Familiarity

[Fenrir]

Vincent walked into the cabin and removed the Desert Eagle from his waistband. He slid the large pistol under the pillow of the bunk before lying down on the bed himself. He could feel the object like a solid lump through the pillow with his head but he was willing to take the lack of comfort in return for having a weapon within easy reach while he slept.

He was glad Brennan had not bothered to question him about everything, whether it be about the people who showed up at the lake or about the cryptic message from Karen. Vincent would explain everything once he had woken up but for the time being he was too tired to have much patience for either of those conversations.

However as much as he tried to ignore those conversations, as much as he wanted to just shut down his brain and get some rest he found he couldn’t. Karen’s message and the implications it held wouldn’t let him rest.

If she really had gotten her tenth kill then she would be leaving the island soon, airlifted out by helicopter or by some other method to become this season’s first winner. It was not possible for such an event to not change things in the game.

Ever since the first announcement, when Karen was acknowledged as the island’s first and at that point only killer she had been the top threat on the island. She had been a persistent threat to everyone, proven to be willing to shoot at anyone – even her own teammates – if given the chance; when most people thought about the possibility of them being killed on the island it was probably the mysterious Karen Ruiz who they saw pulling the trigger.

She was the one who kicked the game off and her continued presence on the island as she continued to live and kill was probably a helping factor in pushing it along. When her departure was finally announced and that threat was no longer present, what would happen? Would people become complacent and less wary without her around, or would some people start to play this game more seriously, seeing a chance to win now that the largest threat was dealt with?

Whichever was the case, Vincent was sure that more than a few people would feel disappointed that Karen would be leaving alive. She undoubtedly made a few enemies during the game. Himself included.

Another thing to consider was that with five kills to his name Vincent was fairly certain that he himself would become the most prolific killer on the island in her absence. While he wouldn’t have quite as much infamy as his classmate did he would still draw attention, either as the thug from school that the Detroit kids knew, or as a replacement spectre for Karen for the private school kids he never met.

He knew that he had made a few enemies himself in his time on the island; any additional attention at this late stage of the game would only makes things more difficult for him.

Whatever the ramifications of Karen winning were he wouldn’t know until they happened; at this point all he could do is speculate and plan and roll with the punches as they came. He had to thank Karen for giving him time to do that at least.

[Pippi]

((Okay, wow, massive fail on my end here. I completely forgot that it was my turn, and then when I remembered I had no clue what to write.))

What time was it? Wait, no, bad question. Brennan hadn’t known the time since he’d first woken up on the island. How long has it been since I started waiting? Better question. Also one Brennan didn’t know the answer to. It wasn’t really a sense of boredom; Brennan didn’t think he’d ever be really bored on the island. It was more a massive sense of unease and nervousness. Anyone could be waiting here, trying to kill them. Would he be able to protect Vincent?

Brennan shook his head. Okay, Brennan, seriously, focus. Calm down. You’ll never be able to protect him if you don’t stop thinking like that.

By now, the shotgun had fallen idly to Brennan’s side, although his hand was still tightly gripping it. He could never be too sure, never let up his guard. Still... there could be stuff in the other cabins Vincent overlooked, maybe... Couldn’t I just quickly go and have a look around?

For a moment, Brennan seriously considered it, teetering on the edge of the chair. Then he sighed, and slumped back into the chair. He’d given Vincent his word that he’d do his best to protect him. If he left, even for a short while, who knows what could happen to Vincent? They needed complete trust in each other if they were to survive, and abandoning your ally was not a good way to gain trust.

So, again, Brennan did nothing but wait. He still had questions. Still had plans, hopes, ideas. He’d bottled them up though. He could save them for later. Once Vincent had woken up, he could ask about the walkie talkies, suggest looking around the cabins again. For now though, he had to keep his mind blank of any other thoughts. Focus. Trust. Survival.

[Pippi]

((Sorry for double posting and all, Fenrir, but I need Brennan to move))

“Hello, to everybody that’s still around to hear the sound of my voice!”

Brennan jolted upright, his eyes flickering open, head swivelling around. For a moment, he was completely confused and disorientated, wondering who exactly had just spoken. He was pointing the shotgun anywhere and everywhere, in case someone was hiding, waiting to attack. But the voice continued speaking, and after a few seconds, Brennan remembered what was happening. He must have dozed off at some point, and the voice was that of the announcer. Which, obviously, meant that the announcements were currently playing.

Brennan let out a sigh. He’d fallen asleep, while trying to protect Vincent! What if someone who’d been playing had actually come along? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Slowly, he lowered the shotgun, slightly calmer now.

“We start off this spree of killing with an old favourite, putting another notch in her belt.”

Of course, the announcements were still playing. Like they’d stop because I was panicking a bit... God, do I really want to listen to this? Despite his misgivings, Brennan stayed still, where he was seated. It just felt... disrespectful, in some way, to just ignore what had happened to everyone. He felt as if he needed to know, no matter how much it hurt. And, of course, he needed to know where the danger zones were...

“Karen Ruiz gunned down Brenda Hernandez at point blank range... Odile Jones put Cesar Perdomo out of his misery... Michael Clark decided he didn’t need his head anymore, and sat around in a Danger Zone...”

No...

“Zachariah Johnston finally gave in from wounds... Vincent Sullivan continued the pattern, running Ben Grayson through... Glen Bole dying at the hands of Simon Porter...”

By now, tears were flowing from Brennan’s eyes again, which were wide with shock. Both of his hands were covering his mouth.

“Ferric Tam took a hit to the head from a bullet... Vincent Sullivan, successfully gunning down Anna Hitchins over near the lake... Bobby Goldman went down a few seconds later thanks to Amber Lyons...”

O-oh... God...

They were all gone. Everyone he’d met, everyone he’d cared about. They were all gone. Either dead, or playing. Brennan knew he was trying to be stronger than he really was, that he had to stay calm for him and for Vincent, but right at that moment, he just didn’t care. His hands moved to cover his eyes as he wept.

H-how? How could this have happened? How is this fair? Karen kills Rishi and Brenda and she gets rewarded for it?! Cesar, Michael, Eric, Bobby... they’re all gone... they’re gone and I couldn’t help them... Simon killed that guy... and Vincent... oh God, how many people has he killed?!

Brennan had wanted to trust him... but how could he trust someone who’d killed who knows how many people, people he’d known, innocent goddamn people? In his panicked state, Brennan almost missed the final part of the announcements. He broke off from his crying just in time to hear the danger zones being announced. There were only fifteen of them left. Two days, and only fifteen students left alive. Forty or so students who were dead, and none of them had deserved it. Brennan was becoming more and more panicky, and so only heard a small part of the danger zones list.

“... The Coastal Lake...”

Brennan froze where he was. He was at a lake. A lake was now a danger zone. Was he at that lake. Oh God, what if he was? His mind was blank; which lake was he at? Almost as quickly as he’d frozen, Brennan started moving, hurriedly throwing his bag onto his back, and then cradling the shotgun with both hands. He could be completely wrong, of course, but if he wasn’t... he didn’t want to go out like Michael...

Brennan briefly looked over at the cabin. Vincent hadn’t left it yet. Despite the fact he no longer wanted any part of working with him, Brennan still felt as if he should do something. Vincent had been protecting him, after all, even if his methods were completely against what Brennan believed in. Coughing slightly, he yelled in the direction of the hut; “Vincent! I-I’m leaving! I’m going to the... uh...”

Where was he going to go to? Only one place stuck out in Brennan’s mind; the Resort Beach. Ali had mentioned something about a Gold Team base being there. Maybe Mae had returned, now that it had been cleared?

“I’m going to the Resort Beach!” Brennan yelled, and then, for the second time in two days, he was running away from his allies, and towards the Resort Beach.

((Brennan O’Brian continued in Of Moons, Birds and Monsters))

[Mini_Help]

Vincent's sleep was not peaceful or particularly restful. With the fading of his adrenaline and his attempts to actually allow himself to relax came the return of the aches and pains from his various wounds. The island had not been easy on him, not at all. The shot in his chest started burning again early on, flaring up even more every time he so much as twitched wrong. His leg felt stiff, the graze along his knee having swollen some.

His thoughts were dark and confused, a strange meeting point between dreams and reality. Sometimes he thought he was planning with full lucidity, figuring out where to go, what to do, only to realize that he was replaying again and again his conversations with Tiffany, which then slid into her death and the fighting, which merged with the conversation on the walkie talkie.

Time and again he awoke, sometimes shivering, sometimes sweating. Something was wrong. He wasn't feeling good. He felt almost sick. A hand pressed to his forehead told him he was running a very high temperature.

Later, no telling how much later, Vincent was shaken from the stupor he had fallen into by the sound of a voice blaring from everywhere. It was the announcements again, and he struggled to focus on them. Names sailed past, names he knew, names he didn't. His own name. Even in his poor condition, Vincent realized hey hadn't listed him enough times. They'd stiffed him credit on one of his kills. Then that stopped mattering, because Karen had killed Zach, the other guy who'd had so many kills. Ferric had died. Their mentor would't be happy. Too bad for him.

And Karen was gone. He'd been right. He still wondered what had happened, why her voice had been messed up. Something to ask her after he got out. He was the biggest threat on the island now. With Brennan on his side, they would have a good shot. Better still, they weren't in a danger zone. They could just stay here and rest for a while, rest until everything calmed down enough for them to have a clear shot at the finish. He'd meant what he said about not going for ten kills. No reason. There probably weren't even enough people left for him to get five of them before it all ended. Rest sounded really good, anyways.

But Brennan was calling out to him. He was saying he was leaving. Why was he leaving? Why was he going to the beach? That made no sense. They had discussed it, yes, but they were secure here. They were safe. He tried to get up, to shout at Brennan and tell him to come back, but pulling himself to a sitting position caused Vincent's chest to feel like it had exploded. He coughed, gave a whimper, and dropped back down. There were no further sounds from Brennan. The boy had left.

What was going on? What had happened? Yesterday, he'd felt fine. Tired, drained, aching, but fine. Now, things had gotten worse. It was at the point where almost all movement was painful.

He needed to know.

With a great effort, Vincent peeled his grimy, stained t-shirt off. He noticed that several red splotches had spread across it. The situation underneath was even worse. The bloodstains on his vest, minor yesterday, had grown noticeably, though they seemed dry now. The skin visible through the holes looked wrong, though. Besides the scabbing, it seemed discolored.

He hadn't treated his wounds. It came to him instantly. He'd been so nervous, so keyed-up, so focused on surviving, that he had neglected to sterilize them or even bandage them up. He'd figured that the vest had done enough good, that he would be fine. There was no telling, though, what sort of damage he had sustained. He had taken a shot straight on, followed by a shotgun blast shortly afterwards. He had no idea whether either had ruptured organs or caused internal bleeding. He had no clue what could happen if seemingly-minor gunshot wounds got infected and left to fester.

He was scared now. He tried calling for Brennan, shouting, but there was no response.  He'd let his last remaining ally get away from him. No one else would help him now. He was the threat, the biggest danger. If anyone on another team found him, the only smart choice would be to kill him as quickly as possible. He was entirely out of luck.

He tried to get up, to move, to go somewhere, to find a more secure place, but his body was aching too much. His leg had swollen to the point where bending his wounded knee was almost impossible. Brennan had taken the shotgun, he thought. That meant he only had a pistol to defend himself from whoever came after him. He did manage to get that out, and held it, kept it shakily pointed at the door. Brennan would be back, probably, or he'd get killed. Vincent would have to hope for the former. Brennan would come back, and they'd figure something out. Brennan could finish everyone else off or something, and then Vincent could be treated by people who knew what they were doing. He hoped he was still alright enough that medical aid could save him, but he honestly couldn't say. He just had to hope, to wait to hear Brennan's voice.

But time passed, and Brennan did not turn up again. Nobody came, and Vincent couldn't focus enough to keep the gun steady, not through the mounting pain and not with nothing changing in his environment. First, he his arm go lax, let the pistol lie on the bed. He could raise it again if he had to.

Some time later—five minutes? an hour?—he let his eyes drift closed. He wasn't falling asleep. He'd be awake, alert. He was just resting for a little, just making sure not to try too hard and mess up somehow. He was taking his mind off the pain, which had become nearly intolerable. It felt more distant with his eyes closed.

Later still, he drifted into unconsciousness. It wasn't sleep, not exactly. It was more his body shutting down due to the sustained overuse and damage from the past three days of heavy activity and violence.

Finally, some time after that, time in which more people killed and died, time in which Brennan met his own end, Vincent's body couldn't take the spreading infection and internal damage, and just quit entirely.

ORA1, Vincent Sullivan: DECEASED
11 STUDENTS REMAIN