Things Are Going Well. Maybe Not As Well As They Should, But We Have To Start Somewhere.

[DerArknight]

As one would have expected, a good number of students had spent their first night in the ghost town, taking the risk of an easy-to-find resting place to gain some sort of civilized bedding. Maybe it was unwillingness to fully accept the situation. Maybe it was carelessness. Maybe they were aware that the terrorists might soon decide to shut this place off, driving all of them into the cold nature.

Or maybe, they were like Quentin, who didn't care about such reasons. He had just wanted to lie down in a bed and heal his ankle.

((Quentin B. Skinner continued from I Make Mad Films. ‘Kay I Don’t Make Films, but if I Did They’d Have a Samurai.))

Thankfully, this tactic proved successful: not only did no one bother him in the small house close to the church, his ankle also showed some real improvment. Sure, it still felt a little stiff if he put all his weight onto it, but he could walk and even jog for a bit.

Running had never been his forte anyway.

The last day had been spent with sleeping, eating and reading the manual for his little friend. Not that he needed it, he had used it already, after all. But when you were on an island with an entire class of teens willing to pop your head if they found you, not knowing everything about your gun was the last thing you wanted to do.

Unless you wanted to end up like the eleven kiddos who died yesterday, of course.

Q was unsure if it was good or bad that no one he particularly liked had been among the deceased so far. Normally it would be nice to know his friends were still kicking. But if this continued, what if he actually met them? Ain't need no genius to figure out that would only bring trouble. "Only one can win" meant "Everyone else has to die", no matter how nice they were.

Things would be easier once it were just him and a bunch of aholes on the island. And even better, only him. Unlikely, but he could dream, right?

Some time after the sun reached its highest point, Quentin felt like leaving this place. If he stayed for too long, he would start to grow comfortable. Growing roots was no option with a bomb on his neck. Gotta move while you still could pick your pace.

Yeah. If he just kept moving, he would arrive somewhere where he could do something or meet someone or find some help. A lot of "some"s, but this was his first SOTF-rodeo.

And probably his last, regardless of the outcome.

((Quentin B. Skinner continued in A Headless Blunder Operating Under the Illusion of a Master Plan))