The Program had always been his greatest fear. He wasn't a fighter, and he was pretty sure that everyone knew that. There were two things that he was good at, pitching baseballs and drawing, and he wasn't going to get much use out of either in the Program. His knowledge of guns was almost nil, and he expected that he was probably more of a danger to himself with the weapon in his hands than anyone he may try to aim it at.
His own survival chances weren't the only thing on his mind. He was also concerned about Elisa. He had been one of the first to be called, and he was too busy sobbing and panicking to keep track of more than one or two other people who had been thrown into the game. He had no idea whether she had been taken as well, and it was eating him up inside.
He lightly tapped his feet against the floor and continued staring at his gun, until the sound of a door opening drew his attention. When he saw who stepped through, he immediately stood up.
"Scott!"
Scott Whitman held his assigned shard of glass in his hand, the thicker end of it wrapped in a bandage to keep it from cutting him too easily. It was a less-than-ideal weapon, but he was not bothered. He considered it to be General Adams' way of testing him. If he could find a way to survive from such a difficult start, then it would only prove how dedicated he was to serving his country to the best of his ability and beyond. And in that sense, it was perfect.
When he came across Juan, he couldn't help but notice how the guy perked up. He had always been like that, though. A ball of energy who was always happy to see everyone. And if his blazing fastball was any indication, he could transfer that energy to his pitching with no effort at all. It was quite impressive. However, right now he seemed to be less full of happy energy and moreso with worry.
"Scott, did you see Elisa?" Juan pleaded with him, even begging with his hands. "I need to know if she's okay. They didn't take her too, did they?" His eyes were soft, and he looked like he was about to cry again.
"Sorry, I haven't seen her." Scott brusquely replied. "I was called not long after you."
"Oh..." Juan was crestfallen. He still had no answers, and only an unknown hope that his sister was safe. "I'm just really worried, you know?" He turned to walk back to his chair.
It was easy to see where Juan was coming from, and Scott could sympathize. The guy really loved his family. Who couldn't support a guy for that? Heck, there were a lot of things a like about Juan when you thought about it. Nice guy, good pitcher, mood maker, it was no wonder the rest of the team liked him.
And that was all well and good, aside from one thing.
He wasn't an American.
While Juan wasn't looking, Scott lunged and stabbed his glass shard between the Hispanic boy's neck and shoulder, eliciting a scream from the literally backstabbed pitcher. Juan panicked and turned to face his attacker, the shard splintering in the wound as he did so.
"Scott! What-?" He cried out before being punched between the eyes and knocked flat.
The gun fell from his hands, and Scott made a move for it, only to be kicked in the chest by Juan's flailing legs. He had realized what Scott was trying to do, and he was making whatever move he could to stop it.
"What are you doing?" He exclaimed, hoping to break through to his teammate and stop his assault. He received a kick to the face for his trouble, and his attacker followed up by dropping to the ground and sinking the remnants of the glass shard into his chest, just below the throat. He clawed at the new wound, unable to continue fighting through the pain.
With Juan incapacitated, Scott grabbed his gun and stood up. He pointed the weapon at the pitcher, who looked back at him with a look of hurt and betrayal before his head was thrown back by the force of a bullet flying through it.
The survivor of the scuffle examined his new weapon, which he easily identified as a MAC-10. A good, solid gun. And since his glass shard was now useless to him, it would be a more than suitable replacement as his primary weapon. He looted the rest of Juan's supplies as well, taking all of his food and water as well as a roll of bandages from the first-aid kit in order to replace what had been used to create his glass grip.
With no further reason to stick around, Scott left the office to continue his mission.
Juan Garza: Deceased
(Scott Whitman continued elsewhere...)