Title: Survival of the Fittest
Summary: Mello, Matt, and Near all all bound for camp, but Wammy's isn't what any of them expect.
Disclaimer: I don't own DN or anything referenced, and the idea is far from original, but here's my take on it.
Author's Note:- IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ. DO NOT IGNORE. This isn't the full chapter. Actually, it's only about half of what I intended to write, but there's a chance I won't get to write for a while, so I wanted to post at least this much. I'll try to update again, but personal problems are getting in the way. I've been... really down lately. Things have been so bad. Granted, I have more downs than ups, I usually look to my friends for help, but... the friends I have, I can't burden them anymore. I can't. It's not fair. I love them too much for that. And I can't deal with these problems on my own. I don't know what the future holds, but I'll write if I can, and if not... I'm terribly sorry. -if anyone likes something I started but haven't finished, I'm willing to allow you to adopt it and finish it as you please. -Fellow writers, please take this into consideration. I'm not okay, and I'm not sure if I will be anytime soon.
…
Whatever strength or wealth one has, it's gone the moment they set foot off that charter bus and onto the desolate grounds of Fat Camp. That strength or wealth, the nobility and pride that go with it, it all vanishes so completely that one won't recognize themselves within the hour.
Looking in a mirror, a scholar will sight a potential terrorist -eyes manic and mouth twisted off to the side in ways that look inhumanly possible. A freak show. A carnival attraction.
Turning away from that reflection, the once kind-hearted kinsman will see fit to attack the nearest bystander. Driven by madness, propelled by adrenaline, and consoled by a mutated form of rationalization, their biggest war is an internal one. Blows striking from the inside out. Insanity for cheap, medication for the humble.
Fundamentals, bloodying both hands for the first time, a youth becomes a true camper of Wammy's. From a caterpillar to a butterfly. Metamorphosis. Once it happens, it can't be reversed.
Rust and dirt and coagulated essence of human beings, it all gathers beneath the fingernails of children and teens and young adults. A sediment of sorts; a silent documentary of the deeds that are done.
But foul and fair are adjectives that do not come into play.
Not here.
Not at this particular camp.
Not for the campers that struggle to keep their weight low and collect a quota based on a system that is allegedly predetermined.
And not for a world that revolves around a barbaric tradition of mutilation accompanied by a simple balancing act between the living and the living impaired.
These are not stories to tell children or grandchildren. These are not things one wants a friend or family member to know.
Truth becomes a disease.
To escape truth, some simply don't speak of it. Others make up new truths. Regardless, reality is hidden to some degree - even when the remains of a fractured skull are cleaned and speared with stakes that are placed in the ground to mark territory that someone has claimed.
And this works: claiming territory. It has to in order for some of the more sociopathic campers to survive. Because even Fat Camp has rules regarding property, taxes, and criminal activity; it just happens to be monitored and enforced in ways that are different than that of the free world.
The veteran campers know this. And they'll share their secrets the moment they believe a new camper is ready.
For a camper to be ready, they must fully accept the warped environment and conditions for survival; they must understand that the wieght they carry is a burden to everyone; and they must be prepared to make life and death decisions at a moment's notice.
...
Beyond has Near's hand in his; Near's other hand is holding the lifeless camera. The two are traipsing through the woods on a path that only the red-eyed raven can see, and they stop long enough for the elder of the two to grab a flat-headed shovel that leans against a nearby Dogwood.
"This," Beyond says, voice smooth and somehow sinister, "is the key to all that I know. All I've ever been can be found with this one tool." His words are full of emotion at the start of his proclamation, but there's an ounce of stoicism by the end of his miniscule means of information. A demon's lilt.
Of course, by now his hands are filled by the splintering wood of his shovel, and Near watches from a few feet away, camera close -a lifeline. And he takes that camera and presses it over his eye; it becomes a mask as he make believes that it is in working order.
And, if only for pretend, Near is content to film, and Beyond is ecstatic to share a secret. Children at play. Hide and Seek versus Ring Around the Roses.
Tag, you're it!
The flat end of the shovel is pressed into loose soil, making a 'thunk' sound when it hits something concealed by earth. The dirt is quickly moved away and a wooden trap door is unveiled.
"Down here," Beyond says, dropping the shove and grabbing a worn old rope, using it to lift the trapdoor.
Looking down, Near can see nothing but darkness. An infinite chasm of filth. A bottomless pit.
But then the Camp Counselor, he takes the initiative, kicking the shovel further away. In the next moment, he's got both hands on the edge of the pit, and his body is halfway in; he's climbing in, adjusting the way his body is positioned until his foot slides neatly into one of many holes that line the interior to form a makeshift ladder.
Seconds pass as he climbes in, lower and lower.
Near watches curiously, silent. Then he follows suit, but not before tucking the camera into the waistline of his pants for safe keeping.
After minutes of descent, the albino finds his feet on firm, flat ground- a rather solid collaboration of rock and dirt and limestone. It's dark, but after turning around, he can make out the vague silhouette of his Camp Counselor holding a flickering lighter.
"In the beginning, God created Heaven and Earth," Beyond says with a smile, his own carbon dioxide combatting the small flame in his grip. "But I don't know that there even is a God, so what does that tell us?"
To this, Near says nothing.
And Beyond continues. "It tells us what we've always known. People will always look for something to believe in. Children believe in fat men who bring presents. Christians believe in a mythical man that grants miracles. -Do you believe in anything, Near?"
And Near thinks for a moment, giving a nod and stating: "I believe in justice. Facts. Right and wrong. Anything with Evidence."
This answer, simple as it is, it makes the raven grin. "I like you." A small stretch of silence takes hold; then Beyond crouches low and gests to a small tunnel. "The proposition stands as an offer that will not be withdrawn, but I strongly advise you to go... before it's too late."
"Proposition? Remind me again, what that proposition entails..."
"...I'll get you new batteries for your camera; you will shadow me, learn more about Wammy's than you ever hoped to know, and... in return, when my brother agrees to help your blonde friend escape, I leave in his place."
"But I don't understand why you want to leave. I thought you were well adapted here."
"Adapted? Yes. Happy? No, no more happy than a caged animal. The madness... it traps us here. I know there's more out there, but I can't leave. Not until I know things will remain unchanged here. That is where you come in, Near. Wammy's needs a Camp Counselor. L, myself, and Kira have handled the duties for almost three years now, but L submits easily and too often lets rule-breakers run free, and Kira is far too controlling and obsessed with public decapitations."
"Kira?"
"...Nevermind. That is a secret that you are not yet ready for. But, for now, follow me. Into the tunnel. Don't be scared."
-Crawling through a tunnel -so small that even the petite form of the albino could barely slide through -was simple enough. That tunnel leads to a generously large mine shaft. The walls are lined with torches, and small caverns are barred or boarded to contain people. Trapping them like animals. Holding cells for human-sized rats. A lab for the innate stalker turned murderer.
"This is my vault. When I find a rule breaker that is not properly punished, I bring them here; and when I find myself -or a worthy camper – in need of a few extra pounds to meet their quota, I help out a bit." Beyond points to a chair in the center of the vault, in which is a pale body, lifeless and shackled... but still alive. Still breathing.
A female's body. Her hair is dark and her lips are gone, blood cracked and dried around her chin and a serated knife sheathed in her thigh.
Beyond approaches the body silently, easily plucking the blade from her flesh and running a free hand through her filthy hair. "This is Takada." He fists his hand in her hair, and her withering body jerks with the simple motion. "She broke a rule a few months ago and has been here ever since." Dropping the knife and releasing the hair, he turns away, grabbing a small metal device from somewhere near; then he places that device between the exposed, fleshless teeth of the woman's skull. "This is a mouth restraint, but I've modified it to my liking. Rather than simply hold a mouth open for medical or sexual purposes, I can use it to completely unhinge her jaw; and with enough pressure, it will snap right off. -But I have no need to use it on her. Poor Takada already lost most of her organs, her tongue and toes. Her whore lips and spleen. She's mostly hollowed inside. Notice the way her flesh sags around her bones where I have removed fatty tissue and muscle. - I was going to start taking her bones out too, but I've grown much too bored with her." He paused before finally revealing his reason for sharing this hellhole with the albino. "She's yours, Near... if you want her, but know this: taking her life right now will serve as the equivalent to adding your signature to a contract."
Matt, with his red, red hair and his infected face -because, yes, the swelling pustules indicated much infection which spread beneath his flesh- rests lazily against a tree. "Poverty is the new nobility," he says to no one in particular.
But the nearby blonde gives him a nasty glare and tells him to shut up. "We can beat this," he huffs. "Six days. And, if I've got this right, we don't even have to fill a quota every day. So, you and I -two of us. Six days. Between the two of us, we need a maximum of 12 bodies equal to or greater than our weight, and I'm guessing that we weigh about the same. -So, what we need to do, is figure out the minimum of what we need to offer. Then we'll do what we've gotta do and get the fuck out of here."
"Why?"
"Because this is wrong."
"Everything is wrong, depending on how you look at it."
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"
"Yeah, but-"
"Then shut up before I slit your thr-" and just like that, the conversation dies with Mello unable to finish his threat.
Because, somehow, he's changed, and this fact scares him. But he'll never admit that.
"Just... stay by my side, Matt. We'll do this together."
And Matt says nothing. Instead, he moves away from the tree and toward the blonde, wrapping his arms around his fellow camper and holding tight.
Mello's whole body tenses at the feeling, but he holds in the verbal protest that wants so badly to be heard.
And Matt says, his voice a mere whisper: "it's okay. My father wasn't like yours, but he was just as bad, I know. That's why you're scared. You don't want him to think bad of you. You want to succeed and obtain his approval -but even if you do everything right, it won't be enough." With that, he retracts his arms and steps back, so sure that he'd made some form of impact.
And Mello's reaction -his blue eyes close tightly and his lips form a line; his hands become shaking balls of emotion; meteors ready to make an impact. But his tone is calm as he says "I know... but I'm not ready to become a criminal. And I'm not ready to fuckin' die either. And if, for one minute, you think I'm going to let you run off and fuck up, you're dead wrong."
...
-if you haven't already, please read my author's note. Thank you.