Survival Of The Fittest

Oh joy, that was Wyatt.

Amber held her tongue, unsure how to proceed from here. She had no idea what Wyatt would do if she walked in; as she saw it, he was a wild card. She knew about his tendencies, mostly from other people interacting with him, but she never personally had a bad interaction with him. She had never even talked to him prior to becoming a cheerleader, and he wasn't really a jerk to her when they did actually interact.

Maybe he would be okay with seeing her, and would be okay with her sticking around? Or maybe not, given how few data she was working off of; as far as she knew, he could be running around being just as much of a jabroni as she'd naturally expect.

Probably best not to go in.

Pulling herself away from the hole in the hull, she pressed her back up against the hull of the yacht, considering her options. Pulling the zipper on the bag, Amber fumbled with her free hand for the whip, keeping it by her side just in case, before finally deciding how to respond.

"Oh!" Amber called back, her eyes looking towards the hole in the hull while her head remained still, "I guess since no-one's in here, I'll go ahead and come in!"

She snickered a little to herself, relishing the opportunity to be sarcastic without feeling bad about it. Of course, now she probably needed to abscond from the situation, since she wasn't sure how Wyatt would take that, but at least-

Amber's thoughts were interrupted as she heard the metallic clang of footsteps coming from inside the boat, and began to panic, readying her whip for someone to tackle her as they came out, only for a girl to emerge in front of her, sprinting away from the yacht. It only took her a second to realize who it was.

Paloma, the boyfriend killer.

She froze, unsure of how to react in this situation, her thoughts quickly vacillating between anger and melancholy as she tried to process what to do. In the end, she just decided to call out, her face twisted with rage as fresh tears very suddenly began to flow.

"Paloma! Stop running!"

Still, Paloma kept running. "God. Fucking. Dammit," she muttered, before taking off after her boyfriend's murderer with little hesitation. It didn't take long for the two of them to hit the jungle, and while Amber was clearly the faster of the two of them, Paloma began to turn wildly through the underbrush, and Amber eventually lost sight of her and was left chasing her with sound alone.

That didn't last very long either, however, with the sounds of her footsteps, the blood rushing through her ears, her heavy breathing, and her heartbeat eventually drowning out the noise of Paloma's movements, leaving Amber completely lost as to where she had gone.

Panting heavily as she finally stopped her chase, Amber gripped her knees to hold herself up, her chest heaving. Regaining her breath, Amber screeched as loudly as she could manage, her voice hoarse from the running and dehydration.

"FUCK."

She had been so close to confronting Paloma, and she had lost it due to her poor tracking skills. She may be angry at Paloma, but she was far more angry with herself for losing her so easily.

Wiping her now sweaty face with the back of her hand, Amber looked around her, trying to gauge her location, before eventually giving up and pulling out her map and compass. Hiking in one direction, her heart heavy and full of rage, unsure of where her path would take her, Amber only had one thought in her mind.

That was a giant waste of time.

((Amber Yates continued in F))

The situation had resolved itself quite nicely as far as Bret was concerned. Paloma made the logical choice and gave up her bag rather than risk taking a bullet, which meant he hadn’t needed to waste one of the six bullets they actually possessed. They could have taken some mercy on the girl and allowed her a small selection of her supplies but her immediate exit and status as a killer put an end to that idea. Mercy was for people like Morgan, who had only ended up in their position through misfortune. Paloma’s departure also seemed to drag the attention of whoever had been messing around outside the yacht away, which was another benefit.

In the short term that left him and Wyatt alone with Ron. That was a perfectly sustainable situation as Ron was no match for them physically and he also didn’t seem to possess any urge to make things violent. As such Bret lowered the rifle and began to move over to the now ownerless bag.

It was a much better feeling than with the Morgan robbery and the resulting struggle with Bryan, who luckily was no longer an issue for them. For one it had been a much cleaner event, and two there had been no violence beyond the kind invoked by their threats. They also hadn’t been required to expend any excess energy in the attempt either.

“Yeah, sorry Ron,” Bret said as he moved past the other boy. “You don’t have anything to offer us.”

With sudden force, Wyatt jerked Ron towards him. They were face to face, Wyatt's glare burrowing into him him. He tried to stay strong, tried to hold his ground. He really did. But he couldn't look Wyatt in the face. He looked down, just as he heard Paloma leaving. She was alright just leaving, letting them have everything and just going back into the wilderness alone without any supplies. Ron wasn't alright with that. He couldn't do it, going out there without food or a map or any way to defend himself. He'd essentially be dead already.

Ron was sweating, and he was shaking. He was terrified, he couldn't deny it. But he had to keep going. There had to be some way to convince the Carters he was useful. It would just like what he did back at school, all the time. It was what he was good at.

"N-no, I have a lot to offer, really!" Ron started speaking a mile a minute, throwing out whatever came to mind. "I have a lot of friends, know everyone, so... I could talk to people for you. Convince them too, uh, stand down. Lure them into- into a sense of security. And I'm pretty strong too, so... I can carry stuff, or help in a fight, maybe, against bigger groups. And, and, I'm good with first aid, so I can help if you get hurt. And I'm loyal, and, and I don't need much food myself so, I won't be a drain! th-there's no reason not to bring me along! I can only help! Please..."

It didn't matter if he was exaggerating, it didn't matter if he was outright lying. He just had to convince them. Going with them would be his best chance of survival for the immediate future. Even if they just let him go on his own, that would be fine, too. He just couldn't be left alone with nothing, he just couldn't.

"We. Don't. WANT YOU."

Wyatt turned to his left and brought Ron with him. He shoved, roughly, pinning Ron against the way. "Get that through your deformed fucking skull." He pressed the tip of the alligator-tooth sword against Ron's chest, daring him to make a move. "It doesn't matter to us what happens to you. I'll throw your ass out that door," Wyatt said, jerking his head toward the opening in the hull, "and you can get picked apart for all I care. Way we see it, that ain't our problem. You shoulda worked harder. You shoulda made something outta yourself."

This kid irritated Wyatt. He hated everybody just like him, the kind who thought by some stroke of entitlement, the world would bend to cater to people like them. They would be vindicated, the nerds and the geeks and the druggies, because 'being cool in high school isn't everything'. According to their fantasies, they invent some cool video game and make millions, ride back into town in a Maserati, and then guys like the Carters or Connor, they're stuck pumping gas. But now look, because those fantasies were nothing compared to the real world. Now it didn't matter how good you were at dividing polynomials or fucking the matrices. It didn't matter if you could recite All Quiet on the Western Front. Ron put all his eggs in the wrong basket. Now the guys he looked down on, and Wyatt just KNEW this little puke was thinking shit about him right now, were the ones who'd survive and Ron was reduced to begging for help.

No. Fuck that. If Bret hadn't been so insistent, Wyatt might have just hauled off and started breaking this kid right here and now.

And there Wyatt went again. Bret looked over at his twin as he hauled Ron around then returned to analysing the supplies they’d received from Paloma. It was a good haul, a good result for a near perfectly enacted robbery. The noise of Wyatt and Ron’s animated discussion was a disruption to his attempts to accurately gauge what they had been left, so instead he busied himself with examining the goggles that had also been contained within.

He moved them into his own pack for safekeeping and so he could properly investigate later. After doing so he began to remove bottles of water from the pack to count them out, but the noise made that difficult, he kept losing his concentration. Eventually, he turned his attention back to the other two.

“Could you shut up?” He said, putting the water bottles back into the bag. “I’m trying to count.”

Ron's back hit the metal of the wall. He stifled a cry of pain, and focused on the "door" that Wyatt was threatening to throw him out. This didn't make any sense! Why was he so intent on turning away help? Ron had thought that he had gotten along well with the Carters these past few years. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he had failed, and he just couldn't...

"C'mon Wyatt!" he squealed "This is stu- this isn't a good idea! You don't know what might be out there, why won't you consider-"

He stopped himself and swallowed. This wouldn't help. They didn't want him. Nobody wanted him. But Ron couldn't just let them take everything. He didn't want to die. It was still so early.

"I-I- alright! But please-" Ron grabbed onto Wyatt's arm, almost instinctively. He could feel the tears welling up and his voice getting heavy. He didn't have the willpower to stop himself anymore. "Just, please- just leave me enough food for a few days. Or just one day. You don't need all of it! Pl-please, just give me a chance to survive on my own! I won't bother you anymore, please!"

"Eat my ass, faggot!" Wyatt hurled over his shoulder at Bret. Tell HIM to shut up, would he? Smarmy uptight little... Ugh. If they were home, he would have cuffed Bret upside the head for that. And then knowing Bret, he'd have one coming right back for the dome. And they'd shove, then they'd take it outside before they broke Mom's crystal, then they'd get screamed out or Hogan would get involved and bark at them, mistaking it for roughhousing. That was just life, but they'd need to find outlets for that aggression elsewhere.

Speaking of outlets, Ron's face was looking like a three-prong socket right about now. The begging had started out funny, but now it was getting annoying. Wyatt traded his grip on Ron's collar for a fistful of his hair, yanking him in the direction of the door while he swirled his tongue around the inside of his own cheeks. Mouth was feeling a little dry.

"You don't know how much I eat. You can go a few days without eating." Wyatt flicked his other wrist to let the sword fall away on the floor with a weird rattling thunk, freeing his hand up to snatch Ron under his arm. "Aaaaaaand out we go, fucko."

It wasn't working. Nothing was working. Wyatt wouldn't budge, even a little. He couldn't even give Ron a little bit to live on. He just had to be cruel, just like he'd always been back in school. Wyatt picked him up, preparing to throw him out onto the rocks.

Ron could only blame himself, really. He'd wanted so much to believe that he could win, that he had changed over the years. That he wasn't the weak little dweeb anymore. It was all a fucking joke. He hadn't changed, he couldn't change. He just didn't want to admit it. Ron decided he might as well let Wyatt throw him out and just lie there on the rocks until he died. His life was over, nothing he did mattered. He... he was ready...

...Wait. Mask. Wasn't Mask that movie about the guy with the deformed face?

Oh fuck him.

Humpty thought he could do whatever he wanted just because he was born bigger than everyone else. Ever since they were kids, he was nothing but a goddamn monster. Making Ron think that he was the problem, just because he was a little different. Making him change everything about himself, only to be the same asshole regardless of what he did. Nothing but a sadistic waste of space. Wyatt deserved to be dying here, not Ron. Out of all the people in the entire fucking school, he deserved it the most.

Finally, Ron looked into right into Wyatt's eyes. Those ugly, hate filled, beady little eyes. Ron took a finger and jammed it right into one.

"Man I ain't even sure why you're so mad, I'm just gonna give you a bath-FUC-GHUAAAAAH!"

Ron thrashed about and something came up out of the bottom of Wyatt's range of vision. That 'something' got very close and personal, as it were, to Wyatt's vision. Very close and very personal and - Ron had just jabbed him in the fucking eye. In the fucking EYE! That little bitch, that little... that fucking CUNT, he was playing dirty.

Both eyes clamped shut, but only the left one sent throbbing waves of pain through the side of his skull. He lumbered back, then turned to his right, giving Ron his shoulder. Wyatt's hand swatted out at air but it was automation, blind rage in Ron's general direction. He wasn't trying to punch Ron. Not yet.

Not ever, either, because he'd progressed past the point of using his fist.

Wyatt forced his right eye open. Having just one eye open put pressure on the other. The yacht was dark on the inside, a blessing considering how sensitive his eyes were to light as they struggled to see past all the watering up. Tears were already pooling under the fingers of his left hand as they cradled his wounded eye. He hated that it looked like he was crying. Wyatt Carter does not cry. Ron was going to pay. Pay with the skin off his face, pay with his life. Pay with whatever he had.

He wasn't thinking about it, really. He just reached for the sword, or the blurry shape of it, where he'd dropped it on the floor. And when he got his hand around it, he was going to split Ron's skull in half with it.

You're dead.

Ron got a hard shoulder in response to his jab. Knocked him back against the wall. It hurt, but he was still standing, while Wyatt was off crying and cradling his wound. He couldn't help but laugh. For the first time in his life, he had the upper hand on Wyatt Carter. He was making Wyatt writhe in pain. It was fantastic.

"How's it feel to be on the other side for once, fucker!?"

Wyatt started futility reaching around for the sword he had so stupidly dropped. Ron marched towards his prey. He just had to choke him out, wrap his arm around Wyatt's fat neck and squeeze until he stopped moving. He knew he'd probably get shot by Bret right after, but he didn't care. He might die, but he was going to kill this scum first. He was going to make him suffer, and Ron would die proud of the fact that he-

There were a couple of loud bangs. Pain ripped into his back and Ron fell forward, onto his hands and knees. Blood dropped from his chest onto the floor beneath. This didn't make sense. Bret was still with the bags, and this came from behind...

Ron turned his head. The figure standing just outside was unexpected. But not surprising.

"You again... it isn't fair... why me?"

Then he collapsed onto the floor and died. What a stupid fucking joke he was.

B069: Ronald Kiser - DECEASED

"Sorry... but I've got business here, ya know?"

((Tirzah Foss continued from Slime (No Talking) ))

Tirzah had been walking from the beach when she heard some noise. Chief among them was some girl wailing, but it was worth checking out. She looked at the map and saw that there was a location that had a capsized boat at it, which seemed like a good for bet for people to try and explore.

Getting closer, a few people seemed to run from the area. Tirzah wasn't sure who they were, but that was another good indicator, or bad depending on who you were.

Getting even closer granted more clues in the form of several male voices yelling. She recognized them, more or less. Bingo.

Tirzah scurried over to the large hole that allowed for entry into the innards of the ship, balancing both her bags on her shoulder. She stopped for a half second and quickly put Toby's gun in her bag and took out the gun she was originally given. Whoever was in there was going to want her gun and if she was going to give one up, it'd be the one she had a harder time using.

There were some more sounds of an argument, which caused her head to snap up. Tirzah cautiously entered the boat and saw Ron yelling at Wyatt, who was clutching his face, she slowly moved up.

My fucking meat shields

Tirzah panicked, seeing her own prospects for survival go down. She lifted the gun, holding on to it with both hands and shot the offender. It hit, but only because she was so close. The gun nearly fell out of her hands again.

Approximately 20 seconds later she realized what she had done, eyes saucers on the boy who asked her a last question.

A sinking feeling pulled down at her chest and she knelt down to Ron as he faded.

"Sorry..."

But she couldn't lose face in front of these guys if she was going to negotiate. They had to think she was stone-cold or they would walk all over her. Tirzah pulled her face together. Tirzah felt like shit about Ron, but she could deal with that when she was home.

"...but I've got business here, ya know?"

She looked up at the other two and stood.

After throwing a retort his way Wyatt obliged and removed Ron from the room. Allowing Bret the chance to finish the count of Paloma's supplies he had been attempting.

Six water bottles
Two tins of crackers
Two loaves of bread
Seve-

The sounds of the scuffle again interupted Bret. He rolled his eyes but quickly snapped to attention when he heard Wyatt's cry of pain followed by gunshots. He jumped up from his crouch, gun raised and ran towards where his brother had gone. If Ron had been hiding a gun the entire time and had someone managed to turn it on Wyatt. No, that wasn't very likely if Wyatt had a hold of him. There was always the chance someone else had attacked Wyatt. It wouldn't have been surprising, everyone spoke as if they were planning on killing everyone they met, and someone would surely have taken an opportunity if it had presented itself, whatever the case, the people responsible were going to pay.

When he reached his brother, he stopped and took a moment to take in the scene, eyes darting from Wyatt, to Ron's body and then to Tirzah. He lowered the rifle as he spoke, his uncertainty evident.

"What the fuck happened?"

JESUS CHRIST!

Only, Wyatt wasn't able to say that right away. The bulk of his body was lurching forward over his knees, prioritizing grabbing his weapon to do whatever his instinct demanded he do with it to Ron. At the moment, that was splitting his head clean in half, then chopping it off.

That's when two earsplitting pops erupted from behind him. The conjuring of explosions from apparent thin air shook Wyatt to his very core and stole his feet out from under him and, in a motion that might not have been too dissimilar to a bear running down a hill only to lose its footing and start rolling, Wyatt tumbled. But he'd never get go of his sword, and it came with him, end-over-end, as he rolled flat onto his ass.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Now he said it, scrambling up to one knee in the practiced maneuver he'd used on the gym mats during wrestling season. His head whipped around to where Ron should have been standing, but he was already on his hands and knees, moments away from kissing the floor. Two wounds seeping blood already marked his back and were only growing larger by the time Ron's arms gave out. Seeing the crimson splotches staining Ron's back had the strange effect of removing the red that colored the rest of Wyatt's vision. There was somebody standing behind Ron. That 'somebody' shot Ron. That 'somebody' had a gun, could still have more bullets, and he could be next in the line of fire.

Wyatt kicked back up to his feet and clutched his hokey weapon in front of him, as if it could block a bullet. "Fucking HELL," he blurted. "You shot him, you actually fucking shot him! Is he dead!?" He bent his neck forward and wiped at his eyes with his left forearm. It still hurt like hell, but gunshots had a way of spiking adrenaline, nature's best painkiller. At least his right eye could open just fine, clearly enough to part the figure who had just entered the boat from the sunlight sweeping in behind her.

Tirzah. Tirzah... something. Pretty girl on a normal day, and the island hadn't scuffed her up too badly yet. That gun looked like it was a little too big for her, but - and this could be the breakneck pace of his heartbeat right now, but the way she held it, and the way she carried herself, and the way she so confidently meant to speak 'business'...

Shit, Wyatt had the weirdest boner right now.

Tirzah whipped her head towards the second voice; it was prospective shield # 2. She grimaced and then heard # 1.

"I - I think so!" she said, looking back at Ron. "Right?!"

Tirzah nudged the body with her foot and it didn't move. Blood kept slowly seeping on to the floor. This wasn't the same as Toby. She could tell herself that that one was for the best and she had made it as pleasant as possible. He died instantly and never saw it coming. This was uglier and Ron's angry face was a recent memory. Tirzah put a hand over her mouth, afraid she might throw up this time and she suddenly felt the pain in her hands from the kickback of the gun.

Tirzah looked back at the other two and then remembered why she was there. She moved the hair out of her face, sweeping it behind her ear. She gulped loudly and breathed deeply, letting the air out of her nose so that it would be quieter.

I'm getting out of here no matter what.

"I'm here to make a deal," she said. Tirzah picked up the one of her two bags and held up the gun, now pointed up.

"An almost entirely unused pack full of water, food and supplies and this shiny, pretty gun. It's can all be yours if you let me stay around. Oh, plus Ron's, since I shot him."

Neither Wyatt nor Tirzah directly answered him. Instead, he pieced together as much of the events as possible. He still didn't know where Tirzah had come from but she had killed Ron, who had done something to Wyatt but he wasn't sure what. Regardless Wyatt seemed to be fine and Ron was dead. That wasn't an ideal situation but based on how the other two were talking Tirzah had been the one to kill him. Bret was alright with that, it kept their own hands clean and his plan was based around that.

Blood slowly seeped out from Ron's prone body, staining his red polo shirt a darker shade. Tirzah nudged him and there was no movement, meaning he was most likely dead. Bret assumed he was based off the two gunshot wounds and the lack of movement. He continued to watch the blood spread out across the surface of the yacht as Tirzah continued talking. He moved his free hand so that it maintained contact with the rifle, just in case he needed it. There was no telling what Tirzah was actually going to do. He hadn't even realized she was in the area. It brought some interesting questions to the surface of his mind.

He lifted his gaze to focus on TIrzah, eyes narrowed somewhat and grip on the rifle firmer.

"And what if we just decide to take all of it instead?"