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Jason Andrews was concerned with many things at that moment.

For one, he'd realized just how many hours he'd wasted trying to get good at Genji in Overwatch when Doomfist just came out.

For two, a slightly more important reason to be concerned, he was standing precariously near the edge of several pits of tar. A wrong step and he'd probably go the way of the dinosaurs.

For three, he and most of his class had just been tossed onto an island in the middle of nowhere, in god knows what hemisphere or ocean, after being told that only one of them would come out alive.

Just like what happened with the California school. The one where Nick Reid came out alive, over everyone else at his school. A school with much more rich, popular people with so much more to offer the world, and he was the one who came out on top. Nick Reid, of all people. Yeah, he knew Nick's name. He'd even looked him up a bit years later, found out what he got up to at school. Thought about once or twice what he'd do if he was caught in the same thing.

No idea he'd been preparing for the inevitable.

The moment he woke up, Jason got to work. He checked the inside of his bag, found the handful of shit he had on him besides his phone but including some bars of his own food and a twizzler the maid's son gave him that morning (he didn't have pre-school and his mom couldn't find a babysitter), found some food bricks along with loaves of bread and a gallon of water, found a map and compass, found a flashlight, found a first aid kit he was probably never going to figure out how to use, and...nothing else. At least, until he saw the tiny piece of paper with what looked like his name on it, picked it from the ground, and realized there was a yard-long sword laying underneath his bag this entire time and he didn't notice.

That bode well for his chances, he guessed. What else was he going to miss without realizing it?

And so, sword in hand, he found himself at the giant tar pits the island said existed. Fucking weird island. Tar pits on one side, fields of flowers on the other. The estoc hung in his hand like a dagger, blade facing behind him as he held the hilt. It wasn't the safest way to do things, considering a wrong turn would probably end with stabbing himself in his own leg, but considering the precarious nature of his position, and everyone else's position, he didn't want to look like one of those maniacs.

Not yet.

He saw someone. Not someone he was friends with, although that list at his school was as dense as Mumbai, but he at least recognized him. Soren. He was on his knees by the edge of a pit of tar. Jason didn't really care why. He just noticed there was a gun in his hand. And Soren was crying.

"Hey man."

His nerves felt sharp. The grip on the hilt tightened ever so slightly. If this whole thing went south, Jason was not going south with it.

But Jason kept his eyes on Soren's gun.
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The Land of Shadow · The Tar Pits
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