Day 1 1:03 AM
In times of strife and discord, people often gravitate towards those who project self-belief and apathy to the weightiness of their current situation, hoping that these confident individuals will provide help and solace in a time of need.
Joanna Simpson (Girl #5) was one such person. In school, she fulfilled the unofficial role of surrogate mother to her numerous friends and even provided other classmates with comfort and support in their moments of self-doubt and fear. She was better prepared than anyone else for Battle Royale and knew it.
Tulista (Girl #1) and Simon (Boy #5) were now wheezing with fatigue, having run for over twenty minutes without interruption. Tulista was sure that she had cramp in her right knee and was in considerable pain, but whenever she had tried to broach the subject with Joanna she had been abruptly told to shut up.
Joanna knew they couldn't stop moving; those who hung around the HQ would be the first to bite the dust whilst those who ran off to the furthest ends of the island would be almost guaranteed a larger life-span. She'd analysed the map in the classroom, trying to distinguish which buildings would provide the best sanctuary, whilst which would be susceptible to an easy attack. The infirmary was out of the question; most of the students who decided to take shelter would elect the infirmary to be their lair because of the wealth of medical supplies it contained. Therefore a large number of pupils were likely to congregate there and a blood-bath would invariably ensue. Joanna wasn't willing to take unnecessary risks, because she - like everyone else in the game - valued her life above all else. The cottage was too weakly fortified to be used, and many of the other buildings suffered the same flaw or were too close in location to the HQ. However the apartment block at the northern peninsular was (in the immortal words of Goldilocks) 'just right'.
"I can't run much further, I think my legs are going to give way any minute!" moaned Tulista (for the ninth time during the journey).
"It's just another hundred yards or so – and keep your voice down, we don't want to draw any attention to ourselves!" whispered an increasingly irascible Joanna.
"No, I agree with Tulista. Joanna we can't keep this pace up and besides, at the speed we've been running it's hardly likely that anyone will have caught up with us." Simon countered; despite his athletic prowess on the soccer pitch he'd never been much of a long distance runner.
"Fine," said Joanna through gritted teeth, "we'll slow down,"
The apartment block was an unspectacular three-storey red brick house, surrounded by an imposing looking six-foot high metal fence. Joanna privately chastised herself for expecting the building to be of similar proportions to a vast American duplex. The three of them sheepishly approached the gate, each failing to hide their nervousness. There was a solitary key in the gate's well-oiled lock. Joanna gave (for the first time) a wide grin.
"Well at least they're sticking by the 'finder's, keeper's' policy." She said, receiving a pair of befuddled looks from Simon and Tulista as a result.
Seeing their confusion Joanna elaborated; "I'll explain when we get inside."
But she did not explain. At least not immediately; first there were other chores to be done. Though the fence would be hard to ascend, Joanna nonetheless insisted they barricade up the ground floor apartment's windows with wood as a precaution in case anybody somehow did. Regrettably they didn't have the tools to manage this properly though, so they simply had make do with pushing wooden cabinets against the windows and toppling bookcases against the front and back doors, in the hope that this would block an intruder from entering. Following their raid of the three apartments for food (only a limited quantity was found), they took their looted spoils to the flat on the topmost floor. They settled themselves on the moderately comfy armchairs in the sparsely furnished living room; Simon decided it was time to speak up, mild irritation detectable in his voice when he did so:
"Ok Joanna, care to tell us why we're here and what you intend to do?"
Joanna was sifting through the objects within her school rucksack; she appeared unperturbed by the question and didn't divert her attention away from the search.
"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies – just hang on a sec, this'll take me a moment." She answered crisply, finally finding the three items she had been hunting for: her pencil case, a packet of tissues and a pad of writing paper (Joanna had actually been expecting to do work on this Geography field trip – and was secretly rather looking forward to it).
She beckoned them to come and sit on the floor. Joanna put a finger to her lips, indicating that it was necessary for the mystified Tulista and Simon to be silent. She retrieved a fountain pen from her pencil case and began to write on the block of paper in her self-consciously stylish handwriting. Joanna pushed the sheet of paper towards her intrigued allies.
Firstly, you must do exactly what I say – got it?
Tulista nodded vigorously, Simon seemed less convinced though he too consented to her terms of agreement by giving a thumb up.
Ok then – now take a tissue
Mr. Samuels's eyes ran idly up and down the large screens of data that were erected on the otherwise bare walls of the HQ. Some of the rather tedious ones monitored the students' location and heart rate, but it was the display that recounted which of the students had the best odds to win (and which were the likeliest to be the next to go) that was generating the most interest amongst the troops. These results were based solely upon the (unexpectedly plentiful) bets placed by the British public, but already many of the soldiers were regarding the statistics as reliable testimony. In regards to who was already being touted as the most probable victor, it was definitely a 'girls on top' scenario. Joanna Simpson (Girl #5) was atop the list, closely followed by Krisha Patel (Girl #16) whilst Tian Berkley (Boy #1) came in at number three (though Adair reassured the others that once Tian had perfected his shooting skills, he'd blow the competition away with ease – quite literally). Of the 'who will be next to go' list, only Ben Ackart (Boy #8) had drawn any substantial votes (much to be Mr. Samuels gratification), though Clara Beauchamp's (Girl #13) fortunes were also not reckoned to be good.
Mr. Samuels sunk down in his desk chair; he had endless paperwork to complete (chiefly to do with the deaths of Nate and Arabella) and was not in the mood to participate in the haphazard gambling of his guards. Besides, he'd already made his choice – and was feeling very optimistic about that person's chances.
"The tissues now serve a dual purpose, firstly they prevent the collar from chaffing against your neck and secondly they prevent the BR overseers from hearing our conversations, by covering the collar's microphone."
Following Joanna's instruction, the three of them had folded their tissues and (after feeling for the microphone's gauze on the reverse side of the collar) inserted them as a buffer between the front of their necks and their astringent collars.
"How do you know there are microphones hidden in the collar?" asked a puzzled (but impressed) Tulista.
"An educated guess: I was fairly certain about it when Mr. Samuels informed me that weren't any cameras in the buildings," seeing that neither Tulista nor Simon understood, she continued, "it's illegal for them to have cameras in the buildings because it violates the privacy laws as we're under the age of 18. However unless they want to lose out on viewers, they have to somehow communicate what takes place behind these walls– thus we have the hidden microphones, which can bypass the privacy laws because it's only audio, not visual."
"Privacy laws? You're telling me that it's perfectly permissible for audiences to watch us slaughter each other out in the open air but not behind closed doors?" Simon asked, rather sceptical of the accurateness of Joanna's reasoning.
"No, it's worse. It's not the killing inside a building that they're prohibited from showing, it's for other reasons that they can't televise what goes on."
"Such as?" Tulista interjected.
"Well since we might go the toilet, shower, have sex or masturbate, theoretically it could be construed as child pornography and that would mean they couldn't broadcast, with the consequence that they don't make any money."
"So why not simply have the HQ and not bother with any other buildings?" suggested Tulista.
"Again the law," Joanna replied with a wry smile, "they're legally bound to give us accommodation, if they don't the Battle Royale can't take place, period."
"Ok, Ok, but why bother with the microphones in the collars when you can just have the buildings bugged. Or are the microphones in the collars the only ones on the island? I mean are the cameras outside video only?" Simon inquired.
For the first time in the game, Joanna bit her lip and looked hesitant. "No, the cameras certainly have their own audio – I saw the boom mikes on some of them as we passed – but I'm pretty sure they haven't bugged the place. It would be financially costly and the acoustics wouldn't be as good." Simon was still looking at her expectantly and she felt obliged to go on, "Plus if there was a gunfight, the equipment could be damaged beyond repair."
Simon still appeared dissatisfied with Joanna's explanation. She inwardly sighed; she wasn't used to people questioning or doubting her, usually she was seen a paragon of good-sense and wisdom whose advice was greatly appreciated.
"What is it Simon? I can tell you're still concerned about something." Tulista asked, with characteristic gentleness.
Aside from Simon's increasing guilt at having left Ben to fend for himself (he had an awful gut-feeling that the gunshot they'd heard earlier had struck his friend), he was at a loss as to how Joanna could be so legitimately knowledgeable about Battle Royale.
"Joanna, how come you know all this?" he asked bluntly.
Joanna rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Hon, I lived in America until a year ago. You know the self help books over here in the UK? Well in the United Sates an anonymous 'BR insider' published his own guide to success within the program and made a colossal sum of money out of it (and then died of a heroin overdose). I suppose it's the greatest demonstration of the decline of western civilisation: self-help guides used to teach you how to love yourself and now they school your kids in the best ways of disembowelling their friends – sick huh? But anyway, my parents insisted I watched the Battle Royale that took place every six months (until I started to get nightmares) and that I read the book to help me if I ever found myself embroiled in this living hell. It didn't tell me everything but it told me enough."
"Like that 'finder's keeper's' thing you were talking about – what is that by the way?" Tulista noted, smiling for the first time and perking up considerably.
"It basically means that there is one key for each building, found in the lock of the entrance (or the gates in our case). The said key opens every door within the building, because they've changed all the locks so that it fits each of them."
Simon had been deep in thought for the thirty seconds prior to his decision to explicate more of his misgivings about Joanna. He spoke again, Joanna markedly flinching as he did so:
"The book you read was to do with the American Battle Royale. What's to say that the British one doesn't differ extensively?"
"Oh for fuck's sake Simon, stop whinging! The British Battle Royale is without a doubt styled after its trans-Atlantic counterpart. I mean come on; Britain's practically the 51st state of America anyway!" Joanna replied angrily.
"It's true," chimed in Tulista, "still at least we're safe here."
"For now," corrected Joanna, "the viewers have a habit of voting for danger zones which contain constructions that are inhabited by students who are just pissing about and not doing anything of interest."
There was an uncomfortable pause. Joanna scowled at the (still) unmoved Simon, the tension was palpable and Tulista was starting to worry.
"Why don't we see what weapons we've been assigned?" She suggested, just a little too cheery to be credible.
Joanna hadn't permitted them to look inside their duffel bags en route to the apartments (it would only have slowed them down) and upon arriving they had busied themselves with blockading themselves in, completely forgetting to check what artillery (if any) they had been given. Each of the three picked up their bag from wherever in the living room they had dumped it and reformed their circle on the floor.
Simon went first ("It's just like Christmas – only without the snow or the fat man getting stuck in the chimney" he laughed), removing a lock-pick from its metal case (along with its all-inclusive manual).
"Well if I ever get out of this thing alive, at least I know I have a future career in burglary." He mused dryly.
Tulista was luckier (if that is the appropriate word given the circumstances) uncovering a machete and a manual that elucidated the best ways to attack with it ("If at all possible," she read aloud, "lunge for the throat - bit difficult considering everybody's wearing a collar – or the heart. Charming, I feel better already." She sarcastically grumbled)
But it was Joanna who received the plum weapon: an M870 shotgun. Not as powerful as the twelve gauge perhaps; but only a fool would have wanted to take her on at close range.
"Well I've always been anti-NRA, but I guess that I'll just have to adapt and change those rules of mine, given the current state of affairs." the shotgun's proud new owner joked. Joanna began to tentatively examine her weapon with a strangely maternal affection; she speculated she was probably one of the best armed people on the island.
"I think it's time we went and got some sleep." Stated Simon, unmistakably disenchanted by his rather sub-standard 'weapon'.
"First we have to allot guard duties." Joanna politely scolded.
"Fuck that – I'm tired and need some sleep." Simon responded wearily.
"You get to use the shotgun." Joanna continued, as Simon stood up and plodded away towards the door.
"On second thoughts, I recant that last statement – count me in." he said, turning around and returning to where Joanna pertly sat.
She smiled. She wasn't worried about letting the others borrow the Shotgun – it wasn't even loaded.
30 Students Remain.