Radio Nowhere

[Grim Wolf]

(Naoko Raidon continued from The Cavalry Arrives)



He could not easily have said how or why he ended up here.

The clarity that had taken him after he'd beaten the shit out of Maxwell Lombardi had not left him. At the time, he'd felt muddled--here was the man who'd murdered his friend, the man who'd killed even more recklessly than Raidon himself, at his mercy, beaten, hurting. Here was the stubborn pacifist girl, refusing to let him do it; here was the idiot vigilante-wannabe, standing by without a hint of decisiveness.

Here was a rescue, which refused to take him away.

No remorse, no anger, no regret. The moment it had happened, Raidon had known (in spite of Soryu's reassurances) that he was not getting out. It's what he would have done, had he been in charge. This wasn't about the students--this was about good old Danya himself. He knew enough about strategy to know how this worked--they were going to break the game. The rescue was just a part of that.

He wished them luck, distantly.

And through this strange clarity--this certainty of purpose, different from the ice in him that insisted on his murdering his fellow students and different from the ruthlessness that had let him take down Jacob Charles and Victoria Logan, different, even, from the pounding need to murder Maxwell Lombardi and so avenge Simon Grey--Raidon wandered with only such distant reflections for company. He had Soryu's bag with his, across his right shoulder--his left ached dimly, distantly.

She did a good job patching me up.

He looked up into the night sky and sighed.

[Jonny†]

((Julian Avery continued from Riddles of Monsters))

The boat got smaller and smaller in the horizon, letting those mean old waves bully it a little more and a little more. Godspeed, you tiny little dot in the deep blue sea. Godspeed to you and your precious cargo, all the little boys and girls lucky enough to meet the magic criteria and get on Santa's nice kids list. Let's review these criteria real quick.

One is that you don't kill anyone. Aight, no complaints here. Leave the dangerous convicted criminals on their prison colony planet to fight for the rest of their lives.

Two is that you're there on time.

That's where it gets a little objectionable.

That's where Julian had to turn away from the shore because he wasn't not about to let some poor motherfucker shouting wait for me, wait for me break his heart. God, how does something like that end up happening? All the kids who stayed up late, hoping to catch a glimpse of the old man coming down the chimney, not realizing it'd make them oversleep. All the kids finding nothing under the tree but a note saying Santa's gotta take all his shit back to the North Pole if it's unclaimed by 10 AM.

There were like, what, fifteen kids on that boat? Or something? Two boats, said the guy who seemed like he was in charge, so that made made thirtysomething. Ninetysomething kids by last announcement's count, probably a few dead since then, maybe two dozen killers... what'd that come out to? Maybe thirty innocent kids left.

Left on an island where the bad guys are almost starting to outnumber them. Left with nothing but the hope that maybe, maybe a friend got out alive. Left for dead.

God, what do you even say to those poor fuckers?

You don't say anything. You put on your game face and you kill two dozen murderers and then you put a bullet in your own head for good measure.

So of course Julian was staying. Now, more than ever, these kids needed one monster on their side to protect them from all the others. They needed all the bad people focusing everything they had on killing other bad people. And then the good people can peek out of their fallout shelters like is it over, is it over, thank the Lord it is finally over.

So there was no more pussyfooting on the agenda. No more palling around with a serial killer just because his girlfriend was kinda persuasive. Agenda consisted mostly of a series of names. Two little subheadings under each name. First subheading, find that fucker; second subheading, kill that fucker.

So with that in mind, first order of business.

And hey, what providence, first order of business didn't even notice Julian sneaking up behind him. Gun in his hand. Stepping on a dry twig, and then suddenly Raidon whirled around to see him. Little subtle hints all around that he might be in danger.

But Julian wasn't much for subtlety, so he just went ahead and said, "I don't really like your odds in this fight."

And then he said, "But here's the thing. I saw what you did with Mizore earlier. Figure you probably saved her life. And the way I see it, that's worth at least a couple hour's head start." Lowered the gun just the tiniest amount. "And I'm also pretty sure you saved my life from Max."

"But that ain't worth shit. So get your ass moving."

[Grim Wolf]

One two three four five six seven, all good children go to heaven.

Raidon sighed and shook his head at the stars. Odd thoughts, disjointed--they lacked all the desperate focus of the past few days.

It was relaxing. For the first time in days he felt at ease.

A crunch behind him; Raidon spun on his heel, a hand darting to his waist (and to Maxwell Lombardi's gun, which he'd tucked into his waistband). Julian Avery was standing there, gun in hand. "I don't really like your odds in this fight," he said, debonair, devil-may-care--in there short time together Julian always seemed just short of breaking into a grin, laughing at the events around them, at the terror and turmoil and desperate struggle.

"But here's the thing. I saw what you did with Mizore earlier. Figure you probably saved her life. And the way I see it, that's worth at least a couple hour's head start." He lowered the gun just a fraction of an inch--as low, Raidon recalled with a start, as Raidon had lowered his when he'd killed Scott McGregor. "And I'm also pretty sure you saved my life from Max."

"But that ain't worth shit. So get your ass moving."

Raidon's eyes glanced towards the gun at his waist, and then lifted his arm from his side to his head and let his fingers rest on the brim of the hat he was wearing--the bloodstained hat he'd taken from Scott McGregor's corpse. He looked to his left hand--the cross dangling from his wrist. There were inhaler shards in his pocket, and he had the weapons of Victoria Logan and Roland Harte. A trophy from every victim. And here was Julian Avery, the self-proclaimed player-killer, erstwhile companion to his travels with Raido Asuka.

He lowered his hand, threw back his head, and laughed.

It wasn't mocking, it wasn't mean, it wasn't anything but pure, unbridled mirth. It hurt his missing finger and his aching shoulder wound; it hurt the various bruises he'd acquired during his fight with Maxwell Lombardi. It made his body ache and in spite of all that it felt good; not as though he were free from his burdens but as though he had shouldered a strap and made himself more comfortable.

At the sudden laugh Julian's gun had jerked back up; as Raidon's laugh went on his gun steadily lowered, until he stood there staring at Raidon looking completely baffled.

"Head start," Raidon finally repeated. "A head start. For me? How...how sweeeEEE-" he trailed off as he broke off laughing again, doubling over.

[Jonny†]

Yeah, he got mad.

Course he got mad, what the fuck do you think happened? Hold a gun up to the kid and tell him he's got a head start, little fuck decides now's the time for another pissing contest. Haha! Ha! Yeah, fuckin' laugh about it, shit's just so funny, like you're such a man that this shit doesn't even faze you. Like All of America can see just how big your dick is right now. Rock on, asshole.

So he got mad. Mad with his finger on the trigger, mad with the gun pointed nice and steady at the very guy he was mad at, and we all fucking know how that ends. And let's all take our guesses about how that ends.

Well it starts, point of fact, with a couple of cracks working their way into the menacing scowl that Julian was rocking.

And then it grows into a grin.

And then there's this little snort of laughter.

And then

It felt good to laugh at himself, for once in his life.

And he said,

"Shit, man, I... yeah, you got a point. Bunch of fuckin'... 'Yeah, man! You got 24 hours, then you gotta turn in your gun and badge!' Shit's ridiculous... I'm ridiculous.

"But, uh, look. I'm serious about... you know. Killing you, and shit. Y'know, much as I don't wanna be. It's, I mean, our whole peace treaty shit we had goin' on, that was all Mizore. That was her shit. And she's gone now. Player-killing is back on the agenda. So... fuck it, I'm outta here. You can rest up if you want, I won't be coming back in ten minutes to put a bullet in you or whatever.

"But,"

Exhale.

"Just so we're clear on where we stand if we bump into each other again. Yeah?"

And the boy cried out to the monster, it's not fair, it's not fair. And he said it can't be your turn again already, that's no fair. He shook his fists and he stamped his feet and he said I wanna talk to him, let it be my turn again, you always ruin everything when it's your turn.

The monster wasn't listening.

[Grim Wolf]

Raidon heard everything, though he kept laughing. Something had struck him, seized him, refused to let him go--he was wild with it, with exhilaration that wasn't joyful. He was laughing at Julian, at Danya, at Soryu, at their rescuers and at himself.

Julian joined him, for a little while. He didn't know if Julian got it, but he appreciated it, nevertheless.

"Don't be dumb," he said shortly, as his laughter died away and he wiped a tear from his eye. He had heard Julian's quiet disclaimer. "Our treaty was our doing. We decided to take Maxwell on together, remember?" He wondered absently what Julian had decided to do with Maxwell, and then quickly shook his head--time enough for that later, after he'd gotten his thoughts in order and the important words out. "All those who refused Danya's temptation are free--the monsters--and idiots like you, I guess-" he smiled at Julian. "Remain. To walk out of here, I've got to kill them; to be the hero you're so desperate to be, you've got to kill them." It was simple, perfectly clear--saving Soryu and agreeing that he was weak had not changed Raidon's outlook. "The only disagreement we have is that you want to kill me, which I obviously dislike. So." He grinned at the other boy.

"Seeing as we're one for one keeping each other alive, let's do it together. The killers of the island. And then, time comes, we'll be close at hand to settle things."

Grim, ghastly, but it seemed so perfect to Raidon--with Julian on his side he could be sure to take down the killers, and they'd finish with each other once they were the only dangerous things left alive.

"Let's go together," Raidon said.

[Jonny†]

"No."

[Grim Wolf]

Raidon waited, but Julian did not elaborate. Just that single, flat no.

Raidon examined the other boy--the one with whom he'd shared his one and only laugh in his time playing the game. Not his moment of joy, but his laugh. Something there--a quality they shared, a way in which they were opposed to this game they played. Raidon, the conscience-bound psychopath; Julian, the conscience-plagued player-killer.

So, Raidon shrugged.

"As you will," he conceded. "We're playing on the same side, at least for a little while. Just thought you might want company." He turned away from the other boy, still smiling a little.

He was a little hurt, oddly enough. Even a potentially-dangerous companion would be worth more to him then endless loneliness.

He had only taken two steps before he paused. A thought had occurred to him--something he'd been trying to work out for the past few days, since his fight with Victoria and Jacob. "Julian," he asked. "Have you...have you done anything you've felt right about?" He was thinking of Soryu and of Victoria, of Jacob and of Maddy Stone.

"Just a thought," Raidon said absently. "If we're not doing what we feel right about, what the hell are we doing?"

He wasn't speaking very well. But then, it was sort of hard to focus.

He resumed walking.

[Jonny†]

A heartbeat. Then two, then three, then four, then oh goodness gracious I've lost count already.

And after this silence,

"I'm doing what needs to be done. 's all I can do right now."

You can pretend it was a dramatic pause, if you like.

If that makes you feel better. If you thought that Julian and Raidon were starting to become something close to friends or at least something farther from enemies, you can tell yourself that Julian was just dramatically pausing and nobody will stop you. Nobody will disillusion you. Because that's exactly the sort of thing Julian would do, right? Haha, look at him. Big goofy theatrical dork. Talks a big game but he's only even killed one guy, and even that was like a week ago now or something, so that hardly counts.

So that was why he took so long to respond to Raidon's question.

It wasn't because Julian honestly took that long to decide whether to just shoot Raidon in the back. It wasn't because, after Julian figured out exactly what he'd say in less than a second, he spent the next several deciding whether or not he'd kill Raidon right before. Let the gunshot speak its piece before he took his turn.

And hell, his words even sounded like something you'd say after you dropped the evil serial killer. So if you're still doubting, if you're still worrying, it's probably just because of that. It's nothing to do with the pause, which was definitely just dramatic.

So rest easy tonight.

And there was the old Julian, still somewhere there, in pieces in rags, protesting against all this with whatever voice he had left. This was the same Julian that, back at Bayview, had tried to strike up a few conversations here and there with Raidon. Who remembered his name and his face and a few details about him.

Tell everyone with a straight face, Raidon, that you liked that Julian, and that will be a miracle.

"Wanna know what happens if we team up, Raidon?"

Oh, hey, another adorable dramatic pause.

"I start thinking to myself, every few minutes, 'Why haven't I shot this guy yet?' And maybe I have an answer. Maybe it's even a good one. Don't matter. Eventually I shoot you. Or I don't, cause you get to your gun first. Or maybe I just get so caught up in that dilemma that I don't notice whatever murderer creeping up on us till we're both dead."

"It's wouldn't be a team. It never would've been a team."

Oh. So the first one was

Oh.

[Grim Wolf]

The fact was, Raidon hadn't expected Julian to reply. The fact was, now that they had decided to part ways, their conversation was over for him.

And there was nothing in what Julian had said that was new to him--no revelation. Raidon had not assumed the dramatic pause to have any weight because he had interpreted it as silence--in the hot muddle of his mind right now, he did not have time to make analyses of Julian's personality, of his actions. He heard the words, and he didn't break stride.

He shook his head, not thinking, not hurting, not worrying--he was light-headed, distance, removed "Shoot me, Julian?" he said. "You couldn't." He wasn't aiming to wound the boy--the thought occurred to him and without any undue consideration he let it out. "You're stuck doing this--stuck between what you want to do and what you should do."

And after he'd said it he felt a flare of annoyance and he turned around, glared at the boy. "I chose to kill to survive," he said simply. "This is morally reprehensible, but at least I chose. You..." He grimaced. "You're the vigilante, you're the hero, you're the pacifist, you're everything you have to be to avoid actually facing yourself." He shook his head again and turned. "You're not a killer. You're a fuck-up."

He was already moving. Let Julian speak again; as far as Naoko Raidon was concerned, he was done with Julian Avery.

[Solomir†]

((Peter Siu continued from The Cavalry Arrives))

"We're all fuck-ups."

Peter hadn't meant to eavesdrop. It's just one of those things that always ended up happening though. Walking around, minding his own business when something interesting makes its way to his ears. Maybe Peter should feel ashamed of listening on others' conversations, but if they were talking loud enough for people to hear, then it was their own damn fault.

When he heard them, Peter hadn't been that far from where the other two had stopped to chat. For once, they were voices that were more immediately recognizable. Loud and dramatic was Julian Avery, and the slight hint of accent indicated Raidon Naoko. They had made acquaintance on several different occasions: Julian was that guy at parties that went out of his way to talk to anyone and everyone, and always tried to make an effort to be nice; Raidon was one of the academic powerhouses of Bayview, albeit through rigorous study, and Peter hardly paid him much attention aside from the occasional nod of acknowledgement that would be passed between the top students of the class.

They were both also killers.

Peter stepped to a place where he could be seen by Julian and Raidon. He held his pistol with both hands, but didn't raise it to point at anyone. The two had spent far more time talking civilly as opposed to shooting at each other, so Peter was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Still, Peter kept a close eye on Julian's gun hand.

"Just because he might be deluding himself doesn't make you any less a fuck-up, Raidon. Last I checked, you murdered five people. That's more than me and Julian put together." Peter racked his memory for the names. Scott McGregor. Jacob Charles. Alison Walworth. Victoria Logan.

Madison Stone.

Unlike with Tiffany, Peter had never really figured out if Maddy had been crushing on him or was just another nice church girl. Sure, she'd casually asked him about prom, but they'd gone as friends. There'd been an afterparty, but nothing out of hand had happened. That didn't mean that she wasn't his friend. And Peter hadn't been able to protect her either.

"Five people, Raidon. Five innocent people." Peter sighed, and raised his gun halfway to Raidon's head. "Just because you've accepted that you're a murderer doesn't absolve you of anything. Julian asks a good question: why haven't I shot you yet?"

[Jonny†]

Start the clock now. See how long Julian can pretend like that didn't hit him.

Cause it's a when, not an if, that's going to come crashing down at some point. And all the stony faces in the world can't buy him a second of time. Can't keep up all that self-deception forever. Hell, that timebomb's been ticking for a long while now, and now Raidon just gave a voice to the countdown. So places your bets, people.

And oh shit, pause the clock cause some blowjob was moseying up to this party with a gun in his hand.

And hey, look, apparently he'd found all the material that Julian had discarded for being too stupid and obvious. Kid was just letting those words about murders and innocence fall out of the corners of his mouth in the desperate hope that anyone would give a shit about them. Show of hands, who's gonna reconsider their life choices cause of this dickbag's little speech?

Not a single hand was raised that day.

And there was a part of Julian, don't get him wrong, that wanted to just say all that out loud. And maybe he and Raidon would just end up pistol whipping this fucker for thirty minutes and then just hugging it out. Cause it's not like this guy was one of the innocent people (ha! buzzword), right? He was, uh... fuck, what was it. Peter- Peter Siu? Yeah, sounded right.

Yeah. Peter Siu. Some checkmarks next to his name and everything.

So stay and pistol whip him with your best friend till the sun sets.

But no. This whole situation was just something that Julian aggressively didn't want to be near. Anywhere but here right now, next to the guy who made you realize how fucked up you are and the guy who, in the course of parroting your worst lines, is making you realize how stupid you sound. Anywhere else would be good. So duck away.

Is that cowardice?

(Yes, that is cowardice)

Oh well.

"Yeah, I don't really feel like dealing with this shit right now. Raidon, I think you know my lines well enough that you can fill in for my part of the conversation." If you are confused about what to say next just add in some swear words till you're convinced you're cool.

"You guys have fun. If you shoot each other, that's cool. If you come after me, I will kill both of you. Bye."

And he started to back up, ready to go for his gun, till he was far enough that he could turn around and start walking forward.

Till he could forget it was cowardice.

((Julian Avery continued in You Already Know How This Ends))

[Grim Wolf]

"Six," Raidon said absently.

And then stopped. And thought.

Why did the appearance of the boy (Peter Siu, that was his name--he'd seen him around the school, usually digging into a bag of chips. Had he heard that he was bisexual? Did that matter at all now?) not throw Raidon off? Even the presence of the gun? He couldn't feel anything besides that same vague irritation--he was irritated with Julian for being such a self-deceiving idiot, he was irritated with this boy for interrupting their conversation, he was irritated with himself for having to indulge them. A part of him was also screaming in terror, begging him to dodge to one side, find cover, grab his gun, he was in danger every moment he-

"Because you don't know what you want yet," Raidon replied. He jerked his head in the direction Julian had gone. "Neither does he, but he hasn't admitted it."

Peter...something about that name...

Click.

His eyes flickered towards his pocket, then back up to Peter. "You're Peter Siu," he said. "I doubt you're talking about yourself when you're referring to innocents." His thoughts felt sluggish, lukewarm; he struggled to pull them together. "I killed two people who didn't deserve it in the slightest," Raidon said. "The other four..."

Well.

"One of them tried to strangle me with her rosary beads. From behind." He tapped his neck--the thin bruise was still there, yellowed with time but not completely eradicated. "Only way I figure it is, she got angry. She and one Mr. Charles Dawson had decided to kill the whole damn island--wanted us to be martyrs to a greater cause then ourselves." He shrugged. "You've killed, so I can only assume you disagree."

He fished into his pocket. Found the crumpled paper. Tossed it on the ground. "Maddy Stone wanted me to give that to you," he said. "I agreed, because she was no worse than me. But Peter?" He shrugged again. "Maddy wasn't innocent."

He wanted to care about the gun--he wanted to care about how close his death was. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"I'm not ethical, if that's any consolation," Raidon said, resuming his walk. "I'm just doing the only thing I can."

[Solomir†]

Maddy had done what?

Julian had slipped away during their short exchange. Raidon continued walking away. Maybe Peter would've cared if he hadn't just been struck dumbfounded by Raidon's revelation. His resolve, once solid as rock, was crumbling at the edges. Who was innocent? After all those lying announcements, then who was worth saving?

"If I get lied to, that doesn't change what I do. I'm just trying to do what's right, and all I can hope for is that there's at least one other person left that thinks the same."

But what if there really wasn't anyone innocent left? Maddy had tried to kill Raidon. With a rosary. An eternity ago, Peter might have found that morbidly entertaining. He used to watch Survival of the Fittest to see how people would destroy each other and themselves to try to live. He'd enjoyed seeing people his age cast off their principles and their morals as their world around them collapsed. Yet there were also those few who clung to them to the bitter end. There were those who'd refuse to take up arms against their classmates, and would eat steel or lead for their troubles. Back then, Peter thought they were stupid, that these things weren't worth dying for.

Now, Peter wished that there were more of those people left. Now, Peter understood what it meant to fight for something greater than himself.

Raidon had said that Maddy and Charles Dawson had wanted to kill the whole island. No, he'd said that they'd wanted to make everyone martyrs. For a cause greater than themselves.

Only one thing would make everyone a martyr: mass suicide. Peter remembered Bobby Jacks' speech from last year. In theory, it could work. In theory, it could destroy the entire game of Survival of the Fittest.

But in theory, communism works. It would be impossible to coordinate. Over two-hundred students would need to agree to not play, to give up their will to live for something they could never get to appreciate. It wouldn't have worked. Even Peter wouldn't have agreed to it. The drive to live was worth more than anything. Except for the right to kill.

Maddy had tried to kill.

The crumpled sheet of paper was still on the ground. Raidon and Julian were long gone. Too late to rid the island of another killer or two. Peter picked up the paper and smoothed it out on his leg. It bore Maddy's neat flowing handwriting. Or at least what Peter remembered might've been her handwriting.

---

---

Dear Peter.

If you're reading this it means I haven't found you yet. I might never. I've had guns pointed at my head by three separate people and all the time I was worrying that I might die before I see you. And then I would never get to tell you what you mean to me. As a friend, as a prom date, you've always been there, and I appreciate that.

I think this game is harder for us. Turns out my Mom packed me a bible after all, remember how I said I wasn't going to bother bringing one seeing as I knew it basically off by heart anyway. But she was right. These last few days have been Hell for me, I was starting to wonder if perhaps we'd died and this was purgatory. Now I know it's all a test. And we're losing.

I'm praying for us all. Praying for rescue. I wish I knew the constellations. Maybe that would help them to find us.

Maddy x

---

---

Peter blinked back the tears. She had done her best to say goodbye. She'd poured what was left of her heart into the letter, because she knew that there wouldn't be another chance. She knew she was slipping past the breaking point. And still, she tried to do right. The mention of her hope for rescue was another twist of the knife. If she had just lived a few more days, she'd have made it home.

"You didn't lose," Peter whispered, hoping she might be able to hear him somewhere.

The sheet was carefully folded and slipped into his pocket. Maybe it didn't matter if somebody had killed or tried to kill. Maybe what mattered was why they killed. Cold-blooded murderers mixed in with those just fighting to live for just one more day.

Now I know it's all a test. And we're losing.

Peter wasn't going to lose. Peter wasn't going to give up.

He was going to beat this test.

He was going to save a life.

((Peter Siu continued in This Side of Paradise))

[Grim Wolf]

Let's chat, old man. It's been awhile.

Step. Step.

Nothing to say? No, of course not. Never anything to say, unless you're talking through a burning bush. What gives with that, anyways? Were you fresh out of angels for Moses to wrestle, or were they so damn embarassed after Jacob they refused to ever do it again? Because, really, that's pretty damn embarassing. I mean, one of those feathery fucks is going to lead an army in rebellion against you and they got outwrestled by us?

I guess you can just shoot Jacob, though. Wrestlin' skills don't stop them bullets.

Step. Step.

Raidon broke off, slumped against a tree, and ran a hand across his forehead. Everything felt hot and foggy, and beads of sweat dripped out of his long-since-greasy dark hair and slid like snakes across his face. It was nightime, it shouldn't be this fucking hot.

So fucking hot.

He forced himself off the tree and kept walking. Julian had gone. He'd sent Soryu away. Simon was dead. He'd delivered his letter.

Time to himself at last. Time to talk. And God, did he need to talk.

"I'm sorry." Raidon stopped immediately and stared at his feet. "I...you're omniscient and all, so you know that, but...I'm sorry."

He took a few faltering steps, but then the world began to twist before his eyes and he broke off.

"I guess you'll forgive me," he said. "That's what you're supposed to do, right? You see the big picture, there's nothing..." He sighed, let his head drop into his hand. "I forgot," he said weakly.

The world had stopped swimming a little, and he took a hesitant step. Still dizzy, but he couldn't stay still--not now. Another step, and then another. Careful as he could be, tender paces, as though the earth could rear up and bite him at any moment.

"I wanted so badly to justify myself," he said slowly. "I wanted so badly for you...I wanted so badly to believe it was all fucked up. And it...it is all fucked up, isn't it?" He looked towards the night sky above, ran a hand over his burning forehead. "We do it to ourselves, over and over and over. I thougt Polanski was your little miracle, but I was wrong. This is your miracle, isn't it?" He smiled. "Your rapture in miniature. Steal away the innocent and let the sinners rot."

He thought back to the beach--knocking out Soryu, talking with the guard. "It's how I would have done it," he said grimly. "If I were...if I wanted to teach them a lesson. Teach me a lesson. It's exactly how I would have done it. And when I realized that, I..." He shrugged. "I saw it. I saw the bigger picture." He grinned feebly. "Teach people the way to be. Teach them what happens when they give in to their weakness." He thought of all he'd seen on the island--he thought, mainly, of the people he'd killed. "Don't punish the sinners," he said. "Just refuse to show them mercy."

Step. Step.

"I was...it was absolute bullshit, what I said," Raidon said. "When I accused you of setting this in motion. We're the agents of our own destruction--we're the ones who rape and kill, we're the hunters of Little Crow and the perpetrators of genocide. Evil exists in spite of You--that's how it works." He grimaced. "I...I wanted an excuse. If you were evil, I could be evil without...I could foresake what I believed in without consequence. I was just part of the game."

Step. Ste-

His last step faltered. He hesitated, squinted to try and make sure of what he was seeing. It was a truck, he thought--uneven, somewhat rusted. He couldn't tell what color it was.

There was something lumpy to one side of it. An odd shape that made Raidon's throat feel tight.

He forgot about his conversation with God. He forgot about his panic, about the heat that seemed to have encased him. He forgot about the dizzy panic of each step. He didn't even notice he had moved until he was already standing over the body. The face was unrecognizable--a bloody pulp above which flies buzzed. But even if hadn't known his best friend's sillouette by instinct, he would have recognized the jean jacket.

He knelt at his side and let one hand trail along his arm. The fingers were curled as though they'd been holding a gun--a gun Raidon found almost immediately. He checked the clip without thinking about it--no bullets.

"What did you do, you fool," Raidon sighed.

He looked up towards the night sky--the stars stretching out to infinity in either direction. He thought about all that had happened over the past few days--of his face-off with Victoria Logan and Alice Blake, Maddy Stone's attack, Victoria's revenge, Jacob's charge on Soryu. Thought of the fight with Roland--the moment things had all gone wrong.

He started to get up. His legs quivered beneath him, then failed, and he pitched into the side of the truck and slid down, barely managing to protect himself. His fingers found a strange patch of earth to one side--when he bent to inspect it, he realized it was dried blood.

He looked down at Simon's leg. Saw the bloodstained hole ripped in his jeans.



For a guy who studied so much, you're kind of a dumbass.

And what the hell happened to you? Looks like you were waiting for him.

It's a long story and I'd rather not talk about it. Suffice to say, I'm a saint and you're an asshole.

You always were a stuck-up prick.

And you were always a fucking idiot.

What do you want from me? I'm doing what I have to.

You know there's more to life than just staying alive.

I have to be alive to enjoy that fact, Simon. How'd that work out for you?

If I wasn't resting with a chorus of angels, I would've been burned by that.

I got Soryu out.

...Yeah. That was good of you. What are you doing now?

Jesus, I look like I know?

Nah, guess not. You don't have to do this, you know.

Do what?

Hold yourself to your bulllshit standard. So what if you're a collosal fuck-up? Try and make it right.

I'm a survivor, Simon. I don't know as I have much choice.

You had a choice. Could've shot me in the Tunnels.

Didn't have to.

Why not?

You would never have turned on me.

You don't know that.

Were you buying time for someone to get away?

...That's...

Thought so. You lived your life the way you had to; I'm afraid it's my right to do the same.

Well, I tried. You gonna keep your eye on the big picture this time?

Much good it'll do me. That might just make me more dangerous.

Hmm. Raidon?

Yeah?

I would've taken her damn bra off.

Like that thought hasn't crossed my mind.



"...trying to make a break for it. Jacqueline Myrie, Samantha Ridley, Joss Joiner, Alice Blake, Peter McCue, Yelizaveta Volkova, Alex Jackson, Raymond Dawson, Kaitlin Anderheim, Cisco Vasquez, Allen Birkman, Isabel Guerra, Mizore Soryu..."

He wasn't sure exactly when he woke up, but when he had the sky had already lightened and the Announcents were solidly in progress. He was so distracted by Alice's name (a fleeting, glad thought--I won't have to deal with her, too) that it took him a moment to realize his fever had broken or that the voice on the Announcements was different. When he heard Soryu's name, however, his thoughts went completely blank for several seconds.

No.

No desperation, no despair; just the clear thought. He could see the bigger picture--the names they were rattling off, a different voice on the Announcements. They had left the killers behind to prove a point, and now the men who'd once held all the power were scrambling to keep ahold of their miniature hell.

Plus, someone else was doing the Announcements. It had happened before, if Raidon recalled correctly but...in the wake of everything else...

Something had happened to Danya.

Raidon looked down at Simon's body. Without thinking he wrapped his hands around his friend's shoulders and placed his feet against the body. He pulled, turned--his friend's body rolled so that it faced the ground, and after a moment's hard tugging the jean jacket came loose.

No guilt. Simon Grey had long since departed this world.

He shrugged on the too-big jacket, reshouldered his bag, and stepped away from the truck and off the road entirely.

(Naoko Raidon continued in Into the Jaws of Hell)