00:01 AM Day 1
"I now will proceed to call out your names," Mr. Samuels had finally lowered his pistol but his voice was still harsh and gruff, "I will repeat your name once. If you do not respond to me after being addressed these two times, Sanderson and Adair," he motioned to the two particularly smug looking guards, "will have to educate you about the penalties a person must suffer for cowardice."
Ben had not yet looked away from the cadaverous Nate. He felt the sublimely horrible sense of loss and emptiness spreading across his exhausted body, he knew there was no escaping the reality that death had torn them apart and that there were no earthly means to reunite them again. This melancholia perpetuated as he watched the colour drain from Nate's corpse as the rigor mortis set in, his formerly vivacious and cocky visage now a pallid shell of what it once was.
"The order in which you leave will be random rather than alphabetical. You'll leave at one minute intervals between each other through the entrance to this classroom," he pointed to the doorframe and gave a malicious smile, "upon leaving the classroom you'll find yourself in a corridor. The left side is lined with soldiers, all of whom are remarkably proficient with their weapons, whilst at the end of the corridor on the right hand side there are several racks of duffel bags."
Apart from Ben, the whole class was attentive to Mr. Samuels's instructions as they came to the grim realisations that escape was impossible. Their hope petered away and many of them resigned themselves to obeying the rules of the game, seeing no other viable alternative.
"The soldier at the end of the corridor will hand you an indiscriminately selected bag and you will exit the building, your collar now activated. If you loiter within the corridor or attempt to take more than one bag or indeed bags other than the one you are given," Mr. Samuels's smile widened and clapped his hands together "you will be shot."
Mr. Samuels gazed at the students, all of whom were awash with dread, and thought about which of them stood the best chance of triumphing over the others whilst who amongst them were dead weight with a pitiful chance of survival. Within a matter of seconds he had decided upon which kid he'd be placing his money on.
"Within your bag you will find some bottled water – and Frankie before you ask, it isn't Evian – bread, a map with a pen for marking down danger zones, a flashlight and a digital watch (I doubt any of you will have noticed, but those of you who were wearing watches will discover that they have been confiscated). However the item that will be of most use to you is the weapon you receive. There are three classes of weaponry, class one is firearms (i.e. pistols), class two is melee weapons (i.e. daggers) and class three is..." he paused, ensuring he had everyone's (including Ben's) attention "well class three isn't a weapon per se, but it will be of use to you."
"Of the 32 of you – oh my apologies, I meant the 31of you," Mr. Samuels shot a particularly cruel smirk in Ben's direction, "30 of the 31 of you will receive a weapon in one of the three stated categories, some will be luckier than others but nobody will receive anything that is absolutely useless. Except that one unlucky person who will find – well let's just say that he or she is going to receive something that will most certainly be a surprise, and not necessarily a pleasant one."
27 of the 31 remaining students inwardly groaned; convinced they were to be the one saddled with the dud weapon that would immediately render them the most vulnerable prey for those who had been blessed with a better arsenal of armaments.
"Well it is now 8 minutes past midnight, so I'd best get started with sending you off to slay each other. Before that, three quick concluding thoughts– firstly, the HQ (i.e. where you are now) will be a permanent danger zone for the duration of the game. Secondly if you wish to view the rules of the game, you'll find them listed on the back of your map and finally you may take your school backpacks with you if you so wish. Ok now the time for chit-chat is over so I'll leave you with one last piece of advice before you depart: it's everyman for himself and God against all – so don't trust anyone!"
Mr. Samuels picked up a clipboard from his desk, took out a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles from his shirt's front pocket and began to read out the names he saw before him.
"Boy #1: Tian Berkley."
For most, the prospect of being the first to leave would have been daunting, but not for the tenacious Tian. He rose to his feet and picked up his backpack, brushed aside a straggly wisp of his shoulder length black hair from his face and strutted towards the corridor. Mr. Samuels put his hand out to block him.
"When your name is called, the correct thing to do is to answer with an acknowledgement of your presence," he coldly informed him.
Tian was by all standards an intimidating individual. Tall and well built, with his face usually contorted into a leer, he didn't have a habit of adhering to rules or authority. He was larger than Mr. Samuels, and Simon wondered whether it was only because he was flanked by two well equipped mercenaries that Mr. Samuels was able to look Tian straight in the eye without shaking with fright.
"Ja mein Fuhrer!" Tian yelled, performing a mock Nazi salute, clearly disdainful of Mr. Samuels as he pushed past him.
As Tian walked down the corridor, paying no regard to the grimacing soldiers, Mr. Samuels called after him:
"I expected better from you!"
"So sue me!" Tian retorted. He snatched his bag from the soldier and ran off into the night.
Mr. Samuels chuckled, shook his head and turned to the students. "Be wary of him," he warned, "you probably noticed but it looks like he's something of a fighter."
Tian settled himself within the bushes. The exit of the HQ led out onto a large semi-circle of gravel, but beyond that there was only the dense and threatening forest (the only visible pathway was on the left of the HQ exit and led off to the West side of the island).
The predatory survival of the fittest that constituted Battle Royale did not dishearten Tian, quite the contrary; it made him feel infinitely stronger. School was the animal kingdom of backstabbing and bickering teenagers, all trying to assert their dominance over the other and desperately trying to endure the never ending purgatory of adolescence without suffering too many wounds. If Tian could beat out the competition in school (with his fists rather than his brain – even though his mental power was remarkable considering his thug status), he could do it here. However he needed assistance (at least for now); those who hunted in packs were able to pick off their victims with greater rapidity and ease, both in the world of carnivores and the infrastructure of a school's social hierarchy.
After retrieving his flashlight from his bag he began to grope around for his assigned weapon. Eventually he drew out a large metal case (ever the cynic, Tian guessed it was most likely contained a golf club), within a matter of seconds he'd prised it open and once Tian had uncovered its contents he could only beam with delight (and continued to do so until he heard a noise and realised that the next student had now been let loose onto the island).
"Girl #1: Tulista Patel."
Tulista looked frantically at her twin, unsure of how to act but clinging to the vague hope that her sister might have managed to conceive of a method to disentangle themselves from the mess they now found themselves in.
"Tulista Patel start fucking moving unless you want to end up like Nate."
"Krisha what..." Tulista began to say to her beloved twin.
"Go!" Krisha hissed in response.
"I'm here." said Tulista in a quavering voice.
"That's lovely to know dear, but I don't want you here I want you out there, preferably engaging in an act of barbaric violence against one of your classmates. Now move!"
Tulista picked up her bag, hastily kissed her sister goodbye and ran out into the corridor. Krisha breathed deeply, trying to retain her composure as she began to brood over whether she would ever see her sister alive again. The two made little effort to be physically distinctive from one another, apart from Krisha opting to wear her long dark hair in a plait whilst Tulista let it fall down over her shoulders. Krisha (along with her sister) were of Indian descent, and had lived a comfortable life in the middle class suburbs of London since the age of three under the strict tutelage of their aunt and uncle (their parents still resided in India). Each possessed smooth brown skin, penetrating auburn eyes and a sensuous mouth, however whilst many of the girls at Bray Wood used their looks as a form of barter to attain power, the Patel siblings could lay claim to be being truly unsullied when it came to matters of romance (let alone intercourse). The daughters' of doggedly conservative Indian parents had already had each of them betrothed to marry two respectable Indian gentlemen once they reached the age of eighteen (though mercifully the two said men were of the same age as the Patel sisters).
Krisha hadn't been too upset about this; the boy she was set to marry seemed perfectly nice (and not all that bad looking either) and as she'd been brought up to expect an arranged marriage since the tender age of five she'd never had much opportunity to cultivate any different aspirations. Tulista was less enthused by the prospect of marrying a man she hardly knew (partly because her chosen husband was extremely boring) but neither of them had any yearning to go against the wishes of their loving family. Unsurprisingly they were viewed with distrust at Bray Wood – a school where sex was readily available (though always done secretly) and an annual (though unofficial) competition took place amongst the girls to see which of them could wear the most revealing outfit to the end of term disco (needless to say Frankie had won it three years running, despite the Herculean efforts of Nicole Colville to become the new title holder) – and hence had never been able to branch out socially. Krisha therefore knew that other than her twin she had no one else she could truly rely upon and it was consequently imperative that she found her sister as quickly as possible.
Unless Tian found her first.
Krisha shuddered at the thought and tried to block it from her mind.
Tulista wandered out into the open, relishing the freshness of the chilly air and the misplaced sense of freedom she now felt. She sighed. It was time to make a decision, something she felt extremely ill-equipped to do. All her life her family had dictated to her how she should dress, how she should behave and what she should say, but now there was no one other than herself to make the choices and it discomforted her immensely.
Suddenly there was the sound of foliage being crunched under foot. Tulista had always been an avid and talented tennis player and had the reflexes to prove it. She turned towards the source of the noise a fraction of a second after the disturbance reached her ears. Obviously it was Tian Berkley. Tulista did a brief assessment of Tian's personality; the results were not encouraging. Several months previously he'd spread lewd rumours around the school about an erotic liaison between himself and the twins (which they had of course vehemently denied). As is usually the case when rumours are spread about those who are not within an influential clique, the gossip circulated quickly and whilst nobody believed it to be at all factual (Tian was so repulsively ugly with his greasy black mop of hair and squashed face, that it was impossible to believe that girls as gorgeous as the twins could even look at him without feeing queasy), many of their female classmates nonetheless exploited the rumour to it's absolute maximum out of petty jealousy and spitefulness.
There was a click. Did he have a gun? Tulista wasn't willing to find out by standing there like a sitting duck and she immediately dashed into the forest. She could but pray that she'd be able to catch up with Krisha later.
"Boy #2: Fei Yan."
Fei got up quickly and with a moderate amount of self-assurance, though moments later he nearly tripped over as reached down for his oversized bag. He was fairly short and skinny, with buck teeth and an overall appearance that screamed 'NERD ALERT!' After getting his kit he hurriedly left the building; already sure of what he was going to do and how he was going to do it.
"Girl #2: Arabella Weir"
If you looked at Arabella in passing, you would not have thought she was the kind of person who made much of an impression on others. You wouldn't be far wrong. Once described (by Liz – it was always Liz and Frankie who coined the other girl's nicknames) as an 'elongated twig with about as much charisma as a mutilated slug', she was so mousy and insecure that people were prone to bumping into her simply because they were not aware of her presence. She had the chameleonic ability to blend in with her surroundings because of the perception that she was so bland and uninteresting there was no point in even looking at her (predictably it was Frankie and Liz who propagated this dislike of her).
Her short ginger hair was also a source of scorn amongst her peers (when they could be bothered to notice her), not least because it was soon discovered (by Frankie of course) that the unattractive bangs of hair that fell across her forehead were there to hide the onset of a particularly nasty and virulent spate of acne. But Arabella was also a rebel (albeit a minor one); she had always abhorred playing sport and was proving remarkably adept at getting out of it. She had a plethora of excuses she could use (the most common one being to do with her menstrual cycle) and had not yet failed in absenting herself from hockey whilst evading trouble with the teachers simultaneously. Why should Battle Royale be any different in that respect? If she was injured before the game commenced it would be inappropriate for her to participate and they'd have to give her medical treatment (though they'd probably put her name down for the next Battle). But during the time period between the two 'games' there would be a window of opportunity to escape. She had to chance it – she could not and would not act in this theatre of humiliation.
As she ran down the corridor, the pale blue light seeping through the barred windows and casting shadows across the dimly lit corridor, she threw her rucksack from her arms and tumbled gracefully to the ground letting out a dignified cry of pain as she did so.
"I've hurt my ankle! I think it's broken, it hurts so fucking much! I can't move it! Please take me to a doctor!"
"Arabella if you don't get off the floor in five seconds I will have to have you terminated. I don't give a shit whether every bone in your body has spontaneously snapped; you will get up on your feet this instance or be killed for being a pathetic liar and a gutless coward." Mr. Samuels's replied, clearly unconvinced.
"I'm NOT FAKING IT!" Arabella screamed with all her might, but even as she spoke the two soldiers nearest to her raised their AK 47s, their fingers only millimetres away from the triggers.
"Five." Mr. Samuels began.
"Please! Don't do this!" wept Arabella.
"Four." Mr. Samuels continued, removing an apple from one of his pockets.
"Stop it! Stop it please!"
"Three." He nonchalantly began to juggle the apple between his hands
"Please don't, I haven't done anything!" Arabella pleaded, still deluding herself that he would see reason if she persisted.
"Two." His voice grew more bored, he was more preoccupied with examining the apple – checking to see if there were any flaws in its quality.
"No!"
"Shut her up." Mr. Samuels instructed the guard nearest the classroom's entrance to the corridor. He took a large bite of the juicy apple and groaned appreciatively "Hmmm, delicious."
Cassandra Douglas winced as the echo of three bursts of gunfire resonated around the classroom whilst Arabella let out one final high pitched scream. David Colville gently put his arms around Cassandra as the tears began to stream profusely down her beautiful face.
"What's the condition of her corpse?" asked Mr. Samuels disinterestedly.
Two soldiers stood over her, plumes of smoke elegantly uncurling from their AK 47s' gun barrels.
"Swiss cheese." One answered.
Mr. Samuels took another (even larger and more ferocious) bite of his apple and walked into the corridor, keen to admire the handiwork of the soldiers. Arabella's chest was riddled with a mass of bullets, her white blouse now bathed in the red of her blood. Two of the guards approached her carcass; one lifted her shoulders whilst the other grabbed her feet.
"No leave her there." Mr. Samuels snapped, raising his voice for the first time. The guards looked at him disbelievingly, but he offered them no explanations. He returned to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair, continuing to munch away at his apple whilst he rhythmically tapped his foot. Eventually he stood up again (apple no longer in hand) and spoke once more with the quiet menace he had perfected long ago:
"Her corpse will serve as a deterrent to any other person thinking of pulling that kind of stupid stunt," he picked up the clipboard from his desk and continued, "next up is Boy# 3: Edward Devereux – looks like you're the first in line to see what's left of boneheaded Bella."
Edward slowly stood up and walked guardedly towards the classroom exit. His eyes were bulging from their sockets and his bottom lip was trembling with terror. Just as he reached the corridor entrance he shrieked as he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He turned around to see (for the second time) David Colville, though this time his expression was one of empathy rather than irritation.
"You forgot your bag." He said softly, handing the rather ragged backpack over to the momentarily relived Edward.
"Thanks." Edward wasn't used to receiving consideration from his contemporaries and was touched by this gesture of benevolence from David.
"Good luck." Whispered David, forcing a smile as he turned away to go back to the silently sniffling Cassandra.
Edward slowly trekked down the corridor, looking at the ceiling in order to avoid the sight of Arabella's maimed body. He only caught a brief glimpse of her cadaver once, when he glanced down quickly to see the state of her remains out of morbid curiosity. Having reached the end of the corridor he took his bag and ran (though not very quickly – he was undoubtedly on the wrong side of chubby) outside, deciding the pathway to the west of the island would be the best route option.
"Girl #3: Sue Cathcart."
At Bray Wood, sandwiched between the heaven of popularity and the hell of self-esteem inadequacy there lies social limbo. Those who exist in it are either on the cusp of popularity or simply just in the mid-range area of the social spectrum. Sue Cathcart was one such person, though with her expertly applied cherry lip gloss and well groomed blonde hair, it was apparent to all that she intended to reach much greater heights on the reputation ladder. After receiving her bag she concluded it would be best to wait in the bushes for her friends in order to gain safety in numbers. Without a moments hesitation she hurried into the undergrowth, and after scouring within her bag for her weapon, withdrew an Uzi 9mm. She may have been stuck in the middle socially, but she was easily at the top in the realms of firearms.
"Boy #4: Daniel Swane."
It came as no surprise to anyone (least of all Daniel himself), that the ever-confident Daniel swaggered out of HQ with characteristic poise and assurance. However he wasn't one to linger outside and he promptly exited the area by the western pathway.
"Girl #4: Daisy Donahue."
With her short (almost boyish) black hair and freckles Daisy had a certain intangible cuteness (the fact that she had a good body shape was a plus too). But her usual energetic zest had been substituted for outright alarm. She mouthed "See you outside" to Sylvie Becker (who gave her the thumbs up in return) and jogged out into the corridor (trying not to look at Arabella on the way) to collect her bag.
"Boy #5: Simon Holcombe."
Ben looked imploringly at Simon. Within the space of a few micro-seconds, each had evaluated the other's likelihood of continued existence. Simon (unlike Nate, Ben and Martyn) was a sports-playing enthusiast and had the well defined body to match. With angular features, hawk like eyes and a sharp jaw line, he was physically able and made little secret of his competitive nature. He wasn't born a fighter, but he definitely had the skills to be converted into one.
Simon's prognosis of Ben's chance of survival was less reassuring. Simon had never doubted the basis for Nate's infatuation with Ben – he was certainly attractive – but he questioned whether Ben had the willpower to tough it out in a game like this. Though tall and slender, with hypnotically blue eyes and a smile that was kind but unforced, he was not a pretty boy by any stretch. Indeed Nate had always asserted (accurately) that he was 'idiosyncratically handsome'. Simon knew that Ben would most likely perish without his help (particularly in view of the fact that he was probably now traumatised irreparably by Nate's death) and was unwavering in his intentions to protect him (not because they're bond of friendship was especially strong – but it was what Nate would have wanted).
"Boy #5: Simon Holcombe, last call."
Simon got up, clapped his hand on Ben's shoulder as a mark of solidarity, and then ran to the corridor. There was the tedium of a one minute wait before the next name was called.
"Girl #5: Joanna Simpson."
Simon paced back and forth restlessly on the outskirts of the semi-circle, on tenterhooks as to whether Ben would be released shortly or if he was in for a long (and potentially perilous) wait.
But the figure that emerged from the HQ exit was not that of Ben, but that of Ben's American cousin: Girl #5, Joanna Simpson. She'd tied her long black hair into a pony tail with a rubber band and was sprinting determinedly towards Simon. She seized his left hand and dragged him with her into the forest.
"What the fuck were you doing?" she hissed, still running at a breakneck speed with Simon only just managing to keep up with her.
"I might ask you the same question!" Simon tartly answered. He abruptly stopped in his tracks; Joanna also halted and turned to face him, an expression of incredulity adorning her face.
"Are you retarded or something?" She asked. Her voice was an interesting hybrid of an American accent and British pronunciation, "You were out in the open, in the light and in range of Sue Cathcart, who (in case you didn't realise) happens to have a fucking Uzi!"
"I was waiting for Ben, nothing wrong with that is there?"
"There is when it means that not only does he end up as dead meat, but you do too!" she paused and then continued, "Look I hope Ben gets out OK too – he is my cousin remember – but we can't afford to wait around, we'll just have to try and locate him later."
"Do you know where we're going and what we're going to do?" Simon queried cautiously.
"'Course I do. I know everything, remember?" She playfully answered, with just the slightest of smiles, "But considering there are three cameras and approximately 47 million people watching us right now, here really isn't the place to kiss and tell. So come on, let's book."
She grabbed his arm and they started to run again. Though Joanna was tanned and lean she was not an especially athletic girl, but the rush of adrenaline that was surging through her wiry body was propelling her forward. She had it all mapped out, she knew exactly what to do because she'd had better preparation for this than any of the others and ....
A figure leapt from behind a bush. Joanna raised her balled fist to strike. Tulista Patel (Girl #1) fell backwards her hands raised in front of her to shield herself from the blow.
"Tulista is that you?" Joanna breathed a sigh of relief. Tulista lowered her arms and looked up; her cheeks were streaked with tears and smudged mascara but she too was calmed by the discovery of who her supposed attackers really were.
"I've been so frightened, I...I..." She trailed off, her eyes beginning to water again.
Joanna offered her hand.
"Come with us." She said caringly "we won't hurt you I promise and I've already got an idea...."
But she didn't have to continue. Tulista had grabbed her hand and moments later the trio were rushing towards the Northern quarter of the island, Joanna at the centre of the three, holding other twos' hands to ensure they kept up with her speedy pace.
Within HQ the fear amongst the students had subsided to an extent, now replaced by a sour cocktail of boredom and apprehension. The plump and (previously) cheerful Anthony Stapleton (Boy #6) had departed, followed by Liz Dunn (Girl #6) who'd brazenly sashayed out of the classroom with typical brio. Jeremy Callaghan (Boy #7) had made a half-hearted attempt at simulating an indifferent attitude (it had failed dismally due to his obvious quivering) whilst Nicole Colville (Girl #7), always wanting to have the last word, had declared upon reaching the end of the corridor "You're all sick, disgusting fuckwits – you do know that don't you?"
Mr. Samuels seemed positively bored rigid by the endless role call, his voice droning on, completely apathetic to the gravity of the situation.
"Boy #8: Ben Ackart."
Ben took one final look at Nate with his luminous blue eyes. Regardless of whether he survived the game or not, he was aware that this would in all probability be his one opportunity to say goodbye. He furtively kissed Nate's forehead (Fergal Mills cringed – but everybody else was none the wiser) and promptly grabbed his rucksack and got to his feet.
"Hurry up Benny." Mr. Samuels's voice had resumed its revoltingly jovial manner. Ben rolled his eyes and crossed the threshold towards the corridor. But once Ben had got to the door frame that led on into the corridor, Mr. Samuels spoke again:
"There's an abundance of other boys to kiss (all of whom are still alive) and there's a sizeable amount of time to do so too – so there's no need to feel dejected really."
Mr. Samuels reeled and cried out as a large (and impressively aimed) globule of spit struck him squarely in his left eye. It took a moment for him to do away with the gooey compound of phlegm and saliva, by which time Ben (never one to face the repercussions his actions wrought) had fled the building. Sanderson and Adair were bent double with mirth. Mr. Samuels snarled; he wouldn't have had Ben killed (he was in deep enough shit already for the deaths of Nate and Arabella and had no desire to aggravate the administrative bureaucrats even further), maybe just broken his legs or something that rendered him completely ineffectual.
"Girl #8: Cassandra Douglas – get out of the building in 30 seconds or I will personally bisect you and force your boyfriend to consume your fallopian tubes!"
There were many thoughts that should have flooded Ben's mind as he ran from the HQ. Memories of past times spent with Nate, tactics for the game he could not avoid playing and suspicions that his collar might be detonated in retaliation for his act of insubordination, should have all enveloped his psyche. Instead all he saw was darkness as he stumbled forward, whilst the opening lyrics of Jefferson Airplane's 'Somebody to Love' repeated themselves over and over again inside his head.
When the truth is found to be lies, and all the joy within you dies!
Ben lurched nearer towards the forest.
Don't you want somebody to love?
A thunderous bang emanated from the bushes on Ben's left.
Don't you need somebody to love?
Ben sensed a searing pain in his left shoulder, like a razor being slashed against bare skin, in a panic he started to scamper away.
Wouldn't you love somebody to love?
Another shot was fired and Ben began to move faster through the dense shrubbery of the forest; his vision now blurred as he felt the warm trickle of blood ooze from his throbbing shoulder.
You'd better find somebody to love!
His foot caught on a bramble and he plunged forward. His face collided with a rock as hit the ground, but he was too exhausted to screech in pain. He looked up groggily; though his sight was distorted he saw the figure of a boy similar in appearance to himself standing before him. The boy waved and gave an erudite smile. Ben blacked out.
Tian Berkley (Boy #1) lowered his SPAS 12 pump action Shotgun. To describe his marksmanship as appalling would have been an understatement; having read the comprehensive manual that detailed the proper technique with which to use the shotgun, he had spied Ben coming into sight. Keen to have a little target practice, Tian had automatically taken aim at his disorientated schoolmate. By all accounts, Ben should have been an easy kill– he was swaying from side to side as though inebriated – but Tian discovered that he was severely in need of firearms training, as he had not yet adapted to the Shotgun's vicious recoil. The first shot had grazed Ben's shoulder whilst the second had missed entirely – Tian was left shamefaced by the whole ordeal. Tian started to muse over whether he should pursue Ben into the forest and finish him off, but then Fergal Mills (Boy #9) trudged out onto the gravel.
"Over 'ere mate!" Tian shouted in his deep, booming voice.
Laura Parsons (Girl #9) sullenly left the classroom. It was rare that she was anything other than dour in conduct however, so this was not much of a shift in personality.
Mr. Samuels was still seething from the incident with Ben Ackart (he'd been downright embittered upon ascertaining that the shotgun wounds had not killed his new teenage nemesis), and the remaining pupils knew better than to squabble with him and exited as swiftly and as peacefully as they could.
Diego Paredes (Boy #10) wondered what madness had bound his parents to move from the safe (though economically destitute) Spain to the hazardous Britain as he left the HQ (he too chose the pathway rather than the forest).
Jewel Siu Tung (Girl #10) and Jun Ishibashi (Girl # 12) had both lived in Japan at the time the government initiated its 'purges' of the youth (via the BR act) and were thus arguably better equipped to deal with the emotional strain than the others, having lived in a climate of paranoia and fear. However though the girls had much in common they differed in two respects; firstly their goals within the game. Jun was certain of what to do whilst Jewel was indecisive. Secondly they both selected different routes after leaving the building; Jun (always a keen adventurer) chose the rugged mystery of the forest whilst Jewel decided upon the relative 'safety' of the path.
Christopher Wendell (Boy #11) and Anne Priestly (Girl #11) had low-key departures, much like Clara Beauchamp (Girl #13) and Saul Emerson (Boy #13) who left with an equal paucity of fanfare.
David Colville (Boy #12) by contrast was considerably more motivated; he knew that he needed to save from harm the two most important girls in his life (his sister and girlfriend), though was unsure of what extremes he would go to in order for this to be achieved.
Phil Argyle (Boy #15) and Sylvie Becker (Girl #15) were both anxious when they left headquarters to be reunited with their respective cliques; they never had been comfortable with the notion of individualism.
However it was Frankie Almond Smith (Girl #14) and Brendan Gilchrist (Boy #14), who provided the post-Ackart fireworks. Brendan (in a vague emulation of Ben) spat at the feet of the soldier who handed him his pack – receiving a kick in the shins as retribution – whilst Frankie gave Sanderson the middle finger following his overt ogling of her body (before blowing her a kiss for good measure), she was luckier in that there were no reprisals for her deeds.
Finally, after a long yawn, Mr. Samuels read off the last name.
"Technically Nate Benedict should be Boy #16, but in view of the fact that he is no longer with us, it had better be dearest Krisha Patel (AKA Girl #16) who goes."
The doors slid shut behind Krisha with a muted thud. She looked around. The area was now completely deserted; the other pupils having joined with their friends or gone at it alone.
There was no need to start running yet. She opened her bag and carefully removed the metallic silver case containing her weapon. A 9mm machine gun, though unlucky in number she was definitely not lacking in firepower. She held the gun tightly in her hands as she began to traverse the path that led westwards.
She'd always been a person of morals and values, but here the rules she had been taught to pay so much respect to had been obliterated and thus she was willing to make exceptions to her own ethical code. If anyone tried to hurt her, she'd kill them and if any person was successful in injuring her sister, she'd make sure their death was agonising.
30 Students Remain.