Survival Of The Fittest

((Sorry this is so late, but since it is still technically is day 2 I guess it all worked out. I would like to kindly ask that nobody post here unless your suppose to (That being the appropriate admin ).))

((Blake continued from Hiding in the Barn))
((Franco continued from Ready for Round Two))

Nearly half a day had past. Crossing the entire Island undetected had been his goal, and he achieved it, only by moving slowly, deliberately and consciously. He avoided everyone. It didn't matter who. Old friends could only resemble new twisted enemies. Familiar forms twisted and writhed into forms horrid and mystifying. He didn't ant to see them like this. It was wrong. This wasn't like the game, or the movie, or the book, there were people doing this. They may be a demented cipher of there former self, but they were still kids, and they were still scared.

Blake could see this in them. They were all pained, but he couldn't help but fear them. Looking inside himself for answers, Blake wasn't really a candidate for reaching out to these disenfranchised youth. He knew this much of himself...

                                           ***

"Now," Franco turned his gaze onto Russ. It was a gaze slowly contorting from smarmy smirk into a commanding glare. "You stay here while I go and get my present."

Franco nodded and grinned at Russell Gofis; also know in Franco's mind as brutish hench-boy number one. Russ and Franco both knew he couldn't follow; the area was a danger zone to anyone but B02 and B30.

Franco wasn't to sure about this other boy; the only numbers he had taken time remember were B02, B24 and the late B49. No matter, if this other boy was playing to win, just as Franco suspected he would be, than it wouldn't be too difficult to sway him over to his side. Nevertheless, Franco had his doubts, maybe this kid had just lost his marbles like Marvin and was ready to flip out and kill anyone within arms reach. Regardless, Franco knew he had to approach with caution. This kid could be the best thing that ever happened to Franco on this Island, or he could be his worst nightmare.

                                           ***

It was midday. The suns blinding rays burned down and scorched the green blades of grass that swayed gently in unison with the tide and the breeze. The luminescence of midday glimmered in Blake Ross'; nearly blinding him as he stood sweating under his three layers of coat, hoodie, and tee-shirt. Her lifted an arm cover his face and felt the duct tape wrapping the hard-cover book around his chest shift and tear. His makeshift body-armour had saved him one, maybe it would pull through for him against the terrorists.

He still had his doubts, this could all be a ploy to kill him but he approach anyway. The marina was only about a football field away, but instead of making his careful approach, Blake waited, just out of view near a small tree. He thought back to the announcement. B02 and B30. He wasn't the only kid who'd killed somebody. Blake knew that kids like Walter Smith stalked around every corner; this wasn't a time to rush in without a care. And as bad as it sounded to himself, this kid could be his guinea pig.

It had been hard enough getting here, navigating through two danger zones, but he had made it without being spotted by any other students. They had something for him, and at this point in the game, Blake would take any handout he could get.

                                            ***

Franco whistled as he strutted down to the marina. He took long marching strides towards the marina looking off towards the sea. He heard a squeamish crunch under his oxford polished shoes. He shuffled to the side and lifted the bottom of his shoe. A minuet crustacean lay dismembered on the grass. Franco pulled a small Kleenex from the pocket of his black pressed pants and wiped the bottom of his shoe off. He tossed the Kleenex to the side and adjusted his pert business class suit; fiddled with the stripped tie, and continued on his destined course. Un-deterred in the slightest.

He stepped onto the water-stained ledge at the edge of the area.

"Hello?" Franco called out, his grenade launcher propped up at arms length. These people were responsible for what was happening here, they could not be trusted, but it would be unbefitting to show his anger at the lot of them. "I'm B02, and I'm here to pick up my prize."

He didn't move any further, just stood still and tried to shake away any lingering doubts.

                                           ***

Not far off, Blake watched as the young man walked up to the marina. He certainly didn't expect to see a buttoned-up kid strutting towards the marina with this dirty blonde hair slicked back with designer hair gel. He wasn't the killer he had imagined. He wasn't wild eyed and feral, he wasn't stained with gore and howling curses, he was walking slowly and calmly towards the marina. His clothes were neat and pressed; ready to face whatever was to come with a diplomatic smile and a handshake. It was like a chapter straight out of American Psycho. He was a different kind of killer; a remarkably conscious kind of killer.

Blake waited and watched as the other boy called out to the terrorists. His vicariousness kicked in as he stood, voyeuristically intrigued by what was going to happen to the boy, and who would come out of it alive.

Out farther into the water was the patrol boat for the Western shore, a group of four men eyed the student on the shore. An older mercenary lifted his hand and waved two of his comrades over to the tail of the boat and pointed towards the shape as the third man strolled slowly to where they all laughed at the boy.

"Poor shit doesn't have a chance in hell, wouldn't you say?"

A younger merc punched the older man in the shoulder and smirked his way, "Doe'n't 'ave a cha'ce? Ay bet he take' it righ' owt from they noses, what'ya think 'arold?"

"It's Harold, fucking foreigner," The boat driver that stood behind the group spat, "What I'm wondering is where's that other boy who won? Taking his sweet time isn't going to make Marv pleased. Speaking of which, have one of you bumbling idiots told him that one of our VIPs are sitting there waiting for his special treatment?"

The quiet one nearly slipped on some of the water during his sprint to inform the man in the small cabin of the arrival.

"Ski'ish thing i'n't 'eh?"

"Just shut up."

"Harold. Bring us to shore."

The deep voice made all three of the men turn, like they heard a rumbling of a thunder storm coming ahead. It never ceased to amaze them that his footsteps failed to warn them of his presence whenever he left the cabin, which hadn't been often since his arrival this morning. Dressed in black, his weapons hidden from view, though the men knew there were plenty of them on his huge frame, Marvin stepped onto the deck, his eyes looking through the men that scurried from his path towards the back of the boat. He'd seen plenty of targets 100m further that he could have eliminated with any sniper rifle he had on hand, without so much as a couple seconds to aim. Marvin turned away as the boat moved closer to the sand and stopped at a pier.

He fasted the kevlar on his chest over his shirt, lifted the duffle bag near his leg and made little sound as he stepped onto the pier. Marvin stopped and signaled for the mercs to stay put.

The waves were small today, and high tide hadn't hit as much as it should have, the water barely creeping a foot or so from the line it had made a time before. The zipper slid open silently as Marvin lifted the shotgun from the bag, and he made his way to the boy with the gun in one hand, and his finger on the trigger. But he didn't say one word, and his other hand moved little as he walked closer and closer to the student with the grenade launcher out in plain sight.

He kept his mouth shut as he waited for a response from the boy, but kept his ears open for the sound of rustling, for when he had left the boat he had seen the other contestant's reluctance to join the party. Whether it was from fear or for a chance to escape --or even to kill the other boy while he had been distracted by Marvin-- he knew of his presence and cared little to what plans the one in hiding had made. There were only one set of rules they had to follow on this shore: Marvin's.

Franco looked the man up and down, but mainly just up. He was massive, especially compared to the physically unimpressive Franco, and Franco couldn't help be feel a little bit intimidated by the magnitude of the man. He stammered and a little sweat formed on his brow, but he swallowed his lingering doubts and took a step towards the large man. He lowered his weapon and extended a hand.

Despite all his cowardice and his general disdain for the people running this program, Franco kept his head on his shoulders and used the one weapon he could always rely on. His slimy equivocations and his weasel-ly pandering had pulled through for him more than once already.

"Good- Good day to you, sir," Franco grinned and carried on. "I'm boy number two. I believe you were expecting me."

Franco looked up into the cold and indomitable frame of Marvin. He wasn't really certain that any of this was working on him. He didn't seem like the type to fall for politeness or flattery. Franco could only continue on, hoping for the best.

"I'm supposed to receive a prize," Franco paused and gulped. "I'll be out of your way as soon as possible, sir that much you can be sure of."

Franco really did want to get out of there, and out of the shadow of this momentous man.

~

About one hundred meters away, Blake Ross watched on in fascination. He wasn't sure what this huge man was going to do. His face was like a blank slate, as far as Blake could tell, but he began to creep slowly down towards the marina. Trying to avoid the attention of the boy, and the terrorists, he slowly upped his pace and began to jog lightly towards the marina. Nobody had been killed yet, this wasn't a trap, but Blake was still going to take ever caution.

He made sure his improvised body armour was securely in place.

As the boy began to speak cordially to Marvin, he lifted the gun. Rather than respond to the boy with words, he glanced at the figure making his way to the marina. One he had noticed once he had exited the boat, but apparently the oblivious boy had not grown that accustomed to the kind of game he was playing. Marvin recalled his orders once more as he turned the gun to aim at the moving figure without so much as blinking an eye. Boy number two received the Beretta shotgun. The other got 8 percussion grenades, on a little handy belt. First off, however, Marvin had to show them who was running this operation, whether it was just an item drop or an execution.

His gun followed the moving figure and every once and awhile flicked his gaze onto the boy standing in front of him. The transaction wasn't going to happen until both were together. A lesson plan was to follow, and then the kids could leave here and continue on surving, or die. His silence probably helped neither, but he assumed the two were bright enough to make the right choices. After all, they made the choice to play the game and survive.

Blake's eyes opened wide as the huge terrorist looked him right in the eyes. He stopped for a minute and considered running, but though against it, he had the gun trained right on him, and Blake wasn't about to question his aim, even for a minute. He put his hands up and walked solemnly towards the terrorist and the other boy, who appeared to be looking on with an arrogant grin.

~

Franco didn't know what to think of this young man. The first thought that came to mind reminded Franco that this boy was a killer. Just like him. Nevertheless, this boy carried himself in a much different way than Franco would have predicted. He just didn't look like a killer. He looked unconfident and fearful, even paranoid, but he was still composed, holding together.

Appearances are deceiving in this place. I'm not going to take anyone, even this chump for granted. If he's a killer, and he actually showed up, then he's playing to win. I could use a man like him on my side.

He sported a congenial smile at the other boy and extended his hand once the young boy arrived. He was certainly less frightening then this monster of a terrorist, and Franco suspected, a little more susceptible to diplomacy. He was unarmed too, another oddity, unless he was hiding his weapon somewhere in that large jacket or the mess of clothes he was wearing. He kept his grenade launcher to his side, he knew that the other boy wouldn't try anything in the face of the terrorist; he could see it in his dark, fearful brown eyes.

~

Blake reached out and shook the extended hand. He shifted his gaze from the boy to the terrorist, back and forth many times. This was way too weird. Blake had been screwed over one too many times already to take a handshake for what it was. The huge terrorist lurking silently nearby didn't help to take away any of the awkwardness either. Blake looked at them both sceptically, but let the situation continue. What else could he do? He had a Bible strapped to his chest, a baby doll, some duct tape, a few household supplies and a few days worth of rations. All he could do is show up, and wait to see it all unfold.

"Well," Blake shrugged at the two onlookers. His voice was low, like that of a child who'd just been caught with his hand in the purse of a stranger. He tried to look at the terrorist with his fiercest grimace, but he could only guess it wasn't going to go over well. "I'm here now. What's the deal here?"

~

Franco nearly scoffed at the insecure young man's attempt to look frightening to this muscle-bound goon of a terrorist. It's not like he looked ridiculous, he actually did look fairly intimidating, Franco just knew that the terrorist wasn't going to fall for it. He tried to salvage the situation as best he could.

"Well, I suppose we're all here now. Why don't we get things moving, sir," Franco looked up at the terrorist. "I think we all have places to be."

((Okay... I do apologize for this, but this has been prolonged for far too long.  Ideally, I wanted Leo to finish this herself, but it would seem she's currently preoccupied and unable to do so.  This not being wrapped up is about to interfere with the Day 3 contest, so I'm closing it out myself.  Sorry.))

Marvin's eyes moved slowly from the nameless Boy #2 to Boy #30.  As his gaze shifted back and forth between the two boys, his weapon followed en suite.  Both boys' respective responses were amusing at best, one making a vain attempt at looking tough and intimidating while the other attempted to shine through with faux politeness and manners.  As Boy #2 suggested that they get a move on with the transaction, Marvin only grunted in response, keeping his weapon transfixed on the boy.

"You're Boy #2," Marvin stated flatly, "You're to receive the Beretta."

Marvin reached into the already-open bag that rested on his hip and tossed a smaller bag, presumably containing the gun and a few extra clips of ammunition, nonchalantly toward Franco Sebberts.  He watched the boy for a moment longer.  Surely, he wasn't stupid enough to turn that rinky-dink little gun on a terrorist.  No matter.  Even if he was, Marvin had equipped himself with a kevlar earlier, and Franco Sebberts would be dead with the twitch of a finger.  His attention turned next toward Boy #30, the one who was attempting to convey the faux macho attitude.

"Boy #30," he addressed him as he removed the belt containing eight percussion grenades from the bag, "This is your prize.  Complements of the boss."

Marvin tossed the belt toward Blake Ross.  In another second, the gun was once again pointed toward the two boys.

"You have one minute to get out of the area before I fire."

Weapons drop.  Execution.  It truly didn't matter.  He had done his part already by coming onto the island and dropping off the weapons.  Now, whether the boys died in the next minute or lived on another day mattered little to Marvin, to Danya, or to anyone else orchestrating the program.

((And yes, I do realize that this is terrible and probably out of character, but I'm still not exactly coherent.  Least I gave it a shot.))

((No problem, I appreciate your help Megami, seems good to me  This is going to be long, so take a breath and plunge on darling reader.))

Franco's eyes gleamed as he gripped the shotgun greedily in both hands; putting his grenade launcher into his bag and pointed the shotgun forward with enthusiasm. Nevertheless, the second prize awarded disquieted him a little. Eight percussion grenades? To the kid who clearly didn't have a grenade launcher? There must have been some mistake; still, Franco didn't bother to question the massive terrorist. As the gun pointed towards his face, he turned tail and ran, with his tail between his legs.

He looked back, seeing that the other boy had done the same comforted him a little, but Franco's own preservation was his one dominating thought, and he ran off as far as he could to meet with his distant ally.

~

Blake grabbed the belt full of grenades and carefully placed them in his bag, freezing momentarily when he jostled them a little too roughly. As the gun came out he ran as fast as he could, his reward safety in hand, though he really didn't know what to think of this reward. He supposed under the circumstances, but grenades were not exactly what he had in mind.

Out of the corner of his eye Blake say the other boy, the other killer, taking off at full speed in another direction. Somehow he could sense, among the purposeful officiousness of the boy, that his kill hadn't been an accident. Still, it was hard to imagine a young oxford-cloth yuppie on a killing spree. He just seemed to hold himself together a little too well...

Clearing the beach area, he ducked behind a small tree stump. Having not slept in two days and not having eaten anything certainly made running a short distance a lot more difficult. He knocked back some water and resolved to eat some of his rations when he had a minute, if he was to survival for another two weeks; he had to take better care of himself. It was just had to think about these things when everyone else around you is dying and trying to kill you. Your friends, people you see everyday...

Oh God... Gregory, I'm so sorry...

~

The pants came hard and fast. He never was very fit, but a gun to the face is an excellent motivator. Franco made a special note of that last thought. He looked around for Russell, he was surely further off then this, he had told him to wait a safe distance away, and he didn't take Russell for a man of indiscretion. His panting died down shortly as he had cleared the beach adequately but some other noise permeated from nearby.

A notable shuffling could be heard coming from a stump not too far off. A familiar leg of grey cargo pants and hiking boots protruded slightly from Franco's angle of observation. He pulled his grenade launcher from the bag, still loaded with a yet un-fired sponge grenade, preferring non-lethal force in this particular instance. He knew who this person was, and if he was playing to win, just like Franco, then this boy could be a powerful ally.

"B30!" Franco called out in his particular smarmy diplomatic tone. The leg moved and scooted up into a kneeling position behind the stump. "I know you're there B30, so just come out and play nice, I'm not going to hurt you."

Franco allowed his voice to trail as he aimed his grenade launcher on the stump. A grin spread across his pampered cheeks.

"I have a proposition for you."

~

Blake held up his hand and stood up slowly, holding his bag directly in front of his chest with one arm. Judging from his position the other boy, who he know recognized as B02, was only about eight steps away.

"I wouldn't shoot if I were you," Blake turned to see his assailant. In his panic he hadn't looked to see where the boy had gone to as they ran, he assumed he'd already left. "I'm holding a bag full of grenades and if they go, you and I are both paste."

Franco Sebberts remained unshaken in his black and white pressed business suit. He looked at Blake up and down and held his grenade launcher to the side. He shrugged and looked Blake in the eyes.

"Truce?"

The bag of grenades lowered only slightly. Blake had heard this boy's speech as he approach, and from what he heard, it didn't seem he was too intent on killing him.

"Just tell me your proposition and leave me the hell alone."

"Of course," Franco bowed slightly and gestured diplomatically. "It seems to me, and correct me if I'm wrong, that you have killed another one of the students on the Island correct?"

"Yeah?!" Blake really didn't want to have this conversation. It was a Goddamn accident. He certainly had no intention of killing a good friend and old acquaintance. "Well you've killed someone too, so don't get all preachy on me."

Franco remained confident and opened his arms in a gesture of apology.

"I was just thinking," Franco carried on nonchalantly. "You and I, we're smart. We have no delusions about this game. We know we aren't going to escape, right? We are in this thing to the end, we're surviving and playing because we have to and we deserve to win."

Blake remained silent. He really wasn't sure what this boy was getting to, and at this point in time, the bile of guilt still welling in the back of his throat, he really wasn't sure if he did deserve to win.

"We are playing because we've accepted the simple fact here, that if you don't adapt you die. That's the whole idea right? You look like a man who would take the opportunities that were given to him, even if you did have to step on a few peons and leave a few people behind. The point is, me and you both know that he most important thing is looking out for what's best for number one," Franco pointed to himself. He paused for some time, Blake had a stern look on his face, Franco continued to grin. "I say we team up. We take all these other rubes out, and in the end, may the better man win."

His stern look turned into one of disdain. What was this kid saying? Start killing off everyone else? That was crazy. Blake had no intention of killing anyone in the first place. He was going to survive and find a way out of here, and he had every intention of doing it on his own, though he was finding it increasingly difficult to shut people out, compared to life in the normal world were he could absorb himself in other things. He didn't know if there was anyway of breaking out, but he didn't want to just lie down and die...

It seems he didn't have many choices at all lately, but he could still make a few.

"No."

Franco looked over at Blake quizzically.

"No?"

"Yeah, I said no."

Franco's grin turned to a glare of venom. His optimism replaced with pure ire.

"You know what I have in my hands her, Mr. B30?" Franco brought forward his grenade launcher, loaded with a fresh sponge grenade.

"You know what I have here, Mr. B02?" Blake sneered and hoisted his bag full of percussion grenades.

Franco smiled and glared at Blake again, he muttered under his breath.

"I most certainly do..."

Blake looked on as Franco's lips formed silent words and his frown turned into a malevolent smile. As soon as he saw that terrible grin, like a mob boss on trail knowing he'll never really be pinned down for anything, he moved into action. He dove to the side while reaching into one of his many jacket pockets, pulling out something he hoped to be useful. Instead he found a can of beans he had looted from one of the many houses he had searched early in the game.

He hurled the can as he fell to the ground, the grenade launcher fired, the small rubber ball hitting the tree that had been right behind Blake a not seconds ago with a massive thump. The can of beans whirled through the air as Blake drop his bag on the ground, wincing at the carelessness he had taken with a bag full of grenades.

The can collided solidly into the forehead of Franco Sebberts. The pain threw the young dilettante off ground as he buckled over to hold his head. He also noted down, from his position of humility, that the young man had dropped his bag.

Smirking with renewed glory, Franco quickly hoisted the loaded shotgun from his bag and pointed it upwards with a laugh.

"Haha! I've got you -"

A heavy plastic doll smacked Franco right across the cheek, knocking him to the ground. The shotgun flew through the air as Franco's loose grip allowed it to fly free. His grenade launcher still on the ground next to him, the young man groaned and reached out for it, with the quickness of a weasel squirming for his life. He reached for his bag next, grabbing a fresh sponge grenade and loading it into the compact launcher.

Blake was already on the move, working to make his escape while Franco was down. He had made his way back to his spare pack and was about to pick it up when a second shot was fired.

The sponge grenade grazed past Blake's back as he turned at the loud noise, and nailed him in the shoulder with the force of bull rhino.

"Fucking hell!"

Blake twirled with the force of the impact and fell on this gut. He felt like someone had taken a chisel and some sandpaper to all the bones in this arm, and then ripped off his shoulder blade carefully with some pliers. He didn't take the time to think, he just took of with what he had, wanting to somehow outrun the pain. Incidentally what he didn't have was his spare bag, and his newly earned percussion grenades.

((Blake Ross continued elsewhere))

Franco squirmed and struggled to pick himself up off the ground. He got up just in time to see Blake Ross, bolting away like a madman. He was about to fire a second shot off into the woods, but something caught his eye; a spare bag, just lying on the ground for someone to take.

He sauntered over to the spare bag and slowly, almost erotically, undid the zipper. There in a neat little belt were eight percussion grenades, just waiting for someone to use them. Franco beamed with morbid pleasure. He didn't even take the time to find and recover his last sponge grenade for re-use, picking up the close one and throwing it bake into his back.

He grabbed the belt of grenades and strapped them around his waist carefully.

"Thank you B30, thank you very much," Franco looked up into the sky. "And thank you Mr. Danya!"

He raced off to find his hidden ally, Russell Gofis, his bag of weaponry now clanging together, like some twisted bag of Christmas cheer.

((Franco continued in I Like Shopping!))

((That was the most fun I've had in a while. I feel like I need a nap now though... ))