Welcome To The Jungle
Posted: Mon Oct 01, 2018 5:30 pm
This...is not a videogame.
Zachary "Zed" Foreman opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a blur of bright green and brown, and he realized he was sprawled face-up across the dirt ground.
"What the hell...just happened?" he muttered as he slowly sat up. "Where am I?"
As his vision cleared he could find the sun's rays poking through the tall trees stretching their leafy arms into the sky. The trees surrounded him at every angle, and more trees could be seen in the gaps between those trees. It was impossible for him to tell whether he was close to the edge or smack-dab in the middle of some great forest. Any attempts at trying to find a path out would most certainly lead him in circles.
He quickly grew scared enough of his own surroundings to pinch himself. Twice. But that didn't wake him up, as he was still in this same forest, still on the ground. Then he put his hands to his neck, to find it nicely constricted by what appeared to be a plastic bracer or...collar...and his eyes nearly bugged out. He suddenly remembered things that happened immediately before in all their detail, something not very possible in...well...
This is a dream. It has to be...
He felt himself hyperventilating. He could feel the texture of the dirt and leaves on the ground clear as the day above him. His rather unkempt brown hair had mixed in with some of the particles of nature on the ground, and those were starting to itch a bit. Sensations not normally encountered en masse in a dream.
...or maybe it's just part 3 of the show...
June 19 had started off rather encouragingly for Zachary Foreman, known to his newly-found skater buddies as "Zed" and across internet-gaming circles as "ZBoy2K'. He had loaded up a sizeable duffelbag emblazoned with stickers and patches of famous skater brandnames with enough clothes and underwear and other "supplies" he'd need for the trip, as well as a pad of paper and a pen, for any notes his teachers might asked him to take. Especially Mr. Duana, he'll have a frickin' essay assignment on our trip for us when we get back.
On his person he wore his almost trademark outfit: loose indigo hoodie, olive green cargo jeans, and some rather worn black-and-red sneakers he'd chosen in place of one of his newer pairs of skateshoes. Apart from his IDs, his pockets contained a pre-owned old-style GBA with a special light plugged into the linkport, as well as Pokémon FireRed and an 8-pack of Energizers. A lack of outlets would clearly not deprive this pro gamer of his lifeforce.
What very nearly did were the terrorists that assaulted the two buses and summarily executed the drivers and the teachers. To be honest, he was actually busy trying to capture a legendary avian until he heard the first gunshots. He looked up and saw the kids being herded to the back of the bus by armed gunmen. This is messed up...it must just be a dream!
And it so happened that as he shook his head to try to wake himself up, Zed was already sitting next to the very window that was spattered with the gibs of what was once to the teacher's head. The magnitude of the explosion and the graphic detail of the guts was enough to make him drop his GBA, the tinny 16-bit music still playing as it collided with the floor.
He got up and, like the rest of his classmates, got herded into a nearby black bus. He flinched when he heard that one female classmate of hers scream and buckled on his legs with the subsequent gunfire, and was one of the last to succumb to the sleeping gas they pumped onto the bus. Hopefully, that would've woken him up in real life and he'd have found himself back in his bed earlier that morning.
He would open his eyes again to the sound of an old-fashioned projector starting into motion, and the first thing he would see then was that of the projector in front of him. His awakening was sped up when he saw what appeared to be two very real - if not photo-realistic - humans fighting in some kind of forest setting. By the time the girl's axe plunged into the flesh of the fight's loser, One could just see the whites of his eyes of his frozen figure from the other side of the room. That was too real to be a videogame. But he still thought it was, as the gas came back again.
Now Zachary was here, in the middle of this 'forest' awake for what could've been the third or fourth time in today - if it was indeed still "today".
A rustling of the leaves caused him to perform a double-take worthy of a horror film. Another after he heard the snapping of a twig in the distance. He had to get out soon.
He was too scared to go back to "sleep," lest he wake up somewhere else again. Or worse, maybe he wouldn't wake up again.
He looked around the ground and found he had been sprawled next to a daypack - which bore a large military-stenciled number 28 - as well as his dufflebag, which appeared to have been severely deflated. He lunged for the daypack first and opened it. There was some food, a first-aid kit, map and compass in a handy transparent zipbag, a couple of books (one a textbook on American History, oddly enough), and - if the rumors about what he had just gotten into were true - a weapon.
But there was no gun or even some kind of meleé weapon. Instead the only object out of the ordinary was what appeared to be a dark blue towel. As he pulled it out it appeared to be an unusually large towel of sorts, folded into a triangle. But he didn't need to inspect closer to find out exactly what it was, as it was blue with white stars.
It was none other than the American flag, folded as it would be when given to...Oh crap...no...they give these to the families of dead soldiers!
It's a dream, right!? Or maybe I've been zapped into a videogame, like that kid in that book about the candy factory!? This has to be symbolic...just...calm down, ZBoy2K.
Zed was one of those now-classic rebel President-hating teenage punks, who - at least outwardly - despised any thoughts of a draft to whatever poor nation the government decided to bomb this week, despite the fact that he was several years younger than the minimum draft age. But here he was, gassed and proudly inducted into that great Manhunt to face off against his classmates and whatever sickos that Danya could've recruited from the bowels of violent society. He never paid much attention to the stuff on TV or the reactions from people like that crazy lawyer chick (Madison, I think her name was...) who would often launch into diatribes against what reallydrove those kids to kill each other. Jack Thompson would be so proud, even if she herself said it wasn't just the videogames.
He flailed the Old Glory out like he was setting down a beach blanket, finding it about the same size as the one that normally flew from the flagpole in front of his school. To estimate it more accurately, he could've worn it around his neck like a superhero's cape. But he wasn't in the City of Heroes. This wasn't even a City of Villains, well, there probably isn't a city here... But there will be villains...
Then he proceeded to roll it up widthwise, so he had what appeared to be some kind of long red-and-white rope. He picked it up, and rolled the edges around his hands, to form a very crude reimagining of Agent 47's fiberwire.
Maybe that's what's happening. Maybe my body went into a coma while I was asleep and I'm trapped in a videogame of an extended nightmare. Like Manhunt or something...
"After all, it's just a videogame, right?" This time he could literally hear himself think. "RIGHT!?"
Zachary put the flag down and went for his dufflebag. It was still full of clean clothes, and most importantly, his underwear. He took out the underwear, and pen and notebook, and stuffed it into the daypack, figuring that if he would "die" or win there would be a slight chance that he could wake up without crappy pants.
He slung his Old Glory garrote on his shoulder and took out the map and compass. Then, after slinging the daypack on his back, Zachary slowly stood up, and smiled a worried smile. The look on his moon-grey eyes seemed almost psychotic as he started walking away from his dufflebag, into and around the maze of nature.
I guess...maybe while I'm dreaming, I'd better play to survive. If I die, I might not spawn again. Or maybe it'll be the end of the body. Maybe if I survive, I'll wake up in the hospital and it'll all really have been just a bad dream about me in some twisted videogame. That's what it is, right?
B28 - Foreman, Z - STATUS: ALIVE
Zachary "Zed" Foreman opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a blur of bright green and brown, and he realized he was sprawled face-up across the dirt ground.
"What the hell...just happened?" he muttered as he slowly sat up. "Where am I?"
As his vision cleared he could find the sun's rays poking through the tall trees stretching their leafy arms into the sky. The trees surrounded him at every angle, and more trees could be seen in the gaps between those trees. It was impossible for him to tell whether he was close to the edge or smack-dab in the middle of some great forest. Any attempts at trying to find a path out would most certainly lead him in circles.
He quickly grew scared enough of his own surroundings to pinch himself. Twice. But that didn't wake him up, as he was still in this same forest, still on the ground. Then he put his hands to his neck, to find it nicely constricted by what appeared to be a plastic bracer or...collar...and his eyes nearly bugged out. He suddenly remembered things that happened immediately before in all their detail, something not very possible in...well...
This is a dream. It has to be...
He felt himself hyperventilating. He could feel the texture of the dirt and leaves on the ground clear as the day above him. His rather unkempt brown hair had mixed in with some of the particles of nature on the ground, and those were starting to itch a bit. Sensations not normally encountered en masse in a dream.
...or maybe it's just part 3 of the show...
June 19 had started off rather encouragingly for Zachary Foreman, known to his newly-found skater buddies as "Zed" and across internet-gaming circles as "ZBoy2K'. He had loaded up a sizeable duffelbag emblazoned with stickers and patches of famous skater brandnames with enough clothes and underwear and other "supplies" he'd need for the trip, as well as a pad of paper and a pen, for any notes his teachers might asked him to take. Especially Mr. Duana, he'll have a frickin' essay assignment on our trip for us when we get back.
On his person he wore his almost trademark outfit: loose indigo hoodie, olive green cargo jeans, and some rather worn black-and-red sneakers he'd chosen in place of one of his newer pairs of skateshoes. Apart from his IDs, his pockets contained a pre-owned old-style GBA with a special light plugged into the linkport, as well as Pokémon FireRed and an 8-pack of Energizers. A lack of outlets would clearly not deprive this pro gamer of his lifeforce.
What very nearly did were the terrorists that assaulted the two buses and summarily executed the drivers and the teachers. To be honest, he was actually busy trying to capture a legendary avian until he heard the first gunshots. He looked up and saw the kids being herded to the back of the bus by armed gunmen. This is messed up...it must just be a dream!
And it so happened that as he shook his head to try to wake himself up, Zed was already sitting next to the very window that was spattered with the gibs of what was once to the teacher's head. The magnitude of the explosion and the graphic detail of the guts was enough to make him drop his GBA, the tinny 16-bit music still playing as it collided with the floor.
He got up and, like the rest of his classmates, got herded into a nearby black bus. He flinched when he heard that one female classmate of hers scream and buckled on his legs with the subsequent gunfire, and was one of the last to succumb to the sleeping gas they pumped onto the bus. Hopefully, that would've woken him up in real life and he'd have found himself back in his bed earlier that morning.
He would open his eyes again to the sound of an old-fashioned projector starting into motion, and the first thing he would see then was that of the projector in front of him. His awakening was sped up when he saw what appeared to be two very real - if not photo-realistic - humans fighting in some kind of forest setting. By the time the girl's axe plunged into the flesh of the fight's loser, One could just see the whites of his eyes of his frozen figure from the other side of the room. That was too real to be a videogame. But he still thought it was, as the gas came back again.
Now Zachary was here, in the middle of this 'forest' awake for what could've been the third or fourth time in today - if it was indeed still "today".
A rustling of the leaves caused him to perform a double-take worthy of a horror film. Another after he heard the snapping of a twig in the distance. He had to get out soon.
He was too scared to go back to "sleep," lest he wake up somewhere else again. Or worse, maybe he wouldn't wake up again.
He looked around the ground and found he had been sprawled next to a daypack - which bore a large military-stenciled number 28 - as well as his dufflebag, which appeared to have been severely deflated. He lunged for the daypack first and opened it. There was some food, a first-aid kit, map and compass in a handy transparent zipbag, a couple of books (one a textbook on American History, oddly enough), and - if the rumors about what he had just gotten into were true - a weapon.
But there was no gun or even some kind of meleé weapon. Instead the only object out of the ordinary was what appeared to be a dark blue towel. As he pulled it out it appeared to be an unusually large towel of sorts, folded into a triangle. But he didn't need to inspect closer to find out exactly what it was, as it was blue with white stars.
It was none other than the American flag, folded as it would be when given to...Oh crap...no...they give these to the families of dead soldiers!
It's a dream, right!? Or maybe I've been zapped into a videogame, like that kid in that book about the candy factory!? This has to be symbolic...just...calm down, ZBoy2K.
Zed was one of those now-classic rebel President-hating teenage punks, who - at least outwardly - despised any thoughts of a draft to whatever poor nation the government decided to bomb this week, despite the fact that he was several years younger than the minimum draft age. But here he was, gassed and proudly inducted into that great Manhunt to face off against his classmates and whatever sickos that Danya could've recruited from the bowels of violent society. He never paid much attention to the stuff on TV or the reactions from people like that crazy lawyer chick (Madison, I think her name was...) who would often launch into diatribes against what reallydrove those kids to kill each other. Jack Thompson would be so proud, even if she herself said it wasn't just the videogames.
He flailed the Old Glory out like he was setting down a beach blanket, finding it about the same size as the one that normally flew from the flagpole in front of his school. To estimate it more accurately, he could've worn it around his neck like a superhero's cape. But he wasn't in the City of Heroes. This wasn't even a City of Villains, well, there probably isn't a city here... But there will be villains...
Then he proceeded to roll it up widthwise, so he had what appeared to be some kind of long red-and-white rope. He picked it up, and rolled the edges around his hands, to form a very crude reimagining of Agent 47's fiberwire.
Maybe that's what's happening. Maybe my body went into a coma while I was asleep and I'm trapped in a videogame of an extended nightmare. Like Manhunt or something...
"After all, it's just a videogame, right?" This time he could literally hear himself think. "RIGHT!?"
Zachary put the flag down and went for his dufflebag. It was still full of clean clothes, and most importantly, his underwear. He took out the underwear, and pen and notebook, and stuffed it into the daypack, figuring that if he would "die" or win there would be a slight chance that he could wake up without crappy pants.
He slung his Old Glory garrote on his shoulder and took out the map and compass. Then, after slinging the daypack on his back, Zachary slowly stood up, and smiled a worried smile. The look on his moon-grey eyes seemed almost psychotic as he started walking away from his dufflebag, into and around the maze of nature.
I guess...maybe while I'm dreaming, I'd better play to survive. If I die, I might not spawn again. Or maybe it'll be the end of the body. Maybe if I survive, I'll wake up in the hospital and it'll all really have been just a bad dream about me in some twisted videogame. That's what it is, right?
B28 - Foreman, Z - STATUS: ALIVE