...And they say that a hero can save us...

[Megami†]

((Eric continued from Headhunter))
((Whitney continued from Headhunter.  Ricky continued from You Can Feel What You Don't See.  Let it be known that I HATE this post.))

Stupid fucking Kovalenko... always trying to show me up... trying to prove... to prove that he's better than me.  That he's perfect.  Can't stand Kovalenko.  Hate... hate Kovalenko.  Must kill Kovalenko.  Kill to survive.  Kill to win.  Kill to go home... go home to... to the girls.  To mom.  No... not to mom.  Never to mom.  Mom was worthless... useless... fucking bitch.  Stupid fucking bitch!  All we ever wanted was a mother.  We didn't need a friend, we needed a parent.  You weren't there for us... never... never there for us!

"GOD DAMMIT!"

The loud swear word reverberated through the otherwise empty home in which Eric Silvstedt was currently sprawled in the floor of, shattering the silence that had surrounded him.  In frustration, Eric stared down at his bloodied and cut hands.  For what seemed like hours now, he had been sitting absent-mindedly in the floor of this nameless home, and for what?  The wooden broomstick that lay on the ground beside him, along with the broken shards of glass that lay strewn about the floor reminded him of his original intention.

His fight with Matthias Kovalenko at the botanical gardens had made Eric realize something.  There was just no way that he could run this game without some sort of weapon.  And so, after escaping the botanical gardens, Eric had retreated here in search of a weapon.  Now, it was common knowledge that the terrorists had more or less removed everything that could double as a weapon from the island.  Must have been their sick way of equalizing the competition or something.  That didn't matter, though.  Eric was smart enough to get around that little barrier.

Or at least, that's what he had thought.  The broomstick was easy enough to find, and was the perfect makeshift shaft.  The homemade spearhead that he was working on, however, was proving to be much more difficult.  Eric had spent several hours now attempting to forge a piece of glass into some sort of sharp object, and Lady Luck was not being kind.  He had shattered windows, dishes, glasses, virtually anything breakable that he could get his hands on in an attempt to finish work on his new weapon, but so far, nothing was durable enough to work.

... And then he saw it.

It was sitting inconspicuously on the mantlepiece over the fireplace, and he hadn't even noticed it at all until this very moment.  A large urn was placed in the center of the mantlepiece.  Eric Silvstedt had never been a very observant person, so it was really no wonder he hadn't seen it before.  Now, though, the thing seemed to radiate, and Eric found himself drawn to it.  It was perfect... simply perfect.

~~~

... Matthias?

"Matthias?"

Where are you?

Where had he gone?  He was right behind her only moments ago, but now the companion Whitney Acosta had been virtually conjoined with since her waking moments on the island was nowhere to be found.  All at once, an almost paralyzing fear and insecurity enveloped the blonde-headed girl as she searched blindly for her companion.  It dawned on her almost instantly that for the first time in almost forty-eight hours, she was really alone.

"Matt?  Where'd you go?"

The silence she got in response was almost deafening, and in a way was more horrifying than any noise should have been.  Being with Matthias, always having someone around, it had given her some sort of confidence.  In a way, she knew that she was protected.  Now, though, that sense of security had faded into nothingness, and Whitney continued to stand in the middle of the street, her eyes skimming the area around her for any sign of her friend.

"Matt...?"

Audible calls faded into a muffled whisper as she continued to look blearily through the darkening streets of the residential district.  Not long before, she had felt too crowded amidst the ever-growing groups of people that seemed to arise in every area she and Matthias visited.  Now, however, she felt completely and utterly alone... and it was absolutely horrifying.

Out of the corner of her eye, Whitney saw something move across the large glass window of a nearby house.  It occurred to her that Matthias might have gone inside searching for his sister.  Perhaps he had called out to her and she just hadn't heard him.  Clutching her pack closer to her body, Whitney headed toward the house.  The iron gate squealed as she opened the latch, causing her to jump slightly.  The thought of that hideous noise once again squealing out caused Whitney to leave the gate open and continue through the yard.

Whitney continued her short trek through the yard toward the front door.  Meanwhile, menacing eyes watched her through the large glass window now beyond her point-of-view.  If she was here, then that had to mean that somewhere in the vicinity, Matthias Kovalenko was also lurking... right?  Eric Silvstedt had always been an act first, ask questions later kind of guy, so why change that now?  In the next few moments, Eric Silvstedt would take a flying leap down a path that he would never again return from.

Whitney Acosta wheeled around in a mixture of fear and surprise as the sound of shattering glass reverberated across the yard.  Much to her terror, the figure that leapt through the glass window was not Matthias Kovalenko.  Instead, the form belonged to a face that she genuinely hoped she would never again have to see on the island.  The figure was Eric Silvstedt, and he was holding some sort of homemade spear.  Eric rose to his feet, shaking a few loose fragments of glass off of his clothes and hair, and offered Whitney and eerily calm smile.

"Hello again, dollface," Eric mused, still grinning, "Fancy seeing you here."

Whitney could only stare at the redheaded boy's face in confusion and apprehension as he spoke to her.  Eric didn't quite seem like Eric.  He seemed calmer, cooler, more collected... traits certainly not characteristic of the hot-headed student she'd attended Franklyn Senior with.  A light frown formed on Eric's features at Whitney's lack of response, and he began to approach her, almost nonchalantly.

"Where's your boyfriend?  Or did you have a fight?"

"He's not my--" Whitney began, only to be interjected.

"Where's Kovalenko?" Eric inquired impatiently, his right hand now twirling the spear back and forth idly.

A light sigh escaped the blonde's lips.  Despite the sense of foreboding and apprehension that wouldn't seem to leave, she refused to let it show.  "I don't know, Eric."

"Oh," the redheaded boy stated simply, the frown on his face growing wider, "That's a shame."

"... Why's that?" Whitney responded hesitantly.

"Well..." Eric muttered, lowering the spear in his hand into an offensive position, "I needed a test dummy to try this baby out on.  I had intended on it being him, but since he's nowhere to be found, I guess it'll have to be you instead.  Pity, it's such a waste."

Whitney didn't even have time to move before the redheaded boy charged in her direction, spear pointed toward her.  She couldn't move, she couldn't think, she could barely even breathe.  In essence, Whitney Acosta simply froze, unable to do anything out of sheer fear at the event that was unfolding.

So this is it...

All she could do was close her eyes, and hope that her demise would be as quick and painless as possible.  Eric's face, however, twisted into a cruel smile as he charged toward the blonde.  He had expected this to be an easy battle, but he hadn't expected this to be a one-hit kill.  Eric thrust the spear forward, expecting to hear the sickening slicing of flesh in the next second.  Instead, he heard nothing.  Whitney, meanwhile, was awaiting a blow that would never come.  Instead, she felt herself being knocked down... almost tackled... to the ground below.  Instead of a stomach full of glass, she felt a face full of dirt.

"Eric!"

The voice that rang out was recognizable to both Eric Silvstedt and Whitney Acosta.  Both looked toward the figure rising from the ground, a look of surprise etched onto the faces of all three forms.  Ricky Callahan, by some stroke of luck, had been exiting the yard of a nearby house in search of more supplies when he'd heard the glass shatter from the next yard over.  Curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he'd stumbled upon Eric jumping through the window of the house.  The next few minutes were a complete blur.  All he remembered doing was seeing her, and seeing his best friend run at her with a spear.  From there, instinct had taken over.

Ricky Callahan now looked his best friend directly in the eye.

"What the hell are you doing, man?"

Still holding his spear at the ready, Eric spit to the side before returning his gaze to the person he almost used to consider his best friend, "What the hell are YOU doing, Callahan?  Why'd you get involved?  This wasn't meant for you, man... it wasn't."

"Eric..."

What do you say in a situation like this?  Ricky didn't know what to say, what to think, what to feel... to stumble upon his best friend attempting to slaughter the girl he'd been in love with all year in cold blood... it was all just too much.  Why?

"Listen, man... you don't have to do this.  You don't have to play.  Nobody has to play.  Why're you giving in to them, Eric?  C'mon man, you're like my best friend.  The Eric Silvstedt that I knew wouldn't give in to the demands of terrorists.  Hell, he wouldn't give in to the demands of any sort of authority."

Eric's breathing was shallow.  He barely heard the words that spewed from Ricky's mouth as the hispanic boy tried to convince him that he was making a grave mistake.  His eyes continued to fixate on the other boy, but Ricky's words simply bounced off.  Instead, Eric found himself bearing the spear at his former best friend.

"You don't understand, Callahan.  We have to play.  We have to run the game.  There's no way out.  There's nobody that's coming to save us.  This is our fate, whether we like it or not.  Foe against foe, friend against friend, brother against brother... this is what it comes down to.  Sympathy and compassion... they don't exist here.  This is a life or death situation, and when push comes to shove, my life is far more important than yours... so get out of the way and let me finish what I started, or you'll be the one meeting the point of this thing."

He's right, you know.

The nagging voice in Ricky's head was speaking up again, and Ricky didn't like what it had to say.  He didn't want to think that Eric was right, and that things like compassion toward others had no place in this "game".  His eyes momentarily turned back to Whitney, who had risen to her feet and was currently standing out of the way of the two boys, nervously watching the scene unfold.  He offered her an encouraging smile, but got nothing in response.

"You won't do it, Eric.  I know you better than that.  You play like you're hard, but you're really not.  I don't know why you think you've got to put up some kind of front, because you don't.  I've got a group of people nearby... they're waiting on me to get back.  We're going to gather supplies, and we're gonna escape.  You can join us... both of you.  We can do this... together."

Much to Ricky's horror, Eric Silvstedt charged, spear drawn.  Quick reflexes gained from years of baseball allowed Ricky to roll out of the way just in time to avoid being shish-ka-bobbed on the homemade spear.  As he rose to his feet, he looked on at the redheaded boy in horror.

Tell me that did not just happen...

Unfortunately, he would be told no such thing.  The second Ricky rose to his feet, Eric once again lunged with the spear, and Ricky had to hold up the daypack that he was barely holding onto to catch the oncoming blow.

"You don't have to do this!" Ricky pleaded, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.  Again, Eric lunged, puncturing the bag yet again with the spear.  In a blind rage, Eric continued the relentless assault, sending Ricky on the defensive.  As the boy lunged yet again, Ricky's hands reached out, grabbing the shaft of the spear and attempting to pull it away from Eric.  A short standoff ensued with both boys vying for control of the weapon, until Eric cheapshotted Ricky, kicking him in the kneecap and sending him to the ground.

"I told you not to get in the way, Callahan.  I told you it'd come to this if you did.  You really are an idiot!"

Eric's face was turning beat-red as the words spewed from his mouth.  The spear fell to the ground, and Eric's leg came spinning around, clocking Ricky in the side and sending him onto the ground.  Eric aimed a second kick at the hispanic boy, but Ricky anticipated the move, grabbing the boy's foot and attempting to knock him down.  The maneuver failed, although it threw Eric off-balance enough that Ricky had time to stand up, only to be met with a fist swinging toward his head.  Ricky ducked and, even to his own surprise, swung back, connecting with Eric's stomach.

"S'that all you got?" Eric inquired, wiping his hand across his lips before lunging at Ricky again.

The momentum of the redheaded boy plowing into him sent Ricky sprawling onto his back on the ground.  Reflexively, Ricky grabbed the nearby "spear" and held it up in the air, hoping that the sharp point now facing his former friend would deter him from any further attacks while Ricky was still on the ground.  Ricky aimed a kick to Eric's knee, hoping to knock the redheaded boy backward and give him time to rise to his feet once again.  However, Eric unexpectedly lunged forward, probably intent on pushing the spear out of the way, and Ricky's kick instead hit the other boy's shin, causing him to fall.

The sickening sound of glass piercing flesh echoed out throughout the yard, and Ricky's heart stopped.  Hesitantly rising to his feet, his eyes fixated on his former best friend, who now had a long homemade spear protruding from his chest.  Ricky's eyes went wide as saucers, and he momentarily turned toward Whitney, who was also looking on in horror at the fatally injured Silvstedt boy.

"Eric..."

In the next instant, Ricky was dashing over to his best friend's side, and Whitney wasn't far behind.  Eric stumbled backward for a few moments before inevitably falling to the ground.  Ricky's eyes set on the spear that was piercing the redheaded boy's chest... a spear that was supposed to be used for defense.  Despite the fact that Eric had tried to kill both him and her only seconds ago, Ricky couldn't ease the guilt that was rising up in his chest from the action that he had just inadvertantly committed.

"God dammit man, why'd you have to do that?"

He had always been told that men didn't cry, but Ricky felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.  his hand reached toward the spear puncturing Eric's chest and rested on it.  He had to do something... anything... he couldn't just sit there and watch his best friend die.

"I'm gonna try to get it out, Eric... I'm so sorry, man... I'm so, so, so sorry."

The spear proved to be lodged in Eric's chest cavity a lot tighter than expected, and after a few minutes of pulling and many pained cries from the injured Eric, an audible snap was heard.  Instead of holding the spear in his hand, Ricky only held part of the broomhandle.  The glass that had pierced Eric's chest still lay buried deep within, and now the redheaded boy was coughing up a deep crimson liquid.

"I told you you didn't have to play... this wasn't supposed to happen.  You're not supposed to die.  You're my best friend, man... my best friend.  I wouldn't have anybody without you... anything.  C'mon Eric, you're gonna be alright.  You've gotta be alright."

Eric simply offered Ricky Callahan one of his insincere smiles.

"Tell the girls I love them, alright?"

It was perhaps the first time that Eric Silvstedt had dropped the "hard" facade he presented in life.  A warm metallic substance kept filling his mouth, and the sharp pain in his chest seemed to finally dull down, along with his vision.  Through the dark circles that were beginning to form, Eric could see the faces of Ricky Callahan and Whitney Acosta.  It seemed that Eric could see a lot of things in the next few moments with a clarity he had never before possessed.  Before he could share any sort of revelation with the two hovering above him, though, his strength seemed to leave him, and all he could offer was a smile.

"This wasn't..." Ricky muttered, his hand over his forehead.

"It's... it isn't your fault," Whitney offered, her hand falling on the shoulder of somebody she barely knew, "He would've killed you... probably both of us.  And I... well, I'd be dead right now.  I don't even know how to say thank you."

"For what?  For murdering my best friend?" Ricky spat back.

"You had no choice..." Whitney stated sympathetically.

Eric Silvstedt's broken body seemed to surreal as she stared at it.  It was a haunting portrait... one that would probably be burned into the minds of both the students who kneeled there looking down at it.  With a trembling hand, Ricky reached up, closing Eric's eyes and folding his still warm hands over his chest.  After all, it was the very least he could do.

I wanted to find you... to protect you... it wasn't supposed to start out like this... wasn't supposed to start out with the murder of my best friend.

"Hey..." Whitney once again started, momentarily pulling Ricky from his thoughts, "You said that you had friends near here, right?  We should go back to them... there's no reason to stay here."

She might've been calm on the outside, but on the inside she was crumbling.  The whole situation that had just transpired hadn't fully had time to set in.  It still wasn't registering in her mind that she had just watched Ricky Callahan kill Eric Silvstedt out of self defense.  It was just all too sudden, and more than anything, it had left her in a state of shock.  Ricky, too, seemed to be lost in his own world, and only gave her a slight nod in response.  His vision once again transfixed on his fallen friend, and despite his attempt at controlling himself, he was still shaking visibly.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way...

MALE CONTESTANT #17 - ERIC SILVSTEDT - DECEASED

((Continued... somewhere.))