Chapter 6: 22nd July 2016 -02:45-
The sound of dripping water rang down the empty alleyway, chiming off of the flat walls with a wet melody. Accompanying the rhythmic drip, the steady ministrations of controlled breathing leaked into the air.
Ryan Archer (Boy #6) was sitting crouched, his back leaning against the wall of the alleyway. His restrained diaphragm slowly descending, he maintained an air of quiet control to his movements and breathing. Positioned as he was, his entire body was swathed in shadow, the narrow walkway concealed from the light of the overhead moon.
Despite his apparent control, however, inside Ryan's mind was in turmoil. Ryan didn't agree with fear. The very idea repulsed him. He didn't like the methods that the government used to exert control on the citizens at the best of times. Now that he was at the centre of it, as a participant of The Program, he felt downright disgusted.
Unintentional tremors shuddered through his muscles, as he seethed with anger at the situation. Freeman was lording over them, controlling his other students with fear. The fear of death; the fear of murder; the fear of repercussions against their families. And Ryan hated him for it.
Thoughts and ideas for how to proceed stormed through his mind. In a perfect world, he would have rushed back into the community centre, and initiated a full-frontal attack on everyone responsible.
But the world wasn't perfect. No. It was cruel and spiteful.
The very nature of the "game" rendered responsive attacks on the government base impossible. The collar choking his throat even stopped him from running away. All it took was the push of a button, and his life would be no more. Snuffed out like the vulnerable flame of a candle.
Then there was the issue of his designated weapon. When their so-called instructor was explaining the rules of The Program, he had said that the weapons could be anything; the suggestion was even thrown out of a full automatic machine gun. Such an armament would have allowed him to storm the room, filled with soldiers, and mow them down.
But, as Ryan already knew, the world was not perfect.
Upon opening his bag, he found not a gun, but a knife. Flat faced, and with two sharpened edges, the driver's knife bore a grip slightly reminiscent of a knuckle-duster.
Still, he had thought, upon drawing it out of the bag. At least it's something I know how to use.
Then he felt disgusted with himself, about the implications of the thought.
His classmates were good people. They didn't deserve to be in this kind of situation; flung to their deaths for little more than the government's sick amusement.
Ryan needed to figure things out. He needed to find a way out of the horrific situation; to escape and save as many people as possible.
He had never been comfortable with making snap decisions. He liked having a plan; thinking through what he was going to do next. Even when he competed in the regional martial arts competitions, he would always scope out his opponents, and concoct plans and tactics around defeating his opponents.
So, sitting crouched down the dark alleyway, he ran though all of the many possibility in his head. Projected the outcomes of every course of action he could take.
And every single one, no matter how thoroughly he planned, ended in his death.