Hour 9: The Road Less Travelled

"So, where am I?"

That was the question facing Layne Diallo. He was an intelligent sort of guy, but geography had never been his strong suit and that was now haunting him. Modern technology made it unnecessary to be particularly strong in that area, but now his only guide was a map and it wasn't much help. It wasn't detailed enough, though Layne might have said that about any level of detail. He wasn't the most easily pleased of people.

There was another question lingering in his mind, though: where in the world was his twin brother, Richard? What he had to do was clear – answer those questions and find Richard who, disorganised as he was, probably needed a careful person like himself around. He might not realise it, but it was nonetheless true.

The two Somalians were strange in that they, while having the closeness that most twins possessed, were outwardly complete opposites in life. Richard was an easy-going joker, happy to spend his days having fun, getting high, and generally going through life at a relaxed pace on his own terms. Layne was the more sensible of the two, at least to himself. He was more concerned with the practicalities of life, like good health and getting things done on time. Words like "neurotic" and "health freak" had been thrown his way, but those who did were just making petty excuses for their own poor attitude – and that included Richard himself, on occasion.

It wasn't like he didn't know how to have fun though. Like Richard, Layne enjoyed athletic activity, such as time spent at the gym and football (which also provided essential exercise of course), sleeping (nine hours a day, no less!) and generally having a good time with his friends. Both brothers were also known for their fierce loyalty to each other and their friends, though it was taken differently with each of them. With Richard, it was seen as surprising because of how relaxed he was; with Layne, it was almost overbearing because of how neurotic he supposedly was. You just couldn't win with some people though, so Layne had given up trying to please them all. Ya just have ta do what ya know is right, the rest'll all fall inta place. Always has been true, always will be.

Naturally, Layne was currently terrified about what might be happening to Richard. Richard was older by a matter of minutes, but Layne tended to act like he was a couple of years older. Anyone else might have been bothered, but aside from his general nature, Richard knew that Layne was genuine and only ever meant well. He was glad to have a twin like him, and knew that Richard felt the same way.

Richard was certainly capable of handling himself, being much stronger than he looked, and fear was never something that affected him badly, but that sometimes meant he didn't know how bad things were. That was where Layne's planning and control came into play. It complemented his brother nicely. But separated like this…it wasn't good, to say the least.

Layne had always been a worker. His parents were that way, so it was clearly an inherited trait. He didn't know them very well, having been put up for adoption aged two so he and Richard could have a better life in a more stable country. He made sure to keep in contact with them through letters though, where possible. That wasn't always easy, but it was more than many adopted children got, especially from his country.

As someone who enjoyed hard work, he also enjoyed having control over a situation. That was what was getting to him about his current circumstances – absolutely everything had been taken out of his control, which he was neither used to nor particularly able to handle very well. He didn't know where anyone was or what they were doing.

So, he'd found a landmark and begun studying it in earnest, trying to make sense of his location. Though he didn't like it much, he was currently standing against the west wall of the Crofters' Arms, which was the pub near the middle of Caphraig. Looking at the map, it seemed that many of the demarcated zones didn't actually have much, if any, land in them.

Caphraig was shaped roughly like an oval, positioned in the sea at a diagonal angle from north-east towards the mainland to south-west towards the other Western Isles. In fact, the north-west corner of the map had a block of twelve zones – A-D 7-10 – that had no land in them at all. In the south east it was similar, with the eight zones G-J 1-2 being entirely water. The edges of the island were mostly rounded, though there zones I3 and I4 constituted a land mass jutting out into the sea around which the harbour had been constructed. On the other side of the map, G10 and H10 were similar, with a fort of some kind being in the area. The western coast, which travelled more or less straight north from A2 to B6, had numerous small inlets as well, as did the southern coast B1 to F2, but other than that, it was a fairly rounded place.

Interesting landmarks were few and far between, which was unsurprising for a fairly self sufficient fishing and farming community. Residences were scattered across the island, though there appeared to be a block of them around the area of H6. There was a lighthouse on the southern tip of the island, to the meagre extent that Caphraig had a southern tip, in D1, and a monastery around C5 near a woodland area. Other than that there were a couple of unspecified buildings around the island, and then there was the harbour and restaurant area in the south-east.

Layne himself was currently in E5. That meant he wasn't very far from the danger zone that had only minutes ago become live, in G5. Being such a central location as that, he would have to be careful not to accidentally walk into it. On realising this, he instinctively looked to where the other danger zones were. Fortunately, they were largely meaningless. B1 had only a tiny mass of what was probably rocks just west of the lighthouse, that being where the land started to curve up north-west towards an inlet in the western part of B2. J9 was effectively the same on the opposite corner of the map, being only a small part of the coast at the northern tip of the eastern face of the island, which descended straight south between J8 and J5. There looked to be barely enough room in either danger zone to stand to hurl one's self from the cliff face.

Knowing all this, provided he trod lightly if he went east, there ought to be no problems with the terrain for now. There would be others in the future, however, so he couldn't let his guard down.

Satisfied that his first question was at last answered, in that he had some conception of where he currently was, Layne now had to consider the second. Where would Richard go? He was hoping that "twin telepathy" would somehow answer the question for him, but he was too concerned right now to concentrate enough for that.

He spent considerable time thinking logically about the matter, going through every aspect of Richard's personality in his head in an effort to discern an answer. It did not come. Richard was too unpredictable for that, even for his own brother. He would be looking for Layne, and he wouldn't be interested in participating, but beyond that he'd likely just improvise, doing whatever presented itself as possible at the time. It was quite frustrating for Layne, truth be told.

And yet, he couldn't help but realise he was acting little differently. His own grandiose plan currently amounted to "find Richard, see what happens." He wasn't a fighter. He'd been given a Kalashnikov, but Layne really wasn't the type to use it. If doing so meant protecting Richard, however, then he'd have to force himself when the moment came. Until he found his brother though, and with no clues as to where he might be, Layne had nothing to do but look. Walk softly, carry a big gun. Ain't that what they say? Guess I'll do just that…

Asexuality was more common than people often realised, with studies having shown that around 2-3% of people identified as such. Still, it was rare enough that, despite causing offence being a criminal matter these days, one could very easily be considered a freak for it.

That sort of attitude had never bothered Natalie Shimizu, despite the fact that she was a bit of an extreme case. She was also completely aromantic, having never in her life known any kind of sexual desire or attraction. Actually, even that was understating her nature; for the past ten years she'd been almost complete asocial.

Thinking on it, she realised how unnatural it was to think of herself by her real name anymore; so pervasive was her nickname of Silent Shimizu that she herself used the term as often as anyone else. No, she wasn't a talker, and neither wanted nor needed anyone else's company or help in life.

Orphaned at a young age in a car crash, Silent had gained that nickname while being raised by her aunt and uncle. She'd always been quite quiet, but with her parents gone she lost any remaining desire to talk to people. Her uncle had seen this and, not wanting to force her to change, instead taught her self-reliance in all areas of life. She wouldn't need people in her life very often, though if that was to be her choice, then she would have to learn to live independently. He'd half expected her to completely reverse her position once it came to carrying out tasks normally done by older teenagers or adults, like cooking and cleaning, but instead she embraced the responsibility.

Her aunt and uncle came across as apparent throwbacks to medieval Japan, though how much of that was genuine and how much was just to amuse themselves by winding up the neighbours was unclear. That they believed a woman could and should be independent was far beyond the social attitudes in even modern Japan however, so they were hardly relics of the era. Still, ancient practices were very important to them and, certain social customs excepted, they were staunch traditionalists.

The key message they wanted to impart to her was that the world was a transient place – people and colleagues, even family, in time, would come and go. The only constant was one's self, and that meant that it was critical in life to be a person around whom you wanted to spend time. Silent had taken that to heart, and was determined to enjoy life as much as possible, and on her own terms. As a reminder of life's transience, she kept with her always a pressed and laminated cherry blossom petal, taken each year from the tree her uncle had planted in his garden in memory of his late brother and sister-in-law.

So far in life she'd had a lot of fun; despite all the misconceptions, despite all the visits from social workers acting on the concerns of neighbours that the days she spent alone were evidence of neglect, she had more inner peace than most of her peers, and was delightfully happy. Sure, she deliberately came across as thorny and irritable to her peers, but she'd found that that was about the only way she could get them to leave her alone in her desired peace.

But just minutes earlier, that grand strategy, which she expected to take her through life, had collapsed like a house of cards. Sitting…somewhere on Caphraig, resting against a rock so she could contemplate in relative protection, she couldn't help but go over in her head what had just happened.

The first few hours of the Program had been a bit of a confusing blur in honesty. Silent was astute and highly intelligent, but had struggled to get her head around what was going on. It was the words of her teacher that somehow reached her, when he said that everyone was on their own unless they could find temporary allies. It didn't make any sense why that bothered her. After all, she didn't need friends, and her inner strength was almost unmatched in the year.

But how could she use that here? That was the problem. The entire Program was Hobson's choice – you didn't have to kill people, but that was only if you didn't mind dying. There were no two ways about this. Silent had so much of her life still to live, and, having experienced it so young, was horrified by the prospect of seeing or causing death. So neither of her "choices" were viable. That meant she'd needed a third option, which required that she do what she utterly despised doing by trying to socialise.

It wasn't like she had anything against people; they could live their own lives, do what they wanted and she wasn't so petty as to be offended by their existence. But she did expect them to respect her right to have them play no part in her own life wherever possible. Desperate times called for desperate measures, though, and she had to try talking to someone to work out a solution that didn't involve a mass-slaughter.

The problem was, she didn't really know how to go about doing that. As she so seldom interacted with people, acquiring exemptions from things like Physical Education thanks to dubious medical assertions made by her uncle, she didn't know how it was done.

The first person she'd come across since the announcement had been Elyse Backman, who was cycling by for some reason. Where she got the bike from she had no idea, but seeing Silent caused her to lose balance and fall off. She looked nervous and panicky as she scrambled quickly to her feet.

While Silent didn't know what kind of person she was looking for, Elyse certainly wasn't it. She'd started killing straight away – who was to say she wouldn't attack again? It had been too late to run away though; with a bike, Elyse could have pursued easily. All Silent could do was hope she'd hear her out. The more she thought about it in hindsight, the stupider that seemed…Elyse had been set in her ways, and there was no reasoning with a person like that. Still, by that point it was too late.

"Elyse, hi. You-you don't need to f-fear me, I come in peace!" Her hands were in the air and her bag on the floor, but she'd still felt uncomfortable as she exchanged awkward stares.

"What do you want? You're weird. Never say a word, never talk to anyone or socialise at all. Can't trust you. Can't trust anyone out here."

"Yeah, I get that I'm a freak. Stuck this way, I guess. What I want though…to live. And not kill people. Do you…have any ideas how we could get out of here? I think we all need to work together." She knew what she wanted to say, she just didn't know how. It would have been so much easier if she could just hand Elyse a letter or something.

"Get out of here? Yeah, I know how to do that. Mr. Morgan told us – we kill everyone. One survivor, that's it. Not two, not ten, not forty. You got that?"

"Why does it have to be that way, though?"

"What does it matter why? Fuck sake, Silent, wake up! All this? It's a competition, that's what it is. A game, all of us against each other, just like any other. That's what life is you know, people fighting each other, trying to come out on top." Silent remembered looking at Elyse in that moment and seeing in her eyes that she truly believed that. It was nonsense; people chose to be like that, but they didn't have to. Plenty of people lived mutually self-supporting lives and got on just fine, without conflict.

"You're wrong. The stage lights have blinded you to the higher truths. We can all get along, you just need to try!"

"It's too late for that, Silent. I've thought about it, really. Didn't think I could do it, I won't ever again when this is over. But they're all trying to same thing to me, so it's just a choice I have to make – me or them. It's sad but true." She looked like she meant that, but that didn't mean she was making the moral choice. She'd also just blatantly lied.

"When did you think about it? As you stared at Manuel's body when you murdered him? You didn't wait five minutes!" She hadn't meant to sound quite so accusative there, and it was a mistake to do so. Elyse's eyes lit up as she "realised" what was going on. Seeing this, Silent tried to back up, but as predicted it had been too late.

"So that's your angle, huh? Think you can entrap me like that? Draw me in close with claims of pacifism and friendship so you can kill me, you passive-aggressive freak? You criticise me for fighting when you do all those martial arts, you're such a hypocrite! Fuck you, I'm gonna win, you're gonna die!"

With that, Elyse had reached into her bag and drawn the weapon used to kill Manuel – a spiked ball and chain. It was a powerful but unwieldy weapon that looked to be too big for the girl. Elyse was stronger than she looked though, and knew how to control her weight as she charged towards Silent.

Within moments, Elyse had powered her weapon towards Silent, though the distance between them and the open ground meant that the strike was easily dodged as Silent threw herself to the floor, towards her own bag. She'd had to move quickly, as Elyse deftly spun around to strike again. She was breathing frantically, clearly scared, but moving with intelligence that compensated for the bulk of her weapon.

Silent hadn't expected this. In retrospect she perhaps should have done, considering even what she'd actually said to her, but perhaps she had too much faith in the people she wanted nothing to do with. Or perhaps she just didn't understand them well enough to make accurate judgements. The latter seemed more likely.

Forced into the fight, she'd had to move quickly to draw her shuriken throwing stars from her bag before being forced to use it as a shield, that being her only defence. She had a box of six hira-shuriken, and was able to retrieve them as the second attack from the spiked ball and chain swept just inches from her face.

Throwing her bag at Elyse to wrong-foot her, Silent had quickly risen to her feet and ran away from her opponent. Silent's weapon had the superior range, and as a person she had more focus. She'd had no desire to do murder, but words clearly weren't going to be enough against Elyse, who found her attempts to close the increasing distance thwarted by two shuriken, one going towards her left thigh and the other her right arm.

The latter merely scraped her forearm, but the former penetrated her leg, causing Elyse to lose balance and fall forward, hurriedly dropping her weapon to stop herself breaking her leg with it. She'd painfully pulled out the blade in her leg, but before she could consider a further attack was forced to face up to Silent standing right over her, two more shuriken in her hands and the other two in her belt.

For several seconds the pair had remained there in silence before Elyse scrambled backwards to her feet, quickly but defensively. She'd known better than to try continuing the fight. Silent didn't know whether Elyse expected to die there and then, but she did know she had no interest in killing her.

"This…next time! It's not over!" Silent hadn't responded as Elyse turned tail and fled, chanting "Can't lose…wanna live!" over and over again as she did so.

And that was how Silent had found herself where she was, considering what to do next. The kind of things Elyse said to her, about her, were nothing she wasn't used to hearing. The laws against causing offence were meaningless in practice; all she could do was try not to feel it. And normally she never did. There was so much people would never know about her, though that was mostly through her choosing not to tell them and she had to accept the consequences of that, good and bad.

Things like the self defence training her uncle provided going beyond the judo and karate in which she held first and second dan belts respectively and into the realm of knife and blade usage. That meant she had seen and used shuriken before, and knew how to do so effectively, though of course her only prior interest in them had been self defence, coordination and reflex development.

She was no freak; she was a well-adjusted, normal girl, who just happened to live a live as close to free of human contact beyond her aunt, uncle and teachers as possible. But while that had never been a problem before, it certainly was now. Anything she could do to escape the island without killing or being killed by necessity involved other people. And Elyse had demonstrated an attitude towards her that Silent realised was also that of most people in her year. She wasn't an openly hostile person, but she could never be "liked" as such.

She had to make a choice: given that both were not possible, which did she want more – to avoid killing or to avoid dying? That was a question to which she knew the answer, even if she didn't like it very much. Collecting the two thrown shuriken from the ground, Silent strung them together and attached them to her belt. There was no point in staying where she was any longer. With a look of sorrow adorning her face, Silent Shimizu picked up her bag and wandered off. She now had some idea of what to do, but truly was as she always had been, always would be, and, for the first time since her parents' death, did not want to be – alone.