Survival Of The Fittest

((Peter Siu continued from Encumbered by Shining Armor))
((Ask before joining this thread. Because I said so))

Peter shook the flask over his open mouth. Not a drop rolled out. It was bound to have happened anyway, at the rate he'd been drinking for the past day or two. Still, it was stupid that he was out of vodka. With an exasperated sigh, he heaved the empty flask across the hall. It didn't go far before bouncing off the broken remains of a pew and clattering to the ground.

Peter sat down on one of the few remaining intact pews, which teetered warily under his weight. Idly, he took off his glasses and started wiping them with his shirt. Not that it would be particularly effective, given how dirty the shirt was from days of sweat and grime and bloodstains. He should've changed out of it long ago, but in a way, it was a reminder of his failures: splotches of blood from Lucas' gunshot wound; a tattered and ripped left sleeve from his attempt to save Tiffany.

He gingerly poked at the bandage on his shoulder. It had been barely a graze, but Will had insisted on bandaging it up. It wasn't going to get infected anytime soon, but bandaging it did help from making sure he didn't brush the open wound against the foliage. Now if it had started raining, that'd be a different story entirely.

After over a day of combing the island, Peter still hadn't found Will. Of course, he hadn't expected it to be easy. Knowing Will, he'd have stuck to the forests and stayed mostly away from where he would find trouble. But Peter couldn't say he knew Will as well. Not after Tiffany had died.

Peter should've noticed earlier, that Will had been shaken up by that. He should've taken his mind off chasing after Brook for just five minutes to check up on Will. He should've paid attention to his friend.

Really, there weren't that many people left on the island that Peter could say he was close with. Not that he had been close to many people to begin with. In a way, it made it easier. A lot of the names he heard every morning were just names connected to a face connected to a story. He might've known that Reiko was a figure skater, or that Ward was a bully, but he didn't know any of those people. He hadn't grown up with them; he had friends still back home.
Friends who won't take me back if I win.
He wondered what his friends back home thought of him now. He wondered how many of them even cared enough to be watching the broadcast. He wondered if that even mattered anymore. Peter knew he wasn't going to make it off the island alive. He wasn't Adam Dodd or Bryan Calvert or John Rizzolo. Sure he'd killed Lucas, but somebody else had done most of the work for him then. He couldn't even kill Jason, and yet there were still far more dangerous killers on the island.

Peter couldn't afford to doubt himself. Not now. There was time for that five, maybe four days ago. He wasn't going to give up. No matter how outgunned or outmatched he was, he'd figure out a way to keep on trucking. To protect whoever he could. There may have been countless ways to do that, but Peter had committed to his path days ago. The blood on his shirt was a reminder of that.

Somewhere along the way, Peter had gotten up and started pacing around the church's interior. He stepped around the broken pews and circled the altar. He ran his hand along the dark smoothed wood. Judging by the layout of the church, Peter didn't expect this to altar to be sacred, but that didn't make it just a piece of furniture. It was still a symbol of worship and spirituality. The words to a dozen rites came to mind; he could say them if he wanted, if there were people to listen.

There was a book on the lectern. Peter went and flipped through it, but it didn't look immediately recognizable. Which told him it definitely wasn't a Bible. Given the nature of the church, there should be one around somewhere though. He crouched down to look in the storage shelves. Several thick bound books, showing the wearing of age, were lined up, though Peter couldn't read what was on their spines. Behind them, he could see the barest glint of glass.

He'd hoped it was water. After five days of drinking, Peter was definitely feeling parched. The bottle he pulled out, though, was definitely not one for water. The wide-bottomed bottle was a dead giveaway for its contents. In a way, Peter was thankful; he was hoping to keep his other flask in reserve. Uncapping the bottle brought an unfamiliar, but inviting, smell to bear. Judging by the heft, it was still mostly full. He slowly lifted the bottle to his mouth for a small sip.

The warm liquid set fire to his throat as it trickled past. Damn, that was some strong stuff.
Totally worth it.

((Jessie Anderson continued from Shaker

Sorry for the GMing, DN hope it's okay, if not I'll edit. Again, I'll fill in a little more tomorrow))

Just as Imraan's assent had been silent, so too had Jessie's thanks. There were times that words weren't necessary, and that had been one of them. As Imraan had caught up to her with his huge stride, Jessie had merely looked around and smiled. Her eyes lit up, like they always did ...and that had been enough.

In front of her rose a building. Her map identified it as the parish. A place of worship on this nightmarish island... it seemed almost obscene. Unnatural. Nevertheless... if they were going to find who they were searching for, a thorough sweep was necessary. Liz wasn't about to pop out of hiding and declare that she was there, not with that bounty on her head. On the way across the island from the key, crossing from west to east, this was where Jessie had missed. For some reason, looping back around had struck her as sensible. Given it had led her to Imraan... Jessie was glad of her gut instinct.

Stopping, Jessie looked up at her friend. "Let's be quick about this. If there's anyone else in there, well... let's just see how it goes. Hopefully they'll want to help us out."

Taking a deep breath, Jessie marched up to the entrance to the building and pushed open the doors, quickly stepping inside... and stopping short immediately. The place was a wreck, a horrible wreck. Past announcements came back to her. Alicia Murazek, Brent Shanahan, one of DK's old teammates, a guy she'd known personally through their shared sport. They'd both died here. She shivered, looking at the destruction, but even as she did, something caught Jessie's eye. Somebody crouched by the alter. She didn't have such a good view but...

They shifted, a face flashed into view, and with it, a name to Jessie's mind.

"Peter? Peter Siu? It's me! It's Jessie!""

The sudden introduction of someone else's voice jolted Peter from his alcohol-induced euphoria. If he hadn't been drinking from it at the time, he'd probably have dropped the whole bottle to the ground, possibly making a great big mess in the process. Thankfully, the jump he gave only managed to spill some of the liquor all over himself. Peter coughed as he recapped the bottle, and then wiped his mouth with his remaining intact sleeve. As he stood up, he swatted at his shirt in a futile attempt to prevent it from staining.
At least now there's a good reason to change into a new shirt.
He should have been paying more attention. Some people wouldn't have been kind enough to warn him of their presence before capping him from behind. Or stabbing him from behind. All it would take was him dropping his guard for just a few moments. It was an unnerving thought, that it could've been him instead of Tiffany if he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Would I lay my life on the line for her?
But maybe it would've been worth it.
Not at all. She wouldn't have survived another day.
The girl who'd called out had named herself. Not that Peter wouldn't have been able to recognize her or the towering dark-skinned fellow behind her. Jessie Anderson and Imraan Al-Hariq. The only person who could be considered bigger bible thumpers than those two would be that smug bitch Gettys. Then again, Rachel was all sorts of slimy that Peter wouldn't want to touch with a ten foot pole. At least Jessie and Imraan were tolerable most of the time when they weren't talking about their faith.

Peter ambled from his spot near the altar down toward Jessie and Imraan, bottle in hand and smile on his face. Actually, he was just walking over to his backpack, which he had left in the pews. The smiling was incidental. It wasn't like he wanted to smile; the elation in Jessie's voice had just managed to rub off on him somehow.
Why can't I be a bit happy if she's happy?
"Jessie! Good to see you're okay," Peter called out as he walked. A quick lookover found no weapons, but that didn't discount something hidden. The man behind her, however, was clearly carrying something Peter didn't want pointed in his direction. He brought up right hand, liquor swishing in the bottle, and gave a mock salute to the tall boy. "Imraan," Peter said, keeping his voice more neutral despite the smile across his face.

He almost stepped too far, past where his backpack was. "So how've you two been holding up?" Peter said as he took a half-step back to arm's reach of his backpack. He wasn't sure if the others could see it, but Imraan could probably see the sword and (unloaded) gun strapped on the backpack. Maybe staying close to it wouldn't be the smartest move if they weren't going to try to kill him.
The smartest move is obviously to kill them first before they think it. At least there's some cover.
"I've been bouncing around the island, seeing people die, the works. Right now, I'm looking for a friend. Will Hearst. Uh... not too tall, short brownish hair, has a bad arm. He's kinda a quiet guy, so maybe you don't know him. Managed to lose him a few days ago, and it's a bitch trying to actually find somebody around here." Peter shrugged and then started to uncap the bottle of liquor. "So I decided to take a little break and found me something to help relax with. You can have some if you want. It's good stuff."

Another sip of the unassuming fiery drink passed his lips. Peter could definitely feel the buzz take root. In more sober circumstances, he'd be far less talkative and sociable around people he barely knew. As it was, he could keep his cool and keep the other two on their feet, in case things went badly. There was no way he could beat Jessie or Imraan in a straight fight, and if things blew up, Peter'd need every advantage he could get. "Oh, and he has a gun. Need to make sure he doesn't do something stupid with it. Like shoot people. That would be bad."
He wouldn't kill anyone. Will's not like that.

(Imraan Al-Hariq continued from Shaker)

[[Using this is a placeholder just for now. Full post will be up tonight]]

Imraan had known Peter, of course. Whether he'd really trusted or liked him deep down was another matter altogether.

Still, he wasn't about to interrupt Jessie's friendly greeting to the boy. At least not until Peter started edging towards his bag, where Imraan could see what looked like a gun inside.

He stepped forward, holding the shotgun but not pointing it at Peter just yet.

"I haven't seen him, Peter. And uh, you mind just stepping away from your bag there, for now? 'Cause I remember hearing you on the announcements."

He paused for a second.

"And because I think you're drunk right now."

Jessie smiled warmly, stepping further into the little parish. Although it was quickly becoming clear that Liz Polanski wasn't going to come popping out of the woodwork, running off right away would've felt more than a little rude and more than a little inconsiderate. Jessie knew this guy after all. She wouldn't exactly call Peter a bosom buddy, but those times they'd run into each other had been friendly enough, and he was one of a host of people that Jessie genuinely wished she could get to know a little better. Unfortunately, there wasn't really time for that... but for a greeting, at the very least? They could take enough time out of their schedule for that. Who knew, maybe she'd even be able to convince Peter to come along with them.

...Although she hadn't, in fact, remembered that Peter had been on the announcements. Okay, there was a spanner in the works right there. Jessie faltered, halfway between Peter up on the altar and the entrance to the parish, surrounded by splintered pews. But... for all that, he wasn't coming after either of them, right? Jeez, all he was really doing was drinking. He didn't even seem all that worried about Imraan's shotgun, and well, if somebody was concerned about playing the game, they'd definitely be getting worked up over a weapon like that, wouldn't they? No, Jessie reassured herself, Peter wasn't a threat to them. She couldn't think in that way, she just couldn't... weigh people up in terms of what kind of... benefit they'd be to her. Each and every person here was a classmate, even the worst of them. On the announcements, Jessie could put a face to every last name, the dead and the killers. They had identities, hopes, dreams... even the Maxwells and the Reikos and the Raidons, they were real people... saying otherwise was ludicrous.

"Sorry, we haven't - I mean, well I haven't seen Will. Imraan might have," Jessie gave Peter an apologetic smile. "I know who you mean but I haven't really ran into a whole lot of people," she wished she could help, she really did... she could empathise with the difficulties Peter referred to. Just look at how difficult it had been to find Imraan, just look at.... how she couldn't find DK in time...

...That wasn't something she could allow to happen again.

Jessie completed her walk, now standing right next to the drinking boy. "I'll pass, but thanks. Look..." Jessie sighed. "I'm sorry to come in and out like this, but we're on a pretty tight schedule right about now. I'm sure you've heard those extra announcements. The way I see it... Liz Polanski has found some way of breaking this game, and if she's found a way, then there have got to be others, right? Anyway... my intention is to stop anybody collecting on that bounty, because right now, she's the only person who seems to have a shot at getting more than one person off this island alive. I know it's dangerous, so I'm not going to ask you to come along, but... well, strength in numbers. I understand if you want to keep your eye on Will, but that's what I think is the right thing to do. Hopefully God has steered me in the right direction."

She smiled at Peter, turned, gave a slight wave to Imraan, the smile widening a little, lighting up bright blue eyes.

We have to hurry.

"Liz Polanski, huh? She's been quite the celebrity, hasn't she," Peter mused.

It was always about fucking Liz Polanski. Sure she'd clearly done something piss Danya off. Neil Sinclair had been busting cameras last year, but Danya hadn't offered an award for offing him then. At first, Peter had thought Neil's idea had been good. Break cameras, create blind spots on the island, and just causing lots of general disruption. Unlike finding a hole to hide in and die, Neil was doing something to break the game without killing anybody. He was doing something right.

That changed when Danya fought back. Peter could still remember those girls' screams; even behind the filter of an old TV screen with a shoddy sound system, the screams rang true and rattled him to his bones. Jazzalyn Creed, Wednesday Ryan, Trinity Sparks, and Melissa Diaz. Innocents caught in the crossfire. That wasn't right. Those girls had done nothing, except maybe hide in a hole. They'd gotten their collars blown for Neil's troubles.

How was that right?
It's not. But it's the closest thing we have.
Here was Jessie, saying exactly that. She didn't understand. She was just a girl desperate for a way off the island without killing anybody. Not that Peter could blame her: he just knew better. Whatever Liz had done, Danya couldn't blow her collar. That much, Peter had figured out on his own. But it hadn't been enough. She was still subject to every other rule of the island. It wasn't an escape, it was just a loophole. One that left a lot of bodies in its wake.

Peter shuffled about a foot toward his backpack. Imraan was still standing by the door, looking cautious and holding that shotgun. Sure Peter had gotten off lucky with just a graze the last time a gun was pointed his way, but wonky-looking dart guns were not shotguns. Those had a tendency of being very effective in close quarters. Peter could understand why Imraan would think that Peter was suspicious. Even though he was wrong.

Because Peter wasn't drunk.
Eh. The buzz is all I need.
"For the record: I'm not drunk. Just had a few sips and stuff." Peter used his free hand to pop open the top of the backpack. "You're worried about this gun, right? No worries. It's out of bullets." With that same hand, he tugged at the barrel of gun strapped to the backpack's side, while he placed the liquor bottle into the backpack's mouth. Wrenching the weapon loose from its straps, Peter held the gun up by the barrel for Imraan to see. "Lucas had the courtesy of emptying it at my friend first. Really, he deserved what he got for trying to pull shit like that." Peter shrugged, and idly waved the gun in front of him.
What am I doing with this? It's useless and will just make people shoot me.
He turned back to Jessie. Did she really think that helping Liz would do any good? Did she think that having innocent people die was worth it? This was Liz Polanski they were talking about. That girl had maybe one good bone in her body, and it only came up when Mr. Kwong was around. Truth be told, Peter had thought once that those two had something else going on. But Liz Polanski was not looking to help anybody. Peter would bet fifty bucks on that, if money even mattered any more on this island. The million dollar question though, was if Jessie knew that.

Peter saw the hardened conviction and righteousness in her eyes. Who was he kidding? She wouldn't listen to reason.
And since when was I an expert at reading facial expressions?
"So anyway, here's the thing about Liz," Peter drawled, making sure to keep an eye on Imraan in case he tried something like shooting at him. "I couldn't help but notice that through all the craziness she's been pulling, that there's been some... uh incidents that've gone down." He just needed to keep talking, keep them focused on something other than the possibilities. "Sure, she's done something cool, like disable her collar or something. But I didn't miss the memo from Danya." He raised the gun and rubbed the back of his head with it. He'd never been really good at seeing the perfect opportunity for anything. Which was probably why he so often crash and burned on dates. He couldn't afford to screw it up again though. "The thing is, if I go with you and do-"
Showtime.
To someone else, it might've looked like Peter was drunk and clumsy and had managed to fumble a gun. It was an inevitability, given how he was waving it around anyway. Nobody would believe it had been deliberate, planned, and had a purpose. Maybe it hadn't been, but Peter took advantage of it either way.
What else would I do when given a problem? Optimize it.
The firearm slipped out of his hand during one of his upswings, and launched itself several meters in the air. The thing about things getting thrown up, especially guns, is that people tend to notice them. It also tends to make people lose focus on other things in front of them since there's a freaking gun flying through the air. Behold. A distraction.

A fraction of a moment passed, enough for a person to react to the gun, and Peter put the next part into action. He knew where the hilt was, which way the blade was stored, and which hand to draw with. Jessie was close enough to hit from where he was. The neck would have been clean, but easier to miss. So Peter picked the next best target. He aimed low, at her belly. It'd be a bit messy, but there were no other options. Peter couldn't let her find Liz. Couldn't let her cause more deaths. He was going to protect the others on the island.
Is this the only way? Maybe we don't need to come to blows.
A ring of a steel blade escaping its sheath split the air. A step brought him back in front of Jessie, where she could provide cover. A jerk of his arm brought the killing edge across flesh. Peter's vision exploded into red.

Goddamned blood spray.

Our father.

Jessie was just about to remonstrate with Peter, tell him why they couldn't buy into either Danya's warning or Danya's 'bounty' on Liz, when she was startled by the gun slipping out of his hands. Her eyes, for just a split second, went off Peter and followed the weapon in its arc.

Just long enough.

Who art in Heaven.

Jessie's gaze was already returning to Peter as the flash of steel echoed through the parish building, and her eyes just about had time to widen before a line of liquid fire was slashed across her stomach.

Hallowed be Thy name.

She didn't scream. She was too stunned, paralysed, to even feel the pain as a crimson stain soaked through her shirt in seconds. The blood flow was catastrophic, utterly insane. But then... her abdomen had been ripped in half. A small little strangled sob escaped Jessie's mouth as her arms clamped to her stomach, hands quickly becoming slick with blood. She stumbled, then fell backwards down the steps, landing heavily at the bottom, a pool of her vital fluids beginning to form around her. Jessie, just about, managed to raise her head, staring up at Peter with simple incredulity.

"G...god forgive you," she choked out.

Thy Kingdom come.

"JESSIE!"

It was barely her name. It was a tortured, grief-stricken howl.

BOOM.

Imraan fired his shotgun at Peter, blinded with rage and sheer panicked sorrow. It jarred his arms, but his lanky frame absorbed most of the impact of the recoil. Even so, the shot was hoplelessly wide. It didn't matter, he readjusted, fired again.

BOOM.

The altar splintered as it took the brunt of the Remington's force.

Thy will be done.


BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Imraan kept firing wildly, charging up the centre of the parish as he did so, vaulting a wrecked pew to come sprinting to Jessie's side. How had he let himself stay so far behind her? He might as well have been on the other side of the world when Peter lashed out. His shells ran out just as he reached Jessie, but even with his poor aim, Imraan had driven Peter back from the altar. Where to exactly, he wasn't sure, and didn't care. Anybody but here was fine.

On Earth as it is in Heaven.

Jessie offered a weak smile as Imraan knelt alongside her, face frantic. He tore the bag from his shoulder, ripping it open and beginning to scramble for something, anything that could stem the gushing tide of blood.

A trembling, crimson hand settled on his wrist, staining his skin, giving him pause.

Jessie shook her head.

Give us this day our daily bread.

"No... good," she held up her free hand to stop him from replying, a painfilled grimace etched across her face. With her wound, it was astonishing she was conscious, let alone lucid. Perhaps she wasn't. Jessie certainly should've been screaming, if she'd felt the pain. "I-Imraan. You... remember when... we met?"

He did.

And forgive us our trespasses.

It was back in tenth grade, the first couple of days. One of Jessie's most oft repeated remarks was that they'd seen each other over the top of the crowd. Mostly though... well, she didn't like drudging up a bad memory with the good. Imraan had been fighting... Jessie had never asked what about, though for him to be provoked, she knew it had to have been something pretty severe. Jessie being Jessie, she'd waded in there. Some would call it interfering, and perhaps they were right. She didn't have it in her to be a bystander, even if the situation had nothing to do with her.

Good Samaritan... a story she took to heart.

Somehow, through force of will and a helping of her not-inconsiderable size and strength, Jessie separated the combatants. The other guy was dragged off by a couple of his friends, Jessie wound up with Imraan, who'd still been pretty steamed. Angry, wanting to get back into it, probably resenting her a little for breaking up the scrum. Who could blame him? His blood was still up, after all. He certainly didn't want to calm down.

And then Jessie had turned to him, looked him in the eye, even as he towered above her, much like she tended to tower over other girls. And she'd said just one thing.

As we forgive those that trespass against us.

"Man, they're sure going to have fun finding out that one of the leading lights of the Bayview basketball team can't hold his temper, aren't they?"

Imraan had blinked, taken aback.

"How'd you know I play? I've barely seen you around."

"I'm a captain, it's my job to poke around and see how the other teams are doing."

"Captain? Really? For what?"

"Hockey, actually... I'm Jessie. Jessie Anderson."

"Imraan Al-Hariq."

She smiled.

"Already knew it."

They'd fallen to talking like friends within minutes, thick as thieves by the end of the day. Friendship. Steel.

And lead us not into temptation

Imraan stared down at the pallid face of the girl he'd let slip away from him, let DK... he hesitated to say 'take' because he never really had a claim to Jessie, but... the girl he had a crush on. Through the pain, Jessie continued smiling, softly carressing Imraan's wrist with her thumb.

"N-never... had a friend ... this... good."

Her eyes flickered.

But deliver us from evil.

"J-Jessie!"

They slid open again, inquiring.

"I love you. I love you."

Those sky blue orbs lightened up with her smile...

Then glazed over, smile freezing, chest catching in midbreath.

"Jessie!"

Her grip went slack.

Amen.

"JEEEEEESSIIIIEE!"

BOOM.

Everything was red. Peter couldn't see much past the haze of blood that had splattered onto his glasses, but he could still feel the reverberation of the shotgun firing. Not that there was much to worry about: Imraan wouldn't try to shoot through Jessie. He didn't have what it-

It got a little brighter. Barely noticeable, but the lighting definitely changed. Over the top of his glasses, blurry but not obscured by red, Peter could see something drop out of his line of vision. Jessie's body. Peter cursed to himself, then pulled off his glasses with his free hand. The world faded into a a mess of colored shapes, but at least he could see.

BOOM.

Fire burned up his arm as something ripped past it. Peter jerked, almost dropping his glasses to the ground. He dropped to a crouch. The wound was just a scrape, like the other one on his arm. It just hurt a fuck ton. Peter'd gotten lucky once, but that luck was going to dry up if he didn't get his ass moving. He just needed a way to get close to Imraan without getting shot.

There was a voice. Barely audible over the ringing in Peter's ears and Imraan's yelling. Jessie. Three words which made Peter want to laugh. Of all the things to spend her last few moments saying, she had to take the high ground. Still trying to keep herself in the right. He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to snap something back at her.

Of course, there were more important things to take into account. Like Imraan with his shotgun. The clack of the shotgun chambering its next shot rang in the air, counting down to the next deafening roar. Peter'd gotten lucky once, but he needed to move or he'd be adding his own body to the carnage that had already happened in here.

He counted one second in his head. One second to figure out which way to go. One second for Imraan to aim the gun at his head. One second before everything went to hell again.

Peter dove to the right. Imraan fired. Again, the shot reverberated in the air, but Peter didn't notice anymore. He hit something as he moved, sending it rolling along the same path he took: his backpack. Hands and knees and sword hit the ground, but at least he had a bit of cover.

One second to catch his breath. Another second punctuated by the shotgun chambering its next round. One more second of brief reprieve before a chunk of wooden pew beside Peter got blown to splinters. Just a friendly reminder for him to keep moving.

He picked up his backpack in his sword arm, picked a direction and scrambled. There should've been a side door, if he remembered correctly. Hopefully all the shooting and moving around hadn't messed up his directions, because there was no time to clean his glasses and find a better way out.

Another shot blew through the pew as Peter ran. Sharp pain bit into his leg, but it wasn't enough to stop him from moving. It was only a few meters, maybe three big steps and then he met what appeared to be solid wood. He pushed his shoulder against it, but it wouldn't budge.

Warm liquid trickled down his left leg. Peter would worry about that later. Top priority was getting into a safer place to figure out another move. Also at top priority was not getting shot again. The main obstacle at the moment appeared to be that the door wasn't opening.

Maybe he should've been paying more attention earlier. Maybe he shouldn't have been so impulsive and actually thought things through. Or at least just opened his eyes, since apparently, the door right next to the piece of wall he was pushing against. Peter pivoted around, and flung his body against the door. It gave way easily under the weight and Peter sailed through the frame, landing on mossy dirt.

Pain ran through his whole body from the impact, and Peter wished he didn't need to keep moving. Still, he picked himself up and warily approached the open doorway. The last shot, Peter hadn't even heard it, had gouged a big hole in the corner of the door. There were no more gunshots, but that didn't mean the danger had passed. He edged up against the frame and peeked on the tableau.

Imraan was crouched over Jessie's body. That was some sick irony. A few days ago, Peter had been in much the same position. He could imagine what was being shared between them now: declarations of love, apologies for the past, and just plain comforting in the face of death. Peter had no right to interrupt that. Jessie may have been misguided and deserved what she had been dealt, but she deserved at least some little bit of peace before she passed on.

He was still holding onto his glasses. The blood on it had started to dry, but Peter was still able to wipe most of it off on his shirt, staining it with more red. The frame had been bent from his iron grip and the impact with the ground, but it wasn't too difficult to twist it back into a shape that would fit around his head.

After fixing up his glasses, Peter stole another glance into the church. By his estimate, Jessie was close to the end of her rope. It was a bit sad. She didn't understand the full ramifications of her choice to support Liz. She probably didn't get that Danya wasn't fooling when it came to blowing those collars in retaliation. Peter also knew that Jessie wasn't a girl that would back down once she made her choice. So he had to do what he had done.

Did Imraan understand? Peter would've thought that he did. Now, it didn't seem so clear cut. Seeing Imraan huddled over Jessie's body made Peter reconsider. If he did anything rash, like maybe walking back inside, there was a good chance that he would just get pumped full of shotgun pellets. If he could just nudge Imraan along to see it his way….

"Liz Polanski is a danger to all of us," Peter said loudly, turning away from the doorway. "You think Danya's joking about blowing us up if she pulls more shit?" Peter shuffled a few steps from the doorway. Best not to open himself up to getting shot through the walls.

"Next time, it could be you. Or her. Maybe Rachel or Bobby. Or anyone else on this island. There're people still alive here that I want to protect. You probably are the same." Peter took a deep breath and stepped back closer to the doorway. He still needed to find Will. Hopefully, Eiko didn't try anything funny and had just gone straight to the mansion like he'd suggested. "There are others on the island that haven't killed anyone. That haven't been tainted by this game. Innocent people. I'm just doing what I can to protect them.

"Just listen for a second," Peter continued, trying not to give an opening for Imraan to rise up and start shooting again. "Jessie wouldn't have backed down. She was so set on finding Liz and helping her stir up shit. I don't think it would be worth it. Too many people dying meaninglessly."

Sacrifice one to save many. It was always a fine line to toe. How did one evaluate which course of action was the best? Did it even matter now? What's done was done.

"Would you have let Jessie kill all of those people?"

Peter was content leaving it at that. Imraan would need time to digest, to come to his own conclusions. There was no way of knowing where Imraan would fall, but that was all out of Peter's hands now. If things went south and Imraan didn't agree with Peter, then he'd better hope that there was half an island of distance between them first. And if Imraan agreed, then maybe they'd meet again. Hopefully to get rid of that pest Polanski.

Peter walked over to his gear strewn across the grass and started packing things up. He still kept an eye out on the doors, in case Imraan decided to come out with a shotgun greeting. It was only a few things to put back into the pack. Luckily, it appeared the backpack was padded enough that none of the bottles had broken from being thrown around. Peter had come out of the church with another mark on his record and some fresh booze. Not the best of tradeoffs, but it was better than nothing.

A few minutes later, Peter had shouldered his backpack, wincing slightly as he let the weight fall on his left arm. He'd need to look at that soon, as well as change his clothes. He just needed to get somewhere safe first. Funny how the one place Peter would've thought to be perfectly safe ended up being anything but.

His flask was still in there. It had been a nice flask.

((Peter Siu continued in Peripeteia))

((Placeholder of sorts))

...She was gone.

He'd failed.

Imraan wasn't sure if he'd hit Peter, found himself torn between hoping he had and wondering if by shooting at him, he'd just stooped to his level. Then he looked down at Jessie's face again and no longer cared about the moral high ground.

Peter had killed his best friend, his crush, in cold blood. There was no possible way he could justify himself, no possible atonement. He deserved every hell Imraan could give him.

But... he could've done something more, right? Why had he been so slow? Why had he dawdled at the door and let Jessie - Jessie with her broad smile and welcoming voice - just rush straight up to Peter. If he'd been there, maybe he could've helped her, ran Peter off. He had this shotgun right?

Imraan's gaze snapped up from Jessie, whose expression, against all odds, was serene, smiling. Peter was speaking to him. Was there even any sense in listening? Petty, trivial justifications. Ridiculous excuses, no doubt. He wasn't going to waste his time on them.

"You really think I care about what you have to say, Peter? You lost any claim to honesty and integrity the second you attacked her. You want to lecture me after killing my BEST FRIEND!? How dare you! How DARE you!? J...Just GET OUT OF HERE!"

Silence.

Imraan looked back down to Jessie. He hadn't budged in what seemed like years, on his knees in her blood. The anger dissolved away, and then came the tears.

She didn't deserve this.

He might've knelt there for an eternity, looking down at her face, still with that last little smile on it. Imraan knew he should do something for her, but could hardly bear to contemplate it. Putting ...putting Jessie in the ground? He couldn't bear to do that.

He was there for a long time, longer than he could really count of remember. Until... at long last.

Peter.

Peter Siu had done this. Killed the only person he cared about that wasn't either dead or already or flinging themself off at the deep end. Forgive? Forget? Imraan felt a familiar rage bubble to the surface, an anger that he had kept confined and all but forgotten about for years now.

This wouldn't stand.

Imraan stroked Jessie's hand a few more times, then stood, stony-faced.

This wouldn't stand.

"Peter..." he whispered. "You won't get away with this."

((Imraan continued in You Always Get What's Coming))