Eighteenth Hour – 34 Students Remaining
The former mess hall, which now acted as the control centre of Battle Royale, was once again a flurry of activity as the next announcement was due to be made. The majority of this was centred on the board that had been set up at the front of the room some hours ago as part of the betting pool that had been formed, the purpose of which was to alleviate the boredom or watching still scenery with the occasional animal or perhaps a student walking past. There had been several changes made in the past six hours; names needed to be crossed off, odds changed as less and less people occupied the island and weapons changed hands.
One of the technicians looked up from his computer screen, which was currently showing a particularly boring piece of empty forest, and saw a few people milling around in front of the board discussing who to place their bets on. He noticed one of the crossed off names in particular, Adrian written in block capitals and then crossed out in red ink, and smiled. Quite a few people had lost money in that particular fight, when Gerald managed to kill Adrian. The football player was by no means a favourite, not compared to some students with more violent tendencies, but his physical abilities made him a contender at least.
He could still remember the scene from a few hours ago. A large group had gathered around one of the computer screens, all work forgotten as they watched the fight unfold from the perspective of the camera positioned outside the first floor window of the lighthouse. The cheering and groans of disappointment filled the room as Gerald was finally able to overpower the other student and finish him off. The ones whom had bet on the jock slinking away, while several people went to go and place money on his killer. Now that he finally had a weapon capable of killing, more and more people had been placing bets on the student with the criminal record.
Gerald was not the only one to find a sudden rise in popularity in the last six hours, either. The foreign exchange student, Gabrielle, had gained a few fans since making her first kill of the game. The powerful gun in her possession and the fact she was not afraid to use it made her something of a potential dark horse contestant. Cassandra Evans, a.k.a. G21, was another such student. Her near effortless beating of former favourite Steven made her quite popular as well, the only flaw holding her back seeming to be her lack of a real weapon and no willingness to kill.
"Hmph, guess it just goes to show that you can't really predict how something like this will turn out. There's always something unexpected that could happen that will change everything- anything at all."
"How do you mean?" the technician whirled around in his seat to see none other than Barret standing directly behind him, staring at the board in the same manner he had been. Seeing the man behind the Battle Royale operation in person was not something that happened often, unless it was time for an announcement to be given. Barret could have left that to someone else, but he liked to give things a "personal touch" as he put it. It must have been closer to that time than he realized.
"Nothing sir, just thinking out loud."
"No, I want to hear this."
Releasing a nervous sigh, the technician came to the conclusion he would not get out of this easily. Their boss was stubborn and it was usually in the best interests of everyone in the room to do as he said. "I just meant that the situation on the island can change so suddenly that it's nearly impossible to predict a winner at this stage. I doubt we'll be able to even when we are down to the last two students."
"Hah, that's half the fun, isn't it?" Despite the lack of contact between his superior and the rest of the technicians, there was one thing they all knew about him: he loved his job. Everyone in the control room had a reason for being there, whether they agreed with what the game stood for, needed the money or were just plain forced into it. Barret was one of the few who drew satisfaction from it. He believed what they were doing was for a good cause, of course, but there was no doubting the reason he did this was because he enjoyed seeing these kids kill each other, to mess with their heads every six hours and drive them to even greater lengths to survive. "Don't you agree?" And that was one of the things that made the man so scary to helpless desk jockeys like him.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious as to who's going to win this, but, I don't know. Doesn't that level of unpredictability worry you? What's to stop all these kids deciding they'd rather die together than kill each other and just have one big sit in while they wait out the clock? What's to stop the winner killing themselves, or shooting at our troops as we go to pick them up? What's to stop them from finding some gap in our security we didn't predict and escaping?"
There was a tense moment of silence after the technician finished speaking where Barret simply stared at him and for a second he worried he might have gone too far. After a couple more seconds Barret released a small chuckle and the technician felt able to breathe again. "Those are valid concerns and I'm glad you brought them up, but I think you might be overestimating those kids quite a bit. Would they band together and try to ruin our game by dying together? Maybe a few would, but it only takes one to break such a plan. I don't see many of these kids having the guts to carry out such actions. Would the winner kill themselves or try to attack the retrieval team? I see that as even more likely than them going quietly, that's why we'll send out soldiers and not technicians. Either way, if we can get them to kill each other then we've already proved our point, whether we have a winner at the end to show of it is inconsequential. As for escape, maybe; maybe we've missed something or maybe the kids will do something crazy enough to break the systems we do have. I believe we have enough redundancies built up that we can stop them even if that does occur, and if it does then we know what to fix for the next time."
Barret looked up from the technician at something over his shoulder, presumably the wall clock behind him, and let out a sigh. "Well, it's been good talking to you, it's good to let people know that they can talk to me like this without having to deal with the consequences," his words were reassuring, but the smile was not. "But if you'll excuse me I need to go take care of the next announcement."
No one on the island jumped this time as the now expected feedback squeal burst forth from the speakers placed in seeming haphazard fashion around the island, one of the aging devices popping in protest. By now, several of the more well-adjusted students had taken to using this time to take a break and listen, reasoning, perhaps foolishly so, everyone else would be doing the same and they would be safe. As the feedback died down, the familiar yet unwelcome sound of Barret's distorted voice filled the air.
"It's that time once again children! We've had a very exciting six hours, not as many deaths as I would have liked but, alas, you can't have everything. We finally start to live up to our name here at the Battle Royale as we have our very first actual fights. Any potential killers out there be warned, seems like some of these kids are starting to grow some backbone.
"But that's not what we're here for, is it? I'm sure you're all as eager to find out who died as I am, so let's dive right in with no further preamble.
"Our first casualty of this time period was Lilly Gordon, a.k.a G20. Poor form to her killer here, shooting a small girl in the back. We know we should hardly complain about how you kill as long as you're killing, but at least show some class," a pause accompanied by the shuffling of papers and clearing of throats. "Oh, and one more thing. The cameras are everywhere, your friend might not have seen what you did to her, but we did.
"Moving on," the segue was so abrupt that some people were left wondering if that last part had even been said at all. "Next up was Andrea Wilson, a.k.a. G3. I really don't know what to say about this girl. She was promising, good set of useful skills, athletic, not a great starting weapon but I've seen people cause carnage with less. Then she went and decided to burrow into the forest somewhere and wait for things to blow over."
The sound of a dejected sigh filtered across the island and many of the people listening could picture the cause of all their problems pinching the bridge of his nose as he carried on. "I will say this once people, you cannot win this game by simply hiding away and waiting things out. I know there are probably a few of you thinking you can just sit back, wait for everyone to kill each other and then pop out of your little hole to kill the only other survivor.
"There's just one problem with that idea: they have all the weapons and you have nothing because you never fucking did anything. If you want to win, get out there, be proactive, or else you'll just end up like this girl and get killed by someone better armed."
Another habitual clearing of the throat to signal he was moving on and the announcement continued. "But I digress. The third and final death was of one Adrian Starr, a.k.a. B21. Heh, I have to say, a lot of people here were disappointed when this one bought it, a lot of money was riding on him to pull out a win. I wonder, if he hadn't hurt his leg would the fight have ended the same way? Maybe, maybe not. That's what I love about this game; you just never know how things are going to turn out. One random event, one tiny occurrence and the way things could play out are changed forever.
"That's ten people dead and the first day isn't even over yet. That's a good start children, but you'll have to pick up the pace if you want to live. There's still 33 left to kill and only 54 hours to do it in. Clock's ticking."
While most of the students on the island had stopped whatever they were doing to listen to the announcement and take a well-deserved rest, some, at least, had chosen to forgo this. He ducked, barely avoiding decapitation as the axe head cut through the air above him to imbed itself in the surface of a heavy, wooden door as the teen scurried away from his attacker. Barret's voice continued to issue forth unabated from the speakers placed on the building around the two boys, going completely unnoticed by either and providing nothing more than background noise to the fight which had been occurring for several minutes now.
The larger boy tightly gripped the long handle of his weapon and braced one foot against the door as he put his full weight on the stuck object, managing to dislodge it before turning to face his target. Said boy promptly smacked him across the face with the wooden edge of his own weapon, the lightweight nunchucku bouncing back from the impact but leaving a distinct, red welt across the other boys cheek.
Stewart Rice, a.k.a. B15, flinched back from the hit, the easily recognizable taste of blood hitting his tongue as he glared back at the other student. He bared his teeth and all but growled at the boy as he quickly moved forward, bringing the bright red fire axe up over his head and rapidly returning with a powerful downward swing, nearly pitching forward from the effort. The other boy, a.k.a. Eric Reynolds, a.k.a. B6, executed a clumsy dodge and managed to get out of the path of the blade just in time to avoid bifurcation.
Eric regained his footing and quickly ran from the larger teen as he recovered from his swing. Eric's own weapon, nothing more than two lengths of polished and painted wood connected to each other by a length of chain, was held limply in one hand as he idly twirled one end around on the chain. He had discovered early on that he found it easier to quickly react to a threat if the weapon was already in motion before he started the swing. He demonstrated this by smacking aside the axe head as Stewart tried again to hit him, sending the heavier weapon wide and opposite from his body as he again hurried away from his determined attacker.
He glanced behind him, a quick look over his shoulder to make certain he did not accidentally back into something or trap himself in a dead end. There was not much risk of that, the area they were fighting in was fairly open and uncluttered, but it was still boxed in on several sides so it was better to be careful. They were at the docks, on a flat piece of land between two buildings on the outskirts to be precise. The sea was not visible from where they stood, but it was close enough that they could hear the crash of waves and breathe the sea water-scented air.
Eric had been hiding away in one of these buildings since around the second announcement, seeing no reason to move when he was so far up the island and most likely away from the "action," as it were. Then, of course that psycho with the axe had to show up and try to kill him. The teen had been caught outside when the larger boy had arrived and had only just managed to make it through the door and barricade it when Stewart finally caught up to him, immediately going to work on breaking the door down, putting his fireman's axe to its intended use. Luckily, even the aged, sea air worn door was strong enough to stand up to the punishment and soon the banging ceased. Eric had waited a further twenty minutes after that before foolishly deciding to check if the coast was clear, only to find the axe-wielding teen had only been waiting for him to make such a mistake and immediately began attacking him again. Eric had been forced to stay outside since then, not willing to risk running straight for the door again lest the other student catch him before he managed to close it behind him and took him out. Instead, he was required to dance around like an idiot in a situation where mistiming a step meant losing one or more body parts.
Fortunately, as it was, Stewart had yet to even touch a hair on the other boy with the axe. The teen seemed to have no real skill with the weapon, obviously not having ever had the chance to gain some prior experience, and instead relied on the time-tested but ineffective berserker tactics of attack, attack, attack. He swung the weapon in wild arcs, which would then be easily dodged and the axe would carry the boy away from his target or imbed itself in some part of the scenery.
Never the less, Eric could not risk keeping this going for much longer, he knew he was likely to make a mistake long before the other boy gave up or tired himself out; it was only a matter of time. As it had been said before, though, escaping was easier said than done. Returning to one of the dock buildings was out of the question. Stewart had proven already he was willing to wait Eric out for the chance to kill him. Similarly, he could not just make a run for it. Eric was not exactly the most athletic of people and Stewart was undoubtedly in better shape than he was; as such he did not really feel like putting is life on the line under the assumption he could outrun the other boy if need be. That, of course, left only the option of incapacitating him long enough to get away.… using what is essentially a stick, a broken and then tied back together stick, to knock out a guy with an axe. Great.
Eric barely managed to avoid another horizontal swing, bending backwards and sucking in his stomach as the axe head passed barely an inch away from splitting him open. It was becoming even more dangerous now that Eric was forcing himself to get closer to Stewart after every attack, attempting to get close enough to land a couple ineffective hits of his own before the axe returned for another try. Frankly, it was a miracle he was still in one piece by this point.
A flash of red in the corner of his vision signalled another passing of the axe head and he decided to take another chance and charge in, bringing the nunchucku back and preparing to swing it forward when he felt something very solid collide with his head with a dull thump. He staggered to the side, barely staying on his feet as the pain started at his temple and blossomed through his skull. Apparently, Stewart had managed to swing the axe back around after his miss and it was only by luck and Stewart's inexperience Eric had only been hit by the flat side of the axe head rather than the razor edge along the front of the axe or sharp tip on the back.
He turned to face his attacker just in time to be hit again, doubling over as the top of the axe head was thrust into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled back while clutching his stomach, all too aware of how vulnerable he was now he could not move as freely as before. Stewart took advantage of his crooked posture by twirling the axe handle in his hands to swing the head of the axe around and upwards to catch him under the chin, slamming Eric's teeth together and forcing him upright again. Still unbalanced, he stumbled back a few more steps and collided with a pile of stacked crates, sending a couple of them crashing to the ground and himself tripping over and landing heavily on his back, which did not help with his continuing effort to get air back into his lungs.
To his relief, Stewart did not immediately capitalize on the chance to finish him off, the boy having apparently caught on to the fact recklessly attacking was not getting him anywhere and had decided to slow down a little. Instead, the larger teen was slowly advancing on his fallen prey, presumably waiting to see if there was any threat of him suddenly getting back up again. Stewart soon found himself standing at Eric's feet, towering over the other boy as he continued to cough and lay there with a dribble of blood running down from his nose. He raised the axe confidently over his head and prepared to swing it down, and this was the sight that greeted Eric when he looked up to see Stewart standing above him. Lacking a more strategic option and relying mostly on gut reactions, Eric lifted one leg up kicked out as hard as he could at the other boys leg, his foot connecting solidly with the inside of his knee. The joint buckled from the impact and Stewart fell forward, the axe head hitting the ground next to Eric's head as his aim was thrown off, much to Eric's relief.
Not wasting any time, Eric reached up and, grabbing hold of the edge of one of the nearby crates for leverage, pulled himself back onto his feet. Quickly running away a few steps, he turned back around to see Stewart just starting to slowly pull himself up, obviously favoring the uninjured leg. Seeing this as the opportunity he had been looking for, Eric wasted no more time and fled the scene. Once out of the area of the dock buildings, he turned onto the main road, using the well-paved surface to get as much speed and distance over Stewart as he could before suddenly veering into the trees once he deemed himself far enough away that the other teen could not have seen which way he had gone.
He stopped a while later and walked over to rest his back against a nearby tree, sucking in deep breaths to recover from the exertion. It was lucky he was still wearing his pack when the fight had started and he had managed to hold onto his nunchucku when he fell, or else he might have left either of them behind when he ran. He wondered if perhaps he overdid it a little when he ran away, seeing as he now had no idea where he was and no longer had the energy to do anything more taxing than a slow walk.
"….no, when you're running away from a crazed, axe-wielding, former classmate, there's no such thing as running too far away."
Using the axe and a nearby crate for support, Stewart was able to push himself back to his feet without much trouble, though he still could not put much weight on his leg without summoning a load of pain. He had turned around just in time to see Eric disappearing around the corner of one of the buildings and immediately gave him up as a lost cause. He could not chase after him with his now much slower limping speed, nor did he particularly want to run after him through the trees just to kill him.
He limped over to the building with the axe mark in the door, using said axe as a cane, and entered. There was nothing all that remarkable about the building itself, most of the structures around the docks were small warehouses and storage buildings; closer to the water he would probably find a few dry docks and boats under repair. He walked over to a stack of crates in the corner of the room and sat down on one of them, dropping his pack to the floor and leaning his weapon against the side. No, no sense in chasing people around the island, not when he now had a recently abandoned dock building to set himself up in.
(Author's Note: Can't help but think those announcements are too wordy. Oh well, I guess Barret just has a tendency to ramble.
Anyway, as we reach the quarter point of this Battle Royale I feel it is as good time as any to get some feedback. I'm not sure how many people actually read this story but I want to ask everyone who does what they think of these characters so far. Which ones do you like, which ones do you dislike? Which ones need improving/developing? Who would you like to see live for a while longer and who do you want to see less of.
I'm not really used to writing such a heavily character driven story, so some feedback would help me to know what I'm doing right or wrong. I can't say that the answers will influence the story too much, but it might affect the plans I have already laid out. So, send me a review, tell me what you think so far)