Survival Of The Fittest

Well, what do you know? Asking stupid questions in, a small way, helped out, in that Taylor seemed to breathing slightly easier. Maybe if he kept this going, all casual and cool-headed, the panic would subside on its own soon enough.

"Give us a minute, man," Daniel called to Steve (Extreme) before turning back to Taylor (who he really needed to ask for pronouns once it would be less awkward to do so).

"Well if there are any bees around here," he said, quiet once more, "They're probably in hibernation. So, guess that's one less thing to worry about."

Unfortunately, Daniel wasn't sure if he could handle a shovel right now. He could pass down a ladder to Steve (Extreme) probably, but you had to put everything into shoveling, and that included your shoulder. And his shoulder wasn't doing so hot at this moment - but the pain was already beginning to subside, so maybe it wasn't as bad as it felt. Mental note: find a mirror once they get inside a building so he can see exactly what happened there.

"How are you feeling now, by the way?" Once Taylor was ready to go, he'd be happy to accompany... them? on their quest to find a ladder.

This time, Taylor did laugh in response to Daniel's question. A weak, wheezy, oh-god-we're-all-gonna-die laugh, but still a laugh.

"Bro, I- I'm straight up not having a good time right now. Dude. This fucking sucks." And Daniel knew that, because y'know, he was stuck here freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere too, but like, he had a gun and maybe that meant something? Fuck if Taylor knew.

But the knot in their chest was easing little by little, and they breathed more deeply, and they almost appreciated the smell of the snow and the air. "Ah, God-" You know what, actually, they were going to stop with the God bit. They weren't even, like, really religious, just the kind of religious where you remembered it when your plane started falling out of the sky. Tay's plane was already on the ground and in flames, man. God missed His chance.

"S-sorry for being like, a huge mess right now? I know we gotta- gotta get up and go. Gimme another minute." It did help, having someone who was not about to be buried in an avalanche or otherwise losing their mind just sitting here and talking to them. It was the kind of thing Tay's friends did for them all the time when they got overexcited or freaked out about something small. Just, the thing they were freaking out over now was the opposite of small. Huge. Fucking huge. Fuckhuge, they were coining the word.

Ditto on everything sucking, EXTREME STEVE thought.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. Like, life wasn't supposed to go like this. He was supposed to like, go to college, live it up, have a good time, and then like, someday... dunno, get a wife and kids and shit. Or just keep being awesome, scoring hotties and moving on. Both good choices. Like, fuck, man... He hadn't even gotten a blue check mark on Twitter yet.

If he was gonna die, he should die held in the arms and bosom of a supermodel. Or in a rad explosion. Or get struck by lightning. A cool death. A metal death. Dying the way he lived, fully awesome. He couldn't just... fall in a hole and get stuck. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. So Shovel Finder and Shooter needed to like... get moving already, and get things back on track. He wasn't gonna die here. He was gonna get out of here, and open up a can of EXTREME STEVE. Go busting out of here like an action hero, or die trying. That was what his viewers back home deserved. That was what he deserved.

"Like... not trying to rush you or anything, bros, but it's kinda cold down here. Some help, yeah?"

Daniel nodded in agreement. No notes.

"I mean, I was more asking if you could like... breathe," he clarified to Taylor. "And it's alright."

He would be happy to join them and try to help someone out, once they were ready. Find a shovel, or a ladder... how hard could it be, right? Like, maybe they'd have to find someone whose assigned weapon was a shovel and kinda negotiate for that but, oh well. As long as the prospective shovel holder hadn't immediately resorted to killing, it was just the first day, they should be able to make something work. A ladder, though... were there any left on the island, was one assigned as a weapon? Possibilities, possibilities. Gotta be open to all of them. Well, not all of them - Taylor would probably agree with him that killing someone for a shovel was not gonna be in the agenda.

The moment Taylor said they were ready, Daniel picked up his gun (which, even if he didn't want to fire it, kinda couldn't keep lying around in the snow) and headed on out with them.

[Daniel Ozanne continued in You cannot rest, there are monsters nearby]

"I'm great at breathing," Taylor mumbled, regardless of how stupid and currently untrue that was. "I've been breathing all my life."

All the same, they rolled a little further, now onto their front, and shakily pushed themselves up to their hands and knees. After another few seconds of thought, they shuffled another foot or so away from the edge of the ravine before unsteadily getting to their feet. Their whole body felt weak and noodle-y after that episode, kind of like what Tay imagined the aftermath of running a marathon felt like.

They stood bent over and braced on their knees for another minute or so, just breathing, but they were breathing now, more or less unimpeded. If they had to run from anyone or anything after this, they were probably screwed, but- y'know what, they just weren't going to think about that.

"Yeah," they said finally, straightening up with a slight wince. "Okay. Let's go."

Back down to Steve, they shouted, "Hang tight, okay? We'll be back before you know it!" Then they set off with Daniel and tried really, really hard to also not think about whether that was going to end up a lie.

((Taylor Thorne continued in You cannot rest, there are monsters nearby))

That fucking bitch.

[[Enter, Jezzie Stark. Arms crossed, grumbling to herself as she walks.]]

She realized why double-sided-knife girl was familiar. She looked a bit like Gary, one of the other guys in the grocery store. And he’d definitely mentioned having three or four kids, one of them around her age.

Gary’s daughter was on Murder Island with her. And she thought Jezzie tried to kill Barrel Girl.

The disrespect.

Yeah, maybe they didn’t actually know each other that well, but Gary seemed like a good person, and she was just fine at her job, nothing that anyone would complain about. There was no way any of her coworkers would dislike her! Let alone enough to talk shit about her to their families!

So Gary’s Daughter just. Assumed the worst. On sight. Even after realizing it was her.

Of all the insulting things Jezzie could’ve gone through, that felt like it took the fucking cake. She’s recognized, only for it to do nothing, and the person recognizing her to insinuate she tried to kill someone.

Even the fucking terrorist-were they fucking psychos that deserved to die and burn in Hell for eternity? Obviously. Would she ever even think about doing what they want and trying to be a serial killer while stuck here? Of course not! But this was all shit you’d expect from them. They were sadists who sent hundreds of teenagers to their deaths seven different times before this. Expecting them to suddenly grow a heart after all of that would be like expecting a real live dragon under the tree next Christmas-never going to happen!

Meanwhile, someone recognizing her, only to think she’s some wannabe killer just because of one bad look?! It just-just-!

”UGH!”

In a fit of anger, Jezzie’s leg shot outward, kicking up a flurry of snow.

She didn’t know where she was, or if anyone was even nearby anymore, but if there was anyone, they may as well know she was pissed, and not to be fucked with.

Huh, was that someone else coming along now? They sounded kinda pissed off, but like, they also sounded like a girl. Maybe she'd help? Or like, offer to get down the hole and warm him up with some body heat? Worth a shot. So EXTREME STEVE took it upon himself to break the ice with a smooth one-liner.

"Sup shawty? You doin' all right?"

Well…she fucking tried to sound like she was not to be fucked with.

But, as a trend of this place, not everyone in this place seemed to be reasonable. This fucking guy just decided, by the tone of his voice and what he was saying, that now of all times is to hit on a girl.

And you know what? Fuck acting nice this time. This dickweed gets the intimidation act.

The knife in her coat pocket gets whipped out, getting brandished in front of her as she turns, trying to find the source of the voice. It sounded weird, like it was kind of distant in some way. Above? Below? How the fuck would it be below, though? Asshole was probably in a tree or some shit.

Whatever. Didn’t matter.

“Look, fuckwad,” Jezzie said, letting her anger bleed into her voice. Just enough that it could be heard, not enough that it sounded over the top. Her steps continued as she searched for the boy that spoke.

“This day has been shitty enough as it is. The last thing I need is some dumbass catcalling me, thinking he’s got a chance to get laid just because we’re on Survival of the Fi-!”

That sentence was pretty much over by that point, honestly. Still didn’t make getting cut off any less surprising. Especially when what cut her off wasn’t a voice, or the appearance of someone, but what almost felt like an act of God.

Or the Devil, really. Ground giving in right as you start trying to put your weight on one foot sounds like his territory.

Jezzie didn’t really have time to scream. Not even time to process what was going on, really.

Only enough time to start flailing her arms about. As if trying to flap her arms would make her fly.

Despite. You know. The fact that it didn’t. Obviously.

In a lot of circumstances, EXTREME STEVE would have enjoyed having a girl on top of him. And, like, not just the obvious one. There was also, like, giving piggyback rides, or that jousting game you play in the pool where someone sits on your shoulders and tries to push off other people. This wasn't one of those circumstances, though. Didn't help that this girl weighed at least three hundred pounds. That's definitely what it felt like when she fell right the fuck on top of him and knocked all the air right out of his lungs. Don't get it twisted, EXTREME STEVE wasn't picky - thicc thighs save lives, and all that. But right at this moment? No thanks.

"Hwouuuugh..." he wheezed, attempting to express his displeasure at the situation.

Fuck, that hurt. She'd dive-bombed right onto him. Must've hit him elbow first or something, felt like she speared right into him. Wait, no... that didn't feel right. Nothing felt right, right now. Between the cold on his back and the numbness in his arm, and the sluggish feeling of his legs being trapped in dirt and snow, it was a real bad-feelings bonanza. But EXTREME STEVE knew pain. He'd been getting banged up his whole life, and he knew what a lot of painful stuff felt like, everything from road rash to a splinter under the fingernail. This wasn't what it felt like to collide with another person at high speed. Well, it was, but it also wasn't. There was something else.

The girl was still on top of him. He shifted, and there it was - a slicing, red-hot pain in his ribs. He craned his neck, looking through the tangle of limbs and dirt, and caught sight of something. Was that a... knife handle sticking out of him?!

The bitch had stabbed him! What the fuck?!

He goggled at her, wide-eyed, still too out of breath to speak.

Who puts. A fucking hole. In the middle. Of the fucking forrest.

...okay, maybe a stupid question. But her anger was still valid in her opinion. How did she miss this thing? Was fuckboy McGee that damn distracting? Jesus she needed to get her priorities straight, apparently.

In a minute, though. Too much shit hurt at the moment. Her ribs felt sore. Her face felt cold from falling into the snow. Her fingers felt twitchy from gripping the knife so tightly-wait.

The knife. The knife.

Where was the fucking knife.

"Wuh?" Jezzie said as she raised her face from the ground, nowhere near as elegant or even respectable as she would've liked. Her mind was a blur as her eyes scanned the area, barely even taking note of the boy as she searched for the knife. The one thing that could guarantee her safety. It wasn't much, but it was her's, and she didn't want it leaving her, because it made her feel vulnerable, and if there was one thing Jezzie Stark should never be, it's vulnerable, weak, helpless-

"Ah!" Found it! It was stabbed into something, jutting out kind of weirdly, but it didn't look damaged. She could appreciate that much, would've been fucked up if her weapon broke the first day being stuck here, so it not being broken was nice. Now she just needed to grab it and...

It was about a second after grabbing and yanking the knife out of its current spot that the world caught up with Jezzie's mind.

That was a person.

Her knife had been in a person, and without a second thought, she'd just. Ripped it out.

And now a bleeding boy was starring at her.

And then Jezzie was several scenes back. Hiding in a closet as one girl cut another girl's throat open before she could even wake up. Having to put up the confident, intimidating act to the first boy she saw on this island because he wanted to work with an admitted murderer. Trying to help a girl stuck in a barrel only to be kicked and screamed at like she was in the wrong. Getting threatened by someone that recognized her just because of one bad look. Getting catcalled in the forrest like this was the time to try hooking up with someone.

So many times in the script, it was the same. Her classmates were either dangerous or stupid, sometimes both.

Would this be that different?

Before she could think about that question for much longer, Jezzie brought the knife back down.

Then up.

Then down.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down, up and down-

It didn't matter if it was overkill. Better too much than not enough.

Better to guarantee it was him than risk it was her.

By the time he got his breath back, it was too late.

If he'd gotten it back forty seconds ago, he'd have said something like, "Ow, fuck that hurt." Then he'd have said, "'Sup? I'm EXTREME STEVE. What's your name?" It would've been nice to know that much, at least. Would've been nice to know who she was, or why she was killing him.

If he'd gotten it back-thirty-nine seconds ago, he'd have said, "Looks like we're both stuck down here, so howzabout you help me get unstuck and we work together to get outta here and blow this popsicle stand?"

If he'd gotten it back thirty-eight seconds ago, he'd have said, "OWW! Fuck! What the... Is that a knife!?"

If he'd gotten it back thirty-seven seconds ago, he'd have said "Whoa, whoa, wait! Just WAIT! It doesn't gotta be like that!"

If he'd gotten it back thirty-six seconds ago, he'd have used it to scream.

If he'd gotten it back twenty seconds ago, he'd have begged her to stop because she just kept hitting him over and over, and knife kept coming down and down and down and every time he felt it slam into his body it sent a whole new shockwave of agony into him and it hurt so bad, hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt before, and he could feel the blood, actual hot blood welling up from inside him and leaking everywhere and it freaked him out.

If he'd gotten it back ten seconds ago, he'd have just yelled STOP because it was the only word left in his brain, screaming over and over and over, faster and faster until it was a blur. STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP.

If he'd gotten it back five seconds ago, he'd have been too busy coughing blood and it wouldn't have mattered because he was long past the point of being able to think of anything but concepts, concepts like pain and blood and hurt and DON'T.

But it was now, and he'd horked up something hot and metallic and his throat was clear, just for one last second. He didn't even have the energy left to scream, just enough to moan. Not really a consciously-chosen word. Just a sound, dredged up from somewhere in the deep cavernous recesses of his mind, where all the lights were flickering out. Just a weak, feeble little protest, against this fucked-up game and this fucked-up girl and this fucked-up ending.

"...Bruh."

There was blood. So much blood. And not just corn starch or some other practical effect made to look like blood. Actual blood.

And compared to Tana, the blood here just felt more messed up. Even when the corpse was shoved into the closet with her, it still hadn't felt entirely real. Like a murder mystery dinner party, or some sort of performance the audience could interact with. She still could reach some form of detachment from it all, no matter how far it seemed to be.

Here and now, though? She couldn't do that. Not when the blood was pooling on and around this boy she didn't even know the name of. Not when it was on her hands, staining her jacket. Not when it soaked her knife, now a confirmed murder weapon.

And not when she was close enough to hear last words that sounded like they came straight out of a horror comedy.

And for a moment after that last breath...there was nothing. She didn't move. He couldn't move. No thoughts in either head. Just staring at each other. Almost like one was waiting for...something. The other to laugh? The director to yell cut? For something to fuck up the shot?

The scene break would come, though, as Jezzie suddenly lurched backward, falling onto her butt. The set before her-that she created-was unbearable now.

She needed to get away. She needed to get away immediately.

The search for her own bag didn't take long. One glance and it was back over her shoulder. Same for what she assumed was the dead boy's bag. One look and both of her shoulders had a duffle bag hanging from them.

The knife went in one bag as she went on four limbs to climb. Maybe it was the effort she threw into the action, maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. Whatever the case, less than a minute later, she was out and quickly walking away from the grave she made.

And the whole time, not a single noise came out of her.

She wasn't sure when that would change.

[[Exit, Jezzie Stark. Arms crossed, staring ahead, but not quite seeing what's before her.]]