Survival Of The Fittest

((Shawn Bellamy V8 START))

"Well, shit."

Those were the first words to come from Shawn Bellamy's mouth as he came to his senses, body aching and nursing the worst hangover of his life.

He had woken up on a couch in what appeared to be a lounge of some kind, a big square TV in front of him, and VCR of all things with an empty VHS case left on top of it. After getting his bearings he'd reach out and lift it up to see what it was, realising it to be The Thing of all movies.

"Cute..." he muttered to himself, tossing it back as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was still processing it all, playing out the scene at the auditorium in his head as he tried to face the facts. Survival of the Fittest, huh? He'd heard of it, but never looked into it that much, as far as he was concerned the only folk who got off on that kind of thing were freaks and weirdos. He knew enough however to realise the gravity of his situation, the memory of Mr Ramos' neck bursting viscera all over the front row still fresh in his mind.

He'd sit there silently on that coach for a good half-hour or so, thinking things through, getting his thoughts straight and figure out some kind of game plan. He was surprisingly calm all things considered, save for the nervous tapping he was making with his fingers, doing his best to not immediately freak out by focusing as hard as he could on the situation at hand. Like it or not, he was stuck on this damn island, and unless a miracle happened there was only one way of getting off it...

As Shawn went to open his bag, he'd pause for a moment to consider the moral implications of the path he was about to undertake. Could he really do it? Was his life really so important that he'd be willing to do whatever was necessary to get home? Even if that meant - god forbid - taking a life or two along the way?

......

Yeah, that was a stupid question. But though the will was there, that wouldn't mean diddly if there wasn't a way, so first things first he needed to find out what weapon he'd been assigned.

His mind made up, he'd open his bag and shift through it's contents, seeking out the tool which he was expected to defend himself with. After a few seconds of rummaging, he'd suddenly stop, slowly raising his head up with a blank expression on his face. A moment later he'd pull out a small L-shaped copper rod, briefly balancing it on his finger and watching it fall off with a metallic clang. He then paused for another second or so before clearing his throat and turning to the nearest camera he could see.

"So, I take it you can hear us through these, right?" he'd ask, before tapping the collar around his neck in a manner he hoped caused discomfort for whoever was listening in on him. "Pro-tip: If you really want us to kill each other so badly, maybe assign us some... I dunno, weapons? What, did you blow your budget rigging all these cameras up or something? Un-fucking-believable..."

He briefly wondered if it was really that wise to talk smack when he had an explosive collar strapped to his neck, but he doubted anyone was actually listening in or paying him any attention, not when there were a hundred other students to keep an eye on. But it did allow him to vent about his unfortunate weapon assignment, get rid of the excess stress that was slowly building up as he tried to keep a level head. Like, what the hell was he supposed to do with a copper rod? 

No, wait... Make that two copper rods, oh that's MUCH better. According to the manual he'd been assigned they were dowsing rods, which can apparently be used to find water. In other words: Worthless pseudoscience bullshit. Like, he could maybe jam them into someone's eye or something, but he wasn't exactly John Wick.

Well, for now he'd put them back in his backpack and look around the immediate vicinity for something more suitable, eventually sauntering over towards the bar to pick up one of the various empty Coors beer bottles that were lying around. It was solid, conveniently cudgel shaped and fit nicely in his jacket pocket. It would do for now. Getting his hands on something decent was going to be priority number one, after which... Well, he'd figure things out as he went. He wasn't exactly in any rush to get his hands dirty, especially if they were really planning to announce the names of anyone who scored a kill. That would... Complicate things.

For now, he would simply slump back onto that sofa, take a long deep breath, and start trying to think things through to keep his mind focused. Hold off the inevitable freak-out for as long as he could...

((S085 Spike Havighurst: START))

Spike was enraged. Despite several minutes, maybe half an hour, having passed since waking up, Spike didn't feel any better about the whole situation he's been put in. The first of the five stages of grief was denial, but Spike wasn't going to have any about that, considering they fucking shot their teacher and then collar-sploded the other. Then, there was the second stage.

Spike wasn't sure what he was angry at, but he was angry. At first at himself. He shouldn't have gone to this fucking trip. He had the opportunity to go to a party this weekend but instead chose to go to a stupid school trip. And what for? To spend some time with Mariya, who sure as hell didn't deserve being in this situation either.

Spike woke up in some kind of building, and he was sure he wasn't in America anymore considering some things were labelled in some weird language, Swedish or German or some bullshit like that. The fucking Swedes were behind SOTF, good lord. Whatever. He could understand the IKEA bastards, in some way, because the US is a shithole and he'd prefer to live in a different country, but fucking hell, abducting children to prove your anti-American point? They were just sick. It wasn't like Sweden was a better society in any way, they were a rotten capitalist state as well.

Spike couldn't think straight, he was just angry at them. He had to let that anger out. He tried punching the wall, but then realised that it'd hurt his knuckles. He banged his head against the wall but only two times, before it hurt. Yes, he was angry at him, yes it was his responsibility he got in this situation. Should've stayed the fuck outta school trips. Fucking idiot. But he was equally angry at the fucking Swedes, because they were fucking sickos.

If he'd meet this man that shot Mr. Perez, he'd fucking punch him. Hell, he would punch anybody at this point, he was just boiling. Fortunately for his classmates he didn't meet anybody while wandering the hallways of the Research Station. This was until he entered a room where Shawn Bellamy laid on a couch like the lazy slob he was. Spike glared angrily at Shawn. He went to the bookshelf, grabbed a VHS and angrily threw it out the room. That wasn't enough to let his anger out. In fact, it enraged him more that all he did was throw a small VHS that weighed nothing.

The he went to the TV, grabbed it and threw it angrily at the couch while grunting.

Copper...

Cooooopper...

What the fuck could you do with copper?

Shawn was trying to think of how he could make use of those stupid rods he'd been assigned. Using them to find water was out, obviously, but there had to be some way he could make the most of his bad hand. Using them as a weapon was also a no-go, not unless he could think of something INCREDIBLY inventive.

He rubbed his brow and puffed his cheeks. Copper could conduct electricity, right? That's why it's used for wiring and stuff? Maybe he could somehow work with that...

Unfortunately, that train of thought would have to be put on hold the moment an angry metalhead looking motherfucker stormed in, the two looking at each other for an awkward second.

"Uh..." Shawn managed to blurt before watching Spike make his way over to the VHS rack, grabbing a random tape and tossing it out the room. Shawn would slowly reach out for the beer bottle he had scrounged, watching as the other student made his way over to the TV. "Can I he-woahwoahWOAH WAIT!"

He just barely managed to roll off that sofa before the TV collided with it, bouncing off and crashing down onto the floor with a loud smash. He'd then scramble to his feet with that bottle in hand, raising it above his head ready to throw it if need be.

"HEYHEYHEY! CHILL THE FUCK OUT!"

"Hey, you chill the fuck out, motherfucker," he shouted at the top of his lungs. Spike wasn't sure why hew as so angry at Shawn, he didn't do anything to harm him. But he had to be angry at someone, right? Didn't help that Shawn was weilding a weapon, that made Spike feel threatened and even more angry.

Throwing the TV felt good, but his anger wasn't gone yet. He walked to the bookshelf again, and grabbed two tapes he'd throw against the wall opposite of the direction Shawn was at.

"Get the fuck out of this room or I'll smack you," he warned, in an angry, but non-shouting tone.

"Wha-I... Whu... F-fuck you!" he'd call back, flinching at a pair of tapes were picked up before dashed against the wall, his hand shaking as held onto that beer bottle.

"Alright, alright! You can have it, Christ!" he'd respond, his eyes darting back to his bag, left there on the coach. With a nervous gulp, he'd grip his bottle tightly as he slowly inched forward. "Lemme just grab my bag real quick, okay? Or you toss it to me, or whatever, let's just... Take it real easy, alright hotshot?"

Spike was aware he was behaving irrationally and erratic, but that didn't stop him from feeling upset. He kicked against the broken TV on the ground, then stomped on it repeatedly with his left foot, the screen that was already shattered into pieces shattering into more pieces. The manufactured television falling into more pieces, creating noise along the way. Destruction felt distracting.

Bellamy wanted his bag. Whatever. Fuck him.

Spike bend over to pick up the bag with the label S046 that laid on the ground and threw it at Shawn with full force.

Shawn watched and grimaced as Spike kicked the shit out of that television, briefly entertaining the thought of maybe bottling the fucknugget right there and then. Put the wild dog out of his misery before he sank his fangs into someone...

Then again, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, long as it wasn't him who got bitten.

He'd flinch again as Spike flung his bag at him, smacking him on the chin as he clumsily caught it and stumbled back against the wall. His bag in hand, and no reason to stick around as Spike wrecked the joint, he'd tilt his non-existent hat before dipping right the fuck out of there.

((Shawn Bellamy continued in Beyond figure out))

Shawn was gone. He was alone again.

Goddammit.

Spike began hitting the wall with his fists again until they hurt. Then, he stopped. Then, he kicked against the couch.

He continued kicking the broken TV. He destroyed some more tapes. Picked up the tapestrings from the floor and threw them around the room, decorating it like confetti. Then he considered tilting the shelf, when he had a better idea. He tried to pick up the couch.

Then, he was exhausted.

He was super tired. Instead of throwing the couch, he placed it on the ground and sat on it.

What now?

Shit, this was real, wasn't it?

"Hello?" Bill called out in the hall, his voice shaky and wavering in conviction. Hands holding onto his weapon, the dagger, with a death-grip, as if he would drop dead the instant he did not have it in his hands.

He had awoken in this building not too long ago in the gym, and it took a bit for the faint, horrifying idea that he was on SOTF was a reality that he inhabitated. He had immediatly wandered off after gathering his things, he hadn't had a proper check of everything that he had outside of digging up his sole means of defense.

That was one of the things that he knew about it for sure they always handed you something, and in his case marginally useful? Better than some of the things he had heard people get.

Even though he was probably too weak to use it or ever be a threat...

He shook his head and kept himself close to a wall as sounds emenated from a nearby room. Bill shimmied slowly and carefully to the door, and very slooooowly peeked his head so that if one were to view the door, a cap and a pair of eyes peered through.

Spike stared at the wrecked television on the floor in front of him, until a movement at the doorframe caught his attention. Did Shawn return? Spike was mentally ready to throw a tape at Shawn's head, so he would bugger off. But it wasn't Shawn, he also recognised his classmate.

It was Bill, a kid he'd helped in the past, protecting him from mean bullies. A nerd, a nobody. It wouldn't feel right directing Spike's anger at him. Anybody else, he might've told them in a more blunt way to fuck off, but with Bill all he could do was to say it calmly. He was a friendly kid, and didn't deserve to be shouted at.

"Go away, Bill. I can't help you here anymore."

"Spike?" He said; it came out almost like a yelp when he saw him where he sat. The room looked like shit, and there was broken stuff around him... was that a TV on the floor? What the hell! Why was there a TV there for?!

He took reluctant steps into the doorframe and kept his eyes on Spike with a concerned look while trying to keep his breathing and beating heart from being too obvious.

"Wh-what happened? Is everything alright?" Both hands clutching the dagger kept the shaking down to a minimum, but it was still there. He leaned against the doorframe for support.

Spike had helped him out before when folks would go out of their way to pick on him, he was a nice guy, and Bill could not leave him in the lurch like this.

"Bill. I told you to leave me alone."

Spike grunted and stared at Bill's head. He stood up, walked to the bookshelf and grabbed a tape.

"Just leave me alone," he said calmly, in a monotonous way.

"But, Spike..." He said, taking a few steps into the room as Spike stood up and walked away. He held out his right hand in a sort of no harm meant way, well, that was the intent, but Spike seemed to be in too bad a mood to notice. Or care?

There must have been something that happened here, as Bill got a bit further in and could see the bits of destruction about, and the TV... He still hasn't answered why there was a TV on the floor.

It made him afraid of why he didn't answer that.

"Uh, wh-what are you doing?" He said out loud to Spike, who now stood next to a bookshelf. He was way too calm about what he wanted; it was unnerving knowing his classmates and how... open some of them could be, but Bill thought Spike was better than some of those folks anyway, so maybe he was taking it fine? And just wanted to be alone? But that did not explain any of this inside here.

Spike turned around and threw the tape in the direction of Bill's torso.

"Ow." Bill said as the tape hit him and dropped to the ground.

....

"Dude."