Survival Of The Fittest

(Wow, turn order got massacred... *shrugs*)

Mark had to keep his giggling down as he watched the events unfold. Each person sprung and moved in unison, like some kind of beautiful dance that was sure to end on a good note. The blast of the gun was amusing, as was Hannah dropping. Every piece is falling in place... Unfortunately the pistol fell on the wrong side, Mark didn't even notice. Probably the brilliant color of blood from Hannah's open wound was distracting him too much. It's still so pretty warm. Mark nearly gasped as the scimitar flew toward the open cliff. He took off at once, sprinting in front of Jordan as he turned to help Hannah and barely skidding to a stop to pick up the sword.

Weapon in hand he turned to the party, his smile gaining a sadistic gleam. He eyed the battlefield, the knives, and finally the gun, somehow now in Jordan's hand. Damn, how'd he get that? With Jordan focused on Hanna, Dorian focused on Quincy, Warren would be his problem. But even if he got past Warren the others would attack him. This wasn't going at all like he had hoped.

He lowered the blade with his grin, and looked over at Hannah. She was probably going to die, judging by the wound. Too bad. He walked over to her, next to Jordan and knelt down, ignoring the sword like he didn't realize it was even there. "You'll be fine..." he whispered, making his voice sound hopeful yet sad. He at least needed to be trusted if he was going to stay in this group.

He knew that he was fucked the moment he had a good grip on the gun, and now that he'd lost it, he was practically high on adrenaline as he felt his hands throb and struggled vainly against Dorian. When Dorian started his monologue, though, Quincy stopped moving and tried to see what the boy had to say. He finished quickly, and Quincy stared up at his assailant for a second before bursting into laughter. "Ahahahahaha! What the fuck was that? Christ, Dorian, I knew you were a lousy actor but that was just hammy!

"Seriously though, I guess I can give you an explanation," he backpedaled, "Yeah, I wanted Warren's gun, but who wouldn't? It's a sweet gun. I'd bet my life that there's at least one more guy here lusting after it. Probably him." He tilted his head in Mark's direction. "Nice smile there, by the way! Doesn't make you look crazy at all!"

Then he looked at Hannah, and sighed. "Yeah, that's a shame, what's happening to her, but since you bring up the spectre of people getting bloodthirsty, well, why don't you ask her about that. She looked damn scary with that scimitar.

"And really, a social experiment? What makes you jump to that conclusion? We're not supposed to get out alive, remember? This is a snuff film being made by a Russian egomaniac."

"Ugh, Quincy?" Warren mumbled, finally recovering from being kicked in the gut. "What's... my gun!" He panicked and looked around wildly before settling on Jordan and his new acquisition. "Give that back, Jordan!"

"What did I tell you?" Quincy muttered to Dorian.

Hannah hardly even noticed the argument between Dorian and Quincy. The pain from her gunshot wound hurt so much it took up center stage in her mind. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a concerned Jordan approaching her, and from another direction a far less concerned Mark kneeling down over her, his flat attempts at feigning said concern making him look more like a vulture waiting for it's prey to die.

So...this is going to be my company while I die? It could've been worse. At least there was one person nearby who seemed honestly worried about her. Suddenly, she started to cough violently, the spasms making the pain so intense she almost started crying again, until they mercifully ended, leaving her utterly exhausted, the taste of blood in the back of her mouth.

It was getting pretty hard to move now, and everything around her just seemed to get more and more faint. The voices of the people around her had been tuned out, and all she could hear was the distant crash of the waves against the rock walls below. With enough effort, she managed to force a smile, albeit a faint smile devoid of any kind of of happiness. "I'm sorry..." She said in Jordan's direction. "I was so...useless..."

It was then that she noticed that she couldn't feel the pain anymore. In fact, she couldn't feel anything. She tried to move her body, and found that it just wouldn't respond. Fear began to creep it's way into her mind. Was this really happening? Was she really...no, this couldn't happen. She wanted to live...she wanted...to...

But those thoughts were quietly extinguished as Hannah Rose slipped out of this world, victim #132 of the third iteration of this accursed game.

G63: Hannah Rose - Eliminated

Jordan ignored Mark, when he appeared out of nowhere with his "You'll be fine" bullshit. He was more concerned about the wound. And that was a stomach wound... Soldiers never eat before the fight, because if they would have been shot in the stomach, they wouldn't die because of digesting acid, until some skilled medic would save them. But Jordan wasn't a skilled medic, and neither was anyone on this island. All was lost... He felt extremely bad. After all, Quincy was aiming at him... Bullet in Hannah's stomach was addressed to Jordan. He pursued the gun for the matter of his survival, and it ended with death for someone else...

But that wasn't the end of Jordan's torment. When he least expected that, he heard Warren's angry voice.

"What's... my gun!" Give that back, Jordan!"

Even that wasn't enough. He couldn't even react before another voice drilled his mind

"I'm sorry... I was so... Useless..."

And Hannah was dead...

Jordan felt the tears on his cheek, as he turned back to Warren. That was enough...

"that's it... IS THAT ALL YOU WANT TO SAY?!"

In a blink of an eye, all sadness inside Jordan's body was replaced by an anger. He felt his temperature rising so much, that the tears dried up instantly...

"Is that really all?!" He pointed his hand with Colt in Quincy's direction. "You've just got betrayed by THIS son of a bitch, and all three of us rushed him, to save our lives INCLUDING YOURS! And right now, Hannah lost her life because of it... And yet, all you care about is a FUCKING GUN?!"

Jordan breathed deeply, trying to calm himself... but it was really hard for him right now...

"You should better think about some good way of killing this motherfucker, before I'll do it..."

Quincy's retaliation had taken Dorian by surprise, even though it really shouldn't have. Killers, they're all the same - Julie, Quincy, the whole fucking lot. All think it's some sort of game, that the only reason we're on this island is because Danya gets a kick out of watching us die instead of trying to make a point. Fucking idiots.

Quincy called him out as a bad actor. Fucking prick, what does he know? I read his blog, he thought the original iterations of this fucking game were fake. What the fuck does he know?

And then, Quincy flippantly waved off his stealing of the gun as being because the gun was 'sweet', and did the same with his shooting of Hannah, saying he did it because she charged at him with the scimitar. For fuck's sake, you goddamned genius, there's a reason she was charging you! Are you really that fucking dense?!

And then Warren dazedly called to Jordan for his gun back. Quincy smugly answered,
"What did I tell you?", and, almost immediately after, Jordan turned on Warren.

"That's it... IS THAT ALL YOU WANT TO SAY?! Is that really all?! You've just got betrayed by THIS son of a bitch, and all three of us rushed him, to save our lives INCLUDING YOURS! And right now, Hannah lost her life because of it... And yet, all you care about is a FUCKING GUN?!"

Dorian stared at Jordan for a second. Hannah was dead...Dorian wasn't able to do anything. A good person had died because this prick...this prick...

Dorian's head snapped back towards Quincy. I'm done fucking acting. That's it.

Dorian punched Quincy across the left cheek as hard as he could.

"FUCK YOU, YOU WANKER! WHAT THE FUCK IS IN SWIMMING IN YOUR TINY, DIPSHIT MIND TO MAKE YOU THINK SUCH THINGS?!"

Dorian punched him again, harder this time, in the jaw.

"You just killed a girl who's fucking done nothing to you, and you say it's because she charged at you with a scimitar? Fuck it, you knocked out that dumb shit there, stole his gun, and pointed it at us! What did you expect, a fucking cocktail party for you murdering us!? Don't be a fucking child! And why the fuck would a Russian steal kids and make them kill each other, broadcasting the kill on every cable channel in the US, just to get himself off! He's making a fucking point, you dumb shit! You followed this shit on your useless self-righteous two-bit blog, you should know there were even control groups! It couldn't be more experimenty if it fucking tried!"

Dorian punched Quincy for a third and final time, in the left ear.

"AND I AM NOT A BAD ACTOR. You can't even tell when people are being killed for real on TV, despite overwhelming evidence supporting it. What the fuck do you know about acting?"

Dorian still held the butcher's knife over Quincy's neck with his left hand, and was oh so close to killing the shithole. But that'd just bring me to his level. And nobody deserves to die on this island, not even the killers. Fuck you, Quincy Archer, you get to live.

Oh God. He said the wrong thing again. Instead of taking the time to properly mourn a girl who had been tragically and unjustly killed, he worried about a gun that he had consistently failed to even use properly. Could he go just one day without screwing up?

"Control groups? Is that what you think they were? Oh no, they were tests, all right, but more like debugging than a control experiment, working out the technical flaws in his little cash cow."

And that voice. That snide, unsympathetic voice. Warren knew only two sorts of people who talked like that twenty-four hours a day: fictional characters and crazies. And while Quincy, unbeknownst to Warren, was beginning to have his doubts, Warren was absolutely certain of the reality of their situation.

"I take it back, Dorian, he's not just wanking off, he's wanking off on a mountain of cash. And now that I think about it, he might be making a point about how America can turn the most vile things imaginable into a cottage industy. So alright, I'll give that to you."

Warren didn't know what to think about Quincy's behavior. At first, Warren thought he was just hanging out in his little rut of negativity, trying to play it cool by acting unconcerned about the deaths on the island. But he saw, even caused, an actual death and he didn't seem to care! Warren hated to admit it, but is looked like Quincy was genuinely out of his mind.

"And as for my blog, I'll admit that I went into Series One having done little to no research, but come on!"

Warren tightened his fists, frowned, and got to his feet.

"You expect me to watch footage of a scrawny Canadian kid using an ordinary katana to chop a trained terrorist wearing body armor in half with one swing AND NOT EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT IT WAS FAKED?"

"Hey Quincy!"

"WHAT?"

Quincy turned his head to Warren and saw the sole of Warren's foot careening toward his nose.

CRUNCH!

He struggled to suppress a cry of pain and glared at Warren's towering figure, unable to defend himself or even try to cover his nose and protect his face from any further assaults.

"Dorian, I'm going to borrow him for a while. Hope you don't mind." Warren knelt down, gently moved Dorian's knife away from Quincy's throat, and yanked his old friend off the ground. Before Quincy could react, Warren had carried him to the edge of the cliff and removed the ground from directly beneath him. The Anglo-American, seeing no way to safely get away, allowed himself to be dangled over the edge by his ankles by a panting, distressed Warren.

"Now then," Warren said through gritted teeth. "You're going to tell me what your deal is RIGHT NOW or I'm going to let go and that'll be the end of things. What do you say to that?"

Suddenly Quincy burst into loud, raucous laughter that quickly reached a hysterical pace. "AHAHAHAHAHA! Who are you," Quincy said, looking with bloodshot, baggy eyes into Warren's horrified face, "and what have you done with my dickless friend?"

"Oh God!" Warren gasped. "I thought you were just being a drama queen, but you really have lost your mind, haven't you? Are you trying to get one of us to kill you? Don't you care about your own safety? Your own life?"

He only heard the sounds of Quincy trying to catch his breath, his mouth still stretched into the widest grin he could manage.

"You shouldn't be this fucked up, man," Warren said, practically pleading with Quincy now. "I know I treated you like shit before, but why take it out on everyone? Other than that and your parents' divorce, you've got a perf-"

"YOU DON'T KNOW HER LIKE I DO!" Quincy snarled, instantly transforming from mad jester to rabid dog in a heartbeat. "If you saw her coming at home at FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING with her dress disheveled and reeking of cheap cologne, you'd hate her too! I see her with that man, that 'business partner' of hers! I know EXACTLY what kind of 'business' they're involved in! She's a whore! Anyone can have her for a nickel! You try living with the knowledge that you came out of THAT and keeping on the sunny side of life! I FUCKING DARE YOU!"

There was absolutely no way that what Quincy said was true. He knew that Ms. Archer worked in advertising. But maybe she'd found someone else and Quincy, well, jumped to conclusions.

"Wh-what do I do?" he asked, looking over the horizon and gripping Quincy's ankle so tightly that he was probably cutting off circulation. He felt his eyes tearing up and his throat constricting. Before today, Warren would never have thought that he could hit a new emotional low, but here it was.

It was still amusing. But it wasn't working. From the snide comments, the distrustful eyes, that 'crazy' smile bit... Jesus, what does it take to make other people trust you? I dunno, maybe not thinking of how to win every few seconds? Goddammit I'm getting annoying! Mark could barely stand to listen to his own thoughts, let alone the childish bickering from the group. That damn girl died and they all freak out!

He walked over to the cliff side and sat down, looking below as what looked like a corpse perhaps hammered against the wall, stuck between some rocks and the tide. His smile was gone for once, and he bleakly looked down upon the ocean. The splashing waves crashed like blood from Hannah's wound, spinning rhythmically like her shallow breaths and fading heartbeat. Death was natural, just like the tide. But these people...

"You guys are pricks." he called back. "Instead of fucking around with one another, why don't we just figure out what to do from here?" Mark's grip stayed tight on the sword, but he kept his mind from the plans, from the glee, from the anger. He didn't want to think right now.

Apparently, Jordan's words must have been inspiring, because right after them, Dorian proceeded to beating the living shit out of Quincy, and then Warren showed his point of view to Englishman by breaking his nose. Jordan couldn't help but smile seeing it, mostly because he planned something even worse for Quincy. But no matter, as long as this fucker will suffer...

Things got even better few moments later, when Warren grabbed Quincy and walked to the edge of the Cliff. After another brief conversation between two old... 'friends' Warren asked

"Wh-what do I do?"

Jordan wanted to say 'Let him fall' or something like that, but this time Mark was faster with his answer. Frankly, Mark began to annoy Jordan with every passing moment. He wandered somewhere through the Jungle, when he was needed, and suddenly he's coming when the action is over, talking some bullshit, and now reacting like the whole situation was a simple argue between friends, and scolding all of them for it...

And yet he was right...

What to do from here? To Jordan it was obvious. Survive. Jordan had changed during the last few minutes, but his priority was the same... Especially now, when he hold a powerful gun in his hand... which wasn't fully loaded. That was a serious problem. As he checked it, it turned out, that he has only 3 bullets left. Presumably, Warren had the rest of them in the daypack. That means, Jordan will have to persuade him not only to let him take the gun, but also give him the rest of the bullets. Tough work, and definitely not for now. Instead Jordan just stayed silent, and waited for Dorian's and Warren's reactions...

"Instead of fucking around with one another, why don't we just figure out what to do from here?"

Mark's words struck a chord with Dorian. A third chance to attempt his plan, and with a larger group, was laid out before him. The possibility of saving everyone by finding the transmitter was once again presented before him, and it consumed Dorian's mind - a misguided heroism, stubbornly battling against the cold, hard truth starting to encroach on Dorian's conscience, the truth that there might not actually be a transmitter.

Mark's words had stopped him worrying about what Warren was going to do to Quincy, like some freaky trigger word. If Dorian had been anything but committed to his plan, the thought may have slipped into his mind that maybe, in ignoring Warren's actions, he was becoming just as bad as everyone else, particularly after his attempts to kill...no, not kill, incapacitate Shawn at the Field and Quincy just now. If Danya truly was operating a social experiment on the kids, working out how long before everyone started fighting for themselves, the results were slowly coming through with Case File Dorian Sanders.

Then Dorian stopped himself a second. Can I trust these people? Jordan seems decent enough, but Mark's being very...ambivalent...about Hannah's death...and I can't trust those other two with the plan...

Dorian kept the plan to himself. There's only one person here I can trust. I can't let the others in - they'll jeopardise the plan. Must stick to the plan. Find the transmitter. Leave the island. Find the transmitter. Leave the island. Find the transmitter. Leave the island...

Dorian kept repeating the mantra in his head, something to stave off the madness and despair that would undoubtedly come with the truth.

Dorian walked back to his daypack and empty submachine gun, picked them both up and slung them over his shoulder, and frowned at Mark, completely ignoring Warren's panicked pleas for guidance.

"I...I don't know. Survive?"

Warren heard faint clicking noises behind him. He turned his head and looked back at Jordan who was checking his ammo reserves. "You can keep that," Warren told him. "It's done nothing good for me, anyway. I'll even let you have the rest of the ammo, as long as you give me your knife."

Quincy groaned. "I can't feel my legs," he wheezed.

Warren noticed that Quincy seemed to be in poor health; his eyes were glazed over, and he barely seemed to focus with them, plus he looked pale and fragile. "Quincy," he asked. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I 'unno," Quincy replied. "Last autumn?"

Warren sighed and turned around, dropping Quincy on the ground. "You really need to get some rest. You're delir-"

"NO!" Quincy yelled, looking from face to face. They had seen him kill. The instant his back was turned they would wreak bloody vengeance upon him. Not that they wouldn't have done so if Hannah was still alive. "I'll die if I go to sleep, I can't sleep, I can't!"

Warren slapped Quincy in the face, wincing as he felt the wispy Brit practically crumple as a result. "Take your things and get out. Find a place in the forest where you can hide and rest there. It's the only chance you'll get. Do you understand me?"

Quincy looked up at Warren with trepidation, his right eye faintly twitching. Soon, though, he glared at Warren, and carefully moved to pick up his sword and daypack. When he saw that no one would follow him, he dashed into the forest without another word.

((Quincy Archer continued elsewhere))

Warren sighed and sat down, then looked at his daypack, eventually fishing out two boxes of revolver ammunition. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, glancing at Hannah's corpse.

((Ok, I'm gonna mangle the post order again. Announcement and new Danger Zones are coming soon, and we're nowhere right now. Sorry for this))

"I...I don't know. Survive?"

Jordan couldn't help, but smirk under his nose. Looks like Dorian was reading in his mind...

"You can keep that. It's done nothing good for me, anyway. I'll even let you have the rest of the ammo, as long as you give me your knife."

... and Warren as well! Jordan was already preparing some speech, arguments why he should keep the gun for himself, and BAM! Warren gave it to him just like that... Well, trading his knife is a real bargain, so it won't rea...

Whoa, hey! What's he's doing?

Warren let Quincy go... No, that cannot be, this fucker can't run away with this! Jordan wanted to say something, but his voice of reason came in again to save the day.

Let him go... Warren gives you the gun you wanted so desperately, so he's the boss for a while...

He'll get him later... Funny thing. Jordan didn't really wanted to kill anyone. The moment, when his knife went through Julia's chest was really awful, and he was really sick because of it for the next few days... He certainly didn't wanted to repeat that... And yet he had some strange feeling, that killing Quincy won't be so difficult, and such a burden for his mind...

Jordan watched as Warren picked up his daypack and fetched two boxes of ammo.

"Ok, let's seal the deal" He said, and grabbed the blade of his knife, and exchanged it with Warren for the ammo boxes. "It served me well, it's a good stuff".

He opened the box, took 3 bullets, and loaded them to have full cylinder again... Now that he had new powerful gun he could now... survive? He was using this word countless times already, and it finally struck him. It was such an empty word. Survive... What do you mean by survive? If your plan is to survive, that means you don't have a plan at all...

Once again, he looked at Hannah's lifeless body. She was another victim of the game. Yes, the game. Not the victim of some crazy redhead English kid, but the victim of this fatass Danya fucker... Jordan couldn't leave it just like that. He had to take some revenge on Danya. For the first time he wanted to be the real SADD member, ironically when it just ceased to exist...

"Ok guys..." He said. "I guess that SADD is now... officially disbanded. Danya won this round. But I'm pretty sure, that none of us wants to keep the things this way..."

Ok... maybe apart from Mark... this guy is weird and suspicious...

"And we certainly don't want to give up... Dorian!" He looked up at his new ally. "Our plan was to find Neil. As you know, there is no reason to do it anymore. Maybe you have some idea what to do?"

"I...I don't know. Survive?" Dorian had replied. Arg, that pisses me off! You call this surviving?! Ah! Mark continued to keep his face to the water, trying to wrangle the thoughts from his mind. He felt his left hand tense up a bit more around the scimitar, but otherwise didn't show anything of what he was feeling. He almost tried to say something, but had to clench his teeth to keep the words stirring inside from leaping out and scaring away his only chance at winning.

Then that Jordan kid spoke up. Trying to be a hero, trying to come up with a plan. Mark could see himself stand up and turn, say something witty before stabbing him in the chest with his blade. He'd let the body sink off the blade and fall into the water, wanting to watch it fall but more preoccupied with the other two loons. He'd then- No! The stupid voice in his mind quipped up. It doesn't have to be like that! You could always just... go with them. Don't... Don't always think like that! That's not who we are! Of course that's who I am! That's all I've been reduced to! I've lost everything for so long, just to be sent here! This IS who I am now! But It's not who you have to be.

He stopped his thoughts again, still looking in the water. For now he'd just listen.

Dorian stared absent-mindedly at his submachine gun for a while. The girl he'd taken it off, Julie - she was still embedded in his mind, a reminder of what he was meant to be trying to stop. The callousness, the murder - it all had to end, without resorting to the tactics of those that had to be stopped.

"And we certainly don't want to give up... Dorian! Our plan was to find Neil. As you know, there is no reason to do it anymore. Maybe you have some idea what to do?"

Fuck me, he's persistent. Does this guy lack the ability to think for himself or something?

Dorian's internal exasperation towards Jordan quickly gave way to more pressing questions about whether these three could be trusted. Dorian lost himself in a squabble in his own mind, arguing with himself about whether to reveal the plan to these people.

Fuck it, what's the worst that can happen? It's not like any of them would want to stay here forever, anyway.

Dorian cleared his throat and launched into the spiel he'd recited twice before. Ratings riding on murder. The transmitter. The speakers across the island. Telling everyone to stop killing and forcing ratings down. Giving Danya no other choice. The best chance anyone would have of getting of this island. He rehashed everything for the uninitiated, and, finishing up the proposal, he smiled weakly.

"This is the idea. It's our best chance to stop the killing and to get off this island. Danya's a businessman and an academic, not some pervert getting his rocks off to us slaughtering each other. He's in it to make money and to make a point. We can beat him on both if we stop the murder, and for that, we need to find the transmitter and tell everyone. It's our best chance."

Dorian was starting to have niggling doubts about his master plan, after the lack of success at the Lookout Tower, but he was forcing them to the back of his mind for the purpose of solidarity and maintaining hope.

Because if we lose hope, what the fuck have we got left?

Warren gingerly took the knife from Jordan and listened to Dorian share his idea. He seemed somewhat reluctant to do so, Warren noticed.

"Alright, that sound like a plan," he said. "But first, does anyone have writing implements? The guys at S.A.D.D. used those because of the microphones in our collars, and they wanted to keep the details of their plan to themselves.

"We might not need to write immediately, though. Quincy..." Warren found himself choking up. "Quincy said that the Shoryuken sound we all heard and the lack of announcements before was because of a virus from season one that got loose somehow, so the microphones might still be inoperable. Or not."

Warren didn't sound too confident; if the microphones were still on, then Danya could either stop the plan whenever he wanted or, if the plan had no chance of success anyway, laugh his ass off. He hated having to give away a S.A.D.D. trade secret, but since Dorian had already given away the gist of their plan verbally, and since Danya had caught onto S.A.D.D. in the middle of their operation, he figured he had nothing to lose. They'd just have to keep their notes hidden from any working cameras, right?

Jordan didn't liked the transmitter idea at all. It seemed completely impossible for Danya to make such a mistake, and put the transmitter somewhere on this island. He wouldn't be surprised, if this transmitter was located in the terrorists main base... or in whatever place guarded more heavily than Fort Knox.

"Well, I don't know, if it's such a good idea. After all we have absolutely no guarantee, that this transmitter actually IS on this island. That would be completely illogical for Danya to..."

"Good morning, children!"

Fuck... Again? What the hell? It's another day already? We're in some other dimension, where the time goes faster or what? This couldn...

"Hannah Rose"

Fuck...

And the list of dead students continued... Will, Melina, Darnell, Keith, Kallie, Terrie...

Adam

Even him... First Neal, now Adam?

Huge hurricane of thoughts was ravaging Jordan's mind. For a moment he was sure, that the chaos inside him will overwhelm him completely, but he managed to discipline himself after a while. Only quiet whisper came out of his mouth

"So many..."

Hey, at least you outlived them. That was your goal right?

"I said 'So many...' " Jordan replied to his own thoughts. He couldn't leave the things like that. But what could he do? Well... there was one thing. Jordan turned his head to Dorian.

"You know what... Fuck the logic. Let's find this transmitter and beat the living shit out of this Bastard"

Jordan was determined. He didn't wanted to die. He didn't wanted to watch someone else dying. Hell, he even didn't wanted to HEAR someone else dying. If there is even a slightest chance to prevent another massacre, he'll take it. Even if it means forgiving Quincy, and going along with illogical plan. After all, this whole island was completely illogical, so maybe Dorian's plan will work?

"But before we go... I'll take the rest of the food and water from Hannah's daypack... After all, she doesn't need it anymore..."

Jordan turned his back to the group and went toward Hannah's direction, picking up his own daypack, thrown away before the charge on Quincy, along the way. He took the daypack but it was difficult to take all the food from inside with only one hand. He began to hide his Colt...

DON'T! You'll need it in a while...

"What?"

Oh God damn it, trust your instincts for once, will you?

"Ok, fine..." Jordan whispered, as he took leftover crackers and the last bottle of water inside the daypack. He turned himself toward the group... only to see, that his instincts were DAMN right...

"Shit..."