©Hour 2: 41 remaining – 2:00pm.

Boy #1, Sam ran for ten minutes before he stopped, finding himself surrounded by almost tropical foliage.

Sam was worried. He'd always felt unpopular, and even before he found himself in Battle Royale, was paranoid that people were out to get him. And now he was certain that everyone was going to try to kill him. He'd heard how these things worked out. Sure, friends would stick with friends, but by the end they'd end up slashing each other's throats as the three-day dead line approached.

So he prayed. He wasn't normally a religious person, in fact he was quite the opposite, but at this moment, he got down on his knees and began to pray.

Dear God,

I know I've definitely not been the best Christian, or Jew or whichever religion is right. But right now I'm asking for your help. This shit is fucked up. I don't want to die. Please, PLEASE help me…

After a moment he stopped, feeling embarrassed, and turned to his pack. He yanked the zipper back and reached in to find what he'd been given as a weapon. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he'd been assigned a good weapon.

When he pulled it out he was stunned. And he began to laugh, as he slowly began to realize how much shit he was in.

Clutched in his hand was the dud weapon: the fork.

Girl #9, Rachael, was terrified. Completely and absolutely. She was terrified for herself, for her family back home, for her friends in the class, and she was terrified even for her enemies. Upon hearing why they were trapped on this island, Rachael had fought back bile and tears for the next twenty minutes, as the mechanics behind the program were laid out. She had looked fearfully towards Zoe, who was sitting next to her, hoping for reassurance. On the other side of Zoe, Chloe had done the same. Zoe had remained silent until students began to get called out.

She had slid back and said, "Hey, listen, I can't tell much from the map she showed us, but here's the plan, Find the nearest building. Go straight there, but do not go inside. It's likely others will end up there and we have to be careful, so wait on the east side of the building until the rest of us show up. Okay?"

Rachael and Chloe had nodded. Zoe had been about to inform Melanie of their plan when Miss Leech had turned to her and given her one of the most blood-freezing looks Zoe could ever have imagined possible on a human's face. She had immediately shut her mouth and curled into the fetus position. Melanie was called up before she could inform her of their plans.

Rachael's terror had been lessened when she realized that not everyone would take part. Zoe wanted them in a group, which of course meant that she intended to find a way off the island. It was comforting to know her friend still cared.

So when Zoe had been called out just one number before her, as Girl #8, Rachael had been expecting her to wait when she was called as Girl #9. When she wasn't, her terror had begun to creep back. But she waited in the trees near the bunker, and before too long, Chloe had appeared. Calling out to her softly, the two had hugged quickly, before heading off to their agreed meeting place.

They took it slow and were very cautious. They saw a few figures run through the thick forest around them, but none of them noticed the two girls.

The buildings they'd agreed upon were close, and it had just appeared in their field of vision when they saw someone step outside of it. The two girls froze in the middle of the path they'd been on, not being able to tell who it was. They were relieved to find that it was Girl #19, Emma. They had run to her, and explained the situation. Emma had hugged them, agreeing to stay with them and wait for Zoe.

But she'd never shown. Already an hour into the competition and she hadn't made it.

"Oh God, where is she?" Rachael moaned, on the verge of tears. It had been Zoe who had kept her from losing it in the bunker, and if something happened to her…

"Don't worry!" Chloe said, hugging Rachael around the neck, "She's probably just a bit lost." Chloe nodded, and repeated firmly, "Just a bit lost." She failed to mention to either of the other two girls that a growing fear for Zoe's safety had begun to well inside her as well.

Girl #8, Zoe, had indeed become lost. Upon leaving the bunker, she had immediately begun a search for Melanie. Zoe had known her a while, and didn't want anything to happen to her. She thought that Melanie would've hidden and waited, or at least not made it very far. She'd roamed the forest around the bunker for about ten minutes before giving up her search. That was when she realised she'd gone much, much too far. She'd gotten turned around, and now everything around her looked the same. The same old trees, the same old bushes. She couldn't even tell where the bunker was!

"RACHAEL!" She screamed, losing all sense of caution in a moment of blind panic. By now, everyone had to be out of the bunker. Surely Rachael could hear her. SURELY!

The only reply she got was a muffled 'ow', and a dull whacking sound.

Zoe clapped her hands to her mouth and dropped to the ground. Crawling forward on her knees, she peered over the top of a bush, trying to find the source of the noise.

Twenty metres away, there was a crashing from some undergrowth. Zoe whimpered, as she saw Boy #16, Stu, stumble out from the trees. Zoe had always been a little frightened by Stu; she'd seen his violent side a few times. Once, he had gotten into a fist-fight with a boy in another class. The whole ninth grade had encircled the two boys and cheered. Zoe, who had been chatting with Melanie, was suddenly swallowed up by a crowd, calling out for blood. It had been one of the more frightening experiences of her life, especially when she saw Stu knock several teeth from the other boy's jaw. And so Zoe became a little afraid of him. He seemed so big to her, so strong and…manly…all the time.

But now, something was wrong with him. He seemed like he was drunk or something, he seemed to be literally unable to stand.

"Stu…" Zoe whispered, her stomach knotting.

The boy fell to his knees, and put a hand up to the back of his head and moaned, loudly. He cried out in stunned amazement, and fell forward onto his stomach.

A laughing from behind the dead boy caught Zoe's attention. Stepping out from the trees came Boy #18, Dan, the unpopular, nerdish wiener of Class C. He'd always had his head buried in a book, most often a math or physics book. He'd always been so timid and shy…but…now…

"Dear God…" Zoe said, quietly.

Dan had exited the bunker towards the end of the student list. Immediately after getting out, he slid underneath a bush and checked his pack for his assigned weapon, which turned out to be a black crow-bar.

Sighing, he said, "Damn, could've been better…still…" He swung the crow-bar a few times, making short work of the bush, "It'll be enough…"

With that he'd started his hunt. He knew he was desperately outmatched physically, but if he could find someone with a good enough weapon and stupid enough not to notice he was coming, he thought he might have a chance, what with his vast array of knowledge.

And he'd found that someone, in Stu.

Stu had come out four students ahead of Dan, and immediately opened his bag to find his weapon. What was inside was a Walther P22, a short, stocky handgun. Stu smiled. He was now supremely confident that he'd come out of the Battle Royale unscathed.

He started searching for some friends, wondering where they could be. In the back of his mind he was wondering whether or not he was going to play the game. He was positive he didn't wish to harm the boys in his gang, and there were quite a few girls he was quite sweet on, Felicity especially, but he knew that some people he wouldn't especially mind putting a bullet through…Francis Ford for example.

But he never got a chance. Mere minutes into the second hour, he felt a throbbing pain suddenly explode in the back of his head. He hissed and stumbled forward, reaching around to where the pain had originated from. He felt for a moment, before his fingers found something sticky, matted into his hair. He sobbed suddenly, realising that someone had hit him. He stepped forward, emerging from a bank of trees. He staggered for a moment, trying to keep his footing. Eventually he found it was completely in vain. He slipped to his knees, and then, as darkness clouded his vision, he felt himself flop onto his stomach.

Dan had been stunned by how easy it was. If he'd been a betting man he would've said Stu would've been around a long time, but in the time since he left the bunker, he'd only been in the game half an hour at the most. Dan laughed and knelt down beside the dead boy. He looked at the wound the hooked edge of the crowbar had caused and shuddered. It was quite a disgusting thing. Dan had been an expert in science when they had dissected a cow's eye, but this was something a whole lot worse. He decided not to dwell on it, and instead picked up the P22 Stu had dropped. He stared at it lovingly for a moment, before pocketing it and heading out to find more of what he thought was to be many victims.

He never noticed Zoe sneak away behind him.

Boy #16- Stu, dead. 40 remaining.

Boy #2, Anthony, was quite shocked when neither his girlfriend, Rebecca, nor his 'best friend' Sam waited for him outside. Bec was always with him, always. And Sam…well Sam was always trying to hang with him; he could barely spend five minutes away from him during school. Literally. He'd sit down to English. Sam would be there. Japanese, Sam would be there. IT, Sam would be there. Every subject which the two shared, Sam would instantly sit with Anthony. He was like a lap-dog. So why the hell didn't he wait for him? The one time he actually wanted Sam to be there was the one time he was gone.

He was thinking about this when, from behind him he heard a cough and a whimper.

Then, "ANTHONY!"

Anthony whirled around, preparing to sprint as fast as he could in any direction. He'd accepted that at any time he may be attacked.

But all he saw was Boy #9, Ben, someone he managed to be on OK terms with most of the time.

"Oh, hey Ben…" Anthony said, his fear ebbing away.

Immediately Ben jogged up to him and asked, "What weapon did you get?"

Anthony shrugged. He dropped his pack to the ground, knelt down and opened it. He was about to reach inside when he looked up at Ben, and began to size him up. What were his intentions? What was he thinking?

So before he checked his own weapon he asked, "What did you get?"

"Oh," Ben said, "This!" He held it up. It was a simple steak knife, like the kind Anthony used at home (the exact same kind his crazy little brother wasn't allowed to use because he might hurt someone). "But I ain't gonna really get a chance to use it."

Anthony took this as a sign that Ben wouldn't be attacking him any time soon, he just seemed too sincere. So Anthony reached into his bag and searched for his weapon. Upon pulling it out, he recognized it as a black, semi-automatic Colt .45. He was filled with a sense of relief. At least if some bad went down, he'd have a gun.

Ben whistled in awe. The two were quiet for moment.

"What do we do now?" Ben asked.

"Well…everyone's going to go for the buildings that are on the map. So…I'm thinking we find somewhere no one will go…I reckon the beach." Anthony explained. He didn't really want to spend what could be his last moments with Ben, but he accepted it for the moment.

"Okay…" Ben said, trusting Anthony implicitly.

The two boys headed out, Anthony keeping a sharp eye out for Bec, and for any sign of…danger from his companion.

Girl #4, Melanie, had been terrified from the moment she'd woken up inside the bunker. Her terror increased ten-fold when she discovered why she was there.

A day ago she'd been happily reading about the up-coming sixth Harry Potter book, and now she was stumbling around an unknown, dark forest, where, if she took a wrong turn, she could end up with a jugular sliced open by explosives!

She'd left the bunker and immediately found some kind of path to follow. Finding it, she ran its entire length until she found that it lead to a complete dead-end, when it dumped itself into a stream. Sighing, Melanie dropped her pack, and opened it to find her weapon. The only thing she found were two smooth, cylindrical sticks connected by a chain. She'd heard of these…Sam had mentioned them in Japanese Class…nun-chucks, that's what they were. But they were no good to her; all they did was make her angry and sick. They just reminded her of where she was. Swearing Melanie had turned, only to find herself facing the pointed end of a weapon that had been designed centuries ago.

The next girl to be let out had been Girl #5, Tess. Tess was equally as scared as Melanie. But she was thankful she had gotten out before all her friends, and all the people she thought were going to start playing this sick game.

Deciding it was best to get away from the bunker ASAP, she'd followed a path she'd found. As she rose to the top of a small mound in the path, Tess had been shocked to see a figure not one hundred metres ahead of her. She dropped to the ground, her mind racing.

No one could've gotten here before her unless they'd left the bunker earlier than she did. Trying to recall all those who'd exited previously, she could only remember Meghan and Dave. But that figure was neither of those. Lifting her head, Tess realized that it was Melanie.

"Crap…" She whispered. She didn't know much about Melanie…for all she knew, Melanie was the type of person who'd play.

Her mind made up, she stealthily ran forward, her designated weapon, a Japanese Katana (a samurai sword) raised in front of her. She stopped just behind Melanie and waited for her to turn around…

"FUCK!" Melanie screamed, kicking backwards and onto her backside, "What the fuck do you want!"

Tess sighed with relief, and lowered the weapon.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Tess said, "I wanted to make sure you weren't going to kill me or something!"

Panting, Melanie stuttered, "So you're not going to try to…slit my throat?"

"OF COURSE NOT!" Tess said, putting out a hand, to help the other girl up.

"Then again," Mel said, "With that thing, you'd probably end up cutting my head off instead."

"Yeah," Tess said, admiring the sword for a moment, "What'd you get?"

Mel picked the nun-chucks up from where she'd dropped them and showed them to the other girl. She laughed.

"Looks like we got the Japanese weapons…" Mel said, "Seems fitting…this fucking thing started in Japan."

Tess nodded solemnly, before saying, "Well, what do we do?"

"Look for friends…people who might find a way out of this. We probably won't, we're probably going to die…but…we have to try!"

The sixth girl out of the bunker, Girl #6, Alana, had intended, as soon as she found out about this whole goddamn mess, to just hide and wait it out. Maybe someone would save her and get her out! And of course…maybe the deadline would pass and she'd die. But she treated that indifferently. She wasn't scared of death, just of how it was going to happen. Death-by-bomb didn't sound so bad to her. At least if she stayed hidden she'd know how Death would come.

After running blindly through the forest for most of the second hour, she'd caught her foot on a rock, and fallen to the ground. Her designated weapon, a hatchet, had shot out of her hand, and clattered down the rocky interior of a cave. Smiling, Alana had slid down into the cave, grabbing her hatchet on the way.

"Perfect…" She whispered, settling herself in between two rocks, for what she hoped would be a quiet three days…at least until the inevitable happened. She didn't think about the other students. Selfish as it sounded, she wasn't going to risk her own neck to go and find them, not even her boyfriend, Darren. Sure, she cared about him, but she didn't think a high school romance was enough to warrant her putting herself in more danger. She just couldn't…She'd be fine in that cave…maybe she could just sleep…

Boy #6, Jack, leader extraordinaire (but still very, very short) had had met up with casual friend Boy #11, Oliver, quite soon after the second boy had left the bunker. Neither boy found it wise to hang around the bunker, so they headed off into the forest, to try to add more people to their group. Jack was positive that they could make it out off the damn island if they only tried. Nothing is full-proof, and Battle Royale would be no exception.

The first person they ran into was Boy #7, Tom. In his hand was a fire-axe (exactly the same as the one Oneesan had on the training video).

"HEY!" Tom said, running up to the two boys, happy to find someone. He himself had been looking for no one in particular. He'd never tell the others, but upon leaving the bunker, he'd almost broke down. As he'd entered the forest surrounding the starting point, he'd felt his stomach twist and burn. Sweat broke out over his body and tears began to form in his eyes. He'd managed to compose himself, but only by telling himself the same thing Jack had said to Oliver, 'We can get out of here'.

Jack was ecstatic he'd found Tom. Oliver was wary though, he held up his police baton defensively. Tom stopped, scared. He'd only just realized that it was entirely possible that Oliver and Jack were against him.

Jack however, merely stuck his hand out in front of Ollie, and pushed the baton down.

"It's OK," He said, "It's Tom!"

Ollie was still hesitant. It wasn't until Jack physically pushed the police baton down that Ollie realized that Tom's axe was dragging on the ground, in an entirely non-offensive manner. Ollie shook his head, as if to clear it, before apologizing to Tom.

"S'ok." Tom said, "No harm no foul. Jack what'd you get given?"

Jack held up his weapon, a sharpened stake. Laughing, Jack joked, "Hey, I can't kill humans, but vampires…FOR SURE!"

The three laughed together. It felt like old times, despite the extenuating circumstances.

In a flash however, Tom had hissed, thrown his axe to the ground and grabbed at something hiding behind a tree near them. He threw whatever it was to the other two boys' feet and said, "We had an eaves-dropper!"

Ollie gasped, at the person who lay before him.

It was Girl #18, Felicity, a girl Ollie had lusted after on several occasions.

"Oh, hey…" Felicity said, unsurely, "I'm going to go now!" She said, getting to her feet and trying to escape.

"Not so fast!" Tom said, grabbing her around the waist and pushing her gently back into the centre of the three, "What weapon were you assigned?" He'd already come to the conclusion that Felicity was safe. If she'd wanted to kill them she would've tried already.

Felicity rolled her eyes and pulled it out from her pack. It was a fancy-looking crossbow, already loaded, and about fifty arrows. "Pretty cool!" Ollie said. He'd already begun thinking about how the group could take it from her. He wasn't the most girl-friendly person in the world, and he didn't exactly want some chick screwing up their chances for survival.

"Can I go now?" Felicity asked, still trying to push through the boys.

"Why do you need to leave? Why not stay?" Tom asked, smiling.

Felicity didn't understand that smile. Was he being sincere? Did he want to protect her, or rape her, or what?

She was hesitant towards the idea. "Please," She said, pleadingly, "I just want to find my friends, please!"

Tom shrugged and said, "OK." The other boys gaped at him. Felicity squealed quietly with delight and knocked the boys' hands off her. She made a dash for the trees when she heard Tom say, "Of course, that's assuming you can defend yourself." Felicity stopped, and turned to him, "What do you mean?"

"I'm sure you've figured out that we're in serious shit. I can guarantee, that while it may start out slow, this thing is gonna go down just as they planned. People are gonna start attacking people who were their best friends. Are you sure you can trust your friends? Are you sure you can even find them before someone with an M16 gets trigger-happy and you end up a bloody Swiss-cheese?" Tom said, "If you think yes than go, we ain't stopping you."

Felicity, stopped. Her brain kept on ticking over and over. He was right about the others. She couldn't trust them. She'd seen how much they back-stabbed each other, even when they were at school. Now that they were in a literal life-or-death situation, she knew that it would be dangerous going to them. Sighing in defeat she said, "OK, fine…I'll go with you guys…But where do we go?"

Tom lifted his map to his eyes and scanned the island, before saying, "Here, this cross should be a church. We can hide there."

The others checked their maps to verify, and nodded. Jack was confident they'd be able to make it secure. Felicity was just grateful to the boys for protecting her. The only one who wasn't so sure was Ollie. To begin with he was uncomfortable with letting a girl into their group. He'd never trusted a girl in his life. And then of course he was unsure that holing themselves up was a good plan. But he said nothing.

"Let's go!" Jack said, leading the way.

Boy #5, Kris, had always been stunned at how well he and Boy #4 Dave meshed. They'd been friends since Dave had come into Class C, and never once had a fight.

They meshed so well, mere minutes into the Battle Royale, they'd found each other. It seemed like instinct; although it was more through the lucky coincidence they came out right on each other's heels.

Kris had bounded up to Dave and, despite them both having reservations about man-to-man affection, they hugged a friend's hug for a moment before the two of them noticed someone coming from the bunker. They ducked into the trees and ran for a moment, before mutually agreeing they were far enough when they reached a deserted path.

It was then they pulled open their packs to reveal their selected weapons.

Dave was a little disappointed to find two sickles. While he was happy to have a bladed weapon (they could kill just as well as a gun, if only at close-range), a sickle wasn't what he was looking for. They seemed quite awkward to use.

But Kris was floored with his weapon. He had to look for only a milli-second to find his weapon. It was so recognisable, that any eight-year old who played video games could tell him what it was, a Kalashnikov AK-47.

Dave stared at it dumb-founded, "DUDE! YOU GOT A FUCKING KALASHNIKOV!"

"They…they gave this to a kid?" Kris mumbled, stunned. He fumbled with it for a moment, before he turned bright red, "I mean, for one thing…it's a huge advantage to me and…well…" He stared at the ground, sheepishly, "I don't know how to use it…"

Dave gawked at Kris, his mouth open wide enough for his chin to rest on his collar-bone, "You…don't know how to use a gun?"

"It's complicated an-"

Dave cut him off, yanking the weapon from his hands, "Here…idiot!"

Dave flicked a switch on the side and aimed off into the bushes. He fired a quick burst from the rifle. The kick-back was enormous, and the noise was deafening.

But not deafening enough to mask the scream.

Upon leaving the bunker, Girl #16, Alexandra, had spoken to no one. She had seen Dan walking around a long way off, but had hidden. Later she'd also seen Sam run past, a mere twenty metres ahead. He'd been running so fast that he didn't even notice her, much to her pleasure.

She'd opened her pack quite late, after walking around for almost an hour. In it she had found a big, black, clunky gun. She' looked at the manual for it. There, she discovered that it was a SPAS combat shotgun. She had picked up the box of shells she'd been given, but hadn't the courage to load them into the weapon. So, instead of arming herself, she'd crawled into a bank of bushes and trees to her side. There she would be relatively protected for the time being. She wanted to find her friends, but she didn't have the energy. She was too…traumatised.

She had rested in the bushes for only a few minutes when she heard feet upon the path which she'd left. Pressing herself to the ground, she stopped breathing, desperately trying to not make a sound.

That's when she heard the two boys talking. That's when her heart sank. It was…boys. It had to be boys.

Ever since she was a young girl, boys had scared Alexandra. On her first day of kindergarten, an older boy had peeked up her dress, like some young boys do. Then there were the nightmare stories her sister had told her once she started school. She said that boys liked to scare girls, pull their hair, and sometimes pull out their…things…and do Bad Things. To Alexandra, boys were always doing Bad Things. And that scared her.

Obviously, as she got older, that fear diminished, slightly. Her sister stopped telling those stories, the other girls stopped going on about 'cooties'. But the fear of boys and Bad Things was still there. It would probably always be there. It wasn't anything great, or so she thought. She'd started having crushes on boys, and that's when she started to believe that her lifelong fear of boys was done.

But now, hiding in a bunch of foliage, clutching an unloaded weapon to her chest and silently crying, Alex realised that that fear had not gone, just hidden. The boys were back, and Alex feared they would inevitably start doing Bad Things. And in a situation like this, might their Bad Things become…Worse Things?

She listened to their voices. She could now tell it was Dave and Kris. This comforted her somewhat. Though their social circles were radically different, Alex knew the two a little, even though she was relatively new to the class. She didn't think they'd be the kind to take part in anything sanctioned by the government, let alone a teenaged bloodbath. But she still didn't say anything. The Bad Things still loomed over her head.

As she listened, she heard them mention something called a 'kalasmaskopf'. She had no idea what it was, but she guessed it was their weapon. She began praying the two would leave. She didn't expect violence but she still wanted them gone. She wanted her friends, her family and her stuffed pig, Mr Zeebo.

She heard something click from where Dave and Kris stood. She tensed. Alex didn't watch a lot of action movies, but her brother played a hell of a lot of video games, and she thought for a fleeting second that she recognized that noise.

That's when the shooting started. It was a short burst from some very loud gun. Most of the bullets passed over Alex's head, but she felt two thuds in her thigh. She looked down to see what the thuds could've been. In the centre of her thigh, she could see two quite large circles of red. She stared at it for a moment. In a sudden flash, the pain, the excruciating pain, flooded her senses. She shrieked out in shock and terror, as blood began to pour from the two bullet-holes, soaking her school-kilt. She continued screaming, and screaming and screaming.

Kris stared at where the screaming had come from, white as a sheet. Dave moaned, and almost hurled. He'd done some bad shit in his short life, but he could tell now that this was the icing on the cake.

"What…did…you…do?!" Kris stuttered.

"I…I…" Dave stuttered. He whimpered, dropping the AK. He stepped backward, and turned, preparing to run.

Kris saw him about to go, and grabbed him, shouting hysterically, "No! Help!"

Dave moaned, looking back into Kris' terror-stricken face. He swore to himself, before diving into the bushes. He immediately felt his accidental victim's arm, so he grabbed it, and dragged them out into the path.

Lying before them was the wounded form of Alexandra. Kris cried out when he saw the two, ragged, bloody holes in her thigh, and knelt down next to her.

"OK, OK, OK, FUCK!" He said, "What do I do?"

Alex stared at him. While still in indescribable pain, Alex's mind was calm enough to take in the sight of Kris kneeling beside her, doing his best (which wasn't all that good) to help. He pressed down on her wounds, trying to stem the blood flow. Tears were beginning to slide down his cheeks. To Alexandra, he looked like an angel.

When she looked at Dave, for a moment she thought she'd looked at the devil.

He wasn't crying like Kris was. He wasn't distraught at what he'd done. But then, neither was he smiling, like some sick bastards might have been. He was just staring. Not even blankly, he just…looked, like how any person would look when waiting for a train. His front was bloody from dragging her out of the bushes, and he didn't even seem to notice.

"HELP!" Kris moaned.

"Right…" Dave mumbled. He too knelt done. He looked into Alex's eyes, and she looked back. "It's going to be OK Alex. It's going to be fine."

Alex could now feel that this was one of the boys her sister had tried to warn her about. This boy…was Bad. Deep down bad. Maybe not just yet…but soon. She could tell.

Girl #20, Veronica, flicked a strand of her shortish black hair off her face, as she continued her search for the perfect vantage point.

Veronica had already decided on her game-plan. If she sees someone, take them out. She'd decided this before she'd even left the bunker, and had been most pleased when she found that her weapon was a sniper rifle, which, according to the manual, was currently being employed all over the world in SWAT teams and armies. It was dismantled when she found it, but had managed to assemble it from the instructions she was given. Veronica was a girly-girl, but she knew enough about weapons to know that this gave her an advantage if she could somehow find herself somewhere high and isolated.

So she had begun searching. It had proved difficult. She was being cautious, very cautious. It was broad daylight and she knew she didn't stand a chance against most of the people in the class who would start playing. If she could just find this vantage point she'd be fine. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't die, and she would do anything to make sure that that promise was kept.

Boy #20, Angel, had been teased mercilessly in primary school for his name. They thought it was 'faggy', and that he was a weakling. When the TV show Buffy the Vampire Slayer started airing, this abuse increased, as he shared a name with the lead romantic interest. The boys had ripped into him about it everyday. That changed when they reached high school, and along with it, puberty.

Suddenly, every girl was fawning over Angel. None of them knew a thing about him, having avoided him most of his life. Now, this 'mystery' had suddenly become attractive, as it had quickly become evident that Angel was fast becoming the most gorgeous boy in the school, let alone their year level. Seeing this sudden amount of attention Angel was getting from the females of the school, the other boys had immediately taken a 'liking' to him, if only to put themselves in the girls' good graces. It was proof that popularity in school was a fickle, fickle thing.

Angel had left quite late into the roll call. His current girlfriend, Felicity, had been called as #18, and he had been only mildly affected by her absence. Sure, she was nice, and a hell of a fuck, but he didn't really need her. Especially not in this messed up scenario. She'd want to go off looking for friends and get herself killed. He didn't need that.

So, once he left, he first ran for ten minutes, flat out. Being an almost champion athlete, he managed this easily. When he stopped, he checked his weapons. He was frustrated to find only four bottles, filled with an amber liquid. Checking the 'manual' (really it was just a single sided piece of paper, this wasn't the most complicated weapon), Angel discovered that they were in fact Molotov Cocktails. Rags and a lighter were also included. Feeling slightly better, Angel had pocketed the lighter and swung the bags over his shoulder. Preparing to head off somewhere, Angel had spotted someone, not thirty yards to his left, walking along a separate path. Edging closer to them, and hiding behind bushes, he had realized that that person was the Thai student, Girl #17, June, who had left only a few people before he did it.

He knew that Battle Royale was real, and that whether or not he liked it, there would be only one winner. Angel weighed the possibilities. He could call out to June, and be shot dead by a crazed Thai girl who had decided to play. He could call out to June and find a girl who was desperately searching for someone to help her, only to betray that person when it came to the end. He could call out to her and find a girl who genuinely just wanted to live, and die with her when time expired. He could hide, and let her pass, only to hear her name called on one of the announcements. There were countless others but in the end, he ignored them out, and did what his heart told him. That was how he would play the game. With his heart.

Stepping onto the path June was on, Angel called out her name.

She screamed suddenly, and turned around, losing her footing as she did so and falling on her behind. Angel ran up to her and reached out for her hand. He pulled it back immediately when he saw what she was carrying. In both hands she held silver-colored sai, a trident-like weapon from medieval Japan that Angel knew well from his long hours at the controls of a Mortal Kombat video game.

Angel backed up, hands in the air, as June stumbled to her feet.

She held the sai out in front of her, and said, "What do you want?"

"I want…to help. I want to find a way out of here."

"Are you telling the truth?"

"Of course!"

June lowered the sai, and said, "Good." They were both silent for a moment, before suddenly, June ran up to Angel and threw her arms around him, dropping her weapons in the process. She hugged him tightly, throwing Angel completely by surprise.

He looked at her face, which was buried in his chest. She was crying, and kept on muttering 'I just want it to end' over and over.

Angel sighed, and hugged her back, awkwardly at first. The two stood for a moment, before June pulled back.

"I'm sorry," She said, wiping away a tear, "It's just…this is messed up and I just…wanted to find someone…nice."

"Well," Angel said, "I'm someone nice."

"Yes," June said, certainly, "You are."

In a bizarre twist, Boys #13 and #14 Stefan and Calin came out on each other's heels. Naturally, Stefan had waited for Calin to emerge. The two had embraced for a moment, before heading off through the bushes, keeping low and doing their best to avoid others until they were more prepared.

Boy #15, Darren, had come out right behind them. From the very beginning, he was the only person who knew exactly what he was going to do. Most people looked at him, and what they saw was a homophobe, not that uncommon an occurrence for a boy who lived in southern Australia. But what they didn't know was just how deep his utter hatred for gay people went.

When he was six, he had been playing with his friend and neighbour, Billy. The two were in Darren's backyard, playing with a broken stethoscope Darren's mother had brought back from work. Naturally, the two started playing doctor, as there are few other possibilities when one is playing with a stethoscope. Darren had been the doctor, and Billy the patient. As the two played, they somehow ended up admiring each other.

Out of curiosity, Billy had said, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Darren had been about to oblige, when the two boys realized that Darren's father was behind them. Looking up into his red, vein-filled face, Darren had instantly known he'd done something wrong. His father had screamed at the two of them. Not just yelled, screamed. His left fist flew through the air and struck Billy on the cheek. The young boy yelped in pain and terror, and had immediately scrambled away under the fence which separated each family's house. Darren's father had screeched after him to never see his son again.

Grabbing Darren by the arm, he dragged him into the house, where immediately he began to tell him about 'faggots'. About how faggots like Billy would act nice to him, how they would say it felt good and was nice. That they'd act like nothing would happen, and then BAM! He told his son, in graphic detail the things fags did to little boys like him. Darren's eyes had filled with terror, at the 'realization' of what could have happened had he taken Billy up on his offer.

To end, his father had asked, "Are you a faggot, son?"

Immediately, Darren had spat, "HELL NO! I ain't no fag! And I never will be!"

Darren had lived his life believing what his father had told him. The exact same thing had happened when Darren watched the pass-over episode of Rugrats, but the bad guys this time around were Jews. That was how he learned. His father told him who to like, and who to hate. So when he found out that two of his classmates were gay, he had immediately begun his ceaseless campaign of torture and harassment. He had regularly spray-painted big, red penises on the boys' lockers, and would often run up behind one of them and shove them into what was ever nearby. Once it was a teacher, once it was a dumpster and once it had been a young girl carrying a pair of scissors. It was a miracle that Stefan had managed to avoid becoming impaled.

So when he realized that he was in Battle Royale, the first thing to come to mind was Time to die you perverted fucks.

He had come out of the bunker just in time to see the two break off their kiss, and head off to find shelter. Anger built inside him, and he silently began to follow them, drawing his weapon (a screwdriver, which was next to pointless as he had a better weapon, his own switchblade, in the bag he'd brought from home, which was swung over the same shoulder as the pack which contained his supplies).

Boy #13, Stefan, was having difficulty keeping up with his boyfriend, Boy #14, Calin. It was difficult to run through forest, and it was doubly difficult when one was trying to open bags as well. Stefan continually shouted out for Calin to stop, but he ignored him. Calin just kept running, his hand gripping tightly onto Stefan's.

Calin finally stopped when he felt Stefan fall behind him.

Turning back to see him, Calin shouted, "Stefan come on we have to keep going!"

"No!" Stefan said, firmly.

"Yes we do come on!" Calin said, pulling on his arm, trying to yank the boy to his feet.

"Calin, STOP!"

Calin stopped. He stared down at where Stefan lay on the ground.

"Stefan…" Calin whimpered. Unshed tears began to gather in his eyes. "What are we going to do?" He collapsed into the dust, falling into Stefan's arms. "This is so fucked up! What are we going to do?"

Stefan held him close as he cried. He didn't no how to respond. There was nothing that he really could do.

After a moment, Calin sat back, continuing to cry. Stefan pulled their bags in front of him. First he checked inside Calin's. Inside he found the bread, water, flashlight and map as Oneesan said he would, but he also found a common, blue biro pen. He held it up, puzzled.

Calin laughed coldly, "I guess that's my weapon." He took it from him and sat quietly, staring at him.

Stefan dragged his bag in front of him and searched it too. Along with the supplies, he found himself holding a small, red pick-axe. He flipped it around, thinking that it could've been worse for him, though Calin had definitely gotten one of the least effective weapons available.

The two stood up together, each holding onto their 'weapon'. Stefan carried the two supply bags, while Calin carted the lighter day packs each boy had brought.

"Let's go." Calin whispered. He turned to leave, but Stefan grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. "What?" Calin moaned, looking up into Stefan's dark eyes.

"Just relax. It's not over yet." He leaned in, and Calin leaned up. Their lips met once again, and Calin felt all the troubles temporarily dissipate.

When Calin kissed, he occasionally would open his eyes to look at Stefan. It was common for him. So when he did it, he wasn't worried. But what he saw this time was a worry. Oh how it was worry.

Calin screamed, grabbing Stefan's arms and trying to pull him with him as he tried to run.

Everything slowed down. As he fell, Calin could see…everything…every bug, ever speck of sweat…and when it was done…every drop of blood.

Stefan had merely been puzzled at Calin's sudden terror. When it finally clicked, it was too late. He whirled around. There, in front of him, was Darren, that gay-hating anti-Semite. He didn't manage to scream. By the time he realized what Darren was doing, the other boy had jabbed his right hand forward.

Stefan felt a heavy pop in his neck. He could tell immediately that Darren had stabbed him with something blunt. The pain didn't show up immediately, it took a second for it to get its agonizing grip.

The tip of the screwdriver, Darren's weapon, had pierced the area of Stefan's neck just below his Adam's Apple. It forced its way toward his spine, but was stopped by the boy's larynx, which was immediately crushed and torn beyond use and recognition.

Darren yanked his hand back. This motion upset the shaky balance Stefan had, and he slumped to all fours. His torso had lost all feeling. He reached up to feel the wound, only to find that blood was spurting forth from his neck like the pumps used on old yakuza movies. He tried to gasp, but all that came out was a gurgle, as ruined portions of his vocal chords and wind pipe began to slide out the hole in his neck.

Stefan's mouth slipped open, and blood sprayed out in a fine mist. He managed one last moan of incomprehension, before he finally slipped fully to the ground. The last thing he saw was Calin's terrified face.

Darren smiled, looking at the bloodied screwdriver. Confident Stefan was dead, he turned to his next target.

Calin was still on his butt two metres away. He was stunned by what happened. In a matter of seconds his lover had been torn away from him. He was gone.

Struggling to his feet, his biro still in hand, Calin moaned, "What…what did you do?"

"I killed the faggot, just like my Daddy told me," Darren said, leering evilly, "And your next cock-sucker."

Calin was not an angry person. He was flamboyant, wore eye-liner and danced to Madonna. But hearing those words…seeing the thing that had killed his lover…it changed him. He had become a Berserker of Viking legend.

The two stared at each other for a moment, each equally matched weapon-wise.

Suddenly, Darren darted forward, performing the exact same move he'd done on Stefan. Calin easily slipped around his downward moving arm and brought his own weapon up. Calin had calmly aimed for the most vulnerable spot he could reach. Everything slowed once more, the same as with Stefan. Calin saw his target and drove the pen home.

A moment later Darren was screaming, clutching his face.

"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" He shrieked in utter pain.

Calin smirked. Blood was now streaming from Darren's left eye-socket, mixed in with a clear, viscous fluid. Calin looked at his pen, which was still being held in his hand. Staring back at him Darren's crumpled left eye. The pen's nib had pierced the eye's pupil, cruising through its internal workings before reaching out the back. In the process of screeching in pain, Darren had instinctively jerked his head back, thus inadvertently leaving his own eye behind. However, it was still connected to his head by the optic nerve, which was now stretched grotesquely.

Calin dropped the pen, and dropped to the ground, where he grabbed the screwdriver Darren had let go of. While his 'prey' busied himself somewhere else, Darren shrieked in agony and whirled around, his eye whirling with him.

Calin stood, and slashed out with the screwdriver. Though it had no blade to speak of, it managed to slice through the mangled optic nerve quite effectively, sending Darren's ruined eye flying off into the bushes. Calin rushed forward to finish the job, but Darren, even though now half-blind and in indescribably sickening pain, kicked out, causing Calin to trip and fall right over Darren's head. Darren took this chance and stumbled to his feet, before randomly running into the forest.

Calin hissed, as his prey escaped. Throwing the screw-driver down, he began his chase after Darren. A chase that would end in Darren's death…no matter what…he had to be stopped…Stefan…Stefan…

Boy #13- Stefan, dead. 39 remaining.

Alexander had left just shy of the half way point, as Boy #10. He immediately fled the scene.

Alex was no fool. He knew that few would want to side with him. Ever since primary school, it had been the case. To cut a long story short, Alex was the kid who got picked last for anything (excepting when Dan and Francis were around, then they would rotate) and never had birthday parties, because he knew no one would come.

So, when he realised what this was, he had been frozen with dread. He knew instantly he'd lose. He couldn't side with anyone, because they would kill him, or run from him. And he couldn't fight them, because…as much as they hated him, he couldn't do anything to them. He didn't hate them. He wasn't a hurtful person.

So, from the very beginning Alex knew he was doomed. He knew death was coming he just didn't know how.

Doing his best to shrug off those thoughts, Alex slid into a bank of bushes, like so many others had done, and opened his pack. In it, he found something heavy. He lifted it, and found himself facing a monstrous Smith & Wesson revolver. Even though he abhorred violence, Alex knew that this was an impressive piece, and he was 'lucky' to have been given it. If worse came to worse…a gun would come in handy if he ever felt the need…to take drastic measures to save himself from a painful death.

Boy #3, Jonathon, was glad he'd done what he did. Two of his friends, Anthony and Sam had already left, but he didn't want to find them. He didn't want to find anyone. He just wanted to go…and think. He'd often thought about death, and he never thought it would come at the hands of a classmate.

Sighing, Jonathon found himself at the base of a low cliff. Here, he stopped and opened his pack. Digging through it, he found a big, bulky blue thing. He soon realized it was a nail-gun. He'd never used one before, but the manual was most helpful in explaining the mechanics of it.

Sighing, and sitting back, Jonathon's mind flashed to all the fun the class had had. The day they got to skip classes and go get fish and chips, the year they won all the school events in a clean sweep, their impromptu dance-off in the middle of the lunch-hour.

Jonathon was self-conscious about crying. He never did it. But now he wept. He wept, and nobody saw. They were to be the last tears of his life.

Ever since they started at Ballarat and Clarendon College, Girl #3, Stephanie and Girl #12, Sophie, had been friends. You hear people throw around the word 'inseparable', but for these two it really was the truth. They were together every school day, every class, every sporting event, every weekend.

And now, they were inseparable on this island, in this game. They wouldn't leave each other. Stephanie had hidden herself up a tree just outside the bunker, waiting for her friend to leave. She was about to leave herself and find a better hiding spot when Sophie emerged from the bunker. Squealing, Stephanie had jumped down. Sophie screamed, thinking it was an attacker, but soon the two were running together.

They didn't have a plan. They didn't think they needed one, they had each other.

Girl #21, Elle, had vomited on seeing Georgina's murder. She'd vomited again when she stumbled upon the body of Boy #16, Stu. It had just been lying there. She'd thought for a moment he'd fallen over and was going to be getting up again. But…no…she could see the flies beginning to swarm. Fighting back tears she ran through the forest to find a safe-haven. She was immensely frightened. She may have been thought of as a bitch by those who didn't know her, and she knew that some would assume she'd be a killer. But that wasn't her…not really. She was just a scared girl searching for a place to rest. And she found it when she stumbled upon the house.

It was clearly old, abandoned. The windows were broken, the garden untameably unkempt, and the door was splintered, but it otherwise looked okay. It would've probably been some recluse's house, far away from prying eyes.

She stepped inside the building. Held in front of her was her selected weapon, a tazer. She scanned the building, checking all the lower floors. She'd just checked the kitchen, and gathered that there was no one there. She lowered the tazer, relief flooding her, when she felt the cylinder pressed against the back of her neck.

"What are you doing here?" Girl #7, Melissa, said shakily, hands shaking on the butt of her Desert Eagle hand-gun. Melissa had left early, and had reached the house within twenty minutes of leaving the bunker. She wanted her friends, but she didn't have the courage to wait. She'd heard horror stories of Battle Royale's that lost half of their students in the immediate vicinity of the starting location, because they waited for friends. So Melissa had run, and ended up here.

"I'm," Elle stuttered, "I'm just, looking for a place to say."

"Oh yeah, what's with the tazer then? Huh?"

God she's terrified. Elle stared at her, trying to stay calm. She could see the fear in the other girl, and knew immediately that she was no threat. Her hands were shaking, and the gun threatened to drop at anytime.

"People are playing this game." Elle said quietly, turning to face the other girl, "And I don't wanna give them the satisfaction of dying." She'd never heard herself speak so assertively.

Melissa stared at her for a moment, before lowering the hand-gun.

"How can they expect us to play this game?" Melissa whispered, all her composure vanishing in a second, tears welling in her eyes.

Elle hopped up onto the kitchen table and crossed her legs, sitting as 'normally' as she could.

"They don't expect all of us to play." Elle said matter-of-factly, pulling a piece of bread out of her pack, "They expect some of us to. If enough people start killing, we'll all die." She said simply, and glibly.

"It's just, so absurd." Melissa said.

"Don't I know it? Georgina, Stu, neither of them deserved to die. And for that matter, neither do we."

Melissa nodded and sat down next to Elle. After a moment Elle put an arm around her new-found companion, and comforted her as she began to cry thick and fast.

Neither girl noticed Boy #19, Andrew, sneaking around to the back of the house, or the bloodied knife in his hand.

Ten minutes before-hand, Boy 17#, Ian, a new kid, who'd only transferred in a few weeks before-hand, had almost pulled the pin on his grenade when Boy #19, Andrew, appeared in front of him. Ian had been stumbling through the forest, often going in circles. He'd seen quite a few people through the gaps in the trees. He'd seen Stephanie and Sophie, and also seen Anthony and Ben heading away from him. But he didn't know any of them well enough. None of them. He could tell that he would be alone. And that he would die…soon. And then…suddenly…just when his security was starting to fail…Andrew burst out of the trees ahead of him. Ian's hand had tightened on the grenade and his thumb had almost flicked the pin…

"Hey Ian," Andrew said, smiling, "Finally, I found someone."

Ian was a little surprised to see Andrew was in his trade-mark black coat. He knew enough to know that Andrew was a wee bit on the goth side.

"Where'd you get the coat?" He asked.

"I brought it in the back-pack I brought from home. They took my cell-phone, but they left this." Andrew explained, as he lit up a cigarette he'd removed from one of his coat's pockets. As he lowered the lighter he noticed the blood dripping from Ian's nose. "What happened to you?"

Ian was confused, until Andrew touched his own nose, demonstrating the bleeding.

"Oh, yeah," Ian said, laughing nervously, "When I got out, that, I think his name is, Francis, or, Frank or whatever, he attacked me, threw a rock at my head." He mimed whacking himself in the nose.

Andrew was shocked, "That fucker? Threw a rock? Damn…I didn't think he had it in him, I mean, he's always goin' on about the commandments and shit." The news had definitely come as a shock.

"Yeah," Ian said, "He stopped attacking when he saw all I had as a weapon was these grenades," He held them up. "And then he said, he said that he saw 'that faggot' Stefan dead. And Christ, he was HAPPY!"

Andrew shook his head.

"That's what fundos do. Get happy over the death of 'sinners'. It's sick. Way sicker than those supposed 'sins'."

Ian nodded. There was silence. Knowing that Stefan was dead scared him more than he'd liked to admit it. He didn't know the boy except on sight, but the fact that he was dead really knocked the message home. He'd transferred to the school, believing it to be one of the best in the country. And now he was fighting for his life, against people he barely knew. There was no way he'd win. Sure, he played footy, fine, but it didn't make him tough enough to make it out of something like a Battle Royale. It just wasn't in his character. It was in his character to be terrified, to fear how inevitable death would come. There was only one way that he could possibly know how it was coming.

"Did you ever think that, we should, not play? I mean," Ian said, almost to himself, "That we should, you know, kill…ourselves. End it quickly, painlessly?"

"No, never." Andrew said, blankly. Though the sub-culture he was a part of may be famous for suicide, he would never contemplate it. It was then he noticed Ian's finger trembling on his grenade's pin.

"I think we should." Ian said, bluntly and with almost no thought behind the action, he flicked the pin out of the miniature bomb.

"NO!" Andrew screamed, jumping to his feet. He leapt at Ian, knocking the grenade from his hand. It bounced on the ground and rolled a few metres away.

The two boys wrestled for a moment before Ian staggered to a standing position.

Andrew had dug into his pocket and whipped his weapon, a switch-blade, out, desperate for any means to stop the other boy.

"STOP IT!" Andrew had yelled.

Ian stared at the blade for a moment, when the grenade exploded behind him.

The force of the blast was so incredible that Ian flew forwards, stunned, straight onto Andrew's waiting knife.

To say the least he was shocked at feeling the knife enter his warm guts. He was shocked as he felt his own blood pour freely from his body. He was shocked when he fell to the dirt, and most of all, he was shocked when he began to cry.

"Oh, GOD!" Andrew said, grabbing Ian by the shoulders and sliding the knife out gently, "I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to!"

"It's okay." Ian spluttered, as blood began to leak from the side of his mouth, "I'm, doing what I wanted. And, besides," He coughed, "You didn't mean it, it was an accident," Ian smiled, but it faltered and his face was overcome with pain, as his stomach, liver, kidneys and intestines all tried to slide out the hole in his tummy, "I just, I just didn't realise it would hurt this bad…" He trailed off. His eyes blinked one last time. Andrew whimpered.

Boy #17- Stefan, dead. 38 remaining.

At first, boy #21, Francis, was pissed about his weapon, a GPS-like device that, as the manual that came with it explained, showed both the lay-out of the island, and the position of all the players' locations, along with huge skull and cross-bones over Danger-Zones. He couldn't kill anyone with that!

But then he realized just how valuable a tool it was. He could go and make all those whorish popular kids pay for mocking him whenever he tried to express his knowledge of the Truth in class.

Francis had left last. He was glad for it. That meant that everyone else would be gone, and he could take his time in finding somewhere to rest.

He wasn't worried about the fact that it was a sin to kill. He believed that God would forgive his transgressions. Francis also felt that, in his way, he was doing God's will, by taking out the sinners.

So he set out to find them, the sinners. The boys he would target first. Their sins, to him anyway, always seemed so much more insulting than any, even those of Sodom and Gomorrah, because some even claimed a belief in God. Their lies were…inexcusable. And then there was the girls, those modern-day Jezebel's, tarting themselves up to impress their men, all the while intending to leave them hanging just when they need whorish women the most.

But the first person he found (not counting the corpse of Stefan) was a kid he hardly knew, Boy #17, Ian, when he passed by the boy's hiding place.

His immediate thoughts were 'run' and 'hide', but they were quickly replaced with 'attack' and 'kill'. Regardless of how little he knew, Francis knew that he MUST be a sinner…they all were.

Francis looked around for a weapon, and spied a good-sized rock at his feet. He picked it up and hurled it, without much thought of the consequences or aim. But he was such a weak person it had barely any force behind it. It hit Ian in the face, but with barely enough power to cause a slight nose-bleed. That was how pathetic Francis was.

"FUCK!" Were the first words out of Ian's mouth, "What the fuck?"

Francis stepped out of the bushes, and said, "What did you get?" At the same time he knelt down and picked up the rock again.

"Grenades." Ian said, backing away from the other boy, pulling one of them from his pocket. He knew that Francis couldn't hurt him with a rock; after all he'd already been hit by one. But he could easily have other concealed weapons.

Francis shook his head, "I don't need those." He lowered the rock. In actuality, he did want them, but it would be easy for Ian to go kamikaze on him, so instead of attacking, he said, "But I suggest you use them to enter God's Kingdom now. You don't want to see what happens to the people who play this game. That little faggot Stefan found that out the hard way." Francis had been most pleased to find Stefan's corpse, lying in a pool of blood. Stefan and Calin were the worst in the whole class, flaunting their utter contempt for the Lord.

"Isn't suicide a sin?" Ian said, sneering. He didn't know Francis personally, but he knew enough to know that he was a bible-thumper. From the moment he first saw him he knew it, and instantly disliked him.

Francis nodded, "But I know that God will forgive you this once. He didn't have a say in this terrible game. He wouldn't approve, so, killing yourself would be more acceptable than killing others." Inside, Francis knew it was a complete lie. God would smite him even faster than the others. But he was damned either way. At least this way he could make it painless.

And with that Francis left, leaving Ian to eventually attempt suicide, and be killed by a boy he hardly knew. Francis would never know this, but he knew that when the next report came around, Ian would be on it. He was weak.

Boy #12, Gavin was angry. Furious. It seemed…cruel that he should be in a Battle Royale. He had plans. Plans that one day could've stopped these things. But no…he'd been forced into one himself. If he played, he'd be a hypocrite, and a big one at that. If he didn't, he'd likely be killed. No one had ever escaped from a Battle Royale.

Sighing to himself, his weapon, an MP5 submachine, in hand, Gavin decided that the least he could do was try to find a way out. That meant finding help. The best people to find would be Dan and Anthony, they were the smartest, and could come up with thought out and logical ideas in seconds. Gavin began his search without resting, without reflecting and without tears. He would find a way out or die trying.

"Why did you drag me away?" Girl #2, Rebecca hissed.

"Because!" Girl #1, Meghan said, "We had to get away!"

"But what about Anthony?" Rebecca screeched, "I wanted to…I had…to wait for him." She was crying now. Meghan whimpered, and hugged the other girl.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I was…just…so scared…I needed you to be with me…someone to stay with…but I had to go to…I'm sorry."

"It's ok." Rebecca said, sighing. "He'll find me…he always does."

Meghan sat down and opened her bag. In it she found a large hunting knife. She was relatively happy with it. When Rebecca opened hers she swore openly, a rare thing for her. She'd been shafted…a frying-pan.

"What do we do?" Meghan asked. She wasn't a leader, never had been.

"Well," Rebecca said, "First…I've thought about this for a while. I knew about BR a long time ago, and I always figured that there has to be a way to take the collars off. Otherwise, how do they get them on and off the winner?"

"You think we should find a way to get them off?" Meghan sounded scared, "But what if they go off?"

"We'll be careful, no tugging on it, no pressure, just…examine."

Meghan shrugged. It was better than doing nothing. Meghan was just glad that she had someone to spend her last days with. She didn't want to die alone…

Boy #8, Nick, had been appalled at the death of Georgina, and had been just as appalled upon finding out his weapon was big and clunky, a chainsaw. He wanted something swift and efficient, ideally a gun, but a nice knife would've sufficed. The better to sneak up on someone. He'd decided that he deserved to win. He was attractive, he was strong, he was athletic, a real asset to the school and the country. One day he hoped to be a professional footballer, or a track runner. So if he had to kill his frankly, unworthy friends to make sure that that happened, he'd do it.

At first he struggled along with the chainsaw in hand, with it running. But he knew the noise was too loud, that it would attract others. He wasn't that dumb. And he knew he'd run out of energy soon if he kept carrying it like he was.

He tried to flick the off switch, but the poor boy's attention should have been on the path beneath him. He failed to notice the tree root sticking up in front of him. His foot caught in it.

The chainsaw fell. And Nick fell on top of it.

An instant, indescribable agony overcame him, as the jagged teeth of the saw shredded through the flesh of his torso, catching each piece and then tearing it off. Flecks of blood, skin and flesh soared through the air. Once it was done with his outer skin and flesh, Nick felt his ribs crack and splinter, blood gushing out like something out of a splatter movie. He howled in shock and fury, pushing himself to one side and off of the weapon. But the damage had been done. Looking down toward his feet, Nick felt a wave of nausea. He could feel next to him his warm, sticky innards (they weren't very in anymore). What had once been his well-toned chest was now a glistening, sticky mess. Jutting out from the wound, he could clearly see shattered ribs, and tiny flecks of what were once his lungs. Peering closer, as wave after wave of indescribably agonizing pain shot through his entire body, Nick thought that he could just see his still-beating heart.

It didn't beat much longer.

Boy #8, Nick, dead. 37 Remaining.

Girl #13, Sarah didn't know what to do. She never did. She was always lost in class, wondering what she was supposed to be doing. Now…she was stuck on an island, with a goddamn Glock 18 Machine-pistol in her hand, being told to kill her closest friends. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the girl standing in her path.

As she walked, Sarah kept her head pointed at the ground, staring at her feet. When another pair of black-shoe clad feet appeared in front of her she screamed, and jumped backwards, bringing up her gun.

The gun ended up pointed at a pair of thin blonde girls.

Girl #14, Madeline, and Girl #15, Jessica, had run into each other quickly. Each was searching for members of their group, like Sarah and Melissa, but, even though they hung out a lot, the two did not want to see each other. They fought constantly, once even coming to blows. But when they ran into each other, the two had decided to put aside their squabbles. It was beneath them, especially in a situation where their lives were at stake. So they had joined forces, Madeline always walking in front, as her weapon, a shovel, was the only one that had a chance of defending them. Jessica had been given a megaphone, which she might as well have thrown away. It was too light to do any damage, and she knew that using it would be tantamount to suicide.

Finally, the pair had spotted Sarah ambling along, head down. They quietly walked up to her, doing their best not to spook her.

As soon as Sarah brought up her gun, she realized who the girls were, and immediately lowered it, as she ran forward and hugged the two in a tight death-grip of relief.

"THANK GOD!" She yelled.

The trio hugged for a few minutes, before they began to discuss what they should do. There were several options, and it seemed each was as dangerous as the last.

"Why don't we go into this little town thingy that's on the map?" Sarah suggested, pointing to a location on the map which was laid out in front of them.

"Yeah," Maddy said, sarcastically, "Let's go to the most prominent point on the map." She shook her head, "If you had this idea Sarah, so will everyone else."

Sarah shook her head, "But that's a good thing, we could team-"

Maddy cut her off by saying, "That's total bull-shit Sarah." She stared at Sarah's hurt face and sighed. She hugged Sarah and said, "Regardless of how much we want to, we need to stay away from everyone. From what I remember of this law, girls always try to team up. And they've all ended up dead."

Jessica stared at her, shocked.

"You knew about this sick game?" She stammered, disgusted.

"I knew of it," Maddy said, "But it's not like I paid much attention to it. I never thought it could really happen." Maddy sat down and looked up at the sky, "I'm not the only one. Me and Anthony and Sam, we all knew. We talked about it once, with some other people."

"Oh," Jessica said, sitting down with her. She felt like a ripe fool for being one of the people that didn't know of it. It was all completely new to her. Was she really that shallow? Did she only care about celebrity marriages, and not about things that mattered?

"Then what do we do?" Sarah asked.

"Wait." Maddy said, sighing, "For…something."

"If we wait too long, we'll just end up dying." Jessica said, pointedly.

Maddy laughed sadly, "I don't think we need to worry about whether or not we'll die Jess. It's kinda obvious we will."

Silence followed.

37 Remain