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(( Delta Four ENTERS the thread from Kumbaya! ))

Fedora, formerly known as Delta Four (it still said d4 on the side of her mask), stood looking out at the water from the beach. She was perfectly still, the only part of her moving was the fact that she was breathing.

She was glad to be breathing.

Yet, some part of her longed to go into the water, because she... wanted to? She didn't know. But the water was too dark, too deep, and too riled up.

Like her.

Somehow, she felt almost exactly like the torrid water. Cold, and alone.

Sitting down, Fedora wrapped her arms around her knees and stared off into the distance, thinking hard. Just what did he mean? She thought she made a good point, thinking outside the box. So you were supposed to follow rules? You were supposed to kill people?

She wanted a pendant. She really did. It was cruel to think that he just snagged it away, even after --

Even after pretending that he had been beaten.

All was fair in war, really.

She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes, shoulders slumping forward. She felt so very, very alone.

And whatever choice she made, she'd have to own it.

Fedora just didn't know what that choice was.

(( Going to bed, but I should be around tomorrow! heart ))

(( η XI is entering.))

Imani walked along behind Gamma 8, his posture slowly slouching from ‘battle alert’ to just ‘skulking about.’ He scanned the beach with his eyes- oddly attracted to the calm, gloominess of it. “This place ain’t so bad,” he observed. “Anyone else craving ice cream an’ a surf board?”

The dreary silence indicated to him that his bad sense of humor probably wasn’t what was needed right now. Sure, jokes were good at getting people out of funks, but this funk was so deep that they needed a moment to brood before he could effectively perk them up. Instead, Imani hooked an arm over each girl’s shoulders and just held them there for a sec as though they were in a football huddle. The gesture could be interpreted as some form of hug.

“Don’t worry so much. We is stuck here, an’ bad stuff is gonna happen ‘cause we ain’t the boss. You just gotta do yo’ best. We only got a few mo' days, an’ then the week is done.” He held them a little closer as if to emphasize his point.

((So, I have homework that I haven't been procrastinating *COUGH.* that I should go get myself to do. If you need me, send me an IM. O: ))

Gamma 12 is with Gamma 8

She, yet again, hung at the back of her one 'ally' as she'd been labelled, looking at the others who were congregating with them with a sort of unease to be had, arms folded across her chest. It was hard for her to feel 'at ease' about much of anything, tapping her fingers against the opposite arm they rested on.

"The week may be over, but if more than 13 people are alive, we all die." 12 reminded, not really sure how she felt about such survival tactics.

She was starting to wonder if she needed to haul her a** out somewhere and start maiming people. Hnnngh...

(( No worries, Kanth, and yikes! Glad you were able to get back in. I remember how that feels -- not fun. ))

Thyme waved back to Fedora cheerfully enough, even if his mind was abuzz with thoughts. Like Gamma Twelve said, only thirteen would survive the island, or none at all. Was he willing to kill others so that his friends could survive? He hoped it wouldn't come to that but suspected it would, eventually. "I know," he told Gamma Twelve, feeling the weight of the admission sink down in his chest.

If there were four teams of thirteen -- and there might be well more than that -- that would mean each of the surviving thirteen had to kill, on average, three people. The games, if played all the way through, would cull (he winced at the word) some people, but how were the gas mask troopers, separated by fog and geography as they were, supposed to make sure there were only thirteen survivors anyway? By having each survivor see more than their average allotment of deaths.

Suddenly he was hatefully weary of his calculations, of his own thoughts. He wanted to strike out against the hooded figures again, to be back on the move instead of thinking these dreary thoughts.

Careful, now. Don't do anything foolish, Thyme, and lose everyone a chance at survival again. He remembered that even if everyone -- and by this, he meant the subset of the population who were with him now, as well as Tattoo, Zeta Seven, and Bones -- survived, they still wouldn't have reached the maximum of thirteen. Everyone here could live. He took solace in this.

"You're not the only one feeling conflicted, I'm sure," he murmured to Fedora before thinking over her question. A quick look confirmed that neither Tattoo nor Zeta Seven were around. "I... I'm not sure. I thought they were ahead of me, but I must've lost them in the fog." Holding regret at bay, he thought back to the trails of footprints, wondering if they might still be there. "They must have gone north instead." Eager to test out his hypothesis, he took a step in that direction, though he turned back, proffering a hand in invitation. "Coming with?" He had promised his help, and he was going to see it through.

{ Thyme is bandaging up himself some more. }

Thyme cracked a grin at the thought of such text messages, and he eyed his cell phone in vague hopes that one would show up, just to prove them wrong. "I wouldn't put it past them, honestly, except that sort of message would only make our lives easier. And of course they can't be having that." He shook his head. "I'm sick and tired of mysteries. I keep hoping the alarm clock will ring and wake me up already." Because surely a fire-breathing horse could only be the stuff of dreams. But could he be sure? His head hurt. He hunted through one of his medkits. No aspirin. Of course not.

When he came across whoever was running this operation, he was going to have some sharp words with them. For a start. Thinking of his present company, he grinned. No doubt they were inclined to the same. That was something worthwhile to work towards. But to get to that point, he'd have to survive. Or wake up still confused.

Theta Nine was going to find out as much as he could in the time that remained to him, whether it ended with his death or the end of this test. (Any second now, alarm clock, any second now.) He walked across the sands, his path going north. His walk, while brisk, was slow enough for the others to follow, if they so chose. On second thought, he rolled some more bandages around his remaining injuries. Who knew what lurked in the fog.

Initial HP: 20 HP
Healed HP: 3 HP
Remaining HP: 20 + 3 =23 HP

{ Theta Nine is exiting the thread to travel. }

(( Heading out to sleep soon, so I figured I'd get him started on the traveling. ))

"Eh, no point in worryin'. They's gonna make some new 'games' for us, so we'll probably only have the thirteen left at the end. We jus' gotta be in that thirteen." He released G8 and Fedora from the 'hug.' "A'ight, Gate. FedEx. We headin' north?" He turned and began to follow their group's other member.


((Edited: No, I am not leaving. O-O Unless you guys go first. ... Girls. ... Do what you gotta do, yo. >:I!))

Imani turned around. “We ain’t goin’ wid ‘im? I thought we was in a group. Him, too.” He returned, seeing as he hadn’t made it very far, anyway. “So… We got a plan? Is we stayin’ here, or goin’ someplace?” Holding out his arm, Imani displayed the map he had carved into the armor. “I’s from this place up top, and we’s down here. We gonna stay for a while longer? ...Where yo' meetin' at?”

". . . ."

Gamma 12 remained silent, crossing her arms and seeming to mull over the situation, tapping her fingers on her elbows. "I'd hate to leave them waiting on us in case they care enough to come looking.... then again, there was only one map.

Do you know which way leads to the lighthouse?"