Survival Of The Fittest

Neville was considering a smart answer to Ryan's not very encouraging reply, when the voice from the next room froze him. He put his finger to his lips, and moved round the wall; thankfully he'd reloaded his pistol...Neville stopped his train of thought before the cliff.

No more killing, unless it was really necessary. But then, without a plan to get off the island, he might as well kill everyone in sight, or else let the next person shoot him. But, oh yes. His chance would come to repay the world, before he died, for being a rich, consuming, yes, a lonely bastard who'd never touched anyone's life before, not even his family's. He smiled at Ryan and Clare, hoping he didn't just look insane.

The announcement went off. Putting speed over subtlety, Neville moved into the next room, and kept moving till he found Antonio. Counting on the announcement having distracted the boy, Neville brought the Wildley up fast, ready to shoot. He hoped he'd have time to aim for a shoulder; a shouted warning was certainly going to be an inaffordable luxury.

(Guh, sorry I haven't been around guys. I'll try to keep up with this a little more now that I think I've got my stuff under control...I hope. -_-)

Clare collapsed through the door shortly after Neville and Ryan. They had managed to dress her wounds before they arrived at the house, but they still ached and burned. Her dress shirt had been torn to make bandages and she pulled on her </life> tank top over the makeshift bandages in an attempt to regain what little modesty she had left after that episode. Blood had already seeped through the white cloth, which definitely wasn’t a good sign.

The shotgun slung across her shoulder had been reloaded, not that one shell matters where a shotgun is concerned. Her wounds ached when she didn’t move and when she did they would sear with pain. Little patches of color, or rather lack of color, were forming in her vision, clouding and distorting the things in front of her. She slumped against the wall beside the door and slid downwards into an awkward sitting position. She didn’t quite know what to do, even as a voice called out in the next room, her mind kept on drifting back to what had happened at the well.

After the burst of movement, Neville's body kicked back; he swayed a little but kept the gun steady. He hoped Clare and Ryan would be following; running in on his own might turn out to be fatally stupid. But then this greasy git had only seen him, so far.

Yeah, he's greasy. Am I not allowed to dislike someone on sight, because I've got a gun? What kind of high-schooler wears a tie if he can help it?

"Gun down, now." For all the good it was likely to do.

((Continued from: Taking Stock))

Stevan was back at the house again. It had been a couple days now since his last visit where he met up with jacob starr and made a broken alliance with the preacher. Just asall his alliances it ended with them being a corpse.

Shells where inserted into the side of the gun and a single swift movement would cock it ready to be fired. The spas 12 would be held at hip height ready to shoot down any unsuspecting bastard who got in its line of fire.

As he walked through the front door he went straight past the slumped girl with the shotgun and into view of the opther gun weilding girl.

He stood there. Holding back a smile, untill he couldent anymore and he burst out laughing. What were they doing here havinmg a mexican standoff?

He could see them looking at him dumbfounded, but who wouldent hejust walked through theline of fire, he couldent blame them really.

He looked aroundfor something interesting when he saw an open door and a body laying in the room it lead too.
He saw the girl aiming the gun with caution but he was unfazed. Getting shot wasnt the worst thing that could happen to him at this moment in time.

He gave a wink to the girl as he walked into the room with body, stevan was curious to check it out. As he grew closer to the boy he crouched down beside him and layed two fingers on his neck, And yes as stevan hoped, yes he was still alive, probally unconscious by the blood staines he had the back of his head.
He would hear a noise, a small murmer of what was supposed to be a word. help was it? no it was probally 'dont'.

Time too make some noise he thought to himself.
He knelt on one knee beside the boy and his ever so faithfull shotgun was placed pointblank on the back of the boys head and his finger curled around the trigger, although he wasnt sure if he actually that much of a prick to shoot someone whos down. he just sat there for a minute, but the boy jumped quickly, probally a unconscious twitch, but this startled stevan too no end, and the trigger was pulled hard on the metallic surface, realising a small click and a hail of buck shot with it. He could hear the bone of his skull crunch and the squelching of his brain and skin mezerized stevan. The large blood splatter spread against stevans face and quickly started to drip down features and hair.

Stevan fell back into a sitting position on the floor from force of the shotgun blast and the surprise of the blood splatter. He simply used his foot to push the boys noow lifeless corpse over only to see a wonderful scene. No face, apart from odd tooth here and there and his eyeballs sitting at either end of his face.


Stevan got up after favouring this scene and looked at the boys attire. Hey it was his kind of thing, another token too add to his collection was needed.

As he slid the leather jacket off the corpse and put it on himself he talked out to the people in the other room.
"He is your problem now ok?" He said as he stood up, shotgun in hand and wiping the new leather jacket with the other hand.



BOYS NO#114 - KOUJI GINSENSHI - DEAD

((Continued in: Inhale... Exhale...))

What the fuck was that all about?! Antonio wondered, his face betraying how perplexed he was at Stevan's sudden intrusion and the killing of another boy in the house. It had all seemed so random and happened so quickly, that for the first time in his life he was confused. With the other boy pointing what he recognised as a Wildey pistol (his father always had a Wildey either in his pocket or on his desk, it was his favorite gun since it was just as powerful as a Desert Eagle but more accurate and stable) at him, ordering him to drop the gun. Antonio still had the gun he got from Jeremy aimed at the boy, but now he seemed like he didn't know what to do.

That was the shotgun kid! I'm a little tied up here, but should I go after him? still wondering, he glared and snarled at the Wildey-weilding boy.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? how about you drop it while I'm still not in the mood to blow your brains against the wall behind you? You're not my target but you sure will be if you keep on tryin' to threaten me!" tightening his finger on the trigger, his stare dared the boy to test his resolve.

What...t'...

Neville snapped back to Tie-boy; close one. Just as well they were both too tired to be all that trigger happy.

Small comfort with this guy, of course, from how he looked, spoke, and reacted to a maniac blowing a injured boy's head off. Confused? Bloody horrified would be closer to Standard Human, but then Neville supposed he wasn't exactly floored by the murder. But he missed the feeling.

"Not thi target? Thi could've fooled me. An' if I ain't playin', and you ain't droppin'..." Neville knew that not firing proved he wasn't playing; from the moment this guy had opened his mouth, the lights had been going off in Neville's head that made a rabbit stand over its babies, and drop a hawk with kicks.

Clare...sod, the shotgun maniac had come through her, and Ryan. Just after he'd left them!

"Clare!" Neville kept his eyes on Tie-boy, moistened his lips, and backed to within a step of the doorway.

Grimacing as the other boy didn't drop the Wildey and called out to someone named Claire while backing away and keeping his eyes on him, Antonio tightened his finger even harder on the trigger, keeping eye contact with the boy. It was obvious the boy with the Wildey wasn't playing, too bad for him that Antonio was.

"I told you to drop it, you son of a bitch!" he snarled, swiveling the gun so it faced the boy's head and squeezing the trigger, letting off a shot straight at him. True, his anger was unreasonable, but one thing he had always been taught was never to let a threat stay a threat, by lethal force if necessary. By his logic, he had every right to kill the boy since he wouldn't drop his weapon.

I just hope he doesn't have any allies with better guns, or I'm fucked. I can't afford to get in a gunfight when I only have one clip.

OOC: Sorry its short, but I had to do something.

"I told you to drop it, you-"

The second guy to mug Neville had sounded just the same. Maybe hitting for some guys was shooting for others, but Neville was whipping back to the door before he'd begun to think-

When his foot caught the board, it ever so nearly rang like a bell.

In the falling second, he saw a shape that said boy, let off the Wildley's double action at it. Then his back hit the floor, and sawdust was pouring over his hair as he threw it up into the noise and terror.

One thump; Tie-boy's still up. Maybe wounded, maybe dying wounded; but up. Me on t' floor. Knowin' I'm gonna die, and not even gonna die outdoors.

He squinted, aimed again, trying to think of Central Park. Five Finger lakes, sunset in Algonquin. Sweet, sweet Dartmoor. Even The Beach...

No fucking good. He hardly knew her, but he needed her;

"Claire, CLARE!"

(OOC; Please, not a headshot death? Apart from that, take this anyway you like.)

Clare was feeling sluggish and hazy, her eyes sliding slowly in and out of focus. The wounds didn’t seem to hurt anymore, but there was a pervading sense of numbness traveling slowly through her body. A stranger had walked in after them, a rather frightening looking stranger, as much as a hazy gray blur can look frightening. But the eyes.

Did he just wink or am I seeing things, too?

Had it really only been a few minutes since the incident at the well? Ever since then her mind had been drifting in and out of coherent thought, it hadn’t quite sunk in again that she had killed someone or that in this game people die. It didn’t hit her until too late that the stranger could only be more harm than good, that someone was going to die again.

Clare’s entire body jumped as the shotgun blast echoed through the rooms. Her eyes slid quickly back into focus and she struggled to reach the doorway that Neville had gone through only moments earlier.

Not again. Oh please no, not again. No. Nev. Gawd, Nev. Don’t let that have been you.

There were muffled words from the other room, one of the voices sounded like Neville, but she couldn’t be sure. She managed to get to her feet and clamber to the doorway, cocked shotgun in hand. The only thing she faced were more gunshots and Neville falling.

“Clare. CLARE!”

She didn’t know what to do and acted on what little bit instinct was telling her by dropping to her knees near Neville and pointing her shotgun towards the other boy. Because of his shouts she new that Neville wasn't dead, but her mind wouldn't focus or let her assist him with the unfamiliar, gunwielding boy in the room. She didn't even know the extent of his injuries. With wide eyes and dried blood smeared like war paint across her face she looked more than a little insane, maybe even a little inhuman.

“No.” Her voice was cracking and high pitched. The wounds started burning again, but at least the pain showed her that she was still alive. “N-not him. Any…anyone but him. Why-y?” She no longer felt the need to blink, as tears of pain, sadness, and fear overflowed from her eyes and were quickly dyed crimson as they made trails through the blood. Suddenly she changed, though, her voice settled into a quiet, even tone and the corner of her lips curled in a mocking smile. “Please tell me you didn’t just do that?”

Antonio's face changed expressions several times in the last few seconds. When his shot hit Neville (he couldn't see where, but the fact that he was talking meant it didn't hit his head) and made him fall, he had worn a smug grin. That changed to a slightly shocked expression as the other boy fired two shots from his Wildey. and a grimace of pain as both shots hit. He howled as one bullet slammed through his upper left arm, taking a huge chink of flesh with it, and the other peirced the upper part of his chest on the right, leaving a gaping hole. The force of the two bullets knocked him flat on his rear, and the girl entered just as he was getting up, pointing the shotgun at him and asking if he had just shot the boy.

"Yeah, I did, you ugly bitch," he snarled pointing the gun with a shaking arm at the girl with the shotgun, his eyes looking like that of a wanderer who had just found his home, "so unless you want to join your boyfriend I suggest you give me that shotgun and that brat's Wildey." he knew this was nearly suicide, and he probably wouldn't be able to use a shotgun anyway, but it could still serve for a bluff. All he knew was that there was a good chance of him getting blasted and he was already badly hurt.

And where had Ryan been during all this?

Sleeping.

The pain had lulled him to sleep on its steady beat. Move a little. Hurt. Readjust a bit. Pain. Try to settle. Searing. Wheez out air. White flash. Flash, flash, red flash. Flashes of every color, before his eyes. How pretty, but it annoyed his eyes to the point that he just had to close them. Only for a second, though. Someone might be in the house. Someone might enter at any second. Could be an attacker like Vince. Yeah. Don't want to get attacked by dudes like that. That was cruising for a bruising, sleep. No way. Gonna stay awake. Got to. . .

. . .Only one second, Mom. Then I'll get up for school, okay?

One second turned into a time too long. Another student died at the sound of a heavy gun in the next room. Ryan stayed asleep. Just a few more minutes, alright? Clare's name was called, a trigger was squeezed, another shot. One, maybe two, or three more shots followed. Little did his sleeping form know what was really happening outside of dream world.

Jus' in time...

Then Neville coughed. And kept coughing, as the red blossomed out of his jacket. Now, it hurt, much worse than a cricket ball. Shot in the lung; drowning a mile from the ocean. Scary was what it was like.

Neville heard the voices over his head. He fired once, in something like the right direction, then dropped the pistol. Silly thing to spend his last energy on; Clare was going to be alright. Had to be, with that voice, and that frame of light running through her body. Neville tried to speak, and coughed blood over the floor.

Antonio gasped in pain as Neville's final shot hit its mark, plunging through his tie and blasting into his chest. With blood pouring out of the massive bulletwounds, Antonio fell backwards, hitting his head on the same table Satomi's corpse was lent against. Coughing up a gob of blood, Antonio looked up furitively at the fallen boy and the shotgun weilding girl, raised his gun, and fired every bullet left in the clip at them.

If I'm going to die, I might as well take one with me!

OOC: Forgive me, don't have time to write much else.

Faintly, Neville could hear the bullets cracking into wood; most of them had gone far wide, though his arm felt suddenly numb...most, not all. A numb patch in his back as well; he'd struggled round to his front, and now he lay like that.

After t' car hit Billy, did he feel?...hell, s'pose every day's a battle, for a stray dog. Nothing has a bloody point, and love never saves you.

Should've...known her better. Her an' Ryan; t' only ones I wish I'd had more time with, 'cause I should've know 'em better than anyone. Should've fuckin' done something that mattered to someone else.

Neville's hand flapped against Clare's foot.

((OOC: Its completely up to you if you want to get hit with the blast or not, just remember that it’s buckshot. If it doesn’t hit, then she just shot the ceiling. Sorry that it took me so long to post, I'm too shitpicky about what I write.))

The only thing Clare could do was grin. Grin and fight not to burst into a fit of giggles, even as Neville’s coughing registered in her mind. She couldn’t help until they were safe, even if the potential cost of that action was great. Neville’s life, her life, the trigger happy boy, even. Her finger tightened around the trigger as she stared at the boy across the room.

“Ry-aaaaaah!” Her call to the redheaded boy in the other room transformed into a scream as bullets again tore through her already battered body. As she pitched backward, the shocks coursing through her body caused her finger to pull tight against the trigger. She couldn’t see what happened, all she knew was the fiery pain that coursed through every fiber of her being. If under other circumstances her wounds probably wouldn’t have been fatal, but she had already lost so much blood and there wasn’t much of anything to use as first aid. The little color remaining in her face was fading as she bled out onto the floor.

Nev.

She whimpered and curled into a fetal position in an attempt to make the pain go away, or at least to be able to ignore it for a while. No adrenaline, no painkillers, nothing to help. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, then again she wasn’t dead yet and it was going to be a long and painful trip down that road.

Y-you can work through this. He needs help more than you do.

She cried out again as she struggled to move the short way to Neville. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and she let it dribble from her partially open lips onto the floor of the dirty little house; she didn’t have the willpower to spit.

“Nev.” She whispered and clutched at his arm, but had no idea what to do. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She grimaced and leaned her head against his shoulder.