Untitled Work In Progress
Posted: 2010-02-21 05:52pm
Yes, I am actually going to post some of my work this time. This particular piece is based very loosely off of the concept of "Battle Royale", although I've never actually read that book, and stems from a hypothetical discussion I had with several friends a while ago. Note that this is a draft, and I'm looking for constructive criticism and it's also important that this isn't finished yet.
Prologue
The rocking of the boat woke Thomas up. Not because of the whole rocking thing, it was more to do with the fact that he was on a boat. He hadn't fallen asleep on a boat, unless his house had decided to change career midway through the night. This small change startled him enough to make him immediately get out of the bed and see exactly where he was. Unfortunately, the port-side wall of his cabin didn't have any answers, and, if it had been alive, would probably have been quite annoyed at the way Thomas ran into it.
“ALL CONTESTANTS PLEASE REPORT TO THE BREIFING ROOM. ALL CONTESTANTS PLEASE REPORT TO THE BREIFING ROOM.”
Contestants? Briefing room? What's going on? And thoughts of such like ran through Thomas' head. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to think these thoughts as the door opened and two men with the air of “Hired Goons” about them entered. The shorter of the two, a man he had a sudden urge to call “Baldy” for no obvious reason, spoke.
“You. With us. Now.” Obviously, English wasn't this man's speciality. In fact, he spoke with a very strong Eastern European accent, further reinforcing the whole “Hired Goons” image. Of course, Thomas didn't have much time to think this, either, as they both carried guns – AR15s, if he recalled correctly (Guns were Thomas' speciality. Knowing about them, that is, not firing them, although he had tried down at a range once or twice) – and in all probability they knew how to use them. He followed the two men out of the small cabin (It had been supplied with all his clothes, he noted on the way out) and into what looked like a major hallway. The fact there were easily 50 schoolchildren of the same age as him didn't fill him with much confidence, in light of the fact that there were still two Goons behind him and he could see at least four more. One of the Goons spoke.
“Alright you lot, would you kindly follow us?” Knowing that they had no choice, the children followed the Goons. It was then Thomas noticed something; he went to the same school as almost every other person in the room, but unfortunately he'd only seen everyone present around the school once or twice, and he didn't know or particularly like any of them. After several more corridors, which it appeared had already been emptied, they finally came to a rather ominous door marked “BRIEFING ROOM” in large letters. The group was ushered inside, and the door closed behind them. The sound of a bolt sliding in the door behind them only added to the ominous atmosphere. Thomas looked around the room; it was dark and he couldn't see much, only the people densely packed around him. Suddenly, with a crash, the lights all turned on at once, blinding everyone. When Thomas could see, he looked around again, noting that by the look of it the entire population of his school was packed into the room. Well, entire population, except the staff.
At the “front” of the room, was a stage. On the stage was a man, a man whose only distinguishing trait was the blandness of his features and the small fact he carried what looked like an M32 Multi-Shot Grenade Launcher, of the 140 variant. Considering the packed nature and small size of the room, the man could probably kill everyone in the room, not including himself, with the six shots in the launcher – obviously not something anyone except maybe him wanted. He spoke:
“My name... does not matter. As of now, you are all my playthings. You will be placed on an island in the Pacific Ocean, an island I have built for this purpose, and you will fight each other to the death in competition. The rules for this competition are as follows: Teams are allowed, although if I decide the teams are growing too large I will remove the offenders from the competition. You will all be placed in random locations on the island. Attempts at escape from the island will result in... removal. Each of you will be given a weapon at complete random – it could be this grenade launcher here in my hands, or it could be a sniper rifle, or it could be a pistol, a knife, axe or even a pointy stick. There is a bunker near the centre of the island. Inside it, is enough supplies, ammunition and weapons to sustain the whole US Army for approximately two years. There are several more like it scattered throughout the island, as well as a city with a docking facility on the east coast of the island. There are only civilian-model vehicles on the island, and every single area on the island is covered by cameras and microphones. There are more people than the ones gathered in this room on the island. That concludes the rules. Are there any questions?” All the children in the room were shaken for a moment. Thomas shakily raised his hand and asked:
“Why are we doing this? I mean, aside from the obvious reason that you'll kill us all if we don't.”
The reply shook him more:
“I expected such a question. The answer is simple. I, like many people, am bored. I am also rich and powerful enough to cover up the abduction of the entire child population of several medium-sized schools, build a large island and provide enough weapons and ammunition to create several large armies. I am also rich enough to compensate the “winning” team with enough money to buy the island and also pay for a selective memory wipe – none of you will ever remember being here. In short, the answer is; that I am doing this as a game show for a select group of people. This briefing is over. You have three hours to rest and choose the clothes you will be dropped off in. I shall see you after that period has passed... but you won't see me. Goodbye.”
After being “Escorted” back to his cabin, Thomas let out a long stream of expletives that would probably kill kittens and set nuns on fire from 120 meters away. Afterwards, he got down to business. After all, it would be a good idea to change his clothes to something more... appropriate... to walking, and if he were really this unlucky, combat. Picking out a zip-up jacket, two shirts to wear inside the jacket, his school one and a tee-shirt, a pair of cargo trousers, his coat and his boots, he quickly changed and decided to check out the hallway. He opened the door very slightly and peered through the crack. There were several guards in the hallway, and Thomas decided not to push his luck. He closed the door, began wondering about whether he'd be allowed to eat before being stranded on an island and after a few minutes fell asleep, hoping that the whole thing was just a weird dream.
Prologue
The rocking of the boat woke Thomas up. Not because of the whole rocking thing, it was more to do with the fact that he was on a boat. He hadn't fallen asleep on a boat, unless his house had decided to change career midway through the night. This small change startled him enough to make him immediately get out of the bed and see exactly where he was. Unfortunately, the port-side wall of his cabin didn't have any answers, and, if it had been alive, would probably have been quite annoyed at the way Thomas ran into it.
“ALL CONTESTANTS PLEASE REPORT TO THE BREIFING ROOM. ALL CONTESTANTS PLEASE REPORT TO THE BREIFING ROOM.”
Contestants? Briefing room? What's going on? And thoughts of such like ran through Thomas' head. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to think these thoughts as the door opened and two men with the air of “Hired Goons” about them entered. The shorter of the two, a man he had a sudden urge to call “Baldy” for no obvious reason, spoke.
“You. With us. Now.” Obviously, English wasn't this man's speciality. In fact, he spoke with a very strong Eastern European accent, further reinforcing the whole “Hired Goons” image. Of course, Thomas didn't have much time to think this, either, as they both carried guns – AR15s, if he recalled correctly (Guns were Thomas' speciality. Knowing about them, that is, not firing them, although he had tried down at a range once or twice) – and in all probability they knew how to use them. He followed the two men out of the small cabin (It had been supplied with all his clothes, he noted on the way out) and into what looked like a major hallway. The fact there were easily 50 schoolchildren of the same age as him didn't fill him with much confidence, in light of the fact that there were still two Goons behind him and he could see at least four more. One of the Goons spoke.
“Alright you lot, would you kindly follow us?” Knowing that they had no choice, the children followed the Goons. It was then Thomas noticed something; he went to the same school as almost every other person in the room, but unfortunately he'd only seen everyone present around the school once or twice, and he didn't know or particularly like any of them. After several more corridors, which it appeared had already been emptied, they finally came to a rather ominous door marked “BRIEFING ROOM” in large letters. The group was ushered inside, and the door closed behind them. The sound of a bolt sliding in the door behind them only added to the ominous atmosphere. Thomas looked around the room; it was dark and he couldn't see much, only the people densely packed around him. Suddenly, with a crash, the lights all turned on at once, blinding everyone. When Thomas could see, he looked around again, noting that by the look of it the entire population of his school was packed into the room. Well, entire population, except the staff.
At the “front” of the room, was a stage. On the stage was a man, a man whose only distinguishing trait was the blandness of his features and the small fact he carried what looked like an M32 Multi-Shot Grenade Launcher, of the 140 variant. Considering the packed nature and small size of the room, the man could probably kill everyone in the room, not including himself, with the six shots in the launcher – obviously not something anyone except maybe him wanted. He spoke:
“My name... does not matter. As of now, you are all my playthings. You will be placed on an island in the Pacific Ocean, an island I have built for this purpose, and you will fight each other to the death in competition. The rules for this competition are as follows: Teams are allowed, although if I decide the teams are growing too large I will remove the offenders from the competition. You will all be placed in random locations on the island. Attempts at escape from the island will result in... removal. Each of you will be given a weapon at complete random – it could be this grenade launcher here in my hands, or it could be a sniper rifle, or it could be a pistol, a knife, axe or even a pointy stick. There is a bunker near the centre of the island. Inside it, is enough supplies, ammunition and weapons to sustain the whole US Army for approximately two years. There are several more like it scattered throughout the island, as well as a city with a docking facility on the east coast of the island. There are only civilian-model vehicles on the island, and every single area on the island is covered by cameras and microphones. There are more people than the ones gathered in this room on the island. That concludes the rules. Are there any questions?” All the children in the room were shaken for a moment. Thomas shakily raised his hand and asked:
“Why are we doing this? I mean, aside from the obvious reason that you'll kill us all if we don't.”
The reply shook him more:
“I expected such a question. The answer is simple. I, like many people, am bored. I am also rich and powerful enough to cover up the abduction of the entire child population of several medium-sized schools, build a large island and provide enough weapons and ammunition to create several large armies. I am also rich enough to compensate the “winning” team with enough money to buy the island and also pay for a selective memory wipe – none of you will ever remember being here. In short, the answer is; that I am doing this as a game show for a select group of people. This briefing is over. You have three hours to rest and choose the clothes you will be dropped off in. I shall see you after that period has passed... but you won't see me. Goodbye.”
After being “Escorted” back to his cabin, Thomas let out a long stream of expletives that would probably kill kittens and set nuns on fire from 120 meters away. Afterwards, he got down to business. After all, it would be a good idea to change his clothes to something more... appropriate... to walking, and if he were really this unlucky, combat. Picking out a zip-up jacket, two shirts to wear inside the jacket, his school one and a tee-shirt, a pair of cargo trousers, his coat and his boots, he quickly changed and decided to check out the hallway. He opened the door very slightly and peered through the crack. There were several guards in the hallway, and Thomas decided not to push his luck. He closed the door, began wondering about whether he'd be allowed to eat before being stranded on an island and after a few minutes fell asleep, hoping that the whole thing was just a weird dream.
