Survival Of The Fittest

"You're prolly right Barnes..."

Garnet wasn’t so impressive—but she was impressive enough to get this far. She hadn’t gone for her weapon—but she was still shooting shots. Sticks and stones though, right? What were those things to machine gun bullets? Ace shook his head at her statements. She was just a girl. A scared, teenage girl. A classmate. A basketball player with a lot more scrap than stroke. Ace didn’t want to kill nobody else. Beats didn’t wanna hurt nobody more.

"But what if you're wrong?"

But what did want matter anymore? What would ever count for normal? Things would never be the same--not fully. But any resemblance of normalcy was better than nothing at all. That's where Garnet was wrong. That's where that girl was stuck. It was like the plan conversation earlier. Having any sorta plan was better than having none, right? Even a bad grade was better than a zero. That's why Ace was still alive after so many had died. Why was Garnet? Ace didn't know--he didn't want to find out either.

“I’m gonna get outta here,” Ace tried to swallow but his mouth was dry, “I’m gonna move forward,” Beats shook his head to match the shaking of his spirit, “I’m gonna pretend this shit never happened. I’m gonna live my life for everyone else who died here—and I ain’t gonna let these terrorists or you makin’ me fuckin’ feel bad stop me.”

Fake it till you make it. Life didn’t come with no instruction manual. Mantras and meditations.

“I’m gonna end this shit,” Ace took aim with the hot weapon, this time pointing it at Garnet’s chest, “Then I’m gonna forget it. I plan on shockin’ myself on how much I forget it."

Was that true? Would it be that easy? Could it ever be…? It was supposed to be easy to do anything in victory—but what did victory cost? Success was hard to articulate, failure was easy to understand.

“5.”

"Y-you're gonna live f-for everyone else and f-fucking forget it?"

She laughed, wet and reedy and with all the derision she could muster.

"Guh-good shit, Ace. It'll be the f-first question e-every interview."

"Winnin' cures everything, doesn't it?"

This gun was so much heavier than the BR18. Ace felt like a different person--Ace was a different person.

"You don't gotta do this either," Ace closed his eyes, "You makin' a choice just like me," she was, wasn't she? It was just different, "How much are you askin' for it? Aren't you just darin' me to shoot?"

Ace opened his eyes.

"If you ain't gonna try to win," Beats paused, "If you ain't really tryin' to live," he shook his head, "The least you could do is walk away," green eyes met green eyes, "This ain't just on me--it's on you too."

Ace couldn't pull the trigger--green eyes met green eyes and he saw the ghost of Connor staring back at him. Garnet wasn't impressive--neither was Ace. They were both hanger ons. People who had rode coattails in high school. She called Ace a vulture and he responded that he was a wolf--and what did that mean? The strength of the pack was the wolf and the strength of the wolf was the pack. Ace had no pack. Beats walked this path alone.

"If you think you're better than me--act like it," Ace said finally, "I'm a killer--don't push me," be a man, be brave, "Walk the fuck away."

Garnet was past scoring points.

Ace's finger would pull the trigger, and he wouldn't be aiming at the ground.

"P-put a g-gun on me and cuh-call it my choice?

"Fuck you. M-make more excuses.

"6."

The gun was heavier than her stare...

And the emotions still weren’t there.

With Justin—it had been easy. The fire had been stoked to flame and had consumed Ace up in its entirety. With Connor? It had been hard—but Ace felt something. There was a thin line between love and hate and Ace had crossed it time and time again. When he stared at Garnet? Ace felt nothing. There was no rage, there was no guilt, there was no motivation…

Just pressure.

And Ace felt himself fold.

“Fuck you too man,” he barked, “What the fuck…,” he stumbled, “How else…?”

There was nothing left to be said. More excuses? She was right. Counting to ten? That was some Boy Scout bullshit. What was he doing? Daring her to go…or waiting for himself to lose his nerve? It was different from Connor—there was no massive guilt or solemn duty. It was different from Faith—Ace was the one holding the gun. Beats was a killer and a murderer who had killed and murdered for a variety of reasons.

None of which were 'just because'.

With a quick motion, he removed the strap from his shoulder and tossed the LMG on the ground.

“Fuck it,” he finally said, “Just go. Take your shit, shoot me in the back, whatever,” he shook his head, "Just walk away."

In football if you were thinking you were losing. Ace was done losing. That was different from winning.

The emotions simply weren’t there. His hand still found his waistband, his mind still searched for a gun. Beats was a creature of habit and those habits had been built by something bigger than him.

"Please."

He threw the weapon down.

Garnet's eyes went wide.

She looked down to the gun. She looked up to Ace.

She took off sprinting. Again with the sprinting.

The running would stop.

She was running out of places to run.
((continued in Someday, she'd breathe again.))

Success was hard to articulate and failure was easy to understand.

So it confused Ace how much his own actions eluded his comprehension. Ace had been so cocksure—until he wasn’t. Beats had been so strong—until he was weak. Ace was brave—until it was time to be scared. He was a creature of habits and contradictions.

Ace had survived countless confrontations. Beats had fought and killed and seen people die for no reason at all. Ace made himself the reason. He was good at that. Very selfless—until it was time to be selfish.

“What the fuck am I doing out here…?”

Ace wrote: “If you ain't bout it, don't try to be it.”

“Who am I trying to be…?”

Ace was trying to win. Ace was trying to go home. Life came with no instruction manual—fake it till you make it. Beats was a liar and he had lied to himself. Ace was ready to fight and die on that lie—that’s what war was. But this wasn’t war and he wasn’t a soldier.

Just a boy playing pretend.

Beats picked up his LMG after some time had passed. The gun was still heavy, but not as much as the pressure on Ace’s shoulders. Pressure turned coal into diamonds—and for the good, it caused them to fold. For the great though? For the great, pressure turned into focus. Ace had worked too hard and too long.

Would it be Darlene or Garnet who killed him?

Somehow, someway, Ace knew that he would end up responsible for his own demise. Just like he was with Parker’s. And Myles. And Lori. And Connor. And Mei. And Saku. And Aliya. And Jackson—and Faith! And too many muthafuckers to count!

It was easy to do anything in victory—that had always been true.

So why was it that victory could never be easy?
[ Ace Ortega Continued In: say goodnight to the bad guy ]