Shot One at Sergeant X. Banuelos)
uzE|i9SvQv1-50
(+8)

(Shot Two at Recruit P. Ashcroft)
1-50
(+6)

1-50·1-50

[✨ zozo.]

RECRUIT P. ASHCROFT
20.5/30

All you can think about is that girl, dead on the ground. Hesitation, a moments weakness - and they fire at you, vengeance in their bloodstream. You get it. You'd react the same if a comrade of yours was downed in battle. But they're breaking the law, and so was she, but she looks like your little sister.

So you let them come, keep your finger on your trigger, and half-hope one of them is a better shot than you.

keeper A attacks:
1. jordan, 2. freida, 3. piper, 4. keiser

t|stF_26Ug1-4

with gun:

1-50

+7, up to you

---

SERGEANT X. BANUELOS
8/30

"Do you even know who I am?"

"No," you reply, although you expect you'll soon find out. All these District kids think they're somebody. Think that you care enough to know their names. You've seen it on the battlefields, in jail cells, on television as they kill each other. And every time you roll your eyes from underneath your helmet - this time is no different.

"And I don't care."

keeper B attacks:
1. jordan, 2. freida, 3. piper, 4. keiser

1-4

with baton [ blunt ]:

blunt
Bruised Left Arm -- 2.0 damage

1-4·1-50·1-4·blunt

[Tom]

Jordan Temple

"No,"

The voice is as bitter as he is. Painful to hear the lack of care for kids suffering because of them. Laws mean shit in Nine. Everyone knew the gangs were the ones in charge here. Control spread throughout the district like his parents had once done, but now they're lifeless in the riot. Shot by some peacekeepers who believed in this suffering. White pigs who believe they are above it all and District Nine is made of savages. Jordan Temple wasn't a savage. Jordan Temple was suffering from loss. He was suffering from the system they are stuck in.

"And I don't care."

The streets would bleed red with a red sea of something new. The girl with the instrument had said she was here to witness this event. A new era born from the frustrations of District Nine. A son born to a family meant to be happy, meant to blindly believe the world was good. The last Temple boy standing among the ashes of his past. The words on his lips feeling heavier than they ever have. A message is what he wants to send. A new path is what he wants to blaze. Panem was in ruins. Jordan was in ruins.

All that was left were the bodies of a Delacroix girl and his parents.

White pigs with their gun and baton raised high, ready to strike them down.

"Rot. Just fucking rot."

Fingers tap at the triggers of two different guns.

The smell of gunpowder in the air.

"No one will fucking care about you."

For Delacroix.

For Temple.

For the hundreds of names lost in Nine.

"You will be nothing more than another corpse."

(Shot One at Sergeant X. Banuelos)
zfWbDHEBT71-50
(Jammed)

(Shot Two at Recruit P. Ashcroft)
1-50
(+7)

1-50·1-50

[Tom]

Jordan Temple

The gun jams with the sound of his heart falling.

Shit.

The recruit was at death's door. Eyes glancing to his own gun as he twists it, gently tapping it to a piece of a building. A bullet falls out onto the cement, dented and broken as the gun is no longer jammed. Eyes glance back to the two peacekeepers, both of which are too slow with those white uniforms. Blood on his hands, gunpowder in his nose, and grief in his heart. Jordan Temple used to think the world would be a beautiful place with people filled with hearts of gold. The bad things in Panem were just things he didn't see back then. Maxwell is dead now. His parents were dead now.

The world wasn't a bright place anymore.

Hell, he's not sure if it's ever been a bright place.

Jordan can remember the difficult days of pretending like the games had never happened. Pretending like his brother had came home in one piece, but he's didn't. His twin broke in that games, changed into someone Jordan couldn't save. Fire burns in his head as the sounds of his own voice torture him. The heat of the burning justice building behind him warms his cold skin. It's bitter, but it's enough.

"You killed her."

Teeth gritting together.

"You'll pay for her blood."

Caleb. Caleb would have to live with never knowing how he felt.

Jordan Temple was no longer that boy anymore.

He'll never be that boy again

(Zoe said I could post again! Hope that's okay!)

(Shot One at Sergeant X. Banuelos)
yqIhcGztWR1-50
(+6)

(Shot Two at Recruit P. Ashcroft)
1-50
(Jammed)

1-50·1-50

[Tom]

Jordan Temple

Her gun jams.

The fire burns behind him as he can hear the sound of a gunshot and the other peacekeeper swinging at him. Taunting them wasn't the best of his ideas, but he was a Temple. Dodging the blows were too close for comfort for him. His parents had been high up gang members. Leaders from what he found in the house. The gun shouldn't have been his. Maxwell should have ended up with it. They should have given him it. The warmth of the fire tells him the end is drawing near. The end of his time in District Nine. The end of the Jordan Temple he knew.

Maxwell would be proud of him for finally figuring out the world wasn't as bright as he swore it was.

Unjamming the gun was a mess as he frantically smacked it, dislodging the bullet that got caught in the chamber. Dodging a shot from the recruit was easy. It was almost like this was the guy's first mission in the field. District Nine was cruel to them. Jordan Temple would be the last thing this recruit will see in this world. The fire burning behind him pushing him forward as he raises the guns to aim at his targets. Almost as if this were his nature all along.

"Bullseye."

The gun fires with a shot that'll be heard around Panem.

Fuck you, Snow.

(Shot One at Sergeant X. Banuelos)
94vFek_xdX1-50
(Miss)

(Shot Two at Recruit P. Ashcroft)
1-50
(+6 shot through the eye)

1-50·1-50

[Tom]

Jordan Temple

A miss as the bullet ricochets off the wall.

The other shot hits the recruit in the eye. Blood spills from the wound as those eyes turn dull. Life no longer in the body. Jordan can feel himself shake for a moment at the memory of Maxwell Temple dead. A chill runs up his spine before Jordan feels himself coming back again. Jordan was alone in this world because of people like them. White pigs with their bad attitudes and lack of care. Jordan didn't want to hear anything more from them. The other peacekeeper noticing the body, charges him with the baton. A swing into his arms as he can feel a hefty bruise already form there.

Tackled to the ground by the Sergeant, he can feel the rubble of buildings and the dirt of District Nine mix with his hair and skin. A coat of debris just coating his skin as he shoves back at the peacekeeper now above him. All he had were two guns. A Delacroix and a Temple's special weapons. The blood coating his hands. Hollow eye filling his vision. The words of a dying girl in his ear.

For Eos.

"Get off of me!"

Shoving the white pig forward, he fires at close range.

"You've got nothing left here."

For Maxwell.

"Just fucking rot already!"

For himself.

(Shot One at Sergeant X. Banuelos)
7HPonKIrwy1-50
(+8)

(Shot Two at Sergeant X. Banuelos)
1-50
(+8 shot through the heart)

1-50·1-50