Survival Of The Fittest

Sorry? Me too, but she ain't?...no, no, nothing wrong. Feels special, like she ain't gonna stop resting on thi, she's gonna stay. She got t' bad guy, again. She's gonna be alright.

Neville's head moved against Clare's. He smiled, because he hadn't strength to move his limbs, or speak. He just heard silence, with him and Clare; like it had been when they came from the Well. Living or dying, animal or human, silence was enough, when you were close. He ought to thank her for it.

There, tha ain't held up so bad, ain't tha? Right outta Middle-class-America into a war; but you always knew nothing back there would ever matter to tha. Not family or anyone, no one thi'd want here now; but then, tha never so much as pitched a tent with 'em in t' rain. And thi never knew people could be loyal or strong, just faithless and pathetic.

DON'T think about it. Just remember Billy, and feel Clare. She ain't hurt bad. She knows she's gonna be okay.

Deep down, there were many things Neville knew he should've done. But all he knew he wanted now was to tell Clare about who she was, and what had made him smile, before there was nothing he could do but whimper and retch.

BOY#103, Neville Eden-DEAD

Antonio almost knew what was going to happen-how it was going to end- before Clare even fired the shot, but as she did, the world seemed to move in slow motion to his dying eyes. As the buckshot flew towards him, he realized all the things he hadn't done with his life, all the things he had too; including killing two people (he knew it was two because the boy was no longer moving, the one terrorist he shot in New York being the first). It was pathetic really, he had barely lasted one day from when Danya's men kidnapped him to punish his father.

It had been a cold night in New York city. Of course, Antonio and the four men didn't know this inside their dark black van, gliding like a shadow over the city streets. Antonio was in the back with two of the four thugs, behind one of the seats. Suddenly, another van pulled up in front of them and stopped, blocking their van's movement. Being forced to stop, all four thugs grabbed the SPAS-12 shotguns they had been given while Antonio took up his Beretta, just in case. Suddenly the back door of the other van opened, and several figures in dark uniforms came out, holding AK-47s.

"Who the fuck are the-" the driver started to ask before the rifles were raised and the car was pelted by automatic fire. Instantly the van filled with blood, three of the four men (the two in the front chairs and the one between them) being practically ripped to shreds by the gunfire. Protected by the seats and the thugs in front, Antonio and the other thug wasted no time rushing out of the side doors with guns armed. Ducking into a running crouch to avoid the bullets, Antonio headed to a nearby alley for cover. While there he saw the thug fire his shotgun into the other group. One of the enemies was sent flying back with a scream, but seemed unharmed. The (obviously) kevlar-wearing shooters quickly turned their aim on the thug, firing their assault rifles and riddling him with bullets, killing him instantly. Angered, Antonio leaned out of the alley.

"Nobody fucks with the Franchinis!" he had shouted, firing his pistol repeatedly and causing some of the terrorists to duck down. They were quick to react though, and Antonio ducked back into the alley to avoid retun fire. Unknown to him, they were just trying to keep him pinned down so some others could flank him. Luckily (for Antonio at least) he saw the top of one's ski mask poking up from the top. Aiming his gun, he fired. There was a flash of red and a scream as the bullet pierced the top of the terrorist's head, then silence and a thud. Hearing footsteps from the direction of the van, he spun out of the alley and went to fire his gun, but he felt something stab into his neck just before he could. Suddenly feeling overwhelmingly tired, he fell to his side, dropping the gun. Just before he passed out, he heard the terrorists speaking.

"Alright, Mr. Danya wants this one on the island ASAP, so let's get moving. This'll show ol' Luigi not to cheat us."

He didn't know why he remembered that night, but it would be the last thing he would as the buckshot slammed into his face. The top of his head was completely destroyed, causing a geyser of blood to shoot up, spreading all over the room and turning everything in the immediate area crimson. The hose of red continued to spray even after Antonio's body slumped to the ground and his brains spilled out, turning into a slight trickle and finally stopping after a full minute.


Boy #93-Antonio Franchini-DEAD

“Ry-aaaaaah!”

There was an explosion of sound after that, like a thunderous clap. And, then, something like a fwssssssh, like one of those annoying deodorant sprays amplified. Strange. He didn't keep one of those in the house, and it wasn't raining outside, so what was up with the thunder? Ryan groaned, finally hoping up his eyes. Everything came back to him. The island. Thunder meant gunfire. Deodorant spray meant water. Or something liquidy. Sounded pretty thick, though, so water didn't make a whole lot of sense to the Torres boy. Perhaps it was...

Blood.

The smell was held in the air strongly, reaching into his nostrils and staying there. The dried blood on his pants and drying blood on his skin didn't help remove the smell. Everything just became much worse as he got up on shakey legs and began to walk into the next room.

It looked like there looked like a mad painter had taken a bucket of nasty paint and threw it around. Blood here. There. Everywhere, everything scarlet. And the smell. Oh, God. What was all of this? What had happened here? What...

"N-Nev?" The first thing he had seen, beyond the blood, was the headless body. It was unrecognizeable, aside from the clothes that it wore. Could'nt've been Neville. Guy didn't wear suit and tie. There was some consolation in that, but not much. One dead body didn't amount to that smell. Had to be more.

The next thing was Clare and Neville, snuggled up all cozy like. Decided to take a nap together, did you? Didn't know you two were that close. Jeez. What is up with the two of you? Don't you notice anything? Dude... And then he looked a little closer. The holes in Clare and Neville. Bullet holes meant only one thing. The headless had killed them both. Dead...

His flesh-torn arm started acting up again, sending him pain signals off the yin yang. But, he stood there, motionless now, staring at his downed allies.

Clare heard footsteps and a familiar shaky voice through the haze in her mind.

“N-Nev?”

Her tears were not just from physical pain, but many levels of mental pain as well. It was amazing how she could consider someone she had only known for a few hours one of her best friends, but that’s the way the world worked. That best friend had just been shot in front of her and died in her arms, she just killed someone, she aided in killing someone else, and her only other ‘friend’ probably wouldn’t understand. Everyone always thought she was crazy in the end. Then again, she was, wasn’t she?

“C’mon Nev, we’ve gotta go.” The girl was hysterical and delusional, not quite believing that he was dead, but knowing full well at the same time. “Ne-”

Clare’s panic-stricken monologue was cut off by a coughing fit which sent a fine mist of blood over the dead boy’s shoulder and her hand. She let out a pain filled whine and attempted unsuccessfully to wipe the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.


“Ry-Ryan?” She asked quietly with a shaking voice. It hurt. Everything hurt. Even through that she attempted stupidly to sit up, but only succeeding in raising herself a few inches before collapsing once more onto the body half-underneath her. Her sobs continued, reaching a high pitched, almost keening level.

That’s it. I’m going to die here.

Ryan swallowed hard, licking his dry lips wordlessly. Only one of the two was breathing. Clare. The other lay dead, lifeless with empty lungs. Nev... It felt like he had suddenly been sucker punched. All air left him as he watched Clare cough and bleed. She didn't realize it yet. Neville—oh, God, oh God, what was his lastname?—was gone. There was nothing in the poor boy that was alive. Not fair. Not right. None of this... Of all people, of all kids...why his school? Why had this group gotten attacked? Why couldn't they have been left alone for once?

It seemed like, no matter where they went, they were bound to be fought. There was bound to be death. The well had been the worst. It had given him the nasty pain in his arm and thigh, and allowed him to see death up close for the first time. That Vince guy, then all the other crazies. And Dorian. Where was he? Last time he saw him he was trying to distract their attackers. Ryan knew he couldn't have lived. Boy was in a pitiful state to begin with. No way he could've avoided death.

Then there was here, this place, the small house. It was the scene of a massacre. Every room had the death stench. Everywhere. If home was where the heart is, then where is the heart in this? On vacation, Ryan thought bitterly, his humor returning for a fleeting second.

Clare's whine was painful to his ears. He tried to look away to keep from crying himself, but it didn't work. It was like the aftermath of an explosion. You couldn't help but watch the flames smoke up and die.

"Ry-Ryan?"

He stepped closer, then dropped down to his knees. Careful as he went, Ryan placed a comforting hand on Clare's forehead, as if he were checking her for fever. It was all he could do. Anything else may worsen the pain.

She was the one fire he wouldn't, no, couldn't let die. Not after all of this. Not yet. Never.

"Shh. I'm here now. Everything's going to be okay, Clare. You're safe now. I'll never let them hurt you again." Big words, big promise, but this was one he would have to keep. Not only for Clare, but for himself, Neville, and Dorian (God bless him). No turning a blind eye any longer, he was here for all of them even after the end. "You can quote me on that one. Oh yeah, d-def-definitely!"

((continued from Cat and Mouse))


Jeremy stood outside the small house, hidden in the forest. His thoughts drifted back when he was here earlier today. That boy who wanted him dead had came in, chased Nev and Scott and Jeremy out. Jeremy wondered if he was still in there, if he was, he was going to get a rude awakening. Mallory's quest to find Glenn's killer inspired Jeremy not to stand back, that boy definately had a grudge against Jeremy after he broke their deal to live back at the school. Jeremy looked down at his sickle.

Jeremy wondered how he looked to anybody else. He was wearing muddy jeans and had no shirt on. His left arm was bandaged with a now bloody bandage. His back left shoulder was bleeding from the back where he was shot by Antonio. Jeremy walked with a limp from where he received a wound in his left foot, even though he was unsure if it was a bullet or something else.

Jeremy was about go go check out the house when the announcements came on and Jeremy listened intently. When Mallory's name was called Jeremy froze, he ran that name through his mind...no....Jeremy felt a pain in his chest now as he sat down and thought to himself

Mallory...why did you run off without me? You got yourself killed...

Jeremy stood up, he now had no one else on this island except Nev and Scott, and they were still alive, for their names weren't mentioned. Jeremy didn't know that the boy who held a grudge on him was named Antonio. So Jeremy still believed Antonio was alive. Jeremy gritted his teeth when the gazebo was added to the danger zone. Jeremy was lucky he just left there. He continued to sit in the forest watching the small house for any signs of activity.

(Sorry this took so long x_x)

“Ssh. I’m here now. Everything is going to be okay.”

Clare couldn’t quite believe the words, but nevertheless she found some level of comfort in them. It was all she wanted to hear right then. She just wanted someone to comfort her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even when she knew it wasn’t. Anything to silence the voices plaguing her mind with dangerous, sinister, and depressing thoughts. The soothing hand on her forehead helped settle her mind, not very much,

“Why did it have to be us?” Her choked words were almost indistinguishable from her sobs. “Why did it have to be anyone?”

Having people die in front of you is never really a happy thing, but it’s even worse for the mentally unstable or as some people call them ‘the crazies’. Clare was no exception. She was caught somewhere between laughing, screaming, and crying. It probably would have been better all the way around if she had been killed at the well, or five minutes ago by Antonio. Instead she had five bullet wounds to show for it. At the current rate she knew she wouldn’t, no, couldn’t last much longer.

She released Neville’s shoulders and attempted to move, to get away, to find someplace where she could hide from the death and destruction or at least turn a blind eye until it came for her. The struggle ended after only a few moments of searing pain with her huddled, face down, on the floor next to her friends body.

((OOC: S'okay. ^_^))


He couldn't find an answer to her question. There wasn't one, because there was no reason why it had to be them. The terrorists could have found another way to hurt America, Ryan believed, but they had to make the lowest of blows. Picking off American children, one by one, and sending them off to take part in the Survival of the Fittest Act, as they liked to call it. A cold went down his spine as he remembered every word out of Danya's mouth during the flight. The way everything just slid off of his slimey tongue through those grimey lips. Ever heard of chapstick? Apparently not where he came from, where ever that was.

The worst part of the flight was the fact that Ryan couldn't even remember the way Danya looked. You would think that the memory of your attacker's face would be burned into your mind forever, but it wasn't in this case. Danya was an enigma. Maybe he wasn't even real, maybe all of this wasn't real? And then, he found it. An answer.

"Survival of the Fittest... It makes me feel like there's no point to life anymore. We all know we're going to die eventually, just some sooner than others. So...what's the point, right, in playing the game?" A pitiful smile formed on his face to match his sad eyes. "I don't have an answer to your question, Clare, but I have something that you can think about. The feeling you're feeling right now. Utter hopelessness. That's what's got to keep us alive, since that's what they want, yeah."

His words weren't coming out right enough for the situation, he noticed. They were lacking something, but he still went on with his nearly out of place words.

"This game isn't about survival or killing everyone until you're the last. It's more than that, I can feel it, and that feeling we're all feeling is what's going to remind us of that. Everytime. So, feeling hopeless ain't all that bad, you just have to do it right." It didn't all make sense to Ryan, but he knew that the meaning was there under that long speech.

"And that's how we're getting off of the island. There's only thirty kids left, so we can still make it together." The pitiful smile bloomed into an optimistic one, then, as if on a whim, he moved to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to safety. Plan didn't work. She was too heavy for him.

"Piggy back ride me. We're getting out of here, bet your bottom dollar." Ryan got into the right position, turned around, and waited for Clare to get on.

Clare only heard about half of Ryan’s speech as she struggled to control her racing mind and ragged breathing. It hurt to move or even think about moving, but the only way she was going to survive would be to endure it. Her fingers found the metallic collar wrapped tightly around her neck as she wiped at the trails of tears and blood with the side of her hand.

No escape. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for all of us.

Somehow through it all she managed to climb onto his back, though she has no idea how it happened and never will, no matter the outcome of this freakish game.

“I just want to go to sleep,” She closed her eyes and rested her head on her left arm. “Maybe I’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.”

Even then, nothing but the weird, hazy pain consumed her. No sleep, no rest, no calm. Not even her mind would stop, instead it just started tallying the objects in her now blood-soaked survival kit.

Bread, water, pamphlet, extra ammo, arms manual, what used to be a change of clothes, toiletries, some drawing equipment. Wait. Toiletries? That means I must have my medication.

Even her mental voice had turned rather drab, very little emotion or tone of any sort, but at least it was still there. If she was sure of her strength at that moment she would have just reached down and opened the bag herself, but more than likely she would have just ended up falling.

“Ryan,” She didn’t open her eyes, but her voice wasn’t quite as faint as before. “When we get out of this damned house and someplace safe...safer anyways...I need to get something out of my bag.”

((OOC: I'll try hard not to let anything like this happen again. Loads of apologies for the wait, guys! I deserved the pwning. XD XD))

"Yeah, okay, that's fine, really."

Clare had turned out to be harder to carry than he thought. Her blood loss had caused him to under estimate her real weight, but that was alright. He'd have to just clench teeth and keep moving. T'was the name of the game, wasn't it? Half of surv ival was to go on ahead, no matter what was happening to you. Actually, half of survival was really "ival" when Ryan looked at it comedically.

How clever... Ival. Not only was it clever, but it was also too kindergarten.

He breathed out, making a hissing sound through set teeth, relieving his mind of the burden. Slightly.

"I'm going to have to let you go just a little bit to get the door. I got you, don't worry. Keep up the hope, play on those feeelings, mah daaaahlin'!" The redhead sung the last part, stretching out some of the words to make it fit to song. He wasn't much of a singer, and it showed, but the cheer in his voice was enough to put bounce to his step. "Who knows what wondahful surprises lay ahead for me and yooou?"

Ryan reached the house's front door, being very careful not to walk in any blood on the way. Like he had warned Clare, he let go of her right leg for a split second, then pulled the door open, hoping to God that that hadn't been too much of a problem for her. Back to moving on ahead.

"I don't really know where to go from here, but damn it, Claaare, we're going plaaaces!" He smiled for her, even though she wouldn't be able to see her gift for herself. That was okay. It'd be good enough if she just felt the happy.

Voice too loud. The hair on the back of Ryan's neck bristled.

Someone was out there.

Jeremy listned intently to any signs of activity inside the house. Hiding in the brush outside from it he started to hear some movement. Jeremy quickly gripped his bloody sickle and continued to crouch down waiting for something to happen. Was it the kid with the gun who had chased him out of the house earlier? Was it someone he knew? Was it some new kid? A murderer?

Jeremy watched as the door opened and out came a figure carrying another figure. A guy carrying an obviously wounded girl. The first thing that went through Jeremy's mind was that it was Scott and Nev, but why were they back here?

Jeremy focused on the images, he was tired, real tired, and not to mention injured, everythin started to blur but he managed to focus in to see a familiar face. Jeremy thought he was going crazy, this was it, he was going to pass out now and die. There was no way he was seeing what he was seeing.

Jeremy stood up slowly from the brush, he looked pale from his 5 days on the island. Five? He wasn't wearing a shirt, he had a bloody bandage around his arm, and he had blood from other injuries on his body. He was carrying a bloody sickle and was wearing his now torn jeans. Jeremy may have looked intimidating, but he didn't care, he wanted to know if this was an illusion or something else.

Jeremy looked at Ryan, the kid who looked like his cousin, and Jeremy could only manage one word to come out of his mouth. "Cousin?"

Clare’s mind was still elsewhere. She was trying desperately to ignore the burning pain in her arms, legs, and abdomen, but needless to say it didn’t work too well. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it even hurt to think. Ryan’s singing nearly made her giggle, but it caught in her throat from the pain it caused in her chest. She tried to keep a tight grip around the redheaded boy as he reached to open the door and succeeded in not slipping very far down his back.

“We’re going plaaaces!”

Clare continued to smile slightly, but, unlike her companion, she was not aware of anyone else in the area. Her little world consisted of pain, the young man carrying her, the gun and pack hanging off of her shoulders, and nothing more. Not until the other person spoke up anyways.

“Cousin?”

What? Cousin?

She opened her eyes and glanced around, but didn't see anyone. Her view may have been blocked by the side of Ryan's head, but more than likely she was just unable to see new things in front of her face.

Color drained, shirtless, and bloody. The kid before Ryan had been through a lot if events fit the appearance. The weapon alone was a good enough show of island time. Red, it had been used on someone. To wound? To kill? Whatever it had been used for, he wished it had all been in self defense.

"Cousin?"

His voice, too, was a testament to the hell he had been in. Something about it didn't match up with memory, but, then again, Survival of the Fittest could do that to a person.

"Yeah. It's Ryan." Ryan cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. There were so many stories here to tell. "Jeremy... What the fuck did they do to you? You look worse than Clare here." The more that he looked at Jeremy, the more that his own forgotten wounds started to sting. Everyone had been hurt in someway by now. Who was hurting the most, Ryan wasn't sure. Jeremy didn't look too affected, but once he'd get a mirror, he'd probably be feeling it.

In a book he had read once, the main hero never knew of the extent of his injuries until he saw his reflection. Once he did, all the major pain he had been going through multiplied by a hundred. Same thing would most likely go for them when they looked down and saw. So... as long as there was no look-see, then they'd be okay. Right?

The theory would have to be tested later.

"We've got a lot to talk about, don't we, man?" The smile formed easy. "I'm glad I found you." Ryan hadn't even been aware that Jeremy was in the game. He had thought that the boy was back at home somewhere, avoiding the television so that he wouldn't have to see his cousin die. It was horrible that both relatives had been taken in by the ACT, yeah, but it was good to have someone with you that knew the you before the game. The real you, minus the pain and hurt that would twist your image.

"Couldn't've needed you more than I do right now."

(continued from the School Building, Yes fucking finally)

Heaather, who had been wandering around the Island scince the group she was in disbanded, and according to the announcements she heard Fred, Glenn, and Mallory were dead.

Leaning on her shotgun , Heather hobbled though the forest towards the small house. she saw someone familiar, even though it was from behind, She knew that it was him.

"Jeremy?"

Jeremy looked at his cousin and his mouth managed to form the biggest smile he had shown on the island. Jeremy walked towards his cousin and said, "Ryan man, I had no idea you were here." Jeremy looked at the wounded girl Ryan was carrying and Jeremy said, "Is she ok? What happened in there?"

Jeremy looked up and searched Ryan's eyes for answers but found none. Jeremy said, "Yeah man, we have a lot to catch up on, how long have you been here? We'll have to talk about that stuff later though, it looks like your friend here needs some help." Jeremy's spririts seemed to have lifted greatly from finding his cousin, family, on this island. Jeremy remembered how close Fred and Glenn were on the island and....Fred and Glenn...Jeremy's smile faultered thinking of the fallen brothers but he quickly regained it.

"So much to talk about man." Jeremy was about to say something else when he heard a familiar voice behind him. Jeremy?. Jeremy turned around to see Heather, the last surviving member of Jeremy's original group. Jeremy's smile formed even bigger as he said, "My god, Heather, your still alive." Jeremy wanted to say so much more, he had so much to tell Heather about Mallory, Glenn, Fred, but he was sure she knew they were all dead because of the announcements. Jeremy wanted to tell them about the two new allies he met in this house, how they got seperated.

Jeremy wanted to swap stories with Ryan like the old time, like how they would swap ghost stories at night when they were spending the night at each other's house. Jeremy wanted to do so much, but he knew time was short. Five days on this island was enough to teach Jeremy how precious life could be, it was enough to teach him the true meaning of friendship. Jeremy just smiled at Heather, his cousin, and the wounded girl and for the first time in a while, he thought everything was going to be ok.