The Aristocrats

[Dr. Nic†]

[Whoa, sorry, didn't see I was up.]

He reached the top.

After clawing his way up those last few steps, Alex finally reached the top of the lighthouse. He was bleeding like a stuck pig, coughing up blood every few seconds, and he could have sworn he hacked up a piece of his lung on that last step. But he made it to the fucking top. He was on top of the world. Or as close to it as he had ever really come in the past two weeks. But it was over now. He wasn't going to make it back down. When he looked down at the bolt sticking out of his chest and sheer amount of blood that kept coming up when he coughed. The excruciating pain and inability to really feel his limbs didn't do much to improve his chances either.

This was the fucking end.

Well, it was a good ride. And sitting there, staring out in to the distance watching the sun and the water, Alex didn't regret a moment of it. He made it to the fucking end. He made it to the top of the world. He killed who he needed to kill, but he was finally going to be rid of that weight. No more fire. No more accusations. No more blame. Everything was finally going to end, and this time, it was going to end on his terms. Fuck Jimmy, fuck Danya, fuck whoever it was who took over Danya's job at the speakers, fuck the game and fuck everyone else. Nothing ever fucking went right on this god forsaken island, but this? This was going to go right.

Alex was going to do something, and do it perfectly, his luck on the island be damned.

"You ready for this, boy? You know your fate. It ain't pretty."

Fuck fate. Fuck the world. Fuck this game. This shit ain't cool anymore.

Alex is out.

Lying back on the platform, Alex stared up at the sky, struggling with every single breath he took. He stared, but couldn't really see anything. Everything was blurry, and dark, and had been for a while. But he wasn't fighting for his life. He wasn't swinging at a big target directly in front of him. He was just lying back, bleeding, and dying. And the adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was getting worse. He couldn't even bring himself to pull the bolt from his chest. It just sat there. He didn't even try. Fuck it, he was dying anyways, what good would it do to try and pull the fucking thing out? That's just more god damn pain that he didn't want or need.

So this was really it.

This is where he was dying.

This was how he was dying.

...He honestly expected more. For all he did, for all that he went through and all that he put others through, this is what he was getting. Bleeding to death or drowning in his own blood. He really expected more. Well, maybe not more, but something different. Something... something like out of one of his grandfather's westerns. Or from the books he read, or the stories he heard from his family. Something like the final scene in the horror movie, the one that was supposed to end the franchise, where the monster finally dies. Some big, climactic scene. And this was what he was getting.

He had the fight.

He had the closest thing he was going to get to a sunset.

He even took someone out with him.

But it just wasn't right... It just didn't seem right. But there was nothing left to do about that now. He just had one last thing to do, and it would all be over. One final thing, and he could finally end his role in this horrible fucking game. It hurt, it hurt a lot, but he reached down to his belt and pulled loose the grenades. He coughed, and spat, and sucked in another ragged breath. He held them up in front of him, taking a good look at them. One was fine, the other had it's pin haphazardly stuck back in it.

They would do just fine.

"Well, this is it..."

Alex spoke slowly and carefully, interrupted by sporadic coughing, sucking breaths, and spitting blood. But he spoke.

"This is how it ends, huh?"

He turned the grenades over in his hands. Stared at them long and hard, and focused on them as much as he could to keep them from slipping out of sight. Everything was blurry, and just a little darker now.

"It needs something... more. After all this, I need to do... something."

And he wheezed, and coughed again, and spat another mouthful of blood out on the floor. And cleared his throat.

"Oh bury me not..."

It was hard to form the words, and it didn't sound like singing one bit, but it was what he wanted to do and god damn it he was going to do it. It was an old song, and he couldn't remember all the words, but he could hear it clear as day. Sung by his grandfather.

"On the lone prairie."

And he stopped, just for a moment, to pull free the safety clips.

"These words came soft."

Alex winced, and struggled to keep going. But he was going to finish if it took his very last breath.

"And painfully..."

It was finally going to end.

"From the pallid lips of a youth who lay."

He pulled one pin. Then pulled the other. It was hard, and he could barely tell he had a hold of the pins, but he used what strength he had left in his hands to finalize his choice.

"On his dying bed... at the close of day."

It was finally over...

Finally.



He couldn't let go of the levers.

"God damn it... It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

After all that has happened, he couldn't bring himself to just fucking end it when it was time to end it.

[Little Boy†]

"God damn it... It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Jimmy curled up in a ball, snot and blood dripping from his nose. His eyes were red. His guts were falling out.

His hands were clutching at the wound in his chest, and he could feel his guts pushing out.

Jimmy pushed back. Even then, even against his own body, he pushed back. Gritting his teeth through the pain and the blinding lights, Jimmy managed to look down at the wound, a gurgling escaping from his mouth.

He'd been run straight through. He wasn't going to get an acceptance letter now.

And beyond that, there was more. Pain upon pain, wound upon wound. His fingertips were cracked and bloody.

Your guts are falling out. And you care about your fingertips?

gedditoutgedditout...

He couldn't move it. This was a thousand times worse than anything he'd suffered yet- a single wrong motion, and he might bleed to death.

It's through my back. It's cold and he stuck it right through my back...

What was he supposed to do? His body was shaking- blood dripping from his mouth. How was he supposed to win now? He felt tired- the worst he'd ever felt in his life, his lowest point. Rosa's killer was running up the stairs, free. He was bleeding in the gutter, the walls coated with his blood.

He couldn't let it be the end. He wouldn't allow it. Images of his classmates floated through his heads- Phillip and J.J, and Samya and Teo and everyone else he'd vowed to hurt. If he died now, what would he have accomplished? He'd just be another footnote in history. He'd just be a stepping stone for the eventual winner to walk over, on their way to fame and fortune. Just another body in the pile.

I am not just a body in the pile. I'm not. I'm Jimmy- I'm Jimmy. I didn't get one acceptance letter, and my guts are falling out.

His hand reached out, shaking and fading in and out of his vision. He felt so sleepy, which only increased his paranoia. The pain was keeping him awake, but it was colder now, so cold... If he closed his eyes, he was afraid he'd never open them again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

His hand shook in front of him, the fingertips bloody and cracked, clutching at the next step.

Just... rest for a bit. Alex will get his later. You shouldn't move. You should stay still.

He began to blink, physically struggling to keep his eyes open. It hurt so much... He wanted to scream, but only blood emerged. His throat was shattered, his body was shattered...

You should really just die. Rosa didn't love you. No one will love you, even if you win. And you won't win now. You've been run straight through, you stubborn stupid fuck. You're going to die and it won't matter. Accept it.

Please. Accept this.

His hand closed on the step. With an awkward jerking motion, Jimmy raised up his head, his eyes bulging from his head. He opened his mouth, puke and bile and vomit spilling out onto the steps, a grotesque smell filling his nostrils.

Just like Rosa. Just like the grave.

"Fuck. You."

He didn't say it. He couldn't say it, with the blood choking him. But he gurgled it all the same, regardless of who heard and who cared.

Jimmy began to crawl, one hand clutching at the spear sticking through his chest.

"Fuck. You. Fuck. You. Never. Fucking. Die. Never. Fucking. Die. Kill'em. Kill'em and never fucking DIE."

He could barely see straight. He was panting, struggling from breath to breath, the world hazy and spiked before his eyes. But he pushed on, through it all. With the last of his strength, Jimmy continued to crawl up the steps, toward his death.

Not a single acceptance letter. Not a single honest feeling. If you want me to die Alex, I'll die with noise. I'll die with your throat in my teeth.

I'm a hero. I'm a fucking hero.

I'm Jimmy Fucking Brennan and I did what I had to do. Fuck your shame. Fuck it.

Jimmy continued crawling, pushing himself forward with his mangled hand and his right foot. His left ankle was bleeding profusely, dead weight. It slowed him, but he continued onwards, undaunted, nothing on his mind but the task ahead. Nothing could stop him. He would bleed out rather then quit.

I'm coming for you Alex- I'm coming for you. I've come too far-

Through his own tortured breathing, he could hear singing. A tortured voice, singing a song he didn't know, a song he didn't care about. His own song was blasting through his ears, propelling him farther, a step up, then another.

I'm going to fucking stick you.

Finally he saw it. The stairs above ended, a doorway. The top floor. Alex. Alex was up there, waiting for him.

Jimmy shoved himself against the wall and began to inch his way upwards.

Look... look how far you've come. Look how far you've come, you stupid stubborn bastard...

With a cry of pain, Jimmy brought his mutilated left foot down, and began to hobble toward the doorway, his hands closing around the spear through his chest. He was a dead man walking, his eyes sunken and haunted, and his skin growing clammy and cold. His face was broken, covered in snot and blood and vomit and worse, his body just a map of bruises and broken bones.

But as he stepped through that door, Jimmy Brennan grinned, wide and proud.

Alex was on the floor. Alex was down, and he was shaking and bleeding, staring toward the sky. The wind blew his hair, and Jimmy advanced, his grip on the spear end tightening. The grin never left his face. He opened his mouth, blood spilling out, down his chin. His heart was pounding.

Nearly there. Nearly- nearly there.

He was right in front of him. Alex was staring at him, not daring to move. Jimmy locked eyes with him.

A million things raced through his mind. Rosa standing naked before him, his arm torn apart with the veins cut at the wrists. His own head colliding again and again with a shelf and Phillip back on the beach, the beautiful sound of his skull cracking open, gore coating the sandy beach.

All for you Jimmy. Second doesn't count. Show them what it means Jimmy. Show them what it means to be a winner.

With a horrific growl, Jimmy began to pull at the spear sticking through his guts. He stumbled forward towards Alex, shrieking and crying as the spear tore through his guts, a disgusting sucking noise resonating through the air as he ripped it free. Jimmy began to fall; the world began to move in slow motion. Alex was below him, the spear was above him, his blood and guts all around him.

Jimmy let out a tortured scream, driving the spear down into Alex's neck.

Alex stared up at him, his eyes open, pain evident on his face.

"HOW DOES IT FEEL?"

Jimmy brought the weapon up and down again, His eyes wide, refusing to shut, refusing to blink. He drove it down through Alex's neck, at the start of the boy's left shoulder. Blood exploded upwards, splashing onto his face, drenching everything around him, a crimson haze.

"HOW DOES IT FEEL WHEN I FUCK YOU ALEX?!"

Jimmy brought up the weapon, his hands shaking, his body shutting down. He refused to stop. Bringing it down one last time, the spear cut through Alex's neck, dead center. He began to scream, the pain overwhelming him near entirely.

There was noise.

There was noise, and justice.

[Dr. Nic†]

It was quiet. Peaceful. Just Alex, and the blue sky above, and nothing but the wind making a noise. And it was like that for quite a while, just staring up at the empty sky and listening to the wind. Things were fading slowly. From sight, from mind. The sound of wind was slowly disappearing, and the sky above was slipping away. And that was fine. Yeah, that was fine.

Cause he was coming back.

The monster really never dies, it always just comes back. And Alex was a monster. He was notorious now. He had to be. With all that he'd done over the past two weeks, he was going to be remembered for a long time to come. He was going to be remembered, for better or worse. People would wonder why he did what he did. They would wonder what drove him to do the things he did to the people he killed. Why he killed Will. Why he strangled Rena. Why he shot Annaliese. Why he tortured Rosa. Why he shot Andrea in the back. They would remember him, and ask why.

Why?

Because he was a monster.

Monsters never die. Monsters kill. Monsters make people suffer. Monsters revel in the pain they cause. And Alex has caused so much pain and so much suffering. He was never going to stop. He was just going to keep on doing what he did until he was the last person left or until someone stopped him. But someone did stop him. Jimmy did. Jimmy fucking Brennan.

Why?

He could hear again. It was faint, but someone was there. Someone was moving, and it was only getting louder. But he didn't care. He couldn't do anything about it if he tried. There was no strength left in him. He could barely keep his hands closed around the grenades, let alone fight off another attacker. No, Alex just stayed where he was and watched the sky. He watched as things became darker, as bright blues and whites gave way to dark grays and blacks. As the shapes in the clouds blurred. As he heard Jimmy at the stairs.

Jimmy?

Why Jimmy?

He saw him there, standing above him. He should have stood up. He should have taken whatever he had left and used it to kill Jimmy. But he couldn't. He just lay there and stare up at Jimmy. Stared at the broken, bloody, beaten mess that stood before him. He almost wanted to smile, and laugh, and point. Jimmy was worse off than he was, and was definitely going to die. Sooner or later, they would both be dead. At least there was that.

Jimmy ripped what was left of the spear from his guts, and held it high.

He didn't stab. He just fell.

All of Jimmy's weight pressed down on Alex, and the tip of the spear that once pierced Jimmy's guts was now sticking through Alex's neck. There was pain, and blood, and the unbearable feeling of drowning, but Alex couldn't do anything. He couldn't push Jimmy away. He couldn't fight him. He couldn't get back up from this one. But what he could do was die.

It was all he could do, and it was all he had to do. Just die, and let go.

Why?

It was all coming to an end. The result of everything that went on over the past two weeks was ending right there and then. All the fighting and all the struggling. All the regrets and resentments. All the enjoyment and fun. Everything he did and everyone he did it to. They were all gathered around him now. He could see them. Between the darkness that now surrounded him, and the deafening silence that filled his ears, he could see them. He could hear their accusations. He could feel the heat of the fire, waiting for him.

Yeah... it was all over. It was all gone. The blue sky was gone, Jimmy was gone. All the pain and blood, gone. Just darkness, and heat, and a deafening roar. It had all come to an end. Alex let go of it all, and let it end.

But Alex would be remembered, long after it was over. He would be remembered, and they would ask why he did it.

Why?

Because fuck you, that's why.

The monster never dies.

He just comes back.

Boy #14 - Alex White. Deceased.

[Little Boy†]

Jimmy collapsed onto Alex, his body convulsing, frothy red blood spilling from his mouth. The spear was sticking out of Alex's neck- at least he thought. It was hard to tell, hard to see anything. Alex had stopped moving. The raging storm in his head began to slow.

ohgod...

His world was going dark. Jimmy's vision began to fade. He was choking on his own blood. He couldn't move, every attempt sent pain shooting through him. He gave up. He lay still.

Was it worth it? You're going to die now kid. Was it worth it?

He was past all feeling. His eyes bulged even as his guts began to slide out of his stomach, his blood drenching Alex's waist. Jimmy shuddered, a whimper escaping from his broken mouth. Tears fell from his face, disappearing immediately in the blood drenching the floor. Alex was quiet now. His breathing was slow, labored.

You were supposed to win. So much blood. Danya, what will Danya say? You lost.

You lost Rosa. You lost yourself. and you lost the game. You don't deserve to go home.

Well good. He didn't want to go home anyway. Bayview had never been his home. He'd intended to leave it, as soon as he could. Get accepted someplace, do something with his life. Wasn't this something? Wasn't dying on national television something?

Yes. He was something. He'd pulled his weight, he'd avenged Rosa. As he struggled to remain conscious he repeated the words in his head, a desperate prayer. His blood stained lips barely moved, a bizarre heavy feeling overtaken him, pushing him down upon Alex, sapping his strength.

I'm something. I'm something. I'm something.

I'm something important. They'll remember me.

He was shaking now, guttural noises coming from his throat. He was sweating, burning alive, drenched in blood and violence... He wanted it to stop. He wanted everyone to stop talking, to shut up and leave him alone.

Rosa was in his head, crying, the life being choked out of her. He was screaming and apologizing, a dirty shard of glass clutched in his hand. He'd made her cry and he would pay for it, he swore he'd pay- but the blade was shaking in his hand, hovering above his wrist. Chicken. He was too much of a coward. No matter what, he would always play the part of the coward, the introvert.

Couldn't even kill yourself. Had to ask Alex to do it for you.

Not a hero. Delusional. Never a hero. Holden Caulfield. Whiny little teenager, never even got to go to prom... Girls. So confusing and foreign, a virgin at 18, who was still a virgin at 18? Not a man, worthless, and yet he had believed her, had not even cared if it was a lie... Couldn't even kill them, couldn't even win a stupid game. No purpose. He'd served no purpose. He'd spent 18 years being worthless, and a week suffering. All for nothing.

And he was still crying. What kind of man cried?

Stupid question.

Vikings.

Vikings had to be kids once, right? Haha. Viking kids. Stupid. You're stupid Jimmy. Fuck everything, die with noise, ain't that what you said? Id, fuck kill destroy. That worked out well. It was fun. Sure fucked you, didn't I Alex? Didn't I...?

He couldn't get the words out. Slowly he tilted his head to the right, his vision blurry, struggling to stare at Alex. He didn't try to speak. He just stared. Alex wasn't moving. His eyes stared up toward the ceiling, open, unseeing. A wave of relief seemed to pass over him, dulling his pain better than painkillers ever could. He sunk back down, resting his head against the cold floor, the blood so deep it leaked into his throat.

I did it. Oh God, I did it.

Thank you. Oh Thank you. They'll remember. They'll remember me for this. Glorious. Fucking Glorious. Hardcore, I'm hardcore! They're all a bunch of chumps! I won! Men can cry, and that's alright, I'm a man! I won the game! Me! Jimmy Fucking Brennan! JIMMY FUCKING-

Jimmy didn't have time to register the blast. The frag grenades clutched in Alex's limp hands rolled free, splashing down into the pool of blood. The floor was gone. His face was gone.

There was noise and he screamed, a terrible choking gurgle that seemed to stretch out forever.

He was happy.

Jimmy Brennan embraced oblivion like an old friend.

-----

The resulting blast decimated the top floor of the lighthouse, all but destroying the remains of Alex White and Jimmy Brennan. The force was large enough to blow out all the windows and partially destroy the floors. Scenes of the devastation weren't visible on any of the cameras situated directly in the vicinity- to capture the resulting shot, the feed was from another camera, farther down the coast.

The explosion was muffled, smaller and distorted, almost anti-climactic. Across the island, the few remaining students were too busy to noticed the explosion in the distance, and too numb to care at the names listed on the announcements.

In the town of Bayview, a family packed up their belongings in the night, moving quietly, the lights off so as not to alert the neighbors. As they worked, a muted TV ran in the background, a distorted image of a skinny ginger haired boy, forcing a shotgun barrel into another boys' mouth on repeat. The light of the TV their sole guide, the family moved without a word, hunched and broken.

They would move somewhere else. Start again, perhaps with a new name.

All across World, people had been tuning in, watching the chaos unfold. At roughly midnight, the family received the call, informing them their son was dead.

It went to voice mail. They were already gone, fleeing from the town they'd once called home.

All across the World, people rubbed their eyes and went to sleep. Jimmy had lost, in a game where only first place counted.

No one would understand the smile on his face.

And as far as Jimmy was concerned, that was just too fucking bad.

B134 - Jimmy Brennan - DECEASED