Survival Of The Fittest

[[Garrett Hunter continued from Day 3, aka God's Unwanted Children]]

It was quiet.

No, that was a lie. A big, obvious lie. It was loud, loud as fuck, loud as only a crowd of teenage boys, hyped up by the promise of violence, can be. But it was quiet in Garrett's mind, quiet and clear and ready, and though the forms of the other boys, his friends, surrounded him and vied for his attention, only the boy in front of him registered properly in his vision. The boy's name was Edward Sweet, and he was nearly as effeminate as his name implied. Not only that, but he was two years younger than Garrett himself. That bothered him- he wasn't in this thing to fight kids. But hell, Edward was a sophomore, like Garrett had been when he started Fight Club. He wasn't a kid, not really. But Garrett still felt a little guilty as the fight began-

Some disconnected part of Garrett's mind wondered where Edward was now, if he was watching back home-

...What? Watching-

-But just as quickly he returned to the task at hand.

It began.

Punch, kick, dodge, move, move, move, always move. Fighting's like a dance, but a dance where you cannot fuck up unless you really want to find some pain. Fights in Fight Club weren't usually so glamorous- that's what happens when it's a bunch of completely untrained teenager beating the crap out of each other- but this fight was different. Garrett was good, and Edward was as well, but this fight was progressing way more smoothly than any he'd had before.

He spared a glance behind him, out of instinct, and saw himself staring back from the crowd.

For some reason, this made perfect sense.


---

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT

"WHAT WHAT HOLY SHIT WHAT."



Oh. Static. Right.

Garrett rubbed the sleep from his eyes, irritated and bleary-eyed. He had gotten a damn good night's sleep, especially when the circumstances were taken into account, but he was still pissed off at Danya's interruption. He moved to kick the covers off of him before suddenly realizing they'd never been on him to begin with, and settled for lying on his back, glaring at the nearest camera in a defiant sort of way.

He listened to the announcements, mainly because that was what he figured he was supposed to do. Nothing of much interest to him, though. He noted a couple of people who had apparently been real busy over the last few days- Maxwell, Clio, Kris- but he knew he'd never be able to match those names to faces, anyway. His heart stopped for a moment at the name Edward before it was mercifully ended by Belmont. Not to mention Edward Sweet was a sophomore.

The fuck was he dreaming about that kid for, anyway?

Garrett shrugged it off and climbed out of bed, pulling his shoes back on. As awesome as having a bed for the night had been, he wasn't going to stay here any longer. It was risky, was what he told himself, risky to stay in one place for too long, but the truth was he needed to find people. Find people who felt like fucking the system the way he did. And not fucking the system in some retarded intellectual way that was never going to work like baby-freak had. Fucking the system in some way that would piss Danya off.

Garrett pulled his daypack back on and walked out of the master bedroom, and out of the house.

He was looking for excitement and adventure and really wild things.

(Lucy Ashmore continued from Darkness Within)

All she had done for three days was sleep, eat small amounts, walk about, run around thinking to herself she was being chased, crying and that was about it.

She was distraught at the amount of deaths. The sheer size of them that started out and those that had now been exterminated. Murdered. But it was all in the past, at least... It was sort of. She felt kind of mean saying that, so bluntly, but it was true. She needed to get over it. She wasn't emotionally or physically attached to anybody which was obviously a great advantage. She didn't care about any of them. She felt sorry for their families, for her family... But that couldn't matter. She couldn't let that filter in and plague her judgement if she ever found herself in a kill or be killed situation.

In fact, she was so distracted by her thoughts she didn't even realise that she had strolled directly in to the path of a boy she didn't know.

Oh Crap.

She looked up, in shock at her pure carelessness. He, on the other hand, looked ready to leave. Bag strapped around his shoulder, he just looked at her.

For one of the first times in her life... she swore.

Fuck.

[[Short post due to lack of stuff happening. xD]]

Garrett had been looking for excitement and adventure and really wild things.

So far he'd been disappointed.

There had to be people in this town, right? He was sure there were, probably holed up in some of these buildings, and he hadn't gone far yet anyway, but still. He'd expected to run into some shit going down, but no. Nothing. And bored as he was, he still wasn't exactly willing to go busting through doors. There could be an ambush or something waiting for him behind any of these doors. He'd love a fight, but not so much a gunfight.

So he kept walking. Bored out of his skull.



...FF-

Last thing he expected, at some point, was some girl to pop out of nowhere.

Some girl. It was like they were fucking following him. Girls, that was. Weren't there more boys than girls in Bayview? Garrett was pretty damn sure that was true but it sure as fuck wasn't showing here on the island. He'd run into, what, two boys his whole time on the island? And they weren't any more useful than the girls were. He wasn't looking for another pathetic female to follow him around like a sick puppy. This one looked like she'd been crying, which pissed him off even more. He needed allies right now, troublemakers, rebels, he needed his boys and maybe some other guys willing to follow him.

He didn't want any part in weakness right now.

"The fuck are you looking at?" Garrett practically growled at her, reaching for a weapon before remembering he didn't have one.

At least she was unarmed, too. No more fucking guns.

(Andrea Raymer continued from Jesus Loves the Little Children)

"Right... so, this house look good to you, Allen?"

It was morning on Day 4 of Survival of the Fittest, and Andrea Raymer was feeling kinda like a rodent. To be sure, that was a strange comparison to make, but Andrea still considered it to be accurate. As a kid her dad used to tease her about her chipmunk cheeks, although once she'd grown taller they'd retreated back into her face, and after a few more days on this island she'd probably look like some sunken-cheeked zombie. But beyond that, she was feeling anxious, twitchy. She needed to get somewhere, calm her nerves, jot down some notes, and decide what to do with Allen.

On the whole, she was doing OK. After all, she'd survived this long. She'd managed to scope out at least some of the island, she probably wasn't on anyone's radar, and she was dong a half-decent job of rationing. Plus, gunpowder and grenades, can't complain. On the other hand, a half-decent job on her pills was still worrying, she'd just seen a gruesome murder, and well, those grenades weren't hers. They were Allen's.

Just how long could she keep stringing him along? Ever since yesterday things had been tense, and she was starting to think he was reconsidering her whole 'idea to escape that I totally have planned out, believe me' routine. Ugh. She'd have to decide pretty soon. But for now, she just wanted to find somewhere, rest for a bit, check for any Danyaclues or whatever, and put off any big decisions until later.

This house she was scoping out was set off from the rest of the residential area, and looked pretty deserted. At least from the backyard, which ran up against the nearby woods. She was about to try the back door when a voice came from around the front.

""The fuck are you looking at?"

Ah crap. Maybe this wasn't the best choice after all.

(David Matson continues from Where Do You Go From Here?)

Food was starting to run low in his Attic. There was only a little bread left. He picked at it nervously. There were a couple of people arguing, at a house across the street, just a little distant from the rest. "Running out of time David... Jonah had to leave the whales belly at some point." he murmured to himself. Slowly he made his way down the stairs through the thankfully now empty house. He came down the attic ladder, holding the gun carefully. He crouched down, trying to keep himself from being seen through the window. He approached it cautiously, raising his eyes just above the line of the window. There they were, two of them, with a third at the other side of the house.

"Lord protect me... guide me... and keep me." he muttered. How to do this... he reached up towards the window, trying to gently raise it without it making a sound. A slight squeak, but nothing more. He gritted his teeth. The first time had been an accident. This would be deliberate. For a second there, he felt doubt. Thou shalt not kill. It was like the most basic rule. But then, there were countless times where that could be discarded, even in the bible itself. It's ok, if it's for the right reasons.

Protecting Christ's faithful in a den of sinners... Those were the right reasons. He though of crusaders, marching on Jerusalem, cutting a trial of blood. He'd always been thrown by that. It had always been something to toss in the face of that particular faith. But now he understood. Sometimes, blood is nessacery to the works of god. He kneeled, keeping as much of his body obscured beneath the window frame. He pointed the barrel of the gun. Thinking. Considering. Maybe for to long. He would go for the girl, he thought first, they were the easier targets.

He paused. No. Go for the guy. Take the harder target when you have the element of surprise, take the weak one out later. He pointed the gun at the other boy and squeezed the trigger. A lump of lead went whirling through the air, burrowing through a tiny tunnel of air towards the other. He squeezed again and again. Five shots in total rang out before the chamber clicked empty. No time to check to see if they hit. Gotta move.

He took off down the stairs, running as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. He found a window on the far side of the house from the others. He pulled up on the frame, but it was stuck. He cursed, then crossed himself in response. He swung the butt of the gun at the window. It smashed and David pulled himself through the frame. He cut his arm on the broken glass. Droplets of blood left a trail as he ran.

((Allen Birkman continued from Jesus Loves the Little Children))

"Yeah, it looks fine to me," Allen replied, looking up at the rear of the building and inspecting the state of it. Three days ago, he never would have thought that he'd return to this part of the island again, not after deserting the pub in fear for his life. 'Has it really been three days since then?' Allen thought, wondering where all the time had gone.

And it had been two days since meeting up with Andrea, and so far this so-called plan had come to nothing. They hadn't found anything that could help them, the only thing they had found were the girls at the parish who'd killed someone right in front of their eyes. That had put a dampener on Allen's morale, that was for sure.

During the night, he'd just stared at the sky when trying (unsuccessfully) to get some sleep, wondering if the whole plan was even worthwhile. Nothing was going right, and he'd even entertained the idea of just getting up while Andrea slept and slinking off. But he didn't dare follow through with it and felt immensely guilty for thinking such things. Andrea had been the only person to stick with him for any prolonged period of time. Everyone else he'd encountered had either been killed, tried to kill him or just fled at the first sign of trouble. Not Andrea though, she'd stayed with him throughout all that had happened, and Allen felt it was only right that he reciprocate that action.

He'd been so busy thinking about the past events that he'd completely zoned out. The next thing he knew when he came back to the present day, Andrea had gone off ahead to the back door and was about to try and open it. Allen dashed over and caught up with her, when he heard someone, a male, cursing out loud somewhere. Allen looked around the area with a quizzical look upon hearing it. "Was... that directed at us?" he asked Andrea, trying to find out where the voice had come from.

And then a rather loud gunshot suddenly rang out.

'HOLY CRAP!'

Allen's reaction was immediate. "Get down!" he yelled, grabbing Andrea by her shoulders and hitting the dirt with an "oomph", pulling her down with him. Four more of the loud noises echoed through their part of the housing district, Allen covering his head with one hand while cowering on the floor and keeping Andrea held close to him with the other. After the fifth gunshot died down, silence reigned for the most part, only broken by Allen's rapid breathing and the faint sound of glass breaking in the distance.

'Is... is it over?' Allen thought. He looked up from the ground and glanced in all directions, seeing no one in his field of view. His heart was thumping hard in his chest; that was a good sign, it meant he was still alive. And judging from the lack of excruciating pain excluding his left knee, which had painfully hit the floor as he ducked down, he hadn't been struck by any of the bullets.

"A-Andrea, are you okay?" he shakily asked, turning to face his companion.

((Joe Rios continued from Too Late))

Joe was hyperventilating, and if there were enough food in his system for him to do so, he would have shat himself several times. After three days of walking around with Cisco and talking to people, he'd finally found real danger courtesy of Mr. Idiot throwing a sawblade and slicing someone's throat open; namely, Remy Kim charging at Cisco with a knife.

His response, naturally, was to sneak away so that Cisco wouldn't notice he was gone, and then run like all hell had just broken loose. Which it had. He'd actually somewhat wanted Remy as an ally, and staying with someone who'd just sliced his friend's throat open wouldn't lead to a good second impression; in fact, it would probably lead to his death, and trying to ally with someone and dying as a result was almost as big of a failure as trying to bake a cake and catching syphilis from it. Fortunately, he'd gotten to the residential area by morning, taking occasional stops to power-nap and take a few bites of bread along the way.

Finally, a trace of normalcy. This is good, Joe thought to himself. Well, it wasn't exactly normal, but it was as close as anything on the island was reasonably going to get.

The now-familiar static of the announcements played, and Joe listened. Some people had been busy. He made a mental note to watch out for them, particularly this Clio Gabriella girl. He chuckled a bit internally at the mention of Cisco and silently thanked Danya for not mentioning him.

First time for everything.

He waited and caught his breath for a bit. Then, almost as if out of nowhere, a girl showed up... and then Garrett Hunter showed up. Joe wasn't too familiar with Garrett, but what he did know was interesting: apparently the man was some kind of space monkey anarchist Fight Club fanboy. Not too pleasant in the real world, but on the island...

This guy could be a fucking godsend. After a bit of talking between them that Joe couldn't quite make out, he decided to move in. More accurately, he pulled one of the water bottles he'd already started on out of his daypack, walked up to roughly their location, leaned against a wall, and started drinking out of it.

Let them start the conversation if they're interested. If not, I suppose I can keep going it alone, but safety in numbers is always a decent rule of thumb in shit like this. He kept this going for a few seconds, but was rudely interrupted by someone firing off five shots in the distance. His eyes widened.

Oh, fuck me. Not this shit again.

He was lucky. Really fucking lucky. Or really fucking unlucky, depending on whether you were putting more emphasis on the fact that he was still alive, or on the fact that he'd ran into this fucking girl right next to a house where some lunatic with yet another godfucking gun was camping.

Either way, it happened real fast.

BANG.

The first was like nothing else. The others echoed into nothingness like bangbangbangbang and he hardly noticed them at all because a gunshot that doesn't hit you is nothing but a warning shot. Nothing but a notice, an announcement, a get the hell out of here before shit goes down harder sort of thing. The kind of thing that you need to have a moment of recognition, a moment of silence, a moment of pause, a split-fucking-SECOND even to react.

Garrett didn't have that kind of time.

Since when the first gunshot that hits you, yeah, you'll remember that.

It barely hit him. It grazed him, maybe. But the shot dashed behind his right calf and he could definitely feel it. Feel it worse than anything. Feel it like death pulsing through his goddamn leg, crawling up slow, his leg wanted off now, off this goddamn ride, his leg hurt, it hurt, it hurt. Garrett spoke with his fists, not his legs, not his feet, he wasn't used to this kind of pain. Head pain yes torso pain yes arm pain yes yes yes but this was like nothing else and he felt it and he felt it and he felt it

Garrett you're gonna get SHOT. You're gonna DIE.

Get the FUCK out of here.

He took off. His leg was bleeding and screaming for relief and for rest but no way he could stop now. He could not. He would not. No way.

It was impossible. It had to be impossible. His leg would drown in his blood like it was its own organism, like it needed to breath and blood was choking it slowly, slowly, and it was amazing to Garrett how vivid his imagination had become now that he'd been shot. Impossible, impossible, but he ran.

God help anyone who stopped him now.

[[Garrett Hunter continued in The Middle Children of History]]

David fled through the back gardens of the house, his feet digging into the grass and throwing it out behind him. Footstep followed footstep as his breathing quickly grew rapid. Suddenly every breath was as though he was breathing through lungs of crushed glass. Stupid, stupid. He should have known not to run like that. He didn't even confirm the kill. They could be right at his heels and he would be stuck dead because of his stupid stupid asthma.

He stopped, shutting his eyes, awaiting the inevitable reprisals of the killers he had just fired on. But none came. Perhaps he had lost them, or they had simply decided not to give chase. He fell to his knees and began to search through his bag. He took out the asthma inhaler.

Depress...

Breathe....

Depress...

Breathe...

Finally his lungs seemed to open up, allowing him that precious oxygen. He found the box of bullets and loaded the gun again. 24 bullets, and 6 in the chamber. Next time he would have to make sure. He would have to confirm the kill. He would need his targets weapon.

((I apologise for the extremely short post, but I don't want Allen to get a warning))

Allen continued to lie with his stomach on the ground. He didn't think it was safe to get back to his feet just yet, so he stayed where he was, looking to his side. If Andrea had a reply to his question, he couldn't hear it. The only thing he could hear was his heart furiously pumping blood into his head. His eyes brimmed with tears at the realisation that he could've been on the receiving end of those earlier gunshots, and only one throught raced through his mind.

'I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.'

(while awaiting upcoming events)

...that directed at us?

"Huh?"

Andrea had been trying to figure out exactly who was talking when Allen interrupted her thought process. Well gee Allen, maybe if she was able to focus she'd know the answer to that.

"Hell if I kno---"

Then there were gunshots, and Allen was grabbing her and shoving her to the ground.

((Barely scraping by activity here.))

Joe watched as Garrett took off running like an idiot, with a bleeding leg wound. Just a graze, but still, that was gonna get infected.

Scratch the bit about him being a godsend. This man is not very bright, Joe mentally noted.

"Oi, hang back and take cover, you stupid ass! Running with a leg wound is a horrible fucking idea and you know it as well as I do!" Joe yelled at Garrett.

He had no clue if this was going to reach him, but he figured why not give it a try.

Out of nowhere, however, the bastard's voice began.

"Evening children... my aren't we having a busy day? It seems that one of your number has no regard for the rest of you. Gee, I tried to warn you about that Liz Polanski, but she just won't stop playing roulette with your lives. Much as it pains me to say this... somebody came up with the unlucky number.

G004. Lucy Ashmore. ... ... now where's that button? Oh yes, there it is. ... Eliminated."

Oh hell no.

As the shots scattered around her, Lucy shrieked.

Someone was shooting at them, shooting at her. Trying to kill her. They were trying to kill her, and she didn't even know why. It was sheer luck that saved her life. Had she been a bit quicker, dived reflexively one way or the other, she might have made it into the path of a bullet. As it was, they cleanly missed her.

The boy, on the other hand, was not so lucky. One of the shots skimmed his leg. Lucy felt ill, watching the blood. He was running, too. He was shot but he was still running, trying to get away. That's how serious the danger was. If this guy could run while shot, surely Lucy could flee while perfectly unhurt, right? She tried to will her body to move, tried to do something, anything, but she just couldn't overcome the trembling in her legs, no, her whole body. She was shaking and panting and trying not to pass out. Locomotive functions were beyond her at the moment.

She should've stayed hidden. Should've never left that space behind the bar. Running hadn't gotten her anything. Nothing was helping. She was going to die. She was going to get shot and die.

The second round of fire never came, though. It seemed the attacker had run off somewhere too. Lucy was alone. Well, okay, not alone at all. There were still the guys, the one running off, wounded, and the other guy, and those other two. She couldn't focus on them now, though, not even to remember who they were. She was too distracted just keeping her breathing under control.

The announcements came on. It was another of those weird ones during the day, adding tio what the last had said. Someone had tampered with the collars or something, right? That was good, right? Lucy just had to find that person, that Liz, and then she'd get her collar off too, and she could just go hide in a danger zone. She wouldn't cause trouble. Wouldn't do anything to make the terrorists come after her. She'd be content to just survive, keep on existing.

Danya was saying something about people exploding. Lucy held her breath. Who would be the unlucky victim this time? She pitied whoever it—

Lucy's collar suddenly exploded, spraying blood from her torn throat.

She had barely a second to register shock, before she dropped to the ground, hitting her head and losing consciousness. Scant seconds later, she passed away.

G004: Lucy Ashmore ELIMINATED

(For the sake of the plot and characters, I'm compressing Danya's two announcements together. It's hardly the worst time paradox we've ever had in this game )

She lay there, listening to the shots, momentarily stunned. Wow. Were those actually the first gunshots she'd heard here? They didn't sound like they did in the movies. There gunshots sounded like miniature explosions. Boom boom boom. Here the sound was briefer somehow, like a series of firecrackers going off. Kind of a pop pop pop.

Learn something new everyday, I guess, Andrea thought, and then glanced over at Allen. Bah, who did he think he was, some kind of dashing white knight rescuing the lady fair? The gunshots hadn't even been directed at them.

She thought.

So where the hell had they been directed? She was about to ponder that when behind Allen, a blurry figure raced by, passing through the backyard on its way to the woods.

"Ah shit," she muttered, scrambling to her knees. OK, get your head back in the game here Andrea, there's a dude with a fucking gun around here and you're off on la-la land thinking about firecrackers and Mr. Gun Dude could be just waltzing up to your right now and shooting you and that would be a pretty pathetic way to end the game...

Andrea's mind rambled onwards in that fashion for another second or so until it realized that there were in fact, no other gunshots coming her way, nor was the aforementioned Mr. Gun Dude coming after her. So did that mean the guy she'd seen was Gun Dude running away from someone he'd shot, or was it the other way around? In other words, what the hell was the right reaction here?

She got to her feet and motioned for Allen to do the same. Well, their situation hadn't changed that much. They were still facing the back door of a random house they'd thought was empty. It was just a new guessing game as to what the house might contain; there could be a dead student, an injured student, an uninjured student, a student ready to kill, multiples of the above, or no one at all. Arrgh.

"Uh, anyone there?" she asked the house, and Danya's voice greeted her in response.

-----

Liz Polanski? For serious? Holy crap on a stick. And damn, there go the random students' collars. It's fucking Neil Sinclair all over agin.

Andrea could read Allen's expression like a book. She interrupted him before he could start.

"Yeah, uh, shit, I'm kinda guessing you wanna ask me what the hell's going on there Allen, but I uh, I seriously need to process that information for a couple minutes before I can give you an answer."

So, someone had actually gotten their collar off. That was unexpected, to put it mildly.

Andrea caught herself feeling resentful towards Liz and wasn't much surprised. Of course, in the grand scheme of things this might be good news, since it'd keep Danya's attention way, WAY away from her, but on the other hand, Liz Polanski was not supposed to be the star of this show. Not to mention that if Liz didn't know what she was doing, she might screw up everything, and either way Andrea really really needed to stop screwing around with Allen and get a move on, because this game's schedule had been pushed up.

Andrea breathed out. It was all good. Everything was still kosher. Because seriously, it was still only four days into this damn thing. Hell, four days into the last game that stupid Blood Boy kid was the greatest killer ever and a lock for the endgame. This wasn't even an obstacle for her, hell, it was probably going to HELP her in the end.

Not to mention that it was sure going to make things more exciting, wasn't it?

She caught a grin on her face and looked over to Allen. "Right, I'm gonna take a look inside if you wanna follow. Then we can talk, k?"

-----

"Uh, anyone there? Again?"

Andrea had peeked through the back door and seen nothing of interest; now she stuck her head in the entryway, ready to duck and run and hopefully not wet herself should anyone be lying in wait with a gun. Nothing yet. The back door opened into a small kitchen, and there was nothing to greet her but dust and more dust.

Andrea stepped into the kitchen and looked around for a moment, then saw that the front door was open and Lucy Ashmore was standing just outside it. OK, that was safe enough. Sure, she might have been wrong about the last group of girls not being any sort of threat, but Lucy Ashmore? Lucy Ashmore was totally 100% not any sort of a threat.

She walked down the hall and started to say hi, and then just like that Dayna's voice started up again.

Oh come on, NOW what? she thought, and took a step into the front doorway, bracing her hands against the frame and waiting for the latest announcement to finish. Once it did, she and Allen would chill here for a bit and she'd bullshit the SOTF universe in regards to Danya's big news, and then they'd move on and--

Holy double crap on a stick. Did he just fucking say--

Andrea turned, just in time to catch a glimpse of total incomprehension in the other girl's eyes. Then her neck blew apart, sending a hot spray of blood towards Andrea that painted a line across her shoulders. Lucy collapsed to the ground, her eyes still open, and Andrea looked down at her, mouth agape, spatters of blood coating her shirt and arms. In one brief moment she couldn't think of anything, and then she turned around and saw Allen standing behind her. Then, for no reason at all, she felt like laughing. That probably wouldn't be a good reaction.

"I, uh, I need to sit down," Andrea managed to say. She stumbled back a few steps and sat down on the hallway floor. She just needed a minute, and then she'd get right back to figuring shit out.

Lucy's throat tore open in an instant, spurting blood as she crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Joe had witnessed people getting wounded before, such as Garrett, who appeared to be entirely out of earshot. However, this was the first time someone had ever died in front of him. He had an urge to vomit, that probably would have been filled if there had been anything of substance in his stomach.

However, there were more pressing concerns at hand. Joe heard a girl, off a ways from Lucy, saying she needed to sit down.

Fucking jackpot! People! People who aren't playing, at that! Joe thought. He forced himself to mask his glee at the fact that he might finally have a travelling companion who isn't as insane as Cisco and began walking to the voice.

"Anyone there? I'm unarmed." he said, loudly but clearly. He knew the answer; the variable was whether he was going to get a response. Saying he was unarmed was probably going to help a fair amount if he hadn't misunderstood the girl.