Please, don't...

Olivia was conscious when she felt someone effortlessly snatch her up off of her seat, but her body was too weak to move, and likewise, her lips were unable to speak those very same words she wanted so badly to communicate. But her mind was very much awake and aware of what was going on... Absolom. As if on cue, she felt her blindfold loosen up before it was slipped off completely. Olivia blinked a few times and noticed that she was still enveloped in darkness, unable to make out anything or anyone surrounding her, and then, the strong hand that had a firm grip on her arm pushed her forward without warning.

There was a brief moment of freedom that fully brought Olivia to her senses, but the feeling didn't last long. The girl landed on the ground with a heavy thud that knocked the breath out of her, her shoulder and side painfully absorbing most of the impact from the fall. She couldn't help but cry out as a result, although her cries were muffled by the gag secured tightly against her mouth. All she could do for now was lie there as the wind slowly dissipated from the helicopter that didn't waste any time to pull back, its presence very quickly becoming nothing but a memory.

She wanted to get up and walk around, have full use of her hands once more, check for injuries...but that was all impossible at the moment. Instead, Olivia simply listened and watched for some sort of movement, anything that might indicate any nearby danger. But all was calm around her and she was finally able to feel the slightest hint of relief, as hard as it was to believe given her current situation.

Since there were no guards around and she was alone, or so she thought, Olivia took the opportunity to slip her wrists underneath her legs to bring them to the front. Shen didn't waste any time undoing the gag so that she could finally take a few much needed deep breaths after what seemed like an eternity being bound in such matter. Although her ankles and wrists were still zip-tied, Olivia was grateful for at least having something to work with.

And then she heard it...movement not too far from her. Her heart pounding, Olivia quickly sat up to notice a dark figure on the ground that rocked from one side to the other.

"H-hello?" she managed to whisper.

"Just blindfold him already! We're in the drop zone!"

"Fuck off!" Deacon said through the muffle of his ball gag. He lurched forward, hitting his forehead against the head of a guard. The guard stumbled back. Deacon stumbled to his feet and looked out over the edge. The waters were calm and tranquil. An aquamarine colour so gentle one could see the tropical fish swimming above the sandy seabed. He didn't know what there was on the island. Absolom. But it had to be a hell of a lot better than prison. But being blindfolded... that would make things difficult.

"Holy shit, give me the blindfold!" A guard with a thick cockney accent muttered.

"Sit down lowlife," another guard said, grabbing Deacon's shoulder roughly, throwing him back down. The helicopter suddenly grew silent as it descended down to the islands shores. It was so weird. The thundering sounds of the propellers suddenly ceased to exist. Deacon struggled as the guard forced the blindfold over him but he was powerless. He didn't like being powerless.

"Here should be good. Throw the trouble maker first," one guard said. He felt the barrel of a gun poke into his back as the guards forced him up, and threw him out the window.

His heart began to race as he expected a large drop, but he hit the ground with a thud after a mere second. He wasn't too high up. His shoulder and ribs hurt, but he had to work fast. This island seemed like paradise, but he was on an island full of hardened criminals. He bent his legs up and kicked them beneath his zip tied wrists. Now he was at least a little mobile. He pressed his face against the sand and moved it down, angling the blindfold up so he could see. He spit the bits of sand that got in his forced open mouth and he reached up to take the gag off. He was still unable to walk, but he had his senses. That was a start.

He paused a moment to observe his surroundings. The choppers were still dropping prisoners around the coasts. The water was flat. A leveled sea of turquoise as far as the eye could see. There was no escape. He turned to either side. He was in a small area dotted by huge boulders. His vision was limited. Inland he saw a large field of tall foliage. Perhaps sugarcane? The small field gave way to the thick rainforest on all sides. With that, Deacon looked back to the sands in search of a sharpened rock. There had to be at least one around here. It'd take a while, but he could cut his binds off.

"H-hello?" she managed to whisper.

There was certainly movement. It was dark as pitch, but after a few moments of allowing her eyes to adjust, she could make out another form. Clad in the same orange prison garment she wore. It struggled a little, but then lay still. She could hear its laboured breathing behind what was sure to be another gag.

Something had changed. It was still. Very still. And the temperature in the air had shifted, she was sure of it. Or maybe it was the dew, or the cold sweat running down her spine. No -- something about her location had changed. The sounds. The animals -- they were gone. It was like she had fallen into a hole in the world. But then, off to her left, a sound. Monkey? Bird? Now off to her right, farther away. What was that? Hyena? A scream. A call of some sort. Now behind her. The sounds began to overlap, from all sides, all directions. The warped, twisted "calls of nature" that it didn't take DeLuca long to realize were the taunts of... people. Shrieks. Cries. Mimicry, if you could call it that. These were the calls of the depraved, the lost, the barbaric. How far? Maybe 150 feet. Coming from where? Seemed to be all sides. The only consolation was, at least for the moment, they didn't seem to be getting any closer. Louder? Yes. More plentiful? Yes...

---

All was silence, once the helicopter departed. No return trip, then. my bags are packed... I'm ready to go. The zip-ties wouldn't be terribly difficult to cut, but he'd need to do it soon. They'd been cinched tight, and circulation was becoming an issue, his fingertips turning blue, and feet numb. All around were the sounds of nature, a cacophony in his ears. Sounds he hadn't heard in an age... I'm standing here outside your door, I hate to wake you up to say good-bye. Heat. Humid, stifling heat that caught in your throat, and set a powerful thirst about a body... heat like the noon-day sun in a roasting pan, in hell. A gull of some type set down on a boulder not far from him. But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn, the taxi's waiting, He's blowing his horn. There was no sign of anyone, anywhere. And though it was freeing, and he could almost rest easy knowing the Man wasn't breathing down his neck, the Gull mocked him. Already I'm so lonesome I could die...

Her own labored breathing was above all other sounds, partly because she was terrified at that moment and also because the fall had hurt her. The humidity seemed to envelop her from each and every angle, her long, bleach blond hair pulled into a braid behind her but the shorter wisps of hair clinging to her face like glue. She pushed those behind her ears with restrained hands, her vulnerability starting to get the better of her. But luckily–or maybe it was unfortunate–Olivia had found someone else, another inmate. She dragged her way to them, each elbow taking turns digging into the ground to pull her closer, her mind actively ignoring the world around her except for what was in her path straight ahead. When she was beside the other inmate, she pulled the blindfold off, then took off the gag.

"Please tell me you have something useful on you."

Without any sort of permission or consent, Olivia started searching the man's pockets, but much to her disappointment, he didn't have anything on his person aside for some watch. She tossed the item aside and sighed, pushing herself back up to the sitting position, her arms lazily resting on her bent knees in front of her. "You're no help–"

Suddenly, something behind them startled Olivia, and very slowly, she turned her head to try to make out the source of the noise.

"Damnit," He muttered. Deacon had been cutting away for what seemed like hours. Finally he got what looked to be about half way through. Summoning his strength, he pulled his arms apart and the zip tie snapped, falling in the sand. Deacon stretched and inhaled the cool night air. The slight scent of sea salt wafted in from the waters. Sure Deacon was alone, and anybody he saw would most likely try to murder him, but Deacon was happy to finally be free. An alpha male and a man of principles, he didn't like the prison system.

Getting to his feet he looked down at his clothes. The basic orange prison rags any inmate had. No shoes. Then he reached down his pants to his inner thigh. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes that were taped to his skin. Perfect time to light one up. He pulled one from the pack and then cursed under his breath. He didn't have a lighter. He popped it back in and groaned in annoyance. Regardless, he still had a few hours of night left and travel at night would be safer than day. The looming forests around him casted stark shadows along the coasts. He began his walk to what he presumed was the south of the island.

Jacques' eyes fly open and he comes to with the urgent sense that he's in danger. There's a woman leaning over him. He doesn't know her and immediately, irrationally decides that he doesn't like her. In a single smooth motion, he kicks his legs up into the air, and using that momentum, hops up onto his feet. He hears sounds. He feels that his wrists and ankles are bound. He's been in situations eerily similar to this before, just not involving the type of psychos who find the need to advertise their mental disturbances with such enthusiasm.

The thickly-bearded Quebecer ignores the woman, and seeing the posts of an old fence with their twisted metallic edges, he hops over and, without hesitation, brings his wrists down hard on a relatively sharp bit, slashing the the zip-tie in two. The sheer strain of the plastic in the moment before it gives way is enough to send vivid pains shooting up his arms. Then Jacques is free. He flips into something like an awkward headstand, hooks the zip tie between his ankles onto the same barb, and yanks. The nerves in his lower legs howl in pain and protest, but then he's free. Tabarnak, that hurts! but he has no time to bellyache. He begins tearing off his bright orange jumpsuit. It's designed to make him easy to see.

Jacques feels nothing but hatred and disdain for these 'people'. Most of them are scum: those without ambitions, purpose, or meaning in their lives. Violence simply for the sake of violence. They are animals and he is not. Jacques recognizes an attempt to frighten him but is under no illusions: it will be backed up with potentially deadly action. At the very least, these fucking beasts want to test him and the other new arrival. He couldn't care less about her. As he listens carefully for a moment for where the calls seem thinnest, he finishes squirming out of his jumpsuit. They're close. Real close. He picks out a direction and runs as quickly as his legs will carry him, ready to fight at any moment.

Jacques feels nothing but hatred and disdain for these 'people'. Most of them are scum: those without ambitions, purpose, or meaning in their lives. Violence simply for the sake of violence. They are animals and he is not. Jacques recognizes an attempt to frighten him but is under no illusions: it will be backed up with potentially deadly action. At the very least, these fucking beasts want to test him and the other new arrival. He couldn't care less about her. As he listens carefully for a moment for where the calls seem thinnest, he finishes squirming out of his jumpsuit. They're close. Real close. He picks out a direction and runs as quickly as his legs will carry him, ready to fight at any moment.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. He smiled. These were new. Clean. They smelled like the world. Fight or flight, it was. Oooh, look. That little piggie was stripping off in anticipation of a good fuck. As soon as he bolted, the watcher whistled. a shrill, short burst, and three tumbled out of trees, out from behind bushes, and gave chase. He wouldn't get far. There had been no particular instructions. (different whistles for different needs, you understand...) so whether that one came back, or came back in pieces, didn't matter. The watcher looked to his right, the two pairs of white eyes peering back at him out of the darkness. "Get me the girl." He blew, as if blowing a mosquito off his arm, and in doing so, the two pairs of eyes disappeared. The watcher went back to cawing like a crow being molested by a chainsaw...

---

Behind Olivia there was a rustle. A certain motion of the long grass. Her companion had decided his fate, while she crouched on the ground. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and soon she could make out her surroundings. She was in a small clearing, maybe roughly 100' in circumference. It was the crest of a hill, not terribly high in elevation -- but high enough to make an obvious landing zone. The tree-line that surrounded the clearing was thick, dense bush, and in the darkness, there was no telling which way had the easiest terrain.

The rustle behind Olivia became a definite shape, as a man, small, wiry, emerged from the tall grass, a dozen paces from her position. He smiled, and a thin bead of drool dripped from his thin lips. He moved quietly, and as he did so, drew two long, thin blades from behind his back. Pinpointing the source of her immediate trouble, Olivia's attention was drawn to the man with the blades, until there was another rustle, immediately to her right, barely three feet from her right shoulder...

---

Jacques ran. And it wasn't long before he heard the whoop and caterwaul of pursuers. At least two. Maybe more. He picked up speed quickly, realizing that his path led downhill at an ever-increasing angle. Trees, branches, vines and thick underbrush whipped at his arms, his face. Visibility was less than twenty feet, and maintaining any pace meant glances behind him were next to impossible, lest he place a foot wrong or run head-long into a tree. Whoever they were, they were close, and they didn't care who heard them coming.

"Damnit," He muttered. Deacon had been cutting away for what seemed like hours. Finally he got what looked to be about half way through. Summoning his strength, he pulled his arms apart and the zip tie snapped, falling in the sand. Deacon stretched and inhaled the cool night air. The slight scent of sea salt wafted in from the waters. Sure Deacon was alone, and anybody he saw would most likely try to murder him, but Deacon was happy to finally be free. An alpha male and a man of principles, he didn't like the prison system.

Getting to his feet he looked down at his clothes. The basic orange prison rags any inmate had. No shoes. Then he reached down his pants to his inner thigh. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes that were taped to his skin. Perfect time to light one up. He pulled one from the pack and then cursed under his breath. He didn't have a lighter. He popped it back in and groaned in annoyance. Regardless, he still had a few hours of night left and travel at night would be safer than day. The looming forests around him casted stark shadows along the coasts. He began his walk to what he presumed was the south of the island.

All was silence around Deacon. This terrain wasn't terribly difficult to traverse, as the forest stayed fairly sparse and the ground sandy even inland. Here and there, were the remnants of life. The remains of a cooking fire. An open, rusty tin, the label long gone. A bit of blue cloth, the size of a small rag, stuck on a bramble. The going was easy for the time being, though Deacon saw no immediate signs of life, trails, or useful items. Sunup would be in about two hours, and then at least he'd know which way was North...

"Shit, I don't suppose you're here to break me free, right?" Olivia's attempt at some comedic relief to ease her anxiety went unnoticed. The man's expression was devoid of any acknowledgement as he slowly approached her, and when the blades became visible, Olivia tensed up. "Or...maybe you are?" Her voice wavered, and even though she wanted to move, Olivia didn't have much of a choice. But then, she remembered something from prior to her arrival at the island.

Olivia reached inside her jumpsuit and pulled out the small flashlight that miraculously, hadn't been lost yet. She messed with it for a moment before she turned around, her attention suddenly shifting to whatever was hiding within the bushes.

"Who's there?" she demanded, shining the light directly at the grass.

Jacques realizes that running indefinitely is stupid. He just needs to put enough distance between the group that's pursuing him and whatever support they might have. He has run through and hidden in Canadian Shield wilderness more times than he cares to count. His footing is sure. He can handle the terrain. These animals still know it better than he does.

Once he's far enough away, Jacques waits until he spots a branch thick and low enough ahead. He slows down just the slightest bit. Then the branch is there. He pushes it forward and flings it back with as much force as he can manage, right in the face of one of his pursuers. Manger de la merde! Then he dives to the side, where another shadowy figure emerges from the trees. He lashes out with a sweeping kick, eager to take the attacker's legs out from under him.