Aurelien stared Henry down, standing still and unblinking as the other boy mouthed off.
An image flashed across his mind, of him grabbing Henry by his collar, shoving him against the tree, letting him know just how much utter bullshit he was spouting, suggesting that this was the slippery slope to damnation. How dare he. How fucking dare he imply that killing the motherfucker who murdered his boyfriend would make him just like them?
This wasn’t about following the terrorist’s orders. This wasn’t anything to do with them any more. No matter the scenario they all found themselves in, landing here or at some point in the distant future after graduation, if Blaise had killed Dante in any of those multitudes of timelines, then Aurelien would have got permanent revenge on them. And if Henry was too goddamn stupid, too wrapped up in some sort of moral code to stop acting like they were still just high school students, then Aurelien was gonna have to-
He winced and inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. He looked down at his folded arms, and saw how deep his nails were digging into his arm, even through his jacket. He relaxed his grip. He let go, and let the sudden wave of anger break over him and disappear.
Henry hadn’t been ‘mouthing off’ or anything stupid like that. He was scared. Like they all were. Scared at his situation, soaking wet, carrying a fucking shotgun, and now confronted by three people all plotting on killing somebody they’d all gone to school with? No wonder he’d reacted the way he did.
And all this was just another point in favour of sticking with Ariana and Jackson for as long as possible. His thinly-veiled threat towards Henry hadn’t, in immediate hindsight, turned out to be his smartest idea, but he hadn’t said anything else since, and now the other two were talking, smoothing things over. He let them speak, hands loosely shoved into his bomber jacket pockets, idly contemplating how things would have gone down if he’d run into Henry on his own.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered, looking up and responding to Jackson. “I’ll try find a dry spot. Or, well, the least damp area possible.”
He gave a mirthless laugh, turned, and started to head off around the tree. After a couple of steps, he stopped, running his hand through his hair. He looked over his shoulder at the group.
“Henry?”
His sad smile had returned.
“I’m not great with words, you can probably tell, but… I promise you, I will never become anything like Blaise. Cross my heart.”
He turned again, and disappeared behind the tree.
Tragedy of the Commons
Day 3-4, Private.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
It wasn't a very defensible position to take on this, and they all seemed to know it. Ariana had her justifications, flimsy as they were, Jackson seemed resigned to the senselessness of it all, and Aurelien was driven by something he couldn't even begin to imagine. Henry couldn't muster up the pretension to know any better what to do, other than to hide and wait for rescue. As he'd explained to Camila and the others though, even that seemed a bit far-fetched. Whatever vessel off the horizon the AT was using to broadcast the signal to the collars was just as likely to be met with an anti-ship missile as it was a team of Navy SEALs.
Taking on a passive role hadn't sat well with him, and it wasn't sitting well with the others either. If the people playing into the terrorists' game were acting as their proxy, Henry supposed he couldn't have been so judgmental towards the idea of fighting back against them, by proxy. On a surface level, Jackson was right. It was the only thing that made sense.
Catching him off-guard was Aurelien's shift in demeanor, seeming to walk back his aggressive overtures, at least towards Henry. Even through his promise to keep his head throughout all of this, Henry could still hear venom dripping off of the name Blaise as it crossed Aurelien's lips.
Seeing people successively deal with lost classmates, friends, infatuations, lovers - it dug up something uncomfortable that Henry had been trying his best to ignore. The more he thought about it, the more he had trouble thinking of anyone at the school he'd struggle to cope with the loss of. Not for lack of caring, but spending so much time preparing for a lofty future had left little time to really get close to anyone like Aurelien had. There wasn't anyone for him whose loss would inspire a tearful emotional collapse, or an ill-conceived revenge quest. Or he supposed in Ariana's case, inspired a will to live for someone else. Ross was surely not taking any of this very well.
At least his survival isn't in question.
Loss hadn't ever been a familiar feeling to him, either. He hadn't lost any pets or older relatives, and before the last few days he hadn't ever known anyone his age who died. There was no script for any of this. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could still see himself trying in vain to attend to Beryl. In some ways he was afraid to find Michael or Morgan, lest any of them have to go through that experience again.
With a life expectancy measured in days, he couldn't help but feel a bit envious of those who'd fallen in love. If they survived this, Henry noted, he'd made a point to cast his gaze down from the sky for a little while. Not everything he needed was up there.
Shaking his head and letting his eyes fall to the wet ground below, he relented.
"I'll hold you to that, Aurelien. Lets, uhh... let's find somewhere we can fortify for the night." He glanced at Ariana and Jackson. "Do what you have to do. So you know, it won't be me who shoots first."
Taking on a passive role hadn't sat well with him, and it wasn't sitting well with the others either. If the people playing into the terrorists' game were acting as their proxy, Henry supposed he couldn't have been so judgmental towards the idea of fighting back against them, by proxy. On a surface level, Jackson was right. It was the only thing that made sense.
Catching him off-guard was Aurelien's shift in demeanor, seeming to walk back his aggressive overtures, at least towards Henry. Even through his promise to keep his head throughout all of this, Henry could still hear venom dripping off of the name Blaise as it crossed Aurelien's lips.
Seeing people successively deal with lost classmates, friends, infatuations, lovers - it dug up something uncomfortable that Henry had been trying his best to ignore. The more he thought about it, the more he had trouble thinking of anyone at the school he'd struggle to cope with the loss of. Not for lack of caring, but spending so much time preparing for a lofty future had left little time to really get close to anyone like Aurelien had. There wasn't anyone for him whose loss would inspire a tearful emotional collapse, or an ill-conceived revenge quest. Or he supposed in Ariana's case, inspired a will to live for someone else. Ross was surely not taking any of this very well.
At least his survival isn't in question.
Loss hadn't ever been a familiar feeling to him, either. He hadn't lost any pets or older relatives, and before the last few days he hadn't ever known anyone his age who died. There was no script for any of this. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could still see himself trying in vain to attend to Beryl. In some ways he was afraid to find Michael or Morgan, lest any of them have to go through that experience again.
With a life expectancy measured in days, he couldn't help but feel a bit envious of those who'd fallen in love. If they survived this, Henry noted, he'd made a point to cast his gaze down from the sky for a little while. Not everything he needed was up there.
Shaking his head and letting his eyes fall to the wet ground below, he relented.
"I'll hold you to that, Aurelien. Lets, uhh... let's find somewhere we can fortify for the night." He glanced at Ariana and Jackson. "Do what you have to do. So you know, it won't be me who shoots first."
"Somebody once said 'I'll sleep when I'm dead', but fuck that — I like my sleep. So let's do it. We're not getting anywhere in this rain storm, anyway."
Ariana had visibly relaxed when Henry had opted to stop protesting and just decided to stay with them. They were all exhausted, and if taking a night meant that they could try and regain their strength for the coming day, it was as good an idea as any. Plus, with their collective luck, maybe Blaise would walk up to them in the dark, and that problem would go out and solve itself.
It wasn't an idea she was married to, but for Aurelien's sake, it seemed to be the right thing to do. It was keeping that boy going, and if nothing else, Ariana knew that it would prevent at least one other person from spiralling into the depths of despair.
As it they weren't there already.
---
Ariana didn't sleep much, as much as her earlier thoughts of slumber had seemed excited at the possibility. As the remainder of her group at least attempted to do so, Ariana sat and looked out at the rain falling down upon the island. All of it was a fool's errand. She knew this. Searching out and killing Blaise was not only selfish, it was dangerous. All of them were aware just how dangerous she was, and that didn't even account for anyone else running around who'd taken the plunge squarely off the deep end. If they were looking at it from a purely percentage-based perspective, everyone else was a bigger threat than Blaise was, in the end. There were more non-Blaise threats than there were Blaise threats, and eventually one of them would probably do something that raised their ire even more than Blaise already had.
That was it, then. It was a foregone conclusion in her mind — they were all doomed.
Such a thought wasn't a pleasant one to have, and so early on in the morning, Ariana had gone for a walk around the shoe tree. Everyone else was in varying degrees of wakefulness, and not wanting to disturb them as she paced around, she'd picked up her pack and strolled a bit down the path. Taking her things with her may have looked bad, but she wanted to be ready to move out at a moment's notice. Here they were, four days into this death contest, and if the announcements were any indication, people were starting to lose it.
The rain felt almost nice as it fell upon her face. If she closed her eyes and tried really hard, she could imagine that she was standing in the rain on a warm summer day, with not a care in the world. Semantically, she was half-right. But right now her only care in the world was the most important one — her own life.
Reaching up to her neck, she fingered the small pendant Ross had given her between her fingers. It was slick with the same rain-water that the rest of her was, but it gave her as much strength as anything else she had on her person, including the pistol she'd started out with.
Knowing that there were people back home that she would have to answer to, that would be watching and hoping that she conducted herself in the way that they knew — that was enough to make her more than a little uneasy about their mission. But for the people that cared about her the most; she knew they would understand, in the end. Most of her life, she had wanted to be in law enforcement, to take bad people off the streets and protect the innocent against the tyranny of evil men, and against those who would choose to take advantage. In a sense, she was trying to do the same thing here.
She hoped that her father was proud of her; that Ross approved of what she did and how she conducted herself. They'd only been together for a few short months, but his opinion mattered to her. If she was going to find a way to make it back to them both, she was going to have to continue her vigilance; continue to try and protect the good that still existed here. Henry, Jackson, even Aurelien — as angry as he was — were all fundamentally good people, who had vowed to crusade against the evil that coursed through the island and infected them.
Probably won't fuckin' end well, she thought to herself, but she didn't know what else to do.
Sighing to herself, she turned and looked at the closest speaker as they crackled to life, and the morning's announcements began to fill her in on the horrors that had happened the previous day.
Ariana had visibly relaxed when Henry had opted to stop protesting and just decided to stay with them. They were all exhausted, and if taking a night meant that they could try and regain their strength for the coming day, it was as good an idea as any. Plus, with their collective luck, maybe Blaise would walk up to them in the dark, and that problem would go out and solve itself.
It wasn't an idea she was married to, but for Aurelien's sake, it seemed to be the right thing to do. It was keeping that boy going, and if nothing else, Ariana knew that it would prevent at least one other person from spiralling into the depths of despair.
As it they weren't there already.
---
Ariana didn't sleep much, as much as her earlier thoughts of slumber had seemed excited at the possibility. As the remainder of her group at least attempted to do so, Ariana sat and looked out at the rain falling down upon the island. All of it was a fool's errand. She knew this. Searching out and killing Blaise was not only selfish, it was dangerous. All of them were aware just how dangerous she was, and that didn't even account for anyone else running around who'd taken the plunge squarely off the deep end. If they were looking at it from a purely percentage-based perspective, everyone else was a bigger threat than Blaise was, in the end. There were more non-Blaise threats than there were Blaise threats, and eventually one of them would probably do something that raised their ire even more than Blaise already had.
That was it, then. It was a foregone conclusion in her mind — they were all doomed.
Such a thought wasn't a pleasant one to have, and so early on in the morning, Ariana had gone for a walk around the shoe tree. Everyone else was in varying degrees of wakefulness, and not wanting to disturb them as she paced around, she'd picked up her pack and strolled a bit down the path. Taking her things with her may have looked bad, but she wanted to be ready to move out at a moment's notice. Here they were, four days into this death contest, and if the announcements were any indication, people were starting to lose it.
The rain felt almost nice as it fell upon her face. If she closed her eyes and tried really hard, she could imagine that she was standing in the rain on a warm summer day, with not a care in the world. Semantically, she was half-right. But right now her only care in the world was the most important one — her own life.
Reaching up to her neck, she fingered the small pendant Ross had given her between her fingers. It was slick with the same rain-water that the rest of her was, but it gave her as much strength as anything else she had on her person, including the pistol she'd started out with.
Knowing that there were people back home that she would have to answer to, that would be watching and hoping that she conducted herself in the way that they knew — that was enough to make her more than a little uneasy about their mission. But for the people that cared about her the most; she knew they would understand, in the end. Most of her life, she had wanted to be in law enforcement, to take bad people off the streets and protect the innocent against the tyranny of evil men, and against those who would choose to take advantage. In a sense, she was trying to do the same thing here.
She hoped that her father was proud of her; that Ross approved of what she did and how she conducted herself. They'd only been together for a few short months, but his opinion mattered to her. If she was going to find a way to make it back to them both, she was going to have to continue her vigilance; continue to try and protect the good that still existed here. Henry, Jackson, even Aurelien — as angry as he was — were all fundamentally good people, who had vowed to crusade against the evil that coursed through the island and infected them.
Probably won't fuckin' end well, she thought to herself, but she didn't know what else to do.
Sighing to herself, she turned and looked at the closest speaker as they crackled to life, and the morning's announcements began to fill her in on the horrors that had happened the previous day.
It was decided.
Sleep for now, and watch each other’s backs. No need to think about what would happen when they finally ran into a killer. Not yet at least. Jackson could roll with that. For now all they needed to worry about was getting some rest, and shelter from the storm. Just focus on that. No need to overthink the ramifications of what they’d decided to do. Everything was still normal right now. Just four kids camping in the woods.
With guns and medieval weapons. Super fucking normal.
Jackson did his best to make himself comfortable, using his bag as a pillow. What day was this now? How long had they been out here? It felt like forever. It felt like he was starting to forget what his normal life was. Like he was changing into this new person. He didn’t like it. It scared him. What he was willing to accept now. People were dropping dead all around him on the island, and his biggest worry right now was getting a good night’s sleep. He just felt so numb and disconnected.
Would he make it out of here still being himself? Even if he survived, outlasted everyone else, would the person that went home still be Jackson Sullivan? He wasn’t sure. It was too heavy to think about. And what if he wasn’t? What if, after everything, it wasn’t even worth it? Jackson felt so conflicted and confused. All he could do was keep moving. It was the only thing that made sense anymore.
~*~
The night went by quicker than Jackson expected. He ended up falling asleep relatively quickly. His mind was a mess, but his body was exhausted. It took its toll, and honestly, Jackson was glad for it. If he thought too much about the future, he couldn’t concentrate on what was going on right now. And that was all that mattered. Move from moment to moment and stay alive. For as long as possible. At least he had some people around him he felt were trustworthy.
Aurelien, even under his crusade for vengeance, was still someone he knew would have his back if the going got tough. Jackson could rely on him, and that was all that mattered. Ariana… she was his friend’s girl. There’d never been much of a friendship between them before, but over the last day and a half, Jackson started to feel like he could really trust her. He began to see what Ross had in her. She was strong-hearted and tougher than she looked. A true companion. If anything, he had to make sure she stayed safe. For Ross’ sake. And then there was Henry. He may not approve of what they had planned, but he was willing to put his life in their hands anyway. That meant something to him.
The four of them were strong together. Maybe strong enough to survive all of this. Maybe strong enough to find another ending besides the one the terrorist’s planned for them.
Or was that just wishful thinking?
The announcements rang out through the island, and Jackson listened closely, kneeling beside his bag as he did so. Another morning full of nothing but death. And so many this time. Jackson felt his temper flare as he listened. The bastard was so nonchalant. It pissed him off something serious. These weren’t just names. These were their friends, loved ones, rivals, classmates. People they knew most of their lives up till this point! How dare he recite their passings without a care in the world?! The announcements fizzled out and Jackson knelt there with clenched fists and gritted teeth.
Why? Why them? Why were they chosen, out of thousands of schools? Why did they have to suffer like this? He looked around the clearing. Henry and Aurelien were nearby. But…
“Where did Ariana go?”
Sleep for now, and watch each other’s backs. No need to think about what would happen when they finally ran into a killer. Not yet at least. Jackson could roll with that. For now all they needed to worry about was getting some rest, and shelter from the storm. Just focus on that. No need to overthink the ramifications of what they’d decided to do. Everything was still normal right now. Just four kids camping in the woods.
With guns and medieval weapons. Super fucking normal.
Jackson did his best to make himself comfortable, using his bag as a pillow. What day was this now? How long had they been out here? It felt like forever. It felt like he was starting to forget what his normal life was. Like he was changing into this new person. He didn’t like it. It scared him. What he was willing to accept now. People were dropping dead all around him on the island, and his biggest worry right now was getting a good night’s sleep. He just felt so numb and disconnected.
Would he make it out of here still being himself? Even if he survived, outlasted everyone else, would the person that went home still be Jackson Sullivan? He wasn’t sure. It was too heavy to think about. And what if he wasn’t? What if, after everything, it wasn’t even worth it? Jackson felt so conflicted and confused. All he could do was keep moving. It was the only thing that made sense anymore.
~*~
The night went by quicker than Jackson expected. He ended up falling asleep relatively quickly. His mind was a mess, but his body was exhausted. It took its toll, and honestly, Jackson was glad for it. If he thought too much about the future, he couldn’t concentrate on what was going on right now. And that was all that mattered. Move from moment to moment and stay alive. For as long as possible. At least he had some people around him he felt were trustworthy.
Aurelien, even under his crusade for vengeance, was still someone he knew would have his back if the going got tough. Jackson could rely on him, and that was all that mattered. Ariana… she was his friend’s girl. There’d never been much of a friendship between them before, but over the last day and a half, Jackson started to feel like he could really trust her. He began to see what Ross had in her. She was strong-hearted and tougher than she looked. A true companion. If anything, he had to make sure she stayed safe. For Ross’ sake. And then there was Henry. He may not approve of what they had planned, but he was willing to put his life in their hands anyway. That meant something to him.
The four of them were strong together. Maybe strong enough to survive all of this. Maybe strong enough to find another ending besides the one the terrorist’s planned for them.
Or was that just wishful thinking?
The announcements rang out through the island, and Jackson listened closely, kneeling beside his bag as he did so. Another morning full of nothing but death. And so many this time. Jackson felt his temper flare as he listened. The bastard was so nonchalant. It pissed him off something serious. These weren’t just names. These were their friends, loved ones, rivals, classmates. People they knew most of their lives up till this point! How dare he recite their passings without a care in the world?! The announcements fizzled out and Jackson knelt there with clenched fists and gritted teeth.
Why? Why them? Why were they chosen, out of thousands of schools? Why did they have to suffer like this? He looked around the clearing. Henry and Aurelien were nearby. But…
“Where did Ariana go?”
Aurelien watched the rainfall with his arms folded, as his companions around him slept, or pretended to. He’d picked a spot as isolated from everyone else as possible. It wasn’t completely separated from the others, the tree wasn’t big enough for that. But he could stare straight ahead and keep Jackson and Henry on either side of him out of his vision, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, listen to the sound of rain on leaves, and watch as it fell across the island in front of him.
It reminded him, vaguely, of camping; perhaps, more accurately, the time a couple of years ago where his old tent had ripped whilst being set up, and he’d woken up in the middle of the night to a sleeping bag filled with water. One of his favourite things about his hobby was opening up the tent flap and peering out to watch the sunset or the rain, or on one particularly memorable camping trip, the snowfall. There was something particularly special, magical even, about watching the weather shift and change in front of your eyes, the sky changing colour, really living in the world they’d all been placed in.
He’d always wanted to go camping with Dante. Even if only once, just a quiet little trip to the foothills together, just the two of them, peaceful and safe. They could watch the sunrise together, holding hands, happy and comfortable in silence and each other’s presence.
His heart hurt thinking about it, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing so.
His exhaustion helped in this regard. He didn’t have the strength anymore, physically or mentally, to get angry again, or to fall into despair. He just sat, with his head resting against the trunk of the tree, left to his bittersweet thoughts, until he fell asleep.
Morning came with a crackle and a start. Aurelien yawned and stretched, and got up quickly, keeping himself busy with needlessly checking and re-checking his bags, torn between wanting to ignore the announcements, and needing to know who had passed on, and who was now a killer.
Short of blocking his ears and screaming, there was no real way of totally blocking them out. It was a cruel twist of fate; him being so friendly and well-liked at school meant that almost every name felt like a stab in the back. Erika had killed again, along with Violet. Quinn too, multiple times. And if any of the others had felt any doubts about Blaise’s status as a murderer, the fact they’d killed Dolly and Alex in the span of a day would hopefully eliminate those queries.
But there was another name that caught Aurelien off guard, that made him freeze in the process of zipping his bag back up. Bryan was dead, and at the hands of Claude no less. His mind immediately flashed back to the hotel, of the argument, the verbal assassination they’d had, of how distraight Claude had looked and the uncertainty Aurlien had felt afterwards, the conviction he’d done the right thing utterly shaken to its core.
Maybe Claude had always been a piece of shit. Maybe he’d preyed on Dante’s good nature, lying through his teeth to make him believe he was truly sorry. Maybe-
Jackson’s question cut off his simmering anger in its tracks, and Aurelien looked up from his bag, frowning, unclenching his fists. He wandered over to where Ariana had fallen asleep the previous night. There was nothing there. No Ariana. No Ariana’s bags, either.
“Her stuff’s gone too.”
He looked at Jackson, brow furrowed.
“Did she just… take off and leave, first thing after waking up?”
It reminded him, vaguely, of camping; perhaps, more accurately, the time a couple of years ago where his old tent had ripped whilst being set up, and he’d woken up in the middle of the night to a sleeping bag filled with water. One of his favourite things about his hobby was opening up the tent flap and peering out to watch the sunset or the rain, or on one particularly memorable camping trip, the snowfall. There was something particularly special, magical even, about watching the weather shift and change in front of your eyes, the sky changing colour, really living in the world they’d all been placed in.
He’d always wanted to go camping with Dante. Even if only once, just a quiet little trip to the foothills together, just the two of them, peaceful and safe. They could watch the sunrise together, holding hands, happy and comfortable in silence and each other’s presence.
His heart hurt thinking about it, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing so.
His exhaustion helped in this regard. He didn’t have the strength anymore, physically or mentally, to get angry again, or to fall into despair. He just sat, with his head resting against the trunk of the tree, left to his bittersweet thoughts, until he fell asleep.
Morning came with a crackle and a start. Aurelien yawned and stretched, and got up quickly, keeping himself busy with needlessly checking and re-checking his bags, torn between wanting to ignore the announcements, and needing to know who had passed on, and who was now a killer.
Short of blocking his ears and screaming, there was no real way of totally blocking them out. It was a cruel twist of fate; him being so friendly and well-liked at school meant that almost every name felt like a stab in the back. Erika had killed again, along with Violet. Quinn too, multiple times. And if any of the others had felt any doubts about Blaise’s status as a murderer, the fact they’d killed Dolly and Alex in the span of a day would hopefully eliminate those queries.
But there was another name that caught Aurelien off guard, that made him freeze in the process of zipping his bag back up. Bryan was dead, and at the hands of Claude no less. His mind immediately flashed back to the hotel, of the argument, the verbal assassination they’d had, of how distraight Claude had looked and the uncertainty Aurlien had felt afterwards, the conviction he’d done the right thing utterly shaken to its core.
Maybe Claude had always been a piece of shit. Maybe he’d preyed on Dante’s good nature, lying through his teeth to make him believe he was truly sorry. Maybe-
Jackson’s question cut off his simmering anger in its tracks, and Aurelien looked up from his bag, frowning, unclenching his fists. He wandered over to where Ariana had fallen asleep the previous night. There was nothing there. No Ariana. No Ariana’s bags, either.
“Her stuff’s gone too.”
He looked at Jackson, brow furrowed.
“Did she just… take off and leave, first thing after waking up?”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Sleep only arrived because of how tired Henry felt. A few days of nothing but terrible rations and carrying around a giant gun had taken something of a toll. It wasn’t sound rest by any stretch of the imagination, and he found himself waking throughout the night in stops and starts. For a creature of routine, having to sleep under a wet tree was a special kind of aggravation.
He missed his bed; he missed the cat that woke him up on weekends. Morpheus no doubt had to realize something was wrong; animals always seemed to know. They picked up on moods, and even if they couldn’t conceptualize what was occurring, they knew from their humans that it wasn’t supposed to.
A similar, primal sense of wrongness overtook Henry as he woke with a start to the sound of the announcements coming over the loudspeaker.
As soon as Danya was finished, Henry went over the names in his mind. Not the dead ; they were beyond his help. The killers were the ones worth keeping track of right now. From that group he’d have to assess who was past the point of no return, and who might be able to be coaxed back. With some relief he didn’t hear Nick’s name, but that was cold comfort after hearing what Michael had done.
It was genuinely hard to imagine. He’d known Michael to have some issues, but violence didn’t seem like one of them. Now both of the people Henry had laid Beryl to rest with had killed someone. Whatever she’d meant to them, it was too much. With a weapon and a head full of negative thoughts, he supposed anything was possible. The others he’d taken shelter with made that much clear.
Henry went over the kills he’d remembered in his mind; one of the things he’d been remembering to share with Camilla each morning on the walkie-talkies. He was thankful at least that she hadn’t met some grisly fate. Keeping well aware of who was inclined to violence would be at least one way of pre-empting conflict.
Still, with the way that Quinn and Blaise were clearly taking to the terrorists’ demands, it was clear enough that his priorities had to be directed elsewhere. If they’d gotten to this point by the fourth day, there wasn’t much anyone was going to say that would change their minds. They saw their way out, and somehow had squared the consequences of their actions with themselves. There wasn’t really any reasoning with someone like that.
Did that mean they should be hunted down? Probably not. Regardless of motive, the only reason they were murdering anyone was because of the Arthro Taskforce; acting in such a way was acting as a proxy for them and their mission. Much as he wanted a true, physical victory over them in the end, a moral one might’ve been their best hope.
As jarring as all of this was, Henry knew one thing - surviving all of this as the last man standing wasn’t either. If things went that way, he couldn’t imagine there’d be much left of that person in the end.
His eyes shot open as Jackson’s question. Henry surveyed the area, but couldn’t see any sign of Ariana. In Aurelien’s reaction, he could already see the gears turning towards some kind of sordid explanation for her disappearance, and he did his best to preempt it.
“That... doesn’t make any sense, she was pretty intent on sticking through this with you guys.”
Reaching down to his bag, he picked up his weapon and looped its makeshift sling around his shoulder. The weight was starting to become familiar, not all that different from one of his telescopes.
In spite of the dark circles under his eyes, they seemed to light up with alarm. The names of the previous day’s murderers continued to repeat in his mind. Henry shot Jackson and Aurelien a worried look.
“I don’t like this. Let’s find her, quickly.”
He missed his bed; he missed the cat that woke him up on weekends. Morpheus no doubt had to realize something was wrong; animals always seemed to know. They picked up on moods, and even if they couldn’t conceptualize what was occurring, they knew from their humans that it wasn’t supposed to.
A similar, primal sense of wrongness overtook Henry as he woke with a start to the sound of the announcements coming over the loudspeaker.
As soon as Danya was finished, Henry went over the names in his mind. Not the dead ; they were beyond his help. The killers were the ones worth keeping track of right now. From that group he’d have to assess who was past the point of no return, and who might be able to be coaxed back. With some relief he didn’t hear Nick’s name, but that was cold comfort after hearing what Michael had done.
It was genuinely hard to imagine. He’d known Michael to have some issues, but violence didn’t seem like one of them. Now both of the people Henry had laid Beryl to rest with had killed someone. Whatever she’d meant to them, it was too much. With a weapon and a head full of negative thoughts, he supposed anything was possible. The others he’d taken shelter with made that much clear.
Henry went over the kills he’d remembered in his mind; one of the things he’d been remembering to share with Camilla each morning on the walkie-talkies. He was thankful at least that she hadn’t met some grisly fate. Keeping well aware of who was inclined to violence would be at least one way of pre-empting conflict.
Still, with the way that Quinn and Blaise were clearly taking to the terrorists’ demands, it was clear enough that his priorities had to be directed elsewhere. If they’d gotten to this point by the fourth day, there wasn’t much anyone was going to say that would change their minds. They saw their way out, and somehow had squared the consequences of their actions with themselves. There wasn’t really any reasoning with someone like that.
Did that mean they should be hunted down? Probably not. Regardless of motive, the only reason they were murdering anyone was because of the Arthro Taskforce; acting in such a way was acting as a proxy for them and their mission. Much as he wanted a true, physical victory over them in the end, a moral one might’ve been their best hope.
As jarring as all of this was, Henry knew one thing - surviving all of this as the last man standing wasn’t either. If things went that way, he couldn’t imagine there’d be much left of that person in the end.
His eyes shot open as Jackson’s question. Henry surveyed the area, but couldn’t see any sign of Ariana. In Aurelien’s reaction, he could already see the gears turning towards some kind of sordid explanation for her disappearance, and he did his best to preempt it.
“That... doesn’t make any sense, she was pretty intent on sticking through this with you guys.”
Reaching down to his bag, he picked up his weapon and looped its makeshift sling around his shoulder. The weight was starting to become familiar, not all that different from one of his telescopes.
In spite of the dark circles under his eyes, they seemed to light up with alarm. The names of the previous day’s murderers continued to repeat in his mind. Henry shot Jackson and Aurelien a worried look.
“I don’t like this. Let’s find her, quickly.”
There were so many familiar names, and yet all Ariana felt at any of them was frustration. Frustration at the fact that people were falling victim to the paranoia and evil that their situation was forcing upon them; frustration at the fact that she couldn't do anything about it. Not a damn thing she could affect from her current state would have any bearing on anyone else's survival, aside from making the active decision not to go back over to her group of friends and murder them all.
Which wasn't a decision that she even needed to make, it was common fucking sense! At least, that's the way that she saw it. She had been trying for at least a whole day to psyche herself up to the idea of murdering Blaise for what she'd done to Dante, and even then, her mind was saying — hey Ari, maybe don't do that. Maybe just rough her up a little. Maybe let someone else make that decision. It went against everything she stood for, and yet it seemed somehow like the right thing to do.
Her heart took a plunge, hearing that Rhonda had been killed. The basketball player had seemed to be in shock for most of the day that they'd spent together, and that she'd managed to find herself shuffling off the mortal coil thanks to Quinn. Fucking Quinn. She was dangerous, she was another one that it seemed they'd be better off shooting first and saving their questions for never.
Another few names, and then — there was Dolly. Ariana felt her face contort into a pained grimace, quickly replaced by a fury that began to burn within her chest as her killer was identified as their public enemy number one. Blaise again. That fucking cunt could not stop killing people that she was close to, or had ties to. Dolly was a good soul, and she'd vowed to protect her before Marceline had found them and all but cast her out. That bitch was probably going crazy now, too.
The final name of note on the list was Marco, whom she'd slapped in the face at #Swiftball. However he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed, but rather had evidently turned the way of killer. He'd always been a little unhinged and didn't know when to quit, so Ariana imagined that he had probably taken things a bit too far and Arjen had ended up dead. The name of his victim didn't ring any bells in Ariana's head, yet he still had drawn blood. This was yet another person who was dangerous, though she could have told anyone that before the game had started.
"Fuck," she exhaled as the announcement ended, some detail about Erika and Michael winning a prize the last thing she really cared to hear. Tossing her pack on the ground, she looked up into the sky and closed her eyes, feeling the rain upon her face. This was almost too much to keep track of in her mind. The killers, their victims, the danger zones — all of it was just a jumbled mess. At the very least, one name was safe. One name was guaranteed to never be spoken out loud through the loudspeakers; one name would never touch the awful lips of the terrorist scum.
This was all going to absolutely wreck Ross, but at least he'd live to deal with the trauma.
Eyes still shut, she let herself be overcome by the rain for a moment, feeling each drop as it tumbled onto her bare arms. She was exhausted. So fucking exhausted, but there was still a whole lot more left to do.
Opening her eyes, she saw movement; at the far end of her vision. Twirling in place, she had the Glock in her hand before her motion was finished. Blinking the rain away, her eyelids narrowed and her jaw set at what she saw before her.
Ariana tensed.
"Oh, great. You," she stated, weapon pointed directly at the newcomer.
Which wasn't a decision that she even needed to make, it was common fucking sense! At least, that's the way that she saw it. She had been trying for at least a whole day to psyche herself up to the idea of murdering Blaise for what she'd done to Dante, and even then, her mind was saying — hey Ari, maybe don't do that. Maybe just rough her up a little. Maybe let someone else make that decision. It went against everything she stood for, and yet it seemed somehow like the right thing to do.
Her heart took a plunge, hearing that Rhonda had been killed. The basketball player had seemed to be in shock for most of the day that they'd spent together, and that she'd managed to find herself shuffling off the mortal coil thanks to Quinn. Fucking Quinn. She was dangerous, she was another one that it seemed they'd be better off shooting first and saving their questions for never.
Another few names, and then — there was Dolly. Ariana felt her face contort into a pained grimace, quickly replaced by a fury that began to burn within her chest as her killer was identified as their public enemy number one. Blaise again. That fucking cunt could not stop killing people that she was close to, or had ties to. Dolly was a good soul, and she'd vowed to protect her before Marceline had found them and all but cast her out. That bitch was probably going crazy now, too.
The final name of note on the list was Marco, whom she'd slapped in the face at #Swiftball. However he hadn't gone and gotten himself killed, but rather had evidently turned the way of killer. He'd always been a little unhinged and didn't know when to quit, so Ariana imagined that he had probably taken things a bit too far and Arjen had ended up dead. The name of his victim didn't ring any bells in Ariana's head, yet he still had drawn blood. This was yet another person who was dangerous, though she could have told anyone that before the game had started.
"Fuck," she exhaled as the announcement ended, some detail about Erika and Michael winning a prize the last thing she really cared to hear. Tossing her pack on the ground, she looked up into the sky and closed her eyes, feeling the rain upon her face. This was almost too much to keep track of in her mind. The killers, their victims, the danger zones — all of it was just a jumbled mess. At the very least, one name was safe. One name was guaranteed to never be spoken out loud through the loudspeakers; one name would never touch the awful lips of the terrorist scum.
This was all going to absolutely wreck Ross, but at least he'd live to deal with the trauma.
Eyes still shut, she let herself be overcome by the rain for a moment, feeling each drop as it tumbled onto her bare arms. She was exhausted. So fucking exhausted, but there was still a whole lot more left to do.
Opening her eyes, she saw movement; at the far end of her vision. Twirling in place, she had the Glock in her hand before her motion was finished. Blinking the rain away, her eyelids narrowed and her jaw set at what she saw before her.
Ariana tensed.
"Oh, great. You," she stated, weapon pointed directly at the newcomer.
“Yeah. Me.”
(( Marco Volker continued from Lounging Around in a house.))
Marco was carrying his chainsaw around his shoulder, like one would an old 1980’s boom box, hand gripping the ripcord as he replied to the barrel of a glock.
“Speak of the Devil, right?”
Well this was an unpleasant surprise, with an even more unpleasant surprise behind it.
Ariana.
The girl that slapped him at swiftball. The girl that that caused a big fucking scene over literally nothing. The girl that made Emmett show his true yellow colors. The girl who drove him to huffing paint in an alcoholic fury. The girl who made him into a joke in front of everyone at that fuckass party...
Now, she was the girl pointing a pistol right at his face. Marco smiled and showed his new fangs. His orange eye looked from the barrel of the glock to Ariana’s face.
“You’re pointing that at me like you wanna hurt me...”
The fake puppy dog eyes did nothing to hide his true intentions, stretched out from a crocodile’s smile.
“You don’t wanna hurt me, do you?”
(( Marco Volker continued from Lounging Around in a house.))
Marco was carrying his chainsaw around his shoulder, like one would an old 1980’s boom box, hand gripping the ripcord as he replied to the barrel of a glock.
“Speak of the Devil, right?”
Well this was an unpleasant surprise, with an even more unpleasant surprise behind it.
Ariana.
The girl that slapped him at swiftball. The girl that that caused a big fucking scene over literally nothing. The girl that made Emmett show his true yellow colors. The girl who drove him to huffing paint in an alcoholic fury. The girl who made him into a joke in front of everyone at that fuckass party...
Now, she was the girl pointing a pistol right at his face. Marco smiled and showed his new fangs. His orange eye looked from the barrel of the glock to Ariana’s face.
“You’re pointing that at me like you wanna hurt me...”
The fake puppy dog eyes did nothing to hide his true intentions, stretched out from a crocodile’s smile.
“You don’t wanna hurt me, do you?”
Ariana couldn't take her eyes off of the chainsaw; at least, once she'd given Marco a once-over. He looked like he'd been through the ringer. His eye was bloodshot and looked all sorts of fucked-up, and the fact was obvious that he'd been through his share of fights. She would have expected it even if she hadn't heard the announcement. Marco Volker was a slimeball, and couldn't keep his mouth shut. In a situation like Survival of the Fittest, that was a terrible combination.
It was also terribly dangerous.
"If you take another step, then yeah," she deadpanned, the Glock not moving from its target.
This was a real problem. Marco was very obviously playing a few bricks short of a full load, and he was someone who was dangerous at the best of times. He'd proven to be capable of murder, no matter how incidental it may have been. Ariana knew that he was one to hold a grudge, too. She'd caught wind of the horseshit he'd been trying to spread around about the Swiftball incident, but the last she'd even given it a thought, it had been before the trip and she'd just tuned it out. Graduation was soon, and she'd be able to leave him and his nonsense behind forever.
Fate evidently had a funny way of making her eat that particular decision.
"You killed someone, Marco. I don't want to know about it, and I don't care." Her voice carried an attitude with it; this wasn't a negotiable point. "You did what you did. You won't be doing that again, not here, not to us."
Ariana inhaled, straightening up, still hyper-aware of Marco's movements. The second he came for her, he was dead.
"Don't test me," her voice lowered a bit. She didn't want to pull the trigger, but she would if she had to. If their lives depended on it, she wouldn't hesitate. Ross, her father, everyone would know that she had it in her, but hopefully, they would understand why.
It was also terribly dangerous.
"If you take another step, then yeah," she deadpanned, the Glock not moving from its target.
This was a real problem. Marco was very obviously playing a few bricks short of a full load, and he was someone who was dangerous at the best of times. He'd proven to be capable of murder, no matter how incidental it may have been. Ariana knew that he was one to hold a grudge, too. She'd caught wind of the horseshit he'd been trying to spread around about the Swiftball incident, but the last she'd even given it a thought, it had been before the trip and she'd just tuned it out. Graduation was soon, and she'd be able to leave him and his nonsense behind forever.
Fate evidently had a funny way of making her eat that particular decision.
"You killed someone, Marco. I don't want to know about it, and I don't care." Her voice carried an attitude with it; this wasn't a negotiable point. "You did what you did. You won't be doing that again, not here, not to us."
Ariana inhaled, straightening up, still hyper-aware of Marco's movements. The second he came for her, he was dead.
"Don't test me," her voice lowered a bit. She didn't want to pull the trigger, but she would if she had to. If their lives depended on it, she wouldn't hesitate. Ross, her father, everyone would know that she had it in her, but hopefully, they would understand why.
Don’t care.
She doesn’t care?
SHE DOESN’T CARE?!?!
Marco closed his eye and breathed in, then out, calming himself. That, that shit right there was legitimately offending. Like let’s throw away the part where Ariana didn’t take him seriously, that part was enough reason alone to kill her where she stood, gat or not.
“Arjen.”
No, the fact that she didn’t care that he took a life, so long as it wasn’t hers or someone she knew really fucking grated on him. Arjen fucking died. Marco killed him. His life was lost, and did Ariana care? No.
“His name was Arjen.”
The fact of the matter was that Ariana was the same Ariana he’d had to deal with back at that party. She hadn’t changed at all. She was the same as she always was. Marco was forced to adapt, to transform just to survive. He struggled, then he survived, then he thrived. Ariana stayed the same. Clearly she didn’t face the same hardships he did, to keep that same self righteous hypocritical point of view, she didn’t suffer. She didn’t know. He did.
Truth be told, Marco hated who he used to be. He hated the passive aggressive weasel that would talk shit, but do nothing. To be compared to Arjen, Lucas or Emmett? That is an insult, but it was true.No longer though. Were you to take him from this moment and drop him back into that party? He’d have hit Ariana that day. Emmett too.
“You’ll do well to remember his name...”
The fact of the matter was that Ariana didn’t change. Same old hypocrite. Same virtue signaling bullshit. He knew, he did. She didn’t know. She thought he was the same. He wasn’t. She didn’t know. He won’t kill anyone else, because of her? Because she said so?
She really didn’t know.
Didn’t matter. I’ll get mine.
“You’re wrong, Ari, it’ll happen again. I’ll do it again.”
No, I will.
Marco smiled.
She doesn’t care?
SHE DOESN’T CARE?!?!
Marco closed his eye and breathed in, then out, calming himself. That, that shit right there was legitimately offending. Like let’s throw away the part where Ariana didn’t take him seriously, that part was enough reason alone to kill her where she stood, gat or not.
“Arjen.”
No, the fact that she didn’t care that he took a life, so long as it wasn’t hers or someone she knew really fucking grated on him. Arjen fucking died. Marco killed him. His life was lost, and did Ariana care? No.
“His name was Arjen.”
The fact of the matter was that Ariana was the same Ariana he’d had to deal with back at that party. She hadn’t changed at all. She was the same as she always was. Marco was forced to adapt, to transform just to survive. He struggled, then he survived, then he thrived. Ariana stayed the same. Clearly she didn’t face the same hardships he did, to keep that same self righteous hypocritical point of view, she didn’t suffer. She didn’t know. He did.
Truth be told, Marco hated who he used to be. He hated the passive aggressive weasel that would talk shit, but do nothing. To be compared to Arjen, Lucas or Emmett? That is an insult, but it was true.No longer though. Were you to take him from this moment and drop him back into that party? He’d have hit Ariana that day. Emmett too.
“You’ll do well to remember his name...”
The fact of the matter was that Ariana didn’t change. Same old hypocrite. Same virtue signaling bullshit. He knew, he did. She didn’t know. She thought he was the same. He wasn’t. She didn’t know. He won’t kill anyone else, because of her? Because she said so?
She really didn’t know.
Didn’t matter. I’ll get mine.
“You’re wrong, Ari, it’ll happen again. I’ll do it again.”
No, I will.
Marco smiled.
A chill ran down Ariana's spine as Marco ran down the name of his victim, sounding as unhinged as he looked. This was bad; this was very, very bad. Standing before her looked to be someone who had lost his mind. People with malice in their hearts were dangerous, because you knew that once they decided that your life was forfeit, they could act at any time. But with people who were being malicious, you could reason with them. People who had lost their minds were unpredictable, unreasonable.
Marco was an unreasonable person on his best days. As he stood here, wielding a chainsaw of all things, and looking as though he'd gone and donned the uniform of a hell-squad warrior straight out of a video game, Ariana knew that reason wasn't going to work with this guy. It hadn't at the party, and she'd had to slap him to get him to stop.
What was it going to take now?
Henry, Aurelien and Jackson were near, likely asleep or by this point, probably wondering where she'd gotten off to. She couldn't let Marco get to them. If he did, he could cause serious harm — or worse — defending themselves against his attack could leave one of them hit in the crossfire. Henry's enormous gun looked like it was a good enough weapon for defense, but she couldn't imagine that it was overly accurate with how large the opening of the barrel was.
So she'd have to keep him talking. That, or shoot him outright.
Shit, she bit her own tongue. Shooting him down was the smart play, but she couldn't, she didn't want to resort to, it wasn't —
Ariana wasn't a murderer. A defender of her friends, sure. But she wasn't a murderer.
"Arjen, right. I heard. You look like you're proud of yourself," she spat the words at him. Keep him talking. Wait for her friends to arrive; perhaps he'd be intimidated by three other people.
"That your big plan, hm? Take out anyone who's ever looked at you the wrong way; be a big man and do it again and again? Real smart, Marco." Her words were biting and they gave the impression that she wasn't taking his threat seriously, but her eyes never deviated from staring at the chainsaw that he haphazardly carried with him. It wasn't on, but that could change in an instant.
"The hell happened to your eye?" She couldn't help but ask. It looked like it was basically dead. Last time she'd seen his fuck-ugly face, he'd had two eyes. Messing one up hadn't improved it any.
Keep him talking. Just a few more minutes.
Her pistol held steadily in his direction.
Marco was an unreasonable person on his best days. As he stood here, wielding a chainsaw of all things, and looking as though he'd gone and donned the uniform of a hell-squad warrior straight out of a video game, Ariana knew that reason wasn't going to work with this guy. It hadn't at the party, and she'd had to slap him to get him to stop.
What was it going to take now?
Henry, Aurelien and Jackson were near, likely asleep or by this point, probably wondering where she'd gotten off to. She couldn't let Marco get to them. If he did, he could cause serious harm — or worse — defending themselves against his attack could leave one of them hit in the crossfire. Henry's enormous gun looked like it was a good enough weapon for defense, but she couldn't imagine that it was overly accurate with how large the opening of the barrel was.
So she'd have to keep him talking. That, or shoot him outright.
Shit, she bit her own tongue. Shooting him down was the smart play, but she couldn't, she didn't want to resort to, it wasn't —
Ariana wasn't a murderer. A defender of her friends, sure. But she wasn't a murderer.
"Arjen, right. I heard. You look like you're proud of yourself," she spat the words at him. Keep him talking. Wait for her friends to arrive; perhaps he'd be intimidated by three other people.
"That your big plan, hm? Take out anyone who's ever looked at you the wrong way; be a big man and do it again and again? Real smart, Marco." Her words were biting and they gave the impression that she wasn't taking his threat seriously, but her eyes never deviated from staring at the chainsaw that he haphazardly carried with him. It wasn't on, but that could change in an instant.
"The hell happened to your eye?" She couldn't help but ask. It looked like it was basically dead. Last time she'd seen his fuck-ugly face, he'd had two eyes. Messing one up hadn't improved it any.
Keep him talking. Just a few more minutes.
Her pistol held steadily in his direction.
"You think I'm that petty?" Kill everyone who wronged him? Sure, that was kinda the goal, but it wasn't because of anything that happened off island. Marco as he was before waking up tied to that tree was as good as dead. His goal wasn't to get revenge over some petty high school slights while Pumped up Kicks plays in the background; it was to fight, to win. His goal was to make his mark on this island, to make the most of his situation. In all honesty this was as close to an apocalypse he'd ever get to experience, and he was gonna enjoy it for as long as he lasted. He wasn't doing this because he was angry, he was doing it because it was fun, his anger is only used as a means of an end, if he's got it, why not channel it.
Marco looked to the left, then to the right, before his eye stopped at the barrel again, then the finger at the trigger. "Nah, I'm not here for anything like that. Truth be told, I kinda forgot that you existed for a while, until you just so happened to surprise me." He did have to think though, Ariana's question did make him consider what he was doing. He was...
Well truth be told, it started as revenge, but in a way, it still was, wasn't it? Arjen left him taped to a tree, Marco left him tied to a rock. Colin attacked him, he lost an ear. Lucas tried to steal from him at his most vulnerable, and Marco showed him just how vulnerable he was. You know what? Fuck it, that was the reason, only difference between him and Mel Gibson was that he was having the time of his life doing it.
If it was so evil to enjoy dispensing justice, then let him be evil!
"Actually, you know what? You're right! It's a real shitty way to word it, but that's basically what I'm doing. It's less 'killing everyone who looked at me funny', and more 'defend myself and happen to commit the sin of winning' but to someone like you, you wouldn't really know the difference, so I'm not gonna waste either of our time by going into detail."
Ariana asked about his eye. Marco didn't step forward, but he did start pacing to the left and right, pointing his finger at Ariana. "Don't bullshit me, you don't care. Who did it is gonna get theirs' in due time. See you really don't give a shit, you and every little conformist hypocrite piece of shit bootlicker like you would've barely batted an eye had my name shown up as a victim. At most, I'd have gotten a 'good riddance', or more likely, an 'ell oh ell', and that would be that. No, the anomaly here, the little wrench in your daily cycle is that for once, I won, and that drives you pricks mad."
Marco stopped. He laughed at Ariana.
"You're not taking me seriously."
That's your mistake. You ain't been through what I have. You ain't experienced what I did. You ain't lost what I lost. You had it easy, and you think I'm easy, and you don't even know how fucking wrong you are, how dead fucking wrong you are. What, with one flick of your finger and I'm dead? That's nice. Mine was automatic, and everyone saw how that went. Marco stared daggers at the pistol. He was tired of people like this. He wasn't tired of what he was going to do to them. Marco smiled again.
"But you know what? I'll humor you. I'm doing this because it's fun. It's just so entertaining to have someone like you, walking around big dick swinging, thinking I'm gonna fold, that I'm gonna be your daily ego boost. Nobody on this island has changed a bit, they all look at me, and they don't take me seriously one bit. Nobody's changed at all! Nobody except for me anyways..."
"That's the funny part. I'm an easy target until I'm not. The looks on their faces? Hell, there's nothing like it... Nobody takes me seriously, until they're begging me not to send them off a cliff. Suddenly, I'm important then. It's all about me then, about what I'm going to do, about why I have to do this. None of them ever ask what they did to get themselves into that situation. Same song and dance, every fucking time. People think I'm easy. They threaten me, and then bad things happen to them, and they're sitting there wondering why I did it, instead of wondering why they deserve it?"
His eye locked onto Ariana's.
"Sound familiar at all?"
Marco bared his teeth...
Marco looked to the left, then to the right, before his eye stopped at the barrel again, then the finger at the trigger. "Nah, I'm not here for anything like that. Truth be told, I kinda forgot that you existed for a while, until you just so happened to surprise me." He did have to think though, Ariana's question did make him consider what he was doing. He was...
Well truth be told, it started as revenge, but in a way, it still was, wasn't it? Arjen left him taped to a tree, Marco left him tied to a rock. Colin attacked him, he lost an ear. Lucas tried to steal from him at his most vulnerable, and Marco showed him just how vulnerable he was. You know what? Fuck it, that was the reason, only difference between him and Mel Gibson was that he was having the time of his life doing it.
If it was so evil to enjoy dispensing justice, then let him be evil!
"Actually, you know what? You're right! It's a real shitty way to word it, but that's basically what I'm doing. It's less 'killing everyone who looked at me funny', and more 'defend myself and happen to commit the sin of winning' but to someone like you, you wouldn't really know the difference, so I'm not gonna waste either of our time by going into detail."
Ariana asked about his eye. Marco didn't step forward, but he did start pacing to the left and right, pointing his finger at Ariana. "Don't bullshit me, you don't care. Who did it is gonna get theirs' in due time. See you really don't give a shit, you and every little conformist hypocrite piece of shit bootlicker like you would've barely batted an eye had my name shown up as a victim. At most, I'd have gotten a 'good riddance', or more likely, an 'ell oh ell', and that would be that. No, the anomaly here, the little wrench in your daily cycle is that for once, I won, and that drives you pricks mad."
Marco stopped. He laughed at Ariana.
"You're not taking me seriously."
That's your mistake. You ain't been through what I have. You ain't experienced what I did. You ain't lost what I lost. You had it easy, and you think I'm easy, and you don't even know how fucking wrong you are, how dead fucking wrong you are. What, with one flick of your finger and I'm dead? That's nice. Mine was automatic, and everyone saw how that went. Marco stared daggers at the pistol. He was tired of people like this. He wasn't tired of what he was going to do to them. Marco smiled again.
"But you know what? I'll humor you. I'm doing this because it's fun. It's just so entertaining to have someone like you, walking around big dick swinging, thinking I'm gonna fold, that I'm gonna be your daily ego boost. Nobody on this island has changed a bit, they all look at me, and they don't take me seriously one bit. Nobody's changed at all! Nobody except for me anyways..."
"That's the funny part. I'm an easy target until I'm not. The looks on their faces? Hell, there's nothing like it... Nobody takes me seriously, until they're begging me not to send them off a cliff. Suddenly, I'm important then. It's all about me then, about what I'm going to do, about why I have to do this. None of them ever ask what they did to get themselves into that situation. Same song and dance, every fucking time. People think I'm easy. They threaten me, and then bad things happen to them, and they're sitting there wondering why I did it, instead of wondering why they deserve it?"
His eye locked onto Ariana's.
"Sound familiar at all?"
Marco bared his teeth...
As she listened to Marco's rambling monologue, Ariana's body tensed up. These were the ravings of a madman, and one that she probably should have seen coming. He paced back and forth, full of barely contained nervous energy, and the whole time, she followed him with the barrel of the pistol. All it would take was one squeeze of the trigger, and Marco Volker would go down in history as just another victim of Survival of the Fittest. Just another name on the memorial. Ariana thought back to all of the names she'd seen during the trip. Names like Bryan Calvert, like Min-jae Parker. Adam Dodd and his asterisk. Even Michael Moretti; some poor bastard who shared her surname had already suffered through this horror, now just another name on a plaque.
They had all survived.
It had been the last time that she'd really given Marco Volker a rational thought, comparing him to Garren Mortimer. In the game between who was a worse shitstain of a person, on any given school day it would be a toss-up. At this point in human history, she had to give the edge to the maniac who paced in front of her.
"Do I think you're that petty?" Ariana furrowed her brow, looking at him as though the answer were obvious. "Uh, yeah."
Marco's diatribe continued, but it took a turn. Something about him changed, as he had claimed. There was something within him that Ariana saw, a ferocity that was unnatural. A fire behind his eyes that was almost demonic, if she had to put a word to it. Just like that, his words sat in front of her. The threat was veiled, it was danced around, but it was right there. Straightening out, Ariana grasped the Glock in her right hand, adjusting her grip. It was firm; it was true.
All it would take would be one squeeze.
"You're wrong, Marco. I'm not your victim. Not today, not ever. Take one more fucking step and we'll see just who's going to be leaving who in the dirt. I'm not going to stand here and let you menace me or my friends just in the name of making yourself feel like a real boy."
She couldn't help the condescension. His words, his utter disregard for human life and the morals that should still have remained in place started a fire within her.
"You're not a target. I haven't given you a second thought since I woke up. But now that I have?" Ariana's voice boomed through the area, her voice as much a weapon as the pistol in her hand.
"All you are is a sad, scared little boy; having a murderous temper tantrum. Why don't you go cry yourself to death somewhere else — I'm sick of listening to it."
She held the pistol up straighter, her heart rate increasing. Ariana gestured back the way he came with the pistol.
"Beat it."
They had all survived.
It had been the last time that she'd really given Marco Volker a rational thought, comparing him to Garren Mortimer. In the game between who was a worse shitstain of a person, on any given school day it would be a toss-up. At this point in human history, she had to give the edge to the maniac who paced in front of her.
"Do I think you're that petty?" Ariana furrowed her brow, looking at him as though the answer were obvious. "Uh, yeah."
Marco's diatribe continued, but it took a turn. Something about him changed, as he had claimed. There was something within him that Ariana saw, a ferocity that was unnatural. A fire behind his eyes that was almost demonic, if she had to put a word to it. Just like that, his words sat in front of her. The threat was veiled, it was danced around, but it was right there. Straightening out, Ariana grasped the Glock in her right hand, adjusting her grip. It was firm; it was true.
All it would take would be one squeeze.
"You're wrong, Marco. I'm not your victim. Not today, not ever. Take one more fucking step and we'll see just who's going to be leaving who in the dirt. I'm not going to stand here and let you menace me or my friends just in the name of making yourself feel like a real boy."
She couldn't help the condescension. His words, his utter disregard for human life and the morals that should still have remained in place started a fire within her.
"You're not a target. I haven't given you a second thought since I woke up. But now that I have?" Ariana's voice boomed through the area, her voice as much a weapon as the pistol in her hand.
"All you are is a sad, scared little boy; having a murderous temper tantrum. Why don't you go cry yourself to death somewhere else — I'm sick of listening to it."
She held the pistol up straighter, her heart rate increasing. Ariana gestured back the way he came with the pistol.
"Beat it."
Oh yeah.
This sounded very familiar.
"Shut the fuck up about your friends. I don't know them, and I don't give a fuck about them. This is between me and you. Don't start this greater justice bullshit, because that's all you're spitting. Bullshit." Marco cocked his head to the side, still grinning. "Are you still the same dumbass cave woman from that party? Like, do I have to talk slowly for you? Are you that much of a fucking Neanderthal that you don't understand what's spelled out right in front of you?"
Marco told her just why he did what he did. He told her what would happened, how it would play out, and how it already played out multiple times before. Apparently, she didn't get it.
"Alright, Grognard the Mongoloid, I'll spell it out for you. I just told you that everyone I've hurt here, I've done for a reason. They fucked with me first, in the case of Arjen, he betrayed me. I've already maimed and traumatized a few other people, whom, as I said earlier, tried shit against me, then failed."
Marco shook his head.
"I didn't even know you existed until you showed up, pointing a gun at me before I even saw you. That's strike one. I've nearly castrated that cuckpuppet Lucas for less. This whole situation started because you wanted to get one up on me." Marco pointed a finger.
Marco pointed a second finger.
"Strike two was the fact that you're blocking where I'm wanting to go. You want me to turn around and walk away? Fat fucking chance, there's nobody I'm looking for back there. Nobody fun anyways. You're standing in MY path, you're blocking where I'M going. You're in MY way. Carl got beaned with an empty flare gun for doing that. He bled too, I got him good."
Third finger.
"Strike fucking three was when I straight up told you my M.O. and you chose to not listen, or more likely not take me seriously. I don't know if it's that you don't believe me, or don't understand, or think that you're the Chosen One and you're going to be the one who does me in, but you're wrong and you're fucked up regardless of the reason. Colin lost his fucking ear for that, and the only reason I didn't take his whole head with him was that he was too fun to finish off there. He rates killing me way more than you do."
Marco nodded.
"I gave you three separate incidents just now where I fucked somebody's shit up, and you just did all three in one moment. Yet, in spite of that, I'm giving you a chance, not just any chance, but a FOURTH chance to turn around and walk away. Appreciate this. Walk away. Go back to being a nobody with your nobody friends if you care about them so bad. It's only gonna get worse for you, AND them if you keep pushing forwards with this."
His smile disappeared.
"Am I getting to you now? Do you understand the situation yet? Does it sound familiar at all now? Do you understand the big picture? Does This Sound Familiar At All, now?"
This sounded very familiar.
"Shut the fuck up about your friends. I don't know them, and I don't give a fuck about them. This is between me and you. Don't start this greater justice bullshit, because that's all you're spitting. Bullshit." Marco cocked his head to the side, still grinning. "Are you still the same dumbass cave woman from that party? Like, do I have to talk slowly for you? Are you that much of a fucking Neanderthal that you don't understand what's spelled out right in front of you?"
Marco told her just why he did what he did. He told her what would happened, how it would play out, and how it already played out multiple times before. Apparently, she didn't get it.
"Alright, Grognard the Mongoloid, I'll spell it out for you. I just told you that everyone I've hurt here, I've done for a reason. They fucked with me first, in the case of Arjen, he betrayed me. I've already maimed and traumatized a few other people, whom, as I said earlier, tried shit against me, then failed."
Marco shook his head.
"I didn't even know you existed until you showed up, pointing a gun at me before I even saw you. That's strike one. I've nearly castrated that cuckpuppet Lucas for less. This whole situation started because you wanted to get one up on me." Marco pointed a finger.
Marco pointed a second finger.
"Strike two was the fact that you're blocking where I'm wanting to go. You want me to turn around and walk away? Fat fucking chance, there's nobody I'm looking for back there. Nobody fun anyways. You're standing in MY path, you're blocking where I'M going. You're in MY way. Carl got beaned with an empty flare gun for doing that. He bled too, I got him good."
Third finger.
"Strike fucking three was when I straight up told you my M.O. and you chose to not listen, or more likely not take me seriously. I don't know if it's that you don't believe me, or don't understand, or think that you're the Chosen One and you're going to be the one who does me in, but you're wrong and you're fucked up regardless of the reason. Colin lost his fucking ear for that, and the only reason I didn't take his whole head with him was that he was too fun to finish off there. He rates killing me way more than you do."
Marco nodded.
"I gave you three separate incidents just now where I fucked somebody's shit up, and you just did all three in one moment. Yet, in spite of that, I'm giving you a chance, not just any chance, but a FOURTH chance to turn around and walk away. Appreciate this. Walk away. Go back to being a nobody with your nobody friends if you care about them so bad. It's only gonna get worse for you, AND them if you keep pushing forwards with this."
His smile disappeared.
"Am I getting to you now? Do you understand the situation yet? Does it sound familiar at all now? Do you understand the big picture? Does This Sound Familiar At All, now?"
Against all better judgement, Ariana rolled her eyes as Marco kept on going. She just couldn't take him seriously. She couldn't. It just, she— ugh. Not then, not now.
Not ever.
"Ugh, shut up! You sound like a bad Disney villain."
That was all he was going to do; try and monologue her to death. Well, fuck this creep.
"Just go away, Marco. You're not worth my time. I'm not going to ask you again."
Being as he was who he was, he probably needed it drawn out for him. So be it. Shifting the aim of the pistol, Ariana took aim at the ground directly in front of him and squeezed the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot echoed.
Not ever.
"Ugh, shut up! You sound like a bad Disney villain."
That was all he was going to do; try and monologue her to death. Well, fuck this creep.
"Just go away, Marco. You're not worth my time. I'm not going to ask you again."
Being as he was who he was, he probably needed it drawn out for him. So be it. Shifting the aim of the pistol, Ariana took aim at the ground directly in front of him and squeezed the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot echoed.