Survival Of The Fittest

Click.

Richard sat alone on a large boulder, surrounded by tropical trees and dense vegetation, his chosen position obscuring his position at a distance. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, the sun sat high in the air overhead, his only protection from its rays coming from the canopy of trees overhead. The locale was quiet, but alive, with the sound of insects and rustling leaves being interrupted only by the clicking coming from the palms of his hands. The rocky texture of the boulder he was sitting on dug into his backside, but that was good, the discomfort kept him more alert. His heart was beating fast, as it had been since he had woken up, the sound of it ringing in his ears.

Click.

He had spent the last hour unloading and reloading the magazine from his pistol, over and over again, hands trembling all the while. This task was the only thing he could do to keep his nerves from overwhelming him. He didn't know what to think, how to react, to the situation he found himself in. So he kept himself focused, learning the ends and outs of the weapon that he had found in the duffel bag he woke up next to.

Click.

The gun was heavy in his hands, the complexity of its engineering becoming more and more apparent to him as he explored its intricacies. The manual for the gun sat open beside him, his duffel bag keeping it from closing in on itself, his eyes straying towards it ever so often.

Click.

He was keeping his eyes and ears on his surroundings, knowing that he had to be ready in case anyone started to come up. He knew how this game went, how quickly people turned on each other. He was not about to be a victim of anyone else's violence.

Click.

Pausing from his constant labor, he wiped the sweat off his face with his shirt, hands still trembling. Looking back down, he went over the steps to use the gun again in his head. Load the magazine, turn off the safety, load the chamber, aim, pull the trigger. That was all it took, for him to end someone else's life.

Click.

The tears came hot and heavy, thinking about what he would have to do if he wanted to go home. If he wanted to see his mom again, if he wanted to avoid causing her even more heartache than he had already. He couldn't die here, he couldn't be a victim, he couldn't let his mom be the one that had to bury him. He had to get home, if not for himself, but for her.

Cli-

He didn't want this, but there was no going back. The die had been cast, and he was going all-in, to the end.

-ck.

[[Gervais continued from Unnatural Selection]]

Gervais jogged away from the menagerie, followed a path into the nature until he realised that the path disappeared and he was only walking around in nature. Gervais loved being in nature. Okay, he did not like it that much - he preferred to spend his free time home, but he didn't mind being in nature - a statement not many classmates his age could state. Gervais was proud of himself that he ran the way from the menagerie to...wherever this is while carrying his Martini-Henry (that was how the gun was called according to the manual).

Most of his classmates would collapse carrying that rifle for one minute! Overweight, addicted to social media and video games. That's how most Americans in Gervais' age group were. Gervais had been a nerdy loser too, but he changed. He was not trash anymore, he went his own way, and was not swallowed by the mainstream trash culture of his classmates. Gervais had to smirk, because it's fate. It was fate.

If he had not worked on himself years ago, he would have been killed by Johnny already. But he escaped him and his trap. He felt powerful. He felt superior.

This deadly competition they were trapped in would not be won by someone overweight, someone nerdy, someone slacking. Claudeson, Forrest, Sean, Joanne, the fatty Tanisha? They would hardly survive a day on this island, even if they were not in a death game. This island? It was a home game. People like him, Abel, Mike Brown, Manuel, Billy. Those were the ones who would come out victorious.

Should.

Colin had been on the move almost since the moment he’d woken up, his backpack slung over his shoulder and the bag given by the terrorists in his arms as he rushed through the wilderness, muttering to himself all along the way.

“Bullshit… this is bullshit… B74… What the fuck?”

((B74 - Colin McCabe: START))

In truth, the current situation went beyond just being “bullshit,” but Colin was not in a position to properly think of what that was.

As he rushed aimlessly through the seemingly empty wilderness, he tore into the black bag rummaging through the contents. The guy said everyone was getting a random weapon and Colin needed to know what kind of hand he’d been dealt here.

Some food… water… a compass… a box.

He stopped in his tracks and held this box in his hands, letting the duffel fall to the ground.

It was box for a 1000-piece puzzle, meant to display some idyllic city on a waterfront upon completion. Opening it revealed that the cover did not lie, as it contained only an assortment of various puzzle pieces.

“Fuck…”

Colin knew in that moment that he was destined to die here. He was going to die in some damn game that was being broadcast out to the world so that whatever motherfucker or motherfuckers that was/were funding this whole thing (because there was definitely some rich pervert at the other end of messed up shit) could jack off to a bunch of high schoolers killing each other.

“Fuck… FUCK!” The boy howled, face beat red as he flung the box and its contents off into the distance, puzzle pieces scattering all about as their container took flight.

“FUCK!!!” Colin howled again, clenching his fists and yelling up into the sky.

It was only then, that he noticed the kid on the boulder out of the corner of his eye. The kid on the boulder with a gun.

“Fuck…”

This wasn’t bullshit, it was a clusterfuck, and now Colin was right in the middle of it, unarmed and unprepared.

Richard stared in disbelief at the guy coming up behind him--Colin was his name, Richard thought--as he slowly walked up to where Richard was sitting while shouting "fuck" into the sky.

This was the caliber of idiot that he was dealing with. Maybe winning wouldn't actually be that hard, if everyone was just as stupid as this guy.

Richard sighed, before following through with the instructions he had been going through in his head over and over again: load the magazine, turn off the safety, load the chamber. Twisting around to aim, he leveled his gun at Colin, conveniently enough right when he finally noticed that Richard was sitting right there in plain view of where he was, Richard's finger ready around the trigger. What felt like an eternity passed, right then and there, the two of them staring each other down as Richard wordlessly decided whether or not he deserved to die. He looked in Colin's eyes, he saw the fear, he saw the desire to live. He saw a person. He saw himself.

His hand trembled, and not too long after, he lowered the gun, his gaze softening.

"Fuck, I can't just kill a man." He said, under his breath, casting his gaze downwards.

Richard inhaled sharply, before turning back to where he had been facing before. "You're a fucking moron, you know," he shouted at Colin, while turning the safety on the gun back on. "You got fucking lucky. Had anyone else been where I was, you'd be fucking dead. Did you even think about the potential for random people to overhear you- wait."

The realization that other people could be in the area and that this jabroni just sold out his position dawned on him suddenly, and not too long after Richard was already scrambling to put his items away and secure them to his person. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Richard quickly took cover behind the nearest tree, his gun at the ready, his head turning wildly as he scanned the whole area around them.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK... holy shit dude could you have been less of a fucking moron?" He asked, as he leaned around the tree to see if anyone was there. "Jesus titty-fucking Christ you probably just got us both killed. Fucking take cover and help me look for people coming or something, this is CODE FUCKING RED."

He was on high alert, ready for anyone or anything to pop out of the bushes and start attacking. Looking at Colin with a face of pure contempt, Richard spoke again. "If I gotta pop a cap in someone's ass because of you, you better be goddamn grateful, that's all I'm saying."

Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he quieted down, watching and listening for someone to come.

"I ain't gonna die here," he whispered.

He stopped. Gervais heard distant sounds, silencing all his internal thoughts about his classmates, making him return to reality. Focus.

Where could they be? Around him there were only trees, bushes, the wilderness.

"Is anyone here?"

His eyes scanned the area. Put his gun into the right position.

As Colin found himself staring down the barrel of a gun he found he could not run, could not do much of anything. This seemed like it. Fucked over by the world, some terrorists, and this kid, Richard.

But then, he saw the gun lowered and he looked back into the eyes of his almost-attacker and felt a swell of emotions: confusion, relief, gratitude… He’d been spared for no reason in particular.

However, it was then that this guy started to tell Colin off for his behavior.

It took the boy a minute to process the input before he replied. “Um, what the fuck?” He asked, scooping up his duffel and stepping closer to the kid.

“Look, thanks for having the basic fucking human decency to not murder me, but you ain’t my fucking mom, alright? I got a damn puzzle for a weapon! I think I’m allowed to be a bit upset!”

But now this guy Richard was having a freak out about someone else coming by.

“Just scare em off. You’ve got the gun and-”

“Is anyone here?”

And Colin found that he was in hot water once more, scrambling to get behind Richard.

“Alright. Fuck. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. You happy?” He hissed, peering around for the source of the voice.

Death had always been inevitable, but this still seemed like a little much.

Tom Swift: START

Tom sat cross-legged where he'd woken up, his duffel bag in his lap, the tactical kami balanced on top of it. One thumb methodically traced the edge of its shiny blade, while the fingers of the other hand drummed a familiar beat on his knee.

Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-taptaptaptaptaptap

Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-taptaptaptaptaptap

When had he started doing that? He was young, he remembered that much. How young? Second grade? Had he found that calming rhythm on his class desk, or somewhere else? Hard to remember?

Soon there'd be nothing to remember. Soon there'd be nothing of him at all.

Another one of those quakes of wailing terror, shuddering along his bones, spiders of ice whisking along his skin. One hand tightened on his leg, while the other tightened on the blade; not quite hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to feel the press of the sharp edge against his skin, the potential to be cut.

The cold passed. It always passed. Or at least, it always had before. Though it had been passing with more and more reluctance since his grandad...

Died. Say the word. Say it. He died. You'll die, too. You've always known that, Tom. You've known it since before you started your calming rhythm. One too many questions about the afterlife to your mom, the slow burning realization that no living soul had ever returned from that bleak precipice that separated the living and the dead. Do you remember how you cried that night, Tom? How you cried and cried as the terrible cold rattle your bones and wouldn't let you go?

You never thought you'd cry like that again. But the void is open once more. Grandad's passing opened it for you. He'll die. Your dad will die. So will your mom, and so will your sister. And so will you. And when you do, you will never see again, hear again, think again. You will be nothing. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

A flash of sharp, piercing pain. Tom cried out, jerked the hand that held the kami blade back, saw blood wealing up from a cut on his thumb. He wondered where else he'd be bleeding from when this was over. He wondered if he'd look just like his grandfather; the pale, sunken face, with the withered skin and the empty eyes. The face that only drinks and pills ever seemed to wash away, and then only for a little while.

Part of him wished he had a drink right now. Part of him knew he absolutely couldn't have one, even if he wanted it. Couldn't afford to dull his senses. You never knew if-

”FUCK!”

Tom's head jerked up. A human voice. The first voice he'd heard since Danya had spoken, screaming profanities. Not too far away, was it?

And if you find them, they'll kill you.

And if Tom stayed here by himself, his mind distorting his own reflection to make it look like his grandfather's corpse, he thought he might go mad.

You've always been mad.

A fluttering, hysterical smile quivered across Tom's face. He rose unsteadily to his feet, slung his bag around his shoulder, and advanced unsteadily towards the source of the voice, making too much noise as he went. He needed to see someone, talk to someone. He needed something to jolt him out of his whirling, anxious thoughts, no matter how afraid he was.

"I will when you get your dick out of my ass," he hissed back, in reference to Colin's close proximity to him.

Beads of sweat formed on Richard's forehead, only to slowly drip down his face. This was the most nervous he had been in his life. For a second, he had thought that maybe he shouldn't be as anxious as he was, but as it turns out, he had every right to be. Not only did he hear a voice coming from one direction, but he heard someone else traipsing through the underbrush in a completely different direction.

"Shit there's fucking two of them?" He muttered, under his breath. "Fuckin'... guess I'll fucking improvise."

"H-HEY!" He shouted, trying to make sure both of the unknowns heard him. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but I have a gun and..!" He inhaled sharply. "A-And I'm not afraid to use it!"

He tightened his grip around his pistol, waving it back and forth between the directions the new arrivals were coming from. "I-If you don't want to get a hole in your neck then... either run the fuck away or put whatever fucking weapon you got down and come out with your hands up!"

There was a voice replying, a weak voice, a stuttering one. An easy and scared target. Sadly, the target was not only stuttering a threatening sentence, they also claim to have a gun.

Dang it, does everyone in here have to be equipped with a dangerous, lethal gun? Couldn't he find easy pray? Danya said the weapons were random, not that everyone was armed! Gervais slowly walked backwards and walked into the other direction.

[[Gervais continued elsewhere]]

"I will when you get your dick out of my ass”

This guy really needed to chill the fuck out. There were people out there that might be set on killing them, and all he could think to do was just throw digs at Colin. And not even good digs, just some lazy elementary school shit.

Considering the present threat of crossfire and shit, Colin knew that he probably wasn’t in the best position to make his thoughts on the kid’s manners known and so he just quietly hunkered down, giving a snort of disapproval.

However, a thought suddenly crossed the boy’s mind, a rather dark one at that.

Why didn’t he just take the gun?

This kid was just sitting there, wrapped up in aiming at ghosts. He could easily knock his legs out from under him, take him to the ground, and pry the weapon from his hands. With a gun, Colin would at least have a shot at defending himself should any of the sociopaths (cause there had to be some sociopaths in this fucking class) got some ideas.

Colin clenched his fists. Fuck. He couldn’t do that.

This guy might be a bit of a dickhead, but he hadn’t killed Colin when he’d had the chance. Robbing this guy would probably mark him for death and he (probably) didn’t deserve that.

But if he did something fucked up or died, Colin was definitely taking the gun.

And so, Colin backed off ever so slightly.

“Happy now?" he whispered, voice still retaining a strong belligerence.

The source of the voice heard him, and jabbed at him with rage and fear. "I-If you don't want to get a hole in your neck then... either run the fuck away or put whatever fucking weapon you got down and come out with your hands up!"

Tom froze, his grip tightening on the kami in his hand. A gun. The strange voice had a gun. Bullets could soon be flying at him, shredding him to pieces. The cold weight settled in on Tom's shoulders, dripped iciles down into his chest.

Wait. Did he recognize that voice?

"Rich?" he called, stepping slowly out into the open. "Is...izzat you?"

Richard relaxed a bit as he heard one of the guys beginning to stomp off in the other direction. That was one less variable he'd have to account for.

Turning his full attention to the other guy, Richard took aim, his finger resting on the trigger. Just as he began to ponder how ready he actually was for a gunfight, he heard the guy's voice, and immediately he took his finger off the trigger and lowered the gun back down.

"Oh my god it's just this asshole," he muttered, under his breath. After exchanging a brief glance with Collin, he shouted towards Tom. "Yeah it's me, Tom. You can come on over, I guess."

Turning the safety on his pistol back on, Richard returned to the boulder he had been sitting on previously. Taking a seat on the hard, rough surface, he gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration. A few hours in and he already had his first big scare, a clear sign of just how well all of this was going to go for him. As his heartbeat finally slowed back down to a normal pace, he looked over at Collin again, staring daggers into him. "You're lucky I didn't have to kill someone for you, dumbass."

So, it seemed that the Dickhead actually knew one of the mysterious voices, while the other seemed to have decided it was a better idea to beat it out of there.

And then Dickhead had to be sure to give Colin yet another little dig. However, the tension had died down, so the boy felt no qualms about responding in kind.

“Oh crap, you pretended to nearly shit yourself for my benefit? How gracious of you.” He replied, punctuating his statement by extending his thumb and middle finger in a traditional display of gratitude.

Colin then stood up straight, dusted himself off, and made to get out of the area without another word, before he recalled that he still had no means of defense beyond his own wits and his bare hands. Though Colin knew how to handle himself hand-to-hand, it wouldn’t do him much good on an island full of prospective killers packing heat.

“Damn it…” he grumbled, kicking at the ground before turning to face Dickhead once again.

“Hey. Guy. What the fuck is your name?” He asked flatly, not wanting to show how giving even this much recognition hurt his pride.

Rich had a gun.

Tom's eyes focused on, speared it, zeroed in upon it until they couldn't see anything else. He knew Rich had said he had a gun, had threatened to blow a hole in Tom if he came close. But hearing it was one thing, and Tom had spent a lot of time ignoring the little trickles and waves of doubt and fear that others' words could set coursing inside him. Seeing the gun was something else entirely. It's concrete, fatal reality stunned him where he stood. He stared at in disbelief. It took him a few secons to hear what Rich had said. Took him a moment to register that he'd lowered the gun. Took him a moment to speak, as images of his grandfather's corpse mingled freely with visions of his own.

Pulling his sobbing mom close, as grandma shook grandad's shoulders and demanded he wake up and Tom couldn't find the words to stop her couldn't find the words to do anything but stare

Like he was staring now.

"Thanks," he managed, too softly, and then louder. "Thanks! Sorry for...freaking you out." He approached slowly, keeping the kami low at his side. "Honestly, I'm...I'm pretty freaked, too." He laughed. "Guess that's...not unreasonable, given..."

He trailed off. He couldn't stop looking at that gun.

Richard smirked. That was a pretty good comeback. He almost wanted to say I'm starting to like you, but elected not to.

Still though, he couldn't lie. That was nice. "Not a bad retort," he said, as he pulled his bag into his lap. "Hell, I'm not even mad."

Opening the bag up, he thumbed through his stuff, making sure he hadn't accidentally knocked anything aside in his mad dash towards cover. "Also, the name's Richard," he began, his voice taking on a smug tone. "Surprised you haven't heard of me, I've got three subscribers on Twitch!"

He almost wanted to laugh at his own joke, but it was probably best to save that for when he was alone and going crazy. Finishing his review of his bag's contents, Richard zipped it closed again, satisfied, before turning his head to face Tom. He couldn't say that he knew Tom all that well, but they had talked sometimes, and had occasionally played a game or two of League of Legends together. He wasn't really a friend of Richard's, more of a friend-of-a-friend that Richard didn't really care for. Tom at least wasn't annoying or anything like that, so that was a plus in Richard's book, even if he always thought of Tom as being spineless and wimpy. He probably wouldn't last a day, but it's not like that was Richard's problem. That was Tom's problem.

Though, it looked like Tom was trying to make it his problem, since he wasn't taking his eyes off of Richard's gun. "Hey uh," he started to say, unsure of his word choice. "Is there some kinda problem, Tom?"