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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
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Albert grabbed Dougal's hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. He seemed to a bit more serious (going over to check his weapons), but he still hadn't completely come down from cuckoo land, still cracking jokes and doing a terrible impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger as he admired his rather hefty weapon draw, which was a shotgun....Wait, a shotgun? That could be useful. Dougal wasn't a gun nut, but he knew enough to be able to name the weapon, and enough to know it was one of the better weapons on the island, especially in contrast to his own use-impaired weapon. "Woah. Nice draw there, mate", he nodded approvingly, having an ally with a shotgun being the only good thing to have happened on the island so far, "Check for an instruction manual, Albert. I can do the shooting if you'd prefer that." Dougal weren't exactly mentally prepared for using a gun, but Albert was even less so. It would probably take seeing a body to finally make Albert realise the full gravity of the situation they were in.

As he walked over to his own bags, Dougal still had no idea what to do on the island. An escape plan? Nah, he'd join it if one with a decent chance started, but he doubted he and Albert could get one to work. It'd just mean a nasty, disappointing death from collar removal, and wouldn't help anyone. No, Dougal would have to be the last one standing if he wanted to get off. Unlike most of his peers, most of his friends and his girlfriend were still alive, still in St. Paul. The nihilist had something to live for. He COULD play, but for all the nihilist talk he would spout in debates and tell himself in his head, Dougal wasn't comfortable with the thought of killing his classmates. Punching Albert was probably as far as he could go in terms of violence against his fellow Bayview students. He didn't want to become a bad person because of this stupid game, no-one would want anything to do with him if he made his way back. The other way was simple; survive, just kill in self defence, hold out until the end. That seemed the most logical way, and would be best for his mental health. Yeah, he'd probably go down that route, but he wouldn't rule the other options out at this early stage.

"Well, Albert...." he said, slinging his two bags over his shoulders (he would check them later, he knew what was in the SOTF-issued bag and he didn't expect much from his other bag to be gone) and grabbing the two ski sticks (an old wooden stick was better than nothing), "Guess we just have to try and survive as long as possible. Maybe wait for a rescue attempt", he hopefully added, being uncharacteristically optimistic more for Albert's sake than his own (if the US government was able or was willing to stop the SOTF ACT, then they would have done so by now.) "Should we get going?" he asked, pointing to a nondescript part of the forest in the nearby distance.
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Dude, how come I feel like i'm not in Kansas anymore? · The Mountain