Survival Of The Fittest

((OOC: This thread is private between Arch and myself. Also, we will be posting some recommended listening for all you to enjoy our writing too. Here is hoping you all enjoy this thread. Also any and all God Modding on John and Eddie has been green lighted))

(Recommended Listening - Track 1: "28 Theme" - John Murphy )
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((John Rizzolo continued from Kotov Syndrome))

He knew Eddie Sullivan would follow him. Hell he even caught a glance of the boy coming once or twice, yet the same feeling in his gut returned everytime he'd set the MP7 to the rifle setting and had the unsuspecting Sullivan in his sight.

It's too easy.

The moon was shining bright in the night sky as John thought to himself. He'd killed a lot of people, that much was true, however almost all of his kills had been women whom he'd easily overpowered or took advantage of. The two men he'd killed had been simple as well. An easy dropkick and a bullet to the back of the head, nothing complicated about them, more importantly, no challenge. There it was. The reason John Rizzolo could not just shoot Eddie Sullivan. It was the reason he'd taunted and mocked Eddie so badly at the caves. An angry Eddie would be a challenge. A motivated competitor.

John knew deep inside of him that he could coax Eddie into a war. He could convince the boy to put down that pretty rifle he'd had. Clever linguistics had already been proven to be a strength of his. Now it was about preperation for the battle. He knew he had a couple mins before Eddie would find him on this trail. John stowed the Type 67 in his daypack but not before removing the tire iron. Just like the times before, John slipped the tire iron into his sock and rolled his pant leg down over top of it. Now it was just a waiting game until Sullivan rounded that corner.

It wasn't a long wait. The silhouette of the boy came slowly around the corner of the path, rifle ready and glinting in the moonlight. John waited for Eddie to get within distance of shouting.

"So Eddie you tracked me all this way eh," Riz began, keeping his MP7 trained on Eddie just in case, "Seeing that broad killed must have really pissed you off. Well seeing as I'm a keen observer of human emotion I can tell you want to fight me. Hell you probably want to shoot me with that old rifle of yours, but we both know you're a terrible shot and the minute you raise that gun, I would light you up like the fourth of July. Now, moving on to my point Sullivan. I want to fight you. I don't want to blow your head off, I want to rip it off with my own two fucking hands. You and I, one on one. No guns."

John kept the MP7 pointed at Eddie in case Sullivan's response was not the favourable kind.

((Eddie Sullivan continued from Kotov Syndrome))

Pushing forward, Eddie swept through the brush and low hanging vines of the jungle. For being so tired, he found no trouble in marching through the grasping branches and scraping bushes, trudging on, following in the footsteps of a monster. Joints ached as muscles screamed in protest, his body begging for a break. The dull throb of his right hand fought to be heard amongst the cacophony of other bodily ailments. The complaints were lost on the determined boy, his mind too focused to feel anything but the removed sting or tenderness of his injuries.

Beads of sweat ran down his face, despite the relative chill of the night. Still, he continued, chasing the specter called Rizzolo. Wiping away the thin sheen of perspiration with the back of his fist, he soldiered on, undaunted by the seemingly impossible task set before him. John had no trouble in gunning Nicole down in cold blood. He'd even joked and taunted before giving the pretty redhead another orifice. The young Sullivan's blood ran cold, even as the memory stoked the flames of his wrath. Rizzolo hadn't struggled or hesitated, when he killed. Eddie couldn't even bring himself to kill Wade. How was he supposed to fight someone like John Rizzolo? He didn't err, didn't slow down, didn't believe in compassion or mercy. Fighting the smothering urge to flee, Eddie continued, one foot in front of the other. He wasn't going to run, no matter how terrifying his enemy might be.

You know, you don't have to do this, Eddie.

The comforting, feminine voice itched at the base of his skull. The boy's rhythmic footfalls faltered for the first time since his outset from the caves. He wasn't sure if he wanted to smile or weep. He chose neither, as he shook his head and resumed his purpose fueled stride. Jodene repeated herself, more insistent, this time. Eddie gripped the Remington tighter as he increased his pace.

"Yes, I do," Eddie muttered to himself, his hoarse words crinkling at the edges, "I couldn't save anyone. I should at least be able to make the one responsible pay." Swatting at another low hanging branch, he hissed as something in the foliage scraped his hand. Bringing the fresh cut to his mouth, his tongue caught a vague twinge of copper. He paused a moment, wondering if he should disinfect small scratch. The ridiculousness of the notion brought a smile to the boy's lips. He was glad for the wound. It occupied his thoughts, if only for a short time. He kept moving. Always forward.

She's right, you know. You don't have to fight him, Eddie. It wouldn't prove anything. You'd just wind up like me.

The image of Lyn's destroyed eye socket set Eddie's teeth on edge as a chill wound its way down his back. She was probably right. In all likelyhood, the nervous student was just digging his own grave. The thought didn't deter him. He'd been in too many fire fights, seen too much blood, watched the light vanish from too many of his fellows to be stopped by the prospect of dying, now. When violent death was the order of the day for nearly two weeks, you got used to it.

You may think that, but we can tell, Eddie; you're not used to it. You'll never get used to it. You're not that type of person. Just walk away. You're going to get yourself killed.

Eddie couldn't give a decent counter argument, but still wouldn't stop his hunt. The instinct with Nicole's voice might be right, but he couldn't just let the matter lie. He had enough decency to seek retribution on those who had wronged the only people he'd ever really been close to. He thought about the people he might have called his friends: Jimmy, Lyn, Nicole, Jodene. They didn't deserve what had been done to them at the hands of Rizzolo and others like him. If nobody would step up and do what was necessary to stop the monsters wearing human skin, that only left the quiet, unassuming Eddie Sullivan. "And the meek shall inherit the earth," he chuckled to himself.

A flash of movement snatched Eddie's attention to the left. The rifle snapped upwards to the boy's shoulder, drawing a line of fire on the silhouette. It was him. Speaking up, Rizzolo sounded much more upbeat than a man with a gun trained on him should. The player's taunts ground away at Eddie's patience. He wanted a fist fight? The bastard was so damn arrogant, so fucking smug. He was also completely right. Eddie couldn't hope to hit him. Not before being torn apart by the killer's blocky machine gun.

"Alright, then. If that's what you want, I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Tossing aside the Remington, Eddie clenched and unclenched his fists. The comforting weight of Nicole's Beretta pressed into the small of his back, held in place by the wasitband of his jeans. Rizzolo was in for a big surprise. I might be a nice guy, the boy thought to himself, but I'm not fucking stupid.

"Alright, then. Let's do this."

(Recommended Listening - Track 2: "Hand of Blood" - Bullet For My Valentine)

"Alright, then. Let's do this.

That was all John needed to hear. The arrogant smile plastered to his face turned an expression of hatred and frustration. He set his daypack and weapons down on the ground next to him. He would end Eddie's miserable life or die trying.

"This may sound cliche Sullivan," John snarled, "But you just made the biggest mistake of your miserable life."

John has the height, weight, speed and mental advantage over Eddie. So why was he nervous? A sinking feeling in the pit of John's stomach giving off the slightest inkling he might be making a mistake.

John walked closer to the boy, breathing deeply in anticipation, the sinking feeling still in his gut. The two began to circle each other, staring a hole straight through the opponent. The tension was broken by the booming voice of Danya making his morning announcements. John noticed Eddie momentarily distracted and made his move.

He threw a big right hand hoping to catch Eddie flush on the chin, but Eddie snapped out of the distraction in just enough time to block the blow and push John back.

"Not bad Sullivan, not bad."

John readied himself for another attack but this time it was Eddie who rushed him. Both boys began swinging wildly and aggressively at the other hoping to land any shot they could. There was no technical skill being employed here, this was quickly turning into a brawl.

Rizzolo's words carried a weight that Eddie couldn't ignore. It was not so much a taunt as a promise, a statement of fact. Shaking off a sudden wave of anxiety, Eddie shifted his weight, falling into a stance he hoped was suitable for fighting. With a calming breath in and a steadying breath out, he forced his body to stop shaking. He wouldn't back down, now. Despite being a coward and a caitiff, Eddie still was decent enough to know he couldn't turn away from his task. Setting his feet, he clenched his hands into fists. Gimme your best shot, Rizzolo.

The two boys circled each other, eyes probing for weakness or uncertainty. Alright, Eddie, instinct instructed, with Jimmy's voice, look for him to move, first. Try to stay defensive. His bigger and definitely stronger. When he moves, just-

The obnoxious crackle of the announcements and Danya's voice drowned out the advice. Losing focus, Eddie's guard weakened for a moment. A flash of movement signaled that John had noticed the balk. The shift in movement was fast, far faster than Eddie expected. Flinching sharply, the boy felt, rather than saw, his arm reflexively snap up to absorb the force of the blow. Eyes flicking open once more, the boy leaned in, pressing with as much force as he could muster, sending Rizzolo backwards.

Don't let him get ready again! Keep him off balance, Jimmy demanded, drowning out Rizzolo's taunts. The leg muscles tensed, before uncoiling with speed that surprised even Eddie, as he propelled himself forward, swinging wildly as the short distance between the fighters quickly vanished. Impacts jarred both boys as they connected again and again. The boys traded fists, with neither able to deliver a decisive attack. Strikes slammed into the shoulder and abdomen, or glancing blows across whispered across the temple or chin, but they continued on, hoping to be the first to score a telling blow.

The fire in his arms, along with the sharp ache from receiving so many punches, conspired to bring about Eddie's downfall. He was slowing down, when he couldn't afford to. His lungs flared sharply while his heart slammed like jackhammer. The fight couldn't go on much longer; one way or another it was going to end, soon. Moving forward, fighting through a strike to the stomach, Eddie pivoted his hips as he fired off a sharp right cross. With all of the boy's weight behind the blow, Rizzolo couldn't hope to remain standing.

The momentum carried Eddie forward, sending him off balance as John sidestepped the attack. The impact against his temple, almost dropped the boy, his knees weakening under the force of the blow. No time for plans or hallucinated words. Lashing out, Eddie snagged the front of Rizzolo's shirt, knowing that if he didn't take the killer down with him, the fight was over. He couldn't allow himself to lose. He would take the fight to the ground and try to win that way. If all else failed, there was still the trump card Nicole had left him. Feeling the press of the Beretta against his back, Eddie knew:

The fight wasn't decided yet.

The blows were furious. The rage flowed from both of the boys as Eddie grabbed a hold of the front of John's shirt and dragged him down to the ground. Deep inside himself John was worried. Last time he'd taken a fight to the ground on the island he'd nearly died. If it wasn't for Emma being so gullible he wouldn't even been in this battle with Sullivan.

From the way the boys fell, John ended up with a half-ass mount on Eddie and he tried to take advantage of this. Eddie was not making it easy by any stretch though. As John would try to fire punches down towards Eddie, Ed would throw his knees into John's ribs, or throw an up-punch.

Knowing that he had to pass through and trap Eddie's arms to have any chance on the ground, John rushed forward on Eddie's body, however Eddie had seen it coming and was able to get his knees up and monkey flip John over. Now Eddie was on top, raining down the punches.

Left, right, left, right, right, right, left, right...John felt like his head had swelled to the size of a Volkswagen as the blows continued. Despite his best efforts to keep his arms up to protect him, Eddie was still coming. Like a rabid animal. John needed to do something to stop this. He needed a way out. He tried reaching for his pant leg to go for the tire iron but it was out of reach.

The next move John pulled was low, dirty and out of complete desperation. It was the only thing he had left. Eddie's weight shifted slightly and opened the proverbial doors to John's knee being planted squarely into Eddie's crotch. As Eddie slid off John, John couldn't attack. He need the brief stop of combat to rest. He could feel blood running down from his face. Eddie had opened up the cut above of his eye again, as well as busting John's lip open badly.

He just needed the little bit of rest.

((Recommended listening- Track 3: "You Eclipsed By Me" - Atreyu))

The change in direction and shoulder jarring impact of the fall scattered Eddie's thoughts for a split second. His wits snapping back to the surface and taking stock of the situation, the first thing the downed boy noticed was the overwhelming presence of Rizzolo hovering over him. The first blow from above glanced off of his forehead, promising broken noses and loosened teeth. It was all the warning he needed to cover up, hoping to avoid the worst of the strikes.

The second and third blows were more on target, rattling Eddie's senses, even behind his hastily assembled guard. The fists rained down, battering his arms and chest. Shrinking behind his pathetic defense, Eddie couldn't think. Images flashed through his mind: sprays of blood, a thick haze of rain, worn paperback books, a ruined eye. Coherent deliberation fled him, leaving only the stark terror and grim determination. Without actually telling himself to, the huddled boy twisted his hips, firing a knee towards Rizzolo's midsection.

The satisfying thud against John's ribs, accompanied by a strained grunt, told Eddie to repeat. Another sudden thrust of the knee found its target, as a fist powered through Eddie's defense and crashed into his left cheek. His arm lashed out, seeking retaliation, glancing across his enemy's mouth. The frantic trade of blows continued, each one hammering a little more of the drive out of the fighters. Both of the boys were slowing, but it was obvious that John's punches carried more of their original force. If it continued this way, it would be over soon, and with an outcome that didn't favor the weakened Sullivan. Something needed to happen.

A shift in weight. Rizzolo was moving forward. If he could take better control, the fight would be over. Eddie knew he had to do something. Intuitively shifting his own weight and lifting his knees, he used the momentum, rolling the orientation of the grapple. Rising up, looking down on the suddenly pinned Rizzolo, Eddie let his fists fly. He could finish it here; he just needed to keep up the pressure, needed to pound his enemy into the ground. Fists connected uncontested as they slapped sharply against the downed killer's face. Swinging with reckless abandon, Eddie lost count as to how many times he swung. His shoulders burned and his knuckles smarted with each new blow he landed.

He'd never really been one for fighting, in build or mentality. Not once had he been able to imagine himself in a violent exchange. He'd read epic struggles between heroes and villains with sword and gun and fist, but it had never been anything like this. He hadn't known what exactly to expect, but the animalistic grunts followed by heavy thuds or slaps were certainly not it. The best written fiction couldn't hold a candle to the adrenaline fueled panic and rage of reality. He didn't like it. He didn't like the sound of the blows he rained down on Rizzolo or the sensation that ran up his arms when they connected. He didn't like the anger smoldering in his gut or the sorrow that hung ever present in the back of his chest. Not that it mattered. He didn't have to like them, to use them.

Throwing all of the dark thoughts that plagued him into his blows, Eddie knew he was winning. It would only take a little more. He would put an end to Rizzolo with the next attack. Shifting his weight and spreading his stance to allow for a more powerful wind up, Eddie- The sudden blow between his legs brought the offensive to a screeching halt. Folding up and falling to one side, the young Sullivan curled up as soon as he hit the ground. A wave of nausea rolled over him as his muscles froze in place. Movement became impossible, turning breathing into a taxing chore. A balloon swelled in his stomach, filling his body to bursting.

For how long he lied there, Eddie couldn't say. It must not have been long. He was still alive, meaning Rizzolo hadn't managed to gather his wits about him either. Still time to act. Forcing his muscles to unwind, gross motor function returned just in time for a Nike running shoe to crash into his ribs. Rolling with the kick and dragging air into his lungs against harsh resistance, Eddie's hand shot to the small of his back. No better time to use it than now. Dragging the Beretta from the waistband of his jeans as he exited the roll, the barrel leveled at Rizzolo's chest. Squeezing on the trigger, a shockwave ran up his arm as the pistol cracked loudly on the air.

The gun leapt from Eddie's hand, tumbling across the ground before coming to a stop as the boy cradled his damaged hand to his chest with a sharp cry of pain. The length of metal John swung had not only caused Eddie to miss, it had the added bonus of relieving him of his pistol as well as breaking his thumb. Another wail of agony escaped Eddie's lips as Rizzolo pressed his foot down on the damaged hand, pinning the shattered digit between chest and shoe.

And Eddie had thought the blow to the crotch had been bad.

Forcing his mind to clear, eyes flicked across the ground, searching for Nicole's gun. Settling on it, his heart sank. The object of his salvation lie several feet beyond his reach. Not a great distance, but it might as well have been miles.

Forget the gun! Just do somethi-

The blow from the tire iron stopped the illusory cry dead. Eddie couldn't even remember who the voice had sounded like, as the blood trickled down the side of his face and lights danced before his eyes.

Finally.

John had the advantage he needed. He finally had Eddie exactly where he wanted him. John was in total control. The gun Eddie has pulled him had been neutralized. He was getting his second wind, a new wave of adrenaline came over him.

He moved his foot to Eddie's throat and began to apply pressure as Eddie thrashed around trying to remove the foot from his throat.

"You know Eddie, you put up a hell of fight, but just fucking die!" John growled through gritted teeth.

Eddie's face was quickly turning crimson red as he fought to get John's foot off his neck. Digging down deep in his body Eddie mustered every ounce of strength he could into one last ditch effort. He grabbed John's foot and twisted it slightly causing John's body to adjust. As John adjusted, Eddie used the shift in weight to his advantage tripping John to the ground once again.

John quickly sprang back to his feet, fury in his eyes at being thwarted again. The look quickly turned into one of shock as Eddie leaped towards him from an almost frog-like position.

The smaller boy's shoulder buried itself into John's stomach as the boy's fell backwards. The boys had, unknown to them until now, been fighting along side a moss and root hidden steep cliff face. It wasn't a pleasant tumble down the steep hill, which was covered with rocks and branches. Not to mention a thorn bush or two.

The boys collapsed at the bottom of the hill, next to a small creek, once again struggling to even move their battered bodies.

John crawled off of Eddie, trying to push himself to his knees and failing. He could do nothing for a moment or two but look at his opponent and only hope Eddie felt as physically destroyed as he did.

Unthinkable pressure. Unbearable heat. Agony flared in Eddie's hand as Rizzolo's foot ground bone and cartilage. Another unnatural pop sounded, heralding a new wave of nausea and dancing lights. Pain. Eddie had never known there could be such pain. It overloaded his senses, paralyzed his muscles. Rational thoughts cracked and fell apart, evading the boy's scrambling consciousness.

The torturous heel of John's shoe disappeared. The brief respite was bliss, despite the profound ache in Eddie's hand. The moment shattered as the force returned, harshly pressing into Eddie's throat and cutting the off wind from his lungs. Fingers locked onto the shoe, struggled to turn it aside or throw it off completely. John shrugged off the pathetic resistance with contemptuous ease. Even if his breath was coming in ragged gasps and sweat rolled freely down his face and neck, he was strong enough to prevent escape.

Face burning like the sun and muscles screaming, Eddie's continued attempts at escape rapidly drained the last reserves of his strength. Clutching fingers lost their vigor. The fire in his arms died down to embers as the last vestiges of opposition faded away. I-I can't do anything….Is this the end? Shit.

"You know Eddie," John's voice cut through the gathering dark, "you put up a hell of fight, but just fucking die!" The mixture of mocking triumph and raging hate hit Eddie between the eyes. New, desperation-fueled strength surged back into his body. With a sudden wrench of his arms, Rizzolo was down. Scrambling to his feet, coughing the whole way, Eddie swayed as he fought off fatigue, pain and encroaching nausea. He couldn't stay on his feet for long. Already he could feel his knees beginning to buckle under his own weight. Only one thing to do, then.

John rose to his feet, eyes full of fire. Eddie took much satisfaction as the hate was quickly replaced by surprise. Dropping his shoulder into Rizzolo's midsection, the two toppled backwards. Much farther than Eddie had expected. The boys careened down the cliff face, tumbling through thorny bushes; knees and elbows bounced off roots. Foreheads struck stones and dirt scoured bare skin.

Rolling across the mercifully even ground, the two struggled to free themselves from one another. Succeeding, the two found themselves utterly drained. Facedown in the dirt, gulping down harsh lungfuls of air, Eddie felt blood pumping in his temples and flowing down his face. "Son of a bitch," he groaned quietly, willing the pounding behind his eyes to lessen. It didn't help much.

Hands pressed against the dirt and arms shook in an attempt to push the boy to his feet. Something rough tickled the tips of his fingers. Focusing his blurred vision at the object, he grinned.

Several long moments passed as John stubbornly rose to his knees. The small victory ended shortly, as Eddie lunged sharply forward. Swinging the jagged chunk of stone, the gratifying impact ran up his arm. Rizzolo's hastily raised arm deflecting the strike, the young Sullivan struck again and again, each successful blow jarring his arm. So close. So close to connecting with John's temple. So close to cracking open the monster's head. So close to spilling blood and brain. The thought gave him pause for the briefest moment. Ignoring the stumble, he swung again.

The attack stopped short, as Rizzolo capitalized on his attacker's hesitation. Forehead connected with nose. The sharp pop of snapping cartilage was drowned out by Eddie's pained cry. Tears welling up, his hands rose to inspect and guard the wound. Fearing a follow up, he shot out a hasty kick. The thump, followed by John's pained curse, let Eddie know that he'd bought himself some time. He wasn't sure how much more he withstand. A thick stream of blood ran down to his lips, the sound of the creek ringing in his ears. Come on, keep going. Just a little more.

It might have been a lie, but it kept him going. He pushed his body, urging himself to rise. Fighting to his hands and knees, shuddering from the damage, he took a moment to catch his breath. Just a second to catch up.

((Recommended listening- Track 4: "Eye of the Storm" – Bullet for my Valentine"))

This needed to end and the sooner the better. The problem was that Eddie was still fucking coming. He was like a machine. Every blow that John delivered to Eddie, Eddie fired right back. Their bodies were battered, their spirits were broken but still they pressed on against each other.

The previous exchange had resulted in a kick to John's ribs that sent him to the all too familiar ground once again. However John knew he'd bought himself a moment or two once again with the crushing blow to Eddie's nose. JR could see the blood running down between Eddie's hands. He had to capitalize and he had to do it now.

John once again struggled to his feet and lunged at Eddie who had also struggled back to his feet. His lunge was met with a right hook that John was able to barely duck under. John planted a knee deep into Eddie's gut. The satisfaction showed on John's bloodied and dirtied face and his flashed a grin.

Eddie hunched over grabbing his stomach in pain, gasping for every precious breath.

John came at Eddie again, this time targeting the side of Eddie's head with a knee, but Eddie reached down deep and fought through the intense pain in his chest and stomach and was able to catch John's leg. Eddie held John's leg in front of him making John dance on one leg before quickly throwing his leg down and exploding into John with a clothesline across John's chest that knocked John to the mud and gravelly stone bed that framed the creek.

"Sonuvabitch." John gasped.

The blow seemed to take a lot out of Eddie too, but he was still coming. John could see the fire burning beneath the eyes of Eddie Sullivan, and for the first time in a long time on the island John Rizzolo was actually fearing that he might not win this battle. Eddie would not stay down. It seemed like nothing John could do would stop Ed Sullivan from getting his just revenge. JR needed to escape. He needed to get the fuck back to his daypack at the top of the hill, get his guns and get the fuck away from here. Let someone else deal with Eddie.

Doing the only thing he could think of, John grabbed a handful of the mud and gravel and threw it at Eddie's face. Eddie didn't react quickly enough and was hit right in the eyes. As he stumbled blindly, John turned around and scrambled for a small bridge nearby. He could see the trail they'd originally been fighting on turned and came down the hill to the bridge.

Perfect.

John could hear Eddie screaming his name in anger as he got closer to the bridge. John smiled as he turned to see Eddie splashing water on his face. John couldn't help but think that he'd dodged a bullet here. As he was about to climb the small embankment to get up to the bridge, John's foot tugged gently on something. John looked down and immediately froze in terror. The top of his foot was resting gently on an old trip wire. Eddie had recovered and was now slowly making his way towards the bridge too.

Shit, shit, shit…

John's eyes traced the line of where the wire went. It led up the slope opposite of where they'd fallen. Very faintly, JR could see something protruding from the bush above where the wire went in. John knew what this was. This was a log trap. They were common in the Vietnam War, used on both sides in the jungle as a way of warning troops in the area that the enemy was coming.

John's look of shock quickly turned to the face of a schemer. Eddie was almost in the perfect position now. Just a few more steps…

John yanked his foot hard and felt the wire give out. This was followed by the sound of several branches snapping. The giant log came out of the jungle like the boulder in Indiana Jones.

Wait…FUCK!

John had forgotten one critical element about these log traps. The way the troops would know about the enemy was that the logs were designed to roll over several hidden landmines creating a chain explosion.

Eddie seemed to know this fact as well as he had quickly turned around and tried to run back to where they'd just been.

John jumped off the bank, broke into a painful run and tried to jump back to the other side of the small creek.

The resulting explosion was ear shattering. The force sent both boys careening forwards into the embankment. Pieces of wood and earth rained down from above as both boys painfully shielded their heads.

John crawled back down to the water, his entire body in pain now. He had no idea what, if anything, the blast had done to Eddie. John rolled over and looked at the sky. There was still a small smoke plume rising from the embankment exploding.

The only thing John could do was scream in anger, frustration and pain.

The warmth trailing down his face and beating pain in his nose absorbed Eddie's focus. Trying to see past the bright flashes of color and think outside the fatigue that stretched throughout his entire frame, he nearly missed as Rizzolo launched another assault.

Instinctively throwing his right hand to buy just a few more seconds of rest, the young Sullivan was caught off guard when John disappeared underneath the wild punch. Air exploded from Eddie's lungs as John's knee found a home in his solar plexus. Coughing, blood spraying from his damaged nose, Eddie fought to keep his feet.

Pulling his chest back and bring his arms together, Eddie was further surprised to find that he had caught his attacker's knee. It might have been another rush of instinct, or it might have been some small cue in Rizzolo's posture. Most likely it was dumb luck, but Eddie wasn't one to spit on gifts that God thought good enough to give him.

John had to hop to maintain balance. With his leg trapped, he was nearly defenseless. He needed to take advantage of that. Do something that could end the fight. Throwing the leg down Eddie swung another wild haymaker. The fist missed, but the boy's forearm made up for it. The overextended blow still effectively dropped Rizzolo into the muck.

"Sonuvabitch," John gasped.

Eddie was on his last legs, barely able to stand. He pressed the attack, despite the burning in his muscles and aching in his bones. He was on a mission. It was kill or be killed, because Rizzolo had made it that way. There was no way Eddie was letting the bastard back out of the situation he'd made for himself. Anger and retribution spurred him forward as much as self-preservation did.

A flash of something new crossed over John's features. Eddie recognized it immediately. Having spent much of his own life in abject anxiety, he could pick out fear readily. Just as Wade Wilson had been known shame, Rizzolo could know fear. Good. It was what Eddie wanted. Rizzolo should be afraid. Vengeance had come to his doorstep and it was good.

With a sudden burst of movement, Rizzolo disappeared. Mud and sand sprayed into Eddie's eyes, halting him in his tracks. He clawed at his eyes, roaring his enemy's name. The move had been dirty, but he'd never expected Rizzolo to fight fairly. Stumbling to the water's edge, Eddie did his best to flush his eyes out, splashing the savagely cool water against his face.

Blinking the world back into focus, Eddie turned in John's direction and gave chase. Stumbling and finding it difficult to walk a straight line, he closed in on the still figure up the hill. Why wasn't he running? He was retreating mere moments before, why had he stopped? Sensing something amiss, Eddie felt his stomach drop as John grinned and gave his foot a sharp flick.

The sound of logs crashing against earth and wood was accompanied by a light tremor passing beneath Eddie's feet. Not good. The logs cascaded down the hill, heading directly towards him. Forcing himself to run back, Eddie swore and gasped sharply. Running through the pain shooting in his stomach and right leg, he charged away from the ineffective trap. All he needed to do was get out of the way of the logs and he'd be-

A wave of force crashed into him as thunder and fire filled the air. Wind passed the young Sullivan's ears. The ground disappeared beneath his feet and he floated on a stiff breeze. With a sharp thud, darkness swallowed him up.

Cold. Wet. The damp across his legs brought Eddie back to himself. Tumbling a fair distance, he'd wound up with his lower body in the river's edge. Trying to move, he found his body insubordinate. Nothing worked right. His extremities mutinied against the unreasonable demand to crawl out of the water. The scream from further down the bank drew his attention.

Luckily, Rizzolo was just as worn out as he was. Blood dripped thickly down Eddie's face, forming a puddle near his chest. His old stitches had finally given up the ghost and torn open, revealing his previous hurts in addition to his fresh ones. Urging his body to rise, the boy got as far as he hands and knees, before the world tilted around him. Sudden nausea gripped his stomach and dizziness stormed in his head. With a lurch of his shoulders, Eddie retched the meager contents of his stomach in the dirt.

He needed to rest. Unable to move for fear of collapsing again, Eddie Sullivan kept himself propped up on hands and knees, the smell of fresh bile and blood filling his nostrils. Run, Eddie. Get out of there. Run away and live. Save yourself. It's not worth it.

The voices fought over one another to be heard, worsening the turning in his stomach. He might have listened to them, if he could. But, the fact was he probably didn't have anything left with which to defend himself, let alone fight or run away. He hoped the same was true for John.

"Seeing that broad killed must have really pissed you off."

Eddie swayed on his feet, slowly approaching Rizzolo. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. John's earlier taunt repeated itself. He remembered the hostage situation in the cave, except this time it was different. Rizzolo was holding Jodene against her will, his arm clamped around her neck. She wept and begged for Eddie to save her. Rizzolo grinned as the gun jumped in his hand and sprayed the beautiful girl's brain across the wall.

Eddie's lumbering steps dragged across the ground, sending the boy to the ground. Unable to force himself to stand again, he clawed at the dirt, dragging himself forward towards his target. "I'll kill you," he hissed quietly as he scraped across the sand.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you."

((Recommended Listening- Track 5: Old Crows - Alexisonfire))

Every ounce of his body was in pain. His head was pounding furiously. John could feel the warm stream of blood running down his cheek. His head wound had re-opened. He tried to stand, but his legs refused to support his weight. He fell back into dirt next to the water.

Fighting through the pain, John once again tried to rise up from the water and dirt, this time managing to get to his hands and knees. His body was burning with the desire to flop back down and continue to rest, but a sound, slowly increasing in volume let John know that he couldn't rest.

"I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you. I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you."

John looked to his left to see Eddie crawling towards him, using every ounce of strength the boy had left in his body. A heavy sigh of disbelief and frustration escaped JR's mouth.

"Why….why won't you..unghh…why…just quit.." John said through the pain. As he spoke he could taste blood in his mouth and spat it to the ground.

Eddie wouldn't stop inching towards him with that look of cold determination. John once again found himself fearing for what might happen. The difference this time though was that he didn't have the strength to run. He had to find someway to counter Eddie. He needed to get Eddie to act rash. Even with battered bodies and beaten minds, John had to go back to the game plan he'd brought to the fight. He needed Eddie to lose focus, even just for a split second.

What are you going to do then Johnny?...I'll figure it out when I get there. For now, back off, just talk him up.

John's mouth formed into a small smile. Blood still trickling over his bottom lip.

"Damn it Eddie," John grunted as he pushed himself backwards away from the advancing boy, "You know…I'll give you a lot of credit. You put up more of a fight than anyone else I killed, especially your broad in the caves."

John continued to push himself backwards along the edge of the creek.

"I did mean to thank you. You killed Wilson didn't you. How did that make you feel Eddie? Think you can kill again? Do you? What is everyone back home going to think," John grunted again with the effort of moving himself backwards, "Do you really think you can win this game Eddie? I do. I really do. I mean after all, if you weren't trying to win Eddie, why didn't you just get up and save her at the caves? If you really wanted to save her, you would have done something, anything to save her. Don't lie to yourself Sullivan, you're out to win. You're playing this game just as much as me."

John was running out of energy, he needed that opening. He needed something of what he'd said to sink in and give him the opening he needed to finish this fight.

Pulling himself towards Rizzolo, his body dragging through the damp earth of the creek shore, sand and grit working under his fingernails, Edward Sullivan couldn't feel anything. His bones had ceased feeling as if they'd grown ragged barbs and his muscles weren't smoldering with the intense heat they once had. He wasn't quite sure if that was good or bad.

"Why?" The question rattled around in his skull before drifting away. Nothing important. It came again. "Why won't you..unghh…why…just quit?" Rizzolo was saying...something. Not important. John turned his head and spat a gob of blood and phlegm. Knowing his foe was wounded at least as badly as himself, Eddie pushed himself onward.

Capitalize on the advantage. Hurt him while he's down. Kill him. Make him pay. Make him beg. Make him scream like they did.

Rizzolo was pushing away, his movements sluggish and strained. Weak. "Damn it Eddie," he grunted as he made his pathetic attempts to flee. More useless words. "You know," another push backwards, "I'll give you a lot of credit. You put up more of a fight than anyone else I killed, especially your broad in the caves."

That mattered.

Anger welled up in Eddie's gut. Stopping, the boy felt his arms shake as they struggled to force him to his feet. That bastard. He still didn't feel the least bit of remorse. No compassion. He was happy that he'd killed people. The son of a bitch.

One knee rose and was replaced by a foot. Compelling himself to rise, Eddie barely felt his leg shaking fiercely as more and more weight was placed on it. John didn't let up on his verbal jabs. "I did mean to thank you." Eddie didn't want to know for what, but the vicious boy didn't let up. "You killed Wilson didn't you? How did that make you feel Eddie? Think you can kill again? Do you? What is everyone back home going to think?"

Eddie felt his knee shift as he tried to stand. The question hit hard. What would people say? Would anyone be able to forgive him for his failures? Could anyone look him in the eye, knowing that he'd let so many people die? That he'd murdered another student in cold blood? Could anyone love him after such horrible things? He certainly couldn't. But, then again, he'd never really thought much of himself to begin with.

Climbing to his feet, he shuddered and hunched over. His body feeling heavy with age beyond his years, Edward Sullivan kept his balance. It was all he could do not to collapse. There was no excuse for his actions. He was no saint. If anything could be said, his hands were soaked in blood. Probably as much as stained Rizzolo's. But there was a difference. Eddie always acted in the interest of others. He wasn't a bad person. Nicole had said so herself.

"Do you really think you can win this game Eddie? I do. I really do. I mean after all, if you weren't trying to win Eddie, why didn't you just get up and save her at the caves?" Fists clenched at his sides. Shaking his head, Eddie brought his arms up, covering his ears with his palms.

"Th-that's not true." His voice shook as he murmured quietly to himself. "I w-was only w-worried that something would happen to her. I didn't want to... I didn't want her to die!" Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. Rizzolo was wrong. He was wrong.

John gave a derisive scoff. "If you really wanted to save her, you would have done something, anything to save her." He grinned, showing vaguely blood tinted teeth. "Don't lie to yourself Sullivan, you're out to win. You're playing this game just as much as me."

Eddie felt his chest catch. Dragging in sharp edged breaths, he hunched over, holding his arms around his midsection.

Surging forward, screaming in abject rage and fear that his foe was right, the boy launched himself forward. Diving for Rizzolo, the two wrestled, but the young Sullivan's burning wrath gave him a clear edge. Forcing aside John's meager defenses, Eddie found himself sitting atop John's chest. Swinging a wide haymaker, Rizzolo brought his arms up quickly. Catching the punch, he rolled, sending the two boys into the water.

Cold hammered Eddie's body. Something was pressing against his chest and holding him down. Why was he so cold? And why couldn't he breathe? The icy water of the creek rushed around him, biting at his skin. Flailing against his attacker, the weak blows did nothing to knock John off of him.

Panicking, Eddie reached up, feeling John's arms plunging into the water and holding his head down. Do something. Gotta do something! Flapping ineffectively, hands slapped against Rizzolo's chin and shoulders. A thought pulsed through Eddie's head.

Latching his own hands onto Rizzolo's throat, he squeezed. He could feel his hated enemy struggling to pull away. But, he couldn't go far. Not unless he wanted to let Eddie up.

How long the two sat there, each determined to kill the other, Eddie couldn't say. Everything was beginning to grow fuzzy as blood pounded harshly in his ears and temples. Tightening his grip on Rizzolo, he struggled to break the surface of the water.

As he the feeling in his arms and legs began to fade, he could only think one simple mantra:

I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die!

His plan has worked. Eddie was attacking him with unrelenting fury. This is what he wanted. Eddie wasn't thinking about his moves, he was just making them. John took a few blows before Eddie gained a mount position.

This is it, get ready John-o.

Eddie threw the big haymaker, but John was ready for it. Getting his arms up, he caught the blow and in one fluid motion, propelled both Eddie and himself into the water of the creek.

The water flowed over John's cuts and bruises almost like a shockwave. It was a mix of painful and refreshing. John caught himself nearly getting lost in the moment, before snapping back to reality.

"You son of a bitch!" John growled as Eddie tried to throw blows from his back.

The blows would not land as John quickly threw his hands at Eddie's head. He would drown the bastard. He would watch every last second of Eddie Sullivan dying. Every last fucking thrash.

"Noo!" John growled as Eddie forced his head above the surface gasping in every last ounce of air he could.

There was a coldness sweeping over John's body that wasn't from the water. It was like time had slowed during that moment. Even through the struggle to breathe John could feel Eddie's eyes burning through him with a hatred he couldn't begin to fathom.

"AGGHHHHHH!" John yelled out as he used every ounce of strength he could to force Eddie's head back under the water.

"Urk!"

Eddie's hands wrapped themselves around his own throat. John could feel the intense cool of Eddie's wet hands against his skin. John's eyes bulged in shock.

I will not die. I will not die. I will not…

He could feel himself fading. He couldn't let go. He could not let go. He needed just a few more precious seconds.

Ca..Can't..Let..G..Go…

((Recommended Listening- Track 6: Delirium Trigger - Coheed and Cambria))

Aching fingers clamped tight around wet skin and tensed muscle. Arms shook and burned as the effort of strangulation slowly took its toll. A small rush of water forced its way up his nose. Fighting the urge to cough and inhale, Eddie dug his nails deeper into John's throat.

The rest of his body stung with the cold of the rushing water, tiny pins pricking into his skin. It wasn't long before ignoring the strange lack of sensation in his feet became impossible. As if holding onto a lifeline in the ocean, he steeled himself. Trying to ignore the numbness that crept across his body, he gripped until his knuckles shown white with the effort.

Struggling violently, he fought to lift himself above the surface of the frigid torrent. Rocks and sand pressed into his back, uncomfortably digging against his spine and shoulders as he wrestled against John's forceful hands. He would have bit and snapped at the hand pressed against his shoulder, if not for Rizzolo's other hand pressing against his forehead.

Blood hammered loudly in his ears and temples. Lungs burned sharply, demanding the relief of oxygen. Arms and legs slowly lost more and more of their feeling. After a time, Eddie could barely even feel the warmth of Rizzolo's neck beneath his palms. A few moments more and he lost even the sensation of the killer's hands on his head and shoulder.

His vision slowly ebbing away at the edges, Edward Sullivan could feel himself fading away. Black whorls of haze and defeat clouded his vision, accompanied by odd flashes of light that terrified him on a level he had yet to fully understand.

Peering up through the shifting waters, his eyes lost and regained focus, centering on the outline hovering above him. He couldn't even see the face the shape belonged to. If he could form a coherent thought, he wouldn't be sure if that was something he should be grateful for or not.

The loss of energy and sensation warred with the gut wrenching fear and horror of his situation. He fought back, wrestling with every bit his energy, which dwindled much more quickly than he'd anticipated. His fingers were loose and his shoulders didn't want to respond as sharply as they had before. The fight had already taken too much out of him. There was nothing left.

Nothing left to offer any last resistance. Nothing left to seek revenge. Nothing left to save his own worthless life.

But, was that so bad? Would it be such a crime to just lie down and die? Would anyone care about a waste of space and air? His parents would be devastated for a time, but that would be the end of it. A minor remembrance for an entirely forgettable person.

Who would shed tears for such a pathetic boy? Who would cry for the shadow of a shadow? Who would weep for a failed hero?

He'd never wanted this. He'd never wished for pain or sadness or disappointment. He'd never even asked for success. Edward Sullivan never prayed for wealth or power or popularity. He had simply dreamed of being average. He'd wanted to skate through college, and work as an unimportant cog in the wheel of a corporation. He'd wanted a wife and two children. A boy and a girl; John and Elizabeth. He'd wanted to grow old with someone. Perhaps not the most beautiful or talented or clever person, but someone he could love.

His mind flashed to Jodene, her shimmering golden hair and warm smile tore at his heart. She hadn't been beautiful in the classical sense. With strong, sweeping features, she'd always been more handsome than pretty. Her voice wasn't perfect or angelic, but she could sing with a fair amount of skill. She was only slightly better in her studies than Eddie himself, carrying an average of somewhere near a low "B-." Nothing worth taking note of, and certainly nothing special.

He loved her so much.

Seeing her writhing on the ground, hearing her screams, knowing her plight and still fleeing in terror. Above anything else in his life, Eddie was ashamed of that. More than losing Jimmy, more than failing Lyn and letting her fall into Rizzolo's torturous hands, more than watching as Nicole fell limp like a puppet with its strings cut, he hated himself for running when Jodene needed him. For leaving her to die.

For the longest time, he couldn't handle it. It was too much. It didn't make sense. How could she have died because he was afraid? It couldn't have been true. It was a dream, a nightmare. In the graveyard, when her name was uttered with such glee, he had to accept it. What else was there to do?

Somewhere in the haze of tears and rain and hate and self-loathing, a portion of him died among the headstones. Maybe the best part of him. Perhaps the worst. It didn't matter.

Walking away from that place of death and faded memories, Edward Sullivan knew he would die for his sins. Everything before that was simply penance. He'd never expected to win. He never thought he deserved to win. But, as the number of his fellow students dwindled, his true colors showed themselves once more.

As much as he hated himself, he feared dying more. He began to hope and pray that he might survive, while those close to him bled and died like animals. Was there ever a more disgusting man than he? Fueled by anger and fear and doubt, driven by terror, he continued living for living's own sake. Dressing up his motives in acceptable trappings, like honor and duty and retribution, he lived under the banner of a lie.

Hiding behind notions of love and revenge, that was his truest sin. Even now, water filling his mouth and nostrils as he searched for air, he feared death, forgetting his lost love and his too short friendships. Even now, he hated himself for it.

One last breath of air. One last ray of light. One last stolen glance. Anything but the cold embrace that washed over him and the darkness that shrouded his eyes. Even though he didn't deserve it, he prayed for one more moment. And, like all other things in his life, Edward Sullivan was denied even that.

His arms fell limp, splashing into the cold water. Without moving, Edward Sullivan was swept away, disappearing into darkness.

Boy 109- Edward Sullivan: ELIMINATED

6 Students Remaining

((Recommended Listening - Track 7: "28 Theme" - John Murphy))

The grip around John's neck relieved itself. The thrashing of the water stopped. The whole scene in front of his eyes just stopped, but John did not stop holding Eddie under the water. In his battered state his mind was telling him that was a trick by Eddie.

It took a few moments of heavy breathing before John realized that Eddie was dead. It was not a trick. Eddie Sullivan was dead in the water in front of him. He couldn't believe it. He had beaten Eddie. John had given everything he had and then some.

John released his grip on Eddie's body as the current slowly moved Eddie away from him. Part of John wanted to stop the body from floating away but he just sat and watched as the body floated slowly until it was out of sight.

Painfully John rose to his feet, his knees wobbling as he did so and took a few steps back towards the bridge where the explosion had been triggered. Every couple of steps John would look over his shoulder to make sure Eddie hadn't suddenly reappeared to continue the battle.

You won John. Celebrate it. Do something for the cameras.

No.

John remembered how much sick pleasure he had taken in taunting Eddie at the caves. The joy of killing Nicole Husher while Eddie watched helplessly. The joy of knowing that Lyn Burbank has meant something to Eddie as well. It was all well and good but it had nearly cost John his life.

Eddie Sullivan would live on in people's memories as a prime example of what the SOTF game could do a person. Even John could tell from the first time he laid eyes on Eddie Sullivan on this island that it was not the same kid he'd said hi to back at Southridge. Just like John, Eddie had been changed. He had discovered emotions and abilities in himself that he had never known had Eddie not been thrown mercilessly into Survival of the Fittest. That was why Eddie had nearly won, and it was the same reason why John had won the fight. They both pushed themselves to their absolute breaking points, and that was what Mr. Danya wanted.

Yeah. That is what he wants isn't. He wants us to be motivated by everything we encounter. He wants us to look at every situation and give it everything. Whether it is playing the game like me, or whether it is saving lives like Eddie or any of the other heroes out there. If I meet that man, I must remind myself to shake his hand.

The journey up the gentle slope of the curving path back to where John and Eddie's packs and weapons lay seemed to take forever. John didn't know how many people were left on the island with him. Under seven for sure. Either way, he needed to find somewhere nearby to rest. He'd need his strength in the coming day if he were to survive the whole shabang.

After recovering his pack and weapons John lifted Eddie Sullivan's pack in his hands. There were some blood stains on it, probably from Nicole or Lyn, but John would never know. He was going to take the remaining food and water from the pack, but instead John just zipped it back up and with a tremendous effort, heaved the pack into the water and watched it float away towards wherever Eddie had been taken.

With one last look at the water, John gave a very solemn nod and walked away.

((John Rizzolo continued elsewhere))