Survival Of The Fittest

(Continued from:[http://s10.PLACEHOLDERLINK/SurvivalOfT ... wtopic=612]Boy #79 - On a Memory)). Well Miss Elise, I told you I'd give you somethin' to read. )

It had been a long and tiring journey from the large open field from which he had came, but now, Ryan slowly stumbled upon a small house. Others had been here previously, that much was certain from the damage that the place had apparently received. Despite that, it looked pretty much abandoned right about now. It would be a good place for Ryan to sit down and think. Pushing through the debris that had been scattered all over the place by what he could only assume were the other inhabitants of the island, Ryan forced his way through the house and reluctantly flopped down in the corner of a room, dropping his duffle bag right beside him. Being from Barry Coleson High School, he had already heard the gist of what this SOTF ACT consisted of.

What do I do? What can I do? At this point, I don't have many options. Could I... could I really team up with the others on this island? No. Can't. They're all cold-blooded murderers. All of them. They've killed fifty people. FIFTY! They'll kill me, just like they killed everyone else. I can't trust any of them. Couldn't trust any of them in school either. They all hated me. I don't know why they hated me... what did I ever do to them? I was nice to them, helped them with their homework. They were all just jealous of me. Jealous because... because I was going to be a doctor and they weren't smart enough. I guess that's all out the window now.

Sighing loudly, he stretched out one leg and pulled his other close to him, then rested his head on it. This was a bad situation. Ryan found himself wishing that things had been different in high school, that he had been popular. He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, they had nearly fallen off when he was running through the field. Under normal circumstances, he would not have dared to wear them in public, but he had had a bad headache on the morning of the trip. They made him look like an intellectual... at least, that is what his mother always told him. They were not particularly nerdy-looking. They were small and square, with a thin black wire frame. Still, Ryan did not like them.

He shook his head. What did he think he was doing? He had a very high risk of dying here, and he was worried about his glasses. Dying... it was almost a surreal possibility. Had Ryan not heard the announcement for himself, he would not have believed that kids from his own high school were capable of such slaughter. He did not recognize some of the names on the list that had been read off. There were other kids on the island, too. Ryan silently wondered if they were cold-blooded murderers like the Barry Coleson kids were. Probably so. There was no telling how long they had all been out here. They had all probably killed other people. Except him. Ryan was almost convinced that he was the only sane person on this island.

Sighing again, Ryan tried to shake all the bad thoughts from his head. The way he looked at it, there were only three options now. He could hope he had been given a good weapon and play the game, he could try to escape and save himself, or... he could end it all right here and now. Ryan shuddered lightly at the thought of suicide. None of his three choices seemed like very good options. Sitting there in the floor, alone in the solitary little house, he began to weigh his options against one another. What would be the best one? He could play the game, but that was given that he had a decent weapon. What if they had given him something like a butter knife? Somehow, he could see the terrorists doing that, just to laugh at his own destruction. If he had a good weapon, though, he could play. Could he really bring himself to be a cold-blooded murderer? It seemed as if many of the kids on the island already had.

If he played, would he really be any better than them? Ryan understood that the other kids on the island wanted to live, but... he had more potential than probably anyone else on this island. He was the one who was taking college classes as a sophomore in high school. He was probably one of the few people on this island that could act as a field medic out here. In fact, he was probably one of the few kids at Barry Coleson High School who had planned on being a doctor. In Ryan's eyes, none of the other kids here could have possibly had any worthwhile purpose for killing one another. Everyone wanted to live, but what did they have that was so important to go back to? Family? Friends? Perhaps someone in a relationship. Everyone had those things, it did not justify killing other students. However, Ryan would be justified. Ryan had something special to go back to... he had a life, a career... not just trivial little things high school kids wanted to survive for, but real, tangible things.

Even so... to take someone's life in cold blood. Even to protect your own. Could he really do such a horrible thing? Even if he went through with it, even if he played the game, what would the end result be? If he was even able to go back to his normal life, how many people would want a doctor who had slaughtered innocent children to save their own skin? Maybe he would play. Sure, there would be reprocussions, but at this point, which option did not have reprocussions? He could deal with the consequences later, much later. Then again, even if he decided to play, the chance that he would actually get the final kill and win this "game" was slim to nil.

Option number two was trying to escape the island. Surely, some of the other kids here were trying to escape. Even so, could he trust the other kids? Probably not. And... the larger the group, the less chance there was of escaping. Not to mention, apparently this entire "game" was being broadcast to the entire American nation. Any escape plan would be painfully obvious to everyone, terrorists included. Ryan was sure they would sit back and laugh at any pathetic attempt he made to leave the island. What if he actually found a way out, though? Well, he supposed the answer was obvious... they would kill him.

Option number three was probably the worst one of all. Ryan's hand traced back up to his neck, and his fingers delicately circled around the metallic object that enwrapped his neck. Option three was death. It seemed all options lead to death, but if he killed himself now, he would not have to face the pain, the agony, the betrayal... all the things that had been set up for him. Thing was, if he ended it now, if he jerked off the collar and allowed it to explode, he would be gone. Forever. There would be no chance then. None at all. He would not have to play the game, but his own untimely demise was ensured. Absent-mindedly, Ryan continued to finger the metallic collar.

There really were no good options in this game. Everything had a consequence, and a giant spiral of death seemed to consume this island. Kill or be killed. That was the name of the game. Either way, you were going to be responsible for at least one death... be it that of another or that of yourself. He could jerk the collar off and end it now. It was a simple process. Silently, Ryan wondered to himself just how big of an explosion it would make. If he set it off, would it kill others around him, or just himself? Somehow, he did not wish to find out at present.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die now. I don't want to die ever. All these people... they have nothing to live for. Their lives were meaningless back at Barry Coleson. I was the one who was going to be something big, not them. I can't let my dreams be shattered. I just can't. So... if that means that I'll have to become just like them... murder innocent people in cold blood... then maybe... maybe that's what I'll do.

Finally, Ryan's hand dropped to his side, away from the collar. He was not going to kill himself. But... maybe later on, maybe if he knew there was no way that he was going to win... maybe that would be the best option. He could not think about that now. Now, he would have to lose all humanity for the duration of this game. If he really wanted to win... if he wanted to go back to whatever sense of normalcy was left... he would have to play.

God dammit! Why does it have to be like this?! Why!

Before he knew what he was doing, he felt a burning sensation in his fist as it pounded against the wall of the house. Ryan got up in kicked the wall in a fit of anger. There was nothing he could do. He had resigned himself to his fate. He would either kill, or he would be killed. He sighed loudly and picked up his duffle bag. What should he do now? His footsteps echoed against the wooden floor as he paced back and forth, deliberating on his next move.

I'm so sorry mom. You were right. You were right about everything. I should've just stayed home. And now... now I might never be coming back. I... I hope if that happens, you'll be able to go on without me. I hope you'll be able to accept what I'm going to do here. There's no other way.

OOC: Continued from "arrival": http://s10.PLACEHOLDERLINK/SurvivalOfTheF...p?showtopic=459
IC: Jason breathed heavily as he broke the tree line and arrived at the house area, having ran all the way there from the Hospital. He had barely made it (in fact, his collar actually started to beep just before he got out). Wiping his sweaty brow, he walked towards the house.

Damn, that was close. he thought, I almost died back there. No way in hell am I gonna die, I want to live. It's why I...decided to play. Thanks to the announcement, nobody from Barry Coleson would trust him (the ones that didn't know him could be lied to.). Jason had decided that the only person he could rely on was himself. Thusly, he adjusted the grip on his Uzi as he neared the doorframe, stepping around Garrett's corpse.

Stopping his pacing abruptly, Ryan transfixed his gaze on the doorframe. He could have sworn he heard noises outside. Panting now, and what had sounded like running only seconds before. Ryan nearly froze, in a sheer panic. They're coming for me, already. Damn man, I don't want to die yet. Quickly scanning the room he stood in, he looked for somewhere, anywhere, to hide. Finally, he decided that there was nowhere safe in this room. In fact, there was not even a door. As soon as this assailant stepped through the doorframe, he would spot Ryan.

Quietly, trying not to make a noise on the creaky floorboards, Ryan grabbed his bag, then slid against the wall and extended his arm, looking for somewhere to hide. He finally came across a hole in the wall, obviously the door to the next room. He scurried into the new room, which clearly did not look much better than the first one had. Breathing lightly, trying desperately to be quiet, he spotted a closet and forced himself inside, trying to stay hidden from view in the dark depths inside.

There had been a window in the new room. Maybe this newcomer would leave. If he... she... or it... did not, perhaps Ryan could make his escape out that window as they searched the house for whatever it was they had come there for. It was an option, anyway. If this person was that intent on killing him then... well... Ryan brushed his fingers across the cold metal object around his neck. That would not happen. Ryan would finish himself off before this new boy got the chance, and that was a promise. He wondered how cowardly he looked at that moment, hidden in the back of a closet, avoiding some unknown terror outside. At this point, he did not care.
_____________________________________________________________
It seemed like he had been hiding in the closet for hours, when in fact, more than a few minutes had not gone by since he had first entered the small, cramped space. Being the tall young man that he was, this closet was not the ideal place for him to have hidden. He felt cramped, closed in. The feeling was already starting to get to him. If the new arrival outside looked in here, for supplies or something else, then Ryan was as good as dead, and he knew it. His eyes glanced around hurridly. There was nothing in this closet of any use to him. The lack of space was starting to get to him, and at the moment, he desperately wanted out.

After a moment of deliberation, Ryan had decided. He was going to risk his life to get out of this place, because cowering down in here was not going to do him any good. There was no telling how long the person outside had planned on staying here, anyway. Thinking back, Ryan had not heard footsteps come into this room yet. Even if the boy was in there, perhaps he could obtain the element of surprise. Quietly unzipping his daypack, he fiddled around inside until his hand caught hold of a flashlight. Turning the light on, keeping it cast downward into his bag, he finally found his designated weapon.

The sharp blade gleamed underneath the light of the flashlight. It was a knife. Not just a knife, but a bowie knife. It was no gun, mind you, but this could do enough damage, if need be. Am I really going to kill this person? Of course not. Only if they attack me... only if they attack me... He repeated that phrase over and over to himself, trying to calm down before leaving his hiding place. Turning the light off on the flashlight, he dropped it down into the daypack and stuggled to find the zipper to the bag once again in the darkness. Finally, he was ready. His daypack was flung over his shoulder, and the bowie knife rested in his right hand. Ryan took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he might encounter when he opened the door. The door creaked slowly as it was opened. Biting down on his bottom lip, Ryan could not help but close his eyes as the door screached open...

Nothing. There was nothing waiting for him on the other side of the door. Ryan let out an audible sigh of relief, then quickly gasped, knowing he may have just given away his position. His eyes scanned the room he had been in once before, and went right back to the window. The window... Looking about for a place to put his knife, Ryan finally decided that his pocket would have to suffice. Stuffing the knife inside of his back pocket quickly, Ryan hoped that he would not wind up hurting himself on it. Moving hurridly, he began trying to open the window. It obviously had not been opened in a long time. Finally, it budged upward, and with a shrill cry, it opened.

A grin formed on Ryan's face. Unless the psychopath who had entered the house had heard the noises, he was as good as homefree. With quite a struggle, he managed to slide out of the window. It was not an easy task for someone of his height. As his feet fell to the ground Ryan quickly reached back and grabbed the knife from his pants pocket. Looking around quickly, Ryan searched in vain for the other person that had entered the house. Pfft, whatever. This new person was nowhere in sight, but Ryan had made a lot of racket in his panicked attempt to free himself from the confines of the house. Clinging to the knife in his hand, Ryan made a run for it. Perhaps he could escape, and get somewhere far, far away from this place. From his doom. Everyone on this island was a killer, Ryan just knew it. After all, they had all collaborated to kill fifty people here.

Not stopping to think, he ran as fast as he could. He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than staying in that place. That newcomer would have probably spelled out his demise. It did not matter who the new person had been, they had probably killed someone. All of these people had. They were all insane! Running as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the house, Ryan silently prayed that he was not headed straight into a danger zone. It did not matter where he went now, but he wanted to stay as far away from "those people" as he possibly could. The people here had already lost whatever sanity they might have had. Ryan had been placed on an island with a bunch of psychopathic, deranged murderers. And Ryan... most assuredly... did not plan on being the next victim on their list.

(Continued in: The Innocent Ones))

Jason had not found anybody when he searched through the house, so he had been lying on the shabby couch, taking a light nap. When he heard the gasp and the creaking sound of an old window opening from one of the other rooms, he sat up, took his Uzi and headed towards there.

That's right, I only took a brief glimpse in there. For all I know someone was hiding behind the door. he thought as he pushed the wooden door open. Looking inside, he saw the closet door and a window opened, obviously someone had escaped from there.

So the prick was hiding in the closet? No matter, he's gone now. he thought again as he left the room.

A few minutes later footsteps outside woke Jason from the breif sleep he had gotten after his futile search for the other person in the house. Sitting up, he grabbed his uzi and moved to the side of the doorframe, positioning his body so he wouldn't be seen until it was too late.

Girl #68, Satomi Madison, made no effort to be silent as she walked towards the house, metal pole (her assigned weapon) in hand. Her stare was blank as always as she approached the door. According to Danya, she had to kill everyone else on the island in order to survive, so be it. She didn't want to go back home to her uncaring parents, but she didn't want to die either. Thusly, she had been seeking out other students ever since she woke up at the end of the second announcement, though she had met nobody. Finally reaching the doorframe, she walked into the house, not seeing anything suspicious. A rattling not unlike that of an old typewriter was let out throughout the room. six 9mm bullets slamming into Satomi's back (five up the spine, one in the shoulder causing her to be spun around and fall). With a scream of surprise and pain, Satomi was wheeled around to face Jason and cracked her head on the table as she fell.

Grimacing at the fact that Satomi was not instantly killed, and was instead looking at him and emmiting gasps of pain, Jason moved forward. Not wanting to waste any more ammo, he slung the still-smoking uzi over his shoulder and picked up the pole Satomi dropped. Moving so he was right in front of the downed and bleeding girl, he raised the pole and brought it down, cracking it across her face and triggering a yelp of pain as a cheekbone broke. Quickly, he struck again, this time shattering her upturned nose and twisting it in an odd angle. He continued to mercilessly beat on Satomi's head with the pole for what felt like an hour (luckily for Satomi, the fifth strike knocked her out), though it was more like five minutes. He kept striking her head and face until it was nothing but a bloody mess, covering the room with blood. Oddly enough, as she was beaten to death with her own weapon, Satomi didn't care that she was leaving the world she hated so much.

Girl #68-Satomi Madison-DEAD.

Jason silently picked up his bag and put the pole inside as he surveyed the mess killing Satomi had caused. There was now blood all over the middle of the room, with Satomi's corpse leaning ont he table like a grim ornament. She herself was beaten beyond recognition, what facial features could be seen bent crushed and contorted (with one eye bulging out of its socket).

"What a waste of time." he mumbled as he added Satomi's food and water to his own before zipping up the bag, slinging it over his left shoulder and leaving the area.

Well, at least I have a backup weapon.

OOC: Continued in Taking Stock.