HI GUYS! 私の話にご挨拶! *^_^* This is not my first story ever, but it is the first one I'm writing on fanfiction! Desu. I really wanted to write a Japanese one, but I am not fluent enough to do this completely. Desu. Although I think that langauge is exotic and beautiful, I think it might be a little too different to put with the text inside the writing (:o) but that doesn't mean I'll stop talking like this! Desu. Nyaaaaa! Japan forever! 美しさの土地! I am setting this story in the USA :( and I really wanted to set it in Japan, but I wouldn't want to set a story there until I've visited - and I hope that's soon. NYAAAAAAAA! Please read and review! Desu. あなたが読んで、確認されない場合は私があなたに呪いをかけます。 (* ̄m ̄) I do not own battle royale, :( just like other things, but I am working on that and going through negotiations. Desu. 私は日本のメディアの女王です!
Thirteen Years Ago...
It was a dark and stormy night, the clouds hung low creating a blanket of mist around the docks and warehouses, obscuring everything further than twenty-metres into the black waters of the sea. The pale, natural glow of the moon mixed with the artificical red and white lights of the shipping district made the fog light up in a silvery haze, swirling about in the steady midnight gusts of wind. In the distance, the tips and sails of boats dipped, peaking over the coastal miasma. There were lights here and there in the docks, however it was mostly shut off and vacated at night, almost completely seperated in ambience from the bright, bustling town less than a half-mile away. The whole area smelled of salt and fish, mixed with that of oil and petroleum that had slowly leaked out of the tanks of several of the more dilapated cars and forklifts that had since been parked in their respective garages. The sound distant sound of motors from the city was carried through the backstreets and alleyways, but the area was largely quiet. A helicopter broke the silence as it buzzed by overhead, it's searchlight briefly casting a white flash through the grimy windows of a dusty cannery.
An eerie, sudden quiet fell on the inhabitants of the brick building, wrapped in blankets, shawls and raincoats, as they edged away from the windows and doors, panic struck across their faces in the dim light. They waited several moments more until the fading sounds of the spinning rotors disappeared before letting out a collection of sighs of relief. The thirty-or-so people in the room were mostly Japanese, although around five or six of them; the rebels, were from other countries within the Republic. At least two thirds of the people were future refugees, fleeing the country for the west alongside the other third, comprised of their rebel relatives - mostly young men and women in their 20's and 30's who wanted to fight the system, overthrow the emperor and finally united the east with the west, and ending the various sick and twisted laws their Republic had inflicted upon them, namely the Education Reform Act. Husbands, wifes and siblings stood with the rebels, who were armed with holstered pistols and the odd bolt-action rifle, and here and there you could spot a child clasping on tightly to their mothers skirt. There was a lone elder, an old woman with a wrinkled face and grey hair, watching over the scene with cautious eyes.
"The convoy is late," she said with bated breath.
"Quiet mother," said Hajime Mimura with a stern ring to his voice, "You'll start a panic, and we're all rattled enough as it is."
The muscular man was silenced as a long-haired woman in sunglasses placed a hand on his shoulder, she nodded, and he nodded back in return, his earring catching a flicker of moonlight from through the windows. Young and muscular, he was one of the rebels, and although his general appearance indicated that he was a freedom fighter of the physical kind, his true talents layed in hacking and espionage, which appeared to be a family trait - as his own mother, the stern old lady with the grey hair, had been scrambling radio signals and sending secret messages back before the days the revolution had been supposedly crushed under the iron fist of the government. As he slouched back into the shadows, a silver pendant - some sort of bomb triggering mechanism - clinked metallically. He was perhaps the rebel there with the most family members accompanying him - his mother, his sister, her husband and her two sons, as well as a girlfriend none of them had ever been introduced to. Although he'd be relieved to get onto the trucks and be passed onto the boat, he wasn't looking forwards to the chit-chat between her and his female relatives once they started their long voyage across the pacific.
Not all of his family was there, because not all of them shared the same mindset as him. Whilst he was firmly opposed to the government and all of it's treacherous acts (much like his mother, who had done her fair share of fighting during her glory days, and as a result was a bitter and untrusting crone of a woman, yet a respected heroine all the same,) his sister wasn't overly concerned with 'sticking it to the man' as she so casually described it - she admitted to hating the things that were happening to the youth of the population, but she was scared of being crushed like a bug by government agents. After all, rebels were not treated kindly. So, Sakura Tsukamoto and her twin boys, Shinji and Takashi, had only earned their place on the cruise due to their husband and father, Kenta, who was a rebel, but not to the same dramatic extent as Hajime or Mayumi Mimura - he was 'small time' in comparison.
Sakura sat there quietly on a crate in a long raincoat, watching the scene unfold with tired, scared eyes - her identical twin boys curled up in her lap with their handsome faces and spiky brown hair. Both five, neither of the two truly understood what was actually happening, but were happy enough to be allowed up after bedtime for the first time in their lives. She had made strained conversation with another woman there, a pregnant young woman by the name of Yuka Akiyama, who along with her husband shared traditional, old-fashioned values, believing that they'd return to Japan once the problems had been solved, and once the nation had had been reformed to it's former, historic glory. The two them were accompanied by a quiet little girl called Miyuki, a year younger than her two boys, and the three of them had been rolling a shiny red ball back and fourth across the oily floor for the past twenty minutes - but were now tired.
"The convoy is here," said Kenta Tsukamoto, peering out the rusty garage doors. He began pulling at the heavy chains, causing the grill to rise upwards, letting the night air in. Truth be told he missed his own family, being forced to seperate himself from his parents and siblings as teen due to joining the rebellion, but he had gone incognito after three years of membership after witnessing a raid on one of the rebel strongholds he had been stationed at. Government men in black and body armour shooting rifles left and right, bullets piercing through men, women and children as they fell to the floor like bloody ragdolls in their dirty, ragged clothes and cloaks. After that he tried to go straight, adapting to the system, but he still kept the occasional contact with the other survivors, protecting himself with various codenames. Looking over at his wife on the crates with their two boys, he felt a warmth in his heart, they were the only family he truly needed - and by taking them to the west, he was protecting them - taking them away from all this. With a rusty crash, the garage door was fully opened, and a truck began reversing into the building before coming to a halt.
The doors of the truck opened, revealling a metallic interior with wooden benches lining the sides. It was a barren interior, but they'd only be in there for ten minutes at the most as they were transported to a cargo ship on the other side of the harbour. They couldn't risk going on foot in case they got seperated, and they couldn't risk going in individual transport because they'd draw attention. Kenta motioned with his hands for some of the refugees and rebels to get in to the truck, it could carry about fifteen or sixteen people if nobody was to stand. He watched them all getting on, imprinting the faces to his memory just in case something actually happened and he had to go out looking for those had been seperated from the convoy. He tried to keep his spirits up though. A punky inner-city guy with a rifle, a long haired woman in a red coat, a burly looking man with a bald spot, a young boy - twelve or so, with glasses, a plump housewife wrapped in a woolen blanket...Soon enough it was practically full, but looking down at the remaining people he saw four families left, each of them bickering with the others as to why they shouldn't be seperated from one of their relatives because there was one seat left over.
Tired with the brief spat was Mayumi Mimura, with her steel grey hair, wrinkled face and dark raincoat, throwing her old withered hands up as she cried out; "Christ already, I'll do it!" She was a tough old bird, and like that, Kenta helped her into the back of the truck where she took a seat next to a young couple, rolling her eyes and tutting. One of the rebels inside the truck pulled the doors closed with a heavy clang, before Kenta hopped down and slapped the side of the van.
"Off you go!" He cried, signalling for the vehicle to depart so the other could park.
Sakura Tsukamoto watched her husband with a smile - he had only revealled that he had rebel contants five years into their marraige, and right there and then she was so fearful for her life that she nearly took her toddler boy and fled the house, but nowadays she thought it gave him extra presence and power, it was attractive to see a man with so much honest strength, kind of like her own brother, Hajime, only less cocky and secretive. Her other brother, Toshio, was not the same as the rest of the family - he was conservative, tight-lipped and obeyed the government to such an extent that it was almost like he had been brainwashed by them. She didn't blame him too much, their father had been killed when they were young, and they had been seperated so many times from their mother that she had lost count - if it wasn't for the fact that she was disgusted by the idea of children killing other children for survival, then she'd probably be just like him - afraid and submissive under the mans thumb like an insect. It was a shame, his wife was nice enough, as his was their sweet little daughter, Ikumi, who hadn't long ago grown out of her baby clothes.
They deserved the chance to flee too, but it was agreed that they couldn't trust Toshio with this information - he was too much of a wild card, and would probably panic and leak the details to an official just to save his own hide. So - he knew nothing, as far as he was aware, all of the other Mimura's and Tsukamoto's were asleep in their homes, as opposed to three towns over hopping on a inter-continental cargo boat as illegal refugees and traitors to the Republic. She watched as the Akiyama family climbed in to the second truck, and remembered that the wife had said her biggest regret about leaving the country was that she wouldn't be able to raise her children as true Japanese. In a way, Sakura felt the same way about her boys, but then again - was it really worth it to have them possibly being drawn into a game of death upon their acceptance to middle school? Perhaps there was more in common between Yuka Akiyama and herself than she had originally thought, and then she came to the sudden realization that she'd be spending over a month with the family on that boat. They'd probably become friends, or something along those lines - heck, they might even become neighbours once they reach the United States...
"Sakura, come on," Hajime Mimura said, grabbing on to his sisters shoulder, "We're already late as it is."
"I'm just worried about our brother, Ikumi...The others." Sakura admitted, "I'm not comfortable leaving entire branches of our family tree behind whilst we flee with our tails between our legs."
"We'll just have to accept it," Hajime said, "They brought it on themselves by not resisting authority, and besides, we're perhaps the largest family on the boat - you should - we should all consider ourselves lucky."
Sakura nodded, climbing on to the back of the truck where she took a seat opposite the Akiyama's and their lively daughter, Miyuki. With a son on either side, and tucked tightly in her arms, Sakura finally breathed a sigh of relief, before turning her head, watching the last few refugees climb aboard, among them Hajime's girlfriend, whose name was still unknown at this point. She doesn't look like a spy. Sakura thought, She looks like a model - just Hajime's type. There was a loud bang as both Hajime and her own husband, Kenta, pulled the truck door down. The motor sprang to life and the entire room seemed to rumble as the truck began turning, before driving down the damp, rain-slicked street. Turning her head towards the front, Sakura could just about see the street ahead, as the back compartment of the truck was seperated from the drivers area by only a thin wall of criss-crossing metal rods. The red lights on the back of the other truck, which carried their mother and the remaining rebels, could be seen not too far ahead. We're finally in the clear...
There was a deafening boom and everybody seemed to scream and scramble about, she saw the flailing body of one of the other refugees hitting the floor and sliding towards the back of the truck, whilst the Akiyama's daughter fell to her knees and covered her ears. There was cursing come from the drivers area, and both Hajime and Kenta sprung to their feet. Peering through the front window, Sakura saw the fiery wreckage of the other truck somersaulting across the street before landing upside down and sending up sparks as it skidded into a building, before being flipped onto its side by another smaller explosion. The truck she was on swerved, throwing her off her balance allowing her to miss the smaller fireballs that climbed out of the twisted metal trap and ran about, throwing themselves into oily puddles, trying to douse the flames that ravaged their bodies. She could hear one of her sons, she couldn't tell which, screaming out in horror, tears running down his face.
"SAKURA!" Kenta screamed, just as the truck collided with a wall.
The back doors flew open almost automatically with the impact, throwing three people onto the street, one of them Hajime, who cried out in pain as a bone in his wrist shattered upon impact with the concrete. The cold night air rushed in, along with the smell of smoke and burning flesh. A second chopper, or maybe it was the same one as before, rushed by overhead, nearly deafening everybody. Falling to the floor of the truck, Sakura pulled one of her sons close, pulling him tight into her own body as feet rushed over her, and by some miracle, trampling neither mother nor child. It was only until after the last of the cowards had fled the truck did she realize that her other son, Shinji, was nowhere to be seen.
"KENTA!" She screamed, "WHERE'S SHINJI!"
Gunfire erupted in the street as the rebels that had abandoned the crashed vehicle began a firefight with the government agents and police officers that emerged from the alleys, swarming the survivors like a pack of wild hornets. Then she saw him out in the road, slim body in the basketball pyjamas, spiky brown hair, crying and holding onto his blanket. Sakura reached out her own arm and screamed for her boy as the truck she was on began moving again, reversing into the street and turning.
"NO!" She howled, "NOT MY SON!"
She saw the red laser point of an agents rifle creep over Shinji Tsukamoto's face before a feminine form sprinted forwards and pulled him out of the way, the gunshot rang out, but neither boy nor woman had been hit. As the truck began hurtling along the road, further away from the cornered rebels, Sakura saw by the flash of a streetlight on the sunglasses of her sons saviour that it had been Hajime's girlfriend who had pulled him out of the line of fire. The lithe figure and the young boy darted into an alleyway, followed by a brawnier one, who kept turning backwards, clumsily firing his gun at the approaching officers. Her throat raw and her eyes burning, Sakura screamed with despair as she was seperate from one of her sons, knowing that she would never see him again. She was pulled away from the open doors by Kenta, who, using his feet, propelled the three of them closer to the front of the truck, holding both his wife and his remaining son tightly in his arms. Somewhere behind them, the Akiyama's made no attempt to coax their daughter out of her hysterics, merely sitting in a shell shocked silence. As they passed by the smouldering wreckage of the first truck, both Sakura and Kenta realized that not only had their been rebels, women and children aboard, but also Mayumi, the rebellious matriarch of the Mimura clan.
Being pulled further and further away from the chaos, Sakura saw a turret of fire rise up like a hydrant behind a building, and she knew then that somebody had foolishly shot through a propane tank. They didn't appear to be being followed, but it didn't do anything to calm the fear, frustration and agony of those few survivors on board as they drew closer and closer to the cargo ship, trying to fathom what bloody losses their supposed 'freedom' and 'escape' had cost them in the end. And whilst Takashi, Kenta, Miyuki and the Akiyama's were very much alive (yet shaken) it was here and now that Sakura, whilst living, had died - and would spend the rest of her life in this state. As the sound of fireengine sirens drew closer and closer, texts and messages were already being sent to the press and media to cover up the failed interception as a an explosion resulting from faulty machinery being left in the same vicinity as several drums of petroleum. For those six survivors and their driver, this blistering inferno was the horrific start to their American dream...
Later on this Present Day...
Dim light poured through the boarded up windows of the dark classroom, the waxed floor wasn't reflecting the moonlight, but instead the translucent plastic sheet spread over it that would soon stop unlawfully spilled blood from staining the floorboards. Sprawled around the room were 42 high school seniors, some unconscious in a forced sleep from the harmful gasses pumped into their bus hours before, whilst a small number were dumped on the floor with bloodied and bruised foreheads - having been knocked out by more forceful and blunt-edged means. A dozen or so chairs were positioned around the dilapated classroom, some near desks and tables, whilst others seemed randomly placed in the center of the room, most of them had the future BR victims slumped in or over them, their heads lolling and their hands dangling milimetres from the floor. An even smaller number were laid over the desks themselves, like corpses at a motruary. Everybody else had been dumped on the floor, piled over their peers, propped against walls and shoved under desks like loose baggage. Japanese men in olive military grab waded through the bodies, attaching metal collars to the necks of the sleeping teens.
"Hm..." One of the soldiers murmured, motioning over to his comrade, "This one looks familiar..."
He was pointing down to an eighteen-year-old, the orange-ish complexion of his skin standing out from his black, white and hispanic peers. There were other tell-tale signs, the slight slant of the eyes for instance, and the spiky brown hair with the dark black roots.
"Republic of Greater East Asia?"
"I can't tell, but he certainly looks like it."
"Check the roster."
"Oh yeah, this name...I don't recognize it personally, but it's Tsukmoto, if that isn't Japanese, then I don't what isn't."
"What's he doing over here?"
"Don't know, the originals traitors died out. The east asian population in this country is less than 0.4 percent."
"An abandoner?"
"Probably, semi-recent. Possible the kid of someone who stowed away within the last 20 years."
"Should we do something?"
"No."
"It doesn't feel right, this game is for the yanks."
"His family made their decision, he's as much a yank now as the others in here, I guess when they skipped the Republic - propably to avoid getting this little brat in the program, they didn't realize he'd end up in this one."
"True."
"There's another one, a girl."
"Surname?"
"Akiyama."
"Collar them both."
"Wait, this isn't her?"
"Well they were just piled in her randomly, what are the odds that the two Japanese students would actually be next to each other?"
"I just thought...Nevermind, they seemed to look familiar with each other."
"Well, whoever this girl is, she's into little Tsukamoto here."
"Or they just got put here randomly, like everybody else."
"No, none of the other competitors are holding hands."
"Seems like a weird joke."
"Surname?"
"Leach."
"Oh well, collar her."
WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK! Desu. DID YOU LIKE MY STORY! Desu. READ AND REVIEW! KYAAAAAAAAAAA! あなたが読んで、確認されない場合は私があなたに呪いをかけます。
