Survival Of The Fittest

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Ron Kiser – Start

Why? Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to go on a senior trip in the year 2018? Oh no, he just had to go with everyone else, just had to see the sights around DC, just had to go have wacky adventures with a senator and a bunch of fucking furbies!

He should have stayed home. He should have stayed home. Why didn’t he just stay home? He was going to die, he was going to die and just become another of the thousand names on the SOTF memorial. It was all pointless: his whole life, the relationships he’d made, everything he had done to improve himself.

Ron started breathing heavily. Everything around him was a blur. He stumbled over to support himself on a stone sculpture, and he started coughing. He felt like he was going to throw up, but he just ended up dry heaving over the ground. After a few moments he stopped and just stared down at the grass.

Ron didn’t want to die.

What was he going to do?

There was only one thing to do.

Win.

Ron looked up. From where he stood, he could make out some sort of church in the distance. Wait, was it a church, or some other kind of religious building? Ron had never been religious, and he wasn't going to start praying for help now. Everything he'd ever done, he'd had to do on his own. He'd started out as nothing, as a loser, and with his own effort he'd changed himself, he'd learned how to get ahead in the world...

...He'd learned how to survive.

That's right, it hadn't been pointless. These past five years, all the effort he'd put in, it would help him here. He wasn't that scared little kid anymore. He... he could do this. Right? Out of all the kids on this island, only one would live. Why not him? He was physically fit, he was smart, he had a lot of friends, and he knew how to get by.

Yeah, he could do this. It wouldn't be easy, but he really could. He looked back over the garden, and saw his dufflebag where he had haphazardly dropped it during his panic. Ron crossed the garden, then knelt beside the bag. He really hoped they had given him something good.

((Danny Chamnanma: Start))

Daniel's first moments on the island weren't actually his first moments on the island. As complicated as it seemed, he had woken up twice, but the two times, he decided to go back to sleep. Convincing himself he was dreaming, that he was dead, that was he whatever state he was in, that this realm wasn't real. This place that had become his temporary home and permanent grave had forever was soulbounded to him with the simple technology of an explosive necklace.

Obviously, Danny would get a flare gun. He only had one shot with it. Danny thought you could reload those, but apparently the terrorists didn't feel like helping a guy out. It was only made worse when he remembered the girl with pink hair shooting her sleeping friend. People were running around with fucking machine guns and swords, and he had a flare gun.

He decided to keep it safe in his duffel bag. Danny knew it only took one accident and he could easily catch on fire. He wasn't going to die because he accidently pressed the trigger and bounced the flare back toward him. A flare gun isn't something you use to kill people, so Danny knew he was in trouble. As he moved through the sculptures, he found someone else.

Immediately, he crouched. He needed to wait. Danny didn't know why, but he needed to wait. Waiting for whoever was in front of him to either go away, realize that Danny was there and run away, or simply, and preferably, drop dead. His eyes scanned the surroundings. There was the temple to run to, but there was also the trees and a road. Danny mentally crossed out the road, he didn't want to be in the open. Technically, he already was. Noticing his lack of cover, he slowly moved himself toward a medium-sized sculpture. It wasn't big, but along with the small rock wall surrounding it, Daniel managed to hide himself partially from it.

He could hear Marie's voice. She would probably watch. "Don't make a noise. Don't make a fucking noise."

[[Layla DeBerg, Start]]

Layla did not expect this. No one did, really. She really couldn't describe her feeling of having her headmaster executed. It felt surreal. She was gone - but her brain couldn't process it yet. Her heart could not process it yet. Maybe she will realise in a couple of hours that this was reality. But right now, it felt like a bad dream.

It was a new world she was put in. This garden, this memorial, it felt spiritual in a way. Layla had been in lots of grassy gardens, but never in one she never walked to. She now was here. North, East, West, South. Places unknown to her. If she would walk long enough into one direction she would find a way to go home. If this wasn't an island. If they weren't abducted. If it weren't a battle cage.

Yet this place felt too natural, too peaceful to feel like Layla or anyone of her classmates would be in danger. Layla walked around with her assigned weapon, a swordbreaker in her hand - for no other reason than to not have to dig it out of her duffel bag, fearing to accidently cut herself with it trying to blindly grab it. It was better to hold the handle of the weapon now than to later grab the blade by accident later. She had no idea why she thought this could happen, but she simply had the feeling of it being a potential danger. She trusted her instinct. She was right, most of the time.

Then she saw someone.

Ronald Kiser. Layla found him to be charming person in a way, but stupidly superficial. She was not in his crowd and barely interacted with him. He was not a friend.

That's why she then decided to pull the cuffs of her slighty oversized Overwatch hoodie to hide the swordbreaker from sight. She slowly walked towards Ronald Kiser.

Ron was disappointed at what he'd found in his bag. A fire extinguisher? Shit, of course he had gotten one of the non-weapons. Maybe he could hit someone with it?

He heard some shuffling behind him, and he jumped up, spinning around with the fire extinguisher gripped in his hands, ready to defend himself. It was Layla something or other. Not a very threatening person, but it would still be a good idea to be on guard. He couldn't see if she had a weapon or not. Ron lowered the fire extinguisher.

"H-hi." he said, voice shaky. Damn it, he still had to work on that. Projecting confidence would be an important skill out here. Whether he was trying to intimidate someone or convince them to join him. He cleared his throat.

"Hi. I, uh, I don't want any trouble here. And I hope you don't either."

[Clayton Barber start}
[edited 02 Jun. 2019, 1400 EST]


He woke up quickly, but he kept his body still except for his breathing. Danya's horrific briefing flooded back into his mind. He was in Survival of the Fittest and only one of his classmates would make it out alive. And they had to kill one another... every day... or they would all be killed.

Clay could feel a gentle breeze wafting across his face, the smell of grasses and bushes nearby, and more distantly, the ocean. He could hear a soft conversation a few meters away from where he lay: a girl and a boy, though he could not recognize either of them from this far.

The sky was bright, though not painfully bright, so it was either morning or evening. He would learn soon enough depending on whether the sky brightened or dimmed. It didn't matter, though; neither would help him see.

Slowly, Clay began to check his coat pockets to determine if his personal effects had been confiscated. The magnifying glass was there where ha usually kept it in his interior coat pocket, but his cane was missing. Did they move it, he wondered, panic rising in his mind. He checked every pocket, then checked them all again. It was gone. They don't want anything like a fair fight; they just want to laugh at us as we die. I bet they take insulin away from diabetics too. His hand cautiously reached up to his neck and felt the sickening reality of the thick collar bolted there. Murdering fucks, he thought coldly.

There was no sense delaying any further, as there were already at least two other people fairly near by who were awake and speaking. Clay slowly sat upright and opened his eyes. Daytime brightness with just a hint of green at ground level. He was on a lawn or garden of some type. He scanned around him in the faint hope that he might see some other feature to help orient him. There, about a meter behind him, was some black shape. Is that a gravestone? he thought.

Keeping his ears tuned to any change in the soft conversation or any other new sound, he reached out to touch the black object. It was a dufflebag with two handles large enough to be used as the straps of a backpack. Clay located the single zipper and opened the bag. He felt a wide variety of contents, some soft, most hard and angular. And there was one softcover book.

Clay didn't remember packing a book, nor did he recall Danya mentioning providing a book, unless it was the guide to using a complicated weapon or the 'Danya's Guide to Survival' which was briefly mentioned. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his magnifying glass to read the book's cover: Street Sword: Practical Use of the Long Blade by Phil Elmore.

That means my weapon is a sword! He began frantically searching both the inside of the duffle and the ground around it for the promised weapon. He found no such item, and as his grasping, desperate search on hands and knees spiraled gradually outward from the bag and from where he awoke, the dark realization began to creep into his conscious mind. There is no sword. My assigned weapon is just the fucking book!

Danny counted the heads of the people he could see. There was Ron and this girl named Layla. The two weren't fighting just yet, and Danny kept moving. Slowly, he made his way toward the other wall. He didn't want to interact with people already. Danny felt like if he were to do that, he would be dead within seconds. He already had his luck tested by being in SOTF, he didn't want to put through a physical exam.

However, there was a mistake in Danny's plan to run away. There weren't three people in the pseudo-graveyard. There were four. He found the fourth one. He even heard the noise of the boy going through his things, but he decided to ignore it. Thinking it was Layla finding out what was her weapon, he decided he didn't want to see it. What if he saw something he wanted? Danny didn't want to think about that.

So now, he was face to face with the fourth participant in the area. It was one of the blind kids, the one without the dog. He held in his hands a book, and Danny realized he wasn't probably a threat. A blind kid with a book wasn't going to accidently shoot him. He was taller and bigger, but still blind. Danny stopped moving. For some reason, he thought if he didn't move, the boy wouldn't see him.

"He's not a T-Rex, dummy."

Layla tried to make eye contact with Ronald, who held a fire extinguisher. That made her feel better about her own weapon. It was nearly impossible to be killed with a fire extinguisher unless you really are dumb enough to someone get killed with one. Layla still hid her weapon beneath the hoodie.

"Don't worry, Ronald. The only ones wanting trouble are the people that...put us in this...situation."

"Situation" was not the greatest euphemism for SOTF, but she didn't feel like elaborating it further. It probably was clear enough for everyone.

"Well... good. That's good."

He didn't believe it. She was bugging him. Her calmness, the way she just approached him, the way she was trying to make him feel secure. What did she want? Maybe he was just being paranoid... or maybe it was good to be paranoid, out here. Everyone wanted to survive, everyone wanted to be the one standing at the end. Maybe some of them would hide it, to try to seem like they were good people, but Ron couldn't believe them. There wasn't a single person out there who would put his well being over their own. And why should they?

Ron kept his grip held tight on the extinguisher, and he looked over Layla. He still couldn't see the weapon, and that bothered him. Was it still in her bag, or was she concealing it?

"What- ah, what sort of weapon did you get?"

[edited 02 Jun. 2019, 1433 EST]


The footsteps approached him, then stopped. Whoever it was was trying to stay quiet. He shoved the useless book back into the dufflebag and pulled out his hat which their kidnappers had thoughtfully packed for him, then zipped the bag closed, donned the fedora and stood up to his full height.

Clay picked up the dufflebag by both straps, then turned to directly face the unknown person who was trying to be stealthy. He could see a dark gray figure standing a handful of meters in front of him. “Could you give me directions to the meeting hall?” he addressed the figure conversationally.

My only real chance for survival is on the charity of others, he thought. And since there can only be one 'winner' of the game, the best chance for the most people is to not play the terrorists' game. I have to try to get to some central location and convince enough of the others of that.

He stood still, keeping his breathing steady and calm, waiting for the figure in gray to either agree to help him or to dash his hopes of survival once and for all.

Female Number 63 - Christina Rennes: GAME START

Christina was not in a good mood at the very moment. Why would she be was a fucking obvious question - she was stuck in the death game to end all death games, and she'd nearly gotten brains splattered on her during minute one of the presentation.

Bad news: I have no friends. For once, this thought was disquieting. Good news: I have a knife. It wasn't a big fuck-off blade, but it would work for the time being until she could find a better weapon (or a meat shield). Right now, she had nothing else to really go by. Nobody had really been given the ability to stand out as particularly ruthless. So right now, it was find someone that could be trusted (for now) and hope that any weapons in question get pointed away from or handed to her.

So of course, there were two people that she saw, but the big question of whether to call out to them was, well, not certain. Most of the killers she'd read about didn't work in groups, right?

The blind kid's movements were odd. His whole demeanor about the situation. Danny felt like something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. If anything, he appeared to act like a sentry. He was probably also overhearing Layla and Ron's discussion, and he was trying to figure out what to do next.

Danny was still. The blind kid asked him a question. It seemed like Danny wasn't quite invisible. He didn't speak as his left hand dabbed the ground, searching for a tool as he kept his eyes locked on the boy. Daniel felt terribly rude, but he was incapable to answer his question. His fingers found a rock.

Three people. He already was surprised once by someone showing up out of nowhere, but he was lucky enough to be a blind kid with a book. Next time, it might be a Carter with a gun, or a cheerleader with a glock, and he didn't want that to happen. Danny had limited luck and nothing could change his mind about playing safely.

With the rock in his hand, he peeked out of his cover to see Layla again. While Danny didn't play baseball, he did have a good upper body strength from playing volleyball. This, and his coordination made what he did next possible. Aiming for a vase next to the girl, he threw the rock across the field. It cracked open. Now, he just needed his diversion to work.

A shatter.

Layla stepped back and unveiled the swordbreaker. Her eyes were opened wide and she stared at Ron, who now knew that she had hidden the dagger. Layla swung her dagger at the direction of Ron.

"Stay away!"

Ron jumped as vase shattered beside him. His eyes darted around the horizon, trying to find the source. Possibilities racing through his mind; was someone shooting at them? Wait, that was stupid, he would have heard the gunshot. So, did someone throw something at them? Or shoot at them with a crossbow or a slingshot, or-

Before he could process any of it, Layla pulled out a knife and slashed at him. The swing connected on his left arm, and Ron let out a yelp as the blade cut a gash in his forearm. He stepped back, cradling the extinguisher to his chest as blood dripped from his arm. So much was happening. He was right about that bitch, she’d been lying to him! And someone else was trying to attack the both of them, and Ron couldn’t tell what weapon they had or what direction the attack had come from. Too many dangers, too many unknowns. They were trying to kill him; he’d just started, and multiple people were already trying to kill him all at once. He couldn’t take this. He had no control here. He had to get away.

Maybe he could have done some damage by swinging the fire extinguisher at Layla, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to risk getting close to that knife again. So, he did the only other thing he could think of. Pushing back the pain, Ron pointed the nozzle at Layla and squeezed on the handle. A burst of white powder covered her face. Hopefully that would be enough of a hindrance to allow for his escape. There were some statues to his left, the mystery attacker was probably somewhere on the right, and Layla was in front of him, so Ron turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

There was no way Layla could catch up to him if he kept a good pace. He swung around an outcropping of overgrown ferns, and for a second he looked back to see if she was following him. Big mistake. He crashed into something, felt another sharp pain in his side and got knocked back on his ass. The fire extinguisher dropped from his hands and rolled away as Ron tried to gather his bearings. He looked to see what he had run into, and he saw a black-haired girl he didn’t recognize on the ground in front of him. Where had she come from? Was she the one who was attacking them? He could’ve sworn he was going in the right direction, away from them. So maybe she was yet another unknown danger.

Ron’s eyes followed her arm and, to his horror, he realized that she was also holding onto a knife. A knife that had a smattering of red on the tip. Ron’s attention snapped back to the pain in his stomach, and he looked down, finding a small, growing red spot to the side of his abdomen. Holy shit.

“Who the fuck are you!?” Ron shrieked. In a panic, he shuffled back away from her. He looked around and found his lost fire extinguisher, rolling away. He had to get it, had to get away from here. Away from everyone trying to hurt him, away from the pain.

Instead of answering his polite question, the blur blurred with some kind of motion. Less than a heartbeat later, Clay heard the sound of a stone breaking something like ceramic or hardened clay. The blur had thrown something at him!

Clay's eyebrows furrowed as the anger rose within his breast. He heard the quiet conversation between the boy and the girl quickly turn into an argument, and then a fight. There was the sound of some pressurized gas being released, but Clay felt no need to wait for the results of the fight going on behind him; he had a combatant right in front of him.

He snarled, “Well fuck you too.” Then he charged at the dark gray blur, holding his dufflebag in front of him to cushion whatever impact there might be.

Okay, so there were two pairs. Either way, at least one person had to be rational.

And that was when the thing broke. There was a fuckton of shouting, and slashing and people started pounding the hell out of each other. Christina should have stayed alert, but the vase or whatever got her attention, and then the knife that the other girl had come out and she started slashing at everything in sight. Gugh

And then she got bowled over by Preppy Boy. Had Jessica mentioned him or something? She didn't remember, or care to. At least she didn't let go of her knife.

"... fuck are you!?" This was how killers started. Pants shitting terror. Although to be fair, those killers got taken care of by the Hansels and the Isabels that cropped up. He shuffled away, towards a red ... fire extinguisher? on the ground as Christina got up.

"Who the fuck are you?"