Title: Johnny Survivor

Rating: PG-13 for stuff that shouldn't have happened but… did…

Summary: Another Survivor bites the dust, but several others find themselves in a compromising situation. Or two. Possibly three, depending on how you look at it. Much Bon-bon, Shooter, Sands, Spencer, Psnoo and 2 new angels make it to the island. Vague enough? I sure hope so. I'm not delaying the inevitable. Noooo…

Author's Notes: Golly… I didn't see any of this coming. Freaked the living daylights out of me, it did. I'm a firm believer in giving the characters their own free will but… I think there should be a limit too. At least since this foul thing's happened. This isn't any realm of Survivor I've ever been to. The characters kind of ran away from me. No Johnnies were killed, but yes, a few were injured and psychologically scarred. Through no fault of my own, you understand, I didn't tell him to do it. I'm merely an observer. I'm still really kinda sorry for what happened though. Buckle up kiddies, there's angst in them thar hills. Thanks go to Psnoo for her contribution(s), to CC and Little Fox for listening in and making sure nothing really bad happened, and SS, as always for an edit well done.


The Allure of a Bon-bon

Last time on Johnny Survivor…

--- It was a battle of wits with island trivia. The Survivors had colored cubes to indicate their answers, and if their answer was wrong, they were eliminated. It was a fierce battle throughout, but in the end, only Axel had successfully answered all the questions guaranteeing him immunity. Tonight is the first tribal council in which the combined tribe of Varua will have to vote someone off the island.

Varua- Tribal Council

--- It was a death march that was trooping to the council. Axel was subdued, surrounded by the people would were all potential targets. He hated this part of the game, but there was no way around it. The Survivors had knowingly or not congregated in their original teams, but there'd been no conversations of any kind. Nobody knew each other well enough to vote for a person, save for someone from their own team and that was suicidal. The teams had to stick together or there was no telling who would be left.

"Welcome back Survivors. I see you've been adjusting to your new teams fairly well. How would you describe the chemistry? Ichabod?"

"Well… we were familiar with each other before, and we had our previous teams so I don't think it was so bad. We work well because we have to and also because we're pretty amicable."

"Any cross teams hostilities?" the host grinned.

Spencer smirked, "Probably."

"Really? You, Spencer?"

"Sure, why not?"

Sands rolled his eyes. "Show off."

Spencer batted his eyelashes charmingly.

"I see…" The host trailed off, more than amused. "So, aside from a few rivalries, all's well on the western front?"

"I think so. We're good men for the most part and are generally above such nonsense," Donnie grinned.

"Axel, are you going to hang on to immunity for these three days or would you like to give it up?"

"Um, I'd like to keep it, please," Axel nodded.

"Fair enough, fair enough. How's about we get down to the vote? Axel, do the honors?"

Axel

--- "I don't know. I have no idea. You're all incredibly nice and funny and… Alright. I vote for Bon-bon because you're kind of air-headed and I just don't see you lasting that long. I'm sorry."

Bon-bon

--- "I'm going to have to vote Donnie just because he doesn't strike me as the type of person to improvise and that's what Surviving is about."

Spencer

--- "Sheldon J… to keep things interesting between us, I'm a votin' you out. But you're a peach, y'know that?"

Sands

--- "I really hate being predictable, but sometimes it's just not worth it to be contrary. Spencer… boyo… you're name is really fun to spell."

Varua- Tribal Council

--- "I'll go tally the votes," the host nodded and turned on his heel. Side glances were traded and heads bowed as they waited for the final verdict.

"Once the votes are read the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately. The first vote. Sands."

Sands eyed his first name and middle initial. He turned to Spencer and bowed in his seat.

"Charming, Mr. Armacost."

"The second vote. Spencer."

"Likewise, Mr. Sands."

"Third vote. Ichabod."

Ichabod shrugged.

"Fourth. Bon-bon."

The votes progressed until the standings were such: 1 vote for every member of Varua except for Axel.

"The next person voted out of Survivor, Rapa Nui… is Ichabod." The host turned the paper around and Ichy's face drooped. "Bring me your torch."

Ichabod got up slowly and trudged towards the host. He stuck the stick out, so the other man could reach it.

"The tribe has spoken."

Ichabod

--- "That was a hard vote, there was no telling how it would go. I'm glad I made it as far as I did, despite not wanting to be here in the first place. I'll be happy to go home to Sarah. Last I heard, she'd been upped and that's really very exciting. I can't wait."

Sands

--- "Well played Spencer, Axel. Well played."

Spencer

--- "Touché."

Donnie

--- "Sorry Ichabod… I had to vote you off. Strategy, personal reasons… fear of your inventions… I'll make it up to you…"

Varua- Night

--- The weary tribe returned to camp minus one member. They may not have been a tribe anymore, but it still hurt to think about. However, for the optimists in the group, they were one man closer to being the sole Survivor. That would have to be the driving force behind many of them for at least a little while. It was becoming increasingly harder to wake up in the morning.

Varua- Early morning

--- Bon-bon was dozing peacefully. In fact, many of the Survivors were at rest. Even people like Sands were still dreaming about whatever it is multitudes of Johnnies dream about. However, this calm over Varua was not to last. It grates against the moai gods that govern that area of the island. They don't appreciate it when things get too easy. Not that they can overrule the all-powerful author, but even she needed some fun once in awhile. (A/N: I wrote this part pre-carnage. Can you tell?)

A scream cut the calm, Pacific air like a knife. Mort was among the first ones to wake up, immediately suspecting Shooter had been afoot. But everyone was intact and Sands, the Shooter detector, was as baffled as anyone.

"Wa's wrong, luv?" Captain Jack sparrow yawned.

Bon-bon sniffled. "I had that dream again."

"The one where you buy a Cuisinart from the Home Shopping Network, but the second it gets to your door it doesn't work?" Sands asked. People turned to stare at the Agent.

"Well, uh, you see, I then have to check every part of it when it's plugged in and it invariably cuts my hand off. You know how that goes," he finished lamely. He stopped before his foot got even further wedged in his mouth.

"The bats got you?"

"Ye ran outta rum?"

"Your wife threw water at you and electrocuted you?"

"Oh, sure, and my nightmare is any less relevant?" Sands snarled.

Bon-bon shook her head solemnly.

"It's not-…" Sam whispered.

Bon-bon looked up.

"Not the clown dream!"

Bon-bon shuddered and burst into tears. Many Survivors' eyes squeezed shut in remembrance of "the clown dream." Johnnies and clowns don't mix.

Sam sat down beside the shivering Bon-bon and wrapped an arm around her. "It's okay. You're awake now. No clowns here."

Bon-bon leaned into the comforting hold gratefully. Minutes later, after some uncomfortable shuffling, Bon-bon pulled back, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam smiled and gripped Bon-bon's shoulder in reassurance before standing up again. He didn't mind the looks of awe and disdain he got for his actions. He was doing what was right.

"What time is it?" Mort groaned. The adrenaline had ebbed, leaving a feeling of extreme lethargy.

"Too early," Duke muttered, resting his head back on the ground.

"You said it," Donnie sighed.

"I can't believe it. You just got woken up by a woman who had a dream about clowns and you're all still griping about the morning? And you're going back to sleep, no less. Are you Ameri-CAN's, or Ameri-CAN'T's?"

There was a cough. And another. Silence reigned until one voice had the gall to speak up.

"You're just annoyed that we're not afraid of Cuisinarts. Go back to sleep, Sands."

Sands suspected that he might even begin to loathe Spencer Armacost.

Varua- Morning

--- Spencer did go back to sleep and dreamed for a good, long while. It was later in the morning when he awoke again with the distinct feeling something was wrong. Not in the sense of having a clown dream blow away with the breeze, it was simply an itch at the back of his head. He scratched his scalp absently, wondering just what the problem was. It was awhile before he realized that he hadn't stopped scratching.

"What the…?" Spencer frowned. He couldn't stop. He really would itch if he stopped and if he itched, he'd be distracted all day. If he was distracted, people might try to vote him off in three days. So he scratched and tried to come up with a solution. He needed a salve, but from where? What could possibly do the trick?

"Try this. It works wonders," Bon-bon held out an unmarked jar. Spencer watched it warily.

"Where did you get that?"

"I wouldn't think it would matter where it came from so long as it did the trick," Bon-bon replied shortly. She drew her hand back again, but continued to watch Spencer. He was considering. He was really considering.

"Give it," Spencer growled. Bon-bon rolled her eyes and passed it over.

"For your information, it came from my own magic pocket."

"But you don't have a magic pocket," Spencer was applying the jelly to the back of his head where he felt a lump beginning to form. The skin was instantly soothed on contact. Spencer sighed happily.

"I know that." Bon-bon skipped away before Spencer could question it. However, when he reviewed the conversation and statistics, Spencer cringed and buried the jar under a rock. But he didn't wash the salve off.

Varua- Afternoon

--- Donnie hadn't gone on any hunting trips recently and in truth, had been craving fish. Axel had effectively cut down on fish consumption, and the odd fish was simply not enough any more. He had a feeling that the former Hahaga tribe wouldn't mind helping out with dinner, if it meant good seafood. He searched for the fishing equipment and trotted back towards the beach. Sands was absently sifting sand through his fingers and Mort was napping again. Johnnies everywhere were either too lazy or unimaginative to do anything.

"Who wants to come fishing?" Donnie called. Axel refused to look up, but several people did.

"There's not really enough equipment to go around, but we can switch off and maybe get some better food out of it," Donnie shrugged.

"I'm in," Duke stood up. Sands followed suit, more than bored with the current affairs. Mort was napping, his argument being that he was saving his strength. Shooter was very much awake though and watching the clouds drift by. When he heard the call for fishermen go out, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself into a kneeling position. It looked like a good crew, just small enough.

"Can Ah join your club?"

Shooter

--- "Ah think mah accent's getting better. Iffin they can't tell it's me, then Ah'd say Ah was in a right sweet spot. Ah been practicin' th'northern dialect since that man Sands said 'e could tell it was me. Now, Ah can blend in if Ah have to and it's all for the greater good of Bon-bon. Mort doesn't want her and she don't want him, but did anybody stop to ask what Ah, wanted? No. Not once. They're either going to acknowledge that Ah have those feelings for Bon-bon and accept them, or Ah'll find that Ah might have to search out a shovel in the back pocket… Ah will go fishing, if only to get a plan of attack together. And maybe do in the Sands person while Ah'm at it. That agent is entirely too nosy for his own good. And that just isn't good for anybody."

Varua- Afternoon

--- "I guess we can go out in pairs," Donnie was saying. "Duke can come with me and since you and Sands seem to get along fine-…" Shooter grinned on the inside, "so you guys can be a pair."

"Sounds good to me," he smiled beatifically.

"Did you get into Duke's stash?" Sands cocked an eyebrow.

"Nope, not me. Ah didn't steal anything," Shooter shook his head. Ah jes don't see ye survivin' this here fishin' trip…

"Right…" he nodded slowly.

"We'll go first, just to see if I remember how it's still done." Donnie was still lost in his world of fishing. Duke was stripping down to a pair of swimming trunks, having just taken a hit of something behind the FBI man's back. CIA Agent Sands was used to it and on top of that, he had more pressing matters to deal with.

Sands

--- "Shooter's not that out of it. Besides, no accent. Mort's never that loopy and I really don't think he's been into Duke's case. I hope it's only that he hasn't been getting enough sleep, except there's got to be a line somewhere around 12 hours…"

Varua- Afternoon

--- Shooter was digging in the back pocket. What he was searching for, Sands couldn't say, but he was more than alarmed when Shooter grinned triumphantly and raised his fist in the air.

"Gum?" He offered the pack of Wrigley's Spearmint to Sands.

"Why would I want bubble gum?"

"Don't be tetchy, I'm just offering." It was Mort's turn to look confused.

"Sorry. I recently had a bad gum experience," Sands muttered.

"That makes sense. It only takes one," Mort nodded philosophically.

"Yeah…" Sands trailed off, watching Duke diving below the surface of the water. Shooter smiled. This would be easy. He gripped the shovel in his back pocket firmly and pulled it slowly out. The agent still hadn't turned around.

"Ah'm about done fussin' with you," he murmured. He drew the shovel back, and let it fly…

--- Sands heard a whistling of an object moving through the air at a fast pace. It didn't sound like a bird, more like a baseball bat. He turned to face the enemy only to have his shoulder explode in pain. Little did he know that the movement had probably saved his life. He dropped to the ground, but still had sense enough to roll out of the way of danger. It would still be awhile before he could figure out what had happened.

---Someone had been lying with their ear to the ground for awhile now, due to a tip from the worried author (who happened to be Sands' Angel and this sort of thing doesn't go unnoticed). Psnoo popped out of Shooter's back pocket with the intention of running interference.

"Just what do you think you're doing? You can't go around braining poor, defenseless, Johnnies! They've all got angels! Someone will notice if one goes missing, buster. And then you're going to have a mad angel--besides me--opening a can of whoopsmeep on you," Psnoo growled.

"Ah don't know what you're talking about," Shooter replied casually. The cat was out of the bag, no need to reign in the accent any longer. No matter the accent, it was still the wrong thing to say.

"DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT?!?!?!?!? IS THIS NOT A SHOVEL!?!?!?!?!?" Psnoo yelled, gesturing at what was clearly a shovel in Shooter's hand. Shooter glanced downward.

"It's not a shovel. It's'n instrument uh justice."

"I'm going to 'instrument of justice' you, bucko. Gimme that." She extended her hand for the garden tool, but Shooter moved it behind his back.

"Ah'm not inclined t'be givin' this t'you because Ah'm not finished yet." As though to make his point, Sands' groans were heard from the crumpled form. He was coming around slowly, but surely.

"I'm going to finish you yet. Care to find a burned patch in the garden when you get home?" Psnoo placed her hands on her hips.

"You touch mah garden, some worse things are gonna start happenin'," Shooter snarled.

"Are you threatening me? Are you threatening me? You must be, because I'm the only angel here."

"Iffin I got t'get through you t'get t'him, Ah wouldn't think twice."

"You're so smeepin' sexy when you're threatening," Psnoo sighed and kissed Shooter lightly. Shooter paused. He knew that Psnoo was trying to distract him, but he didn't exactly mind either.

"Yer awful persuasive when ye wanna be."

"Mmm... where's your hat? You know I love the hat."

"Ah don't rightly know... Ah think Mort hid it somewhere..."

"Too bad." She kissed him again.

Sands had taken the opportunity to get to his feet. He was a bit wobbly and worse for wear, but he could see what had happened. It seemed he'd underestimated Shooter. Well, he wouldn't be doing that twice. As Psnoo kissed Shooter again, he slipped behind the hick and yanked the shovel out of his hand.

"What d'ye think yer doin'?" Shooter glared at Sands.

"Well... you know I could ask the same of you, Shooter." Sands wasn't happy.

"Wanna kiss?" Psnoo asked hopefully. Sands and Shooter turned simultaneously, Shooter wearing a look of interest, Sands of exasperation.

"I'll take that as a no. Well, okay. Back through the pocket then," she shrugged.

"You can hop in mah pocket any day, liddle lady," Shooter smirked.

She frowned. "Remember; good behavior from now on, or the corn gets it." Then she jumped back into the pocket, pausing only to deliver a pinch to his...forehead...before she was gone.

Sands watched Shooter, a whole myriad of emotions crossing his pale features. "I ought to take this shovel and slug you." "Ye oughtta, but ye won't," Shooter smirked. Sands didn't answer. He swung the shovel at the confident southern gentleman, only to have him snag the handle before any damage was done.

"Let go and let me hurt you," Sands hissed. "What's right is right, after all."

"Ah'm not lettin' you anywhere near me with that thing, pilgrim. Ye might put somebody's eye out." Shooter grinned. Sands' eyes darkened instantly and he shoved Shooter backwards while maintaining his grip on the shovel.

"You take that back you-…"

"Helloooooo down there!" a voice called down from above. Sands broke off his attack to focus on the enemy flying in from the direction of the sun. Shooter took the opportunity to tear his justice instrument out of Sands' momentarily lax fingers and brandish it in front of him like a sword. The agent cursed and backed away, wondering which was the bigger threat. Probably Shooter, but he couldn't chance another distraction. The last one had just put him at a huge disadvantage. Shooter, despite the name, was an excellent shoveller.

"Duuuuuuke! Where are yoooooou?"

There was a splashing out in the ocean and one of the diving pair resurfaced. "Fiend?" Duke called.

"Duke!"

"Fiend?"

"DUKE! Up here!"

Even Shooter watched as a great shape appeared in the sky and grew steadily larger. It swooped out of the sun like a giant manta ray and spiraled lazily towards the beach. Duke was swimming at the shore to catch up with what was presumably the Fearless Fiend. Sands and Shooter broke apart before either one could take advantage of the phenomenon.

Fiend landed rather gracefully on the beach, sending several Johnnies running from camp and the other end of the beach. It is sort of hard to miss a person parachuting onto your beach after all. And as they saw the angel, they also saw Sands clutching his shoulder absently while Shooter leaned on a shovel. Bon-bon's heart sank.

Bon-bon

--- "It's that… southern man again, I know it. He's out to kill the person that knows who he is. And then he'll go after me. This is causing so much trouble… I wish I'd never even set eyes on Morton Rainey!"

Varua- Afternoon

--- "Mort?" Bon-bon called. She was still a good fifteen or twenty yards from the pair, but the sooner she could get a bead on the situation, the better.

"Oh, you got you a wrong number, missus," Shooter winked.

"Shooter?" Fiend cocked her head.

"Tha's right! 'N Ah've decided that Ah ain't gonna' be walked on anymore. Ah want Bon-bon, 'n Ah won't put up with anyone takin' her away from me. Startin' with you," Shooter pointed the shovel sinisterly at Sands. Sands had never wanted anything in his life than to be able to end this like he always did: shoot first, ask later. But he had no guns, and no conceivable weapon to speak of, save for maybe a rock. Neither Psnoo, nor Arenas would much appreciate Johnny-cide either, but that would mean Sands would have to improvise. And when he improvised, someone got hurt.

"Ay! What're ye on about, Mort?" Jack had trotted ahead of the rest of the startled Survivors to close the gap between himself and Shooter.

"Outta mah way, pirate." Shooter brought the shovel around and swatted Jack aside with the flat of the blade. His eyes never wavered from Sands', who hadn't backed down.

"Duke, when'd this happen?" Fiend leaned close to her Johnny, who had just staggered up the beach from the sea.

"Beats me, man, I've been out in the ocean too long."

"Should we do something?"

"Uh… sure. Why not," Duke shrugged. He took up his case and checked the security of the contents. They'd keep, Duke would make sure of that. But he wouldn't be able to say the same of Shooter. He hefted the case and cocked it over his shoulder. He'd need momentum for this to work. With a running leap, he tried to bring the heavy thing down on top of Shooter with minimal permanent damage. It has been the pounding feet that alerted Shooter. He pivoted away, untouched, and whacked Duke squarely in the back. The journalist went flying, landing spread-eagled with the wind knocked out of him with the case bouncing several yards away.

"Oh no you don't!" Fiend yelled, launching herself at the eerily calm Shooter. She landed with her arms wrapped tight around his neck to try and get him off balance. "Nobody hits my Duke and gets away with it! And SJ torture is my realm, you hear me? MY realm!"

"What was that last one?" Sands asked.

"Tell you later," Fiend called.

"Oh," he nodded weakly.

"You will unhand me right now!" Shooter snarled. He was about to inflict some kind of serious damage when the author decided she wouldn't take this kind of Johnny abuse any longer. Sands alone getting walloped had set her on edge. Then Jack, Duke and now the possibility of the Fiend and it was fair to say she was getting uber annoyed. It was getting out of hand and something would have to be done. So she imagined herself on the beach of Easter Island between Shooter and Sands, fully intent on taking matters into her own hands.

"Drop the shovel."

"Excuse me?" Shooter looked up from his grip on the Fiend's forearm. Right into the muzzle of a very intimidating gun.

"Drop. The. Shovel. Do not make me say it again," Arenas said ever so calmly.

" 'N what makes ye think Ah'm afraid uh that water gun uh yers?" Shooter sneered. Arenas smirked, pointed the gun at a faraway patch of dirt and squeezed the trigger. The ensuing blast proved that it was most definitely not the Agente's customary water pistol.

"Ah never asked ye t'fear mah water pistol. You jes managed to push me over th'edge, Mr. Shooter. Ah'm warnin' ye t'watch out fer this here gen-you-wine pistol Ah got in mah hand," she drawled. She readjusted her aim back to Shooter who was now eyeing the gun with a new respect.

" 'N iffin Ah still don't comply with yer request?"

"Well, I'm just not going to be held accountable for my actions now, am I? I can always just give SJ his gun back. That going to bother you any? You can be sure he won't be as patient as I am. As it is, you're going to give up your shovel now. Right now."

"You sure ye ain't gonna get in trouble if yah kill me off?" Shooter raised an eyebrow.

"SJ?"

"Arenas?"

"You know how to shoot a guy and not kill him in the process, don't you?"

"I would have to say so."

"Good," Arenas grinned.

"Psnoo won't appreciate it," Shooter growled.

"I'd imagine. That's why I'd really rather not have to resort to this." She tucked the pistol into her belt. "But I've got one last bargaining tool. I don't want to hurt you, Shooter. I don't. But if you don't give me that smeeping shovel…" Arenas paused to dig around in her pocket. Shooter stumbled backward in alarm when she whipped out a smallish object. She flicked it open and paused with her thumb hovering over the keypad. "Psnoo might disagree with my methods, but she doesn't agree with some of yours, either. Continue to be a smartsmeep with me, and I won't think twice about appealing to Psnoo about terminating your corn garden. Can you dig it?" She smirked at the lame garden joke.

"She tried that one already."

"True, and if Psnoo can't do it, just know that I'm very skilled in rigging the game. I've got Gabe on my side you see, and he's a very capable computer. He'll see things my way."

"You do that 'n ye won't be seein' yer SJ alive much longer!"

Arenas sighed. Spencer was bad, but Shooter was horrible. If she handed Bon-bon over, there was no telling what DB or even Bon-bon would do. If she let Shooter continue his single-minded destruction, she couldn't be sure if Sands or another Survivor would live through it. And she couldn't give SJ a gun, end of story. But she needed that shovel. Taking a man's corn when he still had a shovel was terrifically stupid.

"Y'know… I bet Secret Window was a much better story than Sowing Season. Who wants to read a story about a stupid garden of beans anyway?" She shrugged and pocketed the phone.

"You take that back!"

"Um… no. Fiend, want to unhand Mr. Shooter so I can convince him the error of his ways?"

"You do know the ending to Sowing Season was better, don't you?"

Arenas glared. Fiend shrugged and let Shooter out of her chokehold. "If you need the case, lemme know." With that, the Fiend went to aid Duke in his recovery.

"Ah'd like t'see you write a better story."

Arenas grinned and approached. "Me too. But in the mean time, I'd like to ask what you plan on doing about my ripping on your story."

"Ah'm thinkin' someone's aimin' t'have their head lopped off with a shovel."

Arenas stopped in front of Shooter. "Really? Well, you know what I have to say on the subject."

"What d'ye got t'say 'n more importantly, why do Ah care?"

"You tell me." Arenas' hand darted out and snagged the handle of the shovel. Before he could realize what was happening, she yanked the shovel out of his hand. Shooter sneered and pulled another shovel out of the pocket.

"Stop that!" Arenas yelled, grabbing the new shovel as well. She tossed one to Fiend and one to Jack, before taking out the gun again. Shooter had a third shovel halfway out. "Pull it and I'll call Gabe, destroy your corn, and make it exceedingly difficult to walk."

Shooter didn't look happy, but he pushed the shovel back into the pocket. Bon-bon, who'd been watching intently, nearly fainted with relief. Arenas didn't holster the gun immediately; she turned to the Fiend.

"Mind helping keep an eye on the dairy farmer from Mississippi?"

The Fiend shook her head. "If that means no one's going to be seriously harming any more Johnnies, I'll consider it a duty."

"Yer gonna' watch me?"

"I could destroy the corn, do you really want to push me?"

"Why don't you, then?"

"Because I like corn, savvy? Now keep quiet. I don't want another sound from you unless you're Mort."

"How d'ye know he ain't dead?"

Arenas rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Because I'm the omniscient author and I know everything. Duh, Sherlock."

Varua- Late Afternoon

--- It was a long day. Shooter hadn't budged, and Mort has yet to say hello. The former Inaga tribe had grown tired of waiting and went to keep themselves occupied. Donnie had popped up later, with a good collection of fish, but didn't say anything when he noticed the looks of strain running around the Shooter-watching circle. It was comprised solely of the former Hahaga tribe minus Jack (who had gone to find other entertainment as well) and the two angels.

"You Mort yet?" Arenas asked.

"Ah thought you was th'omniscient author."

"How's the shoulder, SJ?"

"Just… wonderful."

"You ran out of cigarettes, didn't you?"

"Mhmm."

She sighed and gave him a pack of candyettes. "It's all I've got," she shrugged. Sands stubbornly played with a booklet of matches. She tossed the pack at him anyway and stared into the dirt.

"What if we hit him on the head?"

"Duke?" Fiend asked.

"Y'know when uh… someone suffers head trauma… they sometimes forget who they are and… maybe we can… rattle Mort loose."

Arenas raised an eyebrow, "Are those the illegal substances talking, or what?"

"Does it matter?" The Fiend hugged Duke.

"Don't Ah get a say in this?"

"Think Psnoo's going to kill us?"

"Psnoo killing us over a knock to Shooter's head versus CC, me, and any number of angels killing you over several Johnny murders?"

"Hey, you're good at that angst stuff."

"It's a talent, but that's beside the point."

"Well… I'm kind of anti Johnny injuries, but I'm starting to think I'm not going to get a choice," Arenas glanced at Shooter.

"Ah can't just call Mr. Rainey up at will."

"That's why we're going to help you," Fiend grinned.

" 'N iffin Ah ain't gonna let you?"

"Do you really want to go through that again?"

Shooter never got to answer. His eyes glazed over and he toppled to the dirt, clearly unconscious. Sands was leaning on a shovel, calmly chewing on a candyette.

"You were taking too long," he shrugged.

"Sorry," Arenas furrowed a brow.

"Not a problem." He sauntered over to stand behind his Angel and wrapped his arms around her shoulders before giving her a peck on the cheek. "I wanted to return the favor, anyway."

"But Shooter didn't hit you on the head."

"He was going to, I could tell."

Mort's body moaned. An arm flung outwards.

"Bets on his sanity?" Sands murmured wryly.

"Sh," Arenas nudged her Johnny. Duke had no such problems. He ambled towards the shivering body and poked it.

"C'mon, you swine."

Mort's hand flapped, trying to bat the finger away. Duke withdrew, watching the other man intently. Mort rolled over so he now presented his back to the onlookers. Aside from that, he didn't move.

"Wake up, whoever you are," Arenas chided Mort.

"I thought you were the omniscient author and knew these things," Fiend asked.

"I was bluffing."

"Oh."

Duke was poking again, and Sands had joined in. Bon-bon, who'd been quiet for awhile now, stood up. She crouched by Mort's side, brushing the two men's hands away.

"Mort? Time to wake up."

Arenas raised a brow in question.

"Even if he hates me late, at least I'll be sure he woke up and not… Shooter," she spat. Arenas nodded encouragement.

"Mort? C'mon Mort, you've got to wake up."

Mort curled up in a ball.

"Mort." Bon-bon laid a hand on his side, trying to coax him but of his protective position. He tensed at the contact.

"Mort, open up for Psnoo. Please? You want to see Psnoo again, don't you?"

"Psnoo?" The voice was quiet, pleading.

"Yes, Psnoo. You've got to wake up if you want to see Psnoo again.

"Psnoo." The body released slightly. One chink undone in the armadillo armor.

"You remember Psnoo."

"Psnoooooo…" It had been sighed.

"Aren't you going to wake up for her?"

"I wanna take a nap."

"You've been napping for awhile now. You sure you don't want to wake up?"

"Wanna see Psnoo."

Bon-bon had almost made the mistake of promising something she had no control over. Psnoo did pop up at odd intervals, but it was usually Arenas' call as to the allowance of visiting angels. She turned to Sands' angel, wondering what she should say.

"Psnoo," Mort said again. Arenas nodded, knowing the well being of the Johnnies was the top concern over a silly game that recently had gone over the edge of the map and beyond.

"Psnoo will be here, don't you worry," Bon-bon patted Mort's side soothingly. It was instantaneous.

"Aaiiiee!!!" Practically out of the blue Psnoo came crashing down out of the... well, out of the blue sky. She bounced off the sandy ground a few times before ending up flat on her back, glaring up through a tangle of bed hair at the group of Johnnies and two angels who were staring down at her.

"Alright, who imagined me here? I was having a great nap while Little Fox was working on her assignment. What the smeep demanded I be so rudely awakened?"

"Your Morty-bear, for you information," Bon-bon snapped. "Shooter didn't seem to agree with him."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Shooter doesn't agree with anyone. In fact, he's fatal for most." Psnoo climbed to her feet, her hands to a painful lower back. "Don't worry. No one need ask if I'm alright. I think the smeeping ground broke my fall."

Arenas sighed. "Can't you both please not be at each other's throats? This is sort of a delicate operation here if you hadn't noticed. Yell at each other later when Mort's not in danger of taking the coward's way out."

Bon-bon looked sharply at the haggard agent and bit her lip on the retort she'd had on the tip of her tongue. "I imagined you here Psnoo, to fix Mort. I'm not the person to do it and I acknowledge that. Just make him better."

"First George, and now you," Psnoo grumbled. "Johnnies these days... imagining angels wherever they want, willy-nilly..." The grumbling continued as she limped over to her unconscious Johnny. "Wake up."

Mort didn't move immediately. He seemed to shrink even further. "Psnoo?"

"Yes. A very pained and disgruntled Psnoo. Wake up." Pouting, she plopped down on the ground beside him. "I think my glasses got bent."

"Psnoo... Shooter. Shooter! Shooter!" He began shivering with each howled chant. Several people winced.

"Oh shush." Looking around, Psnoo sighed and then started searching through her magic pocket for something. "Gameboy...no...bat...no...last week's electric bill...why can't I ever find money?" She kept searching, pulling out bananas, candyettes, a croquette set, a stuffed raccoon, plans for a devastating April Fool's day...never mind...etc, etc, etc...

Finally though, she found what she wanted. A jumbo size bottle of smelling salts. What with Johnnies fainting (Ichabod), or taking nose dives (George), or loosing conscious for other varied reasons, she always made sure she had enough on her. With a grim smile, she held the bottle under Mort's nose.

During one particularly violent yell, he had no choice but to get a giant whiff of the pungent stuff. He began coughing and bucking. The racking coughs caused him to uncurl from his defensive position and crab walk away from the smell. It was awhile before he could form a true coherent thought. When he finally looked at the assembled group, he looked hurt.

"It actually happened, didn't it?"

"Don't ask me," Psnoo said, flopping down beside him. "I just got here."

"Shooter. Shooter got away from me. It really happened." His voice cracked and his eyes grew wider. "I tried to kill you." He pointed at Sands. "And you..." His finger wandered around the circle, resting on Duke and Fiend briefly. "And Jack. What the smeep am I going to do?"

"Well, you could click your heels together and say 'There's no place like home,'" Psnoo sighed. Not even a kiss for my troubles. Not a peck on the cheek. What is the world coming to?

"You're not helping," Bon-bon glared at Psnoo.

"Bite me."

"Perhaps I should," she hissed. Arenas rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around Bon-bon's shoulder and led her away as the Fiend did likewise for Psnoo, except towards Mort. But Bon-bon fought.

"I want to make sure Mort's alright!"

"And you will. You're around him a heck of a lot longer than Psnoo is. You just have to cooperate and make sure Psnoo can make him better, savvy?"

"But-!"

"As the author and DB's sidekick at one point in time, please listen to me?"

Bon-bon growled and stalked away before a worse situation could arise. Arenas sighed, and sat beside Mort.

---"Listen to me," Psnoo groused. "I'm about to go Sh-Psnoo at any moment. That's what happens when people get woken up from their naps."

"Have you ever tried to kill someone when you go Sh-Psnoo?" Mort asked quietly.
"Well, there was SS when she stole the couch."

"With a shovel?"

"No...with a lack of fanfic. She never would have lasted. It's a cruel death."

"I don't know, Psnoo. I tried to kill someone. Four someones. That's not the kind of thing someone just accepts on a daily basis. I didn't want to, but Shooter did and I..."
"You didn't kill anyone. Shooter did. Bit of a difference," Sands interjected.

"Still... I should have stopped it."

Nobody wanted to mention the fact that Shooter technically was Mort and did whatever Mort wanted.

"We've been over this Mort. You can't kill people any more. Maim...well, yeah...but not kill. Seriously injure or leave in deadly peril at the worst." Somehow Psnoo's little pep talk wasn't too encouraging. "But you don't kill anymore."

"Because I get stopped."

"Well...yeah...but I wouldn't love you as much as I do if you weren't a bit unstable."

"But I'm a danger. I know you wouldn't care if it were Bon-bon, but they were people I like!"

"Morty, listen. You're safe. They're safe. All the other Johnnies have an angel looking out for them. You've got me. Between the all of us, I think everyone's safe."

"Besides... worst comes to worst, I can always step in again. It's kinda' fun here," Arenas grinned cheesily. Mort sighed.

"Morty," Psnoo sighed. "Don't be sad. I love you just the way you are...at any give time of the day."

He smiled slightly. "You're very convincing when you want to be."

"I'm a writer. We have to be."

"I guess you're not going to let me leave, are you?"

"Are we talking physically or metaphysically? Although it doesn't matter since the answer is no either way."

"I knew you'd say that."

"It could be time to skedaddle, y'know. Before Bon-bon gets... anxious..." Arenas shrugged.

"Oh sure, she/he gets to wake me up from my nap, but then I have to leave to keep her from getting upset. Drama queen."

"Do you want to deal with DB? You can always take another nap. DB and Bon-bon might not be letting you if you... harangue Bon-bon too much.

"Am I haranguing BB? I don't see her around. Besides, Mort can tell you I act that way with anyone who wakes me up from my naps."

"That's just denial," Arenas snorted. "C'mon, let's go."

"Fine. If you're just calling me in to fix things, I guess I'll go," Psnoo sniffed, getting to her feet.

Mort stood up stiffly, trying to get his joints working again. He managed to walk towards Psnoo and wrap her in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry. I'll be good."

She whispered something in his ear that made him blush, and then stepped away, a grin on her face. "I think my work here is done." She winked at Mort. "I'll just go resume my nap." With another wink, she was gone.

The Fiend was eyeing Duke longingly. "We're going to have to plan this shindig better."

"But you helped save a Johnny. Which incidentally is better than sponsoring a Johnny because it's free," Arenas shrugged. "I'm terribly sorry about the lack of fuzz but… pressing matters, plot devices and other complicated writing devices. But you've earned a free refund visit, if it's any consolation."

Fiend rolled her eyes. Arenas grinned slightly before turning to squeeze Sands. Both Angels shared a last goodbye with their Johnnies (Arenas sparing a moment to make sure Mort was doing okay) before imagining themselves back to Angel Headquarters.

The Survivors trudged back to camp, and said nothing for a long time.

Varua- Night

--- The Survivors were gathered around the campfire. Hahaga had surrounded Mort to protect him from the Inaga stares. Mort had known what they were doing, and didn't try to stop them. It didn't seem worth it.

The meal had finished with the silent treatment still in effect. There was a need for closure, yet not one person was throwing a bone. Mort swallowed.

" 'M sorry," he murmured. Heads perked up. "I didn't think Shooter was going to be dangerous. Sands was the only one that guessed. He'd been cooperative the whole time and he just… snapped… I think. I don't know. I wasn't exactly around to find out." He seemed bitter.

"Weren't you going to warn us something like that could happen?" Spencer sneered. Mort's brow furrowed in distaste.

"It hadn't happened in awhile and it's been ages since Shooter's been… violent," Mort sighed. He wondered if he could have read the signs that Shooter was going to go postal. It didn't seem like there was much he could do, aside from giving people proper warning and he couldn't even do that. Shooter was a problem. He'd have to be dealt with or Mort would have to throw the game to save his friends. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and looked up to see Bon-bon squeezing it reassuringly.

"Now's not the time to think those thoughts," she murmured.

"What thoughts? Who's thinking?" Mort asked innocently.

"I know you don't want my help. I was just offering a chance to get things off your chest," Bon-bon turned away. Mort bit his lip and hung his head. Bon-bon had been good. She no longer had a physical attraction for him; she'd only been extending the olive branch and Mort had just shot her down.

"Sorry," Mort muttered. Bon-bon didn't reply, but she didn't seem agitated either. "I'm still feeling kind of icky."

"Understandable," she replied absently.

"How did you realize you wanted to be a transvestite?" he blurted. She turned, a look of surprise contorting her features.

"Excuse me?"

"I believe the man asked how you got into the cross dressing business," Sands grinned. He had another candyette dangling out of the corner of his mouth that had been keeping him at ease. Mort blushed.

"Oh… well… I suppose it started with a drumstick."

"Drumstick?" Mort echoed.

"Yes. It's broken now. The tip came off."

Sands couldn't stifle his laughter. Even Duke, who'd only been keeping half an ear on the conversation had to smirk.

"You're kidding," Spencer buried his head in his hands. He didn't particularly want to hear the history of the creepiest Survivor. He wanted sleep. And salve. The itch had started again recently and he wasn't appreciative of it.

"No. I'm not," Bon-bon glared at Spencer. "I used it when I used to style my hair when I was little."

"Well that was exciting," Sands grinned.

"What got you into a government agency then?" Donnie asked pointedly. "I'm curious."

"Me and the CIA go way back. Started with my dog, in fact. Ragz. And it's a Z; spell it with an S and I will hunt you down myself. Ragz was a trick dog, wearing all kinds of hula skirts and weird clothing. One day, he got abducted. There was a ransom note pinned to the front door that said 'Very sappy Ragz.' Naturally, I tried looking for him in the maple syrup factory and the pine forest, but I couldn't find him. I figured, if anyone could find him, it'd be the CIA. The truth is out there, amigos."

"That's The X-Files. FBI," Donnie smirked.

"Well, I never watched that lame show anyway. Spencer. What got you into the human business?" Sands smiled pleasantly.

"The headline of a newspaper called The New Yorker. 'Humans Clearly Best Species Around.' It intrigued me and I didn't think that it could possibly lie to someone like myself. Of course, that loser Spencer Armacost wandering into my path didn't hurt any," he shrugged.

Mort's mouth lifted into the first smiled of the day. Whether they were purposefully trying to cheer him up or not was debatable, but it sure was doing the trick. "You people are crazy."

Sands rolled his eyes. "I thought we discussed this already. I'm a psychopathic, schizophrenic jerk, remember?"

"That's right, Jeffrey."

"I'm always right."

"How's the shoulder?" Mort winced.

Sands rotated the tender joint slowly. "It's been better, but it's been worse, too. Nothing quite compares to a bullet hole so forgive me if I don't give you a medal for most painful wound." His mouth twitched into a humorless smile.

"I'm not sure I'd want one," Mort sighed.

"Now's def'nitely not th'time t'start mopin', mate," Jack shook his head.

"No, probably not. Listen, I need a cigarette, can anyone spot me-…"

Sands extended the open pack of candyettes. Mort groaned, but took one anyway.

"Do these really work?"

Sands shrugged. "I haven't killed anyone yet, so I'd guess so."

Mort stuck it into the corner of his mouth experimentally. It didn't have any odd effects, so he left it in. Duke joined the chewing crowd, screwing a fresh one into his filter.

"How does that work?" Sam asked.

"It's magic," he mumbled.

"Listen, I don't want to ruin the lovefest, but I really want to get some sleep. So can we all kindly keep our voices down to about a two?" Spencer asked as shortly as a kindergarten teacher would.

"Go to sleep then," Sands shrugged. "We're not stopping you."

"Sweet dreams of Cuisinarts tonight," he replied acidly. He then returned to the shelter, where he'd crept off to when Mort had slipped into his momentary funk.

"Smeep it," Sands swore. Duke poked him in the shoulder. Sands hissed and scooted away from the clearly annoyed Duke.

"I know what you were going to say."

"So do I," Sands grumbled.

"I will be turning in as well. There is a challenge tomorrow and we've had a busy day today. I suggest we all go to sleep," Bon-bon spoke up. She had a point, no matter how little the Survivors wanted to hear it. A challenge on little sleep with sore muscles (for the privileged few that got to play with Shooter) was not something they wanted to fathom.

Varua- Early Morning

--- Sands woke up in a cold sweat with a rock in his hand. He leaped to his feet and stumbled out of the shelter.

"Stupid HSN!" he yelled, hurling the rock against a tree. It was this point that he woke up in earnest. He looked towards his wrist to watch a hand pop out of the end of his sleeve.

"Hey, my hand's back, whadduya know?" He glanced at the sky that had yet to start turning pink and rubbed his eyes. When he finished, he was looking down the beach towards the ocean. He froze. There was a lump out there. A familiar one.

"Hey, sailor."

His eyes widened as he backed away.

"Call me!" it cried.

When he got back to the shelter, he didn't fall asleep. He curled up in a ball and stayed that way the rest of the night.

Sands

--- "I think I'm freaking right out. I'm hallucinating! I don't hallucinate. I don't think… Mort seems convinced that I do, but I don't. That wasn't the turtle. No, it couldn't have been. Not the turtle. Oh my stars… turtles aren't supposed to do that!"

Varua- Morning

--- Mort woke up with an uncomfortable weight on his chest. Blinking open sleep heavy eyes, he tried to focus on the blob sitting on top of him.

"That you, John Wayne?"

" 'R ye th'hick or th'writer?" Jack asked.

"… what?"

"What be yer name, mate?"

"Mort…"

"Yer whole name."

"Morton Rainey."

"Aye. Ye pass."

"I wasn't aware I was being tested…" Mort was still confused.

"Tha's how I know ye passed," Jack grinned.

"Oh…"

"Well done." He clapped Mort on the shoulder, stood up, and walked away. Mort shook his head, patting the ground for his glasses. He was awake now, and there was no point in giving Shooter the chance to take over without a fight.

Varua- Morning

--- Spencer had gotten some quality sleep, but he woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to bed. His mouth was dry, and he couldn't swallow. He felt hot, and sticky, and generally yucky.

"What the…" he groaned. It didn't quite come out that way, though. He had virtually no voice to speak of. It looked like the flu, if Spencer had known what influenza was.

He let his head fall back on the ground, the welt on the back of it instantly flaming up in pain. He hissed, rubbing it to alleviate the itching. It would be another long day. So he went back to sleep.

Varua- Midmorning

--- "Spence, you look green, are you okay?" Donnie asked. He looked genuinely concerned. Spencer waved it off and sat on the ground. Even the extra sleep hadn't helped. Sands looked to be in a similar shape; his grip on the bowl of rice was making his knuckles white.

"Wha's eatin' you?" Spencer mumbled around his unwieldy tongue.

"Oh you'll get yours, Mr. Armacost, just you wait," he snapped.

"Wha'd I do?"

"You know, jerkface. You're the reason I didn't get any sleep last night."

Spencer rolled his eyes. He didn't care what was up the agent's chimney, and it was too much effort to enjoy busting him.

"Aren't we a friendly lot," Sam grinned sympathetically. He got no look either way as nobody was being especially amicable or hostile that moment. Most Survivors were still trying to wake up.

"Mates! Moai-mail!" Jack announced, holding a roll of leather before him like something sacred. Mort yawned and Duke blinked.

"And?" Donnie pressed.

"Well, I haven't looked at it yet, mate," Jack snorted. Axel extended his hand for the clue, which Jack dropped neatly into his hand. He read through it silently.

"Survival challenge…" he murmured.

Your food comes from you

Catch it, kill it, and cook it too

You're been cooking so well

Since the first night fell

But catch it, you've not

Do that and your reward is bought.

"Catch food? I've done that. It's easy," Donnie mused. Spencer just groaned and lay down on his side.

"Think it'll be something like a bird or large animals?" Sam frowned.

"Could be fish. 'S vague," Jack shrugged.

"But we get to play with sharp, pointy objects. Who cares?" Sands grinned tiredly. It hadn't been the turtle. Nah… he'd just been overreacting about Spencer's Cuisinart a tad. Besides… who'd ever heard of a stalker turtle? Heh.

"You would like that, wouldn't you, you swine," Duke snorted.

"I was absent the day the Agency gave us sticks to practice with," Sands mock sighed.

Pity, Spencer thought.

"Well folks, may the best man win." Donnie smirked, "I wasn't absent."

"I was kidding," Sands rolled his eyes.

"But we really did have pointy object training," Donnie cocked his head.

"… you lucky son of a…"

"Hey!" Duke growled.

"… gun."

Varua- Afternoon

--- "Welcome, Varua. You… look a bit worse for wear…" the host was puzzled.

"Really," Mort said.

"Mind if I ask what happened?"

"A psycho dairy farmer decided he wanted to have an opinion on his marital status and had to eliminate his only obstacle," Bon-bon replied sarcastically.

"And where, might I ask, were you when all of this happened?" Sands' eyes narrowed.

"I'm just a figurehead, I don't participate."

"Swell…" Duke groaned.

"Spencer?" The host turned to the alien who was definitely not looking too hot.

"I don't feel well," he whispered.

"Do you need to leave? Get to a hospital?"

"NO! No, no, nono. I'm fine." The green paled as he tried to smile, making him look even worse.

"Maybe you'd better-…"

"NO! For the last time no! I want to win! I can't win if I get shipped away!"

"You can't win if you die, either," Sands said quietly.

"Shut up! You can't make me!" he hissed.

The ocean breeze blew in, ruffling many a Survivor's lengthening hair. Nobody spoke. Spencer sunk to his knees.

"I got bitten by an insect, okay? That's all."

"You could be allergic."

"But I won't do well."

"You're not, quite frankly."

Arenas' Hideout

--- The Agent cracked her knuckles. She'd been hand writing this pesky story for some time now and it never ceased to amaze her. Obviously disturbed animals running around, sick Survivors… maybe she should have thought of the repercussions. But it was too late now; she'd gotten herself a following. She'd level with Spencer, because it wasn't fair that he be eliminated by a bug bite. But next chapter might have to be different. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. But, now… Spencer.

Varua- Afternoon

--- "I'm getting word that you're to be fixed up immediately, no arguing. The author's willing to talk about the conditions," the host announced after talking on a cell phone. Spencer sighed.

"A helicopter is on its way. Today's reward challenge will be moved to a later date. You can all return to camp, but Spencer has to stay."

It seemed that all the griping had been for naught. The unhappy Varua turned back, several sparing glances for the silent Spencer.

"Bye, Alien Guy," Axel waved sadly.

"Bye, Fish Boy."

"Get better?"

"Sure."

Varua- Night

--- It felt like the night after a tribal council, but nobody was relieved. Even Sands, who could take or leave the alien on a given basis, was subdued. Each was privately wondering how much lower the tribe could possibly sink before things started to look up, but none wanted to find out. With no supervision, it was starting to look like a lost cause. The rampant turtles, strange illnesses, and sudden personality switches were beginning to take their toll on the already tired Survivors. But… they'd make it through because at the end of three days, they'd either go free, or be even closer to winning the much-coveted prize. Whatever that was.

So they sat quietly about the fire, planning their next move until they grew tired and eventually fell asleep.

Duke

--- "This… this is serious. The weasels are closing in a lot faster than I gave them credit for. First Mort and now this alien guy. We won't flee, but it's getting heavy. I don't think those desert survivor types ever had it quite like this."

Varua- Morning

--- There'd been no sign of the turtle, and the tribe was still under the weather. Some sort of irreparable funk was settled over the camp, but it was nothing that a challenge couldn't fix. The competitive nature of several Survivors wouldn't let them just roll over and give up. Not after fighting so long and hard.

"It seems that they're either running out of ideas or they just don't like us enough to come up with something clever every time," Donnie cocked an eyebrow at the parchment.

The challenge still stands

Should you accept

Will be for immunity

Spencer aside.

"We don't need them to encourage us. If I remember correctly, they've done more than enough encouraging," Mort grumbled. He was thinking of the lack of supervision to promote insanity.

"They haven't discouraged it, but I wouldn't call it encouraging, either," Sam pointed out. "Nobody really seems happy that what's happening is going on, Angels, Survivors and figureheads included."

"You make too much sense. Stop making sense," Sands muttered.

"It's going to be a long walk," Duke sighed.

"Might as well go then," Axel replied quietly. "Get it over with as quickly as possible."

Varua- Afternoon

--- "I sure hope none of you have managed to injure yourselves further since our last meeting." The host looked sincere as he said it. No jest was implied, but he was still met with a stony silence. "I guess I'll take that as a no. Your challenge, if any of you remember, is to catch your food. The area you've got to roam around is plenty big and there is more than enough wildlife to support a hunt like this."

"Do we have to… kill it… whatever it is we catch?" Axel asked.

"Well, I'd sort of think you'd want something substantial for a meal, but I don't think you'd have to, no. Live capture makes it that much harder, you know."

Axel nodded. Sands looked thoughtful.

"The first Survivor to return gets extra points, but the challenge will end in one hour. The point is the catch the best animal you can with the resources that you have. Easy enough?"

The circle gave their acknowledgement.

"Survivors, on your marks… go!" The host blew a whistle and the group broke apart, Sands, Axel and Jack headings towards the ocean, Donnie, Mort, Duke and Sam heading inland. It was a leisurely activity, with a whole hour to catch whatever one could scrounge up. Donnie had found a pig, as Inaga knew, so it couldn't have been entirely hard. It just didn't help that none of them had previous tracking experience. The three that went to the ocean, however, had aces up their sleeves.

Axel, the fish whisperer, wasn't sure he'd win considering the size of the fish he normally talked to. It didn't mean he was totally out though, he'd just have to think big. He moved to a secluded part of the beach and stared out at the pristine ocean.

"Is there anyone out there who would be willing to help me win?" he called. He saw several pairs of glittering eyes below the surface that were curious about his question. He smiled apologetically. "I need a good sized creature to win immunity. Like a giant sea bass or a tuna. I promise that nobody will be hurt though. On my honor."

Many eyes disappeared, but there was a pair that remained.

--- Donnie didn't think he could rustle up another boar. Even if had been able to, he wasn't sure he'd really be able to handle it with his bare hands. Axel was probably going to reel in a fish, but he didn't think Axel would bring in something much larger than three or four pounds. If Donnie could get a rabbit or two, maybe a bird, he thought he could do well enough. Quantity, not quality. He didn't know what anybody else had planned, or if Hahaga could hunt, but that wasn't the issue right then. Donnie grabbed a stick and began to sharpen it with a pocket knife.

--- Sands didn't want to do it, but he couldn't deny that it would be the catch of a lifetime. He didn't have the heart to finish it (her) off, no matter how much it (she) haunted him. If she could help him, though… well he wouldn't be opposed to striking a bargain. It was going to be a weird vote tonight, but he thought he might be able to do some good, even if it meant talking to an… old friend.

---Duke wasn't sure how much a bat or a manta ray would be worth in the grand scheme of things, but he had a feeling that those giant lizards ought to merit some big points. He snuck up behind one, eyes narrowed in concentration and tongue sticking carefully out of the side of his mouth. He had his trusty fly swatter, there was no contest whatsoever.

He leaped out of the bushes and caught one of the scurvy smeeps around the neck.

--- Jack grinned. He didn't need his one shot, his cutlass or anything of that nature. 'Twas his charm that would be doing the hunting for him.

--- "Survivors, time! Donnie came back first, so he gets five extra points. However, that may not be enough to win him immunity. Donnie, what have you got?"

"Two rabbits and a seagull." He pointed at his three catches.

"Not bad, not bad. Mort. How'd you do?"

"Uh… well… I checked the trap that everyone fell into earlier and I found a couple of small animals. Squirrel. Chipmunk," Mort didn't look up.

"All right, not quite enough to catch Donnie. Duke, you seemed busy, what happened?"

"I got a lizard," he announced proudly.

"A… lizard?"

"A big one, with vicious fangs. Almost tore me in two and stomped me. I got him though, in the end. Over a hundred pounds and then some!"

"Let's see this lizard, then."

Duke tugged on the branch he had clutched in his fist. It had been tied to Duke's wristband, which was now wrapped around the wrist of a startled looking Sam.

"What happened?" he mouthed.

"So… I win, right?" Duke asked.

"Well… I hate to break it to you, but your entry doesn't count. That's Sam," the host cocked his head.

"What?"

"That's no lizard."

Duke turned around to stare at Sam face to face. He looked at every facial feature twice to make doubly sure. When he was finished, he regained Sam's gaze again. "Alright, swine… what'd you do with my lizard?"

"Nothing, I swear!" Sam yelped.

"I caught a lizard. Now I drag it back here and it's you. Where'd my lizard go?"

"You jumped on me and tied me up and dragged me back here!" Sam yelled.

"You were the lizard?"

"Yes!"

"Well change back, smeep it!" Sands punched Duke in the shoulder. Duke didn't notice. "Where's my immunity winning lizard!"

The host decided it was better to step in, figurehead or not, than to risk an outburst. "Duke, there was no lizard. Lizards don't amount to more than iguanas out here. It doesn't matter."

"That's what you think," Duke growled.

"Sands."

"Well… I got myself a bona fide reptile and she's a beauty. I call her Babbette," Sands smirked. He went to the edge of the shrubbery, and gave a tug on some object. It didn't take long for a wizened old head to pop out and soon, an entire body to lumber out. Babbette was a good-sized sea turtle.

"You call me Babbette because that's my name. Don't you be forgetting it, sailor." Babbette glanced back at Sands who nudged her even farther forward. The host whistled.

"Well… I'd say that was a very good catch. No turtle soup?"

"No, no. I couldn't do that to a radiant creature such as Babbette," Sands shook his head quickly. Had Spencer been present, he would have brought up the cow's blood incident yet again which would have snapped frayed nerves and dragged the chapter on much longer than it needed to be. As it were, Donnie only thought it and the challenge continued on.

"Sam, I don't believe you have time to catch anything, did you?"

"No, sir," Sam's shoulders drooped.

"Maybe next time. Jack, how'd you do?"

"Well, mate… I believe ye may be havin' a standoff."

"What's that mean?"

"I got meself a sea turtle 's well."

"A sea turtle."

"Aye, a sea turtle," Jack cocked an eyebrow. He too retreated into the brush to retrieve a full sized turtle. The new one looked lazily at Babbette.

"What'd you get as a bribe?"

"Whatever's going to make it worth my while."

"Lucky."

"Well, we'll have to get a team out to weigh these guys, but you may just be right, Jack. Bon-bon?"

"Can I concede?"

"Are you sure? There's no harm in trying."

"I'll have you know that I was going to ambush somebody and have them be my catch with this live capture thing being acceptable, but Duke already did it."

"Who were you going to catch?"

"You. When I saw Duke snag Sam, I figured I'd better not."

"Oooookay. What did you catch, Axel?"

"I couldn't really carry him all the way up here. I had to leave him on the beach. Is that okay?" Axel asked.

"What is 'he,' exactly?"

"Harold. He's a tuna."

"Are all of you people this close to nature?"

"What? He had a name. I just called him by it."

"I see…"

"Does he count?"

"Well, I guess we'd have to see him."

"And totally disregard Babbette and Jack's turtle?" Sands spoke up.

"We're going to weigh all of them, just hang on," the host rolled his eyes.

"Just checking."

"We're all going to see him?" Axel seemed worried.

"Just to make sure he's there. Is there a problem?"

"I kinda promised him nobody would try and kill him and eat him. If everybody looks at him, I think someone might try anyway."

"Who?"

"Any of them."

"You people can't make things easy, can you?"

"Nope," Spencer shook his head after reading the commentary Arenas gave him to keep him out of trouble.

Varua- Later on

--- When things had finally died down and the challenge had been verified, Jack's turtle (apparently named "Sonny") had come out on top. The creatures that were still alive were let go and set free, Babbette with the grim promise that she'd be back for payment, and Sam was greatly relieved. Jack wore the immunity necklace all the way back to camp and walked with his usual drunken gait It was not so with several Survivors who had been planning on immunity to save themselves tonight.

It was little consolation to see Spencer warming himself by the fire looking much better than he had been when they last saw him.

"I wore her out," he announced proudly, by way of greeting. Axel grinned happily.

"Glad to have you back, Alien Guy."

"Indeed, Fish Boy."