Shedletsky sat at one of the many tables that resided in one of the strange houses the survivors were forced to take shelter in. Carl was gone- someone must've dragged him away. The pizza delivery man was sleeping on one of the beanbags upstairs. It was dark. Every survivor was sleeping in their areas, or out wandering the island. Shedletsky was still awake, struggling to figure out a proper plan to keep his fellow survivors alive. He was scribbling down weaknesses of each killer, and roles of each person, but he just couldn't figure out why they kept dying in the past rounds. They were doing everything correct- but they always got caught offguard. He sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He reached to his bucket of fried chicken, and began munching on the meat, trying to soothe his mind by eating.