Survival Of The Fittest

((Simon Fletcher continued from Intravenous Nightmare))

Simon Fletcher didn't know how far he had run, only that his legs were beginning to burn and his breath was coming out in shorter and shorter gasps. There were buildings around him, all of which seemed to be deserted. He sat down on the hard ground, panting. I really should have done some sort of exercise. The only workouts Simon ever had were the ones he was forced to do in gym class. There always seemed to be something more interesting or entertaining to do at the time, but now Simon was beginning to regret how out of shape he was.

The area he was in didn't seem like a bad place to take a break. Nobody else was around, there were plenty of places to hide, and there might even be something of use in the buildings. As a place to develop a game plan, Simon could do much worse than here. He opened his pack, pulled out a hard bread roll, and finished it off in a few seconds. Man, I didn't know I was that hungry. It's a good thing I didn't pick up the bandages by mistake.

The boy got to his feet and moved over to lean against the wall of what appeared to be a grocery store. What now? Sarah had been planning on killing him; that was becoming clear. Simon knew that blindly trusting the first people he came across was a good way to die. He also knew that running around the island without anyone else was a good way to make himself a target. So the best plan of action, at this point, was to find someone he knew and trusted. Someone like Glory, or Trevor, or Alex, or any one of the kids from the anime or tactical games clubs. It was a simple plan, but the best one he could come up. Simon closed his eyes, just for a second, and let his mind wander.

That girl tried to kill me. This was almost the first thing that came to Simon's head when he stopped thinking about a certain topic. I don't understand. I was just trying to help, really. He had been terrified when she fell to the ground. Terrified that he was going to see someone die right in front of him. Simon adjusted the glasses on his face. Well, he wouldn't make the same mistakes again. He would keep his pistol in the daypack and stay guarded around the other students. That was the only way to survive from day to day.

Did he want to survive? To make it through this game on the blood of his classmates, his friends? To know that nothing would ever go back to normal again? At this point, Simon decided the answer was yes. He was afraid and ninety percent sure he was already dead, but he had to make the effort. Back at home, it was safe. There would be his parents and his little sister, Jessica, who always had time for him. There would be his old Chinese teacher, Zhang laoshi, and all his friends who weren't in the same year as him. His life might not ever be the same, but it would be his life. And, right now, that was all he wanted.

"I wonder," Simon spoke out loud, just so he could hear himself talk. He read somewhere that, contrary to popular belief, talking to yourself helped keep you sane when there was nobody around to speak to. "How long I've been on this damn island." It felt like forever, but it hadn't even been a day.

((B119 R.J. Lowe: Start))

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

SHIT.

As R.J. pulled his seventy-nine inch frame back to his feet by the walking stick he'd been issued, one word raced through his mind, albeit several hundred times. His eyes burned, his vision clouded by mud and sweat. The pack he carried on his back felt several times heavier than it actually was. His legs nearly buckled with each step he took. None of this seemed even remotely real. This was the kind of thing that happened to other people, like winning the lottery, or falling sixty stories down an elevator shaft. This was so wrong, on so many levels, it had to be a dream. Some kind of sick nightmare. But he knew that wasn't the case. Watching his teachers shot before his eyes, tripping over that exposed tree root as he ran through the woods, that all happened. He was here. He was in Survival of the Fittest. All of it was real.

SHIT!

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, much as he knew it was for the best that he couldn't. He hadn't seen anyone so far, and he hoped he didn't have to; he didn't want to kill anyone as much as he didn't want to be killed himself. And he'd seen a few episodes of the show, so he knew that one or the other would happen eventually if he ran into anyone. Unfortunately, fate had different plans for him. As he stumbled his way into the small collection of buildings, he heard a voice.

"I wonder how long I've been on this damn island."

He wasn't alone. Slowly, he turned his head to see the source of the intended-to-be-private musing. He only saw the other student's back, but recognized him all the same. Simon, he thought to himself. Simon...Welch? Was that it? I know there's a "ch" in there somewhere. Fuck, not that it's important right now, what if he's armed? Shit, of course he is, everyone is, and all I got is a fucking stick. I can't let him see me. Fuck that. Silently, R.J. tiptoed his way to the nearest building. It was a liquor store, by all appearances. He wondered briefly if it was stocked. Maybe if he was lucky, he thought, he could drink himself unconscious and die in his sleep. The thought was interrupted, however, by a loud snap, as R.J. inadvertently stepped on a dry twig. Immediately, he froze. He turned to look back at Simon, his face nervously twitching.

...Shit.

Simon's break was interrupted by a surprisingly loud snap. He jumped to his feet and looked around 360 degrees, scanning the area. At first, he didn't see anyone at all, which gave him an unnerving feeling in the bottom of his stomach. Somebody's there and I bet they have a gun. The brief, panicking moment went away when Simon saw nervous looking figure by the next building over. The stick in his hand looked to be more complicated than one he could have just picked off the ground, which meant that it was his weapon. Which meant he didn't have a gun.

Wrong! He could have killed somebody and taken theirs. You're awfully quick to forget your lessons, aren't you?

Simon inched forward a little bit, to get a closer look at the other student. He recognized the guy; his name was R.J. The other student was about a foot taller than Simon and most likely a good deal heavier. If it came down to physically fighting R.J., Simon was sure to lose. There was always the chance that he didn't want to fight, though. R.J. did appear to be trying to hide, so maybe he wasn't playing this game. Maybe he was in the same boat as Simon.

I need to approach this carefully, Simon knew. He brushed the dust off his pants and turned toward the other student.

"Hey! It's fine, I'm not trying to kill anyone. My name's Simon Fletcher."

He kept one hand on the strap of his daypack. R.J. was far enough away that if he tried to kill Simon, he would have enough time to pull out his pistol.

This begs the question of how he's going to respond to your message, anyway. Simon knew that R.J. was unable to talk. Although he was fond of languages, all the ones he knew even a little bit of required speaking. But that was probably fine, since Simon didn't think R.J. knew sign language, either. With his left hand, Simon rummaged through his pockets, hoping that by some stroke of luck there would be a piece of paper and a pencil inside. All he found was an old slip from a fortune cookie.

That's from around two weeks ago. You went out to eat with some friends. The items on the bill were all written in Mandarin, but you knew what it said. Of course you knew what it said, you can read Chinese. You were going to college for it, remember? In Pittsburgh. You were going to be a translator, or an interpreter, or something in the diplomatic field. Those things were all givens in Simon's life when he got the fortune, but now they seemed fake; like a plot for a video game.

Fletcher. Right. Even under normal circumstances, without so much pressure bearing down on him, R.J. was shit when it came to names. Again, however, that didn't matter right now. Trying to swallow his fear and failing miserably, he offered a nervous wave, setting the crook down against the wall and raising both hands over his head to indicate that he wasn't a threat. If Simon was thinking the same thing as him, they might be able to see to each others' mutual survival, at least for the time being. If not, R.J. could take him in hand to hand. If he had a gun, well, he could just pray for a headshot. Although, R.J. was fairly handy with firearms, and if Simon was both friendly and had a gun, acquiring it could be the difference between life and death, and if one of them managed to survive, he wasn't going to be the one to draw the short straw.

Wait, why the hell am I thinking like this? I'm not a killer, not a fucking chance. Just worry about staying alive. I can survive this. We can survive this.

He knew it was wishful thinking on his part. Someone's probably already gotten started by now. He had to hold out that little bit of hope, though, that there might be a way out of this. Didn't Neil Simmons come close last year? If there was a way out, someone would find it. Someone had to.

He looked Simon straight in the eyes. It was a stare that would have radiated confidence and courage in the face of death, if he wasn't visibly shaking.

The other student, R.J., wasn't attacking him. This was a positive sign for Simon, who wasn't sure everybody else on the island would have reacted in the same manner. He let himself relax a little, being sure to keep his guard up. Just because he's not trying to kill you know doesn't mean he won't ever decide that he's better off without you hanging around. Especially once he finds out you have a gun. On the subject of his pistol, Simon was torn on whether he should come right out and say that he had it. On one hand, he didn't want to hide things from his allies. On the other, it made him a huge target.

He walked up to R.J. The guy seemed pretty confident, considering the situation. He was shaking pretty badly, but Simon had ended up on the floor for a good period of time when he woke up. At least R.J. seemed to be keeping it together.

"So…" It was very hard to think up something to say. They had just been kidnapped by terrorists, stuck on an island, and forced to kill each other to survive. Worse yet, there seemed to be no end in sight. Trying to escape was an option, but it seemed impossible. Maybe if they found other people, it could work. Well, maybe somebody would save them, but that wasn't going to happen. This was the fourth program, Simon understood.

"I don't really have many ideas on where to go from here." Honestly, Simon had just been running around like a crazed chicken. "Um, I do have this, though." He had made his decision on the gun. If R.J. tried to take it, Simon would just run away again. What could the other student do about that? He might be taller, bigger, and most likely stronger, but Simon was quick and had the gun.

Simon held the pistol pointing downwards, making sure the safety was off. He showed it to R.J., and then stuffed it back in his day pack. The thing would only cause him trouble if he didn't watch it carefully.

Well fuck me sideways, the larger teen thought to himself, we may just have a chance here. He rubbed his eyes, taking a couple steps forward, hoping to get a better look at the piece he was carrying. GP6. 9 mil Parabellum cartridge, ambidextrous controls, solid grip. Not bad as pistols go. A rifle would've been better, having more experience handling those, but beggars couldn't be choosers here.

R.J. winced the slightest bit. His scar was starting to itch again. He'd nearly blown his head off earlier trying to scratch it before he remembered the collar was there. Deciding his scarf was just going to aggravate it more, he tossed it aside, letting the wind do with it as it saw fit. He was less concerned with hiding it now than he was with surviving. What he needed to figure out in order to do that was how to communicate, and since his PDA was gone, Notepad wasn't going to be an option. Glancing down at the ground, he noted the dirt beneath their feet. Not very deep before hitting pavement, but definitely deep enough for his purposes. He wouldn't be able to get as many words in, let alone as quickly, but he could keep his message brief if necessary. He knelt down on the ground, using his finger to write his question, then looked intently up at Simon.

"LOADED?"

R.J. Examined the pistol. He seemed to be able to study it quickly, with an obvious interest. Maybe he knew something about guns. All Simon knew was that you could load it, point it, shot it, and put the safety on. He didn't even know what kind of pistol it was. If they were going to survive, than perhaps it would be best to figure out how the gun worked. Well, that or...

Are you really thinking about that, Fletcher. Did you forget what just happened a few minutes ago?

R.J. took his scarf off and started to write something in the dirt. In this area, with no killers around, that was a sensible way to communicate. If they left here, than Simon would have to come up with another way. But that wasn't a pressing concern. As far as Simon was knew, most places had soft enough ground to write in.

The message was a question. R.J. was asking if the gun was loaded. Simon nodded.

"Yep. I managed that alright, at least." He paused. Just how much was he willing to risk here? Simon made his choice. He spoke up hesitantly.

"Hey...Do you know how to use a gun?"

R.J. came from a family of Alaskan Republicans. Of course he knew how to use a gun. If he gave him a minute or three, he could probably completely disassemble that thing and put it right back together. He wondered if Simon could really say the same, given his tone. He gave a singular nod, before wiping away his first message and replacing it with a second.

"HIDE IT"

Simon was way too trusting to simply show the gun to R.J. like he did. He was lucky he'd run into who he had, rather than someone with less savory intentions. Hell, they both were, and R.J. knew it; Simon would've killed him by now if he had any intention of doing so. He certainly had ample opportunity. R.J. ascended back to his feet, turning back to collect his assigned weapon, keeping a careful eye on Simon, in case of an emergency. Giving it a brief thought, he recollected the scarf as well. It was his lucky scarf, after all. He'd gotten it for Christmas when he was thirteen; his mother made the damn thing for him, for Christ's sake, he had to at least keep it with him in his bag. He proceeded to do just that, folding it neatly and setting it between the rations and the first aid kit.

Once all that was said and done, he slung the bag back over his shoulder, grabbed the crook by the middle to hold it as a walking stick, and turned his full attention back to Simon. The two would need to think rationally from here on if they wanted to both pull through.

Simon read the message quickly, and then cleared it away with his shoe. "And you're right. If anyone you don't trust asks, this" He held up the fortune he found in his pocket. "was my assigned weapon." Maybe it was a little pathetic, but one of the gifts he had seen was a key and another was R.J.'s shepherd's crook. A slip of paper with the cheerful little message about the power of teamwork seemed just like the kind of thing somebody with Danya's sense of humor would give somebody on a killing game.

R.J. had left to get his weapon, glancing back at Simon. He almost laughed. If I was going to shoot you, it would have been when you were skulking around by the next building. And, as has been previously established, I'm useless at this game. But his ally was a pragmatist, which was the way to be. And if he was going to survive, Simon had to cut back on the idealism.

He took a deep breath and stood up. The other student gave him a questioning glance, as if wondering what his plans were. Simon shrugged. His plans mostly involved not dying, which seemed to be a good idea to him

"This place is nice enough, but we can't stay in the same spot for too long. There are roads in this town that lead to the docks and some sort of forest. There are over 250 kids on this island, so wherever we go, we're going to run into somebody. If they try to kill us, I'll have to shot them." Simon didn't want to murder anyone. He really didn't. But he wasn't going to run away and leave some crazed killer with R.J. People he respected were watching him on this stupid game. "If they don't, uh, I suppose we'll have to see. Anyway, I assume everyone who took the school trip is here. Is there anyone you're looking for?"

Interesting gambit the kid had in mind, though R.J. was mildly puzzled as to how Simon thought he'd tell anyone he was armed. He let out a breath through his nose that could've been reasonably construed to be a chuckle, offering a bemused shrug. Not to brag, dude, but I like to think I can keep a secret pretty well. Regardless, Simon had the gun, so for now, he made the rules, and R.J. was content to abide as long as it kept him on this mortal coil.

He evaluated the options presented to him. He'd just come from the forest; it provided them ample cover, but would do the same for any hostile elements. However, forests were familiar terrain to him. The pier didn't sound like it would offer the same protection, but likewise, it was the same double-edged sword as the woods, as anyone else would lack the advantage, and if they arrived before anyone else, there would be time to prepare for a worst-case scenario and figure out how to adapt the environment to their advantage. It was risky, but it was more potentially beneficial. Before he could answer, though, Simon asked if there was anyone he was looking for.

R.J. hadn't been particularly close to anyone; it wasn't easy for him, after all. Still, he had to wonder about whether Mary-Ann was alright. She was a nice girl, and while they hadn't even known each other long enough to be an item, she was certainly second date material. That was probably a lost cause now, of course. He held out little faith in the possibility that she was alive even now. She was a meek little thing, not the sort he could picture so much as stealing school supplies, let alone fight what this place had in store for her.

Hesitantly, he shook his head, signaling a no.

With the end of his stick, he scrawled the word "PIER" into the dirt, then brushed it away with his boot.

R.J. seemed to find the idea that he would he would alert anyone to Simon's gun amusing. And, to be honest, it kind of was. Simon even grinned a little, before he remembered where he was. On fucking Terrorist Island, where my classmates and I must fight to the death with guns, curved sticks, and the occasional random key. Real hilarious.

The other student shook his head at the suggestion of trying to find someone. That was probably for the best. The chance of coming across one person out of over 250 without dying was pretty low, and it only got worse once you realized the probability of that person dying. And there was the very good chance that your target might have gone insane. Simon thought about everyone he knew that went on the class trip. Maybe he was lucky so many of his friends were in different grades or had chosen not to go.

The word in the dirt, before it was swiftly erased, read "PIER". The docks would be more open than the forest, which was both a positive and a negative. For Simon, pretty much every place was like the others. Well, except for the ones housing crazed students, that was.

"So then, the pier it is. I suppose our chances of seeing a boat there are pretty much nonexistent, huh?" Simon didn't need R.J. to answer that one. The idea that Danya would leave a nice ship for the students to sail away in was about the same as him putting on a tutu and dancing for them.

Simon scanned the ground, looking for a medium length sharp stick. It didn't take him long to find one that passed his fairly low standards, since it wasn't like he even needed it to do anything. He just figured that if anyone saw him carrying around a stick, they would be less likely to think he had been assigned a pistol. Which would, hopefully, make them less likely to attack him.

He pointed the stick in what he assumed was north. It was definitely the way Simon saw the road going to the pier from. "If we go that way, we'll hit a pretty well-beaten path to the docks."

((Kris continued from D-Day))

What the hell was she?

Kris couldn't possibly be an ordinary person. Normal people's reflexes weren't hotwired to pulling out guns and starting to shoot anything which so much as moved. Normal people didn't see somebody attempting to placate and calm them as a threat to be met with bullets. Kris was that and had done that, so...

What was she?

Kris just couldn't find the answer. She kept telling herself that she hadn't meant to fire at Reika, hadn't meant to shoot Kimberly (Shoulder, puff of blood. Dead now too?) and she knew that it was true. ...But simultaneously a lie. You didn't just pull the trigger of a pistol by mistake, with no intent whatsoever beyond instinctive panic. There was something wrong with her. Unconscious, beneath the surface. Kris hadn't deliberately thought about firing the gun, but in some corner of her mind, something had.

It scared her. It sickened her.

And she still couldn't force herself to put that goddamn gun down.


Kris found herself stumbling into an open street, feet all of a sudden dragging on pavement rather than dirt. She was exhausted. Running around just wasn't her thing, even if she was hardly a blubberball. It wasn't a lack of fitness, it was, well... the board thing again. Back home, she rode it everywhere that was humanly possible to skate - this flat ground would have been a gilt-edged invitation, one that she would have gladly taken. Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes, then she thought she caught sight of movement alongside one of the buildings.

The skater stopped in her tracks and blinked a little to clear her blurred vision, squinting into the distance up the street. Then her heart dropped. People, two of them. A pair of guys, by the looks of things and one of them was absolutely massive. Surprisingly the height didn't do a lot to narrow it down from this distance. They were too slender to be Craig Hoyle, but that left a bunch of guys it could be. Sears, Al-Hariq...

Kris suddenly realised that her hand was creeping towards the pistol at her hip again. She intercepted it with her left and held tight, almost crushing the fingers in a death grip. Again! Again! Fucking again! She fell to her knees and was violently sick in the middle of the street, retching up what little was in her stomach to splatter all over the dusty ground.

Reika, spin. Shoot. Right in the chest,. Blood. Reika, jump. Trigger. "Kris won't hurt us." Leech. Shoot. Kimberly. Blood. Killer. Toss the gun. Kept. Two dead? "He-hello?" Bang. Mördare.

Bile burned in her throat again and Kris swayed unsteadily from her knees. Eyes rolling back in her head, she pitched forward to land face first in a pool of her own vomit. Kris lay motionless as the world slowly receded from her.

"I suppose our chances of seeing a boat there are pretty much nonexistent, huh?"

Well, no shit. The best they could likely hope for was enough parts to salvage for a raft, and even then, just taking to the sea had too many risks. R.J. had no nautical expertise, they had no idea how far it would have to take them, and, oh yeah, the collars would blow their heads off. So no, Captain Obvious, the chances escape by boat are pretty fucking minimal. There he was, doing it again. Now wasn't the time to lose his cool, especially over something so minor. Deep breaths, dude, deep breaths. One, two. Time to think rationally.

Judging by the position of the sun, Simon seemed to be pointing north. The exact cardinal direction didn't matter for the time being, but it might be worth noting in the long run. R.J. glanced around one last time, just to be sure no one else was present. No such luck.

He saw the girl fall on her face; hopefully she hadn't seen him turn to look, as he pretended not to notice her right in the direction they'd planned on heading. Right fucking there. He could tell she was packing, but at this distance, he couldn't make it out any more than just "pistol," not that that was important. Quickly, he scrawled the message "NOT ALONE" on the ground, before wiping it out and replacing it with "COVER." He placed his index finger over his lips, then made his move toward the liquor store, motioning subtly for Simon to follow. Hopefully, he'd follow his lead and keep calm, rather than panic and startle the other student. This wasn't good. This situation could go downhill very rapidly with one false move.

Oh. Oh, shit.

The girl had fallen to the ground, a shiny glint of metal in her hand. It was a gun, or at the very least a small blade. Simon squinted at it. Definitely a pistol. He turned quickly to R.J., who had already noticed. The taller student had written another message, this one stating that they weren't alone, and that they needed to find cover. The guy was already moving toward the liquor store.

Simon glanced at the girl, before quickly turning away. He didn't know who she was, but she was face down and didn't appear to be moving. Even if she did have a gun, shouldn't they check to see if she was okay?

No. Remember last time? Sarah wasn't even armed, but she almost got your gun. This one's got a weapon, and R.J.'s here too. You can't just trust everyone impeccably.

He went after R.J., being sure to stay on the back of his toes. Finally, a part of this game that I can handle. Simon quickly made his wall to the wall of the store, taking care not to step on any twigs or let his bag hit anything. He was a rather small person-especially in comparison to the other guys at his school-and fairly good at hiding. Simon knew how to breathe quietly out of his nose and how to crouch on his haunches, which might not be the coolest skills around, but man were they useful.

Simon turned back to the girl, and then to R.J. Leaving her laying on the ground seemed wrong, but there was no way they should just approach an armed student out of the blue. The best idea would be to wait and seemed if she made any movements. But if the girl stayed down for more then two minutes, he would have to check on her. Simon wasn't sure how long it took to drown, but he vaguely recalled it being around 5 minutes.

(Zach Jamis continued from The Final Countdown)

"... The fuck?  Hey Sammy!  Stop droppin' those M's and come look at this!"

Zach Jamis stroked his chin as he looked at the Residential Area from afar.  Jamis definitely didn't wake up here.  Fuck no, he wouldn't have wandered off if he woke up here.  This shit was tighter than the creepy tunnels that was for damn sure.  The whole place looked tidy too, considering how it was a ghost town.  It looked like no one had touched it a long time.  Not that Zach was a good judge of architecture.  Even if every building in sight were rancid he'd still call it better sleeping quarters than just curling up next to a tree.

"Didn't see anything like this shit."  He turned back to Sam. "It's like they plopped us down in... like a town?  Shit, I don't know.  From what I figured, what the caves and this town, must have had some sort of mining... civilization?"  

He scratched his head.  This would be common sense to any normal person.  To Zach this was the biggest discovery he had made.  Yep, Zach was one smart motherfucker.  He nodded his head sagely.  No one on the debate team would argue with his logic, no sir.  He turned back to the town, rubbing his arms. together.  

"You think there are more of these buildings around here?  'Nuff to house like hundreds of people I'd figure... oh shit.  Maybe they have, like, food in there?"

Without waiting for Sam to follow, Zach just went into town.  Zach was like a damn kid, too curious for his own good.  He had Samya on his side and these boots were solid.  'Sides, what were the chances that anyone dangerous would be wandering around a ghost town like this?  Pretty high actually.  Then again Zach wasn't the kind of guy who squirmed at the sight of any danger.  Reckless?  Not really.  He knew when to pull his punches, and he was keeping close to Sammy.  Stupid?  You bet your damn ass.

Talking about stupid, what the hell was that on the ground?  Jamis had caught sight of the figure from the corner his eye for a moment but he didn't pay much attention to it.  Not until he really, really had to look at it.  Zach looked at it for a second.  Was that a bag?  Oh, it was just a dead body... ... ... what?  Zach's face grew grim.  This wasn't much of a change to his normal expression, maybe the corner of his lips were slanted downwards.  He turned to the body.  He stared at it, err, her.  He took a step closer.

"Shit... is she dead?"  Zach blinked.  He felt the urge to kick the girl just to make sure she wasn't, y'know, a stiff.  This was probably the last body Zach hoped to see his first day - the kind that appeared to be choking on their own vomit.  Watching a kid bleed to death was one thing, someone choking was another, sad thing entirely.

"Hey."  Zach grumbled, pressing the heel of his boot against the girl's side.  "Hey, you alive?"  

Zach sighed.  His normal tactics weren't working.  He turned to look at Sam, a little shocked.  Her name was Kris.  A skater girl... maybe?  That was about all he knew.  All he CARED to know, at least now.  After all the girl was dead - oh shit, she was still breathing.  Uhh... this was awkward.

"Saaaam?"  He called back to his partner in crime.  This was serious, this girl was out cold.  He bent down, his hands to the girls shoulders, rolling her on her back, AWAY from the vomit.  Shit that smelt nasty.  Zach was no hero, but  if they (and by they he meant the fucks at home watching this god awful show) thought he was going to leave a girl drown in her own vomit they had another thing coming. "Sam, get your butt over here.  I need some help here.  This dead girl ain't so dead."