Survival Of The Fittest

((Amanda Tan continued from The Greatest Sideshow on Earth))

The gun was lying in front of her once more.

When had she taken it?

She didn't remember taking it from the pub. She was certain that she'd have remembered if she did, that she would have remembered carrying it all the way across the island, and she didn't.

But it was undeniably here with her now.

It was haunting her, wasn't it? It was going to stay with her until she shot someone or she died and she didn't know which she prefered anymore.

She had fucked up. Completely. But Emma would be able to pull herself together. Jaime could watch out for herself. And they wouldn't have her making the decisions anymore and they would be alright.

She had told herself that, but she knew it was the trite rubbish that movie antiheroes pulled and it always ended up biting them later. All she had done was be selfish, and she was going to suffer for it. They wouldn't even have to kill her. Danya would be reading out her name one of these days simply saying that 'Amanda Tan died from extreme guilt'.

And that would be great for everyone, wouldn't it? One less kid for the terrorists to worry about, one less kid that her classmates needed to kill. But that would do nothing to fix the mess that she'd left behind.

She wanted to go back.

It was probably better to go back.

She could still remember the looks on their faces when she had left.

She shouldn't have left.

But she couldn't bring herself to return.

She had tried, once, earlier that afternoon, standing up from the spot that she had sobbed in for god knew how long now. She had even made it to the door, despite her quivering legs. But she couldn't bring herself to open the door. She didn't know why. She needed to do it to fix anything but she was hyperventilating and overthinking things and her hands just fumbled off the doorknob and she ended up storming back to the corner of the room where she had spent the night, where the flow of emotions finally overwhelmed and she fell back down again, not caring that landing on the floor that way hurt.

The gun was still there, staring at her, not unlike Tessa had when she had left.

Both cold. Both judging her.

She had enough of it.

She'd had enough.

She picked the weapon up, pulling it above her head in a single motion, and threw it as hard as she could across the room.

The weapon clattered across the floor noisily before crash landing with a flurry of paper. Somehow, she felt no satisfaction from that either.

((Will McKinley continued from Lord of Lunatics))

After running away from the basement and leaving Michael to whatever fucked up things Alex would do to him, Will retraced his steps upwards and decided to keep himself to the second floor. This time he made his way over to a corridor with a few prominent rooms sticking out. He hurried into the room with his gun, still wet and working to see if he could fix it.

As he entered the room he didn't notice her at first, as he was preoccupied with his gun and trying to stop the pain in his throat after Michael's punch from earlier. He'd tried to keep it out of his mind, but as the adrenaline died down the feeling returned tenfold and he could really feel how badly it hurt. Lucky for him that Michael screwed himself over and he wouln't have to deal wtih that lunatic anymore.

Seriously though? Helicopter cock of justice? He'd heard people had lost their minds here, but it didn't really process in his head how badly til he heard that phrase while getting hit in the crotch by some flock of seagulls wannabe.

It was then he stopped and slowly turned as the frightened girl in the corner entered his sight. He'd seen her face around school, a fellow senior. Amanda Tan he believed her name was. She didn't look too good, much like Penelope from a few days ago, eyes red and puffy probably from crying not too long ago. He didn't know what she'd gone through, but maybe... Just maybe he could make up for what he's done.

"Are you alright?"

What?

She hadn't noticed the door open.

The imposing figure paused for a moment, as if scanning the room for something.

Will McKinley. Oh god. The best she knew, he was a complete arsehole and god help her if she needed that right now when she was just doing her best trying not to wallow in her own misery.

His name had been mentioned earlier hadn't it. She couldn't quite remember, but she was sure of it, somehow. Will Mckinley was a killer, even if she couldn't remember who he had killed. He was another one of them, another murderer on this tiny island that they had all found themselves stuck on.

But what was he doing here?

Was he looking for another victim? What was he going to do? She didn't want to know, but she couldn't run. Will was blocking the exit, and even if he wasn't, her legs weren't moving anymore.

What was she supposed to do?

He had a gun. She didn't. Her gun lay somewhere on the other side of the room, and she could almost hear it laughing at her for throwing it away. One moment of anger and now she found herself defenseless.

Will turned to her at last, their eyes locking for a single moment. She flinched first.

She was prepared for him to shoot. Or shout.

But instead, all he did was ask if she was okay.

"Huh?"

The tears started again.

Well, shit. He knew he'd get a reaction from her, considering he's Will McKinley, an all around miserable bastard who's killed someone. However he was expecting some self rightous toss about his murder or screaming his way, not her to start crying after his question. He stood there staring at her for a bit before looking away, trying to come up with a good way of easing the tension.

Right now the problem was he didn't know her so all she knew was what that fucker said on the announcements and his appearance, not exactly a happy looking fellow normally and right, probably covered in blood, water and whatever other messed up substances that was down there. The gun didn't help either, though that can be rectified.

He got down on one knee, gun in his right and put it down, stood up and held his hands up to emphasize the lack of gun. "Look, I know my word isn't good since I killed someone, but I'm not going to hurt you." It was easy doing so, he couldn't use it currently, and she didn't look like she was packing any firepower where she sat so there weren't going to be any trouble.

Besides, what better way to earn someone's trust than throwing away your only defense like an idiot?

"What's your name?"

It didn't make sense.

Will Mckinley was perhaps one of the last people in the school she'd expect to be nice to her and here he was being completely, unreasonably, nice. She didn't deserve it, not her, not from him, not this, not anything.

"A-amanda." Her own name came between hiccups. The tears weren't stopping. She was trying to breathe, but her lungs kept heaving, refusing to let her stop.

He was trying to make her feel better, he'd even placed his gun on the ground.

"Sorry. I-I'm- It's-" She didn't know what to say. How was she supposed to tell Will, someone she knew only by vicious rumour, about how much of a flaming disaster she had been and how she was probably personally responsible for everything that was going to happen to Emma, Jaime and Lucilly?

She couldn't.

"Why are you being so nice?"

He got her name now, Amanda. Even while he was trying to come across as less threatening the tears were not stopping. Hiccups and stuttering came forth the words of why. Why? Good question. Why was he trying to help her? He didn't know her, and hell it wasn't exactly his forte in being nice to strangers, but there was something about her and this encounter, reminded him eerily of a few days ago and another girl hiding in a corner, having given up. He would have to tread carefully if this was the same case here, he didn't have backup who'd fix his fuck up this time.

"I'm tired of it all is why." Ever since the first day it's been an neverending cavalcade of fuck ups on his part. He let her slip out of his sight and signed her death warrant. Wandered around in a barely focused haze with one goal in mind, one that he'd fail at twice. Creep people out, make promises that he would inevitably break and finally, of couse, kill someone.

What a hero's journey.

His hands balled into fists as the memories of it came flooding back, he put them into his coat's pockets so she wouldn't see."I messed up the first day and Rea ended up dead for it, after that I've played right into what they wanted and done more bad than good." An understatement to say the least.

He got down on one knee again, put the two at eye level. "I want to make things right for once Amanda and if I can help you, that'd be.. good." The least he could do for what he's done so far. There's still a lot more that he could do, but this could be a good start.

So big, bad Will Mckinley was a fuck up too.

So that was all they were right now, two fuckups stuck in a room, their weapons lying on the floor, useless.

But they were different. Lucilly was still alive. Emma was still alive. Jaime was still alive. She still had a chance to do things. She could try. But she was too weak to do it.

He'd already gone through that. She'd forgotten about Rea, but she had died, day one. And yet, Will looked almost serene, something that was completely different from anything she'd ever heard about him. Was this the same Will that Cristo had talked about?

He looked like someone who had his shit together.

Someone completely different from her.

Her breathing was steadying out, slowly, the pain didn't go away, and her throat still hurt, but she was almost under control now.

"Sorry," she wiped her face, but it didn't help much. Her hands were damp and all she managed was to smear her tears across her face.

"I mean, thanks."

She needed to say something more. Will had opened up to her, and it was only right, that she said something back.

"So, I fucked up too."

It was finally working! She was calming down somewhat and didn't look like she was close to hyperventilating anymore. As he looked at her to make sure, he realised how good this felt. He hadn't done something like this since he met with Ben and Penelope. He hadn't heard anything about them from the announcements so he hoped they were alright and that Ben used the fucking kit. Swear the dude could be a stubborn bastard sometimes. At the same time it felt weird, he'd never done anything like this before. He wasn't what you'd call a people's person, he'd probably end up arguing with them than play wannabe therapist. Funny how things work out around here.

It was when she mentioned that she'd messed up as well, he realised he didn't know why she was here. He knew something bad must have happened for her to hole up here much like Penelope did days ago, although this seemed more like guilt dragging her down into despair than depression over losing someone close. Either way, letting her vent it out could be the solution to this.

Besides, can't have been as bad as some of the crap he's done. He asked away.

"What happened?"

"I- I left my group behind." It sounded worse now that she said it out loud.

"I didn't mean to leave them."

"I was just... so... frustrated, aright? And I was just trying to keep the group together and everything was just falling apart. And things were just so- They were a mess, and all I wanted to do was to get away and I did."

"I was kinda making all the decisions and they were all terrible. Emma and Jaime are still out there somewhere, and I can't even bring myself to go back to them. I can't face them."

She noticed that her own hands were clenched tightly; she was still shaking a little. Was she making sense? Did he understand any of it?

Words were said almost as fast as she could think, and she knew that he probably had no clue what she meant. There was so much more she wanted to say, more thoughts that could filter themselves into words at once.

He was right about venting, she was venting so fast her speech muddled together like they were the first things she thought to say and she was shaking. From what he could gather frustration and anxiety over her friends potentially dying from her leadership...

He'd never taken leadership in the past, being more of a loner meant letting others step up to the plate so he'd not have to deal with the petty bullshit leadership tends to entail. And that was just back home, god knows what stupid shit gets people around here to fight.

"So you ran away from them to be alone? Seems like that worked pretty well til I got here." He chuckled to himself about that, he'd gotten pretty good at meeting people who seemed to much rather be alone than talk to him. Now came the time for more feel good bullshit. His smile dropped when he remembered a few days ago, he did the same thing. Maybe not to the same extreme, him trying to lead people around would more likely end with him getting shot in the back than anything else. "I understand why though, not long ago I left a friend of mine behind when our goals didn't match." Regrets all around, a party of fuck ups conversing with each other. As long as some good could come from this...

Then came a certain question, one he dreaded asking since this conversation started. What would she do? She ran away from her group and she feels guilty, that's fine. But what else had she planned? From the sounds of it. Nothing.

"So, what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know."

No. That was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted to do. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't even want to say it out loud, as if saying it would make it a promise. And even if she found them, could she make things better? Was there anything she could do that wouldn't lead to people screaming at each other when she showed her own sorry face again?

But she did want to find them, didn't she? That's what she'd been trying to bring herself to do all day.

"I-" She couldn't even bring herself to stand right now, how was she going to help them? How was she supposed to apologise to them? How was she supposed to be trusted by them ever again?

"I don't even know where they are anymore."

At first he thought he was right, she didn't know what to do or rather, what she wanted to do. But she did, he could hear it in her voice, how she shook while the words came out. Sitting there wallowing in guilt and self pity over what happened. There was something she wanted to do, just something she might torpedo down if she stays here.

"The longer you're away from them and they don't know why, the less is your chance of seeing them and making up for it. That's what you want right?"

Finding your friends in this place was already harder than it needed to be already, add in running away and leaving them behind without a reason? Fuck that might be a recipe for something worse if she did find them. First things first though, she can't just sit here.

"...Finding them is important, if you want I could help you look?"

[ENTER: Alex Tarquin from Real Human Being]

You're a murderer in earnest now, Alex Tarquin.

Oh, you've played the role well enough.  You were daunting and intimidating, and your blade frightened men and women across the past several days.  Lily Caldwell, Jeremy Frasier, Hazel Jung, Sabrina Luz, Jordan Greene.  You have survived where others have perished.  You have outlived Lizzie Luz and Tara Behzad.

You are alone.

So alone. You've killed one of your friends, and scared the others away, one by one.  You have lost them all.  By your hand was this monstrous thing done.

You're a monster.

Yes.  Yes.  A monster, as he'd intended from the moment Rea fell.  He had to be a monster, because the alternative was unacceptable.  He would not be an accident.  He would not be another victim of this mad, stupid game, that took and took and took and never gave.  Over and over again, without end.  A game that broke and made hateful puppets of its most proud participants.

He did not remember waking.

He had fallen asleep, slick with saltwater, in some dock warehouse. He had awoken, naked and aching, in that dark place, and set about making himself look properly villainous.  Finding the right clothes--jet-black scrubs, and jeans, and other gear.  He was almost suprised at what the island had given him.  After all, it had given him so little.  All his dreams and visions, frustrated and reduced to dust.  

He had walked across the island.  He had thought, and contemplated.  No one had crossed his path.  Hardly surprising. How many men and women had died, since they arrived?  How many friends he had once known?  Lips once kissed?

Crowe.  Oh, Crowe.  Why did you take my eye.  Why did you give me no choice but-

That voice.

He knew that voice.  

Crowe had fought him, when there was no need to fight.  But Will Mckinley?  Will, that nameless avenger  in the dark, that first grim battle when all had been on the line, before either of them had really been killers?

Before Alex had shoved a shelf down upon the woman he'd tried to kill?

Will had been his hunter.  The hero to his villain.  The voice chasing him out of the dark, asking why and how and...

Alone, as he walked along beaches and clifftops, through the asylum he'd tried to master, through the mausoleum they had crafted for the children they'd decided must die.

Villain.  Ha.  Who was the villain, when the men and women who ran this mad game still thrived and survived.  Isabel and Nancy and Kimiko and Alex, what did it matter?  All the same.  Pretense and pretension.  'Play the game better,' ha!  How could you play the game better than the monsters who had made it.

And there was the voice of Will Mckinley, and Alex and his monstrous ilk might pretend to be more than the awful creatures who had set their stage but Will and his were worse by far.  Will and Crowe and all their kind pretended that there was something bigger than this, some higher truth they could cling to.

There was no higher truth.

"Don't move," Alex said, as the tip of his machete dug into Will's unguarded back.

As he waited for her response to his question, he felt something enter his back as an all too familiar voice spoke up a warning, for a brief moment he thought of heeding the warning, just letting him end it all and win, but the surge of pain made him instincively launch himself against the wall, grabbing the gun as he did.

As he hit the wall and turned around to finally see the form of Alex Tarquin coming into view. He looked different in a way from the day before, cleaner in a way, but at the same time somehow worse. The fuck has this psycho been doing? Whatever it is, it's not good. The fact he left his torture basement meant he is willing to branch out and probably kill more. He can't let that happen.

His eyes flicked over to Amanda for a bit, still in the corner. Probably puzzled as fuck about what was going on. Damn it, none of this has to do with her. She has to get out, she still have some friends to see. He looked back to Alex. "Tarquin, why the fuck aren't you dead yet?" He leveled the gun in his direction, kept it trained to his head.

She wanted to say yes.

That would have been nice wouldn't it? And she'd somehow get everything together and she'd find Emma and Jaime and maybe even Lucilly and everything would work out nicely.

But that was wishful thinking, wasn't it? She needed to pull herself together to even try to try any of what she wanted to do, and Amanda knew that she was a complete mess, right now. She couldn't do it. Not like this.

And yet she couldn't say no. Not when she wanted, needed to do it so much. Not with Will asking her about it like this.

The door opened again before she answered. But there was no time to be relieved or surprised.

Alex and his knife were suddenly up against Will, knocking them against a wall.

Too close. Too close.

Will had taken his gun.

No. This wasn't happening.

She had just needed a place to calm down, not for things to explode around her again.

"What are you doing?"