Waking Up is Hard to do

[Rattlesnake]

B055: Start

Nick Reid lay alone and asleep in a forest clearing. He twitched; the soporific effect of whatever the terrorist organization's favored brand of tranquilizer slowly slipped away, and at last he emerged from a dreamless sleep into a waking nightmare.

He cracked open an eyelid, but saw only the piercing radiance of the Sun. He quickly shut it again.

"The eff?"

A faint humming sounded in his ears. He sat slowly up, and then quickly lay down again. It wasn't a very good day. Or afternoon, or evening? Time seemed like an irrelevant notion when compared to his feeling of grogginess, and increasingly, dull pain. It seemed as if the ground was a featherbed, and if he were to fall back asleep he would sink backwards, deep down into its depths and be smothered. Smothered by a feeling of headsplitting confusion and grogginess, and -

He sat up again, feeling blood cascading away from his brain, but stayed up, opening his eyes and viewing a curtain of deep purple spots that slowly resolved away. He looked up at the sun shining brightly in the sky, though its brilliant glow no longer pained him.

Guess it's not nighttime, at least.

Yes, it wasn't night. How keen an observation. Nick heaved himself over, stretching out for his bag, and pulled it towards him. A good book might pass the time while he came to his senses. He rifled through it. Jeans, no, first-aid kit, no, Going Postal? No, he was busy reading The Fifth Elephant. Molotov cocktail, no, flashlight... Something stirred uneasily within him. Had he packed his molotovs correctly? There seemed to be six of them, and he had packed - how many had he packed? Math shirt, no, extra socks -

"CRAP!"

He flipped himself onto his feet, holding his spinning head a moment before looking around wildly. That's what wasn't right: the whole situation wasn't right. He hadn't packed a half-dozen molotovs. He hadn't packed any. Nobody did. Unless this was someone's idea of a prank? Try and get Nick Reid chucked out for drinking, as if anyone would believe he had the balls to get hammered on a class trip, or even anywhere at all? A memory stirred within him, and immediately he hoped it was a prank. He unstoppered a bottle and sniffed deeply. Diesel fumes. They almost knocked him off his feet. Desperate, he prayed silently that the returning memory was just a vivid nightmare, that someone had pulled one over on him. He swallowed hard, and the collar clinging to his neck choked away his hope.

No. There's got to be a rational explanation to this. Just think...

But there was no rational explanation. He hadn't packed that first-aid kit, he certainly hadn't packed those molotovs, and that memory, that memory that froze his veins -

"That boy in the first clip was John Rizzolo, last season's winner. He played smart, and he played hard, and he won."

No, there was no rational explanation at all, even the one he knew had to be true. He remembered all too clearly. He had sat there in that room, restrained, while blood pooled on the floor, feeling the same sick feeling he had right now. His heart drumming, hair standing on end, huddled in a violent cold shiver.

He bent down to his pack, ears pricked and head on a swivel, as if there was an assassin behind every tree just waiting to strike - two hundred and fifty assassins, in fact. Every student, a potential killer, every one a potential friend, and every friend a possible traitor. He caught himself off-guard with a silly sort of thought. You had to be famous to be assassinated, right? Where was that threshold? Would he be famous?

As if in answer, the elusive glint of a camera caught his eye; moving his head around, it seemed to have disappeared, until he spotted a second one. And a third. Well-hidden as they might be, they were pervasive enough to fall under Nick's searching eye. Yes, he thought, he might cross that threshold soon...

Suddenly, the stupidity of his actions occurred to him. Nick Reid, blundering around an open clearing like a blind toddler! Stowing his possessions safely but messily in his bag, he shouldered it and slipped into the trees. Sitting in the shadow of a large fallen log a dozen feet or so from the clearing, trying to properly take stock of his situation. He was uncomfortably alone, but feared a meeting that would break the solitude. He had some molotov cocktails, which were great for burning down forests but poor for beating down enemies. He was sore from his aerial drop, and whatever tranquilizer they used was leaving him with something like a hangover - not, of course, that he would know what that felt like.

"This sucks."

[D/N]

(G077 - Andrea Raymer Start)

Sure. Every fanboy or fangirl had thought about it. Maybe they'd talked about it with friends as they watched the show. Maybe they'd done so online, joking around with other like-minded teenagers. Maybe they'd just daydreamed about it. But at one time or another, everyone who watched Survival of the Fittest had imagined what they'd do if it happened to them.

And Andrea Raymer was no different. She was, as she'd readily admit, a bit of a fangirl. She wasn't OBSESSED or anything, SOTF was just... matched to her personality. So she'd joked, she'd given it thought. When you were boasting on the Internet, it was easy to talk about how awesome you'd be. She'd posted on a couple message boards how she'd pop up, ready to go with a sarcastic one-liner, and how she'd totally be the next Dodd or Calvert (Not the next Riz, though, that dude was a fucking nutball). Other kids had talked about how they'd come up with genius escape plans, or how they'd be badass assassins, or how they'd go all the way and come face-to-face with Danya only to beat his ass.

Andrea didn't think anyone had ever said they'd begin the game lying on their ass in the middle of a forest, wondering where their other flip-flop was. And she sure as hell didn't think anyone had imagined their first words to the SOTF-watching public being "ughhhhghhhhbleeeergh".

-------------------------------

"ughhhhghhhhbleeeergh..."

God, she was groggy. Well OK, that made sense. She was always groggy when she woke up, at least until she got her daily stimulation going. Andrea Raymer was not a morning person. She just needed some coffee, or a Red Bull, or a couple pills, and she'd be raring to go.

Wait, raring to go for what, exactly?

Andrea blinked. She was lying on her back on the ground, and her glasses were crazy askew on her forehead. Well that didn't make any sense. Why had she gone to sleep with her glasses on?

"Ugggggh."

She raised her head and saw her legs splayed out in front of her. Not to mention that she was still wearing her clothes. Including her flip-flops. One of them, at least. Why had she gone to sleep with her shoes on?

And while she was at it, why were there trees all around her? What, did she sleep through the whole bus ride and now it was the next morning? Did they just dump everyone out of the buses once they got there?

"This sucks."

Yup. Wait, she hadn't said that. She thought. She wasn't alert enough to form complete sentences yet, even those as basic as "This sucks". Andrea did something vaguely resembling a sit-up, pushing her glasses down as she did. A jolt shot through her brain, and she shut her eyes, pressing her fingers to her forehead in an attempt to stem the sudden headache.

"OH-GO-FUCK! My head!"

Well, there was an approximation of a sentence, at least. Maybe once that pain subsided, she could start figuring shit out.

[Dr. Nic†]

[Boy #14 - Alex White. Start.]

"This is bad..."

No shit.

"What the hell do I do?"

He had his back against a tree as he sat in the dirt and the grass and the leaves and whatever other detritus was scattered beneath him and around him. His bags were nearby, covered in copious amounts of pine needles and little twigs, probably sticky with the sap from the trees. But that was the same with everything. His jeans, his shirt, his jacket, all covered in pine needles that he was having a hard time picking off; They were annoying and incessantly poked him. There he was, in the middle of god knows where on a show where he knew his life was in rather extreme danger and he was preoccupied with picking pine needles off of his clothes.

"Damn it!"

He forcefully kicked his bags in frustration as he rested his head in his hands, muttering and swearing under his breath.

"Why do I have to be here. I just wanted to go camping."

He kicked the bag once again and put his head against the tree behind him as he stared up at the needle covered branches above him and the sky beyond. He tried not to think about where he was or about what he had seen when he woke up last time. All he wanted was to be somewhere else, but he didn't have a choice in the matter. He needed something to calm him down, something to help him focus. When his hand slipped into his jacket pocket and found nothing, he sighed and leaned forward to grab both of the bags. One was his own, he brought it with him, but the other? He hadn't seen it before, but it was with him, so he assumed it was his. He'd seen the show, but certainly didn't enjoy being a cast member.

He sighed again and unzipped his bag, digging through it in search of something specific.

"Where are they?"

His searching became a bit faster, a bit more frantic and concerned as he started to pull items out of the bag. He checked side pockets and the pockets of any extra clothing, he checked the bottom of the bag and emptied the contents into his lap.

"Fuck!"

His spare clothes were strewn about the ground between his legs, and yet he still couldn't find that little white container he so desperately needed now. He was so focused on finding that little bottle that he didn't even notice that his cellphone was missing, that his things weren't exactly where they had been when he packed the bag originally. He was too preoccupied trying to find that bottle of pills.

Did I even bring them?

Frustration set in as he up-ended the bag and prayed that the little white bottle would just drop out. But when it didn't, he was dejected. Hell, he was more than simply disheartened at that realization, he was furious and panicked, worried and anxious. He needed those just to get through school and now that he was in possibly the most stressful situation of his life, he needed them more than anything. And they were gone.

"Damn it, they're gone. Now what?"

He slumped back into the tree as he started shoving everything back into the bag. Now all of his spare clothes were covered in pine needles and little twigs, and as he put them away he tried to shake them off. His attention was drawn to the other bag that lie nearby when he was done, and he pulled it into his lap. He didn't know what exactly to expect when he opened the bag. A gun? A knife? Maybe a hatchet?

Zzzzzzip

"....The hell is this?"

Out from the bag rolled the white and red plastic ball. It looked kind of strange. But he didn't recognize it until he picked it up and got a better look at the front of it.

"Oh come on!"

Yup.

It's a pokeball.

"...This sucks."

[Rattlesnake]

"OH-GO-FUCK! My head!"

Nick felt his heart almost leap out of his chest. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, it was time already to fire up the good ol' fight or flight response. He hoped to do neither, but prepared himself anyways for whatever and whoever he was about to get involved with.

With rather more noise than he'd hoped to make, Nick fumbled with shaking hands to unzip his bag and draw out a cocktail. Finally, he slammed the zipper closed, shouldering the pack and ruing the fumes that pervaded the confined space, seemingly eager to contaminate its entire contents with a greasy odor. Slowly he rose above the fallen log and stalked through the trees, towards the source of the noise.

It was a terrible risk to advance. It was a terrible risk to stay where he was. It was a terrible risk, even, to flee in this place. It was - Andrea Raymer?

"Airghh"

Smooth one, that was, keeping your cool and your cover.

"...Andrea," he breathed out after a second, for no real reason other than to cover up, to excuse his pitiful greeting. It was the sort of amateur mistake that mattered here, the kind that he couldn't afford if he wanted to stay alive and intact. Seizing the silence before she could draw words out of her dazed head, Nick continued. "So..."

So. So, you're here. So, I hope you don't intend to kill me. So, I hope you haven't got a deadly weapon hidden in that bag. So, what do you think of SotF now? So, what's next?

"So," he repeated, twisting the neck of the bottle in his sweaty palm, "fancy meeting you here," he blurted, silently furious at himself. And, come to think of it, Andrea. She enjoyed watching this? How could any decent human being enjoy something like this? Heartache and betrayal and tears and blood and murder and the Island, that capital-I Island that was really another circle of Hell, the one that Dante seemed to forget to write about? The sound of bodies crashing off of cliffs or onto the ground and of lives, real lives crashing into ruin? It was bad enough fake, but real? If you enjoyed it while you thought it was real, certainly you deserved to be thrown on the island yourse-

He gave a long, shuddering sigh but kept his face impassive.

Make it look like nerves, that's the ticket. If highschool's taught me anything, it's pretending to be ok. Be cool...

Nick's curt introduction hung heavy in the air during his brief seconds of internal turmoil, during which pause he glanced sharply off to the right - had someone else spoken? It must have been his imagination. That, and nerves.

Please, just don't try to kill me...

[D/N]

Head, clearing. That was good. She opened her eyes and looked up.

Nick Reid, standing there. Looking down at her. He didn't look happy. Didn't sound happy either. That probably wasn't good.

"Uh, hey Nick."

And that was definitely a Molotov cocktail, of all things, in his hand.

Molotov cocktail.

Last year, one of those had burnt half of Melina Frost's face off.

Andrea's heart rate jumped about 200 beats a minute. Ho-leeeee shit. Hooo-leee...

"Holy shit." It came out sounding flat. "Holy shit. It's... it's SOTF. It's SOTF. It's fucking Survival of the Fittest." Was she talking to Nick or to herself? Andrea didn't know. She was too busy breathing, in and out, in and out; she was practically hyperventilating here, but who could blame her; she was actually on Survival of the Fucking Fittest, and she was remembering the introduction and the teachers, and holy crap, holy...

"Holy crap. Uh, heh heh heh, uh, sorry Nick it's just, holy fucking shit."

It was dawning on her she might not be presenting the best image to someone like Nick Reid. Andrea knew he didn't like her much. Plus it wasn't exactly a secret around Bayview that she liked SOTF. She grabbed her knees, hands shaking. Holy crap, the adrenaline. Who knew a natural high could be so potent?

"Uh yeah, so fancy meeting you here too, Nick. I uh, see you've got a bottle there. I dunno, I haven't checked my bag yet and uh...."

She glanced over at her bag. Oh god. That was just the cherry on top. G077. They'd given her Dodd's freaking number. Andrea let out a sudden, gasping burst of laughter.

"Oh god! Oh god sorry Nick but I really need to take a second here and uh... uh, I think I heard someone else around just give me a second here...."

Please let him give her a second.

[Dr. Nic†]

Alex grumbled as he stared at his assigned 'weapon', almost tempted to simply throw away the brightly colored ball in frustration and anger, but he didn't; No, he simply shoved it back into the bag and pulled out the map. He didn't know where he was, but he had a guess; It certainly had to be somewhere among the green, but where, he didn't have a clue. The trees were too big and there were no discernible landmarks in sight; He would need to get somewhere else, somewhere a bit more open, before he could figure out where he was. A glance at the compass told him little besides his heading, so he simply stuffed the map back into the bag and zipped it shut once more.

What now?

He sighed to himself and muttered under his breath, silently cursing his luck and his fate, and all those involved in steering them in the direction they had taken. His clothes were still dirty, still covered in pine needles; Worst among them was his jacket, with bits of twigs and pine needles stuck to it with pine sap. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to rest against that particular tree. As he began to wonder where he was to go, and what he was to do, he listened to the noises that permeated the air. Some were natural. Some weren't, however, and that is what sent a chill down his spine. Voices in the distance, not far yet not close, barely audible among the wind and the trees and the rustling of the leaf litter; But one thing struck him as he fell silent.

Laughing.

Laughing?

Who the hell would be laughing?

Whoever it was, he didn't want to meet them if they treated this situation with laughter.

He breathed in sharply as he realized he had stopped when the laughter came about, but now that it was gone, he had to wonder. Who was laughing and why? Does this mean they're dangerous? Now that they were all fighting for their lives, would this person, this laughing person, be a danger to him? A sudden desire for protection, for an actual weapon, overwhelmed his mind as he feared for his life.

Desperately searching, searching and searching, panicked thoughts and faster breathing; His thoughts all drifted to those of fear and dread, not knowing what was out there or what was waiting for him. He didn't know what to expect, who to expect, and he needed to feel safe; Anxiously, he searched, slowly losing hope as nothing significant was found. He found a rock, but it was too small; He found a stick, but it snapped suddenly as he tested its strength. He tried to calm himself, tried telling himself that there was nothing to worry about; He tried to rationalize not having a weapon, reminding himself that his father taught him everything he needed to know, but the desire for protection was still there. But as his thoughts began to wander, distraction took hold.

His thoughts drifted to self defense, to his father and what he had taught him; If something happened, he could always rely upon that knowledge to save him, to defend himself from anyone who sought to harm him. But who would want to harm him? What would they have when it came to a weapon, and would he be able to defend himself then? It was possible his bad luck would continue, that if he left this place here and now he could run into someone who was better off that he was; Someone who had a weapon and wasn't afraid to use it. Someone he didn't know, someone who didn't know him; It wasn't guaranteed that he would run into a friend.

Friends...

That's right. He was alone, out in the middle of nowhere with no one in sight, with no knowledge of the area and no one to look to for answers. Where was everyone else, where were his friends? Where was William, or Colin, or Peter, or anyone else that he was close to, anyone that he could trust. If he ran into someone out here, what were the chances that they would be a friend? And even if they were... would he be able to trust them now?

"Damn it."

He felt alone, disheartened at that thought.

If I ran into someone, would I be able to trust them?

It rang in his head, clear as day, as he searched the surrounding brush. Trust. They weren't at home anymore, weren't at school. No, this was completely foreign to him, and he didn't know who he could trust in this situation. People were going to be killing each other, putting their lives into someones hands besides their own every time they trusted someone. Trust. That was one of the points they were trying to make with that video, that you can't trust anyone and if you do, they could kill you. He looked up at the sky as he wondered... about his friends, about his classmates, about which ones would join in on this and start killing each other. He wondered about those he was close to, and tried to think of them.

Would they be killers? Would they be able to kill me, or I them?

A faint opening in the canopy made him squint, the sun stinging his sleep filled eyes.

What about me? Would I be able to kill them, if I needed to?

His thoughts drifted away from the depressing notion of his friends betraying him, slipping to thoughts of him betraying his friends. That was no respite for his mind; His head began spinning with scenarios and situations, with potential dangers and risks and choices to make, with thoughts of death and destruction and sorrow and relief and...

No.

He put his hand over his eyes, staring up at the sun, wide eyed and alive.

No, I wouldn't do that. I couldn't. I don't care what happens, I wouldn't do that to them.

His fingers curled into his palm, his muscles tightened as he clenched his fist. It wasn't in him to do that to his friends, to betray them and send them to their deaths. But those who weren't his friends, anyone who did play this sick game, what about them? What would he do then?

I'll protect myself. I'll protect them.

He knew that it was foolish to think he could escape if he simply got his friends together. But even if he was going to die, he was going to die on his terms, doing what he would be proud to be doing; He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't give in.

"Huh?"

Within his line of sight, just off to the side of where he had been staring intently for a rather long time, he spotted something. Something bare of any green needles, stripped of shoots by time; Something low hanging and nearer to him than anything else above his head. Exactly what he needed, exactly what he was searching for.

"Perfect."

He didn't realize how long he had been standing there thinking, nor did he have any clue how far away those voices were. He could still hear noise, but it was nothing he could really pick out and identify; It could be other people, or it could be a squirrel in the leaf litter, or even something bigger. It could have been close or far away, he didn't know. But for now, he didn't care. He had his goal, however small, and as he moved his bags he knew exactly what he needed to do to achieve that goal. He needed something to defend himself with, and he was going to get it before he went anywhere.

He backed up.

He focused on the branch.

And he went for it.

He moved forward from his position, getting a running start, albeit a small one, for his jump. His goal wasn't distance, but rather height. He left the ground, and his hands grasped for the pine branch above; When he made contact, he closed his hands around it and hung on for dear life. He wouldn't hang long, however.

Crack!

With a loud crack, the wood split, splintered, and snapped. And Alex fell back to the ground, landing with a thud and falling unto his back. But he had what he wanted, and that was enough; For now, at least.

[Rattlesnake]

Deep breaths.

Slowly Nick worked to reign in his leaping heart. It was easier, now, with Andrea flustering on the ground below him, as if she was drawing his own nervousness into her. In any other circumstances, her performance might have been almost humorous. Indeed, even now he felt a sharp, little guffaw tear out of him, a harsh little snort that he tried to pass off as a particularly shaky breath. He continued to shiver, but it had nothing to do with the temperature.

How did that little saying go, an enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine? Something like that. At any rate, he supposed, leaning against a soft mossy bole, anyone who a) didn't want to die and b) didn't want him to die could be considered a friend, at least for the moment. All the same, another phrase flashed briefly through his mind - the best defense is a good offense.

This is new, am I actually going to talk to Adrea Raymer on purpose?

"So," he began again, wishing for a little less adrenaline and a little more eloquence, "Yeah. It's Survival of the Fittest. Glad you noticed. Now I don't suppose, to get to the point, that you've got any idea what you're doing? Surely someone so - intelligent might have a master plan?" Hidden wells of frustration and anger slathered his voice with venom. Was he blaming her already? Like the terrorists cared about snatching up their little fangirl, and anyone else she happened to be around? It was a silly notion, and he had no right to act that way, he knew. But what did that matter? Soon enough, maybe already, fellow students were deferring to a more primal sort of law, where blades and bullets replaced lawmen and everyone was constantly standing trial in a cruel sort of kangaroo court. Manners and mores were relics of the irretrievable past. It did you no good, in short, to stick out your pinkie finger while you took your last swig of water.

He fingered the white cloth "fuse" hanging out the bottleneck. With the suddenness of realization, he looked down at Andrea's bag and shot at her, "What did the terrorists give Danya's little girl, anyways? And," looking around again, speaking with less coldness and more inquisitiveness, "is something climbing trees over there?"

[D/N]

Her breathing was starting to steady, and Andrea was trying to look at the positives of her current situation. Not the whole situation at large, she wasn't quite ready for that. Just the current situation.

For example, at least Nick Reid clearly wasn't one of those kids who shot into happy-psycho-I KEEL YOU mode right after awakening. And at least she wasn't actually wearing an SOTF shirt thanks to school policy, that would make things even more uncomfortable. Yeah, Andrea needed all the positives she could get, given that she was facing an angry teenager who had a convenient and probably unsympathetic target at his feet, one who had just woken up and didn't know what her weapon was and only had one shoe and-- a plan?

Oh yeah, don't be TOO think with laying on the venom, Nick Reid.

But a plan?

Did she have one? Or anything that could remotely resemble one?

"Plan? Uh, plan, plan, plan... OK, I uh, can tell that this is a, uh, a really crappy situation for you, well and for everyone of course, and if you really want to know..."

Andrea trailed off and shook her head. Yeah, this wasn't working. "Look, I just woke up, seriously lemme think about that a couple minutes. There's, uh, there's always plans and stuff..."

Ugh. That would just leave him brimming with confidence in regard to her insight and cunning. At least she was calming down. A bit. She glanced down at her bag again, aware that she wasn't the only one doing so. 77. That SO had to be on purpose. Maybe when she got some time to think she could figure out whether it was a joke or a good omen.

And speaking of her bag, Nick delivered another oh-so-hilarious quip, before half-asking, half-telling her to open it. He didn't miss a beat, did Nick Reid. Ah, and then there was a smashing sound in the bushes. This was just getting better and better.

"It's uh, it's someone all right, they're pretty close. Ummm, it's probably unlikely that they're gonna be someone that's a, uh, a player just yet, we're still pretty early... kay, I'm opening my bag."

Gingerly, she folded her legs and pulled the bag into her lap. As she drew the zipper, Andrea felt her heart rate shooting back up. Well, it WAS exciting, even if that was one tidbit she wouldn't express to Nick in a million years. There was no way of knowing whether she'd been given an awesome gun or a box of condoms or... a black plastic jug.

What the hell was that, motor oil or something? She drew the surprisingly heavy container out for a closer look.

"I got, uh, five pounds of gunpowder."

OK. She'd think more about that later. And really, on one level she was relieved not to be yanking out an Uzi in front of Nick just because of how he might react. Plus, with that out of the way she could feel her pulse once again retreating to levels less associated with sudden heart attacks or strokes.

Andrea put the gunpowder back in her bag and decided to chance standing up. And as she did, to chance showing some actual backbone.

"OK, look Nick, I really seriously don't know what you want me to say here. I mean, what, do you want me to be all, I dunno, 'oh alas, how tragically ironic that now I'm on Survival of the Fittest, this is truly my comeuppance for being a fan of the show'?" She hefted the SOTF bag on her shoulder. "But I, uh..."

Andrea shifted her balance uneasily on one bare foot. Hopefully she'd find her other flip-flop, but at least she had her Vans in her personal bag and--

--her bag.

---her fucking drugs.

DON'T PANIC.

No, don't panic, she couldn't go diving through her own bag right now because that would not look good at all, she'd just check inside when she could because it's not like they'd disappear or reappear if she opened her bag now or five minutes from now and ugh, she could feel that pulse of hers starting another journey up the scale.

"Uh.... but yeah it's fine if you're pissed but seeing as how I actually know the show and everything, I might be able to help you, OK? OK, Nick? Just, like I said, I need to think about this kind of shit. And we should figure out what to do about whoever's out there, because I think they're pretty close."

[Dr. Nic†]

More pine needles to brush off, more twigs to peel off his sap stained jacket; But that was a small price for the secure feeling that this stick in his hand gave him. It wasn't much, it could barely even be called a weapon, but it was something; Better than nothing kept ringing in his head as he thought about the 'weapon' that he was assigned and what he'd chosen to use. But those thoughts, drifting to ideas of weapons, had him shaken again. It was a stick. A big stick, but still a stick; There was little point in thinking that a simple stick would help him against a more heavily armed student. But it was the false sense of security it gave him, the fact that he had something to hold on to with dear life, that really made him feel more at ease now.

It's better than nothing.

It's much better.

He placed his foot on the other end of the stick, thin and frail and useless; He twisted and bent and broke the branch beneath his heel. He held the now reasonably sized stick in his hand, measuring it silently; He didn't have an accurate method of measuring it, and his guess was very rough, but it was better than continuing without even that little bit of information.

Three feet? Maybe four?

Either way, it was bigger than he had expected, and the sense of security and safety he got from it only grew as he scraped off the twigs and shoots, rubbing the branch against the very tree that had given it up to peel away the offending bits. It tapered off, ever so slightly, at the end; When he had finished scraping it, he held it at that end and gave a few swings at the air, getting a feel for where his hands should be.

This is good.

When he was finished, his focus shifted back to the noises that surrounded him, that scratched at his mind; The noises that told him he wasn't alone, that he wasn't safe and the same ones that insisted that he start running and never stop. But he needed to know who was making the noise, who it was that sat nearby; He needed to know if it was Colin, or William or Peter. He needed to know if it was someone he knew, someone he could feasibly call a friend... and find out for himself if he could trust them now; He needed to test the waters in reality instead of in his mind, find out what the truth was.

It's nearby... and more than one. A man? And... maybe a woman?

His thoughts told him little that he couldn't soon find out for himself; He swung his bags across his back, slipping the straps across his chest as he planted the end of his stick on the ground, holding onto the one end as if letting go would sever his ties to the world. He started walking, moving towards the source of the noise; He moved cautiously, but quickly, his years of hiking, of backpacking and camping, bringing back memories. He was careful where he stepped and careful not to stray from his course. He dragged the walking stick through the leaf litter, marking his path with a line; He was not about to lose his way now.

It was only a few minutes of steady walking when he could hear the voices clearly, when he could make out the shapes among the trees; Two people, one boy, one girl, but that was all he could make out at this distance. He didn't know who they were or what the boy was holding, but it didn't exactly look like a gun from this distance; Indeed, it looked like his assigned weapon was a bottle of whiskey or something of the sort, an idea that appealed to Alex right about now, something to calm his nerves and ease his mind being a welcome sight at this point in time. Their voices were clear now, at this distance, and there wasn't a lot of activity nearby; Not from other people nor from wildlife, all having been drowned out or driven off by the sound of their voices.

Are they arguing?

The distance drowned out most of the biting poison in their quips and remarks, drowned out the inflections in their speech and the emphasis placed on statements; He couldn't make out their faces and there wasn't a ton of body language, so trying to make out how they were feeling, what they were arguing about or even how heated the argument was, it was a lost cause at this distance.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He resumed his steady pace forward, making sure that there was a direct line of sight from where they were to where he was; He didn't want to spook them, sneaking up and jumping out from behind a tree. He wanted them to know he was there, know that he was approaching them; He didn't want to lose his life to panicked reactions.

"Hey."

He spoke clearly and loudly as he got closer, slowing his pace and making sure that when he stopped, he did so next to as thick a tree as he could find without altering his course; Next to a tall pine, he stood, and waited. His heart thrummed in his chest, pounding in his head, as it climbed into his throat; His stomach twisted into knots, unsure of what was going to happen in the next few moments, worry and fear crawling back into his mind as he struggled to hold his ground, as he strained his muscles not to move. He was scared; Fear of the unknown, fear of the obvious, fear of the dark beyond the trees, fear of what ran through the minds of his classmates. It all gripped him, froze him in place, kept him from thinking, strained his will to go on; The only thing that rang in his mind now was one word.

Breathe.

He waited in fear.

He waited for fate to cast the dice once more.

And he prayed with all his might that his luck would change.

[Rattlesnake]

People. This is why I hate people.

A little part of Nick's brain urged him onwards, scrabbling like a rat over a sea of mice, clawing its way towards the portion of his psyche where all of his suppressed feelings lay, yearning to tear into a store of emotion so long battered, so long suppressed, so long ignored, so long hidden from his conscious mind. That locker where lay sequestered everything he never felt, and everything he never thought he pushed away, because if he was bottling everything up, why did it feel so empty? He wanted to rage, to storm, to savage his classmate's feelings because that would be so wrong. It was a horrible thing to do, and he would feel so bad.

And he would feel so bad.

He would feel so bad.

He would feel.

For all he knew, however, it was just another caustic quip he felt, another barbed witticism or caustic accusation he could fire off. Throwing up another facade would do no good, because he was always throwing up facades. This, at least, he knew about himself. His will to yell and to hurt broke off, falling away from his chest like a headless python. As Andrea continued on, leveling an accusation that was so horrible because it was so true, he shuddered, and a flash of heat seethed downwards from his head to his feet. But he betrayed nothing, not letting even his burning tears escape, though they clung to the corners of his eyes when she asked what in the world she was supposed to say.

Nick Reid maintained his posture, leaning against the mossy tree. He looked down, impassive, then turned his head towards the noise, not to see who was coming but to avoid looking at Andrea. Once she had opened her bag, then stood and asserted herself, he spoke. "Molotovs and a jar of gunpowder - fella could have a pretty good time in Vegas with that." He tested the air with a voice a measure less strong and a face a measure more pained than seconds ago, and she continued to speak.

"No. I, I understand. It's just this soporific or whatever, I'll feel like crap again once the adrenaline wears off. Hah, I just said soporific." In truth, his veins were already clear. The aches from his rough landing were clear again, but that wasn't why he felt so wretched. "Yes, the-"

"Hey."

The effect was immediate. Keeping the bottle in his left hand but dumping his bag unceremoniously to the ground, he turned to face the new arrival and took a stance.

Drop the load, right leg forward, weight on the left, knees bent, barrel mace bottle in front, right side to the shield wall tree, between the maiden and the aggressor.

He was glad that he hadn't spoken out loud, especially the last part, though it might go a ways towards calming troubled waters.

"Hey there," he called back, squinting. "Alex White? We've got nothing, what's your given weapon?" He let his weapon arm swing back down to the vertical, but kept his stance.

On second thought, maybe I should just let the girl do the talking...

[D/N]

Andrea nodded at Nick's response. Soporific? Well, if that was a joke, then tension... sort of relieved, she guessed. Probably was a joke; she didn't think Nick had a very bouncy sense of humor. Well, her first human interaction could have gone worse. Future ones certainly would.

Best not to think about those yet. All that doom and gloom and reality wasn't healthy for the brain. Besides, if she started thinking about future encounters, she'd have to think about how she was going to respond to them. And what might happen if she didn't respond correctly. And what might eventually happen even if she DID respond correctly. And those thoughts might lead her to dark places indeed.

So, back to the present; Nick had a point about the Molotovs and gunpowder. Hell, maybe they could take a shot at burning down the island, that'd put a crimp in Danya's operation.

File that one away for later, Andrea.

There'd been a brief pause before Nick started speaking again, and she was glancing back at her personal bag and feeling far too much like a desperate junkie even though she absolutely totally 100% wasn't one, she wasn't some fucking crackhead or anything, and then holy crap someone else was there.

Alex White.

Oh man. She wanted to laugh again. Two speedfreaks and a depressive; this could be a terrible TV sitcom or something. Of course, that was about the only thing she and Alex had in common offhand. And she figured she was probably one of the only ones at school who even knew that about him.

Nick was the first to respond, and Andrea figured she might as well follow suit.

"Yeah, uh, hey how are ya?" she asked, and regretted it immediately. How the fuck did she think he was doing?

"...sorry, just making conversation, you don't really need to answer that."

She found herself taking a step back towards her supplies. Best be ready to grab and go, just in case Alex White wasn't in a pleasant mood. Well, she could handle an unpleasant mood. Hadn't she already done that? Just not a murderous one. Not until she had time to pore through every crevice in her brain and come up with her gameplan here. After all, she was the fangirl, wasn't she?

Ah, fuck.

[Dr. Nic†]

Alex's stomach untied itself and his heart eased out of his throat, and he seemed to relax, at least slightly, when he saw who it was he was talking to; Not just who it was, but what they had. Nick was only holding a bottle with a rag, and Andrea wasn't holding anything; He hadn't seen the jug, but if she didn't have anything out, maybe she didn't get anything worthwhile. He ran with what appealed to him in that moment, the thought that she hadn't gotten a proper weapon just like him; The last thing he had wanted when he risked walking up to where they were was for one of them to pull a gun, or a knife, or anything of the such that could make his time in these woods very short.

"My weapon?"

He thought about letting his bags slip off his back, about showing them his pitiful excuse for a weapon; But he didn't want to risk it, not knowing how they would react. He didn't want to think the worst of his classmates, of the people who were standing before him in just as bad a situation as his own; But when the thought of revealing that he was, for the most part, unarmed came to mind... He didn't want to know what they would think or how they would react, or the assumptions they would make. But he had to make a decision, then and there, about what to tell them, about how to answer Nick's question without seeming suspicious; He didn't want them to consider him a threat, after all. He didn't want anyone to think of him that way.

"A pokemon toy. It's junk."

He told them the truth.

I hope I didn't just dig my own grave.

But lying to the first people he ran into, about a weapon none-the-less, didn't seem like the right thing to do; It certainly didn't seem like something to do if he wanted to avoid suspicion and avoid having people view him as a threat. But even if that possibility was still there, having people seeing him as a threat, one that could be removed, he knew that he could defend himself; And his grip tightened around the branch as he drew relief from its presence, knowing that it was going to serve him well if things got bad. It was big, and it was sturdy; And he was confident, if overly so, in its ability to protect him.

"As far as I'm concerned, this is all I needed."

He held out the branch to make a point that it was what he was talking about. Such a simple little thing, standing more than half his height and firmly planted upon the ground; To Alex, it really was all he needed. All that he needed to feel a semblance of safety and security, and it was the only thing he trusted; At least, for now.

All I can trust, huh?

Maybe he had too little faith in his classmates, if a stick was still the only thing that he felt he could trust; It was his first encounter with someone else after he had awoken, and already he could tell things were going to be tense. He stood far from them, a decent distance away and clung to his scavenged 'weapon' to dear life; He hadn't even stepped away from the tree he had stopped near, the only thing he really felt could have protected him from a bullet. And he could tell that they held him in the same suspicious light at this moment, with Nick standing as if he were going to attack a moment earlier; He still held that position, even if he no longer had his weapon brandished, apparently in case Alex wasn't going to be friendly.

I can't say I blame them.

His attention was drawn away from Nick when Andrea spoke up, adding what she could to the admittedly awkward and tension filled conversation. She looked a bit more disturbed than Nick did, and even more than Alex did; But the two of them had been arguing, and neither really looked too happy to be in the situation they had found themselves. An understandable situation, and perhaps the understatement of the year.

Of course they're not happy... who would be?

When Alex snapped out of his brief moment of thought, he couldn't help but bring forth an answer to Andrea's question; Her apology and apparent realization of her poorly chosen statement freeing him from his responsibility to do so, but his desire to cooperate bringing forth a new, personal responsibility. Everyone had been on edge, and talking was the only apparent way to ease tensions.

"I'm... alright, I guess. Could be worse."

How?

His answer and thoughts brought about a brief, quiet and stifled laugh. Really, how could things be worse? Sure, he could be injured, or he could have even been killed already; But aside from those morbid thoughts, how could their situation be any worse than it already was? Being dumped in the middle of nowhere and told to fight for your life against your friends seemed to be about the worst thing that could happen.

"Sorry, bad choice of words. I suppose things can't really get much worse, huh?"

[Rattlesnake]

Nick was in a very sour mood. He could deal with it. He was no stranger to moods like that. What did get to him, however, was the alarming strength and unnerving alacrity of its arrival, not to mention the impeccably bad timing. And the part where he had, in fact, seen it coming and was unable to head it off.

I should talk to a doctor about that. Oh, silly me, I already have!

Everything about the situation grated on his nerves. Not, he thought bitterly, that it would be his biggest trial on the island. Far from it, once people started crying and dying and killing and rapingand pillaging and joining groups and leaving groups and clung to dying breaths with the stupidity and stubbornness of the human raceand shot and stabbed and tore at others with the stupidity and selfishness of the human race and everyone's life became a soap opera because they couldn't just die and get on with it and once his life turned into a soap opera because he couldn't just die and get on with it and nobody wanted to die and nobody wanted anyone else to die but they all wanted to win so so badly just so they could get on with their stupid useless human lives and scream and cry at night when they got home because it was all too much and didn't they realize that things could never be the same, and that nobody could ever be normal again and it would be just doctor visits and psychiatrists and "How are you doing?" "Life sucks" "I know, where's my $150 an hour" and Nick had had enough of that already because his life sucked and it wasn't fair but it never was so he couldn't complain because complaining did nobody any good and nothing had ever done him any good but that's how life was when you knew what you were and who you were and ignorance was bliss and

"No," he spat pointedly at Alex, "I don't suppose things could get much worse here. Not unless you -"
Bad move. Keep cool.
"Nevermind." He did a quick survey of the forest floor and sat rather more heavily than he had intended onto a stump. It hurt, but not enough to distract him from his already-aching back and arms. The new lance of pain did, however, distract him from his thoughts. That was somewhat of a relief, except...

"Well, don't just do something, stand there! Come closer if you wanna talk to us, since I suppose you're gonna speak softly with that big old stick there."

And then he was silent, fuming at himself on the inside. He hated when this happened, because it took so much effort to avoid rubbing people the wrong way, something he was so good at in the first place, and he had just failed miserably at averting it. Again. He cursed them inwardly in spite of himself, the useless junkies. Which reminded him...

Nick looked sharply over at his bag, as if literally stung by the thought. He stretched his arm out to touch it. Pulling it towards him in a more sedate manner, he began sifting idly through it, until at last his fingers closed around the little orange bottle he was seeking. He worked the cap off and tipped a large, cream puck of a pill into his hand.

"Bupropion, 'hundred fifty mils. Cheers."

And he tossed it back without any water.

"...What?"

[D/N]

Andrea wanted to roll her eyes at Alex's remark. Really now, he had a stick. She could not remember offhand anyone who had proceeded to an SOTF endgame using a stick as a weapon.

Jesus Christ, endgame. Dodd and Jensen and Sidney Crosby. Calvert and Mariavel Varella. Riz and Lulu. Trish and Lenny. Funny the way that players were known by different monikers. First names, last names, whole names, nicknames. How would they refer to Andrea Raymer online? Or would they at all? No one remembered the boring kids with no personality who lasted two days before they stood around and got shot or attacked someone for no reason and were axed in the chest.

Yeah. She was really here. This was fucking reality. She'd known SOTF was real of course, it was just that reality was taking on a whole new level right now. Fights. Deaths. Fucking rapes and mutilations. It was crazy. Would she-- would she be---

No. FUCKING NO.

She knew this shit. She'd know what to do. She would she would she would she would...

...she would have to project her thoughts somewhere else for now.

Nick. That worked. Nick was dealing with Alex using what she assumed was his usual aplomb and grace. Ugh. The dude had this sullen jackass attitude when he talked to people, which was clearly inferior to her... perky jackass attitude. Yeah. Clearly. Damnit, this placement must've been deliberate. Nick went and sat on a stump, and she glanced over to Alex, shrugging.

"Well, as you can see we're a cheerful little group here, but uh, yeah come on over, Alex, I'm not doing anything in particular at the moment. Unless you're coming over to beat on me with your stick, and no offense I'm sure you're very confident with your, uh, stick, but you'll probably need something more than that at some point, since uh, it's Survival of the Fittest and all, and uh, heh heh heh," it's real you're really here and now you're just-- "ah Christ I gotta sit down again."

She did, and felt a bit better. "I don't suppose you saw a black flip-flop on the ground, did you?"

While waiting for Alex to officially join them, Andrea picked her way through the bag. She'd go through the instructions for the gunpowder later; she had no idea how to actually use the stuff. First aid kit, yep. Flashlight. Water and possibly delicious crackers. Danya's no-doubt hilarious Survival Guide. She pulled out the map to check it, and glanced up just in time to see Nick make a big show out of taking a pill. Oh ye GODS. Who did this guy think he was, captain of the Brooding Angsty Badasses or something? Didn't he know who he was talking to? What, was she supposed to be impressed that he was dramatically-- wait a minute.

She was staring. He noticed.

"What? Nothing Nick, I see they let you keep your, uh, whatever pills, you uh, should count yourself lucky there cause lotsa times they take those just because it's funny but I... yeah, good for you I just gotta check something..."

Yeah, she couldn't let that go on any longer.

Trying to be casual but failing miserably, Andrea reached over to her personal bag of stuff and began pawing through it. Hey, they'd let Nick keep his stuff so maybe they weren't searching through the bags anymore and maybe they were just allowing any substances this year and yeah that had to be the case and then she was zipping open her yellow travel bag and checking inside.

"ARGH."

They hadn't taken everything.

Just most of it.

"Sorry."

She could tell right away that her Vicodins were gone. So was that other benzo, she'd forgotten what exactly. There goes a couple hundred bucks down the drain she thought, and wanted to laugh again. But those weren't the important ones. Her caffeine pills were gone, for example. Those were important.

She had Aspirin. Hoo-ray. And a pill bottle of Wellbutrin, which wouldn't be much use to anyone, and what the hell was this stuff? Remeron? Andrea pulled the canister out. Ugh. Some crappy antidepressant she'd gotten a while back and couldn't sell to anyone. 'MAY INCREASE APPETITE', it cautioned. Oh yeah, that was going to be fucking useful, she'd definitely want to be hungrier on this island a week from now.

"Hey, want these?" she called to Nick, tossing them over where he was sitting. Then she looked into the bag one more time... and saw it in the corner. A sudden, absurd, wave of gratitude towards Danya hit her.

Trying to avoid any shaking, she prodded her personal Holy Grail with one finger, tentatively. It was there all right. She rolled it to the center of the bag, giving it the place of honor it deserved. But she had to control herself. She had to control herself, she couldn't just empty the bottle out into her hand and count exactly how many she had in front of everyone else.

Because Andrea could see that they hadn't left her all of them. She'd had a canister pretty much topped up with her own personal Ritalin/Adderall stash when they set out, and the one she was looking at now was less than half full. She didn't think it'd be enough to last her through the game, at least not to any comfortable degree. Goddamnit. The feeling of gratitude was thankfully squashed, and she set the bag down in her lap again and leaned backwards, thinking.

Fucking Danya. He'd probably laughed his ass off at her stash. He had his file on her, that file that was up on the SOTF website right now for fankids to analyze and curious onlookers to check out when they saw her on a live feed. Danya knew what her basic deal was. He'd probably told his troops exactly how many pills to leave to maximize the entertainment she'd give the viewing audience. Thought he was so fucking smart. Like anyone watching the show gave a shit about Danya, or whatever his vague terrorist plans were. They watched the show because of the students.

Like her.

They would watch for Andrea fucking Raymer.

She was above him. She'd show him, never mind what a fucking cliche that is.

She just had no idea how yet.

[Dr. Nic†]

His mind was clear; Of fear and dread, of thoughts of threats and paranoia.

He didn't see either of them as a threat now; Not physically, at least.

Nick had lashed out with his biting comments, and Andrea seemed to be distracted now; He knew they were stressed, he knew that this was the worst situation that they could have found themselves in, but he still took that spat venom as hostility. He didn't trust them, but they had more problems than even he did with his paranoia and his fear, with his stress and dread of the unknown around him; They weren't a threat to him. If anything, he was a threat to them; Either to the animosity they held or to their physical beings, he was a threat to the way things were as they stood and he knew it. Patience was in short supply, stress was already present and would only build if they took shots at eachother; Nick had fired the first volley, but would Alex return fire?

I shouldn't...

But the burning desire was still there; Nothing spread quite like animosity among a stressed out group, especially when it came to enmity aimed at one another. He was a friendly person though, wasn't he? He wouldn't sink to spite so soon, so easily, when met with little more than an antagonistic remark, would he?

I can't, not now.

He choked back the words, the remarks that had come to his throat ready to spew forth; He couldn't afford to lose his cool this soon, this easily, just because of some stupid comment. It wasn't worth it. He kept repeating that over and over in the back of his mind to drive the point home, all while his focus shot to another tree, maybe 10 or 12 feet from Nick and Andrea; His new destination when they had commented on his distance, on how he should come closer.

He didn't trust them.

I can't.

His pace was slow, always darting his eyes to each tree he passed and the ground in front of him; Always looking around to make sure no one else was there. The shadows cast by the canopy above hindered his line of sight, cutting it short, obscuring things in darkness; Bushes and trees in the distance twisted into unknown shapes, bombarding his mind with the dread of other people once more. But he pushed them aside, telling himself every time a shape in the distance looked humanoid that it was nothing but his imagination, nothing but the shadows playing tricks on his mind; But one object that caught his eye near his feet, slightly buried beneath the leaf litter and no doubt obscured by little more than a breeze moving the lighter detritus. A black shape, vaguely appearing to look like a foot, or at least a shoe; It wasn't something you saw among the leaf litter on an average day, and it caught his attention. He poked the object with the end of his stick for a moment before realizing what it was.

...Huh.

"Catch."

He caught the strap with the end of the stick, and flung the object towards Andrea and Nick; his aim wasn't great and the strength behind the 'swing' was minimal at best, leaving the object to land a few feet short of its destination. Pine needles and twigs went with it, but they mattered little. With but a few more steps left to take, Alex stood at his new destination; Less than fifteen feet from the two of them, and leaning against yet another pine tree. That was all that surrounded them; Pine trees and fir, undergrowth and leaf litter as far as he could see, all obscured in a dull dark by thick canopy above.

Pills?

Nick had dug into his pack and produced from it a pill; A name that was foreign to Alex, but it didn't match any he cared for or desired. No, his taste in drugs was more specific, but the thoughts were not something he cared to drudge up once more; Something he was failing at as Andrea dug through her own bag and also produced some pills of her own, apparently not caring for the bottle she found as she had thrown it to Nick. He wanted them to stop now, for the thoughts of pills to slip from his mind as they had done before; But every time he heard the rattle of pills inside those little plastic bottles, his focus slipped and his desire for his own built. He couldn't stand this stress, and he dreaded the inevitable fatigue that would come; It may be a few hours, it may even take well into the night, but the fatigue would come and this was the worst place to feel it. It weighed on his mind, heavier than the paranoia or the fear, clawing at him incessantly, demanding that he find his fix.

I can't.

He shook his head for a moment, trying to regain his focus and return to reality, shaking off his thoughts and shoving aside his clawing desire. His mind returned to focus on the task at hand, the lack of any task rather, mulling over what had been stated again, demanding that he do something; To take action or to speak, to move or to stay. He couldn't stand to just stand there in silence, left to his own thoughts. He drifted back to the mocking comments about the branch he held, and his fingers loosened from 'round the makeshift weapon; It really was the only thing he could trust, the only thing he felt safe with, and they were belittling his choice?

"It may not be much, but its better than what you've got, am I right?"

He glanced at both of their day packs, one left lying on the ground and the other upon Andrea's back, as they had both moved to take their respective seats; It would have been so simple to move forward, to stake his claim, to send at least one of them off with only what they had in their own personal bags. It would have been easy. From what he could spot, there were more bottles in Nick's bag, more of those flaming cocktails that were useless but oh so filled with potential. He still didn't know what Andrea held in her own bag, but he knew she had pills in her personal bag; He could take that, it wouldn't have been tough. Neither one of them were really armed...

My big stick, huh?

...And he did have a sizable advantage, his weapon in his hand; It was simple to use, just swing as hard as he could. He'd already practiced, already knew where his hand would go, it was just a matter of muscle memory if he needed to fight fast. But the stick wasn't his only advantage.

My hands...

He was as strong as he needed to be, as skilled as he wanted to be; It would have been so easy, so simple to take what they had, to disable them if they fought back. His grip upon the weapon tightened once more, the bottom half removing itself from upon the ground, moving into his left hand. He didn't know why he did it, he didn't know what he was intending on doing. But he stepped forward once more, away from his spot at the tree.

I couldn't... could I?

But that's what this was all about, right? Survival. But didn't he want to protect those he could, those he knew and called friends? Wasn't his main concern, just moments earlier, finding those friends? His mind was blank now as his body acted. What was he willing to do to protect himself, or others? Would he disarm the first people he met, for no reason that readily made itself obvious to his own curious mind? But he was protecting them... he knew what Nick had as a weapon, knew that those were dangerous; The boy could hurt himself long before he managed to hurt someone else. And if he didn't have a weapon, there wasn't a chance he could hurt anyone, himself or otherwise, right?

Right?

"Hey..."

His grip tightened. His mind went blank.

He came closer.

Weapon in hand.







...I could.