Origins

[Megami†]

Slowly but surely, the morning sun was peeking out from behind the horizon.  It rose into the air from the east, slowly illuminating the glistening ocean waters in an orange glow.  A lone figure lay sprawled out in the sands, the ocean waters narrowly missing him as they lapped in a never-ending cycle against the radiant white sands.  The figure was sleeping, a deep slumber which had not been induced by natural causes.  Slowly, but surely, the figure began to stir.

My god damned head...

The lone thought passed through the groggy mind of one, Eric Silvstedt (Male Student No. 17), as his eyes slowly opened to reveal the vast expanse of ocean which he had been facing.  His dark eyes scanned the horizon in front of him, only to find that the waters were desolate and full of nothingness.  For as far as the eye could see, beyond this island, the only thing that existed was ocean and skyline.  It almost looked like something out of a commercial, but this... well, this was no commercial at all.

The calm nature with which the tides slowly rolled in and out, carrying away a billion grains of sand with each rhymic cycle... the peace and solidarity the scene provided... it belied the true nature of this island.  As Eric laid absent-mindedly in the endless sea of sands, he inwardly knew that just off-shore, a battle unlike any other had begun.  This battle was the result of a sick, twisted game.  This battle took Darwinism to the extreme.  It was a battle where only the most coniving, selfish person could slither their way through the masses to become the winner.

The winner... of the second round of Survival of the Fittest.

Slowly, the redheaded boy pushed himself up from his prone position in the sand, taking off the black and red baseball cap he had adorned on the trip momentarily in order to shake the some thousand grains of sand that had accumulated in it out.  Shaking his head, he ran his hands through it as well before sliding the ballcap back into place.  Nearby, the black and red bag emblazoned with the "Franklyn Senior High School" logo and mascot sat undisturbed on the sands, and beside that...

Eric looked with keen interest at the large dufflebag that lay beside his own, this one emblazoned with the symbols "B17" and "Silvstedt" scrawled across it.  Slowly, Eric dragged himself over to the two bags, disregarding his own dufflebag for the issued daypack.  With an almost unnatural delicateness, Eric unzipped the daypack, surveying the contents within slowly.  He picked each item up, studying it carefully.  Upon discovering the island map, Eric took the opportunity to fasten it to the chain on his belt for easy access.

Much to his chagrin, he found no designated weapon in his pack.  A slight hint of annoyance could be detected on the redheaded boy's features at this revelation.  Finally, he caught a glimpse of the atrocity that was supposed to serve as his designated weapon.  Just down the beach, far enough away from Eric that it hadn't landed on him upon impact, a large anchor lay towering in the sands.  As Eric eyed the thing and the realization came to him, he didn't swear, nor anger, but instead let out a lighthearted laugh.

"Danya, Danya, Danya," Eric cooed, looking the thing over in amusement, "You disappoint me.  You're not going to give me any edgeway here, are you?  Well then, I suppose I'll have to improvise."

The game, it does things to people.  Dog-eat-dog.  That summarized the lives of many American individuals in this day and age.  Now, it summarized the basic rules of the game that Eric Silvstedt had been forced to participate in.  Somewhere deep down, Eric's morals and conscience fumed and protested in frustration.  Eric Silvstedt, though, was a competitor to the core, and SOTF was a competition.  He couldn't help but think to himself that the remainder of his teammates would probably unite and attempt to fell the system.

What they all failed to realize was that Survival of the Fittest... it wasn't a team game.  Odds were, the Franklyn Senior baseball team would attempt to unite and pull a doppelganger of the would-be escape artists the first game had to offer.  Odds were, they would fail miserably and all die horrible deaths.  Eric smirked to himself.  He knew the rules of the game.  Only one could win.  Alliances were useless, they would only crumble.  He had to lie, cheat, manipulate, and murder his way through the game until he was the last one standing.

Eric Silvstedt... was fine with that.

A foreboding nightmare he had had months prior to the competition entered his mind at that moment.  Eric had been running... relentlessly running.  His hair was plastered to his forehead from sweat, his hands were shaking with nerves.  He had kicked the door to his mother's bedroom down and eliminated both herself and her wretched boyfriend from the planet.  He'd eliminated Ricky Callahan -- someone he would've considered his best friend at one time.  He'd eliminated Whitney Acosta -- the blonde bitch that wouldn't give him the time of day.  He'd eliminated Matthias Kovalenko.  Over and over and over, he eliminated Matthias.

A wide grin spread across his features as the scene reinacted itself in his mind.  Danya hadn't been so kind as to give him a shotgun with which to eliminate the competition, but Eric needed no weapon.  He was fully confident of his ability to eliminate the competition with his bare fists, if need be.  Unzipping his own dufflebag carelessly, he began cramming his belongings into the SOTF pack.  Seconds later, the transition was finished and he hefted the bag up onto his shoulder.  His attention slowly turned itself back to his weapon.  It was far too heavy to carry.

"We've had some good times, baby," he mused with a half-grin to the anchor, "But this is where we part ways.  If things don't work out with something else, maybe I'll give you a call in the afterlife."

The redhead cackled at the ignorant remark he'd just made.  Perhaps something had snapped inside of Eric Silvstedt.  Perhaps he didn't realize the seriousness of the situation at hand.  Perhaps... he understood it all too well.  Perhaps Eric had come to terms quickly with the game that he would play.  The truth behind Eric Silvstedt was this.  Eric was a callous, cold-hearted person.  Eric had a raging temper, a bit of an inferiority complex, and best of all, grudges.  He had grudges on people like Whitney Acosta.  He had a personal vendetta against the Kovalenko siblings.

For Eric, Survival of the Fittest wasn't a nightmare, it was a blessing in disguise.  Eric was a competitor to the core, and he knew from the get-go that he'd be playing to win.  Danya had given him the opportunity of a lifetime by placing him in this competition.  He had given him the opportunity to obliterate those he despised the most by his own hand.  If anything, Eric Silvstedt, irrational though it may have been, was grateful for the opportunity.  Giving a slight salute to the cameras he was certain were watching him, Eric began his journey down the seemingly endless sands of the western shore.

((Continued in Headhunter))