Paint it Black

[Fiori]

((Maxwell Lombardi continued from Riddles of Monsters))

Maxwell was slowly awoken from his slumber by the rays of sunlight that shined through the gaps of the makeshift shelter he'd built for himself, prompting him to get up from where he lay and stretch his arms out after a long night of refreshing sleep.

It had nearly been an entire a day since the fiasco by the stream where he had encountered Mizore and her tenacious guardians, and whilst he still hadn't completely recovered from the embarrassing defeat he felt far better then he had moments before deciding to make a makeshift shelter out of sticks a various other objects he found lying around in the woods. It wasn't much, and barely provided enough shade to make it worthwhile, but it was a better option to sleeping out in open anyway. Besides, thankfully, the spot he found proved to be relatively comfortable to some of the other locations he'd had to take refuge in the past. And his old bag proved to be a good makeshift pillow as well, thanks to the fact that it was mainly full of spare clothes rather than rations and equipment.

Hmm, that reminds me, I probably ought to get changed soon before heading out into the wilderness. Still, no rush, perhaps I could go get some sunshine and stretch my arms for a bit first...

He crawled out of the shelter and stretched his limbs, taking the opportunity to take a deep breath of fresh air as he basked in the morning sunshine. Judging from the smell of saltwater, and the sound of seagulls cawing in the distance, Maxwell suspected that he was somewhere near the seaside. Whether or not that was actually relevant was something he wasn't particularly sure about, although it would mean it would be easier for him to figure out where the heck on the island he actually was on the first place. The last thing he needed was to accidentally waltz into a dangerzone and get his head blown clean off by mistake.

He looked around as his surroundings, making sure that nobody was actually around. The last thing he needed right now was for another jackass to come along and scare the living daylights out of him again, especially seeing as the last time that happened he lost his only weapon. Which meant that the next time he met someone dangerous, he'd have to play things a little more carefully to avoid being on the wrong side of a hail of bullets. Perhaps he could find someone whilst they're asleep so he could deal with them without too much hassle. It would be somewhat underhanded, yes, but in Survival of the Fittest being polite and honourable got you shot in the back of the head.

It was at that point that the familiar sound of the morning announcement kicked in, which piqued Maxwell's interest more than it usually did, what with the whole escape attempt kicking things up a notch.

The first interesting thing he noticed was that instead of Danya's inappropriately light-hearted voice telling them all with glee how well they had done over the past day, it was some drone by the name Greynolds telling them all the latest news on their classmates. From the sound of things, this rescue attempt had been a much bigger operation than Maxwell had assumed it was. From Danya's absence alone, Maxwell could gather that he'd either been seriously injured during some conveniently unmentioned firefight, or...

Maxwell couldn't help but smirk at the thought of someone finally being able to silence the smug bastard once and for all.

The next piece of news that caught of interest was that somebody by the name of Maf Tuigasomethingorother had killed Nick Reid, which was mildly disappointing considering that Nick had always been someone who Maxwell had especially wanted to kill himself, and now from the sound of things some cock with a weird name got him first. Damnit. Oh well, at least I can take solace in the fact that SOMEBODY took that son of a bitch down. I'd of hated it if he had decided to take his own life or something anticlimactic like that...

Then of course, there came the news on what had happened with the escape attempt. Which, from the sound of things, went exactly as well as Maxwell suspected it would. A large grin slowly formed on his lips as Greynolds read out the list of names of everyone who had died trying to escape, including that thieving nip Mizore Soryu and the communist dyke Sarah Xu. He was beginning to wonder why he had been so concerned in the first place, seeing as if anything this whole rescue attempt business had reduced the competition by a significant margin. At this rate, the entire ordeal would be over within the next couple of days.

With Maxwell emerging as the victor, of course.

Heh, imbeciles. That's exactly what happens when you try to cheat your way out of the game. Now then, may as well get changed. No time like the present, right?

And so, with this in mind, Maxwell leaned over and grabbed his bag from within the shelter and dragged it out, opening it up and rustling through the contents as he tried to find the clothes he was was looking for.

Little did he realize that he wasn't quite as alone as he had assumed...

[Pippi]

((George Leidman continued from The Cavalry Arrives))

George hadn't stopped walking since hed left the beach. He wasnt going anywhere particularly, just walking and hoping that a miracle would occur, allowing him to leave the island in some other way. A magical teleport or some old ruins that lead directly to the mainland. Yeah, that was likely. George hadn't even considered going back to the swamp in order to pick up the stuff hed dumped there. It brought back painful memories. So he was currently walking, unknowingly, in circles, in one of the forests.

At some point, the daily announcement had played. Despite his current feelings, George was intrigued to hear not Danya's by now familiar voice, but a different one, announcing himself as Greynolds. The announcement was pretty standard fare, until the very end. The rescue attempt was on there. So, it failed? I... man. That's... Jesus Christ.

George really had no idea what to think of this. On the one hand, he was, in a way, glad he didn't get a chance to go on the boat, if it cost him his life. On the other, all the students who almost escaped were dead. How must they have felt on that boat? Grateful beyond belief at this minor miracle? Thinking they were going to get away? And then, just as escape is within reach, they get killed. Poor bastards.

Without really meaning to, George laughed bitterly. "What a change of heart, eh?" he said to himself. "A few days ago you were willing to beat someone to death with a chair, and now you're concerned about a bunch of kids who've gone missing?"

Walking further along, George noticed something in a small clearing. It looked kind of like a shelter, albeit a hastily and poorly built one. George wondered if the maker of it was still around. Poorly built or not, a shelter was a shelter, and currently, George just wanted to sleep and forget about the rescue attempt. As he got closer, however, he could see that someone was indeed in front of it, looking through his bag. The other guy was looking away from him, but George could instantly tell who it was.

Maxwell Lombardi. Murderer of eleven.

Images flooded George's mind. Duncan McMahon, getting shot in front of him. Maxwell himself, holding the gun. George swearing to get his revenge on Maxwell.

All previous emotions were replaced with anger and hatred, but George knew he had to stay composed. Removing Tim's pistol from his pocket, George crept up to Maxwell, before pressing the barrel of the gun to the back of Maxwell's head.

"Maxwell Lombardi. So glad to see you again."

[Hollyquin†]

[[Hayley Kelly continued from Harlequin Girls]]

Hayley really didn't know where she was going, or what she was doing, or why she was walking. All she knew was she had a cigarette in her hand and a gun in the other and the weather was damn nice, and she was content. This wasn't like yesterday, barreling full speed ahead towards something she knew, on a subconscious level, would be horrible. This was completely aimless wandering and she liked it that way. She breathed smoke, stopped once or twice to pick up an interesting-looking rock, felt a cool breeze pass over her skin...yeah, if it wasn't for the Survival of the Fittest thing, this would feel like a totally normal afternoon. Except not really, Hayley as a rule did not go for walks, especially not in the freaking woods. She was not a nature person. But, whatever, screw all that, this was pleasant, and she just wished she had her iPod with her, some music would be good right now, shit, music, something else to look forward to when she got off this fucking rock-

She stopped.

There was a tree. Well, no shit, there were a lot of fucking trees, this was a forest, good job on stating the obvious and all that, but this one had a thick, low hanging branch. It had knots. Loads of knots. And all the branches, actually, were really thick, and suddenly she knew exactly what she was going to do here.

She was going to climb a motherfucking tree.

Hell yes bro.

Of course, Hayley did not know how to climb trees. That thing she was just thinking, about how she wasn't a nature person- yeah, that worked here, too. Climbing trees involved physical strength and being outdoors and the possibility of getting hurt- yeah, no fucking thank you. Her cousins had tried to get her to do it once or twice but she'd always given them scathing looks and turned back to her Game Boy.

But here there weren't any Game Boys and there were a shitton of trees. And this one just wanted to be climbed. It had footholds for chrissake. And she wouldn't exactly be having much time to try this again, and it wasn't like getting hurt mattered all that much anymore, so- yeah. Fuck yeah. Climbing trees. She was on it. She took a deep pull of her cigarette, the last pull, flicking the butt away before hoisting herself into the lowest hanging branch on the tree.

And just like that- she was in a tree. Maybe three feet off the ground, yeah, but still it was fucking cool as shit and she found herself giggling like a five year old. Why haven't I done this before? ...Because fucking around in the trees when there's anything else in the world worth doing is stupid shit, yeah, that's why. But still, like...I feel like Tarzan or whatever. Or Jane I guess. ...Jesus dick I am like three feet in the air though, let's let this shit get real...

Very, very slowly raising herself so that she was stand on the branch, she looked for a way up. This tree looked like it was made to be climbed, really- the footholds she'd noted made good handholds too, and she was able to clamber up a bit higher, managing to get herself onto a second thick branch, maybe seven feet up, without much difficulty.

Alright, Hayley, focus. One more time...

The next branch was way further off, another five feet up- standing on the second branch she could just touch the third. So she had to climb a bit more, clinging for dear life onto those oh-so-convenient handholds, very nearly losing her grip more than once, until she finally collapsed onto that third branch, sweating and terrified and remembering that other reason why she didn't climb trees.

HOLY FUCK THIS IS HIGH.

Hayley Kelly was maybe just a tiny bit afraid of heights.

She was about twelve feet up now, and no way was she going to keep climbing- the next branch up that she'd be able to sit on, she couldn't even touch it. Besides that she had a vague idea that if she climbed much higher, she'd be risking death if she fell. This was fine, though- from this height she got a decent view of the forest around her, and as long as she clung to this damn branch like it was her fucking lifeline, she'd be okay up here.

Speaking of a decent view of the forest, there was two figures in the distance. Far enough away that she was reasonably sure they wouldn't see her unless they were searching- close enough that she could see that one was pointing something at the other one's head, and it probably wasn't a lollipop.

Also close enough to see that the one with something pointed at his head, the crouching one- it was Maxwell fucking Lombardi.

Holy shit. Why did he have to be so cute. And sociopathic. Whyyyy.

Hey, for now, she'd watch. This would be quite a show, hopefully. Hopefully this other guy didn't just pull the trigger, because that would be boring. She wished she had some popcorn, or another cigarette, but hey, no complaining about a free movie just because you get no food, right?

She'd wait and see.

Though, in her heart of hearts, who was she rooting for? It was pretty obvious. And pretty stupid. But hey, she couldn't help it, always with the weakness for the cute British boys...

[Fiori]

...Oh, you're fucking joking, aren't you?

Oddly enough, Maxwell wasn't too surprised the moment he felt the barrel of some bastard's gun prod him in the back of the head. If anything, throughout his stay on the island he'd grown used to unwanted interruptions such as this occurring whenever he had so much as a minute of spare time all to himself. Heck, he barely had the chance to replace his filthy black shirt with a much cleaner T-shirt before finding himself on the wrong end of a (potentially) loaded gun once again, meaning that he now had to deal with this cock whilst completely topless.

First things first, he had to figure out who the blazes this guy was in the first place. He kind of vaguely remembered his voice from somewhere, but in all honestly he hadn't the faintest clue who he was apart from the fact that the two of them had supposedly met before. Had the two of the met back at Bayview or something? Well, only one way to find out...

"Really? I don't believe we've ever met before... Care to remind me?" Maxwell asked calmly, resisting the temptation to turn his head around to get a better look at the boy who he was at the mercy of. He was lucky enough as it is that he hadn't decided to just shoot him in the back of the head and get it all over with, meaning that there was still a very good chance that Maxwell could figure a way out of this predicament. Nevertheless, the fact still remained that if he stalled for two long or acted too rashly then he could very easily wind up with a bullet in his skull.

"I thought you wouldn't remember me." the boy said, trying to sound as if he was some dramatic hero about to do battle with his arch nemesis. "George Leidman. You probably don't remember Duncan McMahon either, do you? Then again, you've killed so many people, names probably mean nothing to you."

Ironically, that wasn't too far from the truth.

That being said, Duncan McMahon was a name he DID remember. After all, Maxwell made a special effort to remember all the names of the people he'd dealt with in order to keep track of his score, and Duncan McMahon was definitely the name of one of the people he'd put our of commission at some point or another. Although, just because he remembered his name didn't necessarily mean he knew WHICH person whom he'd killed had been the Duncan this George fellow was referring to. Nor did he have any better clue as to who George was either apart from the fact that his name cropped up one or two times during the announcements.

Apparently too impatient to wait for Maxwell to reply, George continued his little statement, revealing one or two more interesting facts about his identity that allowed the English killer to have a much better understanding of who he was.

"You murdered him. At the residential area. In front of me and Maria. I'm here to... avenge him, or something. As well as everyone else you've killed."

Ah... NOW I remember! Interesting......

So, not only was this guy the idiot who started swearing bloody vengeance after he'd killed that sod who stood out in the middle of the street like a lemming, but the girl with blue streaks in her hair - AKA The same topless bitch who ruined his best suit and nearly caused a flaming house to fall onto his head - went by the surprisingly normal name Maria. After all, she was the one who's boyfriend he had gunned down right before her very own eyes, and as far as Maxwell could recall he hadn't managed to kill anyone else during his brief stay in the residential district.

It was at that point that Maxwell remembered a certain section of the recent announcement that he'd previously hadn't thought much upon, but with this sudden revelation became significantly more important. A section which brought a wicked smirk to the young killer's face as he began to realise the implications...

"Maria Graham fought long and hard, but ultimately, she gave up the ghost. It's a marathon, not a sprint, people. She took too many injuries and paid the price..."

Heh. Guess I won in the end after all...

"OH! Now I remember! So YOU were the guy who started yelling about how I'm going to be dead by the time you find me, or some nonsense along those lines... It's a small world, huh?"

As much as he didn't want a bullet embedded in his skull anytime soon, Maxwell just couldn't resist the chance given to him on a silver platter to really get this bastard where it hurt. Maybe then at least he could stall for time until he could figure out a way out of this mess...

"Maria you say? As in Maria Graham? Yes, I think I remember her quite vividly, if you get my meaning..."

An idea jumped to his head the moment he said the word vividly. One which was just far too good for him not to put into action...

"And I have to admit, she had been such a feisty young girl the last time we met. Can't say I really blame her, seeing as I DID technically pin her friend to the ground with her own javelin and all. Snappy bitch nearly managed to bite my hand off... Still, in the end, she didn't prove to be TOO difficult to overpower. And at the very least, the two of us managed to have quite a lot of fun together before parting ways... Come to think of it, I'm surprised it took her so long to die from all the injuries....."

[Pippi]

((OOC: Minor GMing approved by Fioriboy))

George wasn't surprised in the slightest to hear that Maxwell didn't have a damn clue who he was. To be fair, George doubted he'd be able to recognize someone if he couldn't see them, but he'd spoken just then and Max had heard his voice before. George was tempted to shoot Maxwell there and then, but somehow, it didn't feel right. No doubt Maxwell had extended the time it took to kill his many victims, and he definitely deserved a taste of his own medicine.

George quickly launched into his speech. The more he spoke, the more confident, determined, and, most importantly, angry he got. All the people Maxwell had killed on the island, everything he'd done... he deserved everything he got.

George paused for a moment, giving Maxwell a chance to think over what he'd just said, before launching into the second part of his speech. At this, George could sort of sense Maxwell was getting a better idea of who he was, and why he was here. This feeling was confirmed by his reply. Never mind the fact he's insulting me, at least he knows who I am.

"Yeah, that's me. I-" George started speaking, but Max wasn't finished. Now, the conversation, if you could call it that, had turned to Maria. The way he spoke, the way he emphasised certain words, George knew what he was trying to say. And this just made him hate Maxwell Lombardi even more.

Not wanting him to say anything else, George started speaking as soon as Maxwell paused. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Turn and fucking face me." George wasnt sure if he'd comply, but the English boy, after a moment of hesitation, turned round, so the gun was now pointing at his forehead. He still had that cocky, smug smile on his face though, even when he started talking. "You might be interested to know that this hasn't been the first I've found myself in a sticky situation such as this..." George didn't doubt it in the slightest, but he ignored him. At that moment, George wanted to do nothing else except wipe Max's smile off of his face. He tilted his head slightly, before speaking again, anger audible in every syllable.

"I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't kill anyone, but in your case, I'll make an exception." If anything, this made Lombardi look even more smug and cocky, and after a few seconds, he responded.

"Well, you haven't been doing a terribly good job at keeping that promise so far, have you?"

At this, George's attempt at staying calm was destroyed completely. "You don't know what fucking happened! You havent spent the last two days worrying about your actions, have you?! Of course not, because you're Maxwell fucking Lombardi, the guy who kills his classmates for fun!" By now, George was shouting at Maxwell, despite the two only being a couple of feet apart. He knew that this was perfect ammunition for Max to taunt him some more, but he needed to say that.

Taking a few deep breaths in a futile attempt at calming down, George spoke again, still angry, but with his voice at normal volume. "Like I said. I'm not killing anyone. Except for you."

[Hollyquin†]

That awkward moment when you're watching a boy you really shouldn't let yourself be anywhere near- for so many better reasons than typical teenage bullshit- in what could easily be the last moments in his life. Those last moments when you're not close enough to help, just close enough to witness, and you're kind of realizing, hey, in a way I was looking for him all along. Maxwell Lombardi, the indisputable king. Okay, no, Hayley hadn't literally been looking for him since the beginning, except maybe as an acceptable target. Someone she could kill and get away with, not feel bad about, maybe actually feel kinda heroic about, even. Because once upon a time Hayley'd woken up on this island and thought, okay, I'll kill immediate threats and I'll kill players. Player killer, that was a thing people talked about being on this show. And Maxwell Lombardi, he wasn't a player, he was the player. But, look, truth be told, she didn't give a fuck about any of the people he'd killed. They were bodies standing between her and home, bodies she would've probably dispatched herself, and hell, she should be thanking him for clearing out a good swath of her competition, right?

Right.

Maybe that was a little sociopathic.

Maybe just a little.

But it was also true, and who was Hayley to let what was right stand in the way of what was fucking logical?

So she had been looking for him, in a way. Since she decided that this player killer thing was bullshit, easier to cut the crap and just play the stupid game. Like killing killers makes you morally superior. And- okay, so Lombardi was dangerous, that was obviously true, considering the amount of kills he'd racked up. But was he deranged? She didn't think so, somehow. Lombardi just didn't...didn't seem like the type, from what she knew of him. He was more of the well I deserve to go home, and these guys don't, so I really might as well kill them type and hey, her philosophy was lining up with that more and more every day. Ever since she learned to let go. Was that really only, what, maybe eight hours ago? Felt like fucking years.

Anyway.

If he wasn't insane, and she knew Ema would disagree with her and so she'd never bothered to bring it up- he'd be a great ally. The best ally. The strongest player in the game for one, certainly someone she wanted on her side. And second, a huge draw for fire. Who'd want to kill Hayley Kelly when Maxwell freakin' Lombardi was right there? Though that probably wouldn't be necessary. The two of them, they could fucking obliterate the competition...maybe get some help from Ema, too. Sure, she'd have to trust him, that was always iffy, but eh. She and Ema could always take turns keeping watch at night, make sure he didn't slit their throats in their sleep...God, look at my life, this is the shit I'm worrying about. We've really been lax about security and shit...prioritizing. Hah. Oughta bring that up with Ema some time...

Okay, it wasn't as simple as she wanted it to be. It was...that word again, iffy. Quite iffy. Then again it wasn't like Hayley exactly had an unbiased opinion in the matter. She'd never been the best at not letting her heart rule her head. Maybe she had ulterior motives. No I do NOT have ulterior motives. This is strictly strategical strategy and things. I have Ema, remember? Ema is important. Ema is in fact fantastic. Be good, Hayley, foreign as that fuckin' word is.

Ulterior motives or not- the plan became kind of irrelevant when some other boy strolled up and pointed a gun at Lombardi's head.

And he hadn't fired it yet. Hayley couldn't hear any of the conversation, unfortunately, but clearly Lombardi was stalling something fierce, given that his brains hadn't been blown out on the dirt just yet. But the other boy hadn't moved his gun- just gotten his target to turn around- and the situation did not look good. From her point of view, at least. She spared a quick thought for all the people on this island, and back home, who'd be happy at the death of the boy, the man, really, whom they all believed was evil.

Maybe he was evil. Whatever. She spotted a camera nestled in a nearby tree and blew it a kiss. Whatever to the viewers back home. They weren't rooting for her, either, at least they shouldn't be rooting for her. She'd done some pretty shitty things. But she'd learned not to feel sorry for herself, and the viewers back home- what did their opinion matter? Being in St. Paul and being dead were essentially the same thing to her at this point. Two groups of people whose opinions were irrelevant.

She reached into her pocket. Glad that she'd done that easily-distracted small child run early, or else she'd have nothing to do here and there would go her plans. Well, she had Vera, but she didn't have a clear shot from where she was. She'd have to go with the more indirect route- a heart-shaped stone she'd found, hurled in the general direction of the two boys.

It didn't hit them, not even close, though she hadn't expected it to. It did, however, bounce off of a tree branch with a loud clunk and fall into a bush below, scaring off several birds and generally making a commotion. It would have to be enough. Maxwell'd have to figure out the rest on his own. And hey...she had faith in him. In a manner of speaking.

[Fiori]

Lady luck, as it seemed, favoured Maxwell that day.

Of course, Maxwell already had a vague plan in mind for how he could deal with George by the time Hayley decided to create a distraction, although the plan in question was highly dependant on Maxwell acting particularly fast to avoid George shooting him right in the face. But before he could put anything into action, a loud clunk followed by several frightened birds caught George's attention, giving the young Brit ample opportunity to make his move without worrying about George being quick on the draw.

Barely seconds after George glanced in the commotion's general direction, Maxwell's dashed from where he was kneeling and grabbed George by the wrist with one hand as the other went for his neck, causing the two of them to fall onto the floor in a heap as he attempted to wrestle the gun from his grip. However, George as it seemed was significantly stronger then Maxwell first suspected, and getting him to give up his weapon proved to be a difficult task once George had caught on to what was going on. Nevertheless, eventually the other boy let the gun fall to the floor so that he could focus his energy on getting Maxwell off him, something which he eventually managed to achieve via a well aimed left hook that knocked Maxwell onto his back.

Rolling out of harm's way before George could strike again, Maxwell made sure to kick the gun away to make sure that his opponent didn't get any funny ideas as he adopted his fighting stance. George had also quickly managed to get back onto his feet, and wasted no time in attempting to knock Maxwell onto his back. For the next couple of minutes the two of them exchanged blows, dodging and blocking each other's attacks as they attempted to outdo the other until Maxwell finally managed to land a kick that knocked George off his feet, following it with another kick to George's side as he was about to get back up to make sure that he stayed down. He was about to follow it with another kick when George grabbed him by the leg and threw him over onto his back, pinning Maxwell underneath his weight as he preceded to rain a series blows down upon the tenacious killer.

Maxwell was barely able to block the punches that George was throwing at him, his mind working at a thousand miles an hour as he attempted to figure out a way out of this mess. Despite all his bravado, the fact still remained that Maxwell was in nowhere near as good condition as he was to begin with the moment he woke up on this island, and the fact that he had already found himself on the receiving end of a vicious beating was enough so show him this. However, back then things were different. Maxwell had become overconfident in that conflict. He had become so convinced that he could have taken those two idiots down with his hands tied behind his back that he nearly ended up getting himself killed because of it. Made himself look like an idiot in front of an entire nation...

This time, however, he wasn't going to make that mistake. He was going to take this bastard down, show him just how tough Maxwell could be. Show all those bastards back home watching this on TV that he hadn't lost his edge, and that if anything Maxwell was feeling better than he ever did before. Because if there was one thing he knew for certain at that particular point in time, it was that there was absolutely no way he was going to let himself get killed at the hands of this complete tool.

Alright, fun time's over. Time to kick things up a notch...

On that note, Maxwell delivered a particularly vicious kick to George's nether regions.

Having already been kicked in the crotch several times in the past, Maxwell felt a surge of joy at finally being the one deliver said kick rather than be on the receiving end of one. George buckled in agony from the harsh blow, allowing Maxwell the opportunity twist out of his grapple and deliver another vicious kick right into George's face.

However, things didn't stop there. Not by a long margin. As George attempted to get back onto his feet, Maxwell kicked him again in the stomach several times, each kick increasing in ferocity as his blood began to boil. He was beginning to feel alive again, as if the spark from his first kill was finally starting to reappear. He grabbed George by the collar, tugging back on it as hard as he could, then began to pound the boy in the face repeatedly as he continued to get more and more ferocious with each passing second. Ever time his fist made contact with George's face, Maxwell could see the faces of all those who had ever wronged him...........

Nick Reid....

Reiko Ishida......

Maria Graham.......

Alice Boucher.............

Mizore Soryu...................

Her two tenacious guardians....

He was reminded of all of them as he continued to relentlessly beat George to within an inch of his life.

Eventually, Maxwell calmed himself down and let go of George's collar, his fist covered in the other boy's blood. He slowly stood up and admired his handiwork for a while, circling George with a sadistic grin on his lips as he observed the boy's desperate attempts crawl away as if he still had some chance of beating him. Maxwell was reminded of just how incomparable the feeling of being in control of another man's life was, as if he truly was in charge of deciding whether George should die or if he should live. He was almost tempted to leave him to rot, let the poor bastard spend the rest of his short time on the island realising how much he had seriously fucked up.

But then he noticed that George was crawling towards his bag, possibly to grab some secondary weapon he kept inside for safe keeping, and decided that it was probably best to kill him now and get it over with. He didn't want to risk having another asshole seeking revenge, now, did he?

With this thought in mind, Maxwell walked over to where George was crawling, leaned over and threw his arm around his neck, bringing the struggling boy's head up to his chest as he attempted twist it around and finish him off. Despite having been thoroughly beaten, and almost certainly suffering from a severe case of internal bleeding, overpowering George still proved to be a difficult task. Maxwell had to respect him to a certain degree for how much he was determined not to die, something which he himself could perfectly understand. Nevertheless, it didn't cause the ruthless killer to falter for one second, and sooner or later he was going to hear the telltale noise that would tell him that his work was finally done...

C'mon, c'mon, any moment now...


Snap.


...Ah, voila!

[Pippi]

It was strange, really. Strange how only a few minutes ago, George had almost completely given up, and now he was desperately fighting to save himself. Had he been in a different place, he might have admired fates sense of irony. But, of course, George wasn't elsewhere. He was currently lying on the ground, bleeding, and in more pain than he had ever imagined possible.

That was another strange thing. Looking back, George really hadn't been hurt too badly. Emotionally, sure, but physically? Compared to Maxwell, George was in pristine condition. And yet he was the one on the ground, bleeding out, and Maxwell was the one still standing. Why was this? Had George just given up all hope, and let himself die?

If so, then why was he currently crawling towards his bag, towards Dustin's sword? Every movement brought new waves of pain, but still he crawled on.

Because God-fucking-damn it, George was determined to live.

Again, fate's sense of irony raised its ugly head. The fact that only when George was close to death would he know what he had to do. He had to live, no matter how hard it was. Even if the memories of what had happened on the island haunted him forever, he still had to live, because he didn't regret anything.

Even as Maxwell strode over to George, even in his current state, he struggled and fought as hard as he could, for that one thought.

Even in the last few seconds of his life, that thought remained with him.

He didn't regret anything.


B130-GEORGE LEIDMAN: DECEASED

[Fiori]

Deep down, Maxwell felt good.

His heart was still beating a mile a minute as he let George's body flop onto the floor, his hand wiping perspiration from his forehead as he stood up and looked over his late assailant's corpse.

A cruel, satisfied grin appeared on his face. How long had it been since he'd successfully managed to remove a member of the competition with his own bare hands? Far too long for his liking. He'd almost forgotten what the thrill of taking another person's life felt like, even though it had barely been a few days since his last successful kill. Still, as he stood there alive and well with another person's lifeless body in front of him, the tenacious young killer couldn't help but feel more than a little excited.

Now THIS is more like it! No cunts coming out of nowhere and ruining things at the last possible second. Just a good old fashioned execution with no strings attached... Now then, lets see what he was so desperate to get his grimy little hands on.

Maxwell stepped over the body towards his bag and picked it up, quickly unzipping it and gripping the handle that poked out of the corner of the bag. His eyes widened with awe as he unsheathed the magnificent sword from within, a Turkish yatagan if his memory served him correctly. Such a magnificently crafted weapon, one which deserved to be in the hands of someone who actually knew how to use it.

Luckily, Maxwell just happened to be something of a experienced fencer himself.

He wasted no time in gathering up the rest of his belongings, tossing on a black t-shirt from his bag and tightening his signature maroon tie around his neck before packing his stuff away and slinging his bag around his neck. Afterwards, he tucked the Turkish sword into his belt as he picked up George's discarded gun, checking to make sure it actually had any ammo before he began to make his exit.

The young Brit only walked a few paces before he stopped and looked back towards the woods, his eyes searching for the source of that noise earlier. Most likely, it was just a coincidence, but a small part of him couldn't help but suspect that some unseen third party had caused that convenient distraction earlier.

If that was the case, then perhaps he wasn't hated by everyone on the island after all...

That thought brought a smile to his face. Shame I'll probably have to kill whoever it was eventually. Oh well, life goes on...

And, on that thought, he promptly headed south.

((Maxwell Lombardi continued in Into The Jaws of Hell))

[Hollyquin†]

This was kind of nice. Watching a fight instead of being part of it. She'd been a passive observer here before- days and days back, when Kyle was still alive, and she and him and Ema had waited patiently for a group that was lingering at the Groundskeeper's Hut to leave. But that was different, they arrived after a fight had clearly happened and been done with. There were bodies strewn about, yeah, but they were kind of just waiting around for a bunch of kids to stop talking and go away.

This was a fucking battle. And battles were cool. It's like watching Street Fighter, except it's in real life, and there's a lot more blood, so more like Mortal Kombat, except with less spines being ripped out...so it's not a perfect analogy. Whatever.

At any rate, Hayley watched, rather satisfied that her admittedly risky maneuver had obviously worked, as Maxwell had managed to get the jump on the other boy. And it was...it was a tense moment, it was a series of tense moments, battles often were, and there were times where she thought her tactic had been in vain. Moments where it looked like Maxwell Lombardi, prettyboy king of the island, was going to be dethroned by this nobody. And that was weirdly not okay with her. Sure she'd gotten on just fine so far without him, and sure, part of her realized he would be a bit of a liability at the end of the day, and sure, it would be good and just for him to die. A very small part of her, a minuscule part, even recognized that the boy was evil in a way that she wasn't, or at least, in a way she didn't see herself to be. On some level, she had doubts about this whole ally thing, the very thing she'd stuck her neck out for. Her neck, and a pebble.

But he was so cute though.

And British, don't forget British.

But hey, guess what, those tense moments were kind of irrelevant. Because Maxwell was ahead again, as he ought to be. He was winning, and this was going to be over soon, and before Hayley knew it, it was over. For the boy on the floor, it was all over. And even with all the things she'd seen, she winced at the sound of the boy's snapping neck.

Ouch.

And for a split second, she regretted throwing that rock.

Only a split second, though. The moment ended and she had things to do. Murderous Englishmen to talk to. Trees to...get out of. Oh god. Did not think this whole tree thing through. How the fuck am I getting down? I feel like a goddamn cat. She'd have to...the handhelds didn't look so easily to pull herself back down with, so she'd have to...oh fuck. Have to hang down from this branch and jump down to the next. Her fear of heights had been forgotten in her fascination at the struggle she was watching, but it came rushing back to her as she contemplated the ground and the long way down to it.

Not helping was how quickly Lombardi was moving. Packing up the other kid's things. Putting clothes back on.

Okay, Hayley. You can do this.


She jumped.


Or fell, really, from one branch to the next. She could only be thankful that the thump she made in doing so wasn't too loud. One more branch, then the ground, but Maxwell looked just about ready to go. No time for hesitation, Hayley was gonna have to-

Jump again.

Less gracefully this time, as she cut her arm on an obnoxiously pointy twig, but there was no time to worry about that right not. Scrapes were nothing. Maxwell was moving, and he was moving in the exact opposite direction from her. Christ, it was like she hadn't totally saved his life or anything, not that he had any way to know she'd done it, she supposed. Still, though. One more, now, come on, fuck, it was like three feet, she could just...

Right, it only felt tall because she was standing on it. She lowered herself onto the branch and slid down, easily, but now Maxwell Lombardi was out of sight and she was out of ideas. Given that she had the sense of direction of a thing-without-a-sense-of-direction, she sensed it wouldn't be a great idea to follow after him, as she would most likely lose both him and any idea of where her and Ema's campsite was. But...fuck, it was tempting. All these half-baked ideas she had, swimming in her head...all lost because this goddamn boy wouldn't fucking slow down.

Goddammit.

This all really felt like a colossal waste of time. Ah, well. Least the fight was entertaining.

[[Hayley Kelly continued in Confiscate the Crown]]