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| - | == P.J. Gilroy Academy - The Abduction ==
| + | Two years. Two years ago, a game known as Survival of the Fittest was unleashed upon the world, and the chaos that would follow in its aftermath would shake the United States of America to its very core. A group of tenth grade students from Barry Coleson High School in upstate New York boarded an airplane on its way to Paris, France. That plane would never return, and all of the students, except one, would die horrible and gruesome deaths courtesy of this corrupt game. The only survivor of the first "official" game was a student by the name of Adam Dodd, and because of the events he had witnessed during ten horrible days on the island, he would never again be the same. |
| - | The SafeTours bus' engine rumbled loudly as Mr. H led his students towards the back end of the private bus, pointing and laughing as he sat next to the open door of the bathroom. The bus driver had a blank face, and not many kids took notice of his light green eyes and SOTF ballcap. Mrs. Garrick only nodded quickly to the man before she went on to smack at her students with a rolled up attendance sheet. He barely glanced behind him once he closed the doors, mentioned to the children to put on their seatbelts, and sped away with both homerooms, the license plate numbers 5S6O8TF fading from view as they turned onto the street.
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| - | A second bus pulls up to the school, and a young man checks his watch, waits fifteen more minutes, then takes off, informing his company that the students at P.J. Gilroy have cancelled.
| + | For a year after that, all was quiet, and some semblance of peace seemed to return to the country. As quickly as the mysterious figure known as Mr. Danya had appeared, he vanished, seeming to take his game along with him. Although the United States government declared finding Mr. Danya and eradicating his terrorist unit a top priority, all their progress seemed to lead to was dead ends. It was as if Mr. Danya, Angelina Kaige, Elijah Rice, Shannon McLocke, and the remainder of their terrorist group had never existed. |
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| - | The bus that held the kids was bustling with noise from the back, and every so often Mrs. Garrick would turn and glance disapprovingly at the other teacher. Had she paid more attention, she would've noticed, and thought it odd, that the bus driver had a rearview mirror, and that he was currently looking into it as he turned onto the side street with the "scenic route" sign posted into the shoulder of the road. The bus began to slow, dirt caking the tires from the rain beforehand near the cliffside. Only then did she turn back to the front, where she didn't even have time to blink as a bullet shot through her forehead and exited out a window into the cliff face.
| + | But the country would never forget. During the first days of the original SOTF ACT, panic ensued in the country. The longer it progressed, the more resigned to the fact the Americans became. In a desperate ploy to keep peace and halt thoughts of uprising within the country, the United States government broadcast SOTF under the guise of a new game show. Its controversial actions were especially popular among teenagers, who were more desensitized to the violence unfolding before them than the parents. |
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| - | Student's screams, especially of the girl who had bits of her teacher's brains sitting on her lap, dulled the sounds of footsteps outside, and before the children could realize that their seatbelts had locked them to their seats, three men clad in black piled into the bus and took posts in sections of the bus. The man who took the back grabbed Mr. H and passed him up the walkway, where the last man punched him hard in the face. Blood trickled down from his nose, and he looked towards the bus driver as if to ask, why?
| + | But the citizens of New York, the ones who had enrolled their children in Barry Coleson High School, they would forever know that SOTF was no game show... no reality series. Their children would never come back. Still, most resigned themselves to believing that SOTF was just a game. It was just easier that way. Those who refused to believe, those who hassled the U.S. government for answers... they, too, disappeared, and people knew better than to pry too deep or ask too many questions. |
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| - | Melvin's green eyes didn't welcome the gaze. His large hands grabbed the teacher and lifted him by his collar, down the bus steps and into the mud the bus was half parked in. One of his hands was gloved, the gun still grasped in it and pointed right at Mr. H. Hallam began to sob, and he seemed frozen to the cliff face as he cried and begged for mercy from the tall bus driver. Half of the children tried to see what was going on outside, trying to bang against the windows and failing to unfasten their seatbelts. One child in particular had not listened to the instruction beforehand, a student of Mr. H, and he tried to jump out to help his teacher. One of the guards didn't even flinch as his fist collided with the boy's stomach. The sharp intake of air paired with the harsh force of his knees meeting the floor weakened his will.
| + | And so, the horror that was SOTF ended, with the American public either not knowing the truth of the matter or choosing to believe the lies the government fed them. Things just didn't seem to make sense. If Survival of the Fittest was just a show, why were government officials so relentlessly pursuing the man known as Mr. Danya and his terrorist organization? If none of it was real, why were they going on some ficticious goose chase? |
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| - | "Please," tears fell hard down Hallam's face and his nails were almost ripped off with the force he was using to tear into the rock wall. Whether Hallam wanted to believe the man would give him mercy, or if he had just snapped, he took Melvin's silence as remorse, or at least hesitation. The teacher began to tense his legs to run as Melvin's hand whipped across, and the pistol hit Hallam hard against the face. He spit out his six year old molars.
| + | When the leads ran out, the news feeds stopped, and America returned to some sense of normalcy. Eventually, the guards were removed from the schools, and it was as if SOTF never existed in the first place. The government claimed that they wouldn't bend to common terrorists and that the citizens of the U.S. shouldn't allow things like the SOTF ACT to affect their daily lives. Basically, they claimed that by ignoring the problem, they were solving it. A terrorist's job is to create terror, after all, and if the U.S. wasn't panicking, they were failing at their job. |
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| - | Knees in the dirt and his hands covering his face, Hallam neglected to notice Melvin place another glove on his other hand. He only felt the sharp pain as his head was pulled up by his hair, and he arched his back as he was thrown hard into the rock wall. The students tried to hit harder against the glass, and the guards took to restraining the few who tried to squirm from the tightly locked seatbelts. A few tried to scream their teachers name as the gun was once again pointed at him.
| + | A year passed, and nothing happened. This tactic, as crazy as it might have sounded, actually seemed to be working. Then, one year after the original incident that incited panic and chaos across the States... it happened again. Four schools from Denton, New Jersey, set out to four respective locations on school trips, never to return. A few days later, Survival of the Fittest was once again being broadcast to every man, woman, and child across America. This game was bigger, better, faster... it seemed infallible. |
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| - | "Don't do it," he cried once more as he felt the metal of the silencer press against his forehead. The sweatdrops were sticking on the barrell, and another moment of pause made Hallam look once more at the evil bus driver.
| + | Once again, America was in an uproar. The public demanded answers. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn't the government stop it? This was no reality show. During the first days of the SOTF ACT's second runthrough, the public demanded the truth from the government. The blame fell on the government's public relations team, and eventually lead to nearly all of the PR team being relieved of their jobs and replaced with new members. |
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| - | Melvin grabbed Hallam's wrist and jerked it upwards, forcing the handle of the gun into his palm, and shoving the gun's barrell hard into the teacher's mouth, chipping his front teeth as he angled it upwards towards his brain. Hallam squinted out tears as he tried to move his tongue to plead some more, but Melvin looked the man dead in the eye, forced the gun in further, and held Hallam's hand firm.
| + | Despite that, the conflicting reports, combined with a new terrorist attack, created a rift between the people and the American government. People began to distrust the government, and support for this new war against terror dropped incredibly. Despite that, the government continued to pursue Mr. Danya. The second installment of his cruel little game continued, however, and all but one of the group of students from Denton lost their lives to the program. Once again, the American government failed in its attempt to stop Danya. Two months after the end of the second game, the government managed to locate the abandoned island on which the game had been played, and along with it, the carnage and aftermath that followed the second program. |
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| - | The barrell made him vomit into his own mouth, and he began to choke on it, crying harder and unable to breathe, unable to plead for his miserable life. Melvin watched this for a few more minutes, and children kept on with their screaming and their pleas to save their teacher. Hallam's face began to turn red, and his eyes looked towards the bus driver for help. He only kept Hallam's hand locked firmly in position.
| + | This was a large victory for the U.S. Even though they had failed to save the Denton students, they were closer to finding Mr. Danya than they had ever been before. America pushed relentlessly forward, but came to another dead end after finding the island on which the second round of the game had taken place. The American public went on with life, as it always does after a crisis, even one of these proportions. More time went by, and the event of another abduction became less and less. Finally, things were back to normal... |
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| - | "You have a choice," Melvin finally spoke, and his last words to Hallam, the only ones he would speak to the dying man, were these:
| + | ----- |
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| - | "Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops." | + | ''Okay class, so what exactly is Survival of the Fittest? No, Jimmy, it isn't that game show on TV. Survival of the fittest is defined by Webster's dictionary -- ahem, second definition, class -- as a nineteenth century concept of human society, inspired by the principal of natural selection, postulating that those who are eliminated in the struggle for existence are the unfit. But teacher, it's only animals that demonstrate natural selection and Darwinism, isn't it? No, children, it isn't. We, as humans, also demonstrate natural selection. We demonstrate evolution. Races and cultures fade from existence, and we as a society reproduce more powerful, more adaptable breeds of human. Sounds sort of creepy, doesn't it? But think about it. You're smarter than your parents. The stuff we're teaching you now, they were learning as seniors in high school -- or maybe they weren't even learning it at all. We as humans evolve. The "fittest" of the human race will go on to become doctors, lawyers, senators... people of importance. The ones who are deemed "unfit"? Well, America always needs burger flippers and trash men. Maybe my lecture seems harsh, but the point of it is this. You all need to go to school, you need to get an education, you need to become the "fittest" of society, because otherwise, you'll fizzle out of existence and never scratch the surface of history. Am I getting too deep for you all? My apologies. I'll get back on track now. |
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| - | And Hallam, choking on his own vomit and the barrell of the gun, believed him.
| + | - Mr. Isaiah Thomas, Southridge High School, Grade 9 Instructor'' |
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| - | There were a few things the students did as they were rounded up in blindfolds and shoved into a dimly lit room, one could put them into categories. Some were silent, still shocked at the spectacle of both teachers being murdered right in front of them, like the girl who had Mrs. Garrick's brain bits on her plaid skirt. The boy who hadn't buckled his seat belt and others who had wanted to take action against the men and bus driver tried to dodge the guards, but with as many that came after the destination, the students made about as much leeway as the last group. With their own little river of tears, some kids had almost completely lost control of themselves. There wasn't even a handful, and each had seemed to implode internally as the guards lifted their limp bodies and tossed them into the room.
| + | '''Prologue: Highway to the Danger Zone''' |
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| - | Melvin entered the room, dressed in his usual combat and military uniform, and the guards encircled the students as they stared at him standing at the front. A television set was on a movable cart next to him, and he only pressed the button to turn the television and DVD player on to cue the gruesome footage from version one of Survival of the Fittest.
| + | "Whoo!" one of the jocks from the football team shouted as he hopped onto the steps of the obviously not school-standard Southridge High School bus, "Senior trip, senior trip, senior trip!" |
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| - | ''"Cool it princess," came the voice of Cody Jenson as he pinned down a fragile and terrified Madelaine Shirohara.
| + | Even from far away, it was blatantly obvious that the school was going all out on this senior trip. It had taken four years of countless bake sales, fundraisers, cross-dressing pageants, and other ridiculous school spirited events, but finally, the 2007 Senior Class of Southridge High had managed to raise enough money for this all expenses paid senior trip. They'd raised a small fortune to fund it, but it was well worth the money. After all, it was their last chance to do something as a class, it was their last hurrah before they all parted ways and went down the different paths of life. This trip was going to be one for the scrap books, this was the place to make memories, this was an event that this year's seniors were supposed to remember for the rest of their lives. |
| - | Cody dropped the water bottle and placed his hand over her throat.
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| - | He placed his other hand on her forehead and forced her head back, exposing her neck. He then brought his mouth down on it, kissing it hard. He trailed the kisses up her chin until he met her mouth and flicked his tongue over her lips. A smile appeared on Cody's face as he stared into Madelaine's frightened eyes.
| + | Or not, as the case would be with some. |
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| - | "Ok, we are going to play a game, and here is how it works."
| + | One of the baseballers flashed a toothy grin to his companions as he discretely flashed the bottle of vodka stashed underneath the hoodie he wore. The rather short, somewhat pudgy bi-racial man that sidled idly past the baseball boy obviously didn't notice the bottle stashed under his jacket as he walked by. Instead, Vice Principal Jorge Takamura -- a rather normal man who just happened to be a rather eccentric mix of Japanese and Mexican -- grinned widely as he observed the crowd of students that were flocking toward the line of buses parked in front of Southridge. |
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| - | Cody brought the gun up from where he had placed it by her prone form. He ran the barrel up and down her cheek, letting her feel the cold metal against bare skin.
| + | "Alright, alright!" Mr. Takamura shouted, "Settle down. This is it, seniors! The next time you're all together, it'll be at graduation. I'd like to congratulate all of you for coming this far! That being said, before we start boarding these buses, there are a few ground rules I want to cover. This is your trip, but this is also a school sponsored trip. I want to see everybody having fun. Nice, clean, safe, legal fun. Is that clear?" |
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| - | "If you scream, you die. If you bite, you die. If you poke, or squeeze, or claw, or don't cooperate, you die." | + | "Crystal!" one of the boys in the crowd cackled as he tossed a condom at the Vice Principal. Takamura grimaced and searched through the crowd quickly, but couldn't find the culprit. |
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| - | Cody then rammed the gun into the soft skin of her cheek.
| + | "Not that kind of fun," he interjected with a grin, "We've got a good group this year, we're gonna have a lot of fun. I just hope we don't have the same problem as last year where a couple peons cost everybody the trip." |
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| - | "Sound fair?" | + | Takamura frowned lightly as he recalled the events of last year's senior trip. A handful of the more troublesome students from that senior class had apparently smuggled alcohol into the cabins and in their drunken stupor had decided that it would be funny to raid some of the ladies' cabins, steal their underwear, and use it to "toilet paper", though that wasn't even the correct term to use -- the teachers' cabins. Needless to say, that trip had come to an abrupt and uneventful hault. The entire class had been rounded up the next day and sent back to Highland Beach, and senior trip had been ruined for everyone. In the back of Takamura's mind, he couldn't help but wonder of the troublemakers from this class would pull a similar stunt, or maybe even something worse. |
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| - | Letting a gasp emit from her mouth, Madelaine winced in pain as Cody's hand met her throat and squeezed it slightly, partially cutting off her air supply. She let out a strangled cry, struggling madly against him, about to scream aloud, when suddenly his hand pressed against her forehead, forcing her head in incline backwards painfully.
| + | He was quickly thrown from his thoughts. The crowd seemed to be getting a little bit restless. A lot of the seniors had begun to talk among themselves. Some were swaying restlessly from side to side. Others were yawning or looking around, and some had begun to pull out their cell phones, iPODs, and other electronic devices to entertain themselves through what they were sure would be another lecture. Instead, Takamura let out a resigned sigh and a grin. |
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| - | A crawl of revulsion found its way underneath her skin as his lips pressed against the side of her exposed neck, sending a chill through her spine. She winced in horrified disgust as his mouth found its way upwards along her chin like some repulsive insect, feeling his tongue lightly making contact with her lips, leaving a stain upon her.
| + | "Let's board these babies up!" he shouted, "Make sure you fill 'em up, guys. We couldn't afford to charter too many of these things if you actually wanted to go somewhere besides the bus this year!" |
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| - | Somehow, in her bout of horror, his words managed to reach her, and register themselves in their reeling mind as she realized with dread what was going to happen to her. The feeling of cold metal running against her check, no doubt from a gun he had at the moment, was enough to make her freeze in fear.
| + | Students began piling into the half-dozen buses that lined the front of the high school. Mr. Takamura, too, boarded one of the buses and took a seat up front next to the rather hard to understand Mr. Ayanami and the loud and overbearing Coach Whittenburg. He cast a sidelong glance toward the back of the bus, which had already been filled to the brim with students, and looked down toward his watch. |
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| - | She gritted her teeth, as though about to struggle yet again, but her face contorted itself in an expression of pain and helplessness. It was clear that she starting to give up.
| + | "We ready to roll?" the lanky African-American bus driver inquired with a grin. |
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| - | Tears began to cloud her vision. Tears fell freely down her face in thick streams as she gave a tense, slight, yet distinct nod, an anguished whimper escaping her lips.
| + | "Seems so," Takamura responded, "Just how long of a ride are we looking at?" he inquired after a moment of hesitation. |
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| - | Cody went on to strip the girl of her clothing and dignity.
| + | "'bout two hours at most," the driver replied. |
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| - | By now, Madelaine was numb with trauma, almost paralyzed beneath the crushing weight of her captor, unable to feel much pain from her face being struck repeatedly over all else that was happening to her. A sickening wave of nausea smothered her mind, already recoiling from her overwhelmed senses. Still, she winced and cried out as she was struck again and again, the recoil causing her head to bend sharply towards the grimy floor of the clearing. Her neck and face burned now, stinging with the marks of his assault. Amidst the feeling of devastation he was yet still wracking upon her now desecrated form, she was still able to hear his words, and register them in her mind, making sense out of all that he was saying between ecstatic gasps.
| + | Takamura sighed quietly. His vision trailed back toward the students once more, then toward his fellow chaparones once again. Two hours with a line of buses packed to the brim with restless seniors that couldn't wait to reak havoc and destruction on the campgrounds they were heading to. He couldn't help but muse that the groundskeepers rued the day they ever offered Southridge a good deal for their senior trip. To the students, it was a weekend of cabins, late nights, and laking it. To everyone else, it meant havoc, destruction, and lots of money in repair expenses. |
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| - | "I...never...planned on...letting...you...go..." | + | "It's gonna be a hell of a night," Takamura whispered to himself. |
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| - | Her pained eyes, burning red from tears and tension, suddenly widened at the sickening realization of what was to happen to her.
| + | ----- |
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| - | She trembled violently, feeling truly and utterly broken now. It was then that she felt like crying again. Her bleeding face distorted in an anguished expression. She thought numbly, unable to utter coherent words instead of wracking sobs and screams that parted her lips.
| + | It was starting to get dark outside now. They had left Highland Beach a short while ago, and the glistening city lights were slowly disappearing from sight and being replaced instead by rows of trees and seemingly never-ending fields. The bus seemed to have quietened down tremendously since they took off from the high school. Some of the kids had gotten bored and resigned themselves to sleeping. Others were mesmerized by iPods or PSPs that they'd brought along specifically for the bus trip. Still others conversed quietly among themselves, and the only disruptions in the quiet murmur came at the hands of some of the more loud-mouthed students getting a little overexcited in their idle chatter. |
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| - | Madelaine’s shuddering sobs were cut short as he suddenly drove his face into her neck. Immediately, a searing pain overwhelmed her as he tore into the flesh at the side of her neck, ripping it apart savagely. A strangled, choking noise emitted from her mouth as she recoiled in agony, feeling red-hot blood gushing from where his teeth had torn into her neck. The inside of her terrorized throat was suddenly burning, drenched in a warm liquid that caused her to gasp and choke painfully. She felt blood streaming down her neck in torrents, staining her paling flesh and torn clothes a deep crimson.
| + | "This place is really out here in the middle of nowhere, eh?" the bus driver mused with a light grin. |
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| - | This is something that no one should have to go through.
| + | "Loud seniors disturb peace, best not be crowded places," it seemed like Mr. Ayanami muttered, but nobody in the vicinity was exactly sure if that was what he really said. |
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| - | She struggled as hard as she could to pull away from him, writhing helplessly beneath him, though the most she could do was powerlessly cringe in terror, while her hands were bound and useless. Pain and torment still continued to consume her as he continued his cruel assault upon her with renewed fervor. In her mind, she wished with all the torment that she was going through right now that someone would just end it all. And then, with all of that blood draining away profusely, uncontrollably, it was then that Madelaine’s tormented form began to run cold. Her cries were nothing more than desperate gasps for air. Her struggles began to subside as a shadow began to cloud her mind and sense of consciousness. The shadow that was suffocating her mind was now overwhelming her, clouding her senses and ability to think. As blood continued to spill relentlessly, Madelaine realized that she was dying.
| + | Whittenburg simply grunted in response. He seemed far too wrapped up in the sports column he was reading to include himself in the conversation. Mr. Takamura simply sighed and looked back at the bus full of kids once again. At least they were almost there. The truth was, as much as Mr. Takamura didn't want to be on this trip, he didn't want to be at home with his family even more. He and the wife were on the verge of getting a divorce, his kids hated him... in a way, school was his only release. His wife had threatened to change the locks on him if he chaparoned the senior trip instead of staying at home with her, but it was a chance he was willing to take for a moment of peace and quiet. |
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| - | Here she was, first being coerced into submission, then finding herself being violated and tortured in just about one of the worse ways imaginable. On top of that, death was now looming over her. She wouldn’t last another day on this island. She would never return home to her family. Her game was over.
| + | "We don't got much further now," the bus driver chimed once again, "We go through this tunnel up ahead and we're practically homefree. It's another twenty minutes tops from here." |
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| - | Her breathing was now reduced to weakened, shallow gasps that emitted from the depths of her throat. As she lay dying beneath the large form of her impassioned captor, now at the peak of his fervor, her exposed body suddenly fell limp and motionless against the filthy ground. Blood was no longer coming out of her neck in gushing streams. Her head lolled to one side, tilting backwards slightly to direct her face towards the sky above. Though tears and blood continued to stain her face, she was no longer crying. In fact, she was no longer moving at all. She never even noticed the boy who had just walked in on the scene by a stroke of chance.
| + | "Great," Mr. Takamura replied wearily. He couldn't wait to get to the cabins, if only to indulge himself in a nice, much needed slumber. He wouldn't have to wait for that slumber much longer. |
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| - | And then, her blood-smeared, tear-stained face relaxed itself, falling from its anguished contortion in to a blank, listless expression that showed not the slightest sign of living. Her hair, having been loosened from the ribbon that tied it back, now fell about her face in free flowing strands. Pale fingers along her bound hands hung limply now, pale and lifeless. Though her reddened eyes were starting to glaze over, they continued to gaze in an oddly peaceful expression that disregarded anything and everything that was still happening to her, focused only towards the sky, as though looking towards something that was far beyond her reach. Her stained lips were slightly parted, though nothing came out of them now. No cries of pain emitted from the depths of her throat, for she no longer felt pain. No words came out, for there was nothing to be said.
| + | ----- |
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| - | There was no sign of life…for she was no longer living.''
| + | Man, did anyone get the number of that bus? |
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| - | Melvin didn't watch the footage, only heard the crying of the girl, and the words of her rapist from his seat in a metal chair behind the television rack. The stunned faces of the children, of those who had not watched SOTF, or the recognition in their eyes of the show they had watched. While Melvin would have to explain further why the children were here, and what they had to do; the ones who knew the clip, and knew the game, already had an idea of what fate had brought to them.
| + | Where the hell am I? |
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| - | He turned the television off and stepped in front of it. The children looked at him fearfully, and possibly a few may have remembered him as the bus driver who killed their teachers. Melvin still looked of a blank slate, and kept his words short and sweet.
| + | What is this place? |
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| - | "You can be raped of your dignity, and die in this game. Or you can attack those who will do as much to you, if not worse."
| + | I didn't sign up for this, man... |
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| - | With that, he left the room, and let the guards handle the rest of the steps.
| + | I'm scared... |
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| - | == Franklyn Senior High School - The Abduction ==
| + | Several sets of groggy eyes opened up, peering warily into the grungy and run-down room they were now in. A chorus of panicked yells and aggressive inquiries flew up from the crowd of students, addressing no one in particular. The loud noises roused Mr. Takamura from his own induced slumber. He sat slumped in a chair in the very front of the room, right next to Mr. Ayanami and Coach Whittenburg. Ayanami was still fast asleep, but much to Takamura's surprise, Whittenburg seemed to be struggling around like a wild animal in the chair he sat in. It was then that Takamura realized that he, along with the other two class chaparones, were bound to the chairs in front of the room. |
| - | It was an event they had been waiting for practically all year long. it was an event so big that it almost made sitting through Mr. Duana and Mr. Dolph's homeroom classes throughout the entirety of their Junior year tolerable. Almost. And this... this was never supposed to have happened. It was something no-one had expected... something nobody was prepared for. After all, how could they have been? In an instant, the camping trip signifying the end of the year for Franklyn Senior High's eleventh grade class had come crashing down around them, and now, things would never be the same again.
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| - | It started out normal enough. The date was June 19, 2006 -- precisely one year after the worldwide terrorist attack known as Survival of the Fittest had taken place. Of course, by now, that was of little consequence. Today was the day that Franklyn Senior High School would hold its annual camping trip. Much to the dismay of several of the students, Mr. Dolph and Mr. Duana had been chosen as this year's sponsors. Despite the slight downer of having such lame teachers for supervisors, the kids at Franklyn Senior were pumped about this camping trip. Everyone who ever went came back with stories of chaos and sheer madness about the school camping trip.
| + | "Ah, ah, ah, Coach Whittenburg," a voice echoed from somewhere above the room, most likely the projection room that seemed to be upstairs. |
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| - | They had boarded up the two buses sitting outside Franklyn Senior, and now, an hour and a half later, they were still driving aimlessly down the almost deserted main road that would inevitably lead them to their destination: the campgrounds. The driver of the first bus, a balding gentleman in his late forties, gazed back in his rear-view mirror every so often to check on the busload of students he was carrying. Everything seemed normal enough. Mr. Dolph chatted nonchalantly with a few of the student council members who had taken up the front seats, while everyone else seemed to be occupied with their own agendas.
| + | Mr. Takamura's vision trailed up to the room just in time to see a small silver object whizzing toward Coach Whittenburg. A primal scream erupted from the Coach's mouth as the bullet pierced his forehead, effectively blowing it apart and sending blood, bone, and brain matter all over both Takamura and Mr. Ayanami. The entirety of the class, who had been in an uproar just moments before, now set in absolute, horrified silence. |
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| - | As the driver's attention returned to the road, he noticed the lone man in an orange vest and construction hat standing near the detour sign blocking the road up ahead. He sighed to himself as the buses continued to approach. As the man came closer into view and began approaching the bus, the driver screeched to a halt and opened the automatic doors. The construction worker smiled a half-hearted smile and greeted the bus driver warmly.
| + | "Much better, class," the voice from upstairs boomed, obviously being broadcast through a public access system of some kind, "Now that I have your attention, perhaps I can explain what's going on here. I'm sure you all have many questions, but they'll be answered in due time. Of that, I can assure you. But first, children, I'd like you to turn your attention to the large projection screen in front of you. I think my little presentation will answer a lot of those questions." |
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| - | "Sorry 'bout the mess," he stated, "They're repaving the road up ahead, we're gonna have to send you on a short detour."
| + | The already dark room went completely black and the old projection screen began clicking, revealing decayed images from a poorly cared-for film on the screen in front of the class. |
| | | | |
| - | He motioned to the nearby single-lane road that seemed to head into the deep expanse of vast woodland.
| + | ----- |
| | | | |
| - | "Head down this road, it'll wrap around eventually and you'll come out further on down the main road. Sorry 'bout this, guys."
| + | ''"Serious question," the petite blonde girl laying on the floor of what appeared to be an all but hollowed out school building inquired, "What happens if we're the only two left? Neither one of us wants to die here. Are we supposed to rock, paper, scissors for it or something?" |
| | | | |
| - | The driver nodded politely and the construction worker gave a salute as he returned to his station. Sighing a bit at the inconvenience, the driver radioed the bus behind him to inform him of the current situation. Within moments, the two buses were ambling down the small sidestreet at a slow pace. Little did they know that they were headed right into a spider web they wouldn't be able to escape from... | + | The dark-headed boy laying beside her didn't seem to have an answer for her question. Instead, he rolled over on his other side, facing away from her. |
| | | | |
| - | It had been nearly half an hour since they'd first turned off on the sidestreet, and Mr. Dolph was now curiously looking at the map he'd carried with him on the trip. The construction worker had said that this road would wrap back around to the main path, but it seemed as if they were driving deeper into the woods. Mr. Dolph had only attributed it to the worn and beaten roadway and the fact that the bus was forced to drive slowly down the winding road. The students had long since gotten bored and everyone was becoming a bit impatient. In an instant, however, they were all thrown from their seats as a loud popping noise echoed out, followed by a hissing sound, and the bus lurched forward, tossing everyone forward in the aftermath.
| + | "We'll talk about it in the morning," he muttered under his breath. |
| | | | |
| - | "What on earth happened?" Mr. Dolph inquired. | + | Both contestants seemed to drift off into contemplative thought for a few moments, neither of them speaking, until the boy finally rolled onto his back and propped his head up in his arms. Instead of finally answering her question, he uttered a simple, "Goodnight," to her, effectively ending the conversation she had initiated. The girl lay there for a few moments, until her attention turned to her ally, who seemed to have fallen fast asleep. The blonde slowly crawled away from her companion and reached into her issued daypack that lay on the floor a few feet away. |
| | | | |
| - | The bus driver only gave a shrug and opened the doors once again to check the problem. Meanwhile, Mr. Duana and the bus driver of the second bus were now exiting their bus and heading over to meet the driver.
| + | Within seconds, she retracted a gun from the pack and flicked off the safety on the device. She crawled back over her partner, straddling his hips as she climbed on top of him. She paused for a moment, allowing her fingertips to trace the lips of her sleeping companion, and tears began welling up in the corners of her eyes. After a moment, she pressed her lips up against the sleeping boy's, and as soon as she pulled away, she pressed the barrel of the gun against the boy's forehead. |
| | | | |
| - | "The hell happened?" Duana reiterated, once again simply getting a shrug from the driver, who was now inspecting the flat tires on the bus. | + | "It's really nothing personal," she whispered quietly, "You were the best I'd had... in a long time." |
| | | | |
| - | All three men looked confusedly at the tires, but it was Mr. Duana who spotted the tire spikes sticking out from underneath the foliage covering the road. Now, an even more confused look spread over the large man's face. What on earth were tire spikes doing this far out? Facing the wrong way, no less. He'd never have time to discover the events that were about to unfold. A bloodcurdling "boom" echoed out from the nearby woods, and Mr. Duana just as suddenly fell to the ground, now endowed with a gaping hole through his stomach. A unified yell escaped from both the bus drivers as the deafening noise once again echoed out and they both fell to the ground. Now, the kids in the buses were stirring and screaming as they witnessed the murder of both bus drivers and Mr. Duana.
| + | Without reluctance, she pulled the trigger, spraying blood, bone, and brain matter across the floor and leaving a hollowed out shell where the boy's head once was. Just as quickly as she had pulled the trigger, the girl raised herself up off of the boy, collected all of their belongings, and exited the eerily silent room, leaving nothing but a mangled body and a pool of blood in her wake.'' |
| | | | |
| - | From within the nearby forest, roughly a dozen black-clothed men stepped out, all armed with machine guns. The shotgun-wielder, too, was soon revealed. The petite asian woman, looking like she more belonged in a secretary's office than in the wilderness bearing a shotgun, boarded the first bus with a handful of guards as the others made their way into the second bus. Mr. Dolph had long since stood up and was blocking the way to the children with his body.
| + | ----- |
| | | | |
| - | "Who are you?" he inquired shakily, "What do you want?" | + | "Anybody recognize that scene?" the voice from upstairs inquired, "Matt Drew was quite the fan favorite among a lot of the ladies during his run on the game. Likewise, Sera Wingfield's popularity went through the roof in the moments before that scene. They were quite... intense, if you know what I mean." |
| | | | |
| - | An angelic smile formed on the woman's lips as she heartlessly pointed the shotgun toward Dolph's head. By now the kids in the front were scattering toward the back of the bus. One student, who had been sitting in the very back, was attempting to open the back door -- that is, until several of the black-clad men appeared at the back of the bus, assault rifles aimed at the students inside. Several backed away hurridly. Meanwhile, the asian woman still held her shotgun pointed at Mr. Dolph's head. He'd long since cowered down, and she seemed to grin at his compliance.
| + | The voice chuckled loudly. It was starting to sound less and less ominous and more and more giddy. |
| | | | |
| - | "Get out of the bus," she stated nonchalantly, as if it were of no concern that armed men were standing outside, readily prepared to fire. | + | "For those of you who aren't getting the picture, please direct your attention to the front of the room once again." |
| | | | |
| - | She stepped out of the way long enough for Dolph to pass by, immediately shoving the shotgun she held in her hands into the small of his back as he passed by, assuring he wouldn't run.
| + | A picture once again appeared on the projection screen in front of them, but this one was almost crystal clear. A fairly rotund man sat in a plush chair located behind a desk. His face could hardly be seen underneath the red baseball cap he adorned, but he appeared to be smiling. |
| | | | |
| - | "Put your hands on your head." | + | "Welcome, welcome!" he chortled loudly, the grin never leaving his face, "Welcome, seniors of Southridge High School, to the greatest show on earth! We're getting pretty popular these days, and we'd like you all to have a front row seat... right in the middle of all the action. Won't that be fun, kids?" |
| | | | |
| - | Dolph obeyed the dark-headed woman's orders down to a tee, placing his hands behind his head as he fearfully exited the bus. The woman walked directly behind him as he stepped out into the open. Her smile broadened as he stood, facing her, in front of the bus. Without a second thought, the shotgun jerked upward and she fired. Mr. Dolph didn't even have time to let out a yell as the buckshot flew through his head at nearly point blank range, almost completely obliterating the entirety of his skull and sending chunks of blood, bone, and brain matter splattering across the bright yellow paint and the windows of the bus as the students looked on in horror. A chorus of screams erupted from both buses, but the students were quickly silenced by the black-clad men occupying both vehicles.
| + | Some of the students seemed to be almost relieved at the bright and cheerful voice that echoed throughout the room. Other people seemed more and more apprehensive, and still others seemed just downright confused at everything that was happening to them. Mr. Ayanami had finally began to come out of his slumber and looked around the room groggily. Mr. Takamura, however, stared on at the screen in horror. Some of the students had pieced it together as well, he could tell by the looks on their faces. Now, he knew what was happening, and now, he was scared for his own life, as well as the lives of all the students in front of him. |
| | | | |
| - | "Bring them outside." | + | "My name," the voice rang out again, "is Mr. Danya." |
| | | | |
| - | The students were rather compliant as the armed men herded them from the interior of the two buses and out into the open. They were herded into a circle as another, much larger bus appeared on the lone strip of road. As the doors to the dark colored bus opened, the audible sound of guns loading echoed throughout the woods as the woman and the disguised men all seemed to ready their guns in unison.
| + | In the back of the classroom, someone screamed. The majority of the class sat in shocked silence, still listening to what the figure on the screen was saying. |
| | | | |
| - | "Go," the woman stated simply before nudging one of the nearby students with her weapon. | + | "Welcome to the latest round of Survival of the Fittest. You'll be right in the action. Hell, you'll be the contestants!" he mused with a grin. |
| | | | |
| - | Slowly the crowd of students made their way toward the dark-colored vehicle and the uncertain future that it held. Slowly, the crowd began to disperse as the children boarded the crowded bus. One student lingered, her eyes fixating themselves on the corpses of the men who had been assigned the position of her caretaker on the trip. She barely noticed as a series of assault rifles were affixed on her body. In fact, she barely noticed anything other than Mr. Dolph's now virtually headless body.
| + | "Is anyone in the Peanut Gallery still confused? I'll explain. Perhaps some of you have Amish households or something. For those of you raised like normal Americans, with the television ever glowing, you'll know what I'm referring to. This is our fourth time, third to be aired, Survival of the Fittest competition. The rules are going to be pretty easy to understand, so I will not be taking any questions after my explanation." |
| | | | |
| - | "Step along," she was instructed, but the voice fell on deaf ears.
| + | Danya cracked his knuckles on the desk as he clasped his hands together onto the top. His head tilted downwards and the shadow darkened his looks even further, the only light coming from his unusually white teeth. He cleared his throat once before he continued. |
| | | | |
| - | The piercing shriek that followed the command didn't, however. By not following orders, the girl had been made an example of. The assault rifles had been fired in unison, and now her lifeless and bullet-ridden body collapsed onto the ground by the four who had already been killed. Shaking her head in sheer annoyance, the asian woman dropped the shotgun to her side and sidled over to the side of the black bus, opening the side storage compartment and affixing one of the many masks within to her face. The soldiers followed en suite, and soon followed the woman on board the bus. The students could do nothing but look on in terror as the woman entered and hit a button on the control panel. Soon enough, the terrified expressions across the faces of Franklyn Senior's Junior class faded into a peaceful and relaxed slumber as the sleeping gas took its effect...
| + | "You will kill your classmates, by whatever means, until one is standing. One daypack for each of you, with rations and your weapon-- which may or may not be advantageous-- and a first aid kit. Nothing fancy, just a couple of wraps, band-aids for those boo-boos caused from your competitor with the axe. That sort of thing. You have collars that we've generously upgraded enough to fit just a tad more comfortable than last seasons. Do not insult us by trying to remove them, we'll blow up your jugular. And that, however fun for me, hasn't brought in the ratings quite like the students' carnage of games past." |
| | | | |
| - | It was several hours later when the first signs of life began to stir within the bare and dismal room. The effects of the gas had finally worn off, and the students were beginning to awaken from their drug-induced slumber. Screams echoed from several as the events of the past few hours immediately returned to them. Others jumped from their seats hoping to escape. Still others sat numb from the events that had transpired. There wasn't enough time for much chaos, however, as the lights in the dark-colored room faded into a dim light before shutting off completely. A flicker appeared on the large projection screen situated in front of them and a ticking noise was heard briefly before an image began formulating on the screen.
| + | Danya paused to lift one hand ominously to point at the students locked in the room. |
| | | | |
| - | ''Kicking a stone ideally as it crossed her path, Lucinda Garnett found her attention namely turned onto the ground as she continued along the dirt path which by the looks of the map ran from one end of the island to the next. Recent events had sent her out of hiding in the small amount of woodland near the hospital… after having nearly escaped the burning bamboo coppice she had made her way toward somewhere else worth hiding. Her arms and face lightly burned, jeans having been torn in these five days at her knees, showing off the matted but long since dried blood that covered them. Having been given these wounds in an escape attempt at the river, hearing voices coming closer and as she ran, falling and busting skin open to bleed. | + | "You're seniors, all of you, so I expect that I won't have to repeat this little tidbit to you. I'm running the show, and by now I'm confident that there is an understanding. Do not fuck with the system. Just adapt. Plan your strategies wisely, and you might be the next Adam, or Bryan." |
| | | | |
| - | Her glasses had long since been lost, giving the distance around her a fuzzier look, though she had begun to get used to it. Clothes where dirtied to a degree, then again who expected to stay clean when you’ve been forced to sleep on the ground for the past four nights, not like sleep had came easy. Only after finding humming her mother’s favorite song, Greensleeves did her mind and body finally allowing her to drift off into a somber sleep, though she found the smallest of noises startling her from sleep, and sending her on the more in around not to be caught by anyone. It was almost weird now… after being on this island for five days she had given up all of trying to find anyone to be counted as an ally… listening to the announcements… listing as they named off people she knew. From classes, plays, clubs… they where there, they had actually went so far taken the life of another. And already so many had been lost.
| + | With an eerie smile, like the Cheshire cat, Danya waved. |
| | | | |
| - | They had all started out, as simply children… now it was almost like they had became uncivilized animals. Animals that hadn’t been fed their food, and craved for something… that something now being the killings and bloodshed of others. She had tried everything to take her mind off the reality that she had been thrown into, but as long as she wore this collar and continued to travel this island, finding bodies at every corner made sure her dream world never came into existence. And kept her in constant of fear of when that would happen to here, when would someone find her, and shoot her, or cut her… or end her life in some way that had ended so many others on this place.
| + | "By the way, welcome back Mr. Dodd. We've been missing you." |
| | | | |
| - | But even still… a simple thought, a simple someone is what had kept her going in the darker of times. Though it was stupid to think about some boy she happened to have a crush on as a sort of grip on sanity for her, but she didn’t mind not at all. Truly, she wanted to find him… she truly did.
| + | At the back of the room, way off to one side, a visibly shaken Adam Dodd quietly spat back what could only be construed as a reflexive response. |
| | | | |
| - | ‘Yeah, and then what Luci admit you’re undying love for him. It’s life or death on this place, not a stupid soap opera… get over yourself.’ She hissed at herself in anger within her own thoughts, closing her eyes in order to fight back more tears that had begun spilling since the day she had woken up that fated day. It was supposed a happy day, they where supposed to go somewhere fun… it was something to do to have fun and forget everything that was bad. But in a single instance she found everything on the plane flashing red, and singing to the sounds of bullets being fried and lodging into the bodies or her teachers, and another student.
| + | "Fuck you, Danya." |
| | | | |
| - | Before everything just went black…
| + | Smirking, the large man at the front of the room continued. |
| | | | |
| - | Everything else had just been hell since then as well, though her thoughts stopped when she felt her feet step into something. It felt as if she had stepped into a puddle, though it had rained in a long time and all the rain would be dry by now. Reopening her eyes, she blinked a bit before glancing down… regretting whatever part of her had told her to so. Lucinda was standing in a puddle, indeed though it wasn’t one of water… instead that of blood, fresh blood that hadn’t been absorbed into the dirt yet. Following the trail likely, she found herself looking at the decapitated head of a classmate of her’s from school, his body lying not to far away.
| + | "To the rest of you, the game starts now. Don't be scared, you'll die faster that way." |
| | | | |
| - | ‘Ian…’
| + | Danya grinned and gave a thumbs up as the air vents above the auditorium-like room opened and began pumping sleeping gas into the room, knocking out the entire student body that occupied it as well as the two remaining teachers sitting up front. The next time the students woke up, they would be on an island fighting for their lives in the most dire of circumstances. Most of them would never see one another alive again. Those that did run into one another again would probably wind up wishing they hadn't. As for the teachers? They didn't have it nearly as lucky. By the time Danya and his lackeys were finished with them, they too would be wishing they were out on that island. At least then, they might've had a fighting chance. |
| | | | |
| - | The boy had played on the baseball team, though even still he had been made fun of because of his weight. Luci couldn’t quite understand what would lead people to do such harsh things to a person, and her heart went out to him. She made sure to greet the boy everyday in their History class, as a way of trying to make at least make some of the clear depression on his face go away, she had never been sure if it had worked or not… but now she would truly never know.
| + | '''Only the strong survive, so play, and see if you are fit to live, or not.''' |
| - | | + | |
| - | Glancing upward toward the bright blue sky, she couldn’t help the tears that slowly began to fall from her eyes. Tears not only for Ian, but for the others she hadn’t thought of or shed a tear for when she heard their names read from the death list that Danya seemed to so happy to give every day since they had gotten here. Backing away she tried to put distance between herself, and the body… bloody footsteps trailing as she left the puddle… and collapsed to the ground, her day pack which had been held up by her shoulder dropping to the ground with a large clank. Her heavy weapon she had been given on the island, the cause of such. Curling her knees closer to her body, ignoring the pain in her knees and giving into her emotions, the walls she had put up breaking as everything she had denied came onto her all at once, sobbing into her fabric of her pants.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | It had been days hiding in that field… his field… but then those people had to come, people with guys and other weapons. Wanting to steal his hiding spot, but what he could he do? Yell at them, maybe… that had seemed to work on the other guy, but the monster had came back… with even more monster friends and the only thing he could find to do was to run, run far away before the monster got him. Cleaning through the tall grass near the end of the field itself, Sven Kekule fought hard through it. They almost seeming like arms that wanted to grab him and drag him into the depths of the underworld.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Having gone days without his medicine, his mind was no longer in working order… so to speak. Everything was against him, the trees, the grass, and the animals… everything but namely the people, the monsters of the island. They wanted him dead because they knew he was a genius… they knew he could get off the island, just like he had done before. And they wanted to stop him, they where jealous of his genius… they wanted to steal away his genius. Beat him, and kill him… and as he finally came got from the grabbing fingers of the hands, he found himself standing on a path of sorts. A path to freedom, yes… maybe… Grinning he took off into a run, if he could reach the end of this path he could win. He could find freedom and go home, and no one else… the monsters could stay on their island, and die like the evil scum they where.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | But as he ran, a sound caught his ear… a whimpering sound, almost like a small puppy. Slowing his pace, he soon found the small puppy. Curled into itself, and crying, crying before a dead body. And within his mind, all the sudden the puppy turned into another monster. Growling, and biting at him, wanting him dead just like the others did. Dropping his bag, he fell into a run again, straight at the monster he wasn’t going to let his one get him… no he was going to kill it. As he got, close, diving down and forcing the beast to the ground.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | In her mind Lucinda had hardly any time to react as a massive amount of weight, much more than her’s was thrown against her, forcing her down on the ground. She struggling beneath whoever it was, as he fitted both legs over her arms which where at her side to keep them from moving, she continuing struggling though when she felt hands fit around her throat, above the collar her world went into a nose dive.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Forcing his hands about the monsters throat, he tightened the grip, feeling it struggle to be set free beneath him as he gripped even harder. The whimpers turning, though soon giving away to gasps as it fought to breathe… but Sven wasn’t going to let it. No, he was going to kill it here and now. As the assault continued, her throat being gripped harder and harder as time passed found the world around her slowly fading into black.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ‘I’m going… I’m going to die…’
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Gasping out, she drew back her knee, and kicked up aiming toward the back of his legs and his croutch in hopes of it getting it off her. And after a few lucky blows, she felt his grip loosen up, she ramming her knee a few more time before she finally felt him slide off her. She gasping in as much air as possible before, forcing herself off the ground, and grabbing at her heavy pack before getting onto her feet and trying to get away.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Groaning in pain, Sven bit back curses as the monsters had used its power to hurt him and force him to stop in his attack. Watching lightly as he watched it get up, and start to try and try to run, no… he wasn’t going to let it run. Biting back the pain, he forced himself up onto his feet as well giving chase after the monster. Prepaid to end what he started, Lucinda had gotten a few feet ahead of the other before she glanced back and saw him getting up and giving chase. Her eyes watering again, she didn’t want to die!
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Breathing in deeply, she threw her daypack to the ground removing her given weapon, a great axe. At first, she had thought of leaving it behind it starting out much to heavy for her to carry, but pushing it aside she carried it anyway. And after five days of carrying it around, it had become much easier for her to hold. Ignoring the fact her body was shaking, she pulled the weapon up. “Sta – Stay away from me! I don’t want to hurt you!” She yelled, now able to fully see her attacker, wild hair, dirty clothes… and the look in his eyes…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Sven paused in his running as the beast let out a roar, slashing it claws toward him. But grinning anyway, he raced forward no way he was going to let it get away just to come after him later. Lucinda seeing, stepped back a bit as she rose the weapon, closing her eyes as she heard the footsteps get closer and closer. And bringing it back full, she swung…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | And then there was nothing.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Sven was caught off as the monster’s lashed out, a claw finding it way into the upper part of his throat. Lodging halfway through, and stopping under his jaw. Gurgling sounds admitting from his throat as blood began to gush from the cut veins and such, pooling over on the axe’s blade and down his own body. The world began to fade after that… he had lost… the monster’s had won in their hunt.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | She didn’t reopen her eyes had first, the axe finally unlodging itself as Sven’s body stumbled forward, she allowing the axe to drop to the ground. As the body fell against her, she was fighting to keep a stand and not fall again. But when he wasn’t moving, she found her thoughts racing that is till she felt something start to leak through the fabric of her shirt… and pushing the body away, she stepped back finally opening her eyes back up and glancing to herself.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Her orange shirt was no longer orange in the front, and up around her right shoulder it had instead been dyed red in a sticky substance. Lucinda’s bottom lips trembling as she looked up to where she had been standing, expecting to see the other man standing, ready to attack again… though he there… he wasn’t standing any longer.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | She had…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Killed him…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Breathing going rapid, she pressed her hands to her face. Tears once again returning, as he fell onto her knees, knocking back and forth a bit as she fought to calm herself. She had just killed someone, murdered someone… she had fell into their game. A game she had been fighting against all this time…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… God, please… Wake up… wake up…”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Tears were coming faster, as she fell against the ground in an almost bowed like position on her knees. Sobbing greatly into her folded arms that supported her head… “PLEASE! WAKE UP!” She screamed from her spot. “Please God… I don’t want this blood to stain my hands…” Lucinda choked out.''
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | The terrifying images faded from the screen as four words appeared across the vast expanse of blackness. Survival of the Fittest. Gasps escaped several of the students' lips as they grasped the severity of what was going on around them. The lights slowly came back on, and shortly thereafter, the side door of the room slid open. The asian woman who had gunned down Dolph, Duana, and the bus drivers hours prior entered, along with a few select men. Without so much as a nod to the Franklyn students, she approached the slightly raised platform in front of the screen and turned to face them. This room seemed to have previously been an audience room -- and it now held a quite captive audience.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Survival of the Fittest," Sonia, the asian woman, began simply, "Simply put, it's Darwin's Theory taken to the extreme. Kill or be killed. The strong shall survive, the weak will perish. If the fact still eludes you, all of you have been chosen to participate under the second version of the ACT. The film you just watched illustrates the basic premise of SOTF. Running and hiding are futile, but by all means do so if you must. You'll only be hunted down by the more ambitious of the competition."
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | A faint smile formulated on the woman's lips as a few of the students seemed to cringe visibly at the thought of being hunted down like animals. Most of the students sat in utter silence, seemingly transfixed by the images that had just appeared on the screen. Sonia seemed rather pleased by the compliance which the Franklyn students showed -- although more likely than not, shock value had a lot to do with their lack of boldness.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "I'm sure most of you are at least vaguely familiar with the rules of SOTF. After all, I'm told it was quite popular this time last year. I'll give you a quick rundown for those of you who missed it. Direct your attention to the collars around your necks. If you cause trouble, linger in a danger zone, or attempt to remove it, that little device will make prompt work of detonating and taking the majority of your neck with it."
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "You'll all be issued daypacks, containing weapons ranging from frisbees to shotguns, so hope you're one of the lucky ones. You'll also be allowed to keep your personal effects, we aren't completely heartless. Do mind, however, that we've removed laptops, extra knives, anything you might've been carrying on you with the potential to cause us problems down the line. From this room, each of you will be deposited onto an island. The rules are simple. Kill your fellow students or be prepared to meet your end by their hand. Some of you are thinking that your classmates could never do something so horrible. I beg to differ. Those of you who witnessed the first ACT know better. I'd suggest taking the time to read through the guidebook Mr. Danya has issued you all when you wake up, it might help you prolong your lives a little longer, at least."
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "This is a do or die situation, children. If nobody dies within twenty-four hours, all of you will be executed via collar detonation, and I've heard tale that it isn't a pleasant way to go. My suggestion to you is to fight with gusto, make sure your actions stick lest you face some rather steep consequences, and actively slaughter the competition. You don't want to die because somebody else couldn't bring themselves to kill their classmates, do you? I wish you all the best of luck out there, you'll need it. Congratulations, children. Welcome to the second version of the SOTF ACT, and take solace in the fact that all of you will be famous for this!"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Sonia smiled devilishly before nodding to the guards who had entered the room alongside her. The group exited, and shortly after, a rumbling sound occurred as the ventilation system kicked on and once again started filtering gas into the large room. Soon enough, each of the Franklyn students lay slumped over on the desk in front of them. Once they awakened, they'd be on an island, fighting for their lives in a twisted game of survival where there can be only one winner.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | == Bathurst High School - The Abduction ==
| + | |
| - | It was very safe to say the students of Bathurst High School's tenth grade class had no idea where they were currently, though they knew where they weren't, the sexual education seminar the homeroom classes of Ms. Gussie and Mrs. Rowena had just been attending. Instead, they were all in a very dark room, every one of them sprawled on the floor. The floor was, being a floor, very hard, and those who wiped their hand along it and could see the result would notice dust covering the hand, indicating excessive dirtiness. All over the room, the shadowy forms of the students shifted uncomfortably, some moaning, others shaking their heads or rubbing their eyes, others just sitting silently, curious as to what happened.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "What's going on?"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Where the hell are we?"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Questions like these were being asked all over the room, some hushed, a few loud and panicked, one or two murmuring to themselves. The last thing any of them could remember was sitting down for the seminar in the auditorium, idle chatter as always going back and forth, very few actually paying attention to their Principal, who stood at the front, watching them carefully. When everyone had been seated, including Gussie and Rowena, he left, only telling the teachers he'd be "back in a minute". Shortly after, they had all passed out, unaware of the sleeping gas that had been leaked into the room as federal agents (obviously wearing gas masks) entered and filed them all into vans, like cargo to be shipped, which is exactly what they were in a way. That's when they noticed the figure sitting at the large desk before them, again the room being too dark to figure out any distinguishing details. Whoever it was, they were watching the students carefully, and when they all seemed more or less awake, he stood up, paying the students no mind. The figure seemed to have something in his hand as he walked over to what appeared to be a television on a stand, with a VCR-like object underneath. Wordlessly, the person slid the object into the VCR and turned on the television.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ---
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ''Michael Suarez had to admit to himself that he'd never been as pleased to see someone as he was of Scott Jameson. Running into the boy (literally, at full speed, as he sprinted away from the sound of gunshots that he'd heard), he'd peeled himself off of the ground and been ready to run as fast as he could in the other direction, when he'd taken a split-second glance and realized that, lo and behold, it was good ol' Scotty Jameson, lying on the ground, groaning in pain and rubbing his shoulder as though he'd just been hit by a baseball bat. Of all the baseball team members, Scott was pretty much the most useless one to have on your side in a fight, but Michael, at that moment, didn't care. The fact of the matter was that having a friend by his side would make him that much stronger, and give him someone to fight for. He'd recalled extending his hand to Scott, who'd immediately shielded his eyes in fear, with only the kind of conditioning that someone in a war zone could have achieved. Once Scott had realized that the person standing over him wasn't going to shoot him and move on, he'd slowly lowered the quivering hand from his face, and his eyes had lit up at the sight of his fellow baseball player. He'd taken Michael's hand, to which Mike had pulled him up, and then things were all right again.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | They'd been travelling together for probably about an hour, just wandering through the bushes, catching each other up on the other's travels throughout the island and Survival of the Fittest. Scott had seen quite a bit more battle experience than Michael had, which surprised him a little, for Scott had lived through them all, and Scott was always such a squirrely kind of guy, so it just didn't make sense...he'd shrugged it off and silently attributed it to really damn good luck on Scott's behalf. As for him, he'd seen his share of bodies, but hadn't been near to much of the action all that much. The two had comisserated on the fact that much of their baseball team had died on the island, in fact, the only one that they both knew was alive for certain was Jack, and then, they didn't even know. Michael had let out quite the sigh at that little piece of information. If it got down to three, and it ended up being the three of them from the team, what would happen? Would Jack be murderously intent on sending them both to an early grave? Would he have to pull the trigger?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | It saddened him to think about it, but the answer was that he truly didn't think he'd be able to do it. That, of course, was where they were at the present time, having just emerged from the woods, looking right onto the desecrated lighthouse.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Scott looked back at Michael, and with an unpleasant look on his face, promptly vomited into the bushes. The lighthouse had the stench of death all around it, and the decapitated corpse that was laid out just in front of it, freshly bleeding, was not the welcome mat that Michael had honestly hoped to see. Scratching the back of his neck, his eyes glared at the fresh corpse in front of them. If the body was still fresh, did that mean that the killer was still here with them? So many questions rang through Michael's mind, and his heart began to race. Trying to calculate a course of action to take them away from this place, Michael opened his mouth to say something to Scott, when -
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Snap.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | A twig snapped somewhere in the woods, behind them. Without even thinking, Michael took a running start towards his friend and tossed himself towards the still-hunched over kid, screaming a warning out before the other boy even had a chance to react.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Scotty, look out!"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As Michael jumped towards Scott and pushed his friend out of the way, a hail of bullets came flying out of the woods, the sound seeming as though it were coming from some sort of rapid-fire weapon, likely with poor aim. Michael figured that it sounded like an Uzi.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | The aim, of course, wasn't as bad as Michael had surmised it to be, as one of the bullets (two, actually, for he didn't even feel the second one hit him) hit him in the small of his back, skimming his spinal column and effectively paralyzing the boy from the waist down. Crying out in what was effectively surprise, the boy that the baseball team called 'Klepto' hit the dirt hard, not even feeling the second bullet lodge itself in his leg. All feelings were cut off from his legs, and immediately, Mike knew one very important fact: he was fucked. Looking at Scott, who was looking surprised and afraid all at the same time, Michael hit his friend in the shoulder, which caused the boy to look right at him, and gave him the only piece of advice that he possibly could.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Run, Scott. Get the fuck out of here, now!"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Of course, as Scott realized that running was exactly what he should be doing at this point in time, and he finally picked himself up and turned to run away, he made one very fatal mistake. He glanced back at Michael and then turned to look into the woods before he began to run. As he turned his head, he exposed himself, so much so that an expert shooter wouldn't have any trouble at all firing at least one shot into his body, and of course, as the one bullet flew out of the woods and caught him in the throat, that was exactly what happened. Looking on in horror, the paralyzed Michael Suarez watched as Scott Jameson dropped to the ground beside him, a large wound right through Scott's throat, and heard the horrible gurgling sounds that accompanied Scott trying to breathe through the mangled wreck that was formerly his neck. As the blood poured out of the wound, Scott gurgled again, looking at Michael with tears in his eyes. Mike couldn't help but look away. Finally, Scott gurgled one more time, and seemed to sigh a little. After that, Scott didn't gurgle anymore.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Now that Scott was dead and Michael was truly on his own, he could only hope that somehow, the mystery assailant would pass by, thinking that they'd managed to shoot him down and kill him like he'd killed Scott. Of course, hearing a rustling from the bushes only caused his fears to leap in horrible anticipation for what would come next.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As Angelina Kaige emerged from the bushes, pistol in one hand and Uzi hanging from her other shoulder, she had a grim look of satisfaction on her face. Shooting the small kid in the neck had been, at least from her angle, a difficult shot, and she'd managed to prove to herself that she still had the very same precision aiming skills that she'd used to win a second-place ribbon in an army competition - an admirable feat for a twelve-year old girl.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Of course, that was never good enough for dear old daddy, and he beat me for the rest of the week for not finishing first. The fuck was he expecting of me? I was twelve, and the rest of them were grown men? Jesus. Am I only now realizing how much of an asshole my father was?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Shaking her head and removing the temporary distraction from her mind, Kaige wandered out of the bushes and over to the fallen boy; the one that she'd shot in the throat. He was quite dead, and to that, Kaige was glad. That meant that at least one out of two was gone on the first shot. Smirking to herself, she moved over to the other boy, and frowned.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | You've got to be absolutely fucking KIDDING me...
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Looking down, Kaige rolled her eyes to no one in particular. It seemed that this particular boy had indeed been shot, but somehow was managing to block out the pain and was actually attempting to play dead. It wasn't enough that the telltale rise and fall of his chest was completely giving him away, but his eyes were clenched so tight that Kaige could actually see his skin twitching at the pressure. Thinking for a moment, Kaige had an idea. It was a twisted and sick idea, but it was a good one nonetheless. Moving over to the other body, she aimed her pistol at the forehead and pulled the trigger, firing a round into the corpse's forehead. Quickly, she pressed the side of the gun to the faker's face, the hot magazine burning his skin, causing the boy to let out an agonizing scream. Opening his eyes, he gingerly touched the burnt side of his face and looked up at Kaige with a look of utter dismay and pain. Smiling as she inflicted the pain upon the boy, she walked around and kicked him in the leg.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Here's where I have some fucking FUN...
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Of course, as Michael didn't react to the kick, Kaige sensed something was amiss. Aiming another kick to his legs, when he didn't react, Kaige's eyes went wide with disappointment. In her haste to shoot at the two, she'd inadvertantly paralyzed this one. Frowning, and mouthing the word 'fuck', she picked up her pistol and shot him in the genitals. Michael's eyes, of course went wide at this, but when the pain didn't come, he felt like crying.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Kaige, of course, was mad at herself for a completely different reason.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | This is fucking ridiculous. How the hell could I have paralyzed him? Shit. Unbelievable. There aren't that many guys left on the island, and not too many that aren't, maybe twelve. If I'm getting to endgame, I cannot let my current state mess with me...
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Cursing to herself, Kaige realized that something would have to be done, or her biggest weakness, her achilles heel would probably be the death of her. It had started back when she'd been in the military, a few years ago. Her squad had gone on a routine operation that had essentially turned into a bloodbath. With each soldier that she'd killed (and there'd been many), Kaige had realized that she got increasingly more and more sexually aroused. This, unfortunately, had the side effect of making her less aware of her surroundings and more caught up in her own emotions. Essentially, killing was her aphrodisiac. She'd had sex with a few of the men in her platoon, and it seemed that it was really the only thing that helped - rough, hard, sex. She hated to admit it, and she swore those men to secrecy (not that it had really mattered, for her unit was massacred the following month), because such a disadvantage was horribly inconvienient. Especially now, when she was essentially by herself. Masturbation hadn't helped her at all, which was again something that added to the aggravation of it all.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Cursing in her own mind again, Kaige looked down at the other boy, who looked rather uncomfortable, probably feeling the blood escaping his body through the gaping hole in his genatalia. Feeling impatient, Kaige raised her pistol and with the click of a button, fired a bullet that blew Michael Suarez's jaw clean off. With only a squeak of pain and protest, Michael too managed to gurgle, and then die. Shutting her eyes for a second, and feeling even more of a haze settle down over her, Kaige looked up at the sky, and shook her head.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | What a fucking handicap. I'll just have to kill the others as soon as possible to get out of this hell-hole, because I'll be damned if I'm ever going to fuck Rice. Ick.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Internally revulsed at the thought, Kaige shouldered her Uzi and walked purposefully back into the forest from whenst she came, leaving only death and destruction at the lighthouse - a place that seemed to welcome it.''
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ---
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Anyone who was still groggy or almost asleep by the time the clip started was instantly woken up by the amount of noise, riveted by the disturbing events on the television. One or two people actually vomited from the sight (especially the Puerto Rican baseball player being shot in the genitals and then having his jaw blown off), there were cries of "Oh my God!", "What the fuck is going on here?!" and the like, and some instances where kids, knowing what was happening, simply started to sob. There were only a few who were silent and calm. As soon as the clip ended, the lights flared up, and the students saw the person before them in all his 6'3", scarred, brutal glory. Former boxer, Marine and Principal of Bathurst High School, Steven Wilson, was right in front of them, though wearing different clothes and sunglasses.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "It can't be!"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "What's going on here?!"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Why's the Principal here?"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "What kind of sick joke is this?!"
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Again, the crowd of students was full of questions, and Wilson just looked on neutrally, as he always did.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "SHUT UP!" he finally shouted, shocking the students into silence as his voice boomed through the room just barely big enough to hold them all in. Surprised, they looked at him dumbly as he cracked a rare grin and started to pace the room.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Canis Canem Edit," he said, looking to the students, "Do any of you know what that means, or are you all too stupid from spending your entire school lives fucking and fighting to have learned anything?" he finally asked, turning to face the students. There was a short period of stunned, frightened silence before one child, the true definition of a "nerd" if there ever was one in perfect fitting pants, a wollen jumper and large glasses, stood up, his hand raised.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Yes?" Wilson asked, pointing to the nerd.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "It...it's Latin sir. Latin for...'Dog Eat Dog'." the nerd said. Wilson grinned at this, whether from a student at Bathurst finally (in his opinion) showing both nerve and intelligence or just plain sadistically grinning was unknown to the kids.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Good. Excellent work." he said, before suddenly whipping out a Beretta 9mm pistol and firing it, hitting the nerd right between the eyes and causing the nerd's head to nearly explode, sending blood, bone, brain matter and one of his eyeballs flying all over the room, causing the students to scream and fall back, the few who didn't scream still backing away to avoid provoking him.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Dog Eat Dog is right, my 'friends'!" Steven Wilson continued to say, holstering the gun and allowing the grin to fade off his face, "Also known as Survival of the Fittest. Darwinism. The strong, those who can adapt, survive, the weak and those who cannot...die! Mr. Gilsin over there was too weak to live, I did him a favor. Welcome, little warriors, to the fourth Survival of the Fittest program!" when he finished saying this, there were no words, no gasps, only silence and the occasional resigned sobbing. They were most likely all going to die, and they knew it.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "I am sure you all know the rules, Lord knows you little bastards probably got off on last year's Program. For those who didn't, or were too stupid to catch on, they are quite simple. Kill everyone else. Kill... until only you are left. You do not have a time limit, but if twenty four hours pass without a death..." he seemed to have forgotten something just then, and stopped, "...Oh, right! Let me redirect your attention to those red bands on your neck. They look beautiful, don't they?" those who looked around to see the bands around the necks of themselves and their classmates would notice thin strips wrapped around the center of one's neck, about at the Adam's Apple. The design was a beautiful dark red with an intricate black design. The tribal design resembled avian barbwire, vaguely like a horned creature with two sharp points jutting upwards to form wings. What seemed to be the beak swooped downwards like a hook. It was indeed pleasing to the eye, and some did not notice that they were their new collars, a few even touched them, awestruck.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Ah, but don't touch them!" Wilson again interjected, "Those, my friends, are your new collars. They're just as deadly as v1's, though prettier and a... bit more painful to remove." knowing how the collars performed in the previous Program, the kids quickly retracted their hands. "That's better." Wilson said, nodding. "Anyway, if there are no deaths in twenty-four hours, all of those collars will explode...I think you know how that would end. Allow me to demonstrate..." after saying this, he reached for a radio on his belt, "Bring them in." he ordered.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As soon as he said that, four people came through the door, two very heavily armed guards, and two females. Upon closer examination, the females were Ms. Gussie and Mrs. Rowena, the tenth grade teachers who'd been at the seminar. They had the same collars on that the kids did, and they looked... frightened. Without a word, Wilson picked something up off the desk, it looked like a laser pointer, and pointed it at the collars after both he and the guards stood back. Quickly pressing a button, a red laser went from the remote, straight to Gussie's collar, then Rowena's. An ominous beeping sound filled the air, recognizeable by anyone who saw the previous Program. As the beeping picked up pace, the teachers started to panic as the kids looked on resignedly, knowing what would happen. Screaming for help, the two teachers started to run, Gussie even started to pull at the collar. After only a few seconds, that felt much longer, there were two explosions, as both the collars and necks of Ms. Gussie and Mrs. Rowena exploded, sending blood all over the room.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | "Such a fate will await you if that happens, or if you are caught in a Forbidden Zone. You know what those are, I know. At the start of every day, there will be an announcement. Not only will we tell you who is dead and alive there, but what zones are forbidden or not. Pay attention to these, kids, your life literally depends on it." Wilson said, wiping some blood off his red shirt and his pants. "Just so you know, for security purposes this room will be gassed again the instant I leave. When you wake up, you will find a pack, inside will be your assigned weapon, some food, and some personal effects, with the exceptions of things like laptops and extra weapons. You'll also find a handbook written by Danya himself, read it if you know what is best for yourself. Fight well, kids." and with that, he and his guards left the room, the room instantly being filled with sleeping gas just as he promised.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | And with that, their fight for survival would begin.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | == Hobbsborough High School - The Abduction ==
| + | |
| - | June 10th, 2006, Nevada…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | The hot bus was causing Louis Bourbon to be apprehensive, not so much because of the fact that he was driving to his death. He wouldn’t lie to you, he deserved to be killed, he himself had taken the lives of 13 men and women, but the silver lining in all of this insanity and misfortune of his life would be that this whole thing would soon be over, he would die in his sleep via lethal injection, everything would be over, he could finally repent his sins in the eternal solitude that was hell. He was looking forward to hell.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “GET DOWN!” screamed the guard, but it was to late. As Louis saw the guard's body do a small jig, he looked up to see the bus coming to a halt. Two men had just killed the bus driver and the guard, picking up the shotgun the guard had, the young man who had killed him smiled a bit as he looked toward Louis. Was this man saving him? Was this man breaking him out of jail? Saving him from his death?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a tranquilizer, Louis’s eyes widened. The man shot him in the shoulder, as Louis passed out it became clear that the lazy-looking kid (for he couldn’t be a day over thirty) was not his savior.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | No, he was the farthest thing from it.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | June 18th, 2006, Denton, New Jersey Airport 11:30 P.M.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Now Louis, do you have the bombs themselves set up?” said Jim with a small smile as Louis rubbed the silver collar on his neck and stared down at his crotch… the terrorist was innovative, that was for sure. Louis wasn’t as scared of death as he was of pain, and with the small collar wrapped around one of his favorite parts of his own anatomy…well, obedience was more readily given. Louis nodded his head in response to Jim’s question.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “A briefing of the planned attack... tomorrow at 9:15 a plane heading toward Washington D.C will leave, when it lands in the airport at 11:30 A.M. I will detonate the bomb causing the deaths of exactly 60 American citizens, while security is more focused on what’s going on at D.C., because humanity will always want to be concerned with it, we will sneak onto Flight 77 to the Bahamas, it is then that the real fun begins.”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Our sleeper cell in the U.S., one, Joseph Jackson, will be piloting the flight. He is equipped with a concealable fire arm, the same one I have, the Heckler and Koch MP7. Your purpose is to be the scary serial killer, it is why I’m equipping you with something more dramatic… in fact I’m going to ask you to murder a flight attendant the moment we get on, preferably in a way that would cause some blood to splatter onto the kids,” Jim said laughing.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “After that I’ll do the whole dramatic “Kill your best friend!” stuff that Danya claims is necessary for the whole plan to work, we smoke a joint, you die... a humanly death, of course, and with your genitals still intact hopefully, and we begin the waiting game,” Jim said with a yawn.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Louis simply nodded. He was scared of this SOTF terrorist and how he was confiding some quite odd things about this game to him... how first of all the game started out as a simple conversation he and Danya had at a coffee shop five years ago, he wasn’t sure if he could believe the terrorist who had made gigantic claims (“It was I that had the whole idea of sending out SOTF DVD’s…it was genius, and I knew the government itself would simply tax the shit out of it, so I had to make it worthwhile… it was then that I decided to hold Jessica Alba hostage and make her do a strip tease and masturbate while providing her own commentary on the key events of SOTF...of course it gets hazy at about Cody Jenson’s killing of Madelaine mostly because she starts screaming real loud...”). Whether any of these claims were true was a mystery to Louis, who had been in prison the entire time, but he simply nodded at the rather eccentric terrorists. For a serial murderer it was still quite hard to be in a room with someone who was this insane. Was this how his lawyer felt?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “It is not a tool's place to ponder their own existence, Louis,” said Jim quietly as he got up and went outside of the warehouse they were sleeping in.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “I’m going to try to initiate a meeting with Danya and a mad Asian songstress so they can yell at me and tell me how needlessly extravagant this entire plan is. Really though, they just can’t deal with the fact that this is going to be the marking of our entire existence, Louis. Besides, I needed you, Sonia could never get anything done without a few hundred henchmen,” Jim said sarcastically as he walked out of the warehouse, leaving Louis a chance to run.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Oh, and by the way, Louis... if you run, I will not hesitate to detonate your second collar…”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Louis stood still and tried to sleep.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Denton New Jersey, June 19th, 11:31 A.M.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Good God in Heaven Almighty, we got an explosion down by the airport! Somebody send for back up! America has been attacked again!”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As Jim and Louis both walked behind the pilot, they smiled. The pilot lead them past most of the crew by saying they were working as undercover security in case of another Survival of the Fittest tragedy, but soon all questions ceased as that message was screamed over the speakers. Chaos, that was one thing that Jim thrived on. The sick smile on his face caused Louis to put his finger on the trigger of the SPAS-15, but he refrained from firing. The fear that this man put into him was so large, it was so demoralizing how a single individual could make someone who had killed countless people before want to shit his pants.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | But nonetheless they got onto the plane with relatively no questions asked, everything was falling into place, just as Jim had planned it…and that was frightening. The planned murder of countless men, women and children would be completed this day by a young ambitious man…no, he was no longer a man, he was a terrorist, the fear of others keeping him moving.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As Louis was lost in thought he entered the plane and instinctively pulled the trigger of the SPAS-15, leaving one girl and the flight attendant dead. Louis shuttered as a hand hit him on the back of the head. It was then that he saw Jimmy shaking his head.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Nice job on the flight attendant, but we weren’t supposed to kill any kids.” It was then that he noticed a kid getting up and he fired the MP7 at him, causing the kid to have epileptic seizures as he landed on the shoulder of some girl, dead. The girl was about to scream, but no words came out, just her opening her mouth and letting out a silent shriek.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Close your mouth before I put my dick in it.” he said abruptly and then turned to Louis and said quietly, “Sorry about that slap, I broke my own rules… Danya will probably bitch at me now… man, life is a bitch, ain’t it?”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | However, his attention turned to the students, “On the topic of life being a bitch, I’m here to tell you that you guys have been selected for Survival of the Fittest version 2!”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | And with that the plane took the air, any chance of escape disappearing.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ---
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Alright, so now I have to show you guys a movie. Am I forgetting anything, Louis?” Jim asked the prisoner lazily.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “The teachers.”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Oh, capital!” Jim said with a smile as he eyed Mrs. Saranna and smirked, “Now Louis, do you think she has a weapon?” Jim asked theatrically.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Ummm…”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “I think I have to search her. Come over her Mrs. Saranna, you have a date with my hands.”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | It was a eye opener for many students as Mrs. Saranna was molested in front of them. It was even a bigger eye-opener as the terrorist kissed her forcibly, than brought up the gun to her head and pulled the trigger. The terrorist coughed as the now nude and headless body of Ashley Saranna fell to the floor.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Man, nothing tastes worse than human brain, I tell you…” he said outloud before he signaled Louis to quickly kill the remaining teachers, obviously satisfied with the amount of fun he was having.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | After the teachers were killed Jim just looked at the kids, his smile widening.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Alright guys, now to begin. Having a good time on this trip, I presume, right?” he said with that trademark smile, but then became calmer.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Alright, everyone bring down your T.V.s, we’re on our way to the island and I got a little in-flight movie planned... and Louis will be sure to bring you guys water.” he smirked.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As Louis went to get the water he shuddered at the amount of pills he had in his pocket, enough roofies for every one of those kids to be knocked out for hours… it was devious, it was clever, having these kids virtually damn themselves to hell.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | But, as Louis went along pouring the roofies, he became intently focused on the video being shown, the horror that was on it.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | The movements of Hawley Faust had no thoughts behind them, just a word, a single word; run.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ''He’d couldn’t remember how long he’d been running, neither did he care he just knew he had to find cover… he had to find somewhere so he could figure what the hell was happening. When he’d woken up, he’d woken up to the sound of rushing water and it took him a moment to realize that everything wasn’t as he remembered.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | A flash of memory ran through his mind, of the video, of the man, of the bodies. They where sent to this island to kill, eyes flashing over to the somewhat large bag swinging on his shoulder. He hadn’t bothered to look through it when he woke up; finding a place to hide seemed a better option at that moment than sitting out in the open.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Cutting off the man-made path he had been running on for the time into a grove a trees and bushes run dropping into a slow walk, trying to fill his lungs and even out his breathing before continuing. His legs where shaking to hold his weight, his whole body was shaking but he couldn’t stop…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | He couldn’t stop…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “I – I got to… to keep moving.” Hawley gasped, pushing off the tree he had laid himself against and starting off again, but it didn’t last long as he felt his mud-covered shoes catch an above ground root sending him rolling head over heels. His form hitting and rolling down the small hill that jutted down from the grove of trees the contents of the bag given to him spilling out as he rolled, coming to a sudden, and hard stop on against the dirt ground.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Tears where starting to bead through his closed eyes as he pushed himself onto his knees, Hawley’s glasses having now fallen off and lay scratched and cracked a few feet away. “Damn it.” He cried out, as he crawled toward his bag and spilled equipment grabbing them quickly and trying to push them back into the bag. The young man’s hand lingered as he touched the weapon he had gotten… a shotgun.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | The thoughts of tears seemed to disappear right then, as a soft chuckle escaped Hawley’s lips at that point when his hand grabbed the weapon, pulling him and the weapon up as he moved to his fallen glasses, bending over and picking them up. Resting them back on his nose, his attention fell upon the building that lay before him. Tear-stained eyes gave a quick look about; no one seemed to be here… that didn’t mean he couldn’t be careful. Adjusting the bag, he aimed his weapon out before him and made his way forward.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | As he neared the building, his thoughts of no one being here where further confirmed to some degree. Using the muzzle of his gun to push the half-open door open, Hawley poked his head in listening… After a moment he stepped in, using his foot to close the door behind him. He made his way about the small one-roomed building; the white tile almost reminded him of the rooms from the hospital, hands finding a tighter grip about the weapon at the thought.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “This might not be so bad… this game.” Hawley mused speaking to himself as he threw the bag to the ground, making his way toward a stretcher lying abandoned in the center of the room. He placing the weapon down on it as he pushed the stretcher, pushing it against the door hoping that this would help keep this door in check from anyone trying to get in. He would have to watch the second door that lay off to the side of the room.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | This was kind of ironic, both his parents being doctors and he finding his hiding place within what seemed to be a clinic of sorts. Giving the thoughts a light noise of annoyance he once again took his weapon in hand and moved till he allowed his body to fall against one of the tiled walls, sliding down it into a sitting position against the dirty floor. Resting his head back, eyes closing lightly as another laugh found its way out and a grin twisted against his lips.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Then the camera shifted, the quick shift shocked Louis who had been focusing on the boy and for a moment had thought the kid had disappeared, but soon it became evident that the tape wasn’t over, that the genius that was his captor had shifted the film to give the same event two different perspectives, that perspective being the killer and the victim.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Amongst the grove of trees a light humming sound could be heard coming from the form of Helena Van Garret. She sat atop her the bag she had brought with her for the trip, fingers combing through her wavy blond hair; she had just finished her shower at the nearby creek. Though Helena thoughts were wondering, she’d been awake for a few hours now and yet she hadn’t seen one of her fellow classmates.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Chewing lightly on her bottom lip, Helena sighed and reached down taking a hold of a discarded hair band moving to pull her hair up into a rather messy bun, placing clips here and there to try and get it to look more decent. Standing she twisted in her place, her feet covered by simply slip-on-shoes white in color. She still wearing the orange sundress she had, had on the plane, the end of it blowing about her mid-thigh while the neck was cut into a rather low v-neck.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Simply perfect, she had to admit even if she was stuck on this stupid island.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “So…” She muttered, pursing lip-glossed lips out somewhat as she picked up the manual she had begun reading before deciding on the bath. “Our mission is to kill one another.” huffing somewhat, she tossed it to the side and into the brush. “How stupid.”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Crouching down against the ground she opened the kit she had been given (in quite an ugly bag she had to add, it went with nothing she owned.) and dug through. Bread… water… crackers, none of which, besides of the water, went with her diet.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Digging in deeper she let out a yelp as she with drew her hand, her index and middle finger now holding a thin jagged cut along them. Helena reached in again, though more carefully bringing out what she guessed to be her weapon, a saw was it?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | She over looked it lightly, pursing her lips more at the disappointment in the choice she was given. She stood, pushing the food and water into her own shoulder bag, tossing the ugly one to the side. As she stood, placing her’s over her shoulder and glancing to the hacksaw in her right hand. “Better than nothing I suppose…”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Stepping off onto a small path, she continued along humming the tune of a song that was currently on her mind as she walked about, a little way in her step. She song paused thought as she stopped in an opening in the trees, eyes casting down onto a small building at the bottom of the hill. Helena eyes watching it lightly, were people there… or was it abandoned?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Though when a flash of red hair passed by the window, she found a smile curling on her lips. “Good, someone to use for some protection.” She mused, before slowly starting down the small hill. Waving a long arm in way of the building, “Hello! Whoever’s in there, hello! It’s Helena, Helena Van Garret!”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Back to the boy. Louis was now watching, horrified with what was happening. He could see it, he wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He was there, he could read the girl's mind, feel her fear, he was there!
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | The past few minutes Hawley had taken to searching the cabinets and drawers about the room, though there was a vast amount of first kid kits laying about, most where empty. Amongst some of the cabinets, he finding a syringe and a couple of bottles of different drugs from antibacterial, to morphine… though all where outdated it seemed, making most of the drugs where useless in this state, he making a disapproving noise at this.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Moving back across the room, he sat down against the floor allowing his right leg to lay out straight before him. He pushing up the dark blue pants where wore, the upper half of his body covered by a dark green shirt, with a black long-sleeved undershirt that was rather long, just enough to cover his hands. The young man let out a pained intake of air as he pulled the pants leg came up over his knee, the knee having been wounded in his fall. It at the moment swollen somewhat and taking on a purple hue, pouts of blood dye and new coating it.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Reaching out to his bag, he pulled it over digging out the first aid kit he’d remembered seeing when it had spilled out of his bag. Bringing it out, he went through trying to locate what was needed. Finding a small thing of rubbing alcohol, and some bandages he quickly went to work cleaning the wound and wrapping it. Pushing up into a standing position, he flexed the knee, feeling only little pain compared to before he felt happy with he’s job.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Hello! Whoever’s in there, hello! It’s Helena, Helena Van Garret!”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Hawley whole body froze at the voice, mind racing, the Van Garret bitch? He smirked to himself; quite surprised she’d stayed alive this long into the game. Limping away, he picked up his weapon moving about to each window the building offered, trying to see where her voice had come from. Finally spotting her, in her rather noticeable dress, he unlatched the window pushing the plane of glass up enough to get the muzzle of his gun pointing outside.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Breathing in, he tried to steady himself. He’d never fired a gun before, and was rather nervous but the thought of maybe getting rid of one of those who had wronged him so much during school… made his blood run hot, and wild. Closing his brown eye, blue one trying to focus on the target from beyond his messed up glass lens.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | And without a second thought his finger found the trigger, and he pulled hard.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | A thundering blast erupting in it’s wake…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | No! She’s dead! He couldn’t be apart of this, he’d kill Jim and bring these kids back. His own personal safety didn’t matter.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Clearing the hill, Helena had begun the short track across the dirt ground toward the building. Her hand brushing a strand of hair from about her face, frowning when their was no answer given to her calls, she sure she had saw someone. She knew she just wasn’t seeing things…
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Stopping in place, she placed her hands over her mouth in an attempt to be louder. “Hel – AH!”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Helena’s call had been cut off into a scream as a thunderous blast sounded. Her hands covering her ears as she jumped back falling against the ground as she tried to dodge the blast her weapon bouncing against the ground as she hit, spinning a few feet away. The bullet having lodged into the ground just a mere foot from where she had been standing, it kicking dirt up as it hit.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Her body sat, shaking against the ground as she stared wide-eyed at where the small hole in the ground was, her hands still covered her ears but the blast was still ringing in the still air to her. Something wet had begun to trail her cheeks, they slipping into her mouth, the salty substance becoming clear. Tears… she was crying… how frightened was she?
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ‘Am I going to die?’ She wondered lightly, her hands finally falling from her ears as she begun to move, trying to get onto her feet as she made her way, half-crawling, half-walking toward her weapon. She had to run… she couldn’t die. No she couldn’t!
| + | |
| - | ----
| + | |
| - | Hawley was once again taken back when she screamed, though he found himself falling back onto backside when she spit blood into face, coating his glasses in the substance. A howl of pain soon following as a pain ribbed across his shin, the hacksaw cutting through the fabric of his jeans and tearing into the flesh.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Growling in frustration, he threw his glasses to the side as he stood to his feet. Attention focusing on the girl as she limped away, leaving a trail of her bright blood behind… He lifting his weapon once again. Though harder to see without his glasses, everything somewhat of a blur in the further distance. Breathing in pulled hard against the trigger.
| + | |
| - | ------
| + | |
| - | The pain in her belly was soon matched by another entering the back of her thigh, the blast passing through and spewing blood through the front, her feet tripping over themselves as she collapsed against the ground. Curling into a fetal position in the pain all over her.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | ‘I’m going to die…’ She thought bitterly, a small smile passing over her lips. ‘I’m sorry I never found you August, I never got the chance to ask you what you where going to do when you left school… guess my year of relaxation has started early, and will probably last longer too…’
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | A soft laugh escaped Helena blood-spotted lips, as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Glazed eyes looking at Hawley, the tears still brightly following down her cheeks, though a small grin had found place on her lips now.
| + | |
| - | ------
| + | |
| - | "Don't you know, chasing the prey makes it all the more fun..." He mused, the grin returned once again as he limped toward the fallen girl. Surprised though that the girl could move, let alone push herself up. The grinning only growing at her own smile as he once again came to stand over Helena, lifting the shotgun and cocking it, once finished pushing the muzzle of gun into the tan skin of her forehead.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “I always hated you… this is your punishment. The others like you are also going to meet their fates, so don’t feel alone. Others will be joining you soon.” Hawley whispered harshly, laughing once he finished. Placing a finger against trigger, once again giving a sharp smile at her before pulling back on the it.''
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
| + | |
| - | Only the fit shall survive. So play, and see if you truly are fit to live, or not.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | It was then that Louis pointed the gun at Jim, who sighed.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “You horrific bastard! I won’t let you do this to these kids!”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Then Jim pulled out a remote and quickly pressed a button.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Jesus Christ, shut up already.”
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | Immediately, Louis was dead and Jim went to go pick up the shotgun, sighing. He didn’t want to kill Louis now, but he supposed now was just as good a time as ever to explain the collars.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “You guys will end up like him if you don’t do what you’re told. NOW DRINK SOME FUCKING WATER!” he screamed and all the kids hesitantly obeyed.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | A few minutes later they where knocked out. Jim sighed as he called Danya.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | “Mission accomplished D, and God bless America,” he said with a small smile. The sarcasm in his voice was apparent.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | All that could be heard was Danya’s laughing from the cell phone as the pilot landed on an island and countless amounts of terrorists began unloading the kids and giving them weapons.
| + | |
| - | | + | |
| - | SOTF v2 had begun.
| + | |
Two years. Two years ago, a game known as Survival of the Fittest was unleashed upon the world, and the chaos that would follow in its aftermath would shake the United States of America to its very core. A group of tenth grade students from Barry Coleson High School in upstate New York boarded an airplane on its way to Paris, France. That plane would never return, and all of the students, except one, would die horrible and gruesome deaths courtesy of this corrupt game. The only survivor of the first "official" game was a student by the name of Adam Dodd, and because of the events he had witnessed during ten horrible days on the island, he would never again be the same.
For a year after that, all was quiet, and some semblance of peace seemed to return to the country. As quickly as the mysterious figure known as Mr. Danya had appeared, he vanished, seeming to take his game along with him. Although the United States government declared finding Mr. Danya and eradicating his terrorist unit a top priority, all their progress seemed to lead to was dead ends. It was as if Mr. Danya, Angelina Kaige, Elijah Rice, Shannon McLocke, and the remainder of their terrorist group had never existed.
But the country would never forget. During the first days of the original SOTF ACT, panic ensued in the country. The longer it progressed, the more resigned to the fact the Americans became. In a desperate ploy to keep peace and halt thoughts of uprising within the country, the United States government broadcast SOTF under the guise of a new game show. Its controversial actions were especially popular among teenagers, who were more desensitized to the violence unfolding before them than the parents.
But the citizens of New York, the ones who had enrolled their children in Barry Coleson High School, they would forever know that SOTF was no game show... no reality series. Their children would never come back. Still, most resigned themselves to believing that SOTF was just a game. It was just easier that way. Those who refused to believe, those who hassled the U.S. government for answers... they, too, disappeared, and people knew better than to pry too deep or ask too many questions.
And so, the horror that was SOTF ended, with the American public either not knowing the truth of the matter or choosing to believe the lies the government fed them. Things just didn't seem to make sense. If Survival of the Fittest was just a show, why were government officials so relentlessly pursuing the man known as Mr. Danya and his terrorist organization? If none of it was real, why were they going on some ficticious goose chase?
When the leads ran out, the news feeds stopped, and America returned to some sense of normalcy. Eventually, the guards were removed from the schools, and it was as if SOTF never existed in the first place. The government claimed that they wouldn't bend to common terrorists and that the citizens of the U.S. shouldn't allow things like the SOTF ACT to affect their daily lives. Basically, they claimed that by ignoring the problem, they were solving it. A terrorist's job is to create terror, after all, and if the U.S. wasn't panicking, they were failing at their job.
A year passed, and nothing happened. This tactic, as crazy as it might have sounded, actually seemed to be working. Then, one year after the original incident that incited panic and chaos across the States... it happened again. Four schools from Denton, New Jersey, set out to four respective locations on school trips, never to return. A few days later, Survival of the Fittest was once again being broadcast to every man, woman, and child across America. This game was bigger, better, faster... it seemed infallible.
Once again, America was in an uproar. The public demanded answers. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn't the government stop it? This was no reality show. During the first days of the SOTF ACT's second runthrough, the public demanded the truth from the government. The blame fell on the government's public relations team, and eventually lead to nearly all of the PR team being relieved of their jobs and replaced with new members.
Despite that, the conflicting reports, combined with a new terrorist attack, created a rift between the people and the American government. People began to distrust the government, and support for this new war against terror dropped incredibly. Despite that, the government continued to pursue Mr. Danya. The second installment of his cruel little game continued, however, and all but one of the group of students from Denton lost their lives to the program. Once again, the American government failed in its attempt to stop Danya. Two months after the end of the second game, the government managed to locate the abandoned island on which the game had been played, and along with it, the carnage and aftermath that followed the second program.
This was a large victory for the U.S. Even though they had failed to save the Denton students, they were closer to finding Mr. Danya than they had ever been before. America pushed relentlessly forward, but came to another dead end after finding the island on which the second round of the game had taken place. The American public went on with life, as it always does after a crisis, even one of these proportions. More time went by, and the event of another abduction became less and less. Finally, things were back to normal...
- Mr. Isaiah Thomas, Southridge High School, Grade 9 Instructor
"Whoo!" one of the jocks from the football team shouted as he hopped onto the steps of the obviously not school-standard Southridge High School bus, "Senior trip, senior trip, senior trip!"
Even from far away, it was blatantly obvious that the school was going all out on this senior trip. It had taken four years of countless bake sales, fundraisers, cross-dressing pageants, and other ridiculous school spirited events, but finally, the 2007 Senior Class of Southridge High had managed to raise enough money for this all expenses paid senior trip. They'd raised a small fortune to fund it, but it was well worth the money. After all, it was their last chance to do something as a class, it was their last hurrah before they all parted ways and went down the different paths of life. This trip was going to be one for the scrap books, this was the place to make memories, this was an event that this year's seniors were supposed to remember for the rest of their lives.
One of the baseballers flashed a toothy grin to his companions as he discretely flashed the bottle of vodka stashed underneath the hoodie he wore. The rather short, somewhat pudgy bi-racial man that sidled idly past the baseball boy obviously didn't notice the bottle stashed under his jacket as he walked by. Instead, Vice Principal Jorge Takamura -- a rather normal man who just happened to be a rather eccentric mix of Japanese and Mexican -- grinned widely as he observed the crowd of students that were flocking toward the line of buses parked in front of Southridge.
"Alright, alright!" Mr. Takamura shouted, "Settle down. This is it, seniors! The next time you're all together, it'll be at graduation. I'd like to congratulate all of you for coming this far! That being said, before we start boarding these buses, there are a few ground rules I want to cover. This is your trip, but this is also a school sponsored trip. I want to see everybody having fun. Nice, clean, safe, legal fun. Is that clear?"
"Crystal!" one of the boys in the crowd cackled as he tossed a condom at the Vice Principal. Takamura grimaced and searched through the crowd quickly, but couldn't find the culprit.
"Not that kind of fun," he interjected with a grin, "We've got a good group this year, we're gonna have a lot of fun. I just hope we don't have the same problem as last year where a couple peons cost everybody the trip."
Takamura frowned lightly as he recalled the events of last year's senior trip. A handful of the more troublesome students from that senior class had apparently smuggled alcohol into the cabins and in their drunken stupor had decided that it would be funny to raid some of the ladies' cabins, steal their underwear, and use it to "toilet paper", though that wasn't even the correct term to use -- the teachers' cabins. Needless to say, that trip had come to an abrupt and uneventful hault. The entire class had been rounded up the next day and sent back to Highland Beach, and senior trip had been ruined for everyone. In the back of Takamura's mind, he couldn't help but wonder of the troublemakers from this class would pull a similar stunt, or maybe even something worse.
He was quickly thrown from his thoughts. The crowd seemed to be getting a little bit restless. A lot of the seniors had begun to talk among themselves. Some were swaying restlessly from side to side. Others were yawning or looking around, and some had begun to pull out their cell phones, iPODs, and other electronic devices to entertain themselves through what they were sure would be another lecture. Instead, Takamura let out a resigned sigh and a grin.
"Let's board these babies up!" he shouted, "Make sure you fill 'em up, guys. We couldn't afford to charter too many of these things if you actually wanted to go somewhere besides the bus this year!"
Students began piling into the half-dozen buses that lined the front of the high school. Mr. Takamura, too, boarded one of the buses and took a seat up front next to the rather hard to understand Mr. Ayanami and the loud and overbearing Coach Whittenburg. He cast a sidelong glance toward the back of the bus, which had already been filled to the brim with students, and looked down toward his watch.
"Seems so," Takamura responded, "Just how long of a ride are we looking at?" he inquired after a moment of hesitation.
Takamura sighed quietly. His vision trailed back toward the students once more, then toward his fellow chaparones once again. Two hours with a line of buses packed to the brim with restless seniors that couldn't wait to reak havoc and destruction on the campgrounds they were heading to. He couldn't help but muse that the groundskeepers rued the day they ever offered Southridge a good deal for their senior trip. To the students, it was a weekend of cabins, late nights, and laking it. To everyone else, it meant havoc, destruction, and lots of money in repair expenses.
It was starting to get dark outside now. They had left Highland Beach a short while ago, and the glistening city lights were slowly disappearing from sight and being replaced instead by rows of trees and seemingly never-ending fields. The bus seemed to have quietened down tremendously since they took off from the high school. Some of the kids had gotten bored and resigned themselves to sleeping. Others were mesmerized by iPods or PSPs that they'd brought along specifically for the bus trip. Still others conversed quietly among themselves, and the only disruptions in the quiet murmur came at the hands of some of the more loud-mouthed students getting a little overexcited in their idle chatter.
"This place is really out here in the middle of nowhere, eh?" the bus driver mused with a light grin.
"Loud seniors disturb peace, best not be crowded places," it seemed like Mr. Ayanami muttered, but nobody in the vicinity was exactly sure if that was what he really said.
Whittenburg simply grunted in response. He seemed far too wrapped up in the sports column he was reading to include himself in the conversation. Mr. Takamura simply sighed and looked back at the bus full of kids once again. At least they were almost there. The truth was, as much as Mr. Takamura didn't want to be on this trip, he didn't want to be at home with his family even more. He and the wife were on the verge of getting a divorce, his kids hated him... in a way, school was his only release. His wife had threatened to change the locks on him if he chaparoned the senior trip instead of staying at home with her, but it was a chance he was willing to take for a moment of peace and quiet.
"We don't got much further now," the bus driver chimed once again, "We go through this tunnel up ahead and we're practically homefree. It's another twenty minutes tops from here."
"Great," Mr. Takamura replied wearily. He couldn't wait to get to the cabins, if only to indulge himself in a nice, much needed slumber. He wouldn't have to wait for that slumber much longer.
Several sets of groggy eyes opened up, peering warily into the grungy and run-down room they were now in. A chorus of panicked yells and aggressive inquiries flew up from the crowd of students, addressing no one in particular. The loud noises roused Mr. Takamura from his own induced slumber. He sat slumped in a chair in the very front of the room, right next to Mr. Ayanami and Coach Whittenburg. Ayanami was still fast asleep, but much to Takamura's surprise, Whittenburg seemed to be struggling around like a wild animal in the chair he sat in. It was then that Takamura realized that he, along with the other two class chaparones, were bound to the chairs in front of the room.
"Ah, ah, ah, Coach Whittenburg," a voice echoed from somewhere above the room, most likely the projection room that seemed to be upstairs.
Mr. Takamura's vision trailed up to the room just in time to see a small silver object whizzing toward Coach Whittenburg. A primal scream erupted from the Coach's mouth as the bullet pierced his forehead, effectively blowing it apart and sending blood, bone, and brain matter all over both Takamura and Mr. Ayanami. The entirety of the class, who had been in an uproar just moments before, now set in absolute, horrified silence.
"Much better, class," the voice from upstairs boomed, obviously being broadcast through a public access system of some kind, "Now that I have your attention, perhaps I can explain what's going on here. I'm sure you all have many questions, but they'll be answered in due time. Of that, I can assure you. But first, children, I'd like you to turn your attention to the large projection screen in front of you. I think my little presentation will answer a lot of those questions."
The already dark room went completely black and the old projection screen began clicking, revealing decayed images from a poorly cared-for film on the screen in front of the class.
The dark-headed boy laying beside her didn't seem to have an answer for her question. Instead, he rolled over on his other side, facing away from her.
Both contestants seemed to drift off into contemplative thought for a few moments, neither of them speaking, until the boy finally rolled onto his back and propped his head up in his arms. Instead of finally answering her question, he uttered a simple, "Goodnight," to her, effectively ending the conversation she had initiated. The girl lay there for a few moments, until her attention turned to her ally, who seemed to have fallen fast asleep. The blonde slowly crawled away from her companion and reached into her issued daypack that lay on the floor a few feet away.
Within seconds, she retracted a gun from the pack and flicked off the safety on the device. She crawled back over her partner, straddling his hips as she climbed on top of him. She paused for a moment, allowing her fingertips to trace the lips of her sleeping companion, and tears began welling up in the corners of her eyes. After a moment, she pressed her lips up against the sleeping boy's, and as soon as she pulled away, she pressed the barrel of the gun against the boy's forehead.
"It's really nothing personal," she whispered quietly, "You were the best I'd had... in a long time."
Without reluctance, she pulled the trigger, spraying blood, bone, and brain matter across the floor and leaving a hollowed out shell where the boy's head once was. Just as quickly as she had pulled the trigger, the girl raised herself up off of the boy, collected all of their belongings, and exited the eerily silent room, leaving nothing but a mangled body and a pool of blood in her wake.
"Anybody recognize that scene?" the voice from upstairs inquired, "Matt Drew was quite the fan favorite among a lot of the ladies during his run on the game. Likewise, Sera Wingfield's popularity went through the roof in the moments before that scene. They were quite... intense, if you know what I mean."
The voice chuckled loudly. It was starting to sound less and less ominous and more and more giddy.
"For those of you who aren't getting the picture, please direct your attention to the front of the room once again."
A picture once again appeared on the projection screen in front of them, but this one was almost crystal clear. A fairly rotund man sat in a plush chair located behind a desk. His face could hardly be seen underneath the red baseball cap he adorned, but he appeared to be smiling.
"Welcome, welcome!" he chortled loudly, the grin never leaving his face, "Welcome, seniors of Southridge High School, to the greatest show on earth! We're getting pretty popular these days, and we'd like you all to have a front row seat... right in the middle of all the action. Won't that be fun, kids?"
Some of the students seemed to be almost relieved at the bright and cheerful voice that echoed throughout the room. Other people seemed more and more apprehensive, and still others seemed just downright confused at everything that was happening to them. Mr. Ayanami had finally began to come out of his slumber and looked around the room groggily. Mr. Takamura, however, stared on at the screen in horror. Some of the students had pieced it together as well, he could tell by the looks on their faces. Now, he knew what was happening, and now, he was scared for his own life, as well as the lives of all the students in front of him.
"My name," the voice rang out again, "is Mr. Danya."
In the back of the classroom, someone screamed. The majority of the class sat in shocked silence, still listening to what the figure on the screen was saying.
"Welcome to the latest round of Survival of the Fittest. You'll be right in the action. Hell, you'll be the contestants!" he mused with a grin.
"Is anyone in the Peanut Gallery still confused? I'll explain. Perhaps some of you have Amish households or something. For those of you raised like normal Americans, with the television ever glowing, you'll know what I'm referring to. This is our fourth time, third to be aired, Survival of the Fittest competition. The rules are going to be pretty easy to understand, so I will not be taking any questions after my explanation."
Danya cracked his knuckles on the desk as he clasped his hands together onto the top. His head tilted downwards and the shadow darkened his looks even further, the only light coming from his unusually white teeth. He cleared his throat once before he continued.
"You will kill your classmates, by whatever means, until one is standing. One daypack for each of you, with rations and your weapon-- which may or may not be advantageous-- and a first aid kit. Nothing fancy, just a couple of wraps, band-aids for those boo-boos caused from your competitor with the axe. That sort of thing. You have collars that we've generously upgraded enough to fit just a tad more comfortable than last seasons. Do not insult us by trying to remove them, we'll blow up your jugular. And that, however fun for me, hasn't brought in the ratings quite like the students' carnage of games past."
Danya paused to lift one hand ominously to point at the students locked in the room.
"You're seniors, all of you, so I expect that I won't have to repeat this little tidbit to you. I'm running the show, and by now I'm confident that there is an understanding. Do not fuck with the system. Just adapt. Plan your strategies wisely, and you might be the next Adam, or Bryan."
"By the way, welcome back Mr. Dodd. We've been missing you."
At the back of the room, way off to one side, a visibly shaken Adam Dodd quietly spat back what could only be construed as a reflexive response.
"To the rest of you, the game starts now. Don't be scared, you'll die faster that way."
Danya grinned and gave a thumbs up as the air vents above the auditorium-like room opened and began pumping sleeping gas into the room, knocking out the entire student body that occupied it as well as the two remaining teachers sitting up front. The next time the students woke up, they would be on an island fighting for their lives in the most dire of circumstances. Most of them would never see one another alive again. Those that did run into one another again would probably wind up wishing they hadn't. As for the teachers? They didn't have it nearly as lucky. By the time Danya and his lackeys were finished with them, they too would be wishing they were out on that island. At least then, they might've had a fighting chance.
