Survival of the Fittest. Simply put, the title rang out everywhere. Ever since the abduction of the Barry Coleson High School students only a few days prior, America had been on high alert, and SOTF had been the talk of the town. An international phenomenon, some called it. In the short time since the BCHS abduction, Survival of the Fittest had began airing on national television. Now, there were websites, internet rings, even merchandise was being manufactured. Granted, Survival of the Fittest was a horrible, tragic atrocity, but regardless of that fact, people were still making an attempt at earning a profit from it.
The kidnappings of high school students from around the globe had sent America and its allies into high alert, and now, even trying to live a normal life was near impossible for the majority of American teenagers. Breckenridge High School, located in Redwood City, California, was certainly no exception to this statement. As desperately as the students of BHS were fighting for a normal life, things around the bay area of California were far from normal. Armed guards patrolled the school, watching diligently for any foul play. They boarded the school buses, checked the vehicles in the parking lot, and even stood watch in the school hallways in an attempt at overseeing the safety of the children.
The students at Breckenridge, like virtually everyone else in America, had been exposed to the gorefest known as SOTF. Some of them refused to watch it. Some were scared out of their wits by the thought of American students being kidnapped and forced into such a game. Still others were simply fascinated by the entire ordeal. No matter what the case, life in Redwood City remained in as much of a state of "normalcy" as one could imagine. Despite the guards and the high security virtually everywhere, the students at BHS had to go on with their lives.
The Breckenridge Eagles, the pride and joy of BHS, had been preparing for their homecoming football game against the Phantoms of Phoebus High School. Now, two days before the Eagles' homecoming game, our story begins...
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OOC: In short, this is an alternate-reality roleplay set in the SOTF universe. SOTF is currently airing on television, and virtually everyone knows about it. This roleplay takes place at Breckenridge High in Redwood City, California, where the students are trying to maintain a sense of normalcy despite the terrorist events that have unfolded in the past few days. This'll give us a chance to create some new characters and... stuff. ^_^ Enjoy!
An International Phenomenon
Another RP From the SOTF Universe! (2018 note: also sort of v1 Meanwhiles)
An International Phenomenon
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
OOC: Forgive the double post but... I want to post here. ^_^
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Adrian Adams was many things. He was popular, he was a "jock", he was in the starting line-up for the Breckenridge Eagles football team. Most importantly, right now, Adrian Adams was, well, tired. His job had once again taken its toll on this high school senior. When he was very young, Adrian suffered the loss of both of his parents, one to a mugging gone wrong, the other to illness. Now, in addition to attending high school and his passion, playing football, Adrian was also working third shift at a full-time job to pay for his truck and his apartment. This week had been an eventful one for the football team, and that, plus the extra hours he had put in at work, had begun to take their toll on the boy.
Shutting his locker quietly, Adrian's eyes cast down the virtually deserted hallway of the high school. By now, most of the students had went on to class, and even the guards that had been patrolling the school were nowhere to be found. Running his fingers through his dark brown hair, Adrian sighed quietly and shook his head, trying in vain to arouse himself from his dreary state. He had managed to wrangle his way out of class by volunteering to go work on the Homecoming set-up. However, that was the farthest thing from what Adrian wanted to be doing. Right now, loud, bubbly cheerleaders were certainly not his cup of tea. He would much rather be catching up on his lost sleep.
Slowly, he began dragging himself down the empty hallway. His white and red Nikes skidded across the floor as he walked, refusing to pick his feet up out of sheer exhaustion. He tugged on a loose thread from his red and blue jersey, pulling it out after a moment. Inevitably, he would have to head to the gym and start working on the Homecoming decorations, as promised. Right now, however, he needed a moment to regain his energy. And so, with that thought in mind, Adrian decided to make a pit stop at the bathroom.
As he rounded the corner, his slow walk came to a sudden halt as he plowed into another figure. Adrian was a tall and well-built boy, but the guard he had just slammed into stood much higher than even he himself did, and Adrian almost had to look up to the tall man in uniform. Shaking his head slightly, he took a moment to regain his composure before quickly belting out an apology to the guard.
"Sorry sir," he muttered quietly, sidestepping the man after a moment.
Damned guards. They're everywhere. You can't even walk down the hallway without one of them getting in the way. I understand the whole terrorist threat and high security and everything but... is this really necessary? It happened in New York. This is California for God sakes, we're on the other side of the country.
He continued his leisurely stroll down the hallway, finally arriving in front of the Boys' bathroom. As he pushed open the door, a faint trail of smoke bellowed out from inside the bathroom. Reluctantly, he entered anyway, casting a wary look at the group of juveniles who had congregated in the corner to smoke cigarettes instead of going to class. Casting them a slight nod, he tried to avoid much contact with the group, not being particularly interested in their doings.
"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," he spoke after a moment, "I'll be gone in a minute."
Not awaiting the response of any of the delinquents in the corner, he made his way to the line of sinks against the wall and turned the water on. His dark green eyes caught his own reflection in the mirror, he even looked exhausted. After splashing a bit of cold water on his face repeatedly, he shook his head once again and turned the water off. It helped somewhat, but he still felt exhausted. Yawning loudly, he closed his eyes and rubbed them, all the while trying in vain to ignore the vicious and annoyed glares he was getting from the group in the corner. He had busted up their little party, and more likely than not, they were not thrilled about it. Despite that, Adrian simply tried to pretend like they were not there and splashed his face with water once again in an attempt to get on with his business.
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Adrian Adams was many things. He was popular, he was a "jock", he was in the starting line-up for the Breckenridge Eagles football team. Most importantly, right now, Adrian Adams was, well, tired. His job had once again taken its toll on this high school senior. When he was very young, Adrian suffered the loss of both of his parents, one to a mugging gone wrong, the other to illness. Now, in addition to attending high school and his passion, playing football, Adrian was also working third shift at a full-time job to pay for his truck and his apartment. This week had been an eventful one for the football team, and that, plus the extra hours he had put in at work, had begun to take their toll on the boy.
Shutting his locker quietly, Adrian's eyes cast down the virtually deserted hallway of the high school. By now, most of the students had went on to class, and even the guards that had been patrolling the school were nowhere to be found. Running his fingers through his dark brown hair, Adrian sighed quietly and shook his head, trying in vain to arouse himself from his dreary state. He had managed to wrangle his way out of class by volunteering to go work on the Homecoming set-up. However, that was the farthest thing from what Adrian wanted to be doing. Right now, loud, bubbly cheerleaders were certainly not his cup of tea. He would much rather be catching up on his lost sleep.
Slowly, he began dragging himself down the empty hallway. His white and red Nikes skidded across the floor as he walked, refusing to pick his feet up out of sheer exhaustion. He tugged on a loose thread from his red and blue jersey, pulling it out after a moment. Inevitably, he would have to head to the gym and start working on the Homecoming decorations, as promised. Right now, however, he needed a moment to regain his energy. And so, with that thought in mind, Adrian decided to make a pit stop at the bathroom.
As he rounded the corner, his slow walk came to a sudden halt as he plowed into another figure. Adrian was a tall and well-built boy, but the guard he had just slammed into stood much higher than even he himself did, and Adrian almost had to look up to the tall man in uniform. Shaking his head slightly, he took a moment to regain his composure before quickly belting out an apology to the guard.
"Sorry sir," he muttered quietly, sidestepping the man after a moment.
Damned guards. They're everywhere. You can't even walk down the hallway without one of them getting in the way. I understand the whole terrorist threat and high security and everything but... is this really necessary? It happened in New York. This is California for God sakes, we're on the other side of the country.
He continued his leisurely stroll down the hallway, finally arriving in front of the Boys' bathroom. As he pushed open the door, a faint trail of smoke bellowed out from inside the bathroom. Reluctantly, he entered anyway, casting a wary look at the group of juveniles who had congregated in the corner to smoke cigarettes instead of going to class. Casting them a slight nod, he tried to avoid much contact with the group, not being particularly interested in their doings.
"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," he spoke after a moment, "I'll be gone in a minute."
Not awaiting the response of any of the delinquents in the corner, he made his way to the line of sinks against the wall and turned the water on. His dark green eyes caught his own reflection in the mirror, he even looked exhausted. After splashing a bit of cold water on his face repeatedly, he shook his head once again and turned the water off. It helped somewhat, but he still felt exhausted. Yawning loudly, he closed his eyes and rubbed them, all the while trying in vain to ignore the vicious and annoyed glares he was getting from the group in the corner. He had busted up their little party, and more likely than not, they were not thrilled about it. Despite that, Adrian simply tried to pretend like they were not there and splashed his face with water once again in an attempt to get on with his business.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Megami. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
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LadyMakaze†
- Posts: 475
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 9:48 pm
Present time was hardly the greatest time to be a 15-year-old, struggling to scrape through the last four years of compulsory education with decent grades, knowing that they will be off little use in the real world ahead. And at the same time, there was also that inner and outer struggle that existed within the school environment: the desire to fit in, and to find one's role in the stage and perform one's duties for the world. To put it short, high school life was pretty much all but a messed-up whirlwind of underlying tension, tolerance (or lack thereof), and foul-mouthed chain smokers. Every encounter would only turn out to be yet another struggle after struggle in an aggravating cycle.
And until now, Cathalie Meguro would have never believed that she would hate it more than she already did.
Present time was hardly the greatest time to be a 15-year-old, especially if you're a 15-year-old living under the care of social services as an orphan with no money, second-hand belongings, and an ex-mental ward as your only stress relief (and speaking of which, Mitch was still crouching against the dusty pavement, nibbling on his hangnail). But now, as fate would have it, things just got a lot worse.
Cathalie and Mitch weren't normal teenagers. For one thing, they didn't have the luxuries of cellphones, high speed internet, and satellite TV that most people their age usually enjoyed. Neither did they care for such things, so it had been only recently since Cathalie had heard about the newest shockwave of terrorism that was reportedly targetting high school students. This had been partially the reason why Cathalie in particular was somewhat surprised, and rather aggravated, when she spotted a man in uniform walking by her with a scrutinizing eye. As she had dragged Mitch away as to stop him from outright stalking the strange man, it was then that Cathalie had remembered that their teacher had informed them of the new security measures that were being placed upon the school.
Brilliant. Just spitting brilliant, she thought bitterly. As if I didn't hate this place so much already, now we have security guards hawking our every step, watching our every move, taking up space and fresh air.
In unison with her thoughts, she scuffed a battered sneaker against the pavement, leaning so that her back collided slightly with the brick wall of the school parking lot. An irritated scowl played across her sharp, angular features as she crossed her stick-like arms. A sigh escaped her narrow lips.
"Well, guess we'll have to deal with it for now, huh Gunther?" she muttered bitterly, glancing towards the lanky figure crouching next to her.
Mitch Gunther, a rather underfed, odd-looking figure of a 15-year-old, glanced up towards Cathalie with that usual gaze, cheerful, childlike, and oddly dreamy in nature. His pinky finger was stained in blood, and Cathalie could see that he had successfully ripped off the hangnail. Part of his face, as well as the majority of his right arm, was wrapped in bandages, effectively covering his left eye, as well as the burns which were the lifelong remnants of a car accident. His right eye, a cloudy sea-green colour, peered up at her with a misty gaze.
"I like them. They look neat cause they're carrying guns and stuffs," he told her brightly. "Also, they seem like nice people."
At this, Cathalie let out an incredulous snort. The security guard that Mitch was stalking earlier cuffed him square in the head when Mitch tried to explore the gun in the holster. When Mitch had bit his arm in retaliation, the guard had let out a ground-shaking roar and swung his arm a full 360, sending the boy flying into the nearby english classroom. He had been on the verge of placing the boy under arrest when Cathalie jumped in an quickly explained everything.
"Yeah, they seem to like you too," Cathalie muttered sarcastically. "I don't know about them though...seems like the government is overreacting over the whole SOTF thing, but really, I don't think it'll help if terrorists ever DO target this school. Plus it's kind of a bother, having them here."
"Do you think they'll let me hold their gun?" Mitch asked her lightly, in his usual cheerful voice. Cathalie raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head.
"This is not some kind of museum exhibition. Anyways, you shouldn't cause them trouble. That guy, the one about six-foot-three, he was practically itching to arrest you after you bit him in the arm," she replied, chuckling slightly at the memory. Mitch blinked at her slightly, and glanced away, suddenly looking thoughtful and pensieve.
"....I wanna see their cars after school," he remarked abruptly.
Cathalie shook her head yet again, feeling incredulous. Yet that was typical of Mitch. He was an oddball, a born misfit, that was for sure. He had an almost abnormal curiosity about him, yet he had little interest in interacting with people, having an intense distrust of people other than Cathalie. Normally he just treated them was mobile museum exhibitions, being oddly fascinated with their movements and mannerisms, rather than their words and expressions. He hardly ever followed the rules and would obey only Cathalie, and sometimes not even then.
And then there was Cathalie herself, sarcastic, snide, and aloof. As people left and right struggled to fight their way into the tightly knit groups known as cliques, Cathalie remained the full-blooded separatist. She pretty much despised everything that forced her to compromise her own individuality and sense of self. Being an orphan, she had learned to fend for herself at a very early age, often distrusting adults to an extend where her need for independance downright borderlined on outright aggression. This was probably the reason why Cathalie was labelled a 'misfit' as well.
And as fate would have it, Mitch and Cathalie had first found eachother at the orphanage, where Mitch had immediately proceeded to cling to her, since following her about like a duckling and its mother and aggressively defending her from anyone who dared approach his precious Cathalie. To put it short, he adored her, almost to an extent where Cathalie became irritated, and used him as a form of stress relief. But never could she succeed in shaking him off, and after awhile, she learned to let things go as is...
Even if she would never admit it, Cathalie often found him oddly endearing at times, particularly when it came to his childlike honesty and curiosity. He had a rather earnest nature, yet he always seemed to seek enjoyment in observing and exploring the ordinary. It did, however, often get him into trouble, and always Cathalie would somehow happen to be the one to get him out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into. He also had a habit of saying things completely out of the blue, in the most unexpected of times, just like now, when he looked towards her brightly.
"Around seventy dead already," Mitch told her, his sea-green eye meeting her hazel ones. Cathalie blinked at him, before looking up towards the sky and sighing.
"Yeah....seventy dead," she murmured quietly. "God...it just keeps getting worse and worse...this whole world, I mean."
"What do you mean?" Mitch asked, sounding interested, though his attention was momentarily averted by a pillbug wandering about on the pavement.
"Well think about it," Cathalie said, shrugging carelessly. "There's people like us, with no family and no money, little better than the people you see everyday, those who find a home on their street because they don't have a real one to stay in. People all over the world are going hungry, and in some places, there's just war and violence making a mess of things. And on top of that, something like this happens. Something that happens to hit closer to home. Next thing you know, we could be the ones lost out there, fighting for our lives against people our own age. It's a pretty crazy world out there, isn't it?" She always found talking with Mitch to be a source of solace, even though he would rarely let on that he knew what she was talking about, at the very least he always offered a listening ear.
Mitch listened quietly, as he always did, at the same time watching the ladybug crawl across his palm before a buzz of wings lifted it clear into the sky above. Once Cathalie had finished speaking, he let a moment settle in comtemplative silence before speaking up again.
"It IS pretty crazy..." he said in an earnest tone of voice. "But it's not BAD or anything..."
At this Cathalie raised her eyebrows towards him, looking geniunely surprised. One thing she knew for certain, ever since the car accident that changed his life and his state of mind, Mitch had gone through his fair share of physical and mental abuse since an early age. Any other teenager his age would have grown bitter, even hateful over the events Mitch went through. Cathalie herself wouldn't blame them.
Which is what led Cathalie to ask her friend, "Well...why do you say that?"
At this, Mitch immediately stood up and put his arms around her in a tight, nearly suffocating hug. Cathalie thought, mildly dazed, The guy's awfully strong for someone his size and weight.
"Because," Mitch said, grinning at her. "You're here with me."
Normally, Cathalie would have knocked the daylights out of him for such a comment, but at the time, she decided to let it pass, feeling somewhat awkward as Mitch held her tightly, but somewhat comforted as well. Not that she would ever admit it, but the news of SOTF had been troubling her somewhat. Whenever she heard of someone dying on the island, she often found herself placing that dying person in her mind as Mitch, or even herself. The very thought of it was unnerving.
But perhaps it was silly to worry about such things. And in any case, whatever happens, happens. Cathalie thought to herself. All we can do is do all we can for the time being.
Leaning her head slightly against Mitch's forehead, she replied quietly, "Yeah...it's not so bad..."
And until now, Cathalie Meguro would have never believed that she would hate it more than she already did.
Present time was hardly the greatest time to be a 15-year-old, especially if you're a 15-year-old living under the care of social services as an orphan with no money, second-hand belongings, and an ex-mental ward as your only stress relief (and speaking of which, Mitch was still crouching against the dusty pavement, nibbling on his hangnail). But now, as fate would have it, things just got a lot worse.
Cathalie and Mitch weren't normal teenagers. For one thing, they didn't have the luxuries of cellphones, high speed internet, and satellite TV that most people their age usually enjoyed. Neither did they care for such things, so it had been only recently since Cathalie had heard about the newest shockwave of terrorism that was reportedly targetting high school students. This had been partially the reason why Cathalie in particular was somewhat surprised, and rather aggravated, when she spotted a man in uniform walking by her with a scrutinizing eye. As she had dragged Mitch away as to stop him from outright stalking the strange man, it was then that Cathalie had remembered that their teacher had informed them of the new security measures that were being placed upon the school.
Brilliant. Just spitting brilliant, she thought bitterly. As if I didn't hate this place so much already, now we have security guards hawking our every step, watching our every move, taking up space and fresh air.
In unison with her thoughts, she scuffed a battered sneaker against the pavement, leaning so that her back collided slightly with the brick wall of the school parking lot. An irritated scowl played across her sharp, angular features as she crossed her stick-like arms. A sigh escaped her narrow lips.
"Well, guess we'll have to deal with it for now, huh Gunther?" she muttered bitterly, glancing towards the lanky figure crouching next to her.
Mitch Gunther, a rather underfed, odd-looking figure of a 15-year-old, glanced up towards Cathalie with that usual gaze, cheerful, childlike, and oddly dreamy in nature. His pinky finger was stained in blood, and Cathalie could see that he had successfully ripped off the hangnail. Part of his face, as well as the majority of his right arm, was wrapped in bandages, effectively covering his left eye, as well as the burns which were the lifelong remnants of a car accident. His right eye, a cloudy sea-green colour, peered up at her with a misty gaze.
"I like them. They look neat cause they're carrying guns and stuffs," he told her brightly. "Also, they seem like nice people."
At this, Cathalie let out an incredulous snort. The security guard that Mitch was stalking earlier cuffed him square in the head when Mitch tried to explore the gun in the holster. When Mitch had bit his arm in retaliation, the guard had let out a ground-shaking roar and swung his arm a full 360, sending the boy flying into the nearby english classroom. He had been on the verge of placing the boy under arrest when Cathalie jumped in an quickly explained everything.
"Yeah, they seem to like you too," Cathalie muttered sarcastically. "I don't know about them though...seems like the government is overreacting over the whole SOTF thing, but really, I don't think it'll help if terrorists ever DO target this school. Plus it's kind of a bother, having them here."
"Do you think they'll let me hold their gun?" Mitch asked her lightly, in his usual cheerful voice. Cathalie raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head.
"This is not some kind of museum exhibition. Anyways, you shouldn't cause them trouble. That guy, the one about six-foot-three, he was practically itching to arrest you after you bit him in the arm," she replied, chuckling slightly at the memory. Mitch blinked at her slightly, and glanced away, suddenly looking thoughtful and pensieve.
"....I wanna see their cars after school," he remarked abruptly.
Cathalie shook her head yet again, feeling incredulous. Yet that was typical of Mitch. He was an oddball, a born misfit, that was for sure. He had an almost abnormal curiosity about him, yet he had little interest in interacting with people, having an intense distrust of people other than Cathalie. Normally he just treated them was mobile museum exhibitions, being oddly fascinated with their movements and mannerisms, rather than their words and expressions. He hardly ever followed the rules and would obey only Cathalie, and sometimes not even then.
And then there was Cathalie herself, sarcastic, snide, and aloof. As people left and right struggled to fight their way into the tightly knit groups known as cliques, Cathalie remained the full-blooded separatist. She pretty much despised everything that forced her to compromise her own individuality and sense of self. Being an orphan, she had learned to fend for herself at a very early age, often distrusting adults to an extend where her need for independance downright borderlined on outright aggression. This was probably the reason why Cathalie was labelled a 'misfit' as well.
And as fate would have it, Mitch and Cathalie had first found eachother at the orphanage, where Mitch had immediately proceeded to cling to her, since following her about like a duckling and its mother and aggressively defending her from anyone who dared approach his precious Cathalie. To put it short, he adored her, almost to an extent where Cathalie became irritated, and used him as a form of stress relief. But never could she succeed in shaking him off, and after awhile, she learned to let things go as is...
Even if she would never admit it, Cathalie often found him oddly endearing at times, particularly when it came to his childlike honesty and curiosity. He had a rather earnest nature, yet he always seemed to seek enjoyment in observing and exploring the ordinary. It did, however, often get him into trouble, and always Cathalie would somehow happen to be the one to get him out of whatever mess he had gotten himself into. He also had a habit of saying things completely out of the blue, in the most unexpected of times, just like now, when he looked towards her brightly.
"Around seventy dead already," Mitch told her, his sea-green eye meeting her hazel ones. Cathalie blinked at him, before looking up towards the sky and sighing.
"Yeah....seventy dead," she murmured quietly. "God...it just keeps getting worse and worse...this whole world, I mean."
"What do you mean?" Mitch asked, sounding interested, though his attention was momentarily averted by a pillbug wandering about on the pavement.
"Well think about it," Cathalie said, shrugging carelessly. "There's people like us, with no family and no money, little better than the people you see everyday, those who find a home on their street because they don't have a real one to stay in. People all over the world are going hungry, and in some places, there's just war and violence making a mess of things. And on top of that, something like this happens. Something that happens to hit closer to home. Next thing you know, we could be the ones lost out there, fighting for our lives against people our own age. It's a pretty crazy world out there, isn't it?" She always found talking with Mitch to be a source of solace, even though he would rarely let on that he knew what she was talking about, at the very least he always offered a listening ear.
Mitch listened quietly, as he always did, at the same time watching the ladybug crawl across his palm before a buzz of wings lifted it clear into the sky above. Once Cathalie had finished speaking, he let a moment settle in comtemplative silence before speaking up again.
"It IS pretty crazy..." he said in an earnest tone of voice. "But it's not BAD or anything..."
At this Cathalie raised her eyebrows towards him, looking geniunely surprised. One thing she knew for certain, ever since the car accident that changed his life and his state of mind, Mitch had gone through his fair share of physical and mental abuse since an early age. Any other teenager his age would have grown bitter, even hateful over the events Mitch went through. Cathalie herself wouldn't blame them.
Which is what led Cathalie to ask her friend, "Well...why do you say that?"
At this, Mitch immediately stood up and put his arms around her in a tight, nearly suffocating hug. Cathalie thought, mildly dazed, The guy's awfully strong for someone his size and weight.
"Because," Mitch said, grinning at her. "You're here with me."
Normally, Cathalie would have knocked the daylights out of him for such a comment, but at the time, she decided to let it pass, feeling somewhat awkward as Mitch held her tightly, but somewhat comforted as well. Not that she would ever admit it, but the news of SOTF had been troubling her somewhat. Whenever she heard of someone dying on the island, she often found herself placing that dying person in her mind as Mitch, or even herself. The very thought of it was unnerving.
But perhaps it was silly to worry about such things. And in any case, whatever happens, happens. Cathalie thought to herself. All we can do is do all we can for the time being.
Leaning her head slightly against Mitch's forehead, she replied quietly, "Yeah...it's not so bad..."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler LadyMakaze. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
In recent months, the life of a typical American teenager had gotten increasingly harder. The schools had tightened up on what they would and would now allow, money was becoming tight amongst many a family, and there seemed to be an impending sense of paranoia that had slowly seeped into the nation. Gone were the days in which an average fifteen year old would worry about things like what shirt to buy, or how long they had to do their homework. Present day issues included violence, and terrorism. The recent attack against the United States had been not one that mirrored 9/11, yet mirrored every single parent's worst nightmare, the abduction of over one hundred teenagers who were now being forced to play in a deadly game. 'Survival of the Fittest' is what they called it, and it was run by a man named Danya who haunted the dreams of half of the country. Most parents worried about the safety of their children, and most teenagers watched the program, worrying in the back of their mind that they could be next, while feeling a sick sense of appeal to watch the deadly game that most refused to accept was actually being played somewhere on the Earth itself.
For fifteen-year old Veronika Radivojevic, the thoughts repulsed her. Thoughts about kids her own age being forced to kill each other simply to survive. The thought was truly disgusting, and for Veronika, she shivered as she haphazardly flipped through channels on her television, knowing that at the time there was nothing to watch, one could always flip 'the program' on. As she did so, her fingers slightly trembled, the sick feeling in her stomach returning. That could be her, and her friends if the terrorists had their way...
...but would I have to really worry all that much...it's not that I have all that many friends to speak of...
That much, of course, was true. Veronika had very few friends. Part of it she attributed to her intense dislike of awkward moments, which seemed to have a way of drawing themselves to her when she entered conversation, and the other part was likely due to her looks. While fifteen-year old Veronika was still, in essence, almost a child, her appearance said - rather, screamed otherwise.
Oftentimes, her father had told her, in his thick Czechoslovakian accent that she was 'young girl trapped in woman's body', and that she should be 'happy, for you look younger for long time. Standing at a respectable five feet, eight inches, Veronika had the maturity to her that essentially told people that she was a lot older than she actual was. Her dark red hair fell down around her shoulders and in many instances obscured her eyes to the point where people were hardly able to see where she was looking. Her skin had a slightly exotic tint to it, and her blue eyes were a very unusually light shade of blue. She was very slim, and yet was not overly thin, usually wearing dark, slightly baggy colours to conceal the very womanly curves that lay underneath her clothes. It wasn't that she was antisocial, nor was she a 'goth' as it were. It was mainly that she found she had a very hard time fitting in with people her own age due to the fact that she looked so much older, and she had a difficult time fitting in with older people due to the fact that she was actually only fifteen. As such, she was rather introverted, and while she didn't socialize much, when she did take to someone enough to have a conversation with them, she had strong opinions about many subjects, keeping most conversations rather animated due to her sardonic wit and occasional sarcastic comment.
Regardless, in most other respects, there was nothing spectacular about Veronika, aside from her difficult-to-pronounce surnname, a gift that she'd recieved from her parents, both natives of the Czech Republic who'd immigrated to the United States five years before she'd been born. Veronika herself spoke flawless English with little to no accent, and many a time had to explain to people what her parents were saying, both of whom had heavy accents and spoke in broken English.
It doesn't help when someone calls and asks for Mr. or Mrs. Radivojevic, and pronounces each and every vowel sound in the name, and mom and dad don't have a clue what's going on...they hang up, and then the damned telemarketers always call back...
But none of that was on the mind of Veronika Radivojevic (pronounced 'Rad-i-voy-o-vitch', thank you very much) as she almost gaped at the video feed coming from the island where SOTF was being held.
This shit always makes me sick...but it's like a car wreck, you can't help but gape, and then it's just so hard to turn away...I mean, I feel for these kids, I really do. It's just pure empathy, I really feel so fucking terribly for them. They're my own age, they're just like me, and yet they get shit on for whatever reason...
...but they're getting shit on with bullets, as opposed to anything else, and with seventy kids dead, it seems like it's really working.
Shaking her head, she watched...silently to herself, as faces passed across the screen, talking and getting shot at, running and hiding...faces of all kinds, dead and alive.
Pathetic thing is that I know people who're like some of these kids. Some people I go to school with could be the twins of some kids from school. It could be us in there, fighting for our lives, as easily as it could be any other class from any other school. Terrorism - pick on the innocents. Problem with my school is that most people in the school would lay down and die, or not give a fuck and break down. You wouldn't have players, like Cody Jenson and Peri Barclay, who'd lose their minds and go apeshit. You wouldn't have the intelligent ones who decide to play out of the survival instinct, like Jacob Starr or even Hawley Faust. You probably wouldn't have a heroic, 'fuck the system' type, like Dodd. Our school...it's just...it's just a lot of talk.
Yet another reason that she found she never fit in.
So many people out there who're all talk. They say they're going to fight and they never do. They say they're a big ladies man but ninety-five percent of them wouldn't know what to do with their dicks if they had a drugged-up prostitute sitting in front of 'em. The jocks would crumple under pressure, the cheerleaders would roll over and die, and the few that might have a chance of escaping would be fucked from the get-go, thanks to those assholes knowing who they were and ensuring that none of 'em lived.
That's why those kids...they're heroes. Most of them, live or die are heroes, because most of them decided not to roll over and die, and most of them are fighting for their lives. That just isn't like our school...frankly, we'd....we'd suck.
And thank fucking God for that.
Veronika sighed to herself. She constantly caught herself internally 'monologuing' as she called it. Having long conversations with no one in particular. It helped pass the time as good as anything, she always figured.
Sure beats watching this...
But strangely, she couldn't bear to turn off the television.
For fifteen-year old Veronika Radivojevic, the thoughts repulsed her. Thoughts about kids her own age being forced to kill each other simply to survive. The thought was truly disgusting, and for Veronika, she shivered as she haphazardly flipped through channels on her television, knowing that at the time there was nothing to watch, one could always flip 'the program' on. As she did so, her fingers slightly trembled, the sick feeling in her stomach returning. That could be her, and her friends if the terrorists had their way...
...but would I have to really worry all that much...it's not that I have all that many friends to speak of...
That much, of course, was true. Veronika had very few friends. Part of it she attributed to her intense dislike of awkward moments, which seemed to have a way of drawing themselves to her when she entered conversation, and the other part was likely due to her looks. While fifteen-year old Veronika was still, in essence, almost a child, her appearance said - rather, screamed otherwise.
Oftentimes, her father had told her, in his thick Czechoslovakian accent that she was 'young girl trapped in woman's body', and that she should be 'happy, for you look younger for long time. Standing at a respectable five feet, eight inches, Veronika had the maturity to her that essentially told people that she was a lot older than she actual was. Her dark red hair fell down around her shoulders and in many instances obscured her eyes to the point where people were hardly able to see where she was looking. Her skin had a slightly exotic tint to it, and her blue eyes were a very unusually light shade of blue. She was very slim, and yet was not overly thin, usually wearing dark, slightly baggy colours to conceal the very womanly curves that lay underneath her clothes. It wasn't that she was antisocial, nor was she a 'goth' as it were. It was mainly that she found she had a very hard time fitting in with people her own age due to the fact that she looked so much older, and she had a difficult time fitting in with older people due to the fact that she was actually only fifteen. As such, she was rather introverted, and while she didn't socialize much, when she did take to someone enough to have a conversation with them, she had strong opinions about many subjects, keeping most conversations rather animated due to her sardonic wit and occasional sarcastic comment.
Regardless, in most other respects, there was nothing spectacular about Veronika, aside from her difficult-to-pronounce surnname, a gift that she'd recieved from her parents, both natives of the Czech Republic who'd immigrated to the United States five years before she'd been born. Veronika herself spoke flawless English with little to no accent, and many a time had to explain to people what her parents were saying, both of whom had heavy accents and spoke in broken English.
It doesn't help when someone calls and asks for Mr. or Mrs. Radivojevic, and pronounces each and every vowel sound in the name, and mom and dad don't have a clue what's going on...they hang up, and then the damned telemarketers always call back...
But none of that was on the mind of Veronika Radivojevic (pronounced 'Rad-i-voy-o-vitch', thank you very much) as she almost gaped at the video feed coming from the island where SOTF was being held.
This shit always makes me sick...but it's like a car wreck, you can't help but gape, and then it's just so hard to turn away...I mean, I feel for these kids, I really do. It's just pure empathy, I really feel so fucking terribly for them. They're my own age, they're just like me, and yet they get shit on for whatever reason...
...but they're getting shit on with bullets, as opposed to anything else, and with seventy kids dead, it seems like it's really working.
Shaking her head, she watched...silently to herself, as faces passed across the screen, talking and getting shot at, running and hiding...faces of all kinds, dead and alive.
Pathetic thing is that I know people who're like some of these kids. Some people I go to school with could be the twins of some kids from school. It could be us in there, fighting for our lives, as easily as it could be any other class from any other school. Terrorism - pick on the innocents. Problem with my school is that most people in the school would lay down and die, or not give a fuck and break down. You wouldn't have players, like Cody Jenson and Peri Barclay, who'd lose their minds and go apeshit. You wouldn't have the intelligent ones who decide to play out of the survival instinct, like Jacob Starr or even Hawley Faust. You probably wouldn't have a heroic, 'fuck the system' type, like Dodd. Our school...it's just...it's just a lot of talk.
Yet another reason that she found she never fit in.
So many people out there who're all talk. They say they're going to fight and they never do. They say they're a big ladies man but ninety-five percent of them wouldn't know what to do with their dicks if they had a drugged-up prostitute sitting in front of 'em. The jocks would crumple under pressure, the cheerleaders would roll over and die, and the few that might have a chance of escaping would be fucked from the get-go, thanks to those assholes knowing who they were and ensuring that none of 'em lived.
That's why those kids...they're heroes. Most of them, live or die are heroes, because most of them decided not to roll over and die, and most of them are fighting for their lives. That just isn't like our school...frankly, we'd....we'd suck.
And thank fucking God for that.
Veronika sighed to herself. She constantly caught herself internally 'monologuing' as she called it. Having long conversations with no one in particular. It helped pass the time as good as anything, she always figured.
Sure beats watching this...
But strangely, she couldn't bear to turn off the television.
The study area of the high school was meant to be a place of quiet learning. Students could go there to read books, make notes, all in the peace and quiet; free from the hustle and bustle of the main school corridors.
It was there that two girls, Namie Yamazaki and Natalie Richards were sat on a table, leaning in towards each other, talking in hushed but excited tones. Students nearby were giving them nothing short of dissapproving looks, obviously disgruntled that the girls were disturbing the quiet of their educational sanctum. Regardless, the girls went on.
"Did you see last night's episode? Breathtaking, just breathtaking," Natalie said, her face brimming with excitement.
"Nuh uh," Namie shook her head dully, her short spiky hair tossing about as she did so. "I mean, I watched the start of it, but my mother came upstairs as it began to get good, and you know she doesn't let me watch it. Too violent for her, I guess." She finished with a small smile. "Did I miss much though?"
Natalie nodded feverishly. "Oh my God yes! Danya unleashed these terrorist guys! Some girl died, as well." At Namie's alarmed expression, she quickly added, "oh, no one important. Some girl called Amber. Not any of our favourites, don't worry."
Namie's face visibly relaxed. "Oh good."
The two girls had been obsessed with SOTF since it's launch on television. Their fellow classmates had immediately dismissed SOTF as cruel and inhumane, and so Namie and Natalie, to avoid getting any stick had taken to meeting here on a regular basis to discuss the latest events.
Of course, it had briefly occured to both of them that what they were so avidly watching was nothing short of a terrorist attack, but that didn't deter them. Keen fans, they had picked their favourite 'contestants' and already placed bets on who they thought would win; Jacob Starr's death being a blow in particular for Natalie who had marked him down to leave the island a winner.
Perhaps it was because it was happening on an island somewhere far away from her, but Namie preferred to think of SOTF as more artificial than it really was. They weren't real people on the island, more so they weren't only kids her age. They were just actors in her favourite show. The bloodshed, horror and destruction was all part of the script and when the final curtain came, life would be no different than before. She had to think of it like that; surely a country as great as America would not let something like this happen...
"So what happened?" Namie questioned as Natalie paused, obviously reliving last nights 'breathtaking show'.
It was there that two girls, Namie Yamazaki and Natalie Richards were sat on a table, leaning in towards each other, talking in hushed but excited tones. Students nearby were giving them nothing short of dissapproving looks, obviously disgruntled that the girls were disturbing the quiet of their educational sanctum. Regardless, the girls went on.
"Did you see last night's episode? Breathtaking, just breathtaking," Natalie said, her face brimming with excitement.
"Nuh uh," Namie shook her head dully, her short spiky hair tossing about as she did so. "I mean, I watched the start of it, but my mother came upstairs as it began to get good, and you know she doesn't let me watch it. Too violent for her, I guess." She finished with a small smile. "Did I miss much though?"
Natalie nodded feverishly. "Oh my God yes! Danya unleashed these terrorist guys! Some girl died, as well." At Namie's alarmed expression, she quickly added, "oh, no one important. Some girl called Amber. Not any of our favourites, don't worry."
Namie's face visibly relaxed. "Oh good."
The two girls had been obsessed with SOTF since it's launch on television. Their fellow classmates had immediately dismissed SOTF as cruel and inhumane, and so Namie and Natalie, to avoid getting any stick had taken to meeting here on a regular basis to discuss the latest events.
Of course, it had briefly occured to both of them that what they were so avidly watching was nothing short of a terrorist attack, but that didn't deter them. Keen fans, they had picked their favourite 'contestants' and already placed bets on who they thought would win; Jacob Starr's death being a blow in particular for Natalie who had marked him down to leave the island a winner.
Perhaps it was because it was happening on an island somewhere far away from her, but Namie preferred to think of SOTF as more artificial than it really was. They weren't real people on the island, more so they weren't only kids her age. They were just actors in her favourite show. The bloodshed, horror and destruction was all part of the script and when the final curtain came, life would be no different than before. She had to think of it like that; surely a country as great as America would not let something like this happen...
"So what happened?" Namie questioned as Natalie paused, obviously reliving last nights 'breathtaking show'.
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"I heard there's someone manufacturing a Survival of the Fittest video game!" Preston Grey announced excitedly to fellow student Alex Andros as a sly grin played across his features. "And like... you get to play as your favorite SOTF kid, and you have to try to kill all the others and come out the winner. I heard you even get to take on Danya in the end if you win. How cool is that? I can't WAIT!"
A sheepish smile once again formed on his lips as Preston internally fantasized about the Survival of the Fittest video game. Alex, however, was much more skeptical, and simply stared at Preston with an almost vacant expression on his face. Before he could speak, Keirsten Tyling, who had taken a seat beside Alex at the lunch table, cast a condescending look toward Preston.
"Why would you want to play such garbage? It's just a T.V. show anyway. You know, like Survivor or something."
Keirsten flicked her long blonde hair behind her back and shook her head disapprovingly at Preston once again. In her mind, Survival of the Fittest was a hoax. It was just like all the other so-called "reality" shows there, and at the end of the night, all those kids probably went back to their trailers and cleaned up, just like everyone else. According to Kiersten Tyling, nobody could even attempt an atrocity like SOTF onto American citizens, and therefore, it must all be a rouse.
"It is NOT!" Preston snapped, stabbing his fork into the cafeteria's choice meal of the day: a slice of roast beef that magically seemed to change various colors as you moved it.
"You're such a moron, Preston," Keirsten replied matter-of-factly. "Do you really think that there are people out there capable of kidnapping kids and making them kill one another? Nobody really has any incentive to do that, it just means they'd never go home. And BESIDES that," she paused, emphasizing her last two words, "If it WERE real, why on earth would it be televised? It's a hoax, it's just another stupid reality show that gets far too much publicity."
Alex rolled a few peas from his plate around contemplatively as Keirsten and Preston continued to verbally assault one another. Despite all that was going on in the world, it seemed like just another day at Breckenridge High. Brushing a strand of his sandy blonde hair back from his face as he looked up, a smile crossed his features as the trio was joined by two other students: Ashley Glosenger and Kyle York. Ashley, as per usual, took a seat beside Keirsten, and Kyle flopped down beside Preston, eyeing the roast beef suspiciously.
"What's up?" Ashley greeted the other members of the table loudly.
Keirsten cast another condescending glare at Preston before flicking a pea that had rolled off of Alex's plate toward him. A playful grin passed across her face before she returned to a stern and serious look. Both Preston and Keirsten were hardheaded individuals, and this battle the two were undergoing was bound to last a while.
"Preston's a moron," she stated, as if announcing some unknown fact to a large audience.
"It took you this long to figure that out?" Kyle snorted in between bites. Since arriving at the table, he had already managed to wolf down over half of the contents of his plate.
"Well, it's a well-known fact, but I mean... he argues over the dumbest things!" she continued, "Please, Kyle, Ashley, somebody... tell him that ignorant SOTF show isn't real. It's like pro wrestling or something, it's all choreographed, it's just an act!"
"No it's not!" Preston protested.
Ashley shook her head and began giggling, while Kyle stared at the two dumbfoundedly for a moment before continuing to gnaw on a piece of roast beef. Keirsten finally faultered and burst into hysterical laughter at the expression on Preston's face. Meanwhile, Preston began turning red. Well, it was true. He was right! SOTF WAS real, right? RIGHT? He turned to Alex, his best friend since grade school, hoping that Alex would come through for him. Finally, Alex spoke up, still staring down at the peas instead of making eye contact with his friends.
"I don't know, Keir," he mumbled quietly, "If this were all a hoax, do you... well, do you really think security would have gone up around here so much?"
He nodded toward the two armed guards standing in front of the cafeteria doors as he spoke. Keirsten's laughter quickly stifled as her eyes traced over to the figures standing in front of the door. Alex had made a point, and a very good one, at that. Shaking her head slightly, she withdrew herself from the argument, invariably allowing Preston his win.
"Can they HAVE those here?" Ashley inquired.
Of course, she was talking about the guns. Both of the two men seemed to be jam-packed with various artillery. Apparently, they were only here for security purposes. However, Ashley thought they were more intimidating to the students than they were to anyone else. It was almost like they had been punished, like they were in jail or something. Everywhere they went, there were armed guards watching over them. It was an odd and scary situation.
"Whether they can or not, they do," Kyle again snorted. He seemed far more interested in his lunch than the guards at the doorway, however.
"I wonder," Alex remarked, "I heard it isn't as bad here. Apparently, our security is a lot more lax. Heard it was absolutely insane up around New York... around Barry Coleson, where those kids came from."
Alex's thought had completely quieted the table the group had occupied. Kyle continued shoveling food into his mouth, but the others simply sat there in silence, pondering over Alex's words. Frowning slightly, Alex went back to playing with his peas, leaving the other three with their thoughts. Preston pried his fork from the roast beef, seemingly satisfied that he had won the argument with Keirsten.
"Still..." Keirsten pondered quietly, "I just can't imagine why they'd put it on T.V., make video games about it, why they'd... publicize it so much. If we're really that vulnerable, you'd think they'd try to hide it, not make it a well-known fact."
"Yeah..." Alex muttered. The conversation had gone from joking insults to dead seriousness, in a matter of moments. Alex was never much for jokes, anyway. It was a wonder he ran around with Preston Grey, who was one of the biggest goofballs in the class.
"But you know, if it were me, I wouldn't play," Ashley chimed in, "I don't see why they're doing it. They're just giving in... if it is all real, I mean. If no one played, what could they do about it, really? I mean, they're all supposedly killing one another, when if they all just held out, someone would surely come and save them, right?"
"Exactly," Keirsten stated.
"I'd play!" Preston announced emphatically.
Jumping up from his seat, he grabbed his fork and swung it around in a clumsy manner. He let out a yell and brought the fork down, full force, right into the remainder of Kyle's roast beef. This set off a round of giggles from the girls, whereas Kyle simply stared dumbfoundedly at Preston.
"Dude... that was my roast beef. Now it's all slobbery with your germs," he grumbled.
"I'd be... crazy ninja fork guy!" Preston shouted, paying no mind to the glares he was receiving from students nearby. He jumped up on his seat and wobbled a moment before nearly falling over.
"Sit DOWN!" Keirsten hissed, still laughing hysterically from Preston's display with the fork. Kyle, meanwhile, was staring forelornly at the roast beef that was now contaminated with the germs from Preston's fork. Keirsten finally turned to Alex, who had gone silent again. "What about you, Alex? Would you play?"
Shrugging his shoulders lightly, he moved from the peas to the corn on his plate, avoiding the question. Would he play? Alex did not know. He mentally invisioned himself in the SOTF "game", staring down the group who accompanied him at the lunch table, gun in hand. He could never kill them, even if he had no choice. The attention of the entire group had turned to focus on Alex, who still sat there silently. Somehow, he always found himself in this sort of situation, where he had to answer an awkward question before the others would go back to their normal routines. Finally, he forced out a simple comment.
"What's it matter? Not like we'll ever find ourselves in that situation anyway, right?"
A sheepish smile once again formed on his lips as Preston internally fantasized about the Survival of the Fittest video game. Alex, however, was much more skeptical, and simply stared at Preston with an almost vacant expression on his face. Before he could speak, Keirsten Tyling, who had taken a seat beside Alex at the lunch table, cast a condescending look toward Preston.
"Why would you want to play such garbage? It's just a T.V. show anyway. You know, like Survivor or something."
Keirsten flicked her long blonde hair behind her back and shook her head disapprovingly at Preston once again. In her mind, Survival of the Fittest was a hoax. It was just like all the other so-called "reality" shows there, and at the end of the night, all those kids probably went back to their trailers and cleaned up, just like everyone else. According to Kiersten Tyling, nobody could even attempt an atrocity like SOTF onto American citizens, and therefore, it must all be a rouse.
"It is NOT!" Preston snapped, stabbing his fork into the cafeteria's choice meal of the day: a slice of roast beef that magically seemed to change various colors as you moved it.
"You're such a moron, Preston," Keirsten replied matter-of-factly. "Do you really think that there are people out there capable of kidnapping kids and making them kill one another? Nobody really has any incentive to do that, it just means they'd never go home. And BESIDES that," she paused, emphasizing her last two words, "If it WERE real, why on earth would it be televised? It's a hoax, it's just another stupid reality show that gets far too much publicity."
Alex rolled a few peas from his plate around contemplatively as Keirsten and Preston continued to verbally assault one another. Despite all that was going on in the world, it seemed like just another day at Breckenridge High. Brushing a strand of his sandy blonde hair back from his face as he looked up, a smile crossed his features as the trio was joined by two other students: Ashley Glosenger and Kyle York. Ashley, as per usual, took a seat beside Keirsten, and Kyle flopped down beside Preston, eyeing the roast beef suspiciously.
"What's up?" Ashley greeted the other members of the table loudly.
Keirsten cast another condescending glare at Preston before flicking a pea that had rolled off of Alex's plate toward him. A playful grin passed across her face before she returned to a stern and serious look. Both Preston and Keirsten were hardheaded individuals, and this battle the two were undergoing was bound to last a while.
"Preston's a moron," she stated, as if announcing some unknown fact to a large audience.
"It took you this long to figure that out?" Kyle snorted in between bites. Since arriving at the table, he had already managed to wolf down over half of the contents of his plate.
"Well, it's a well-known fact, but I mean... he argues over the dumbest things!" she continued, "Please, Kyle, Ashley, somebody... tell him that ignorant SOTF show isn't real. It's like pro wrestling or something, it's all choreographed, it's just an act!"
"No it's not!" Preston protested.
Ashley shook her head and began giggling, while Kyle stared at the two dumbfoundedly for a moment before continuing to gnaw on a piece of roast beef. Keirsten finally faultered and burst into hysterical laughter at the expression on Preston's face. Meanwhile, Preston began turning red. Well, it was true. He was right! SOTF WAS real, right? RIGHT? He turned to Alex, his best friend since grade school, hoping that Alex would come through for him. Finally, Alex spoke up, still staring down at the peas instead of making eye contact with his friends.
"I don't know, Keir," he mumbled quietly, "If this were all a hoax, do you... well, do you really think security would have gone up around here so much?"
He nodded toward the two armed guards standing in front of the cafeteria doors as he spoke. Keirsten's laughter quickly stifled as her eyes traced over to the figures standing in front of the door. Alex had made a point, and a very good one, at that. Shaking her head slightly, she withdrew herself from the argument, invariably allowing Preston his win.
"Can they HAVE those here?" Ashley inquired.
Of course, she was talking about the guns. Both of the two men seemed to be jam-packed with various artillery. Apparently, they were only here for security purposes. However, Ashley thought they were more intimidating to the students than they were to anyone else. It was almost like they had been punished, like they were in jail or something. Everywhere they went, there were armed guards watching over them. It was an odd and scary situation.
"Whether they can or not, they do," Kyle again snorted. He seemed far more interested in his lunch than the guards at the doorway, however.
"I wonder," Alex remarked, "I heard it isn't as bad here. Apparently, our security is a lot more lax. Heard it was absolutely insane up around New York... around Barry Coleson, where those kids came from."
Alex's thought had completely quieted the table the group had occupied. Kyle continued shoveling food into his mouth, but the others simply sat there in silence, pondering over Alex's words. Frowning slightly, Alex went back to playing with his peas, leaving the other three with their thoughts. Preston pried his fork from the roast beef, seemingly satisfied that he had won the argument with Keirsten.
"Still..." Keirsten pondered quietly, "I just can't imagine why they'd put it on T.V., make video games about it, why they'd... publicize it so much. If we're really that vulnerable, you'd think they'd try to hide it, not make it a well-known fact."
"Yeah..." Alex muttered. The conversation had gone from joking insults to dead seriousness, in a matter of moments. Alex was never much for jokes, anyway. It was a wonder he ran around with Preston Grey, who was one of the biggest goofballs in the class.
"But you know, if it were me, I wouldn't play," Ashley chimed in, "I don't see why they're doing it. They're just giving in... if it is all real, I mean. If no one played, what could they do about it, really? I mean, they're all supposedly killing one another, when if they all just held out, someone would surely come and save them, right?"
"Exactly," Keirsten stated.
"I'd play!" Preston announced emphatically.
Jumping up from his seat, he grabbed his fork and swung it around in a clumsy manner. He let out a yell and brought the fork down, full force, right into the remainder of Kyle's roast beef. This set off a round of giggles from the girls, whereas Kyle simply stared dumbfoundedly at Preston.
"Dude... that was my roast beef. Now it's all slobbery with your germs," he grumbled.
"I'd be... crazy ninja fork guy!" Preston shouted, paying no mind to the glares he was receiving from students nearby. He jumped up on his seat and wobbled a moment before nearly falling over.
"Sit DOWN!" Keirsten hissed, still laughing hysterically from Preston's display with the fork. Kyle, meanwhile, was staring forelornly at the roast beef that was now contaminated with the germs from Preston's fork. Keirsten finally turned to Alex, who had gone silent again. "What about you, Alex? Would you play?"
Shrugging his shoulders lightly, he moved from the peas to the corn on his plate, avoiding the question. Would he play? Alex did not know. He mentally invisioned himself in the SOTF "game", staring down the group who accompanied him at the lunch table, gun in hand. He could never kill them, even if he had no choice. The attention of the entire group had turned to focus on Alex, who still sat there silently. Somehow, he always found himself in this sort of situation, where he had to answer an awkward question before the others would go back to their normal routines. Finally, he forced out a simple comment.
"What's it matter? Not like we'll ever find ourselves in that situation anyway, right?"
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-
ZigZaggerty†
- Posts: 84
- Joined: Fri Sep 07, 2018 3:52 pm
Kate Callinton awkwardly walked among the isles of people eating their lunches, she was a foreign exchange student from Manchester, England. Her long brown hair tied back in a braided pony-tail that ended just below her knees. Her brown eyes were covered by thin-rimmed glasses, she was the butt of many of the student body’s jokes. Noone had heard her talk since she attended the school, on account of her nose always in some book.
As she walked by the table of kids chatting about SoTF, she managed to dodge getting hit by the boy flailing his arms. At first she giggled and then she worked up her courage and spoke.
“Excuse me, May I please sit with you at this table?” She calmly, quietly, and politely asked.
As she walked by the table of kids chatting about SoTF, she managed to dodge getting hit by the boy flailing his arms. At first she giggled and then she worked up her courage and spoke.
“Excuse me, May I please sit with you at this table?” She calmly, quietly, and politely asked.
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"Sure thing, ma'dam!" Preston agreed cheerfully.
Within seconds, he had flopped down from his standing position on the tabletop and slid the reminants of what had once been Kyle's lunch down a ways, effectively opening a seat up for the newcomer who had joined their company. Taking a seat once again, Preston grinned at the new girl and motioned for her to sit down, of course, pending Kyle's movement.
"Scoo'down," he stated urgently.
Preston had a tendency to never finish what he started, and his sentences were no exception. He often got lost in midthought or ran his words together. Preston once again grinned and glanced toward teh others, hoping the rest of the group would make the new young lady feel welcome. Kyle followed after his food, simply grunting at the girl as he did so.
"That's brute for hello," Ashley stated, casting a smug grin at Kyle.
Meanwhile, Kyle had completely tuned out the world around him and was currently carefully cutting the roast beef that had not been contaminated by Preston's fork away from the ruined roast beef. Alex nodded toward the girl to signify a hello, and Keirsten cast her a smile.
"Aren't you in my English class?" she inquired lightly.
Within seconds, he had flopped down from his standing position on the tabletop and slid the reminants of what had once been Kyle's lunch down a ways, effectively opening a seat up for the newcomer who had joined their company. Taking a seat once again, Preston grinned at the new girl and motioned for her to sit down, of course, pending Kyle's movement.
"Scoo'down," he stated urgently.
Preston had a tendency to never finish what he started, and his sentences were no exception. He often got lost in midthought or ran his words together. Preston once again grinned and glanced toward teh others, hoping the rest of the group would make the new young lady feel welcome. Kyle followed after his food, simply grunting at the girl as he did so.
"That's brute for hello," Ashley stated, casting a smug grin at Kyle.
Meanwhile, Kyle had completely tuned out the world around him and was currently carefully cutting the roast beef that had not been contaminated by Preston's fork away from the ruined roast beef. Alex nodded toward the girl to signify a hello, and Keirsten cast her a smile.
"Aren't you in my English class?" she inquired lightly.
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ZigZaggerty†
- Posts: 84
- Joined: Fri Sep 07, 2018 3:52 pm
Kate nodded her head at the girl and sat, placing her tray in front of herself.
“Yes, I am Kate Callinton!” She nodded to the girl who asked, taking a knife and a fork she began to cut into the meat on her tray.
“I see you were talking about SoTF, It is quite the interesting game. I do hope Adam Dodd wins.” She says to the others. Taking a bit out of the meat she smiled and continued to cut the meat into little portions.
“I heard what you said about SoTF and not being real, I can assure you it is. When Andrew Lipson died, that was real lightning.” Kate explained "You could tell my the quickness and if you did some checking on the computer. Not edited or Special effects, it was all real."
“Yes, I am Kate Callinton!” She nodded to the girl who asked, taking a knife and a fork she began to cut into the meat on her tray.
“I see you were talking about SoTF, It is quite the interesting game. I do hope Adam Dodd wins.” She says to the others. Taking a bit out of the meat she smiled and continued to cut the meat into little portions.
“I heard what you said about SoTF and not being real, I can assure you it is. When Andrew Lipson died, that was real lightning.” Kate explained "You could tell my the quickness and if you did some checking on the computer. Not edited or Special effects, it was all real."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler ZigZaggerty. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
"It's all real, guys, I hate to break it to 'ya. If it weren't, why do 'ya think that we can't watch anything else on television? It'd just be a monopoly, which would and could never happen. And the NHL just wouldn't 'loan out' Sidney Crosby. Come on. He was put on the injured reserve list on my Yahoo pool for 'undisclosed reasons', and I'll be damned if he isn't really missing and fighting for his life."
Kevin Hamilton, the school's resident conspiracy theorist, brushed his longish black hair out of his eyes as he plopped down beside Kate, near the end of the table. Kevin was known for being very 'out there' with some of his ideas, and had earned the nickname 'Mulder' amongst his peers for both his wild theories and his love and devotion to the X-Files. Otherwise, though, Kevin was just another classmate.
"As far as who's going to win? I don't know, guys. Whoever's been eating and drinking probably has a hell of a better shot than whoever's got the most guns. Any longer and those kids are just going to keel over and die of dehydration - which would be agonizing enough to watch. Though with thirty people left, I wouldn't see it going that far."
Looking over at Kate, he shrugged half-heartedly. "Dodd's pretty much the fan favourite right now, the only thing is that he's losing his mind. The dude is in some seriously bad shape - granted, who wouldn't be, but I dunno. I feel bad for the guy, sure, and I'm definitely pulling for him, but I think that this blind devotion to murdering some asshole who most wouldn't give the time of day to is going to seriously hamper his ability to live. I mean, Jensen's a psychopath, I wouldn't be surprised if he won, and then the Americans arrested the sick fucker just to spite him. But truth is, Danya wouldn't let something like that happen. No, Jensen won't win, if he even survives past the next few days. Odds are that the winner'll be someone quiet, someone who hasn't really played the game. They probably won't even know that they've won until the terrorists pull 'em out. C'mon, guys. You know I'm right."
'You know I'm right' was Kevin's 'catch-phrase' of sorts. Not said to be cocky, it was simply his way of telling everyone that his theories had merit, and no matter what anyone wanted to believe or admit, most of them did have at least some form of substance to them. Looking down the table with a quiet grin, he nodded to Preston.
"Well, what d'you think, Press? Does Dodd have a chance, or are we all looking at the wrong guy?"
Kevin Hamilton, the school's resident conspiracy theorist, brushed his longish black hair out of his eyes as he plopped down beside Kate, near the end of the table. Kevin was known for being very 'out there' with some of his ideas, and had earned the nickname 'Mulder' amongst his peers for both his wild theories and his love and devotion to the X-Files. Otherwise, though, Kevin was just another classmate.
"As far as who's going to win? I don't know, guys. Whoever's been eating and drinking probably has a hell of a better shot than whoever's got the most guns. Any longer and those kids are just going to keel over and die of dehydration - which would be agonizing enough to watch. Though with thirty people left, I wouldn't see it going that far."
Looking over at Kate, he shrugged half-heartedly. "Dodd's pretty much the fan favourite right now, the only thing is that he's losing his mind. The dude is in some seriously bad shape - granted, who wouldn't be, but I dunno. I feel bad for the guy, sure, and I'm definitely pulling for him, but I think that this blind devotion to murdering some asshole who most wouldn't give the time of day to is going to seriously hamper his ability to live. I mean, Jensen's a psychopath, I wouldn't be surprised if he won, and then the Americans arrested the sick fucker just to spite him. But truth is, Danya wouldn't let something like that happen. No, Jensen won't win, if he even survives past the next few days. Odds are that the winner'll be someone quiet, someone who hasn't really played the game. They probably won't even know that they've won until the terrorists pull 'em out. C'mon, guys. You know I'm right."
'You know I'm right' was Kevin's 'catch-phrase' of sorts. Not said to be cocky, it was simply his way of telling everyone that his theories had merit, and no matter what anyone wanted to believe or admit, most of them did have at least some form of substance to them. Looking down the table with a quiet grin, he nodded to Preston.
"Well, what d'you think, Press? Does Dodd have a chance, or are we all looking at the wrong guy?"
"I think if Dodd stops acting so remorseful, he might have a shot at winning, but otherwise it'll be one of the more ruthless ones that takes it. I have my eye on Barclay right now, not only does he seem to have a good shot, but it would shut you up if he won, Mulder." a voice interrupted. Anyone turning to face it would easily notice the source: Thomas Diftre. If one had to sum up his appearance in one word, it would be "tough". Allowing two words would have the questioned most likely say "tough" and "distinctive". His body was built like a heavyweight boxers', heavily muscled with the occasional scar. His face looked like it was chiseled out of solid diamond, rough and hard-edged. He allowed his nearly white blond hair to grow nearly to his face, framing his brown eyes that were nearly black, but he was by no means iffeminate (and would slug you if you called him that). His fingers were suprisingly thin though, and he used two of them to twirl around an unlit cigarette, still waiting for the soldier who borrowed his lighter to give it back. All in all, he was quite the sight to behold. He was from a poor family and worked to support it, thus he was rarely at school, but people with a good ear would still hear that he fought on the streets for money and fun, sometimes working as hired muscle for a local gang (they paid VERY well). Even though he was sitting at a table, he didn't have a lunch (he had finished what little he had), which wasn't all that surprising considering his financial status.
Where the fuck's that Sergeant? He's had my lighter for almost ten minutes now. he thought, still keeping eye contact with his classmates.
"Of course, I don't know much, due to that little incident with the reception. I hate Street Fighter."
Where the fuck's that Sergeant? He's had my lighter for almost ten minutes now. he thought, still keeping eye contact with his classmates.
"Of course, I don't know much, due to that little incident with the reception. I hate Street Fighter."
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Kevin eyed Thomas, and rolled his eyes. Kevin couldn't help but admit that while he wasn't afraid of Thomas (the two had known each other for quite some time, and while they weren't friends, they had somewhat of an odd relationship to which each had both helped the other out of a serious bind at one point or another), he had to admit that the intimidating boy had a bit of a point. Of course, Kevin had to fire back with a point of his own.
"Barclay? Pfft. Yeah, he's a ruthless kinda asshole, but the guy's been keeping a really low profile in the past few days. I was on SOTF's official website, keeping up-to-date on the whole thing, 'ya know, fuck the library study period and all - the signal may have been out, but while it did, Dodd killed two more people, so he's number one on the island. Say what you will, Tommy Boy, but you can't kill like, eight people and have them ALL be accidents. Good luck selling that to a jury..."
Kevin smirked, and grinned at the subtle Chris Farley reference. He loved poking fun at Thomas, because he knew that while the boy would probably curse at him and give him a severe case of cut eye, he wouldn't hit him - probably one of the only people, oddly enough, that he could say that about.
"So word around the 'net is that Danya was fucking furious about that, and what's worse, is that he doesn't know who did it, or how it happened. Apparently that little interruption really tossed their shit for a loop. None of the cameras really picked up anything, and so they're figuring it was outside the island. But hey, if the person who did it's on the island, then...shit, guys. They could blow it all open. Fat lot of good it'll do 'em, but hey. Piss off Danya, and they all die. Sounds dumb, to me. Besides, nobody even knows if he's real or not. Personally, I think the guy's a spector, and that he's just a cover for someone who doesn't want to be known. Bet it's like, Austrailia, or something. Revenge for countless years of prison colony jokes. C'mon, you guys all know I'm right...I'd bet anything Danya's a spook, and the whole thing IS real."
"Barclay? Pfft. Yeah, he's a ruthless kinda asshole, but the guy's been keeping a really low profile in the past few days. I was on SOTF's official website, keeping up-to-date on the whole thing, 'ya know, fuck the library study period and all - the signal may have been out, but while it did, Dodd killed two more people, so he's number one on the island. Say what you will, Tommy Boy, but you can't kill like, eight people and have them ALL be accidents. Good luck selling that to a jury..."
Kevin smirked, and grinned at the subtle Chris Farley reference. He loved poking fun at Thomas, because he knew that while the boy would probably curse at him and give him a severe case of cut eye, he wouldn't hit him - probably one of the only people, oddly enough, that he could say that about.
"So word around the 'net is that Danya was fucking furious about that, and what's worse, is that he doesn't know who did it, or how it happened. Apparently that little interruption really tossed their shit for a loop. None of the cameras really picked up anything, and so they're figuring it was outside the island. But hey, if the person who did it's on the island, then...shit, guys. They could blow it all open. Fat lot of good it'll do 'em, but hey. Piss off Danya, and they all die. Sounds dumb, to me. Besides, nobody even knows if he's real or not. Personally, I think the guy's a spector, and that he's just a cover for someone who doesn't want to be known. Bet it's like, Austrailia, or something. Revenge for countless years of prison colony jokes. C'mon, you guys all know I'm right...I'd bet anything Danya's a spook, and the whole thing IS real."
"Whatever Mulder." Thomas said, placing the cigarette in his pocket and addressing the other points made by Kevin. "It's who kills last that matters, not who kills most. And Danya's real alright, ever watch the news? My dad was watching TV the other night and I saw Danya himself address us. Something about the President killing himself or something, I was too tired to pay attention and had a big fight in a few hours I had to work out for." yawning and becoming silent for a moment in reminisence of the fight he mentioned. Normally if someone spoke to him like Kevin did, Thomas would curse them out and likely give them a huge shiner at least, but Kevin was allowed to get away with it since he had helped him get out of many tough spots in the past (Thomas had almost always returned the favor). Laughing at the concept of the hacker going undetected and pissing Danya off, he continued again.
"That bastard must've been real good then."
OOC: Writer's block, sorry. sad.gif
"That bastard must've been real good then."
OOC: Writer's block, sorry. sad.gif
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Slayer.
Naime made her way over to the table where Natalie was sat. Looking at her friend's face, she couldn't help but notice Natalie's odd expression, like she was concentrating keenly on what someone else was doing or saying. As she sat down next to Natalie, it was clear why; the table next to them was having some form of SOTF discussion.
Nudging her friend in the ribs, she whispered.
"Who are they talking about?"
Natalie put her finger to her mouth to signal her friend to quieten down, and continued to listen in on the conversation. The two of them listened in on what was being said, not saying a word, waiting for something contraversial to be said so they could show off their inner fangirlings.
((*grins* It's short, but I have about 100000 other things to do, sorry))
Nudging her friend in the ribs, she whispered.
"Who are they talking about?"
Natalie put her finger to her mouth to signal her friend to quieten down, and continued to listen in on the conversation. The two of them listened in on what was being said, not saying a word, waiting for something contraversial to be said so they could show off their inner fangirlings.
((*grins* It's short, but I have about 100000 other things to do, sorry))
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Another sheepish grin passed along the features of Preston Grey as the inner sanctum of their lunch table was entered upon by a girl and two very familiar faces, all three of whom he related to much more than Keirsten Tyling at the moment. As talk of a winner began amongst the table, the lightbulb in Preston's head began flashing, and Preston began grinning like the cheshire cat, making sure to cast a smile Keirsten's way as well.
"I think," he declared, "that the winner will be one of the girls. I mean like, so far, none of them have shown any real potential, but there's a couple. That Clemence chick, she's pretty hardcore. Or if Cassie ever snaps, I think she might be a force to be reckoned with. Call me crazy, but from what I've read about her history, I think she's a ticking timebomb. If someone like her attacked Dodd, he wouldn't know what hit him. Besides, Dodd's a given to win, so I doubt Danya'll let that happen. Hell, the terrorists are probably on a personal mission to eliminate him from the game."
Preston nodded to himself. Of course, in this round of Survival of the Fittest, everyone had seemed to eliminate the girls from the competition. While almost everyone had at least one kill to their name, hell, even that angsty lovestruck cheerleader girl had killed someone on accident, most of the girls were never labelled real contenders. In the beginning, Preston had been going for Umi Martin, what with her prior knowledge of artillery and firearms and all, but since her unfortunate demise, Preston had been keeping quite the close eye on the other female competitors.
"Well," Ashley Glosenger chimed in, casting a wary glance at Keirsten as she did so. She was almost certain that vocalizing her thoughts would probably get her a vicious glance from the other girl, but hey, she was entitled to her thoughts too, right?
"If I watched the show... IF... I'd guess that the winner is going to be some random student that emerged from the woodwork. If there's someone out there who's been hiding this entire time, conserving their ammo, taking care of themselves... well, they'd have a lot better chances, right? By this point, most of the students are either deranged to the point of insanity, or they're slowly dying of dehydration and starvation. Given much more time, they won't have anything left in them. I think it'll end pretty quickly."
From the other end of the table, Alex shook his head, as if disagreeing with the theories that had already been presented at the table. He hadn't said a word in quite some time, and it was because, as usual, Alex Andros was thinking. Not a young man to strike anybody as a pessimest, Alex often saw the reality of these situations, and as such, I figured he knew exactly what was going to happen.
"Student's not gonna win," he muttered. "It'll be one of the terrorists. You figure, they kill all the students and the other two terrorists, it'll give them a chance to redeem themselves in Danya's eyes. Maybe go back to their old life, their old positions. Then, Danya makes a massive dent in our government, doesn't have to send one of the kids home, and the last terrorist... well, from what we've seen of him, no matter who the winner is, I figure he'll kill them on site. Or leave them there. Remember the Morvran boy? He supposedly won the last game. So then, why was he still there? I'll tell you why, it's because Danya's a coldhearted bastard. Doesn't matter who wins, they'll just be eaten alive in the next round, and I don't think it'll stop. Maybe if it's one of the terrorists, the game'll end. If not, though, I think the poor sap is gonna go through all that torture, just to be left to die at the hands of more deranged kids, just like Syd was."
This caused Ashley to simply look at the young man in silence. Even Keirsten, who otherwise would have had a witty retort for Alex's theory, said nothing. The silence didn't last long, however, as Keirsten finally vocalized herself, breaking it.
"Do you think they'd really do that?"
"I think," he declared, "that the winner will be one of the girls. I mean like, so far, none of them have shown any real potential, but there's a couple. That Clemence chick, she's pretty hardcore. Or if Cassie ever snaps, I think she might be a force to be reckoned with. Call me crazy, but from what I've read about her history, I think she's a ticking timebomb. If someone like her attacked Dodd, he wouldn't know what hit him. Besides, Dodd's a given to win, so I doubt Danya'll let that happen. Hell, the terrorists are probably on a personal mission to eliminate him from the game."
Preston nodded to himself. Of course, in this round of Survival of the Fittest, everyone had seemed to eliminate the girls from the competition. While almost everyone had at least one kill to their name, hell, even that angsty lovestruck cheerleader girl had killed someone on accident, most of the girls were never labelled real contenders. In the beginning, Preston had been going for Umi Martin, what with her prior knowledge of artillery and firearms and all, but since her unfortunate demise, Preston had been keeping quite the close eye on the other female competitors.
"Well," Ashley Glosenger chimed in, casting a wary glance at Keirsten as she did so. She was almost certain that vocalizing her thoughts would probably get her a vicious glance from the other girl, but hey, she was entitled to her thoughts too, right?
"If I watched the show... IF... I'd guess that the winner is going to be some random student that emerged from the woodwork. If there's someone out there who's been hiding this entire time, conserving their ammo, taking care of themselves... well, they'd have a lot better chances, right? By this point, most of the students are either deranged to the point of insanity, or they're slowly dying of dehydration and starvation. Given much more time, they won't have anything left in them. I think it'll end pretty quickly."
From the other end of the table, Alex shook his head, as if disagreeing with the theories that had already been presented at the table. He hadn't said a word in quite some time, and it was because, as usual, Alex Andros was thinking. Not a young man to strike anybody as a pessimest, Alex often saw the reality of these situations, and as such, I figured he knew exactly what was going to happen.
"Student's not gonna win," he muttered. "It'll be one of the terrorists. You figure, they kill all the students and the other two terrorists, it'll give them a chance to redeem themselves in Danya's eyes. Maybe go back to their old life, their old positions. Then, Danya makes a massive dent in our government, doesn't have to send one of the kids home, and the last terrorist... well, from what we've seen of him, no matter who the winner is, I figure he'll kill them on site. Or leave them there. Remember the Morvran boy? He supposedly won the last game. So then, why was he still there? I'll tell you why, it's because Danya's a coldhearted bastard. Doesn't matter who wins, they'll just be eaten alive in the next round, and I don't think it'll stop. Maybe if it's one of the terrorists, the game'll end. If not, though, I think the poor sap is gonna go through all that torture, just to be left to die at the hands of more deranged kids, just like Syd was."
This caused Ashley to simply look at the young man in silence. Even Keirsten, who otherwise would have had a witty retort for Alex's theory, said nothing. The silence didn't last long, however, as Keirsten finally vocalized herself, breaking it.
"Do you think they'd really do that?"
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