Survival Of The Fittest

She missed. How could she have possibly missed? Her accuracy was what got her the co-captain position. Now, now she had no time to dodge the shotgun blast aimed straight at her chest.

Kathryn Nguyen deceased

Matt sighed loudly and slowly drew another breath. He'd done it. He'd taken down another target, at least 11% of the remaining people he had to outlast. He was so close, so fucking close. Everything was coming to fruition. Sure, he'd just taken a light wound, but he could bandage that up. He'd still be in better shape than everyone left, more than well fed, and armed well enough to close everything out. This was going to be easy.

He walked over to Kathryn's corpse and picked up her bag. He turned around to head back across the street, back to the safety of the house he'd scouted and set up camp in.

Oh shit.

Shit.

Fucking god dammit Jesus Christ fucking hell.

Why did someone have to come now?

Ten, she thought, for that was forefront in her mind as well.

((Katarina Konipaski continued from Multishot))

Even since the announcement, since she'd stirred from sleepless repose and wiped the creeping dew from her arms and her boots, she could think of nothing else. It chased away even the words that before had seared deep into her gut, the oath and threat louder than the explosion that should have killed her, more persistent than the endless whine that echoed in her ears like iron bars clanged together and set apart to vibrate freely.

Her chest had clenched in at the pronouncement as if her ribcage had transformed suddenly into a giant's grasping fingers. So close. So insanely close. More than the most desperate reaches of her mind had hoped, but nothing less than sudden, unilateral victory would satisfy those now. Far, far, fewer than she feared. Though she'd found nothing scanning the star-webbed sky for answers and the God-forsaken ground for victims, the feral terror in each survivor was pushing things along at a nearly exponential rate. One out of fifteen had missed the first sunrise, and then one of ten, and then four, and then two.

And so, as something boomed across the weathered manmade landscape - something big, something mean - she drew towards it like a moth to a flame. The day was getting on already. Maybe someone else had died, or two or three or five someones. Maybe there remained only one before the man in charge drew them together like a noose. Maybe she was hearing the volley that announced the bitter end.

And if she wasn't? Ten she thought again. She could put down the fingers on one hand and number the deaths that needed to transpire.

Turning a corner, she could see a fresh corpse, still warm, maybe even breathing, but a corpse nonetheless. Nobody walked away when they could swim in their own spilled blood.

Nine.

And the girl's killer. Standing there, weapon in hand. Hesitation was the domain of the one hundred and forty.

Eight, she thought, as the roaring filled her ears.

Had he seen her a second later, he would have died on the spot.

Instead, Matt began running into the house as KK raised her gun, and he dove as she fired. The rat-a-tat-tat of the gun boomed through the houses. He managed to get inside without taking a hit, but his adversary was close. She could close the gap easily. He had to find a defensible position, and he had no time to find it.

Matt dropped Kathryn's bag and darted for the stairs, ignoring the throbbing pain of his leg.

Katarina watched the guy - name was Matt, incidentally, as far as that mattered - just scramble through her shots like freaking C3-PO or something. Not that she was an exceptional shot, of course, or even an average one. But still... that little measure of frustration. That razor edge of doubt, thin and small and vicious as a papercut. And the kicker, the real treat of it all that made her shoulders and her eardrums wince in sympathy. She'd have to fire the gun again.

She trotted up close to the doorway he'd slipped through, looking around, scanning for hidden foes or cover from any sudden appearance in the windows. Drips of fresh blood dotted the threshold, but only a couple. He could still run and fight for sure. And - she let her gaze catch on the bloodied corpse behind her - do that. Somehow the sight disturbed her more than the fools and the unlucky who'd found their destiny a week ago as breeding ground for flies and worse. She wasn't the only one playing for keeps, who didn't care how much flesh and bone she blasted away. Who could be so flagrant in punching the soul from her classmates' bodies in a million tiny droplets.

But her doubts and her fears could only hold her back now. She had Matt pinned down. He could call it a withdrawal, but she called it cornered.

She dropped her bag and the sword, leaned in with a sudden fluidity and trained her eyes on the first thing that moved. This time, she swore, squeezing out a long burst, she wasn't going to miss.

The next burst of fire came right as Matt reached the top of the stairs. He dove again, trying to get out of KK's line of sight as quickly as possible.

He screamed as he felt searing heat push through his calf. This wasn't good. This was very not good.

He had to focus on winning this gunfight, though. He could deal with his leg later. Finn quickly flashed before his vision, the image of him hobbling around.

No, focus on now.

The burst of fire ended, so Matt took the chance to fire back. He leaned around the corner, firing a few shots towards the doorway that KK had to be in.

A scream. That was good.

Katarina didn't smile or congratulate herself or mutter any celebration under her breath. She'd scored a hit. Half the battle was won. But the person who made it out wasn't going to be someone who did things halfway.

A quick glace around herself - she had no illusions about the singular nature of her strategy - and she bobbed out and leaned back in again.

Spliters exploded inches from her nose, stabbing into the side of her face. Before she even knew it she was frozen, teetering on the edge of the doorframe as a long, loud volley came through. Her head was very nearly spinning with the noise. She was going to have to turn her music up a bit when she got home, that was for sure.

And then the game of chicken began. Who would be the first to disturb the sudden stillness, who was feinting, who was running or reloading. She teased half a target, pushed the barrel of the Frankengun into the doorway and then back out. More silence, and then a loud lick.

Her stomach dropped. That was her chance. Behind their own bits of cover they'd cowered, he to reload his gun and she from absolutely freaking nothing. She clenched her jaw and knotted her brow, and wiped the sweat from her palms. The booms in the middle distance, and then from up close...

She tested the air with a short burst, then leaped into the doorway to expose her full self, scanning every motion, devouring ammunition, and slipping back behind cover as the boy folded over.

Matt chose a really bad time to try to fire again.

He had reloaded and went to shoot again, only to be met by a barrage of bullets. The first hit his shoulder. The next his chest. He lost track of where he was getting shot. He tried to return fire, but he knew it was in vain. He was done.

He couldn't help but rake his mind. Where had he gone wrong? What were the mistakes he made? Trying to fire on KK too soon after reloading? Chasing Kathryn across the street? Not waiting long enough to shoot Kathryn? Not going with Finn to hunt people down? Where exactly was his error? Why was he going to die here?

Regardless of that logic, there was nothing he could have done. Everyone else had made their mistakes, but they'd survived them. Matt wasn't going to survive these few. He'd seen KK, she was in shambles. Mara was way worse off than he was for pretty much their entire time out here. He never saw Hansel, but the sight of the boy shot on the first day and now missing his fingers would have given him solace that he had done this right. Matt wasn't dying by the hands of his own failure, and deep down, he knew it.

Back home, he would take the loss and queue up again. You win some, you lose some, that's how it works in League. There's too much luck, too much noise, for any single game to truly determine who's the best. On average, it only matters if you win more than you lose. On average, Matt's odds looked pretty good.

On average doesn't matter when you only play once.

Matt Vartoogian, Deceased

A minute passed. There was no gurgling. There was no gunfire. People made noises, but ghosts didn't.

She'd seen him go down, but she lead with the business end just to be sure.

With a sigh, Katarina lowered the gun. Her arms shook at the sudden release, chest heaving, jaw trembling. Adrenaline drained slowly from her limbs. Left them heavy and cold. Feeling returned, and it was then she knew for sure she hadn't been shot, because there was no telling in the heat of the moment. Or so she thought, and so she gathered. Her nose throbbed dully, a dozen scrapes and contusions on her elbows and her cheeks glowed with soreness, but otherwise she was whole. Intact. Even if she did feel as if she'd finished a good two-mile race, and it was time for a blanket and something hot to drink.

But fight-or-flight wasn't so simple. She needed to rest and recover—what good was it to burn your bridges while the shore was still a mere vision? It was fight, then flight, then fight again and do it all over before the end.

Gunshots drew vultures. She should know. Chancing a feeble half a smile, she sighed and turned and looked over the forlorn town. That way she'd exit, because there were places yet to go. And on that decision she simply walked, scooped up her bag, shouldered it and soldiered on. There was nothing left of value for her to loot. She'd leave it all behind without a second thought even if it spat fire and breathed thunder. She had her knives and her sword and her gun, and that should be enough for anyone. Would be, if she used each one in turn and left it there.

She could practically smell Seattle Harbor already. But still, she reminded herself, it was just the home stretch. The finish line lay still further ahead.

((Katarina Konipaski continued in Tears in the Rain))