p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""And we…are…off and running my friends!" Jay Jags proudly exclaimed to the American public. "The last kid just went out the door and already four are dead. Grab your drinks, your snacks, your honey, your dick, whatever you gotta do to get hyped!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""Colorful as ever Jay," Randall Stewart quipped. "But yes, Hallie and Ford didn't even make it out the door, Amanda and Max made it about five feet from the door, but everyone else is off and running. Shouldn't be long now until they start bumping into each other. It is dark but night-vision clips have long been the most viewed game clips online because there's something truly special about that level of terror." He turned to another camera. "We will be bringing in a few talking heads to discuss the game starting soon, including famed BR mystic Candy Dee and of course my dear personal friend, the greatest Battle Royale winner of all time, Mister Twenty-Two Kills himself Palmer Macy will be on tomorrow morning at roughly 8AM BR time, you don't wanna miss it."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""For now though," Jay chimed back in, "we're gonna fuck off and watch some live feeds of the game!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"…/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney Goldberg ran, and ran, and ran from the town hall. Overwhelmed was nowhere near enough of a word to convey all the terrible emotions she was feeling right now. She didn't have a destination in mind; she hadn't even opened her bag yet, much less looked at the map inside. She had been running on pure adrenaline, but finally fatigue was starting to set in./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"For the first time, Whitney started to take note of her surroundings, and could hear the ocean. She followed the sound of waves crashing and found herself on the beach pretty quickly. She looked to her right and saw a small fishing shack. Without hesitation, she ran inside and finally reached into her assigned bag. She felt the flashlight and decided to take a quick peak, just to get a feel for the place. It was mostly one room, with the living room and kitchen essentially sharing a space. The only separate room was the bathroom, which Whitney decided was her best bet for now./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The door had a classic hook-and-eye lock, which was very rusted but still sealed the door. To an extent at least, since Whitney knew anyone with a gun or a big foot could get in with relative ease. She almost decided to sit in the bathtub, but saw dried red stains all over it./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Was it from a past game of Battle Royale? Was the original owner a serial killer? Or were fish gutted in there? With none of those possibilities calming Whitney's still-frantic state, she just sat down on the toilet./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She dug through her bag further. She felt the expected water and food, but then felt something else. Something metal. Something cold. And something with some kind of handle./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"It was a gun. A .38 Chief's Special snub-nose revolver, but Whitney hated guns so she didn't know the details of it until looking at the small diagram she was given to show her how to use it./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"All she could see was Ford's face. His bloody, splattered face. No matter how hard she tried, all she could picture was his corpse. In some ways, she was jealous, because he wouldn't have to experience this horrible game./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Just then, it hit her. He likely died instantly. He probably never knew what happened to him. It seemed merciful, albeit in a macabre and devastating way./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"What if I join him? She thought to herself. This may not be a very big gun, but it'd be more than enough if she simply put it in her mouth and squeezed the trigger just once./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Gazing at her reflection, she felt her current appearance was as though she'd aged twenty years since arriving on the island. The reflection was not who she wanted to be. So, she raised her gun, and put it in her mouth, staring at her reflection the whole time, thinking that the face she saw would be more than enough to make her follow through./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Suddenly, another face appeared. Ford. The way she wanted to remember him: happy and smiling. She didn't think she could do it anymore. Then, yet another face appeared./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Mark Lance. The man who killed the love of her life./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Rage began to build. Tears began to stream down her face even faster than they had been. The confusion and disgust and anger and hopelessness blasted through her mind like a tornado, finally culminating in Whitney taking the gun out of her mouth and slamming it into the mirror, shattering it. She collapsed to the ground among the shards, uncaring if they sliced her./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney didn't know if she was capable of committing suicide, but she also didn't think she was capable of killing her classmates. All she could think of was killing Mark Lance./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Lying on her back, she looked at the ceiling. She could make out a faint red light. She knew it was a camera. Even in her highly emotional state she couldn't help thinking the people behind the scenes were perverts for setting up a camera in a bathroom./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney felt like Lance was personally watching her, at that very moment. Part of her wanted to shoot the camera, but she didn't want to attract attention to herself. Still, she felt like it'd be as close to shooting Lance as she could get./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Wait, she thought, what if I could get closer to shooting him?/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She saw the scenario in her head. After waiting the game out, letting everyone else kill each other, she sneaks up behind the only other person left and shoots him dead. (For whatever reason, she envisioned this last man standing as being Aaron Bullock.) Then, the winning siren blares. Patriotic music plays. Lance's voice comes over the loudspeaker. "Congratulations Whitney Goldberg!" He exclaims. "You are the winner of Battle Royale!" Soldiers escort her back for a ceremonial handshake with Lance./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"At which point Whitney raises her gun and shoots Mark Lance dead./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney knew this was suicide, as she'd be gunned down by the soldiers ten times over immediately afterward, but still, what a way to go./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Finally, some rationality returned to her frantic brain. She realized that would never work; they'd never let her get anywhere near Lance with a gun in her hand. Her fantasy over, she turned herself over and started to stand up./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"That's when she saw it./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Knowing the camera was watching, she faked getting poked by a shard of glass from the mirror, and swept a few pieces into her hand. She got to her feet and, with her back to the camera, placed the shards on the sink./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Except for one long, jagged shard, that she slid into the left pocket of her hoodie, out of view from prying eyes. They can't take a weapon they don't know she has./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney sat back down on the toilet, her mission clear. She was gonna win this game, and upon next being in the presence of Mark Lance, regardless of the consequences, she was going to plunge that shard into his throat./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"…/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Paul Valdez, known to everyone in school as Dez, heard Juan's instructions to head to the easternmost point of the island. Unfortunately, he had unknowingly held the map upside-down and had gone to the west, only realizing his mistake once he reached the beach and enough moonlight had illuminated his map to read it properly. Finally, he was making his way east, but he had an almost three-mile hike ahead of him./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Dez and Juan had been best friends since third grade, when they ended up in the same class together. They bonded over their love of Latin hip-hop and reggaeton, which was hard to come by in post-Lionel America; both received beatings for listening to music that the regime considered "anti-American". When both got older and better understood the meaning behind the words, they found it hilarious that so many racist people thought songs about sex and partying were in some way encouraging Spanish speakers to hate America./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The words didn't make Dez and Juan into rebels, it was the way their fellow Americans constantly treated them. They both tried to stay out of fights, but any time they found themselves in one, they would, without fail, take most if not all (usually all) of the blame. So one day, Juan simply said to Dez, "They expect us to fight, so let's fight." From there, they started living the lives they wanted; with no one believing in them, or expecting anything from them, they decided they might as well have fun. When Big T had to repeat seventh grade, he became fast friends with Dez and Juan, and halfway through freshman year Maria transferred to their school after being expelled from another, and the four were inseparable./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"In some ways, Dez missed the days when it was just him and Juan; things were simpler. Though he knew it wasn't Juan's fault, because growing up in this country was already difficult, and even more so for people like Dez and his three best friends. His real wish was that he could've known Big T and Maria in more innocent times./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Dez clutched his old-fashioned pistol, an M1911 that looked straight out of World War II, tightly in his hand. While he'd never fired a gun before, he was shown how to hold a pistol by some of Juan's less salubrious older acquaintances (Juan was always better at making social connections, which is why Dez always deferred to him), so he figured he might have more of a shot than some of the meeker kids in school. He just kept moving through the trees, planning to just run until he saw the ocean again./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Was running the best idea? He didn't care. He had a gun. His friendship with Juan had made him much more hardened, and he'd been forced to discover several times just how capable he was. He had been in more fights alongside his friends than he could remember. During one particularly nasty brawl, an older street tough pulled a gun on Juan. Without hesitation, Dez knocked it out of the hood's hand with a pool cue, allowing the four of them to get out of the situation./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"If he was the only one of his crew to receive a gun, he was ready to defend them again. It'd be especially easy if people like Cal, Cody, or Blake tried to hurt his friends, as they've all bullied or even assaulted him in the past. He still remembers the first time he ever heard the word "greaser" thrown at him, courtesy of Cal; he was ten years old and had to ask his mother after school what it meant. Cal was essentially his introduction to bigotry. Oh, Dez thought to himself, wouldn't that be sweet revenge?/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Suddenly, Dez heard a noise nearby, causing him to take cover next to a tree. As he stopped, finger on the trigger, he started wondering what the sound was. He didn't think it was footsteps, partially because it sounded more like a "thud", and partially because he only heard it once. Could it have been a rock? A rock someone might've thrown as a distraction—/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"A blindingly bright light appeared directly in front of him. He raised his hand to fire his gun, but before he could do so, the light rapidly approached and hit him in the face, stunning him. He unintentionally fired the gun, worrying him since it would draw attention, so he hoped it had at least hit his attacker. As he came to his senses, a figure appeared in front of him. The figure raised a weapon that looked like it was from a time even further back than his WWII pistol./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"A crossbow. One covered in engravings that indicated it was from Asia hundreds of years earlier. Of course, Dez didn't really notice the markings. He was more concerned with the projectile that came out of the business end of it after Dalton Sanderson-Burke (#39) pointed it directly at his chest and pulled the trigger./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The bolt hit Dez with such swiftness that it felt more like a sting than a fatal blow. But while his brain may not have registered the pain, his heart immediately began to fail upon being pierced. Dez fell to his knees, and with his final burst of strength he raised his pistol and fired three shots as Dalton retreated and he collapsed onto his side. He didn't know if he'd hit his target, but in his final moments all he could think about was how Dalton was one of the most verbally abusive people in school, especially to people of color, and he passed away having convinced himself that he shot Dalton./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"This was not the case. Dalton had set himself up alongside a cluster of three trees and waited for someone to pass. His plan was to throw a rock in a direction that would get the passerby to look in his direction, but they would be unable to see him due to his placement among the trees until he illuminated his flashlight at them. He would then hurl the flashlight at their face, giving him enough time to shoot them with his crossbow. His plan had worked perfectly, and Dez having a gun made it even better as now he could play the game with less surreptitiousness./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""Fucking greaser," Dalton said as he pulled the gun out Dez's still-warm dead hand./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"…/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Upon her exit from the town hall, Maisley Scott just walked straight, which happened to be north. She didn't look in her bag or even really take note of her surroundings. The weight of the game hadn't really hit her yet./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"In spite of the situation, she knew she was being broadcast on national TV and the internet. She was going viral. With her social media presence, she had no doubt she was the player America was rooting for the most./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Maisley's following had already gifted her a plethora of nice new clothes and accessories, which had quickly given her a taste of the finer things. The world had become her oyster at just seventeen./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She was already a star. Battle Royale was meant for her./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Reinforcing her belief that the universe had a vested interest in giving her good things, her trek northward brought her to a trio of large mansions. The middle was the biggest, so she walked toward it without an ounce of fear. This is mine, she thought, no one else belongs here./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"At home, she had made her content in the attic, so after locking the doors to the mansion, she made her way to what she thought was the attic of this grand estate. However, once she got up there, she realized it was not merely an attic. It was a full-blown third floor. There was a bedroom, a common area, and an office up there, and Maisley couldn't resist turning on her flashlight to check it out. It was little "manlier" than she would have liked, but the sheer amount of space was lovely./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She was determined to win this game and, with the boost to her online profile that this game would give her, buy a mansion just like this, with as beautiful a top floor as this, except she would remodel it to the perfect Maisley Scott content creation haven./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Finally, some game sense came to her. She opened her bag to see what her weapon was. To her disappointment, it was a meat cleaver. She didn't even eat meat./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Maisley was overcome with frustration. She deserved better than this. She deserved a gun./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"That's it! She thought to herself. They MUST have hidden it here. This mansion was the perfect place due to its size. Of course, the AR-15 has been hidden in this awesome mega-attic!/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She began picking the third-floor mancave apart, confident that the best weapon on the island was gonna fall into her lap. Everything falls into my lap, she resumed thinking, including and especially Battle Royale. She looked up at the cameras mounted to the ceiling, and blew a kiss to her adoring audience./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""Don't worry America," she said to the camera with a smile and a wink, "your girl's got this!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"strongspan style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"45 Contestants Remaining/span/strong/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""Colorful as ever Jay," Randall Stewart quipped. "But yes, Hallie and Ford didn't even make it out the door, Amanda and Max made it about five feet from the door, but everyone else is off and running. Shouldn't be long now until they start bumping into each other. It is dark but night-vision clips have long been the most viewed game clips online because there's something truly special about that level of terror." He turned to another camera. "We will be bringing in a few talking heads to discuss the game starting soon, including famed BR mystic Candy Dee and of course my dear personal friend, the greatest Battle Royale winner of all time, Mister Twenty-Two Kills himself Palmer Macy will be on tomorrow morning at roughly 8AM BR time, you don't wanna miss it."/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""For now though," Jay chimed back in, "we're gonna fuck off and watch some live feeds of the game!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"…/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney Goldberg ran, and ran, and ran from the town hall. Overwhelmed was nowhere near enough of a word to convey all the terrible emotions she was feeling right now. She didn't have a destination in mind; she hadn't even opened her bag yet, much less looked at the map inside. She had been running on pure adrenaline, but finally fatigue was starting to set in./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"For the first time, Whitney started to take note of her surroundings, and could hear the ocean. She followed the sound of waves crashing and found herself on the beach pretty quickly. She looked to her right and saw a small fishing shack. Without hesitation, she ran inside and finally reached into her assigned bag. She felt the flashlight and decided to take a quick peak, just to get a feel for the place. It was mostly one room, with the living room and kitchen essentially sharing a space. The only separate room was the bathroom, which Whitney decided was her best bet for now./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The door had a classic hook-and-eye lock, which was very rusted but still sealed the door. To an extent at least, since Whitney knew anyone with a gun or a big foot could get in with relative ease. She almost decided to sit in the bathtub, but saw dried red stains all over it./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Was it from a past game of Battle Royale? Was the original owner a serial killer? Or were fish gutted in there? With none of those possibilities calming Whitney's still-frantic state, she just sat down on the toilet./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She dug through her bag further. She felt the expected water and food, but then felt something else. Something metal. Something cold. And something with some kind of handle./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"It was a gun. A .38 Chief's Special snub-nose revolver, but Whitney hated guns so she didn't know the details of it until looking at the small diagram she was given to show her how to use it./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"All she could see was Ford's face. His bloody, splattered face. No matter how hard she tried, all she could picture was his corpse. In some ways, she was jealous, because he wouldn't have to experience this horrible game./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Just then, it hit her. He likely died instantly. He probably never knew what happened to him. It seemed merciful, albeit in a macabre and devastating way./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"What if I join him? She thought to herself. This may not be a very big gun, but it'd be more than enough if she simply put it in her mouth and squeezed the trigger just once./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Gazing at her reflection, she felt her current appearance was as though she'd aged twenty years since arriving on the island. The reflection was not who she wanted to be. So, she raised her gun, and put it in her mouth, staring at her reflection the whole time, thinking that the face she saw would be more than enough to make her follow through./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Suddenly, another face appeared. Ford. The way she wanted to remember him: happy and smiling. She didn't think she could do it anymore. Then, yet another face appeared./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Mark Lance. The man who killed the love of her life./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Rage began to build. Tears began to stream down her face even faster than they had been. The confusion and disgust and anger and hopelessness blasted through her mind like a tornado, finally culminating in Whitney taking the gun out of her mouth and slamming it into the mirror, shattering it. She collapsed to the ground among the shards, uncaring if they sliced her./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney didn't know if she was capable of committing suicide, but she also didn't think she was capable of killing her classmates. All she could think of was killing Mark Lance./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Lying on her back, she looked at the ceiling. She could make out a faint red light. She knew it was a camera. Even in her highly emotional state she couldn't help thinking the people behind the scenes were perverts for setting up a camera in a bathroom./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney felt like Lance was personally watching her, at that very moment. Part of her wanted to shoot the camera, but she didn't want to attract attention to herself. Still, she felt like it'd be as close to shooting Lance as she could get./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Wait, she thought, what if I could get closer to shooting him?/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She saw the scenario in her head. After waiting the game out, letting everyone else kill each other, she sneaks up behind the only other person left and shoots him dead. (For whatever reason, she envisioned this last man standing as being Aaron Bullock.) Then, the winning siren blares. Patriotic music plays. Lance's voice comes over the loudspeaker. "Congratulations Whitney Goldberg!" He exclaims. "You are the winner of Battle Royale!" Soldiers escort her back for a ceremonial handshake with Lance./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"At which point Whitney raises her gun and shoots Mark Lance dead./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney knew this was suicide, as she'd be gunned down by the soldiers ten times over immediately afterward, but still, what a way to go./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Finally, some rationality returned to her frantic brain. She realized that would never work; they'd never let her get anywhere near Lance with a gun in her hand. Her fantasy over, she turned herself over and started to stand up./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"That's when she saw it./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Knowing the camera was watching, she faked getting poked by a shard of glass from the mirror, and swept a few pieces into her hand. She got to her feet and, with her back to the camera, placed the shards on the sink./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Except for one long, jagged shard, that she slid into the left pocket of her hoodie, out of view from prying eyes. They can't take a weapon they don't know she has./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Whitney sat back down on the toilet, her mission clear. She was gonna win this game, and upon next being in the presence of Mark Lance, regardless of the consequences, she was going to plunge that shard into his throat./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"…/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Paul Valdez, known to everyone in school as Dez, heard Juan's instructions to head to the easternmost point of the island. Unfortunately, he had unknowingly held the map upside-down and had gone to the west, only realizing his mistake once he reached the beach and enough moonlight had illuminated his map to read it properly. Finally, he was making his way east, but he had an almost three-mile hike ahead of him./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Dez and Juan had been best friends since third grade, when they ended up in the same class together. They bonded over their love of Latin hip-hop and reggaeton, which was hard to come by in post-Lionel America; both received beatings for listening to music that the regime considered "anti-American". When both got older and better understood the meaning behind the words, they found it hilarious that so many racist people thought songs about sex and partying were in some way encouraging Spanish speakers to hate America./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The words didn't make Dez and Juan into rebels, it was the way their fellow Americans constantly treated them. They both tried to stay out of fights, but any time they found themselves in one, they would, without fail, take most if not all (usually all) of the blame. So one day, Juan simply said to Dez, "They expect us to fight, so let's fight." From there, they started living the lives they wanted; with no one believing in them, or expecting anything from them, they decided they might as well have fun. When Big T had to repeat seventh grade, he became fast friends with Dez and Juan, and halfway through freshman year Maria transferred to their school after being expelled from another, and the four were inseparable./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"In some ways, Dez missed the days when it was just him and Juan; things were simpler. Though he knew it wasn't Juan's fault, because growing up in this country was already difficult, and even more so for people like Dez and his three best friends. His real wish was that he could've known Big T and Maria in more innocent times./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Dez clutched his old-fashioned pistol, an M1911 that looked straight out of World War II, tightly in his hand. While he'd never fired a gun before, he was shown how to hold a pistol by some of Juan's less salubrious older acquaintances (Juan was always better at making social connections, which is why Dez always deferred to him), so he figured he might have more of a shot than some of the meeker kids in school. He just kept moving through the trees, planning to just run until he saw the ocean again./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Was running the best idea? He didn't care. He had a gun. His friendship with Juan had made him much more hardened, and he'd been forced to discover several times just how capable he was. He had been in more fights alongside his friends than he could remember. During one particularly nasty brawl, an older street tough pulled a gun on Juan. Without hesitation, Dez knocked it out of the hood's hand with a pool cue, allowing the four of them to get out of the situation./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"If he was the only one of his crew to receive a gun, he was ready to defend them again. It'd be especially easy if people like Cal, Cody, or Blake tried to hurt his friends, as they've all bullied or even assaulted him in the past. He still remembers the first time he ever heard the word "greaser" thrown at him, courtesy of Cal; he was ten years old and had to ask his mother after school what it meant. Cal was essentially his introduction to bigotry. Oh, Dez thought to himself, wouldn't that be sweet revenge?/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Suddenly, Dez heard a noise nearby, causing him to take cover next to a tree. As he stopped, finger on the trigger, he started wondering what the sound was. He didn't think it was footsteps, partially because it sounded more like a "thud", and partially because he only heard it once. Could it have been a rock? A rock someone might've thrown as a distraction—/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"A blindingly bright light appeared directly in front of him. He raised his hand to fire his gun, but before he could do so, the light rapidly approached and hit him in the face, stunning him. He unintentionally fired the gun, worrying him since it would draw attention, so he hoped it had at least hit his attacker. As he came to his senses, a figure appeared in front of him. The figure raised a weapon that looked like it was from a time even further back than his WWII pistol./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"A crossbow. One covered in engravings that indicated it was from Asia hundreds of years earlier. Of course, Dez didn't really notice the markings. He was more concerned with the projectile that came out of the business end of it after Dalton Sanderson-Burke (#39) pointed it directly at his chest and pulled the trigger./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"The bolt hit Dez with such swiftness that it felt more like a sting than a fatal blow. But while his brain may not have registered the pain, his heart immediately began to fail upon being pierced. Dez fell to his knees, and with his final burst of strength he raised his pistol and fired three shots as Dalton retreated and he collapsed onto his side. He didn't know if he'd hit his target, but in his final moments all he could think about was how Dalton was one of the most verbally abusive people in school, especially to people of color, and he passed away having convinced himself that he shot Dalton./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"This was not the case. Dalton had set himself up alongside a cluster of three trees and waited for someone to pass. His plan was to throw a rock in a direction that would get the passerby to look in his direction, but they would be unable to see him due to his placement among the trees until he illuminated his flashlight at them. He would then hurl the flashlight at their face, giving him enough time to shoot them with his crossbow. His plan had worked perfectly, and Dez having a gun made it even better as now he could play the game with less surreptitiousness./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""Fucking greaser," Dalton said as he pulled the gun out Dez's still-warm dead hand./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"…/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Upon her exit from the town hall, Maisley Scott just walked straight, which happened to be north. She didn't look in her bag or even really take note of her surroundings. The weight of the game hadn't really hit her yet./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"In spite of the situation, she knew she was being broadcast on national TV and the internet. She was going viral. With her social media presence, she had no doubt she was the player America was rooting for the most./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Maisley's following had already gifted her a plethora of nice new clothes and accessories, which had quickly given her a taste of the finer things. The world had become her oyster at just seventeen./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She was already a star. Battle Royale was meant for her./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Reinforcing her belief that the universe had a vested interest in giving her good things, her trek northward brought her to a trio of large mansions. The middle was the biggest, so she walked toward it without an ounce of fear. This is mine, she thought, no one else belongs here./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"At home, she had made her content in the attic, so after locking the doors to the mansion, she made her way to what she thought was the attic of this grand estate. However, once she got up there, she realized it was not merely an attic. It was a full-blown third floor. There was a bedroom, a common area, and an office up there, and Maisley couldn't resist turning on her flashlight to check it out. It was little "manlier" than she would have liked, but the sheer amount of space was lovely./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She was determined to win this game and, with the boost to her online profile that this game would give her, buy a mansion just like this, with as beautiful a top floor as this, except she would remodel it to the perfect Maisley Scott content creation haven./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Finally, some game sense came to her. She opened her bag to see what her weapon was. To her disappointment, it was a meat cleaver. She didn't even eat meat./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"Maisley was overcome with frustration. She deserved better than this. She deserved a gun./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"That's it! She thought to herself. They MUST have hidden it here. This mansion was the perfect place due to its size. Of course, the AR-15 has been hidden in this awesome mega-attic!/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"She began picking the third-floor mancave apart, confident that the best weapon on the island was gonna fall into her lap. Everything falls into my lap, she resumed thinking, including and especially Battle Royale. She looked up at the cameras mounted to the ceiling, and blew a kiss to her adoring audience./span/p
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;""Don't worry America," she said to the camera with a smile and a wink, "your girl's got this!"/span/p
p class="MsoNormal"strongspan style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif;"45 Contestants Remaining/span/strong/p