Survival Of The Fittest

((Okay, sorry about the wait, and sorry about bunnying but I've got to get some stuff acomplished here. Our fight is still on but I'm raising the stakes. I'll send you a pm with more details. Sorry if this fucks up any of your plans, lemme know.))

Franco had weapons to spare, but most of them were stashed a reasonable distance away and he wanted to close the distance on Damien before his opponent had time to recover. A quick glance behind him noted the large machine he'd stumbled into. Brief flashes of violent thought rang across his mind as he set himself upon Damien. Everyone else could just go ahead and die as far as Franco was concerned, but Damien's death had to be special in it were to be by Franco's own hands. He recalled the Browning BDM in his back pocket, and decided against using it.

The meat grinder was far too sweet to pass up.

"Grah!" Franco hissed violently as he dove down at his prone opponent. His had where stretched out in greedy fervour as he clawed and kicked, trying to dig his nails into Damien's eyes and get a grip on his shirt collar or his neck. He kicked and flailed as he fell upon him, hoping his blows would shock him enough so that Franco could grab him and carry him over to the grinder.

~

Blake was so concerned about approaching silently and watching the two combatants that he never heard for an instant the large lumbering steps approaching from behind him. He jumped, wide-eyed and battle ready as he heard a low deep whisper behind him.

"Hey," Horace Malcolm keep his distance from the busy looking young man, he held his hands out as a defensive but peaceful gesture.

Blake's hand was already at the ready, his brass knuckle was aimed high and arched back, even with it aimed upward as he had, it probably wouldn't have even reach the giant's neck.

"I don't want any trouble," Horace pleaded; he could easily have taken the smaller teen down if he had wanted to. "The names Horace, I'm just looking to get out of here."

He'd taken a chance when he'd seen Blake Ross creeping up on the building, he knew for some reason that he could trust him, that he was just like himself, lost and afraid and just trying to get home. He wasn't a killer, not in the same way that the other two boys down the hall were. Horace could tell, maybe it was the time he'd spent around so many delinquents, he could spot damaged good, bad news, troubled teens, whatever you want to call them, from twenty feet away.

Blake eased up a little.

"Aren't we all just looking for a way out of here?"

"Those two ain't," Horace waved a finger over by Franco and Damien, fighting tooth and nail, trying to kill. "If they are their looking in the wrong place."

Blake scoffed and whispered back, the light from the outside of the slaughterhouse illuminated the battle before them; there lighted shadows were like massive violent silhouettes.

"That's why I have to end it," Blake turned from the fight to Horace; he looked the giant young man in the eyes. "Neither of them can make it through this. I'd be doing everyone a favour if I finished them both...."

"Who cares about them? We've got to find a way out of here man, there isn't much time and there are even less people, we've got to get out of here before they kill us all!"

"And how exactly do you expect to do that with these?!" Blake hissed as he pointed to his collar. "If I let either of them walk away from here alive then we won't have time to get these things off! Either one of them will kill anyone else on the island in cold blood. You know it and I know! We've both seen others like them and that's what they'll do! They‘ve lost there minds, if they could see themselves with a sane mind right now they‘d probably beg me to do it. Don‘t you -"

"Fine," Horace's voice was huge and commanding for just a moment, Blake nearly jumped up, he was desensitized just enough not to look away from the intimidating colossus. "I'll help you."

Blake would have grinned if he didn't fear for his life.

"But after this, you're getting these collars off of us and getting our asses out of here." Horace drew out his tonfa and fell in behind the other boy.

Blake didn't ask for confirmation, just inched against up against the wall and prepared to enter into combatant with two of the islands worst killers.

"I'm Blake Ross by the-"

"Blake Ross, killed two people, feel in love with some chick, won a ‘best kill award'? Yeah, I know."

"How did you... And why didn‘t you...?"

"I saw your bag... and I'm not as stupid as I look. I could tell as soon as I saw your eyes that you didn't mean to do it."

Blake didn't saw a word, he kept his eyes on the other two, tried not to reveal his eyes again to Horace.

"It's regret," Horace shrugged off his bag and braced himself against the wall. "You've got way too much of it."

Blake was silent for a while longer; he watched the other two exchange blows.

"Let's just do this..." his voice was stronger than before, but only with intense effort.

~

Franco's ears perked up and his tongue slipped out and back in swiftly.

"Someone else is here," Franco drew back from Damien; he didn't have time to assess if he'd done any damage or if Damien had done any right back, to lurk back into the shadows. He needed to deal with the others before he could deal with Damien. He slinked back to his weapons cache and began to rummage through his gear.

With a shotgun in one hand and a grenade launcher in the other Franco ducked behind a small barrier.

"I know you're in here! Might as well come out and spare me the trouble of hunting you down like animals!"

He waited behind the barrier, blood trickled from his wounds but Franco couldn't help but smirk. He was going to kill them all.

Damien had barely gotten up past a sitting position when immediately Franco came at him and knocked him onto his back. He yelped as the barbed wire on the baseball bat seemed to shear right through his denim jacket and the top underneath and into his flesh. At that moment he was only instantaneously thankful that the wire didn't go directly into his spine and sever his nerves, though it would leave his shoulder-blade looking like mincemeat. That was the last thing on his mind though, as Franco's hands grasped him below the jaw AND at his jacket collar.

But as suddenly as Franco came at him...he recoiled back into the darkness. It would have been a welcome if not brief refresher for the androgynous creature had Franco not also said that someone else was here. Perhaps it was the daze from Franco's blows and the pain...but for the next second or two, Damien lay on the floor on his side to consider what Franco might have actually meant. His thought train passed in only a few seconds, but he was able to hitch a very critical ride.

That someone else was very likely just another competitor in this crazy game. However, he easily realized that he was in a dark environment with very little light with a sadistic rich brat nearby, and that gave him a disturbing sense of deja vu. Which could very likely mean that it could be any one of the four people left on his list*...and with Franco withdrawing in fear like he did...that person could almost certainly be Reneé Valenti.

That thought jarred him into action, and his body belly-down. A good observer could already see the growing red spots on his jacket where the Louisville Slugger's barbed wire had gone all the way through.

Damien quickly cocked his head and spotted his gun. He didn't consider the shield, there wasn't enough time just yet. Without much more thinking he started to crawl and waddle toward the revolver like a soldier under barbed wire. The silver gleam of the nozzle was getting closer, but so were whomever was entering the building at this moment. Thankfully, he managed to grab it, and he scrambled to his feet (albeit not totally upright) and duck behind and into the nearest dark spot.

((On his list are Reneé, Franco, Roland and Peter. He doesn't know Peter's dead.))

The entirety of the Slaughterhouse began to shake and the roof began to crumble. None of the people in the building were able to escape in time. Franco was hit dead on by a falling board. It smacked his head and he crumpled to the ground, only to be crushed by the following debris. Blake and Horace attempted to flee. Blake's leg was snapped in half when falling debris crushed it. Horace attempted to help him to no avail. He watched as Blake was crushed, his screams lingering in the broken building. Horace wouldn't remember it for too long though; he was soon crushed, just like the other two.

None of the boys would make it off the island… sadly, their broken battered bodies would never be found.

Male Student #2 – Franco Sebberts – Deceased
Male Student #30 – Blake Ross – Deceased
Male Student #71 – Horace Malcome - Deceased

Damien thought could just see Franco. He had the aim.

And he thought he fired.

But he didn't feel his finger pull the trigger. Instead, the loud bang came from a piece of the slaughterhouse ceiling that had crashed a few meters from where he was hiding.

Which would have explained why his revolver seemed to sound like an erratically-firing shotgun.

What!? This place can't be collapsing now!

Unfortunately, it was, and Damien was not about to figure out if Franco (and/or Nicole) had deliberately rigged the place to do so.

And as paranoid and mentally-collapsed as Damien had become, he still was not stupid/suicidal enough to go up against a kid with a grenade launcher with just a super-loud revolver in a collapsed warehouse. That would be like taking a knife to a gunfight, and the irony that he also had a combat knife in his pocket was not lost on him. The door to the slaughterhouse entryway was a short distance from him, and he made for it like Indiana Jones. Whether Franco could have fired his grenade launcher while he was exposed and vaporized him instantly was far from the top of Franco's mind.

He could hear loud crashing from behind him as he tore into open daylight, and a quick double-take revealed not just a collapsing factory but what seemed like a charging train of smoke coming right at him...and that caused him to run even faster. There was a building up ahead at the junction of the T-intersection with an open door...and his only hope to get to safety before the smoke cloud suffocated him painfully or worse - ruined his outfit. The ammo boxes in his cargo jean boxes thumped against his legs apart from keeping him from reaching full speed (not counting his little black bag fluttering in the air behind him) and his bleeding back...but Damien wasn't concentrating on that either.

He tore through the doorway and slammed the door shut. Everything went dark as the raging smoke blanketed the building, and Damien dropped his weapons and collapsed to the ground as if the smoke had gone right through the door. He didn't keep his eyes closed for long.

Light began to weave and sieve into the building as the smoke cover cleared. The sun was still fairly high, and the sheets of light pouring into the building like a localized aurora borealis reminded him vaguely of when he met Kristey and Peter in the pagoda nigh a week ago. He tried to let the thought of Kristey's death ease his mind...but that was almost compromised as he wondered whatever the hell happened to Peter. He wondered if Peter had found the person he was looking for.

Then all was quiet. Damien quivered as he crawled toward the doorway, putting his shield to one side so he could pull his women's jacket up to his face to shield his nose from whatever dust was floating around.

It wasn't over. Franco had probably slipped out of the back of the factory when the first boards had started to fall. The fish had slipped out of the net, but it would not escape the pen. A quick check showed his revolver was still fully loaded, and his shield was a bit scratched but not too badly dented since the fight with Kristey.

The nearby garden looked like a place for him to reorganize...tranquil, sweet, colorful.

It was sooooo him.

The back door of the warehouse he had taken shelter in was open.

"Excellent..."

((Continued in Land of Make Believe))