Survival Of The Fittest

"Are you alright?"

Kevin quickly sat up when he heard the voice, picking up his shovel as he did. He was about to start swinging when he saw the girl's empty hands. Against his better judgement, he stopped the attack before it began. He just hoped that he made the right call there.

As his teary eyes cleared and adjusted to the darkness, he barely managed to recognize the girl that stood over him. What was the girl's name again? It... was... Mira? Well, that's what he thought her name was. He lowered the shovel and wiped his eyes with his free hand. His battered face was aching from the rough treatment he was giving it.

"Y- yeah, I'm fine." He said briefly, composing himself as he did. "Just... napping. No problems there." The awkwardness of the situation was not lost on him.

"Thanks for the concern. But can you just continue on your way? I really don't want to get into a fight." Kevin just had that feeling. The feeling of standing beside somebody that could beat the snot out of him. That sense had never been wrong in that respect before, as he found out to his detriment. It wasn't just that. With him on the floor and armed with a weapon too long to use effectively at that close range, she could make sure that he never stood up again.

He didn't waste time in admitting it to himself. Kevin was scared of Mira right now. He just had to accept that fact and work from there. "So, if you'll be so kind as to-" He managed to spot the second figure in the moonlight and tightened his grip on his shovel. As he prepared to get up and fight, the girl approaching them started speaking.

"Mizore Soryu here. Not trying to kill you. Just want to get some rest. Weapons are in that bag. Caltrops and food. Nothing on me. Can search me if you want. I'm on my way to the groundskeeper's hut to get some paint. Anyone know where I can find paint around here?"

His eyebrows raised. Kevin didn't get the feeling that Mizore meant any harm, although it was kind of weird how she showed up for such a trivial item. He looked up at Mira, then back at the new arrival. What was going to happen now?

((Sorry for messing up post order, but Maddy should probably get out before Clio))

"We run on the count of three, alright? One two, THREE"

That was not enough time for her to get moving. As Charles was getting up and running, Maddy found herself hastily shoving the first aid kit back into her duffel bag and struggling to her feet. Not looking at Clio, whom she fully expected would follow them in seconds, she trotted after Charles, more quick off the mark than she had expected. Picing up pace she found herself running past Jackie and Belle, whom she called out to in a cursory gesture.

"I think I'm running!" she said, "but good luck!" Not entirely sure if they heard her good luck or not, Maddy found herself picking up speed as she started to catch up with Charles. For the first time in a long while Maddy was grateful for the fact that she'd gone to hockey, was reasonably healthy, and could run if she needed to. The wind whipped past her face, and it was strangely... exhilarating... to be on the run from a dangerous force, someone who had killed someone on the first day. Of course, who knew how accurate the announcement was (and Maddy herself had tried not to listen to it, but odd names had snuck in), perhaps things were dramatised to make them scared, keep them on the run? But it didn't matter, all that mattered was that she didn't really care.

Focussing on the path, Maddy noticed out of the corners of her eyes that the landscape was blurring. It could have been a beautiful view if she'd permitted herself to stop and look. As it was, she didn't even dare to turn her head and see if Clio, or anyone else for that matter, was actually following them. If she'd learnt anything from Film Studies class, it was that when the heroine (or the sidekick, as Maddy was forced to admit she probably was in this situation) looked behind them while running, they immediately fell over.

And that was not going to happen, Maddy decided resolutely. You are going to be a coordinated person, and not fall over at the first sight of trouble. Please, God, help me to successfully run away from the poor, possibly slightly crazy, person who may or may not be planning to kill me right now. And please, give her the strength to realise that killing is not the way forward, and that perhaps, just perhaps, Charles has a good idea...

The wind on her face was refreshing.

((Maddy Stone continued in Fight or Flight))

The boy shot up at once, grabbing his shovel and whirling towards her. Belle, half-mad and still giddy from her earlier victory, at once snapped up her hands, waiting for him to make the first move. A dull ache in her left arm reminded her of the serious blow she'd suffered during her fight with Garrett, but she ignored it; for now, her mind was on her new opponent, this threatening, looming...

He stopped. Lowered his shovel. Told her he was fine and asked her--rather politely--to leave.

Her lips curled into a sneer. "Coward," she hissed. "Not that you're wrong to be afraid of me--" she tossed her head to one side, so that her ponytail bounced. "But, all the same." She turned dismissively. "Run back to your hole."

Jackie.

Jackie was standing behind her. Jackie had been travelling with Garrett, did that make the two of them...? But no, Jackie was only curious. "He's an asshole," Belle replied, shrugging. "He decided I wasn't worth anything, that I was..." She trailed off, her sneer deepening. "That I was weak. I hit him. He hit me back." She shrugged. "I was looking for a little closure." She eyed Jackie for a moment. "And how about you? You showed up with him, after all."

A new girl arrived. Japanese, unfamiliar to to her, but Mirabelle was at once impressed with her boldness and focus. "Caltrops?" she said with interest. "I don't even know what those are, but God knows I've no use for this." She dropped her bag on the ground and dug around until she found what she was looking for--the can of spraypaint she'd discovered while looking for water. "Take it, I've no need." She eyed her. "Mizore, right?" she repeated.

And then a boy Belle didn't know and Machete ran by. Machete told them they were running away from something, and at once that strange flare of joy screamed up from the depths of Belle's chest and she turned, spreading her legs a little and lifting her hands, fingers curled to thrust her palms forwards.

Instinct was guiding her to fight, and if this euphoric giddiness was all she got out of it that was a damn sight better than the helplessness she'd felt earlier.

((Sorry for the one-liner, but I'm holding up TDS's death as it is))

Clio, gun in hand and torch discarded into her bag, followed them down the mountain. They were not going to be responsible for her death just because they wanted to die with a clean moral slate.

((Clio Gabriella has not finished yet. Read all about her in Fight or Flight, where you see what happens. Cause it's next.))

"He's an asshole," Belle replied, shrugging. "He decided I wasn't worth anything, that I was..." She trailed off, her sneer deepening. "That I was weak. I hit him. He hit me back." She shrugged. "I was looking for a little closure."

Jackie knew a lot about closure-- almost enough that she actually sympathized with Belle for a moment. Memories of the junior and senior Drama Club members getting lead roles despite their lack of talent was something that she wished to forget. None of all of that caused her to punch someone out, but then again, Drama Club is a bit different from martial arts.

She eyed Jackie for a moment. "And how about you? You showed up with him, after all."

Jackie raised an eyebrow. "I followed him because he seemed like a logical person, and he looked like he could handle himself when if it came down to fighting. Turns out I was wrong about the whole logic part, huh?" She wasn't about to call Belle's destined opponent weak; that would undermine her entire victory. Not to mention that the girl looked like she was about to pounce on the first acceptable target to cross her path. Jackie wanted not part of it, and decided to take a step or three back.

That was when a couple people ran past the pair, and for whatever reason, Belle went into some sort of stance or another.

"Caltrops?" Mirabelle said with interest. "I don't even know what those are, but God knows I've no use for this." She pulled a can of spraypaint out of her bag, and rolled it towards Mizore. "Take it, I've no need." She eyed her. "Mizore, right?" she repeated.

"Mizore, yes." Hasty, perhaps short, perhaps impolite, maybe Mirabelle Nesa would karate-chop her head off, but she could see the can of spray paint gleaming in front of her, a Montana 600ml Mega Can, two hundred more milliliters than in your average spray can, in crimson. None of that Krylon or Rust-Oleum crap; this was paint made for art. In--wouldn't Danya love this, wait, he'd probably picked it out--Blood Red, the most appropriate of Montana's shades. And Mizore was digging into her bag as fast as she could, scrabbling at the canvas bottom for the plastic sac of caltrops, origami stars, bringing them out, the package bitten open from her hasty foray into reverse graffiti, and she held up the bitten package of caltrops in one hand and the two bloody caltrops in the other.

"I'm keeping two of these, in case I need to carve something. There are twenty-four in the bag, I think."

But Mirabelle wasn't listening, because at that moment Maddy Stone and Charles Dawson ran by, and Mirabelle's eyes flared. She turned away from Mizore, and her fists curled and she was balanced on the balls of her feet, and her excitement was palpable.

There was a fight going down. If not now, then soon.

Round the corner man, hiding in the trash can…

And of course this situation was so morbid that Marilyn Manson lyrics were sliding through her head.

Cracklings in the forest. Was Mizore being over-paranoid, over-imaginative, now with her treasured can of spray paint? Artist brain.

She clutched the can of spray paint close.

Aren't you scared? Well, that's just fine!

Mizore closed her eyes and tried very hard to think of Skellington Jack and all the non-scary monsters in Monsters Inc. Shut up, brain.

But no. She was scared. And she could smell death on the trees.

Artist brain.

She stepped forward, ignoring Mirabelle, trying to see where Maddy and Charles were going. Looked back, tried to see who was chasing them. Nothing obvious either way. Goddamnit.

So all intelligent options were out. Only the utterly stupid question remained:

Are you going to be the kind of asshole who just sits around while somebody gets killed?

Mizore desperately wanted to be that kind of asshole. She was clutching her paint to her like a woman possessed, and fuck you all, I really want to use this paint before I croak.

I am the shadow of the moon at night, filling your dreams to the brim with fright.

That was Marilyn Manson's cackling, crackling voice again, and Kurt's voice now, dry and humorless pacifists are the ones who take bullets when the so-called brave ones won't do it.

So if there was murder tonight on Hellmurder island, maybe it would be hers. And hopefully she'd be able to prevent Maddy Stone or Charles Dawson or Mirabelle Nesa from choking if she was there.

Stupid stupid stupid girl. When was the last time you decided to play hero because you felt you were morally obligated to?

Fuck off, brain. I'm not going to be one of those people who makes a Kitty Genovese happen because holy wow I have spray paint everything is better.

And Mirabelle Nesa had disappeared while she was lost in thought. The other two were still there, looking as lost as Mizore felt.

And Mizore belatedly pulled her patchwork longcoat on over Raidon's blue jacket (it's cold, it's cold) and planted herself on the path between Charles and Maddy and whatever killer was locomoting after them.

And there, suddenly, was Mirabelle Nesa.

Christ, that girl moves quietly.

And she had wide eyes and quick hands and competence in her smile, and was so much more perilous than Mizore would ever be.

"Don't be scared. You'll be fine." She said. And, with gentle carelessness, she pushed Mizore aside.

The first thing Mizore felt was relief. The next thing she felt was her stomach plummeting. Because the mountain was steep and the earth was soft, and Mizore, with her rangy figure and her new can of spray paint, and her bag of a million necessary things, was sliding down the mountain.

And tumbling.

And falling.

It was a surprisingly gentle fall. Really more of a comic slide.

And then Mizore was at the bottom of the mountain, completely unharmed.

"I'm okay." She shouted up to her unseen assailant/savior.

And she was okay. She had dirt on her rump and her patchwork coat, but she didn't have to die tonight.

And now that she thought about it….

I have paint! Holy shit, paint! Like, more paint than a normal spray can would have! And in a spray can, not crappy half-dry groundskeeper paint in some awful color like taupe. Blood red!

Mizore jumped up once, on her aching legs. "Yeah!!"

Shouting at near-dawn was probably not the smartest move anyone could make, but Mizore Soryu, nearly fallen from a mountain, with paint in her hands, was invincible.

(Mizore Soryu continued in The Moon Is Laughing At You)

[Godmodding approved by Grim Wolf]

[Tiny bit of god-modding here. Hope the two of you don't mind, and if you have any objections I'll edit it at once.]

And Mirabelle Nesa heard her coming.

Jackie was still by her side, as was Mizore Soryu. She considered this; Jackie had a gun, she remembered, she could fend for herself regardless of what was coming. The only weapons Soryu had were little more than tacks, and there was danger heading there way--nothing else could have caused Machete and...whatever the other guy's name was to run. Did their pursuer have a gun? If so, Belle needed to be somewhere with a bit more cover, somewhere she could strike without...

She turned her head. Soryu was staring the way Machete had come, wide-eyed, clearly panicked. Belle was willing to take a risk, and Jackie and K-whatever his name was cold defend themselves. No reason for Soryu to get caught up in this.

Two quick steps. Hands on Soryu's shoulders. One quick peek to make sure this wouldn't kill her. "Don't be afraid," Belle said, without thinking. "You'll be fine."

Shove.

Down she went, skidding (just as Belle had hoped) on her ass. Belle grinned and turned around, picking up Soryu's pack and rolling it after her, and then turned, lifted her arms. Here was the killer, a crazed girl with a weapon in hand, Belle lifted up her hands and-

She ran past them. She ran past them without even looking at them. And perhaps because none of them had been expecting this, they all stayed standing where they were for a good few seconds. By the time Belle had enough presence of mind to turn around, she could heard only the trickle and clatter of falling pebbles as the girl who'd run by took a dangerous route down the mountain at high speeds.

Belle, to her own amusement and disgust, felt disappointed. She'd wanted another fight.

"Well," she managed, blinking. "I...well." She looked at her hands, than towards Jackie. "This one doesn't want to do anything with us" she jerked her head towards the football player. "And I suppose it would be wrong of me to judge you just for being around Garrett." She hesitated. "We should go after her."

The invitation was implicit. Did Jackie want to travel with her?

(Sorry about the short post, but I'm in a rush right now.)

What the heck had just happened? Kevin was all alone now, sitting by himself with shovel in hand and too fatigued to care about the flurry of events that passed him by. At least he didn't have to kill anybody. That was the gruesome task he would have to carry out when the next day began.

He crawled over to a more secluded location, laid his shovel across his legs, and fell asleep very quickly.

Tomorrow would be a day of mourning and regret for him. He was certain of it.

((Kevin Harding continued in Jesus Loves the Little Children))

Everything happened so quickly that Jackie had little time to process. Belle pushed someone down the mountain, and another person must have decided that it was a great idea and jumped down after the first person. The look of befuddlement on Jackie's face should have stayed there longer than it did. Instead of trying to think of why the last person would jump after the first, she decided to just ignore that entire situation.

"I just don't even care anymore," Jackie said. She brought up her hands and began to massage her temples.

"This one doesn't want to do anything with us" she jerked her head towards the football player. "And I suppose it would be wrong of me to judge you just for being around Garrett." She hesitated. "We should go after her."

"Go after--" she brought up her arms in surrender, "Fine, whatever. I just feel safer with other people, so... yeah, let's go. But I'm not going to fall down the mountain. Let's take it slow, okay?"

"I thought she was in danger," Belle said, shrugging. It did not strike her as at a all unreasonable that she had shoved someone down a mountain--it seemed to her the most natural way of protecting someone in the world. How else would Jackie suggest they ensure she stay safe.

"Slow defeats the purpose, of course," Belle answered. "But I suppose I'm not the one with gun. Your call." She turned her eyes down the mountain. "Let's go."

Quickly and carefully, always glancing back to make sure Jackie was keeping pace, Belle headed off.

(Mirabelle Nesa continued in Measure Once, Cut Twice).

Hilary's ears perked up.

Voices - lots of them. They sounded like they were coming from the other side of the trail, somewhere she couldn't quite see them all. It didn't matter. Whether she could see them or not, she knew trouble was brewing, and she did not want to stick around to become a part of it.

Her eyes turned back to Omar as she decided what to do. He sat there, silently still, gazing up at the dark morning sky without a care in the world, or so it seemed. How could he be so calm? Didn't he know what'd been going on here? All the death, all the killing, every - then she remembered. At the time of the first announcement, she'd just awoken from her day-long sleep, and she hadn't really been focusing all that well on the names being rolled out of the speakers. But when she thought back, thought hard enough, she recalled something disturbing about it.

Warren... she thought to herself, her mind ticking over like the busiest clock in the world. Tick, tock, tick, tock, then suddenly, she knew. She realized why his name had stuck so well because there had been another name after it.

Warren's killer, the one who shot him in cold, cold blood.

Sierra's boyfriend.


Omar Burton.

Hilary spluttered as she tried not to shriek out loud. This boy was no star - far from it. This boy was a murdering, gun-slinging maniac, and if he saw her right now, she knew what would happen.

Quickly, quietly, she grabbed her bags and flung them over her shoulders; heavy as they were, she persevered. If she stuck around much longer, she'd end up just like Warren. That was something she intended to avoid for as long as she could. Plus, she now knew more than ever that she needed someone to protect her. If she tripped or hurt her legs in any way, she wouldn't be able to run any more. She'd be a sitting duck for anyone who wanted a cheap and easy kill.

Well screw that.

If anyone was going to kill Hilary Strand, they'd have to get through her boyfriend first.

((Hilary Strand continued in Heartbeat Symphony))

"I thought she was in danger," Belle said, shrugging.

Jackie would have slammed her face into a tree out of frustration if not for her self control. Well, good thing you took care of that little problem, right? Christ... "Okay. Anyway, I'll just go with you. I don't have much of a direction to go in, so I guess that I'm stuck with latching onto people for now."

"But I suppose I'm not the one with gun. Your call." She turned her eyes down the mountain. "Let's go."

She couldn't keep herself from twitching in response to that. It's not like I've even used it, anyway. "Yeah, let's go." The terrain was far from what Jackie was used to; in fact, she had gone on hikes exactly three times in her whole life. All of the hikes were in and around Bayview, so she wasn't exactly used to any terrain more treacherous than a sidewalk. As she took a few steps down, doing her best to keep up with Belle, goosebumps appeared on her arms.

The game had only just begun. Not only for her, but for everyone.

((Jacqueline "Jackie" Maxwell, continued Measure Once, Cut Twice.))

((Omar is being handled as per James' request/instructions upon departure. Everything done with him is approved by all handlers involved))

Omar sat, sat and watched the night. He heard the chaos and confusion near him, of course. It was impossible not to. But he didn't let it bother him too much, didn't let it rattle him. It was completely irrelevant to his goal. If anything, it would help him, help eliminate a few more people standing between Sierra and survival. The less direct work he had to do, the better. Still, he listened very carefully, searching for the telltale sound of her voice, ready to whip out the gun and charge to the rescue if need be. But he didn't hear it. She wasn't here. Of course not.

The sounds of conflict passed, moved away. The quiet returned, but not Omar's peace of mind. He had allowed himself to become distracted, allowed his focus to slip. He had work to do. He had to secure as many advantages as possible, find Sierra, protect her, and blaze a trail for her, a way out of this awful game. He had killed. Had overcome that first hurdle, that moral challenge. He had a gun. He had the motivation necessary.

Sierra hadn't been on the announcements so far, but he couldn't count on that remaining true. She was the most genuinely good person he knew, and there was no way she'd be able to do what needed doing all the time. No, she would be eaten alive by the players on the island, eaten alive by people very much like Omar, people with their own loved ones or selfish desires.

It gave him pause for a second. Really, were the others so different? Or were there more people out there, the same as him, trying the same things for the same reasons?

But then, it didn't matter. Sure, other people would be selfish. Maybe, like Omar, even selfishly altruistic. What mattered was that he come out on top of them all, that he save the one person who really deserved saving. Sierra would survive. It was his goal in life, and he would pursue it until he no longer could.

Idleness was a waste, a waste of time and a waste of potential. He had a job to do.

As gunshots wafted up through the crisp evening air, Omar stood and made his way from the mountain, off the continue his quest, off to rescue his damsel.

((Omar Burton continued in Walk Away))