Survival Of The Fittest

"Adam Dodd..."

Dodd? Dodd's dead? Didn't he get away from this the first time around? Doesn't that make him the most experiences, the highest chance of winning? Mark's brain filled with numbers, trying to do the statistics of him winning at all. With Dodd dead it seemed almost hopeless now, if Dodd could survive as long as he did just to kick the bucket.

The meek voice jumped up again. There's no hope.



Yes, there is! All I gotta do is get that gun. I don't know what weapons Dodd had or nothing, but he obviously wasn't smart enough! I can do it! He looked around at the group. Jordan was still facing away. If he could only get the other two done fast enough he might be able to charge him and grab the gun. Warren was closest, but looking away. Dorian was absentmindedly looking Mark's way. I AM smart enough to do this!


He stood up, the big smile back on his face. "I know what to do..." he whispered to Warren. As he turned Mark swung his sword forward, using his Aikido training as best as he could to keep himself flexible and swinging.

OOC: Dante continued from Freiheit unerreichbar. Short post for now.
IC:

In many ways, Dante had been lucky to escape the field of flowers alive. Really, what had he been thinking, charging into the middle of a hail of bullets to save two girls he didn't even know? It had been stupid, and if it weren't for the place turning into a danger zone he may have gotten a nice new hole in his head for his trouble.

If I'm going to win this, I CAN'T make mistakes like that. It's them or me, I have to be more careful.

Still, at the end of it all Dante had lived, and so did the two girls he saved, though he never found out who had been shooting at them. If he should have, shouldn't have, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was alive.

Eventually, he came across the sea cliffs, and hearing voices ahead, he moved forwards as quietly as he could, sticking close to anything he could use as cover. Was there another fight going on? Maybe he could have a look without being spotted.

Warren's sense of deja vu sent an alarm through his mind. He turned around to find Mark's sword lodged in his shoulder. He screamed in pain and stabbed wildly at the traitorous dog in front of him.

"Goddammit, I do not need this shit from you!" he yelled. After seeing his best friend go mad-

"Nice smile there, by the way! Doesn't make you look crazy at all!"

His best friend. Even after Quincy tried to steal his gun, he still turned out to be the most observant person Warren knew.

Did he know something Warren didn't?

He tried to get in close and finish the job, but as he worked, he felt the cold metal of Mark's sword slice into his body and lacerate his skin. Colliding with Mark and slathering him with blood, he managed to get one last stab in before fading into unconsciousness.

He's dooomed, Warren thought feverishly. They're gonna murder him in the next few seconds. But what about me? I've got so many

things left

unfinished

Warren Pace - Deceased

I was looking at him, and I didn't even think to stop him.

The moments that lead up to Dorian's slashing at Mark with the butcher's knife were moments Dorian would not have bought in any movie. Danya's taunting voice had crackled to life over the loudspeakers, and Dorian had been lost in his anger at the man, staring in the direction of Mark, but not exactly looking at Mark. He was in a furious trance, and so he missed Mark drawing a sword and running it through Warren. Twice.

This sort of shit doesn't happen in real life. People don't do...this...it can't happen...

Dorian had snapped back into reality as Mark stabbed Warren for the first time. Blood came seeping out of the deep wound in Warren's shoulder, and as Mark quickly drew the sword out, going for a second skewering, blood traveled out of the wound in an arc, some of it catching Dorian. Petrified, Dorian didn't even wipe the blood off his cheek as Mark thrust the sword into Warren again, the boy feebly poking at Mark again with Jordan's knife before collapsing to the ground, dead.

Death is following me...taunting me...why? People don't do this...what the fuck is going on?

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

As Dorian verbalised his exasperated thoughts (much unknown to him), he wiped the blood, leaving a red line across his cheek, and grabbed his knife out of his daypack. Focused solely on Mark, he lunged at the boy and swung with his butcher's knife.

Dorian was brought crashing into the present.

"Shit..."

The bloodshed continued. Damn it, even now, when everything seemed to calm down, Mark must had went into some loony state and started slashing Warren. Jordan didn't trusted Mark very much from the beginning, but he didn't suspected him to do another (literal this time) stab in the back. Jordan watched as Warren went down, and Dorian (now covered in Warren's blood) shouted at Mark before attacking him.

DAMN IT! Why? Why AGAIN? Why whenever we turn our backs for a while, there is always some traitor to immediately stab us?

Oh, look who's talking. Remember who wanted to steal that nice gun you're holding, under the cover of the night?

Shut up, this was different! I didn't wanted to KILL anyone...

Yeah right... You should better help Dorian before he'll be killed as well.

Christ, you're right!

Jordan took several (quick) steps forward. He still had image of Quincy trying to shoot with it fresh in his mind, so he grabbed it tightly with both hands to avoid powerful recoil. He forced his hand to stop shaking, when he carefully aimed at Mark (damn, if he would hit Dorian it would be a tragedy of an epic scale).

How many times should I shoot?

One shot. You don't have enough ammo to waste it like that. Besides one is enough. It's really powerful gun. People who are firing several rounds of, for example, Desert Eagle, are just stupid. Why overkill? One is defini...

Yeah, I got it already

As Jordan pulled the trigger, he lost a contact with the world for a while. Not because of deafening sound of firing colt... It was the first time when Jordan actually made an attempt to kill. Kill, not disarm. Julia? She attacked him, and heck, you can say, that she stabbed HERSELF in the struggle between them. Quincy? Jordan just wanted to take him down, and take his gun. This time? He went straight for the kill. Up to now, he could cheat himself, that he's not a killer... But not anymore...

I take their bishop and now their knight comes after me... Mark thought as Dorian charged him with the little butcher knife. The stab wounds from Warren stung painfully on his chest and stomach, but as Warren's limp body bled out over the cliff face Mark couldn't help but keep his smile up. They're not smart enough to best me!

"Take out the knight..." Mark muttered aloud as Dorian sunk the knife a bit into his shoulder. Mark grabbed hold of Dorian, pulling him in too close where that knife wouldn't do any harm. Now just for my stance... He held the grapple close and felt the knife dig deeper as he prepared to throw off Dorian into those waters below, to talk to those bodies maybe. Mark paused to look down. A lot of that blood is mine...

He grinned through the pain and began the throw when he heard the queen. She really screamed, so loud it's not even funny. Mark's smile disappeared. But I thought the queen wouldn't react so fast. Or so loud...

The queen Queen bee, it stung me stared him in the face as he felt his side swell. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. I told you so.

Mark fell back now, Jordan and Dorian standing over him like two pieces surrounding the king. He blinked wildly for a second. "But... but... I'm the king. Why can two nothings take out a king? Why is my king alone?" He coughed a little, feeling a new liquid in his mouth. The taste... it was good, but too familiar. He didn't want that taste yet.

Blood dribbled down his chin as he laid down, the puzzled look slowly leaving and returning to his wicked grin.

"Ah..." he said aloud with the meek voice in his head finally spoke with the power it always deserved.

"Check-Mate."



STUDENT B103 - MARK TAVARIAN - DECEASED

The butcher's knife plunged into Mark's shoulder, blood dribbling out of the wound. Dorian was slightly relieved that the knife had cleaved his shoulder, as years of watching Hollywood action films told him blows to the shoulder weren't lethal, but could incapacitate.

Unfortunately, Mark had other ideas, and grabbed Dorian's arm, pulling Dorian towards him. Dorian noticed how close they were to the side of the cliff and started panicking inside. Oh shit, he's gonna drag me over the edge...he's gonna kill me with him...ohgodohgodohfuckinggod...

Dorian tried to pull the knife out of Mark's shoulder, but to no avail. The damn thing was lodged in bone or something, because it wouldn't budge an inch.

Then Dorian heard the click.

Years watching movies taught him what that click meant. The hammer. Nothing said "hello" like the click of a gun hammer, and Dorian didn't want to be the one engaging in friendly morning conversation with the gun. He wrenched himself free of Mark and dropped to the ground in an uncoordinated fashion, falling over himself as the gun barrel exploded and the bullet made its quick way to its destination. A small amount of blood exploded out of Mark's body on one side as the bullet made contact, as if a squib had been triggered. Dorian pushed himself up, wincing - the bullet graze he'd received a few days ago was going out with a bite - and watched as Mark staggered around for a minute.

"But... but... I'm the king. Why can two nothings take out a king? Why is my king alone?"

Even in his final moments, Mark was delusional, rambling on about chess and deeming himself the king. The boy fell to the ground, breathing sharply. He lay himself down and smiled, a demonic, crazed little smile.

"Ah...Check-Mate."

And then the boy breathed his last.

Dorian turned to Jordan, who had appeared beside him. Dorian glanced at the still-smoking gun, but he had more pressing things on his mind than Jordan's life-saving (or was it?) murder. As he grabbed the handle of his butcher's knife and wrenched it out of Mark's shoulder, he thought.

He thought about death - in particular, about how he seemed to be a death magnet. Four people had died right in front of him in the last three or four days, and that wasn't even including what possible casualties there'd been at the marsh that day when all the island's killing and brutality came to say hi. Everyone around him died...Dorian started to repeat this in his head so much he became somewhat convinced by it. Maybe my plan's doomed to fail, because everyone who tries to help me dies? Fuck...I'm fucking attracting them. All the killers, all the death instruments...I'm like a fucking pole or a fucking planet or something, a force dragging them in...

Dorian also thought about Mark's death, and about his reaction to Mark's murder of Warren. For the first time on the island, Dorian had actually felt like killing someone. It wasn't a sick pleasure...no, Dorian wasn't one of those freaks, not like Julie Mikan or Shawn Waits...or Mark. No, it was more like he'd resigned himself to a fact, a necessity - death had to happen, it was natural.

Dorian was losing himself to the island, and this revelation stopped him in his tracks. He stared out at the sea for a while, lost in the torment triggered by this epiphany.

Dorian Sanders - potential killer.

He turned to Jordan, almost mechanically. Pulling his daypack back up his shoulder, he stared at the boy, his eyes wide...frightened.

"You can't be near me. This...you can't be around me. No-one can. I'm...I'm a bad sign...you can't be near me..."

Dorian stopped before he sounded like a full-on madman, and, after staring at Jordan for one more brief moment, he turned and ran into the jungle.

Dorian Sanders - potential killer.

((Dorian continued elsewhere))

Everything ended as quick as it started... Warren was dead already, Mark went down, blabbering something about chess, Dorian was safe, Jordan Redfield killed another student.

Jordan Redfield killed another student. But... that was the right thing to do, right? He saved his new ally, and himself in the process... That was self-defense. He did nothing wrong, right? RIGHT?

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on the way you look at the situation), Dorian stopped his train of thought.

"You can't be near me. This...you can't be around me. No-one can. I'm...I'm a bad sign...you can't be near me..."

"What?" Jordan didn't understood anything from that last sentence. Dorian however didn't cared to explain anything and... He just ran away to the jungle.

'WHAT?" He yielded even louder than the last time. 'WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, PEOPLE?! Why everyone had gone mad just like that? Is there anyone normal on this fucking island anymore?

Hey, you're talking with your own survival instinct. You're just as crazy as them, you know? Besides, it's better that way. You have no 'allies' now, and you don't need to play a hero to anyone... Especially, because you're definitely NOT a hero.

Shut up!

You're repeating yourself...

Because you don't want to keep your mouth shut! If you're my survival instinct, then you shouldn't mock me all the time! You're supposed to warn me when something is not right, when someone is nearby...

Like now?

What do you mean 'Like now'?

Oh come on. Now I need to see, hear, smell and feel for you? Just listen. Dorian is already pretty far away, and yet something is moving in the bushes near the jungle line...

Jordan didn't liked his new 'companion'. For something (someone?), that was inside him, it was definitely too annoying. Not to mention the difference between the point of view. However he had to admit, that it was doing its 'work' perfectly. Now, when he actually paid attention to it, he could hear some quiet sound coming from the jungle direction. Maybe that was just his imagination... But he couldn't really ignore it. If someone WAS actually hiding there, there was no guarantee that he won't attack him. He pointed his colt and shouted in that direction. If there was someone there - good for him. If not - no one heard him, so what's the problem?

"If you are hiding there, show yourself! I bet you saw our fight, but I can assure you, that I had to do it in self-defense! If you don't have any wrong intentions, I won't hurt you!"

Hey, nice speech... You're really hopeless sometimes, you know?

Shut up!

I think, I'm gonna count it. That's the 3rd time already...



.....................................




No response.

Like now, huh?

Well, that doesn't mean, that someone is not hiding in there. Maybe he just don't want to be spotted?

Yeah right... And here for a second, I thought, that you are useful...

Oh my... A punchline! I'm so proud of you!

Yeah...

Jordan lowered his gun. He was alone again. Few days ago, he couldn't be more happy from this kind of a situation. He was alone, so no one would have threaten him. And if someone did crossed his path, he had a powerful gun to defend himself. But now? Jordan was changed from the inside. He was one of the two living students, who actually saw the definite fall of S.A.D.D with his own eyes. They all had the same goal. To escape this Hell-on-Earth. But instead of wandering aimlessly and telling some empty words about survival, they took the action. They tried to escape. Their plan failed, they only managed to mock Danya, and kill 4 girls. But at least they tried, dammit. Could he try? Maybe yes... But how? The only thing he got, was Dorian's illogical plan.

On the other hand... Why not give it a try? Danya wasn't probably so stupid to put a transmitter on the island, and even if he did, that would be the first target covered by Permanent Danger Zones, but who knows? Besides, what else he had to do? He needed to rest desperately, but what after that?

Jordan packed another bullet into cylinder. You never know, when you will need to shoot all six of them at once. After that, he took all the remaining food, from Warren's and Mark's daypacks (well, at least he won't starve now...). Then he looked for the remaining weapons. He hid 'his' scimitar to the daypack, and after moment of hesitation, he took also his hunting knife.

Yeah... The best trade in my whole fucking life...

Jordan took his map and compass.

So where know? What were the Danger Zones this time? He remembered the Lagoon, and the Graveyard, because he was there already. Jordan marked both places on the map.There was... Quarry, I think... and Barracks... But what was the fifth one? The Hospital? No... Maybe you remember?

You're kidding, or what? I'm you. I don't have my own memory. I know only the things you know as well, and I'm pointing it, when you fail to notice something obvious.

Okay, thanks for nothing.

Anytime, anywhere. You need us, you call us

Right...

After marking Barracks and Quarry, Jordan hid his map, and without any word, he entered the jungle. With fully loaded colt, and emptiness in his soul

((Jordan Redfield continued in Journey Through Pressure))

OOC: Thanks for locking me in a danger zone, people. I really appreciate it.
IC:

What the hell?!

When Dante had made his way to the area of the cliffs the disturbance was coming from, he didn't expect to witness two people being murdered right in front of him. He gripped his dagger, holding it ready just in case, but he found that he couldn't move from his spot in the bushes. Was this fear? What was he doing? He had to act!

Come on, Dante, move!

Jordan promised that he wouldn't hurt Dante if he showed himself, but Dante honestly didn't believe him. He could practically smell how close they were to the end of the game, and Jordan thought he'd trust someone he just saw kill a person? No, Dante wasn't that stupid. Instead, he stayed where he was, not moving a muscle in the bushes. Eventually, Jordan left, leaving Dante as the only living person at the cliffs, a bit of a hollow title to have. Slowly emerging from the bush and looking around, dagger in one hand and pack in the other, he readied himself to either run away or charge if a player jumped out from behind a rock or something.

After several minutes, nothing happened. Dante sighed, a mixture of boredom, despair, and relief, sitting down and opening the pack. Rooting through the bag, he saw that his vodka bottle was still there. Shrugging and setting down the roundel, he dug it out, checking to see if there was any left. To his amusement, there was.

"Here's to this fucking retarded game," he said, taking the cap off of the bottle. "Bottoms up, assholes." Without another word, he downed some of the contents, being careful to not drink quite as heavily all at once as he had on the first day of the game. So far in already, was it really almost over? Had he really gotten so close to winning, already?

Worst school trip ever, man.

That was the only way to describe it, really. Instead of getting shitfaced and screwing some hot girl, he was getting shot at and watching people be murdered. Fuck's sake, if he'd wanted to die for his country he would've joined the Army or something once he graduated. At least his plan was working, though he was probably the only asshole still alive who didn't have a gun. He needed a gun, yeah.

"Stealth's all well and good," he muttered, taking another gulp of vodka before capping the bottle and putting it away. "But I need some firepower if I'm gonna carry the day."

By this point in the day, it was getting late, so all he could do was zip up his pack and get up, stretching a little. He'd gotten a bit buzzed from the vodka, but not exactly drunk. Not that he was sure if that was a good thing or not. How could anything on this fucking island be a good thing?

What the fuck ever, I'm gonna need some sleep if I wanna get through this.

With that in mind, he found a nice spot hidden from any newcomers by a bunch of bushes, and laid down, using the pack as a sort of pillow and keeping the roundel firmly in hand. It wasn't long before he nodded off.

----
As usual, the announcement woke him up. Groggily rubbing his eyes, he paid careful attention to the usual list of names. Even more people he used to know, killed by others he used to know. Really, he just didn't give a fuck anymore. He'd been hearing that crap for eleven days and part of him just wanted Danya to shut up. All this shit was his fault, and the guy didn't even have the balls to come onto the island himself, what was with that? There had to be thirty people left, tops, and Danya sounded just as fucking giddy as he had on the first day. Twenty nine other people to either fight through or do his fucking best to avoid. The danger zones were called out, and Dante thought he was safe for a moment, but then Danya announced the Best Kill winner.

Adam Reeves. The tank, the bully, the psycho. Danya was rewarding that fucker for killing two girls, it sounded like. As if to make things worse, Danya designated the pickup site as the cliffs. The very cliffs he was at right now. He knew what that meant, this place was about to turn into a danger zone.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

Hurriedly picking up all his stuff, he made tracks to get out of the area, using trails and shortcuts to hurry along. Luckily, he managed to get out before his collar started beeping.

OOC: Dante Cooper continued elsewhere.