Survival Of The Fittest

Seven clunky steps, slower than the first time there'd been a cute boy making his way upwards.

"Tadaima," he sung with a melodic lilt, and the door opened a fraction of the way, enough for a face, an arm, and part of a torso to be sectioned by the grey twilight of an artic sun. Hands empty, save for the bag casually slung through one hand. He didn't open the door any further or step into the room.

"That's a gnarly smell." He'd been anticipating surprises, so it wasn't any sort of slap to the face, but even with the room tidied up Janice's dirty little secret had polluted the air with an overbearing metallic odor, deep enough that Salem was pretty sure it'd sink into his coat even this far removed from the scene of the crime. "Guess the first thing I should ask is if you're already used to it."

Could be useful information to know. For what, well. Undecided. Salem had learned in his long and fruitful academic career to keep options open and ears to the ground. Not the same way this Tristana's ears were to the ground though.

"Don't recognize that name. Condolences to her family though, if they're watching." Dryly said, without a hint of actual remorse flickering over his cold, glassy eyed smile.

"We're both pretty well known and I think if we're cute and moe enough people buy our cover story. I'd say two more days and then you help me distract someone, I take my kill, and we part ways. Simple and clean until we meet in the... endgame, I think they call it. The part where the last few kids have to mano y mano for the win."

Salem's head peaked out of the door. She lowered her knife. Salem made some comments. Janice didn't comment on the smell yet.

"Maybe you knew her as "Tana"," Janice replied. Why would you call yourself Tana when you had a beautiful name like Tristana, anyway?

Enough small talk, Janice listened carefully to the details of the agreement. A temporary alliance, until she could help Salem get a kill. That sounded doable. Then, they'd part ways, and she wouldn't have to worry about him anymore afterwards. She helps him, he helps her, both benefit.

"Okay, that sounds good to me. Deal."

He also revealed his game plan. Get the one kill required to get out, and wait out the game for the other people to have killed each other. Janice wouldn't have expected Salem to be such a coward. He probably wasn't the only one having this idea. She kept that in mind. It wasn't a bad idea per say, after all it would minimize any chance of getting injured. But being active always beats being passive.

"I think we should leave this house. Maybe find other people to group with. And yes, the air in here is terrible."

Finding a group would be top priority for her right now. If she'd sleep the next night with only Salem to watch her back, she was be sure, that she'd end up like her first victim, never waking up.

Ah, so they did know that it fucking reeked to be in the same room as a corpse.

WHY THE FUCK COULDN'T THAT MAKE THEM LEAVE FASTER!?!

Every second that ticked by made Jezzie feel regret. Regret for not waking up sooner. Regret for stepping onto the bus to the skiing trip. Regret for even thinking going was a good idea in the first place. She could've stayed home and made more of a fuss about the school's arts budget getting cut. The principal couldn't ignore her forever, and if she got more people on her side, maybe they could've done something about it.

Maybe it was stupid, thinking about stuff like this on murder island.

But the other option was finally panicking and screaming about being stuck in a closet with a corpse, and at that moment Jezzie didn't feel like she was up for getting stabbed/shot/bludgeoned/etc. by either of these psychos.

So...coping methods.

"Still doesn't ring a bell. Cute nickname though."

His touching, heartfelt eulogy for the dead and gone. Still better than the shitty F to pay respects 1 he'd come up with for Robin though. Or the bit he'd come up with on the way here where he'd been singing See You Again in his head but not really.

"Other people, huh...? Hm. I dunno."

He was silent, staring not quiet at her but at the air where her thoughts would have been if she was a cartoon. He was trying to scry something out of said empty space.

"... I don't think I can do this, I'm sorry."

And he swung the door shut from his side with a quick shove. The sounds of skimpy boy ass rushing down the stairs two at a time, unevenly hurried, boom clap the sound of his heart, the door cracked open and didn't close and in a second everything was once more silent.

Welp. There he went. That sure was a long-lasting alliance.

Whatever, it wasn't like she needed him anyway. It was time to leave this stinking room. She looked at the crime scene once more before finally going downstairs to leave house.

((Janice Cresner continued elsewhere))

...what the fuck?

One moment, he's completely nonchalant about killing people, the next her runs off with his tail between his legs. Was he just that wishy-washy of a person?

Oh, who gives a rat's ass-SHE'S FUCKING FREE!

Jezzie stumbled when finally exiting the closet, tripping and nearly falling on her face, but saving herself with some arm-spinning to try and stabilize herself. She turned back around and-oh, yeah, her bag, she's probably going to need that.

Grabbing it and letting it hang from her shoulder, she couldn't help but glance at the dead girl's body again, wincing and snapping her eyes shut. Fuck-fuck-bad idea, why did she do that, Jesus-

Jezzie slammed the closet door shut again, before letting out the breath she'd been holding in for far, far too long.

One problem finally over, who the Hell knows how many more to come.

But she could do this-she could do this! She was Jezzie God Damn Stark. She did not live this long just to go into Survival of the Fittest and die horribly. She was going to fight, she was going to live, and she would be the star she was meant to be. Sure, she wasn't sure how to go about surviving for the moment, and when she was famous there were almost definitely going to be creeps more obsessed with her time here than any of her acting work, but she knew things would work out. Find a group and see if she could work something out to help most everyone survive. Ignore the creeps and focus on bettering herself and expanding her work.

Get through it, get over it, and move on.

...

Maybe with some therapy, too. I mean, it's only responsible, right? What else was she supposed to do when she had to live with seeing someone die and then being stuck in a closet with their corpse? Have a mental breakdown and risk looking like a crazy person? No thank you!

So, get through it, get over it (with some therapy), and move on.

And so, with a deep breath and a determined look on her face, duffle bag hanging from the left shoulder while her right hand clutched the tiny knife's handle tightly, Jezzie finally stepped outside the bedroom.

And right into the self-styled SaLame Fox. Back because it was fucking cold outside and the stale interior of the house had managed to trap some heat. Plus, much like in JEM life, he was typically keen on avoiding people he was already bored of like he was now of Janice. Interesting how that worked so identically.

Anyways, he was hit headlong by a torpedo's worth of girl. Ordinarily not something he was opposed to, but it didn't work out well for him in this circumstance. He careened backwards, only some instinctive agility protecting him from tumbling over. As it was he managed to consciously align himself to bounce off one wall, rushed the rest of the way with momentum and ended up in a fumbling, adrenaline-soaked position pinned up by one hand against the doorframe of the houses' main door. It was a familiar methodology of falling down stairs, in his mind's eye.

He glanced up the stairs, taking immediate stock of what the hell had just happened. The human shaped blur that had knocked him down coalesced from the physical manifestation of nonsense and foreboding into a far more ordinary sight. He nodded, held up a hand. Maybe one could see the white flag if they squinted hard enough.

"Hey you."

He didn't remember her name, like, at all, but he did remember her face. Like a ghost in the background she was one of those nameless people who was always there, and SaLame had the hunch that meant she wouldn't take too kindly to her name being an unmemorable one.

"Were you stuck in there that whole time?" He scrunched up his facial muscles a bit in pity disgust. It was a good deal easier an emotion than respect for the dead. "Sorry about that. Was just sussing out my options, y'know?"

She can't. Just fucking. Win today. CAN SHE?!?

Instead of actually leaving, instead of going to one of the other houses for shelter, instead of-did he have a sister? Yeah, he has a sister, and Jezzie thought she saw the girl on the bus too. Instead of going and trying to make sure she's okay or something, he comes back here. Right as she's trying to make her exit.

Well, he didn't immediately open fire and turn her into the second corpse in this house. That was a good sign, at least. One of the confirmed psychos didn't have a gun on him. Still not going to celebrate when he was right fucking there and could have God knows what kind of weapon in that bag of his.

But it was fine. It was cool. She could get out of this. She just needed to be smart about things.

Jezzie's expression shifted to one of calmness, a dash of irritation mixed in as the corners of her mouth turned downward.

"Yeah. I was in the closet when she shoved Tana in there."

A slight eye twitch in her left eye, selling the increase of anger, before she slowly raised the hand holding the knife.

"Maybe it didn't mean much. But you realize everything you said still makes it hard to trust you, right?"

One slow step at a time, going down the stairs. Trying to to look as threatening as she could with a tiny knife on Murder Island.

"Especially when I got a front row seat to a girl getting her throat cut open."

And if there was one thing Salem-the boy and the town-should know about her, it was that Jezzie Stark could act her God Damn heart out when she most needed to.

"Guess I was right to not team up with her, huh. She didn't cover her tracks that well if she didn't even notice the witness hiding in the disposal site." Salem didn't really do dry humor, per say. Like, sarcasm was in his arsenal but it wasn't often the case that he sounded the part of the postmodernist. His delivery was too buoyant, at least, that was how he heard it when friends showed him TikTok clips. Pretty boy swag.

Tana, that was it. Didn't say much, active listener, supposedly talked to herself a bit. All traits more endearing than the average JEM partygoer (like, say, Salem) and Salem found it a bit easier to suddenly feel a pang of acute, clinically diagnosable sadness for the loss. Maybe it was less or more difficult when he got a proper glimpse of the body. Of what death looked like up close.

Face without a name girl, meanwhile, remained a who question mark. One with a knife, albeit a comically small one that couldn't possibly be compensating for anything.

Salem shrugged and didn't bother to look scared. He held his hands up, palms empty, backed up a step out of obligation. The weight of his bag led it to gently swing, pendulum like.

"Good to not trust people, I say. Just because someone was cool when you talked to them once in Dani's foyer doesn't mean they stay cool when their necks are in a collar and their lives are on the line. Like here and now, right? Do you trust yourself- that you know what you're doing with that knife?"

It was the sort of question you asked when living in a society.

"Enough that I'd know where to aim."

Partial lie, partial truth. She didn't know exact places that would be best, but general areas seemed like good options. Neck had some some veins or arteries that were important, and the upper chest region had lungs and the heart. She could make do if she really needed to.

But, against the odds, it seemed like Jezzie didn't need to. The boy appeared unbothered, but was smart enough not to stand close to someone with a knife. She could work with it, even if improv wasn't her strongest skill.

"I'd like to not ruin this jacket or these shoes, though, and you sound reasonable enough. So I'm willing to make a deal of my own."

The hand holding the knife lowered, but only slightly, still tensed and ready to strike.

"I don't plan on dying here, but I'm also not about to make things harder for no reason. Instead of fighting, I say we take the simple solution."

Her steps stayed slow. On the stage, it was to draw out tension. Here, it could do the same.

"You stay where you are, and I'll take my leave. Once I'm gone, you get free rein of this place and can do whatever the Hell you want. We won't have to deal with each other any longer than we have to."

She was tempted to add a smirk to extend the bit, but felt it could end badly, depending on Salem's feelings toward smugness. Best to not risk it, and just keep the neutral look her face had taken, mouth a straight line and eyes half-lidded.

"Sound good to you? Or do you have anything you want to add?"

She doubted he did, but best to get some input. Let him believe he has some control over the situation.

Bitch, what shoes? Uggs? Boring AF.

He had to give it to her, she sold it with what little she had. Not much to her advantage: height, weight, weapon draw, and she made it all at least kind of menacing. Salem figured this was what people older and less cynical than himself enjoyed in the kids of the next generation, earnest effort, even with less than ideal payoff. In a less harrowing situation where Salem wasn't simulating the one thousand scenarios where he had to dive his hand into his bag and not shoot himself in the process, Salem might have thought the girl was like, endearing or even kind of cute in a casual way. Way too short to be his type, but appealing energy.

Honestly the feeling was still there. A bit muted, dull, but the adrenaline hadn't totally swamped out his social creature of a self. Interesting. Kind of comforting to know that he could still feel like a human being- but it was still too early, to know for sure.

"Nothing to add. Hope we don't hear each others names on their terrorist announcements, I guess."

She made it look good now, but he was making himself an easy target and not fighting back. He wouldn't be around to see how she fared in less favorable circumstances.

It was a good thing Jezzie couldn't read minds, otherwise she would absolutely be infuriated that this guy would insult her two hundred dollar boots. These were one of, if not the most expensive things in her wardrobe. They deserved all the respect anyone could muster.

As it stood, she just nodded.

"Good. Glad we can be in agreement, then."

She got to the bottom of the stairs, finally, but her eyes stayed on Salem.

An actor always had two things to face when performing-the audience if there was one, and the costars.

The audience was all around with however many cameras were on the island, so all that was left was her costar.

"And...the feeling's mutual."

She turned, her back now facing an open doorway, and began walking backwards, faster than she had taken the stair steps, but not enough that they seemed panicked.

Her eyes still never left the boy.

"Try not to get shot, if you can help it."

And once she was through the doorway, Jezzie took a sidestep behind one of the walls, out of Salem's line of sight.

[[Jezzie Stark, exit, stage right, possibly out a window, and into the snow.]]

No promises. Salem wasn't sure how many kids in an average version of SOTF ended up with a gun but his scholar's intuition was it was enough that he'd be tasting a bullet at full velocity at some point before he was found dead in a ditch. Those two inevitable states of being would likely be linked by causality. Salem had needed all his brain power to calculate that gem of an insight. Amazing what his mind was capable of when he wasn't using it for Twitter shitposting. Bernie or Bust? How about... Bernie and Bust? Accelerationists had definitely engaged with that one.

But yeah. Unspoken well wishes floated after the girl whose name he'd never bother to learn, and the door quietly shut behind her. Salem entertained the vague hope that it'd make the house retain a bit more warmth. He knew it wouldn't really, these walls looked as thin as his waistline (27 inches, hell yeah), but hope was it's own source of warmth. Albeit, one that couldn't be burned and that was useless. Moral victories though, Salem counted them the same way he counted money in this new and vanishingly short chapter of his life. As worthless.

He moved up the stairs and found himself in the room, searching a bit, coming face to face with the body homemade by Janice. He evaluated the sight with an even gaze, the way her crumpled form seemed to deflate, as if the air was leaking out of her through the hole punctured in her. Along with the blood. Her flesh was an off color, a series of disquietingly off-hue purple, patchy bruises spreading like rose briars.

His nausea was brief. After a few cycles of slow blinking, of taming the impulse to puke, it was just another sight as mundane as any other.

So another human being had turned a peer into this. And given how Janice had tried to hide it, it definitely hadn't been an accident like Robin had been.

Ash would have called it, if you'd told her the moments before they'd stepped on that bus that their destination would be Survival of the Fittest Version 8. At least three people will be dead within the first hour. That's not counting the stuff like tripping over rocks. He probably would have rebutted. With consideration to practicality, mind, he wasn't particularly faithful in the humanity of his peers. No way a murderer tips their hand this early. The first announcement when they realize they've got cover to start killing, that's when the premeditated shit will start happening. That's what he would've said. Then they'd agree to disagree, and then fuck off into their own separate friends groups.

Ash 1 - Salem 0. Her insight into the human condition, this time around, was superior. She'd have sneered coldly and said of course it was. And then they'd agree that they weren't especially happy that she'd come out on top this time.

See, when Ash came out on top, Salem preferred that in a different kind of way.

He kept the closet door open, kept Tana hidden under the bloodstained blankets he'd found her under. In theory that was a respectful thing to do, but it didn't really seem like an improvement. Even with good side face up, showing the world relatively clean linen that had yet to soak through with viscera, the blanket just looked like a covered up corpse. Too human shaped. He quietly exited the house, wondering how many more corpses he'd be seeing before it was his own that would be sprawled out over the permafrost.

If he'd see Ash's, or Molly's, or Cali's, in these final days of his life.

- Salem Fox continued elsewhere -