Welcome to Summoner's Rift

[BROseidon†]

((B003: Matt Vartoogian, begin))

Matt Vartoogian sat, leaning up against a dilapidated school bus. He was holding his diving knife in his left hand; he was running his right thumb across the blade of said knife. Each flick of his thumb reconfirmed what the first one had told him: the knife was sharp. He had been given it to kill. This wasn't a joke.

Granted, seeing one of his favorite teachers killed right in front of his eyes had already indicated this to him. SOTF had been gone for a while, but Matt was still fully aware of what it was. Everyone in middle school would talk about it. Some of his peers even watched it. Matt had never seen it, though. Matt had never been a fan of television because of the lack of interactivity. He couldn't affect the outcome, he could only watch. A show that involved actual murder held even less appeal.

Matt had been sitting under the bus for a while now. Thirty minutes? An hour? Matt had lost track of time, but he had had enough time to mull everything over. His face was red. The sun reflected off the moisture and glistened. How long had it been since he'd stopped crying?

It didn't matter. Matt had had time to check the contents of his bag. He had found the diving knife in there, as well as some food and water and a first aid kit. He also had his personal bag, which didn't have much. Matt wished that he had brought some snacks. Those would be useful.

After checking his bag, Matt had removed the knife and started fiddling with it. He had taken his seat at the front wheel of the bus, and he began thinking.

What was he to do? Matt liked having a plan. He liked being able to apply a structure to a system and come out ahead. It's what had always appealed to him about games, and that skill was now going to help him through this. He needed to come up with a plan. He needed to have a strategy for survival.

Survival. It was the ultimate goal in all this, right? If Matt didn't think he could survive, he would have offed himself right there. No need to go through a week of suffering only to give up. No need to wander around aimlessly, not sure whether he wanted to be the one to survive. The choice was die now or try to get out, and Matt had made his decision.

Matt realized that this meant inevitably having to kill someone. The young man had said as much. Matt wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to do that. It would be hard to overcome years of moral training, that killing is wrong. Sure, he killed in games all the time, but that was different. Killing someone with a respawn timer has no moral weight. People don't actually die when they are killed in a game. In the real world, people die when they are killed. That would be a rough moral hurdle to jump, but Matt didn't want to ruminate on it too much. He would just think himself out of survival.

He thought about how to best get to the end. He only had to kill one person. Going crazy and killing everyone he came across seemed like a terrible idea. He would gain the reputation of a killer, and people would begin gunning for him. Survival had to take priority over killing, and not killing early meant a higher chance of surviving longer. Rule #1: do not kill until at least two-thirds of his peers are dead. It seemed like a reasonable number, but he had largely just pulled it out of his ass.

However, once he survived that long, he would need a better weapon than he currently had. A knife would do very little, after all, against guns. He needed to get his hand on one of those. Rule #1 revised: do not kill until at least two-thirds of his peers are do, unless it is to obtain a gun or equivalently powerful weapon.

He would also need to work with other people. Moving in a group would increase his odds of survival. A group can defend itself better. People can take turns sleeping while another keeps watch. He needed a group of people he could trust. If he came across a group of jocks, of bullies, of people he didn't know well, he would have to try to avoid them. There would be others fighting for survival, and others who will start killing right away. Rule #2: find a team.

He also needed to ration his resources. How long would this last? The terrorists had given him ten bars, plus some perishable food, so maybe they expected it to last ten days? It seemed like a decent estimate, and if he survived longer than that, he'd have to figure something out. Rule #3: ration resources with the expectation that the survivor of this will have to survive ten days.

He'd revisit that one once the announcements began rolling in.

So there Matt sat, with something of a plan formulated in his head. The plan seemed decent enough, but there was the matter of execution. Could he actually pull it off? Could he survive? Could he take another human life over the next week and a half? Maybe, and that's why Matt decided he would try to survive.

The man on the stage had described it as "playing," as if this were some sort of a game. Matt knew games. He knew games better than almost anyone else. He had spent his life playing them, inundated with them. He had wanted to turn a game into a career, a priority now moved far back in his mind. Killing wasn't "playing." Playing meant that, at the end of all this, everyone would say "good game," and they all would return home. This wasn't a game. This was terrorism, and needed to be called such, even by him. Even by someone who was going to try to survive.

Could he kill, though? Matt had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he wanted to start crying again. The idea horrified him. It depressed him. It outraged him. It forced Matt to feel every negative feeling at once. But it didn't matter, because, if he wanted to survive he would have to. Eventually.

[Solomir†]

((B036: Benjamin Ward - BEGIN))

This spell causes seven shimmering, intertwined, multicolored beams of light to spray from your hand

Ben shut the book and rolled his eyes. This game was stupid. He could wrap his head around having stats like Strength and Intelligence, and Fighters being tough badasses while Wizards were nerdy weaklings. Nerdy weaklings who apparently shot rainbows at people. Holy shit this book was also pretty fucking gay.

He stood up from the empty cafeteria. It was way too quiet in here for his taste. Even reading the stupid book was a distraction for the situation. Much too short a distraction.

Opening to a random page yielded pages talking about various gods and goddesses that the nerd people would worship or something like that. A page full of bullshit. If there was a God, He sure as fuck wouldn't have let Survival of the Fittest happen again.

Survival of the Fittest. What the fuck. Ben had seen a couple of clips from before. Everybody had. It was the kind of thing he'd dare others to watch and then laugh when they freaked out from it. It was funny then, watching clips off the internet and laughing about how stupid some of the kids were. Just find a gun and shoot everyone, they'd always tell each other whenever they talked about what they'd do on Survival of the Fittest.

It hadn't been that long ago, seeing Davidge get his brains blown out. Ben had been right there, front row prime seats. He'd seen Davidge's eyes as he'd jerked in that chair, trying to do something, anything to get away from the man who'd shot him. He'd heard Davidge's screams, trying to drown out the pain. If Ben closed his eyes right now, he'd probably still be able to see and hear it.

Just get a gun and shoot everyone. Sounded so easy back then.

Ben didn't have a gun. He got some nerd books instead. Because that was totally fucking fair compared to the dumbfuck who probably got a gun or other useful weapon. That probably would've been funny if he were still at home and watching it on his laptop.

He growled and flipped the book open to another random page and started walking toward the school buses. If anything, that could be a good place to hide from some kid who'd decided that they were going to go on a shooting spree because they had a gun or some shit like that. Survival of the Fittest did make people crazy after all.

Also apparently, it was something magic when a nerd wizard made a pool of grease. Like they couldn't do that just by dumping a bucket of oil on the ground.

Ben continued reading as he walked, flipping through and looking at pictures of not very attractive women and badass fighters swinging swords at zombies. He turned to step onto a bus and froze. He must've rolled low for luck, because not only had he already met up with somebody else, he had a knife.

One of the class faggots too. Maybe they should just trade weapons.

"Vartoogian," Ben rumbled, closing the book in his hands and drawing up to his full height, "you wanna put that thing away before you hurt youself with it?"

[BROseidon†]

Matt turned to the source of the voice, slowly rising as he did so.

God dammit. God fucking dammit. Shit.

Ben Ward was not high on the list of people that Matt wanted to see right now. Or for the next few weeks, really. Sure, there weren't many people Matt would be happy to see at this point. Someone weak with a gun he could take, sure. One of the few people that he could actually consider a friend? Maybe. He needed allies, people he could trust. Even his friends would be hard to trust, at least after a while. He'd already decided that he would do what was needed to get out of this, surely others had already decided the same.

So the list of people that Matt didn't want to see was pretty damn long, and Ben Ward was right up there at the top of the list with the likes of Cody Patton and Adonis Alba. The dumb jocks. Well, Ben wasn't dumb; he was actually pretty damn smart, from what Matt had heard, but the guy was still and asshole and a bully. Two things that meant problems for Matt.

Make him go away. Make him not want to be here. Yeah, maybe that would work.

"It's cute that you think I'll hurt myself with this thing." Condescending. Dry. Cold. Malicious. "I know how to check the sharpness of a knife. This thing is pretty fucking sharp. Could probably kill someone pretty easily with it."

Matt saw that Ben was holding a DnD book. He wasn't the type to bring one of those along; must have gotten a shit weapon draw.

Matt didn't want a fight. Maybe he could bluff this.

[BROseidon†]

((breaking post order b/c Solo is away and Matt will be inactive by the time he gets back))

Ben didn't respond right away. He was taking his time. Thinking, maybe? Gauging whether Matt was serious or bluffing? Matt didn't know what was going on in Ben's head, and it bothered him.

Ben probably wasn't going to think that Matt would actually kill him. And he'd be right. Sort of. Killing Ben would be idiotic. Ben had shit for a weapon, and getting his name on the announcements this early was functionally committing suicide.

Matt might not have liked Ben, but Matt was neither dumb nor bloodthirsty. The only way either of them would end up dead was if Ben made the first move.

[Shangela†]

((G074- Brianna Battaglia continued from Risoluto))

At one point, this school bus yard must have had dozens of tiny little feet racing and scampering around.Waiting around for the mid-afternoon bus to take them home, the children were probably so excited to be let out of classes for the day. Maybe here they would negotiate play dates or sleepovers. Maybe the boys would trade their colorful cards fixed with monsters and wizards, or play a quick round of tag that almost always immediately got broken up by the school staff. The girls would probably sit around on the benches, braiding each other's hair, talking about the most recent American Girl book to come out. And of course, the attached high school had their students wait by as well. Those who didn't have other means of getting to the school would be taking the buses just like their prepubescent peers. It's funny how different they think they are, yet how similar they function. Teenage boys jokingly push and shove, while the girls talk about some article they've read in the most recent Cosmopolitan magazine.

Of course, where the two age groups really converged was on the rules of the bus. The "cool" hierarchy dictated that the upper echelon of popular students got to cram into the back, while the rows got progressively less and less cool until you got to the "geeks and dweeps." It was funny how that worked out. In high school, Brianna Battaglia realized that the so-called outcasts were actually the coolest people she'd ever met. It was the "popular" kids who had the deficit of positive traits.

Brianna turned on her heel, just starting to begin walking away from the school grounds, when a thought crossed her mind. We were once elementary school students before all of this. We grew up to the right age to be targeted by these terrorists. Will... will these children be a following season?

Brianna wanted to throw up. She could see the markings of children within the first bus she approached. Faded stickers plastered the windows. The Easter Bunny chased around an pastel egg, while a bear wearing a shamrock celebrated the passage of St. Patrick's Day. Though age had not been kind to them, she could still make out the shapes and themes of the bus's windows. Each passing sticker filled her with more dread and more heartbreak. Brianna didn't want to keep investigating the former signs of displaced childhood, but some grim curiosity compelled her.

The next bus yielded the same faded stickers. No sign of current life, just the sign of students that had once trusted this bus to provide them transport and shelter until they got home. Maybe it wouldn't transport any of them off of the island. But maybe it would provide some shelter to one of the students looking to hide. A logistical player might recognize the value of a shelter. Hiding out, waiting to ambush from the protective hull of the vehicle.

Brianna turned to approach a third bus when she heard a familiar voice utter a drastically unfamiliar threat. "This thing is pretty fucking sharp. Could probably kill someone pretty easily with it." It was unmistakably the voice of one of her closest friends, Matt Vartoogian. The two of them had met in GSA, but really befriended one another in their home-ec class. One of the "geeks and dweeps," and one of Brianna's closest friends. The closest she'd ever seen Matt to using a knife was on pastry, slicing it up to share amongst the class. This game couldn't have changed Matt. There's no way.

Brianna darted over as fast as she could to the sound of his voice. She didn't know what she was going to say or do. Hell, she didn't even know what she would come across. Would Matt be in trouble? Was he the one starting trouble? How well did she really know the students of Aurora High? Could any of them kill each other? Kill her? Brianna couldn't allow herself to believe that. Anything done out of fear was not a reflection of them. She was sure Matt was afraid. She was afraid. But there was an alternative. There just had to be.

Besides, what could be so terrifying?

Brianna turned the corner of the bus, rapidly approaching the front when she saw him. Ben Ward.
"Oh shit." The girl muttered under her breath as the color stripped from her face. "Matt!"

[Solomir†]

"That a threat, Vartoogian?" Ben rumbled. Did the faggot really want to start something right now? Not even six hours here and he already was trying to pick fights that he couldn't win. This kid was an idiot and deserved every bad thing he was going to have to live through on this island.

Ben didn't even want to hurt him. He just wasn't in the mood for it. He also wasn't in the mood for some faggot punk to challenge him, knife or no knife.

He drew himself up to his full size, fists balling at his side. Someone popped out from around the front of the bus, but Ben paid her no mind. First things first: get everything under control.

"Put it away."

[BROseidon†]

"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. All I know is that i'm the one with the knife, and you're holding a book." Matt just wanted Ben gone. Sure, he might look like a psychopath, but at least a psychopath wouldn't get fucked with. Even with Ben being like twice his size, Matt had the knife. Ben would be dumb to attack him.

Then Matt heard someone call him. A girl. Matt turned and looked at her.

"Brianna, hey! Good to see a friendly face." Matt was smiling, his lips curled upward revealing a big grin. Brianna was someone he could trust. She was a friend.

Then Ben spoke again. He looked angry. He had probably been angry when he saw Matt. At school, the two would have ignored each other. Ben might have made some snide remark, called him 'faggot' or something, but otherwise the two would just walked on pass each other. Out here, however, they didn't have that luxury. They could go their separate ways now, but what would stop them from meeting again, later? What would stop Matt from having to deal with Ben eventually, other than the fact that someone else might do it for him?

Regardless, Matt had to do something to prevent Ben from attacking him. Brianna's presence would certainly help.

"Why don't I put away the knife when you stop looking like you're about to attack me. Deal?"

Matt was glad Brianna was here, but then he looked down at the knife he was holding. It reminded him of why he was in his current predicament. Brianna was going to have to die for him to live. Matt felt his heart sink inside of him again.

[Shangela†]

Stepping into a truculent entanglement such as this one would be one that most would find moderately to severely intimidating. Most would turn away, hoping that they could slip away while the eyes of the bigger teenager was fixated on the threatening, glistering pocket knife. An argument was clear to errupt between the two boys. If it had been anyone else, the smart move would have been to run away and hope to gain distance before the dispute reached a violent crux.

Brianna struggled to come up with what to say. Her mouth hung open vacantly as her brain struggled to keep up with her impulsive intervention. "Guys, please." Brianna moved in forward, face to shoulder with the large Ben Ward. At a height of five-foot-three, the girl was even more minuscule to the abrasive Ben than his current target. Whatsmore, she let her duffle bag and backpack roll off of her shoulder about three paces away from where she now stood. If Ben had turned around and redirected his aggression on her, Brianna would be helpless. Yet, the girl continued her plea.

"Ben. Can't you see that you're scaring him? You puff out your chest like a gorilla, how to you expect anyone to react?" Brianna struggled to make eye contact with Ben, but his eyes were fixated on the weapon that his routine target held clutched as a security blanket.

"Matt, you aren't quite helping with this. Can we all just take a few steps and talk. Nobody has to do anything here that they don't want to." Brianna was pleased to have the happenstance of running into Matt right away. Truth be told, out of the entire grade, perhaps Matt, Dave Russell and a few other students were people she would happily approach and conspire with. However, with the way that Matt so easily threatened Ben Ward, she couldn't be quite sure of how much she could trust him. Her thoughts immediately shut out this repulsive gut feeling. Doubts about each other's humanity is exactly what those terrorists tried to exploit. She couldn't let herself be afraid of her friends. This would be exactly what Danya wanted.
"I don't give a fuck what that Danya man says. There has to be a way out of all this." Brianna put strange emphasis on the word "fuck" She hardly ever cursed in her routine life. Even more rarely, would she swear in English. Typically, she uttered a few Italian swears: remnants from her father's influence. Brianna thought forcefully using the swear gave her argument more fire, more force. She could use all the force in trying to dissuade what could be very real bloodshed.
So this is the "game" you have in mind, Danya. Well, I can promise you that I won't be "playing."

[Solomir†]

Ben could hear the threat in Vartoogian's proposal. If that girl hadn't shown up with her two pennies, Ben would no doubt have stayed his ground and shown the faggot that he wasn't going to be talked down by a punk with a knife. Ben hadn't missed the ease with which the other boy had slipped into a friendly front before switching back to the implied violence.

Back in school, Ben would've easily cowed these two into listening to reason without having to lay a hand on anybody. Now, he was somehow the bad guy when trying to stand up to the guy with a knife. It was infuriating, but Ben wasn't going to make any allies by making the implied violence a reality.

He took a step back, away from the bus, and crossed his arms and holding the thin hardcovered book against his chest. If Vartoogian tried any funny business, Ben would be ready.

From his new vantage point, he could now actually see who this new girl was. Of course, it was the fat fag hag, Brianna. Because it was totally fair, just like his books, that the first two people would probably not have minded to see Ben gutted like a fish.

"Okay. Fine. Let's talk then. No weapons." Ben's eyes flickered between the two others. For all he knew, the girl had a knife or a gun hidden in her pocket or something.

He'd need to watch his back around these two.

[BROseidon†]

Ben was backing down. Good. He was outnumbered, and Brianna hadn't revealed her weapon yet. Good. Maybe he'll go away soon.

"Okay." Matt said, lowering his knife. "Sorry, just a little worked up, y'know? Ben, I hope you don't take offense to me not trusting you. It's not like we have a great history." Matt slid the blade of the knife between is belt and his pants.

Matt couldn't understand how Brianna was so sure that there was a way to beat the terrorists. The terrorists had had four years to plan this, to put every little piece into place to make sure escape was not an option. There wasn't a way out, and even if there was, on some small chance, what were the odds of any of them being able to find it? They were dealing with an organization that had highjacked an airplane, smuggled over a hundred and fifty people out of the country, and put them all on a deserted island while somehow avoiding satellites picking them up. They had also done this four times before, mostly successfully. What could they have missed that a high school student would be able to see?

"Okay, why don't we sit down, have some bread, and talk things over," Matt said to Brianna after pausing a second. "Ben, you can stay if you want, I guess." The least he could do was be polite after threatening him. There was no way he'd actually take him up on the offer, right?

[Shangela†]

Brianna tried to contain a satisfied smile as Matt sheathed his physical arms; Ben, his behavioristic arms. The situation was still admittedly tense, but it there was a comfortable level of reprieve here. Brianna didn't think that violence would erupt now. What would she have done if it had? Fight Ben off of Matt, keep Matt from slicing Ben's throat?

The girl didn't want to entertain the brief thought as she turned to retrieve her bags and board the bus. "Excuse me." Brianna softly apologized as she squeezed past Ben and onto the bus. Matt's choice of venue was perfect for the time being. High enough off the ground that no one could peer from the ground level, solid and thickly built. It even had multiple emergency escape windows, a roof hatch and an exit in the back. All of this made for a reasonable place for Brianna to finally slug her bags down onto a seat and rest up against them.

She chose the seat directly behind Matt's driver's seat. How appropriate that Brianna was once again sitting at the front of the bus. It's where she'd always ended up before she'd gotten her license. The seat was long enough to fit two people comfortably side to side. However, Brianna let herself take up an entire seat, leaving the one across to Ben. She didn't get the vibe he was too keen of being that close to Brianna.

It was Ben's choice whether or not he wanted to join them. For his sake, though, Brianna started to think up a speech. It wasn't like the pitch she'd made for student council president during Junior year. She couldn't quite easily think up a rallying promise, ("Brianna Battaglia Battles Board."), nor could she come up with any promises that would whet the student's appetite for her words. ("I also plan to increase budgeting for the extra curricular clubs. It's about high time we'd gotten supplies that weren't old enough to buy liquor.")

"What day is today? The 14th?" Brianna thought about the date for a brief second. Dates seemed so elusive here. Just days. Day number one would be followed by day number two. No need to place them on a calendar. "My birthday is on the 24th. Ten days from now. I'm absolutely terrified that I'm not going to live to be eighteen." Her voice began to pick up in tone. The passivity she spoke with now replaced with some fire.

"I'm sure Andi Victorino is equally terrified that she won't see her baby grow up." Thinking for a moment, Brianna continued. "Fiona. I think."

"I'm sure Matt Young is terrified that he won't grow up to be a scoutmaster, or a missionary." She looked over to Matt, then Ben, then back to Matt again. She was had drummed off enough examples. All this talk of fear wasn't what they wanted to hear.

"My point is that you're not the only one scared here. I'm freakin' terrified." Brianna paused. Here is where she dropped that politician's gambit. First you empathize, get on their level with their concerns and problems. Then you offer the solution. Here's the pitch. "And that's just how Danya wants us. We're not conditioned killers here. We're all scared high schoolers with a random weapon. Danya gives us only one choice out of here; kill or be killed."

"If that's the only way off, then how'd that girl get so many people off the island four years ago? People worked with her and they found a way off together. There's a way off of this island, but we're only going to find it if we work together." She never actually read much into Survival of the Fittest, though now she wished she had. Her ignorance may have made the facts wrong, but the point she was trying to make wasn't.

[Solomir†]

Ben kept a close eye on Vartoogian as the other boy put the knife away. Not in the smartest place, but Ben wasn't the one who might be in danger of having his balls cut off by putting a knife too close to it.

He watched Brianna make her way up into the bus. Vartoogian's invitation still hung in the air. Ben could stay, if he wanted. He could leave, since there was no guarantee Vartoogian wouldn't try to stab him in the back, or something else just as bad. And there was a limit to how long he could stand being around Brianna before inevitably butting heads with her, just like in Student Council. He could leave and he wouldn't have to deal with them again, probably.

He could leave them, and then he'd be alone.

Ben wasn't a guy to back down from anything. He wasn't going to let a fag with a knife and his hag make him do anything. He was going to stick with these two because he was a leader and a leader needed followers.

He took a few defiant steps onto the bus, stopping right in the middle of the stairs. He leaned against the front end of the bus, but keeping a careful eye on the boy with the knife. Brianna was talking about some of their classmates, droning on and on about dying with dreams unfulfilled.

No, Ben wasn't scared. He was going to be in control of things, in control of himself, and he wasn't scared. He wasn't going to kill anyone. Killing just reminded him of Coach Davidge, and of agonized screams and spraying blood and brains. Killing just brought to mind lifeless eyes that had once bored into Ben on the training field.

No killing.

He pushed those thoughts away, bringing himself back to Brianna's rambling. Idiotic rambling at that. "Fifty bucks you're wrong, Battaglia," Ben said, cutting the girl off, "there's no way off except the way they told us." Ben scoffed and rolled his eyes. "It's been four fucking years since they last did this. They didn't spend four years planning something without making sure what happened last time won't happen again. And if we even tried, they'd just blow our fucking collars."

Ben's eyes darted quickly between the other two students. "Let's figure out first how we're going to survive and not run into the lucky idiot who got handed a gun and decided to re-enact a Columbine, okay?"

[BROseidon†]

Brianna was doing her whole political schtick. She wanted him to overcome his fear, to be something great. She wanted him to risk everything for some greater good that was doomed to fail. Fuck that. Ben's head was in the right place. What could the terrorists have spent four years doing? They probably had failsafes on failsafes to ensure that there would be no interruptions this time around. Ben's lucidity in this was good. If he was going to hang around like the annoying fly that he was, it was the least he could do not to be a liability.

At the same time, his thought process seemed eerily on the same page as Matt's. Ben tipped his hand in his bet enough for Matt to know that Ben would understand that the killing was inevitable. When would he turn on them?

"Ben, chill out. Fifty bucks is gonna matter jack shit when we're all dead." Matt tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. He didn't want his nerves to show through.

"Yeah, escape is gonna be hard, but do you think we don't even has at least a one or two percent chance of escape? Hell, I'd take those odds of escape over killing for even worse odds."

Matt wanted to believed himself.

[Shangela†]

With her teeth clenched, she let the sting of Ben's causticity roll over her. On a normal day, she could feel Ben's disagreement with her hang around like an irritating gnat, biting at her haunches. Often she wanted to reach over a few desks, walk over to Ben and slap the self-righteousness out of him. However, she always would stop herself. People were bound to disagree in life, no matter how well you presented your cause. Luciano Battaglia had run an excellent campaign, receiving the vocal support of a large base of Seattle's working class families, yet got shafted from the Democratic nomination. Sure there was injustice with internal politics, but her father never let it get to him. Brianna knew that she couldn't let the Ben Ward's of the world get to her as well.

"I'll tell you what, Ben," Brianna choked on his name, resisting to call him something more inflammatory. "If there are only the three of us trying at the end of this, I'll gladly surrender fifty bucks."

It seemed that Matt agreed with her to some extent, coming to Brianna's side showed that he was at least reasonable here. He'd stood up for Brianna in the face of Ben, returning the favor, yet his words had such chilling brutality to them.

We're all dead.

But then, as if sensing his friend's discomfort, Matt changed tone. "Thank you Matt." Brianna mumbled, barely audible as a whisper. Thank you for believing in us.

"I know we're not going to come up with some fail safe plot to fight them right away. I know these collars are in the way. I'm not stupid, guys. But I also know that the longer we hold out, the more brains we have working together, the more of a shot we have." Like Matt had said, there was maybe a one percent chance that the trio would survive the island. Still, that was worth taking versus the zero percent chance that Brianna would ever take arms up against Aurora High.

"You know, these buses aren't such a bad place to camp." Brianna peered out the window. The only path that led to the outdoor bus station was the school buildings' stone path. The adjacent woods also would allow the group an easy place to escape to. With the four buses, she was sure they could host an entire group of allies.

"Why don't we set this up as base? We can try and explore our options during the day, and fortify at night. At least we're safe for now." Carefully avoiding mentioning her plans to recruit the others they came across, Brianna instead expressed that they should "explore options." Even the right thing needed to be decided upon with some democracy.

[Lexi†]

((Chris Harlin continued from The Visionary))

Despite the fact that the distance on the map seemed so small, Chris was beginning to doubt his actual stamina on the walk. He had always assumed that he was healthy enough that simply walking a few miles would not be a big deal but along the way he had been so nervous about everything, he had started carrying one of the ice skates in his hand just in case. Jumping at nearly every single sound and movement made the seemingly short journey last forever. Several times he had thought they had been lost and for a good ten minutes Chris had been convinced that someone had been following them in the distance. For all he knew, they still were.

Trees seemingly stretched on forever across the sides of the road and after taking a trip through the woods on what Chris had stated was a shortcut, he was starting to think he had messed up before he could see the buildings that he thought was the School. Getting off into somewhere less confusing and safer would be a much healthier idea. Maybe he could find a screwdriver or scissors somewhere to fashion it into a proper weapon but as of now, Chris just wanted to get to the school before it was too late in the day to make his way back to the Clubhouse. Seeing as it seemed to be luxury compared to the overgrown and broken down environment that he had seen elsewhere, staying out in the open with the elements was not a wanted result. After all, he and Jesse had a mission, to find some more people. He hoped it would be someone he knew better, maybe a team mate or a friend. Although Jesse seemed nice enough, Chris barely knew anything about his life outside of school and as for Carmina, Chris had little clue to even begin.

However, as he grew closer, Chris began to outpace his companion and found himself approaching what he assumed was the school. However, something caught his eye long before he got close to the buildings, the four buses over from the wooded area he was crossing and what looked like people moving into one of them. It was obscured and he couldn't be sure how many there were but he had found some more people and maybe transport!

A brief flutter of hope raised in his chest at the thought of maybe being able to repair one to help escape, until common sense slammed the shutters down. Being on an island, there was nowhere to drive too, the terrorists could blow his head off if he tried to flee and the fact that he had no equipment and no idea if they had been stripped for parts at all; well, the hope spot had been well and truly quashed. However the movement by one of them seemed to to be finally real and not just his paranoia. Deciding to ignore building for the time being to approach the voices coming from the bus, Chris hoped that whoever it was, would be up for listening to Jesse's plan. Although outpacing the supposed brains of the operation wasn't the smartest move and staying out in the open rather than hiding out of plain sight in the school buildings, like what he imagined would be more protected, Chris continued on with his not thought out plan as he walked out of the trees towards the buses. It was probably a better idea to announce his arrival yet again, rather than burst in and scare the hell out of everyone. He shouted out his intentions as he walked towards the metal shelter.

"Hey, its Chris Harlin! Listen, whoever is in there, we are not playing ok? I am just looking for people, that's all! Can I come in?"