Mini-update: Andy the Scout is alone, so alone. I'll probably have the next up in a day or two, it's just some important stuff, so I'm still brushing it up to my satisfaction. ________________________________________ As far as his days in the jungle had been, this probably counted among the worst for Andy. It was definitely the worst one in recent memory, even counting everything else that had happened since his team split from the company, and set up camp out here in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere. (No, not Buttfuck, Nowhere. Even farther from home than that. We're talkin' the asshole of the world, out here.) There were times for charging forwards in life and living in the moment, and times for looking back on everything you had ever done and wondering if you made a few bad choices somewhere in between. The latter wasn't something Andy experienced very often, but he was definitely having one of those moments right now. Half-hobbling, half-hopping through the darkness with absolutely no way to defend himself and no idea where to go next, he couldn't feel much right now aside from fear and regret. Oh there had been anger, too. Plenty of it. He had expended his ample supply of the emotion in the short time between Ruprecht's flight and that BLU fucker's ultimatum. Andy cringed and tightened his duct-taped fist as he remembered the sight of that scalpel just inches away from his remaining fingers. Then he grimaced at the sensation of sweat pooling in the creases of his right hand. (I've gotta get this fuckin' tape off before, before my hand starts to cook alive, or rot, or somethin'. This can't be good for me. Gotta get the tape off my mouth too, while I'm at it.) Andy already knew the front door wouldn't be safe. It was booby-trapped. Taking a dive from one of the second story windows would be marginally less suicidal, so he went to the big hall anyways, planning to take the stairs up. When he arrived there and saw the broken window, his heart leapt painfully in his chest. (Oh fuck, we've got more intruders over here!) Eyes wide with alarm, he tottered over to examine the scene more closely. Even in the bad light, he could make out dark stains on the stakes they'd arranged below the windows. The blood didn't go any further inside than that. He could see more out on the porch, painting a trail that lead off down the road. (Did someone leave through the window, then? Maybe that's where Ruprecht went. Fuckin' chickenshit son of a bitch...) Leaning cautiously over, Andy noticed there wasn't much glass outside on the porch, and decided to make a jump for freedom. By throwing himself out the window he managed to avoid the stake trap, but landed rather awkwardly, and took about a minute to get upright again. Rolling around in dirt and splinters and someone else's blood, Andy felt some of his anger coming back. It was a good feeling. Anger was better than fear. Once he was up, he decided to follow the bleeder's tracks down the road. (It's gotta be Ruprecht. When I find that asshole, I'm gonna bite his fuckin' face off. He didn't even fix my fuckin' arm!) Truth be told, the aborted transplant procedure had freaked Andy out, but looking back on it now, he was sort of wishing Ruprecht had been able to complete it. (How did those fuckers get loose, anyhow? Kelly must've fucked up. I don't know what he did, but I just know it's his fault. I wonder if they killed him. Fuck, I wonder how I'm gonna get off this island... I don't wanna end up like the rest of those assholes.) Shambling through alternating pools of darkness and light, Andy made his way slowly down the road, and his mind turned again to regrets. It was hard not to brood. (When we came out here, I thought it'd turn out like one of those westerns where the heroes rob a train or some shit, and ride off into the sunset at the end. Now it's turning out like that one where Humphrey Bogart shoots his buddy for the gold, then gets himself killed off by bandits. Fuck, I never shoulda come here...) There was a time when he would have been horrified by all the death around him, but bit by bit, his team's brotherly love for one another had eroded. Their first stint on the island had been bad enough. Between the malfunctioning equipment and the choking atmosphere, only the hope of victory over the BLUs—and the fat bonus to their salaries that would have come with it—kept Andy and his teammates from falling apart. Things had only gotten worse after that. Now, as Andy struggled to cover ground through the treacherous dark, he felt only a weary acknowledgement of the other men's deaths. There wasn't much room left in his heart to worry about other people, and he could only think of one person who roused feelings of sadness within him. On the plantation's lonely road, with only the night for companionship, Andy paused for a moment and found himself wincing back tears. That BLU Spy's words were still haunting him. He really was as far from home as he could possibly get. (I don't wanna get killed out here! Oh God, what'll happen to me? Will Ma ever find out if I die?)