Survival Of The Fittest

[B78: Miles Strickland - Start]

Seagulls. What a bunch of inglorious and shabby little animals. Miles stood by and looked on in disgust as he watched a small flock of those hungry seabirds crowd around what appeared to be a puddle of vomit on the dirt and sand mixed ground ahead of him. Their lunch, apparently.

It was times like this where Miles wished his Turkish Angora, Mister, was allowed to go with him. But pets weren't allowed on the plane to Disneyland they said. He sighed at the thought. Mister wasn't just some pet, he was Miles' friend too and right now, he really wished he had a friend around.

There had been no one around for Miles. --- He wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but all he knew is that he wanted to have a friendly face nearby, heck someone, anyone he knew to keep him company. He wasn't used to being by himself, especially in the wild like this. It felt pretty darn lonely out here.

At one point he was beginning to doubt that there were other people here. That is, until he found the reasonably sheltered lagoon and Darren Fox's message written in the dirt. He almost laughed when he saw that, because really - what kind of clown would leave a message with their name in it next to a puddle of vomit. It was like the guy was proud of his work or something.

"Darren Fox was here" the message said, the rest of the message indistinguishable under the seagull tracks. That Ginger Goof was here and Miles had just missed him too. The puke still looked and seemed somewhat fresh in the air after-all.

Carefully, Miles stepped around those dirty birds to the lagoon's crystal clear waters and rested his legs for the first time today. All he'd been doing the entire day, ever since waking up near the seaside, was wandering around aimlessly, up or down the coastline, he wasn't sure which way. The whole time he'd been traveling, he stuck to the shores, afraid to head inland to whatever mysteries or dangers the place had in store for him. The shore so far, had been safe and he wasn't about to leave that comfort zone just yet. Not until he found some companions, at the very least.

Miles cupped some of the cool, twinkling water in his palms and gently splashed some of it onto his face. It wasn't just because it was a hot summer day in some unknown place either. He started with his eyes first, rubbing the soothing water around his brow and socket with closed eyes, trying to wash the stress and worry away.

Stressed and worried. That's all he was for some time now. Miles just couldn't shake his mind from these thoughts as he'd walked silently down the long stretches of white sands. He'd been at a loss for words after discovering the cold, ugly collar with a touch of his fingers and widened eyes. It was the same stuck feeling inside his throat that someone would get when they're filled with anxiety or getting themselves in trouble by someone, things that hardly ever happened to Miles Strickland.

He couldn't understand why this was even happening. Why were these terrorist doing this to them in the first place, and for what? What was the purpose or point of kidnapping random high school students and forcing them to kill each other? What was that supposed to prove? What kind of terrorist does that? Why not do terrorist things? Use bombs maybe, like all the other regular terrorists would.

Would his classmates even do it? They most definitely would, he knew that. He wasn't dumb, unlike a lot of them. Miles would never resort to any of it, but the weirdoes with no friends would. The kinds of people who waited for a time like this to finally deliver some payback. Payback to people - people like him most likely.

With another cupping of water, another gentle splash, he allowed his hands to linger there over his face. He massaged his skin lightly, letting the palms trail down his wet cheeks as he shuddered.

Naomi was here too. His mind shook the thought of his cousin being killed and he wondered for a little bit just how well she was taking the situation. Better than he was, most likely. Probably had a group right now, too. While, there he was, sitting there in disbelief, shock, disorientation and in a daze. He didn't want to move, he couldn't move.

This was supposed to be the beginning of his life, he was nearly done with high school and he'd just been accepted to his specialized universities in law and politics. Instead, his life was now nearing its end because of this and Miles felt completely helpless. He shook his head and gave a small disbelieving laugh.

What a load of bull. A Strickland never gives up that easily.

---

The cliffs and foliage around the lagoon kept Miles shaded as the sun passed overhead, alternating between levels of brightness behind the clouds, painting the lagoon's water into several beautiful flavors in the meanwhile. He supposed this would be an alright place to stay at for now. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. He needed to check his things anyway.

How nice of them to bring his luggage along. If only, Miles wished, there was someone else around to carry it. Wouldn't that be nice?

Miles shrugged off his Harrington jacket and opened his familiar bag to stuff his jacket in, not the one the terrorists gave him. His things were missing, most notably his electronics, like his brand new smart phone, and - and his wallet was gone too. Unbelievable.

His jaw dropped at the thought of something incredibly petty like that and Miles wanted to go around kicking some seagulls. You do not touch Miles Strickland's things.

He opened his hands into a flat position and physically motioned at himself to relax, taking deep, soothing breaths like they taught at Club Med. When he felt calm enough, Miles adjusted the collar of his polo shirt and continued his supply check.

At least his favorite thermos was still in there along with a few extra clothes. That was a plus. He hadn't gotten a cup of espresso or latte since before the flight, so maybe that was why he was feeling out of sorts. Granted, it was unlikely he'd find any high-class warm beverages here, but there must be at least some form of coffee around. He gritted his teeth. There had to be.

Miles took a gander at the mysterious second bag labeled 78. He brought it onto his lap and unzipped it, sticking his hand in.

"Aw, shhhh--" Miles cursed perhaps a little too loudly, as he dropped the duffel pack and jolted straight to his feet, tiny droplets of blood dripping from his finger.

Miles instinctively brought his nicked fingertip to his mouth and then a few seconds later - spat.

((Kat Tolstoff continued from Broken Down))

This was nicer.

If they weren't on Death Island, this would actually be a really cool spot to hang out. As it was, this was a huge step up from the crackhouse she had woken up in. In fact, it seemed like a good time to actually rest, since she had covered quite a bit of distance since leaving the crackhouse area. She sat down and started rifling through her bag again.

Clothes, clothes, bathroom stuff, clothes, where ...

So confirmed: she had no books, no iPad, no camera, no paper or metal objects. Anything that had any processing power had been taken from her. In her other bag, there were crackers, water, food bricks, map, compass, flashlight. Oh, and her used combat knife. Either way, she was stuck on an island with an admittedly impressive view.

Kat tilted her head back and lay her head on the sand, trying to stretch the kinks out of herself, when she saw a speck in the distance. She squinted, looking at the dot. Red and black. Definitely someone. Kat got up and walked along the beach towards the dot, getting her jacket into her backpack. As she got closer, she started to see more detail in the the guy that she was walking towards until finally

"Miles? Miles! How are you doing?" Miles Strickland - not really a guy she hung out with a lot, but not a bad guy. She could have done worse.

This trip had started so well, too. There he was with Joe and Travis, goofing off with the latter and trying to get the former to loosen up like always, already planning the parties that would, if he had his way, take up at least the nights they were in Disneyland. And why not? The hard part was over, and once they got back to Washington he'd never see most of the people who'd got on the plane again anyway, why not spend the end of his high school career with friends? Sure, they couldn't bring any booze or anything onto the plane, but that looked to be the only setback, and they could've probably got around that once they touched down. Everything was set.

So of course, a bunch of dead terrorists crawl back into the light, blow Mr. Davidge's head off and now Chuck Soileau was stuck on Death Island with a bomb around his neck, dynamite in his bag and orders to kill Trav, Joe and everyone else in the class or he'd be food for the worms. After he'd got done freaking out on waking up and riding the nausea from the gas, he found himself really, really wishing he'd been able to sneak a drink onto the plane.

This was the part where he'd be looking on the bright side, if there was one to be found. The closest thing to one was the last time this happened, so long ago he barely remembered it happening at all - failing to put an end to SOTF for so long had made President Bridges and his administration look like a band of complete incompetents, probably even lost him the election, so the government failing yet again to do anything about them coming back would be hell on the approval ratings. Nothing like hundreds of teenagers dying horrific deaths to make a president look bad, so hey, maybe, just maybe if they held out long enough the cavalry would arrive and they wouldn't have to butcher each other or all blow up.

Yeah. Maybe. And maybe if he pinched himself good and hard he'd wake up back on the plane.

Ow. Nope, shit. Back to Plan A - find Joe, Trav, maybe some people from the paper and whoever else was cool and not shooting each other, find somewhere to hole up until all the craziness blew over. Like hell he was going to blow up people he'd spent every day of the last four years around -

...Noooot even Miles Strickland, who appeared out of the blue - or standing over it, really, a bunch of glimmering blue water that almost dried the back of his throat just looking at it - as Chuck's feet led him through the foliage and dropped him at a lagoon of some kind, signed by good ol' Darren Fox. The guy wasn't alone either, getting talked at by the girls' basketball captain as Chuck came pushing through.

So, headcount. Chuck, the archetypical rich douchebag and a really, really hot basketball chick. Neither of whom might like having been dropped in on out of nowhere, but neither of whom looked ready for trouble right away. Good enough for now.

"Miles, Kat, hey! Funny running into you here..."

Not really. The opposite of that.

It was only a small amount of blood, but the mere sight of it on his sliced fingertip, had snapped Miles back into that room. They'd killed his teacher in front of them, very likely all his teachers before that. Now they were supposed to do the same thing to each other.

Instead of doing anything about the nicked finger, or checking his pack for what it was that got him by surprise, he paced. Back and forth, he paced along the side of the lagoon, head down, staring at the water, staring back at the cut, at the bag.

There was something very sharp in that bag.

This was real. He already knew that of course, but it hadn't really hit him much until that moment. Without even looking, he knew that the sharp object was supposed to be his weapon.

A weapon. To use on someone else.

As for the cut on his hand, well, that was just the beginning. More pain was still yet to come.

All of a sudden a voice made itself known from somewhere down the beach, snapping Miles' head up in surprise as he turned to look. A girl in pink, she sounded cheery. He had only a second to compose himself.

Miles made sure to posture himself a bit better as she approached. He stood up, back straight as possible, in the most casual way possible, with a comfortable smile portraying all the confidence in the world, which he didn't have.

Then someone else showed up just a few seconds later, a guy this time, wearing a goofy ghost cartoon hat, calling out from behind some plants. Miles waved at them both and carefully made sure to hide his recently wounded hand in back of himself.

"Ah, hey. Fancy seeing you here too Kat and--"

Um.

Err..

"--Hey Chuck."

There were actually other Aurora students here with him and he thought he'd be relieved, too bad he wasn't, not entirely, not with the whole premise of this adventure hovering above their heads. Fortunately these two seemed okay, not killers yet.

Both their greetings were friendly enough, so he made sure to repay the favor kindly there. It was good to have someone around, especially in this death game. If you could call it that.

These weren't exactly the people he'd pick to stumble into first, but at least they were both somebody from school, plus he knew Kat enough to know she was cool and not bad looking either. Chuck was Travis' friend so Miles saw him around too, sometimes. Miles didn't really remember Chuck's name off the top of his head, but he did remember that hilarious gap-tooth. He smirked a bit more real this time, thinking about it.

"I've been out here the entire day, holding up." He bent over to pick up his bag as he finished answering Kat's question, and then turned to address both at once. "I would have headed inland, to find a building or something to hide-out, but I don't know what's out there and I didn't want go alone. You two are the first I've seen so far today."

Miles momentarily looked at the message carved into the ground and the seagull chow next to it.

"Looks like we just missed Darren Fox," Miles said with his cheeky ole' smile and one of those figurative twinkles in thy eye, before getting somewhat serious again.

"How about you guys? Nobody's going crazy out there yet, are they?"

He half didn't want to know.

"Miles, Kat, hey! Funny running into you here..."

Somebody was calling from the bushes. Somebody wearing a weird white hat with a cartoon face on it.

"Ah, hey. Fancy seeing you here too Kat and ... hey Chuck."

Miles had stopped pacing around and had spoken up, putting one of his hands behind his back for some reason.

"I've been out here the entire day, holding up. I would have headed inland, to find a building or something to hide-out, but I don't know what's out there and I didn't want go alone. You two are the first I've seen so far today." Miles picked up his bag before looking down at the ground and smiling.

"Looks like we just missed Darren Fox. How about you guys? Nobody's going crazy out there yet, are they?"

Kat's eyebrows went up momentarily. Who the hell was Darren? But on the other note,

"Well, I woke up in what looks like a crackhouse, but nobody, really." She said. "I was just walking around from there until I met you two."

(Sorry if this isn't a whole lot to work with, I was a bit stuck.)

"I've, um, I've heard gunshots. Not seen anyone though."

He should have been able to come up with some quip or another, something that would maybe lessen the weight of the fact they were stuck on Death Island, but... nope. He had nothing. There were just some things you couldn't smile at no matter how hard you tried. Neither Kat nor Miles seemed crazy, nor had they run into anyone who was, but how long was that luck really going to last?

How long before one of them was the crazy one? It always happened eventually. Eventually could mean five minutes or the very end of the game, but it was still a thing. Not that they'd get anywhere constantly second-guessing each other, but in his defence they were probably wondering the same thing.

And if they weren't, well, maybe they should be. At some point, Chuck had taken a seat in the sand and started tracing patterns on autopilot, line after line until "Darren Fox was here" found itself joined by "So was Kilroy". A moment passed as he traced, then another.

"So. Either of you have plans for the end of the world?"

Well, he had plans alright, big plans, but none for the end of the world. This SOTF-ACT was complete hogwash and ruined everything. He casually smiled at Chuck.

Fuck you for the reminder Chuck.

Following Chuck's lead, Miles sat back down onto the sand as well, almost using his assigned duffel as a seat to avoid dirtying his pants again, but he remembered the sharp, pointy unknown in his bag and decided against it. The finger was enough, thank you very much.

The three of them ended up talking in a small circle for a short while after Chuck's question. It started first about the obvious situation, about what happened already, which thankfully wasn't much, and then moved onto what they were going to do now. Miles suggested maybe moving on out later, finding some place more inland to use as a shelter and hide out, being that he wasn't alone now. Though he didn't admit that last part out loud, even if he did already imply it a little earlier.

Chuck suggested instead for them to stick around the lagoon for now, since it was too hot to travel and that they'd just got there, so why not take a break and wait it out until the temperature goes down a little. Miles could agree with that, he was hungry too anyway and he still wondered what the heck was in the other bag.

While Kat and Chuck made small talk, (well mostly Chuck since he seemed to quite enjoy the company of a hot basketball girl), Miles unzipped and this time carefully sorted through the contents of his second bag. That's when he found it.

"Hunga - Munga?" Miles stared at the labeled slip of paper attached to the intimidating 'curvy point weapon. Was that what this thing was called? He supposed it was nice of the terrorists to let him know what its name was, or else "curvy point thing" would have continued to be called "curvy point thing." He held it up and examined it.

One of the tips - there were four of them, with sharp bladed edges - had some faint traces of liquid red still on it. His own bloody... blood.

Miles looked up and noticed Kat and Chuck noticing him.

"I uh- cut myself earlier."

---

So his finger was bandaged now.

They'd been here for a while. They'd eaten, it was rather unsatisfying low class junk, with annoying seagulls attempting to scavenge their items, but they'd eaten. They'd sorted through their supplies. They'd even made some small talk and got to know one another a little better.

It was nice being able to small talk about things. It kept his mind off of the awful situation at hand and that was always a good thing. Turns out Chuck wasn't that lame a kid, pretty friendly actually. No wonder Travis liked him well enough. The kid had some interesting stuff to talk about and Kat was a decent girl to have around as well.

Things seemed weirdly peaceful. No one else showed up, which he supposed was a bit of a good thing. But it was getting dark. They'd have to leave soon. Chuck being the ever so talkative kid he was suggested they just stay there for the night, since there was a safe water source and it was easily defensible. It was going to be too dark to move around much anyway without a flashlight and doing that with one would be dangerous. Plus they might be able to see a rescue boat from this area, maybe.

Miles almost wanted to debate the issue. He refused to lower his standards by sleeping outside on the cool hard ground. But then again, the kid had some good points and the place had kept them safe this long, didn't it? They could always leave in the morning.

Ugh, he hated when other people were right. He wasn't about to lose some allies to something petty either. Not in this place.

So Miles begrudgingly agreed, found a spot near some trees and used his pack as a cushion, before lying on the cold hard ground.

It was tough at first to go to bed, tossing and turning in the gritty sand with the cold breeze on him. Sure he lived in Seattle and you'd figure he'd be used to it by now, but he never did sleep outside. Not once as far as he could remember and this was a whole lot of horrible for his pampered lifestyle.

Eventually he fell asleep, despite the hermit crab scuttling by his face which would have probably freaked him out if he saw or heard it. Nature so wasn't his thing.

---

In his head, that peaceful 'morning, time to rise' melody, also called "The William Tell Overture" to all the cool, sophisticated people, like your Miles truly, played as he got up from his rest under the sunrise, stretching his limbs and patting his mouth whilst yawning.

Good lord, his breath was going to start to smell as the days go by. He hoped there was something for that in his supplies or at least somewhere on this godforsaken land of the not so free.

Miles felt at his cheeks - stubble had already grown along the sides of his face and chin, more from yesterday and who knows how long before waking up here? Thanks to his bearded dad's genetics, Miles had a tough time keeping a clean shaven face, since it all grew at such a rapid rate.

In about a week's time, he'd probably be sporting some golden blonde designer scruff.

Sand and a leaf or two fell from his golden blonde strands as he stood up and looked around, it was probably his turn for guard duty, as the other two called it.

Speaking of which, where were they anyway? Kat didn't seem to be around the immediate area. Probably still sleeping somewhere around the lagoon or wandering the area bit. He did see Chuck nearby though. This meant they hadn't abandoned him here at least.

Miles went over to the shore of the lagoon itself and splashed some of the crisp water onto his face to wake himself up some more. He kind of had to being that there were no espresso machines, lattes, cappuccinos or even hot chocolate here. Darn it.

Oh and the morning announcements had just passed a minute before Miles woke up. Too bad he missed it.

All in all, it had actually been a pretty good day considering the circumstances. Sure, they were still on Death Island, but rather little death had taken place, and hey, Kat and Miles actually turned out to be decent company. Okay, Miles was still kind of a rich douchebag, but still, just as human as everyone else. Talking about plans for the island came first, then just sort of whatever, mostly between him and Kat.

Okay, he'd done a lot of the talking, but she didn't seem to mind. Even when he'd ended up on politics again. Hey, all this going down on an election year had to be important, right? It gave some reason to hope, maybe. They ate and hung out, with Chuck not quite able to resist the calorie bars, and with the sun beating down on the lagoon and the smell of salt from the nearby ocean washing over him it was almost possible to tune out the world and act like this was just a day at the beach.

Just Disney, but more tropical. A hot girl, a guy who turned out cooler than Chuck had given him credit for, and the beach all to themselves - all they needed was some beers and some of the more fun classmates, and this could've been a nice little party. Even better when the others agreed they all might as well stay here for the night, swayed by talk of defensibility and how silly it would be to stumble around through the woods in the dark when who knew how many of their fellows were shooting each other dead.

Shit, that brought the mood down. Hopefully the guys would stumble upon them before anything too bad happened.

A bit of shifting around turned the daypack into a serviceable pillow as he laid down in the sand, and thoughts of Chuck's friends joined the buzz of wildlife and the trickle and rush of ocean water feeding the lagoon in chasing his mind to sleep.

***

The morning found Chuck on watch, ink black sky brightening to a dull grey and then to blue as sun chased away moon and its heat made itself known again. Sure, they were most all going to die, but could they have done it while sweating a bit less?

Ah, priorities. It had been a long night, broken up between periods of restful oblivion and hours of staring into the darkness, dynamite clutched in his fist. If anyone'd come by, he hadn't seen them, but at least there was someone ready with a stick of go-away-or-I-blow-you-up in case of trouble. Being up late came easy to him, after so much practise through high school.

And they'd told him all the partying would never help him in life. A little ration breakfast was first on the list once the sun was up, and then a lot of sitting around. Miles and Kat still slept, and he left some of the food out for when they were awake, because he was a team player, but as days on a murder island went it was rather an anticlimactic start.

Eventually everyone has to heed nature's call, though, and it was after he'd found a nice spot out of view in the treeline that a mechanical squeal filled the air and a certain familiar voice took over. That dickface who'd put them all here. Eight people were dead he said, eight names that would never have a face to them again. Eight families shattered.

Sven, Dave, Dan, Theo was a murdering douchebag, Trav wasn't anywhere on the list so at least there was that...

Wait, Joe? Did that fucker say Joe? No way. No fucking way he heard Joe murdered some dude in cold blood. That, that just...

It's the island, Chuckie-boy, you think it doesn't get to people?

Not Joe. It had to be Dickface twisting things around, he wouldn't do that. He could barely stand talking to people, blowing someone's brains out was kind of a big leap.

Why, man? Why would you do that? They'd have to find him, get the truth from the horse's mouth as it were. That's what he was thinking as he trudged back to the lagoon to wake the others, legs dragging like fifty pound weights were tied to his ankles.

Miles had cut himself from something called a "Hunga Munga" or something, while Chuck suggested staying there for the night. Kat looked out to the water. No objections here. This actually seemed like a good place to stay for the moment.

So they got to talking and Miles was still cool, while Chuck was okay. He hung out with Travis, so there had to be something behind the toilet humor and the ogling. Eventually they all went to bed - Kat had to use her jacket as a blanket, a towel as a pillow and put on a sweatshirt she had packed to keep her warm, and she eventually went to sleep.

---

The next morning, Kat was greeted by two things - light and heat. Kat responded by taking her sweatshirt off and using it to cover her eyes as she turned to her side. Then some sort of mechanical squeal came through and Kat moaned as she stuck her finger in her left ear and presed her right ear into the towel.

Goddamn it, can't I sleep for two seconds?

((Stacy Ramsey continued from Grey Skies, Grey Ground))

With a melancholy look printed on her face, Stacy sluggishly dragged her feet across the uneven ground that led towards the shore. She didn't sleep last night; she was too afraid that if she fell asleep someone might take advantage of her vulnerable state and try to kill her. She instead spent all night huddled up beneath a tree and she could feel the effects of staying up slowly draining her.

When the announcement began to play, Stacy paused and listened with dread. She was pleased to hear that none of her friends had been killed, but it was still saddening listening to the list of people that didn't make it. Stacy panicked slightly when the danger zones began to be read out, however, none of them seemed to match the description of where she was now so she assumed she was safe.

Stacy continued to walk until she was met by a sudden drop in the landscape. Out of curiosity Stacy peered over the edge of the small cliff and was greeted by the sight of a beautiful body of water. Scanning the lagoon, Stacy noticed three people scattered around the shore, one of which had a head of curly golden hair that she vaguely recognised from afar. Leaning in closer, Stacy's eyes narrowed in an attempt to try and get a better look of the boy. It was… Mile Strickland! With a sigh of relief, Stacy's face lit up with joy as she scrambled off of the ground and carefully made her way down the small cliff.

"Miles! MILES!" Stacy screeched in delight, she'd never been so happy to see him in her life.

When she reached the base of the cliff, Stacy sprinted towards Miles, dropping her bag and shotgun as she ran. Whilst running, Stacy briefly looked at the other two. The girl was Kat Tolstoff, they weren't exactly best friends, but Stacy was friendly with her nonetheless. The other boy was Chuck Soileau. She didn't know much about him apart from that he was close friends with Travis.

As Stacy approached Miles, she opened her arms out wide in preparation to embrace him.

Alright, so Miles had his turn on watch duty, while Chuck went off to perform his "other duty" privately somewhere amongst the trees and foliage surrounding the lagoon. Chuck even left his - holy cr--dynamite sticks with him, said to use it to scare people off in case there was any trouble.

That was fine, he could do this. Hopefully he wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures. It had been nice so far, so why couldn't it stay that way.

Miles gargled with some of the issue water bottles from his pack and spat out the horrible sleepy-time morning residue from his mouth. No toothbrush, toothpaste or mouthwash, such a darn shame. They were in his other suitcase on that plane, like his wallet. He sighed with some evident irritation and took his mind off it by having some breakfast or at least the sorry excuse for a breakfast they were provided in the form of bread, crackers and rations. Miles gracefully helped himself to Chuck's rations, to save his own supply, because hey why not.

It wasn't long before those pesky seagulls were back. They had gathered around him, watching his food with their beady little eyes. Miles tossed some sand from the ground around him at the birds with a few quick slaps of his palm in an effort to get them to leave, and they did for a moment. Mostly, they flew into the air for a few brief seconds before landing again and it was rather annoying.

For a little while Miles waved that jagged weapon of his around and it seemed to do a much better job at scaring away the seagull nuisance. He flung it once when one of them decided to number two on his shoe and it surprisingly soared pretty well. He stood up and smirked.

Maybe, he could entertain himself while he was at it and practice throwing that Hunga Munga around. The targets being obvious of course.

He flew it a couple of times, vertically like how he imagined a throwing knife would go. Each time it sent the seagulls scattering away into wild plumes of feathers. Now he was going to try it again, this time horizontally like a Frisbee or discus throw instead. He readied his arm and aimed at some gulls at the edge of the lagoon clearing near the vegetation line.

Just as he was about it to send the Hunga Munga soaring through the air, something caught him off guard. Someone was yelling and running at him from behind and that startled Miles big time. His heart skipped a beat and his mind immediately switched into panic mode as realized he was being charged at and possibly attacked, all because he wasn't paying attention to his role on guard duty.

Miles would have swung the Hunga Munga in self-defense, but noticed at the last second that it was no longer in his hands. He must have already sent it soaring when he was initially caught off guard. Before Miles could think of anything else to do, he felt the arms wrap around his abdomen, grabbing him and startling him even more.

In reaction, Miles shoved hard and aimed his familiar field-goal-kicker style boot at the center mass of the person who grabbed him. That's when he noticed who it was.

"Oh my gosh. I am so sorry." He was too shocked and worried between gasps to be relieved that it was just an unarmed and harmless Stacy. Miles approached her in a hurry with a hand to help and apologize when he caught something else to the side of his eye.

There was something white, with slight amount of red near it.

At first he thought it was one of those darn seagulls, but there were no feathers. It looked somewhat goofy actually. — He ran to it.

Someone yelled at Miles off in the distance, a world away to his mind with Joe murdering people to think about. He looked up anyway, caught a flash of steel tha-

WHUMPH

A huge metal fist caught him right in the throat, and he gasped for breath. It came out watery, more of a gurgle. Something wet ran down his neck, more of it pouring down with each heaving breath he took. He tried to cough, and it didn't help, just bringing something sharp and metallic up. He clutched desperately at whatever'd hit him, groping around until he felt a wooden handle. Pulling lit his body aflame, and his fingers came away red with blood.

The fuck...

The bones were gone from his legs, and the sand under his feet rushed up to meet him. He became dully aware of his face slamming into the ground, and the impact driving the thing stuck in his neck further in. He wanted to scream, but just wet the sand. Sand filled his nose and mouth for his trouble, and he hadn't even the strength to lift his head or try spitting it out.

It was the high point of summer, and suddenly everything was so very cold. Water streamed from his eyes.

In a story he might have gone peacefully, thinking about family and friends, saying goodbyes at least in his head and hoping Joe and Trav and everyone else would be safe. In a story there wouldn't have been pain.

This wasn't a story. He spent a few more moments sobbing weakly, fear and agony tearing through him, before the darkness filled his vision and took everything away.


B022: CHUCK SOILEAU: DECEASED

139 STUDENTS REMAIN

[[OOC: Actions have been approved by the handlers.]]

It wasn't a seagull it was Chuck's cartoon ghost hat. Chuck was face down on the sand and-

Oh - Oh my f--

This was just too unreal.

Miles stood there staring mouth agape, in utter shock at the image before him. Blood was seeping into the sand around them, quickly caked into the grit of the surrounding sand rather than a liquidy puddle. His hands shifted between shielding his stunned face and traveling up to tug at his own hair. How could this happen. What-what was happening? What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"Chuck? Chuck, answer me you goof."

Yeah, that was really helpful.

"Chuck," he repeated over and over again hoping something would change and the boy he'd just gotten to know a little bit better the day before would suddenly turn over and everything would be alright. Everything had been fine, as fine as it could be until this point. He...

He messed up.

What was he doing just standing here like some kind of chump? Miles could almost picture his father crossing his arms at him and shaking his head in disapproval about that. Now, what would Naomi do? His dad would have said. Naomi wouldn't just stand there like he was. She'd stay focused, keep her calm and do something about it. What about you Miles Strickland. Why aren't you doing anything useful? Stop depending on other people to do things for you.

Do something.

But what? What the fuck was he supposed to do about this?

Miles crouched next to Chuck and ungracefully flipped him over onto his back, not really wanting to touch the guy. What he saw almost made him throw up, just like Darren Fox did. Miles covered the bottom portion of his face under his shirt's collar to prevent his self from continuous gagging and stared at the four pronged blade of his Hunga Munga jutting out from Chuck's neck. What rotten freaking luck.

It was his fault that Hunga Munga was there. Chuck's eyes were wide open sending an almost accusatory glare at him.

Fuck you Chuck. He could fix it.

He was still in shock and had no idea what the heck or how, but he had to help somehow. Miles could pull the damn thing out. That could help couldn't it? He didn't care anymore, it was his only idea and he really wanted to get this over with quick. Miles rolled up the sleeves of his Harrington jacket and began to pull on the handle.

Stupid Hunga Munga, pricking his hand again. Miles carefully moved his hand to the safe handle of that thing and attempted to wrench the bloody thing out, but the gurgling sounds Chuck was doing was making it so damn difficult.

His eyes were hurting now, burning as he didn't know if he could even blink anymore as flecks of sand or dirt or whatever was in the air flew into his face, causing him to tear up. Yeah, it was definitely that.

---

A few minutes passed and seagulls began to descend the area again. Screw off you buzzards you can't have him.

With one final yank, Miles pulled the thing free and he retched at the sight. Blood pooled out of Chuck's throat and Miles' couldn't deny what he was seeing now. Chuck was dead, definitely dead. The whole thing was pointless because he knew it the whole time. So why did he have to go through all that effort. Why waste his time. He didn't have time to ponder too much when he heard the sound, jolting him up to his feet.

A scream. Kat hurried over to Chuck's body. She was freaking out. Her attention alternated between Chuck's corpse and Stacy.

Stacy. That's right Stacy was still here and he had just shoved her to the ground and kicked her a few minutes ago. She seemed better, physically at least. She was beginning to sit up, her eyes locked onto Chuck's corpse from where he pushed her over as she held her rib-area in pain. A similar look of shock was on her face as he had earlier. Miles was in the center between them both, with the blood dripping Hunga Munga in hand.

This definitely didn't look good at all and suddenly Miles' heart raced as he tried to think of a good explanation for this. He only had the truth, as farfetched as it would sound. Miles tried to explain that it was an accident, they both were. He didn't mean to hurt Stacy and he sure as heck didn't kill Chuck on purpose.

Kat glared at him, she didn't seem to want to listen. This never happens to him, usually his words were enough, but in this case it wasn't. Kat wasn't having any of it. He threw the Hunga Munga down in frustration. The volume of his words increased and his voice was not calm as he angrily tried to reason with the idiot girl, but without warning Kat pulled out a knife Miles didn't even know she had.

A stinging wave of sensation coursed up through Miles' gut as he realized what had just happened. His body once again went into self-defense mode and unlike last time, he actually was being attacked. It was excruciating but he wasn't going to let her push the blade any deeper.

No, he was going to fight back, because he was a Strickland and he never gives up that easily.

Miles elbowed her head and sent one knee up into her midsection, stunning Kat enough to drop her grip on the knife and then quickly shoved her off.

With every movement the sharp pain shot up again and again, and he almost buckled out of sheer agony. He needed to get rid of the darn knife, but he needed more time. Kat was slowly getting up again.

Before she could, Miles paced back and then charged forward, sending another swift, hard kick at his attacker like she was a football to keep her down. He hoped this one hurt more than the one he didn't mean to do to Stacy. This time however, Miles actually did buckle and collapse onto the ground in pain. Miles willed himself up, grabbed the handle of Kat's knife and tugged it free as fast as he could. He yelled out at the initial pull, but he felt somehow better without the knife in him.

This whole thing was screwed up. He, Chuck and Kat were having a dandy time yesterday and now look at them. Everything those terrorists said were coming true. He couldn't stay here anymore. He looked at Kat and then at Kat's knife.

No, he wasn't going to kill her too. Instead, he flung that piece of metal straight into the lagoon. If she wanted it, she'd have to go look for it and that would give him enough time to escape. He had to hurry.

Miles didn't know which bag was his or Chuck's so he grabbed both, because no way was he letting Kat have extra supplies. Miles almost forgot about the Hunga Munga. He couldn't let Kat have it either, so he made sure to grab that as well. His body hurt, but he was almost out of here so he couldn't stop now - but someone was in his way.

Miles froze. Stacy was standing in his path; her surprise shotgun was up and pointed in his direction.

But Stacy didn't shoot.

In fact, Stacy looked concerned in contrast to Kat's fear and hate. She told him to hurry up, to get out of there and Miles didn't question her at all. He only nodded.

Despite the pain constantly flaring up in his abdomen, Miles moved forward. He was still afraid to head inland alone to whatever mysteries or dangers the place had in store for him, but he had hope that it couldn't be any worse than this.

[[Miles Strickland Continued To: Stand Your Ground(s).]]

Rather than the warm, welcoming hug Stacy was expecting back from Miles, she was instead greeted by a forceful kick in the stomach. Stacy collapsed to the ground with a thud, her mouth gaping open gasping for air. Rolling over to her front, Stacy pushed herself up and stared at the ground. She felt sick, clasping her belly with her hand she began to violently cough. Through watery eyes, Stacy saw Miles hurrying towards her with an alarmed look on his face as he gave a hastily apology.

"It's okay." Stacy replied with a raspy voice.

Taking the hand that Miles had offered her, Stacy slowly pulled herself up to her feet. She stood hunched over with her arms cradling her still painful feeling stomach. Before Stacy had time to say something else to Miles, he had withdrawn his hand from her and darted down the beach. Her eyes followed him to where he was running and that's when she saw the body. With widening eyes, Stacy raised her hand in front of her mouth and released a blood curdling scream.

From the brief glimpsed she caught of Chuck's body, she saw some sort of strangely shaped blade sticking out of his throat. Stacy turned away from the body and dropped to her knees, she could hear Miles continuously calling out Chuck's name. She was confused at what had just happened. How did Chuck die between the spilt second of her looking at him to resuming her sights on Miles as she ran to him? Could he have been murdered by someone else at the lagoon?

Glancing around herself, the only other person Stacy saw was Kat, who was now running towards Miles and Chuck's body. She stared at the body once more, this time looking more closely at the strange blade that was jutting out of his neck. That's when something clicked in Stacy's mind. Wasn't that the weapon Miles had in his hand just moments before she had tried to hug him? Stacy's eyes darted up to Miles and looked at him with an alarmed look. Did Miles murder him?

As Miles tried to explain what had happened and that it was all an accident, Stacy's mind raced with thoughts. She wanted to believe him, but only moments ago Miles had basically just attacked her and followed that up with killing Chuck. Then again, she knew Miles and she knew he wasn't a killer and what could have possibly motivated him into killing him?

Whilst the battle of what to believe raged inside her, Stacy's thoughts were interrupted by a scream. She looked up again at Miles and Kat to see Kat plunging a knife into Miles's abdomen.

"Kat don't!" Stacy shrieked. She watched hopelessly at the pair fighting each other as she continuously shouted at Kat to stop. It was like the situation with Cho and Xavier the previous day apart from this time it was actually happening. She knew that if she didn't do something Miles was going to die. Stacy spun around and scanned the area for her shotgun, seeing it a couple of feet away from the base of the cliff. Still gripping onto her stomach, Stacy rushed as quickly as she could over to her shotgun and bag.

Flinging her bag over her shoulder, Stacy released her grip on her stomach and grasped tightly onto her shotgun. With her shotgun raised, Stacy briskly walked towards the duo and aimed at Kat. As Miles turned to face Stacy, he looked afraid to see the gun pointing almost directly at him. With a stern tone, Stacy addressed Miles.

"Miles, leave now. Quick."

As Miles passed by her, Stacy quickly glanced back to see where he was going then turned back to focus on Kat. She began to breath heavy breaths as adrenaline rush through her body. Staring down her gun, Stacy held her position as she pointed the shotgun at Kat.

"Don't move Kat." Stacy demanded assertively.

Stacy waited several moments, unmoving and in silence. After she decided she had waited long enough for Miles to make it safely away, Stacy began to back off. Turning on her heels, Stacy dashed off after Miles in the direction she had seen him go. As she ran she saw droplets of blood in a trail across the ground, she hoped Miles was alright.

((Stacy Ramsey continued in Stand Your Ground(s)))

What. The. FUCK.

Kat had been trying to sleep through the heat and the noise, only to wake up to Stacy Ramsey on the ground beside Miles pulling his whatever he got out of Chuck's goddamn neck. So, Kat did what was natural to anyone confronted with such a situation.

"Miles, what the fuck is wrong with you?!" Miles attempted to excuse himself, say it was some sort of accident - what, was Chuck trying to play catch or something? Did he really think she was that stupid? He had to, given that he was sticking with the story, and he was insulting her, while still keeping in line with being incredibly pretentious.

And then he threw down. Threw his sharp pointy blade thing at the ground. And Kat did one thing that she would never have done in school.

Oh, you wanna play? Okay, I'm in.

Out came the knife, and in it went. Chuck had been repaid in full, straight in the

Ow. And now she was on her side, with a pounding headache that nearly blacked her out, along with an externally induced stomachache. She looked up to see Miles reaching for her knife. She had to get up before he

Was he trying to give her a retroactive abortion or something? That hurt. A yell in front of her at least indicated that he was in as much pain as he took the knife out of his stomach and then just looked at her as he thrust his arm out, sending the knife into the water. Kat reached out as the knife landed nowhere near her, going into the water a ways out. Dammit. He started to run, before stopping in front of Stacy, holding a shotgun.

You go, girl.

Kat got up, about to take down Miles and get his weapon before Stacy let her pass.

"Don't move, Kat." Wait. That was bullshit. He was the killer. Stacy then waited a few seconds before running after Miles. Kat just caught her breath before looking out to the water. She rolled her eyes at the thought.

THIRTY MINUTES LATER ...

Kat finally got out of the water, knife in hand. Yep. First attacking a guy with a weapon that was four blades in one after he had just killed somebody, then nearly drowning herself for a combat knife. And now she was all wet. In her desperation, she had jumped in wearing all her clothes except for her sweatshirt - so she was now soaked and tired. But at least she was not defenseless.

((Kat Tolstoff continued in Out of the Frying Pan ...))