A Time to Build And A Time to Destroy

[Applesintime]

One killer fell. And about a fucking billion more rose up to replace her.

((Anthony Golden continued from ))

Leo was dead. Jasper was dead. RJ was a killer, and had incidentally murdered Leo, which was absolutely fucking brilliant. God couldn't just let him have a friendship that wasn't going to end with them turning into a player, his enemy, or turn into a dead body lying glassy-eyed somewhere on this flotilla. What happened to the bodies, he wondered. Did they get shipped back to the parents for them to bury, to mourn, to have hanging over them the rest of their lives? Or did the SOTF team dispose of them themselves? Cremate the bodies, scatter the ashes, and pretend that they were doing a public service? He knew whenever it was his time, he wanted to be buried. Back in London, back in Hackney, right next to his mum and his dad. But it wasn't his time yet. Not yet. It shouldn't be anyone's time yet.

He didn't wanna sound like a Bible-thumper, but sometimes he wondered if America actually valued religion a little more, valued that sense of community and morals that it instilled in you, would SOTF have ever happened? Would all the people who had been murdered by their peers over the course of the show be still alive today, working, raising a family? It was pure hedonism, to think that your own fucking boredom and desire to be entertained overruled something like seventy or eighty people's lives.

These were the thoughts travelling through Anthony's mind as he sat down in the cabin. It was small, but it was secure. Two leather seats bolted into the floor sitting at the controls, small square windows that were probably reinforced glass and a secure door, which had some complicated locking procedure, two handles and a window at the top. It was locked at the moment. Hopefully.

The best part about this boat, asides the security, was the giant searchlight that he had now turned on. And now that the cruise ship was off-limits, that just meant that all the killers who had been crawling around there would be out in the open. Hunting, just like him. They'd see the light, and go like moths to the flame. Speaking of killers, he had been able to cross out one name at least. Carol. And in the end, two more had replaced her. RJ and Gabriella. What worried him was Seo-yun. She was most likely going for the ten. She was armed. And she might have a fucking chance.

He wasn't just going to let her get away. Even if he had to chase her outside of this little arena they had set up. To the real world.

Sighing and leaning back in the chair, Anthony sipped on a bottle of water, staring out one of the front windows. What a fucking miserable day it had been.

He had managed to make it to his second night, at the least. The stars were beautiful. It was like a whole new world, of stars and galaxies and the infinite cosmos, had set itself up in the morning, to display its splendor in the night. What were his mum and dad doing right now? Were they watching him? Was Dad working overtime, trying to distract himself? Were they praying for him? He didn't know and suddenly, the sight of the stars only served to remind him of how far he was from everyone else.

He had thought about talking to Ben, but what could he talk to him about? How he was going to hunt players, no matter what colour their bandana was? How much he goddamn missed his family? About how unfair, how cruel, this was? About how the United fucking States had went from shitty sitcoms to child murder in about fifteen years? No, because once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop until his voice went hoarse and he would scream and scream and scream until he could no longer.

But how could he not want to scream? His friends, his classmates were being killed or killing one by one, and the only reason that they had descended into a murderous insanity was a chance to be famous, a desperate, fumbling grasp at a vague possibility that in the end, would be just out of their reach. Nothing was forcing them but their own selfish, greedy, hedonistic desire, to play up to the wants of the crowd. He couldn't feel any sympathy for them. Their ends were of their own making. If they got out, they could play sympathetic and relatable but the true person to lay your sympathy with would be dead.

He didn't know if he was making sense anymore. Twenty hours without sleep and your decision-making goes to pieces. He didn't know if it was twenty hours since he had last slept and he was tired and wanted to just lay his head back against the comfortable chair and fall asleep but when any sleep could be his last he was understandably a little wary of the idea.

"He-... Mum... Dad. Dad. If, uh, if you're watching this, which I don't even know if you are, I just- I just wanna say I love you. Both, uh, both of you. I'm sorry if I end up doing something that's not... well, nice, but, how can I just let these fucking killers walk away?!" His voice, initially quiet, docile, grew to a frustrated crescendo.

"The-the Bible says that the wicked must be slain. Romans, uh... Romans 3:14. For he is God's servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer." Was it presumptuous, to assume that he was the avenger? Maybe he was just desperately trying to take back some control, make some kind of plan, do something so he didn't just die alone, unknown. He didn't know.

"I dunno. But, but, if I don't make it out of this alive, I'm... I'm not sure what they'll do with my body, but with my soul, my spirit, I want you to make a goddamn martyr out of it." It was a bit cliché, the martyr approach, but it was what he wanted. He had protested against this whole goddamn thing his whole life, and if he couldn't get out, it seemed fitting to be immortalised as a figure to protest for.

"I love you two. I... Tell Zach I appreciate him. Tell them all that I miss them. I..." Tears threatened to burst out of his eyes, a dam overflowing. He lowered his head, staring at his feet.

He wouldn't break. He wouldn't. Not in front of the camera.

And so, after a little while, he looked up, out at the part of the jetty illuminated by the spotlight, and he waited.

[AnimeNerd]

[[RJ Blackburn continued from Gene Hackman had it easier in The Poseidon Adventure]]

RJ felt dead on his feet as he walked forward, and he meant that both physically and mentally. In the past two days he had run himself ragged, and his body wasn't used to this level of activity. His legs felt like jelly, and he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn't fallen yet was because he kept his legs stiff. It wasn't doing his knees any favors, but at this point it was either continue walking, or collapsing again, and he had enough bruises on his knees already.

Mentally, meanwhile? A good chunk of him had either gone fishing or was out to lunch.

He was a murderer now. And not just any kind of murderer-someone that killed his own friend-could he even do that anymore? Call Leo his friend? Leo didn't die cursing RJ to a horrible death, but no matter what anyone said, he was entirely at fault for his death, act of panic or not, and friends tend not to kill each other. So maybe they weren't friends anymore.

Well, it's not like you could still be friends with someone who was dead, but it was the principle of the thing.

He hadn't stopped moving after leaving Mary and whoever else on the cruise ship deck. Merely slowed down to simple walk as he went back over his actions and thoughts. He hadn't even changed out his clothes-small bits of Gus' blood spatter had dried along with the mark Leo had left on his collar. The tears had flown down his face-the tracks even still visible, and he hadn't held back sobs-but he kept walking.

He wasn't sure if could've started up again, if he decided to stop.

The announcements came and went, and RJ got to learn more about his classmates. Seo-yun was on rampage, with at least three kills to her name, and maybe more, if Ritzy's wording meant anything. Jasper was dead-would RJ still be on SOTF if he hadn't tried to save him? Who knows. Eric had been the one to kill Gus, because apparently robbing him during their first meeting hadn't been enough. And though he thought he could tell Ritzy was trying paint less horrible picture of Leo's death, it wasn't changing the facts of who killed him.

He hadn't stayed on the cruise ship for too long after abandoning the others, so it becoming a danger zone didn't matter to him all that much. He did hope Eric somehow got lost in there, though. If only slightly.

It was getting dark again. As much as he wanted to keep walking, RJ knew he needed sleep at some point, so he resigned himself to going somewhere safe, then passing out until morning. One part of him said to get over Maxine being in the ferry and sleep in a car there. Another said to go back to the house boat. One more suggested the yacht.

He felt more indecisive than usual-not surprising, but certainly not helping things.

So he kept walking until he found the spotlight. It wasn't the same as one of the stage lights, but he couldn't help but think of the stage when seeing a light in the darkness like that.

So much so that, when seeing it, his still muddled brain couldn't help but think 'Actor goes there' as he made his way into the light's ray.

[Applesintime]

And there he was. Someone had stepped into the light, baptising themselves in the beacon of hope it represented, and it only took Anthony a few seconds to realise just who was standing there, who had walked into his trap. RJ Blackburn, the person who had killed his friend, Leo, just a few hours ago. God worked in mysterious ways, and maybe it was fate that RJ had stumbled his murdering way to this light. He had a gun with him, what looked like a long rifle, but he wasn't going to worry about that, not just yet. It wasn't an iron tucked into the backside of his pants or some shit, something that RJ would pull at the last second and pepper him with bullets, but a known factor. He had the advantage. This was his ends, not RJ's.

There was a loudspeaker button, presumably something he could use to talk to him. So Anthony held down the button, and leaned his head down, towards the little mic thing. "RJ. Hands up. Drop the fucking gun or I will drop you. Do you fucking understand?!" But there was no feedback, no playback of his voice from outside. RJ didn't lay down his arms and throw his hands up, he just stood there. The fucking thing didn't work, did it? Bastard producers. Couldn't give him shit, could they? A little shitty mask, a bunch of his friends to be murdered in quick succession. But nothing tangible. Nothing useful. His fist slammed into the mic, and it bent a little to the left. No matter. Wasn't like he could use it.

With an uttered "Fuck's sake.", Anthony pushed himself up from his chair. New plan. And while yes, it banked on RJ not casually murdering him like he did Leo, they had been friends beforehand. All Anthony needed to do was get up close, wrestle that rifle from his hands, and the rest would be history. RJ would be dead, Leo avenged, and he would have a gun. Snipe Fisk, snipe Seo-yun, snipe Ivan, snipe every fucking killer who got in his way.

But talk was cheap, and while the Lord may have led RJ here, it was up to Anthony to actually follow through. So, fiddling with the door handles before discovering that no, he had not locked the bloody door in the first place, which was the fault of whoever made this stupid fucking complicated door, he stepped out into the cool night. His clothes stuck to his skin in the humidity, and he recalled that he had been wearing them for two days straight. He could change later.

There was some kind of ramp leading onto the jetty, but Anthony ignored it. Instead, he moved to the side of the boat facing the illuminated jetty, where RJ was still standing. Leaning on the railing, or the side of the boat, he wondered if RJ could see him. Underneath the metallic, gunmetal grey barrier that Anthony was leaning over, he had laid the wooden plank, just in case it had to turn violent earlier than expected.

"RJ. How's it going?" What did RJ stand for? He had never shared exactly what it was an abbreviation of, or even if it was an abbreviation in the first place. Didn't matter, though. He patted his pockets, first the one with the broken glass, and then the one with the broken bottle.

Still there. He was ready. As ready as he'd ever be to take a life.

[AnimeNerd]

The light felt nice. Warm. Comfortable. Familiar. He wasn't really an active drama kid, but he'd performed on stage enough that the spotlight almost felt like a safe place. A place where things were scripted-no ambushes that would leave someone dead, no surprises that caused you to shoot someone out of panic, and any coming tragedy was expected and known before it occurred. A part of him wished he could stay on this stage forever, believing nothing would happen without his knowledge.

But this wasn't a stage. Not the kind he was used to, anyway.

A voice cut through the fog in his brain. An instinctual part of him tried to raise the gun, but reason screamed at him for trying such a thing, and the end result was his arms twitching weirdly.

He looked to the direction of the voice-it was one he recognized, even if that didn't mean much. Anthony was a bit more known, since he was the British kid that vocally disliked SOTF, and RJ already knew a good number of people at school.

But it was a friend-someone he could genuinely call his friend and not wonder if they thought otherwise. Someone who disliked SOTF and may've had a plan to deal with their situation. Someone that was his friend and was alive, not killed by his own hand.

Despite himself, RJ smiled, even with the tear tracks visible. Even if he couldn't fully see the other boy. Even if it was the most forced smile he had ever put up.

"I...think this is the worst day of my life." He said, before letting out a sound resembling a chuckle. "How about you, Anthony?"

[Applesintime]

RJ's arms twitched and Anthony ducked below the barrier, holding his breath and waiting for the sound of lead pinging off metal. But it never came. Instead, Anthony just meekly popped back up. had he been considering it? Considering gunning down another person purely because of how they had decided to speak to him without warning? Fucking arsehole. But as he smiled at Anthony, he couldn't help but feel a pang of... regret, almost. It was business. It was survival. That's all it was, really. He couldn't let the fact this guy was his friend get in the way of justice. Leo had been his friend too.

"Hmm. Kind of a coin toss between yesterday and today for me, personally. Yesterday I got kicked in the balls, stumbled into a player group, had an argument with my best friend and then chased some guy away from my hiding place out of paranoia. Today my best friend was murdered, I got into a confrontation with her killer, and all my friends keep fucking dying." Anthony listed them off on his fingers as he spoke. Had the last two days been a crapshoot for as many people as him? Or were there people like Britnee and Diana, who were just coasting around, drinking and bathing without a care in the world?

It didn't matter. Picking up the board again by the middle - it was kinda unwieldy, but that didn't matter either - he slowly walked down the ramp and onto the jetty, making his way towards RJ. From here, he could see him in better detail. Tears in his eyes, blood on his clothes. He looked genuinely happy to see Anthony, and that just made the fact that he had to die before he hurt more people hurt even more. Could he blame it on the game, or would these people have just murdered anyway?

"So yeah. Not a great day, heh. And to top it all off, Tottenham fucking lost. How about you? Wait, actually, uh, we should probably head into the cabin to talk. More safe there. C'mon." He turned around and headed the way that he had came, praying that RJ wouldn't shoot him in the back, no matter how unlikely it seemed. He knew RJ was going to follow him, wasn't gonna shoot, but every step he took, up the ramp, towards the cabin, felt like an eternity of uncertainty before his foot touched ground and he could breathe again.

[AnimeNerd]

Jesus, why couldn't RJ just be normal? He ran into friends only to get trigger happy and twitchy. And it had been hours since he even had a reason to be twitchy! How had he become a mess so quickly?!

Breathe, RJ. Breathe and listen to Anthony.

So, Anthony was going through Hell as well. There was a player group that they had to worry about, apparently, and was also losing a bunch of people. It was probably nice to not be alone in going through horrible situation after horrible situation, but whatever bit of common sense that was still in his boggled mind acknowledged that that thought was horrible and buried it.

RJ wasn't sure who Tottenham was. Some sort of spots thing? Anthony liked soc-football, so RJ reasoned it was a certain football player and left it at that.

Especially since Anthony trusted him. RJ had been noted on the announcements, and yet Anthony was inviting him into his shelter. New tears felt ready to fall-ones of gratitude and happiness-but he held them back for now. He walked quickly to his friend, his smile only slowly fading as he spoke again.

"I...think I've had a pretty shitty two days, two." He sighed. "Ran into Amy after waking up, but she tried to kill me a while after that. Then I went to the ferry and I...I found Maxine, and..."

Should he...fuck it, not like anyone else knowing would change anything.

"And then I got to find out the guy I had a crush on was one of the first people to die-and in accident, no less-so that was awful.

"And then today happened, and I saw two people die. One of them because of me."

The smile was completely gone at that point. A part of him just wanted to break down then and there. Cry and cry and cry some more until he passed out. It wouldn't be the most effective use of his time, but at least he could sort out his grief a little bit.

But he needed to keep it bottled up. At least until Anthony was asleep, if they were going to share the boat. Wait til he was asleep, step outside, then cry his eyes out. He was already disturbing Anthony with his presence, probably, he didn't need to be an actual pest.

A part of him wanted to say more, but he wasn't even sure what to say, so he kept silent.

[Applesintime]

After a journey of what felt like a million miles, a million years, but in reality must have been only a few meters and a minute at best, Anthony arrived in the cabin, with RJ right besides him. And then, RJ started talking about the guy he liked dying and how he killed someone. Not like it was a big surprise, of course. It had been spoken for all to hear by Bitchy Ritzy. What interested him most, however, was that a girl called Amy tried to kill him. Another player to contend with. Another player to hunt down, track, and kill. How many were on his list now? It would be enough to drive someone to madness.

"I'm... sorry to hear that, RJ." He didn't know what to do, really. What to say. A part of him was frustrated at how RJ was to him, acting like he was the only one who had seen someone die, like he was the only one who had lost a friend. Anthony had lost friends, thanks to this fuckwit. He seen Maxine too. He had also seen Nura with her face pretty much hanging off her head and Virginia with her guts hanging out of her. He wanted to throttle him. He wanted to just tell him everything was OK and it would be fine. This flurry of hatred and sympathy and rage all conflicted with one another and he didn't know which one to act upon. So instead, he just moved to one of the bolted-down chairs, sat downs and spun around so he could talk to RJ a little more. Figure out why.

"Amy... uh, shit, uh, Amy? Which one? Like, uh, what's her name, what's she look like? I just wanna make sure that when I see her, I run for the fucking hills and I don't look back. I don't want to die just yet, after all." He forced out a weak, insincere chuckle. A part of him wanted to ask. Who was the guy you liked? Who killed them? But he kept his mouth shut. It was... hard, for him to think about his dead friends. Jasper. Leo. Seth. Giselle. And the ones who had betrayed him, turned to this game rather than the righteous path. It wouldn't be different for RJ. Mourning wasn't unfamiliar to him.

Around the same time every year, the first few days of November, his father would always get a little more remorseful, a little more quiet. It was the date of his wife's death, and the birth of his son. It didn't happen so much now, what with Adriana being in the scene, but had learned that to bring the thing they were mourning up always meant that the day would be a little worse for them. And while RJ was a murderer, and didn't deserve such courtesy, Anthony would give it to him anyway. Would he become like that? Every time the end of April rolled around, locked in a constant haze of regret, what ifs and memories of those he had lost?

"Why did you... What happened? With Leo." He didn't intend to sound so accusing, so instantly annoyed, so he rephrased it to sound more friendly. At least to him. From the announcement, Gustavo had seemingly been shot in the head by Eric. Another friend, now murdering innocents. And then in the kerfuffle, Leo had stumbled onto the scene and in some kind of presumable panic, RJ had shot him too. No matter the intent, no matter what he thought he was doing, he still murdered an innocent person.

It was hard to not toy with the idea of just letting him go, if it had really been a mistake. But he couldn't let one of them go. Once you got a taste for blood, you'd hunger for it again, and then you'd have to be put down.

[AnimeNerd]

In response to Anthony's pity, RJ could only sigh and shrug. He appreciated it, but sympathy wasn't going to change anything. Xander was still dead. Maxine and many of their other classmates were dead. And Leo was still very dead because of him.

It was what it was, no matter how much RJ hated it.

Feeling somewhat awkward to be the only one standing, he chose to sit cross-legged on the floor, putting his gun to the side as shrugged off the backpack somewhat. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but it beat standing and feeling like an idiot, at least in the moment.

"Amy Barrows-Shaw." He answered, keeping the bitterness out of his tone as much as possible. "Dark brown hair, on the taller side. I think she teaches ballet classes? Might remember her more as the...the girl that doesn't emote too much. And she had a mannequin, as a weapon."

That was probably enough, right? Maybe the other stuff didn't mean much, but the mannequin was the most stand-out things he could think of when thinking of Amy, and he doubted she would be getting anything better to replace it.

And the question was finally asked. The elephant in the room. He didn't blame Anthony for asking-RJ probably would've done the same, had he been in his shoes. One friend killing another wasn't really anything new for SOTF, even he knew that. It was still concerning, though, and it would've been odder if no one had asked him about what happened. Anthony doing so now only saved some time.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt, thinking back. Drawing in a shaky breath.

"We were on the deck of the cruise ship." He said. "I had actually run into team mates-Dale and Gus. We were planning on teaming up, and...and maybe going after Eric, since had robbed Gus the first day, and then killed Cassini. It was all going great for a moment, and then there were gunshots."

He swallowed the saliva building up in his throat.

"Gus died instantly, I think. Eric got him with a bullet to the head. Dale freaked out while I just...fucking froze like a moron. But Eric left instead of shooting more, and I tried helping Dale through a panic attack, even though I was terrified someone was going to come and kill the both of us. And then...and then..."

In and out. In and out.

"I heard a sound and panicked. Thought it could've been someone dangerous, so I...took the shot."

Tears were actively flowing again. If RJ noticed, though, he didn't acknowledge them.

"Couldn't-couldn't even make it painless for him. I shot a friend-I shot Leo-and watched him die in pain."

He wasn't even looking at Anthony at this point. He didn't deserve to. He stared at the floor as he sobbed.

"And I can't-I can't take it back! It was-it's all my fault, and I just-I have to live with it! Forever!"

Or until he died here.

[Applesintime]

He set down his iron, and Anthony eyed it for a moment. He could snatch it up. Turn the gun on RJ. Bang. One killer down. But there was a part of his mind that overruled that part. No. he was a murderer, and he had to suffer for it. His information on Amy Barrows-Shaw was useful. He'd have to add her name to his scorecard once this was done. Pick up RJ's rifle and go hunting. A name removed, a name added. That was apparently how the world worked. That was how Survival of the Fittest worked. Murderers murdering murderers who would go on to be murdered by murderers. And then, Anthony would break the cycle of murdering. Killing a killer wasn't murder, but it was what they deserved.

And then he talked about how Leo had died. Eric had a gun; judging by what Ritzy had said about the guys in the armoury being amazed by the kill, it was either weak, unreliable, or Eric was just a really shitty shot. He headtopped Gus, which must have been quick and painless. Unlike what these killers deserved. Anthony had never met him and now he never would. Another fucking person ripped from their friends and their family because of the whims of a fucking narcisstic cunt. Dale was there, and in a way, he was glad Dale was OK. He was no player. He was just an ordinary person trying to survive, like Anthony was. And then came the meat of the story. RJ panicked. Raised his rifle at a sound, fired, and Leo got shot. And you know what?

If RJ had been trying to garnish some sympathy from Anthony, he was sorely fucking mistaken.

OK, if he had been shooting at Eric, see, Anthony would have been alright with that. That's self defense, innit? Nothing wrong with that. But shooting at a fucking noise because it might just be the fucking Boogeyman, well that was just the height of fucking stupidity. He didn't want to have sympathy for him.

"I... I see." He leaned in to wrap an arm around RJ, stepping up off the seat.

But RJ was his friend. And could he really justify killing someone because of an accident? If Anthony was in the same scenario, would he have done the same thing? Would he have fired the gun anyway, thinking that Eric might have came back around and killed him too?

No. Enough trembling in his fucking boots. He was a hunter. A hunter must hunt, whether it be animal or murderer. No fucking mercy. No matter how much RJ cried, no matter how sorrowful he felt, no matter how many memories Anthony had of talking about books with him, he was a fucking murderer. And there could be no sympathy for murderers. Not a fucking drop. This whole situation was mazzaleen. But it was for the good of everybody else. He lost the sympathy card when he murdered an innocent person.

"Don't worry RJ. You won't have to live with it for long." Anthony smiled, stepping back. One foot reached out to kick that rifle away from him. It clattered off the doorframe and disappeared into the deck of the patrol boat, into the dark night. Two hands, holding a wooden plank, swung at RJ's head.

[AnimeNerd]

The tears just kept coming. No matter how much RJ just wanted to be emotionally numb-to just look back on what happened and not become hysterical-he couldn't. He could only look back and feel so many emotions bubble up to the surface. Grief. Guilt. Self-loathing. Despair.

Anthony got up. Got closer. RJ wanted to tell him to keep his pity-save it for someone who deserved it. Someone like Mary, not someone that shoots friends.

But Anthony didn't offer pity. The words...they weren't right.

Clattering sounded as the gun-his gun, his fucking assurance of safety-got kicked away and out of sight.

oh no

An involuntary squawk left his mouth as he brought his arms up in front of his head as he leaned back to avoid the swing of the wood plank. A bruised arm was preferable to cracked skull. Instead the wood scratched at the exposed flesh of his arm, and though the skin felt irritated, neither skin nor bone broke at its touch.

But why did he need to do all of that? Anthony hated SOTF! Anthony was a Christian, thou shalt not kill and all that! Anthony was his friend, God damn it! And this wasn't explainable like Leo-Anthony was actively trying to kill him, knowing exactly who he was.

Had killing Leo caused this? He knew it wasn't forgivable-he was never going to forgive himself, that much he knew, but it really warranted this? Luring him into trap to kill him? Into a false sense of security, believing his friend would still accept him? Having to die knowing that his friend killed him, and said friend seeming to not even regret the action, given the smile on the other boy's face?

Not like this. Not like this.

RJ scrambled backward, legs kicking at the floor for a second to gain traction. One kick was aimed at one of Anthony's legs, but he didn't pay attention to if it connected. He just needed to get away. Find the gun, threaten, and run for his life. That's all he needed to do.

But he needed to know.

"Wh-why?!"

[Lilith]

Pippi had stopped screaming about a hour ago, soon after she had exited the bowels of the ship.
She had stared at her baton. The blood still drying. She dipped it in the ocean, almost tipping over.
She almost let go, both of herself and the baton. She pulled back, letting the salt water drip on her.

The sun had downed.
The temperature did too.
She didn't know if anyone followed her.

The announcements boomed. They echoed. She wasn't on it. She was fine. She wasn't a killer. She wasn't a killer. She wasn't a killer. She was fine. The ship was a danger zone and that wasn't fine, but it was better than nothing. She almost expected to be in one. The first time she was separated and-

Luanne.

Where was Luanne?
Luanne? Luanne?
Did she want her? Did she really want her?

Luanne? Luanne?
Luanne.

Yeah.

Luanne.

She had screamed her name.
A lot.
She didn't find her.
Steph didn't speak to her either.
They were probably mad at her. Her stomach churned. She wanted to vomit, but there was nothing to be expelled. No water. No nothing. No food. Her skin felt like it was burning, so she had decided to make her inside scream too. Her throat screamed in pain. She had screamed for too long. She tried to scream but her voice croaked. She wanted to scream. She wanted to be heard. She wanted to be the siren beneath them and be the siren in the poles around. She wanted to.

She cried. She needed to sleep. She needed something. Maybe even eating. There was a boat. A police boat. Something to find comfort and maybe haven in, but she started to move toward it, she realized something.

It wasn't enough because she wasn't alone, and because she wasn't alone, and because she had hurt someone, she now feared them. There was a rumble. There was hurting. She didn't see it, but she heard it. She peaked her eyes above the hem of the ship, tiptoeing from the jetties. Her flashlight was tucked underneath her armpit and her baton was laying flat. She wanted to see.

She wanted to see something.

[Applesintime]

The swing barely connected, and RJ was on the floor, scrambling for the door and asking why. Why Anthony was killing him? Why he had done it? The answer was obvious. It was so, so fucking obvious that he nearly laughed at the sheer idiocy of the question.

"Because you're a player." This was said in the same tone of voice you'd use to patiently explain to a child that yes, touching the stove would make you hurt, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because to Anthony, it was. Of course he would hunt a player. He would hunt and kill those who had killed others. That was the most simple thing in the word, simpler than the alphabet, simple as two plus two, Maybe to those who wouldn't be able to understand, those who were turning from hunter to hunted, it made no sense. But to him, it made perfect sense.

He let out a grunt of pain as RJ kicked at his leg, and his face changed, turning from that fake smile into something more raging, furious. Advancing quickly on the killer, because he didn't deserve a name, didn't deserve that life that he had killed to keep, Anthony swung again, this time aiming for his chest. Crack a rib, crack his spine, break something, Anthony just wanted him to hurt, because he was hurting from all his friends dying and now he finally had the fucking chance to take it out on someone who deserved that rage and he wasn't going to let go, not until R- the killer was a pile of meat on the floor and he would be forgotten.

All those feelings that had first bubbled to the surface when he saw Iv - Giselle's murderer. Not a name. Giselle's murderer. Everything that had thrust itself up to the surface when he saw Giselle's killer was now starting to emerge again. That frustration at not being able to do anything, that rage at how many people had turned into murderers and that determination to not let any of them go, not a single one. And he wasn't about to break that promise. The only thing that would break was RJ's fucking bones.

[AnimeNerd]

Because he was a player?

Because he was...a player?

After shooting someone he didn't want to kill, he was-he was playing the game of the show? Playing Survival of the Fittest?

After killing someone that was his friend, and regretting it immensely, he was just another player in the game to Anthony? To his friend?

Even after explaining it all, he was playing the game of life and death, and deserved to die by a friend-no, by a former friend's hand? Even after showing how much it hurt, just remembering what he had done? Even after years of knowing each other and being friends?

That...was...

Bullshit.

"I DIDN'T-DIDN'T FUCKING WANT TO KILL HIM! I DIDN'T WANNA-WANNA KILL ANYONE!"

Neither of them tried to act. Hatred burned within both of them, and it was open for the world to see.

Anthony went for a strike. RJ rolled-he still wasn't fast, but the new scratch on his arm hurt a Hell of a lot less than a broken rib, presumably.

The move to get to his feet was clumsy, but quick, and he moved back to get as much room between himself and Anthony as possible.

"And-and how the FUCK aren't you a player?! You're trying to-to-to fucking kill me!"

His earlier crying fit had left him out of sorts. His breathing was erratic and he was stumbling over his words, but like Hell was he about to let a sanctimonious asshole try to talk shit about him.

[Lilith]

"Stop it!"
Pippi screamed. She screamed despite being unable to. It was more a croak. Her throat felt like sand paper.
"Please, please don't do this."

She moved around, trying to board ship.
It was too tall for her to climb on. She found the steps and made way toward the metal ramp.
"Please don't do this, we can- we can all go home."

[Applesintime]

He missed the killer, who rolled to his feet and backed up, asking why? Why Anthony would kill him? And he called him a pla- a fucking player. Oh, that was rich. That was fucking rich. Anthony had never shot someone dead just because he was frightened. Anthony had never shot someone in the head. Anthony had never choked someone to death. Anthony was the furthest thing from a goddamn player. Meanwhile, this killer was justifying his murder. If he didn't want to kill anyone, then why did he pull the trigger? Why did he murder Leo? He was just such a fucking dirty slimeball and Anthony wanted to rip his fucking head off and spike it like Lineker but he couldn't do that until he was dead.

"HE IS THE SERVANT OF GOD! AN AVENGER WHO CARRIES OUT GOD'S FUCKING WRATH ON THE WRONGDOER, YOU SEPTIC CUNT!" Again, Anthony was making perfect sense. He wasn't a player, he was an avenger, a survivor. To kill a killer wasn't playing, it was survival, it was righteous, it was good. He just had to knock this bastard down, and then he'd deliver him to St. Peter to see what was his fate. It was simple. It was simple. He was crying and he didn't know if 'he' meant the killer or himself but they were both screaming and crying but he was good and the killer was bad so it was his fault, not Anthony's.

Again, he moved in for a streak of swinging frantically, his movements angry, clumsy, aggressive. He didn't even care if he killed him or not, he just wanted to make the killer feel some kind of pain. He had been carrying all this on his back as his friends fell one by one, and why shouldn't he share some of it with someone who had contributed to that heavy load? His breathing was quick, bordering on hyperventilation and sweat was dripping down his forehead and into his eyes, his shirt, everywhere and his fingers were digging into the board so hard it hurt.

There was a noise from outside. He didn't know who it was. He didn't know if he cared. If they were a player he would have to kill them too, and that was fine, that was absolutely fine.