Survival Of The Fittest

((Start for Male Student #9 - Zubin Wadia))

Zubin Wadia's eyes opened to see pillow. He stretched his arms out, getting all the kinks out, and then, he turned to his other side, smiled and closed his eyes once more.

Warm, cozy bed. So good.

About ten minutes later, he woke up again. He lay there for a few minutes before getting off the bed and collecting his bags before going downstairs. With the sun out, it was a surprise that Mom and Dad weren't on his ass for

Ah, crap. Forgot my hat.

Zubin went back up the stairs to the room where he woke up to find his hat, which promptly went onto his head. It had been just where he had left it, on the plank of wood that had been by his feet when he had woken up, on the bed with the perfectly made sheets, and the bare desk and

Wait, what?

Why was he fully dressed, with his bags? And why did his neck feel so stiff? He rubbed the cold metal on his neck

Where am I?

Zubin rushed downstairs, his hand on his head, and looked out the window at the field. After a few seconds, he looked back at the bags. One was his bag, the other he'd picked up before his IQ had gone back to full. He went to the duffel bag that he had just received. Black, "B009" stamped on the side, water, crackers, energy bars, first aid kit, but nothing for him to fight with, except for what he could find. He collected his bags, and went back upstairs to the room where he had woken up in and sat on the bed, by the plank of wood with the little piece of paper scotch-taped to the side. He looked closely at the handwritten note on the plank:

B009 - Wadia, Zubin - Plank of wood (2 feet long) with nail embedded Zubin lay down on the bed parallel to the 2 x 4 as his mind went back to a handwritten list that was collecting dust somewhere in his closet.

RULE 0: Don't go on any trips with your class. If you're not with them, you can't get taken onto the SOTF program, and by that virtue, you automatically survive.

"MotherFUCKER!"

((Brian Zhdanovich continued from Something tells me this isn't Disneyland))

The fuck was that?

At that moment, Brian Zhdanovich had just reached the farmhouse when the sound of someone screaming obscenities emanated from the supposedly abandoned building.


It hadn't been too long since he left what he now realised to have been a bike trail,  according to a number of signs he read en route. Probably no longer than thirty or forty minutes or so, most of which was spent walking down what seemed to be the only main road on the island with his duffle bag slung over his back. It was actually kind of relaxing, taking a leisurely walk whilst admiring the scenery and enjoying the pleasant weather. He felt like he was lone cool drifter, wandering the countryside with nothing but a bag and a pair of sunglasses to keep him company.

It was easy to forget that he was stuck on an island with an explosive collar around his neck, and that he was expected to slaughter all of his friends.

Speaking of friends, he began to wonder who else in his class were stuck on this island. He knew for a fact that not everyone he knew had gone on the trip, thank god for that. That said, there were still a fair amount of people on this island whom he knew and cared about. There was Ruby of course, as well as Mallory. He could have sworn he saw Rose and Owen on the bus as well, not to mention a couple of guys from the football and track teams. The thought that he was expected to kill all of these people as well as everyone else on this island was... Troubling, to say the least.

Eventually, he happened across the crossroads, prompting him to check the map for the first time. Apparently, one way led to what seemed to be a large town, whilst the other led directly to a farm of some description. Seeing as there were probably less places to check in the farm than in the town, he decided to head down the side road instead.  It wasn't as if there was anything stopping him from checking the town out later, right?

It didn't take long once he started making his way down the road for him to find the farm, which looked ever so slightly creepier than he expected it to be. With it's overgrown grass, disturbingly silent atmosphere and the distinct lack of life. It looked like the perfect location for a slasher movie.

Well, guess I better go see if anyone's home...

Sure enough, after slowly making his way down the road towards the building, just as he was about to open the front door he heard what he could have sworn was someone screaming the word motherfucker.

He wasn't entirely sure who it was, although the voice did sound vaguely familiar. Whoever it was, he couldn't help but wonder what could have been the cause for their distressful. Maybe they had just woken up? Maybe they had just stubbed their town on a chair leg? Or maybe someone with an axe had just hacked their door down?

Probably not the latter, seeing as there would probably be more screaming if that was the case, but either way seeing as this was the first living person he had happened across he didn't feeling like turning back just yet.

That said, the question now was how exactly should he approach this situation.

Okay. Could just open the door and head in, but I don't want to scare the shit out of this guy. Probably freaked out enough as it is. Suppose I could always... Nah, that's a stupid idea, who would do that in this kind of situation?

After giving it a little more thought, he quickly changed his mind.

Ah hell, screw it.

Without further ado, he knocked on the door three times.

As if in response to Zubin's language, he was greeted with two sounds:

Knock-knock-knock

BOOM

The loud bang was what jolted Zubin up. Great. Someone had gotten a BFG, and he didn't even know who it was, or why it was being used. Looking out the window revealed nothing, which meant that he had no idea where the BFG was. Zubin just rolled his eyes as he picked up his bags and plank and walked downstairs. He now had to find the door where the knocking had come from, which would take a minute.

After a bit, Zubin found the door, which was thankfully intact. This meant that nobody had tried to shoot the door down, but it could also mean that there was blood on the outside of the door.

Ah, great. Here goes nothing.

Zubin slowly opened the door to reveal Brian Zhdanovich, whom Zubin believed was on the track team with him, and who thankfully was not holding a gun.

"Uh, hey, Brian."

Oh shit, what made that noise?

Barely seconds after he had knocked on the door, Brian leaped out of his skin when he heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being fired somewhere in the distance. He quickly turned around, his eyes glancing in all directions as he tried to figure out where the shot had come from.

Judging from the volume of the gunshot, whoever had fired it must have been quite some distance away. At the very least, they were  somewhere out of sight, seeing as from where he was standing Brian couldn't spot anyone. Whilst he had a very rough idea what direction the shot came from, the fact remained that he had no idea as to the location of his trigger-happy classmates. Who the hell was it anyway? Why the hell were they opening fire? Did they know he was there? Were they actually shooting at someone, or were they just testing their weapon out? All of these thoughts and more were crossing his mind, along with the fact that for the first time since he woke up he was beginning to feel genuinely afraid.

Holy hell, that was actually pretty fucking scary...

After a minute or so of trying to spot whoever fired that gun, the sound of a door opening behind him reminded Brian of what he was doing before he freaked out over a gunshot, the teenager turning around to find none other than Zubin Wadia standing in the doorframe.

Turned out his first guess had been right. Whilst Brian didn't outright dislike anyone at Aurora, his feelings about Zubin were always kind of mixed. There was nothing wrong with him or anything. Heck, for the most part Brian thought he was a pretty decent guy. It's just that he also happened to be the captain of the track team, a position that Brian secretly envied him for. Not that he was bitter about it or anything, or even that jealous to be completely honest. It's just that, as a guy who felt like he could probably outrun the majority of his classmates, a small part of him always felt that he should have been the track captain instead of Zubin.

Not that any of that really mattered, given their current predicament. Speaking of which, he should probably be saying something.

"Uh, hey, Zubin" he began, not entirely sure about where he was going with this conversation. "I was, uh, just in the neighbourhood when I heard someone shouting, so I thought I'd better... I dunno, investigate or something?"

Well. This is awkward.

"Sorry, you mind if I come in before whoever fired that gun spots us? Still kinda freaked out at the moment."

((GMing of Brian Zhdanovich approved by Fioriboy))

"Uh, hey, Zubin. I was, uh, just in the neighbourhood when I heard someone shouting, so I thought I'd better... I dunno, investigate or something?"

That was slightly awkward.

"Sorry, you mind if I come in before whoever fired that gun spots us? Still kinda freaked out at the moment."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Zubin stepped aside to allow Brian the ability to step inside, which he did, closing the door behind him. Brian was okay, given all the people he could have met - there were some people he wouldn't trust at their most rational. Brian was laid back enough so that if he snapped, Zubin would at least give out a warning before trying to disable him.

"So, what do you have? Not to be rude, but this is what they gave me," Zubin motioned with the board in his left hand. "And 'he's got a board with a nail in it' doesn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of men, especially not possibly psychos with cannons."

"Thanks man" replied Brian as Zubin stepped to the side, the teen glancing back at the field one last time before making his way into the farmhouse.

For the most part, it didn't actually look like that bad a place on the inside. Sure, it was a little gloomy, what with the lack of electricity and all. And judging from all the cobwebs and dust it had probably been abandoned for quite some time, creating a distinctly haunted atmosphere. But other then that, it looked quite homely.

As Brian placed his duffle bag down on a nearby table, Zubin decided to ask him what weapon he was assigned with. It was only after he pointed it out that Brian noticed the plank of wood he was holding, which was apparently the object which Zubin was expected to kill his classmates with. Tempting as it was to make a lewd joke of some description, Brian resisted the temptation. From the look of things Zubin wasn't exactly happy with the fact that he was expected to fend off people with guns with a plank of wood, not that Brian could blame him. Neither of them were in a particularly good position to defend themselves from people with guns.

"Eh, could be worse. As for my own weapon, well..." he began, reaching his hand into his bag and retrieving one of the punji sticks he had been assigned. "I've got a pointed stick? Well, eight pointed sticks, not that it makes that huge a difference. Suppose if you poked someone with it it'd hurt a hell of a lot, especially if you poked them in the..."

He stopped mid-sentence, his stomach churning when he actually thought about what he was talking about.

"Wow. It's weird, you know. A day ago I was worrying about whether or not I should get an espresso or a frappuccino. Now here I am, wondering what would be the most effective way of hurting someone with a pointed stick. Man, this game is fucked up..."

Way to not sound like some kind of nut.

"Not that I intend to actually use these for their intended purpose or anything! Don't get me wrong, I don't want to die on this island, but I'm not going to be killing anyone anytime soon either. I ain't buying this 'Survival of the Fittest' bullshit, not for one second."

Brian had a bunch of pointy sticks. Nice. So if someone ended up going crazy, their options were soak up bullets or go into the fetal position.

"Wow. It's weird, you know. A day ago I was worrying about whether or not I should get an espresso or a frappuccino. Now here I am, wondering what would be the most effective way of hurting someone with a pointed stick. Man, this game is fucked up..."

Way to not sound like some kind of nut.

"Not that I intend to actually use these for their intended purpose or anything! Don't get me wrong, I don't want to die on this island, but I'm not going to be killing anyone anytime soon either. I ain't buying this 'Survival of the Fittest' bullshit, not for one second."

Made sense, except for one thing.

"Yeah, I kinda get it. At least right now, nobody really wants to kill." Zubin looked around - he was getting to the hard part. "But I've watched this thing back when it was on. Guys have gone crazy trying to survive it. We have to keep ourselves on the level. And hopefully find someone who can help us who has a better weapon. You with me?"

RULE 1: Don't go psycho. Everyone hates the psychos - to the point where they'll be attacked more often.

Zubin was really hoping that he wasn't alone in this.

Brian nodded his head in agreement. "Damn straight." he replied, sheathing his pointed stick in his jean pocket.

"Definitely got to keep our heads clear. Never really watched the previous versions, but I've heard about what this situation does to your mind if you're not careful. A friend once told about how there was this one girl who went nuts and started torturing people, cutting them up with scalpels and shit whilst she recorded the whole thing on her video camera."

The thought of one his own classmates snapping like that made him shudder. Brian always considered himself to be something of an optimist. Even in the worst situations, he was always able to find something to laugh about. And generally speaking, he didn't believe that there was such a thing as someone who was truly bad to the bone. Sure, there were definitely guys out there who were total assholes, but even the biggest dick has some redeeming features. Nobody ever sets out to be the bad guy. At least, that's what Brian liked to believe anyway.

So the thought that his fellow classmate - people he knew and cared about - could potentially turn into bonafide psychopaths within the next few days was something that bothered him a lot more than he liked to admit.

"So... Anyone in particular you're going to be looking out for?"

Brian, for his part, agreed with the sentiment. He then substantiated it by describing that v4 contestants who recorded her kills, Sarah something.

"So... Anyone in particular you're going to be looking out for?"

And there was the question. Who was he looking for? Was he particularly looking for anyone?

"Well, of the people I know, I definitely wouldn't mind coming across Jaquilyn, Naomi, Claire, uh, Edgar, Miles, Claire, and wait, let me see ... that's it so far. It would be great if we could find any of those people. You?"

RULE 7: Find allies. At least early on, a group of people that you can trust greatly lowers your chances of dying.

Zubin listed a number of names in response to Brian's question, some of whom he knew better than others.

He knew Miles and Jaquilyn from soccer practice, with Miles being a fellow player and Jaquilyn being a cheerleader he always found particularly cute. He distinctly recalled seeing Jaquilyn and Zubin hang our during Prom, so he could understand why his team captain would be particularly concerned with making sure she was safe. Hell, he had similar reasons for wanting to make sure nothing bad happened to Ruby.

Speaking of his best friend, whilst he didn't know Claire and Naomi that well personally, he knew for a fact that Ruby was acquainted with both girls. Well, she was acquainted with Claire anyway, though he was pretty sure Ruby had brought up Naomi's name in conversation on more than one occasion. Probably because she was a part of that friendship circle Ruby wasn't fond of, along with Mara Montalvo and Miranda Millers.

"I'll make sure to keep my eye out for them. As for me, well..."

Brian stopped mid-sentence, raising his hand to motion Zubin to be quiet. For a second, he could have sworn that he heard a girl shouting in the distance, asking if there was anyone out there. A girl who happened to have a very familiar voice.

A few seconds later, there was a second voice asking the same question as the first. Whilst he was pretty sure it wasn't the same voice as before, it did confirm that there was someone - more than one person in fact - out there in the field.

He turned towards the nearest window, rushing towards it to get a better view of the field. Whilst he couldn't make out anything specific, he could definitely see what looked like two figures standing in the distance. One tall, one not-so-tall. At least one of whom he suspected to be one of the very friends he was looking for.

"I think... I think I know who's out there."

Brian quickly made his way towards the door, stopping briefly to turn back to Zubin as he turned the handle.

"Wait here. If i'm not back here within ten minutes, then... I dunno, guess you better hide or something."

On that note, he made his way outside...

((Brian Zhdanovich continued in May The Odds Not Fuck You In The Butt))

Brian acknowledged Zubin's choices, and was about to state whom he wanted to find, when someone shouted outside:

"HELLO? ANYONE THERE?"

"Is there someone out there?"

Zubin followed Brian to the window, where they could see two people outside. Aside from a red jacket, all Zubin could really tell was that the two people out there were female, and that had been made clear from the voices.

"I think... I think I know who's out there." Brian went to the door and turned back, before leaving.

"Wait here. If i'm not back here within ten minutes, then... I dunno, guess you better hide or something." And then he went outside, leaving Zubin alone, yet again. Zubin rolled his eyes and went back to his bags. He rifled through the duffel bag that he'd already gone through, just to confirm what he had. And he had gotten pretty much everything the first time. Now to go through his personal bag.

Clothes, clothes, bag with various bathroom items, sunglasses ... Zubin checked his pockets. Wallet with ... cash, card, driver's license.

And nothing else. They'd taken his pen, his cell phone, and his iPod - either that, or he'd conveniently lost all three between falling asleep on the plane and waking up. So now he had to look for something to help him take the proverbial edge off. He went back upstairs, looking for that thing. He started in the bedroom where he had started out in. There was an armoire and a bookshelf with, well, nothing in them. Okay. Going to the other bedroom, he looked in the desk for

Yes.

A pad of paper - letter sized, and a couple pens. He scooped them up, and went downstairs, placing them in his issued bag before closing them, and looking outside. Now there were four people - the two he had seen at first, Brian, and one other person. No use staying here alone. He walked out the door, before coming right back in to pick up his bags and his plank.

Bags, check. Fedora, check. Wood, check.

Now to find some way to survive ...

((Zubin Wadia continued in May The Odds Not Fuck You In The Butt))