Survival Of The Fittest

Emma could feel John move on top of her again, and began to panic, struggling to swing her arms around harder through the growing fatigue. No... no, he couldn't get back on top, she had to keep him off, keep him away from her she had to get herhandsonthegunitcan'tendthiswayITCAN'TENDTHISWAYGETTHEFUCKOFF!!

SMACK. Miraculously, Emma had managed to score another hit, right across John's face this time. She felt the weight shift off of her once again as John fell back to the ground. Finally free, Emma was able to scuttle just a few more inches forward, and at long last felt her fingers curl around the cool, inviting metal of John's gun.

"STOP-"

Another SMACK. John was going down swinging, and he managed to strike a blow on her side. Slightly winded but still with a firm grip on the pistol, Emma swung it around and pointed it directly at John's face, both of them still laying on the ground.

"STOP!" She screamed, hoping he would listen this time.

John felt one of his blows connect and excitement grew. Maybe he'd landed that blow he'd needed to land this whole time. He quickly wiped the water from his eyes gaining his clear vision back. However the vision was not what he had expected. He was staring down the barrel of his own gun. She'd managed to somehow grab it, and for the first time since he'd been dropped on to this island, John truly felt defeated. Emma was still yelling for him to stop, and left with no choice, John obliged. This was it, she was going to kill him. He'd been defeated.

"Well make it quick Emma. You win," John said cooly, "This is what you wanted isn't it? You wanted me dead, well hurry up and just do it."

John stared straight into her eyes just waiting for her to pull the trigger and eliminate him.

"Come on Emma, you can do it. Feel it. You want this to happen," He paused for a second, "DO IT!"

Emma watched as John finally froze, her knuckles white as she held onto the pistol for dear life, never taking her aim off of him.

Was... was it over? Had she really won?

"This is what you wanted isn't it? You wanted me dead, well hurry up and just do it."

She had.

Emma could only gape at John. ...Dead? Was that how she would have to end this? She stared into John's eyes, and the look he gave her told her the answer. Yes, if she didn't kill him now, she wasn't going to make it out of this. She continued to hold the gun, her arms beginning to shake slightly.

She would kill him. She'd do it. It was the only way. Yes. She stumbled back to her feet again, keeping the gun trained on John. He was on the ground below her, completely helpless. All she had to do was pull the trigger. How hard was that? Pull, boom, leave. She'd do it. Yes, this was easy. He attacked her, she had to do it. She was dead otherwise. Her arms shook harder. She took a few steps back towards her sword. Wouldn't want him grabbing that. No. She picked it up with one arm, the gun still aimed straight at him. Now you're completely armed. He's defenseless. Just pull the trigger. Do it. You have no choice. You can do it, Emma...

"Come on Emma, you can do it. Feel it. You want this to happen... DO IT!"

Yes, yes, she would do it. He had even asked her. She'd do it... right... right now. Pull the trigger and.. and kill him... she would kill this boy... the same one she had admired and... no... no, don't think about that now, he attacked you, Emma! Do it now, pull the trigger, just do it and GODDAMMIT, the TEARS, why couldn't she stop CRYING and he was looking her right in the eyes and this was INSANE, she was practically being FORCED to KILL the boy she had a crush on, the boy she...

"GODDAMMIT!" Emma finally screamed, keeping the gun on John despite the tears now flowing heavily down her face, mixing with the blood and causing streaks of red to fall from her cheeks and chin. She had to do this. But... but... but MURDER?

"THIS IS INSANE! YOU'VE TURNED INTO A MURDERER, JOHN, I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE YOU'VE KILLED! AND... AND NOW I HAVE TO DO THE SAME THING?! OUR FAMILIES ARE WATCHING US JOHN! WHAT MUST THEY THINK OF YOU?! AND OF... AND OF..."

What would Maman say?

"WHAT THE FUCK MUST THEY THINK?!"

---

"Shit… no…"

"Emma. Please watch your mouth."

Startled, Emma glanced back to see her mother standing behind her, watching over her shoulder. She suppressed a small groan of frustration before apologizing and returning to her knitting. Before she could correct the error she had just made, however, her mother interrupted again.

"What are you knitting?"

Sighing and removing the headphones she was wearing from her ears, Emma turned to face her mother.

"A beanie cap, I'm going to give to a friend of mine after the field… trip…"

She trailed off after seeing the look on her mother's face. Emma was often compared to her mother in terms of appearance, and not without reason – they had the same hair color, similar-shaped eyes, the same small, pixie-like noses. To the casual observer, the biggest difference between the two would probably be their lips – Clarice Babineaux's lips were much fuller than her daughter's. Now, however, they were pressed together into a thin line, as if fighting to hold something back. Emma was accustomed to getting into arguments or debates with her mother, but even when she did, she knew that as soon as her mother made this face, all bets were off. She was about to release a storm on her. Emma did not say a word.

Clarice continued anyway.

"I've been talking to your father," she said shortly.

"…That's, um. Good? What… what did you talk about?" Emma asked quietly, choosing her words carefully so as not to sound sarcastic.

"You," Clarice responded. Her lips remained pressed together, still holding back the oncoming rage.

"…Um. Okay… What did you sa-"

The storm came.

"You've been posing NAKED at the University, Emma? For money? FOR ALMOST A YEAR? And you were going to let me know about this, WHEN?"

Emma dropped her knitting on the living room floor. Not knowing whether to feel angry at her father for finally succumbing to her mother's nagging questions, terrified of her mother's rapidly increasing anger, or worried that she was about to lose the only link she currently had to Bridget, Emma settled on being completely shocked.

"How could you do this? WHAT, may I ask, made you think it was a good idea to do this without asking my permission first? Without TELLING ME ANYTHING? It's…"

"…I needed the money, Maman-"

"It's DISHONEST! It's SHAMEFUL! I can't believe-"

"Shameful…?" At this, Emma began to speak up. Out of all of the things she was feeling now, shame was definitely not one of them. "What have I got to be ashamed of? Are you saying I shouldn't be proud of my body?"

"DON'T CHANGE THE SUBJECT!" Clarice shrieked, raising her voice twice as much as Emma had raised her own. "I am APPALLED that you would do something so… so… and just DECIDE that I DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW."

"I needed the money for next year! Come on, Papa's an art teacher, he knows it's fine!"

"Oh, it's always the SAME with you and your father! I'M the bad guy, I'M just the nag, aren't I? I can't BELIEVE you…"

"Maman, it's not-"

"I'M NOT FINISHED."

Emma became quiet.

"…I can not BELIEVE that you would do something like this and still expect me to let you live ALONE in a different country! I don't know what I was-" her voice became somewhat indistinct after she said this; Emma couldn't hear anything she was saying through the blood boiling behind her face.

No. No. She was sick of the nagging, sick of her mother underestimating her, sick of her raining on her parade. She would not take this away from her. She couldn't. Emma would talk to her father. She'd talk to Bridget's family. She'd run away, take a cab, call up her grandparents, this couldn't happen, no, no, no, no, NO.

"…wouldn't let you on that field trip, either, if we hadn't already paid-"

NO.

"SHUT UP!" Emma screamed, stamping her foot.

Quickly, she scooped up her knitting needles, the striped beanie cap she had been knitting for tomorrow still attached to them, and lobbed them straight at her mother's face. Clarice shrieked as one poked her in the eye, the other smacking hard against her cheek before falling at her feet. Rubbing her irritated eye, Clarice watched with the other as her daughter stomped her way out of the room, up the stairs and out of sight, heading for her room. From upstairs, she could hear Emma yelling one final time.

"FUCK YOU!"

SLAM

Then silence.

John watched in silence as Emma stood there, the gun shaking above him. The absolute raw emotion she was going through was amazing even with a gun barrel aimed at his head. Emma began screaming and crying about killing.

Come on...just fucking do it already.

Suddenly Emma said something that flicked a switch in John's head.

"OUR FAMILIES ARE WATCHING US JOHN! WHAT MUST THEY THINK OF YOU?!"

Everything came rushing back. The nightmare he'd had at the very control tower overlooking them. There he was again, walking along. The corpses of what was now 6 people lay on the ground. Five of these corpses had long blonde hair, one had a wavy brown hair.

What the hell is this?

John's vision was filled with the scene once again as he made his way to the corpses. Once again he felt that feeling of fear in his stomach. As he got closer, he could see that the faces were blurry.

W-Who the hell?

John was over top of the corpses now.

One for every person I've killed...

As he came to this realization, the faces became crystal clear, and John let out a scream in this vision. He was horrified. The corpses were each a member of his family. Katie, Kelly, Lisa, his mom, his grandmother and his step dad Shaun. They were all dead.

John snapped out of this vision, breathing heavily and staring right at Emma with fear in his eyes. He hadn't understood what it meant before, but Emma was right. His family, the family he loved so much, they would have been able to see him do all those horrible things. He had killed that part of him to play the game and now he realized what he'd done.

"Em...I-I didn't..." For the first time in a while John was lost for words. His family's faces rushed past him again and he felt a trickle of something wet from his eyes.

John Rizzolo was crying.

"Emma, I...My God...what the hell did I do? I didn't mean to, I didn't understand...I-I.." His voice trailed off as he realized she was still staring at him, gun pointed at his head.

"Do it Emma. I'm as good as dead. I've lost everyone, I can't go home. What the hell do they think of me!" He yelled.

Emma continued to cry as she held the gun up, now sobbing audibly. This game had ruined them. It had twisted their morals, turned her crush into a monster, a killer, and he didn't have any regret about it, he didn't care, he would have killed her, too if she didn't... was John crying?

He was. Was it possible that he regretted what he had done? ...No. No, he had just tried to kill her, people didn't just snap back like that... but he was crying, he was looking her straight in the eyes, she... she had to do it, she had to if she wanted to survive, she... she could escape the island, they both could, if there really was any shred of humanity left in him...

"J-John... John, don't... No... you can't be... I have to do this!" Emma yelled frantically between sobs.

But wouldn't that make her just as bad as him?

"Do it Emma. I'm as good as dead. I've lost everyone, I can't go home. What the hell do they think of me!"

Finally, Emma lowered the gun, consumed with grief. Here she was, about to murder someone in cold blood. And admitting to it. Someone who truly regretted what he had done - she no longer doubted it. Even if he hadn't shown that he still had some bit of decency left, Emma could never bring herself to kill John, the boy she-

"No. No, I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry John," she sniffled. "B-but there's still hope. I just saw Andrea V-Vanlandingham. She's alive, John. Her collars g-gone."

The tears began to ease somewhat, and Emma began to feel confidence behind what she was saying to him. "Listen. L-listen... we could escape. We don't have to be a part of this... this sick... this game. ...M-maybe your family won't forgive you, but... but you don't have to d-die. No one else does. Just... just come with me."

She took a step towards him, weapons still in hand but lowered.

Please don't let it be a lie.

Please.

John saw her lower the gun and a feeling of relief swept over him. Maybe he wasn't going to die after all. But he deserved it. Emma spoke again to him, tears flowing from her as well. He listened to every word she said, excitement coming over him.

"She, she really had her collar off? But how?" John placed his hands over his face. Everything that had just happened, all the thoughts and images, and Emma standing here in the sunlight, it was overwhelming for him.

John heard her step towards him as she spoke again. Assuring him that they could escape. They could get off the island if he went with her.

"I don't know...I mean, I-I've done terrible fucking things Emma, and now people know that. What if they look at me and shoot me for that? Emma you're the only person right now that," John paused before continuing, "That well...is my friend out here."

He looked up at her face. Despite the injuries he had inflicted to her, he could see once again her beauty that had captivated him before they'd been thrown on the island. Despite his best efforts not to show it, his face was showing the guilt he was feeling about causing the damage.

"Em..I'm sorry for what I did to you. I really am. If you believe that we can get out of here, then I trust you. I have faith in you. My family may never forgive my actions, but I'll have my life, and I'll have you there with me."

John extended his hand out to her, hoping she'd take it so they could fuck this game.

For what felt like the first time in ages, the flicker of a smile crossed Emma's face. It wasn't a lie. She really had gotten through to him. They really were going to escape. She had truly won, and this time, it was on her own terms, not Danya's.

"I..." Emma stuttered, partially due to the now fading tears and partially due to shock. "I don't know how she did it," she said breathlessly, "but I saw it. She had a laptop, I don't know. S-she was about to tell us, but we were attacked, we were going t-to meet up..."

Another smile began to form as John continued.

"Emma you're the only person right now that... That well...is my friend out here."

At this, she could no longer keep the smile off of her face. As John apologized and extended his hand, Emma had a brief moment of hesitation.

Apology or not, John had killed people. He would have killed her. Did this really make up for it? Once again, Emma looked into John's eyes. They were the only two bright spots on a face covered in dirt, blood, sweat, and stubble. The island had been hell on him, and Emma was sure that she must have looked just as bad. But when she saw his eyes, she could tell that the person who had just extended his hand to her was not the same one that had killed those students. This was the John she had known from school. This was the John she... she had fallen in love with.

There, I said it.

All doubts aside, Emma placed her sword in her other hand, awkwardly holding both weapons, and gently held John's hand in her own. As she looked into his eyes, she couldn't help herself. She drew herself closer to him, and kissed him.

John had gotten to his feet as Emma placed her hands in his. There was a brief moment of complete silence before John felt his head pulled towards hers. Next thing he knew his lips were lock passionately with hers. Not even the blood, sweat and tears from both of them could bring them off of this high. Her lips were still as soft as John has always they'd be despite the abuse of the island.

After a few minutes, John pulled away from their kiss just to look at the girl. The girl that had promised him a way out. John stared into Emma's eyes, he couldn't help but break into a smile. She was all he'd need from this point on.

"I've wanted that to happen for a long time. As cheesey as that sounds," John chuckled a bit, "You're such an awesome person, and..well...just thank you."

He stopped himself again to admire her eyes, they were just captivating.

"Em, I just have to say it one more time though....I'm sorry."

With that John moved his face back in and placed his lips onto hers.

As their lips met, everything else suddenly faded. Emma forgot about the dirt, the bad breath. She stopped caring about the heat, about getting lost. She could no longer feel the throbbing pain in her head, the bruise on her side. All she felt was the warmth of their lips together. It was far from Emma's first kiss, but, perhaps because it felt like a reward for days of fighting for her life, it might have been her best one. The kiss broke. The looked at each other. John was smiling, too.

"I've wanted that to happen for a long time. As cheesey as that sounds. You're such an awesome person, and..well...just thank you."

"I-I've wanted this for a long time, too," she admitted, heart fluttering just a bit. Her grin grew wider, here to stay, she hoped. "Thank you, John. Thanks... thanks for... for proving that there's a way to beat this game."

"Em, I just have to say it one more time though....I'm sorry."

This time, the smile didn't fade.

"I... it's... all right. It'll be all right, John," she whispered as his face came closer to hers again. Before she knew it, they were engaged in another kiss.

It was more passionate this time. His tongue moved freely inside her mouth, and she felt herself get a bit hot in the face. As she got more and more caught up in the moment, pressing herself even closer into John's body, she felt the weapons drop from her hand. The kiss continued, and Emma didn't care when it would stop, she didn't care about anything anymore, all she felt was John, all she fel-

John felt her body lurch and pulled away from the kiss. The look in his eyes had changed from one of compassion to complete hatred.

"Yeah, it will be all right...for me." He said coldly as he thrust the rest of the sword blade into Emma's torso.

She had been so wrapped up in their kiss that John had been able to coax the sword out of her hand and into his without her noticing. His plan had come full circle. He watched with joy as Emma's expression went to complete shock and terror.

"Oh what? You really think I bought your bullshit?," he said as he wiped his mouth, "You really think I'd believe that Andrea is still alive? She was announced as dead you stupid bitch, how can someone who is dead save us?"

John pushed her to the ground with his free hand, drawing the sword back out of her, her blood smeared against the shining steel of the blade.

"There is no escape Emma. I don't care what my family thinks anymore. They'll be happy that I'll be the one coming home. They'll be happy that J.R. is back. No one will second guess what I've done. They'll all chalk it up to the mental distress of the game. You though...you were stupid enough to believe me. You were stupid enough to think that I actually cared about you."

John reached down for the pistol, its cool steel felt right at home in his fingers.

"Pity though. Now that I think about it. I probably could have gotten more out of you before I grabbed your sword here. Oh well. Heat of the moment I guess you could say. The mind just does what it wants to."

John looked down at her one last time.

"Say hi to Cara for me, she was stupid enough to believe me too."

John squeezed trigger, but nothing happened.

"The fuck?...Oh, I'm sorry, silly me. Forgetting things left and right it would seem."

He flicked the safety off.

"Bang."

This time the gun did fire.

((Recommended Listening: Metal Heart by Cat Power))

Pain was all Emma felt. She suddenly lurched backwards as she felt her own sword pierce her body. Still perfectly sharp from disuse, it easily pierced through her shirt, skin, muscle. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, no longer smiling. As she stared into John's eyes again, she realized the John that had given her his hand was long gone.

"Yeah, it will be all right...for me."

Emma tried to respond, tried to find words for just how crushed she was.

"J-John... you..." she coughed. The trickle suddenly became a stream. Blood poured down her chin and through the wound in her stomach, the pain seeming to double every second.

"Oh what? You really think I bought your bullshit?,"

No... no it couldn't end this way... it had been true... they were so close to escaping... she had to tell him, she had to speak but the only sound that came from her mouth was a wet gurgle as more blood escaped from it. Unable to find the energy to cry, she let out a low whimper as John continued to talk, his voice fading in and out as Emma continued to lose blood.

It was made clearer, however, when he pushed her over, forcibly pulling the sword from her stomach. She could feel the edges of the blade tear against her skin even further as it exited. Emma finally let out a scream.

"You were stupid enough to believe me. You were stupid enough to think that I actually cared about you."

She wanted to protest. She wanted to kick him again. She wanted to scream, to keep screaming and not stop until all the blood had left her body. The look in his eyes... it was genuine, it had to have been it...

She coughed again. Another burst of blood emerged from deep within her, splashing onto her face.

He's right, you know, Emma thought hazily, You really didn't pay attention during this game. You trusted people you had just met with your life. You kissed a guy that had already attacked you once before. You let him convince you to betray Maxie...

Emma gave another involuntary lurch of pain as she thought of Maxie. This must be karma. She never did find Maxie and apologize, did she. Was she still alive, even? Got to pay more attention to those announcements...

She was vaguely aware of John speaking over her, but his voice had become a series of indistinct noises. The flow of blood was slowing, and the corners of her vision were beginning to fade into white. She didn't even protest as John leaned down over her and pressed the barrel of the gun to her temple.

You knew this was coming, Emma. Take responsibility for your actions.

When the gun clicked, she didn't flinch, but she did let out a small whimper. It was out of ammo... she would have to wait to succumb to blood loss. She'd have to spend her last moments in agony.

John clicked back the safety. Perhaps she wouldn't have to wait quite that long.

BANG

---

The Babineaux household had stayed silent. Clarice Babineaux sat in her living room, alone on the couch, eyes fixed on the television screen. She had watched for days as her daughter struggled to preserve her life, not moving even during the few days when the live feed had gone down. She hadn't answered the phone when Bridget's family had called. She had barely slept, preferring to stay with the television at all times. She simply sat, staring and twirling the black and white striped beanie Emma had thrown at her in her hands. It was still unfinished, after all, and Emma would want to give it to her friend when she got back.

Alex, Clarice's husband, on the other hand had chosen to ignore the problem entirely. At first, he kept teaching at Southridge University as if nothing had happened at all. When he was approached by Bridget asking about Emma and the rest of Southridge's senior class, however, he decided to take a few days off. Spend some time with his wife. Go out. Have a nice dinner. But Clarice wouldn't go out. She wouldn't leave the living room. She would barely talk to him.

It wasn't until eleven days after the broadcast had started that he heard her speak for what felt like the first time in ages.

"Emma… Alex! Emma!"

Alex rushed into the room. Silently, husband and wife watched as their daughter fought a tall blond boy called John, as the two of them embraced, as Emma suddenly collapsed and was shot in the head, and as bright red letters scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

G49. EMMA BABINEAUX – DECEASED

They continued to stare at the screen long after, Clarice continuing to absently twirl the beanie cap Emma had knitted for a friend on the field trip. She didn't move. She didn't speak. She showed no reaction at all until she looked down and realized the two letters her daughter had knitted into the stripe at the bottom of the cap.

J. R.

At long last, the tears came.

The smile on Quincy's face quickly turned to a grimace when he saw John falter in his attack. "...what?" he choked, barely able to speak, seething with rage. This can't happen. John was a monster! Monsters weren't supposed to feel regret! Emma was a whore! Whores weren't supposed to go unpunished!

"You're disappointed?" the voice asked. Who was talking to him?

"Damn right I'm disappointed," Quincy replied, turning away from the window so he wouldn't have to hear another fucking friendship speech. He whipped his head right back when he heard the words "her collar's gone." He didn't know what to say. He thought he'd seen everything the program could throw at him, and now this?

"I... I can get out?" he asked, face glued to the glass. He started to feel tears slide down his face. Would he be able to escape this place and return to a semblance of normalcy at last?

"Interesting," the voice said. Quincy felt a hand fall gently on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a man in a tweed business suit, his head obscured by shadow. He gave off an air of class, confidence, and oddly, serenity, looking extremely out of place in the twisted nightmare surrounding them. "But where will you go, once you've been set free?"

Quincy thought, and realized that the first stop on his return might be his last. The nation saw him shoot Hannah without any regret, and the nation also saw him break down and scream to the heavens. His mother probably wouldn't watch the show, but word would get to her, yes it would. And in the end, he'd merely be trading one prison for another, a mental institution, where doctors would observe him around the clock, keeping him in stark white surroundings with the rest of society's shit. Not even death was an option; suicide watch would see to that.

And if they managed to cure him, what then? Where would he go after that? His mother might drag him back down to California, possibly to smother him with love, making up for years of treating him as an afterthought, but more likely volunteering to protect the rest of the world from her mad sun.

Quincy was sure that she'd bought herself some breast implants a month ago. It would go nice with her collagen injections.

If only the doctors could realize that trying to cure him was an exercise in futility, because the instant he was exposed to his mother or the syphilitic anus of America, the whole cycle would start over again. And it wasn't like there would be anywhere else in the country that would welcome the insane limey boy, was there?

In the country...

"Dad!" Quincy cried, jerking himself back into awareness, then turning away from the fucking fucking FUCKING things swapping spit on the ground. Yes, yes! The sooner he could get away from them and back into his father's care, the better. They would be able to make up, get away from it all, start over together. Didn't his dad used to say that nothing was impossible, so long as you work for it?

"I believe he said some other things, too," the man in the business suit replied in a sultry tone. "Do you remember the conversation you had when you last saw one another?"

Quincy could barely recall that his father was the person who told him about his mother's plans to take him to America. He winced, remembering how he'd bawled his eyes out at the news. His dad had done his best to comfort him, and eventually calmed him down long enough to tell him...

"...god damn it."

It was an insipid twist worthy of a second-rate Greek tragedy. Of course his father would be disgusted by the way he'd turned out, even before he was kidnapped.

"I don't care what my family thinks anymore," Quincy heard Riz say faintly. "They'll be happy that I'll be the one coming home. They'll be happy that J.R. is back. No one will second guess what I've done. They'll all chalk it up to the mental distress of the game."

Quincy shook his head. Poor bastard didn't know a thing. He thought he could do as he pleased here, as if this was his own personal violent urge fulfillment fantasy, and still walk it off and go back to playing Guitar Hero? People didn't forgive that easily. Riz's parents would see every second of torture he inflicted on that girl and burn it into their minds forever, and no matter how much recovery time they had, they would never fully trust their son again.

"I think you get the idea," the suited man said to him. "But there is one thing you haven't considered."

But he was beginning to. He forced himself off of the chair and control panel, looking around the room for the place where he dropped his sword. Finally, he found it, and as he reached down to pick it up, he heard a loud bang. The punishment he wished on the whore had come to pass, but somehow it didn't matter as much to him.

"I knew you had it in you, John!" Quincy shouted, loud enough for the behemoth outside to hear him. He set his sword down on the console and picked up the chair with both hands. Mustering all the strength he could managed, he hurled it at the center of the window, and witnessed an explosion of glass.

It was over. John had fulfilled his desire to eliminate Emma. It was almost as if everything made sense. This was the way it was supposed to be. She was punished for her lies, deceit and betrayal. Riz took a minute to catch his breath and reflect the situation. He knew he needed to be better than he was. He needed to be a better fighter. Twice now he'd been mere seconds away from death and twice now he got lucky. Two vital mistakes by his opponents had allowed him to keep his life. If he was to win especially against the people as well armed as him, he'd have to fight smarter and start playing to his own strengths. John made his way back over to the downed aircraft and retrieved his pack. It was then he heard someone shout his name, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

What the hell?

He recognized the voice, that much was for sure. As John looked up to the control tower, he could see the form of Quincy Archer. There was no point in shooting up at him or rushing up the tower, even if Quincy was unarmed there was no advantage to be had.

"So Quince, how'd you like the show?," John inquired as he grabbed his pack from the cockpit seat, "Personally I felt my performance a bit cheesy, but that is what Danya wants. Ratings rating and more ratings."

{{continued from The Hardest Button to Button}}

Laeil was in pain.

Some time after having escaped the showers, her stumbling attempts at running had turned into stumbling attempts at walking. Her head had stopped spinning for the most part, though keeping upright had become a concious effort. Her gun (which she hadn't reloaded yet) shoved back into it's usual place in the front of her jeans, her free hand pressed against the gash in her side, the bleeding having finally slowed, and in fact almost stopped entirely, as had the wounds opened and reopened on her face.

Laeil hadn't had the chance to see her reflection in a while, but if she had she would've been met with a horrific sight. All the way down to her knees, the front of her was splattered with blood. Some of it was her's, but most of it belonged to her latest kill. The bruises gained from the beating her victim had given her beforehand were beginning to show, and her face underneath the blood was a mess of black, blue and purple. As bad as she looked, though, Rick Holeman, the marine wannabe that had attacked her, certainly looked a lot worse.

"You chose to kill your classmates. I chose to kill people like you."

Was it really so horrible that she wanted to survive? Wanted to live badly enough that she would take other's lives away from them? Granted, she had done a few rather unsavory things, had some violent motivations. But there was no doubt in her mind that the ones who suffered the most of her wrath were the ones who really did deserve to die. And the rest? Well, they were all obstacles that she had to overcome in order to succeed. Kill or die. That was it. There was no third option, no matter how much some people wanted it.

Laeil winced as she did...well, SOMETHING her body didn't like, as it responded with a jolt of pain along her side. Her mind was in a haze, and with nothing to focus on, she wound up focusing on the pain, which just seemed to make it hurt even more. The earlier Lyn, the Lyn from the beginning of the game, probably would've broken down and cried from the beating she'd taken. She wouldn't be surprised if it had even given her a concussion. It sure as hell seemed that way. All she wanted to do was just lay down and rest. In fact, why the hell was she still going? She must've gotten away from Rick's would-be rescuer by now.

Just as she thought that, a tall tower came into view through the trees. The lookout tower? Wasn't it a dangerzone? Before she knew it, though, she had walked right out of the treeline. Not hearing any beeping, she continued on her way, making it to the tower. It seemed like as good a place as any to get some rest. As she walked over to the front door, however, her legs finally gave out from under her, the bruised and bloodied girl falling to her knees.

It was then that she started to notice other people around her. A boy and a girl in the distance, the girl saying something about someone running around with no collar. No collar...? Was it true? Had someone actually beaten the system? Could she do the same for the rest of them? That train of thought, however, was derailed when the boy suddenly shot and stabbed the girl, followed by a chair crashing through a window at the top of the control tower. As the boy turned to see what had happened, Laeil finally realized who he was.

"Shit..." She'd just gotten into a fight with him yesterday, and already, less then a day later, here they were again, only this time she was far less capable of putting up a fight.

"Gotta...shoot him before he...gotta...shoot him first..." Dropping the sword to the ground with a loud clatter, she fumbled around in her pocket for the speedloader once again. It took a few moments for her to pop open the chamber to the revolver and load the ammunition.

"Gotta...shoot first..." She was clearly out of it. Along with the injuries and the possible concussion, she was utterly exhausted. The simplest tasks became such a great chore to accomplish. She held up the gun in Riz's direction, her aim wavering greatly as she struggled to point the gun right at him before firing. Unfortunately, she had made so much noise already that it was hard not to notice her.

"Gotta...shoot first..."

There was the faintest click from somewhere to his left. John turned to once again see Laeil Burbank stumbling towards him with her gun waving wildly. It was almost shocking how much worse for wear she looked. It was like a zombie was walking towards him. The limping, the expression of pain, the blood covered clothes. He didn't even have time to think. Completely abandoning all thoughts of Quincy Archer, John grabbed the pack, slung it over his shoulder and jumped off the wing of the plane. He landed next to where his tire iron and the now bloody sword lay. Quickly scooping them up, he ran behind the plane out of Laeil's firing sight.

Fuck. Now what?

John thought as he looked around frantically. Laeil's voice was growing slowly louder in an almost trance like chant. The answer came in the open door of the hanger he had swapped his pants out in. It was a risk to bolt for it, but it was his only option. The jungle was too far away to not get hit. This was his only chance. Quickly he pocketed the tire iron, and gripped the sword tightly. He took one last deep breath and took off.

He didn't even bother to look or fire in her direction, all he was concerned about was getting to that door. The hangers had enough cover and hiding places to ambush her, but he needed to get there first. The door was close now, and he knew there would be bullets chasing him. Going for absolute broke, John left his feet and dove for the open door, and slid into the hanger.

He crashed into a box or two, but at least he hadn't been shot. John looked around in the hanger for a place to hide and wait to see if she followed him. He saw another pile of crates a couple feet away, and ducked behind them. There was a small enough hole between them to watch the entrance. Keeping his hand on his pocket with the tire iron, John readied himself. This bitch had got the better of him their first meeting, but not this time...not this time.