Out on a Tether

[D/N]

(Andrea Raymer continued from Burn the Louvre)

"I am not afraid to keep on living
I am not afraid to walk this world alone
Honey if you stay, I'll be forgiven
Nothing you can say can stop me from going home
Da da da...."

Ewwwww. Was she really singing My Chemical Romance to herself? Sure, she'd been into them hardcore two years ago, but her musical tastes had totally become more mature since then. Or at least more obscure. Whatever. Point was, she needed to find something better.

"Roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair
Well, the night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels
Climb in back, heaven's waiting on down the tracks
Da da daaaa, Oh, Thunder Road..."

Ha ha ha. Andrea splashed cold water on her arms, rubbing away any remaining flakes of Lucy Ashmore's blood. That one's for you, dad, she thought. No matter what music she'd listened to, David Raymer had always been quick to remind Andrea that it was inherently inferior to his era.

Although, she had been listening to more of his old CD's over the last year or so. There were some nights when she'd get tired of HIM or Bullet for my Valentine and fire up one of his Springsteen or Eagles albums. She'd listen and pride herself on her eclectic enjoyment of music from both yesterday and today.

-----

They'd arrived at the lighthouse just as the sun was setting. Like most places on this island, it was far less interesting up close than it had seemed from afar. The ground floor had two doors that led to this washroom and a storage room, which was devoid of anything interesting save empty boxes, janitorial supplies, and a few lonely, mismatched pieces of furniture. A winding set of stairs led to the top, which Allen had volunteered to check out while she dealt with the blood.

Andrea hadn't really expected the sink to work, but after twisting the taps, the faucet let out several hesitant gurgles and spilled an inconsistent stream of rusty water. Gave her a chance to rinse off, at least. She'd put on a fresh shirt soon after they'd left the house, mindful that Allen was either totally perving on her or thinking that she'd lost her mind (probably the latter), but this would afford her an opportunity to clean up and change the rest of her outfit. Aside from that, there was nothing else to do or see in this washroom beyond an empty cabinet and a grungy toilet. Very enthralling.

Annoyed her, too. Just by the freaking law of averages, she should have found something or somewhere of consequence by now; they'd covered the whole eastern side of the island. Maybe at the top. Of course, they probably couldn't see anything with the telescope until morning unless Allen was an astronomy buff and felt like stargazing.

That also assumed they'd still be here come morning. Would they? More accurately, would she?

She didn't know yet.

Partly it was the pills. Andrea was into the Wellbutrin now. She needed some way to keep from gobbling up her dwindling supply of Ritalin and Adderall, and so she's started on the rest of her stash, downing four of them a couple hours ago. She still wasn't sure what effect they'd have. They didn't provide the instant kick that her other stimulants did, and she didn't exactly feel HAPPIER, but there was something there.

And partly it was her continued assessment of the situation at hand. Liz Polanski had gotten into Andrea's head like a cheap radio jingle. Liz Polanski was out there, probably being celebrated as the next Neil Sinclair. Not that Andrea wanted that specific title (Neil Sinclair had failed, hadn't he?), but it was fucking irritating to see Liz get so much credit. The viewers would gush over her like they did with Neil and SADD last season, just because of how blatant and obvious Liz was acting with whatever her plan might... screw that, Liz probably didn't even have a plan.

Andrea had a plan. She knew that now. She was playing this game at a higher level. Higher than Liz, higher even than what she'd told Allen and Julian, yet she had to grit her teeth and slog through one useless location after another while Liz pops her collar off through pure dumb luck. And so Liz gets the glorification of the viewing public, while Andrea gets what exactly?

She gets to be held in check by her own damn genius, that's what. And for a girl who'd sanctified the concept of instant gratification, that was one unfulfilling reward.

----

Now, as she finished rinsing her hair, she saw yet another of Danya's ubiquitous cameras planted above the mirror, merrily recording away. For the second time in a few hours she'd treated the viewing audience to a show. It would be on YouTube soon, no doubt. Hot SOTF chick gets wet!!!!111

"Like what you see, Danya?"

Well, it was recognition. Of a sort.

She grabbed the change of clothes she'd set aside and pulled on a new pair of pants and underwear, awkwardly keeping her lower body positioned under the sink and away from the camera's eye. The old clothes were tossed indifferently aside and landed next to the toilet. Finally, Andrea unclipped her bra and peeled it off, covering her modest chest with her right arm as she did. She was about to slip the new one on when she glanced up at the camera again.

Hey, if you can't be famous, be infamous.

"You want a peek? Wellll...."

Who would be watching right at this moment? Watching for her? One guy in Danya's HQ? No one? All of them?

Not to mention back home.

"Oh, alright."

She opened the fingers hiding her left breast for just a second or two, then shut them again. Holy crap, what was she doing here? Andrea Raymer, underage stripper extraordinaire. Maybe that was the Wellbutrin in effect? She didn't think that was on the pillbox. Side effects may include dry mouth, constipation, decreased appetite, and increased exhibitionism, as well as internal debate regarding the nature of--

She opened her eyes. One more time looking at the camera.

"You watch that mom? I fucking hope so."

Agggh. Andrea shook her head. She knew that wouldn't actually clear up her thoughts, but still, she needed to do something, get her brain back on track because this existential bullshit was getting weird. She quickly finished dressing and grabbed one of the two remaining energy drinks from her bag.

The taste was warm but familiar. Andrea felt better at once. She forced herself to stop before downing the whole can, and gave the camera one last look. It was still bolted there, wires running into the wall, lens staring blindly at her. Ugh. She understood the appeal of smashing them. Or at least pulling them out, taking them apart. Finding out where those wires might lead. That would be some instant gratification right there. The cameras could tell her all their secrets, but at the price of her life. Not to mention that if they were out of the way, anyone could do whatever they wanted so long as---

Liz Polanski's cameras.

Blind spots.

Holy crapola.

Was Liz doing that on purpose? If so, Andrea had maybe given the girl too little credit.

Still, it didn't really jive. Because in the end, the cameras didn't matter. Andrea had broken through to that level of realization a couple days ago. The cameras misdirected you. There were thousands of them. You couldn't take them all out one at a time. Even the collars were a similar sort of diversion in the grand scheme of things. So think higher.

There. More of the soothing positivity and less of the scary chaos. Andrea took another sip of her Rockstar. She felt better. Saner.

----

On her way to the winding staircase she picked up a deck of cards that some prior student had left on the floor. Sapphire McLeod, maybe. There'd been some beads and a half-finished bracelet or something alongside them. After that brief appraisal, Andrea mentally shrugged and ascended the stairs. It was mystery of sorts, albeit one she'd never solve. No, now that she was feeling better it was time to think long-term again and decide what she was going to do about B121.

"Hey Allen," she said, climbing the last step. "Uh, the water works in the sink down there if you wanna wash up at some point. And sorry if I was acting kind of weird earlier."

Tonight. She'd decide tonight.

"Here, have some." Andrea offered him the half-full energy drink. "You uh, wanna play some cards or something?"

[JamesRenard†]

((Allen Birkman continued from Burn The Louvre))

Allen leant his arms on the telescope, watching the sun disappear behind the mountain and darkness starting to descend on the island. His back was turned to the sea; he'd made a point to avoid looking at it. Doing so earlier on the way to the lighthouse had already sent his pulse racing. 'It'll be dark soon,' Allen thought, sighing and dropping his arms to his side. The giant lamp in the lightroom hadn't been switched on yet, and he gathered that it never would, not if the power had been cut off as he thought it was.

Andrea was downstairs, leaving Allen to gaze out the windows deep in thought.

----

August 7th 2005

Allen had to admit that while living with his father in Woodbury, he still missed his home city of Faribault. He was born there, spent twelve whole years of his life there. But when his parents split and he moved out with his father, finding a new place to settle down in Faribault had been, according to Andrew, next to impossible. A two-bedroom apartment in the Twin City suburb was the best he could find at such short notice.

He was currently visiting his mother back in Faribault for the weekend, using his time to catch up with Jennifer. The pair of them were currently walking south down Shumway Avenue, heading to the Tonka Park for an afternoon out of the house. Allen was about to cross a road, when a car suddenly turned the corner without warning, very nearly knocking him over had it not been for Jennifer yanking him backwards by the shoulders in the nick of time. "Hey! Watch where're you're driving, asshole!" she shouted at the driver, who just carried on rolling down the road oblivious to her yelling. Allen meanwhile was shuddering as it sunk in just how close he was to joining Iain in the afterlife.

Stopping to catch his breath and looking around the place, Allen noticed several people were walking down the road the car had gone down towards a cluster of buildings, which Allen recognised as Shattuck-St. Mary's School. "A lot of people heading over there, something must be going on," Jennifer said. "Want to go check it out?"

"Sure, whatever," Allen replied, crossing the road (making sure there were no other reckless drivers planning on mowing him down first) and then cut across the grass towards the set of buildings. A crowd was gathering beside one of the walls. As Allen and Jennifer aproached the mass of people, he could hear snippets of conversation from some of the other people congregating at the school.

"Goddamn terrorists. What makes them think they can get away with this?"
"Poor guy, he didn't deserve to go through all that."
"That bastard Jenson had it coming though. I'm glad Adam won Survival of the Fittest and not that sick son of a bitch."

Survival of the Fittest. The terrorist attack that the media had been going crazy about over the past couple of months. The idea that someone could be so, so twisted as to kidnap children and force them to fight to the death, it sickened the fifteen-year old. It was, according to some people, the greatest thing since sliced bread. Allen wanted no part of it, avoiding the programmes, news bulletins and other SotF media like the plague. Viewing people dying in the movies was bad enough when it was fake. It was all the more worse when it was all real. But why were they talking about it here of all places?

The crowd started to head inside the building, while Allen and Jennifer remained standing outside, not wanting to accidentally gatecrash the event. A plaque had just been put up on the wall, a memorial dedicated to someone who attended the school. Allen approached it and started to read the writing upon it. His breath caught in his throat.

This plaque has been erected to remember Sidney Crosby.
A shining star on the ice rink, his life was tragically cut short. He will never be forgotten by any of us at Shattuck-St. Mary's.
1987 - 2005

Allen put two and two together. Now he knew why the other people had been discussing Survival of the Fittest. Sidney Crosby, an innocent teenager from this school had been killed in the terrorist attack. Allen's heart sank and his stomach weighed heavy. He couldn't imagine what kind of horrors he must've gone through, fearing for his life every second, and ultimately losing it. Allen stepped away from the wall, wishing that he never found out in the first place. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, nauseous. He wanted to go home.

"C'mon, let's go," Allen said, starting to walk away from the plaque, trying to shield his face from his sister as he teared up. "I-I think I'll skip going to the park today, it... looks like it's going to rain."

There was a slight pause from the girl. "Okay, Allen," she said, nodding her head and walking right behind him, looking back to the memorial on the wall and then up to the clear blue sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight.

----

Allen rubbed the moisture away from under his eyes and sniffled. That wasn't a memory he wanted to remember, especially in his current situation. Now he could imagine how Sidney felt, worrying that he could be killed at any time, that the next day could very well be his last. Unless Sidney was one of the killers running around the place, but Allen didn't want to think that.

As he sat there in the darkening room, he was beginning to wonder if teaming up with Andrea had been that much of a good idea in the long run. She'd told tales of finding 'secret levels' and beating Danya at his own game. Right now that's all they seemed like; tall tales with absolutely no weight to them. The only thing they'd stumbled on were two deaths happening right in front of them.

He frowned. He'd been following Andrea aimlessly for far too long now, and absolutely nothing productive had come from it. He didn't even know what they were supposed to be doing. He needed to confront her and ask just what the hell they were going to do exactly. He grabbed the flashlight from his bag and switched it on, letting some light spill over the floor and allow him to see somewhat better. He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs and automatically went to reach for his bag, until Andrea's voice called up and calmed him down. She emerged, holding a pack of cards and a can of drink in her hands, offering Allen some of the latter.

Allen was feeling kind of thirsty, so he nodded, uttered a quiet thanks and took the drink from Andrea's hand. He took a sip, grimacing at the strong flavour and quickly handed the can back to his companion. "God, how can you drink that stuff?" he asked, swallowing multiple times to get rid of the taste in his mouth. "And yeah, sure. Anything to take my mind off what's going on outside these walls," Allen replied, shuffling closer on the floor. "I don't know a lot of card games though. So, uh, let's see... I know Blackjack, Hearts, Rummy... I know Solitaire as well, but that's kinda useless with the two of us."

He paused, turning the face one of the many windows and looked out at the dark sky where the stars were beginning to appear. He had to ask her, before it got too late, but he had to be careful how he went about it. "Listen, Andrea, I know I've been kinda quiet the whole time I've been with you, but... I have to ask. Just what are you planning on doing?"

[D/N]

Andrea shrugged when Allen handed the can back. "Eh, you get used to them. Besides, I have a horrible caffeine addiction. Among my uh, many other vices."

Ha. Yeah. She wondered if he knew anything about those. Probably not. From what she'd gotten to know about Allen, he likely wouldn't have teamed up with her if she'd announced beforehand "Oh, by the way, I'm a drug dealer. And addicted to grade-school medication myself."

She drained off the last of the Rockstar as Allen started listing off card games.

"Rummy? No clue how to play that one. But eh, one's as good as another for me, it's just to pass the time." Andrea was only half-listening to herself, but Allen's next question brought her back to full attention.

Shit

She froze for a moment, then started casually shuffling the cards. Arrrgh, he just had to ask her. Of course, she hadn't expected Allen to just follow her around blindly forever, had she?

Well yes, yes a part of her had expected just that, or at least hoped for it.

"Well... it's uh, it's like I said. We're looking around for any of the clues or hints or whatever that Danya left here. Sure, we haven't actually found anything, but... I mean we've really only been checking out the uh, the eastern part of the island so far."

Great. Now she was obviously stalling for time. She could see it in his face. But what could she do? There was a part of her, a big part actually, that wanted to tell Allen everything straight to his face. She did not like being thought of as some idiot with no plan at all, plus she genuinely liked the guy; it wasn't that fair to jerk him around.

But of course, she couldn't. Strategically, personally, however she wanted to justify giving Allen an answer, she couldn't. The stars weren't all aligned. Andrea wasn't afraid; she just wasn't ready yet, that was all. Needed to wait for the right time. So she made her decision in that moment. Allen had to go.

"Look, here's the thing, Allen. I know you're hearing about whatever Liz Polanski is doing out there, then Danya blowing up collars, and well, yeah.

"Thing is though, there's no way that Liz can win doing that. You uh, you CAN'T win even if you get your collar off, because how the hell are you going to get everyone else's off once they know that, or how the hell are you going to get off the island? Just... just stick with me, OK? I need to figure out a couple more things, and uh, think about if these new... complexities will change stuff, and then I promise I'll fill you in on everything.

"So uh, just give me the rest of the night, and you'll know more in the morning. OK?

[JamesRenard†]

"Well... alright then," Allen replied. "And yeah, Liz... I have to agree with you, what she's doing is just reckless and all it's going to achieve is having a lot of people out for her blood." Oh boy, how could he forget Liz Polanski? Her antics had resuted in a girl losing the front portion of her neck right in front of him and Andrea, for goodness sake! "Makes you wonder if she's doing it deliberately just to eliminate the competition."

Well that was just a guess, but he really didn't know what the hell the goth girl was doing. And he didn't know what to do know with Andrea. She still didn't appear to have things completely figured out, and that was beginning to worry Allen. He'd been with her for so long, enough time for her to have figured out the finer points of her plan, surely. Obviously not.

'So what do I do? This whole plan thing stinks of bullshit, buuut... she's not doing this to try and kill me. Is she simply being delusional? Ugh... I hate decisions like this... Okay, guess I will give her until the morning. If nothing comes up by then, that's it, final chance blown. I leave and go on my own.

He wasn't sure if his expression betrayed just how sceptical he was with her ideas. Hopefully not, he didn't want her to see that he disapproved the way her so-called plan was coming along. 'Enough of that. We got cards here, might as well use them to keep us occupied for now.'

"Okay, let's play something. So, did you want to know how to play Gin Rummy?"

----

After several hours of them playing various card games, some that Andrea had been kind enough to teach Allen, he was feeling weary and finding it increasingly difficult to stay awake. It came to a head when he fell forwards and very nearly faceplanted into the pile of cards while they were playing Snap. Fortunately he was able to catch himself before smacking his forehead on the floor.

"Ugh... sorry," Allen apologised in a tired voice, sitting back up and using his arms to support himself, though his head continued to droop and his eyes just wouldn't stay open. "I can't stay awake any longer, I gotta take a rest or something."

He noticed the can of Rockstar next to Andrea and weakly chuckled. "Yeah, uh, the amount of caffeine you've taken in, I guess you're not going to bed soon, right?" Allen surmised, "you mind staying guard then, just in case someone comes across us here?"

Andrea didn't seem to disagree with the idea, so Allen shuffled away and huddled up on the floor by the wall, resting his head on his bag. However, the objects in the duffel were making it uncomfortable, and he didn't want to risk accidentally detonating one of the grenades in the bag by moving his head in his sleep. Just how that would happen in the first place, he didn't know, but he didn't want to find out the hard way. So instead, he just settled for resting his head on the cold hard floor, a short distance from his bag. "G'night," he slurred.

Allen lay there for ten minutes with his eyes closed in the near-darkness, and then he was fast asleep.

[D/N]

After Allen fell asleep, Andrea could have (probably should have, she considered) taken what she needed and left right then and there. But of course, that wouldn't have been her.

So instead she procrastinated; she checked around the lighthouse for anything they'd missed, fiddled with the bulb and telescope even though one was busted and the other wasn't any use until morning, and scribbled in her journal by flashlight, still working out how Liz Polanski's little adventure was going to affect her. Finally, she clicked the flashlight off and felt her way back up the stairs, where the moon provided enough illumination. She studied the island and ocean, stretching 360 degrees around her, and supposed that was finally the catalyst to get going. But still, she looked down and lingered another moment.

Uggh. She should write him a note or something, at least.

Yes. That was it. She needed to get some stimulation in her system anyway, since she'd probably be up all night. She'd take some of her Ritalin and write a note and that would appease any of those silly doubts.

Andrea returned to the washroom downstairs and opened her pack, finding the pill bottle with her Adderall/Ritalin supercombo mix. She selected two Rits, and broke them up, one of the playing cards her work surface. It was a ritual she'd well perfected over the years. Break the pills into smaller chunks, then crush them into a powder, being careful not to let any of them skitter away. And make sure to grind them really fine, because the big chunks are hell on the nasal cavity.

Once done, she inhaled, washed them down with an Adderall and a swallow of water, and let everything do its work.

Andrea was acclimated enough that she didn't feel any intense rush or high from just the Ritalin anymore, but she couldn't deny the clearness, the focus that it brought. After a few minutes the familiar intensity came; she imagined everything working its way through her bloodstream, quickening her heart rate, heightening her impulses. Placebo effect or not, kids stuff or not, she was still smitten by it.

And it was time to get to work.

As a bonus, while rooting through her stuff she'd found the crumbled half-pack of menthol cigarettes that she'd totally forgotten about. She lit one downstairs, smiling at her first taste of nicotine since they'd been stranded, then returned once more to the top of the lighthouse and smoked it while she wrote a rambling note to Allen on a page torn from her journal. There. Everything was better now.

She tossed the butt off the ledge and watched it skitter downward like a dying fairy, then looked at Allen one last time. "Yeah... seeya." she whispered, and turned to his bag. She knelt, unzipped carefully, and began searching for the grenades.

[JamesRenard†]

((GMing approved))

The stream laid before Allen and Andrea. Water rushed over the bed of dirt and stones, splashing against the odd stray rock that poked above the surface. It lapped against the front of Andrea's sandals and Allen's tennis shoes as they stood on the bank.

"Well, looks like we gotta cross," Andrea spoke, starting to wade through the ankle deep water. Allen stayed where he was and watched, noting how effortless she made it look. But Allen couldn't follow her, his eyes staring at the water flowing in front of him. His knees were locked tightly, feet refusing to budge. Heart pounding in his chest, perspiration starting to build up all over his body.

"Allen, stop being a pussy and come over here," Andrea barked from the other side of the river. "It's not deep, I don't know why you're so scared about it."

"No, you don't know!" Allen shouted back.

"Fine, whatever. I'm outta here," Andrea retorted, turning her back to Allen and starting to walk away. She disappeared into the distance.

"Hey, wait!" Allen spoke, his legs finally allowing him to walk forward and take his first steps into the stream. Somehow, the depth of the stream had drastically changed since Andrea's crossing. It was no longer shallow, in fact it was so deep that Allen sunk down and was completely submerged, even then his feet weren't touching the bed of the river. He gulped and gasped for breath, water surged into his mouth and nose, filling his senses with the taste of iron, mud and... smoke?

----

Allen instinctively coughed and slowly opened his eyes. The bottom of the stream morphed to black and then to the inside of the lighthouse's lamp-room. The room wasn't as dark as he thought it would be, the moon's rays hitting the huge light and scattering in all directions, filling the room with dim light. He sniffed again, picking up traces of cigarette smoke in the air.

"Andrea, do you smell..." he paused, lifting his head up and looked towards the stairway leading to the ground. Where was Andrea? Was she keeping guard downstairs? A soft noise behind his head grabbed his attention and he turned round to face the source. He blinked several times, trying to get his vision to focus. Were his eyes playing tricks with him, or was Andrea rummaging through his bag?

No, his eyes weren't deceiving him. Andrea was indeed rummaging through his bag. 'A dream. Please let this be just another twisted dream,' Allen thought as Andrea looked back at him, her hand still nestled deep in his bag. 'Oh no... not Andrea.' Allen felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach sink into a deep void.

"W-what are you doing?" Allen croaked, staring Andrea right in the eye. She almost looked as tense as he did.

There was a slight pause before Andrea responded. "I'm sorry," she whispered with the slightest hint of regret, quickly withdrawing her hand which was gripped tightly around a near-spherical object. Allen could just make out what she was holding in the dim moonlight. One of his grenades.

"Hey!" Allen shouted out, lunging forwards and trying to grab the weapon from out of Andrea's grasp. Her reactions were quicker though and Allen missed, clutching nothing but thin air. He lost his balance and fell flat on his front, burying his face in the opened bag. Fully awakened by the shock of being betrayed, Allen pushed himself up onto his feet and started to pursue Andrea, who'd started to make her way towards the stairs. She was attempting an escape. "Get back here!"

Fortunately for Allen, Andrea wasn't able to sprint away quickly in a pair of sandals, so he was able to catch up to her in moments. He reached forwards, and in a case of second time lucky, his hand wrapped around Andrea's wrist. She tried to wrestle her arm out of his grasp, but Allen held on, pulling her back and stepping in front, blocking her path and barring access to the stairwell. Apart from the many windows, and even then they would probably lead to a fatal plummet, there was nowhere else for her to run. He had her cornered.

"Okay, Andrea, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" he furiously asked. He wanted a damn good explanation for her actions, and he wanted it now.

[D/N]

"I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone...."

Bloody hell, was that song still stuck in her head?

Andrea stopped humming under her breath, then snatched a quick glance at Allen, sure that she'd heard him say something. Bah, he was still conked out; she was just being her paranoid self. Still, she made a mental note to stop that crap until she got out of here, earworm or not.

She turned back to his bag. There they were. Four grenades, each nestled delicately at the bottom. She grabbed one, holding it for a moment, feeling the weight in her hand. Oh yeah. THAT was a powerful sensation, right there. Powerful enough to give her friend Mr. Danya one heck of a surprise.

Andrea looked at the rest of the grenades. She tapped her tongue stud against her front teeth a couple times, deliberating. The note to Allen said that she'd only take two, but still... she needed these. And now that they were right in front of her, it was going to be difficult to leave any of them behind.

She'd almost decided on taking three of them as a compromise of sorts when that pesky paranoia returned and she jerked her head up. Allen was staring at her, wide awake.

"W-what are you doing?"

Oh hell.

Andrea froze in the moment, nearly dropping the grenade. Oh hell indeed. Now what? She had half a second to deliberate. Half a second. Half a second.

Unsurprisingly, nothing was coming to mind.

"Uhhhhhhh..."

Then she managed to mutter an apology and took off, because the only thing she could think to do was to run. RUN. Get the fuck out of here right now, run down the stairs and grab her bags and take the fuck off, he was still totally frozen in shock or whatever so he wouldn't move to stop her, and then she'd get out of here and forget all about Allen and pretend that everything had gone exactly according to---

And she slipped, of course, and then Allen was grabbing her by the wrist and demanding some answers she couldn't give.

Fuck.

What the hell could she say?

"Uh, hey Allen," she stuttered. She flashed a desperate smile, but his face was impassive, Crap, crap she was almost hyperventilating again. Her eyes flittered, trying to buy time.

The grenade. Still in her other hand.

That was it. She could threaten to pull the pin unless he let her go and... no, fucking no way, she wasn't panicking that much here, was she?

"Look, I uh, I know you're probably pretty upset here and I totally sympathize but I assure you Allen I had a good reason for going through your bag like that and... and..."

Oh fuck, she was panicking that much.

Andrea twisted her wrist in Allen's grip, then turned to run again. Yes, that was definitely it, her wrist was all sweaty and she'd slip out when he didn't expect it and then she'd take off running, and instead, his grip held firm and she dropped the grenade. She tried to turn the other way, only to find herself backed against the stone wall.

Double fuck.

Now Allen's face was inches from hers, and she had to tell him something before she just completely collapsed, because her knees were feeling like they were going to knock themselves straight backwards if she didn't get some measure of control here.

"OK, look, the uh... the reason I was leaving you is because..."

Alright, think, thinkthinkthinkthinkthink. She couldn't tell him what the real reason was, no matter what she couldn't tell him that because everything depended on her never revealing it out loud, she couldn't make up a lie because what the hell could she tell him that he would believe, and besides, she was drawing a total blank at this second so she couldn't actually think-

"I.... I...., OK it's because..."

Andrea, make up something. Anything.

"because I, uh... I love you?"

....yeah, where did that come from?

Didn't matter. Didn't fucking matter. It bought a few seconds. Enough seconds to remember the letter. That was what Allen needed to read, she just needed to get on that subject and tell him-

"Alright, that's uh, that's not totally it, I left you a note, uh, a letter thing because I didn't want to hurt you by taking off, OK?"

The words were starting to spill out now, thank god. Let them. It didn't matter how much sense she was making, at this point it was all about damage control and as long as she got him to read her note first she could move on and start planning for what she'd do next, but for now it was all about trying to regain some edge and make sure that nothing really important was said out loud, hell maybe she could even use this as an opportunity, a fucking opportunity or something to make everyone think that and as she was thinking she kept talking, saying--

--"Look I, uh, I don't have a real plan beyond what I told you before OK? I was totally making it all up as I went along and II'm sorry for that Allen, but it, it just wasn't working out and I didn't want to, uh, I couldn't bear to see you get killed when you trusted me like that so I'm sorry it was totally cowardly of me and just... just read the note, OK?"

Please, please let this fucking work.

[JamesRenard†]

Allen kept his eyes trained on Andrea's. There was suddenly a sharp thud as the grenade slid out of Andrea's grip and fell to the floor. Allen, still holding Andrea's wrist in a vice-grip, looked down in trepidation as it bounced slightly and came to a rest. The pin was thankfully still inserted, no explosion occurring. He exhaled loudly, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It was one less thing to worry about, but he still needed to deal with Andrea. She wasn't taking one step towards the staircase, not until she told him exactly what she was doing. And it was taking a good while for her to get to the point.

"Well?" Allen urged, starting to grow wearisome of Andrea's stalling.

And then came the 'answer' that he was definitely not expecting, his eyebrows riding up in surprise. 'Did she just say...?' Well that was completely out of the blue, but he quickly regained his composure. "Yeah, sure, love means stabbing the other person in the back, taking their weapons and leaving them behind, is that right?" he questioned, hardly buying her confession for a moment. 'What is she doing?' Allen wondered.

A note. Andrea mentioned there was a note she'd left for him. Allen looked down towards where he'd been lying just moments ago, and saw a slightly crumpled up piece of paper on the floor. He'd been so preoccupied in chasing after Andrea that he didn't even bother looking at the floor and had missed the sheet altogether.

"Alright, I'll read it, and it had better be good," Allen said, bending down to pocket the grenade first and then walking over to the piece of paper, pulling Andrea along with him away from the stairs. It was blank, only sporting a dusty footprint from where he'd trodden on it when pursuing Andrea. He flipped it over to check the other side and saw the page covered in her scribbling, highlighted and underlined in several places for emphasis or something. Allen let go of the girl and sat down with his back against the stone wall, keeping his bag and grenades close to him, and started to read.

Allen

Sorry I couldn't tell you this in person. I have to leave you behind. I took two of your grenades. Sorry about that too.

'Well great, she was going to take another one? Guess I really woke up in the nick of time,' Allen thought, glaring up at Andrea. This note had better be really good.

I do have a plan, but I don't think you can be a part of it. I need to do it alone.
Because it's fucking stupid and dangerous, and because I seriously can't talk about it out loud, and because I'm kind of fucked up personally and don't really work well with others. So it's not you, it's me, like the famous breakup letter says.

Sorry. Again.

But you deserve something.

OK, I'm begging you, whatever you do with this note, DON'T TELL ANYONE OUT LOUD. Do NOT say this next part out loud to anyone, or Danya will know, microphones and shit.
K, rambling again.

Now Allen was starting to become intrigued, seeming like he was getting to the main point of the message. So he continued reading, having to suppress a slight chuckle at how Andrea was able to ramble on paper.

Alright, look around at all the cameras on this island. Really look. We can't take them apart and find out, but here's the thing - What Is Powering Them? What are they recording on? That's the WHOLE THING. They CAN'T be powered by themselves, or by batteries, there aren't any batteries that can power a video camera nonstop for weeks at a time!!

So-
THERE HAS TO BE A POWER SOURCE SOMEWHERE ON THE ISLAND

A Generator, or something.

I'm going to blow it up.

Allen's eyes notably widened as his eyes settled on the main part of Andrea's message. 'Holy shit...'

Grenades + Gunpowder.

If I do that, I knock out ALL the cameras. Better plan than one at a time, huh?

It might even screw up the collars, I don't know, but it'll leave Danya and them blind, they'll have to stop or pause the game and that's the chance to escape. They won't blow everyone's collar, they might not be able to w/out power but even if they can that would mean they lost and I know this show and Danya won't do that.

So that's what I'm going to do. I did have a plan. You can even try it yourself if you want, if I end up dead which I probably bah, forget that. Let's be optimistic.

Good luck Allen. Seriously. Thanks.

Andrea Raymer
G077
(Did I ever tell you that was Adam Dodd's number? Gotta be good karma)

Again, PLEASE DON'T TELL ANYONE THIS OUT LOUD

Allen finished looking through the letter and went back to the top to read it all again, feeling his breath catch in his throat. So this was it. So this was the reason why she was taking his grenades, this was why she was leaving him behind. Not because she wanted him to abandon him to fend for himself, but because she wanted to protect him, apparently.

He needed to think long and hard about this. For all he knew, this could've all just been a trap, just a lame excuse by Andrea to get away with thieving from him. 'No, no, this plan,' he thought, scanning the details once more to double check, 'it makes perfect sense. It sounds as though she's really thought about this.' Finished with the note, he was about to lay the piece of paper on the floor, but a whirring sound from above brought his attention to the cameras lurking over his head.

'Oh crap, the cameras!'

Allen hastily folded the piece of paper into half so the text was hidden from the terrorists' view. He didn't want them to find out about Andrea's plan straight away; both of them still had explosives wrapped around their throats, and both their necks were on the line if they knew what they were up to. Judging from the lack of collar detonating however, they were still completely unaware about it all. Disaster averted there then.

But this plan Andrea had come up with... it was risky. Incredibly risky beyond belief. Who was to say that there really was a generator on the island? A thorough search could yield nothing at all, their efforts 100% wasted. Allen was certain the terrorists wouldn't have overlooked something so important like this... would they?

But on the other hand... this plan gave him hope, something that he desperately needed in this environment. Not to mention attempting this was a damn sight better than the other options they'd been given; either just sitting around waiting to die, or having to indulge in the unthinkable just to survive. And if Liz Polanksi could pull something off, why couldn't they? If one single girl out of so many could do something that messed with the terrorists' plans, what was to say that Andrea and him couldn't do something either? He beckoned Andrea over and pulled his pen out from his bag, putting the grenade from his pocket back in with the rest. He popped the cap off and wrote a simple four word message on the back of the note, hunching over the piece of paper so it was out of sight of the cameras.

I want to help.

[D/N]

beatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeat

Fuck off, heartbeat.

Her heartbeat didn't fuck off as Allen read the note. It kept up, pulsated, sent her systems into overdrive. Her head, especially. It felt like her brain was beating at the same rate, each second reverberating against her skull. And still, STILL, Allen Birkman was studying that paper. Christ, he had to have been reading for half an hour now, and all Andrea could do was stand and watch, and try to bring her traitorous body under control.

This was not how things were supposed to go. She wasn't even supposed to be here. She was supposed to be off running through the forest or wherever and well on the way to screwing Danya up the ass by now. Instead, she was standing here and waiting for Allen to either blow everything or scream at her for screwing him over or tell her why her stupid goddamn idea wouldn't work and now what was he writing down...

I want to help.

And her heartbeat finally started to fuck off. Her arms dropped to her sides, tensions draining from them.

"OK..... ok then."

Now what?

---

It was still nighttime. Andrea couldn't sleep. Well, duh. She'd medicated herself under the impression she'd be up all night, after all. Add that to everything else, and it was no wonder she was still awake. Of course, she didn't want to press Allen's trust any further, so his going back to sleep before her hadn't really been an option. That was why she was lying on a couch they'd dragged out of the downstairs storage room, pretending to sleep while he read through her notes.

Well, sleep or not, it least gave her a way to calm her system down. The relief after Allen's response had been freaking ridiculous, enough so that she'd eventually shoved all her doubts way back down again and re-tuned her focus to how great this was going to be. She'd even given Allen her notes going back to Day 2, detailing potential locations for the generator or power source, trying to find any patterns in Danya's announcements, or anything else that struck her as worth writing down. And who knew, maybe he'd be able to think of something she hadn't. Andrea knew as well as anyone that she could totally get tunnel vision and miss stuff.

She just needed to think some more, find that last piece or whatever and everything would fall into place...

When I was a young boy
My father took me into the city
To see a marching band...

...she didn't mean another MCR song, poignant dad reference or not. The freaking gender wasn't even right.

The dogs on main street howl
'Cause they understand
If I could take one moment into my hands
Mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man
And I believe in a promised land

OK, gender's still wrong but that was a bit better. She'd stick with Bruce.

---

"Yeah, I'm coming!"

Andrea was idly looking through the telescope one last time when she heard Allen call from downstairs. She'd managed some sleep after all, actually waking up just in time to get her notes prepped for the announcements. They were ready to go, but she wanted to check out the telescope first, not that she was expecting to see much.

And as predicted, she wasn't. Of course, what was she hoping to spot? Danya on his bridge giving her the finger? A recognizable coastline? The edge of a bio-dome? Well, there was Max Neill's body on the rocks below, and they'd make sure to get any extra supplies from him before they left, but she hadn't needed the telescope to see that.

Andrea leaned forward, spat off the tower, and took one last peek. Bah. She needed to be more geographically or biologically inclined or something; then maybe she could guess where they were from the color of the ocean or height of the sun. The sun was actually nice to look at, big and golden and still rising higher. And it was just before she gave up that it pointed out something back by the horizon, glinting in the dawn.

She stared through the lens for only a few seconds, before sensing those familiar pinpricks on her skin, and then she swiveled the scope around, blatantly looking anywhere but there. Yup, nothing to see here folks, Andrea Raymer was just sightseeing, being totally casual and indiscriminate. Then after another few seconds, she trotted down the spiral stairs to the bottom, focusing on not betraying that ignorance.

Andrea had only been able to snatch a few brief looks at the chopper. She guessed a bunch of kids would hear it soon enough, even if they didn't have her vantage point. But it made her want to get out the lighthouse, and pronto. They couldn't be coming for her, could they? No way. She was totally undercover. But someone or something was about to descend upon this island, and she didn't want to be the one caught staring directly at their mystery guest's crosshairs when they arrived.

She caught up to Allen, whispering as she passed him.

"Hey, look up in the sky in a couple seconds."

A freaking helicopter. This was something new. Exciting. Possibly terrifying. Could be good or bad, she didn't know. But she'd figure it out.

They were on a roll now.

(Andrea Raymer continued in Make Your Own Kind of Music)

[JamesRenard†]

Allen was standing outside the lighthouse, his back against the wall with his eyes trained on the mountain, the woods, the town in the distance, in fact just about anything that wasn't the sea. Ever since the morning announcement had come and gone a short while ago, only one thought had been going through his mind.

She was dead.

The girl who had terrorised him the moment he first woke up, the girl who had shot dead the first person he met in cold blood, Clio Gabriella was dead.

All throughout the last few days, Allen had imagined that if he'd survived long enough to hear her name being read out as a victim instead of a killer, he'd jump for joy. But there was no such elation coursing through his veins at discovering that Clio had finally died. As strange as it sounded, especially after what she had put him through, he actually felt sorry over her passing. She may have been a bit of a bitch at school and had tried to kill him at one point, but she was still one of his classmates.

Nobody on the island deserved this. Not him, not Andrea, Clio, Maxwell, Dougal, Isabel, Roland, no one. They weren't supposed to be here. They were supposed to be graduating shortly, going on with their lives. But Danya just had to come along and fuck everything up. Pitting friends against friends. Turning acquaintances into killers. Effectively massacring over two hundred students without even getting his hands dirty in the process.

He was the real enemy in all of this. He was the one orchestrating it, all from behind the scenes so he couldn't come to any harm himself.

'This plan, though,' Allen thought, staring towards the central mountain and the remains of the cellphone tower. The place he first met Andrea. 'It's not just about getting people off the island safely, but it'll fuck with Danya as well. Beating the bastard at his own game. Hitting him right where it hurts. God I hope it works.'

Footsteps from inside the lighthouse alerted him to Andrea's presence, who was dashing out the doorway and whispering to him to look up to the sky.

'Look up? Why?' he wondered. A few seconds later, he got his answer. He could hear a faint chukkachukkachukka sound, getting louder and louder with each passing second. He walked around the curved wall of the lighthouse and glanced up to the sky, trying not to look at the shimmering ocean ahead of him; a panic attack was the last thing he wanted now.

A helicopter was approaching the island. 'What the hell?! They've actually come to rescue us?!' He turned back to Andrea, but she was already making her way away from the lighthouse, grabbing Max's bag and dragging it away from his corpse. 'Why is she leaving? Surely they've come to rescue us... oh... oh hell no. That's not...'

Starting to feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck, Allen quickly chased after Andrea. He didn't want to be caught out in the open with the chopper in the vicinity.

((Allen Birkman continued in Make Your Own Kind of Music))