The announcement had been somewhat traumatic for him. It had shown that people really were buying into this. He'd known that Danya had been serious, of course. The two grenades in his supplied pack had been evidence enough of that. Now, Simon was trying to figure out what to do. He didn't want to die. He doubted anyone in his class did. He wanted even less to kill anyone, to be at all a party to murder. Better death than that. Better to at least keep his conscience clean. He figured it might be time to stop hiding soon. He could do something, could maybe help someone.
The problem was, he wasn't at all sure how to do that. He'd already eaten most of his rations. He was armed, but that wasn't a good thing. The grenades felt like a great responsibility pressing down on him, almost crushing him. All it would take for him to be responsible for deaths would be to drop one at the wrong moment or to let the wrong person get their hands on them. He might even cause deaths if he got killed and his murderer took the weapons off his body. Grim thoughts like these had been causing Simon a great deal of anxiety.
They had also distracted him enough that he'd nearly walked straight into the lake. He'd ignored the first beep from his collar, not really recognizing the strange sound. A few steps away from the sudden end of the ground, his collar gave a second beep, and Simon's eyes widened. He saw the lake, realized where he was, and quickly backed away. He retreated to a safe distance about two hundred feet away as quickly as he could, panting a little after his brief burst of exertion. His collar had beeped several more times, at a slightly faster pace.
For a few seconds, Simon could do nothing except marvel at his own survival. He wasn't sure how long he'd have had to escape, but he could have easily ended up stuck had he fallen into the lake and hurt his leg.
Then, Simon realized that he had stumbled over a blessing in disguise. He knew what to do with the grenades now.
Simon took his pack off and dropped it to the ground, then fished around and retrieved the weapons. They were surprisingly hefty for their size. He held one in each hand, took a deep breath to steel himself, and started forwards again. He was risking his life, he knew, but he was pretty sure tossing the grenades into the lake would wreck them. Even if it didn't, nobody would ever be able to find them.
He moved quickly, his collar beginning to beep again as soon as he got a little closer to the lake. Simon pushed his way through the jungle's undergrowth, stopping just short of the water. Taking only a second for a deep breath, he pulled his right hand back and heaved the first grenade underhand into the lake. It landed a good ways out with a loud splash. Good.
He switched the other grenade to his right hand, and was about to throw it, when he was distracted by a dildo hitting him in the face.
Harold Finston Smythe had also not seen anyone during the game, at least, not until he stumbled across Simon. He'd been pretty satisfied with that. Harold was not a popular boy at school. He was sure that everyone would assume him the sort to buy into this. It was funny, in a sick way, that that was why he had no choice but to kill. Harold did not want to die. He was smart enough to know that he would not be able to find much in the way of allies. That meant he'd have to win, and more than that, would have to go it alone.
The problem was, he'd been assigned a dildo as his weapon. If he couldn't upgrade, he'd be totally fucked. That was what had started him following Simon. He'd stood back as the boy blundered into the danger zone. Harold had taken note of the beeping of the boy's collar. He had waited, had watched Simon come back. He had watched Simon take out the grenades. Harold had been so close to ambushing the other boy then and there, but he had held back. Better to wait until he put them away again. He didn't want to risk the things going off during the struggle. He wanted to survive, not to maximize the carnage, especially not at the cost of his own life.
Of course, things had taken a sour turn when Simon, rather than packing up and moving on, had turned back into the danger zone. Harold sucked in a big breath of air. This wasn't good at all. Still, Simon didn't seem concerned. That meant they'd have a bit of time before their collars went off. Harold took a moment to weigh the risks, then decided to follow. He needed those grenades, and he had a sinking feeling Simon was planning something very rash with them. He'd have to do something about that. Video games had taught Harold that often risk was required for a great reward. They had also taught him that being under-equipped compared to your adversaries was a very bad idea indeed.
The first beep from his collar, coming as it did in synchrony with the beeping from around Simon's neck, nearly caused Harold to back out. He pushed on, though, and was just in time to see Simon throw away his first grenade. For a split second, Harold could do nothing but stare in horror. This boy was throwing the weapons away. He was tossing Harold's chances of survival into the lake.
This could not be allowed to stand.
Harold had left his own bag back near Simon's stuff, but he'd brought the dildo with him, just in case. He'd figured he could use it to prove how harmless he was if Simon caught him. Now, instead, he used it as a distraction, hurling it into the boy's face. The dildo wobbled and bent as it flew, but the impact was solid. Simon gave out a cry and flailed, but he held tight to the grenade. It didn't matter. Harold was already charging him, letting loose a primal roar.
He tackled Simon to the ground, hearing the other boy cry out again as he impacted the rough dirt, crashing through prickly undergrowth on the way. Over that came the sound of the beeping from the collars of the two boys. It was getting faster.
Harold backhanded Simon. He didn't really have any idea how to fight, but it seemed a good enough move. He wasn't prepared for Simon to struggle, though. The boy was flailing, wiggling, making it hard for Harold to get hits in. He scraped the knuckles of his right hand when Simon moved his head, causing Harold to punch a shrub.
This wasn't good. Harold knew he had to finish things quickly. They didn't have long here. If he dawdled, they'd both be blown up. He repositioned himself above Simon, then smashed his hand into the boy's gut a few times. Simon cried out, and Harold rammed the palm of his other hand into the boy's face, releasing a burst of blood from Simon's nose. That was more like it.
Harold was expecting the boy to move his hand to shield his face. That was how it went on TV or in cutscenes.
Instead, Simon raised his right hand and his left together. In horror, Harold saw the boy yank the pin from the grenade. The beeping of the collars was getting disturbingly quick now, and Harold realized that Simon meant to blow them both up. The boy held the grenade for a few seconds as they waited, frozen. Nothing happened.
Fortunately for Harold, he knew one thing that Simon apparently didn't. What mattered with grenades like the one Simon was holding wasn't the pin. It was the handle. The pin was just there to keep the handle securely attached. As such, Harold reached in and grabbed Simon's right hand, pinning the handle to the body of the grenade. He squeezed as hard as he could, and heard a pop from Simon's hand, coupled with another little shriek from the boy. Harold gave a twist, and then he alone was holding the grenade, handle still safely in place.
The grenade was a bit heavier than Harold had been expecting. The things always seemed to easy to handle in games. In this case, the extra mass proved to be a good thing. Before Simon could recover enough to defend himself from the blow, Harold hammered the grenade straight into the boy's face, using all the force and leverage he could muster. He repeated this action four times, and each time was met with an awful crunch. Somewhere in there, Simon stopped struggling.
B13, SIMON FLETCHER: DECEASED
Harold panted. He held the grenade securely in his hand. Only one collar was beeping now.It was beeping pretty quickly. With a start, Harold realized a little flaw in his plan.
Simon had assumed he'd had enough time to get in and dump his weapons, then get back out. He probably hadn't factored in getting into a fight and getting killed. How long had the altercation taken? Two, three minutes, maybe more? Add to that the few minutes to get close, and Harold wasn't at all sure how much time he had left.
He pulled himself to his feet and began to run, but he only made it about fifty feet before he got tangled up in a bush and crashed to the ground. He clung to the grenade for dear life, and managed to keep the handle from coming off, but that didn't matter very much because he twisted his ankle in the fall. It began to hurt immediately, a pulsing, aching pain. Harold felt tears coming to his eyes, but he couldn't stop now. If he did, he would die. He pushed himself to his feet, running solely on adrenaline, and immediately fell back down. His left ankle wasn't supporting his weight. He was still a good way from safety.
Harold was not ready to die. The beeping was coming so very quickly. He took a few long moments to take deep breaths, then stood again, forcing himself onwards even through the pain.
Though his pace was drastically slowed, he made it another sixty or seventy feet before he collapsed again. This time, muddled by the clouded haze of pain that his world had become, he threw his hands out from reflex.
The handle popped off the grenade. The beeping from his collar was continuous. In a panic, Harold hurled the grenade straight ahead as far as he could, trying to get it away from him. He got a surprisingly good amount of distance, all things considered, but it didn't matter much to him because his collar detonated before the grenade even hit the ground, blowing out his neck.
B12, HAROLD FINSTON SMYTHE: DECEASED
Corrina Landrey had been waiting in the jungle for some time, waiting to see whether there was something else to be gained here. She'd seen that horrible creep Harold heading into the danger zone after poor Simon, dildo in hand, and had had no choice but to draw absolutely horrible conclusions. She'd considered calling out a warning, but hadn't wanted to draw Harold's ire to her. Instead, she'd snatched up the abandoned bags as soon as the others were out of sight.
The sounds of commotion were far off, but there was definitely something bad going on near the lake. Still, Corrina thought that Simon had a good chance of coming out on top. If there was any justice in the world, he'd be able to get a hand up on Harold, and then he might need some help from her. Just in case things went wrong, though, Corrina gripped her hammer tightly, preparing herself in case somebody came charging at her.
Nobody did.
A few minutes after things died down, when she was just considering leaving, she heard a crashing in the dense foliage. There were more sounds, of someone clearly having trouble, and Corrina moved a little closer. When her collar gave a beep, though, she stepped back. Whatever was going on, whatever trouble Harold, Simon, or both were in, it wasn't worth risking her life over. She could hear another beeping sound, going incredibly quickly, from on the other side of a thick bush. She backed away a little bit more. The rustling of movement continued, then something came flying out of the bush at the same time an explosion sounded.
Corrina's breath caught.
Two of her classmates had just died. They were both gone, not coming back. She felt sad, but also a little relieved. While Simon was dead, at least she wouldn't have to worry about Harold now.
And, of course, there was the object, which had landed at her feet. Whatever it was, it had been important enough for one of the boys to use what must have been the last of his strength to fling it clear of the danger zone. That meant it was something worth knowing about.
She leaned over, reaching for it, then saw what it was. She'd just begun to dive away when the grenade detonated, three seconds on the dot from when the handle had come off in Harold's hand. The shrapnel and force gave Corrina a bit of extra propulsion, so she came to a rest about fifteen feet from where she'd started her jump, when she collided with a tree. Of course, by that point, she didn't feel it.
G10, CORRINA LANDREY: DECEASED