Survival Of The Fittest

[Dane Lennox continued from RICKETY_CARNIVAL]

There are several ways to hold a golf club correctly.

Naturally, when you hold one, you can feel that all the actions are happening between your two wrists and ten fingers. But if your shots are wrong for a reason, it should be the way you hold your club, because it’s not as casual or easy as it seems. Dane stared out at the ocean. There are a few techniques that you have to learn before just going in and smashing golf balls all over the course. Unless you’re a professional player, you don’t want to hold it however you like. So don’t even bother inventing a new style.

His gaze wandered down to the stone between his feet. He was gripping the handle of his Uzi pro, pointing it down, his feet shoulder-width apart.

Do not hold the club with your palm, hold it with your fingers.

Keep the thumb flat across the club. Keep a gap between the index and middle finger. The longer your club, the wider your stance needs to be. Dane narrowed his feet together. He looked behind him for a second to make certain that he didn’t have to worry about anyone else for the time being, drawing in a sharp breath through his nose, his eyes focusing through his glasses which he had cleaned with the lens cloth that he carried inside his bag.

Greatness was given by your efforts.

He smirked.

He knew he was capable and had the courage to get this done. To go home while the others were blowing their brains off because they failed to be smart. So no loss really. Feeling unlucky? Just find the opportunities and don’t feel bad about taking them.

Find it.

And he swung.

The boys headed south when they left the infirmary. The day eventually gave way into night as they made their way past the inner circle under the cover of trees. Lorenzo had let Diego have it when he’d finally caught up to him after the incident with Justin. They had a plan, and Diego had ruined it. Fortunately, not all was lost. Diego successfully managed to steal a weapon, so at least by that account they had done what they set out to do. But now someone knew Diego was working with him, and that made Lorenzo tense. At the very least, Justin was also a known killer, so his word wouldn’t mean much to other students. Hopefully. Lorenzo didn't harp on the mistakes for long, and as night fell he decided that they should stop and make camp.

[Lorenzo Tavares Continued From Hell Is Other People]

Once more the duo slept in shifts, Lorenzo taking the first rest this time. At least with the rain having stopped, they were nowhere near as wet as they’d been over the last couple of days. It made it much easier to make camp as well. The ground was still soaked, but the night was warm. The two set up camp in the woods below the cliffs. It was a danger zone today, but when they awoke, a new area would take its place. More than likely, it would be a place that people would run to. That meant more chances for them to whittle down the competition and find better weapons.

Lorenzo slept restlessly. Sleep had been hard to come by over the last few days, but every night seemed to be worse. His dreams were still haunted by the people whose lives he’d stolen. Sapphire and Emil watched him in his dreams, their unforgiving eyes never losing focus. Lorenzo’s skin crawled from just thinking about them. And his hands… in his dreams they dripped blood in an unending stream. His soul was stained red. At least when he was awake, he could try and forget. Try to pretend that his path made sense. That he could still go home as himself.

The morning sunlight burst through the trees, and Lorenzo lit one of the few cigarettes he had left. Diego had awoken a while ago, and they sat in relatively comfortable silence as the morning began. Lorenzo powered through one of the disgusting meal replacement bars they’d so kindly been given by the terrorists, choking back the dry food as best he could. He would have killed for a cup of coffee to help start out his day. The heat had returned in full force on the island, and Lorenzo once again abandoned his shirt in favor of going bare-chested. He had taken some time in the early hours of the morning to change all his bandages on his wounds, and frowned at seeing he was running low on supplies. If only Diego hadn’t fucked up the day before they would have a whole bag of extra…

No, no, it wasn’t worth getting angry. Instead, Lorenzo tried to focus on enjoying his cigarette.

As if on cue to distract him from his thoughts, the speakers hidden throughout the island blared to life, and once again the morning announcements played. Familiar names. Julien killed someone. Good ol’ Jules. Lorenzo wasn’t as surprised as he thought he would be. Jules had a pretty short fuse, after all. Justin’s name came up too, and Lorenzo side eyed Diego hearing it. Fucking idiot. Quinn, Blaise, and Ericka continued to prove themselves to be real competitors. Lorenzo needed to find a gun. Otherwise he’d have no chance against the likes of them. Ericka especially seemed to be killing left and right. Ty had told him how good she was with a gun. Lorenzo needed to be able to defend himself and win if they crossed paths.

And then, Lorenzo all of a sudden felt like he got punched in the liver all over again as his breath caught in his throat.

Andy…? Killed by fucking Facebook Lucas?! Lorenzo’s fist clenched and he stood up from his seat on the ground. His head felt dizzy. Sure, they hadn’t exactly left on good terms, but Andy was someone he fucking cared about, goddammit! How could he die in such a fucking stupid way?! How could he have allowed that little bitch Lucas to do him in?! He was better than that! He wasn’t supposed to fucking die yet!

“FUCK!” Lorenzo screamed as he lashed out against the only thing he could, over and over punching the bark of a tree with both fists and letting out an awful scream of anger and loss.

Lucas Brady didn’t get to kill his friend and just keep on living. No. Lucas was going to regret what he fucking did. Lorenzo would make damn well sure of that. He stopped his assault on the tree and took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. He looked over at Diego, staring at him with wide eyes. Fuck. He had to control himself.

“Get the fuck up. We’re moving.” And with that simple order, the duo began their trek up the cliff side.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About an hour had passed. The two moved slowly, making sure no surprises were headed their way with the tracking device. Lorenzo had been right on the beach the first day, this thing was making his stay on the island a hell of a lot easier. As they began to approach the cliff’s peak, a dot appeared on the edge of the screen. A lone dot. B70. Another guy all alone up here. What a coincidence.

“We’ve got another one.” He said to Diego, showing him the screen with a grin.

“Let’s move closer, and you do your thing. This time, we don’t run away, got it?” He narrowed his eyes and closed the distance between them, towering over the smaller boy, making it clear that there was no room for debate.

The two made their way closer to their target, and found a spot to lie in wait behind some rocks at the edge of the cliff side. Close enough for Lorenzo to hear what was going on, but far enough away that the boy wouldn’t know they were there until they wanted him to. Lorenzo took a peek, and though he didn’t recognize the boy by name, he definitely recognized the kind of weapon in his hand. Lorenzo grabbed Diego by the shirt collar and pulled him close until they were just about nose to nose.

“Don’t fuck up this time. Got it?” He grinned devilishly and pushed the boy back and motioned with his head for him to go.

((Diego Larrosa continues from Hell is Other People))

There had been elation, at first, that came with that laughter, that cackling that came as he ran away from the infirmary, from Justin. Relief at the mere idea of being alive, of having actually gained something from that encounter. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, he had thought, don't take more than what he needed. And he had gotten one over someone for once, he had actually been in a position of superiority. He had taken Justin's sword, and now, all the power that came with that was with him now.

Of course, all the ecstasy and relief and heady feelings of power were long gone by now. Lorenzo had made sure of that after they were clear of the infirmary.

Diego was good at academics. It was one of the only things he was good at, one of the only assets he had. He was short, average-looking, socially inept, yes, but he had brains, and that was something he held near and dear to his heart. He was smart, he thought. Just call him that and he'd be fine. So, being called a 'fucking idiot' to his face stung, to be honest. It stung coming from someone he looked up to, and the worst part was that he was right. They could've removed a player from contention, gotten more food and supplies to last them until endgame, but he hadn't done that because he had been too rash, too in over his head. He had been a fucking idiot, in short.

It was bitter, acidic food for thought as he took watch. He replayed the scene over and over in his head, trying to retroactively right wrongs, a litany of 'I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself' murmured, quiet enough to not stir Lorenzo from his sleep.

All the while, his fingernails, untrimmed, scratched over the same old mosquito bites, up and down, up and down, an itch that would only go away temporarily, before going back. There was nothing else to do for the four hours or so that Lorenzo slept. He'd gone through his fifth ration food bar, grimacing as it inched its way down his throat, so that was done with. He tired of his thoughts quickly, of rethinking and replaying the incident with Justin, so that was done with. All that he was left with was this itch.

And Lorenzo.

He was asleep, so he wouldn't notice how long Diego had been staring at him. But, there was always that risk of him stirring to, noticing. Looking back.

Every couple of minutes, he would check on Lorenzo. Look at him. Jawline, piercings, bronzed skin, exposed arms. He always looked at something new, each time he check on him. And then, the green hair. That was unavoidable. After four seconds, he would look away. Past four seconds was too much, four seconds was the boundary he was never supposed to breach. After four seconds, he would look away, and have nothing to preoccupy him but his thoughts, and the bites on his arms. And he would scratch the bites until he broke skin.

He stirred to, eventually. Lorenzo took off his shirt, Diego limited himself to three seconds. There would be the occasional side glance, contemptuous, a reminder of yesterday's mistake, and Diego would look away, wither.

And then, the announcements came. Justin killed again, apparently, some girl named Kenzie, she had been nice. Her death was on him now. His back was turned to Lorenzo, but he felt his glare. Jessica died, he wondered for a moment how Stephanie would feel about that. Had she been able to find her? But that wasn't his problem, anymore, so he stopped wondering. Oliver died, too, he had abandoned Diego, left him back with Ty, blood dripping on the pier, so Diego was supposed to feel less than nothing at the thought of his death, he tried to force some amount of contempt, hate, but failed. Indifference was enough for this island, right?

The air stilled at the mention of Coriander. The name wasn't of any significance to Diego, but he felt Lorenzo's breathing stop. After the mention of the danger zone, goodbye, sea, Lorenzo exploded, and for a moment, Diego's breath stopped too, and maybe it would be his last, maybe Lorenzo had finally boiled over at the thought of Justin. Maybe this was it.

The tree got the brunt of his fury. After a few kicks, grunts, Lorenzo looked at him wide-eyed, Diego leaned back an inch, and then an order. Get up. And so, he did.

After an hour came round two.

Same as last time, really. Do your thing, he said. Bait, draw attention, buy time, but don't run away. Lorenzo grabbed him by the shirt collar, Diego felt conscious of his breathing once more, and he wondered if Lorenzo took notice of that? They were so close, he had to have noticed.

Don't fuck it up, he said. Diego could see Lorenzo's pupils. They were hazel. His nose slanted left.

The four seconds were up, and he was let go.

He nodded. Then, he unwrapped the bandage around his hand, and sliced it open in the same spot, reopened the old wound, inhaling sharp, quick. There was another metaphor to be found there, but it didn't feel relevant at the moment, so there was no need to dwell into more than the idea of it. The wound bled fresh, that was all he needed.

Fear drummed into his heart, but it was steadier, slower this time. A dread, rather than panic. He could work with that. They were after a gun, this time, so there was no place for panic, anyways, unless he wanted to die in a second. And Dane, he was golfing with the gun. One of Gervais' ilk. He could work with that. He could do this.

He dropped his bags, once more, walked a bit away from the outcrop, and then towards. Stumbling, betraying the lack of sleep, food, water. He let his blood drip onto the ground only after he was walking directly towards Dane, as to not betray where he came from. Once he was ten or twenty feet from the boy, he tripped, fell.

"Help," he moaned.

Another swing.

And again.

A fourth time, a last time, followed by a sharp huff that was audible only to him.

The stone remained in its arranged position. Dane never intended to strike it in the first place and possibly damage his gun which showed to be useful, even though he hadn’t had to actually use it yet. Others would simply avoid him or think twice or more than that about attacking him.

“He sees, he aims, and he hits the mark. And the audience loves him,” he uttered. Then he kicked the golfball-sized stone with his left leg, shaking his foot before he stepped forward to watch its course, waiting for a plop sound. To no avail.

“Thank you. The show is over. I’d say go home but it seems like we’re all trapped, aren’t we? How pitiful—”

Exactly like the sight that awaited behind him.

Dane’s head turned to the source of the noise, his brows shouting ”How dare you interrupt me” before his eyes could express genuine concern. It was an unknown person to him. He kept a hand on top of his Uzi, brushing its length tensely while he gave the guy a quick scan. He didn’t seem to have anything on him. Dane’s own belongings were not more than three feet beside him.

Where had he suddenly come from? He eyed the area behind him. Nothing of immediate interest.

He finally moved closer until he was just a couple of feet away from the boy who asked for help. If whoever or whatever had hurt him was close, he’d rather get away sooner than later, which meant leaving him there. The specks of blood caught his attention too.

Another glance to the back before he looked down at the figure.

"Why should I?"

"I, uh..."

Good question. Why would anyone help Diego?

Set aside that the question was hypothetical, that it would quickly become irrelevant once Lorenzo entered the scene. He had to consider it, anyways, buy time, get as many seconds as needed.

Why would anyone want to help him, skin and bones and not much else?

Why had Lorenzo helped Diego, back at the commissary?

Why was he worth Lorenzo's time, in the first place?



He didn't have the time to answer that. Another time, another place.

"I... I n... why shouldn't you?"

Close enough. Good enough, he hoped.

"I just... I got stolen from, just earlier, chubby guy, blond, Justin, I think," best lies, again, were mixed with the truth, bend the truth. "Look, I h- I have nothing." His voice cracked on the last word, unintentionally. "I just need a food bar, a bandage, and I'll be out of your hair."

He gulped, looked up at Dane, eyes pleading. Dane, towering above him.

"Please."

Dane’s frown was more pronounced now, as well as his next words.

“That doesn’t sound like my problem.”

Sparing him a food bar, maybe some crackers, wouldn’t hurt him. Dane knew that. He recognized the name Weak Boy mentioned, from the announcements. Thanks to the meek description he could now at least put an image to it. Just be careful around all chubby blond guys from now on. It was something. Here, you had to hold on to anything really.

“You know the situation we’re in.”

His hand twitched and he pointed the gun right at him, slowly, shifting forward until he could nudge the boy’s head with the barrel. And he did.

“Only one may stand at the end. What makes you think you have a chance at all?”

"I—"

The metal imprinted itself, pricks of sweat formed on Diego's neck, he felt his breath stop.

His eyes widened, focused themselves on Dane's black slacks, there were streaks of mud.

"You don't—"

Past the shoes, the cliff, was the ocean, bearing witness to it all. And there was a bitter, bitter irony in the expanse looking on as Diego's own blood spilled past the cliffs into the ocean. That which had pushed him on his path would now see to it that it ended, right here, right now.

His head was pointed upwards, towards Dane's face, but he forced his eyes downwards. He wanted to ask if putting his name on the announcements right at this moment was really worth it, find some words to stop this, but if Diego were in Dane's position, the answer would be yes. There was nothing to be said, or done.

Perhaps his last emotion would be disappointment. Lorenzo had told him not to fuck up, and yet he did, again. He misplayed his cards, and here he was. How fucking sad, really.

He swallowed, continued looking down, and didn't try to speak anymore.

Once again, Diego proved himself to be more of a liability than Lorenzo was willing to handle.

Not only did his brilliant plan of attempting to garner sympathy from the gun toting boy fail miserably, he then proceeded to beg the boy for aid, ending up with a gun pointed at his head, and what looked like a possible swift and messy death in his near future. Lorenzo gritted his teeth as he watched the exchange from his hiding place behind a small outcropping of rocks. This plan was a failure. Lorenzo wasn’t spotted yet, and Diego was basically as good as dead. The best thing for him to do now would be to simply grab Diego’s bag and weapons and make his escape before he too found himself on the wrong end of the other boy’s gun.

Lorenzo had been right from the outset. Diego was incompetent and useless. Their temporary allegiance had done nothing but cause him headaches and stress. Leaving him to die was the smarter decision. It was what he told him from the beginning. Once he outlived his usefulness, Lorenzo would end his island campaign. Worked out that he wouldn’t have to bloody his own hands. Lorenzo grabbed for the other boy’s bag and pulled it closer. He made to stand, but for some reason he hesitated. Lorenzo scrunched his face in thought. What was he waiting for? The gun to go off? Proof that Diego was dead? His fist clenched and he cursed under his breath.

Even if he was a monster, and even if eventually he knew he’d have to end Diego’s life, he still couldn’t just leave him like a lamb to the slaughter.

It almost made him laugh. Who knew he still retained so much of his humanity after being trapped her for so long. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe he just didn’t want to add another set of eyes to the ones haunting his dreams. Eyes staring at him asking him why. He dropped the bags, both Diego’s and his own. He unzipped his bag and pulled out the E-tool he’d stolen from Emmett so many days ago. He opened it and locked it in place with the bladed shovel sticking straight out from the handle. Lorenzo grabbed his splitting maul with his off hand and stepped out into the open.

He was going to be royally pissed off if this was how he fucking died.

“Sorry, that one’s mine!” He shouted, and as he did he threw the bladed shovel like a javelin with as much force as his still aching body could put behind it, aiming for the gun-wielding boy’s head.

As soon as the shovel left his hand he broke out into a sprint, shifting his maul to his main hand and charging at the boys. In his mind, the thrown weapon would have to be defended against before the kid could attempt to shoot him down, which gave him a limited amount of time to get up close and finish him off before he ended up with a chest full of bullets. As he closed in on Dane, he finally recalled the boy’s name, he swung the hammer side of the maul down hard, aiming to bash the boy in the chest and send him to the ground.

The shout hit his ears.

The momentum of the few blurry seconds that followed broke his focus from the little bitch in front of him in an instant. Lucky guy. It was enough to see the spade flying towards him, his arm rising up to his head to shield himself. It connected, part of it hitting the side of his neck while the arm cushioned the impact slightly.

He groaned, his hand covered in a warm and wet texture as it clutched the gash the E-tool left while it cluttered to the ground. “Fgg— !!! Hhha—” Blood was dripping down. His glasses lay crooked on the bridge of his nose. Was it possible for pupils to dilate and shrink at the same time? He felt like that was what was happening while his breath was wavering violently.

“I don’t like people int—terupting my BUSINESS!” Dane yelled and aimed to kick Green Mold’s (why would anyone dye their hair green?) feet hard from under him the moment the hammer connected with his chest. It knocked the air out of him almost completely. He immediately staggered backwards and his glasses hit the dirt before he did.

To his surprise, he could barely register the pain.

It was just rapid waves and waves of hot flashes, chills, empty thoughts. Those were most painful, but he couldn’t know.

Fast images of grey and black and green and red in front of him, structures out of focus. Not only because of his tears, but his glasses were now out of reach. He was struggling to move the arm that was still gripping the Uzi, but forced himself to and without any aim, pulled the trigger once in hope that it would stop the attacker.

Lorenzo’s half-baked plan had somehow succeeded. The E-Tool shot through the air and sliced a gash in Dane’s neck, fully distracting him from Diego, and focusing his attention on Lorenzo’s assault. Lorenzo was too quick for Dane to react with the gun in time, and planted the hammer of his maul squarely in the other boy’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Lorenzo barely had a moment to enjoy the feeling of his weapon making contact, when all of a sudden he felt his own leg pulled out from under him and tumbled to the ground alongside Dane.

Lorenzo hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of his sails for a moment when his back slammed down on the ground. It took him a second, but he was able to find his breath again and scrambled to his feet somehow. His eyes quickly scanned his surroundings to locate the boy and more importantly, the gun. His gaze moved over to Diego for a second, and then landed on Dane, a few feet away still on the ground. Lorenzo smirked and began to walk over, intent on finishing this the way he did last time. Quick and easy. But, that wasn’t in the cards for him, unfortunately. As he made his way closer, Dane suddenly lifted the gun and fired in his direction.

The shot was loud, and it took a moment for Lorenzo to fully process the situation.

A burning feeling coming from his left arm alerted him to his current predicament. He turned his head to get a look at it, and his eyes widened at what he saw. His arm was bleeding like a fucking faucet, and that was because a hole had opened up in his upper arm that was a hundred percent not there a second ago. Lorenzo’s legs wobbled and he took a step back as he stared at the new bullet hole in his arm. The stuck up bastard had actually shot him! Lorenzo’s vision blurred for a second, as the pain suddenly hit him like a truck.

“Motherfuck!” He screamed angrily.

Lorenzo tore his eyes from his wound and locked them on the asshole who caused it. Now he was pissed the fuck off. Lorenzo stomped over to the boy still on the ground, and as he watched him try to pull himself up, sent the toe of his boot directly to the boy’s nose, relishing in the sickening crack that came with it. He stomped his free foot down on the arm that held the gun, making sure that there would be no more bullets in his near future. The pain was still radiating from his brand new gunshot wound, but it only fueled his anger.

“You fucking bitch!” He seethed, dropping the maul and dropping to his knees, so he was straddling the downed boy, locking his arms steady under his knees. He reached for the gun, and tore it from the boy’s hand, grunting as his new wound pulsated in the aftermath. He took his newly acquired gun and pressed it into Dane’s forehead.

“What made you think YOU had a fucking chance?”

The crack was more than clear, accompanied by a loud groan of pain. Where there was no pain before, there was now plenty. Dane clenched his teeth to a point where he felt like he was going to grind them until they’d break into little pieces. Gasping and heaving for air, desperately, suffocating. He forced air out through his broken nose, sending some of the blood shooting down over his cracked lip and chin, tears trickling down the side of his face.

They were not needed.

He pressed his eyes together for less than a second before he threw his head towards the arm Electric Green stomped on, sending another sharp pain through his system. “AAGH!,” Dane yelped, his face flushed red with anger and anguish. This couldn’t be the end. No. No. no, no, no, no, no. NO. He REFUSED. ABSOLUTELY.

He had FOUGHT HARD.

Before all of this. BEFORE ALL, A L L, ALL OF THIS MESS.

“Get off of me, OFF OF ME you fucking ASSHOLE. THIS IS MINE!”

Dane’s voice boomed like he was assembling all that was left in him together.

Drops of blood from the attacker’s gunshot wound painted some visible parts of his button shirt red. His slacks were dirtied, his hair sticky. Only now did he realize that the bullet had hit him. Dane harshly gripped onto the guy’s leg with his free hand, digging his short nails into his skin. It... didn’t do much, not enough, since just the next moment, he could feel all of his weight on top of him.

THIS WAS NOT THE END.

IT WAS NOT.

“You know, I LOATHE people who answer a question with a question,” he let out a shaky chuckle. Wait, where was the damn maul? Would he be able to reach it with his hand? He couldn’t see it.

Dane’s body was trembling.

“What’s that little pussy got? Is he so worth this fight? Get yourself a better bitch that that will choke on your dick. I imagine that’s the only thing he’s good for. Fucking disgusting. All of you..... Damn useless....”

He was slurring his words. The barrel felt warm against his forehead.

“HEY. YOU,” he shouted towards the other weakling, daring to try to lift his head more. “You kn— know he will get rid of you, right? Why are you not running? You cannot win!”

The maul was right there. Next to the heavyweight keeping him down. If only he could somehow grab it and bash his head in.

"You. Too."

Blah, blah, blah. Lorenzo didn’t give a flying fuck about anything coming out of the asshole trapped under him’s mouth. He simply smirked in response, and pressed the barrel of the gun even harder into the guy’s forehead. Shout and rant and rave all you want, it didn’t matter. Nothing he said made any difference. Was Diego worth a bullet in the arm? One hundred percent not. But the gun currently in his possession one hundred percent was. Too bad for Dane. If he’d just shot Diego point blank instead of asking useless questions, Lorenzo would have had no choice but to abandon the boy to his fate, and Dane wouldn’t be in the position he was right now.

At Lorenzo’s mercy.

Unfortunately for Dane, mercy wasn’t anywhere near his intention.

“Oh? Is that an offer to take his place?” He asked incredulously, pushing down even harder with the gun and baring his teeth to the other boy.

“As pretty as the idea of you choking on my cock is, I’ll have to take a rain-check.” Lorenzo cackled at his own humor. Dane probably wouldn’t appreciate his hilarity, but hey, that was fine. Lorenzo always played for an audience of one anyway. Himself.

Dane attempted to switch gears now, and tried to rally Diego to his aid. Or at least to not working alongside Lorenzo anymore. Honestly, he could have done better with it. He wasn’t wrong in anything he said, but you see, Lorenzo had already told Diego how this would all end. Diego knew what he was in for. If he’d wanted out, he could have run from him many a time, and yet here he stayed. Dane’s attempt to move him would prove as fruitless as his death. As all of their deaths.

“Your last words fucking suck.” Lorenzo mused sarcastically, before he squeezed the trigger with all his might, and with a resounding bang he blew out the back of Dane’s skull.

Once, someone had told him that he would make it very far in life.

Now, no one had warned him that the end would feel so hollow and terrifying.

Instead of words, specks of blood left his mouth when he parted his lips to snark back once more, causing him to cough. His neck couldn’t support his head any longer while he tried to focus his gaze on Weak Boy and the maul.

It fell back to the ground with a quiet thud. He wondered what his name was.

All he could see was the dirty tanned hand holding the gun to his head.




Once, someone had told him that he would make it very far in life.

Now, why the fuck did they lie?

And that was that.

It was only once Dane was killed that Diego allowed himself to get off the ground, arms trembling. He stood up, and Dane was on the ground this time, face up, a pool of blood forming underneath him. He looked scared.

There was a temptation to kick the body, break its ribs, shout at it 'WHO'S THE BITCH NOW?' But it wouldn't be earned, it wouldn't be deserved, because Diego contributed less than nothing to the situation. He had been reckless, he had almost gotten himself killed, and now Lorenzo had a new wound because of it.

Of course, the two of them also had more foods, more medical supplies,

more weapons.

He looked at the gun in Lorenzo's grip.

Alive as long as it suited him, he said.

Now that there was more time, it seemed, he could ask himself again. Why keep Diego alive? It would've been easier for him to die, the thought went down surprisingly easy, perhaps it would disturb him later. Lorenzo had put his life on the line for Diego, but what use was he?

Lorenzo had put his life on the line.

No male had ever done that much for him, really.

Diego couldn't actually voice any questions he had, of course. Lorenzo might reconsider, after all. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. But, the main goal of their partnership had been achieved. So, was there any point in keeping him around?

He wanted to be kept around.

He retrieved the shovel from the ground, and grabbed Dane's bag, pulling out the first-aid kit. Unused, so far. He got the roll of gauze, held it, looked at Lorenzo.

"Need help?"

Stay useful.

So messy.

Lorenzo hadn’t expected it to be so messy.

Staring down at what was left of Dane’s head made his stomach churn. Who would have thought there was so much blood? Who would have thought that he’d be so used to seeing it by now. It was different from Emil. With Emil, by the end, he didn’t even look human. Dane still looked like Dane. That was almost worse. No. It was one hundred percent worse. Lorenzo’s hand was shaking. The one holding the gun. Another life on his conscience. Another set of eyes following him for what was left of his life.

Another reason to doubt himself.

Was there still a way for him to go home? After all this? The gun began to feel heavy in his hand, and the smell of blood attacking his senses made him want to vomit again. Slowly, he climbed off the body of Dane, and sat down beside his maul. His breathing was short and quick. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, desperately trying to forget how the life drained from Dane’s eyes as he died. It wasn’t an image he wanted to keep.

His wound was throbbing, and still bleeding profusely. He needed to wrap it up, but moving felt like such an arduous task right now. He heard some shuffling nearby. Just Diego. He didn’t care. He just wanted quiet right now. His hands were still shaking. Both of them now. He hoped it wasn’t obvious. He needed to keep up his mask. Especially with Diego around. He couldn’t slip up. That was the path he chose. By now he should be used to it.

But it still felt wrong. It still made his insides crawl.

Diego spoke. Lorenzo opened his eyes and looked at him. He had medical supplies. Oh. That was a good idea. He should let him. It was easier. He didn’t reply, instead he just lifted his wounded arm to give the other boy better access.