((Steve continued from Moment of Clarity))
Everything was a blur. Steve remembered bits and pieces of what had happened. He remembered there were two loud explosions and a whole bunch of rubble. Luckily for him, he'd escaped the rubble's wrath thanks to Ryan.
As Steve gazed around, things slowly coming back into focus, he could make out the shapes of airplanes around him, followed by what could only be the remnants of burning wood.
The airfield...why..why are we here.. Steve thought to himself.
"Ry..Ryan, wha..," Steve was interrupted by a cough from his own body, "Damn it..why are we here? Dangerzone.."
His question was answered by his memory coming back to him again. He distinctly remembered hearing the beeping of his collar and Ryan pulled the last piece of rubble off his body and got Steve away from the hospital.
There was a long silence between the boys as Ryan sat Steve down against the nose of one of the downed aircraft and collapsed to a sitting position himself. Steve was getting his wits back and thinking straight again. He couldn't imagine having any worse luck. It was like he'd told Ryan before getting violently thrown into a wall headfirst; everyone died around him.
"Ryan," Steve saw Ryan's eyes open his response to his name, "I'm sorry man. It's my fault that hospital collapsed on us man, seriously. Everything that could go wrong on this island has gone wrong for me. I know I told you this before but I just can't understand it man. It's like Death is following me around going, 'Ah ha ha ha, isn't this fun.' It's a sick fucking game Ryan, but that son of a bitch is playing it with me. Trust me I thought about killing myself a few times just wandering around. I wondered if maybe it would save my friends..."
Steve felt a shot of weakness come over his body but shook it off and continued.
"I thought to myself that if I died, then my friends would be safer, but I couldn't do it. I knew they wouldn't want that. I knew though from the very moment that Gabe took off to go find Nate Harris that I'd have to man up and be strong for them. I'd have to keep it together for everyone."
Another, stronger shot of the feeling of being weakened came over Steve.
What the hell is going on?
Steve looked down at his left leg and could see a small hole made by a piece of shrapnel from the grenade. It was bleeding pretty profusely. Steve racked his brain for what could have been wrong. The answer came to him a lot faster than he'd expected and a cold chill came over his body.
"Femoral artery..." He whispered to himself.
Steve's next action came even as a surprise to him. He smiled and let some laughs escape his mouth.
"So Ryan, guess what? Ah hell, I always hated guessing games. I'm dying man. That grenade there must have fucked me more than I thought," Steve paused to take a deeper breath than he had been, "I've got a bit of a problem with my leg here."
Steve thought about the situation some, not knowing how much time he had left. He knew it wasn't super long, hell he was surprised with the femoral artery that he'd lasted this long. It must have just been a nick, but nicks were still unfortunately deadly.
"Ryan, if you survive this I want you to do something for me man. I want you to tell my parents that I'm so sorry for them. Tell Jen that I love her too, and I want to you to tell Gabe's parents that I'm sorry I couldn't save their son. For fuck sakes Ryan, this game isn't fucking fair. Look at me. Accepting death like this. Two weeks ago if I'd been told my femoral artery was damaged and I was going to die, I'd have been throwing shit fits and screaming for every reason in the entire world. You know though, I really think that that is one of the perks of Survival of the Fittest. In a way it prepares you to die. You get to spend however many days you spend in this hell thinking about your own death."
Steve could feel his body growing colder and colder, weaker and weaker.
"Yeah...I'm ready to go I think. I'll get to see Gabe again, I'll get to see Serenity again...I'll..," Steve coughed, this time resulting in some blood running down his chin, "I'll...Ryan...Thanks..."
Steve's chest stopped heaving and eyes rolled back. His head limply fell to his chest and rolled to the left, the weight of the shift causing his body to slump over and fall to the ground. The prom king...the quarterback...the friend...
----------------------------------
"Mario!! Jesus christ Mar get in here, it's Steve! That building just fell on him, he'd dead Mario, he's dead!" Mrs. Adelia Digaetano screamed at the television depicting the hospital's collapse on top of the two boys, tears running rapidly from her eyes.
Mario Digaetano came sprinting in from the kitchen and stared at the screen as the one boy his son had been traveling with frantically began pulling bits of brick and stone and rubble off of his boy.
"Come on...come on..." Mario whispered as he embraced his wife.
The sound of footsteps filled the hallway adjacent to the living room as Jen Digaetano came running into the room as well, embracing her mom and dad while staring at the screen as well.
After a few moments of nail-biting suspense the family saw Steve pulled from the wreckage, still alive, albeit clearly injured.
The camera cut away to a different set of students as Steve and Ryan exited the hospital area, leaving the Digaetano family to worry.
Mario returned to the kitchen where there were two envelopes stamped with the Michigan State University logo addressed to his son. The first letter had arrived the day Steve's class had been abducted. Mario quietly open the envelope.
'Dear Mr. Digaetano,
We have received your application to our school of Human Kenetics and it is with great pleasure that we offer our acceptance. It also with great pleasure that on the condition of your participation with Michigan State's illustrious football program, we offer you an all expenses paid scholarship.
We look forward to your response and best of luck with the remainder of your high school career.
Sincerely,
Paul Boughner, Dean of Admissions, MSU'
The water works began as Mario re-read the letter to his son. This had been Steve's dream to go to MSU and he'd done it. Mario set the letter down on the counter and picked up the second letter which had been delivered that day. He ripped it open but before he could read past the introduction, Jen's voice screamed for him to return to the living room.
When he returned he saw that Steve and Ryan had traveled the short distance to the airfield. His son was sitting, propped against an airplane, speaking to his friend. The color was slowly fading from Steve's face as he announced his injury to his friend. At those words Jen stormed out of the room in tears while Adelia sat frozen in fear on the couch.
"No...Steve-o...no.." Mario whispered as he listened to his son tell Ryan to tell them he was sorry and Jen that he loved her. It was only a few moments later that Steve's eyes closed and his chest stopping moving. A scrolling bar in red letters went across the bottom of the television screen reading, "B04 - Steve Digaetano - Dead". Adelia rose from her seat and walked down the hallway to Jen's room, as the door opened Mario could hear frantic sobbing.
It was then that Mario realized he was still holding the second letter from MSU. He unfolded it once again.
'Dear Mr. Digaetano,
It with our sincerest apologies that we must revoke our offer of admission to the Faculty of Human Kinetics. Due to your participation in Survival of the Fittest, the university believes that it is in your best interest to not attend our school.
Regards,
Paul Boughner, Dean of Admissions, MSU'
Mario nodded his head solemnly as he threw the letter in the trash can before leaving the kitchen to be with his family.
---------------------------
B04 - Steve Digaetano - Dead
8 Students Remaining
Leave Out All The Rest
Leave Out All The Rest
Stuff. Things. Stuff and things.
((Ryan continued from Moment of Clarity))
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Everything was a blur right now, and nothing seemed to be in focus. Ever since the world (or the hospital) had collapsed around him, Ryan Atwell had been running on the sole principle of adrenaline, and very little else. He'd be damned if he was going to die crushed under some hospital building, and he'd done absolutely everything that he could to ensure that both guys walked away from the rubble. Steve had been badly injured, Ryan had seen that when he'd pulled him from the wreckage, but he wasn't seeing it. Instead, he had focused everything that he'd had upon pulling them out, and as they'd made their way to the airfield, Ryan's mind had been totally blank, running on nothing but the pure, fierce will to survive.
And then, they'd made it to the airfield.
It'd been basically a stroke of pure luck that the paths that Ryan had chosen to take hadn't been bathed in the harsh reality of a danger zone, but once the two boys had come upon the partially destroyed airfield, and it seemed to be devoid of anyone trying to murder them, it had seemed like as good a place as any to set down and regroup. Ryan had dragged Steve over towards the rubble of one of the destroyed aircraft, and had carefully set his injured friend down so as not to cause him any more pain than he was sure he'd already been feeling. Steve had basically taken a building to the everything, and the fact that he was still alive had to be near-miraculous. Plunking himself down across from Steve, Ryan let out a sigh. Everything that had been happening...it was just too insane.
There's nothing, to fear,
Your saviors, are here,
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
Coming down,
Coming down,
When Steve had opened his mouth and started talking, Ryan was a bit relieved. Steve hadn't said much of anything from the time that he'd pulled him out of the hospital, and for a few moments, Ryan had wondered if he'd literally been dragging around a corpse. In the back of his mind, he knew it wouldn't have shocked him, but he was just as happy to have Steve start talking, confirming that his membership in the land of the living hadn't expired just yet. But the words that were coming out of Steve's mouth...they seemed to assign blame to this whole thing, and Ryan knew that it was a burden Steve didn't need to shoulder. He tried opening his mouth to interrupt, but his friend just cut him off, not letting him get a word in edgewise. All he could do was sit and listen to Steve recount his supposed failings. He shook his head a few times, but he knew that Steve needed to get this out in the open, clear his conscience before they could move on.
It's only fair, I suppose...
As the thought crossed through his mind, Steve seemed to pale a bit, and look down at his leg. Ryan hadn't noticed it before, but blood was pooling beneath Steve, out of what looked to be a small hole in his leg. His muttered confirmation sent a chill down Ryan's spine. Both of them instantly knew what it meant for Steve's chances of survival, and as soon as he noticed the hole, he began to noticeably weaken.
Steve Digaetano was dying in front of his eyes.
His face went ashen, and Ryan focused intently upon the words that were now coming from Steve. Seemingly choosing to accept his fate, the boy asked Ryan to do something for him, to let some people know things that he wanted them to know. Naturally dependant upon Ryan being the winner, but...
...who knows if I'll even make it that far myself...damned if I'm not going to try, though.
Listening intently to Steve's final words, and feeling a sense of loss as with his last breath, he thanked Ryan, he watched as the life slipped out of Steve's body, leaving his eyes staring dullly up at the sky.
You, You look so precious,
A diamond in rough,
And you tried to escape,
But were holding on,
But I can't sleep until this is done
They're in my head,
They're in my soul,
It took Ryan a good five minutes of just sitting and staring at the lifeless corpse that had once been Steve Digaetano before he could manage to do anything else but feel a profound sense of loss. Steve was gone, and pretty much the only people with whom he'd chummed around with on the island, trying to escape were gone too. Essentially anyone that he'd talked to...gone. Steve Digaetano...gone. Dean Portman...gone. Adam Dodd...gone. John Sheppard, Eris Marquis, all of them...gone.
Except him.
Grimacing, Ryan reached over and shut Steve's eyes, a respectful gesture for the person that in battle, had become a closer friend to him than some of the other people in his life that he'd known for longer. But at this junction, none of that really mattered. All that mattered now was finding a way to outlast however many people were still left alive in this horrible place. It couldn't have been more than eight, and with Steve now dead, Ryan knew that the odds were significantly higher with every passing moment. If he could just outlast all of the others, than maybe he could get to go home...
"But where the hell is my gun?"
Glancing around for a few moments, Ryan cursed under his breath. He'd been lucky enough to draw one of the most powerful weapons in the game, no doubt, and when the hospital had come down around them, he'd focused instead upon getting his pack, and Steve. He'd left the damn thing behind.
"Well, great. Just wonderful."
Frowning, Ryan pulled himself to his feet, and was again assailed by the pain in his side that had been plaguing him from back at the hospital. He couldn't believe that he was THAT out of shape, so in absolute frustration, he raised his arm and pressed on the area that was hurting so damn badly.
"Oh, for FUCK SA-"
The sight of his own blood on his fingertips silenced him quickly, as the pieces all came together within his own mind. Somewhere along the line, he'd not been plagued by his own inability to run distances. It hadn't been a muscle spasm, or even the fact that he was out of shape; which he'd found odd, because he really wasn't. No, somewhere along the line, someone had taken a shot at Ryan Atwell, and without even realizing it, had scored a quality hit.
Sensing an uncomfortable truth to the matter, Ryan felt down the leg of his pants, and followed the trail of blood all the way down to his shoe. Reaching down, he took off his shoe and upended it, causing a sizeable amount of blood to drip out from his sneaker. No wonder it had felt like he'd waded through water.
Shit.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Quickly racking his brain, Ryan tried to recall when his side had started to hurt. If he could figure out how recently he'd managed to get shot, then maybe, just maybe...he could try and do something about it. It had been at least since him and Steve had left the cottage during the showdown with Eris and Dante, maybe even before...it didn't matter though. It was far too long ago, and the fact that he was weak and probably a little feverish now that the adrenaline was wearing off...
...the game was over for him. Unless, of course, he could manage to find a quick blood transfusion clinic sitting outside in the wreckage of the aircraft, but somehow, he knew that he wasn't going to be that lucky. He'd been bleeding profusely for well over a day, and the fact that he was now starting to feel it...well, that wasn't exactly a good thing.
Quickly realizing that the remainder of his time on this Earth was severely limited, Ryan debated as to how he was going to spend the rest of his hours. Almost as quickly as the idea entered his brain; he forced it out. Contemplating his own mortality was not an idea that was appealing, nor was it what he planned to do, sit here crying and bitching about 'what might have been'. Of course, at the moment, there wasn't a whole lot to do. He sat, looking at the corpse of Steve Digaetano, weaponless, bleeding, and contemplating what his last moments on the face of the planet would entail. As he sat, essentially waiting for death, Ryan glossed over the events of his time on the island, and something jumped out at him as he scrolled over the memory. It was something that he'd said to Adam Dodd. He had been trying to fire the kid up, hoping that if anyone could make something happen towards getting out, it would have been him.
Sadly, it hadn't worked, and somehow Adam, Bill Ritch, John Sheppard and the rest of them had all ended up dead. The last time he'd seen the threesome, they'd been off with a plan to escape that had seemingly ended in disaster. Dodd; a pessimist through and through, hadn't been buying virtually any of what Ryan had been selling him - the idea of escape for him had a big no-win scenario attached to it, at least until Ryan had essentially challenged him to break the rules, and come out a winner on the other side.
"Sure, it's crazy. But it certainly beats the alternative. You've spent so much time beating yourself up and being depressed, and all fucked up that you've forgotten how to use your creativity."
Something about what he'd said had flipped a switch within Dodd, and he'd gone off with a small gleam in his eye, something that he hadn't seen from the boy, not once since he'd attended Southridge. Of course, it had gotten him killed, but maybe he'd managed to make at least a little peace with himself before he'd died. Not unlike the peace that Ryan was now refusing to make with his own impending demise. Sighing, and wheezing a little at the same time, Ryan stole his gaze away from Steve's body, and eventually ended up looking over at his pack.
...you've forgotten how to use your creativity...
Raising an eyebrow, he smiled a sad smile, and knew immediately what he had to do.
We are in your spirit,
We're everywhere you turn,
From the cover to the cover,
The cover to the cover,
In your lover,
In your brother,
In your mother,
The others
Reaching over to his pack, he picked up the dusty and dirty bag with a lot more effort than he'd recalled having to put in any other time. His awareness that the bag was in fact lighter than it had been before frightened him a little, but he dismissed the feeling and unzipped it. There wasn't a whole lot left inside of the pack, really. Two bottles of water, a few pens, his journal, some ammunition for the XCR that had been lost in the collapsing hospital, and a fresh pair of socks was all that remained in the bottom of the pack.
"Great."
Removing two of the pens, his journal, and the bottles of water, Ryan tossed his pack to the side, out of sight. He wouldn't really be needing it anymore. Quickly unscrewing one of the bottles, he took a long sip of the water, and felt at least a little rejuvinated as it slid down his throat. Any energy that he could take at the moment would be helpful, especially due to the task at hand.
In Ryan's moment of clarity, he'd realized that the only thing left for him to do now was try and make a difference. Sure, he was sitting, dying, and wouldn't be doing any difference-making in a couple of hours, but here, he had a golden opportunity. Most people didn't get a chance to say goodbye, to explain themselves, to try and ensure that their own legacy had a chance to carry on and outlive them. Ryan was a player on quite possibly one of the biggest stages available within the present day, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and ensure that his own words, thoughts, and ideas about his situation lived on. Like any of the other numerous kids in the program who had died, he could stand up and rant to the camera. Sure, that might make a headline or two, but the only way to do it without readily fading away was through the only other means to express himself that he currently had available to him - quite a fortunate coincidence, indeed.
Picking up his journal, and looking down at his wound, Ryan put pen to paper with an intensity that he'd rarely matched in his life.
---
You, You look so precious,
But now we're on are way,
And I am falling apart,
I'll get the waves,
But I can't sleep until this is done
They're in my head,
They're in my soul,
---
My name is Ryan Atwell, and I am about to die. I'm not sure who was the immediate cause of my death, and quite frankly, it doesn't matter all that much to me. I can name off who's beenresponsible for so much of the death here on the island, here in Survival of the Fittest, that it's just...not worth naming names. All that anybody needs to know is that Danya, whatever his real name might actually be; he's the one responsible for everything here. Every death, every student that becomes a statistic in these horrific events should be attributed to him. Danya and whomever he is working for - because I promise you, he IS working for someone, they're the ones who are turning ordinary teenagers into murderers, and causing so much pain and suffering. You can't blame those who are caught within the game. People who have turned into killers, people like John Rizzolo, it isn't their fault. They're simply adapting to their own circumstances. When you're in a kill-or-be-killed world, you can't fault the people who try and make sure that they don't die by any means possible. There's a huge stigma on people like Adam Dodd, from our school. Everyone stayed totally clear of him in the halls, they avoided him like the plague. But what was he supposed to do? Sit around and let someone shoot him in the face? It's like any of us. You can't blame those who are simply trying to stay alive.
I've had a bit of a philosophy while here on the island, fighting for my life. I've looked at things like I've been very lucky. Here I am, with less than a few minutes left in my life, and I still think that I've been blessed with being a lucky guy. Lasting up until the final ten of this horrific game has given me a unique perspective. Never have I been forced to take the life of someone else, but I've seen things that would probably make war veterans cringe. All of in this horrible event have gone through something profound, something that changed us; some for the better, some for the worse. Through it all, though, I've seen people whose bravery shatters anything I've ever witnessed within the real world; normal people who, given their situations raised above and beyond what they would normally be capable of. I leave this letter as a rememberance, a warning of sorts to those who come after me, and who might be unaware as to what is to come. Danya will not stop, this horrible game will not stop until someone out there makes a stand, and finds out just who is responsible for all of it.
Until then...don't forget us. People like Dean Portman, Steve Digaetano, Adam Dodd, and all the rest. We tried our best.
I suppose that's all that you can ask for.
-Ryan Atwell
---
Through the gates of hell,
We know you,
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down...
---
Ryan finished the initial letter, and tore it out of his journal, folding it up and writing something on the back of it. Finding himself getting weaker, he set to work on the second one. This one needed to be a bit faster, with a bit more importance, because Ryan felt himself getting dizzy. Time was of the essence here, and as the wind blew through his hair, he focused every single shred of his energy on writing his thoughts down onto the page. At times, his vision blurred, and his hand weakened, but nonetheless, he pressed on.
Time passed, and by some minor miracle, Ryan Atwell finished what he had to say. Carefully folding the paper, he wrote three words, as neatly as his shaking hands would allow him to, and, grasping it in his hand, attempted to pull himself to his feet. Ryan didn't get very far, taking barely a step before collapsing onto the ground. Weakened and dying, Ryan pulled himself over to a sitting position beside Steve's corpse. Dropping his first letter beside him, Ryan grasped his journal, and looked at it one last time, before dropping in onto his lap, letting the pen fall beside it, marking his jeans a little bit. With the last ounce of strength that he had, Ryan picked up the second letter, and placed it on his chest, face-up so that whomever wandering by would be able to see the words printed in block lettering on it.
TO THE WINNER
"I'm finally finished. Now...this...ought to be interesting..."
His task complete, Ryan smiled a weak smile, looked up at the sky, and slumped back as his body shut itself down, bit by bit until nothing was left of Ryan Atwell but a sadly smiling corpse, staring off into the distance, as if looking for some far-off object, or a rescue that would never come.
Ryan Atwell's time was up, and the game narrowed itself down even more.
Down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong
B122 - ATWELL, RYAN -- DECEASED
7 Students Remaining
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Everything was a blur right now, and nothing seemed to be in focus. Ever since the world (or the hospital) had collapsed around him, Ryan Atwell had been running on the sole principle of adrenaline, and very little else. He'd be damned if he was going to die crushed under some hospital building, and he'd done absolutely everything that he could to ensure that both guys walked away from the rubble. Steve had been badly injured, Ryan had seen that when he'd pulled him from the wreckage, but he wasn't seeing it. Instead, he had focused everything that he'd had upon pulling them out, and as they'd made their way to the airfield, Ryan's mind had been totally blank, running on nothing but the pure, fierce will to survive.
And then, they'd made it to the airfield.
It'd been basically a stroke of pure luck that the paths that Ryan had chosen to take hadn't been bathed in the harsh reality of a danger zone, but once the two boys had come upon the partially destroyed airfield, and it seemed to be devoid of anyone trying to murder them, it had seemed like as good a place as any to set down and regroup. Ryan had dragged Steve over towards the rubble of one of the destroyed aircraft, and had carefully set his injured friend down so as not to cause him any more pain than he was sure he'd already been feeling. Steve had basically taken a building to the everything, and the fact that he was still alive had to be near-miraculous. Plunking himself down across from Steve, Ryan let out a sigh. Everything that had been happening...it was just too insane.
There's nothing, to fear,
Your saviors, are here,
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
Coming down,
Coming down,
When Steve had opened his mouth and started talking, Ryan was a bit relieved. Steve hadn't said much of anything from the time that he'd pulled him out of the hospital, and for a few moments, Ryan had wondered if he'd literally been dragging around a corpse. In the back of his mind, he knew it wouldn't have shocked him, but he was just as happy to have Steve start talking, confirming that his membership in the land of the living hadn't expired just yet. But the words that were coming out of Steve's mouth...they seemed to assign blame to this whole thing, and Ryan knew that it was a burden Steve didn't need to shoulder. He tried opening his mouth to interrupt, but his friend just cut him off, not letting him get a word in edgewise. All he could do was sit and listen to Steve recount his supposed failings. He shook his head a few times, but he knew that Steve needed to get this out in the open, clear his conscience before they could move on.
It's only fair, I suppose...
As the thought crossed through his mind, Steve seemed to pale a bit, and look down at his leg. Ryan hadn't noticed it before, but blood was pooling beneath Steve, out of what looked to be a small hole in his leg. His muttered confirmation sent a chill down Ryan's spine. Both of them instantly knew what it meant for Steve's chances of survival, and as soon as he noticed the hole, he began to noticeably weaken.
Steve Digaetano was dying in front of his eyes.
His face went ashen, and Ryan focused intently upon the words that were now coming from Steve. Seemingly choosing to accept his fate, the boy asked Ryan to do something for him, to let some people know things that he wanted them to know. Naturally dependant upon Ryan being the winner, but...
...who knows if I'll even make it that far myself...damned if I'm not going to try, though.
Listening intently to Steve's final words, and feeling a sense of loss as with his last breath, he thanked Ryan, he watched as the life slipped out of Steve's body, leaving his eyes staring dullly up at the sky.
You, You look so precious,
A diamond in rough,
And you tried to escape,
But were holding on,
But I can't sleep until this is done
They're in my head,
They're in my soul,
It took Ryan a good five minutes of just sitting and staring at the lifeless corpse that had once been Steve Digaetano before he could manage to do anything else but feel a profound sense of loss. Steve was gone, and pretty much the only people with whom he'd chummed around with on the island, trying to escape were gone too. Essentially anyone that he'd talked to...gone. Steve Digaetano...gone. Dean Portman...gone. Adam Dodd...gone. John Sheppard, Eris Marquis, all of them...gone.
Except him.
Grimacing, Ryan reached over and shut Steve's eyes, a respectful gesture for the person that in battle, had become a closer friend to him than some of the other people in his life that he'd known for longer. But at this junction, none of that really mattered. All that mattered now was finding a way to outlast however many people were still left alive in this horrible place. It couldn't have been more than eight, and with Steve now dead, Ryan knew that the odds were significantly higher with every passing moment. If he could just outlast all of the others, than maybe he could get to go home...
"But where the hell is my gun?"
Glancing around for a few moments, Ryan cursed under his breath. He'd been lucky enough to draw one of the most powerful weapons in the game, no doubt, and when the hospital had come down around them, he'd focused instead upon getting his pack, and Steve. He'd left the damn thing behind.
"Well, great. Just wonderful."
Frowning, Ryan pulled himself to his feet, and was again assailed by the pain in his side that had been plaguing him from back at the hospital. He couldn't believe that he was THAT out of shape, so in absolute frustration, he raised his arm and pressed on the area that was hurting so damn badly.
"Oh, for FUCK SA-"
The sight of his own blood on his fingertips silenced him quickly, as the pieces all came together within his own mind. Somewhere along the line, he'd not been plagued by his own inability to run distances. It hadn't been a muscle spasm, or even the fact that he was out of shape; which he'd found odd, because he really wasn't. No, somewhere along the line, someone had taken a shot at Ryan Atwell, and without even realizing it, had scored a quality hit.
Sensing an uncomfortable truth to the matter, Ryan felt down the leg of his pants, and followed the trail of blood all the way down to his shoe. Reaching down, he took off his shoe and upended it, causing a sizeable amount of blood to drip out from his sneaker. No wonder it had felt like he'd waded through water.
Shit.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Quickly racking his brain, Ryan tried to recall when his side had started to hurt. If he could figure out how recently he'd managed to get shot, then maybe, just maybe...he could try and do something about it. It had been at least since him and Steve had left the cottage during the showdown with Eris and Dante, maybe even before...it didn't matter though. It was far too long ago, and the fact that he was weak and probably a little feverish now that the adrenaline was wearing off...
...the game was over for him. Unless, of course, he could manage to find a quick blood transfusion clinic sitting outside in the wreckage of the aircraft, but somehow, he knew that he wasn't going to be that lucky. He'd been bleeding profusely for well over a day, and the fact that he was now starting to feel it...well, that wasn't exactly a good thing.
Quickly realizing that the remainder of his time on this Earth was severely limited, Ryan debated as to how he was going to spend the rest of his hours. Almost as quickly as the idea entered his brain; he forced it out. Contemplating his own mortality was not an idea that was appealing, nor was it what he planned to do, sit here crying and bitching about 'what might have been'. Of course, at the moment, there wasn't a whole lot to do. He sat, looking at the corpse of Steve Digaetano, weaponless, bleeding, and contemplating what his last moments on the face of the planet would entail. As he sat, essentially waiting for death, Ryan glossed over the events of his time on the island, and something jumped out at him as he scrolled over the memory. It was something that he'd said to Adam Dodd. He had been trying to fire the kid up, hoping that if anyone could make something happen towards getting out, it would have been him.
Sadly, it hadn't worked, and somehow Adam, Bill Ritch, John Sheppard and the rest of them had all ended up dead. The last time he'd seen the threesome, they'd been off with a plan to escape that had seemingly ended in disaster. Dodd; a pessimist through and through, hadn't been buying virtually any of what Ryan had been selling him - the idea of escape for him had a big no-win scenario attached to it, at least until Ryan had essentially challenged him to break the rules, and come out a winner on the other side.
"Sure, it's crazy. But it certainly beats the alternative. You've spent so much time beating yourself up and being depressed, and all fucked up that you've forgotten how to use your creativity."
Something about what he'd said had flipped a switch within Dodd, and he'd gone off with a small gleam in his eye, something that he hadn't seen from the boy, not once since he'd attended Southridge. Of course, it had gotten him killed, but maybe he'd managed to make at least a little peace with himself before he'd died. Not unlike the peace that Ryan was now refusing to make with his own impending demise. Sighing, and wheezing a little at the same time, Ryan stole his gaze away from Steve's body, and eventually ended up looking over at his pack.
...you've forgotten how to use your creativity...
Raising an eyebrow, he smiled a sad smile, and knew immediately what he had to do.
We are in your spirit,
We're everywhere you turn,
From the cover to the cover,
The cover to the cover,
In your lover,
In your brother,
In your mother,
The others
Reaching over to his pack, he picked up the dusty and dirty bag with a lot more effort than he'd recalled having to put in any other time. His awareness that the bag was in fact lighter than it had been before frightened him a little, but he dismissed the feeling and unzipped it. There wasn't a whole lot left inside of the pack, really. Two bottles of water, a few pens, his journal, some ammunition for the XCR that had been lost in the collapsing hospital, and a fresh pair of socks was all that remained in the bottom of the pack.
"Great."
Removing two of the pens, his journal, and the bottles of water, Ryan tossed his pack to the side, out of sight. He wouldn't really be needing it anymore. Quickly unscrewing one of the bottles, he took a long sip of the water, and felt at least a little rejuvinated as it slid down his throat. Any energy that he could take at the moment would be helpful, especially due to the task at hand.
In Ryan's moment of clarity, he'd realized that the only thing left for him to do now was try and make a difference. Sure, he was sitting, dying, and wouldn't be doing any difference-making in a couple of hours, but here, he had a golden opportunity. Most people didn't get a chance to say goodbye, to explain themselves, to try and ensure that their own legacy had a chance to carry on and outlive them. Ryan was a player on quite possibly one of the biggest stages available within the present day, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least try and ensure that his own words, thoughts, and ideas about his situation lived on. Like any of the other numerous kids in the program who had died, he could stand up and rant to the camera. Sure, that might make a headline or two, but the only way to do it without readily fading away was through the only other means to express himself that he currently had available to him - quite a fortunate coincidence, indeed.
Picking up his journal, and looking down at his wound, Ryan put pen to paper with an intensity that he'd rarely matched in his life.
---
You, You look so precious,
But now we're on are way,
And I am falling apart,
I'll get the waves,
But I can't sleep until this is done
They're in my head,
They're in my soul,
---
My name is Ryan Atwell, and I am about to die. I'm not sure who was the immediate cause of my death, and quite frankly, it doesn't matter all that much to me. I can name off who's beenresponsible for so much of the death here on the island, here in Survival of the Fittest, that it's just...not worth naming names. All that anybody needs to know is that Danya, whatever his real name might actually be; he's the one responsible for everything here. Every death, every student that becomes a statistic in these horrific events should be attributed to him. Danya and whomever he is working for - because I promise you, he IS working for someone, they're the ones who are turning ordinary teenagers into murderers, and causing so much pain and suffering. You can't blame those who are caught within the game. People who have turned into killers, people like John Rizzolo, it isn't their fault. They're simply adapting to their own circumstances. When you're in a kill-or-be-killed world, you can't fault the people who try and make sure that they don't die by any means possible. There's a huge stigma on people like Adam Dodd, from our school. Everyone stayed totally clear of him in the halls, they avoided him like the plague. But what was he supposed to do? Sit around and let someone shoot him in the face? It's like any of us. You can't blame those who are simply trying to stay alive.
I've had a bit of a philosophy while here on the island, fighting for my life. I've looked at things like I've been very lucky. Here I am, with less than a few minutes left in my life, and I still think that I've been blessed with being a lucky guy. Lasting up until the final ten of this horrific game has given me a unique perspective. Never have I been forced to take the life of someone else, but I've seen things that would probably make war veterans cringe. All of in this horrible event have gone through something profound, something that changed us; some for the better, some for the worse. Through it all, though, I've seen people whose bravery shatters anything I've ever witnessed within the real world; normal people who, given their situations raised above and beyond what they would normally be capable of. I leave this letter as a rememberance, a warning of sorts to those who come after me, and who might be unaware as to what is to come. Danya will not stop, this horrible game will not stop until someone out there makes a stand, and finds out just who is responsible for all of it.
Until then...don't forget us. People like Dean Portman, Steve Digaetano, Adam Dodd, and all the rest. We tried our best.
I suppose that's all that you can ask for.
-Ryan Atwell
---
Through the gates of hell,
We know you,
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
This ship is coming down
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down,
Coming down...
---
Ryan finished the initial letter, and tore it out of his journal, folding it up and writing something on the back of it. Finding himself getting weaker, he set to work on the second one. This one needed to be a bit faster, with a bit more importance, because Ryan felt himself getting dizzy. Time was of the essence here, and as the wind blew through his hair, he focused every single shred of his energy on writing his thoughts down onto the page. At times, his vision blurred, and his hand weakened, but nonetheless, he pressed on.
Time passed, and by some minor miracle, Ryan Atwell finished what he had to say. Carefully folding the paper, he wrote three words, as neatly as his shaking hands would allow him to, and, grasping it in his hand, attempted to pull himself to his feet. Ryan didn't get very far, taking barely a step before collapsing onto the ground. Weakened and dying, Ryan pulled himself over to a sitting position beside Steve's corpse. Dropping his first letter beside him, Ryan grasped his journal, and looked at it one last time, before dropping in onto his lap, letting the pen fall beside it, marking his jeans a little bit. With the last ounce of strength that he had, Ryan picked up the second letter, and placed it on his chest, face-up so that whomever wandering by would be able to see the words printed in block lettering on it.
TO THE WINNER
"I'm finally finished. Now...this...ought to be interesting..."
His task complete, Ryan smiled a weak smile, looked up at the sky, and slumped back as his body shut itself down, bit by bit until nothing was left of Ryan Atwell but a sadly smiling corpse, staring off into the distance, as if looking for some far-off object, or a rescue that would never come.
Ryan Atwell's time was up, and the game narrowed itself down even more.
Down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong.
Come on down to the other side,
Come with us through the gates of hell,
Where we'll drag you from where you are to where you belong
B122 - ATWELL, RYAN -- DECEASED
7 Students Remaining