"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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"Good," Nate replied to Garrett with a grin. "If it looks like shit's about to go down, I'll make sure you get something better. In the meantime, you can use that to nab anyone unfriendly who comes by and kick 'em until someone with a gun gets there."

Garrett wandered towards the boat, and the girl with the gear chased after him, getting to work on his collar. Nate didn't bother watching. If it blew, he'd hear it, and he'd know that they were all utterly fucked. It'd mean Danya was still on the ball, and, in all likelihood, Greynolds and the others were heading their way with all the high-tech weaponry they could ever desire. Much as he wanted to get Danya back for everything, Nate really did not feel like tangling with the death squad.

The was no explosion.

Another boy turned up. Harun, he was called. He introduced himself, explained that he had, in fact, killed somebody. Self defense, though. Whatever. He wasn't on Nate's list. Good enough. Nate hated murderers and players, but couldn't begrudge someone actions necessary to save their own life. Sure. He didn't have to respect them, didn't have to think happy thoughts and remember to send them cards on their birthdays. He just had to let them get their collars off and hop on the boat. Easy as pie.

"Yeah," he said. "You're cool. Golden. Fine. Whatever. Go over there."

He gestured distractedly to Garrett, then looked away, already focusing his own attention on the next person. This guy looked like he'd seen better days. He was clearly wounded and winded. He also didn't identify himself. That pissed Nate off. He liked having things nice and easy. He knew what everyone on his list looked like, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate a heads-up. He was probably just tense, though, stressed by this all. It didn't help that these people seemed to think this boat was going to drive straight off to HQ to join the fight. Nate would have loved nothing more than to start some trouble, but these students had been trapped on an island, malnourished and abused, for over a week. They wouldn't be in fighting condition.

Maybe they would be able to help later. Maybe not. Nate didn't know. That wasn't his part of this.

"Yeah, yeah, come on," Nate said to the boy. "Over there."

He was about ready to let business as usual resume, when he realized something. If a killer showed up now and he shot them, he'd probably catch hell for it later. He'd probably get called reckless or unfair or something, never mind how badly each person on his list deserved a quick death for their crimes. The thought of even one of them walking away from this sickened Nate.

So he'd give them at least a bit of a warning. Picking up the megaphone again, he called out, "This is your captain speaking again. As always, if you want to live, choose STAR airlines. Boats. Whatever. Anyways, the following people are not invited to the party:

"Maxwell Lombardi, Reiko Ishida, Raidon Naoko, Hayley Kelly, Ema Ryan, Kris Hartmann, Ilario Fiametta, Liam Brooks, Rachel Gettys, Quincy Jones, Peter Siu, Jimmy Brennan, Nick LeMonde, Teo Weinstock, Janet Binachi, Ericka Bradley, Alex White, George Leidman, and Joe Rios, all of you are not invited. Unless, of course, you want to die."

There. He'd fulfilled his duty, and, if he was lucky, maybe provided sufficient goad to get any of them who were nearby to actually come argue.
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A Slight Change of Plans · The Beach: East