Survival Of The Fittest

Eddie sighed as he turned his head to look at his surroundings. He'd been awake for quite a few minutes, but was still disoriented from the events of the hours past. He felt a couple of cramps in his upper legs, and realized he was sitting against cold concrete and not cheap cushioning. The first thing he did was groan.

Just a small-town girl,
Living in a lonely world,
She took the midnight train going anywhere...

The last thing Eduardo Trinidad remembered before he woke up in a cold, gray, and cramped jail cell in the middle of nowhere was sitting in the window seat of the wheelarch row of a bus traveling through the middle of nowhere. He also remembered his MP3 player distracting him from the chaos going on around him in the bus before he fell asleep, particularly the tune that was playing.

Just a city boy...
Born and raised in South Detroit...
He took the midnight train going anywhere...

The jocks were there in the rows behind him. Although they looked like they were joshing and having the kind of heterosexual fun enjoyed by hormonal, muscular teenagers, they would very soon be fighting over the college scholarships that would help propel them into a career in the NFL, MLB, or other major league. Boxer Carvalho would be leading the charge, and would probably never remember who Eddie was after that until perhaps the odd high school reunion somewhere down the line, the linebacker's less-than-spectacular mental capacity notwithstanding. For those 90% that didn't make the final cut, well, that was simply "survival of the fittest."

A singer in a smoky room,
The smell of wine and cheap perfume...
For a smile they can share the night,
it goes on and on and on and on...

Also around him were the populars. Reneé Valenti near the front of the bus, that maricon cheerleader Andy a couple rows behind. All doing whatever popular things they were doing, showing off their gadgets, talking about who was in or not. Rio would probably make it into Hollywood after this was over, Tanya and Troy going into R&B and Rap. Yes, even the ex-nerd Troy, because hey, Lil' Jon could. If they ended up dead from drug overdoses, vehicle accidents or just plain shot (respectively), that was just "survival of the fittest."

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night

Eddie sighed frustratedly and closed his eyes. Once they reached their destination it'd be three days and four nights of the things high schoolers did. And as long as he kept his nose out of people's business during the trip, he'd make it back to Highland Beach just scathed enough to make it through graduation.

Working hard to get my fill,
Everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice,
Just one more time...

And once graduation was all over, he wouldn't have to worry about the rest of his life. As long as he literally survived, he would be fit enough.

Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on...

The teachers - sitting toward the front - talked about how "Survival of the Fittest" was really just a excuse for people to advocate eugenics, apart from the usual social phenomenon. It was what America was built on, and the brutal twisting of that concept for use against it was too recent to make a lasting difference. Of course, there were times that Eddie wished it'd come to his school, but those times had long passed, and besides which the odds of it happening out of all the high schools in the country were slim-and-none.

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night...

The battery on his MP3 player displayed all four blocks as he drifted off into the subconscious. It was going to be just another night in his life on the losing end of "survival of the fittest".

Don't sto-

Eddie was awake.

He had actually been awake for minutes...the sun brightening his environs to reveal that he was in a jail cell. Not that daylight was bringing anything else new apart from turning what was black into gray and light blue. There was a "bed" suspended from the wall with a cheap mattress on it, a stainless steel toilet (whose smell woke him up in the first place), and the cell door was slightly ajar.

He knew that was a collar wrapped snugly around his neck, that diabolical plastic device that would carve a nice portion out of his jugular if he tried anything funny. He knew that was a rucksack with a big number five on it laying right beside him, and it contained a basic first-aid kit, a flashlight, some food and water, and the "instructions" for his given weapon. By this time he was also convinced that the rather bizarre "briefing room" events that had happened in what he initially thought was a dream had also happened...including the bloody murder of the gym teacher.

And speaking of his weapon, it wasn't hard for him to spot the randomly-selected item among the supplies he was given. A long, medieval-style sword lay sheathed upon his rucksack. A cursory inspection showed that it was indeed an actual forged sword and not just a plastic toy, and was actually wieldable if not a bit heavy on the blade end. The gleaming blade now rested flat across his lap, the sun gently glinting off a silver broadside that yearned to be tainted with the ruby glow of its victim's blood.

Blood that Eddie was certain would be his before anyone else's. Because one of the first things he had realized when he woke up and noticed all of this was that he was playing in Survival of the Fittest. That insane "reality game" that had wreaked havoc on the American psyche every year for the past two years. And one of the things that was certain about this game (apart from Adam Dodd returning) was that only one person came out, and for all intents and purposes it was not likely to be him.

It certainly didn't help that the collectively short attention span of the "target" audience meant that everyone who didn't make it out died forgotten and unloved. As the sword gleamed in the light, Eddie also started to figure that the game would eventually be won by some badass punk like the last two - something also told him that this time the winner would be a female, to balance things.

He closed his eyes as he pulled the sword upward. There was a sharp pain in his neck as the blade pierced the jugular, but he barely had time to scream as he heard a loud bang.

The collar had gone off.

B5 - Trinidad, E - DEAD

At least those were the words that seemed to stare at him in the darkness.

"Wake up." came a voice, and Eddie's eyes bolted open, the words dissipating to find a silhouette of someone's head against a background of pure white. From the way he could "feel" his blood flowing, Eddie was face up on the ground. Of course, that quickly changed when he suddenly sat up out of surprise, only to find that silhouette seated in front of him.

"Wha-! Who are you?" Eddie's eyes were wide open as he stared at the seated stranger.

"Well, I'm not the devil, and this isn't exactly hell. Of course, since you're a nihilst, then your consciousness would've just gone "poof" after you died."
"Then...I'm not dead?"
"You're half-right. You're dead as in you have nothing to live for. Well...had."
Eddie adjusted himself so that he was sit-kneeling though still dazed. "Had...had...have. My grades, all those scholarships, they were all worthless numbers and paper from the moment I got them. I'm glad I'm dead."
"Cheer up, you little emo. You're not actually dead-dead," the figure replied reassuringly, "In fact, I'm going to give you a chance at life."

"A chance? I'm probably going to fuck it up...but don't you mean another chance?"
"If you were dead, I'd give you another. But you're not. You have this one chance because for once, you won't have to worry about karma. Everyone else is already fucked, and you know that. If you lose, you die and that's fucking it, nothing gained, nothing lost. If you win...well," and for this the figure got out of his chair, walked forward and knelt beside him. Eddie didn't move from his spot as the man whispered, "That's...for you to find out."

"Find out? Find out what?"
It was then that both the figure and the background started to fade. Eddie turned to try to touch the figure, but his hands already went through him, like a ghost.
"Wait! Who are you!?" Eddie shouted angrily.
"I met your friend once," the figure replied before chuckling and dissipating, "He was pretty surprised when he realized who I was."

"My friend..." Eddie whimpered...before it hit him. "DAMIEN!?"

Eddie gasped as he opened his eyes.

The sun was brightening his environs to reveal that he was in a jail cell. Not that daylight was bringing anything else new apart from turning what was black into gray and light blue. There was a "bed" suspended from the wall with a cheap mattress on it, a stainless steel toilet, whose smell had woke him up some time earlier.

"Find out...find out..." he groaned amidst the stench, "Find out...what..."

He sat against the back of the cell wall, the collar and the neck it was wrapped around completely intact, and his supplies and sword in the places they were when he previously "woke up." He tried to breathe deep given what had happened to him, but the stench of the nearby toilet didn't allow him that luxury, resulting in gagging. On the contrary, he needed to get out of here before the stench (bloodthirsty psychos regardless) got to him first.

"The only way...no consequence..."

Which would be relatively easy to do, seeing as how the cell door was open. The Pan-Am groaned as he picked up the sheathed Highlander sword, using it as a support stick. His back arched a bit as he slung his supply bag around him, and started out of the cell with a sigh. It was actually a wobbly trudge all the way out, mainly because he had been either sitting or unconscious for who knew how long.

It was only when he had got down the stairs and out the front door, an empty town street (and dozens upon dozens of bloodthirsty psychopaths probably still sleeping and hidden around) in front of him, and unsheathed the sword to inspect it that he realized he was smiling, at least according to the reflection on its blade. A cursory inspection of the blade revealed that it was indeed a real, forged weapon and not just some easily-broken replica, although it was a bit heavier than the one he had used to "kill himself" earlier.

Although he was still far from figuring out what would happen if he did win, and although he was still technically alive and breathing, Eduardo Trinidad-Villa realized that a "dead man" had nothing to lose. And although his MP3 player had been confiscated, he could still remember what was playing before he fell asleep as he trudged out of the building...


Don't stop believin'...
Hold on to that feeling...
Streetlights, people...

B5 - Trinidad-Villa, E - GAME START

((Continued in Blood and Thunder))

Somehow amongst all the commotion, there was a girl who had remained eerily calm on the bus. Sitting by someone she didn't know, the female failed to care as she was being told by Danya what it was that she would have to do. It wasn't like it mattered all that much. After all, what were humans but organic sacks of fluid with a frame? Absolutely nothing, that's what. Or so Ivye Dewley found herself thinking. It was early into the night when she woke up with an explosive collar circling her neck, and the girl had been wandering around without any real cares for nearly an hour, seemingly without a care in the world. But here she found some solace from her solemn meandering in the form of a building; a jailhouse, to be exact.

The stony gray building was almost like a playhouse for a character such as Ivye, the pallid hue of her skin alight even in the dark and bright red eyes wide in order to see her surroundings better. It was peaceful here on the island now, before the hell that was sure to come in the following days. Of course she knew what was going on. Survival of the Fittest was one of her personal favorite shows. It was almost like deadly theatre. You felt the emotions of the characters as they fought for their lives, watching as gore and chaos flooded a television screen. The girl thought to herself about how she would play this game. Was that not what it was? A fatal game that if you played the wrong card, it could end everything one had ever dreamed and hoped for. A waste.

Her packed bags were of no importance now, and she had chosen only the most important of things to carry with her in the daypack she had charitably been given. Inside of the small black bag were a couple of dresses, another pair of shoes, the novel that she had brought with her, and her favorite plush doll, an old fashioned poppet. Also there was the usual bread and water; that was of little concern. She had never really needed to eat very much or very often. The map of the island was useful, but she preferred to be somewhat spontaneous. Instead what she had fancied most was the weapon that Danya himself must have generously assigned her. Grenades, as it were. Dark green canisters of malevolent destruction. It was exciting to the girl to learn she had such a good weapon. Maybe if she were careful she could use them to the fullest. Right now she needed something more apt for close combat.

Slipping into the building as quietly as possible, the dress that Ivye wore made a sound akin to sweeping the floor. It was a long, somewhat provocative number, sphagetti-strapped and slinky up until the very bottom of it, where lace littered its hem. Over her shoulders was a light silk jacket of deep scarlet, covering her arms nicely and brightening her bush of ivory curls. The same red color as the jacket was at her feet, where a pair of flats covered the skin. She looked devilish amongst the bland gray jailhouse walls. Her shoes made the slightest of taps against the concrete, and she heard an echo from the emptiness. A gasp was elicited from her red, lipstick-covered lips as she saw row after row of cell. Perhaps there were shackles and chains and an assortment of other useful things here.

There was one thing that could be said about Ivye, who in the game was now known as G04, and that was that she was a competitor. Her mind had been littered with images of death and darkness for so long that she didn't mind the callousness that being alone gave someone anymore. They fueled her now, those thoughts that she was something greater than other people. Maybe she was destined for better things. After all, she wanted so very badly to be an actress. This was like a play. And she was a character now. The acting would be lovely, and the special effects would be breathtakingly devious. Everything in Ivye's mind pointed to the same thing: she was going to play. After all, what would a vampire like herself do otherwise? It was only natural. Survival of the Fittest put to the test. Who better to play such a deadly game than one like her, riddled with a void and as playful as a child when it came to the almost humorous thought of destruction. Of course, her "condition" as she described it, would be a problem. The girl would have to play at night, when it was safe to strike her prey from the dark.

Pondering for a moment whether or not she should stay there, Ivye decided that it would be better to find a suitable place that was more open, like the forest that she had seen on the map. Ever-so quietly, she left the jailhouse as quickly as she had come, and with the sun still a ways away from hitting the horizon, the vampiress took off into the darkness once more, careful to dance in the shadows where she would be safe.

((Ivye continued inJungle Fever ))