Survival Of The Fittest

Maria gritted her teeth. All of this was some stupid bullshit to her and she was getting sick and tired of dealing with all this crap. She decided that she didn't want to be a part of this anymore. Michael was getting too much for her to handle. All of this with Al and Audrey was giving her a splitting headache.

"I'm.... I'm fucking done. Michael, I'm sorry but you're on your fucking own." She muttered bitterly and she stepped away from the scene. "I need to deal on my own. I.... Damn...."

She then started to make her way down the stairs and she walked pass Barry's body. She needed to be alone and sane. Even if it was only for a little while.

((Maria Cucinotta continued elsewhere))

"Speak up motherfucker! You ain't sorry! You ain't done until you're dead you shit! Why shouldn't I just drop you now!"

It was a trifecta of fuckery. All because dumbass Audrey had to open her mouth, suddenly he was the bad guy. Y'know, the guy who didn't murder in cold blood.

Michael tried his best to ignore all of it. Then Maria up and left.


Y'know what?

Fuck this.

Michael hoisted Al over the edge then threw him back into the bell tower. They want him alive that bad. Fine. Here he is.

Fine. Fuck 'em. Fuck Maria, fuck Audrey, fuck Alessio. Fuck 'em all.

"Aight Audrey. You can keep it. Michael spit on Alessio while he laid there. "But don't come to me cryin' or bitchin' when he kills all your buddies. I won't do shit. They all died because of idiots like you anyways. Fuckin' apathetic shit-heels. Call me whatever the fuck you want. 'Least I tried to do something besides sit around bitchin' and moanin'. All you cowards wanna do is hole up in a corner with your eyes closed and hope it goes away. Save your high horse, I don't give a fuck what you have to say to me, and I have nothin' left to say to you, neither. I'm done. I don't know who's worse, the killers, or the idiots suckin' their dicks..."

Michael shouldered past Audrey as he moved towards the stairs. From this point on he wasn't doing this vigilante shit. From now on, he's lookin' out for Numero uno. Him and his friends. Let the other retards worship the ones cuttin' 'em up. At this point they all deserved it anyways, they should've known what was up by now anyways.

Hell, maybe he was in the wrong. Maybe it was best to use what time he had left to spend with his friends. Make his peace. Try his best to defend them. Maybe taking the attack to the players wasn't the right way to do it. Maybe the best thing he could do was defend people? Maybe... Maybe he had it all wrong.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and from this angle it was clear why Barry's corpse had disturbed him besides the obvious.

That shirt. It was Jonathan's. He moved in closer to look at it.

Was it? It was! What was it doing there? Was he with Barry? What happened to him?

Thoughts of what could have happened to Jonathan filled his mind. Thoughts of Larkin's death, Bradley's name on announcements, the corpses in the basement, Alex... People like that running around. How could he defend someone he couldn't even find. Maybe...

Who else was actually trying to do anything? Oh yeah, right. Nobody else gave a rat's ass. Who'd he have left? Jonathan and Darius. Where were they? If someone got to them, then what would he have left? The chances of seeing them ever again were slim if nil. All of that talk about living to the best? It probably wouldn't happen. Someone would just ruin it like they always do. He didn't have a chance in hell for anything to go right for him anyways. It always went wrong. Might as well right the few wrongs he can in the meantime, right?

Fuck it. He was never a quitter. He just needed a change in tactics. No more theatrics, no more words. No more talk. Talk don't get shit done. Actions do. He was fed the fuck up.

He won't be bargained with. He won't be reasoned with; and he absolutely will not stop, ever, until those freaks are all dead.

((Michael Crowe continued elsewhere))

The spitted-on killer stood up. Without his arms. It was awkward to not push himself up with his arms. But he might be able to get rid of this weird suit.

"Uh, th-thanks, Audrey."

That was a scary experience.

He inhaled the air of the tower deeply. He had no idea how to process the information of the experience that had happened to him some moments ago. He calmed down. He scaredly looked at Audrey and also went down the stairs. He was free.

He needed to go down, to his freedom. Slowly, to not fall down the stairs. Heights were scary. He should stay low.

Audrey. Audrey could. He did not know what Audrey would do with him. Free him of his suit, perhaps. But no, he needed no one to free him from this suit. He was a grown-up man. He was no baby, he could open it himself. Audrey could not help him. He has to help himself. He's the one responsible for not getting killed by other people.

Audrey probably would want to talk with him.

Alessio did not want to talk with anyone. He just wants to rest, to recover himself and calm himself down. No talking.

Al talked too much today.

((Alessio Rigano continued in Blurry Eyes))

Audrey liked to believe that she was a good person. That, for all of her problems, all of the little hangups that made her cringe and feel awkward, she was a stand up kind of girl. So when Michael got up, spat on Al and walked right past her, she flipped him off and felt absolutely no guilt about it. Of course his back was turned when she did it. Her mother always wanted the last word; Audrey liked to think she inherited her temperament from her.

Her hand fell to her side. She took a deep breath. She definitely felt better about it now, about Michael being a creepy asshole.

Al thanked her. Audrey was -- the thanks was sudden, and at first she was confused. She looked Al in the eye, or where she assumed his eyes were. He had his head tilted down like he was staring at his shoes. Audrey smiled despite herself, despite Alessio, who was a killer.

"It's fine Al. That's what friends are... for..."

Alessio just walked away. Headed to the stairs and went right down. He didn't say goodbye. He did not wish her good luck. He did not say a single thing. He just left Audrey there, alone at the top of the the bell tower.

She just stood there, shellshocked. Al was a shy guy but he was never like that. No way. Who was that guy and what did they do to Alessio Rigano? Maybe he was shocked too. Some jackass did just spit in his face. Audrey could understand that; if that happened to her, she wouldn't want to talk to anyone either. Still, receiving the cold, scared shoulder from a friend after what she did?

It made Audrey fume. Inwardly. It made Audrey want to scream. She did not. Compartmentalize.

(Audrey Reyes continued elsewhere.)