Survival Of The Fittest

"I'm sorry. Ishida can't come. You two are fine, though."

"If you still want to come, I mean."

Sarah's eyes drifted to the pistol at the man's waist, her heart skipping a beat when the subtle threat registered. The tone of her voice had become a lot less excited when she opened her mouth to explain. "Look, It's okay, she's unarmed, she's not dangerous, I'll look after her."

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "This isn't about you looking after her. We're not allowing murderers or players off."

"Why not?" She was confused, if it wasn't a safety issue, and they were there to rescue them…

"Because, in all honesty. We're making a point. We're taking the long view here. If it wasn't for these people killing, we might be saving a lot more people today. Next time they hold this awful game—if there is a next time—we want people to think back to today before shooting their classmates."

"Why do you think there's going to be a next time? Why aren't you ending this?"

"You may not know the whole situation. We've got a plan to stop this. If it works, and that is a big if, we're going to come back for the others. The thing is, we cannot at all be sure we'll be able to stop Danya or achieve anything lasting here."

"Except saving some people."

She still didn't understand, if their primary plan was to come back later then why weren't they reducing the work by taking whoever was there? And it wasn't like they didn't have the resources… Something felt off, beyond the fact they hadn't given Reiko the okay yet. She wasn't sure what, but it was making her nervous, and it showed in the continued waver in her voice.

"They're, they're just one terrorist group, you've got a whole fucking military, you've got-..." And then it clicked. "Wait, who the fuck even are you people?"


"We're... an independent group, of sorts. People with our own axe to grind with Danya and Survival of the FIttest. Seeing it ended is our top priority."

She… hadn't expected that. So they were just a small group? She glanced at the few other guards, towards the couple of rafts that were to carry them to the boat. Suddenly she wasn't so impressed. It felt kind of stupid that she even had to ask the next question.

"Right, so, so if that's your "top priority" why the fuck didn't you relay our location to a real military?"

"We didn't have this island's location until less than a day ago. Moreover, we're talking about a terrorist organization that can get whole classes of students out of the United States and avoid being bombed out by other countries. Any concerted military effort would have been noticed by them, and they'd have blown all your collars."

The fact that they'd already pushed the exact same risks on them seemed to be lost on him. Confusion and worry were rapidly giving way to a rising anger. Stupidity was one thing, stupidity that could get them killed was another.

"That's, that's complete bullshit, they're better equipped, better trained a-and just as able to act in secrecy when it's needed, that's what special forces are meant to be for. You already decided to risk our necks to do this and now you're not even trying to rescue everybody, so, again, why the fuck didn't you do this properly?"

He looked annoyed, she really didn't think he had the right. "Yeah. The special forces are totally capable of saving you. That's why they're all over this place. That's why you got stopped on the way to the border and rescued then. That's why they've managed miraculous saves the past three years. Guess what? Governments have leaks, and operations take time to mobilize."

Begging the question and delusions of importance. Wonderful. When she next opened her mouth, her voice had risen several more decibels along with her frustration.

"Yeah, because you're doing a much better job. Everyone except the ones you have time to fucking cherrypick are going to die because you decided not to give them the coordinates. What makes you think you're going to find them next time? There's been three of these things and where the fuck have you been?... Actually, you know what, i don't fucking care. If you meant what you said you'd be letting us onto that fucking boat."

"You're fine." He gestured to Reiko. "She's not. She killed seven people. You do realize that, right?"

"So what? What makes you think you get to judge her for that? You're prepared to sacrifice what, 50 of us? For what? She was just trying to fucking survive. "

"Your friend strangled another of her friends for no real reason. That's why she's on our list. If you say that can't be judged, that's entirely your business. Me, mine's to judge people like that."

She was shouting now, and she knew she was starting to cry in earnest by the heat around her eyes.

"No it isn't your fucking business, that's for the courts, that's for her family, that's for Carol's family and friends to judge. You do mean Carol right? You think I don't fucking know? You think I didn't fucking hate Reiko for killing her? You think I didn't cry myself to sleep for them? For Carol and Cyrille and Raina? They were my friends too, okay? And you, you've got no fucking right to judge her, you don't have a fucking clue what it's like to be in this situation."

He gave her an odd look, she was too pissed now to read it, before continuing. "Do you know who John Rizzolo was? He was the survivor last game. It turns out, the courts don't care so much what you do here. RIzzolo got away completely unpunished. He cashed in on his crimes. In the end, he died because some vigilante went after him."

"But, more than that, as I said, our goal is to make people next time think twice."

"Don't you fucking dare compare her to that monster, she's not a fucking psychopath. And weren't you fucking listening? I honestly don't give a shit what the courts make of it, it's up to Carol's family if they decide to forgive her. It's still not your fucking responsibility."

She was starting to get the feeling he didn't give a shit what she actually said, the answer was going to be the same.

"And you know what, yeah, Rizzolo got a free pass, so did Dodd, so did Calvert, they all got off without court retribution and they all killed more than she has, they all committed worse crimes, and they got off free. Why does she deserve to die when they didn't? Why would you send her back to that fucking hellhole and make her have to choose between killing and dying again? And don't try to use your fucking 'message' as an excuse, it's weak, it's not going to change anything, and by sending her back you're just sending a point that says 'if you've killed, you might as well keep killing since redemption doesn't mean shit.'"

"She's done what to redeem herself, again? But anyways, you're the second person to make this argument to me in the past half hour, and I have to say, the last was a lot more convincing. I'm not going to argue about whether Dodd or Calvert deserved to die. Fact is, we wouldn't have given them a lift, and we're not going to back down here."

She would have called him out for yet another logical failure, another feigned misunderstanding, but his flippant little dismissal caught her full ire instead. She finally registered the gash on his face, she hoped it was from the last person, he deserved it. He deserved it for every fucking question he dodged, for the two lives he'd apparently already decided weren't worth their effort.

"Oh, great, 'I'm in authority so you can't question me', that favourite cover when you're completely full of shit. So what, you've already consigned two people to death who don't fucking deserve it? Like you're going to do to Reiko? Her sister is dead, you piece of shit. She could have killed me twenty four hours ago, but she didn't, she could have killed Bridget, two more steps closer to her really malevolent fucking goal of not dying. But instead she disarmed, joined us in trying to save fucking everyone, and that was exactly what we were going to try and fucking do before you turned up. So yeah, I think she's fucking redeemed herself."

She swallowed, sniffled, trying to regain her composure, she was starting to get lost in the argument, getting lead into tangents. Her next sentence was quieter, no less spiteful, but quieter.

"And anyway, if we want to talk about facts, the fact is I'm not leaving without her."

"I don't really think I count not killing people as redemption. By that argument, Rizzolo could have been sainted after V3. But anyways, good luck. I hope it works out well for you."

That set her screaming in his face again.

"Will you shut the FUCK up about that bastard? You keep bringing him up like his actions are some kind of fucking excuse for yours when he isn't fucking relevant. And that's it, isn't it, you're perfectly happy to condemn me to death because i have a fucking moral compass? I haven't hurt anyone, fuck, I saved someone's life. How does that work into your fucking message?"

"I'm not killing you. You're choosing to die for an ideological point. I can respect that, but please don't pretend it's anything else."

Every part of her was shaking, like every other time she'd ever been angry, but this time it was different. This time it felt like every instinct in her body was pushing her to lash out, pushing her to discard all caution and just tear his fucking throat out. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms so forcefully that they almost broke the skin. A part of her wanted that, she wasn't sure why, and she didn't really care why, but the pain was just enough to get her to focus on words instead of violence.

"What is it they say? A choice given under coercion is no fucking choice at all. So no, it's not my choice, it's yours, you're the one with the power to save us, you're the one saying we both deserve to die. Take some fucking responsibility!"

"I'm not coercing you. You're free to come or go. And if you want to talk responsibility, are you taking responsibility for those seven kills?"

"Fuck you, I'm taking responsibility for her life."

Now he was just point-scoring, making snide little comments to egg her on, hell, that was all he'd done for the past few minutes, and she was falling for it. He had her shivering uselessly in front of a crowd of people, crying and screaming and shaking, and she'd realised it, buts she didn't fucking care anymore as he continued talking sophistic bullshit.

"Even by your standards, I've only got five deaths on my conscience. Come back and talk when we're even, and maybe I'll see reason."

"Your fucking maths is off. S-seven kills in-in self defence and, and fear between us leaves about three and a half, throw in K-kimberly and we're down to three. Wh-which is a couple orders of magnitude less than who you're going to fucking let die this version and next so you can keep playing the fucking heroes."

He was ignoring her, she knew she was being petty now, but he wasn't fucking listening anyway so it didn't fucking matter. She began to advance on him, the only thing stopping her an unwelcome grasp on her jacket. She didn't need to look to know who it was, but before she had the opportunity to protest Bridget's interference, she found an assault rifle pointed in her face. That and the comment from its owner that followed made her nauseous, made her hate them and their guns and their conceit that much more.

"It's time for you to decide, and, if you aren't coming, it's time for you to leave."

"Shut the FUCK UP. What you're doing is worse than anything she's done, how dare you fucking hypocrites moralise us. Are you sick? Are you that fucking delusional? Or no, it's just fucking narcissism isn't it? You're scared that if you did this properly, if you got the adults involved, you wouldn't get to play your sick, self centered little game anymore? You are sacrificing our lives just so you can have all the glory to yourselves so i guess that reason seems pretty fucking likely"

"I hope someone does this to you, i hope someone drags you down for war crimes and i hope you all fucking die because this is all, your, fucking, fault. Your excuses are paper thin bullshit, you know that right? You're immoral, you're unlawful, and you're fucking morons. So fuck you and fuck the fucking boat you rode in on. "

"Bye."

"F-fuck off."

Sarah wanted nothing but to tear the bastards in front of her to pieces, but instead, like she'd done every other time she'd gotten this angry, every other time she'd been stonewalled and treated like her and her opinion were equally worthless, she turned and left, absorbed in her own silent shouting match, trying to mop up her dignity with her sleeves.

((Sarah Xu and Reiko Ishida continued in Oxidation))

The girl was arguing again, following the same lines of logic as before, with an added dose of entitlement. Jaxon was sick of it by now. He was so incredibly sick of hashing out the same points. He was starting to resent these players for turning up despite his admonitions, to resent their guardians, those people who felt the urge to sacrifice their lives in pointless solidarity. The most frustrating part of it was that, at the end of the day, he agreed with them. He agreed entirely. Well, mostly. They had to face some consequences. Institutionalization sounded pretty good.

But what actually managed to piss him off here was the sheer, unbridled stupidity of asking for operational details while they were all standing on a beach, with Danya's cameras still rolling all around them. He was forced to fall back on pointless platitudes, on meaningless buzzwords, and all because anything else, any actual accounting of this operation and why it had been secret, would put innocent people at incredible risk. Danya had connections within the United States. He smuggled close to three hundred people out of the most heavily armed country in the world, and he had warded off all attempts to shut down the program for over half a decade now, three times with things very, very public.

The things she said that really infuriated him, though, had to do with the killer next to her. Smug little Ishida. Truth was, she'd murdered. Maybe not that often, but she was every bit as bad as any other killer. Worse, perhaps, in that she could stand there with a straight face and act like it was all okay. Jaxon had sympathy for the players. He felt pretty terrible about sending George and Raidon their ways, about condemning them to death. The thing was, they had at least been honest. They'd messed up, and they both knew it. They didn't have anyone arguing that they had somehow redeemed themselves, never mind that from what Jaxon had seen Raidon had done a lot more good than Ishida could have dreamed of.

So he let loose. He took off the kid gloves and told the girl exactly why she was wrong about any supposed redemption. And she just kept arguing, and she just kept missing the point.

This wasn't about morality.

This was about putting an end to SOTF. It was about introducing a new variable into the equation. Killers, as the girl so astutely pointed out, killed because they wanted to survive, for the most part. Aside from perhaps three or four of the people in this version, that was true. If it was proven that killing did more harm than good to your odds, there would be less killers. Some people would panic. Some would kill from sadism. But people would think twice. That was what they were debating.

And for all that, Jaxon still thought the plan was wrong. He felt like he'd been assigned the wrong team in a classroom debate, forced to argue a side he couldn't at all believe in.

But the whole thing was just pathetic. The attempt to mathematically prove some sort of moral superiority was disgusting. The claim that he was somehow forcing her to stay, that it was impossible for her to leave without a murderer in tow, was ludicrous. So Jaxon insulted her. He goaded her and provoked her. His rationale was simple: if she was going to stay, going to die for the sake of a murderer, she might as well do it feeling like she hadn't missed anything. If she was going to stay and be tortured to death, be shot in the back by the very girl she'd fought to protect, he didn't want her to feel an instant of regret. He didn't want her to question her choices. It was a small mercy, quite probably a flawed one, quite likely also self-indulgent on his part, but it was all he could think to offer.

When she stepped closer, her friend held her back, and one of Jaxon's friends stepped up, rifle in hand, warding her off. He felt no inclination to take another blow, not from someone who could honestly justify seven murders without questioning them, not from someone who would be trying to hurt him as nothing more than an outlet for anger.

So, when they left, Jaxon just sighed, turned to the man next to him, and said, "You feeling like a hero right now? I sure as fuck don't feel like a hero."

A new group of students had turned up in the meantime, and a good number of them had already had their collars removed and had been directed to the raft and boat.

And then, it all went straight to hell. He barely caught sight of one student grabbing another, dragging her towards the boats. He was about to intervene, about to make him stop, but it seemed things quieted down. More than that, there was a more immediate problem at his feet, quite literally. Two boys, bearing the protesting girl from before, the one who had hit him. She was unconscious. She'd clearly been knocked out by Raidond and this other guy.

Jaxon sighed, and shot them a look.

"Normally," he said, "I wouldn't force her along." He made eye contact with the killer she'd been supporting. "I don't think she'll be happy when she wakes up. I don't know what she'll think of you."

He lowered his voice, speaking only to the two in front of him.

"But... I think you did the right thing. So... thanks. And sorry."

He sighed, and glanced at STAR member next to him. "She's unconscious. I don't know if it's serious, but we can't leave her, especially if her skull could be damaged. Get her aboard."

It was bullshit, and they all knew it. Nobody said a word, though.

Some more boys had left, maybe hoping to find someone else. Jaxon checked his watch. No way they'd make it back. He hoped someone had warned them. It was chaos. Too much to handle. Too much to deal with.

And then he noticed the girl asking something up to the boat, the one who'd dumped a gun in the water or something. He'd only vaguely paid attention to her before. He walked over, though, telling someone else to handle the main batch for a moment.

((GMing approved by GMs.))

Sarah wasn't exactly sure what was going on. There was yelling and a lot of arguing and then the boy with the gun on the boat turned to her and stared. She threw up her arms to shield herself. "Don't kill me please! I'll be good! I'll go back if you want. I'm sorry!"

There was a pause, then the boy spoke

""I'm not going to kill you." the boy looked uncertain for a second, "Are you all right?"

Sarah nodded dumbly, staring up at Jaxon with frightened eyes. She had no idea what the boat was for, or why the other students were on it. Some of them looked sick, and there was the girl that was dead. She glanced over at the dead girl again, then back at the boy. "Why are you here? What are you doing to my friends?"

"We're here to help you off the island," he said. "We've got the means to disable collars, and hopefully to get you back home. The only thing is, you can't have been playing. I know who has, and you aren't on that list. We're saving your friends."

Saving her friends, really? It was almost too good to be true. Sarah looked up at the boy in awe, as if he were lifting her nightmare. "Promise? Really? Is Brendan there? How about Sapphire? Did you see Sapphire? Or Brendan? Are you really gonna take me home? I wanna go home..."

The boy nodded, "I... don't know them. They aren't on my list, so they can get off if they make it here or to the other boat in time. We're going to do our best to get you home."

Sarah smiled wanly, she was tired and she did want to go home, but she wasn't sure. Could she really trust this boy? ASnd where were Brendan and Sapphire? Surely, if this was the only boat off the island they'd be here with her. She looked at him again. There was no way she'd leave her friends on the island. She couldn't imagine surviving when they'd died... killed and died for her sake, "Okay. Can I wait here? For Brendan and Sapphire? I'll go with you. BUt I want to make sure they're here too. So we can go home together."

The boy shrugged, "You can wait if you want, but there's another boat. There's a chance your friends have already found their way there. It'd be... too bad if you were waiting for them here and missed going home because they were on the other side of the island getting rescued themselves."

Sarah nodded and sat down in the sand just next to the boat, "I'll wait here then. Right next to the boat. That way, when you have to go, you can just call me. How about that? Then I can go with you. I just want to be sure that Brendan and Sapphire are coming too."

"If you want. But maybe you could wait up on the boat, in case they turn up and we have to leave in a hurry? And remember, they could be at the other boat. I hope you'll consider coming anyways."

"Okay. You promise we're going home? I'll wait on the boat if you do."

"I promise we'll do our best."

Sarah looked into the boy's eyes. If he intended to kill her, he'd have already done so. Even if this was a trap, she couldn't waste the chance... Or perhaps she shouldn't. All the people she ever travelled with ended up dead. Stacy, Remy... they were all dead and it was her fault. Perhaps she should stay because she needed to die too.

She made up her mind. If Brendan and Sapphire didn't come, she'd jump off the boat and go look for them. If they did come, she'd stay.

She hoped they'd come. It never occured to her that once she was on the boat, the boy and his friends would do everything in their power to keep her on it.

G106, Sarah Tan: ELIMINATED

D/N wrote:(Andrea Raymer continued from Monsters)

Holy shit. She'd figured it out. Took her long enough, but Andrea'd always been a stubborn girl.

She took another step forward, and then a pair of fucking bolas, of all things, struck her from behind and knocked her down to the ground.

Alex White had shown up to crash the party one last time.

[Boy #14 - Alex White. Continued from Monsters

Sorry for the delay on this.

Just to make this clear: The scene between Alex and Andrea is NOT going to interfere with any pending escapes. Don't freak out. For positioning sakes, Alex and Andrea are further down the beach, at a tree line, and out of the way. Don't Panic.]

"I never said you could leave."

Alex was walking up behind Andrea. He'd been there for a while, hanging back. Following the whole group of them. Ever since the grocery store. He didn't leave when he got what he wanted from Allen. He just left them in shock and waited. Hid in the shadows, behind stores and in the other little alleys. Sat and watched things happen. Changed his bandages, making sure he didn't get any of Rosa's blood in an open wound or anything. The last thing he needed was to survive this thing and end up being diagnosed with some sort of STD.

"I was surprised as anyone else when I heard this was happening. But I never said any of you could leave."

Alex pulled one of the grenades from his belt. And the shillelagh.

"See this? I figure I could throw this far enough to be more than effective in keeping any of you from leaving. And I'm sure you remember this. It remembers you."

One hard blow to her leg. Right in the center of one of the wicked bruises he left her with the last time he saw her. That should be more than enough. Alex walked past Andrea, leaving her tangled in the bolas. He was confident she wasn't going to be moving any time soon. Not with the memory of their last meeting still fresh in her mind. Not with the pain in her leg. Certainly not after the way he left her last time, and the threat of a repeat performance looming. She was bandaged now, sure, but she couldn't have been in the best shape from that first go around. Besides, those ropes were wrapped pretty tight around her legs. And just to rub it in her face, Alex called back as he kept on walking.

"And thanks so much for the tip about Allen. Nice kid. Gave me exactly what I needed."

With a grin on his face, Alex held the grenade tight. Ready to pull the pin and hurl that thing as far as he could. Think of it like a baseball, or a football, and try your best. Always have a second chance at it.

Alex was adding insult to injury.

To reiterate: What a bastard.

Bridget watched as Sarah stormed away, Reiko quickly in pursuit. She stayed behind at the boats, for now. She didn't want to act too early, or too late. Plus, she had to allow them to get some distance from the area.

The red haired girl paced back and forth, mentally counting each step as she went. Finally, she deemed that enough time had gone by, and took off in the direction she saw the two go.

((Bridget Connoly continued in Oxidation))
((Bridget Connolly and Sarah Xu continued from Oxidation))

They were finally going home. After eight days of hell, of hearing about loss after loss over those damned announcements, they were going to escape. After listening as, one by one, anyone Bridget had ever cared about died. Everyone, except for the girl who was laying unconscious on her back.

When Bridget got back to the boats, there were significantly more people than when she'd left. It was like they'd all just spawned out of the ground or something. There seemed to be a commotion in one of the boats, and another girl lay unconscious nearby, but they still seemed to be in full swing.

She walked towards the boats, noting the wary expression of the rescue squad. She hoped they weren't going to deny them entry because of Sarah's... little outburst. No one made a move to stop them though, so she guessed everything would be fine. Bridget sighed, repositioning Sarah on her back and walking up to one of the guards.

"Two more to get out of this hellhole." was all she said to them.

G001, Bridget Connolly: ELIMINATED
G003, Hui "Sarah" Xu: ELIMINATED

((Peter Siu continued from Sacrifice Sheep To GOD!))

Peter should've thought about how heavy Brendan would be before trying to carry him all the way to the beach. It slowed them down a bit, but Brendan was in bad shape and Peter wasn't one to leave a friend hanging. They stopped once or twice when Brendan almost collapsed on Peter, but they couldn't spend too much time sitting still. The announcement had said they wouldn't be waiting forever.

They'd also said they weren't taking killers.

The last break before they reached the beach, he briefed Brendan on the plan. "I'll go first, unarmed and with my hands in the air. Hopefully they won't shoot since I can't hurt anyone anyway. If they do shoot, then Chase should go down next and try to talk to them about Brendan. Otherwise, just follow my lead."

So now he was making his way down the beach in his best impression of a prisoner with fifty guns trained on him. Which, for all intents and purposes, was pretty close to the truth. Hopefully, the gun strapped onto his backpack wouldn't be enough provocation for them to reconsider his threat level. He didn't even want to get off the island. Not now. Not ever.

It was a tense walk, accompanied by deathly silence. The silence just made everything seem about fifty million times worse, so Peter just started humming the alphabet to himself. As he got closer, he could see some faces of people who had already gotten here. People who were going to survive.

People who had been saved.

Miraculously, he actually managed to make it up to the boat, where he met with some people he didn't recognize. A welcome change from his past week and a bit on the island. The way they looked at him, though, was an indicator that things weren't going to be all sunshine and rainbows anytime soon.

"I guess I'm not welcome here," Peter said as he rolled his eyes. His hands stayed up in the air away from his guns. "I don't care anyway. As long as my friend can get off. He only killed someone accidentally. Brendan Wallace."

Peter turned around and waved in Brendan and Anna's direction. There was still hope somewhere. Not for him, but at least for some people who deserved it.

((Brendan Wallace continues from Sacrifice Sheep To GOD!))

Back at the beach, for one last time.

Chase wasn't carrying him. A five-foot girl carrying a six-foot guy would be endlessly awkward, no matter the situation. Peter was doing the awkward job of making sure that they were at least on their final leg before he let him try it for himself. Everything still hurt, his face, his legs, his chest, it was a lesson in what everyone else who wasn't just as lucky as him was up to for the last week. Lucky, he was. Incredibly, stupidly lucky. He didn't deserve to have such luck. Everyone else had lost everyone they knew, everyone else had lost so much more, yet here he was, being hauled to safety by someone who once wanted him dead.

But that's how the dice were rolled. Here he was, back on the very beach he woke up on. With a friend he'd been yearning for from day one.

Peter went first. Brendan slumped off of him, and held himself up on Chase, still with them. Peter talked. Peter motioned, and they followed, almost deathly close in one of the most scarily silent walks of his life. Brendan and Chase, dependants. One could hear the sand squeak with each step, overlapping. Smalls steps. Large steps. Each with their own rhythm.

This faded. The sand became damp, the steps deepened. It should have been quicksand, they were watching, Brendan just wanted to sink down, never come up again. He was speaking to the group on the beach. To him, it seemed as though they didn't want killers. People without some good justification. Stuff he knew Peter didn't have. Stuff that he wasn't even sure he had himself.

Brendan finally caught up, limping right behind the guy who saved his life. He was speaking to them. Guns right on him. Brendan looked away, or at least he glanced away. There were still people on the beach, people who didn't seem to be escaping. People in the distance, people who looked almost menacingly threatening. No point looking at the ghosts. People he'd never see again. People also walking away. People just on the beach.

Awfully crowded for an exodus.

Peters words stung him more than they should have. He spoke of Brendan killing someone as though Brendan had simply spilt a carton of milk and left it overnight. No tact. No subtlety. If he was right about everything he'd said to him, then...really, he was right about everything he said about not wanting to go home. He was probably better off spending his time here, trying to save someone who he felt deserved to live.

And for that moment, his heart skipped a beat. Because the reality of those words sunk in. Peter had been so adamant, so determined in his cause, that he let him live the second time around. He'd told him his mission, his misguided fucked up belief of a mission, and it was right now he realised he was really following it through. Peter had saved Brendan's life. He hadn't killed him at the docks, he scared off the girl who almost combined his head with linoleum, and now he put his own life, his own safety on the line, just to make sure he got to the boats.

After everything they'd gone through in the short few days they'd clashed, Peter really thought Brendan deserved to live.

If he hadn't just been crying his eyes out at the near-fatal grind with death, he'd probably have teared up a bit at the realisation. Someone who he'd never really spoken to before had risked his own life for him, and that was possibly one of the heaviest emotions in the world at that split second. Oh, how he just wanted to take Peter onto the boat with him. Whatever his ban, he could plead his case. Justifications, retaliations, whatever in gods name they wanted, he could do it for him, he could do anything for Peter. He'd killed, but so had he. They weren't too different.

But Brendan's idealism wasn't going to work out here. It wasn't the business world, it wasn't ingenious politics. Peter wasn't coming with them. If this really was the ticket, his was lost down the drain a long time ago.

Well...at least he wants to stay. That's something.

Brendan loosened himself off of Chase a little bit and stumbled forward, towards the guy pleading their case. Interruption. Embarrassing Brendan, but still what he needed to do.

He pulled Peter into a hug. A long hug. Really, it could have been the last hug Peter would ever get. Slightly interrupted by Brendan pulling away, hocking up a good one and spitting another collection of blood saliva on the sand away from their feet. Yeah, he'd been doing that all this time on the stretch here, but now wasn't the time to dribble blood on Peter's shirt.

"Just...thanks Peter."

One Kosciusko.

"So much."

Two Kosciusko.

"Do what you need to do."

Oh wow, advocation of murder.

Or three Kosciusko.

He let go. He pulled his best friend closer. Turned to the jury.

"Please, just get us off of here."

B042, Brendan Wallace: ELIMINATED

*

Maf's world was an oil canvas. The paints were all swimming into black. No colour, no clarity, and no such thing resembling the light.

He could hear voices.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

Voices he could barely recognise.

"Stop."

Wait...

"Thank you-"

They weren't letting him think...

"I'm sorry, I had to-"

What was going on...

"Bodies floating in the ocean..."

A rush of sound.

"Two more to get out-"

And Ma'afu Tuigamala finally woke up.



His upper body shot up with a jolt. His eyes soon followed, greeted by the grazing view of the beachline and the ocean to the side. He could see cliffs. He could see forest. And he could also see that this wasn't where he was last. Where was he? Last thing he remembered was

going up the mountain.

Yeah, he was heading up the mountain, he remembered finding something, in the dark, in the house of mirrors, with all those bodies fuming up the place. He found a note, he was trekking up, when...

...nothing. There was nothing after that.

But that wasn't right at all. There was no possible way he got from the mountain to the beach without him knowing, and no way of not being able to remember it. Something was missing, something big. But it wasn't like he could just forget, could he?

...wait, who was that in the distance?

The tall lanky figure, almost hand-in-hand with a shorter figure.

...Jason, Nathan, it had to be.

Maf got up. Were he more concerned about his surroundings, were he not singlemindedly focused on finding out where the missing day in his life was gone, and were he not positively sure that following the people he'd been so gravely concerned about, he might have noticed, right behind him, the ticket out.

But instead, he was gone.

Following a lost road.

((Ma'afu Tuigamala continues elsewhere))

((Anna Chase continued from Sacrifice Sheep To GOD!))

Walking, walking.

Really, again, was she dreaming all this?

As Chase followed the man leading her friend, she couldn't help but wonder. She had found Brendan. And now she was about to escape. Boats! All over the beach, apparently! Collars off! Home!

Was this a dream? She meant that not in a "my mind is having trouble processing all this trauma" or a "this shit is surreal" sort of way, but in a "it's too good to be true" sort of way.

Really, it was indeed too good to be true.

But if it was a dream, it was a weird one for having Brendan get beaten up and for her to lose her shit like that.

It was kind of scary back there. She was genuinely worried that Brendan was going to die, after all. And that freak out... in hindsight, she kind of scared herself with that, now that she'd calmed down. It wasn't normal for her to get that angry, that was for certain.

What if her mental fortitude had been weaker, and it remained permanent? What if that guy didn't jump in? Would she have flat-out killed Kitty, or get killed herself? Was she really that close to a player deep down, and she had the potential to be right next to Lombardi and Ishida?



No, she did the right thing.



Brendan would have died if she hadn't done anything. Despite the yelling and hitting people with shovels, she ultimately helped save him. Her and... whoever this guy was, with his gun and him being a big damn hero that showed up right at the correct time.

In any case, she was here to protect him some more. She wasn't sure who his friend was, but he had been a big help and was able to protect him too. This guy looked vaguely familiar, though. Chase knew he was a classmate of hers, obviously. But it seemed like his name was on the tip of her tongue.

So Brendan's friend went ahead to explain the situation to what appeared to be the leader, or at least some kind of authority figure.

Chase found herself staring at Brendan.



He... didn't look so good, obviously.

Kitty had done quite a number. He was missing teeth and everything. Holy shit. Was he going to die if he stayed here?

Now that the idea of escape was right there, she wasn't sure that being home was such a good idea after all that she been through. Chase knew that after that kind of trauma it was hard readjusting. There was no way that even just returning home would be easy. In fact, in some ways being back home could be worse.

She'd have to live with the knowledge that she was one of the few who escaped, for one. That would mean that she'd have to live with Dawne, Jon, Rekka, Marty, Ben, Michelle, Joshua, and god knew who else dying and not making it home. It would mean that they really were gone, and that she had to live many years without them. She wouldn't watch movies with Jon again, or go to anime conventions with Dawne. She'd never really get to know Joshua, Ben, Michelle, or Marty in a context that didn't involve people dying. She would have to completely face it if she returned home.

And she knew how some people knew it was fake, or even if they knew it was real continued to watch it. Chase wasn't a big fan of SOTF from the start, but what she knew about it she learned from Jon. And one thing was certain; she was going to have to be seen as a "fictional character". So in other words, even right at this moment people were talking about her as such online.

Things like "Anna Chase is such a slut who just kept whining and bitching throughout her time JUST SHOOT HER ALREADY" or "I really think Chase was a moron. Die stupid emo bitch". She knew fandom, she knew fandom very well. And it wouldn't be just her, either: "God damn it, stupid Dawne, stupid slutty Dawne", "Jarocki is such a tool!", "MARTY STOP YELLING YOU STUPID ASS!", and stuff along those lines were things she could only picture what they were saying right at this moment. In some of the more idiotic sides of fandom, the word "slutty" was tossed around like confetti, and there were some people who just bitched and moaned.

And now not only did she have to deal with these people, but now these people had a license to talk shit about not only her, but her dead friends as well. For the rest of her life. There wasn't going to be a break from it.

And speaking of which, she knew that people weren't going to react well once they found out she survived SOTF. Even if she never hurt anyone, it was going to form a large part of who she was and how people had seen her from this point forward. Employers would refuse to give her jobs based on this fact. She'd have trouble getting to know people the minute they learn she was a survivor.

It was part of who she was, now. There was no escaping it.

And she was probably going to be like those guys in the army, who never left the war. She was still worried about becoming like those army guys. Being like an army guy wasn't fun. Of course, not all army guys were wrecks. She had family members who served in the army, and they turned out fine. But things like this wrecked you.

So, needless to say, she had her doubts about whether or not it was a good idea to get on the boat.

Did she really deserve to live? So many people who could have lived, who would have jumped at this opportunity. And they were gone, and she was here. So many of her friends would have been on that boat within seconds. Make no mistake about that. And there were people stronger that her, more resilent, that deserved to make it home.

But then she remembered. This was the only shot at medical help for Brendan right at this moment. And she couldn't just abandon him. He'd.. he'd want her nearby, right? She had to help him. Even if she was a little weakling. She still had the capability to save his life. She already saved it once, even if he was injured by the end. She had to get him on the boat, even if it meant dealing with all the problems that would surface back home. Even if it meant that she would be a PTSD ridden mess the minute she stepped back in America.

Abandoning your friends, that was what cats did. Chase still hated cats. They hissed and yowled and scratched and beat up people with bats just because they went through things everyone else did. Rabbits were much better. She liked rabbits, like Jojo.

Going with him was the rabbit thing to do.

As she glanced at their new friend, he waved back at them, and Chase waved back, smiling.

A genuine smile.

Besides. She had promised herself that she was going to try to live and be a good person for everyone who had died. If she had stayed, she would be back to crying at the camera and trying to rip her collar off. Even if she didn't, staying would be right on par with that.

As they approached, Brendan put his friend into a hug.


She called to the... authority figure.

"YO! You... you... you have to help him! He's wounded and needs help, and I bet you can do something, right? He needs to be in a hospital or some-something!"

Oh, and...?

"I'd like to return home, t-too! I mean, just remove my col... our collars, and we'll go!"


#G010 Anna Chase- ELIMINATED



Oh jesus, was she making a lot of requests.

"Erm, s-sorry if I'm asking too much. I guess I'll ask for a cheeseburger, milkshake and fr... fries?"



Actually, now that she mentioned it, a milkshake sounded good.

((Felicia Carmichael, continued from Monsters))

Maybe it hadn't sunk into her head yet, but Felicia thought she would have been a whole lot happier about being rescued. The vision of the boat, here, on THIS island was just so surreal to her. She had watched Survival of the Fittest before, even run a roleplay or two on it, but in reality and fiction things didn't turn out like this. There was just no way that what Ray was leading her towards was real.

Even when she stepped onto the boat itself, her feet were slow to tell the rest of her body just what they felt. Her eyes scanned the surface of the vessel, showing kid after kid without those horrendous collars on. The mark of their sick television slavery had been removed, and they had been granted freedom. She should've been jumping for joy, shouting and crying while holding her friends.

Maybe that was the problem.

Rescue had come far too late for all those she had seen dead or even die in front of her. Too late for Rosa, and just by minutes. How it pained her to know that if they had just been in the right time at the right place, they could have avoided her death and both gotten on this boat. Then... who knows, maybe they could've had some rough escape sex or something fucking stupid like that. Or maybe they'd go to the bow of the boat and do that ridiculous pose from Titanic all the pre-teen girls used to dream about back in '97. Or maybe they would have just cuddled close together as everybody rested, preparing for the long trip home.

Nevertheless, when it was her turn to get the oppressive collar removed from her throat, a flicker of joy welled up from somewhere in her heart. The ending to this little trip may have been bittersweet at its finest, but now she had something to drive her. Felicia had managed to live for her friends who hadn't, and with the ones who had. She'd get through college and law school, she'd become the finest prosecutor this fucking country had ever seen, and she'd headline the case that would put these bastards away for good. She'd see to it.

"H-hey..." Felicia timidly responded when somebody finally attended to her.

"Nice to see you... I've had... heh... I've had one hell of a week."

G082 Felicia Carmichael - ELIMINATED

And just when she'd thought it would all end quietly.

Her pulse flew up again and one more time she had to assemble scattered random thoughts, she had to will herself into realization, because even though she didn't know it quite yet this was it, this was Final Jeopardy for all the marbles, it was every goofy idiom she'd ever remembered all mashed into one.

OK.

Andrea. Brain. Process. Information.

Now, where the fuck was she?

The bolas had struck her, wrapping around her legs, so bewildering that once she hit the ground, she had to look at her legs to verify that yes, someone had... she didn't even fucking know, lassoed them?

What the hell was this, some kind of joke? Had she been teleported into a live-action cartoon or something? OK, that was fucking stupid, so what was it--

She looked away from her legs, and all that bewilderment melted away.

He'd followed them, all the way from the fucking grocery store he'd followed them and now he was going to---

"See this? I figure I could throw this far enough to be more than effective in keeping any of you from leaving. And I'm sure you remember this. It remembers you."

She blinked, and it all came together.

Too late.

"What the fu--" was all she got out before Alex kicked her right in the thigh, knotting the already tender muscles up in an instant. She screamed, and he strolled off, and now she did know that there was no time left, no time to relive song lyrics or flashback to her dad or Doc Mac or Chad or Allen or her mother or anybody because this was it Andrea, this was fucking apotheosis, the revelation and the alpha moment she'd built for herself off of every other moment she'd spent on this hellhole.

She grabbed at the ropes, pushing, kicking her legs wildly to untangle herself. The thigh muscles where Alex had struck her felt as hard and as stiff as ivory and she pushed that out of her mind too, and as Alex moved closer to the beach itself she was stumbling after him, and she could feel once again cold ice on her skin, she could feel the rush, and it was the thrill of the game reasserting itself in Andrea Raymer one more time.

And in a golden flash, it was like she was right back where she'd started this thing.

"Hey, asshole!"

She pressed off her good leg and launched herself, hitting Alex with the world's clumsiest excuse for a flying tackle.

Son of a bitch.

Right back to day one. Andrea pulling her cute shit. Rosa pulled cute shit a little while ago, and look where that got her. Alex didn't have a piece of glass to stick Andrea with though, and Andrea was struggling considerably more than Rosa was. There weren't so many actual blows, but Andrea was thrashing more than enough once Alex was down to keep him occupied. An arm here, a leg there, white skin and dirt and wicked purple yellow welts everywhere. Just a mass of flailing limbs and cursing voices and the occasional sound of solid contact.

Andrea had some fight left in her.

They went back and forth. Andrea started on top, but didn't stay there the entire time, but it was much of the same for Alex. Every time he'd get the upper hand, Andrea would lash out and thrash some more. An errant foot or raking claws would net her the upper hand. Every time she got the upper hand, he'd overpower her and take advantage of her previous wounds.

It wasn't a very long fight, but by the time it was over, even Alex was running out of energy.

"You bitch."

They separated, eventually. Andrea had a grenade of her own. Now how did she get that?

"You wouldn't do it."

She was holding it with both hands. One holding the grenade. The other holding the pin. She was actually making a threat.

A threat. An actual fucking threat. When did she grow balls?

The two of them rolled over stone and pine needles and fought. Well, fought being a generous term for what at least in her case was wild flailing and thrashing at Alex White, this asshole who had caused her so much pain, who had then gone off on a psycho rampage for her goddamn ADD medication and probably whistled a jaunty tune to accompany his carnage. Alex White was fucking scum. Alex White had gone freaking Froot Loops over a bunch of Adderall, had Andrea done that? No. Heck to the no. Because this might not be her game, dear Andera Raymer always being late to the party, but it was her fucking moment. So she scratched, and clawed, and he did the same and it fucking hurt but she wasn't even aware of that until he rolled away and the raw energy stopped for a moment. And at that moment she pushed those pains out of her mind and yelled at him as she scrambled to her knees.

"IT WAS A BUNCH OF FUCKING MEDICATION ALEX YOU SHIT!"

They'd achieved some separation. Synapses fired, and before she fully realized what she was doing, she'd grabbed one of Allen's grenades and was holding it up in front of Alex. She got to her feet, muscles still aching. It would hurt to walk.

Forget that. Focus.

Her moment.

His demeanor didn't change. Oh no, not Alex White's. She had to give him credit. Seemed he could keep that poker face of his going no matter what.

"You wouldn't do it."

Two seconds, Andrea. One. One and a half. One and three quarters. One and twelve fifteenths.

Earn it. Prove it.

She pulled the pin.

Let it drop.

Kept her other hand on the safety lever. Thinking that oh Christ she had no real idea what she was doing here but this had to, even Alex White had to crack a little when he saw that. He had to know this was no movie, that he couldn't just outrun a grenade.

Andrea took a breath and found her voice.

"You get the hell away from here Alex, or I will drop this thing and blow us both up I fucking swear it. Get out. Get out I will not let you fucking do this to me Alex."

She raised it as high as she could and, in a rasping scream, announced to anyone within earshot:

"HEY BOAT PEOPLE YOU'D BETTER GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE CAUSE THERE'S A PSYCHO NAMED ALEX WHITE WITH GRENADES AND HE'S TRYING TO FUCK THIS ALL UP!!"

She met his eye and tried to keep her hand from shaking any more.

Your move, Alex.

Well now, this was surprising. Andrea really did grow some balls. Alex watched the pin drop, then glared at Andrea and the grenade she was holding. He could have taken it from her before now. He could just walked right up to her, broken her and taken it from her cold dead hands. But now? Now he was hesitant. Nothing was stopping that grenade from going off once it was out of Andrea's grip, and if Alex couldn't take it quick enough, they were both dead. And not the pretty kind of dead, with just a few extra holes and lots of red. No, their fate would be much worse. Much more violent.

Just bloody chunks and sand.

He could risk it. He certainly could. Risk the explosion, get as close as he could to the boat, make sure none of them left. He didn't get to leave so why should they? But those were awfully big risks to take. First the grenade, then a game of chance with the gunmen at the boat. He was safe enough at this distance but any closer and they'd certainly open fire. No cover on the beach. A few extra holes and lots of red.

Alex wasn't quite ready to die.

"Alright."

Alex held up his hands. Put the grenade back on his belt. Made sure everything else was still there.

"Alright."

Alex stepped back.

"You're lucky."

And Alex walked away.

"You're lucky."

He watched her, but he walked away. Left her there. Left her with her victory. Just walked away, and let Andrea have her moment.

Just walked away.

Out of sight.






He was gone...







"You're lucky."

He turned around.

"You get to leave."

He came back.

"You get to escape."

He aimed at Andrea.

"Goodbye, Andrea."


He pulled the trigger. Again, and again, and again.

And Alex turned. Left.

Andrea smiled. She smiled and backed up and then, twirling like a crazed ballerina, she threw the grenade. It slid neatly off her sweaty palm and arced toward the far edge of the treeline.

"YOU HEAR THAT ALEX?" she screamed, and was overwhelmed by the explosion. She knew on some level that it hadn't been anywhere near Alex, but she didn't particularly care at this point. Andrea continued backpedaling toward the water; she grabbed at the other grenade clipped to her belt loop, yanking it loose, not giving a shit about what anyone might think. Alex was still somewhere and if it didn't kill him it would give him a bit to think about.

"HEY BOAT PEOPLE, I'M COMING AND THAT ASSHOLE IS NOT GOING TO FUCK THIS UP!"

As she raised the second grenade she thought she caught a glimpse of him. Maybe it was Alex, maybe it was just her wild imagination, but she hurled the other grenade in that direction anyway as she saw that vision of Alex raising its gun. Then Andrea turned to run as the grenade exploded, throwing her forward.

Whoa.

She coughed, ears ringing, and rose slowly one more time to her knees, then to unsteady feet. Must've been closer than she'd anticipated, to knock her down like that. Well, whatever. What-the-fuck-ever, right? She didn't know a thing about grenades, frankly it was a miracle she hadn't blown her own hand off. Her eyes were stinging and there was a dull, burning ache in her back, but that was OK. She was far enough away to avoid any of those shrapnel things, it was just sand and pebbles and driftwood pieces and shit. The beach was covered with that stuff. It was a pretty crappy beach, to be honest.

Right. The boat.

Well, it was right there, wasn't it? Looked like everyone was on board.

She walked, holding her bag in front of her. She walked and thought she was going towards the boat. A few steps, and a few more steps, and then she was puzzled because something was wrong.

No idea what, not yet. But Andrea could see that the boat was way off to her left now; she was a ways down the shoreline from it. Why the hell was she there instead of on the boat? It was like her legs weren't exactly following her orders. Weird. Her legs felt funny. Not just from the Alex's latest bruise either.

Her hands too. The nerves or something, they felt scrambled. And her back, her back was fucking aching right now. Especially from one spot right up there, somewhere high.

The strap on her duffel bag broke behind her, edges frayed from the bullet, and the bag itself fell at the water's edge.

Andrea willed her arm to move and bent it around her, fingers twitching. She felt blood.

"Ah... ah crap."

That fucker.

She tried to push it away and take another step, this time to her left and towards the rescue boat. She could do that. Her moment.

Instead, her steps took her forward into the water, stumbling with legs that no longer felt like hers at all. Now she was staring out to sea, and the sun beyond it. It was huge and gold and hurt her eyes.

"Ah."

Well.

"OK then."

The water washed over her legs and she was wading now, so cold and so refreshing, it was the cool air of the funeral home, it was an iced latte from The Alibi, pumped full of syrupy goodness in the summer and in the winter it was that Minnesota breeze against her skin, that first blast of air so fresh after you'd been crammed into a club all night and it was like that time not long ago when she'd waded in the St. Croix and laughed with Chad on prom night and the cold rain had fallen against her skin and it felt like

Now the playing's stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with her toys a while

And school's out early
And soon we'll be learning
And the lesson today is how to die

it was all those things and it was everything and she smiled and fell, not caring if the salt of the sea stung her open wounds, not caring at all.

"So...thanks. And sorry."

Raidon shook his head. "Don't apologize," he said. "I made my choice." The guy called others over: Raidon waited a moment before adding, "For the record, I...I think you're doing the right thing."

He turned to the boy near him--the one who had helped him bring Soryu here. "He's right," he admitted, laughing. "She'll be pissed when she wakes up." He looked up and down the beach--at the desperate students being whisked away, at the sudden hope, at the chance for survival.

We who wander in the valley of death must fear no evil, for we forsook he who was with us.

The unexpected thought came, hit, went. He felt the peculiar clarity dominating him--the certainty like ruthlessness, the deadly confidence--ripple a little, though he couldn't quite tell if it was a good or a bad thing.

"Raidon," he said, offering the other boy his hand.

The boy hesitated for a few seconds, then shook his head and took Raidon's hand. "Zach," the other boy replied.

Raidon nodded. "If you're going to get out of here," he said simply. "Do it soon. And, uh..." He broke the handshake off and scratched the back of his head. "Thanks." He turned--away from the beach, away from salvation, away from the face and sweet, thought-numbing lips of Mizore Soryu.

Back to reality.

(Naoko Raidon continued in Radio Nowhere)