PROGRAM V2 - PROLOGUE

#1

"What we need is a new angle."

Brigadier General David Adams was resplendent in full uniform, boots polished to a mirror sheen, every medal pinned to his chest gleaming. His hair was tucked underneath a peaked cap, and he was perfectly clean shaven. Adams looked every inch the soldier, which, it had to be said, wasn't much like him.

But when you were speaking to The General, you smartened up, or you didn't keep your rank for long. Even somebody as favoured as Adams knew not to push his luck. Seated behind a desk, himself in uniform, the iron-haired man did little more than raise an eyebrow.

"The Program is good for us - heck the Program is GREAT for us, but the problem is, it's getting stagnant, and we're making mistakes."

"Mistakes which are your responsibility, David," The General's tone was, as always, stern. He sounded stern even when he was giving you a compliment - and he always called everyone by their first name.

Adams hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Yes, sir, it's my responsibility, but there's only so much we can do with helicopters and snipers. We can't have birds in the air all the time sir, and even if we did, people would just start taking potshots at them. We need something better, and I have an idea, sir."

"Doubtless you do, David."

There was a long pause as Adams tried to work out whether he was being dismissed. His superior's lined face was almost impossible to read. After a while, Adams went for it. "I've been working with some technical staff, and we've come up with something new. If I may, sir?"

The General inclined his head the tiniest amount, and Adams produced a roll of paper from the inside of his uniform jacket, stepping forward to spread it across the desk in front of the other man. After a few moments, The General glanced back up to Adams.

"Well? What am I looking at, David?"

"It's a blueprint, sir, a schematic. The collar fits around the necks of the participants. If they start making trouble, like last time, then we can send a signal to remotely detonate the explosives. If we had this last time, no need to spend five minutes getting a bird into the air and letting Mr. Blake run his mouth, just press a button, bam, done."

"I see. What's this in the corner about ah... danger zones?"

"A herding mechanism sir, to keep the contestants on their toes. The Program is supposed to be seek and destroy - this way if we get another case of people deciding to sit in the same place for hours and days on end, we can make the area a dangerzone and force them to bug out. If they stay in the zone, then their collars blow, end of problem."

"Hm. Well, it appears that you have this in hand, David."

Adams saluted. "Thank you sir. Our current preparations are going well. I don't anticipate any trouble."

The General held Adams' gaze for an uncomfortably long time.

"See to it that there isn't. Dismissed."

~*~

It would be perhaps a redundancy to say that Patriot High took Announcement Day seriously. Nobody that knew what was good for them didn't take it seriously. In this school though, the occasion took on an extra degree of ceremony, mostly derived from the faculty, a large majority of whom had spent more than the mandatory decade in the military. Patriot had always had strong ties with the military, Announcement Day was an excuse to bring out the old uniform and polish up the black boots.

If it weren't for the fact that the tightly marshalled rows of people standing in the yard were obviously teenagers, the school would have looked like a parade ground. In silence - for some tense, for others rapt, for a tiny, foolish minority, bored... they waited.

In front of the rows of students, Sophomores, Juniors and Seniors, a huge screen was set up, almost billboard sized. Behind them, mounted on a toward, was an extremely powerful projector. All schools were provided with that equipment. Couldn't have the image of the country's great leader be indistinct on the screen, after all.

And a mere moment later... The General appeared on screen. The man never seemed to age, looked the same to some of the teachers who had been supervising these Announcement Days for ten years. Grey haired. Implacable, with cold blue eyes that seemed to look straight through everyone there.

"Good afternoon, America. This is your General speaking. For some of those listening, this will be your first Announcement Day. It will not, in all likelihood, be your last. The Program does not discriminate against natural ability, wealth, or ethnic background. The sole aspect it tests is your patriotism. It is the ones with the most burning desire to fight for America that reach furthest. Boys. Girls. Do your country proud."

"The school for the forty-third version of the Program is Patriot's High of Milwaukee, Wisconsin."

The words were proclaimed with all the finality of a death knell.

~*~

The soldiers were present in a matter of minutes, again putting the lie to The General's broadcast being 'live'. Even so, the student body had somewhat bigger things to be concerned with. In short order, the lottery had selected the Junior year, and soon enough, names were being read out - the world's deadliest roll call. There was little protest from the crowd. Some of the teachers appeared glum, most took it with their sturdiest patriotism. Most of the students were just relieved it had been a different year. The Juniors... most were terrified it would be their name to be called out next, them to be dragged out of the lines and marched into a waiting bus.

Shy of fifty names, the observant amongst those being herded onto the bus may have heard a commotion, shouting.

They definitely all heard the gunshots.

~*~

Adams was ... in a difficult mood to describe. On the one hand, something had gone quite badly wrong. On the other hand, this was a particular wrong-going that he'd anticipated ahead of time, had prepared for... wow, it must have been around the time of the fifteenth version. He was a little bit surprised it had taken this long to happen. Maybe it was just fate that it had come hand in hand with his pitch about the Program getting stale.

He drummed his fingers on his desk, piecing together the speech he was about to make, half his mind on the announcement that even now, The General would be proclaiming across the nation. Adams had come up with the idea for that one, too, but he'd never had quite the same... gift for oratory as his superior. Meh, he was happier being an 'ideas guy' anyway.

"Sir?"

Adams glanced up. In the doorway was one of the technical staff, a thickset man named Charrell who looked like he'd be more at home putting someone's eye out with a screwdriver than crafting with it. If it hadn't been for Charrell and company though, the Program wouldn't even have made it off the ground.

"Yeah. What's up?"

Charrell saluted, the slightest flicker of irritation passing over his face. He was a stickler for protocol. Adams knew it bothered him that a Brigadier General didn't really care about that kind of thing. That's why he kept doing it.

"The kids have all been collared, sir. We've run a field test, and they're fully operational"

"Awesome. Cameras operational?"

"We have coverage of almost the entire valley. There are a few blind spots in the trees, but we have every approach monitored. They won't be able to smuggle anything into those areas."

"And if not... that's what danger zones are for. Did you check those out, too?"

"They're still working fine sir."

"Good, good... all right then. Take a break Charrell, I'm going to go wake up the sleeping beauties."

~*~

As the students of Patriot High stirred, they would find themselves each handcuffed to a desk. Row upon rows of them were inside a large tent, at the front of which stood a stage. On said stage, leaning against a lectern, was one David Adams, who stretched, stifling a yawn. His blonde hair was mostly concealed under a red beret, set at a jaunty angle, and he was dressed in casual fatigues. Adams did not, in truth, look like one of the highest ranking officers in the US military.

The more kids that woke up, the more the murmurs and confusion started up. The last any of them remembered, they'd been on the armoured bus. Had they been gassed into unconsciousness? The hubbub rose, louder and louder, whispering giving way into talking into shouting-

BLAM.

The chatter stopped dead. One of the desks to the front of the room now had a jagged hole in it.

Adams smiled pleasantly, lowering his pistol.

"Next time someone pipes up, I'm gonna shoot them. If they're lucky, I won't aim for their kneecaps. We clear?"

He paused. Nobody spoke. "...Trick question. You win this time. Frankly kids, I'm kind've ticked off right about now, so I'm gonna cut the standard spiel short. You might be pleased to know that a couple of your buddies were none too happy about being picked for Program and decided to make, ah... let's call it a scene. I don't like scenes, not outside of plays."

"So we killed 'em. Because that shit does not fly with me, understand? Of course... that's not the official story. The 'official' story is that from now on, the number of kids in the Program is equivalent to the number of traitors we caught without help from informants. So you see, in a way you're actually making history."

"But what am I saying... that's not gonna matter to you, most of you will be dead in a couple days. Sorry, spoilers."

Adams stretched again, seeming to relish it.

"Anyhow. In a little while, you're gonna be put into a lovely, picturesque valley. You'll have a daypack with a randomly assigned weapon, as well as some handy equipment and supplies. All very nice and team-building. Kicker is, this exercise doesn't end until all but one of you is dead. Do the math. Everyone minus everyone else, equals you."

"You may or may not have noticed your trendy little necklaces. We call 'em collars. Now... look, but don't touch. If you try to screw around with them, they'll explode. You catch you doing something you shouldn't be. They explode. You stay in a place that we tell you not to stay for too long, and they explode. If you find yourself with nasty anti-American ideas to share with us... yup, they explode. Behave yourselves, and we won't have any trouble."

"I'll keep you posted via PA system and loudspeaker on the dead, who knocked them off, and any danger zones - those places we want you to clear out of - every 12 hours or so. If you're struggling to make it through the day... just think that my sweet, sweet voice will be there at the end of it."

"Do it for America kids. ...Hell, do it for yourself, if you don't want to die. End result's the same. See you... well, one of you, on the other side."

Two cannisters, spewing white, noxious gas, rolled in through the open tent flap as Adams pulled a mask on over his head.

Everything went dark.