Survival Of The Fittest

Abhishek kept wiping the viscera from the other boy's face. Everything said and done, that gash wasn't as awful as it seemed. Perhaps the Hunt Down the Freeman joke was a little uncalled for, even if Corbin did bear a slight resemblance to Sergeant Mitchell.

Actually, no, he was proud of that one. Fuck you.

Abhishek tossed the bloodied wipe haphazardly on the floor and then picked up another. Then, he kept going, scraping the red crust around the laceration away. Man, he'd been way too nice to this guy. In the end, he just had to push one more button. He'd earned it for all his toil and trouble.

"Alright, it's almost over," he said with another smug grin, "I'm not gonna kiss your wound, sorry, not sorry."

It was hard, keeping quiet while the little freak mocked him. Frankly, if Abhishek wanted to get a black eye he was heading in the right direction. But doing that would leave him without the only person around to treat his head wound, and he wasn't sure he could really do it himself. So he sat there, eyes shut, and took it.

At least until he felt something. One of Abhishek's hands moving across his face in just the wrong way. He couldn't see it, but it felt... gentle, and overly-familiar, and...

His eyes snapped open, glowering at the other boy with a mix of revulsion and fear, his face flushing red. Without warning, he violently shoved the other boy away from him.

"Don't fucking do that!" He glared, visibly fuming and trembling like a leaf, blushing furiously all the while. If he thought about it for maybe another second, even he would know he was massively overreacting, but in the wake of this his common sense was in painfully short supply.

Abhishek thought he'd had this system down to a science. He thought he knew exactly how far he could go before the consequences rolled in. He thought he was invincible—like nothing could touch him, as if he could get away with anything.

So much for that, huh?

The shove took him by surprise and sent him clattering to the floor. Even if he'd seen it coming, he probably couldn't have stopped it. Corbin was eight inches taller and over fifty pounds heavier, with muscle to match. There was no adequate comparison to be made.

Even with a sprain, Abhishek wasn't sure he could take on Corbin. The imbalance was too steep. His first brush with danger since he'd awoken, and the odds were against him. That meant he had to play smart: this was as much a puzzle as a battle.

The only weapon in reach was Corbin's own, the trident. Abhishek knew he didn't have the strength to wield it. It was too heavy, and if he tried to use it, Corbin would probably rip it from his hands. But as it stood, leaving it in play was dangerous.

So, he did the next best thing and pressed the bottom of his foot against the handle. Then, he added force. Soon, the weapon was sliding across the floor, all the way to the other side of the room. Now, it was effectively out of the other boy's reach.

That wasn't enough. If Abhishek wanted to make it out of the room in one aesthetically-intact piece—and he did—he needed to get out of Corbin's wingspan. Easier said than done. So, he tried to scramble to his feet and scamper a few inches back.

Corbin was right on the cusp of calming down. After all, the odds Abhishek had done it on purpose were slim. Like, they hated each other, for starters, and he definitely didn't know; nobody did. He'd made sure of it. Really, if anything, freaking out like that had done more to reveal it than anything else, and it would be wise to smooth it over and run damage control.

But then Abhishek kicked his trident - his weapon and means of locomotion - across the room. Suddenly, he was seeing red again.

"You little shit!"

He stood up, coming dangerously close to toppling on his bad ankle. But he was angry enough to ignore the agony, and clumsily lunged for the other boy.

He'd poked the bear again, and this time, he hadn't even realized it. A flash of fear ran through him, like cold static in his veins. Then came the desperation. He had to take a stand, do something, do anything. He had to get out of harm's way.

Abhishek had a lot to lose.

The lunge came quicker than he'd thought. He'd tried to move out of the way, but that just meant he got shoulder-checked and sent hurtling back toward the ground. He couldn't let that happen. If he got pinned, the struggle was over.

Dead to rights.

"Gotta—" his brain spat out, fast enough to register but too slow to find a solution.

"—gotta do something."

His hands reached out, hooked something, and pulled it tight. Then, his nails dug in, and he swung Corbin's unzipped daypack towards the boy's head, letting loose odds and ends everywhere. Then, he let go of the bag, letting it fly free.

All he had to do was buy time.

Seconds were cheap.

Corbin took the bag to the face with the undignified yip of a small dog getting its paw stepped on. He hurtled back to the floor, scrambling to get the now-mostly-empty bag off his head.

"Stupid goddamn..." he muttered, muffled.

Minutes were expensive.

Before retribution could come, he scrabbled around for Corbin's boot—the one on the ground—and kept moving. Even with one fucked-up foot, the guy had three functional alternatives, all of which were more than capable of destruction.

More time. More time.

He raised his arm. As soon as Corbin's face was clear, he reeled back. Then, with all his strength, he threw it, sock and all, hoping to hit. This red wouldn't go down without a fight—not if he had a say in the matter. And if that meant he had to fight dirty, so be it.

The bag came down, with Corbin yelling just as loud.

"Fucki-"

It was just in time for Corbin's discarded boot to collide with his left eye, glancing off it and tumbling away across the floor. Corbin himself struck the ground again hard, head first, clutching his face and screaming incoherently in rage and agony.

Survival, though?

Priceless.

Abhishek grabbed his jury-rigged weapon from where it rested. He was standing on his own two feet now. And with Corbin out of commission, he had ample space to breathe. For a little while, anyway. Soon, the other boy would shake off the pain, and it'd be back to fighting.

Though, he could've done something about it. Put a stop to this rampage before it had the chance to start. But no, he wasn't going to do that. He'd dealt enough of a punishment already. Corbin had learned a painful lesson—that was certain, judging by the anguished wailing.

Still, this whole situation left him with an uneasy feeling. Tensions were high, but he hadn't expected a reaction like that. With the push of a few little buttons, the scene erupted. And in the wake was violence. As he fixed his bag and adjusted his hat, he took one look back.

And then, he left the destruction behind him.

S031: ABHISHEK PANICKER — CONTINUED IN "Great Plan for the Transformation of Nature"

Corbin's animalistic screaming subsided into something of a pained, pitiful whine as Abhishek fled. He couldn't see how bad the damage was, obviously, but it felt excruciating. His left eye was swollen shut, and the hand clasped over it came away bloodied a bit. As if he wasn't badly injured enough already. He was pretty sure he'd probably agitated the gash and worsened the sprain too. From his position on the floor through his single teary eye, he couldn't quite find where his trident had scuttled off to; he could just see most of his supplies was scattered everywhere, having flown across the room when Abhishek threw the bag at him. The scuffle had even tipped his medkit onto the floor and scattered its content everywhere too. All the things he'd need to survive this, scattered and damaged and possibly ruined, all because he lost his temper over some imagined come-on by a dude he couldn't stand.

He'd never felt so fucking humiliated before in all his life.

Some part of him - the rapidly-shrinking part that still had dignity and resolve - felt the urge to do something about the circumstance he was in. Try his best to clean up and put his gear back in its bag. Properly tend to his injuries himself, as best he could. At minimum, at least put his shoe back on, get his little makeshift crutch back, and try to find someone who could do those things for him.

Instead he curled into a ball on the floor, trying and failing not to cry.

((Corbin Azinger continued bec de corbin))