Survival Of The Fittest

((Albert Lions continued from Dude, how come I feel like I'm not in Kansas anymore?))

"DOOOOUUUUUGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!"

Albert scratched his head. Was he even going the right way? Had Dougal gone off in another direction entirely? Did they have cable out here? So many questions flooded Albert's mind all at once. "C'mon, dude, you around here? Say somethin', man!" Had he been looking at the ground, of course, he probably would have noticed the obstruction that lay in his path, and of course, not subsequently tripped over it and fallen on his face. "What th- whoaoaoa!"

FWUMP.

The boy pushed himself to his knees, spitting out sand as he brushed his clothes off. "Freakin' ow, man, what the heck was- Oh. Oh crap." A quick glance back revealed exactly what he had tripped over. Some fat kid, a bullethole between his eyes. He kind of recognized the guy, too. That couldn't be a good sign. "Dude, that can't be a good sign." His eyes darted around wildly for his friend. "Heeeey, Dougal? I got a bad feeling about this place, so if you're out there, say somethin'... Kinda don't wanna stick around too long. This is really kinda creepy, man." He looked out toward the water, briefly wondering if it was actually the ocean, or just a lake or something - maybe even a firth? - when he noticed that distinct blonde hair he'd recognize a mile away. "Dougal!" he shouted, running towards his friend, who for whatever reason was just lying there. He gave the other boy a nudge. "Dude, what're you doin' sleeping out here? Let's get going, someone got shot out here! Grab the shotgun and... wait where's the shotgun? No, wait, we'll worry about that later, c'mon, we gotta get moving, wake up!"

No response.

"Uh, Dougal? You're freakin' me out, man." Still quiet. Albert's mouth curled into a nervous, twitching smirk. Something wasn't right here. He nudged him again. "H-hey... say somethin'..." Still nothing. Al grabbed the boy's body by the shoulders and shook him as hard as he could. "Dude! Seriously, snap out of it! This isn't funny! And trust me, I know funny!" Dougal just limply went along with the shaking, head bouncing lifelessly about like a ragdoll. His skin was cold. It wasn't supposed to be cold. "DUDE! CUT IT OUT NOW! WAKE! THE HELL! UP!"

Albert dropped the corpse of Augustus MacDougal back to the ground. A single tear dripped onto the dead boy's shirt. Then another. This wasn't right. Al had never seen a dead body before. He knew nothing of death. Yet here he was, kneeling over the corpse of his best friend. His best friend, who'd been alive just hours ago.

It wasn't right.

He couldn't be dead.

"Sorry, Al. It's true."

...Wait a minute. Who else was here? Albert looked up, to see the source of the voice. His jaw dropped.

"...Dougal?"

((Isaiah Garvey continued from Reconstitution))

The announcements had hit Isaiah hard. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn't nineteen dead. Wasn't a large list of killers. He had gone through them, trying to match names to faces in his mind. Most often, he couldn't. Alex Rasputin he knew of, of course. Janet Binachi, too. Isaiah had always paid attention to his fellow runners, though he did not compete in their specific areas, being more of a sprinter. Rob Jenkins, another killer, played basketball, and was excellent at it.

The first shocker, and one of the earlier ones announced, was Clio Gabriella's murder of Chris Davidson. Both of them were Christians. Sure, they weren't from Isaiah's circles, but it shook him deeply to think that his fellows could have turned on each other so soon, like a pack of jackals. He had never put much stock in GODspeed, Clio's Christian club, viewing it as too much of an establishment sort of thing. The members were the sort who went to church to fit in, or because their buddies did, or because their parents told them to. Most of them didn't seem to have much faith, at least, not of the sort he prized. He had still expected more of them. Expected them to at least try to hold true to their espoused values.

But what really threw Isaiah for a loop was the announcement of the death of Brent Shanahan at the hands of Staffan Kronwall. Brent had been one of Isaiah's baseball teammates. Not his best buddy of all time, by any means, but a presence in his life nonetheless. And Staffan... everyone in Bayview knew Staffan Kronwall. For him to have done something like this was nearly unbelievable. Isaiah gave a wordless prayer, for their souls, and those of all the others on the announcement, the killers and the killed.

Of course, there was that niggling voice in the back of his head. The one which repeated Exodus 20:13, again and again. Thou shalt not kill. Surely among the most famous phrases in the Bible. A dozen of his classmates had broken that commandment. Part of him screamed that they deserved to be punished.

But he was able to quash that with the realization that, if they deserved punishment, it would find them, in this life or the next. It was not his mandate to enforce God's justice. To think that was arrogance of the highest order. Thou shalt not kill did not include exception clauses making the slaying of killers alright, or justifying revenge.

So he had wandered, lost in thought, searching for somebody else, for something to do. Originally he had headed for the parish, not consciously realizing it, but upon seeing that building in the distance, he had changed his course. It would simply be seeking a place of comfort, shirking his real duty. The sun had come up more fully, and now, having ambled aimlessly, he was at a beach. Sand stretched out to the distance, and the sea as well.

There were forms down the beach from him. One moving. Another on the ground, a little ways away. He picked up his pace. Nothing violent seemed to be going on, but he couldn't be sure, and he couldn't let anyone get killed while he watched. The metal bar swung from his hand in a loose grip. He wouldn't be killing, but beating someone off a victim was surely justified, right? He'd just have to aim well, make sure he didn't do worse than break an arm. No blows to the head. No risking lives.

But it wouldn't be necessary. The moving one shouted out. Then he tripped over the fallen form. He didn't seem to be attacking, though, so Isaiah slowed again. The figure who had tripped moved towards the sea, to another still form, one Isaiah hadn't seen before. The figure hoisted this new form up, shook it, spoke to it, though Isaiah could not make out the words. It took him a little while to figure out what had happened. When it came, though, it was one of the worst moments of his life. The figures on the ground had to be dead. Had to be. He sped up again, pausing fifteen feet away as the living boy turned and spoke to the air. Isaiah glance that direction, and could see nothing, nothing except the first figure, the corpse of a rotund boy, his head blown off. The other corpse was in comparatively excellent condition, his blond hair shining in the sun.

It was just too much. There was no biblical quote for this situation, no magic words to make things alright.

Isaiah stood in silence. The bar dropped from his grasp, to land quietly in the sand.

Al looked down to the body that lay at his knees, then back to Dougal.

Back to the body.

Now back to Dougal.

"He's gonna start thinking you're crazy if you keep doing that, Al," Dougal said, motioning to the skinny black kid to his left.

Albert simply stared back quizzically. Funny, he hadn't noticed the skinny black kid there a minute ago. Granted, he was more focused on his friend being in two places at once, but that was neither here nor th- wait, no, it totally was. "Why would he-"

"Because I'm a ghost, Al. He can't see me. Just you." Well, that resolved that particular issue. Although, why couldn't the other kid see him? He was right there, after all. "Why can't h-"

"Because that's how ghosts work, okay Al?" he interrupted, rubbing his forehead frustratedly. "Just roll with it." Right, okay, be subtle. Al could do subtle. He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

...Okay, so he could totally not do subtle. Still, he could try. So, he rose to his feet, turning to face Buddy Whassisname. "Ummmm... hi? Hi. So, uhhh, not everyday you find a dead guy on the beach, right?" "Oh, for fuck's sake." He wasn't sure what Dougal's problem was. Clearly, he was off to a fine start. "Anyway, uh, I was just thinking maybe it'd be a good idea to bury him, y'know? Respect for the dead and all. I mean, if that's cool with you." That last part he said with his head still pointed at Buddy, but his eyes aimed at Dougal. "...Wait, you're asking me? I mean, go ahead, if that's you're thing, it's not as if it really affects me at this point." Al paused a moment, wondering why Dougal contracted "you are" just then, but held back the question. After all, he didn't want to look crazy or anything.

The boy was talking to the air. Perhaps descending into madness. Or, maybe just questioning the reality before him, maybe wondering who had killed these people, wondering whether they could really be dead. His statements were ambiguous. Isaiah found himself simply staring. Not a clue what to do. And then the guy was talking to him. His statements sounded... off somehow. Like he wasn't sure what to do either. Just the two of them, two kids dealing with something they never should have been forced to.

Why?

Didn't matter. There had to be a purpose. And Isaiah's own purpose on the beach soon became clear, as the other boy asked for help digging a grave. It was notable that he spoke of burial in the singular. Like he was just going to leave the fat guy to rot. So, he had probably cared about this blond guy. They'd probably been friends. Well, that was fine. They'd bury him first. Then, if the guy wanted to leave, that was his prerogative. Isaiah would dig the other grave alone. How challenging could it be? The sand was loose. He knew he couldn't be burying every body on this island, of course, but here doing so would help someone. That made it worthwhile.

"Yeah," he said, dropping his pack to the sand. "I think it's a very good idea."

Isaiah walked closer to the body. He was vaguely interested in the fact that he could not detect any odor from it. Either the salty sea air was overpowering it, or this murder hadn't happened long ago. For just a second, he considered dropping everything, grabbing his bar and tearing off after any footprints he could find, but that would not be productive, would not be a good action. So, instead, he began to shovel the sand, cupping his hands. The grains quickly built up under his fingernails, well-trimmed though they were. It was annoying, but not enough to slow him down.

Of course, his progress wasn't particularly quick. Lacking experience with sand, he was unable to keep large amounts from spilling back into his slowly-developing hole. This was not going to be a fine place of interment. He wished he could do better. They deserved it. But wishes wouldn't change reality, and he had to make do.

((Adrian Staib continued from Conquistador))

Adrian had been running for god knows how long now, and still hadn't found Sarah. With his body reaching it's limits, Adrian stepped onto the beach, and then promptly dropped his bags and sank to his knees. He was now beginning to regret running off after what happened back at the Residential Area. Sure, he wanted to find Sarah, but how could be be so selfish as to run off when Ben was defending himself? For all he knew, Ben could be dead now just because Adrian ran off! He was against a guy with a gun for god's sake! What if after shooting Paige, he just shot everyone else there too?

While these thoughts ran through Adrian's mind, he saw two others digging in the sand. There were a few dead bodies around them, but after seeing someone killed before him, Adrian wasn't as shocked as he thought he'd be. He recognized the two alive boys, but thanks to exhaustion coupled with the fact that he was really bad with names, he really couldn't place their faces to names. At a loss of what else to do, he decided to at least find out what they were doing. He slowly rose to his feet and moved closer to the other two.

"Um...Hey. What's going on? Anything I can do to help?"

A very good idea. Huh. Not something Al got very often. He smiled back at the other guy, already busy at the hole. "Thanks, man. Hey, don't start without me, yeah?" With that, the little blond dove right in, vigorously tearing through the sand. This would be just like the time they buried Dougal up to his neck when he fell asleep at the beach when they were ki- wait, had that been Dougal? Al paused to think a moment.

...Nope, that was Megan, back before she moved to Michigan. Man, how could he get those two mixed up? She was, like, the anti-Dougal or something. He wondered briefly how she was doing these days, before his mind wandered to other things. Things like how hungry he was right now. Things like pizza. Big ol' pan pizza from Pizza Hut, with extra cheese, and ground beef, and bacon bits, and "Hey, ethereal plane to Al. You diggin' that hole or not?" Oh, right, duh. The grave. He'd kept at it unconsciously, but his digging had slowed to a crawl as his thoughts drifted and his mouth watered at the thought of delicious, savory pseudo-Italian pie. Mmmmm. Dougal snapped his fingers. Crap, now he'd done it again. Focus, Al! Obeying his own instructions, he got back to the task at hand, digging like a mole being chased. His digging was inefficient, but in much the way using TNT is an inefficient way of fishing: it's a gross abuse of resources for a task that can be accomplished with a string and a hook, but it works.

After another minute or so, maybe an hour, however long it took them to get a foot and a half, Al couldn't really tell, a new voice sounded out. Al knew that voice, at least. In his best Sly Stallone impersonation, he called out, "Yo, Adrian!" causing Dougal to facepalm yet again. Speaking normally again, he answered, "We're just diggin' Dougal here a grave. You wanna help?" His reply was oddly cheerful for the situation, but to be fair, it was the only way he knew how to cope.

(Andrew Mitchell continued from My Kingdom for a Plan!.)

As Andrew walked down the sandy beach, he couldn't help but remember the only time he had actually gone to the beach with his family. To celebrate his older brother's acceptance into Stanford University, the whole Mitchell family had flown down to California and spent one whole month there. Both of their parents said that it was so Raphael had plenty of time to get acquainted with the area and find things to move into his apartment, but he and his older brother joked that it was so they could go soak up the sun and actually take a look at the ocean, a sight that their homes hadn't really afforded them. Her younger sister, Gabriel, definitely wanted to go spend time at the beach than 'some boring old school' and spent most of the time during their guided tour of the Stanford campus lounging in the library and surfing the internet.

'That was definitely a fun vacation...' Andrew thought happily to himself, remembering the framed photo he had kept on his desk back home. He let out a sigh as reality came back to smash him in the face, reminding him of just where exactly he was. He wondered if his parents were going frantic over him...they probably were, if he knew anything about them. It had already been a day since the game started and already so many people...He rapidly shook his head. 'No. No thinking about it. This is bad enough without thinking about the people who have died.'

When the announcements had started, Andrew had immediately tried to shut it out, for once thanking his daydreaming mind as he let it wander. Tuning out the smug sound of Danya's voice and letting it fade to the background, he had instead thought about his older brother and his studying in Stanford. It wasn't that hard to do. He had been tired throughout the whole day and he hadn't even taken the time to sleep ever since waking up in the woods. For the past...however many hours he had kept himself moving, running and walking across the island and hoping to find some people who were slightly more inviting than the ones he had encountered at his starting point.

He hadn't, for better or for worse, and he was beginning to think that he'd never find another living soul on the island, which honestly would have suited him just fine. If he didn't meet anyone else, he wasn't in any danger of dying by someone else's hand and he would never have to kill someone to protect his own life or someone else's. 'And,' a darker part of his mind whispered, 'you won't be tempted to shoot someone in the face for looking at you silly.'

Andrew shivered, his hand immediately going for the gun he kept concealed behind his back. He hadn't used it yet, but the temptation to actually take it in his hands and fire the weapon was growing with every passing hour. It was a gun, after all...he had never even touched a gun before his stint in SotF and immediately the childish, curious part of his soul was "Shoot it! Shoot it! See how it feels to fire! You're never going to get a chance like this again!" That had been easy to ignore and erase, at least. But then that dark side had spoken up, giving him easy justifications for firing. "You need practice. Just in case. Just fire it once, just to make sure you can aim it correctly. Just in case one of your classmates goes on a rampage and tries to kill you. Just in case."

That had been harder to resist. It made sense, after all. Even if he had read the manual, true learning didn't come from reading words, it came from actually doing the things the words were describing. It was something like that and Andrew just grumbled wordlessly to himself, scratching the back of his head as he continued on his solo journey.

It was only because he heard something that wasn't the endless pounding of the surf that he looked up and saw that he wasn't alone anymore. There were...three other guys on the beach, one of whom he somewhat recognized as a fellow sprinter. A name wasn't coming to mind and names nor faces were coming to mind for the other two there. Still, they seemed to be rather busy...trying to dig into the soft sand? He could also spot students that were just...lying on the ground and fear momentarily struck him. 'Oh god, did I just walk into the aftermath of some fight? No way...shit, shit! Why are they digging into the sand? Did one of them bury weapons or something?'

He quickly looked for a place to hide but the whole area was wide open, which was something he honestly should have expected considering he was on a beach. A hand whipped back to reach for his gun, but by the time he wrapped his fingers over the plastic grip, he realized that none of the boys he saw were making any violent moves. He doubted they even noticed him at the moment, so engrossed they were in their task.

Still a little cautious, he let himself calm down a bit and approach them, wondering if they would treat him with the same amount of standoffishness that the previous group he had run into did. He grit his teeth and shook his heads, slapping his cheeks to try to bring his thoughts back on the right track. 'Being suspicious of everyone I run into isn't something I need to do now. Unless the time comes, and I hope it never will...but until the time comes when someone I trust puts my life in danger, I'm not going to let my fears be my ruler. I've got to have hope.'

"Hey!" He shouted at them, waving a bit as he jogged over. "What's going on here? Can I help somehow?"

As he worked, struggling with the unwieldy sand, Isaiah found his mind wandering, found himself trying to puzzle out what had gone down here. It was a simple mental exercise, something to keep his attention diverted from what he was actually doing, since the guy helping him didn't exactly seem interested in making conversation. He couldn't blame his companion. Dealing with the dead was awkward in a way Isaiah never could have imagined. It seemed so wrong to even consider levity, but forced solemnity would be insincere. Really, all he felt was sad. Sad that these two boys, for whatever reason, had lost their lives on this beach.

He just had to hope they were in a better place now. Given Bayview's populace, the odds were somewhat against it, though. He frowned for a moment. That didn't seem very fair. No questioning. Keep digging.

Some time later—he wasn't sure how long, though the hole had definitely gotten notably deeper—he was startled by a voice. Glancing up, he saw a giant of a boy, someone his digging partner quickly identified as Adrian. This Adrian immediately put Isaiah on edge, made him nervous. He wasn't a huge fan of the school's Caucasian population. He always felt a bit like they were judging him, sizing him up or viewing him as some sort of curiosity. After all, Bayview's minority population was not that notable. Sure, not everyone gave him that feeling. He had buddies on the baseball team who were different. Adrian, though, was a whole new world of menace, one whose presence was quite distracting. Isaiah wasn't exactly a shrimp, but he could see that he was nearly a head shorter than this newcomer.

So his digging buddy's jaunty response was not the best thing in the world. It seemed totally inappropriate for the situation, and potentially quite inflammatory, if Adrian had known the dead boy. Dougal. Isaiah now knew he had been called Dougal. Wait. There hadn't been a Dougal in the announcements, had there? That meant it was still going. No reprieve from the killing. Would it stay that way? Would the deaths continue at this frantic pace? How long would it be until someone caught up with Isaiah, killed him, too?

Before he could consider that thought for too long, another boy came down the beach, also asking what they were doing, also offering help. It renewed his faith in humanity that they could instantly find assistance, even while working on such a macabre task as digging graves for their classmates. The new arrival also shook him out of his worry over Adrian. They were his classmates, not his enemies. He was being stupid, practicing the very wrongs that annoyed him so much. Adrian would be fine.

"We're burying some people," Isaiah called to the newcomers. "We've got Dougal. If you two wanna help, wanna get"—he didn't know the other corpse's name, he realized, and paused for half a second, before finishing—"him, that'd be great. But you don't have to. We just figure it's good, you know, pay some respect to the souls of the dead?"

Good. Hopefully they would help. Hopefully they would get these two some peace. No, the bodies would be buried, even if Isaiah had to dig the second grave on his own. He wouldn't always have time for it, but since he did at the moment, leaving them to rot would be inexcusable.

He turned back to the grave, to his digging, keeping his eyes off the bodies as much as possible.

((Kevin Warick continued from The Outsider))

"Holy shit!"

Kevin's exclamation was well-warranted. The announcement, from what actually managed to sink into his completely inebriated mind, established that there had been nineteen deaths in the last day. That was some serious holy shit. Seriously. In all seriousness, the holyness of that particular shit was something that Kevin could only gawk at. It wasn't that kind of surprise that was something someone had very little interest in. As a student on the island, with a bomb around his neck and a life that he wished to continue, it was something that Kevin had serious investment in. The level of violence and the number of killers were things that Kevin had to seriously factor into his decision making on the island. Particularly, where he planned to take shelter. The shack wasn't safe anymore. Some girl got shot, and died there. Corpses smelled bad, and they attracted other people. Who wanted to make Kevin a corpse, and therefore he would also begin to smell bad. That wouldn't be good.

"This isn't good. This is some serious shit."

Speaking of serious shit, Kevin would soon discover that he had, in fact, made it to the beach; and there were, in fact, people attempting to bury bodies. Kevin wasn't really sure why he'd picked the beach as a destination in the first place, but it just seemed like the thing to do. But it seemed that bodies would be following him wherever he went. Not like he was making the bodies.

"Sol, I create the bodies. I don't -erase- the bodies."

Oh, Snatch. Good movie. Great plotline, the acting was fantastic. Kevin particularly appreciated the way everything seemed to "come together" in the end. Full circle, really. Kevin could only hope that Danya would get a few shotgun shells to the face, ala the villain of that film. It probably wouldn't stop the terrorists. They'd just get someone more insane, and the programs would probably get worse than they were now. Of course, that was only speculation.

"Spec...you...lation!"

Drunkenly, he stumbled over to the people burying the bodies. He attempted to say something to the effect of "What are you doing?" but it sounded more like -

"Wharfuduing?"

Promptly, he fell over nearby in the sand. It seemed comfortable, so there he lay.

((Skipping for activity and death type purposes, sorry for the shortpost.))


Seemed they were drawing a crowd. "Yeah, no worries, they were dead when we got here. Right, Dougal?" The ghost's facepalming was beginning to become a pattern. "Al. They can't hear me." "...Oh, right." He looked back at the group, before relaying the message. "Yeah, Dougal says it's cool."

His stomach growling, Al decided he couldn't wait any longer. "I'm gonna go see if I can find us some food, alright? I'll be right back." He climbed out of the pit, then motioned for his friend to follow. "C'mon, Dougal, let's go!"

Exasperated, Dougal let out a loud sigh. "Why me?"


((Albert Lions continued in Where There Is Fire, We Will Carry Gasoline))

"Yeah, uh, no problem at all." Andrew replied with a nod to the other sprinter...Isaiah was his name. He felt so much better now that he could connect a face with the person and he ran over to the other boy, his feet slogging in the sand as he knelt next to the corpse. He really wished he didn't have to, though, as he felt his stomach churn as he saw bullet hole that had been drilled into his classmate's forehead. The fact that this student, whoever it was, looked like a fat slob didn't help matters. Andrew knew it was bad to insult someone after they were dead, but they were dead and frankly didn't give a damn whether or not someone thought they had an ugly mug and enough folds of fat to suffocate someone. Andrew tried to stifle a snicker as he thought about it. He had nothing against fat people...well, he really did. Since he spent time trying to keep himself fit and make himself look good, he never really understood why others couldn't be bothered to go jogging or just lift weights for an hour to help lose some weight.

'Anyway, that's enough time mocking the dead. It really is in bad taste, after all.' Andrew thought to himself, quickly brushing away the thought of the student suddenly rising from the ground like some sort of zombie because of it. Moving away from the motionless body, he began digging into the ground with his hands. It was slow and mostly annoying work because the sand kept falling into the hole he was making, but at least he could see some progress with it. He guessed he was around halfway done when he heard someone else shouting in the distance.

'Who the hell is that?' He turned to the sound and saw someone else he barely recognized stumble over the sand and then trip and fall after a slurred mumble of something that only a drunk person would be able to fully understand. Andrew wrinkled his nose a bit but paid him no mind, going back to digging. He probably should have been concerned...after all, the person could have just been shot or stabbed in the back like some movie hero, staggering for safety before falling unconscious from blood loss. But really, from looking at him Andrew could only think that he was drunk and because of it, he really didn't give a damn about the other guy. 'Hell, I might as well put him out of his damn misery and shoot him in the head.'

Andrew froze at the rogue thought and hurriedly thought of something else. Like how one of the other grave diggers was talking to himself like some sort of crazy person. He cast a glance at the kid, wondering why he was talking to a very dead person. He also wondered where he was going to find food on the expansive beach, but just shrugged it off as he ran away. It wasn't his problem and he doubted the other kid was going to return with something like a gun and go, "Hasta la vista, grave digger suckers!"

He continued to dig. In this whole game of craziness and death, the dead should at least be honored with a grave.

((Sorry for the lack of posting and messing up the order. Is it cool if I jump in here?))

Well, it turns out that they were burying the bodies. This actually seemed like an interesting idea to Adrian. It hadn't really crossed his mind to do something like that, but it did seem like a nice thought to give all of these doomed students a proper burial. "Maybe I should head back later and see if I can bury Paige..." Adrian thought to himself.

Then, one of the two students digging, Isaiah, he thought, told him he could help by digging a grave for the other body. "Sure." was all Adrian said before he stepped over to where the corpse was lain. He tried his best to pay no mind to it, but seeing someone you once interacted with dead didn't really leave one with a pleasant feeling of any kind. He began attempting to dig a hole in the sand. He silently assisted a student who he remembered as Andrew in his digging, since in seemed that they both could use some help with this.

After a few minutes of doing that, Adrian caught the sound of someone collapsing on the sand, followed by some incoherent mumbling. Adrian resisted an urge to immediately run over to assist him, given what happened the last time he did that, and simply called out to him. "Hey. Are you hurt?"

The two newcomers set to work on the graves. Isaiah was pleased. He hadn't been expecting help at all, really, even with the offer. It was good to see that other people were still holding on to some of the trappings of civility. The two of them (and he recognized the second now, too: Andrew, a fellow sprinter) began working on their hole, leaving Isaiah and the first guy to bury Dougal. Only, the guy starting talking to Dougal, all of a sudden. He was acting like his friend was still alive. Isaiah shot him a concerned look.

Then the boy took off, still talking to Dougal. Talking about getting food. Food? Who could eat at a time like this? And didn't they all have food in their bags?

"Hey, hang on," Isaiah called, but he was too late. The guy was already long gone. He stared off into the distance for a second, wondering if it was worth chasing the other student down. Isiah was a good sprinter. He could definitely catch the other guy, but he felt like he shouldn't. Better not to interfere in his grieving. He'd just have to trust the guy to be safe.

Lord, please watch over him and keep him from harm.

Then he went back to digging. The hole was pretty deep, and he had a head start, so he hoped he'd be able to get done around the same time as Andrew and Adrian.

Things were progressing smoothly, when he realized that another guy had come in somewhere in there, and dropped to the ground. Isaiah frowned, pulling himself out of the hole. It was actually starting to look close to ready. Adrian called out to the guy, seeing if he was hurt. Isaiah walked over to him, trying to figure out what was wrong. It could be a trap, true, but he doubted it. There were too many people gathered here. Treachery would be foolish.

Which meant this boy, who he thought he recognized as Kyle or Kevin or Connor or something like that, needed help.

((Skipping Waffle to move the thread into Day 3 because uh...it's needed and stuff.))

Andrew wasn't keeping track of just how much time it had taken for him to finish digging the kid's grave, but the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when he placed the last bit of sand and stamped it down. Breathing a heavy and tired sigh of relief, he tried to get onto his feet only to collapse as they cramped up and dumped him back onto the sand. He began feeling those unpleasant tingles that came from asleep legs and feet and began massaging his tired limbs. 'I don't to do that again...that was at least twelve hours of hard work, but at least whoever that guy is has a nice grave. Probably better than everyone else who will die on this island.'

'God, I am so tired...I wonder if I should get some quick shut-eye. Hahah, who even says shut-eye anymore? Maybe Southerners do it, I dunno. Ah, I've always wanted to visit Atlanta someday. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance.' Andrew shook his head and crawled over to his bags and pulled out his medication, popping in one of his few remaining pills and swallowing. The last thing he needed was to let his mind begin to wander again. Still, he really was tired and frankly, he was tired enough to not care whether or not someone murdered him in his sleep. At least then there would be no pain and fear...unless the killer was demented and tortured him first. He winced and shivered. 'Okay, nevermind, better find a safe place that isn't a wide open beach first.'

Keeping silent, he just lay down on the beach and rested his head against his bag, staring up at the sky as the sun's rays began to wash over it. 'Well...at least I can watch stuff like this live. It's certainly beautiful.'

Kevin awoke from his booze and exhaustion-induced slumber. His glasses lay on his chest, and the ground felt rough, maybe even a bit sandy. When he opened his eyes, the rising sun brought upon him Kevin's new least favorite thing, second only to being a "player" in the "game" of "Survival of the Fittest" (overuse of quotations being the third): a hangover. Oh yes, the tremendous headache accompanied by a sensitivity to light and sound. Notwithstanding the feeling of bile and phlegm occupying one's mouth and throat. As soon as the orange glow of the sun appeared to him, Kevin brought his right hand to his eyes while his left hand searched for his tinted, John Lennon-esque glasses. They were soon resting comfortably once more on his face, and Kevin leaned back onto the sandy ground.

Once again, he tried to open his eyes. Slowly this time. The scene then revealed itself - an open beach with some recently dug sand a few feet away, and another boy lying a short distance away from him. It was strikingly more beautiful than what Kevin remembered of the night before - despair, a girl being shot and killed, and a long drunken wandering through a forest. Probably some fucked up dream, Kevin probably got lost at some house party and -

He felt his neck. The collar was still affixed to his neck, primed to explode at the slightest deviation from the intentions of the almost demonic creators of SOTF. Kevin sighed.

"Well, fuck. I'm still in SOTF, I'm hung over, and I don't know who the hell you are or if you're even still alive...

The phrase "fuck my life" comes to my mind, but I guess that's already been done. Thanks, Mister Danya."

Kevin turned his head towards the other boy, who he now saw was clearly still alive. Lethargic and in no mood to be moving around, he simply rolled slightly to the side to look at him as he spoke.

"Sorry, I think out loud. I'm Kevin. I just got drunk and witnessed a murder. You?"