Survival Of The Fittest

For the first time in several days, Shawn awoke alone.

((Shawn Bellamy continued from Color In Your Cheeks))

His body clock had long adjusted to the game's morning routine, waking up not long before the announcement was supposed to air. Whether or not there was even going to be an announcement that morning remained to be seen, however.

He sat at the edge of a campfire, staring deep into the burning embers. Back once again at his old stomping grounds, the campsite he had built with Bethany a week ago still standing after all this time. His eyes briefly glanced up at a spot he remembered her sitting way back then, when they were discussing a plan of action before Wendy's unexpected arrival.

His eyes then flicked to another spot, where he remembered Matt sitting a mere 24 hours ago.

A part of him wondered whether or not he had made the right call, back at the hot springs. Whether he had been too hasty in discarding the one friend he had left in this world, abandoning him after all the good times they shared together over the years.

But then he thought back to that patch of red, and his fists clenched tightly. There was one golden rule Shawn had stuck to ever since he woke up, one that had ensured his survival up to this point.

No handouts. No freeloaders. No exceptions.

He prodded the fire with a stick, pondering for a moment whether or not the announcement was running late, before a familiar screech rang across the island. With nobody around but himself, he didn't bother disguising the elation in his eyes. If the game was still a go-go, then that meant his actions still had meaning. Everything he had done wasn't done for naught.

That sense of elation would only grow after the first several names were read out, bringing with it two startling realisations.

He thought it odd when he didn't hear Alexander's name mentioned the previous morning, though the whole explosion thing kinda took precedence. As it turned out the son of a bitch somehow lasted long enough to get himself killed elsewhere, Shawn's involvement left unmentioned and track record clean as a whistle. That meant there were still people out there who weren't aware of his intentions. People he could still easily exploit should the situation call for it...

But best of all, were the two names that brought a smile to his face: Jezzie and Kitty. Two of his deadliest competitors, both of whom had tried and failed to kill him... And they were both gone. Cali was telling the truth all along.

His approach to the game was working. He was twelve days in, and his enemies were either dead or killing each other. All the while he had only grown stronger, more confident. He was closer now to winning this game than ever before.

A chortle escaped his lips. Quickly followed by a light chuckle, before suddenly erupting into a manic laughter as he shot up onto his feet.

"Yes! YEEEEESS HAHAAA!" he cheered, tears in his eyes as punched his fist into the air.

"WOOoo! Fat lot of good that bodycount didya, huh? HUH?!" he yelled, cackling ecstatically as he found himself caught up in the moment.

"You just didn't get it, did you? Neither you or that festering cunt Jezzie..." he sneered, spitting on the ground before continuing to address his unseen audience.

"You don't win this game by reaching the top of the scoreboard... It's never been about which of us is the fittest, not really... It's about which of us is the SMARTEST! And I'm smarter than all of you mother fuckers combined!!" he continued, angrily prodding himself in the temple. "That's why I'M alive, and you're all..."

He spun around, taking in a deep intake of breath, before unleashing a loud bellow that echoed throughout the woods.

"ROTTING IN HELL!"

Shawn paused for a moment, catching his breath as his eyes caught a nearby camera. A cruel smirk on his face, he couldn't help but whip out a pair of middle fingers - giving them both a kiss for good measure - before flipping a pair of birds at the camera.

"Hasta la vista, BITCH! Thanks for paving the way home for..."

A twig snapped underfoot.

"...me?"

A familar face stepped into camp, handcuff dangling from a hand holding a rifle aimed squarely at Shawn's chest.

"Thanks for being so loud, you stupid son of a bitch." Matthew let out a chuckle, a tired, yet amused, smile on his face as he gazed up and down at his buddy.

((Matthew Bell continued from Color In Your Cheeks))

Like, really, thanks! For one, being so goddamn stupid as to go back to the place that you'd already taken Matthew and sleeping there, that one was a really big help. Honestly, he almost thought it was too obvious. Shawn'd been using him as an attack dog (at least, that was Matthew's theory as to why somehow every single kill fell to him. Even Alexander, he put a shotgun shell in his back and he still didn't fucking die!) and well, dogs are good at sniffing things out. Figured that Shawn would have fled somewhere else. There was plenty of forest to hide in, but...

Well, that brought him to his second point. Loudly whooping and cheering and shouting 'LOOK AT ME I'M SO MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE, HAHA AREN'T I SO COOL AND BASED AND EPIC!!!!!' while you knew that you were still in the middle of a death game where pretty much everyone was gonna be out to kill you? Honestly, Matthew thought that was even more fucking stupid. Sure, Shawn had a pretty good layer of traps around his camp (sure were a lot of those little Vietnam punji traps, huh?) but... yeah, too confident. If he'd wanted, Matthew could have just sniped him.

But.

He wanted answers. Shawn had just abandoned him, and for what? Not shooting well enough? Still being pissy over Letitia nearly putting a bunch of buckshot into him? Or was it that tiny fucking flesh wound that had basically already stopped bleeding half an hour after it was made, when Matthew disinfected and bandaged it up? Having all of these open wounds just bandaged probably wasn't a great idea, but fuck if he was gonna try and sew himself up.

He had so many things he wanted to ask. But instead, Matthew just stayed quiet, rifle still aimed at his former best friend's chest, trying to think of how to say things. Because he didn't even know if he was angry anymore, or just hurt, and... maybe it was both, but which one dominated? Rage and hatred, or hurt?

"M-M-M-Matt!" Shawn stuttered, hands slowly raising as he stared at the rifle in his former friend's hands. "Y-you're alive! That's uh, ahaha, aah um... I-It's a Christmas fuckin' miracle!"

Could say that again. How the hell was he not dead?!? Even if he somehow managed to get away from Kai and the others, that bullet wound must've been enough to do him in, right? Right???

Unless...

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit...

"You're uh, haha..." he chuckles nervously, eyes quickly glancing at the shotgun laying against the log beside his feet. "You're not mad about the whole... Pfffff, c'moooon, you didn't think I'd really... It's me! Ya boi Shawn! You're not gonna..."

Shawn gulped, his forehead glistening with sweat. "Look, uuh... How's about we-"

"Oh shut the fuck up!" Matthew cut him off with an angry exclamation. At least have the fucking decency to own up to the fact that he abandoned him and left him to die! Shawn was just... god, hadn't he listened to the fucking announcement? Heard that Matthew wasn't on there, so he was still alive? It was as horrifying, hearing that whatever caused those explosions hadn't been enough to bring this fucking game down and that they'd be in for another day, as it was relieving.

Because it meant that nothing could get in the way of him finding Shawn and getting his goddamn revenge.

"Of course I'm fucking - We were a team! I saved your ass, pulled you outta the fire, as much as you did mine! And you... you fucking threw that away over... what? What the fuck possessed you to just abandon me like that? Cuff me to some shitty broken sign and think I couldn't find my way out of that?" Katelyn was dead, and normally he'd have been whooping and cheering like Shawn was. Hell, he should be. But... the fact his buddy wasn't by his side to celebrate felt wrong, even if Matthew had no intention of calling him his buddy anymore. That, and... well, shit, what the hell does he do now? Shawn was going to be dead at the end of this, so that was his last goddamn friend in this place dead. The only thing left was to go for the big prize.

"Just... goddamn it Shawn, why?" Letting out an exapserated sigh, Matthew shook his head, looking up to Shawn, almost pleadingly. Why? It had been so good. They could have won this thing. He worried about what would happen to Shawn then, but he never would have expected this, or even wanted it.

Shawn flinched, cowering in fear as he expected a bullet to silence him at any second.

"I..." he gasped, teeth chattering as he fumbled for words. "I-I-I... I'm sorry, I..."

He wiped his brow, his eyes gazing deeply into Matt's. "I thought you got shot! That they were going to be on our asses at any moment! I didn't think we'd both be able to get away, so I..."

Shawn sniffled, his eyes watering up as his voice broke. "Look, I'm sorry man! I fucked up! I-I-I panicked, I wasn't thinking straight, I... P-P-Please..."

He fell down to one knee, hands clamped together as the tears started flowing. "Please don't kill me! Oh god, I-I-I don't want to die, please PLEASE! I'm sorry man, I'm so fucking sorry, PLEASE!"

Shawn wasn't expecting mercy. Not after seeing how easily dishing out death came to Matt. No doubt about it, one of them wasn't walking away from that campsite alive.

He did however watch to see if Matt hesitated. Even if only for a second, long enough to give him a chance.

Shawn wept, cried and begged for his life like he was on one of the school's shitty plays, cast in the role of 'Stupid Motherfucker Who's Begging for His Life'. It initially did sorta... make him feel bad, to see someone who'd trusted him and who he'd trusted just a few hours ago literally on his fucking knees begging for his life, but then it just... sorta hit him. Where was this sobbing and pleading when Letitia was about to shoot him? Whenever they were staring down the barrels of two guns? A day ago, whenever he'd seen whatever the fuck made him run for his goddamn life? It was such a fucking act it looped around to being funny.

"It was a flesh wound. If you'd just goddamn talked to me... listened to me, we wouldn't be here now!" Letting out a quiet growl of frustration, Matthew screwed his eyes shut, opening them with an angry, upset look that glared into Shawn's very goddamn soul. "If you'd been shot, do you think I would have just left you for whoever was following us! No, I'd have goddamn picked you up and carried you on my goddamn back if I had to, because that's what I do for my goddamn friends! Friends don't fucking leave their friends behind, and they sure as shit don't cuff them to a sign and leave them for the wolves!"

Taking another step forwards, the barrel of the rifle pressing into Shawn's chest, Matthew continued. "Everyone else is dead! Dani's dead, Corbin's dead, Salem might as well be dead to me, Jack tried to fucking kill me and he got shot for it and now this?! You're my last goddamn friend on this island, and having you fucking bail on me like that, it fucking..." Matthew blinked back tears of frustration, his hands shaking. "It fucking hurt more than being shot or stabbed or whatever the fuck this place can throw at me. You know that? Huh?!" His voice cracked a little, ten, eleven, twelve days' worth of stress and worry and fear compacted into one long rant.

A yelp of fright escaped Shawn's lips, stumbling backwards as Matt closed in to jab him with his rifle.

When Matt spoke at length about what he would've done if the roles were reversed, Shawn believed him. That was just the kind of guy he was, a real trooper. If Shawn had ever gotten hurt, or found himself trapped in a dangerous situation, he had zero doubt Matt would've put his life on the line to save him.

That's precisely why he needed to die, before his recklessness got them both killed.

"Matt.." Shawn whimpered, a metal gun barrel mere inches from his chest. "I... I always-" he continued, before suddenly pushing the rifle aside, his leg flailing out to land a kick right on that big red patch.

After which he rolled over, quickly scrambling for his shotgun.

"Hghk-" Matthew doubled over, hissing as that kick sent another fresh wave of pain through his body, taking a step back, but Shawn was going for that shotgun and he would be fucking damned if he let that bastard get the better of him. After all the trust he'd put in his friend, it turned out he was no better than Katelyn, than Salem, than Letitia. Just another fucking dickhead out for himself.

It hurt. Both his friend turning out to be a self-serving son of a bitch and the throb of his bullet graze. He could already feel it starting to bleed again. It was a pretty good fucking move - underhanded, but good. Matthew probably would have done the same thing if he'd been in this position. But he wasn't the type to let his guard down like that.

Pointing the rifle in Shawn's direction, going for that shotgun of his, Matthew fired. Too quick to aim, too quick to think. Just pull the trigger and hope it lands somewhere good.

"AAAAaaaAAAaaargh!!" Shawn wailed as a rifle cartridge tore through his hand like it was made of paper mache.

He grasped his wrist and threw his weight forward, tumbling over the log his shotgun was resting against as he writhed in agony. The damned gun had been mere inches away, his arm outreached to grab it right before Matt opened fire. His eyes widened in horror as he looked down, realising he could see right through the bloody hole in the centre of his palm.

"Fffuck! You shot me!" he balked, fingers twitching and face bright red. "You ffffucking shot me, you ASSHOLE!" he spat, groaning through clenched teeth as he forced himself to his feet.

He didn't bother going for the gun this time, instead willing himself forward to focus on getting as far away from Matt and his gun as he could. No way was he going to die like this, not after making it this far! He was going to win this fucking game, damnit! He was going to WIN!

So he ran. Scurrying away from his former campsite, leaving a bloody trail in his wake as he fled with his tail between his legs.

Huh, lucky shot. Good one, but yeah, real lucky. Both for him and Shawn; if he hadn't hit him, Matthew would probably be dead and having this little fuck gloat over him about how cool and sexy he was, and if the bullet had hit anywhere else, Shawn would probably have an entirely fucked arm, be dead, or both. As it was, he was kinda surprised that Shawn hadn't lost a finger or two.

"You were going for a fuckin-" Matthew cut himself off as Shawn ran like a little mad bastard, sighing. Yeah, dude, he got shot. Shawn, buddy, you were trying to shoot Matthew, and this was after he'd tied him to a signpost and basically went 'lol bye hope Katelyn doesn't kill you'. So, yeah, who had the first asshole move, eh? Eh? Little shit. Bending down with a wince as his little bullet hole twinged, he grabbed the shotgun and just kinda tossed into his bag haphazardly. Didn't know how to turn the safety on — or even if it had one, but better to deny Shawn a weapon in the case he gets out of this.

As it was, he'd left Matthew a lovely little trail to run after.

It was kinda like when he went hunting, yeah? Traipsing through the woods with a rifle, following some kind of trail. Sometimes it'd be animal crap, looking to sneak up on some unsuspecting deer with a shotgun, or maybe it'd be the blood trail of some deer you just tagged, going after it to put the poor bastard out of its misery. Matthew'd never been great at the whole tracking part, so normally it was a buddy of his who got to do the honours of poking around deer shit to see if it was hot or not. He'd thought about bringing some JEM buddies at one point, Shawn among them. Figured he'd be hunting with, not for.

Such a fucking waste.

Eventually, Matthew saw a little flash of red through the trees, a little running son of a bitch. There was the urge to yell a taunt, but then it made him think of how they'd taunted as they ran down that hill away from Kai and his buddies, and... Instead, he just gave chase, waiting for them to break into a clearing or some thinner trees, something that would let him get a clean shot.

When it all lined up, he took aim, and pulled the trigger.

Shawn ran.

And he ran.

And he ran some more, huffing and gasping, almost out of breath but pressing on nevertheless.

His ruined hand leaked crimson, fingers twitching as he clutched his wrist tightly. Fucking hell, it hurt. He still couldn't believe that Matt had actually shot him. After all their years of friendship, everything they've been through! That ungrateful mother FUCKER!

For the first time in his life, Shawn regretted his actions. He should never have cuffed Matt to that post, never abandoned his friend to die like that.

He should've shot the bastard in the back, instead.

Now he'd lost everything. His bag, his weapons, his fucking hand! How the hell was he supposed to recover from a set-back like this?! He was screwed, well and truly...

No... Nonono, he could bounce back from this! His name was still in the clear, right? So that meant there were folk out there who didn't know he was playing! People like... Wendy? She was still alive, right? Wendy always seemed to trust him, so maybe if he found her or some other sap he could convince them to help him! Patch him up, share their resources, lend a brother a hand! As long as he drew breath, he wasn't out of the game! Not yet!

He stumbled slightly, almost tripping over himself. Had to be careful , knowing what was hidden away in those dark woods. The last thing he needed right now was to accidentally step in one of his own...

"AAAARGH!!!" he cried, as an intense pain shot up through his leg.

Another of Matt's bullets had hit their mark, shredding right through the back of his knee.

With one leg suddenly out of commission, Shawn was sent tumbling over, arms flailing as he crashed face first into the snow.

A clean hit. Looked like… well, Matthew couldn’t tell, but Shawn was well enough to scream about it, so it wasn’t a hit in the lungs. Or the chest. Shit, he could take a look when this was all over. But at the same time… looking at the body of his former best friend, knowing that every little wound in that body was from him, that was gonna hurt. Fuck. It didn’t have to be like this.

They’d been at the top of the goddamn world. Sure, they didn’t have Katelyn’s guns or anything really good, but they had each other, knew they could trust each other, and that was worth more than anything Danya could have given them. They could have been anything they goddamn wanted. The ones standing at the top of the pile, the first guard awaiting the military rescue. But what they were now, what they only could be, was enemies.

“I’ll make it quick.” Matthew called out, jaw tightening as he approached Shawn’s fallen form. Goddamn it, buddy. He was still mad, that he’d literally just tied him up and left him for dead, but… still. After this, he was gonna be alone, and a lot of people were gunning for his head. Kai and his crew, Evie and whoever he shot if they were still alive, Julia and Salem and all the fucks who would shoot on sight anyway.

He could remember how they’d been pals, comrades, brothers-in-arms, just a day ago. And now one of them was dead. Once he got to Danya, he’d bring that fucker down, even if it cost him his own life.

Shawn appeared unresponsive.

He lay there, flat on his face in the snow. Twitching and shifting slightly on occasion, but seemingly unable to move from where he fell.

As Matt drew closer, he would notice that Shawn's head had sunk deep into ground. 

He had fallen face first into a small manmade pit, his head fitting it perfectly.

After several seconds of silence, a voice croaked out.

"Glrrrrrhk... Gluurrr-glrrrrRrRrhk" gargled Shawn.

Those were the only words that could escape his mouth, on account of the wooden stake skewering his tongue to his jaw. 

The second stake that had torn it's way through his cheek didn't help either, just barely stabbing at the back of his throat. 

He struggled to breath, likely on account of the third stake that had impaled itself deep into his nostril. 

Nor could he really see anything, given the fourth stake that found itself embedded deep in his eye socket.

Eventually, he conjured up the willpower to place his hands either side of his head, slowly pushing back against the earth to free himself. Some of the stakes remained where they were buried, leaving bloody tears and jagged splinters in their wake. Others proved more stubborn, pulled free from the earth to remain stuck in his face.

He then began to crawl. Slowly but surely, spluttering and dribbling crimson as he dragged himself through the snow and mud. He could barely think straight, existence itself having become agony, yet somehow some primal part of him knew he had to escape. He had to flee. It was an instinct that was integral to his very being.

Shawn wouldn't make it very far however, coughing blood as he rolled onto his back. Staring blankly up at the sky, his breathing laboured and face burning. His one good eye eventually glanced down, watching as Matt slowly approached him.

He opened his mouth, trying to think of something clever to say.

"GLRRRKH"

At first, Matthew wondered if he'd smashed his head in on a rock and just died there. Would have been anticlimatic, but it was the only explanation that he could give for why Shawn was just lying there and not really doing much except the occasional twitch of a leg or slight shift.

As he drew closer, saw the way his head was in the ground, that little pit just like the one Karin had fallen into and fucked her leg up, his heart sunk. Oh no. Oh, fuck no. He, he didn't want to look. He had an idea of what it would look like, and... it wasn't pretty. It really wasn't fucking pretty, but he had to look. Because the gurgled groan coming out of Shawn's mouth wasn't something that he thought a dead body would do, and if Shawn was alive, with his head buried deep into a fucking spike pit... eugh. Eugh. God. Hands clenched around the rifle until they were white, Matthew squatted down and took a look.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

How was he still alive? How was - shit, how had he not just passed out from the pain? It was going through his, through his fucking-

Turning away from the grisly visage, Matthew retched. It was, there was a difference between this and everything else he'd done. He'd shot people, yeah, a lot of them, but it was always quick. A bullet to the head, a shot in the chest, that was quick and painless. Maybe it wasn't a good thing to be proud of, but on this island, there were a hell of a lot of ways to go that were worse than a bullet. This was... probably up there. Jesus. Jesus. "Shit, Shawn. Shit." At least Karin had just broken her leg. Painful, but... shit, at least you could have an open casket.

Ejecting the empty cartridge from the rifle, Matthew prepared to put a bullet in the back of his friend's head, to put him out of his fucking misery, and then with a gurgle, his hands started to flail until they found the solid ground between stakes and push himself up. The sight of that, Shawn's head rising to reveal bloodied stakes, some rising with him, while those fucking horrible squelching, squishy gurgling noises came from Shawn's face, bloodied tears flowing out from his ruined eye...

Matthew turned around and threw up for real.

When he'd turned back, Shawn was crawling, as if he was still trying to run away, unaware that there was... pretty much no hope of him getting away. He kinda just... wanted to shoot him then, but if he missed, he'd just add on to the suffering. Shit, he wouldn't even wish this on Katelyn. Or fucking Danya. Nobody deserved to have their face fucking obliterated like that.

Eventually, Shawn stopped, rolled over, and looked up at Matthew as he slowly walked up, his feet taking care to avoid the trail he'd left behind. There wasn't even anger anymore. Just... pity. Remembering the good times, all the times they'd hung out and shot the shit, talked about all the shit that was happening in the world or how some of their more commie classmates sucked. That one time they played chess and Shawn fucking obliterated him in like, a minute. How from the second they united, they'd always had each other's backs.

Was it always leading up to this moment? From the very fucking start, was it always gonna end with him standing over Shawn with a rifle, intending to put him out of his misery?

"God, Shawn, I'm... fuck, I'm sorry." Matthew took a deep breath, wanting to stay strong at least just for now. Pressing the barrel of the rifle against Shawn's forehead, he hesitated. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to look at his ruined face anymore. But he couldn't leave him like this.

"Ghh... FUCK!" Screaming out his frustration, he screwed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger.