Once Upon A Time...

[Lord_Shadow]

((M07: Michael Maxwell - Start))

Michael had woken up outside. He had no idea where anyone else was. He wasn't about to run into anyone else. He took one look at his weapon, a gardening scythe of all things, and decided to head to the nearest building for shelter. That building turned out to be that Barracks. As luck would have it, when he entered it was empty. Devoid of people.

That was good. It gave him time to think. He thought about announcement day. When his name was called, he just went along with it. He didn't object. He just figured it was another thing that he could just chalk up to the universe hating him.

But then something happened. They dumped him and everyone else chosen in this place. And they expected them to fight to the death. Michael didn't exactly enjoy his life, but he certainly didn't want it to end. And no way was he going to let himself get killed early.

He sat down on the floor near the door. "Okay Michael, think. This doesn't have to be as bad as you think. Sure you're now just one of many kids who are going to bite the dust at any moment, but you don't have to be among the first. You have to find a way out."

He shook his head. How was he going to do that. This wasn't a story. He wasn't a hero. He was just a kid. And now he was in a life or death situation with absolutely nothing coming to his mind about how to get out of it. "Great. So I'm just going to sit here and wait to die. Perfect."

He stood up. No way was he going to let that happen. Fate may have been laughing at him up till now, but he wasn't about to let it laugh at him any longer. "No. I won't die here. I'll make it. I'll find a way. This is my life, my story. I'm the protagonist. And I will make it."

He smiled, then frowned. And just how was he to do that? He looked around the barracks. Maybe there was something here that he could use. He began to search for something, anything that could make living longer a little easier. He wasn't going to give up. Not until it was clear that nothing else could be done. He was done giving up.

[Carrion Queen]

Now you lay you down to sleep.

((M22 Michael Rosen START))

Michael woke up with a start.

Where am I? What’s happening? I have to get out of here I have to-

Michael rolled off the top bunk of a bed and crashed to the floor. He sprang up like a jack in the box and started taking deep breaths.

“I’M OKAY! TOTALLY OKAY,” he yelled to no one in particular.

On the bottom bunk of the bed was his bag. He sat down next to it, trying to stop his hands from shaking.

What was the last thing he remembered? He was at school. It was announcement day. He always had a bad feeling about announcement day but this time, it had happened. He heard his name and all he could think was “I knew it.”

“Oh God, I knew it, I did. I knew it would be me,” he moaned, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands.

Then the guards started taking them away. He saw the bus. He looked back at the school, back at the bus, school, bus, school, bus. His heart beat sped up like there was a rave in his body and all his organs were invited. He breathed faster and faster and then, nothing.

“Aw, jeez. I fainted. Way to go, Michael. This is just great! Everyone’s gonna be scared of the fainting guy!”

He decided to see what was in his bag. He unzipped and felt around inside the duffle.

This is because of Adam, isn’t it? It’s karmic retribution! Even when he’s not around he’s causing problems for me and now I’m gonna die! I Once made up a poem about Adam so I’d remember why I’m better off without him. Okay. A. A is for always causing me problems! D, D is for….doesn’t take responsibility! A. The other A….uh….I don’t remember what that was for. M! M, well….I don’t remember what M was for either…..and that’s ADAM!

Finally he found something in his bag. Michael tugged at the object and out came the shotgun.

“HOLY POPSICLE STICKS ON A SIDEWAYS SUNDAY!” he yelped and jumped back.

[Lord_Shadow]

At the sound of a voice, Michael adjusted his initial assessment. He wasn't alone. Come to think of it, why would he even have assumed he was. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think about stuff like that. Besides, there was nothing useful here anyway. Like there would be. But he just had to keep his mind off of the situation at hand.

Rather than try calling out and finding out who said excited voice belonged to, Michael decided to move quietly. He dropped to the ground and started crawling. No sense in making whoever that person was aware of his presence just yet. "Just a few minutes in and already you're scared for your life." Michael muttered under his breath.

He approached the other boy, completely oblivious to the fact that said boy had a shotgun and he had a scythe. When he heard the boy yelp he jumped up too. He hit his head against a bunk. "Ow." He yelled in pain.

"Crap." He said as he realized his attempt at stealth was over. "CRAP!" He yelled as he realized he wasn't making his situation any better.

He called out. "Whoever you are, don't kill me. My name is Michael Maxwell. I'm not here to harm you." He'd already given himself away. The only option left was to hope that he hadn't stumbled across someone who would kill him without a second's thought.

"Here's hoping." Michael thought. "Chapter 1: I might (not) die." He frowned as he thought of that. Only the lamest of stories killed off their protagonist in the first chapter. Michael really hoped his life didn't turn out to be like those stories.

[Carrion Queen]

He jumped back and somewhere behind him the metallic GONG sound of an impact was followed by an “OW.”

“OH CHRISTMAS!” Michael screamed and fell backwards onto the lower bunk bed behind him. He scrambled and pulled the shotgun close up to his chest. It wasn’t really that he was holding the gun so much as he was clutching the length of the barrel to his chest. In a way, it could be likened to a child hugging a security blanket.

“Oh fiddlesticks! Don’t scare me like that.” Michael took his deep breaths again, trying to calm down now that the new person seemed to be somewhat friendly. His eyes widened at the sight of the scythe, now switching quickly back and forth between the blade and the face of the boy.

“M-Michael?” he asked shyly. He gave a slight chuckle. “M-my name’s Michael too. I’m Michael S. You’re the other Michael, sometimes I’d accidentally get your papers back in English. Though I guess to you I’m the other Michael. I guess Michael-ness is all subjective.”

Slowly he sat up straight again.

“Uh, nice to talk to you. Though considering the circumstances….”

[Lord_Shadow]

"Right. Circumstances." Michael, as if he could really call himself by any other name, looked at his scythe. He then looked at Mi-, no Sechooler's weapon. A shotgun... versus a scythe. The odds were ridiculously stacked against him. But then again, Sechooler didn't seem like he was out to get Michael.

"You mean the circumstances that we're in right now. The fact that we're in The Program and being forced to fight to death for the amusement of a bunch of jerks." He said with a sigh. "Though in my case it's just more evidence that the universe hates me." He added that bit under his breath.

He shook his head, and stood up. But he didn't let go of the scythe. He wasn't stupid. Never turn your back on people. Trust no one. Everyone can hurt you, and in this place most people will kill you. "If I freaked you out I'm sorry. I thought I was alone here."

He started off for the door. No way was he going to stay here. Even if Sechooler wasn't going to kill him, someone else might. And Michael had plenty of reasons not to die yet. He frowned. Okay, so none came to mind at the moment but that didn't matter. He turned his head back. "Hey, I've got a question Sechooler. You have any idea how to use that thing?"

It was a question that was very risky. If he did, then Michael was going to bail as quickly as possible. If he didn't, then he'd still bail, but later. Having someone with a gun around might be beneficial. He wouldn't trust him, he couldn't trust anybody, but if he could stick with someone for security at least until he got a better weapon, he would.

[Carrion Queen]

Michael looked up at the other boy. He stood from the bed, still holding the shot gun and still trying to keep steady.

My internal monologue is going to get confusing if I think of him as Michael, too. Maybe…..Mike? Yeah, that works. Must keep things organized. And I’m not a “Mike” anyway. That’s much too sporty for me.

“To be honest, I think the universe hates us all equally right about now. Well, maybe not. I mean, we did get real weapons. Guess I could have gotten, like, a deck of cards or a butter knife. Don’t get me wrong, I do love card games.

Mike had apologized for frightening him. That was nice, he liked that. He was so easy to scare. Most people just laughed when he freaked out. But then he asked about the gun.

“Of course not!” Michael bristled. “How would I know how to use it? Gun ownership is forbidden by law. I am a good, law abiding citizen.”

[laZardo*]

((M09: Start))

This was the moment he had waited for (at least with less fear than others), the moment when he could ultimately prove his patriotism. But he never expected to begin that moment like this.

Prone wasn't exactly the position Harris Van Allen would have wanted to find himself on the morning of Day 1. And especially not prone on the top bunk, clutching a nightstick like some kind of donut-munching mall cop that thought he was in DEVGRU.

Sure, the gas had knocked him out pretty damn cold for someone who at least tried to keep himself in good physical condition, meaning whoever placed him here would have had the liberty to position him any way he so pleased as long as that collar around his neck didn't go off. But he woke up facing the ceiling, to the sound of conversation elsewhere in the room (i.e. yelling, along with what felt like the remainders of that stinging sensation from his crotch), so he couldn't afford to just reveal himself yet.

It felt awkward for those first few moments, sliding and squirming his limbs and torso about the bed like he was in an 8-inch-deep trench to try to see exactly what weapon he ended up with. The nightstick wasn't bad. It couldn't hold up to a gun, but then again, it wasn't as if he ended up with something like a children's song vinyl or a bottle of iodine pills.

Fortunately for him, at least he could get a relatively inconspicuous view of the two boys chatting just opposite of him.

Michael and Michael, he softly - very softly - mumbled to himself, how apt. Almost as apt as waking up in what appeared to be some sort of Army barracks in the same Army surplus uniform that he wore to the Announcement.

He knew both of them as relatively sickly and paranoid, but at least one of them was smart and patriotic to compensate. He also definitely knew both of them were white, and didn't have some kind of traitorous beef with him (to his knowledge, anyway.) Unfortunately, not only could he not remember which Michael was which, but he also couldn't get a particularly good view of what they had been assigned. Still, they weren't about to go killing each other there, so maybe, just maybe, he could at least get to know them better before they had to fight to the death.

Harris took a long sigh and rolled toward the ladder. He started to descend it, one hand on his nightstick while mumbling the words of a great patriot of old. "One small step for man..."

The subsequent giant leap for white-kind off the last rung onto the floor was a bad idea, since he landed on a part of the floor that was hollow enough underneath to cause a 'bump.'

"Fuck," he grumbled out loud. If he didn't know what sort of weapons the other two had, he was certainly going to find out now, as he stared at the two with eyes very wide open.

[Lord_Shadow]

Michael figured as much. There was practically no way any citizen would know how to use a gun. But he had to make sure just in case. Better to be safe than sorry. But he still wasn't feeling very safe. Hard to feel safe when another kid who knows what this program is all about has a shotgun and you have a scythe.

"Well, that's understandable. As long as you're not—"

That statement was cut off by the sound of a person hitting the floor, followed by a cry of 'Fuck.'

Michael's eyes widened in surprise. He was doubly wrong about being alone. He got up, gripping the scythe as tightly as he could.

"Who's there?" He called out. Whoever it was, that person was either going to kill him, or else be killed by him.

"Chapter 2: Time to get the hell out of here." Michael though to himself. He sure wasn't going to stick around for much longer, not if more people kept popping up out of nowhere.

[Carrion Queen]

Suddenly a noise came from the other side of the room.

"Did you hear that?! I heard something."

Mike seemed to have heard the noise as well. There was another person in the room. Michael scrambled to his bag and started tossing things out until he reached a small booklet. Your shotgun and You. Hastily, he flipped it open and started scanning the pages.

"Tea cakes, tea cakes, tea cakes" he mumbled as he read. According to the pamphlet it was loaded. He picked up the gun and stood, scanning the room.

"Place the gun against your shoulder so as to steady it. Be aware that you may feel some recoil when the gun fires and it will kick back into the shoulder supporting it. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull. Squeeze. Squeeze," he recited.

[laZardo*]

"Who's there?" came the almost immediate response to his profanity, and now Harris found himself in a sticky situation that could very well lead to his end not inches from where he began this game.

He only had one chance to try to defuse things before the two Michaels would do so for him. And there was every chance it wouldn't end well. But if these were the same Michaels he knew from before he left, then maybe, JUST MAYBE, they hadn't quite gone completely insane (or into player mentality) so quickly. He took a deep breath, and slowly, one step at a time, made his way out from behind the bunk beds.

"Good morning, brothers!" he said, trying his best to mask his stress with confidence as he walking into the aisle between the sets of beds with both hands in the air, one hand loosely clutching the nightstick. "I don't mean you guys harm or nothin'."

By showing his assigned weapon, he could prove he wasn't going to administer the Rodney King treatment, at least not immediately. Worse came to worse, the door was right behind him and he could bolt unless someone had a gun that could reach him.

Which, apparently, one of them had. But at least the sight of a shotgun made him look genuinely stressed the fuck out.

[Lord_Shadow]

"Brothers. Brothers, really?" Michael was sure he had no idea who the hell this person in front of him was. He was never good with names and faces. That didn't matter though. What mattered is that it was getting way too crowded way too quickly.

"Sure you don't. And I'm a happily adjusted guy having the time of his life." Michael said, half-believing the newcomer. He wasn't going to hurt them? Unlikely. Michael didn't trust Mi—, Sechooler, so he saw no reason to trust this guy. The only reason he hadn't bolted when he encountered Sechooler was because he had taken a gamble, not because he believed anyone in this entire place was going to hold off from killing people.

And now it seemed that the new guy was taking the same gamble. Michael looked at his scythe, then looked at the opposing nightstick. Advantage: Michael's. Overall advantage: Still Sechooler's.

This certainly wasn't good.

"Okay. So how about we all just back out of here slowly and pretend like we're not going to run for our lives, or possibly run after each other. No need to go crazy here." He couldn't believe he was saying that. What kind of moron was he today? He was going to die. He just knew it.

[Carrion Queen]

Micheal nodded slowly, then vigorously, then slowly again at the approach of the new person.

"M-morning brother," he replied weakly. It was a familiar boy, Harris? He'd never had any kind of personal problem with him, but he couldn't recall talking to him very much at all. He lowered the gun a bit, still against his shoulder but now pointed towards the floor. He hadn't realized it, but as his finger slipped away from the trigger it was cold and stiff.

"That's good. Everything's good. No, we don't want to hurt anyone," he said, his eyes scanning back and forth between the boys.

"We just need to keep our heads. Keep calm and keep our heads attached. Okay. Okay."

[Lord_Shadow]

((Gah! Completely forgot about this thread. Apologies for lateness.))

Stay here and die, or run outside and die anyway. Michael was having a hard time deciding what to do. There was no way this would end well. He was just so sure of it. One person with a gun, one with a blunt weapon, and one with an edged weapon. "Can anyone spell bloodbath?"

He sighed. As bad as it was here, out there might very well be much worse. But he might as well take his chances.

"Yeah, about that..." Michael started and trailed off, bursting into a sprint as he ran straight past Sechooler to an exit.

"You were probably gonna shoot me anyway. Like I'm gonna let that happen. Chapter 3: Out of the frying pan, into the fire."

He glanced back at the boys before leaving. He frowned, not sure why he felt like that but he felt like he really shouldn't be leaving the other Michael behind.

As much as he didn't trust people, he was going to chance it. Mike had a better weapon anyway. Might as well stick with someone who could protect from afar. "Sechooler, if you want you can follow me. Otherwise I'm sure this is the last time we'll see each other."

Only time would tell if that rare instance of trust would be his undoing. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't.

((Michael Maxwell continued in Greater Expectations))

[laZardo*]

"Sure you don't. And I'm a happily adjusted guy having the time of his life." one of the Michaels began sarcastically. Okay, so that one was getting paranoid and vulnerable. But that didn't change the fact that Harris only had a nightstick compared to a scythe or shotgun.

Still, it was nice for Harris to see that his greeting didn't immediately bring about his gruesome death. It was almost as welcome a sight as seeing Sechooler lower his gun to a position where firing it wouldn't bring about a gruesome death.

"Okay. So how about we all just back out of here slowly and pretend like we're not going to run for our lives, or possibly run after each other. No need to go crazy here."

"Hey, that's cool with me," Harris replied a bit shakily, "It's not like we're the only three left right now anyway. We can worry about that later, right?"

"That's good. Everything's good. No, we don't want to hurt anyone," Sechooler then said, trying to keep himself relaxed. Sure, nobody relax in a situation where anyone could turn on another at the drop of a hat, especially someone with a shotgun. But at least Harris realized that he hadn't gotten his head detonated from atop his neck immediately (and despite what video games might say, that was a distinct possibility even if he had started running) and that was a start.

"We just need to keep our heads. Keep calm and keep our heads attached. Okay. Okay."

"Yeah...about that..." Maxwell began before suddenly bolting out the door in the opposite direction. The smaller Michael then stopped at the exit, adding "Sechooler, if you want you can follow me. Otherwise I'm sure this is the last time we'll see each other." before finally making for the hills.

"Guess it's just you and me then, eh?" Harris then said after the inevitable awkward silence.

[Courtography]

(Benjamin Latimer continued from This Can't Be Me)

He and Johan had left the Armory behind. On the way the speakers had come to life announcing the single death. He didn't know the guy who had died, he knew the killer though, John Ferrara, that guy on the soccer team. He was from yet another sport that Ben had never had to play at.

He would have to look out for him.

His Kimber Desert Warrior was still in his hand, he might not have been planning on killing anyone, but he didn't want to risk getting shot up like he had at the warehouse.

The barracks wasn't their planned destination, it was simply on the way to the mess hall. They had thought it would be all right to check it out on the way.

He turned to Johan, "This looks like it. Let's check out the inside."

Then he opened up the door and stepped inside.