The Gadfly Cometh

[General Goose]

Bradley never really was one to sit about and ruminate.

But as he knelt down against the concrete wall of the docks, one foot in the path of the ebbing tide, chasing the congregated ants with the flame of his assigned lighter, one could be forgiven for thinking that was what he was doing. Contemplation, meditation, that sort of thing? That was the refuge of the thinker, not the doer, Bradley had always believed. But he couldn't help but engage in it now. As a prerequisite for action, he told himself. He blinked, trying to dislodge the last vestiges of drowsiness from his mind, trying to focus more ardently on the task of thrusting his own terror onto the panicking ants who had made the mistake of making this dock their home.

Bradley had often raised the prospect of some kind of medicinal sleeping aid to help counter his insomnia. But costs and his father's recalcitrance for seeing a doctor for such a "little thing" had meant he could not get a formal diagnosis, let alone actual professional help. That was partially what made the prospect of some over-the-counter kind of sleep-inducing dose quite tantalising. An end to the pain of his poor sleep schedule.

But over time, the thought became more of a joke, something only raised in desperation or in jest, yet another weapon in his irreverent arsenal of self-deprecation. Alcohol and smoking became efficacious yet imperfect substitutes for sleeping pills. Now, Bradley was quite happy his father, for the wrong reasons of course, had seen fit not to indulge his demands. For if the experience of the sleeping gas was representative of sleeping pills, and Bradley could think of no reason why it was not, then it was fucking useless.

Bradley was not well-rested.

Quite the opposite. And these hapless ants were paying the price. The flame danced across them, indiscriminate in collateral damage yet always soaring towards the ant most cognizant of the atrocity being reaped upon them. He chuckled. Ants weren't ethically valuable, weren't capable of deep emotional thought, were basically little automatons, but hell, the fear was just real enough to make this act of wanton cruelty seem daring and taboo.

Bradley chuckled.

He was wasting lighter fluid.

He placed a cigarette between his lips - the terrorists had not taken that smuggled in box away, they were murderers, not health Nazis - and brought the lighter up. Lit the cigarette.

Bradley's relief was audible. "Ah. Fuck. That hits the spot."

The relief of the ants was...less audible, but Bradley was sure it was there.

[Rattlesnake]

They were watching him.

((B044 Steve Dobson: Start))

Everyone was.

In a way, he was famous now. Except, he corrected himself, not really - not just from a certain point of view. His name was down, come what may. Strapped into seat J2 and both engines on fire. A footnote was the least he could aspire to Steve Dobson, sliced open by... well, he couldn't say. Someone he never expected for sure. Maybe some leadership kid trying to get back to the world they poured themselves into. Just as likely someone who just went along with life and for whatever reason when the chips were down found it in themselves to burn everything else around them. Someone like -

Well, he wasn't necessarily just a footnote.

So he'd taken stock and tried to stand with his ears stacked over his shoulders and his hips. Opened his bag and he'd thought about Chris and he tested the weight of the sickle in one hand. Thought about his parents. Clenched his fingers and zipped the bag back over the thing like he was filling a grave. Took extra care not to slice his fingers off while he pointedly ignored images of parting flesh and spurting blood running rampant in his mind.  

But that was then. This was one of those ephemeral "now"s he suspected he might run a shortage of soon. And he hadn't really thought about what to do; it seemed like one of those things that was just done. He headed for the ocean. Regardless of his sense of direction, it wouldn't be hard to find. That was a good one. Start with something you know. If it really was all happening, and his stomach tilted at the inevitable dispelling of his flicking doubt, he could simply walk in any direction to get there.

Besides, it seemed reasonable. Peaceful, maybe, except for the birds, and relaxing, except he hadn't ever realized how thick the stench of salt could stain the air. And, well... expected. Boy forty-four gathered his gear and set off for the ocean to collect himself. Until, fill in the blank here.

Until someone spoke.

His vision flicked back and forth. Nobody whose company he exactly savored. And Steve himself, he realized with a start, was totally open. Totally exposed. Just staring over the waves like a man entranced. And that little insane part of his brain thought, nobody worth telling about would fall so quickly and so early. They'd do something bold. Like nothing at all.

And so he stood and stared and tried not to let his eyes wander back, and even fought a bit against the flickers of a crazy little smile. If Brad wanted his privacy, Steve would let him crawl away or whatever. He could go pretend that something like privacy existed any more. But if not, well, it was time for B044 to encounter his first friend or his last enemy. Steve was about to see how much of a footnote he amounted to.

[Laurels]

((Alba Reyes continued from Morphogenetic Fear))

Alba hummed to herself as she and Bryony walked along the beach. All things considered, it was a nice day, and it was refreshing to be near the water. If this was a camping trip or something, she might have actually enjoyed her time here. But if this was a camping trip, they could all go swimming and hiking without worrying about the explosives around their necks and the fear of death. Alba shook those thoughts out of her head. This wasn't the time for that. She and Bryony had to get somewhere warm.

As they walked, Alba noticed they were coming up to some nearby docks. Alba smiled.

"Hey, maybe there's a boathouse or something we can take a break in," Alba said to Bryony.

Alba looked further ahead and realized there was someone else there. There was someone up ahead smoking. It looked like there was someone else nearby too. Alba couldn't entirely make them out, but she figured it would be good to greet them.

She waved her left hand in the air and shouted at them.

"Hey! Are you guys friendly?"

[General Goose]

Bradley didn't hear Steve approaching.

He had turned his attention to the natural harbour before his eyes, looking over the horizon with what he would never admit was sentimentality, an unguarded and unprompted appreciation of the natural world he would never vocally admit. He placed his hand on the fore grip of his M16, rested against the wall of the docks.

It was a pretty good placement for the gun - in easy reach, perfect for grabbing if any obnoxious thief tried making a run for it, or some sanctimonious prick tried using this as an opportunity for a vendetta against him. Although now he gave it a second's more thought, that latter possibility could be dismissed. Bradley highly doubted hatred against him ran that high.

He was pretty sure none of his classmates, bar friends or cousins (who hopefully had escaped), had wasted a second thinking about him. Bradley, despite his comically hyperbolic presentation of his own ego, was not so self-aggrandising to think he was so hated that people would actually actively seek him out in vengeance. The worst he'd ever done was a few witty quips that hit too close to home. There were more pressing reasons for seeking out revenge.

But then he heard the voice of a new arrival. Turned around, and was about to make a joke about how Steve's voice had suddenly become girly. And then, slightly afterwards, spotted the actual source of the voice. Alba.

"What a genius question, Alba!" Bradley made sure that his sarcasm wasn't too obvious. Would be far more fun for Alba to not spot it. "I for one have no intention of shooting your brains out, if that's your concern."

[Pippi]

((Bryony Adams continued from Morphogenetic Fear))

Maybe, if Bryony had shut her eyes and let her mind flow clear, she could have pretended she wasn't stranded on this island. Maybe she could have pretended the sand beneath her feet and the sea breeze whipping her pigtails to and fro belonged to a beach back home in America. Maybe she could have pretended Alba's humming was that of a close friend she was walking side by side with, rather than what was most likely a desperate coping mechanism to distract herself from the collar around her neck and the cameras watching their every footstep.

But that wasn't what was going on, and even if Bryony had wanted to try and pretend that everything was okay, she doubted she had the ability to actually do so. Her head was just a constant stream of everything that was wrong with her situation; the explosives attached to her throat, the number stencilled to the side of her bag, the bare skin underneath her hoody, the memory of her teachers, teachers that she'd been taught by for years, getting killed in front of her...

There was no way she was ever going to forget that. Even if, by some holy miracle, she survived this whole thing, that moment was going to repeat itself over and over in the back of her mind for the rest of her life. This was her existence, right now; trapped on an island and forced to kill or be killed. Nothing she could do would hide that fact from herself.

Honestly, she wouldn't have tried to pretend everything was okay no matter what her mental state was. Bryony couldn't see an outcome where everything worked out well if she did; either she'd somehow delude herself into thinking everything really was alright and no-one was going to get hurt, or she'd end up telling someone who's best friend, or sibling, or girlfriend had just died that everything was okay and they were all going to live happily ever after.

It hurt, knowing. Every bit of realisation that she really was on Survival of the Fittest made Bryony feel like bursting into tears again. But the painful truth was better than the alternative, the pleasant delusion that would hurt her in the long run.

Bryony nodded in response to Alba as they neared the docks. She couldn't see any boathouses or anything like that from their current location, but it made sense that there would be some sort of shelter nearby, even if it was just a storage shed for mooring ropes and the like. It would be nice to just get somewhere dry and out of the way, and allow her to rest for just a little bit.

That hope quickly evaporated as they drew closer to the two people on the docks, turning from apprehension to dread at the sight of the boy smoking. She didn't recognise the other guy; he didn't look like someone Bryony had attempted to connect with, and she barely even recognised him from passing by him in the corridors. But the first guy...

Even before Bradley had opened his mouth, Bryony could have answered Alba's question; no, this guy wasn't friendly in the slightest.

Bryony hung back, trying to keep Alba between herself and Bradley, trying almost to sink into her shadow. Her eyes were flicking back and forth, from Alba's back, to Bradley, to the other guy, constantly stopping at Bradley's gun hanging by his side. He was a horrible, spiteful jerk at the best of times. Now he was a horrible spiteful jerk with a deadly weapon at his fingertips.

Bryony cowered behind Alba, trying to make herself shrink and become invisible, and wished she was anywhere but here right now.

[Rattlesnake]

Steve turned without reluctance to face the arriving pair. Actually, he couldn't resist a quick double take, as if he'd forgotten to jot some feature down in his memory. But in truth, the sea was too slippery to really hold his gaze. It felt nice to stare off into something so blank and expansive and representative of home and freedom or whatever, but the characters were all a bit familiar and the plot left something to be desired.

He turned, anyways, and his bag swung around his body with a little more gravity than he found comfortable. It never stopped with the reminders, though he supposed there was something to be said about being a little less coy about it when his companion had half a cafeteria worth of room-clearing at his fingertips.

"I-" he said at the greeting left between them, and Brad snatched it up and fielded it. There was an unexpected pang there. Things were moving already. If he didn't find himself, get on with whatever the something was that he was going to do, he might never hit that stride. Momentum was something that seemed important, and it might be the difference between the sudden crowd pushing him forward or leaving him face-down in the dust.

"Yeah," he added, clearing his throat, boosting his signal against the interfering waves. "We're cool. Nobody's that crazy."

"Yet."

[Laurels]

"Oh, thank god!" Alba said in response to Bradley's reply. "We're not looking to fight either, so that's a huge relief."

Alba smiled in the direction of Bradley and the other guy. She didn't know either of them that well. She heard comments about Bradley in the halls, but since he was a senior, she didn't have many opportunities to run into him. Steve was in her grade, but they didn't really have any common interests or reasons to chat. Either way, the two guys were better than the thief she and Bryony ran into earlier, so she could take that.

Alba looked back at Bryony, who was a few steps behind her. Alba wondered if Bryony was getting tired or having trouble walking along the beach.

"C'mon," she said to Bryony. "Let's meet up with them."

Alba began to walk closer to the guys.

"Hey, so have you guys seen any places to hide out? Or, have you at least seen some other people this morning? Maybe Brendan, or Maxim, or Kaitlyn? Folks like them?"

[General Goose]

Bradley clicked his tongue, and swung his rifle over his shoulders, holding it behind his neck with one hand on each end of the rifle. "I got a rifle, guys, full disclosure. Like, if I was dangerous, you guys'd be fucked, but instead, hey, I'm an asset." He always believed in honesty. Duplicity was not a skill he had, and he had never sought to learn it. Sadly for the rest of the world, he considered tact and discretion forms of duplicity. Self-censorship was a sign of cowardice, and Bradley would not let up. He would be honest, and that included continuing his duty as the harbinger of uncomfortable truths. Bradley would not become a kind of bowdlerising manipulator.

He would be honest about how, in the weapon rolls, he had done well. He hoped the honesty would create a good first impression. Yes, Bradley was infamous. Perhaps it was too late for first impressions, but within the context of the island, people would be viewed in a new context. And Bradley wanted to make it clear to the world he was as candid, above board, and uninhibited as always. It would, hopefully, lower people's guards for him to be so forthright. It would be reassuring. Cancel out the fear factor the gun brought innately to the equation.

Less relaxing, perhaps, was his stance. His stance was casual, relaxed, nonchalant. A facade, of course. Nobody could be nonchalant in this situation. Indifference and apathy was always easy when hearing about terrorism or mass murder in the abstract, when it was happening on the other side of the world. But Bradley was staring death in the face. Holding a rifle in his hands. A proper rifle. An M16. One of those guns his dad always raved on about. True to the hillbilly stereotype, Bradley's dad was a gun nut. Bradley most emphatically wasn't. Considered it a bit nerdy. God, he regretted that choice of interests now.

"How are you guys holding up?" His smile did not waver, but it was sincere. For once, not a setup to some witticism.

[Pippi]

Bryony really didn't want to step any further onto the docks.

There were far, far too many reasons as to why doing so was an awful idea. Alba clearly had no idea of Bradley's infamous reputation, but Bryony was much, much more closely acquainted with it. She trusted him about as far as she could throw him with one arm tied behind her back; anything he said that looked like it would be a compliment or a friendly greeting would be twisted into an insult, and anything that was obviously an insult would be made even worse than you thought. Removing the 'et' from his description of himself painted a much more accurate picture of Bradley Grant.

Bryony could state with some certainty that she was scared of him. He reminded her of her sister far too much. The gun in Bradley's hands only added to her terror, but in his defence, that had less to do with him as a person; she would have been terrified of it no matter who its owner was. The fact that such a stark instrument of death was just a few feet away from her made her feel sick to her core. The other boy was still a non-entity to Bryony. While that meant he wasn't an active, certified threat to her, it also didn't give her any more incentive to follow Alba onto the docks, and she had no idea what his general personality was like.

A little voice in the back of her mind forced her to remember that this wasn't the same Bradley she knew and feared, back at school. This was a copy of him. The same, basic, core of the guy, but with some bits removed, and other bits, pertinent to surviving on this island, added. They were all copies of their Kingman selves, really. Bradley was a jerk and a bully, sure. But that could be it. There was no reason he would be an active threat to her life out here. Bryony had trusted a complete stranger in Alba earlier. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could end up trusting Bradley.

Bryony almost wanted to test her chances in the ocean again, but what other option did she have if not pushing forwards?

She shuffled forwards, still staying behind Alba, hands clasped tight against her chest, trying to hide in the other girl's shadow. She felt like she should say something in response to Bradley, but all she could manage was a series of mumbles, a single word understandable in the mess;

"... 'm okay..."

[Rattlesnake]

For all the potential threat the two others possessed - and, dear goodness, was he doing this already? And what exactly did he mean by already? - his eyes never left the business end of that wicked-looking gun. But, back on track, that mode of thought didn't suit him well, either. "Already?" like he expected to be some paranoid wreck sooner or later?

He rocked a little on his toes, half-opening his mouth while the others made words, pressed his arm into the canvas slung at his side in an awkward little pat that brought the sickle back to attention like he was feeling out the thing's skeleton. Definitely not a paranoid wreck, no sir.

But the rifle. He hadn't always been this scattered, had he? Pretty sure you were supposed to pretend they were always loaded. In fact, you weren't really supposed to own one of those unless you were a responsible adult who hadn't been given instructions to kill all their friends or something. It just felt incongruous, which of course it was, but it was just kind of there and nobody had any complaints to issue about it. Or none that they were voicing, like holy crap why is that guy just spinning that rifle all over the place, and is there even a safety on it at all? Which, he reminded himself, could be the thought process and nobody wanted to speak up.

Well, if nobody else was going to do anything, at least he could.

"Uh," he said, pausing to clear his throat, coming back louder just in case. "Know what, I think I'll catch y'all later." Nothing to incite the guy. "Gotta find some friends. You'll be ok together?"

He didn't really care for the answer, but the stupid part of his brain, which seemed to be the whole thing at the moment, reminded him that people appreciated it if you pretended to take interest in their well-being. Maybe they'd return the favor someday. For now, though, he simply edged away, trying not to stare too much at the gun before he rounded the nearest convenient corner.

((Continued in TFW you will never find out what's in the basement))

[Laurels]

"I'm fine too," Alba said in response to Bradley's last question. "Well, as fine as I can be here. I mean, it's pretty nuts to think about being here, but I think we're on the right track so far."

Alba smiled at Bradley. The gun he had was pretty intimidating, but if he kept things kind, then maybe he'd be a real help to her and Bryony. He could probably scare bad people away, and maybe the three of them would be able to stay safe until there was some form of rescue.

The other guy then said he had to go. Alba was surprised he would leave just like that, but if he had to go find friends, it made sense. Alba would have suggested teaming up to help find his friends, but he was gone before she could say anything. She pushed the thought out of her head so she could turn back to Bradley.

"Anyways," she began, "we were looking for some shelter or a place to hideout. Do you know any good places?"

[General Goose]

Steve went. Bradley just sent a curt "yeah, see ya" behind him as he left. To be honest, they had nothing in common, no reason to stick together, beyond the accident of location. At the end of the day, accidents of geography were how most friendships started, but Steve didn't seem to want to take that chance, to probe further and try and find some chemistry. His loss. No point in running after him. That'd be kinda gay.

The juniors at Cochise, they were always weird around Bradley, taken as a collective amorphous blob, with a pretty tame disposition and unmemorable quintessence. Couldn't say he much cared for the esprit de corps of that grade as a whole. Let the juniors run off and do whatever shit they wanted to do. Except Alba. Alba, he could probably have some fun with. She was a prop at that moment, something he could use as a stepping stone in making jokes about the real source of humour here.

His sweet ol' classmate Bryony Adams.

Bradley had to admit, it was a special kind of shy that Bryony had. Like, shit, being fearful and diffident and apprehensive and all that stuff, in this context, was pretty forgivable. The mark of a psychopath if someone wasn't a little bit scared. But Bradley had the suspicion Bryony was still just straight up shy. And shit, he respected that. Girl stuck to her socially awkward guns, come hell or high water.

He took a step back, still devil-may-care and glibly flippant in every motion and movement, to get a fuller view of the sight before him. Alba was taller than Bryony, but she wasn't the impenetrable cover she was hoping for. If only their heights were switched. That kind of visual humour, that always made Bradley laugh. Mix that in with Bryony's hilariously determined bashfulness, and it would have been a recipe for comedy gold. Fucking shame that they were the heights they were. Oh well. He'd make do. "Well, come on out, Bryony. If you bundle too close together, you might make an easy target."

He bared his teeth in a grotesque display that was some caricature of a friendly smile. "For birds, you know? I'd wager the birds here are the shitting type."

"But, you know, finding shelter is a good idea. Unfortunately, I'm also kinda new to the area, so I kinda don't know anything about good places to chill." He shrugged. "I've just been around the docks this whole time. I'd wager you two have travelled a fair bit more than me." He clicked his tongue again to fill the silence. "Either of you fancy a cigarette?" Bradley had manners, after all. He wasn't not going to ask them that.

[Pippi]

Bryony watched the other guy stutter his way through an excuse before turning to leave, and she desperately wished she could do the same thing and walk away from here. Neither of the others had called him out for his abrupt departure or attempted to stop him, and whether he had just left because he also knew of Bradley's reputation or whether he legitimately had other places to be and didn't like the way this meeting was turning out, Bryony couldn't blame him on either account.

She couldn't just leave at this point, though. She didn't want to leave Alba, not after the kindness the other girl had shown her. They'd agreed to find shelter together, and come hell or high water, that was what they were going to do. On top of that, Bryony really didn't want to leave the other girl to the whims of Bradley's cruel mind. She clearly had no idea what he was really like, talking happily with him as if he was a welcome ally.

Bradley was anything but, and Bryony knew it, and his little joke about making an easy target put paid to any doubts of that in her mind and made certain that she wouldn't be able to ever fully trust him, not the jerk who had made so many days at school utterly miserable. She shot out from behind Alba, looking around the vicinity so fast she thought she might get dizzy, just in case Bradley had seen someone creeping up on them. When it became apparent that he was just trying to mess with her, and once she'd remembered to breathe again, she glared at him, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to stop herself from shivering again. The effect was akin to a small lost puppy, bolstering itself up in an attempt to look intimidating.

She hadn't noticed it until now, so preoccupied had she been with looking for shelter and then running into one of her bullies so soon, but the smell of cigarette smoke was beginning to hit Bryony, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She had no issues with people who smoked, she was almost certain that a few of her friends did every now and then, but she couldn't stand the smell of it.

"Um... no, I'm... I'm alright," Bryony stammered out. Her eyes kept on flitting between Bradley, the ground, and the gun. Bradley, the ground, and the gun. A nonstop cycle of keeping an eye on potential threats and wanting to avoid them at all costs.

"Could you... could you not smoke around here, though? Please?"

[Laurels]

"Oh, no cigarettes for me, either," Alba said to Bradley. "I'm not interested in having lung cancer."

Alba looked around the beach. There didn't seem to be anyone else nearby, or any shelters in the immediate area. It was also starting to get pretty hot, now that she realized she had been on the beach for a little while. She cleared her throat and turned back to Bryony and Bradley.

"Well then, do you guys want to move out of here and find some shelter?" she asked. "Or is there anything else you think we should be here right now?"

[General Goose]

It was for the best they didn't want to share in his tobacco fixation. More for him, of course, and he flashed them genuine smiles of obliged gratitude as they conveyed their polite refusals. He loved how semi-apologetic people could get when refusing a little cancer stick. They should be fucking smug about how they had the mental fortitude, the grit and mettle, the emotional wherewithal, to refuse a little indulgence, even in such stressful times such as these.

"Well, not like lung cancer is exactly something we gotta worry about." He clicked his tongue, again a filler as he thought of another witty one-liner, again wanting to keep control of the proverbial talking stick as he pondered what next to say. Had to maintain his comedic flow. The simplicity of not having to worry about the long-term was liberating, and Bradley intended to make the most of that.

"I mean, there's a lot we ain't gotta worry about now. Pensions. Game of Thrones spoilers. China owning everything. Global warming chaos. The end of free speech. Terroris-well, I guess we gotta worry about that one." He hoped that that list of threats would help convey to Bryony, at least, that he was keeping his same ol' impious, iconoclastic attitude. He was holding his shit together, he was still himself, so hey, less pressure on her to act tough. This shit was survivable.

"And sure, I won't smoke near the docks." He would interpret her literally. Why wouldn't he? Teach her a lesson about being exact. "Gotta say, it's an act of mighty selflessness that you're still worried about natural beauty, even though we ain't got future offspring to worry about passing it down to."

"Anyway, yeah, let's go!"