Author's Note: This story is voluntarily rated M for scenes involving graphic, sadistic, pervasive violence and torture, strong language, nudity and sexual themes, alcohol, tobacco and drug use (all by teenagers), and basically being pretty messed up in general. By continuing on you certify that you are mature enough to handle such things without thereafter requiring intensive therapy, admission to an asylum, or new underpants. Otherwise, please close this book now. That having been said, I sincerely hope you enjoy the story, or if you cannot enjoy it, that you please refrain from throwing things at me.

Additional Note: As this story is a direct sequel to 72 Hours, reading it in advance is highly recommended as it will be referenced frequently.

Legal Stuff: This story is not affiliated with Toei Company Ltd., the producers of Battle Royale, Koushun Takami, Viz Comics, and any of the companies, real or imagined, mentioned in this story for the sake of satire or involved with production of the original film and/or novel. Any and all characters, organizations and products created within the universe of this story and its predecessor, "72 Hours" belong to me, and although I know there's nothing I can do to enforce it I do ask for some restraint or a heads up at the very least should you wish to borrow them. The movies, TV shows and songs referenced throughout the story all belong to their respective owners; however the characters within the story are owned by the author. These characters are for the most part fictional though some have a distinct basis in reality, though I hope enough has been changed that if they happen to stumble upon this book they're not horribly offended. If they are, please refrain from throwing things at me.

You've been warned.

Bloody Memorial

There was nothing meticulous to the memorial for Ralph Fogal, though considering the fact that it was probably how he would have most enjoyed it, nobody paid it any mind. A bizarre collection of teddy bears, flowers, panties (by some of his closer friends who knew that wherever he was he'd be laughing) and pictures had accumulated underneath the tree where he would have typically eaten his lunch. The 30 degree temperature and light layer of snow had worked together to slightly freeze much of what the grieving students had arranged, but the spirit of the day allowed few to care.

They were going to do something.

The mood was grim across the school as many had been aware of the protest that was going to take place during lunch. Additionally, the fact that the school had been surrounded by riot police waiting for something to happen since morning gave few reason to smile.

However, there were those who saw this as a good thing. There were those who wanted to make Ralph's killers pay, there were those who wanted to make a spectacle out of it, and all in all there were those who were willing to do anything to make sure that Ralph Fogal would be remembered.

In the grand scheme of things, Ralph Fogal wasn't really all that important a person. In Amberlaine High School he'd been nothing more than a bit of a class clown mixed with something of a survivor, as he'd spent much of his life growing up on the mean streets of Detroit before his parents had gained the money to go a bit more suburban. He was liked well enough, though wasn't really popular. He was funny to those who knew him, but hardly memorable to the rest. His tendency to chew on matchsticks and the fact that he seemed to shower maybe only once every other week made him hardly popular to sit around. So, in all probability his untimely and premature death should have gone reasonably unnoticed.

The problem wasn't that he'd died so much as it was how he had died.

The official word was that he was executed per standard regulations for taking part in an unsanctioned anti-government rally. Those who knew him better also knew that this wasn't the case. Was he a loudmouth? Yes. Was he a bit of a jerk? Perhaps. But he was no protestor. He was loud and proud in his view that everyone's business was their business and he didn't want anything to do with it. True, he kept company that was of the more radical persuasion, but he was no rebel. Though no other students at Amberlaine had seen him die, if you were to ask any who had known him they would all easily say that Ralph was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that his death was unnecessary.

And yet still, given the climate of the country his death should still have gone without notice. Time and again people were executed for various offenses against the state, others disappearing without a trace. The really bad youths they'd even send to Bunazca, yet that was a place that most feared to speak of and even more to even think of. Fear for the most part kept people quiet, yet there were some who refused to feel it. There were those who chose not to give in and would still fight back whether it was for the best or not. There were those who chose not to let these injustices go slightly.

And some of them had been Ralph's friends. They were the ones who had decided to do something.

The mood at the far table in the Amberlaine High School library was tense to say the least. Judging by the rest of the room you'd have had a hard time telling, as much of it was decked out with decorations for the upcoming holiday season. Cheerful plastic Santa's and faux-Christmas trees practically stared at the group sitting at the far table, accusing them of something they'd yet to commit. This wasn't far from the truth however, because as it was the odds of any of them seeing Christmas seemed slim at best.

"There's no backing down now," said Harlan Musgrove, a large boy in the letterman's jacket, "they've got cops at all the exits of the school. They all got armor and shields, like they're ready for a riot. They know something's going on."

"How could they?" Miranda Gardner protested as curly blonde hair bobbed around her shoulders, "We were so careful!"

"Somebody talked," said Danny Arkham, an intimidating boy in a black leather jacket, "we spread ourselves too thin, talked to too many people."

"With people like yours no wonder!" Harlan shot back. "Because of you we've had to deal with people like Cilek and McIntyre, your people are nuts!"

"Hey, my "people" have been more than willing to put everything on the line than yours. We've got the will, we know what to do, you've got the bodies and the brunt."

As the squabble at the table began to boil over, more of the library began to feel the tension. It was a cold day, on the verge of snowing again outside, and with the holidays coming much of the school's population had decided to take an early break. They ignored the political climate that gripped the school and the still-fresh memorial outside on the half-frozen quad.

Aside from the seven at the table there were maybe forty people in the library. Some knew of the plan, others didn't. Those who did could clearly be seen to steal glances at the far table, while those who didn't either tried to maintain their conversations or wondered what was going on. Even they had the slightest notion of what was going on, yet they still wouldn't get in the way if they could help it.

It was all getting bad, fast, and the situation was ready to explode before it truly even began.

This made Isaac Freemantle nervous.

He'd known from the beginning that staging a protest would be a dangerous affair. Practically every major demonstration ever since the Battle Royale Act had been initiated was put down with force, often resulting in many fatalities. Those who led them were often hanged to set examples. They would use fear to keep people in line.

But as it was, Isaac didn't take to being afraid. He embraced more than anything else the fact that America was a country founded on revolution, and if the people didn't have their say that it wouldn't be worth living anyway. He was good friends with Ralph Fogal, and he wasn't going to let that kid have died in vain. He was going to protest, and he was going to do it loud. However, unlike most of those who decided to take the example of Gandhi and go in peace, Isaac fully intended to draw blood...

Sometimes if you really want to make a point, you gotta do it with blood. They expected us to fear that, well, now we'll make them fear it...

The only problem was that his dream team was beginning to implode upon itself. That hadn't been a part of the plan. He'd assembled the best and brightest he could, some of them who had known Ralph, others he'd known to be trustworthy and connected. Including himself they numbered seven, and in the beginning they all had enough piss and vinegar to actually pull this off. Between all of them they had gathered up something of an army, and through Danny's less than reputable contacts they had procured more than a few weapons. It was all set, and it was all going to go.

But then they came to school and found it surrounded by riot cops. They didn't expect that, at least not so soon.

Isaac knew something would happen, something would always happen, but the sight of these shielded guards just standing there around the school silent as statues seemed to make people realize that this was all real and not just play anymore, and it made the revolution appear to implode before it even began. A good number of the kids they'd thought were a part of their army had not shown up for classes. Harlan and Danny, though they were both enthusiastic, were fighting. Rich Miller sat silent at his corner of the table looking as if he were having a nervous breakdown. It was bad, and it was getting worse. Thank God Yoshiko Kanbe stood up.

"It doesn't matter what happened or who gave in," Yoshiko interjected, "we'll just have to deal with that as it comes. We're here now and we've got our supplies and our people, this is our last chance."

As always, Yoshiko seemed to defuse the situation as quickly as it had arisen. Isaac considered him to be his best friend, and since he was popular as something of a class clown, it helped in rallying support from much of the general population. He didn't always have much to give in terms of ideas, but when it came down to it...

"Yoshiko's right," Isaac said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses further up his nose, "we've got everything set up. We've got all our people in line, all those we could at least, and Iago snuck the weapons in, right?"

"Yeah," Danny said, "he's got the guns. We've got them all around with people I know we can trust. People who want to start something."

"And McIntyre?"

"He's got a good number of Molotovs and pipe bombs ready for when you need 'em," Danny shot back with a confident grin. Although Isaac personally couldn't stand Nick McIntyre, borderline nutso active-anarchist that he was, there was a time and place when you needed to know someone who knew how to blow things up, and he was thankful that Danny was willing to act as the middleman.

"And you informed the news crews?" Isaac inquired as he turned his attentions back to his friend.

"Done and done man," Yoshiko shot back with a confident grin. "I told them we were having a rally to honor our troops killed overseas fighting the terrorists in Scandinavia, they said they'd be right down. Once they get a look at some blood, well, you know they'll be all over it."

"Then it has to be now," Isaac said definitively. Seeing that he had their attention, the boy tried to psyche himself up for what he had to do. Come on, you've been practicing this speech in your head. Just cue the motivational music and an American flag waving in the background and you'll look like a hero.

"Look, we all knew what was going to happen going into this. We are living in a time when our very rights as Americans are in question. I have said it before and I'll say it again, America is a country built on rebellion and revolution, but it's become a place of stagnant oppression where violence is lauded and freedom is an illusion. Ralph, funny scruffy little Ralph, you all knew him, you all might not have liked him, but he was one of the good guys. He's one of the ones who shouldn't have been sucked into this but was. He died for no good reason, but let's make sure he will be remembered. Odds are that by the end of the day we'll be on our way to a small cell on some obscure Caribbean island, on the end of a noose hanging from a streetlight about fifty feet away from here, or worse, on a plane headed for Bunazca."

They all shuddered at the mention of the name. It was a place for youthful delinquents and dissidents alike, and it had enough urban legends and tall tales spinning about its conditions that some of them had to be true. Rich seemed to be particularly disturbed by the prospect, though he'd usually looked like he was sick to his stomach, so they ignored him.

"I have to know, here and now, that all of you are going to be with me on this. We may not make a difference today, but I know we are going to open some eyes. If we're lucky we might even catch the attention of The Raptors. It's a long shot, but if we can hold this out, we may find some support."

They all responded positively to this remark, even Rich seemed to give a half-hearted grunt. The Raptors were a well known anti-Battle Royale terrorist organization who had been waging a guerilla war against the big wigs for nearly four years. Every so often they'd send a video tape to the major news organizations, and the government would say they were closer to catching them, and yet the attacks would still come. He knew it was a long shot, but Isaac still dreamed of getting their support. You want their support, or do you want them to rescue you? There's no way this can go well and you know it.

"And if they give us hell, well, let's just send some of it right back at them. Are you with me?"

Silence reigned around the table as Isaac looked from one to the next.

"I'm with you boss," Yoshiko said with a shaky, if still confident, smile. He put his hand in the middle of the table.

"Same here man," Danny responded as he too put his hand in the middle. Miranda and Sophia Apollinar, an average looking half-Hispanic, half-Greek girl who Isaac had known since nursery school, were soon to follow. Despite the fact that his reputation and even his life was at stake, even Harlan Musgrove followed suit.

All that remained was Rich Miller.

"Well, how 'bout it Miller?" Harlan asked.

The boy looked like he was about to split in half he shook so much.

"I... I..."

Just say it, just say it, you can do it, you're not that great a coward are you? Just do it man, just do it, tell them what you did, tell them what you did and maybe they might end this madness. Just tell them what you did, don't get sick, just tell them to stop, tell them it's your fau-

As thoughts of mixed guilt and fear rushed through the boys head, he slapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted for the bathroom. In moments his breakfast would be spilling out all over Amberlaine High School Library's bathroom floor, but in the meantime he was glad that he didn't have to speak.

After an awkward moment, Yoshiko cut in, "Should we wait for him?"

"No," Isaac said, "I don't think he's going to be good for this. It's our go now."

With that, the boy reached into his jacket.

"All right," he said as he pulled the orange bandana from his pocket and watched his partners do the same, "in the name of those who come before us and those who will follow; in the path of rebels like Shylock and Rourke and The Owl we do this for peace. In the name of Ralph Fogal, we do this so he won't be forgotten."

In unison, the six revolutionaries tied the colors of rebellion around their foreheads.

As the six walked purposefully from the library, those who had followed them in followed them out. They walked across the quad, picking up dribs and drabs of students here and there, some already carrying jury-rigged weapons. A few of the jocks could be seen wielding baseball bats and field hockey sticks, while other students could be seen carrying simple pairs of scissors, box cutters or even heavy stones. About fifty had gathered by the time they reached the school fountain, which due to the fact that it was long frozen over had since been wrapped with colorful ribbons and bits of holly to celebrate the holidays. Standing, sitting and milling around the fountain despite the temperature were many of the school's more criminal element. Most of them were independent thugs and petty thieves, though a few full-fledged gang members could be found in their midst. Isaac could only note with a smile that everyone had some form of orange wrapped about their person as he watched Danny approach the leader of the motley band by the fountain.

"Where's the shit?" Danny asked quickly.

Iago Cilek, the leader of those around the fountain, was an intimidating figure to say the very least. Though physically he wasn't much, tall and bony with a persistent buzz cut and a face that looked like it could neither be properly shaved or grown into facial hair, he still had a certain aura of fear about him. Despite his size he was a well known fighter around school who wasn't afraid to fight dirty and to the bone. He had connections to all sorts of people with criminal records, and rumors were that he'd never technically been arrested because he had photographs of the chief of police in a rather compromising position with a golden retriever. He had access to guns, who from nobody wanted to know, yet all the same he never seemed to favor them. No, the boy much preferred his knives.

"I got it right here," Iago said with a yellow, tobacco-stained grin. He flung a duffel bag into Danny's arm, and even through the half-opened zipper, Isaac knew it to hold no fewer than eight pistols of varying sizes. The boy spoke fast, addressing all those who looked nothing like him with such rapidity and conviction that he may as well have been a guerilla leader.

"I'll spin this for you quick; I couldn't get a lot of rounds so whatever shots you make you better make sure they blow some pigs brains all over the fucking ground, because there ain't a lot to go around here. I got some odds and ends with my folks here and a few more scattered about all hodgepodge if anyone needs and asks nicely. You just be sure that whoever you drop you get their weapon and turn it on the next fucker who comes up atcha, ya dig?"

"We dig," Isaac replied as he thrust his hand in and withdrew a snub-nosed police-issue revolver.

"You know the cue?" Danny asked a squat boy with messy red hair.

"I know it," Nick McIntyre replied, "Just give the word and I'll send up some sky flowers lickety split. You said I can make them burn right?"

"Burn them if you can make sure not to get anyone else," Danny said, "we need all our bodies unhurt, OK?"

"Okay," Nick said with a wide, nearly gleeful smile. Isaac doubted that Nick would show that much consideration, but knew that there was little he could do to control the situation. If the cops came in with big guns or vehicles, they'd need some of the artillery that Nick could provide.

"All right," Isaac said as he pulled the megaphone from his backpack and then tossed the bag to the ground, "Everyone, on me!"

They approached the south exit to the school as a mob of nearly one hundred, still gathering more bodies as they walked. Many students who wanted away ducked into buildings (though for some it would do no good), while others looked by curiously as Isaac began to get loud on the megaphone.

"THE PEOPLE WANT A REVOLUTION! THE PEOPLE WANT A REVOLUTION! THE PEOPLE WANT A REVOLUTION!" he shouted, getting the others to follow in kind.

As they approached the south exit of the school, the riot police who stood there suddenly jerked to attention. Almost twenty wide, they blocked the exit with their shields held high and batons in their free hands. Twenty feet away from the cops, Isaac bade his army of more than one hundred now to stop.

The tension between the two sides was so thick you could barely have cut through it with a machete. Mutterings and curses could be heard from the students as they snarled quietly at the police, while the riot cops stood as solidly and powerful as a phalanx.

"STUDENT DISSENTERS!" a voice echoed from some unseen officer on a loudspeaker behind the riot cops, "YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF THE THORNTON PROTECTION ACT! DISPERSE OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO DISPERSE YOU! ANY CHOOSING TO RESIST WILL BE DEALT WITH ACCORDINGLY!"

Though they would only later know that the majority of these words were a lie, this declaration riled up the student marchers even further. They threw insults and curses towards the shielded shock troopers. One even threw a stone which bounced harmlessly off of one of the plastic shields. Those whose attentions weren't taken over entirely by the madness with the battle to come were even aware that a slight flurry of snow had begun to fall.

Knowing that the time had come and that they no longer had any reason to stall, Isaac Freemantle gave the signal.

"AMBERLAINE TITANS RULE!" he shouted through his megaphone. At that, Nick McIntyre set off a small bottle rocket that sailed almost sixty feet into the air before exploding in a burst of brilliantly green sparks. Though the police may have looked at it in confusion, those on the ground who were in on the march knew what it meant: it was time to unleash hell.

"DOWN NOW!" Isaac yelled, getting most of his army to have some semblance of order as they hit the deck. Nick heaved what looked like a foot long bit of pipe end over end toward their captors. Though few knew what it actually meant, those who did instinctively covered their ears as the bewildered cops had little time to react.

Even though it was poorly made, the pipe bomb did its bit. It exploded just behind the shield line, riddling the government thugs with bits of broken nails and ball bearings. The officer it landed nearest to was blown quite nearly in half, bits of his body and innards spraying all over his few uninjured comrades. In all it would later be deemed impossible to tell how many in the shield line were killed in the explosion, but to those fighting them it didn't matter. The line was broken.

"ATTACK! ATTACK!" Isaac yelled into his megaphone, "SHOW THEM NO MERCY, THEY WON'T GIVE YOU ANY, KILL THEM ALL, KILL THEM ALL, KILL THEM ALL!!"

The army of more than a hundred swarmed over the dozen or so officers who were still standing, pushing, kicking, beating and stabbing them with little abandon as they made a break to get into the street. Isaac saw two kids grab one of them by the arms, just in time for Iago to mercilessly slit the defenseless cops throat with a spray of arterial blood. The boy looked positively delighted, even despite the fact that the cops blood drenched his face.

With all the pushing and shoving and bloodshed that they could manage, the ragtag army of rebels spilled out into the street, running over sidewalks and jumping on the roofs of police cars. There were more riot cops in the street, though with considerably less order, and even those who were on the other school exits began to join the fray. One, then two tear gas canisters were fired into the mix, sending some students astray while others fought on despite the blinding pain. Seeing one cop down Sophia with a powerful blow from his shield, Isaac mercilessly walked up beside the grown man and shot him in the head. The officer fell to the ground, shaking uncontrollably as blood and brain matter fell out of his ruined head.

Isaac extended his hand and helped the wounded girl to her feet.

"Thanks," she said, ducking down with a bit of a yelp as gunshots filled the air.

Looking around, Isaac could see that others had followed his cue and were beginning to use their guns on the riot officers. Most didn't know how to shoot that well and proved reasonably ineffective, and even those who did often found themselves hitting the officers in their armored chests. Still, some did manage to get valuable head or knee shots, taking some of the screaming police officers down to the ground.

Watching as Nick flung a Molotov cocktail at one of the riot officers, shattering it against the shield and engulfing the screaming cop in liquid flames, Isaac only suddenly began to feel unnerved. It was going well, seemingly too well. They were beating the officers back, which was good, and yet seemed too good. The cops weren't using deadly force, and aside from some good baton hits and a couple of tear gas canisters, they seemed not to be putting up the strongest of fights. It seemed like they were just trying to hold the line, making sure that the fight was kept to school grounds for some reason. Something was wrong about this victory, and yet he didn't yet know what it was.

His answer would come less than six minutes later.

More had joined their army now, some who had hidden in classes and even some people from town had joined the fray. There were cheers around the school as more and more of the riot police were routed out and taken down. Some of them were even being hanged up on street lights, like they were prone to do to stragglers in riots. Isaac even found himself pleasantly surprised to see his friend Basim joining the seething mass of warriors, as earlier he had said he wouldn't out of "not wanting to fucking die" (that's a direct quote). The two had just begun to exchange pleasantries when they began to hear screams.

Isaac watched as some of his army began to run back towards the school as even more screams filled the air. Grabbing the nearest runner he could, Isaac shook the girl (Alyssa he was pretty sure her name was) by the shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The army, the army's here, they're shooting people!" she shouted before her boyfriend grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her with him. For the briefest of moments Isaac considered following her, but ultimately he decided against it. This is what you expected, this is what you were looking for. Your chance to be a martyr. You can do this Isaac, you can do this, and you will be remembered forever.

Instead of running away, the boy approached the direction the screams were coming from. Basim followed him for maybe six steps.

"Come on man, let's get the fuck out of here!" Basim yelled over the din of war and humanity.

"You go," Isaac said quickly, "I have to see it, then I'll be right behind you!"

Slapping his friend in an understanding manner on the shoulder, Basim set off in a sprint. Isaac continued his approach, looking curiously for the army. If they're shooting people, why can't I hear it?

He found his answer as Randal Hudson came stumbling right at him. A large boy with a tie-dyed shirt visible through his open heavy winter jacket, Isaac found himself ready to ask what was going on. Instead, Randal fell over. A dart was sticking out of the back of his leg. A dart? They're tranquilizing people?

Stealthily making his way across the quad, Isaac peered around the school's north entrance to see that some of his people were still fighting, though now their enemy wore a drab green uniform. Their faces were covered with heavy, dark gas masks as they fired air rifles with a muted PFOOT! at those few who still stood resisting. Those they hit with the tranquilizer darts were on their feet for a few moments more, falling to the ground shortly thereafter as the potion coursing through their veins began to kick in. Isaac watched with morbid curiosity as the soldiers grouped together, some of them looking at a laptop and pointing at people on the ground. Some of them were being picked up and loaded into the back of a truck. Others pointed at had soldiers approach their prone and defenseless bodies, mercilessly stabbing them to death as they lay unconscious.

"What the fuck?" Isaac asked himself as he looked to the scene with bizarre curiosity. The soldier in charge waved a hand in the air, sending units toward the school. Seemingly seconds too late, Isaac began to sprint back onto the school grounds as he saw one of the units coming his way. A dull thud slammed into his back, and he cried out in pain. Barely three seconds later, the pain was a dull numbness, and all feeling left the lower half of his body. He fell in a heap, his left glasses lens cracking as his head bounced off a wooden bench. The boy rolled onto his back, vaguely aware that he was staring at the sky as consciousness began to flee him.

Hey, it's snowing. Looks like it's going to be coming down pretty good...

Three blurred shadows loomed over Isaac's field of vision. His vision going, the boy could only go on what he heard to know what was truly going on.

"Bag or bleed?" one asked in a very muffled voice through his gas mask.

There was a pause as one looked at something on his wrist. Then he spoke in a muffled voice through his mask.

"Bag. He's on the list."

As consciousness left Isaac Freemantle for good, the revolutionary was only vaguely aware that these three figures had lifted him off the ground.

Retching for perhaps the fourth time in half an hour, Rich Miller curled himself up next to the toilet he hadn't left since their meeting broke up. He'd heard the gunfire, the explosions, the screams, and he shuddered at the very thought of the war going on outside. In the beginning, he had joined Isaac out of respect and because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Always considering himself a patriot, Rich believed and followed what Isaac had said.

But as it got down to it, he'd begun to lose his nerve. Initially he thought he could face death, but as it came closer the fear just began to take over. I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die...

He shuddered and shrieked with every explosion and shot outside, finding himself oddly comforted when they had stopped.

Then there was a thudding sound, some screams in the library. Some yells. Someone took two gunshots, then there was silence. Rich huddled down by the toilet, hoping beyond all hope that he would suddenly turn invisible, or at the very least go ignored.

Instead, the bathroom door was kicked open. Soldiers wielding rifles aimed bright lights at Rich as he cowered in the corner of the darkened bathroom.

"I was good, I was good!" he shrieked quickly, "I didn't do anything wrong, I stopped, I made good, I was good to you, I'm a patriot really!"

"Are you Richard Miller?" one of them asked mechanically.

"Yes!" the boy shrieked almost happily. Thank God, they know what I did, they know I'm good, everything's going to be all right!

PFOOT!