Closed RP [ARCHIVE] One-Track Mind

This RP is currently closed.


Staff member
Grant Howell had got on the train at approximately 6:15PM,-and, in the entire half-hour he had been sitting there, not a single person had recognised him.

Perhaps they didn't care. Perhaps not everyone was tuned-in to missing persons reports enough that they'd recognise him beneath the hood, behind the mask, below the vacancy. Perhaps the past week had rendered him completely unrecognisable. All were likely, all were bleak. Grant would be glad he couldn't think about it; if there was any clarity about him during the journey, he would've already got off the train and thrown himself in front of it. Perhaps that's what people thought had already happened.

He was sitting in the carriage alone, on one of the side-facing seats; staring blankly at his reflection in the darkened window behind it. He'd be glad he couldn't see it, as well; he really did look awful. Bloodshot eyes sunk deep into his skull, an angry red burn-mark taking up most of his neck, blisters across both wrists that were weeping into the fabric of the hoodie, cementing it to his opened skin as it dried; no wonder people were avoiding him, he looked like a wreck- an accident waiting to happen, or perhaps just waiting to be recognised as one. His jacket was pulled tightly around him, one last act of self-defense before he fell into oblivion, and it seemed a little bulky for a man of his presumed frame. Perhaps he was just cold. Perhaps the demotion had hit him harder, financially, than it seemed.

People moved past, almost as oblivious to him as he was to them.

He hadn't yet reached his stop.

Sam had almost missed the train. She’d barely managed to scoot in between the doors as they were snapping shut, ending up in a deserted carriage. Sighing with relief, she took a look around. There was a single man in the car with her. Given there was an entire aisle, she chose to sit down the row from him. But that put her in just enough range to see him.

And for a moment, something about him tickled her brain. She looked at him, long and hard. He didn’t even seem to notice as she did. Finally, she stood up and walked a few steps closer, then stopped. No, this was definitely the guy. She walked the rest of the way over to him and sat down across from him.

He didn’t look exactly like the photos that Sam had seen of him, but there was still enough to tell it was him. “Grant Howell? Is that your name? People have been looking for you.”
He didn't respond. To him, there wasn't anything to respond to; just the ever-present drone of oblivion, flat and unchanging. Everything else was void. Grant just stared ahead, swaying a little as the train hit a bump in the track, but otherwise completely unmoving. It looked like he was asleep. It looked like he was dead.

His stop was coming up.

Sam sighed and looked up at the clock. They should be, if the schedule was accurate, just about to arrive at the next stop before the next main station. She looked back at the man and examined him. He looked like he might have been drugged up out of his mind, or maybe, the morbid part of her brain thought, he was just dead.

“Alright, let’s get you up and out of here.”

As they arrived at the next stop, Sam moved to lift the man, looping his arm over her neck. It wouldn’t be an issue moving him, even if he was much bigger than her. Something was clearly wrong with him, and he needed medical attention.​
There was better signal at the stop than there was on the train. Good enough that Grant could hear a click- and then, to him, silence.

He blinked. No longer sitting down, no longer on the train; he had no way of knowing how long he had been like this, how long he had spent outside the train, in the arms of this stranger, but he knew where he was. It wasn't where he was supposed to be. Grant was meant to be at the station, where it was larger, not this smaller stop. This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all. Who the fuck did she think she was, dragging him away like that? Did she know? Fuck, fuck, did she know? He couldn't have failed this early on; he had been awake for mere seconds, they couldn't be his last!

With perhaps too violent of a shove, Grant wrested himself free from her well-meaning support, staggering back into the empty platform with a wild, inscrutable intensity on his face. He was staring at her, this time, not just through her, and his stare was harrowing. Eyelids peeled back as wide as they would go, focus darting across her as if her intentions had somehow manifested physically, the rabid refusal to blink even though his eyes were already dry, already sore.

Then, just as the train doors were about to close, he lunged forwards, and attempted to push her back on.

One moment, Sam was helping Grant off the train, and the next she was being shoved. She teetered on the edge of the platform for a moment before throwing herself forward and away from the door. She was quick to roll to her feet, keeping herself between Grant and the train. She looked him over and noticed immediately that he seemed… different.

Then, before she had time to really process anything other than the difference in his eyes, which now held life once again and seemed full of panic, he lunged. She dodged, turning her body to the side, and then grabbed the back of his jacket to get a hold of him. She held him away from the edge of the platform and the train doors. The bell for boarding rang behind them, but they were the only two on the platform.

“Okay, Mr. Howell, that’s enough of that. Are you high, man?”
The bitch managed to get out of the way. Not only that, but she had the audacity to retaliate; grabbing him by the tail like he was a squealing kitten, holding him up to the fucking train to make sure he knew, he knew the opportunity he missed. The platform was empty. It was fucking empty, because the crowd, the filth was on the next one. He'd need to get away from this little shit, leave her to go harrass someone else so he cpuld get his work done. He knew that, somewhere in the back of his mind- and, yet, he couldn't.

A voice crackled through his headphones, audible only to him.

Once it spoke, his fury seemed more directed.

He turned around and went for a punch directly in the woman's face, hoping to knock her backwards whilst he reached inside his jacket. There was a gun in there. There were several. He wasn't just aiming to get away from this sanctimonious do-gooder prick anymore; he was aiming to kill her- no, he was aiming to wipe her off the face of the fucking planet, to burn her miserable body to ashes by the force of his fury. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

Regardless of whether the punch connected, Grant would lunge sideways to rip himself free, and his target would find herself with a gun pointed at her head.

"Shut the fuck up. Just- god, just stop fucking talking- I've had enough of you. Made me miss my goddamn stop- do you know how much you've fucking ruined here?"
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Sam didn’t avoid the punch. It didn’t hurt that terribly, but it threw her off of him as she stumbled in surprise. She shook her head and when she looked back up at the man, a glare on her face, she saw the gun. She froze on the spot, letting her face relax. The situation had just changed significantly. The train dinged again, the last call for the doors closing. She needed to be on that train, but clearly, this man was dangerous.

Todd would understand if she was late. He would be okay with her being twenty minutes late if she texted him after this and explained what had happened. Hopefully, they’d still have time to eat the lunch in her pack, which she carefully shrugged off her shoulders. She set the heavy and practically overflowing duffel bag on the ground.

“Okay, grant, put the gun down. You don’t want to do this. I’ll have to disarm you and beat the shit out of you, and you won’t like that. You won’t like that at all. So how about we just talk about this? What have I ruined?”