Survival Of The Fittest

Alexander did likewise, taking one step, then another, past the corner. Unlike Valentin, however, he did not raise his hands. If he did so, the two of them would be left, for all intents and purposes, open to attack. So instead, one of his hands slipped into his pocket, and the other moved to the knife's grip.

He did not pull the knife from its sheathe, however. Alexander merely rested his hand on the grip, long fingers stretching across the handle. It was not a gesture intended to threaten or to provide an incentive but instead to serve as a deterrence—an attack would ensure mutual destruction.

As to her inquiry, Alexander did not dignify it with a response. He did not have any interest in surrendering the knife. The khopesh was impractical, heavy, and slow—its only use was if you sought to rend flesh or cleave bone. It was a lesser draw. To discard it was a mistake, objectively.

Still, her words gave Alexander pause. They were careless and dangerous—and he could not be sure that incompetence trumped malice. His guard crept up, his posture closed, and his hand gripped the knife slightly tighter. If the worst came to pass, they outnumbered her, two to one.

"Okay, then, do that," he said, "but don't try anything. We're not hostile unless you make us."

He didn't want to jump to conclusions—paranoia was a delusion. Yet, all possibilities warranted consideration. This situation was life and death, and Alexander, as a rule, hewed to the former. It was self-preservation in action, animal instinct, preserved for good reason.

Then, the situation shifted again. Another light joined the two already in play. There was a new arrival: like the previous one, it was a person Alexander didn't recognize. Another someone seeking shelter from the cold—just another resource.

"Fine." he said, "The same goes for you, though."

Alexander took another step towards Valentin, closing some distance between them. It was safer that way—the two couldn't be separated by an attack now. His eyes flitted to the boy's face, then back across the hallway, towards the uncertain factors.

The calculus had changed, all of a sudden. The situation earlier had been his dear companion, and a straggler with no particular plans, positive or negative. And that situation had slowly been settling down into a sort of equilibrium, an equilibrium from where the trio could gather their bearings and figure out their potential path, together or apart. Maybe, given enough time, he could have come up with a plan that could satisfy the both of them.

The newcomer, Eden, was more of a known quantity to Valentin than the girl. Outgoing, although a bit acidic. He was a cheerleader, and he acted in the same club as Betty Quinn, a good friend of his.

That was who he had been in high school.

He was a new element to this equation they all shared, and he had been deliberate in his actions. He had observed their situation, waited for the most opportune time to enter, and then acted accordingly. He, unlike the girl, had a plan.

Yet, it did not seem likely he had a dangerous weapon in hand. He did not recall anyone wearing a Viking hat on the bus to the ski park, meaning it had probably been bestowed upon him by the terrorists. Perhaps it was too distrusting of him to even countenance the notion of this newcomer having any malicious plan. Probably, Eden was simply acting with an appropriate amount of caution.

So, he lowered his arms, adopted a more relaxed stance, and said, "Go ahead and take a seat, my friend."

My friend, he said, because anyone friends with Valentin's friends were his friends as well, regardless of how well he knew them or not. That was how he approached the social milieu of Endecott High, and that was how he would approach the environment of now.

"We were simply about to brainstorm, try to figure out a way out of here. Would you happen to have any ideas?"

Ah, wait, she knew that Alexander by sight. He was in the workrooms a lot. Working on different stuff than Roberta’s woodworking, but he was in there. Not the SotF-book-reading guy, then. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Be nice to talk to someone who knows what the fuck’s happening, but at the same time, like… also not?

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna be aggressive! Just tryin’ to… fucking chill, christ.”

A new voice behind her.

“Agh, what the fuck?! Why?!” Roberta bellowed, flinching away from the newcomer.

Fuckers turning up behind her all the time, goddamn. And now she was stuck between this new guy and the two down the tunnel. She wasn’t getting out without getting in shiv distance of someone. God, why’d she pick the tunnels?!

“Don’t appear from behind, fuckin’… Viking cosplayer motherfucker...”

The steam quickly ran out of her initial aggression. Roberta sat down exactly where she was, holding the khopesh close to herself—not aggressively, just close—and not moving any closer to either party. She rummaged in her bag for her map, hoping that shit could maybe not go to hell in a handbasket for a few minutes while she figured out where to go.

“No, I don’t got any ideas,” she grumbled. “I’m not an engineer. Dunno how to get these dang things off, and even if I did we’re still in the middle of the fucking ocean.”

Eden’s snorted “no” was cut off rather rudely by a stream of invectives from the girl. As if she hadn’t done the exact same thing several minutes ago.

“Cosplayer? I’d say that I’m wounded, but this outfit,” he took the light off his face and ran it down his body, then back up, until it settled lazily back on his head, “is an insult to the good names of cosplayers everywhere. Not that I’m complaining, I’ll take what I can get, except actually I am complaining because it’s the least they could’ve done for me if they weren’t going to give me an actual fucking weapon.” He spat out the last word.

As if Eden himself wasn’t prone to, ahem, unleashing streams of invectives. But whatever. Two anger-prone gays in the same group were probably too many (was Roberta gay? She had the energy about her, though come to think of it Eden’s never actually seen her with a girl), but Eden wasn’t going to force the issue.

He shifted his attention to the boys. Alexander was an idle curiosity that could be examined later; Eden was more interested in Valentin, the one who had called him friend. Sugary speech for one who wasn’t particularly close to Eden, but what did Eden have that made Valentin think it worth ingratiating himself to him?

Whatever. He was inviting Eden to stay. Whatever his reasons for doing so, he’d decided to give Eden what he wanted. It was worthwhile, therefore, to attempt kindness to him.

“No, I don’t have any ideas. And you should drop whatever ideas you do have. Now that you’ve brought it up openly, those assholes, the, uh, the fucking terrorists, they’ll be keeping an eye on us. And if it even looks like we’re starting to crack it, then, well...”

Eden clicked his tongue and turned his head with a quick, jerky motion.

Alexander's eyes narrowed. This situation was an unfortunate—if expected—display of lacking creativity among their potential allies. At the same time, he did not see that as a personal failing: engineering was complicated, and not everybody knew how it worked. He was talented in that regard. He didn't blame them for feeling unconfident in their ideas when their own experience was so utterly lacking.

Still, that meant they would be less able to carry their weight. If, as Valentin supposed, this was to be a group project, each member needed to contribute something. For Alexander, that was knowledge; for Valentin, his voice and charisma; for these people? He wondered what they could offer. Supplies, perhaps—once they had been deemed chaff and separated from the wheat. Their lives, potentially, if the need arose.

There was utility in keeping them around. At the same time, as tools, they had little in the way of versatility. Hammers, eagerly awaiting their nails—or, more accurately, nails, eagerly awaiting their hammers. To be driven into the mahogany wood of their coffins as needed. Alexander was not a carpenter, but even so, he could work with that premise.

"That's possible." he said in response to Eden, though he didn't know them as such, "At any given moment, we could die—that's an inevitable fact to consider. But your overarching premise is false."

It was basic reasoning. If each student had a theoretically equal probability of survival, that's still a one in one-hundred and thirty-four chance. And that was a generous estimate: it failed to consider assets and liabilities in personality, knowledge, and physique. That was not a reasonable risk to take. At that point, you were not strategizing—you were gambling.

"The problem is that you are making the assumption that you have a chance otherwise." he said bluntly, "Think about the situation, and think about where you stand. I don't favor those odds—do you?"

"He's right."

Valentin gradually lowered himself to the floor, as to not arouse alarm in his companions, placed his flashlight onto the ground bottom-first, so that its beam may bounce off the ceiling and shed light upon all, and then stood back up again.

"I'm sure our captors have accounted for the human need to escape, and trying to pretend otherwise would only hinder our communications with one another."

He could scarcely imagine having to plan out a whole escape by note-passing or sign language or what not. It would only present difficulties and, once the terrorists caught on to a group of eleven or so passing papers around, they would probably suspect something was being planned anyways.

Valentin focused his gaze on Eden.

"And as for dropping our ideas, well, our odds are next to nothing whether or not we partake in their game or not. Even if we turn around now and scheme together on how best to outlast and outwit our classmates, only one of us will be allowed to live. Play or not, if we're to die either way to these fucking terrorists, as you put it, might as well do it without giving them the pleasure of seeing us tear each other to shreds."

He feigned pragmatic pessimism, but he did not believe it himself. He was simply aligning his message with the words of his friend Alexander, with the mood of his other two companions. Deep inside, Valentin really believed they could achieve something. Everything was possible until it wasn't. Kings were divine until they weren't. Russia would be under a dictatorship until it wasn't. The terrorists were unbeatable until they weren't. And so it went.

He turned and faced the girl.

"Finally, as for us being in the middle of the ocean, I must admit that's an issue but..."

A light smile appeared on Valentin's face.

"We only have the rest of our lives to figure it out."

“Alright, whatever, nerd. Cosplay, costume. Whatever,” Roberta said dismissively, waving her hand.

Her map came loose from her bag as she did and she unfolded it, though she still looked a the other two for the moment.

“Odin’s got a point, though. Kinda tipped your hand real fast,” Roberta said, as she retrieved her map. “Not gonna pretend I got a chance of winning a full on one-hundred-man fight to the death here. I couldn’t fucking win against one.”

Though, then again… most of her classmates weren’t like Curtis, either.

“I ain’t getting a feeling that you’re the key to a better place, is all. Talkin’ like that, you’d get busted so fuckin’ fast, I swear to...” She tailed off into inaudible muttering as she stared down the map before she said, “Just because they expect escape doesn’t mean you should make it easier for ‘em.”

She idly traced a finger over the research station, trying to figure out the best place to find a quiet corner to sleep in. There was no fucking way she was crossing this island. Not today. She’d stick with the station, for now.

But she was probably gonna separate from these guys. She didn’t think they had any better an idea of what they were doing than she did. They just thought they did. As for Odin… who the fuck knew?

A few minutes into his stay, and people were already testing his fucking patience. Obviously none of these people could compete with Eve, but Eden was genuinely surprised at how close they were getting.

"Thanks for the support, my dear prickly pear! It really does mean a lot to me."

None of them got it, except Roberta. How did none of them get it? Valentin didn't get it. The other boy--Eden still couldn't remember his name--he obviously fancied himself to be clever; smarter, more rational, better at thinking ahead than anyone else in the room, a real clockwork man. If he couldn't see it, if he genuinely couldn't condescend to see it, then Eden doubted his ability to make a plan that would take them off the island.

"But as you were saying; it's not that our odds are even in the same galaxy as good. It's that they are zero, absolute zip, if they see us figuring a way out. It doesn't matter if you or I or anyone else on this lovely little island can find a way to get these collars off. They'll blow us up the second they know we've figured out. Our only chance, our"--he paused for emphasis--"only chance, is if they don't watch us too closely, maybe we can pull it off before they're onto us. And now that they know you're planning it, they're watching. So drop it."

Fuck, he had tone it down a little. They might not be anywhere near as smart as they thought they were, but the boy had a knife, and Roberta had a fucked-up blade; Eden was unarmed. Even he knew better than to get into a shouting match against a guy with a knife.

He sighed. An olive branch, then. This was still probably doomed (yes, yes, they were probably doomed regardless), but he went ahead and mouthed, Play along, will you?

"Fine," Alexander said. There was spite in his voice, hints of acid and steel.

These people lacked the fundamental basics of reasoning. That much had been made clear to him in no uncertain terms. Only Valentin and he were making any sense. The world had gone mad—or, more likely, his classmates willfully decided to remain blithering idiots to the bitter end.

As foreseen: if you had no expectations, nothing could disappoint you. This scenario was no different. If they couldn't see the forest for the trees, then, well, that was that. Alexander wouldn't let them drag him and his friend down to their level of intellectual deficit.

"Go on, then. Lay down and wait for death to claim you, if that's what you want. And when it does, know that we told you so."

Oh my god, fuck this Alexander guy. Odin knew what was up, but this knife jerk was clearly not absorbing what the actual fucking problem with what they were doing was. Neither did Valentine-whoever, but at least he wasn’t being such a jackoff about it.

“Cool. Coolcoolcool, have a great time explaining your master plan to the cameras, then,” Roberta snapped, as she shoved the map back into her bag. “Have a good, grand time being that far up your own ass that you forget that they have a fucking button of explosionium around your fucking neck, and that they’re fucking--!”

She gestured at her own eyes, then at them with those same two fingers.

“But hey, cleaaaaaarly you’ve got it all sorted out! So I’ll leave you to it! Have fun jerking off to those told-you-sos, because that’s what’s important right now, isn’t it?”

She swung her bag back over her shoulder. Not like she had illusions over her chances, but god. The best she could do was make her last few days a LITTLE more bearable by not being here. She hated how these tunnels only had one exit, unless you counted having to make her way past the Megaphone Duo.

“Well, I’m off to die somewhere away from you assholes.” Roberta gestured with two fingers in what could have been either a peace sign or a ‘fuck you’ sign. “Later.”

With that, she hoisted herself up the ladder that she’d come from. Still cold as fuck outside, but she’d rather be cold than sit still and listen to that guy for one more goddamn second.

((Roberta Chen continued in Dare.))

Alexander, the genius, had missed it. Hadn't even tried to find it.

"Fine," Eden snapped. "Have it your way, then. I tried. Have fun gallivanting towards your doom or whatever. Feel free to realize that I told you so."

Roberta, the only one who got it, had already left. It was time for Eden to follow.

"Your friend isn't as smart as he thinks he is, Valentin. Good luck," he called on his way out. "Hope neither of your necks gets turned into hamburger."

[Eden continued in Actually bro it's fine, I'm okay with it now.]

Not that Valentin was usually one for arrogance, but he thought that he'd done well with that speech. He'd put his all into it, laid out all his intentions and all the reasons in the world for why they had to come along with him. And yet it hadn't sufficed. Yes, he admitted that perhaps he should've been subtler about it, maybe tried to pass beneath notice, but he'd already spoken aloud to the cameras and the die had been cast, the bridge had been crossed, so no need to half-play a game of deceit, right? And yes, he supposed that despair or hopelessness or some synonym of those sentiments would have gripped them quickly, but he didn't think it would've done so instantly.

There had been a slight hint of hope for a moment. He'd caught Eden mouthing at him, trying to undo Valentin's lack of discretion, and he'd been about to 'play along' when Alexander barged in, spat vitriol at the others in the tunnel. And so they responded as expected, left one by one, until it was just the two of them, standing cold and alone in the dark passage.

Valentin's heart had sunken completely. There had been something with Eden, and now there was nothing, and two people were willingly walking to their deaths just because they couldn't bear any more time with the both of them.

He would have to have a talk with Alexander about his approach towards others. They needed to build a broad front, desperately so. They needed to keep allies, not alienate them.

They wouldn't talk about it now, though. Valentin didn't have the stomach for any more hostility, really, especially with Alexander.

"We can find other people," he muttered, dejectedly looking at the floor.

Alexander watched as they left. He did not attempt to stop them. Good riddance, as far as he was concerned. For them, suffering was a choice, a conscious, willful decision. And so he would let them suffer. They'd made their bed—now they were to lie on it.

"They had a choice, Valentin." he said with an air of finality, "Their decision is theirs alone. The only thing we can do is pray that they will live to regret it."

He did not expect such a change in seas. Those two had been stubborn to a fault. Unable—or unwilling—to grasp even the most basic concepts, even as he placed the answers in their hands. They would die for all their trouble. And that was just the way the world worked.

He had known that Valentin would frown at this sentiment. But he knew that he was right. Emotion had no business here—only logic, cold equations in a frigid place. To Valentin, they may have been potential friends. But to Alexander, what were they?

Nothing. To Alexander, they were nothing. They meant nothing. If he could not utilize them, then what value did they have? They were not resources or tools—no, that implied they had any benefit. They had not earned that level of generosity.

They were noise.

Nothing more than unexplained variations in the data, random factors that made it harder to see the signal. And to improve the quality of the research, Alexander needed to minimize them—to make them go away. And now, they were gone.

Their dissent was meaningless, and now it was absent. To Valentin, it may have been a loss. But to Alexander, it was a return to the status quo. The two of them. And if it seemed beneficial, they would add. But if it seemed necessary, he knew, they would have to subtract.

And so, slinging his bag over his shoulder, he looked at Valentin. Time was valuable, and they had wasted enough. Without an exchange of words, this was made clear. And then, just as silent, he turned on his heels and marched towards the exit.

He did not know where it would lead.

S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED IN "The Human Element"

Alexander's words tasted bitter. Enough to make Valentin nauseous, really.

He shared his friend's frustration over how things had gone, he did, but he did not know what he was saying. No one ever really knew what they were saying at the height of their anger, Alexander most especially.

I never want to see this city again, Valentin had remarked to his parents once upon a time, in the dining room/kitchen of their Novosibirsk flat. He didn't even remember what context had brought about those words, if it had been a joke or a mild vent, only that he had said the words casually, lackadaisically, while his parents and his grandfather shared an uneasy look.

The next morning, they had sat him down and explained, a dim fury behind their eyes, smoldering embers, that this year in Russia would be their last. He had gotten his wish.

It was easy to wish the worst for someone when the worst was just an abstraction. The terrorists of this island would ensure that those abstractions no longer remained as such. Valentin hoped against hope that Alexander wouldn't have to realize this the hard way.

He hoped he didn't mean it.

Wordlessly, Valentin followed Alexander and departed the tunnels.

((Valentin Shulgin continues in The Human Element))