April 16, 2021: Miami, Florida
As he sat in the passenger seat of a large white van emblazoned with the logo of SOTF-TV on the side, where even now a bunch of adolescents were getting knocked out ("sedated for safe transport" if you were a public relations goon) for easier transportation to their ultimate (and untimely) deaths, Frank Wellman, PhD, was once against stewing about the injustice of a world in which he was denied a Nobel Prize.
It was the discovery of a lifetime: a gas of a perfect composition to, when introduced to the human system, render the subject completely unconscious, but without those messy side effects so common in other compounds. Nobody soiled themselves; if anything the effect produced shockingly strong bladder control. Allergic reactions, where present, were generally relatively minor—and they were uncommon in the first place. The state induced by the gas lasted for hours, and could be re-induced without notable risk or toxicity. Better still, it could be neutralized with a hit of a common, harmless gas. It was, in short, the perfect anesthetic.
Except, of course, for one little detail: pain brought subjects right back to the realm of the waking, and it didn't play nice at all with other anesthetics of the sort that could bypass that issue.
Frank rubbed his brow as some girl in way too much black for the climate was herded towards the van. He was here to be visible in the special behind-the-scenes features, say a word or two, and collect his check. It was a living, and a very good one from a material perspective, but every time this rolled around he found himself thinking about the what-ifs.
What if it had worked better? It could have. It should have. The theory had all felt right. He was going to be a star, a revolutionary figure thanked for centuries to come, the savior of millions. It had worked well enough on invertebrates. Why did mammals have to be so complicated?
When the medical applications were ruled out, Frank hadn't despaired, not immediately. So much for the humanitarian angle, he'd thought, but the military-industrial complex was more lucrative anyways, if less ethical. And, hey, if he had the right stuff to non-lethally subdue large numbers of enemy combatants, maybe it was the Peace Prize drifting in his future. But, it turned out, the gas took long enough to kick in, and required high enough concentrations in an enclosed area without ventilation, and was so easily thwarted by a simple gas mask, that he'd been laughed out of the Pentagon. Things weren't much better with prison complexes. By the time you had a prisoner subdued enough to put them under, there was no point to doing so anyways, and trying was likely to get the ACLU on your ass.
He'd been close to a breakdown. Ruined, at the ancient age of thirty-three, and that thought was only half-ironic. He'd always been clever, the front of the class, wunderkind extraordinaire, and failure was a new and unpleasant experience.
Sometimes, he wondered what would've happened if he'd gotten to taste it just a little more.
It was 2002, he'd just gotten his own department at the lab the year before, that first big project looked doomed to failure, and there they'd been: the miracle financiers, some reality television freaks with a deep wallet and a mysterious need that the project just so happened to work perfectly for. He'd leapt at the opportunity.
It felt like so long ago, now, that he'd worked on any other project. He still tinkered, from time to time, but now he lived for these moments, two to seven times a year, when his creation mattered, when it was vital and respected and he was there to show his baby off and talk about it, or at least make sure the technicians administered everything correctly. He still had the old habits, observed, adjusted. Sometimes, he could taste the breakthrough still, the little thing he had to be missing that would let him go on to something bigger and better and more, the prize that eluded him. But mostly it just put him in a sour mood, whether it was the center of his life or no.
The Nobel Prize was founded by Alfred Nobel, inventor of dynamite, in an effort to rehabilitate his image after he read an erroneous report of his own demise which labeled him "The Merchant Of Death." Sometimes, on days like these, Frank wondered if he understood the man more than anyone who'd ever received the honor that bore his name.
The room in which the students of Mangrove Garden High awoke was relatively still, but it was not silent. It was a wide, concrete hall, of industrial or possibly military character, and aside from the students it was occupied only by camera crews set up in each of the corners, lurking in the shadows while overhead lights shone directly on the class. The noise of cries, protests, nervous laughter, and rattling chains echoed off the roof and walls, mingling with the faint whir of massive overhead fans. There were no windows, and the only doors visible lay behind the students, requiring them to crane their necks to catch even a shadowed glimpse.
Each individual sat in a hard chair, ankles bound below and hands secured to the armrests by locked straps. Each student had been fitted with earphones, and was nestled in a small, low booth, with a screen embedded; while the angle shielded the view of any individual screen from neighbors, it was still easy to look over the top and see the stage at the far end of the chamber. While even the podium itself was bare cement like everything else, there also hung a rich purple curtain behind it, rippling gently with the airflow, the only movement besides the students.
This state of affairs held for what felt like a long time—five minutes or more, as the newly-cast constants shook off the grogginess and became aware of their situation. There were greater sounds of distress. The camera crews stood unflinching. Then, finally, a mechanical voice boom from all around.
"Attention, please: quiet in the house."
Many students complied, but it was not universal. Still, a drumroll began, mounting in volume and intensity, building to a climax. As it did, a man ducked through the curtain and stepped up to the podium, a movement so fluid and elegant that few would ever notice he stood shorter than most of the teens bound before him. Patrick Buckley, master of the SOTF opening ceremony, wore not his standard grey suit, but khaki shorts, flip flops, and a relatively understated lime-green Hawaiian shirt adorned with a pattern of white flowers. His grey-speckled black hair was as always immaculate, and he pulled the sunglasses off his face and snapped them closed with a flourish, perfectly in time with the crescendo of the drums and the curtain behind him flying wide open, revealing a screen on which a video of an endless, rolling ocean played on loop.
Normally, this would be the point where the live studio audience went wild, but today there was none, due to the logistics involved in the next step of ferrying the contestants to their ultimate fates. Buckley didn't falter for a second, however. He'd been doing this for a decade now, and any jitters that might've been present all the way back in Season Seventeen, when the opening ceremony was first solidified into its current state, were long gone. Audiences, contestants, they all came and went, but the show never stopped.
"Hello, everyone," he said. His voice was smooth and clear, amplified such that it sliced straight through the few lingering wails, but with enough audio fidelity he could've been sitting next to any given student and speaking to them in a conversational tone.
"Welcome to SOTF-TV. Welcome to the most important days of your lives. It's a pleasure to have you here today, as we embark together on a new adventure. For many of you, the ending of your story begins now. For some, however, for those lucky or skilled few, today may well go down as the day your life truly begins.
"You all know the rules: kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. The quiet competition of life writ large.
"Of course, we know that not all of you follow our production as carefully as you might, and so I'm going to give you a quick refresher so you stand at least some chance of prevailing.
"As soon as this briefing ends, you will be rendered temporarily and harmlessly unconscious once again, just as you were for the trip here. When you awaken next, you'll find yourselves in an environment that may be a little unfamiliar."
Here, the waves dissolved, but the revealed image was still oceanic. It was hard to tell precisely what was on the screen at first, but a muddle of shapes and colors slowly resolved—as the aerial shot zoomed closer—into boats and ships, haphazardly lashed together with ropes and chains and connected by wooden walkways and ramps, spiderwebbing outwards from a giant cruise ship in the center of the flotilla.
"Welcome to spring break. I hope you're ready for a cruise.
"Once you gather yourselves, you will be tasked with eliminating the opposition. As in the past two versions, however, there's a little twist: you will not be alone. All but one of you will be assigned a team. You will be given a team bandanna, and must wear the insignia of a team at all times while in play, unless rendered unable to through no fault of your own, upon pain of death. Unlike in prior seasons, the teams will be somewhat larger; the lot of you will be divided into seven groups. To win, to survive, your team must be the last one standing.
"In pursuit of that end, you may use methods fair and foul. Each of you will be supplied with certain equipment..."
The screen shifted, showing a computer-generated graphic of a navy blue backpack, which opened up and disgorged items in time with Buckley's speech.
"...including food, water, first aid supplies, various generous gifts from our sponsors, survival materials, spare clothing since your stay may last a number of days, a swimsuit in case you neglected to pack yours, and, of course, a unique weapon or tool of some variety."
The graphic corresponding to this last item was a mysterious blocky silhouette with a stylized question mark in the middle.
"Granted, it wouldn't be fun if they were all the same quality, but good stories often are about overcoming adversity, aren't they?
"Additionally, as in recent seasons, there is one other way to win your freedom. Should any student accumulate ten kills—excluding any instances of friendly fire towards their assigned teammates—they will earn release. This offer, however, applies only to the first student to score that tenth kill. Should two students score it simultaneously—through coordination, perhaps—they will be left to sort it out between themselves, with the survivor claiming the prize.
"Oh, but this time, there's a twist. Some of you have loved ones who wouldn't hurt a fly. Some of you will be on teams you can work with, and have friends on other teams who you can't bring yourself to harm. Some of you may not even want to go home once you're eight or nine kills deep. Well, fear not: after consultation with recent winners, we have decided to allow the ten-kill release to be transferred. Upon scoring your tenth kill, you may if you so choose name any student, and if they are still alive they will be released in your stead, and counted as a winner. Of course, if they're already dead, you'll have to pick someone else. and if they—or you—die in the span between scoring that final kill and being extracted, that's just bad luck.
"You will wear a collar during the game, packed with explosives and also, for the first time, fitted with several cameras, providing a close and personal perspective for the viewers back home. Should you violate the rules, attempt to remove your collar, or linger too long in a Danger Zone, this device will detonate, and that's it for you.
"Every twelve hours you will receive an update courtesy of the lovely and talented Ritzy Daggers, telling you who has perished since the last check-in and which zones in the arena are now forbidden. Pay close attention: information is ammunition.
"Finally, your team will be spearheaded by a mentor, an individual chosen for their skills, knowledge, and personality to help shepherd you and your allies through the game. If you would please direct your attention to the screens in front of you, each of your mentors has prepared a short briefing for you, outlining their philosophies and recommended tactics. Except, of course, for our one lucky loner—you'll know who you are by the blank screen. You may want to take this time to start thinking about how you'll manage all on your own.
"I'll leave you to it. Good luck, break a leg, and be strong. The world is your oyster if you prevail.
"Let the games begin."
At that, the screens in front of each student came to life, each playing a video, the voices of the mentors piping through the headsets. At the same time this was broadcast, a menu on the official website went live, allowing viewers to click through and watch each briefing, and to explore the team compositions and assigned equipment.
Once the final broadcast had ended, there was a clunk, and the whirring of the fans spiked in intensity. By this point, the camera crews had donned gas masks, and Buckley had withdrawn. In minutes, the class was all unconscious, ready for transportation to their final battlefield.
Special Rules
Attention, handlers: TV3 will once again feature a few different rules when compared to a typical Mini, as detailed below:
Team Victory: Should multiple characters from a single team reach Endgame together, they may all win, and thus survive. However, it is important to note that, should the winner be determined by rolls, any characters rolled must die, even if one of their teammates is determined the eventual winner. This is to keep up fairness and unpredictability; it prevents a character with teammates in Endgame from having too notably higher odds of survival.
Ten-Kill Release: Once more, the producers are offering release to the first contestant to achieve ten kills. Should a character hit ten kills, they become eligible for removal from the game, should their handle choose. To remove a character from the game, please contact a staffer. We will ensure that an IC post from us, confirming this and removing the character from the game, is posted within three OOC days. Until the staff post has been made, a character with ten kills is still subject to rolls, and, if rolled, must still die. After the staff post is made, the character's story must be wrapped up within their next post. All characters are still subject to activity at all times. Should a character achieve ten kills and die, the reward will not be offered to a second character to hit ten. The producers aren't that generous. However, unlike in past versions, in TV3 the ten-kill win may be transferred to any other unrolled character should the handler of the character to reach ten kills so desire. The recipient is subject to all the rules mentioned above, and must confirm with staff, wait for up to three days, wrap within one post, etc. This rule exists to allow handlers to take the time they need to conclude island stories, while at the same time representing the risk being on the island poses and incentivizing speed should they wish an eligible character to survive.
Escape: Should characters successfully enact any part of an escape, they are still subject to rolls and activity until or unless staff states otherwise. This is an area we'll play by ear, but will generally default to the realistic choice; unless a kid is somewhere where they can't be killed (well beyond the boundaries of the flotilla, say), they'll still be subject to rolls. Please direct any escape communications to Archive Bot 10 and let MW know when you've sent a message. In accordance with the escape protocols we are reminding everyone that Cactus and Namira have opted out of knowing any escape info, have no access to the escape discussions zone, and should not be approached for escape-related matters.
Bandannas: Students must wear an official team bandanna in a visible location at all times. Should a student not be wearing a bandanna for over sixty seconds, their collar will begin to beep. The rapidity will increase over the course of five minutes, after which the collar will detonate. The only exception comes if a bandanna is stolen, in which case the producers tends towards mercy. However, note that they pay close attention and are not stupid; any attempts to game the system will result in collar detonation. In practice, if you are unsure about the results of any course of action re: bandannas, please consult a staffer for a ruling.
Collar Deaths: For any collar-related deaths besides Danger Zone detonation, please consult the staff at least three days prior to the death deadline for approval, including a draft and explanation of the desired death. We're trying to make sure that collar deaths are handled consistently this version, and wish to have enough time to provide handlers with guidance when it comes to representing collar-related deaths. Danger zones are an exception because their mechanisms are constant: a ten minute timer of escalating beeps followed by detonation.
Abduction Details: Students for Season Sixty-Seven were all removed on the same day (April 16th, 2021). Where and how, however, was not consistent. Some students were taken from their homes before school, while others were taken from class. Which method was used was the result of research from the producers; the kids were grabbed wherever they were least likely to resist and cause trouble. If your kid's parents would have resisted in any potentially-effective fashion, then they were taken at school. No exceptions. The TV operatives use force only if required and the minimum in those cases. If characters are taken in class, it will be the first class in which they see the agents of SOTF; anyone in a class where someone is taken who is not selected is informed that they are safe. Employees of TV have a loose perimeter around the school, and anyone attempting to flee who is slated to be cast is picked up as they step off school grounds. All kids are taken to a van and then knocked out via gas, to reawaken during the prologue. If you have any questions about this, please contact staff for assistance.
Mentors: Each mentor will be able to address each of their students once per announcement cycle this version. Each is controlled by a single staffer, who is also responsible for reading all the kids assigned to the team they're mentoring. They will be the best staffer to approach for general issues or mentor-related specifics, as they will be familiar with your character.
The assignments are as follows:
Ben's Crabs: Rattlesnake
Claudia's Krakens: Deamon
Emmy's Selkies: Namira
Jewel's Leviathans: MurderWeasel
Malcolm's Mariners: Cactus
Stephanie's Buccaneers: Dan Yugheesling
Shiva's Sirens: backslash
The handler of the loner is not allowed to complain or ask questions. I know where you sleep. >:C
