Word Count: 114,081
Summary of Events:
Oakley woke up at the sound of an explosion and realised a door-bomb had gone off, but the hotel was still standing; he found out that the elevator-lode of nitroglycerin had been a lie and started getting people to evacuate. Mr. Meyer got into Charlie, Chrissa, and Orelia's room as they were trying to leave and held them at gunpoint shooting — but, thankfully, only wounding — both Chrissa and Orelia before Oakley was able to bash through a wall and get in. Oakley fought Mr. Meyer for control of the gun while both Chrissa and Orelia managed to get out, and Pierce managed to get in and got Charlie out, while Oakley continued the struggle . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
"A rough, haggard-sounding laugh issued from Mr. Meyer's throat.
"You're trying to be the hero," Mr. Meyer said, sounding in severe pain.
"I'm trying to defeat you," Oakley said. "The PED-powered weakling."
"PED?" Mr. Meyer asked.
"Performance enhancing drugs," Oakley replied. "That is the only way you can be holding your own against me. I should've annihilated you long ago."
"You're too smart for your own good," Mr. Meyer swore.
Oakley smiled. That had actually just been a wild guess.
"I should've killed you first," Mr. Meyer growled.
"I look too much like Travis for you," Oakley said smugly. "You'll never kill me."
"I have one shot left," Mr. Meyer spat.
"What do you think Travis would think about all you've done?" Oakley asked.
Mr. Meyer roared, his whole body trembling.
"Would he really think you were a loving man, considering how you've murdered others who loved what he loved, and have done so for no legitimate reason?" Oakley asked.
Mr. Meyer swore.
"Would he really appreciate all this carnage in the name of revenge?" Oakley asked.
"You all got him killed!" Mr. Meyer roared.
"I was eight when he rode," Oakley replied. "I hadn't even considered the idea of riding professionally for myself."
"You killed him!" Mr. Meyer shouted. "All of you killed him!"
Oakley said nothing; he'd noticed the tears escaping out the corner of Mr. Meyer's eyes and streaming back toward his hair.
"You took everything from me!" Mr. Meyer cried.
"He killed himself," Oakley said. "You can't blame someone for it."
"You killed him!" Mr. Meyer shouted.
"No," Oakley said quietly. "If anyone killed him, it was you."
Mr. Meyer looked at Oakley with enraged horror.
"You were the person who was supposed to care about him the most, and as much as you may've thought you were caring about him, he didn't," Oakley said. "Because if he would've thought you cared he wouldn't be dead. You killed him."
"No!" Mr. Meyer shouted, looking tortured.
"You have no one to blame but yourself," Oakley said quietly. "And if you want to spare yourself some agony you might want to use that last shot on yourself."
"You are lying to me," Mr. Meyer hissed through his teeth, pointing his gun at Oakley.
"If I could've ever lost my will to live I'd be dead too, long dead," Oakley said. "Travis would've outlived me. As similar as we might look, though, Travis and I are very different people, because I had the will to live where he lost his."
"You will die," Mr. Meyer said.
Oakley moved his arms quickly and the gun went off.
Quickly Oakley got to his feet and looked down at Mr. Meyer, whose sides rose and fell in three last, desperate breaths before going still."
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