Battle Royale
A Better Tomorrow
Introduction
"At the dawn of the new millennium, the nation collapsed. Japan's economy was destroyed and the severe backlash wasn't helping either. With increasing rates of violence among youths, the adults lost confidence and, fearing the youth, eventually passed the 'Millennium Educational Reform Act' AKA The BR Act."
A lone figure was sitting in a dark room with no windows or lights. Sitting on his lap was a gun with only a few bullets left inside. The figure stared straight forward as he spoke about the cruelties of his country.
"Everyone in this goddamn country is a hypocrite. They say they want to serve the future generations yet they kill more than three dozen kids each year. Sickening, isn't it? Whatever happened to equality? No one ever dares speak about it nowadays considering you could get killed for speaking against the government. What kind of bullshit is that, huh? You know the world's comin to an end when a young child, an eight-year-old, could say the government stinks and get his head blown off by some asshole. But I'm glad the world's comin to an end. Ya know why? Because with the world gone, at least no one has to suffer any more. No one has to watch their children, their baby boys and baby girls, butcher one another on live TV. No one has to go through the pain of picking their child's body out of a dog pile. Heck, no one would even have to go through the pain of listening to our fuckin leader spit some more bullshit to the whole country. Yeah, I think that'd be much better."
The figure twisted the cap off a silver flask the size of his palm. He took a swig of the liquor inside and licked his lips. As he took another swig from the flask, he heard a doorknob turn and a door creak, and quickly slipped the silver flask into his pocket. He realized the gun was still on his lap and hid it under his baggy, white t-shirt. The room suddenly brightened as an artificial white light illuminated the room.
"Koji, dinner's ready, come downstairs," a womanly voice said. The figure in the room turned his head to see his mom looking at him from the doorway. "What are you doing all alone in here in the dark? Is something wrong, sweetie?"
"No, everything's fine, mother," the figure told her. His mother nodded in response and closed the door behind her.
Sighing, the figure took one last swig of liquor and closed the cap over the flask. Taking one deep breath, he muttered to himself, "Everything's fine, mother."
BANG!
A gunshot rang throughout the small, enclosed room. Blood splattered on the clean, white wall behind the figure as his body slumped against the wooden chair he sat in. There was a hole in the middle of his forehead with sticky, crimson blood oozing out of it. The figure's hand hung to his side and the gun, smoke still drifting out its muzzle, dropped to the floor.
The door creaked to life once more and a window-shattering scream erupted from the doorway. Eyes fixated on the fresh corpse of her son, the figure's mother screamed for minutes on end. The painful shrieks escaping her lips drowned the pitter-patter of footsteps bounding up the stairwell behind her. A bulky, middle-aged man appeared behind the woman and put his hand on her shoulders. Sticking his head into his son's room, the man realized what his wife had been screaming about. Quickly, he pushed his wife out of the way and knelt beside his dead son.
"Call an ambulance!" he screamed. "Call an ambulance!"
Though she could hear him pleading to her, the figure's mother could do nothing but stare and scream. Her screams filled the room. No one could blame her, though, seeing as how her pride and joy had just shot a hole the size of a quarter into his head. She had high expectations for her baby boy; she expected him to graduate from high school as valedictorian, go to some Ivy-League college, then get a high-paying job to support her. But alas, the cold, cruel world took him from her, forcing a look of despair and grief on her face that would make anyone cry with her. Then again, who the fuck cared?