Survival Of The Fittest

((Walter continued from Scrounging for Gear))
((Jin continued from I Flow Wherever the Wind Takes Me))

After Blake Ross had made his escape and Walter had managed to retrieve his items from where he put them before attacking Blake, which had happened after he had stumbled blindly into a house and washed the dirt out of his eyes, Walter Smith had found himself travelling for several hours by himself, his psychotic mind his only company. Though he heard many gunshots, screams and all around sounds of chaos around the island Steven Wilson had dumped him and his class onto, he had surprisingly not encountered anyone. He had managed to keep his improvised glass knife from his encounter with Blake, and his hand was starting to get sore from gripping it. It had somehow not broken when it hit whatever it hit.

 He had not eaten much in the past hours, knowing he had to preserve what food he had until he found more, and that he could withstand the hunger for a while. About fifteen minutes ago, he had taken a short drink of some of his water and eaten part of one of the energy bars, but that was it for now. However, there was one thing he could not deny, he was getting tired. He would have to find a place to sleep, now that the blanket of night had wrapped itself over the island. Otherwise, he would be wide open for any opportunistic player or person with a grudge. He always had to keep his guard up, Blake Ross had taught him that much. Thus, even when he was greeted by the sight of the large, if slightly worn down, hotel, he was cautious in his approach. Silently creeping up to it, he contemplated going in through the front door, but decided against it, leaning against the wall briefly.

 If there's anyone in there, they'd expect me to go through the front. I could walk into a trap if I did that, and that just wouldn't do. Not until I rid the island of these scum and repay Wilson for his trechery. No, there has to be a back entrance. There always is. he thought, starting to walk around the building looking for that very entrance.

 After about two minutes of such walking, slowed by him occasionally stopping to make sure he wasn't followed, he found the back entrance he had known was somewhere on the grounds. Walking up to it and turning the knob (which was not a problem, wearing the bag over his shoulder by it's strap meant his left hand was free, so he could open it while keeping the glass shard/knife in his hand), he found that it was unlocked. Odd, but not unheard of. After all, by now people had probably gotten to the hotel before him, they would've opened the doors. Putting this in the back of his mind, he opened the door. This door opened into a hallway, instead of the main lobby, and he found door upon door on both sides of him, all obviously leading to rooms. Fortunately, the building was well lit, meaning he didn't have to worry about his flashlight. Looking to his right, he saw that the third door down from the entrance he had come through was slightly ajar. Now, he had his reservations about going in, it was only natural. If the door was ajar, somebody was probably inside, which would mean he'd have to fight, and from what little experience he had with hotels, "ground floor" rooms tended to be of lesser quality. Just from his own standards that would cause him to hesitate, but a bed was a bed, and if he had to fight to sleep, he would. Comfortable with his decision, he gently placed his left hand on the door and pushed, opening the loose door all the way and walking in. The room he entered was rather small and bland, with a small stretch of hallway past the door that he closed behind him with a slight slam while letting his bag slip off his shoulder and onto the floor. As it rested on the ground he noticed that there was a rather plush red rug in the room. Oddly fitting considering the situation. The walls were a lifeless grey color.

 "Who the fuck are you?"

 Walter heard the voice saying this soon after observing the color of the walls. Surprised, he allowed his head to quickly pivot so he was staring straight ahead, a glare on his features giving him a rather intimidating look. The person in front of him looked rather odd, wearing an olive-colored coat that covered almost all of his upper body with similarly colored pants of an unknown material. Walter could not clearly make out the boy's face, only enough to confirm he was male. He appeared to be rather thin, and about five inches, give or take one, shorter than Walter himself. Walter did not recognise him from school.

 So that traitor Wilson kidnapped kids from other schools too? Is this another international thing like the last game? he found himself thinking. Pushing it aside as he so often did to his thoughts, he made sure the glass shiv was tight in hand and started to stalk towards the unknown boy, actually not appearing like he would suddenly leap towards the kid and slash his throat the instant he was close enough. The boy had been hiding behind the wall near the bathroom door when Walter came in, which is why he had not seen him, but he did not know this. The boy who wasn't from Bathurst raised his hands in a placating gesture, as if to show he was unarmed, and started to back away as Walter approached.

 "Look, I...I don't want any trouble. I just wanted to know who you were." he said. Now, whether this kid thought Walter was stupid or was simply a bad liar was up for debate, but the point was this sounded fake. Almost as if the boy was trying to stall Walter. Disregarding this, as he planned to kill this boy anyway, Walter figured he may as well reply.

 "Walter Smith. I'm from Bathurst." he said, not knowing why he added what school he was from. He supposed it was to confirm his suspicions that this boy had been taken from somewhere else by Wilson and his men.

 "Jin Li-Jen, I'm from Hobbsborough." the boy, now known to be named Jin, replied, still backing away as Walter advanced. To Jin's surprise, Walter temporarily stopped at the bathroom door, looking a bit surprised.

 "Hobbsborough, eh? So he did take other schools..." he said, muttering the last part so Jin barely heard it. "Do you know if any other schools were kidnapped?" he asked Jin, walking towards him again, being careful to make it look like he just wanted to go around Jin to get into the rest of the room. This seemed to work, as this time Jin did not back away.

 "Not that I know of. I've only seen you and some girl I didn't learn the name of earlier." Jin said. Walter didn't bother to pursue the issue. There were more important things to do. By now, the two were within arms reach of each other, which is when Walter suddenly stopped, much to Jin's surprise. Unknown to Walter, Jin had already realized that Walter was not to be reasoned with, and had been waiting for this very instant. His assigned weapon, a boning knife, was in the back pocket of his pants. He had put it there so that Walter wouldn't see it. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, however, Jin reached around to that pocket as quickly as possible, wrapping his hand around the knife's handle and pulling it out, ready to swing around and slice Walter's throat with it, which wouldn't be too difficult, standing completely straight, Jin reached up to around Walter's collar.

 However, he would not get the chance. Walter had seen the sudden change in Jin's eyes and the twitch of his arm as he prepared to draw his knife, and recognized it. He had seen such an action in so many Westerns that he knew what, almost universally, it meant. Thus, by the time Jin brought out the knife and swung it in a hooking motion, Walter was already moving. Almost mechanically, he jumped back to avoid the slice and then moved forward again, using his own "knife" to stab towards Jin's solar plexus. Jin himself responded to this by moving back and to his right (towards Walter's left), ducking and stabbing towards Walter's ribs. Walter had two options here, but the easiest was the one he chose. He sidestepped to his own right and shifted his weight, bringing himself around in a half turn to face Jin, who had already recovered from being temporarily off balance and sent a jab-like stab towards Walter's face. Walter dodged this by moving his head to the left, and quickly to the right as a second identical stab came his way. Moving both feet back, he stepped backwards in a sliding motion at the same time as he attacked with a horizontal slash towards Jin's gut. Jin proved to be quicker than Walter assumed though, ducking back to avoid it and only coming out of it with a small tear in the coat's material. As Walter sidestepped and backed off slightly to enter the main part of the room, Jin rushed forward in a slightly enraged state, swinging madly, the longer blade of his knife making it harder for Walter to close in amid the slashes.

 "Stop moving and die already, WASP!" Jin shouted while slicing, a flurry of attacks Walter was too busy dodging to see well enough to describe.

 WASP? Why would he call me that...? he wondered to himself as he saw a sweeping overhand slash coming towards his temple and raised his arm, grabbing Jin's by the wrist and stopping the attack, at the same time thrusting towards Jin's stomach with his shiv, Jin doing the same thing Walter himself did to block the earlier attack. They now found themselves in a sort of deadly grapple, each trying to push their knife past the other's grip and into their flesh. Both combatants felt as if this was the decisive instance of their short fight. Both glared at their opponent, trying to make it seem as if they were not overly exerting themselves in their efforts to kill the person in front of them. The host and the guest locked in mortal combat. It sounded like something out of a Greek myth. Maybe because of this, Walter found himself thinking the most peculiar of things in this situation.

 Is this how Achilles felt when fighting Hector? the thought left his mind almost as soon as he entered it, but he could not help but consider it in the midst of combat. Had one of the greatest of the mythical Greek heroes felt the desperation, the fatigue, or the determination that were currently going through Walter's heart? Did he fear for his life as he faced his Trojan counterpart? Or was he stoic, killing his enemy with the cold precision of a machine? Would he have been hit by the adrenaline rush that Walter felt as he tried to push away the blade of Jin's knife which was heading, slowly but surely, towards his carotid artery while trying to shove his own knife into Jin's stomach, or would he have felt nothing, or perhaps mocked Jin? Was his bravery supernatural or based on overcoming his fear? It didn't matter in the long run, Walter was not Achilles, nor was Jin Hector. Another trivial thing to think of was the fact that, as he struggled for his life, defending himself for the first time in all of his seventeen years, for once not the original agressor, he didn't know whether the human or animal part of his personality was controlling his actions. Was he Doctor Walter or Mister Smith right now? All that mattered was that he was starting to feel Jin's knife press into his neck, despite his efforts, and it truly dawned on him that he could die right then, in that hotel room miles away from home while the American people watched his struggle for life with either joy or horror, maybe both. He realized this, and he realized something else: he was getting very pissed off.

 "Take your OWN FUCKING ADVICE, shithead!" he screamed into Jin's face, the cold fury coming from his words leaving Jin surprised and a bit taken aback. If the door had not been closed, Walter's scream would have been easily audible even in the lobby. He would not give the boy time to react, as a sudden surge of adrenaline gave him enough strength to push Jin's arm away while inching his own knife hand closer into Jin's gut, starting to break through his clothes to the flesh beyond. To couple this, he brought his head forward with violent speed, smashing right into the bridge of Jin's nose. Distracted by the sudden pain, his grip on Walter's knife hand loosened, and he did not notice Walter's left foot resting on his chest for a second before swiftly pushing forward and kicking him away. Jin hit the floor with a loud thud and an equally loud grunt, and almost dropped his knife, but kept his hold and rolled away to his right as Walter started to rush at him. He got up just as Walter turned to face him and, almost predictably, made yet another slash at Walter's throat.

 Unfortunately for him, this time Walter spotted the opening that had been there ever since the opening swings of the fight, and he took it. It was clear niether Walter nor Jin was experienced with a knife, and they'd have died at least five times over against anyone who actually knew what they were doing in a knife fight, such as Alexander Stevens or whoever the leader of the Prophets was, but Walter had finally managed to gain the edge. Ducking under the swing, he stepped slightly to the left and raised his glass shiv, bringing it down in a low sweeping motion towards the back of Jin's foot, right above the heel. The close proximity of the two caused the entire blade to slash clean through the middle of the Achilles' tendon on Jin's right foot, causing him to scream out from the immense pain and instantly drop to one knee from the lost balance, the knife falling from his hand. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Walter shifted his weight to face the side of the opponent and, after pressing his left hand to the small of Jin's back to keep him steady, brought the shiv swinging around in a right-hook like motion, plunging it right between Jin's legs. The glass shiv easily ripped through his pants and underwear, striking a small patch of flesh between the penis and testicles, right at the top of the "sack". Sufficient trauma, say, from a slash or stab, to this part of the genitalia would completely sever them, causing the testicles to fall off. It was the most efficient method of castration, if one were so inclined. As it turned out, as Jin screamed in even more agony, and tried to squirm away, this is exactly what happened inside Jin's pants, the "sack" detaching itself in a geyser of blood and rolling onto Jin's underwear. Not satisfied, Walter raised his aim by barely a micrometer and plunged the knife in again. This time it was the penis that fell off, cut from the base but being caught and skewered by the third stab, slashed in half. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) for Jin, the shiv chose that time to break, leaving a huge part of the glass shard in his pants, making a peniskabob of sorts. Throwing the remaining part of the shard away, Walter knocked the bawling and bleeding Jin down and quickly turned around, grabbing the boning knife Jin dropped. Jin was pretty quick, Walter had to give him that much, as soon as he picked up the knife he could see the critically injured teenager struggling to his feet, something nearly impossible. Walter would change that to "fully impossible" by quickly turning around and plunging the blade of the knife through Jin's eye and, in the same movement, tackling him to the ground. This made Jin make his next feeble attempt at screaming right in Walter's face, the meek wheeze he barely managed filling Walter's nose with his foul smelling breath as the knife's blade was pulled out, the eye coming with it before quickly being brushed off by the brown haired psycho.

 Walter was now in a modified version of what grapplers called a "mount", the only major difference being that his legs were spread so his knees could pin down Jin's arms. He could practically feel the stupid teenage fangirls rushing to their computers to write Walter/Jin yaoi fics just from seeing this position, but he shrugged it off. He would deal with the fangirls after winning SOTF. Besides, he would probably need a laugh or five million if he got that far. Walter grinned as Jin started to make an attempt at begging for his life, interrupted by the blade of the knife going into his mouth and stabbing the back of his throat, leaving a long slice across his tongue intentionally left by Walter. He was in extreme pain, but could do more than weep and move his mouth in silent pleadings. Meanwhile, Walter's eyes bugged out in a fearsome and crazed gaze as he started to cackle uncontrollably, bringing the knife down again and again into Jin's mouth and face. Each time the knife made a distinct "thunk" sound.

*thunk*
 The blade smashed through Jin's cheek, slashing his gums on the way in and out.

*thunk*
 Part of his ear was skewered by the knife, only to be flicked off.

*thunk*
 Blood started to splatter onto Walter's shirt, his cackle rose in volume and pitch, turning from bass to tenor in an instant.

*thunk*
 Jin's left eye was taken for the cause. He didn't even try to scream anymore. The blood loss and pain made him too weak.

*thunk*
 Even more blood splashed onto the shirt, it was even starting to make the carpet darker. One could now tell there was blood there on sight.

*thunk*
 Jin's spasms started to become weaker, his bodily functions shutting down.

*thunk*
 Walter was lost in his own world of blood and carnage, laughing mindlessly and bringing the knife down and up in an endless barrage of stabs. He noticed nothing, knew nothing. Except that he was out of control.

*thunk*
 The last "thunk" in the life of a teenage boy. Jin went limp. Walter did not notice, instead continually stabbing without care or knowledge. Thunk after thunk upon a corpse, the wetness fading and the resistance of flesh lessening. Jin turned out to be lucky, his hemophilia meant he bled out long before Walter was done.

 Walter would not realize that Jin was dead until he noticed that the entire blade of the knife was covered in blood. Then, his cackling would cease and he would look perplexedly at the knife, with which he had stabbed the boy at least thirty times, and then at Jin's destroyed face. When he did that, it clicked, to be cliche about it. Wordlessly, he got off of the corpse, and wiped the blood off of the knife on one of the coat sleeves. Looking at the corpse, he knew he should be horrified at what he did, scarred for life, but he wasn't.

 "Wh...why did I do that?" he asked himself, his arms shaking, the knife falling yet again onto the carpet. He was a psychopath, but not totally lost, he was not all evil. There was an innocent part of even his mind, a part that knew he had done something terrible and was shocked. For a second Walter actually thought he might cry.

 Because you had to. He was going to kill you. another voice said from within his mind, a more ruthless, guttural version of Walter's voice. The one he normally spoke with. Walter knew he was right, but still heard what was said. But most of all...you did it because you wanted to.

 Again, Walter knew he was right. All his life, nothing he did had been by accident, or unintentional, but at the same time nothing had ever been planned or predetermined. He had done everything on impulse, knowing exactly the gravity of his actions and doing what he did for no other reason than that he felt like it. If he wanted to watch a movie, he watched a movie. If he wanted to kick a dog, he found a dog and kicked it. If he wanted to kill somebody, he did. Impulse was the all powerful dictator of his life. His Big Brother. His Adolph Hitler, or Saddam Hussein. Impulse controlled everything he did. As if to prove this, he had an idea upon looking at the corpse of Jin Li-Jen, a boy he had killed not even an hour after meeting him. Indeed, he had killed Jin within three minutes and fourty three seconds of seeing him for the first time.

 In ancient times, warriors would sometimes take the heads of their slain enemies as trophies. In celebration of surviving yet another battle, and making sure their enemies did not. Suddenly, he had the thought, why couldn't he do that exact thing? Rather fitting, he supposed. So he did. He crouched down next to the corpse's head and placed the knife's blade right above the Adam's apple, the very bottom of the head. Then, using long sawing motions, he started to decapitate his first kill of the game. Even though the boning knife was designed to remove bones from meat, and just happened to be a good weapon with it's slightly curved blade and sharp tip, Walter still had difficulty, especially as the blood started to make his hand slip on the handle of the knife. As he emotionlessly sawed through bone, meat and gristle, grunting from exertion, he wondered whether or not he would remove Jin's head before dulling the blade. Finally, after taking up about fourty minutes of work, he got through the last of the small bundle of nerves and bone just above the spine (on the opposite end of the neck from where he had started to cut), causing the head to come off and stay in his hand, as he had grabbed the head and raised it up to cut better when he got near the back. Sighing in relief, he placed the head down and wiped his brow, dragging the boning knife's blade across the back of Jin's hand to see if it was still sharp. It was, as the additional cut proved. Getting up, he walked into the bathroom and numbly turned on the sink, washing the blood off of his hands and the knife (both handle and blade), making sure to thoroughly dry both hands and knife before putting the knife in his pocket and leaving the room, not even bothering to close the door to the bathroom. Walking over to the doorway, he picked up his pack and moved it towards the corpse, placing the head in wordlessly. He was very tired, and didn't think at all about it. He was just going through the motions, like a disinterested actor who was trying to pretend that he gave a damn so the director wouldn't fire him. As he walked over to the side of the bed and placed his pack there, it suddenly dawned on him that he had to pee. Looking to the corpse, and then to the bathroom, he decided that the corpse was closer and would make for a better toilet for now. It didn't matter, the boy was going to rot anyway, and he really didn't care if anyone saw his dick. Thus, he walked over to the corpse, and whipped it out, letting out a stream of urine that persisted for about half a minute before stopping, leaving a soaking urine stain in the middle of the former boy's coat. Zipping his pants back up after placing his member back inside, he walked over to the bed and, deciding he didn't want to sleep with a blood soaked shirt, removed it and placed it on the pack. He then took out his knife, put it on the nearby table/nightstand, and put himself under the bed's blankets.

 He fell asleep almost instantly after.


Male Contestant No.38-Li-Jen, Jin- DEAD

From: Sands of Time


Jesus. This is probably it for me. My stamina just isn't what it used to be, thought the panting form of Girl #25, Mariavel Varella. She'd gotten out just as her collar began to beep. TOO close. She was almost minus a neck! Jeeze. She wondered if Adam or the other girl had escaped. She couldn't worry about them now though. All she had was herself. If she could hook up with Seth and Lavvy, and Darcy though, she'd make it out alive. Yeah. She'd meet up with her friends and get out. Maybe even Bryan and Richard would join them. Bryan was a killer though. But then so was she.

The thoughts continued to plague her mind as she walked into the hotel. There was an eerie aura about the place but she ignored it. Two people had died here. Sad. Walter Smith killed one of them. He scared the crap out of her. She briefly wondered if he had stayed at the hotel but dismissed the thought entirely. There was no way he'd stick around. He was too "cool" for that. That guy, Jeeze. Not even Alex would go to the extents he'd gone. Then again, those were just rumors, right? She sure as hell hoped so. He would be a bad enemy to have on the island, and she wasn't on his good list.

She walked up the first staircase and began to search for a place to rest. She'd gotten no sleep the night before, being to nervous with all those people surrounding her. She quickly found a room that was unlocked and opened it with a bit of a creak. She flinched and cautiously slipped in. She walked over to the bed and put the pack down (she'd put Jaime's supplies in her pack before entering the residential district the day before.)

She took her tomahawk from her jeans and placed it under the pillow, just in case. She left the Tanto in her pocket for protection, letting the shaft poke out so she could draw it easily. She sat and rested her head. It was a long day.

Walter would not be the first, per say, to admit it (seeing as even if anyone did ask him about such things, he'd ignore them), but he was not a heavy sleeper. Thus, when the booming symphonic music at the beginning of the game's first announcement played over the speakers all over the island, he found himself waking up with a jolt, looking around to see if anyone was in the room other than him and the corpse, quickly grabbing the knife he had taken from Jin the night before. To his relief, the voice following the end of the quick piece he had not figured out the name of proved that it was only an announcement. He knew the voice from the previous game.

 Danya? I thought Wilson was running this one. he thought, shaking his head slightly and using the heel of his left palm to rub some sleep out of his left eye as the announcement continued. He was still tired, having just woken up, so Danya's voice sounded a bit out of focus to him, more distant than it would to a fully alert individual, but he still heard what was said as he placed the knife on the bed and slipped his blood-soaked (the blood now dry) black shirt back on, having taken it off before going to sleep last night. As the deaths were listed, he simply sat on the bed, listening attentively. He only recognized a few names, such as Greg Moyer (killed by Blake Ross. Walter hadn't expected Blake to be a killer, he must've been lucky to get away that time) Dan Birch (a dead student who had been in his homeroom, killed by Bryan Calvert), Bryan Calvert, himself, and Mariavel Varella (a killer, apparently). It was pretty funny, actually, the Bloody Fists had seemed kind of a joke in school, not the type of people Walter took all too seriously, but it seemed they were proving pretty dangerous in the pinch.

 Just goes to show you can't underestimate anyone in this game, he thought, still listening to the announcement. He didn't "get a kick out of" Jameson Doeert's death as Danya predicted, but he cracked a small grin when Danya actually took a few seconds to commend Walter for his kill, saying that the other contestants should "take a page out of his book". If he were the type to do such a thing, he would've rolled his eyes.

 "You flatter me, Danya, really." he would say instead, the pointed sarcasm in his voice painfully obvious as he looked to Jin's headless corpse, the look on his face spoiling what he'd say next, "That's right...I did kill him, didn't I?"

 Oddly enough, the way he said this seemed to have a slight innocence to it as the memory returned to him, plunging the knife into the boy's face over and over, castrating him with a glass shard, even cutting off his head and urinating on him, almost as if for a second he hadn't believed that he had done the act. Of course, he knew perfectly well that he had done it, if it weren't for him acting on pure adrenaline to save his own life, then literally going berserk when the fight was won, he might've described it as kind of fun. Instead, he took out a pencil that was in his pack and the map and took note of the danger zones, marking the pagoda, the church and the school building (Walter had not known there even was a school building, but he hadn't known about the pagoda or church until the announcement, either, so it was a moot point) with a dark capital "D" (him putting extra force on the tip to make the writing bolder). Afterwards, he put the pencil back and reviewed the map, trying to decide where to go next. The hotel wasn't a danger zone yet, though, so staying and waiting the day out was still an option.

 "I can wait," he finally decided, putting the map back as well and closing the bag after taking out a water bottle and drinking from it, again deciding against eating the food yet, he wasn't hungry.

 "I'm still kind of tired anyway." he said to himself, placing the knife on the table again and lying back down, going to sleep again.

 He would wake up a few hours later, feeling fully rested. Standing up and letting out a loud, satisfied yawn, he stepped around his bag and Jin's corpse and walked towards the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he turned on the sink, cold water, and started to splash it on his face. The coldness had its desired effect, shocking him into a fully-awake state. Now that he was no longer dead on his feet, to use a scum saying, he looked up at the mirror to see his face. Indeed, it was his face, right down to the dilated hazel eyes and greaser style (1960's subculture, not racial slur) hair. There was a slight mark on his neck from where Jin's knife had almost stabbed him, but otherwise he looked unharmed. The knife mark would go away in time, but Walter was disturbed by something else entirely.

 There was a scum saying that his father had once posed to him, it usually went along the lines of "how can you look at yourself in a mirror?" or describing not being able to do so, implying that the person had done something so terrible that they shouldn't be able to bear even looking at themselves. However, Walter had no problem doing so, aside from the brief pang of remorse he'd experienced immediately after Jin's death, he felt nothing about it. All he saw in the mirror was someone with dilated pupils and long brown hair, along with a bloodstained shirt and jeans. He did not attach anything to that body that appeared in the glass other than the name Walter Smith. With a sigh, Walter took a nearby towel and started to dry off his face, walking out of the bathroom after throwing the towel to the side when he finished (the sink having been turned off earlier). Entering the main room, he looked around. Everything was, naturally, still there, though Jin was starting to stink the place up even more than when he was alive. Subconsciously pinching his nose shut with his left hand, he stepped around the corpse and picked up the bag in his right, slinging it over his shoulder before going around the bed and grabbing the knife off of the table and putting it in the back pocket of his jeans.

 I might as well leave before more people show up.

 With this thought in mind, he started to walk out, walking over Jin instead of around the former boy and opening the door. Watching one of Jin's eyeballs roll out of the door, him having accidentally kicked it, with an expression that was half bemused and half disgusted, he was about to turn around to go out the back door when he caught a flash of green clothes and blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. Drawing the knife and swiftly turning around before moving forward to see what it was, he saw a female in a tight halter top and jeans walking up the first flight of stairs and going into a room. For some reason that was beyond him, he was compelled to follow this young woman, stalking up the stairs as quietly as possible and trying to ignore the people who came in soon after, going inside after one freaked out at the sight of one of the corpses.

 It's her...isn't it? he mentally asked himself, knowing who he was talking about. Mariavel, the girl on the announcements who he had had an odd obsession with for about a month, on and off occasionally before then. He had had several dreams of getting a chance like that which was currently presented to him, but now that it was time to act, he found himself hesitating, waiting at the wall outside the room the girl who may or may not be Mariavel Varella had gone into, the bag lying on the floor to his right and his back against the wall.

 What if it isn't? was another thing that came to mind, the possibility he had mistaken two differnet females. Mariavel was not the only busty blonde high schooler in the Denton area, as apparently at least two schools from that area had been taken.

 Who cares? What good's a game where you have to kill if you can't enjoy yourself once in a while? was the quick reply from his more animalistic side, if it were a literal conversation the voice would have a caustic snap. Nodding in conscession, he placed his hand on the door after checking to see if there was anyone around and his knife was secure, and opened the door, walking inside. Unless she had fallen asleep, the girl would probably notice him come in, but unless she was armed with a gun, something he doubted, he was willing to let the cards fall where they would.

 Let's get this over with. finally a thought both sides of him agreed on.

No… no! stop it! Please stop it daddy! Don't hurt him! Hit me instead! Please stop! Grant!! The horrible memory returned to young Mariavel as she lay there hidden in the dark room of the hotel. She sat up and wiped away the single tear that fell down her slightly dirty face. She hadn't showered in a day! She must've reeked. She sighed and reached for her daypack when she heard a slight creak outside.

What the? she thought to herself as she listened more carefully. There was a slight scream and another creak, almost as if someone was outside. Damn! Did someone follow her?

"Damn… this isn't good." She whispered to herself as she reached for her tomahawk, hidden under the satin covered pillow. She grabbed the shaft and waited. Waited for whoever it was to come in. She didn't bother to go for the Tanto. One good hit with the Axe and she'd be set.

The knob turned and she jumped off the bed, Tomahawk in hand, and ran for the door, when it opened she swung at the person behind it. Only later would she realize that this was someone who she'd have almost no chance against. Her eyes opened wide when she did realize who she was up against.

"Walter!"

Unlike with Jin, Mariavel actually managed to catch Walter off guard with her assault, swinging her axe for his head the second he opened the door. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for her, his reflexes were faster than either Walter, Mariavel, or Jin gave him credit for. Thus, he was able to raise his left hand and grab Mariavel's attacking arm by the wrist, a split second before the axe would've cracked open the side of his head and killed him.

 Too close.

  "Who the fuck do you think you are, whore?" he growled at her.
 
 It was immediately after he said this that Mariavel seemed to know who she had just tried to kill, saying his name in what might have been surprise. Grinning sadistically, he tightened his hold on her wrist and twisted to his left, putting his knife in his back pocket and getting a firm hold on her free arm as well, lifting it slightly. If this worked, not only would the pain elicit a verbal response from the girl (it was worth noting that he was in the perfect position, being much taller than her and standing very close, to look down her "shirt" if it could so be called, something he was doing with his peripheral vision) that would be music to the psychotic child's ears, but she would drop her axe, her grip loosened from the wristlock. Taking into account the fact that she would be for the most part unarmed (he could not see Mariavel's knife), in this instance he would take advantage of the opening he had created previously by slamming his right knee into Mariavel's side, right below the ribcage. If the kick had its desired effect, the pain would cause her head to move forward slightly as she bent over a bit*, something Walter would capitalise on by removing his grip from both of her arms and moving to grab the side of Mariavel's head in his left hand. If this attempt worked, he would slam her head against the wall and let go, only backing away for a second to send a right hook punch towards the (most likely dazed from the assault) girl's head, right between the eyes, hopefully knocking her down. If the grab didn't work, he would lower the arm and attack instead with a shoulder rush, which would have the same effect as if he had successfully slammed her head into the wall and punched her down, except for being less stunned. There was also the possibility of her dodging both such attacks, or any of the ones before hand (though dodging or completely defending against the knee was unlikely, Walter would admit it was possible). If she was slammed into the wall but avoided the punch or stayed standing after it, he would simply throw an identical left hook, aimed for her temple.

 Regardless, the only major difference would be if Walter was glaring over at Mariavel or down at her, depending on whether she was standing or knocked over, when he continued his tirade against her, malicious thoughts running through his mind and an erection apparent if Mariavel bothered to look at his pants.

 "You're in a game where you win by being the last one alive. Naturally, that means you want to avoid killers, maybe kill a few yourself," he said, walking forward a couple of steps regardless of her position, "Then you hear that a girl you've wanted to fuck all year is playing this game, and a few hours later she walks right past you. When you go to investigate, she attacks you with a god damned axe. How do you react? I know how I do."

 Walter would not give her a chance to respond, immediately launching forward with either another kick to the ribs if she was down (aimed between the legs if she was moving, he had read somewhere that a kick there hurts a girl just as much as a boy) or another right hook aimed at her cheek and face if she was standing. It would've been easier to just pull out the knife and slash her to ribbons like Jin, but no, he wanted to have some "fun" with her while he had the chance. Besides, maybe all the fantasies of completely destroying the beautiful girl in front of him and having his way with her would go away if he actually did it.

OOC: *= I'm not trying to come across as controlling or forcing you into a situation here, just saying what will happen if you take those specific hits. It's up to you what hits her or doesn't. And I know this is short, my combat posts are usually shorter, and I'm tired.

Shit! Mariavel screamed to herself. It was Walter Smith. The fucking loon. She only realized it was him after she'd swung the axe, and she didn't even make contact. He grabbed her wrist and practically crushed it, probably karma for what she did to Jaime. She dropped the Tomahawk and he grabbed the other wrist, calling her a whore. Oh yeah, real original Walter. He quickly kneed her in the ribs and she buckled forward. He let go of her wrists and she took this as her chance. She quickly hit the floor as he attempted to slam her head into the wall and she successfully back flipped to a standing position, possibly hitting him in the chin with her foot (thank god for cheerleading).

His next attack caught her off-guard as her shoulder rushed into her and knocked the breath out of her. She stumbled backwards and clutched her chest, witch hurt like a bitch. Her head was down, and she saw it. He had a fucking erection! He was getting off on beating a girl to death! She looked him in the eyes and spit at him after he said he wanted to fuck her. Tch, like that would happen.

She swiftly moved forward and delivered a roundhouse kick to his gut, although it could have missed, Mariavel was too caught up in the fight to notice. He then punched her in the face, sending her sprawling back towards the bed. She put her hand to her mouth and she already knew she was bleeding she could taste it. This guy just wouldn't quit! She felt her long Blonde hair fall into her eyes. No! Her barette! Where was it?! She looked around and saw it behind walter, near the door. It probobly fell when he punched her. The fucking bastard!

"Fuck you Walter! I'm no plaything! Go fucking slit your own throught and save someone else the trouble!" She screamed at him and she quickly pulled the Tanto from it's sheath, diving for his legs, hoping to slice him in the heel before he could do anything else.

OOC: same here hun, same here.

Walter would feel his vision turn slightly hazy from the adrenaline rush caused by the fight, mixed with his mind being clouded with anger and lust at the same time, but it didn't really matter. After he had tried to grab her after his knee kick, she had done a rather impressive backflip maneuver, her foot grazing his chin and staggering him a bit. Typically, she had spat at him in response to his comments about certain natural human desires, but the saliva would fall short, barely touching his shirt. That was enough to piss him off though.

 This...scum HARLOT dared to deface my shirt with her saliva?! I'll kill her! he found himself thinking, his glare deepening and his fists clenching as he moved forward. He hadn't expected the roundhouse kick, and it caught him on the side while his arm was raised for a punch, knocking him off balance for a second but not doing much damage that he could note. It did however infuriate him even more, serving as a sort of amplifier for the punch he landed, the feel of his fist hitting her right on the mouth satisfying and the sight of her blood even moreso, also serving to put him in an increased state of arousal. He had hit her hard, and it showed by her sprawling to the bed. She would state her reply while he was moving forward, answered by the exact same grin he had had before, looking a bit creepier now that his intentions were obvious. He would not have time to respond though, her quickly dashing forward (her speed was surprising given her figure, but he supposed being a gang member and cheerleader would require her to have some level of physical ability) and pulling out a knife he hadn't seen her with before, apparently going for his heel much like he had done with Jin.

 He was determined not to let this fight end for him as it did for the Asian boy with foul breath. Instead, he dodged with a sidestep to the opposite direction of her knife arm (to the left if using her right again, to the right if she switched to her left) and moved behind her. That was where his superior reach, weight, and most likely strength would come in. Reaching out with his right hand, he grabbed a handful of Mariavel's long blonde hair and pulled backwards and to the right, letting go shortly after. This move was simple, unless the hair strands he was holding gave way for whatever reason, he would pull her back and throw her violently, landing her either on the floor at the foot of the bed or on it. There was no way of telling if the sudden force had made her drop her knife as well, so he would have to be careful, but if she landed on the floor and still had it he would step on the blade and use his other foot to aim a kick at her face, right below the eye so as to avoid knocking out any teeth (yet) or breaking the nose, but still being marginally painful. If this worked, he would grab her by the throat and physically toss her onto the bed, briefly placing his free hand on one of her breasts before pulling her up. With her on the bed he would quickly grab her again and reposition her so she was facing the way one normally would while lying on a bed instead of slung over it before also moving on the bed, moving to pin her down and throwing another punch towards the side of her head to discourage restistance before placing both hands at the opening on the halter top and tearing down, ripping it open and ignoring whether she had a bra on or not as he would start struggling to remove or at least lower her pants while holding her down. If she didn't have the knife he would skip to throwing her on the bed.

 If she had been thrown on the bed and dropped the knife, he would not need to further complicate matters, simply going through the actions he would have if he had tossed her onto the bed. If she had kept the knife, he would use one of his knees to keep her knife hand down while attempting to forcibly disrobe her. In the event that she had escaped the throw entirely, he would be back at square one, and would need to think up a new strategy.

 "Actually, Mariavel, that's exactly what you are, a slut plaything good for nothing but the amusement of superior individuals like myself!"

Damn! He slash fell short as Walter quickly side-stepped to the right, dodging behind her. She went to face him, but was abruptly stopped. He had grabbed a handful of her bright blonde hair and pulled back, setting her on her ass and bringing a few tears to her eyes. Just… just like daddy… He's just like daddy. No… he's just like Marcus. He isn't my father, he's Marcus. She flashed back to reality when she was suddenly jerked to the right and she smacked her forehead on the wooden bedpost. That would DEFINITELY leave a mark. She attempted to stand but was pushed back to the ground and kicked in the face, right below the eye.

He kicked the knife away and she barely put up a fight. She already realized that she'd lost. There was no more point. She should just let him kill her. After all, who WOULD miss her? Maybe Tanesha was right, maybe they all were.

He grabbed her throat like a crazed animal and roughly squeezed her breast before throwing her onto the bed. No... No... No, no, no! She wasn't going to let this happen! NO! She would survive! They were all wrong about her! She was here! She was alive! She wouldn't die here! She just couldn't…

"NO! Get off of me! Get off!!!" She screamed as he climbed onto her. He quickly punched her in the side of the head and she shut up. No… this couldn't be happening. Not to her.

He grabbed her halter top and ripped it clean down the middle, exposing her bra-covered breasts. Next he attempted to Take off her jeans and probably rape her. But no… She wouldn't let him. Where was her knight in shining armor when she needed him? He said some choice words, only furthering her resolve to get him off of her. She punched him in the chest repeatedly and sobbed, her punches packed almost no punch. She was dead now. There was nothing she could do.

Outwardly, Walter seemed to show no sign of acknowledgement to Mariavel's weak punches to his chest as she cried with him on top of her, working to remove her jeans. In reality, hearing her sobs and feeling her struggle was just arousing him even more, he was just focusing on removing her pants before someone came to see what the screaming was about, as the noise probably carried out into the hallway with the door open (he had only realized he had forgotten to close the door when throwing Mariavel on the bed, but it was too late to go back). As he had managed to undo the zipper and button on the jeans, and was starting to peel them off (technically down, but it was the same thing) when he decided to briefly take care of another matter.

 "I have no intention of doing that, and you have no fucking idea how much you're turning me on right now, Varella," he said at first, bringing his hand around to his pocket and pulling the knife back out after, disgustingly enough, lowering his head to her face and actually licking some of the tears and dirt off of her cheeks before quickly bringing the knife to her bra and slashing it (being careful not to cut her yet), tearing it off after doing that and exposing her breasts to the cameras in the room (it was dark, but Walter thought he saw at least two during the fight). If sex really sold, viewers at home were probably riveted to whatever channel was covering this particular part of the game. Regardless, he would raise the knife up so that it was right in front of one of her beautiful aquamarine eyes (he would not even bother to think about how tempting it was to plunge it into her eyeball) before continuing to speak, saying, "but I'll cut you a deal. Just take this like a nice little girl, and you won't go out like that Shirohara bitch in the last game. No, if you're lucky, you might not even feel a thing."

 With that said, he used his left hand to lower her pants just a couple more inches, having still felt they were too high, and then used the thumb and forefinger of that hand to raise one of the strings on her panties, bringing the knife around and cutting the string with a quick movement of the wrist before putting it back in his pocket and repositioning himself slightly so that he was more evenly "distributed" so to speak over her, using his legs to spread hers so that once his pants were removed his genitalia would be over those of Mariavel and his arms were in position so that they could hold hers down, which he did after flipping the half-cut panties to the side like a page in a book, fully exposing Mariavel. Again smiling wickedly at her, and briefly making a mental note of the fact that her breasts were pushing against his sternum after he had lowered himself (meaning that he was low enough) earlier, he would suddenly bring his mouth down onto hers, forcing his tongue inside while fumbling to remove his pants. If she started to struggle during this stolen kiss, he would simply bring up his right hand from undoing his jeans and throw a punch under her ribs, where his knee kick had hit earlier. Repeatedly if necessary.

 Regardless, he would eventually have his pants lowered enough to be satisfactory and would use his left hand to pull down his underwear, his own member coming out, still erect. Rising slightly and breaking the kiss so as to give himself room, he would return his arms to pinning the poor girl down and would go in. It initially hurt a slight amount, and if Mariavel bothered to look she would see a temporary grimace cross his features before returning to his normal face as he started to thrust. After the initial couple of seconds of pain, he was in absolute euphoria, knowing he had once again gotten what he wanted.

 "Besides..." he muttered to her after about one minute and twelve seconds of this, speaking while thrusting, "what other...whore can bra...brag about having fucked a...politicia-" his words were interrupted while he was saying "politician" by a loud bang and a crack, followed by a surprised and pained grunt as a gash appeared on the top of his head. His eyes widening to look almost normal (as the eyes were mostly hazel in his own "normal" state), he wordlessly rolled off of both Mariavel and the bed, hitting the ground with a thud. If Mariavel looked, she would see her assaulter lying still on the floor, face down with a pool of blood starting to form around his head, the blood turning the front of his hair a reddish-brown shade. For all intents and purposes, he looked dead. Looking over to the door would find a man who would prove very familiar to Mariavel, though behind his aviator sunglasses he looked a bit flushed and he was breathing a bit heavily. Nevertheless, the figure was exactly as he looked like, right down to the clothing, the gold brown hair and the cigarette in his mouth. It was Seth Mattlock, leader of the Bloody Fists, and he was holding the Walther P38 that had just shot Walter Smith.

 "Holy shit..." he muttered, walking towards the female gang member, a concerned look mixed with a glare behind his sunglasses.

 "Hey, Mariavel, you alright?" he would ask, for once not slipping on the pronounciation of her first name as he tended to do.

Mariavel felt herself slowly give up all hope of ever escaping this predicament alive. There was nothing more she could do. She was beaten, and she knew it. There was no way that she could win against him, he was so strong… she was nothing more that a gang-girl… a nobody… a loser. She couldn't stop him as he started to peel off her jeans, but not even halfway done, he stopped.

She was turning him on?! OH gods… how disgusting! He licked her face and she yelped as if a snake had bitten her. He pulled out his knife and proceeded to cut through her bra-strap, exposing her breasts to the cameras and to the entirety of the USA. She knew it was hopeless. People at home were probably laughing at her as she struggled. She was nothing, she was absolutely nothing.

He continued to torment her with his dastardly words of malice. Going so far as to say she wouldn't die like the girl in the last game who was raped. She sobbed quietly as he lowered her pants a little more, cutting through the string of her panties as well. She was dead. Noone was going to save her. There was no way out. She was out of the running. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears and gave up.

She was now fully exposed and he spread her legs open wide, so that he could no doubt have his way with her. Damn…. Losing her virginity to this bastard. She didn't know what to do… He pinned her arms above her head and was practically drooling at the sight of her body. It disgusted her. He suddenly plunged his tongue into her mouth and started to remove his own pants. She bit down on the organ and he merely punched her in the ribs, taking the wind out of her.

He pulled out his penis and proceeded to begin to lower himself towards her entrance. She started to shake in fear. He plunged it in, earning a loud shriek from the girl as she felt her cherry pop forcefully. She continued to yelp every time he would thrust into her, causing more and more blood to spill from her genitalia. He started to talk to he but she wasn't listening, the only word she heard was "whore" goddammit… hasn't she already been called that enough?

Suddenly there was a loud bang and a crack, followed by a surprised and pained grunt from Walter as a gash appeared on the top of his head. He rolled off of the violated girl and landed on the ground with a dull thud. She was so shocked that all she could do was grab the sheets of the bed and curl herself up in them, looking to see who had shot him.

It… it couldn't be. It was too good to be true. Nothing would have prepared her for the sight of Seth Mattlock, leader of the Bloody Fists to be standing there holding the gun that had saved her from Walter Smith. She jumped off the bed and grabbed onto the boy. Hugging him deeply and sobbing into his chest. She held on for dear life, as if he would disappear if she let go.

"S-Seth! Oh Seth! I was so scared! He-he… he raped me! He took me Seth! He took Me!"

"I saw."

 That was Seth Mattlock's initial response to what Mariavel was saying, clinging to him as if he were a life raft or something. If the circumstances were not so dire, he would've found it very hilarious and extremely embarrassing, but they were, and he knew why she was acting this way. He had put his gun away after shooting Walter, so he was unarmed when Mariavel did this, which was good because otherwise she would have had a Walther P38 pushing against her because he hadn't been able to put it away in time. Regardless, his right arm was now wrapped around Mariavel's back, returning the embrace, while the left was at his side, not being used currently.

 "I...I heard you screaming, thanks to that window over there," he said next, he was trying to have a soothing/calming nature in his voice but there was an obvious element that threw this off. Just from hearing the somewhat cold way in which he talked, how the vowels were lower in pitch than the consonants, in fact even from the fact that he was talking at a slower rate than normal made it obvious to Mariavel what was wrong. Seth was angry. Very angry, but not at her. He pointed to the window he was referring to, which was slightly open, "It was a bit open, so the sound carried outside. I heard it while coming out of the woods. I ran here as fast as I could. God damnit, I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner. He won't hurt you anymore, he can't. You have my word on that."

 It was clear that, despite his efforts to calm her down, he himself was very frustrated. Nevertheless, he did not try to move out from her grip, he could understand her situation. It wasn't all that different than when he had first recruited her into the Fists. He felt sorry for her, knew she had little else. Eventually, Seth was able to move himself out of Mariavel's grip, albeit a tad reluctantly. Again, in lighter circumstances it would have been amusing how hard she had been holding on. Ignoring this inappropriate thought, Seth started to remove his jacket. Her jeans, unlike the rest of her clothing apparently, seemed to have been left intact by Walter, which was a rare upside, so he would have it a bit easier trying to help. Managing to remove it, he would hold it out to her, his message obvious.

 "There should be some underclothes in that dresser near the bed, but take this too," he said, having indicated the aforementioned dresser, "It'll be a bit big on you, but it's a good jacket."

 How long is he going to wait? Does he think we're stupid?

He saved her. Seth saved her life. Lavvy was wrong about him, she'd always said that. Seth was one of the only people she could trust on this island. Only him, Lavvy and Darcy ( if she IS on the island). It could only be them. They could all escape together. Yeah. They'd get out. Seth would lead them to an escape. He wrapped his arm around her back protectively and told her that he'd heard her screams from the open window. He sounded angry. That meant something. He was furious even!  He apologized for not saving her sooner, but she was fine. She was just glad that he got there. He said that Walter would never hurt her again and she believed him, she always believed him.

"Thank you Seth… thank you so much! I- I'm so glad… so very glad you came!" She said into his chest, she had calmed down a bit, and she had stopped crying too.

He pulled out of her hold and told her to get herself cleaned up. She walked over to the mentioned dresser and pulled out a white tee-shirt and a pair of white panties. She pulled the shirt over her head and took the jacket from Seth, thanking him.

"umm… turn around for a sec? I'm gonna put these on." She said before grabbing her Tanto from the ground and re-sheathing it. She made her way to a blind spot and removed her shoes and jeans. She tore off the ruined panties and punt on the new ones. Thankfully they fit her. It occurred to her that she didn't put a bra on but she dismissed it and slid on her jeans, followed by her shoes. She slipped the Tanto into her pocket and walked towards the Tomahawk after pulling on Seth's jacket. She held it firmly and picked up her barrette. She looked at it for a second before replacing it in her hair. She walked to Seth's side and asked,

"Is he dead?"

Seth had turned around like Mariavel asked to allow her to get dressed once she took his jacket, but had not calmed down any. He liked that jacket, but she needed clothes, and he still had the undershirt. Much to his chagrin, however, once the sounds of her changing her clothes stopped, she walked up to him and asked the one question he knew she would ask, but somewhat dreaded; was Walter Smith dead? What could he say under such a situation? Should he lie to her to make her feel safe, knowing the announcement next morning would show it to be a lie, or tell her the truth? Frustrating problem, there.

 "He should be," he finally decided to say, something that wasn't entirely true but not entirely false, "I aimed for his fucking head."

 Hoping that would be satisfactory, he moved closer to the bed, his eyes moving to the blood stained sheets momentarily, increasing his anger, and then looked towards Mariavel for a second, and then the open door.

 "I have something to take care of here," he said, his tone having changed again. This time, it was the patient but firm tone of voice that told a person that what he had to say was very urgent. People tended to listen when he spoke this way, "go into the room closest to the front door of the hotel, as quickly as possible. Lock the door behind you, and do not come out no matter what you hear. Do not leave that room unless there is a threat inside. I'll come get you when I'm finished, okay?"

 With this said, he would shift his focus to the wall to the right of someone on the bed, his hand going to his gun, and there he would wait until she left. Once she did so, he would speak up again.

 "Quit pretending Walter. I know you aren't dead."

 "How'd you guess?" Walter's voice sounded out from the other side of the bed, a mocking tone as the sound of pants being redone reached Seth's ears.

 "For one," Seth said, the cold fury evident in his voice as he stalked towards and around the bed, "your brains aren't splattered all over the room, unfortunately. Also, dead people don't grunt after being killed."

 "Fine, you've got me. Takes a liar to spot a liar, eh?"

 "I'm no liar!" Seth snarled, pulling out the gun and rounding the bed, aiming where Walter would be lying. Surprisingly, he wasn't there.

 "Of course you are, Seth. You lied to that bitch when you said I 'should be dead', and you've been lying to yourself ever since you shot me. Which really fucking hurt by the way. Face it, you're just mad because I knocked up your girlfriend before you even knew you wanted to!"

 This ilicited an angry quasi-shout from Seth, who turned around towards the bed and fired five rounds into it, which pierced through the matress and hit the floor, something that would have killed Walter if he were there.

 "You missed, punk!" Walter let out a piercing laugh as he said this, causing Seth to look under the bed. Not seeing anything resembling a person through that viewpoint, he backed up and stood back up when he heard something on the bed. Thus, he ended up face to face with a bloodied, wildly grinning Walter, who lept off the bed at him with a knife in one hand and the other surprisingly empty. He raised his gun to meet Walter and pulled the trigger, but Walter slammed into him before the bullet left the barrel as his other hand went up to stop Walter's knife. This caused the shot to move upwards into the ceiling instead of straight into Walter's face.

 Landing on the ground with a thud and a grunt, Seth struggled to aim his gun at Walter, who had grabbed his gun arm to attempt to direct it away from himself, while keeping the knife away from him. After a few seconds of this struggle, along with a couple of close calls where Seth fired off shots only to have the gun redirected and the shot hit a wall just barely in time, Seth brought his head forward right between Walter's eyes, loosening his own grip at the same time. Startled by the headbutt, Walter dropped his knife and stood up, off balance, and was then floored by a kick to the sternum from Seth. Seeing Seth aim his gun again, the psychopath rolled back just before Seth pulled the trigger, causing the shot to miss. He then repeated this and rolled to the side, now obscured by the bed again, to avoid two subsequent shots. Luck and timing had saved his life. Annoyed, Seth decided to stop wasting his ammo and pocketed his gun, going onto the bed and jumping off on the other side to face Walter, who upon seeing his enemy charged forward with an intent to tackle. Instead of dodging, Seth used his arms to grab Walter's head, holding it still, and slammed his knee into Walter's face twice. Outraged and hurt, Walter staggered back and moved forward with a right hook, which Seth dodged with a sidestep to the left and responded with a left hook to the rib. Walter was not as phazed by this, however, and responded by swiftly bringing his right elbow back and crashing it into Seth's temple, knocking the gang leader back.

 "I'll kill you, poser!" Walter shouted, to which Seth responded with a grin, raising his fists in a boxer's guard. He was in his element, he lived for the fight, and now he would show Walter what happened when he messed with his friends.

 "Not if I kill you first, nutjob. Come on, let's see what you've got!"

OOC: Yeah, I decided to only put the fight's beginning in the first post for length reasons and because it's easier. Please note that this only happens after Mariavel leaves the room.

Mariavel knew she shouldn't hope. Hope was nothing in this game. Hope was but a fleeting thought that people with no futures kept close to them to feel safe. Hope was a stupid thing to hold on to, yet Mariavel could only hold onto that right now. The hope that Walter was indeed dead. But, she knew he wasn't. She knew that Seth only wanted her out so he could kill him.

But still, she nodded her head and left the room, running for. the staircase and not looking back. She knew she should've stayed, and if she was aware of what unfortunate event would come next, she probably would have, but she didn't, and now, she only could look forward, and hope for the best.

Continued: Kill me softly

Walter let out a pained grunt as another punch from Seth staggered him, blood starting to flow from his nose as he returned a scowl to the gang leader. Before he could react, Seth charged forward, his blue eyes (he had discarded his sunglasses earlier so they wouldn't be broken) looking surprisingly menacing with his deep glare. Sidestepping, Walter avoided his attempt at a tackle and responded by allowing the movement to reach its natural climax, he grabbed the back of Seth's head and slammed his face into the wall that he was about to run into unless he stopped. Specks of blood appeared on the wall as this happened, and Walter pulled Seth's head back for another smash. However, Seth caught him off guard with an elbow straight to the liver. Exhaling, Walter slammed Seth's face into the wall one more time and pulled him back again, this time letting go in a tossing maneuver that knocked Seth back a small distance. His opponents nose looked broken, and there was a good deal of blood coming from it, just like Walters, but Seth seemed to pay it no mind, lashing out with a powerful uppercut that knocked Walter's head upwards, and a right hook struck the left side of his jaw before he could regain balance.

 This combination, which he was not expecting, floored Walter, who fell on his side facing Seth. Before he could start to stand up, Seth sharply kicked him in the stomach. Knocked back to the floor, Walter rolled forward again to dodge the next kick and stood up, quickly turning to face Seth and sidestepping around the punch coming at him. They were both starting to breathe heavily, as they had been going at it for a few minutes, both having mostly forgone any strategy other than beating each other into a pulp, and they were both bruised, bloody, and in pain, but neither were slowing down. Walter had a strange cramp that was giving him a rather persistant pain in his crotch area (in fact, it had started up shortly after Seth had stopped him from finishing his work on Mariavel) which was rather distracting, but he tried to focus on the fight. Of course, if his mind were one hundred percent on track, he wouldn't have been caught with the high roundhouse kick launched by Seth, the hard shinbone cracking into his brow and opening a bad cut (Seth would later remind himself to thank Bryan Calvert for showing him some of his Muay Thai). Staggering, Walter snarled at Seth as the blood spilled down his face, greatly hindering his vision when coupled with the swelling around his left eye.

 Funny how quickly pleasure can turn to pain. he thought, repeatedly stepping back to dodge Seth's next few punches while blinking to try to get the blood out of his eye. Sidestepping around a straight, he grimaced and raised a hand to wipe the blood off his eye, which was when Seth took his chance, slamming into him with a shoulder charge that knocked him back. There was a small thudding sound as the two ran into a door that Seth had seen and Walter had not, but before Walter could look back to see what they had ran into he felt a hard punch go into his side, left open from his mistake in raising his hand earlier, but as he lowered his hands slightly another right hand struck his face. His head held still by Seth's left hand gripped firmly around his throat, Walter was not able to do much as hit after hit landed on his face, jackhammer punches that would daze even a seasoned boxer, Walter letting out sharp grunts from the hard hits as blood continued to spill out from his face and mouth. After a couple of seconds of this, Walter managed to throw a couple of short body punches into Seth's gut, but the boy didn't notice, instead continually punching him and eventually throwing Walter to his right. Landing hardly on the ground, Walter quickly scrambled up and dodged Seth's next punch, elbowing the gang leader on his broken nose and backing away to the door that was the room's entrance and exit.

I can't keep this up much longer, as much as I hate to admit it. he thought, ducking under one of Seth's hook punches and hitting him with a strong uppercut to the stomach, quickly following it up with a right hook to the face and an immediate left hook, using quick pivot motions to give the punches their power. Knocked off balance by this, Seth was able to be knocked down by another uppercut to the chin from Walter, who immediately ran over him towards the bed, jumping over it as Seth started to pick himself up and bending over to pick up the knife. As Seth managed to straighten himself, ready to go back in, Walter was already back on their side of the bed, charging with the knife in his hands. Walter hated to have to have used such a tactic against scum as lowly as Seth, but he needed to win before Seth decided to start using his gun again, and fortunately for him in the couple of seconds it took for Seth to register the tide turning he was already too close for the gang leader to draw his own weapon, which had somehow not fallen out of his pocket. As Seth started to back away from Walter's stabs and slashes, not wanting to risk blocking a slash or stab and having an artery severed, several shallow cuts and tears in his shirt started to appear from the blade. The wolfish grin appearing on his face from this looked even more sinister because of the blood on his teeth and all over him, and he barely managed to restrain a cackle as Seth's back touched the main room door. The rat was cornered, the filth isolated, and now it was time to cleanse. Cleanse and dine.

 I win!

 Unfortunately for the maniac, Seth had been planning every step of the fight ever since Walter picked up his knife. Anyone with better capabilities of logical thought, which is to say just about everyone, than Walter would have taken the chance offered up by knocking Seth down to run away while it was still possible, but that was the past. Just as Seth knew it would, Walter's knife hand started to move back for the stab as he charged forward (it was worth noting that under different circumstances Seth would have been deeply impressed by just how fast Walter could move in a combat situation), and Seth stood still as if unable to do anything. Inevitably, the stab came forward, aimed towards his gut where most of the organs were, and Seth took initiative at last. Instead of defending, however, he moved in, moving his upper body to the right in what boxers called a bobbing motion so that the point of the knife would only graze his ribs, the rest of the knife doing no harm without the point pressing into him. Before Walter could express surprise, or any reaction really, Seth's arms wrapped around the back of his head and his left knee shot up into him.

 The knee strike's target, as Walter found out, was right between his legs. Letting out a somewhat demonic howl of pain, his hands dropped and the knife clattered to the floor (or as close to "clattered" it could get on a carpet) and he started to step back, causing Seth to explode into action. It started with a headbutt, causing another blood spatter, and then Seth instantly clinched with Walter, using his own arms to tie up those of his opponent to constrict movement as his knees once again started to throw themselves at Walter's body in consecutive movements. Left, right, left right, right right left, and then two more lefts. Each time, Walter gritted his teeth to avoid crying out from the impact, but at the final left his mouth started to open, exactly the opening Seth was looking for. Without warning, Seth disengaged from the clinch and threw his head forward again right as Walter's mouth was open. Walter let out a loud, wet gargle, and started to fall backwards, and Seth moved forward with another punch chambered.

 Only to get greeted by a fist right on the broken nose. Now it was his turn to step back, looking up in surprise at what happened. Standing in front of him, barely so but still managing on shaking legs, his insane smile now replaced by the most determined look Seth had seen on a fighter in a long time, was Walter Smith, his right arm hanging in front of him after dealing the blow. He had used a whipping motion to launch the blow, bringing his torso up at a high speed when he saw Seth approach and lashing out with his right hand. Spitting blood and tooth fragments, the psychopath started to raise his fists again.

 "I...won't lose," was what he finally managed to say, despite looking like he was about to keel over. Seth didn't know what had triggered the change in the young man, and had even less of an idea on what to say in return. Finally, he simply grunted at his opponent, trying to keep in mind that he had a personal reason to hate the man and want to kill him, and shouldn't simply be enjoying the fight.

 "Yes you will."

 Surprisingly, Walter made no move for the knife on the ground, and neither did Seth go for his gun. Instead, as if that exchange of words had been the "bell" of sorts signalling the resuming of the fight, both smashed the face of the other with a massive punch at the same time. Recovering their balance, they went at it again. Over, and over, and over. Just repeatedly hitting each other with the hardest shots they could muster. There was a loud packing sound every time their shots connected, along with a wet squishing noise and the occasional crack, but they didn't budge at first. They didn't even think to grapple or move out of the extreme close range that made everything but punches, elbows, knees and headbutts more trouble than they were worth. They blocked, parried, and dodged punches, but they were content to just stand there and slug it out.

 I'll make this bastard pay for hurting Mariavel!

 Even more blood flew as a heavy overhand from Seth crashed into Walter's jaw, only to be returned in full with a haymaker that struck just under Seth's temple, eliciting a grimace.

 There's no way I'll lose to this worthless thug!

 Walter ducked under a punch and struck Seth on the side with a hook, only to be hit in the face with a knee kick that forced him to go back to being fully upright.

 Damn it, why isn't he going down? I'm hitting him with everything!

 Moving carefully, Seth was able to dodge a series of straight punches from Walter, who irritatingly did the same to Seth's counter attacks. Finally knocking a jab to the side, Seth threw a straight that landed flush on Walter's cut above his eye, but was simultaneously hit with a strike to the most swelled area near his own eye, splitting some of it open and freeing more blood.

 Just die already!
 Walter moved forward, bringing his elbow around to crash into Seth's head and having the same thing happen to him. Headbutting each other with a loud clash, they glared into each other's eyes. Walter saw Seth's hatred, fury, and will to protect his own, while Seth saw Walter's pure determination to win, his pride that would not let him lose to someone he saw as a lesser person, and the second fight that seemed to be going on in Walter's head. Clashing heads again and again, they fiercely hammered each other with body blows delivered with their right hands, putting as much power as they could muster into them.

 Come on, Seth, hold on just a bit longer.

 The two broke off after six headbutts and ten body punches each, stepping back a small amount. Walter coughed up another batch of blood that had gathered in his mouth, and Seth staggered, his vision blurring. Picking up the signal, Walter's body drove him to charge forward, quickly picking up the knife but strangely choosing to pocket it, and hit Seth with another hard straight.

 He's already wearing down, I'm going to beat this scum! Now's no time to fall into his pace. Two shots for his every one, four for his every two.

 Seth was knocked back further by the straight, but retaliated with a hook that hit Walter's jaw. Walter immediately pounded him with a jab-right straight combination that sent him back again. Off balance and desperately trying to delay the fall that he felt about to happen, Seth reached out his hand for anything to brace himself on. His fingers fell in the small crack of the door left open by Mariavel, and not seeing it for what it was Seth pulled on what he grabbed. This caused the door to be flung open, and Seth to fall out of the room onto his back. Quickly getting up, he backed away from the door towards the wall as he saw the battered Smith head towards him, in no better shape than Seth but confident in his victory. As he cleared the doorway, Walter grinned as if to say, "Come on, Seth, is that REALLY all you've got?" and hit him with another double hook combo, right hook and immediate left hook. Somehow staying on his feet, Seth knocked the psychopath away with two jabs and a hard right straight. Walter backed away, looking dazed, and they stopped for a moment, for whatever reason. Exhaustion, pain, deciding their fight was over, whatever reason, there was a brief instance of time where they stopped fighting, just looked at each other while struggling to regain their breath.

 Damnit, Seth! he thought to himself, almost snarling like Walter did earlier out of frustration, You can't let this nutjob win! You promised Mariavel you'd finish this piece of shit off, and what if he kills you now? He'll go after her, and then the other Fists! He'll kill them, Seth! Then what if he wins the whole game? Do you want to let that happen?

 Despite the mental pep talk, Seth still found himself feeling as if he were out of options, outclassed even. He just couldn't go on like this, even if he was sure Walter couldn't either, and there just didn't seem to be much he could do. Nevertheless, placing a hand on his nose and resetting the cartilidge with several sickening sounds (he had had broken noses in the past and could for the most part reset them if they were just simple breaks, due to being used to them enough to know how to treat them) before trying his best to glare coldly at Walter.

 "Let's finish this, psycho."

OOC: The red italics are Walter's thoughts, naturally.