Hour 0: Awaken Unto the Nightmare
As the ferry pulled into the harbour, Pete Morgan left the bus and was immediately met by a uniformed officer, with a dozen or so soldiers all standing to attention just behind him. He had a very official demeanour and a grizzled, cynical look in his eye. He seemed to be relishing what was about to happen and immediately addressed Morgan.
"Peter Morgan, Head of Year for the 2019 6th Year Class of St. Barnabus College, Perth?" He had a thick Edinburgh accent.
"That's right." He turned to the bus driver, who seemed uncertain as to what to do next. "And this is -"
"Sir, I have no interest in your driver, only your passengers and yourself. He may entertain himself on the ferry as he sees fit until it returns to the mainland. As for you, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant James Andrew Stevenson, and you may call me...whatever you like, actually. I am in charge of security and infrastructure over the course of this event, and am to assist you howsoever I can. I am at your command, and so, therefore, are my men." He seemed conflicted as to how formal he should be. Not used to taking orders from a school teacher, evidently.
"Well, thank you, Lieutenant. Just a small detachment you have, then?"
"Ha ha, no, just a small escort to take you to the school building. The rest are making final preparations there. I have to say, you know, I'm rather excited about the prospect of these proceedings, how about you? I should think it will be very interesting to see how it turns out! Of course, the inevitable reduction in crime once the feral youth realise they cannot hope to stand against us will also be a blessing from Heaven to see!
"Quite, although I can't help but admit part of me is still conflicted about all this...my own daughter is on the bus, you see."
"Ah, yes, so I heard. Well, I can understand that, it's only natural to feel such affection for one of your own." Neither his voice nor eyes betrayed even the slightest hint of empathy. "Now, while I may not have children myself, I too have faced situations where I've been forced to go against my natural instincts and principles in order to serve my country as best I can. This is what you must do, Mr. Morgan. You are serving your country in doing this, and in a very great way, and if your daughter should die, it will be for a spectacular good indeed. Besides, you never know, she might live! I hear Holly is very popular - not having enemies is a good way to be in a situation like this!"
If this was an attempt at reassurance, it was insulting; if it was a joke, it wasn't funny. Morgan ignored the remark completely and decided to get on with things. Having met Stevenson, the prospect of three days in this school now seemed somehow even worse than it had before.
"Right, well, much to do, so let's get to HQ, shall we?"
Stevenson looked at Morgan cautiously. Perhaps this man was "straight down to business." If so, it was more than he expected from a civilian, even if he was so obviously ignorant of just how irrelevant his parental feelings were in consideration of his duty.
"Yes, of course! One of mine shall drive the bus; your man can leave us now. Parker!" he barked over to one of his troops. "Take us to the school and be quick about it!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" came the reply.
"Calum, feel free to have a wander around the ferry, I think it goes back in a couple of hours. Thanks very much for all you've done."
"No problem, I think I'll do that." The driver smiled at Morgan "Sir," he said, gesturing to Stevenson as he walked past. Stevenson just growled and hurried his men onto the bus. Out of the corner of his eye, Morgan noticed Calum running ever-faster. Small wonder he felt uncomfortable. He was a lucky man, getting to leave so soon.
The journey to the school didn't take long. Stevenson was babbling all the while, telling Morgan and any of his soldiers who would listen about his history and his career. Very self important and very uninteresting, thought Morgan. When they arrived, a couple dozen more troops boarded the bus and removed the unconscious students. Morgan was instructed to make himself at home in the school, so he went inside to take a look around.
It was a small, unimposing building, combining the functions of a Nursery, Primary and Secondary school. The staff room had been turned into a command centre, and a few soldiers were still hurriedly arranging cables and testing equipment. A few of them were mumbling things like "Stevenson will kill us," so clearly he had them running scared.
He had raised a good point, though - his duty had to come first, and his own life would be forfeit if he tried to interfere with proceedings for the sake of his daughter. Oh, Holly...her mother was so angry at him for this that she'd insisted he not be in the house for the final few days beforehand. It wasn't his fault, of course, and he'd tried to get out of it, but to no avail. It was only natural that his wife would blame him. He'd claimed it was a teacher's conference and left for a few days to reflect on what he was about to do. He had to think of his duty and his reward - he'd be paraded as a hero if things went well. A shining example to teachers everywhere, that's what they'd say, he was told. No way out, so he knew he'd just have to believe that and hope, desperately, that she would survive.
Having unpacked his things, had a coffee, and attempted to relax for a little in the staffroom, Stevenson marched in, again, somewhat pompously, with an escort. Morgan looked at his watch. It was time.
"Mr. Morgan, sir! It is time to begin our proceedings, I will escort you to the classroom where we have placed the students; they are starting to wake up now."
Morgan sighed, and stayed still a moment. Stevenson just looked at his watch and growled at him. "Yes, yes, I'm coming, there's no need to rush!"
"Very well," he said, standing up at last, "Let's get this over and done with."
That one wasn't received very well. Stevenson opened his mouth as if to berate him, then, realising it would accomplish nothing, just turned and walked towards the door. He gestured for Morgan to lead and, donning a more exuberant expression (which seemed to please Stevenson greatly), he did so. No more delays.
Composing himself in the hallway ahead of what he was about to do, Pete Morgan powered down several corridors of the school that was his home for the next several days and strolled authoritatively into a classroom. He was followed closely by Lieutenant Stevenson and a couple dozen soldiers, all carrying assault rifles. Two were holding large top hats and put them on the desk. Standing guard against the back wall, some of the soldiers exchanged nervous glances; they knew what was to come, but could hardly comprehend it. Some of the students were already awake, stumbling around in the darkness as they tried to establish their surroundings. A soldier switched the light on, and Morgan's voice boomed out.
"Good morning, everyone!"
"Uhhh? What time is it?"
"Where am I?"
"It's too early, isn't it?"
Without warning, Stevenson raised an air horn and blasted it several times. Much to his annoyance, Morgan himself flew back in surprise. That certainly woke the rest of them up. They fumbled around, some of them noticing strange collars around their necks, with several of them trying to pull them off to no avail. Before Morgan could say anything though, Stevenson screamed,
"He said, 'Good morning, everyone!'"
That got their attention. Anyone still sleeping certainly wasn't now. Noticing the large number of machine guns pointed at them, they all faced Morgan and the unknown loud angry man beside him in horrified silence. The emotion drained from his face as he thought of the guns turning on him if he failed in his duty. "Leave this to me – I am in command," he whispered to Stevenson. 'Ineffectual fool, civilians should never have been placed in charge of this operation,' came the unspoken response. 'But now is not the time to show weakness, not if what I hear about some of these traitors is true.' Stevenson smiled sarcastically and took a step back.
"As you know, I'm Pete Morgan, Head of Year for you, the 6th Years of 2019 of St. Barnabus College, Perth. I know you were expecting a class trip to celebrate your leaving school, but unfortunately, we've had to cancel it. You've still come to Caphraig and you'll still be here for a few days, don't worry about that. But I'm afraid you're not going to be lazing about and getting drunk on the beach.
Scott Irving wasted no time in getting to his feet. Morgan desperately hoped this wouldn't get too serious, though he had expected the Anti-Clique to at least try and throw a spanner in the works. 'This early, though?'
"What the fuck is going on here, sir? We're supposed to be on holiday, what's with the Army?" he shouted.
"Scott Irving, sit DOWN! If you give me 30 seconds, I'm about to explain what's going on, now shut up!" barked Morgan. Stevenson seemed impressed by the show of authority, though almost saddened that Scott apparently obliged. Not quite knowing what to do, he sat down, embarrassed.
"Thank you. Now then, your generation is a great disappointment to the Government. While there are exceptions, many of you are rowdy, aggressive, you disobey authority at every turn - and BEFORE anyone tries to claim you're not like that, I'm sure you're all aware that 'some' of you have been arrested for anti-Government protests. Adam." A knowing look in his direction was met with an unimpressed glare.
"Sir, all our protests were peaceful and in accordance with the laws of this country, and I don't see what this has to do with cancelling our trip without telling us," he replied, surprisingly calmly for him, thought Morgan.
"Peaceful? Is 'peaceful' what you call a riot that causes £50,000 worth of damage to school property? Don't even think about justifying yourselves to me! You're not the only ones, though, even though you lot are considerably better behaved than a lot of the people who left in S4 or S5. No, I'm not going to name names, but there are a fair few examples in this year of the kind of profligate decadence that has seemingly come to iconify your generation. And the Government of this great country have finally had enough of it! They're sick of the protests, the defiance, and the inability to accept that things are as they are and that it's for a damn good reason! And I am telling you about your trip. I'm telling you now."
He felt the passion rising in his voice. That protest had reflected very badly on him, and while he didn't actually hate his charges as much as this speech was suggesting, past embarrassment was clearly coming out. He just needed to avoid looking at Holly too much and carry on in this way.
"In the wake of all the recent disorder, the Government has devised a special game, called the Battle Royale Program. It was conceived of by Japan and trialled by America, but both countries eventually decided on alternative means of restoring order to the streets. Here though we've already tried their solutions and failed, so an example is going to be made of your generation. You will all be making this example by competing in the Battle Royale Program. It's a game of sorts, and it has only one rule: you kill each other until only one of you is left alive. You have three days."
And pause, to let it sink in. Stunned silence roared across the class as Morgan and Stevenson watched it hit them. This would surely be a joke, except that there were a lot of guns pointed at the students. Many sat in cold silence, seeing immediately how serious this was. Rozelinda Mayfair was never one to show her emotions and her blank stare was typical. The more politically neutral member of the Anti-Clique, Kenji Kamin, likewise stared at the floor, barely able to look up.
Not far away Mark Johnson and Kim Magdalene seemed to be praying together, and beside them Peter Lucianus was meditating. Could God help them now? Perhaps He was the only one who could.
Others had no such outlet and simply dissolved in fear; Elyse Backman looked like she was about to start hyperventilating, with Zoey Volta, for whom death was her worst fear, having similar feelings. Nearby, Amber Canton had turned her back to the class completely and shut her eyes. Seeing this, Charlotte Turner put her arm around her shoulder, though she was herself terrified. Meanwhile Dave Clark and Jade Brown were locked in each other's arms on the other side of the classroom, their eyes looking nowhere but at each other as it had always been.
A few other students looked up at Morgan, desperate for some kind of assurance that this was some kind of cruel prank. They got none - he stared them down coldly. The soldiers moved forward slightly, raising their guns as if expecting resistance. But nobody moved. They were too shocked to do anything. Even Scott and fellow Anti-Clique member Adam Lewis just looked at each other, and at their classmates. What was this?
"This...can't be...Dad?" Holly said weakly, barely able to even think it. Quite a few others waited for Morgan to admit that he wasn't serious.
"I'm so sorry, Holly," was the only, almost emotionless, reply. He consciously averted his gaze, looking her in the eye to apologise, but realising he couldn't bear to even look at her, his own daughter. The crushed look on her face said it all; it wasn't just that it was happening, it was because of her father. Her dad was sending her out to die. Something just wasn't right here!
"Now then, there is a bit more to this than just a mass slaughter, so allow me to explain more fully how the Program will work. He pulled down a chart in front of the blackboard. It was a map of the island in grid format, with the major landmarks like the Abbey and schools clearly designated. "It's a game, of sorts. This is Caphraig and we are here in the secondary school. During the Program, you may go anywhere you like on the island. You may not leave, however. No boats are in the harbour, and around the island are several military ships, which will catch you if you try to escape. If this happens, you will be executed immediately," Gasps of horror from the class. This was insane! Morgan gestured over to a couple of soldiers, who brought in what looked like a big luggage rack filled with very large rucksacks.
"To help you, you will each be given one of these bags. Parker, give me one, please. Any one will do. In it are the following items..." He opened the bag and put the contents on the desk. "A map, like this one, with a compass and pen. Bread and water. There's not much, but you'll be able to find more on the bodies of your dead classmates." 'Don't break stride and let them react to that, just keep going,' he thought to himself. "A torch. And a weapon. The weapon you get will be random, and might be extremely powerful, or it might be less useful. Now, what do we have in this one? Hmm, a nail gun. Not very long ranged, but very dangerous if you get up close to someone. If you get this bag, I'd consider yourself lucky! As for the others, well, you'll just have to wait and see. Some weapons might require a bit of explaining, and others may need batteries or ammunition, so these and fully comprehensive instruction manuals are provided where appropriate. Some are also quite big, which is why the bags are all this size. It's all random, so there's no favouritism. Oh, and since some of you may need...personal items, you're all allowed to take your backpacks with you as well.
"Now, the other thing you're presumably waiting for me to explain is the collars wrapped around your neck, hmm?" Some of the students didn't seem to have noticed them until now, and tugged at them desperately. Others, who had already realised they weren't coming off, just sat in total silence with their eyes closed, as if trying to wish the world away. Yet a couple, Morgan noticed, seemed strangely curious to learn more…perhaps some of them would participate after all?
"These collars are our means of tracking you, along with the very large number of CCTV cameras located across the island. We also have satellites covering the island, so nowhere are you unseen. The collars have microphones as well, meaning we can also hear every word you say to each other. And, should it come to it, every dying scream."
That last remark might have been one too many. A couple of students had been forcing themselves to keep quiet, perhaps realising that anger wasn't going to do any good here, but enough was enough. Adam threw himself to his feet. "What the FUCK do you think you're doing? Why are you doing this, what have we done to deserve this? Our generation has its faults, as do we all, nobody's perfect. But forcing us to kill each other? Is our school really that bad? Tell me, 'sir,' why? Us?" he raged.
Stevenson drew his pistol from its holster right away and opened his mouth to retort, but Morgan was unfazed and raised a hand to hold him back. Looking ready to shoot Morgan instead, Stevenson reluctantly stepped back.
"Alright, Adam, you raise a fair question, actually. Why should it be you? Why this is happening at all I have already explained - your generation has no sense of authority, and you right now are questioning those to whom you should be listening; something you yourself have a long history of doing, need I remind you. We have tried rationale, we have tried reason, but you and your peers refuse to accept that you might be wrong. The government have now decided that a more forceful means of convincing you is required. No leadership can be tolerated in this country beyond the Government, and through this game it will be proven that none can exist." Morgan was still completely calm, completely unaffected by the incensed look of defiance on Adam's face. He wasn't used to this response; he was a natural debater, and thrived from getting a reaction from people and showing them up, as did the rest of his "Anti-Clique," especially when doing it together. But today was different. Today, Pete Morgan had a large number of armed guards; he just had to say the word and his opponent would be dead. Today, Adam had no bargaining power, and Morgan absolutely loved it.
"As for the second question, why your year? Well, the first thing I should say is that it wasn't my choice. Do not for a second think that I would willingly sacrifice my daughter's life, even for the good of this country!" He stepped back a moment, putting water on the fire in his voice. Stevenson was horrified that he had just said that, which wasn't lost on Adam.
"Well, then why have you -"
"Because I must put aside my parental instincts in service of this great country," he retorted, cutting Adam off before he could get going again, "I cannot help what I feel for Holly as a father, but my duty as a father comes second to my duty as a servant of the Government. Duty requires sacrifice from time to time, and that is what I must do today." Adam stood open-mouthed, completely taken aback by this. Stevenson lit up at his words from earlier being repeated, while Holly was in tears in Rahne Southers' arms.
"As I was saying," he continued, not prepared to allow a rebuttal, "It was not my choice. It is one I will not oppose, but that's not the point. The point is that a random lottery was held amongst all the 6th year classes of this year, and St. Barnabus drew the short straw." Morgan sighed as he said this. It wasn't completely random, and he knew it. While all secondary schools were in the running, those with students who had been arrested or with abnormally bad disciplinary records were entered multiple times. As were those which had children of staff members in the year, as the Government considered such staff members less likely to object to the plans, due to the potential implications for their family should they fail to comply. It all added up to St. Barnabus, along with a few others that also scored highly in those categories, having an elevated chance of selection.
"So, every S6 class in the whole of the United Kingdom had an equal chance of selection. This is the first example, but multiple Programs exactly like this one will be held every year.
"And going back to my original point, the purpose of the Program is to prove that you cannot hope to resist this Government. After all, who in your class do you really trust? When you are forced to choose between your own life and that of your so-called 'friends,' where do you loyalties really lie?"
"Adam, sit down, you can't win this one and you know it!" Morgan beamed at this - Kim, while visibly extremely upset, at least appeared to recognise the seriousness of the situation. The Anti-Clique was divided - and Adam was clearly shaken by that.
"Kim, what are you saying? Time was you'd support me in this, why are all of you staying quiet? They're trying to force us to betray each other and ourselves, well, let me tell you that won't happen, I'm not going to allow that and neither should you!"
Silence. He looked around the class for support. "I can't stand alone here, we are as one, we are free people, not guinea pigs in some kind of fucked up experiment, not beacons to be used as an example to people who have done nothing wrong except stand up for their rights! I say to you Mr. Morgan, 'sir,' if you want my head on a mast, then I suggest you take it right now and be done with it!"
Morgan took a few moments to say nothing at all. He could see that Adam didn't have the support he expected, and there was nothing worse for a public speaker than his words falling on deaf ears. He wanted a reaction, both from the class and from Morgan himself, and received neither. Finally, Morgan spoke up.
"They're not listening to you. How does it feel to be on your own? You think you have friends, allies, people you can depend upon. Where are yours? Why are they not supporting you?"
"Well-"
"I'm asking the questions, so shut up and listen for a change! The reason they're not listening to you is because you're not worth listening to, your rhetoric has never had much substance, but all five of you have a way of making it sound otherwise. Now they're waking up to that. I'm not just talking to you, by the way; I know you're not alone. The Anti-Clique merely represent the year – you do all the political talking for them, so others don't have to bother. Perhaps that's the real reason none of the rest of you are standing up; you'd rather let someone else take all the risk, and pay the whole penalty.
"So I speak to all of you! You're all alone, none of you can really rely on the people you think you can. That is what the Program will show you. No opposition to the Government can be tolerated, because it is we, not you, who understand what is best for this country. I stand here as a representative of the Government on this island, therefore, no opposition to me can be tolerated either. You may consider that your final warning, Adam, Scott, Kenji, Kim, Mark, and anyone else unwisely thinking of saying even one more word."
Morgan's voice tensed. Behind him, the row of assault rifles clicked as the holders scanned the class, searching for any signs of movement. Adam was still standing, paralysed by fear, the others were looking nervous.
At the front of the class, Adam closed his eyes and tilted his head down. He was lost. He had nowhere to turn to, no allies to help him out. He thought of Holly. Her own father had betrayed her. He was such a nice guy, and now he'd done this to her, to all of them. Understandably, she was in even more of a state than everyone else by now, and all Adam wanted to do was run over to her and comfort her. He couldn't, though. Even now, the only one standing in front of a row of machine guns, he couldn't so much as look at the girl he cared for more than anyone. All he could do was try and reclaim his honour; if there were consequences to pay, so be it. It seemed a quick death was all anyone could hope for anyway, if everything really was as serious as Morgan was suggesting. He clenched his fist.
"Do you really expect us to let you get away with murdering your own daughter?"
"Adam, I strongly suggest you-" Morgan stared Adam down, their eyes locked together. Holly didn't know what to think.
"No! I strongly suggest you shut the fuck up and listen to me for a moment!" Every gun in the room pointed at him. This time, however, he did not relent. Kim was audibly breathing with difficulty, and even Scott was speechless, wanting to stand up but finding that gravity held him down.
"I can't understand how you can call us the traitors, when you, who have a duty of care toward us as your students, have arranged for us to be slaughtered. If the others aren't with me, then that's their choice to make – I'm choosing to tell you you're going to fucking regret this."
"Enough!" Morgan had snapped. The look in his eyes had altogether changed. Even Stevenson looked slightly afraid. "I have given you warnings, I have been fair, I have been reasonable. Despite all of that, however, you continue to arrogantly defy me. And for that, you're now going to have to pay the penalty. Again, do not say I didn't warn you."
Morgan took a large step forward towards Adam, who appeared to instinctively try and move back a little before realising and stopping himself. Both were still staring each other down. Stevenson removed his pistol from its holster, marched forward and pressed the barrel to Adam's head. Horrified gasps echoed from the other students, as Adam himself tried desperately to remain calm. 'If this is to be my fate, then at least I shall be at peace; no more pain, no more pain!' he thought to himself. His breathing deepened.
Stevenson turned to face Morgan, seeking approval. His gloved hand was unflinching. Morgan nodded silently, and Stevenson gestured with his free hand to two large identical top hats on the desk at the front of the classroom. Stevenson flipped the gun to the back of Adam's head, pressing the barrel hard against him, which caused him to flinch in pain. As he was forced to the front of the class, in front of the top hats, the rest of the class looked on in terror. Several more were crying, though Scott still looked as if he wanted to support his friend. Morgan took a deep breath and again addressed the class.
"It is with great regret that it has come to this. Despite what has been intimated, I care very deeply about each and every single one of you." His eyes were fixed on Holly, who was shaking her head in disbelief. She could scarcely believe that this was her father. "However, I did say that resistance would not be tolerated, and the large number of guns pointed at you should have proven I was serious. Nevertheless, Adam ignored that, clearly accepting the possibility that he would be punished for it, perhaps even killed. I'm not going to do that, though." He paused to allow confusion to sweep the class.
"After all, he is merely one of the Anti-Clique, whom you all admit are your political representatives. All matters political in the class, you go to them, if they haven't got there first. You expect them to do all the work, with credit being shared and blame exclusively theirs. You are fools to believe I do not see through that. Adam stood up not only because he wanted to, but because he was expected to, by all of you, any of whom could have said something, and indeed I do believe many of you wanted to, but chose not to. It would be unfair, therefore, to punish him alone for merely acting on behalf of you all. But what is fair? Well, chance is fair.
"So, I'm giving you all an equal chance." The horrified gasps had now turned to small cries, and very nervous looks. The guns clicked once again to silence everyone. "Adam, could you please draw for me now a single piece of paper from either of the two hats in front of you? If you don't, I will start shooting your arms and legs, so please do not think you can martyr yourself by way of escape." Realising he was truly beaten, he closed his eyes and removed a piece of paper. He couldn't bring himself to look inside.
"Thank you. Read what is written on the paper to the class, please." Looking, his jaw dropped as he turned to face Morgan. Stevenson reminded him not to do this by pressing again the gun to his head, and he turned back.
"It just says…Zoey Volta."
"Thank you, Adam. You may sit down now, and indeed better had." The butt of Stevenson's pistol cracked against Adam's skull, forcing him forwards. "Zoey, can you please stand up for me?"
Seeing that he had no choice in the matter, Adam sat down, dejected, having accomplished nothing. Zoey rose slowly to her feet, her eyes flitting between her classmates, looking for answers, but they knew as much as she did, and thus were no help.
"Wh…wh…what is this? What have I got to do wi – with any of this?" she said nervously. Her breathing was short and sharp, her eyes jumping awkwardly across the room. Morgan nodded to the man with the pistol in the middle of the room, who gave him a remote control-like box. Whatever that was, it almost certainly did not mean good news for her.
"What's that? What does it do?" She couldn't stop herself asking the question, even though she didn't want to know the answer. Starting to back away, her fellow students were in her way and she couldn't move far, especially considering every gun in the room was now pointed squarely at her.
"This is the other most important rule of the Program, that which I was about to explain before I was so rudely interrupted. The collars exist as a tracking mechanism. They also exist as a controlling mechanism, in order to prevent any would-be insurrectionists from attempting to interfere with these proceedings. I had sincerely hoped that merely explaining this would be sufficient, but alas, certain of you proved otherwise, and a demonstration is now needed." Stevenson nodded in approval as he said this, but he was telling the truth; he had hoped a demonstration would prove unnecessary. Unfortunately, though, those organising the Program seemed insistent it would be.
"But I didn't do any-"
"That's not the point. You did nothing to stop the ones who did anything, and that makes you as guilty as they." He paused a moment. He seemed to be trying to communicate with her telepathically, a single unspoken thought – 'I'm sorry.' He pressed a button on the remote-like object, and a loud beeping began. As the soldiers tensed their hands on their weapons, the students looked about to see where it was coming from. It didn't take long to establish it was Zoey, or, more specifically, the collar locked tightly around her neck. Morgan remained calm as he explained.
"The collars contain microphones, as I've said. But they're also filled with highly compacted plastic explosive, which I can detonate through the radio links in the microphones. Any sign whatsoever of any of you threatening the integrity of the Program and I can push this button, and then thirty seconds later…well, you'll see in about ten seconds."
Morgan bade the soldiers stay still as Zoey ran frantically about the classroom, desperately tugging at the collar. It was locked in place however, and wouldn't budge. "Help me, somebody please help me, oh God anybody, please!" she screamed. Most of the class backed away from her; Charlie O'Keefe and George Ryan each grabbed half of the collar and pulled as hard as they could, to no avail.
At last, running anywhere she could, she hit a wall very hard and bounced off it, throwing Charlie and George aside. As the collar flatlined, Zoey faced the class, turned to the sky and uttered a single word, "Gaia!" At that moment, a small explosion sent a plume of flesh, blood, bone and metal through the air in front of her, covering a number of students. As her body fell sideways to the ground, blood poured from the six-inch hole that was formerly her throat. Backing away as quickly as they could, the other students watched in open-mouthed horror as a stream of blood trickled forward through the classroom. At its mouth, the body of Zoey Volta fell onto its back, her now empty eyes locked on the ceiling.
Silence swept the class. No one knew what to say, not even Morgan, Stevenson or his troops, some of whom turned sharply away to resist the urge to vomit. There was always a strong possibility that this might happen, they'd been told that in advance, and as soldiers, this was hardly the first killing any of them had seen. Somehow, though, this was different from the rest. A young girl, in the prime of her life, begging just to keep it. Cast down in an instant, for the sins of those she never knew.
At the front of the class, Adam lurched forward as if to try and say something, or even just stand up. He managed neither and found himself fumbling on the floor, unable to look at men in front of him or even his friends. He seemed to be wittering to himself, mumbling who knew what?
He was, however, merely one of a number of students who wanted to protest, but either could not or dared not. Jake Wilson couldn't move a muscle; beside him sat his best friend, Alexander Vasselin, who was struggling to hold himself together.
Even the typically surly couldn't help but be affected, with the queens of sardonism Laurinda Davies and Hannah Bishop dumbstruck by what they were seeing. Even Natasha Checketts, never the most empathetic of people, seemed saddened while boyfriend Olly King discovered there were some situations not even he could make jokes about.
Among the first to react with anything other than open-mouthed horror was Jenna Widdowson, who immediately pulled Jemi Britcher and Rem Remnant close. "Whatever happens, we stick together, got that? Hunter or hunted, that's all we can be, and the hunted die," she hissed in a low, fast-paced whisper. They looked at each other, first warily then confidently. So this was real? Fine, no one could stop the three of them together anyway.
On the other side of the room, meanwhile, Holly felt like the world had just ended. Had her father just murdered someone? He did it so calmly, just pushed a button and a girl she'd known and he'd taught for six years was gone, instantly. Was this even her dad? He just wasn't capable of this!
Fighting back the conscious realisation that he had just murdered a girl, Morgan forced himself to retain his authority over the class before anyone could overcome the shock sufficiently to try and resist. Stevenson, clearly the only person in the room able to at least appear stoical, stared him down from behind with a stern glare, also passed to his soldiers. Finally, Morgan spoke up.
"That, everyone, is why it is folly to resist. I'm not going to insult you by apologising for that, but I do mean it when I say I wish I had a choice in the matter." His words echoed hollow, but nobody was yet composed enough to retort. "There are three more rules left to explain. First, I stated earlier that you have three days in which to complete the Program by leaving only one survivor. If more than one of you lives beyond 72 hours of the first of you leaving this classroom, all remaining collars will be detonated, meaning no one will survive.
"Second, you will see that this map is divided into a grid. Certain areas of this grid will start to become unavailable to you at six hourly-intervals. These are called Danger Zones and once active do not cease to be so until the Program has ended. Should you enter one once it has activated, your collar will be automatically detonated. Initially, there will be only one such Zone; that in which this school is located. It will activate shortly after the last of you enters the field of play. The others are random, so you'll be told about them shortly prior to activation.
"That will occur on a six hourly basis, this being the other rule I must tell you about. Every six hours, I will come on an intercom, audible through the many speakers secreted around Caphraig, to make an announcement. This is when I will tell you which of your fellow students have died, in the order of their deaths, so that you can update your list and track your progress. I will also tell you who killed each person, to give you a better idea as to who you can trust. This will include myself, should any unfortunate such incidents occur such as that with Zoey, who will therefore be the first named in the first announcement. The announcements will also reveal new danger zones at the rate of one every two hours, with the first activating one hour after the report. That will give you plenty of time to clear the area should you be in one. Oh, and leaving an active danger zone once you've entered it will not prevent detonation, the only way to avoid that is to stay out in the first place."
Morgan paused momentarily, looking to Stevenson to see if he'd missed anything obvious from his explanation of the rules. "Well, it looks like I've covered everything now. Remember – no laws apply during the Program except those specific to it, such as that prohibiting escape. You may commit any act whatsoever to yourself or each other, and should you survive, you will not be prosecuted. Ironic though it may seem, you have more freedom over the next three days than has had any human being on Earth since the dawn of civilisation. Think about that.
"Since I've now finished explaining the rules, and since I think it's reasonable to assume there will be no more protests, if anyone has any questions, you may raise your hand while remaining seated, and I will do my best to answer them. Anyone?" Morgan looked cautiously across the room as he spoke; he desperately hoped he wasn't tempting fate with his confidence about no more protesting. Everyone in the class sat silently still though, apart from Adam, who looked disturbed to an extent beyond the usual reaction to witnessing a murder. He was shaking and muttering random gibberish to himself, oblivious to the world, such as the few students tentatively raising their hands.
"Yes, Manuel?"
"I-I don't belong here. I'm going to be a doctor, I'm going to save people, not kill them! Can't you just let me go home?" Suddenly Manuel Noles' acute lack of friends seemed more serious than it had before. Being an innately anti-social person who focussed on his studies had always seemed of benefit until now, but with few people who might protect him and very little by way of physical strength, he had to find a way of being excused from this before it began.
"Of course you can go home. But only once you've killed all your classmates. Your friends, enemies, people you like, people you don't -"
"But I can't do that! That's not who I am!"
"Well, you might be unable or unwilling to kill, but I suspect some of your colleagues can. And I'm afraid you'll need to fight them and win in order to survive. Actually, this is something you should all remember – you've got to ask yourself the questions, 'Would you kill your best friend, and can you save yourself?'" Manuel flopped back to the floor forlornly as Morgan surreptitiously cast his eye over several students, some of whom already seemed to be formulating plans. He acknowledged another question, this time from Layne Diallo.
"What about our parents? Who's going to tell them what's happened? Are they going to know the truth?" Layne was the younger of two twins, with his brother Richard. Born in Somalia, but adopted at an early age by a Scottish family, they felt a fierce loyalty to the people who gave them a second chance at life.
"Your families will all be informed this morning. The rest of the world will discover on the evening news, but be assured, your relatives will be the first to know, and comprehensive plans to support them and to help them understand how important this event is will be provided." Layne was not entirely happy with that answer, but Morgan cut him off before he could ask another question.
"Any more?"
"Yeah, Dad." Morgan nearly fell backwards as Holly stood up with as much force as she could muster.
"Holly…"
"How could you do this to me?" She was in tears, but fought through them to say this.
"Look, I really-"
"You've been trying to avoid me for months now, fighting with your family, you got thrown out your own home last week…who are you and what have you done with my dad? We love you, and yet you betrayed us. All I wanted was to know why, but you wouldn't even say hello to me the last few weeks…"
With that, she was unable to carry on, unable even to fall onto Rahne at her back. Kim broke her fall, and they both helped her to the ground, shielding her from the sight of her father. Morgan had also lost his capacity to cope, having been taken completely by surprise by Holly's broadside. Stevenson was fuming behind him, having none of the sympathy for him that Holly's friends had for her. Morgan was just relieved she hadn't told everyone her mother knew about the Program in advance, which she'd obviously established as the reason for his leaving the house a week ago.
"Alright, Question Time's over! Time to begin, it's nearly midnight." He sounded much more aggressive than he did a moment ago, but nobody had time to react. He pointed to the hats on the desk, the ones from which Zoey's name had been drawn.
"Now then, these two hats contain all of your names. On the right are all the boys' names, and on the left the girls'. I am going to pick out names, at random, alternating gender, and when I pick yours you will quickly and quietly get up, take a rucksack and leave the classroom. As soon as you leave you are participating in the Program, which begins as soon as the first of you leave. There is no introductory period in which you cannot attack each other, the rules of the Program are in force straight away. You may not do so inside this building, however, armed guards are in place to ensure you don't. I have already proven what happens when you try to be a hero, so do not think you can take your weapon and run back in here with it. Random students will be executed should anyone attempt this." Morgan was visibly shaken, and clearly desperate to have some time and space to himself after all this. Barely pausing for breath, he drew the first name.
"Male student number one in Battle Royale Caledonia is Richard Diallo."
Richard looked stunned, clearly not expecting to leave first. Noticing that everyone was slowly edging away from him, and that the gunmen were aiming at him, he crept towards Morgan and the large array of rucksacks beside him. As a soldier threw one at him, he caught it awkwardly, took one last nervous look at his classmates, and ran off into the night.
Instantaneously, Peter Morgan looked calmer. He had taken the first step. Richard's exiting the class signalled the start of proceedings at exactly midnight. Battle Royale Caledonia had finally begun.