Survival Of The Fittest

((Quincy Archer continued from Running of the Fallen))

One kill.

That's right. Lyn only got one kill announced, her idiot cousin. Maybe she got more during that other time, maybe not. But Quincy apparently pulled the number two out of nowhere. And normally he remembered the announcements so well.

Time got lost in the jungle, as it was wont to do. Quincy didn't even think time mattered in his little world anymore. He couldn't see the sun, or any clouds for that matter, just a uniform field of gray filling the spaces in between the trees. He tried not to think about where the light was coming from, if it was there at all.

The first time he saw a break in the trees, he cautiously walked up to it, but stopped short a fair distance away from the actual clearing when it became clear what he was walking towards. Stretching into the fog was a gaping pit, cut into the land as if someone had taken a giant hole-puncher to the island. He edged toward the edge of the forest and looked down, seeing a rocky cliff face stretching down into a black void, a few pebbles coming loose and falling into the depths.

He checked his map. Field of Flowers. Permanent Danger Zone. Right. He didn't know what would happen if he jumped over the edge. Would he fall until his collar exploded? Would some sort of Lovecraftian beast reach up and grab him? Or were there spikes down there, just beyond his sight? He didn't know, and didn't want to find out. Instead, he walked around the edge of the pit, trying to remember which places hadn't been removed from play yet.

Before he could check his map, he heard footsteps coming from the fog. He began walking through the woods, following the sound of the footsteps, occasionally skirting around other pits in the landscape. Eventually he came to an area that hadn't been erased yet; the Airfield.

Quincy could see what he assumed were wrecked planes scattered around the field. They didn't look much like planes, though; they had too much flesh for that. It was hard to tell what they were or how they'd looked before, since they'd been heavily damaged in the crash. He walked up to one, getting his shoes wet with rotten gore, and peered into the wreckage to see what he could identify. Ruptured organs, fractured bones, torn skin; Quincy couldn't see much more than that, though, since he realized how horrible the things smelled and felt a strong urge to vomit.

He sprinted away, soles clanging against the strip of grating in the middle of the field, and tripped on the disemboweled corpse of Keiji Tanaka, releasing a trickle of bile from his empty stomach. As he retched on the ground, he heard a door click shut. Seconds later, he recovered enough to look around. He saw a small tower in front of him, caked with rust and riddled with small holes. The door had several large gashes in it, some of them deep enough to cut through it completely in a few places. Quincy sighed and turned the knob, stepping into the building and slamming the door behind him.

((OOC: Doing a scene with Landlocked here, so same thing as Sol said. Please leave our characters to their scenes))
IC:
((John continued from Running of the Fallen))

The skin on his leg had turned a shade of pink resembling a bad sunburn. John knew the burn would eventually blister up and be fine, but that didn't stop him from wincing when the muscle would flex as he walked. It wasn't anything debilitating and on top of that he was more worried about his face. Velvet had proven a worthy foe and probably should have beat him if not for her one mistake. John wandered into the airfield. He'd passed through the area before on his way to other places, on top it being the place where Velvet originally attacked him. Besides the seaside cliffs area this was his favourite place on the island. The wreckage and deterioration that fill the area was soothing in a weird way. It was strange knowing that this island was a host to instruments of death before their class had been dropped here.

John wandered over to one of the two hangers. He saw a couple of old uniforms hanging up. Nice camo gear. Looking down at his guitar hero champion t-shirt and now burned pants, he realized it'd be nice to change clothes. Unfortunately only the pants fit. Tossing away the burned pants, John continued exploring the area. His new pair of pants were feeling great.

"Perks of being in the army I guess."

John thought about entering the control tower again, but thought better of it. The incident with Shameeca had opened his eyes to how trapt you could get in there.

Instead he wandered over to one of the downed aircraft, climbing up on one of the wings and sitting down with his back up against the plane's body. He pulled out the tire iron which still had dried blood on it. Velvet's, Emma's, Cara's. Smiling as he remembered Cara's death John closed his eyes and let himself get absorbed by how relaxing the quiet was.

((Emma Babineaux continued from Hand Up, Guns Out))

((Minor godmodding that occurs during this fight is all approved by me and Dan.))

Emma wasn't entirely sure how long she ran, though she was vaguely aware of the echo of loudspeakers as she did. The wind rushing in her ears drowned most of what Danya was saying out, however, and consequently, she only caught a few names, none of which she recognized. She might have beat herself up over this normally, but Emma couldn't think through the sheer panic and adrenaline flooding her mind. She was focused on only one thing: run away as far as possible.

Maybe, had she been able to have calmed herself down somewhat, Emma would have paid more attention to where she was going and kept Andrea's words in mind - far from trying to get to the northern coast, Emma was simply running until her legs gave way, paying no attention to where she ended up. Given her strict volleyball training, she wasn't worn out for quite a while, and when she finally came to a stop, she panted and leaned over, completely lost in the jungle.

Fortunately, there seemed to be a clearing just a few feet away - perhaps she had gotten lucky again and wound up at the northern coast?

Stepping past the treeline, Emma was disappointed to discover that she was completely off, and had ended up in the airfield, just next to a downed plane. Andrea's advice suddenly came back to her - they had to meet her at the northern coast.

...No. She couldn't give up hope already, could she? Placing her sword on the ground next to her, Emma fumbled through her pack, searching for her map. Maybe the coast wasn't far from here? She could just backtrack a bit and things would turn out fine...

Perhaps she would have been a bit more careful with her weapon had she taken the time to really look at her surroundings and realize exactly who was sitting on that very plane.

John had almost fallen asleep on the wing of the plane. It was after all a wonderful morning. He was finally getting credit for his work. He had a new pair pants. Life on the island was going well. Sure his leg was sore from the burn. Sure his mouth was still tender from the blows Velvet had delivered, but he was alive and in great condition. Untouchable. That was word he was looking for. Sitting there on the wing of a fallen aircraft, Johnathan Rizzolo was untouchable. John was so wrapped up in his own egotistical thinking that he failed to notice the girl stroll into the airfield until she was nearly to the aircraft he was sitting on. She hadn't noticed him yet, or at all for that matter. John couldn't make out who it was right away because her head was turned rummaging through the bag, but when she turned her forwards, even with her nose down John was able to recognize who it was.

Thank you.

It was taking every single ounce of restraint in his body to not jump off the wing of the airplane and rip Emma's throat apart.

No Johnny. You know that is too good for her.Enjoy it. Revenge can't be taken in haste.

John quickly checked his pistol to make sure that it was loaded and the safety was off. He put his tire iron into one of the pockets of his new pants and readied himself. So much was going through his head. This was absolutely perfect. The one person who had betrayed him the most on this island. Even that bitch Maxie did not compare to the hatred John felt for this girl. John would make sure that what Cara Scholte went through would feeling like playing with a box full of kitten in comparison to what Emma would get. After everything they'd been through since they'd first met. John remembered that before the class trip he'd considered asking this bitch out. Thank god he never did. She was spineless, weak and undeserving.

Slowly John climbed off the airplane, leaving his pack in the seat of the cockpit. He slowly crept behind her. His hands were shaking with anticipation. This would be everything he wanted it to be. She was his and only his now. He was there. His shadow cast over her in the sunlight of the dawn. He saw her body tense up, and before she could turn around, he placed the silenced muzzle into her back and stood her up. He then took his right hand wrapped it on her neck and shoulder area and grabbed her chin.

"Hello Emma," He breathed into her ear, "Did you miss me?"

Emma continued to frantically dig through her pack, but the map was nowhere to be found. Could it have fallen out of the pack while she ran? Maybe it wasn't zippered up properly. Did she even need it? The northern coast was close to here, right? She must have been running north. But then, she hadn't checked her map much at all the past few days, how would she know? She could be halfway to- what was that noise?

Emma's eyes shot upwards towards the plane. No one was there... but what was that sitting on the wing? It could've been a daypack, but then, it could've been a rock or something, it was a little far... Emma strained her eyes to get a closer look. If someone was here, she could find an ally, someone that still had their map, and backtrack to the northern coast. Everything would be fine. Things were looking up. Yes.

As a shadow passed over her body, her limbs froze. Okay. Okay, someone was here.

Calm down. You've been lucky so far with making allies... Who's to say this is any different? Just... just don't make any sudden movements, don't surprise them, you'll be FINE...

The person behind her, however, was definitely not ally.

As she felt the cold barrel of what must have been a gun pressed against her back and an arm reach around her body, Emma's stomach plummeted, a sensation Emma was familiar with when John Rizzolo was around. It was amazing that, even in such a frightening context, even after he had beaten her over the head, that same flutter of attraction still registered with her when he spoke.

Whatever attraction she felt was fleeting, however, due to sheer panic once again flooding her system. Emma wanted to bolt right then and there, to run and not stop this time, but the gun being held to her back told her otherwise. So instead, she stood completely still as John hissed into her ear, so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Even in the heat of the jungle, a chill ran down her spine. She didn't know how to respond. Would answering him defuse the situation, or just make things worse somehow? How could this happen now?! It wasn't supposed to be like this, they were about to escape, it was nearly over...

"John... J-John, please..."

John's heart was beating a mile a minute. The fear in her eyes and the expression on her face. It was all so perfect. John kept the gun places against her back. Breathing heavily with anticipation he removed his right arm and placed his head next to her other ear.

"John please what? JOHN PLEASE WHAT?" He yelled at her smiling ear to ear.

He used his arm to turn her around, switching the gun to his right hand and keeping it pointed at her.

"I asked you a question Emma," John said flatly, "ANSWER ME!"

It was purely adrenaline now as the John swung the gun and struck Emma back down to the ground.

"PLEASE WHAT!!!" John yelled as he quickly jumped on top of the girl. John looked at the gun which had a small red smear on it.

"This is too good for you. You know that? It is way too good for you. You don't deserve a fucking bullet. It'd be a waste of ammo on you. Do you have any idea how much I've wanted this you miserable cunt? To think, I actually used to think you were a pretty awesome chick Emma. I really thought I could count on your help here and what did you do," John moved his head so that his nose was touching hers, "YOU BETRAYED ME!"

John slapped her with his left hand before looking at the gun in his right hand again.

"Yeah...," John tried to calm his breathing down and focus, "You aren't even worth this."

John tossed the gun over to where Emma had laid down her sword. He knew what he was going to do. Reaching down his pant leg, John pulled out the tire iron.

"I think you two have met before haven't you?" John whispered.

It was time to make Emma know just how wrong she was. Just how bad she had betrayed him.

"You know, I told myself during one of my jungle walks that I wasn't going to do that same thing twice, but seeing as Mr. Danya and his men liked it so much the first time, I think we'll go with some classic John." John said, the grin returning as he thought back to being in this exact same situation with Cara Scholte.

John, who had pinned Emma's arms to her body with his legs, slid himself back slightly so that his ass was on her knees and that her arms were now free. He grabbed her left hand and examined it. John placed the end of the tire iron over her middle finger. The look of fear in her eyes was wonderful.

"Actually," He said as he released her hand, "Let's start on this side."

John grabbed her right hand, her serving hand, and placed the end of the tire iron over her middle finger.

"No more volleyball..." He said coldly.

The whispering turned to shouts, and Emma gave an involuntary jerk of shock. John had clearly lost the little remaining sanity he had left the last time to two of them had seen each other. He turned Emma around, his face inches from hers, the features she had admired so much now distorted with rage and with layers of dirt and filth, turned into something twisted, inhuman. As he screamed, shaking her, tears began to stream down Emma's face. How could she possibly reason with him?

"PLEASE, JOHN! PLEASE DON'T HURT M-"

SMACK

Something hard struck her across the skull, the pain and sheer force knocking her to ground as tiny white lights danced in front of her eyes... Something wet and slippery was running down her forehead and out of her mouth... The old bruise John had given her throbbed... Suddenly, John was on top of her. Dazed, her mind unable to process what was happening through the blinding pain in her head, Emma was only vaguely aware of what he was saying to her.

"It is way too... deserve a fucking bullet... miserable... used to think..."

No... this couldn't be the end... she... she had been doing so well, she had allies, she was going to escape... they were all saved...

"J-John... we're going to escape..." she groaned, the tears not stopping, but her words were drowned out by John's screaming, his face right in hers again.

"YOU BETRAYED ME!"

She began to sob. "Y-YOU KILLED SOMEO-"

Another blow struck her across the face. As her head was jerked to the side by the force of it, she felt another trickle of blood spill from her mouth. Through her tears and the throbbing pain behind her eyes, Emma was just able to make out John taking something out from his pant leg.

"I think you two have met before haven't you?"

He grabbed her arm, forcing her hand into his and placed the tire iron over her finger.

"No more volleyball..."

"NOO!"

The scream came somewhere from deep within Emma, a place that had barely stirred the past eleven days. But now, with no one left to rely on, Emma's survival instinct had finally kicked in, and a sudden surge of adrenaline overtook her. She refused to let this end this way.

Thrashing under John's weight, Emma was able to wrench her hand out of John's grip. His balance thrown off as she continued to flail wildly in an attempt to escape, Emma was able to free one of her legs from underneath John's body, and without a second thought, she reared it back and drove the hardest kick she could muster into his groin, screaming the whole time.

The interior of the control tower was dank and stuffy. Water dripped from the ceiling and onto eviscerated couch in the middle of the room. Something had torn the cushions and fabric to ribbons, slashing them to bits and pulling out the springs before splintering the wooden framework. Where the walls weren't smeared with reddish-brown shit they showed metal plates covering the walls like patchwork, most of them only partially fastened to the walls due to their screws rusting to nothing. In the center of the room there stood a narrow staircase with grated, rusty steps, worn with pockmarks in the railing and framework.

As he looked at the inside of the tower, he began to hear loud voices coming from outside the tower. In a panic, he turned around and tried to leave, but he discovered that while his back was turned, the door had been welded shut. That was fine, he rationalized. They couldn't get him if the door was broken. With no other alternative, he began climbing the stairs, his fear giving way to curiosity. Soon after his head emerged into the room at the top, he heard a sharp creak, and felt the stairs give way underneath him. Luckily, he reached out and grabbed the top step before he could fall. With a bit of effort, he manages to climb back up to the top, scraping himself a bit on the remains of the staircase.

A wooden chair was the only unblemished feature in the top chamber. Whatever had destroyed the couch had also apparently gotten to the control console, turning it into a mess of broken metal and severed wires. The window had a massive hole in it, but no glass fragments decorated the floor; something had been thrown out of the tower, apparently. He pulled the chair along the floor, dragging it along with his sword, and peered over the console to watch the two figures in the airfield below.

He saw a hulking shadow with knotted skin, the same one he saw in the jungle, he realized, looming over a gross exaggeration of the female form; her waist was almost as think as one of her arms, while her breasts flopped over her body like water balloons. He caught their conversation and finally managed to place the two of them. John Rizzolo, baseball player and Guitar Hero wizard. Emma Babineaux, wannabe model.

Quincy remembered Emma, how proud she was of her body, his horrified reaction to walking in on her posing nude on the art club. And now ol' Rizzo had snapped and decided to take out his rage on Emma. Quincy found himself wishing that Riz would ruin that body she took such great care of, ripping and tearing it to shreds. He realized it was petty - Emma had barely ever said two words to him - but he'd long since ceased to care.

He realized he was laughing rather loudly as he watched Emma struggle against her assailant. He calmed himself down a bit, but still chuckled to himself. The monsters couldn't get to him; the door and stairs were broken, after all. He was free to observe the chaos below with nothing stopping him.

"Do you like what you see?" asked a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

"Oh yes," Quincy chuckled. "God, yes!"

And everything was going so well...

The voice of Dwight from Sin City ran through John's head as he felt Emma's foot pop free. One minute he was giving his revenge, the next, a foot was crashing into his testicles at a breakneck, or in this case, ball-busting speed.

A hybrid of a scream and growl of pain came from John as the sensation of pain rushed through his body. He fell to the side, gasping for air, dropping the tire iron to place both hands on his crotch.

"Da..damn i-i-it!" He roared in pain. He could see his gun lying a few feet away and knew he had to get to it. If Emma recovered in time to stop him, he was fucked.

Muscling up every ounce of adrenaline he could, John began to shuffle his body towards the gun, grunting in pain at every move.

Though she could only dimly make out her surroundings through the haze of blood and tears in her eyes, John's scream of pain told her that her kick had hit him, and she heard a thump as the tire iron fell to the ground. The weight on top of her began to shift - John must have been getting up.

Confidence and adrenaline fueled by her successful attack, her vision began to come back to her, though the pain did not subside, and blood still poured from her mouth. As she spat some of it out, she felt what must have been a chipped piece of tooth leave her mouth as well.

Turning her head, Emma realized the reason John had gotten up - he was heading for the gun he had thrown away. The adrenaline pumped harder. If he got his hands on that gun again, she was as good as dead. Still a bit too dazed to stand up, Emma aimed another kick towards John's legs as he shuffled towards the weapon, hoping that the pain from her previous kick would leave him vulnerable.

Even through the pain, John's smile had returned. He was mere inches away from the gun. He could see it gleaming in the sunlight, begging him to be used. It didn't matter anymore if Emma was unworthy of being shot. He had to stop her now.

John felt his fingertips touch the steel, but they were never able to do anything past that, for an audible pop filled the surrounding area.

"ARGHGH!!" John screamed in pain.

Emma had kicked out at him once again, and her blow had struck his kneecap, popping it out then back into place within a second. John had had this happen to him once before in the past and while the pain would subside and he'd be able to walk fine, the pain was excruciating right now.

More curses flowed from John's mouth and he grabbed his knee.

"I'll kill you...I'll fucking kill you.."

The popping sound Emma heard as she kicked John's knee was sickening, but at the same time, oddly satisfying. She recalled the time something similar had happened to her during a volleyball game - she had tripped while diving for a spike and landed oddly on her leg, popping her kneecap. The pain had been awful, but it didn't take her very long to recover from. She could only hope that John had been hurt worse.

This, unfortunately, didn't seem to be the case.

"I'll kill you...I'll fucking kill you.."

If there had been any hope for getting out of this encounter unscathed before, it was certainly gone now. The almost primal anger in John's voice seemed to completely snap her out of her daze - Emma knew now that the only way to escape with her life was to incapacitate him somehow. She couldn't die now. She had to find Andrea again. Wiping some of the blood from her face, Emma finally attempted to stand, hoping she could tackle John to the ground while the pain from her kicks still lasted.

Unfortunately, the massive bruises on her head dictated otherwise. Emma's dizziness returned to her as she lifted her body, and her tackle turned into a stumble as she toppled over once again.

Screaming, she reached her arms out towards John's legs, hoping to drag him down with her.

John tried to put weight on his leg, but it was still no dice. He'd have to win this battle on one leg. He turned back to face Emma and was met by her diving frantically towards him. Her shoulder planted itself into his already throbbing knee causing John to cinematically faceplant into the dirt beneath him.

How am I losing?

John rolled onto his back grabbing his knee. He had to fight through it, he had to win this one. John saw that Emma was in the midst of getting up from her tackle. Uttering a snarl, John rolled over and used his good leg to push off the ground and spring towards Emma.

Emma smiled with wild satisfaction as she watched John fall flat on his face. Maybe she stood a chance in this fight after all. She began stumbling upwards again, still a bit dizzy but able to keep her balance better this time, and looked wildly around for where the weapons had landed. She had to get a hold of one of them before he did.

There. A glint in the sunlight.

Before Emma could lunge to grab either the gun or her sword, however, John was back up and tackling her. She moved as quickly as she could towards the pistol lying on the ground, but it was too late - the two of them both collapsed on the ground together again.

This time, however, John hadn't landed completely on top of her, and she had just enough room to stretch her arm a bit further. She felt her hand brush against the cool metal, but couldn't quite get a hold of it. As John began to scramble on top of her again, she attempted to kick and flail a bit more, though she was quickly becoming worn out and didn't fight quite as hard this time.

HAVE TO GET THE GUN.

His lunge had worked, or at least it kind of worked. He had enough of his body weight on her to prevent a big movement, but he did not have full control. He had to get his leg over her again, but his knee was not letting him get the leverage. John made an attempt for Emma's throat with his hand, but her flailing arms prevented that.

He was stuck in a position that he could really mount no offense. Frantically John glanced up and down for something he could do, then he saw it. Emma had left her ribs exposed. John reared his elbow back in preparation to deliver a blow to her side, but as he was bringing the elbow forward, Emma's flailing and struggling arms got the better of him again, as he was struck in the nose by her hand. His body slipped to the side and off of Emma's body as John's eyes watered from the blow.

Everything was a blur due to the tears. He started swinging wildly, hoping to make contact with something, anything.