A/N: Don't ask me how I came up with this. Don't ask how I wrote this in just the past four-ish hours. The real question should be: Now what can I say to make this better?

Because I have no idea what the hell this is, and constructive criticism is very much welcome.

Claimer: Yeah, I guess I own.

"Just One Machine Gun"

He tossed me into a room with a few strangers. I didn't understand at the time what his motives were, and I didn't know what the others were doing in there. We had all been put in here against our will, that much I knew, but there was nothing similar about any of us, so if he was a serial killer he didn't make it obvious with his victim choice. In truth, I was obviously different than all of them- I was thirteen compared to their middle-aged selves. What was I even doing there?

I scanned the entire crappy motel room. There were seven other people, and there were two men not including the man in black and holding a large gun. It was a machine gun. It was the only weapon I could see. One lady was pregnant. I was utterly horrified at the thought of him killing her. I wanted to make sure that didn't happen. I had no idea how though.

"Don't bring this girl in here please, she's too young," pleaded the pregnant woman. She was American, as I was. Not very specific for a serial killer, which I was sure he was.

I was beginning to wonder if we were only there because we were the people he saw. I picked the wrong time to take a walk to the local motel building.

"Shut up, I didn't tell you to speak," the man responded gruffly. I was not thrown off here, and I didn't even have enough time to hope he would say something different. Why would he let one of us go? It would only be safe to assume that if we were let go we'd call the cops, even if we promised not to.

The pregnant lady looked at me sadly and disappointed. She was concerned for me. That fueled my want to get her out safely. I bet I might be able to have the element of surprise for an advantage if I planned something carefully enough.

"If any of you misbehave, I can assure you, your death will not be quick and painless," he warned us as he double checked the lock and peephole. I backed up against the wall, keeping an emotionless expression on my face as I wrapped my arms around my knees. Why the hell was I in this situation? My back pressed against the edge of a closet doorframe. I scooted away from it.

"What are we even doing in here?" the shorter man of the two, with curly hair demanded to know. Murderer Man stared at him.

"I put you here." That was a very vague answer, and I was disappointed. I was hoping for the slightest bit of information.

Still, I made assumptions. It was obvious he had planned this. Either him or someone else, if he were a hit man. Maybe we all lived in the same town, and we all had people wanting us dead, and they just sent one man, and he herded us like sheep? Possible.

"I demand a reason," the curly-haired man pushed on. Murderer Man clenched his jaw, frustrated, and raised a handgun. A loud sound occurred, and curly-haired man fell to the floor. A half second later we all heard him groaning. Pregnant Lady knelt down next to him, startled and frightened.

"Harold!" she exclaimed. Oh. This must've been her husband. Poor Pregnant Lady.

"Here's another thing: I don't like questions," Murderer Man spoke in such a nonchalant way. It seemed he found what he said almost amusing. If I were a sick person, I probably would too.

"Sir, you know you won't be able to get away from this situation without having to suffer some consequences," a smart-looking woman told him. He grimaced- he had to know she was right. Law enforcers are much more enhanced nowadays.

"You don't know that," he grumbled. He was lying to himself. I think I was too- either that or in shock. I should've been having one hundred times the amount of emotions I was feeling right then. I felt blank.

"Yes sir, I do. I know a forensics specialist. They do solve crime. They're especially interested in murders that appear pre-meditated, and ones with high body count. We're a two-in-one situation." She should shut up before she got shot. The second man, burlier than the first, put his arm in front of her, in some attempt to get her to stop. She didn't seem to get the memo.

"Sir, you will most definitely get the needle if the police find eight bodies he-" Another shot. It went through Burly Man's arm and her chest, although it seemed far enough from her heart. She'll bleed out soon, and I was still blank, so I didn't feel any sympathy for her. (The burly man, yes, because he at least tried a little.)

"No more talking." That was very much understood throughout the room. I stared at the wall to my right, which was about ten feet away. Seven feet away was the door. Murderer man was three feet away from the door, but against the wall I was staring at.

Pregnant Lady was bent over Harold and whispering to him, and the burly man was doing the same with Smart-Mouth lady. The three other women whispered to each other. They all seemed to be scared out of their wits, and one was silently sobbing. The one to her left was trying to comfort her.

I felt like that was pointless. The eight of us would most likely die in the room in just a few short hours.

I had until then to think of a plan to get Pregnant Lady out of here, or at least make sure her baby got out of here alive. I had to get some authorities down here. They'd call Murderer Man out, and he'd most likely grab one of the three weepy girls as the hostage he threatened to shoot. They were closest to him. If he used Pregnant Lady…I'd be pissed.

I studied Murderer Man. He wasn't calm. I saw him wipe the back of his hand against his forehead a couple of times. He was anxious- he kept staring at the door. I would have thought he'd be handling himself better, I mean, why bring eight people in a motel room to kill them if you couldn't handle it? He must not have been the smartest hit man. I could think of a plan.

I didn't have a cell phone. He had the others in a pile near him. Occasionally one would ring. After the 3rd phone to ring, I made a mental note that if we stayed gone long enough people would come looking for us, and use our phone signals to find us. Of course, that would be if we lived to that point.

I needed Pregnant Lady out of there. She was weeping loudly- too loudly. Murderer Man glared at her.

"Shut up!" he snapped at her. This seemed to make her cry harder, and I figured she couldn't control her emotions since she was pregnant. This hit man was not smart enough to realize that if she started crying, she probably wouldn't be able to stop.

A shot sounded. I hated Murderer Man. I stared, horrified at Pregnant Lady. She was dead immediately, something Murderer Man said wouldn't happen. He must have a heart- not wanting to see a dying pregnant woman suffer. Harold moaned for his wife. The near dead Smart-Mouth whispered "Angie." Angie, Harold , and baby were in a better place- or at least the majority of them were.

"Little Girl, don't cry," the awful man commanded of me. I didn't acknowledge I'd been crying, but I wiped the apparent tears off my face. I controlled my tear ducts.

So much for my plan.

I stared at the wall opposite me. Murderer Man stared at me. The 3 crying women stared at him. Harold and Smart-Mouth were dead, along with Angie and her baby. Burly Man had only been shot in the arm. He was sitting up, silent tears on his face, and somewhat blocking Murderer Man from clear shot of me, and holding his arm. I don't think he realized what he was doing for me- protective instinct I guess.

My lips parted millimeters as I almost sighed. I caught myself from making a sound. I was bored. I have no idea how that was possible.

Murderer Man tossed water bottles to us. I drank from mine- I was thirstier than I thought. I wanted to play with the bottle once I was done- it would give me something to do- but water bottles made noise. Damn.

"What's your name?" Burly Man whispered to me. I looked him in the eye- I lost any emotion I had before, after Angie was shot.

"Anya," I whispered. He nodded, smiling a little. I think he had been looking for something to keep him entertained as well.

"Peter," he returned. I nodded. We both glanced at Murderer Man. He was staring at the two of us.

"I'm sorry you have to go through his," he apologized. I blinked.

"Well what are you going to do?" I asked, shrugging. He seemed shocked at my non-caring attitude. He was about to speak again, when one of the quieter three remaining women stood up.

"I can't take this anymore!" she screamed. "I can't! Let us go! I can't do this any-" She dropped. Blood gurgled in her throat, and she choked a little bit for a while. The carpet was stained even more. This time I audibly sighed- not able to stop it.

I had learned a long time ago that emotions could get you into a lot of trouble, and it was best if you got rid of them. They got in the way.

Even Murderer Man could stand to take a chapter from my book. He needed a small towel by that point. It seemed like he was near a heater set on high over there- and it wasn't very far away. Was he waiting for someone? Was he waiting for the cops? I was beginning to feel exasperated. I abruptly lay down on my side, hardly moving myself otherwise.

Boredom, exasperation, and a bit of exhaustion started to overwhelm me. I focused on exhaustion, trying to make the others go away, because those three emotions together was a recipe for disaster. I felt my eyes begin to close, and I was close to actually relaxing (it was probably only possible for me in this situation) but Murderer Man interrupted me.

"Sit up. You can't fall asleep." I obeyed his commands. I was slumping a little bit. I was very much tired.

"Come on, why can't she sleep? She's been the best behaved out of all of us. She can't attempt to do anything in her sleep anyway," Peter spoke up. The sound was louder than what I had heard in half an hour- since the now dead girl's outburst. Murderer Man sighed.

"Fine. Sleep. See if I care." He was tired too. I guessed he was jealous I was able to sleep and he wasn't.

Maybe he shouldn't have brought me to the stupid motel room then.

"Wake up. Wake up!" My eyes opened. I blinked, and then I sat up. I checked my watch. It was six in the morning. I'd been sleeping for a little over four hours. That wasn't enough time, even for me, and I was used to sleeping in smaller than average intervals. Murderer Man stared in disdain at me. He didn't like me, and I felt like he'd been watching me from the start.

What the hell did he want with me anyhow?

"Puh-please. Please let us go. Please, I'm exhausted, I can't give you anything, I don't know why I'm here. Please. Please," the weeping blonde girl sobbed. Murderer Man scowled at her.

"If you don't want to die, shut up," he growled. I prayed she would. She was pretty. She didn't need to die.

"Could she sleep? Please?" I suddenly spoke up. My own girlish voice startled me. I skipped passed that thought.

If the blonde girl slept, she most likely wouldn't do anything that could get her killed. The hit man stared at me.

"Fine." He looked at her. "You can sleep for about four hours. Then it's his turn," he nodded at Peter, "and then lastly princess, it's yours," he nodded at her friend, the brunette. He didn't need to include me.

"Don't call me princess," the brunette told him shrewdly. Well crap. Somebody had a death wish. The rest of us stared at her. She'd gone off the deep end.

"Bitch, shut up or you can die," Murderer Man warned. He obviously wasn't kidding, I don't know why she stood up- and in such a defiant manner.

"No. You brought us in here- for what? Just to see what we'd do? You kill half of us, and you expect us to be quiet? Well you know what I say? Screw-" Bang. Drop. Gasps for air, hands blindly reaching for the wound to try and stop the bleeding…she should've shut up like the blonde girl did. (The blonde girl, instead of doing anything else, curled up in the fetal position. She was shaking.)

"Does anybody else have anything to say?" No one moved. He nodded, and went back to staring at the door. I felt tired again.

Peter started to fall asleep and cry at the same time. Exhausted and miserable. I started to feel dread in my gut- nothing good could come from this moment. I had really started to like him too.

"Yeah, I have something to say," Peter started.

"No," I whispered. Murderer Man raised his eyebrows.

"Why don't you just kill me and save some time?"

"Peter, don't do this!"

"Fine with me," the hit man said. He pulled the trigger. Peter fell backwards a little, but caught himself. Peter should have known he'd be suffering. My breathing was labored. Why the hell did he go and do that?

And where the hell was the rest of the world? Five gunshots already, and we were still here, several hours later.

I was a bit pissed.

I squished that feeling.

The blonde girl and I were his only to-be victims left. I was debating on who would give up sooner. I was predicting her, as I knew she was running high on emotions, but I had no idea what was going on inside me. There was a possibility I could do something insane at any time. Just do something on impulse.

My impulses have gotten me in trouble before. My impulses was the reason that I walked here in the first place. I wonder what stupid thing I'll do next.

Then again, Blondie was still shaking. She had stopped when she was deeper in sleep, but she was about to wake up, and goodness knows what she'll do when reality claims her again. Poor girl. She was bound to die just like I was, unless I came up with something.

Why hadn't I been focusing on that? What kind of person was I? I was about to start chastising myself further, when I started to sense something. A real something, an honest-to-goodness person or creature something. Or was it a noise?

It wasn't a noise. There was something outside, I could feel it. There was a curtain-drawn window, and Murderer Man was looking at the blonde girl, away from it. There was a brief shadow. I felt my heart begin to race. I did my best to hide it. The shadow had gone in my direction. I faintly heard a door open, and then close. Murderer Man didn't hear a thing.

"Blondie, wake up!" he nudged her with his foot. I wasn't sure what I was feeling, but it was getting more intense with more noise, no matter what the noise was. (This was stupid, for all I knew, the shadow person could be another awful killer.) I felt the shadow person's presence come closer just a little. I heard a door a foot away from me open a few inches.

Blondie screamed, looking at whoever was behind me. Murderer Man shot her for that immediately, completely startled by that. He looked right at the person behind me as a bullet when through his skull. I stared at him, unable to turn around and look at who was behind me.

"Girlie, turn around and look your Chief of Police in the eye, and then tell us what's happened."

I didn't need a plan.

A/N: Yep. So, tell me...what you think, I guess. If I missed anything...it's kind of late for me, you know.

Please review. Pretty pretty pretty please?