Survival Of The Fittest

(Aston Bennett continued from The Golden Treehouse.)

Should have killed the goth girl when she had the chance.

Would have served her no good. Would have increased her odds though.

Odds. Numbers. Shit. Aston was starting to hate math.

It was down to the wire. She made a promise, she was going to stick to it.

No odds about it. No numbers. Just promises.

Aston was in a church though. Not out killing. Inside, sitting.

There were bodies. It looked like crap, like hell's fury hit the parish full-force.

It's not like the dead men were going to mind her crashing here.

Aston figured they wouldn't mind anything anymore.

Just like Joe.

Just like Joshua.

It made no difference. No thinking about the past.

The present. The only thing that existed now.

She couldn't sleep. Mind spinning too quickly. Not enough space. Besides, she would be vulnerable if she fell asleep.

Sleep was not for the weak, the tired. Sleep was for when everyone else was dead.

So she didn't sleep. She waited.

Aston ran a hand through her hair, rifle at the ready.

She wanted to be ready. She was sure that she was ready.

There was a drop of doubt, she shook it off.

She was ready to increase her chances.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

((Peter Siu continued from This Side of Paradise))

There was something comforting about the woods at night. Moonlight filtered through the branches, just enough light to not need a flashlight. The air was cool and quiet; only the steady rhythm of Peter's footfalls broke the silence.

If anyone else was nearby, he'd see them or hear them long before they got close. Not that there was anybody left to do that. Most everyone else was already dead.

But as comforting as it was in the woods, he couldn't stay in there forever. Well, technically, he could, but that'd just be running from what he needed to do. What he'd sworn he'd do.

The steeple of small church reached into the sky, the silhouette of its cross blending in with the night. It was here that he'd killed someone. Jessie Anderson. It had been necessary. Not Peter's proudest moment, but that was what it meant to walk the path he did. Somebody had to get his hands bloody. Somebody had to shoulder those burdens. Better him than somebody else. Only way to be sure it was done right.

No light peeked out from inside. Nobody here. Just another fruitless and futile attempt. Sometimes, Peter wondered why he still bothered. There wasn't anybody left worth saving. The ones who deserved to live had already escaped from this hell. But he couldn't let himself fall into that trap. There were still a few that he could save. He just needed to find them.

A soft rustle. Barely audible. He'd been mistaken. Somebody was here.

He brought up his gun, its weight getting more familiar to him as the days passed, and stalked to the door, but stopping a few paces short. "Who's there?" he called out in a loud clear voice. He didn't want to go through what happened last time again. He was in this to save people, not to kill them.

Not unless he had to.

And then.

Even more hesitation for Aston.

Shit. Just what she needed.

Not only that, but noise too.

Footsteps.

A voice.

Oh. Little piggy talked too. Great.

Aston wished this asshole hadn't noticed her.

Should have wandered in unannounced. Would have given her an excuse to kill without a reason.

Why did this asshole have to be so careful? Now she had to think of a plan. Had to make it justified.

No matter. It would pay off, hopefully. Increase her chances. Decrease the numbers.

A subtraction. Math. 2 - 1 = 1.

But.

But.

Don't go kicking the door down. Yet.

Don't be an idiot.

Lead the fly into the web.

Tea. Cookies. Warm conversations. Trust.

Then when he turns his back, pull out the pistol and blow his head off.

Maybe not just his head, if he piled up enough bodies along the way.

Not just a kill. Make it longer. Make it hurt. Make the pig regret. Like she made that prick Quincy regret.

No resistance.

Simple.

Aston liked it. Better than killing in self defense.

Aston drew her pistol and sat her rifle on a pew. Flicked the safety off. Pushed into the waist line of her jeans. Covered it with her shirt. Picked the rifle back up.

Door seemed like a lifetime away. Rifle was loaded too.

Would she use it? She hoped not. Thing was clunky.

Got to the door. Lowered the rifle. Knocked on the door with her hand.

Could have a machine gun. Had to be sure. She moved away.

"Someone." No time for names. Gave the pig no room to speak again. "You a killer or somethin'?"

A pause.

"Don't lie to me."

((Saul Fetteralf continued from The Wolfman Cometh))

As Saul neared the parish, he was greeted once more by the foul stench of decaying flesh. He inhaled, unwillingly taking in the stink, and already the gag reflex came kicking in. As he fought the urge to puke, he wondered if he'd ever become accustomed to the smell, as it hung in the air almost everywhere he went now. 'How many dead bodies are there? How long has it even been?' Saul glumly thought.

They'd been on the island for well over a week, nearly two weeks even, although Saul had completely lost all track of time so he couldn't be certain. There was no concept of 'Monday' or 'Day 3' for him anymore, only whether it was daytime or night. And right now, it was night. 'When the wolves come out to play.'

He neared the building and saw a couple of bodies, lying in the soft moonlight. Now that was a sight that Saul had become accustomed to. Sure, it had been terrifying when he'd stumbled across Marco's corpse those days back, but... after Garry died, he just didn't seem to care about it anymore. Now when faced with one of the deceased it was simply 'oh, another body, moving on'. Yes, it was still sad to see one of his dead classmates, but Saul had seen his best friend die in front of his eyes. Any other dead bodies, as horrible and selfish as it sounded, paled in significance.

'Wait a second, is that...?'

He wasn't just hearing things. They really were voices.

'Now that's something new.'

Saul slowed down and stepped lightly, remaining as silent as possible. He approached the side wall of the parish and pressed up against it, slowly inching along towards to front entrance, like he was some kind of movie spy. He calmed his breathing, trying to catch what was being said. From what he could tell, there were two people, a boy and a girl. 'Or just the one person who's flipped and is talking to himself, herself, whatever,' Saul thought. He hoped it wasn't that, he didn't want to deal with a crazy right now in the middle of the night.

'Just to be on the safe side...'

He pulled the Smith & Wesson out of his pocket and flicked the safety off. If whoever was round the corner started attacking without provocation, he wasn't going to be caught totally off guard.

Only silence hung in the air.

Interrupted by a soft click. A gun's safety.

Interrupted again by a girl's voice. A voice tinged with uneasiness and fear. A voice of a person trying to be stronger than they were.

Peter tried to put it all together. Words and sounds and contexts. Fear and paranoia was the base. The girl clearly didn't want to die. The key question was "why". Why that specific question? Why ready a weapon? Did she intend to shoot him if he answered wrong?

Which brought up more questions. What was a wrong answer? What was a right answer? Was he supposed to lie and lull her into false security? Tell the truth and possibly get a piece of lead for his honesty?

Which brought up more questions. Would she shoot? How badly hurt would he be if she shot him? What kind of gun did she have anyway? Could he beat her in a firefight?

The silence continued to hang for what seemed to be an agonizing eternity as he contemplated these questions. Few of them useful, but he contemplated anyway. Right now, he had the time to fit the pieces together. It never did to have assessed the situation wrong. Only ended in problems, misunderstandings, and pain. And now that they were on this island, death. He'd seen it happen already. He'd done it himself, as much as it pained him to admit it. Not only that, it likely happened countless times already in the past ten days. Peter wasn't going to add to that statistic.

Another click broke through the haze of silence. Not from inside, Peter noted. If the girl had backup, then he was pretty screwed. No way to win. No way to run. But it didn't mean that the other sound was the girl's friend. The way she had asked her question, the fear and paranoia, could mean that she thought she was alone.

He should tell the truth. It was the right thing to do. Safety be damned, because he wasn't doing this to save himself. But he didn't have all the pieces yet. He didn't know who she was, or who the other person was. There had to still be somebody worth putting it on the line for. So why waste his life doing something right, but stupid?

"No, I'm not. I'm just looking for somebody. Are you a killer?"

Voice sounded familiar.

Still couldn't make out who it was.

Another hesitation.

Could this have been some guy she didn't know?

Better this way. Better not knowing. Better just imagining.

All the people she cared about were dead.

So. Plan is still intact.

Shoot to kill.

Had to get him inside, first. Had to get his back turned.

Kept repeating that.

He asked if she was a killer. She made a face.

That question pissed her off. Almost threw the door open and tackled him. Stopped herself.

"Could be, if I had to." Clicked her tongue. "Depends on you."

Crossed her fingers as far as they could go.

Reached out with her other hand. Opened the door slowly.

"Not going to attack. Promised myself that. You try to pull something though, I'll change my mind."

She was sure things were running smoothly.

According to plan.

That was until

Until.

Until that bitch had to show up and ruin everything like that. Fuck. Fuck her and her stupid little face. Fuck. He and Raidon were doing just fine without a complete cold-blooded killer. Zach really wished he had lashed out and called her a bitch. He let her keep the gun! Didn't that mean something to her?! Bitch. Should have called her a heartless bitch. She could have killed him but at least he would have went out pissing her off. And when it really came down to it, that was all that mattered. Making an impression. Could have been the Zach Jamis of before. He didn't do that though, no, he was a fucking little puppy dog.

Zach Jamis had changed.

(Zach Jamis continued from Failing to Reappear)

Zach Jamis was a tad bitter over what had happened, not just with the bitch but also with himself. It was terrible idea to combine that shit with the overwhelming feeling of sadness. He felt like crap.

Zach didn't have any cigs either. Fuck. All he needed was a smoke, just a smoke, fuck, a smoke, he could make it if he just had one. Yeah, blame the lack of cigarettes Zach. They totally forced you to skip around like an idiot for the past several days. Whatever, Zach was tired. He just needed a cig. He could think then.

He looked over at Raidon, making a face. They had just come across a building, a church. Fuck, just what he needed. Did Raidon plan on coming here? Jesus. If there was any symbolism behind their coming here it was lost on Zach, he fucking hated English class. This story was coming to it's conclusion and the pulp writer has just been replaced by an English major on a deadline with a hard on for religion.

He wanted to say something to Raidon. Small talk. They were friends weren't they? No, probably not. He fucked Mizore though, or at least he assumed that was the case. While the idea of imagining a colorful blob like that in any sexual way made him want to upchuck, he was cool with her. Ergo (Hah, see? He could be an English major too!), that meant he was chill with Raidon too. So, yeah, small talk. What could he talk about? Hmm.

"You know what I just realized?" His voice smelt of smoke and felt like jagged rocks. "That girl that kicked us out? Bitch is a killer. Josie probably got her head lanced off. Just thought you should know that. In case you wanna repent, if that's your thing."

And if there was any hint of pity, or disgust, or regret for actually leaving those two alone, it did not show in his tone. He was all about deadpan humor.

((GMing of Zach's and Raidon's position approved))

So far so good.

The people, or person, lurking around the corner hadn't attempted to gun him down where he stood. That was promising, knowing that he'd stumbled on people who weren't playing.

Either that, or they were players and just hadn't noticed his presence yet.

'Shit, way to put a dampener on things, brain.'

So what could he do for the time being? Saul wondered if he'd be able to just hang there and listen to any more of the conversation, and if things turned ugly, he could run for the hills and find somewhere else to hide. He listened more, catching bits and pieces of the conversation, if you could call it one. The female then mentioned something about possibly being a killer, only if she had to. 'What the fuck does that mean?' Saul asked himself, feeling the blood draining from his face.

Great. Just great. Maybe he had gone and stumbled on a player.

Maybe. 'Only if I had to, only if I had to... does she mean self-defense?' Well now he didn't know what to do. Perhaps the best thing to do was to just wait it out from the sidelines and see what happened next.

At least that was until he heard more voices, coming from the other end of the church and heading his way. 'Oh come on, what is this? Why is everyone heading over here?' he thought in frustration. Frustration turned to panic when he realized that he was actually stuck between the two groups of people, no way out without being seen. "Shit!" he hissed, covering his mouth up with his hand straight away. Now he'd probably just given away his position to whoever was around the corner. 'Fuck fuck fuck!'

So what could he do now that the situation had changed? He couldn't stay where he was, not with a group consisting of an unknown number of people heading his way. Making a run for it was out of the question as well; they'd be able to hear him. 'I guess I have to take a chance with these guys already here,' he thought, shuffling closer to the corner. 'Here goes nothing.'

He put the gun in his left hand and stuck his right past the corner and waved it around, hoping to grab their attention. "Psst, hey," he whispered, "just warning whoever's round there, that you've, no, we've got company heading this way."

(Naoko Raidon continued from Failing to Reappear)


"In all fairness," Raidon mused. "I'm a killer and you're with me."

It was worrying him, of course; he remembered the violence in the girl who'd joined him, so familiar, so terrifying. He knew that kind of quiet murder--he'd killed with it before.

But he'd told Josie he wouldn't die for her. And he wasn't going to let anything stop him, now that he was so damn close...

"Repentance isn't on my list," he added. "This is just the only place I know at all that isn't a dangerzone." And that I'd actually want to come back to, he added to himself--he had no interest in returning to the Residential District as yet.

"Still, people have been here before," he added. "Somebody bombed the place, earlier--broke the roof, lot of the pews..." He shrugged. "Best be careful."

He was watching Zach somewhat warily--had been for hours now. He liked the boy, was the problem; he'd helped him do the one thing that mattered, the one thing that had changed everything, changed his perspective on the game and his relationship with Julian and ultimately brought him face to face with that sonofa...

He kept an eye on Zach.

She's not going to shoot first. So she says. There was always the chance that she was lying. Trying to get his guard down. He wanted to be able to take what she said at face value. Would make things so much easier. Too bad things in life, were seldom easy. Especially when life was like this.

The time to ponder was apparently not now though, as some rustling, muted whispers, and then a voice alerted him to some more arrivals. Fun times. The only way to make this more interesting would be to add more variables to the equation. "I'm not pulling anything, so you can just stay in there then," he called out to the girl, "or you could run."

With that, he crept up to the edge of the building where he'd seen someone waving out. If the girl inside wanted to make some witty quip, he couldn't care less right now. As long as she wasn't getting ready to shoot him in the back. Maybe he'd need to keep watch on the door just make sure. That first involved not running face first into one tired, dirty Saul Fetteralf. Who, by the way, was on the comparably short list of people that were still alive on the island that weren't killers.

Which meant he was on the list of people he'd need to protect.

"Hey there Saul. Any idea who else is coming?" Peter kept his voice at a whisper, and his tone as conversational as possible at that volume. He threw a glance around, and then realized that the moonlight was only sufficient for a few feet of visibility. His flashlight was in easy reach though, and once illuminated, he could actually something besides shadows. Didn't mean he could see who these mysterious newcomers were.

Saul briefly glanced back towards where he thought the newcomers were approaching from. He could've sworn he heard a different voice coming from that direction now, so at least two people were walking his way. 'Great.'

He turned back and nearly jumped a foot in the air when he noticed someone had now positioned themselves right in front of him. Just who it was, he couldn't tell exactly; it was way too dark to make out any discernible features. Plus he was more focused on trying not to suffer a heart attack at that scare he'd just received. While he calmed himself down as best he could, he was asked a question by the mysterious stranger (a male, that much was obvious at that point) who seemed to recognize him. Not that being recognized surprised him anymore, ever since he collected that team spirit award in front of everyone.

"Oh, um, n-no, I don't know who's coming," Saul replied nervously, pointing his gun at the floor, so as not to pose a threat. "Two people at least, from what I can hear... uh..." He had no clue who he was even talking to. He made a reach for his bag to grab his flashlight, but stopped himself at the last moment. Flicking the light on and giving away his position to the other people wouldn't have been a very smart move, especially if they were players.

"Um... who are you again? I can't see you, hell, I can barely see anything in this light. And who was that you were talking to? I heard someone else as well." He was sure he could recognize the guy's voice, but couldn't for the life of him put a name or a face to it. Getting that figured out would help a great deal.

[Director's Cut --> Ema Ryan]

She'd been wrong about the time. In fact, it had just about been noon when Ema arrived at the cinema, and looking at the sun, she estimated she'd only been unconscious a few hours. She was still having some slight trouble standing up, but it'd probably pass, and it was much too early in the day to be stopping to rest. Ema knew her sleeping habits well, and if she napped now to ride out the passing effects of Nick's dart, she'd be awake all night, and probably regret it the next morning. Except less waking up late and having to wolf down her breakfast, more maybe being killed while her reactions were shot.

So she headed back out of town, deciding the Parish would be an interesting place to see, whilst she was in the habit of going to places on the island she hadn't been to before. Maybe she could sit down in the peace and quiet and finally finish reading American Gods. Heh, that'd be pretty ironic, I guess.

Maybe there'd be some people there, hopefully the friendly type. Ema did not fancy the prospect of any more fights, two in one day had been quite enough for her. So a nice quiet chapel, that was the plan. Somewhere to bask in that strange feeling of non-violence that came of being on so-called holy ground; even lacking any particular spirituality, Ema could appreciate that lack of aggression that came of being "in God's house". So that's where she went.

It took maybe an hour, an hour and a half, to get clear of the residential area and within sight of the rather lonely looking building up atop the cliffs to the north. The path was clear enough, and so the girl followed it, climbing slowly, surely, towards her arbitrary destination. With the moon shining high above her, the girl realised it'd be late before she made it to the Parish, let alone back to the town afterwards. And so it was that, as she lay eyes on the small group gathered in front of the building, Ema found herself wondering if it'd be a safe place to sleep.

Won't be safe with these lot here. I'm an outsider to them. Always have been, let's be honest.

Only one thing for it, then.

Subterfuge hadn't worked with Nick, and with his dried blood matting her hoodie, Ema doubted it'd be any better here, with four times as many people to possibly see through the act. Even without the blood, the situation, and the residual effects of the tranquilliser dart in her veins, she wasn't exactly a fantastic actress anyway.

No, better to use the solution with the far better track record; brute force. Gunfire had worked a treat on all of the redhead's problems so far. Bullets had, in fact, gotten rid of Sapphire, Ma'afu, Meredith and Nick quite permanently. Nothing left to worry about from any of them, and at this late stage in the game, very low odds of a best-friend-revenge-plot. Makes sense, just kill 'em all and have done with it. Think how much easier life is with that many fewer people on the island.

...but fighting is effort.

Better plan. Ema, quite comfortable in the assumption she hadn't been noticed yet, in the distance and being quiet and all, ducked behind one of the solitary trees dotting the Parish's perimeter, and waited. She ejected the magazine from her Nambu, replaced it with a full one. She took hold of her trusty Vektor, too. Eighteen bullets in total, if she were to just unload on the nominally hostile group. Eighteen chances to hit one of the four targets. Scratch that, five, somebody was opening the doors from the inside. Still good odds. Three and a bit bullets each. What's 18 over 5? 15 is 3 and the other 3 is like 0.6 so... 3.6 bullets each. Yeah I like those chances. Unless whoever's inside doesn't come out, then it's... 0.45? No 4.5 what am I doing. Fuck just kill them afterwards with the Magnum or something.

So that's what the girl did. She stepped quite blithely out of the makeshift cover that was the tree, took aim briefly down the barrels of both guns, and, trying to keep her arms as steady as possible against the recoil, squeezed the triggers until the magazines were empty.

You know what? Maybe I am a bad person. But fuck these guys, I want to live.

Sometimes, Peter could marvel at how bad some people's night vision was. Not that it was superhuman or anything. Maybe it was just the many nights spent out in the wilderness in the past. Or trying to sneak around the house in the middle of the night for a late night gaming session.

"It's Peter. I'm in your, uh, English class, I think." Well, they were in the same English class. Peter let the light and his eyes scan across the trees, hoping to catch some motion. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He turned to peek quickly at the open doorway of the church, in case the girl decided to move, but nothing was happening there either.

"There's a girl inside. Don't know who, but I wouldn't go wandering in there. She doesn't seem to want to be disturbed." His flashlight made another quick sweep of the area, but still nothing caught his eye. He handed the flashlight to Saul. "Stay close to me. I'm not sure who's out there, but chances are they aren't as friendly as I am."

'Peter, Peter... oh, that's right, Peter Siu,' Saul thought, watching Peter swing the flashlight from side to side. 'Oh, yeah, attract their attention why don't you? Are you trying to get us all kill-'

His thoughts ground to a halt. 'Wait a fucking minute. Peter Siu, I... I've heard that name!' He thought back to the previous announcements, the ones that had heralded Garry's death, and recalled the crucial snippets of information.

"Peter Siu then gunned down Marry-Ann Warren."

'N-no...' But it didn't stop there, as he remembered one such death from what seemed like an eternity ago.

"One of our resident bible thumpers, Jessie Anderson, fell foul of Peter Siu."

'No!'

He'd killed her. Peter, the guy standing next to him, had killed Jessie Anderson, one of his friends. He was numb, his head was swimming and at some point Saul thought he was going to collapse on the spot. He put his hand out against the wall to steady himself, waiting for the feeling to pass. 'Oh my God... I'm standing next to someone who killed a friend!'

He wanted to run, but his legs were shaking so bad that he couldn't take a step.

"You... you killed her," he managed to spit out, turning his head to face Peter, eye to eye. "The announcements, th-they said you killed Jessie!"
And then before Saul could do anything else, a bullet came out of nowhere and tore straight through his shin.

Saul howled out and immediately pitched forwards onto his front as the sound from the multiple gunshots caught up with the bullets, ringing through the air above his head. He writhed in agony, reaching down to clutch at the throbbing wound. His hand came into contact with the hot and sticky blood that ebbed from the hole in his leg, staining his hands. 'Oh God... oh God no, fucking hell I've been shot it it huuuuuurts!'

He seethed and hissed in sheer agony, clutching at the ground with his blood hands. 'This, this is-oh God... this is it, isn't it?' he thought, rolling onto his back and staring up at the starry sky. He breathed quickly and shallowly, tears flowing down his face. 'This is as far as I go.'

((Details in this post are subject to change pending more information from involved handlers))

It really was just a matter of time before the universe caught up with him, to be honest. It really was just a fact of life: consequences tended to catch up to Peter far more quickly than they might for other people.

When the mistake was killing somebody, there was no doubt the fallout would be a disaster.

Peter looked grimly at Saul. "Yeah, I did." His gaze flicked to the wall, to the inside of the church where he'd killed the girl. "Had to. Do you know what she was going to do? Help Polanski. Get everyone killed." Peter looked back at Saul, but there was nothing he could read in the other's eyes. He sighed and shook his head. There was no way he would understand.

((Placeholdering the rest of said conversation))

Whatever more Peter wanted to say would have to wait, as motion in his peripheral vision alerted him of the arrival of some more people. Probably the people that Saul had been trying to warn him about earlier. Peter held up a hand to silence Saul as he turned to focus on the newcomers. His grip tightened on his gun, but he didn't aim it at them. Chances were that they had guns. Pretty much everybody had one nowadays. Even Saul had one. If they were walking closer, that meant they weren't thinking of shooting them. The last thing Peter needed was to have to fight for Saul's life right now. Too much bad blood between them. They needed some time to let things smooth over and-

A low growl rumbled from Peter's throat as the two came close enough for him to recognize. The first, he hadn't seen yet in his week and a half on the island, was Zach Jamis. From what he remembered, Zach was never much a nice guy. Yet, he hadn't killed anyone yet, and the realization of that was a bit odd. Really, Peter would have been glad to see him if it wasn't for the other person following Zach: Raidon Naoko. Peter had been ready to gun him down the last time they'd met, and Raidon had done a wonderful job of distracting him then.

This time, he'd do it right.

"Stop right there," he said, punctuating each word with a moment's pause. He lifted the rifle at pointed it directly at Raidon. "Leave. Now. Not going to say it again."

If Raidon was trying to make some sort of protest, Peter didn't care. If Zach was trying to get him to back off, Peter didn't care. The only thing important now was the slow countdown from ten in Peter's head before he pumped Raidon with the rest of the rifle's magazine.

When he hit two, all hell broke loose.

Peter wasn't sure what came first: the gunshots echoing into the night, the impact of the bullets, or the sharp pain in his shoulder and stomach. It probably didn't matter all that much, all things considered. After all, he'd just gotten shot. Twice.

He stood there in shock for a moment, before adrenaline kicked in and got his brain and body working again. The was about to start in on Raidon and gun him down right then and there. Obviously, it was all his fault. Except the part where that made no logical sense since Peter hadn't seen Raidon shoot and he'd been standing less than ten meters away. Also, Raidon didn't look quite so healthy himself now.

A sharp yell rang out from behind him.

Shit.

He shrugged his backpack off. His shoulder screamed out in pain, and Peter would've screamed with it if he didn't clench his teeth. First-aid kit was always on top, but trying to get to it with his injured arm was mostly an exercise in pain and a little bit an exercise in futility. Still, while the pain fucking jhurt, other things were more important.

Saving lives was always more important.

After some agonizingly painful moments, which seemed to stretch for longer than it was supposed to, Peter had finally managed to get his first-aid kit. If there'd been time, if the shooter wasn't likely still nearby, Peter would've treated the others' wounds himself. Instead, he weakly tossed the small bag to Saul. The other boy was lying on the ground, clutching at his leg. Even in the dim light, Peter could make out the blood getting absorbed in his pants. Even if Saul made it out alive, he might not be able to walk after this.

No. Saul was going to get out of this alive. Zach too. The other boy was hunched over, shuddering in pain. But Peter didn't have the fucking time to deal with them and the shooter. Only thing he could do was pray.

His gaze swept over to Raidon. "Where from?" he hissed. Not waiting for a reply, he continued to scan, trying to figure it out. He'd like to think he could do amazing things like calculating the vectors of entry and using that to determine which way to shoot, but that would just be an exaggeration.

The rifle came up, his uninjured arm shaking from the weight of the gun. If he could hit anything firing like this, it would be more a miracle than the survival of the others. But he had to try. The gun roared in his hands, swinging erratically from the recoil of each shot. Didn't matter. He kept shooting into the trees. At least he could scare them off.

Peter kept firing, his whole body racked with tightly bottled pain, until the gun clicked dry.

He wanted to keep going. The other magazine was in his pocket. But his arms didn't want to move anymore.

He wanted to stay standing. But his legs gave way and he slumped against the wall of the church.

He looked at Saul. He looked at Zach. They needed to live. He'd protected them, right? He'd done what was right, and he'd keep doing it. As long as they lived through this, then nothing else mattered. Blood soaked his shirt. Red on white. As long as they lived through this, then at least this all meant something.

Who was he kidding? They'd been shot too. The chances of them surviving? Low enough. They were going to die. All four of them.

It felt stupid. It felt unfair. Peter couldn't do anything. Couldn't protect anybody. Couldn't save anybody. He was a failure. A worthless failure.

A long time ago, he'd made that promise. To protect Eiko. To protect people. To do it, he'd done what needed to be done. Shouldered their burdens. Killed people. He'd done it because it needed to be done. That's what he told himself. He'd done it because someone needed to do it.

Through closed eyes, he replayed it all. Every corpse he saw. Every name on the announcement. Every life he'd watched slipped away. Every life he took. Tiffany.

Worthless.

Failure.

There was nothing there to be proud of. Nothing to console him that he'd done something right.

No. There was. One broken, bruised, and bloodied boy on a boat.

Maybe that was enough.

He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. In a dim part of his mind, he noted that the breath was a lot shallower than he'd need, but there just wasn't enough energy to take a deeper breath.

When Peter was a child, he'd always wondered what death was like. Call it morbid, but on some level, it fascinated him. Was it a darkness that was like sleep but more final? Was it some otherworldly experience walking up to Heaven's gates? Maybe he'd just get dropped into the waiting room called Purgatory and sit around or do good deeds or pray until he got to go to Heaven. He'd wondered what the world would be like after he died. All he ever knew about the world was through his eyes and ears. He'd wondered if being in this world in this body in this time and place mattered.

Peter hoped it did.

B004: Peter Siu - DECEASED

"Point taken." Zach really hated when he was wrong.

Zach Jamis could feel the other kid's eyes on him. He was wary of Zach, and he could totally understand. He didn't like it, that was a completely different matter altogether. The boy understood though, and didn't speak of it.

Zach kept quiet through the next events. They ran into others. He didn't recognize them at first. He was zoning out at first, but then he shook it off and actually took a look at the guy that was talking.

...Oh. Ms. Choir was still alive? Shit. Zach couldn't stand him. Of all the fucking losers he had to run into, it had to be him. Peter was probably at three when Zach finally spoke.

"Go fuck yourself." He said. Politely.

Didn't even hesitate either. The thought of getting filled with more holes than a block of swiss cheese didn't even occur to him. His mood had just soured and Church Boy was to blame. He looked over at Raidon, back to Church Boy, and then realized.

He heard the noises when he spoke, but didn't pay them any mind. The others fell but Zach staggered back. Zach didn't realize what was going on, so he shrugged it off. Why is everyone dropping to the ground? Is something going on that he wasn't aware of? Was this some kind of joke?

Wait.

He looked at his bloody shoulder. Someone shot him?

Oh.

Zach sunk to his knees. A look of confusion spread over his face.

Well. Guess that's that. Pretty fucked up, huh Zach? Yeah, really fucked up. Extremely fucked up. In those few seconds, Zach didn't curse the gods, rise back up in order to fight back, cry, clutch his shoulder or pull the bullet out with his own nails. He just sat there, slouching over the ground, eyes staring directly at the dirt. He did nothing else.

Inhale. Exhale. Wait. It wasn't like that, no periods. Inhale Exhale Inhale Exhale. Like breathing was the hardest fucking thing in the world.

Zach didn't even know who the fuck shot at him. How fucked up was that?! Maybe he wasn't shot at all, maybe this was one of those mirages that you see when you go without water for so long. Didn't that happen in the desert though? Zach didn't know. Could happen in suburbia too for all he knew. What he did know was that he was hurt, bad. Didn't even have the energy to look up to see if Raidon was doing alright, and for once Zach regretted not worrying about him sooner. Too late. Just worried about himself, like always.

Things were getting bright now. Shit. When the hell did he drive into a tunnel? Wasn't he just outside?!

Zach Jamis began to think. About his life, all the things he'd never get to do, about Sam, about a certain girl that was haunting his thoughts. Everything. No words. Just silence.

Also, he figured none of this would have happened had Church Boy died on the first day. This was all his fault.

Fucking asshole.