January 16th 10:12

After he'd killed Callum Harrison (Boy #8), several hours ago, Peter Mortimer (Boy #15) hadn't seen anyone. He had been following the path around the woods for quite a while, so it was no wonder, really. He wasn't clever enough to guess that anyone who wasn't playing would probably be hiding. Although after killing Peter he had been so madly emotional, that he may not have noticed anyone. But now he had calmed down.

But I've been in the woods for ages! Where the fuck are they?

Peter had no doubt that if he played it smart, he could win this game. All he had to do was make sure that he didn't get his head blown off by stepping into a danger zone. He would shoot anyone he found on sight, but if he had a chance to taunt them like he had Callum then he would. Yeah, there were other people with guns but there is no way on Earth that anyone else would dare kill someone.

Well, apart from the one with the machine gun. He'll be easy to take out. It was probably a slip of the finger or something.

This analysis had no grounding whatsoever, particularly since as of six o'clock, four people were dead, only one by his hand, but Peter knew from experience how weak-willed and soft most of his classmates were. Like the time he'd asked the class weakling Andrew King (Boy #13) for money, and he'd caved in instantly. Or the way most of the girls cried over some trouble with a boy. Or when that other guy had actually complained to his parents when he hadn't made the athletics team.

Who was that? Oh yeah…

None other than Callum Harrison.

At the time he'd been shocked when he'd shot Callum. Peter never usually came close to even drawing blood from an opponent, but as time passed, Peter began to enjoy the memory of killing him. It wasn't as though he was glad he had been brought here, but he hated Callum and everyone who sucked up to him. It pissed him off so badly that guys like him could get away with being orange man-whores but people like Peter…

…they say all girls like bad boys but there was bad, and there was bad. Being relatively thin and wearing glasses (which he hated) didn't by themselves make Peter look like a typical delinquent, but along with his occasional cohorts Aidan White (Boy #20) and Harry Hayes (Boy #9), Peter had habitually raided his classmates' bags (the practice would come in handy in this game, when he came to think of it), done drugs (Aidan had some contacts), and gone joyriding. Peter himself had been arrested and suspended from school more than once. Why did he keep doing these things? He didn't know. In fact, had Peter not done any of these things, it was unlikely his class would have been chosen for Survivor at all. He didn't realise this, but Peter wouldn't have cared anyway. When he won this thing, then his life would change for the better (though he wasn't sure what happened to the winners, he'd heard rumours that they got bribed off to go as far away as possible, and never speak of their experience- Peter would oblige willingly), that was certain. His life may not have amounted to much when compared with those of other people forced to participate, but had no intention to stop playing this game.

That's what they want.

He was thinking about the other students, all of whom would have wanted him dead by the first announcement (this included Aidan and Harry- it would have been strongly in their interests, too). He couldn't expect more than that, but the fact was, they'd all be forced to play eventually, so they were no better than he, Peter, was. He just had the balls to start killing straight away. It wasn't just the other students. As far as his father, Peter Mortimer Senior was concerned, Peter Junior was a waste of space- which was true enough- and anyone would be better off without him. Born in 1995 to a family full of ex-cons and wasters, Peter didn't exactly have any high expectations to live up to. After Ivy Mortimer- his mother- had obtained a divorce from her husband when Peter was only a baby, she and her son lived in Liverpool for a short time, until Ivy died in a drink-driving accident a few years later. Until he was ten, Peter had been living in a children's home, at which point his father tracked him down and they lived happily ever after. Not.

And so, over the years Peter had lived with several different carers. Presently, he wondered if any of the staff at the Home would remember him, or whether they knew he was participating in Survivor. Even when he'd lived with his mother, Peter had displayed a tendency towards creating as much havoc as he could, so had been a difficult child. He'd had friends at the Home, though, and they would surely be cheering him on if they had known he was here.

But, well...

He didn't like the idea that everyone thought him capable of killing his classmates without any regret. It wasn't like that- it just had to be done. He had to defend himself, didn't he?

These concerns were neither here nor there now, as Peter slumped down at the base of a tree. He faced west, looking at the sea. He may have been a bit too close to H-03 (which went active in about half an hour) for comfort, but he wasn't thinking about that.

What if they've all somehow managed to escape?

No, that was stupid, escape was impossible. Even if he could escape, where would he go? What would he do?

Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

He couldn't imagine anyone calling him 'dear', but that would be the truth. Well, he would show them. He wouldn't be forgotten. Not anymore.

Still…better not let anyone know I've seen that film with Vivien Leigh.

He put his Walther P99 down, and zipped open his bag. When he unfolded his map and checked the compass, he found that (shit) he was most likely in H-03, since he could see that little bit of land jutting out, just southwest of where he was sitting. His watch told him that it was almost twenty-five to ten, so he wasn't in any immediate danger, but he'd planned on staying here a while longer, hoping that someone would come and find him.

Oh well, that's that plan gone.

So he decided to head east, into that hamlet-like place. There were bound to be people hiding there- how could that have just occurred to him? After packing his things away and grabbing his gun, he hunched over to dig out a bread roll (he'd finished his own long ago, and had now moved onto Callum's) and began crunching. As he did so, he heard a faint rustling behind him. It was probably just the wind, or a rabbit, but he craned his head round to-

WHAT THE FUCK!!! AHHH!

He felt something come over his head, and brush past his eyes. This happened in a matter of milliseconds, and suddenly there was something incredibly tough (rope, he would have guessed- but now wasn't the time) wrapped around his throat.

'KRK-AHHH! LE-' he choked on his bread, and pieces stuck in his throat, but most started spraying off his tongue and out of his mouth. It stuck to his chin, helped by the saliva.

He dropped to his knees, and began squirming, trying to move his head. His left hand grappled at the strangulating device, trying unsuccessfully to pull it away. He could feel his veins all around his neck.

Who the fuck is this!!

In the corner of his eye he could see a pair of black hands holding the brown, leathery object that was strangling him.

I'm not gonna die like this! Not this bitch!

'Throw the gun behind you and I might let you live!' It was a female voice, but it was of a lower register. It was particularly unique because there weren't many young black girls that had at any time been brought up having a strong northeastern accent, let alone after the rise of the dictator, at which point immigration and the like had ground to a halt. Of course, Peter recognised it to be the voice of Michelle Ashanti (Girl #1), simply because she was in his class.

'Did you hear what I just said?!' Michelle leaned in close, putting her head on Peter's shoulder. He could feel her frazzled hair against his neck, and could have sworn that she pulled the cord (or whatever) even tighter. She had always had famous physical strength.

No fucking way! That gun is mine!

Though he realised Michelle wasn't being funny. He had really grown attached to his gun; it felt like a comfort blanket he had been given when he was a small child. About the gun, he conceded that he had no choice when black dots started appearing in front of his glasses. She mustn't intent to kill him; otherwise she'd do it right now. He tossed the gun backwards.

Michelle immediately released him, and he could hear her eager footsteps scurry a few yards back.

I can breathe!

Something so simple had never been missed so much. Forgetting about his beloved gun and taking in air as though he was quaffing champagne, he rubbed his burning neck, and through a series of coughs and wheezes, his circulation returned to normal.

'What the fuck do you want, Venus?' He snarled and turned to face his attacker, leaping to his feet. He was seething mad, if not intimidated slightly.

Michelle Ashanti wasn't the kind of girl to be taken lightly. She was easily taller than Peter, and she was on all the girls' sports teams at school. Her hair was usually tied back in a bun, but now she had allowed it to run wild. With the Walther in her right hand, and a long curved whip (clearly her own weapon) in her left, she looked pretty damn fierce. There was now way he could get the better of her physically, and she had always been clever in most subjects at school, so it was unlikely he'd be able to trick her.

This must be how the women feel at Wimble-

'Don't ever call me that, you fucking murderer!' She cocked the gun by pulling the block back.

Peter's blood ran cold. 'H-how do you know that?'

Michelle smirked. 'Not even denying it? Well I admire your honesty. Now shut up and get up; we're leaving.'

Peter knotted his brow in confusion. 'Why? Go where? Why don't you kill me?'

'Don't ask me questions! Besides,' she glanced around and lowered her voice, 'we're out in the open here.'

This was true, Peter had jut noticed. The two of them were among the trees, but if anyone were on the shoreline, then they'd probably be seen. Though this was unlikely, given that anyone would be moving out of the danger zones soon if they hadn't already.

'Michelle, tell me; whaddaya want?'

She gestured straight ahead, behind Peter. 'Turn around. I want to head up to the mountains.'

'So take my gun then, bitch! Why do you need me?! Aren't you tough enough to kill me?' Peter began to get really frustrated.

Is she playing games with me?

'Why do think I need you, retard? I need to protect myself!'

Peter finally cottoned on. Michelle was going to use him to shield herself. Oddly, Peter felt a sudden surge of respect for her. He'd never have thought to do that with someone.

However…

'You-you're going to kill me at the end, aren't you?' For the first time since his encounter with Michelle, he was genuinely very scared. All of his belief that he'd win Survivor had disappeared. It wasn't fair… nothing went right for him.

'Well...' Michelle responded to his question, looking slightly worried herself. 'I don't- it's not as if you don't deserve it. You killed someone back at the marina! Who was that anyway?' she added as an afterthought.

Peter swore under his breath. She must have been following him all this time waiting for a chance to jump him the moment he dropped his guard. Avoiding Michelle's eye, he replied, 'Callum. I shot him in self-defence!'

'Like fuck! I was there! In one of the houses. I saw you open the door to the boathouse and shoot at him!' She sounded furious, but perhaps it was to do more with the fact that he had lied to her. He couldn't think that Michelle was the type to concern herself with the lives of people irrelevant to her.

'A-anyway…let's go.' Pointing the gun at his face, she began to walk around him, motioning at him to walk ahead of her. Looking down the barrel of a gun really unnerved him; it was like a black hole…

Fuck this! I've gotta get rid of her somehow…she'll kill me if I try to run away! Even if I did escape, how am I supposed to win without a gun? Or any weapon?!

Peter didn't move. Instead he asked Michelle: 'So- are you going to kill people?'

Michelle looked taken aback for a moment. She bit her lip and looked up at the sky. It was turning a pale shade of grey, so it was likely to start raining. Michelle did not reply immediately, but started striding off into to the woods, her eyes on Peter all the time, beckoning him.

It was only when a minute had passed that she replied: 'If the time comes, then yes.'

Peter couldn't help feeling a sense of victory deep within him which he didn't allow Michelle to see.

So I was right all along. We're not so different.

As the first drops of rain started appearing, the unlikely pairing of Peter Mortimer and Michelle Ashanti stalked off into the shadow-less trees, the sun disappearing, preparing to face any challengers.

10:43

Torrential rain swept the island. Unlike the gale of last night, the rain had actually succeeded in prompting the competitors in the sixty-seventh game of Survivor to find shelter. Even in these circumstances, wandering around in the rain was something to be avoided at all costs. Coming across somebody who was happily developing hypothermia or the flu was synonymous with running into a mad person, so nobody wanted to be thought of as that lunatic either. Maybe it was paranoia, too. In any case, the rain just made the situation all the more depressing and tragic.

It was the tough luck of Belle Orbison (Girl #11) that she had found herself wandering around in the mountains when the heavens opened. She had been unable to find anywhere where someone could take pity on her and let her into their home. Therefore, she was now heading south towards the row of houses which faced the mainland in the hopes of finding an empty house to rest in. She couldn't help but be grateful for the item she had found in her daypack. It was an umbrella; a black one the kind of which anyone would use walking down the street. It wasn't even a traditional one with a metal tip, so she could never have really used it to defend herself at all. Unfortunately, she was now in a state in which she was unlikely to even realise a potential threat. The umbrella protected her from the pouring rain though, and since she'd only yesterday applied a semi-permanent brown hair dye (her natural colour was a pale blonde) the rain may have had a very negative effect.

Even she was stupidly vain, this wouldn't have bothered her right now.

Belle skipped merrily along the path, her footsteps causing large puddles of water to splash up to her knees. The land was becoming flatter. She was quite delirious, and it her lack of awareness was brought on by the absolute lack of 'benzo' in her system. As an insomniac, Belle took this drug every evening to put her sleep. She had been prescribed it by a doctor several months ago, but she had continued taking it even after she had been advised to come off. In fact, she'd have been better off drinking herself into a stupor, for all the drugs were doing for her now. Deprival of such a large dosage was causing this.

What a terrible place this is, I want the old Hyrule back!

Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, actually. While her classmates were running scared, crying their hearts out, Belle was quite contentedly finding fault with her surroundings. If she died here, at least she'd die relatively happily.

Oh, Belle, you moron! You're in Kalimdor now obviously! Tsk, Moonglade is far behind and this must be Darkshore. I hope there are no Furbolgs lurking… I've only got 900 HP. I shouldn't be in this zone at all I'm only level 18- aren't I… I don't remember.

For some reason she thought this was quite upsetting. She moved her hand across her face, a few tears moistening her smooth, pale skin (she wasn't supposed to eat much sugar, so spots had never plagued her). Though her moment of confusion was easy to justify. Lauren Lucas (Girl #8)'s character was at level 18. Leo Davison (Boy #4) had a level 62 and once when he'd been in Moonglade he couldn't believe his health was down to 900 already…

Yeah, that's right. A few boys in the class have the game, but me and Lauren are the only girls. Violet was always too boring to play. Hey…wait a minute.

That was a game, and it wasn't real. Most things from the day had been a blur, but she could definitely recall seeing Ewan Stone (Boy #19) a while ago, among others. He didn't seem like the type to play games at all. He had called Lauren a nerd before this thing for playing...what was its NAME?! That doesn't matter.

As she looked around, she could remember now. She and the rest of her class had been picked to play another game, one which for some reason felt real. Perhaps it was virtual reality, but yes, her whole class was here with her. Well, thirty-eight at the most, since four had been 'eliminated' the last she had heard.

They clearly aren't very good.

She had been walking south for quite a way now, and reached a fork in the road.

The number of times I've gotten lost falling for this trick and taking the wrong path.

This time though, she knew she had to head east, and she had been walking south so east was to her left. She didn't need to bother with the compass, and took the left track. It could very correctly be identified as a dirt track now, and was basically a shallow river. For a minute of so she walked along a beautiful avenue of trees, getting her feet absolutely drenched in the process (she allowed the water to seep through her trainers, freezing her feet but she paid no attention).

Ah, here we are.

She could see the houses a few dozen metres away once she'd turned a corner. They all looked out to the sea; an angry metaphorical beast, its waves crashing violently against the shore. It would have been the perfect place to paint a landscape. Belle reached the end of the path, and surveyed the houses. She stood in full view of anyone who happened to be looking out of a front window, and since the hammering noise of raindrops hammering against her umbrella was irregular when compared to the softer splashing of rain on dirt, anyone alert might detect her presence. She crept backwards.

They can try, but I will not lose now, so early.

She decided to try entering the first house she came to. Each house had a back garden, so there was doubtlessly a back entrance. A secondary entrance was usually the correct, effective one. She moved around the side of the house, cautiously checking around for foes. There were none, but that gave her an idea. A little way behind her, a red brick wall had been built. It was considerably younger than the rest of the houses, about two metres high and it wasn't connected to anything. Belle could not see its purpose. However, maybe it was just for extra privacy, as if the surrounding trees weren't enough. Whatever it was for, it could serve her very nicely now.

In tense situations, people reacted to anything. Her plan was to throw a heavy object at a window- it didn't matter which- and completely smash it. Anyone inside the building would immediately lose their nerve and flee. Her weapon didn't seem to have been upgraded yet, so she probably couldn't attack them, but she'd hide behind this wall and, if she had to, escape into the forest.

Now then, a suitable rock or-

She quickly ducked instinctively, but nothing happened. Out of the corner of her eye, she had noticed a person slouched at the foot of the wall, between the long blades of grass. It was no mutant or monster; it was a blond boy, who was wearing some kind of green, baggy sweatshirt…

Link!? No, I'm playing that other game now.

The thing was; he wasn't moving. At first, of course, she assumed him to have been defeated, so she crept in closer. However, she couldn't see any blood, so perhaps he'd been poisoned. She had to investigate further, and snuck up to him.

She was only a few metres away now, the umbrella scraping the bricks as she moved. She could now see a knife in his hand, the blade glistening. This struck her as slightly odd- who would kill someone and not even take their weapon? They could have had a good weapon, but-

The boy stirred, and a faint snore could be heard.

Belle jumped in alarm; he's still alive! But he's fallen asleep…

She failed to see how anyone could be asleep in this situation. Playing characters never fell asleep, just like they never went to the toilet- which was also strange, come to think of it. Belle could faintly feel as though she'd had to use a bush as a convenience some time in the past, without logging out, but she could ponder that later.

It was against her better judgement that she decided to wake the sleeping guy up. She wouldn't have, but as she squinted, her mind was struggling to name this person whom she recognised as a friend. She had to give him a sporting chance at this game, plus it didn't seem fair to try to kill a sleeping person.

Oh, I remember your name now!

She was crouching right over him now, and the umbrella was shielding his face from any raindrops. Belle reached out her pale hand, and shook him by the shoulder. She spoke to him in a whisper.

'Leo? Are you OK? Come on now! Time to get up!' She slapped his face lightly.

'AH!' Leo Davison (Boy #4) awoke very suddenly. His eyes were wide and darted around in fear and confusion. Perhaps he was checking his surroundings, wondering- and well he might- how on earth he had gotten into this position. The girl's face was only centimetres from his own, smiling kindly- though he didn't register that. His immediate reaction was to jolt upright and leap backwards. Then in a moment of realisation he leapt directly at Belle, his left hand grasping her arm.

Fucking traitor! After I was warning him!

Getting over her shock, she managed to wriggle free of his grip and, although she wasn't totally aware of the danger, she could appreciate that if she wanted to continue playing then the time to act was now, else she'd be eliminated. With all her might, she thrust her umbrella in his face, which- either intentionally or not, was sliced by Leo's knife, causing a bursting noise. She'd missed hitting him completely, and through the thin slit, she could see Leo, holding his knife across his face with his right hand, grunting. Belle only succeeding in retreating by a few paces and he was lumbering towards her.

Fleeing is my only option. I'll have to combat him later, damn it!

Belle turned to run, but she didn't even make it into the woods. The ground here was thick with mud, so much so that it resembled a bog. As she leapt over a log, her left foot skidded in a particularly filthy puddle, and inside her chest she felt the familiar fluttering that comes with surprise and anticipation.

Belle's entire body was flung into the mud; only parts of her back and trousers remained uncoated in a deep, murky sludge. The umbrella had flown out of her hand when she had, unsuccessfully, tried to use both arms to prevent her falling completely. It was in that instant; when her hand had dashed against a rock that she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her palm. She used her left hand to prop herself up and shake the excess mud out of her face, as she turned her right hand over. Sure enough, amid the mud, there were a few grey pebbles embedded in her hand. The blood oozing out was warming up her fingers, but she didn't care about that.

Pain…this hurts but…why?

Belle never realised where she was, and that was indeed a blessing. She had escaped much of the anguish and grief that would come to torment her classmates. In a way, she had defied the producers of Survivor, who thrived on these feelings.

If she had ever known that she was actually about to end her life right here, there was probably nothing she could have done to prevent it anyway. Now, her thoughts returned to her opponent, who she had quite forgotten about in her moment of bewilderment.

Belle craned her head to look at Leo, but she only got to about 30 degrees. At that moment, the area between her shoulder blades began to burn.

Belle automatically arched her back, subconsciously trying to contain the agony that caused tears to spring into her eyes.

Her scream was caught in her throat as she tried to eat the pain, and only a slight croak actually escaped her mouth. Perhaps her lung had been punctured. Her elbows gave way, and she slid into the mud once again.

Just as she did, from behind her, Leo yanked the bloody knife out of Belle's back, as if it was Excalibur. Panting heavily for a moment, he then plunged the knife in a second time.

The darkness came before her eyes, but those two famously hated words did not, as she had previously assumed that they would.

Game Over.

11:27: Surviving Contestants: 33