Disclaimer thing; I do not own Battle Royale, otherwise, Shinji would still be alive, kicking and playing basketball.

Chapter 4
Welcome to the jungle.

A shrill outburst of a routine opening sequence to the This Morning show appeared on a wide range of the United Kingdom's television sets. A smiling Fern Britton appeared on the television set, she wore a deep velvet crimson dress; almost like blood. Next to her on a brown leather sofa sat a greying woman, her suit was sharp and her eyes seemed cold, distance towards the camera. She held a briefcase close to her chest; her nails were also a deep crimson.

"Good morning." Fern smiled brightly towards the camera. "I hope I have caught all you busy people out there before you set out for work or school. Firstly, I'd like to introduce our guest on the This Morning show for today: Karen Bishop."

A round of applause was heard from the studio set of the show, Fern gave Karen a comforting smile, while Karen gave the camera a nod.

"Earlier today the show got conformation that the students going to play the first British Battle Royale had arrived on the undisclosed island! Exclusively for our show we have a reporter there, actually on the island! We will be talking to her a bit later on, but for now, Karen Bishop is a well-known bookie and psychologist who is here to give her opinion on the contestants on the first Battle Royale of Britain."

Karen finally flashed the camera smile.

"So Karen, I heard you have the confirmed names of the contestants playing?"

"I do." Karen bit her lower lip, "They were hard to get a hold of though, Fearne. Tight lock on everything to do with this program. They don't want a repeat of that on incident in Japan."

"Of course, nobody does."

Karen's hands twitched on her brief case.

"We have an interesting line up."

"Is there anyone you can reveal to the viewers today, Karen?"

Karen bit her thin-lined lips, she glanced at the camera again; she wasn't used to a giant machine watching her movements. She was a little camera shy.

"Well, interestingly." Karen began. "The famous Frank Farr's son has been hoarded up to play this democracy game."

Ferns eyes widened in shock. Frank Farr's son: Tony Farr. That mafia boss must have broken a blood vessel when the government had informed him in his luxurious mansion full of gold.

Fern twitched an uneven smile. "How did he take the news?"

"Not quietly," whispered Karen. "Let's say, crime rate will be down for a while."

Fern Britton knew what that meant. Most of the guardians whose offspring had entered "The Program" had been shot on spot. The reason? Well, parents don't take lightly to their children being placed in a forbidden game, their chances of surviving slim to none. The government couldn't handle a break out of parents, siblings, relatives pounding on the doors of parliament, demanding the British government to remove their children from a gruesome, highly watched television programme. The government had to take measures. Measures that were filling up the graveyard. Fern understood. Fern understood the pressure mounting the government to for fill the quota the Japanese had bestowed on them. To fill the requirements of the agreement, to keep the Japanese on the British's Christmas card list. If a few children were sacrificed for something like this, she would gladly support the government by hosting the 24 hour feedback show.

"Fern?"

Fern shook her head slightly; awaking from her thoughts, she shouldn't do that on air, she scolded herself mentally.

"Can you reveal anymore names, Karen?" smiled Fern. "I think some are bursting for inside news, a lot of people having been awaiting this game!"

"I can do more than reveal more names, Fearne." Karen smirked, unlocking her briefcase. "I can tell you them all."

"Really?"

"Of course, really!" Karen began to relax against the peering gaze of the broadcasting camera.

"Well, you have heard it ladies and gentleman!" Fern beamed, "the only channel on air that is going to give you a full contestant list before the actual game begins. Plus! We have our reporter on the undisclosed island as well!"

At the bottom of the television screens of Britain, the exclusive preview to T.V of the contestant's names began to float across the screen, stopping in the middle for a few seconds. Letting the viewer's intake the names of the upcoming dead. Karen spoke each name as it floated to the middle, her voice smooth, velvety and crystal clear to all the gaping viewers at home.

Boy 1: Adams, Chase

Girl 1: Barker, Tiffany

Boy 2: Atkins, Samuel

Girl 2: Benson, Holly

Boy 3: Cordell, James

Girl 3: Cullen, Danielle

Boy 4: Daniels, Jason

Girl 4: Deshaw, Raven

Boy 5: Farr, Tony

Girl 5: Forde, Alison

Boy 6: Foden, Mathew

Girl 6: Isley, Alexandra

Boy 7: Gray, Peter

Girl 7: Jinx, Tabitha

Boy 8: Harris, Jasper

Girl 8: Kane, Lenora

Boy 9: Hawley, Christopher

Girl 9: Keller, Lily

Boy 10: Johnson, Alexander

Girl 10: Love, Jennifer

Boy 11: Kendall, Robert

Girl 11: Marshall, Grace

Boy 12: Kirk, Damian

Girl 12: Moore, Francis

Boy 13: Manning, Joel

Girl 13: Peterson, Julia

Boy 14: Morris, Sean

Girl 14: Peterson, Nicole

Boy 15: Newman, Aaron

Girl 15: Penman, Taylor

Boy 16: O'Hara, Deo

Girl 16: Rennison, Olivia

Boy 17: Ripley, Skye

Girl 17: Steel, Elisabeth

Boy 18: Roswell, David

Girl 18: Stuart, Jessica

Boy 19: Stafford, Leo

Girl 19: Tenant, Rosie

Boy 20: Stovin, Luke

Girl 20: Trent, Willow

Boy 21: Thorley, Callum

Girl 21: Yanni, Isabella

Boy 22: Valentine, Jacob

Boy 23: Wright, Zander

"Well." Fern stated, clasping her hands together. "That's the lot! I hope you wrote them down, in case you want to place a bet ahead of the game or if one of the names tickles your fancy! Remember, you might know some of these lucky students in real life! Are you going to be routing for them? My, the boys are out numbering the girls already!"

Karen chuckled half-heartily. "It's hard to get classes nowadays when there is an equal amount of boys and girls in each class, Fearne."

"Well, I hope that the girls pull it out of the bag during the programme. I really hope, Olivia Rennison gets in the final few, her name sounds so professional to me, how about you, Karen?"

Karen tensed slightly and gave an encouraging nod. "There have been so many bets already, Fearne. The local bookies got this information a while back. The have been slowly giving out this information to the regular wealthy men."

"Really? Who's a hot favourite?"

"Well, I can't tell you that." Karen blushed, looking directly into the camera. "Confidentially."

"Go on, we won't tell anyone, will we viewers?" Fern winked slyly at the camera with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Well, ok." Karen looked directly towards Fern. "Surprisingly, Tony Farr isn't the top contestant in the viewer's eyes. Deo O'Hara seems popular with the regular bookies wives. I think it's the name, it sounds exotic. However, Raven Deshaw has been the most popular. Personally I think she sounds quite feisty."

"Deo, O'Hara, sounds Irish to me. No wonder his name has been popular with the ladies! Every girl likes a bit of Irish." Fern let out a high pitch giggle. "I do agree, Raven seems rather rough around the edges, maybe she is of Black African descendant?"

Fern placed her right hand towards her ear piece. Karen's thin lined pencilled eyebrows creased in confusion; Fern was getting a direct feedback from the producer. Fern looked straight in the camera, listening intently to the incoming message. After a few seconds, she broke into a heart-warming grin.

"It's time to go to our reporter in the field."

Zander knew he was conscious. Just his eyes were heavy and he didn't have the strength to flick them open, right now. His body ached for reasons he didn't know, his stomach felt vile and the fluid inside it wanted to escape.

Man, what happened?

Both of his arms felt mangled, raw and skinned. He was pretty sure if he was to open his eyes his arms would just be pink flesh, his own skin ripped open and his arms to be like open parcels. Whereas his arms felt mangled, his legs felt snuggled, buried with a heavy amount of pressure.

What the hell is on my legs?

The smooth floor caressed his right cheek. The smell of sweaty gym socks filled his nostrils with a bile smell, his nose wrinkled in response. Without warning, the contents of his stomach sprayed out before him. His eyes fully open, gazing down at the stomach juices dripping off the end of his chin. A knot formed in his stomach while is eyes screamed in pain.

Why the fuck is my eyes so sore? What the fuck happened? That last think I remember was checking out that Japanese woman, what's her name, it sounded a lot like Yam. I don't know.

Pain danced along the bones of Zanders body, he groaned and began to take in his strange surroundings. His vision blurred and shaky, but he could still make out the large blobs of blue puffy crash mats. The dangling snakes of rope hanging from the tall ceiling and the boarded up steel windows. Standing in front of him, a gleaming white board.

Where the hell is this place? It looks like a sports hall or something…

That's when Zander noticed the sleeping bodies of his fellow classmates, his head twisted slightly around, he groaned in pain. The figure of the Italian femy fatal lay sprawled across Zanders feet. Her mouth agape, dried drool crusted on her tanned complexion. Sparkle of metal across her neck caught his eye. With both hands, -whilst moaning and groaning from the terrible pain he was experiencing - he lifted himself up. He wiped away the dripping sick from his chin.

"What the fuck?"

He stood up, letting Isabella's head clunk onto the wooden floor. Her eyes didn't even flicker; she was out cold. Rubbing the back of his own neck, he realised the device attached to him. The coldness of the metal made his skin tingle.

Man, only fucking gay boys wear metal around their neck. I'm not frickin' gay. I want this piece of shit off me, now.

Drumming his fingers along the rim of the collar, Zander began to tug at the metal. Lightly at first, hoping it would just detach itself on its own.

"Hey, I don't think you want to be doing that."

Zander froze. The voice was unfamiliar. He spun around to the other end of the hall, to meet a lanky figure. His head was covered by a black beanie positioned against a wall; he held a small smirk under the greying bags.

"I came to do my rounds. Just before I hit the hay, you know, dude. Guess what I find? One of the kids bright eyed and rearing to go!"

"Who the hell are you?" groaned Zander. He rubbed at the back of his neck again. His fingers still looped around the sliver collar, he was judging whether or not to heed the stranger's advice.

"Names Ralf. Ralf Bailey. You're Zander Wright. Quite a stereotype." Snickered Ralf.

"What the hell are you on about? How do you know my name? More importantly where the hell am I?"

Unknown to most, Zander wasn't adventurous. His playboy attitude and tongue had earned him an assumption that he was immediately going to go where no man dared to go before. Well, he was willing to give a chase for a girl, which was quite adventurous for Zander. But going somewhere unfamiliar wasn't his version of family fun. Right now, Zander felt lost. His arms felt like chunks of hanging pig in a butcher's and his legs prickled with pins and needles from Isabella's curves. Irritating pain plagued his eyes, just like being dunked in a swimming pool without swimming goggles on, only to find when you break the water that your eyes aren't water resistant.

Fuck this guy, am I getting kidnapped? Are we all getting kidnapped?"Your name is on this list," Ralf produced a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket, "You're currently standing in contestant 23's place. So, I totally assumed that you're Zander Wright, you, dude, just totally completed my hypothesis!"

"What the fuck? Are we on some kind of crazy secret quiz show…"

"Totally not. That's not what Battle Royale is all about!" smirked Ralf.

Battle Royale! O man! He had heard his old man talk about Battle Royale with some form of pride. He knew the jist of what happened, you get a weapon, three days, danger zones, only one winner…Damn, he knew what his old man had said when the government or what ever they were, knocked on his door to inform him of his sons role in this game. His dad would had offered him on a sliver plate if they were asking for recruits for the game, then whooped at him for miles telling him to win him that prize money. If anything Zander was a lot like his damned old man. They were both sinned. His father prized himself on money; the house was littered with expensive items and the want for more. His father spent too many late nights at the office gaining more of the green stuff to fill the bank. Acts of trickery and manipulation where the actions Harold took to supply his 'need'. Zander knew of the cash prize offered to the winner of Battle Royale. He could remember clearly and precisely his face when his father had mentioned Battle Royale to him a few years ago.

Zander was sprawled across his bed, idly flickering through television channels. A metallic blue phone tight in his grip. He had exhausted all his means of fun for the rest of summer. Becky, Bridgette, Louise, Honor, Susan, Katie, had all become boring mindless Zander fan girls. Their minds manipulated by just a night or two of lust. None of them had a sustainable character like Miss Ellis; none of them left him hanging for more. Well, he would imagine he would want more if he got any from her. For now, he would settle with sly smiles and after school teaching.

Zander's bedroom door clanged open. Harold Wright stood in front of his son in a fancy suit. A small blue handkerchief folded over one chest pocket. Unlaced laces draped over his polished loafers.

"Your home early." Commented Zander.

"Mmmm," growled Harold, "Waste of money that blonde. She was all nice and friendly at the office. An undercover honey trap if I ever did see one."

"That will teach you to mix work with pleasure."

"I could say the same back to you son," smirked Harold, "Have you seen the answering machine? It's littered with schoolgirls; some of them are half sobbing on that machine!"

"Heh."

"That's all you got to say?" Harold grumbled, fiddling with Zander's expensive cologne atop of his dresser. "I can't believe I spent money on that woman. That's fifty quid not well spent. Just a frickin' waste."

"Your mind is too full of money, old man." Zander smirked.

"Your mind is too full of woman, young man." Harold smirked back equally.

Zander held some form of respect to his father. His mother had made off long ago, before Zander's first birthday. Guess she couldn't cope with a greedy husband and a soon to be lusty son. Huh, maybe she could predict the future then got out as quickly as she could. Zander couldn't blame her, while he held respect for his father; his greed spiralled out of control. He wouldn't allow money waste, however, he spent his money on the most expensive items money could buy, and he wanted the best of the best. If Harold Wright had his way, he would control all the money in the world.

Zander stopped flicking television channels and put the remote down. Resting on a talk show channel where a husband had cheated on a wife; she was threating to leave him. Typical, thought Zander.

"Did my old man sign me up for this game?" asked Zander.

"It's unlike you son to be in on a Saturday night and its summer as well. Haven't you got any parties to attend?"

"Yeah," sighed Zander, "Woman have my desires, but not my mind. I can't be dealing with Bridgette's preppy accent or Louise telling me about her new dress. A party isn't a party unless I can get laid. To get laid tonight, I would have to find a new girl or girls I haven't met before just to get a sparkle of individuality, which is usually crushed after the sex. They all become fan girls in the end, old man. Just plain old, fan girls."

"One thing I know Zander is talking to your father about getting laid, isn't right. Second thing, is assuming woman will instantly become your fan girls after getting laid is just big headiness, son."

"It's the truth." Zander sighed.

"Come on, let's watch Battle Royale together. Man night in."

"Sounds gay."

"Boy, have you ever watched the marvel that is Battle Royale? I hope one day it comes to England and you can marvel your talents in the show."

Zander's eyes widened. "Old man, your bat shit crazy. If you think I'm going into that death trap!"

"So you have seen it before?" Harold raised his eyebrow.

"Fuck no. I just know the jist of it. Why the hell would you want me in Battle Royale, anyway?"

Harold laughed and tousled his only son's hair. "The prize money silly, hell, you would get greatest son of the year if you got me that prize money."

"You're fucking greedy. Too fucking greedy. So greedy you would let your son put his life in danger for what? Money?"

Danger danced in Harold's eyes. Zander already knew the answer. But deep down, Zander wanted the answer to be somehow different. Any son or daughter would want the answer to be different, god, just because Zander knew he could be the physical form of the deadly sin lust, didn't mean he didn't want to be loved.

"No…," smirked Ralf, "However, he danced for joy when he was told you were in, he is one fucking follower of Battle Royale, and he is sweeet."

Fucking, greedy old fart.

Zander didn't know how much of chance he would have winning this game. Hell, he didn't know how long the bill was passed before they had rounded them up. Zander wasn't scrawny nor did he have the rugby build of Peter Gray. However, high or low his chance was, Zander was going to make sure, his father didn't have a hope on claiming his mutty hands on the prize money. He was going to eliminate himself out of the game before it even got started. A classic thing done in Battle Royale, a student or two would always end up dead before the game would have started, his dad once told him, that's why a lot of the experienced gamblers left their bets until the third or so hour. Yet, no one had been killed willingly before in the game. This would be front page news. The most adventurous Zander would ever get.

"Shoot me." Zander demanded with shaky determination.

"What?" asked confused Ralf,"You want me to kill you?"

Zander nodded his black cape of hair fluttering in his still bitterly stinging eyes. He focused on this youth. The only one without the metal explosive taped around their neck.

"How do you know I'm not lying, man? This might just be a normal kidnapping? Or that it's all a dream, dude?"

"This." Zander pointed to the metallic collar, "If you were kidnappers you wouldn't have fancy thousands pounds worth of explosive chains for twenty three school kids. You would want to conserve your greens. Or called me by a stupid number. Now. Shoot me."

"Look, mannn." Ralf waved his hands in the air in protest, "I don't have a gun to shoot you, and it's really against the rules to shoot contestants. Yeah, I know, dude, that kids get killed before the games starts! But those kids are usually the examples to the others to show them it's actually real. Not all kids are as accepting of what is actually happening to them as you."

Searching the room for possible death weapons, his eyes laid rest on the snake like rope. Too long to kill myself with, he thought. His gaze then caught a hold of the crash mats in the corner; they were at least six to seven feet off the ground. They could do some pretty hefty damage if he was to nose dive from them. He gulped. For someone not very adventurous he had probably found the most adventurous and possibly the most painful death weapon in Battle Royale history. Yet, he couldn't assure himself on that, he wasn't a fan of the disgusting game. Shaking with each step, Zander made his way to a crashing death.

"Hey! Hey! Zander? Why the hell do you want to kill yourself? Why don't you play the game? You have a chance of winning!" asked Ralf. He made no movement on stopping him. The entertainment was too good to even think about stopping the teen to a long, suffering death.

Clasping a hold of the top crash mat, Zander hoisted himself up by purely using his upper body strength.

"Ralf, is it?" Zander smirked, "I have lived a life full of lust. Don't get me wrong it's been fantastic, bloody fantastic even. But even if I go into the running for the game, I don't know if I'd win or become another nameless face for the public." Zander smirked once again, "But if I did go into the running there is a slim chance or a big chance that I could win and get that big cash prize. Somehow, my old man would get a hold of that prize cash if I won, he would shower me again with fake love. So, I'm going to take myself out of running before he even has chance to whoop for me more. Maybe this will make him less greedy? Or maybe not? I just don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in his prized game."

"Well…" sighed Ralf, "I just thought you was a typical guy who was in love with his teacher. You have more to you than I first read, playboy."

"She is dead, isn't she? I heard teachers go missing and killed if they defy the game?"

Ralf nodded slowly. Zander gave a low, husky chuckle; he felt a catch in his throat. Catching Ralf's eyes he gave him a dazzling smile then gazed down at the floor. The hard, smooth wooden floor.

"Tell me one thing before I fucking nose dive off this thing," Zander voice boomed, "Did she defy because of justice or because of me and the rest of the class?"

Ralf bit his lip. He folded his arms awaiting the death show.

"Why would she leave her three kids behind just for justice? Mannn, that is some unrequited love right there on both parts."

Zander laughed his final laugh. Proudly he stood, towering over the edge, gazing down at the floor. Then he just sprang.

Ralf saw his head collide with the floor, watched his body flip over, tangle in different angles then rest peacefully on his back. Blood leaked from Boy 23's head, his eyes vacantly blank. A ghost of a smirk still presence on the fresh corpse. Ralf inspected the body like a new found toy. Dragging the boy's hair and finding the source of the stream of blood, touching the wound with interest. He gave a smile. When dragging the hair, boy 23's neck sprang around like a slinky; a broken neck. His eyes held the last of demise, a thought on a woman who could give him more love than his damn old man ever did.

"DUDDDEEEEE!" Ralf screamed, "TOOO AWESOMEE!"

Inside a cooped little room, behind the whiteboard laid a stunned reporter and an astonished camera man. They had been watching and broadcasting this act of suicide to the viewing public. Unknown to Ralf and Zander, that the whiteboard held an invisible room behind it, able to see the current affairs. Currently, Ralf was screaming praises to the amazing dive the sixteen year old boy had took. Regaining her composer, Susan, the reporter, glanced deadly into the camera.

"We already have our first death of the game, viewers."

Danielle Cullen (Girl #3) awoke to squawking screams and buckets of tears. Digging in from the waist band of a plaid skirt was her trusted drum sticks. She froze, she didn't wear a plaid skirt for school…so why was she wearing one now? Confused and disoriented her eyes began to scan the area.

A gym? Is it gym already? Did I sleep through my lessons? Aw, man. Dad will be so mad, if I did, again.

Wailings of Tiffany Barker (Girl #1) sent shivers down Danielle's spine, she was kneeing beside a still figure. To Danielle's stingy eyes she could tell it was male with a wet substance directing from the males head.

Maybe it's sweat?

"Danni!" cried girl (Girl #10) Jennifer love, "You're finally awake!"

"What are you on about, Jen?" Danielle called back, towards Jennifer's position.

Struggling to hear her best friend's comments over Tiffany Barker's wailing, Robert Kendall's abusive language and the general background noise of hysteria, Danielle approached her best friend with wobbly feet. Wobbling towards her best friend Jennifer accompanied by mutual friend Alison Forde (Girl #5) she passed angry faces, confused faces and tearful streams attached with distress.

"What the hell is happening, Jen?" asked Danielle, seating herself down on the wooden floor next to Jennifer.

"I don't know."

Danielle smirked unable to recognise the reason for hysteria with a still a confused and disorientated mind.

"I thought I had fallen asleep again," Danielle smiled, "I was going to smack you silly, Jen, you know what happened last time I fell asleep…"

Jennifer smiled weakly to her best friend. "Your dad grounded your ass for weeks."

"I don't think Danni getting grounded for sleeping is our top propriety." Alison growled, "Zander Wright is dead, you know."

Danielle's eyes widened. Shock had begun to settle in her bones and panic began to heave on her chest, Jennifer saw the tears forming in Danielle's eyes, not for the person, but the deed. Alison turned her head back to the still heaving Tiffany Barker who was now being counselled by a sheet white, Jessica Stuart (Girl #18).

"Why is he dead?"

Alison shook her head. "We don't know. All we know is, we're locked in this gym in a different school uniform with these things clung round our necks. Not to point out of the obvious or anything, but we know Zander is dead; Robert Kendall tried to break the door down with Chris Hawley and David Rosewell. The door didn't even shiver."

Instantly, Danielle's fingers attached to her throat, feeling the metal between her fingers. God, she thought, what the hell is going on?

Alison observed Danielle's fingers stroke the metal, slightly moving the metal along her neck, it made her shudder. "You best not do that, Danni. We don't know what these necklace things can do."

A pang of irritation rested in Danielle's stomach. Her distaste for Alison's authoritative air and voice made Danielle's skin craw. Casting a glance at Jennifer, giving her a sneer of, 'why the hell is she here again? And why I am friends with her?' Rebellious at nature, Danielle didn't appreciate being dominated with an authoritative tone or commands. Naturally, shy combined with her rebellious nature made Danielle a silent rebel among her peers, between friends, she blew fire. Alison oblivious to the understanding connection between the two, wandered her glaze at the trembling panic arising in each gender.

Alison smirked. "I don't see why they're panicking, we don't know what the situation is yet, it might just be a misunderstanding or a prank, something novel like that. Or some form of wicked treat from the school like a holding bay before we're let into a theme park or something…I'm awaiting Zanders body to come alive and him smiling a cheeky chappy smile saying, 'gotcha' with a wink…"

Danielle laughed sourly, finding her distaste for Alison bubbling in her stomach. "Such an imagination…"

Alison's contradiction of her earlier declaration of Zander's death with a sick joke about him arising, twisted Danielle's insides. She had bit her tongue then, not wanting to rock the boat because of Jennifer's sake. In the past, arguments of a fiery nature between Danielle and Alison had caused intense stomach cramps for Jennifer. Who would be the victim of both her friends arguing without a care of Jennifer's emotion feelings and physical condition.

"Hey, Danni."

"Yeah, Jen."

"You still got your drum sticks," she frowned, "You keeping them in your pants now?"

Danielle nodded. The digging in her pelvis from the drum sticks did not annoy her. It gave her reassurance; the constant prodding into her pelvis kept her slightly more alert than usual, kept her occupied if in a boring lesson and had sentimental value to the family. Often, Danielle would grin a foolish grin without notice, thinking about how her mother had once been a great drummer, wanting to follow in her footsteps but to retain the profession unlike her mother who gave it up for her first born, Danielle's brother, Blane.

Stomping over in a hysterical nature towards the three was Tiffany Barker. Blonde hair matted from tears and dripping salvia, blood shot red eyes made Tiffany appear a mad woman, not a gossip queen.

"Why where you laughing!" cried Tiffany towards a startled Danielle.

Alison arose to her, a pasty Jessica jogged to Tiffany's side. She had only turned her back for a second to give Olivia Rennison a kind word, when Tiffany had stormed over to the trio with a fierce look of annoyance on her face.

"Calm down." Alison commanded, placing her hand on Tiffany's shoulder, "She only laughed in politeness."

"Get you're dirty hands off me, geek!" Tiffany shrivelled, slapping Alison's hand away.

Jessica gave each of them a sorrow gaze for Tiffany's behaviour; it was no way to act, especially in a death of a boy Tiffany had a soft spot for.

Tiffany turned her nose up in disgust. "Why aren't you all screaming and wailing like others? Why are you so calm! Someone is dead over there," Tiffany pointed her finger nail to the peaceful looking Zander, "Actually it's not just anyone! It's Zander! You know Zander, our classmate, nerds! Why aren't you upset?"

With that, Tiffany crumpled into a crumbled crying state, her head buried into her hands. Tears leaking through her slim fingers. Jessica placed an arm around her, letting Tiffany place her head onto chest, gripping tightly to Jessica's top, tugging like a child. Soothingly, Jessica rubbed Tiffany's upper arm, mouthing an apology under Tiffany's diabolical wails. Turning around to begin walking to their circle of friends, Alison placed a hand on Jessica's back.

Alison gulped, with all her authority in her voice turned up, she spoke the dreaded question for both Jennifer and Danielle.

"Is he really dead? I mean, we have heard it through the grape vine. I thought it was true. Then I thought it wasn't. Now I don't know whether he is playing a darn joke or if he has actually bled to death from his head."

"He is dead." Jessica spoke softly with remorse in her voice. "His neck. It's broken. I'm no forensic scientist, but, I think he jumped off them blue crash mats. Maybe, it was suicide."

Jessica took her leave with the still crying Jessica.

"Oh gosh," heaved Jennifer, "I think I'm going to puke."

Grasping the door with her dainty hands, Yumiko, proceeded into the prison cell. Trailing behind her small figure, clanged in her swarming militarily uniform, was a squad of armed soldiers, pointing guns and commands to the class 11E.

"SLIENCE!"

"FACE FORWARD."

"SIT DOWN, BOY."

"LISTEN TO YOUR INTRUSCTOR."

Danielle froze, staying perfectly still and quiet, listening to the commands of the guns in front of her fearful face. Jennifer, equally as shocked didn't even wipe away the remaining sick from her chin, just gaze in fright at the loaded guns. Alison looked down, not meeting the guns gaze; it was her own way of showing fear and defeat, not looking it in the eye.

Yumiko watch even the rebellious children fall into line, all gaze captured on the guns. She felt fear in herself; she didn't want to send these children out on the battle field to do the unthinkable, like her daughter was. Well, technically, her daughter didn't even make it out of the room alive. She caught the dead body of Zander right in front of the crash mats, just as it had been reported by Ralf Bailey with a maniacal grin and bloody foot prints. Her eyes diverted from the poor boys body, he looked peaceful enough, yet, tears threatened to fall on her cracking mask of composure. Too many similarities to a pain memory did that to a person.

"Paul, Evan." Yumiko Fujiyoshi spoke quietly. "Please take the poor boys body somewhere else."

Two of the soldiers nodded and began their command, flinging the boy on one of the soldier's shoulders, while the other opened the door to allow for a swift exit.

"You're that nurse!" cried Robert Kendall, "What the fuck is going on Japanese woman! What the fuck is happening here!"

Soldiers directed their guns at Robert Kendall's face. He shrank back, trying to escape the gaze of the soldier's guns.

"Please," Yumiko spoke softly, "Don't press guns in their faces."

The soldiers didn't comply keeping their guns fixed on Robert Kendall's head. Yumiko eyes filled with worry, she scanned the fearful crying crowd.

"I will answer your question, Robert. Many of you know about the treaty being met between England and Japan to stop their feud?" Some of the teenagers nodded. "Well, in that deal, to keep things sweet, Japan organised one cultural show to be appointed in England, this was a shock to parliament, but, they couldn't say no, otherwise their treaty would be in shreds. Therefore, England adopted the high-raked television: Battle Royale." Throughout the speech Yumiko's hand shaked and her voice wobbled, but the some teenagers eyes widened in fear for they had the knowledge of what Battle Royale meant. Others cocked their heads in confused: Danielle Cullen was one of them.

Fearful and confused, Danielle felt the poking of her drum sticks on her bones. It began to ease the fear slightly, but confusion still clouded her mind.

"For those who don't know Battle Royale. It's a game of barbaric survival, quite like a reality show, except full of ridiculous killing and murder. All of you will be pitted against one another, on this island. Nobody knows the location of the island, even the reporter who filmed you earlier while asleep; were drugged to this location. The island looks like this."

Yumiko began to draw with a shaky hand an outline of a roughly triangular island. She was trying her best not to cry for these teenagers.

"That's fucking crazy!" shouted Robert, "Where on a fucking island in the middle of frickin' nowhere right?!"

"One more word and you're dead as a door nail, son" a rough looking soldier hissed.

"Please don't frighten them more than need be."

The soldier grumbled. "I will pull this trigger, you know, kids. You'll all end up sleeping like the fishes like your friend."

Yumiko glared at the soldier, his voice rekindled new heights of fear in each teenager's heart. The door to the room opened and the two soldiers, Evan and Paul returned with a cart full of rucksacks. Each teenager's eyes fell onto the rucksacks. What where they for?

"Each of you will get a rucksack. Filled with food and water, a map of the island, a compass and most importantly said by the government, a weapon. The weapon can be anything from a gun to a fork. Over three days will you attempt to kill one another, only one winner, if by the end of three days, there is more than one person alive, the collars around your neck will explode…if you try to get off the island or escape your collars will detonate. " Yumiko's voice creaked at the end with a choke.

Danielle looked down at her metal collar. This thing can blow up?!

"What if we refuse to kill?" Jessica Stuart spoke up, still cradling the gossip queen.

"Then all of you fuckers will blow up," laughed one of the soldiers, "There won't be a winner to the claim the fucking cash prize then! Then we can take the cash and spend it. If nobody is dead in the first six hours, kids, then all your little collars will blow up!"

"Please, don't scare them, anymore." Yumiko whispered.

"A little fear will do them good, Fujiyoshi. It will get them pumped to kill their classmates. Every six hours an announcement will be made, telling you the fatality list. I hope your fucking parents are proud to have you in this…"

"Why would our parents be proud of sending us into this shit heap!" growled Robert Kendall.

"Fucking shut up," growled another soldier, "I will pop a gun in your face, if you don't shut your trap!"

Robert Kendall a smug fool tested the patience of the soldiers. His face a born smirk and his eyes glittered dangerously.

"I bet you don't even know how to fire that gun, bastard!"

Instantly, one soldier ran and tackled Robert Kendall's sitting form. Wailing, Robert tried to fight off the heavier man, the soldier grabbed a hold of Robert's shirt, smashing his face with his fist, repeatedly. Springing up to help his failing friend, all guns pointed at David's standing figure, Lenora Kane tugged harshly on his trousers, indicating for him to go back to his seat. Astonished by the violent outburst, screams of panic erupted from most, while others watched in fear silently or watched in enjoyment as the smart-arse; football captain face began to bleed.

"Stop it!" cried Yumiko, moving towards the fight, tears flowing freely down her face.

A smashing crack and Robert's nose had been broking. Screaming pain, Robert begged for mercy letting his own blood rush into his mouth. This did not prevent his wailings or his shirt to be stained by his own blood. Yumiko entered the fighting ring only to be dragged back by another soldier. Pleading for the poor boys life, Yumiko fell to her knees, all eyes weren't on Yumiko, but to the beaten pulp that was Robert Kendall's face. The soldier stopped cracking Robert's face, shaking his redden knuckles and wincing, dropping his shirt with the other hand and quietly walked away, wearing a smug smirk.

"Let that teach you, kid." One soldier smirked.

Robert wheezed, gurgling his own blood. He was alive, but his face would never be the same again.

Aye aye, Capatain. Next chapter, the real stuff begins.