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Date: 1997-Jun-12 01:23:13 UTC -8
From: xxx-xxx@xxx.xxx
To: xxx-xxx@xxx.xxx
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Program NA-1

All right then, that's good enough for me. The bus should be departing tomorrow morning (our time). I'm en route to Felicty as we speak. I look forward to running this "show." :)

Attached, please find the official seating chart for Class C-4. Everyone will be in attendance.

By the way, are you taking part in the betting pool? I've got $20k on the nigger.

Sincerely,
xxx

ATTACHMENTS:
Class_C4_roster.pdf
Drop_Bag_Assignments.pdf


Date: 1997-Jun-13 11:12:56 UTC +9
From: xxx-xxx@xxx.xxx
To: xxx-xxx@xxx.xxx
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Program NA-1


Thanks xxx. I bet $100,000 on the Jap girl, Sakura. But you know how it is, have to keep up appearances for our benefactors. They're all betting on her, but to be honest I don't see why - outside of national pride.

I don't know about pinning hopes on Mandingo, though. So he can scrap with the natives - fine. Does he even know how to use a gun?

If I had to choose a favorite, I'd go with that Quentin kid or maybe that troglodyte footballer Orin Wayne. Zeke Abergaine should be one to watch too. They all score high on the metrics that really count. I would not discount the brainier ones, either. That Kohls girl particularly. Half of all winners in the Japanese Programs are members of a student council.

Of course, it's anyone's game. I'll be watching every second of it.

Regards,
xxx

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>>35293868
You have my attention, OP.
Don't blow it, or I'll have to punish you as a bad student.

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>42 Students Remain.

Zeke. Zeke, wake up. Please wake up, Zeke. Please!

Zeke!

...

Your eyes flutter open. Lilly is standing over your bed, shaking you by the shoulder. Her blonde ringlets billow in the whir of your ceiling fan and her brow is furrowed with something like focused bemusement. You groan and sit up.

"You're late," she says, folding her arms.

You stumble out of bed, brushing past your sister -- one quick motion spurred by one quick jolt of adrenaline. You're late. Of course.

In your blinded panic, you nearly lose your balance. Your feet thud against the carpet and your arms go windmilling. You catch yourself against the dresser. Yanking a drawer open, you pull out some clothes and start getting dressed. Lilly watches, arms still folded, weight shifted to one foot.

Of all the days to be late, why did it have to be the day of your class field trip?

You shunt your sister out of your bedroom so you can change your pants in private.

"Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" you call to her from the other side of the door, struggling in your half-asleep daze to get your legs into your trousers.

"I'm not your alarm clock!" she calls back, laughing.

You rub your forehead. You would have woken up on time if you hadn't stayed up so late last night. Why were you up so late?

[ ] You were reading a good book.
[ ] You were working on the used car you bought last month.
[ ] You were doing reps.
[ ] You were watching movies.

>>35294068
>>[X] You were reading a good book.

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>>35294068
>[ ] You were doing reps

>>35294068
>[ ] You were working on the used car you bought last month.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8DtxsvWWLk

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Here is a list of the class roster.

http://pastebin.com/CqeQiMDZ

Still waiting on the tiebreaking vote.

>>35294068
>[ ] You were working on the used car you bought last month.
I've been waiting for this OP.

>>35294121
AWAKEN MY MASTERS

>>35294068
>[ ] You were doing reps.
We /fit/ now.

>>35294068
>[ ] You were working on the used car you bought last month.

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>>35293942
>I've got $20k on the nigger.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Closing, writing.

>>35294534

Whoops, left my dice in. Was going to roll a tiebreaker but the used car option won out.

>>35294068
>Quentin
As in the tripfag from /a/?

>>35294645

Better be Quentin for maximum WTF-Factor, though if not it's alright.

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>[X] You were working on the used car you bought last month.

It's a piece of junk, but how many 14 year olds can say they own a car? When you get your learners' permit next May, you'll be the envy of everyone in your class.

It's best to relish the little things. This is the only time in your life when you can be proud of owning a rusted-to-hell 68 VW Van. It even comes complete with a dragon painted on the side in formerly-psychadelic colors.

>Techincal Skill / Improv +2
>Intelligence +1

You grab your backpack and hurry for the door. At least you had the forethought to pack your bags last night.

"Thanks for being my alarm," you tell your sister as you walk by. "I would have slept until noon."

"You lazy bum. I'm not going to do that for you next time!" She pulls an eyelid down at you to underline the warning.

You give her a faux slug on the shoulder. "Of course not," you say, nodding solemnly. "But thanks for giving me one last chance. If I missed this trip, my life would be over. This is the last time I'm gonna see a lot of these guys."

"I don't know why you have to graduate junior high anyway. Can't you stay back just one more year?"

You arch an eyebrow. Usually Lilly isn't so naked in her attachment. "Is your separation anxiety that bad? You can't go one year at Burton without me?"

"Oh, please," she says, striking a sarcastic tone. But then, more tenderly: "just -- come back soon."

"Monday," you tell her. "I'll see you Monday."

You hug your sister and say goodbye.

>>35294826
>Hippy van
Awwww yisssss

>>35294826
>Techincal Skill / Improv +2
We Shinji now?

You strike out into the midmorning thrum of birds and cicada call. Summer seemed to start in March this year, and it only got muggier and muggier with every successive day. By now the outside world is nothing but a giant sauna. Your poor hormonal body can hardly stand it. You had no idea human beings could sweat this much.

Though you own a vehicle, you can't drive it -- at least not yet -- and nor can your parents, who are (of course) out of town. So you've got to walk to your neighbor's house to get a ride to school with their parents. You trudge to the end of the cul-de-sac and to the door of:

>[ ] Claire Galatea, your childhood friend.
>[ ] Quentin Bonhomie, your best friend and head of the computer club.
>[ ] Neil Vandross, your best friend and captain of the basketball team.
>[ ] Mark Lerner, your best friend and member of Burton Junior High's burgeoning Judo club.

>>35294934
>[ ] Quentin Bonhomie, your best friend and head of the computer club.

>>35294934
>>[ ] Claire Galatea, your childhood friend.

>>35294934

>[ ] Claire Galatea, your childhood friend.

>>35294934
>[x] Quentin Bonhomie, your best friend and head of the computer club.
Yep, we Team Shinji.

>>35294934
>[ ] Neil Vandross, your best friend and captain of the basketball team.

>>35294934
>>[ ] Claire Galatea, your childhood friend.

>[ ] Quentin Bonhomie, your best friend and head of the computer club.

>>35294934
>[X ] Quentin Bonhomie, your best friend and head of the computer club.

Yeee. Gotta hang out with my brosef.

>>35294934
>[ ] Claire Galatea, your childhood friend.

>>35294934
>Quentin Vandross, your best friend, captain of the basketball team, and head of the computer club.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

We got a tie, rolling.

1: Claire
2: Quentin

>>35295073
It looks like 5 votes for Quentin and 4 for Claire, OP.

>>35295073
>Another quest taken over by a Claire
No
Noooooo

>>35295099
I count 4 and 4, the last Quentin vote looks like a joke.

>>35295126
My bad, I didn't read after Quentin.

>>35295058
>>35295073
Then I vote Quentin, then.

>>35295184

We'll have dialogue with Quentin on the bus. I think that's a good compromise.

>>35295210
Besides, it seems reasonable to live nearby our childhood friend.

>>35295210
Works for me

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Claire answers the door almost before you can knock twice. A blast of air-conditioned wind hits you in the face as the swinging front door cuts a slash through the summer air.

Claire does that recoiling-smile thing girls do when they're both surprised and happy.

"Zeke -- we were almost ready to leave without you. I thought you'd stay in bed forever."

"And miss our last class trip together?" you say. "I'm lazy, but come on."

Claire's mother hurries down the stairs. She grabs her handbag from a rack in the foyer and ushers the two of you to her sedan. "You two are late," she chides, motioning for you to hurry.

You rub the back of your head. "I've been getting that a lot lately..."

The ride to school passes mostly in silence. Claire and you sit together in the back seat, one to a window, each with an arm akimbo so your hands rest precariously close to one another's on the center seat. But neither of you make a further move. She chews a strand of sandy brown hair and rests a chin on her palm.

Though Claire lives just a few doors down from your house, the two nearest high schools have zones that bisect your neighborhood -- in September you'll each be going to a different one.

Even though you can still see each other every day, it feels weirdly like the end of an era.

"The Hoover Dam--" you start, coughing. "We're actually gonna see it. That's pretty cool, huh?"

Claire smiles, staring at cars on the freeway as they zip past. "I read that if every human being on the planet disappeared tomorrow, the Hoover Dam could run on its own for 10 years before it shut down. Isn't that amazing?"

That's Claire for you. A font of information you will never need to use. Ever since Ms. Lambert announced the end-of-year trip to the Hoover Dam, Claire has been researching like she's preparing a project. She even built a scale model replica of the dam in her basement. All for her own personal pleasure.

Well, that's what you like about her.

"Next year..." Claire says. "Next year, when you're at East... what club do you think you'll join?"

You shrug. To be honest, you hadn't thought of it before. You were more worried about more immediate matters. But now that you're on the spot, you figure you'll probably join the same club you've been in since starting junior high:

>[ ] Soccer.
>[ ] Computers.
>[ ] Music.
>[ ] Anime.
>[ ] Student Council.
>[ ] (write in)

>>35295511
Go Home Club

Can you change her name form Claire at least? Toooooo... I dunno, Cynthia or something?

>>35295511
>>[ ] Rugby

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>>35295511
>[x] Rugby
>>35295553
Mah nigga.

>>35295553
Rugby sounds good.

>>35295550
Why?

>>35295511
The music club is really uptight. How 'bout
>Student Council
we could be the guy who got made a vice president so it would look good and doesn't really do all that much.

>>35295578
Too much Claire in quests.

>>35295615

This is Battle Royale. Who says there'll be much Claire in this quest?

>>35295627
In all fairness, I imagine there may well end up being a great deal of Claire in this quest.
Spread over a wide area.
Possibly in the form of mist.

>>35295511
{x} Write In - Rugby sounds fab. Doooo it.

>>35295511

Go Student Council!

>[x] Rugby

"You'll get brain damage," Claire says. She's only half joking. You know this because she always follows that warning with: "I'm only half joking."

>Strength +3
>Endurance +1
>Intelligence -1
>Stealth -2

At the school, students file into the idling bus in twos and threes, stowing bags away in the undercarriage beforehand. Vince Pope (Boys #15) -- that little compensating twerp -- shoves you for no reason as he passes you. You hope he dies of heatstroke in that ridiculous black leather bomber jacket of his. Caleb Melphi (Boys #10) -- your Rugby team captain -- apologizes for his friend's behavior. "His girlfriend just broke up with him," Caleb explains, holding out both hands in his usual mannerism.

"His girlfriend always just broke up with him," you grouse. "Has he ever had a girlfriend in the first place?"

Caleb shrugs. He doesn't seem to care one way or the other. You wish you had his ability to be friends with anyone.

Evan Horner (Boys #6), Paige Devin (Girls #5), and Ashley Smith (Girls #18) board together. These are the class "goths" -- whatever that means (how can a girl named 'Ashley Smith' seriously purport to be a vampire?) -- and you sort of despise them. No one who wears that much mascara could have a legitimate purpose. They look like mimes from hell. Evan's hair is so tall that he can barely board the bus, and has to duck.

Burton High Bobcats Quartback Orin Wayne (Boys #19) and his cheerleading girlfriend Shannon Howard (Girls #8) board just before you and Claire. They walk with the regally arrogant air of a king and queen. Orin gives you a dirty look over his shoulder -- he doesn't consider Rugby a real sport. Behind you, Whitney Price (Girls #16) clicks her tongue in disgust. She plays girls' soccer, which means Orin considers her sport fake, also -- twice over.

>>35295820
>he doesn't consider Rugby a real sport
>plays football
>doesn't consider the game from which his sport of choice is directly descended a real sport
Warhammer 40kek.
At least we know he's no real threat if we have to fight him. I mean he's just a quarterback, most QBs these days can't take a hit to save their balls.

>>35295862
Orin is one of the students the mysterious government agent from the email prologue sayid might win it. He's a threat for sure.

>>35295820
>rugby isn't a real sport
well we can't hate him for being wrong

>>35295820
>Whitney Price
>girls' soccer
Waaaait a minute.

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>>35295878
Yes, but we can break him in two, WITH OUR BARE HANDS!

This bus is much newer and in better condition than the usual fare Burton Junior High offers -- inside and out. The upholstery is all-new and the rubber-mat flooring is free of the sickly sticky residue most older buses have. Blessedly, the A/C is in pristine condition too. You never want to step out of this refrigerated box again.

There's even a new driver, or at least one you don't recognize. He's a fresh-faced young man who nonetheless bares a scowl. Best not to approach him and turn whatever has him irked onto you.

Ms. Lambert is sitting just behind the driver in a special bucket seat that faces the aisle, fanning herself with a sheaf of papers despite the cool temperature inside the bus. She crosses students' names off a list as they pass.

[ ] Stop and chat with her about the trip.
[ ] Sit down.

>>35295946
>[ ] Stop and chat with her about the trip.

>>35295820

I bet the goths commit suicide.

>>35295946
>[ ] Stop and chat with her about the trip.

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>[x] Stop and chat with her about the trip.

"Thanks for setting this trip up," you say. "I'm gonna miss you next year."

"You're late," Ms. Lambert says, not looking up as she crosses your name off the list.

"What?" you stammer, glancing behind you at the students still getting on. "I'm not even the last person on the bus--"

"No excuses," she snaps. She looks up -- smiling slyly, a twinkle in her eye. "You're welcome, Zeke. Who doesn't want to go to the Mojave Desert in the middle of June? Pussies, that's who."

Claire chirps, trying to contain her laughter. Ms. Lambert holds a hand to her lips daintily, as if to say "oops" -- but the truth is she's always had a loose tongue.

"Shouldn't say that, shouldn't say that" comes the wheedly voice of Wesley Mandelbrot (Boys #9), sitting directly behind Ms. Lambert. He shakes an inhaler, creating a spray-can rattle, and gives himself a few spurts. The kid can do multivariate calculus in polar coordinates, but he's a little bit... touched. He rocks back and forth, not looking at anyone, and you wonder if his comment was even connected to Ms. Lambert's foul language.

"Who's the new guy?" Claire asks, pointing at the driver.

Ms. Lambert shrugs. "The district sent him. Frank was on the schedule for today, but instead we get robo-cop over here." She cups a hand to her mouth and leans in conspiratorially. "Between you and me? I'm getting a 'dishonorable discharge' vibe from the guy. He's definitely a weirdo."

"We better watch out," Claire muses, though not seriously.

"Oh yes. You two watch out." She puts her hands on her hips and frowns, surveying the both of you. "And no funny business in the back of the bus! I'll be watching. You can still get expelled for indecent conduct on school property."

Claire turns beet red and stares madly at her sneakers. You have the sense that your own face is a similar shade.

>>35296213
>Wesley Mandelbrot (Boys #9)
>Mandelbrot
I see what you did there, OP.

>>35296258
I don't. Please enlighten me.

>>35296263
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benoit_Mandelbrot

The ride is dull, uneventful -- so smooth it's actually a bit disappointing. The older buses gave a bumpy ride that kept you alert. But this one has shocks so good that even the cracking, dilapidated roads of the desert don't register any pitch at all. As the students become bored and drowsy one-by-one, dozens of excited conversations turn slowly quiet, and then die out altogether.

Kay Maitlock, O.I.R. (Girls #11) is sitting in the seat across the aisle from you, beside foreign exchange student Ntunga Obongo-Enner (Boys #12). Kay, O.I.R, is the head of the journalism club. Her huge round spectacles set off her mousy appearance and blousy manner of dress. At age 14 her dream is to go to Manhattan -- not to be a fashion model or even a high-powered financier -- but a copy writer for the New York Times.

In previous months, she's flitted from obsession to obsession -- cataloging in long articles that no one ever read such things as the secret ingredients in school lunches, the district's outdated textbooks, and other elements of "unbelievable corruption" that "lies at the dark heart of this rotten school." But ever since Ntunga came from Africa two months ago, she's been fixated on him instead -- trying to interview him for a soft-profile piece to bolster her "human interest credentials."

Her conversation with Ntunga -- one-sided as always -- is one of the few that aren't flagging by the drive's sixth hour.

Kay speaks into a tape recorder, lips pursed in reportorial ecstasy. "Ntunga Obongo, a tribesman from darkest Africa. Now transplanted, suddenly, into the opulence and comfort of the first world. What memories of strange and distant lands does this young man have to share with his new countrymen? What wild Savannahs and virgin forests has he glimpsed? Our intrepid reporter finds out."

Ntunga lies slightly reclined in his seat, spindly hands folded over his lithe chest. He smiles in frustration, eyes closed. "Kay Maitlock wearies me," he says as if to no one in particular, in a thick accent no one has ever been able to identify.

These are the first words he has spoken in many miles. Kay pushes the recorder close to his face. "What is it like to return to a desert clime after so long?" she asks. "Does the Mojave make you long for your home in the Sahara?"

"There was no desert in my home."

"Then do you long for the verdant forests of yesteryear?--"

"I wonder if Kay Maitlock is like a shark, who will die if it does not always move its mouth."

"Is that a yes?"

"That is something our intrepid reporter will need to find out another day. Please let me rest."

Kay pulls the recorder back to her lips. "Sullen and tight-lipped, one gets the sense that Ntunga has borne great hardship during his youth in Africa. Where does he come from, what has he seen? Our intrepid reporter will get to the bottom of these questions, and more."

>>35296462
>Obongo
Really OP?
REALLY?

>>35296486
Ntunga Obongo amuses me.

By the time the sun has skirted the horizon and begun to disappear behind a distant mountain range, many of the students on the bus are asleep. So is Ms. Lambert. Katie Comstock (Girls #4) and Chaz Delano Roosevelt (Boys #16) use the opportunity to make out, the loud smacking noises of their union echoing disgustingly off the low-vaulted bus ceiling. The driver glances up at this scene in the rearview. He doesn't seem to care.

Katie is the school's resident actress -- a position she relishes. Chaz -- who will never let anyone ever forget that he is an intermediate cousin of Franklin Delano Roosevelt -- comes from money, and Katie's had her eyes on him for a long time. She labors under the impression that Chaz has connections to Hollywood. Maybe he does. But you doubt it.

Well, tonight she finally made her move on him. Good for her, you guess.

Earl Cant (Boys #4) and Ryan King (Boys #7) sandwich Evangeline Genèse (Girls #7) in the seat in front of you. Earl and Ryan, charter members of Burton Junior High's anime alub, are the spitting image of a modern-day Abbot and Costello, Ryan with his wheezing waddle and Earl with his delicate, almost feminine scrawniness. They both have the mistaken belief that Evangeline, who joined their club because she enjoys costuming, is in love with them. They are forcing her to play a collectable card game involving pocket-sized monsters, and she is humoring them gamely.

Behind you, Alex Paxton (Boys #13) sits staring dead-eyed out the window at nothing. There's a recurrent joke that he's going to shoot up the school one of these days. Except more and more it doesn't seem like such a joke. No one is friends with him -- no one sits next to him.

This is all interesting stuff to watch, sure. You like people-watching. But you're more concerned about the girl on your shoulder. Claire has fallen asleep and slumped against you unknowingly. Her breath is warm against you. It's a nice feeling.

>>35296486
Ntunga sounds like a bro. Kay a shit.

>>35296649
>They both have the mistaken belief that Evangeline, who joined their club because she enjoys costuming, is in love with them.

That isn't gonna end well.

>>35296672
I have a feeling Ntunga is this game's Shogo.

>>35296677
>enjoys costuming
She's gonna wear their skin

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>>35296688
All the more reason to get friendly with him and engage in JOLLY COOPERATION.
Who says jocks can't be nerdy? My high school gaming group included a starting linebacker and a point guard.

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"Psst. Hey."

You startle, turning around. Quentin Bonhomie (Boys #3) is sitting behind you, next to Alex, having materialized seemingly from nowhere. Alex does not even acknowledge his presence, maintaining that same deadened gaze.

"What's up?" you ask.

"No -- guess what."

"I don't know. You have cancer."

"The only cancer I've got is sex cancer. Bam."

You shake your head. "That makes no sense."

"Look," he says, leaning way forward and gripping the faux-leather back of your chair like he's holding onto a cliff edge for life, "no, really, look -- Heather." He jerks his chin toward the front of the bus, indicating Student Council President Heather Kohls (Girls #10). "She showed me her boobs last night. No lie."

You bristle. "Can we not talk about boobs next to Claire? What if she wakes up--"

"They were like this," Quentin says, running his hands over invisible lumps on his chest to indicate what they were like. "I'm not joking."

"I'm sure it was great. I'm happy for you."

"I made my move, man. And she jumped all over me. I'm telling you. It's that easy. When are you gonna get with Claire?"

You feel yourself blushing again.

[ ] I don't know when.
[ ] I'll make my move by the end of this trip.
[ ] (write in)

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>>35296809
>[ ] I'll make my move by the end of this trip.

>>35296809
>[ ] I'll make my move by the end of this trip.

>>35296809
> [] I'll make my move by the end of this trip.

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>[x] I'll make my move by the end of this trip.

"I want to say something to her before the end of the trip," you whisper.

Claire chooses this moment to exhale a light snore, and you think your heart is going to stop. But she keeps sleeping.

"SAY something? You've got to DO something to her."

"That sounds kind of violent."

"I mean, put down some moves. Be a man of action, for the love of Jehova. You're not still religious, are you? I'm not trying to offend you. For Pete's sake. Look. Just be yourself. Girls eat it up. Really. They want a guy who pays attention to them. Even getting a little desperate and clingy isn't so bad. Just don't be TOO desperate and clingy. Got it?"

You nod dumbly. "I think so."

He pats you on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. No sweat."

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Quentin leans back in his seat. He launches into a lengthy rumination on whether 3-D Doritos are a genuine innovation or a way for the company to gyp people on volume. You think he may have gotten a contact high from sitting at the back of the bus with Dylan Northrup (Boys #11) and Jenny Passwaithe (Girls #15), around whom a perpetual cloud of pot smoke seems to hang like an invisible miasma. Jenny herself actually doesn't smoke -- but Dylan is the only person in the class willing to put up with her half-cracked rambling, precisely because he does smoke.

You let Quentin's discussion wash over you like water. From the seat diagonal to yours, you hear the tinny sound of Radio Asia from Sakura Natsuo (Girls #14)'s headphones. She listens to news in English from the Greater East Asian Republic all the time. Sometimes you wonder how this shady-looking Japanese girl and her family ever got permission to immigrate -- she's so obviously a sympathizer with those crazed fascists that it has to be corruption at work. Someone's palms got greased along the way, you're sure of it.

"The two escapees, Nanahara Shuya and Nakagawa Noriko, are thought to have fled the Japanese mainland," comes the report. "Sources close to the investigation say it's possible the two have been smuggled into the United States by dissident elements. The US Ambassador to the Home Islands, George Audi, said in a statement, quote: 'The US will do everything in its power to aid the investigation, and will honor our extradition treaty with the GEAR'..."

You shudder. Those animals in the GEAR run their awful program every year. To what end? It never made any damn sense to you. Wholesale slaughter of kids your age with no benefit or purpose. And finally two of these poor "contestants" escaped -- good for them! You hope they reach a day when they no longer have to run.

Sakura Natsuo's frown indicates that she feels very, very differently about it.

>>35297040
>"The two escapees, Nanahara Shuya and Nakagawa Noriko, are thought to have fled the Japanese mainland," comes the report. "Sources close to the investigation say it's possible the two have been smuggled into the United States by dissident elements.
Together Wendy we can live with the sadness, I'll love you with all the madness in my soul. Oh some day girl I don't know when we're gonna get to that place where we really wanna go and we'll walk in the sun. But 'til then tramps like us, baby we were born to run.
Now once again, "Two students remaining." But of course, they're part of you now.

Your eyes settle on Chelsea West (Girls #21) and Boyd West (Boys #21), twins. They share a seat in front of Sakura.

The Wests are close -- creepily, telepathically close -- some people genuinely believe the rumor that if you hurt one, the other feels it. And then of course there are the rumors that their relationship is "deeper" than that of brother and sister. You always ignored those stories. They're beneath you.

But the way they hold hands...

"What is that?" Quentin asks, and the sudden edge in his voice brings you out of your thoughts.

"What is what?" you say, gawking.

Quentin snaps to his feet. "That smell."

And then it hits you, too. A stench like rotten eggs, almost. Sulfurous.

"Are we being attacked?" cries Amy Tong (Girls #20). Like Kay, she is a member of the journalism club -- and she has a video camera. She pulls it out, sweeping the viewfinder across the increasingly confused and boisterous group of students, as if documenting the calamity will somehow fix it. People begin calling out, shouting, panicking, telling the bus driver to stop. But the bus driver doesn't stop.

He's wearing a gas mask.

All around, the students start dropping -- first the smaller ones. Amy slumps to the floor, losing the camcorder and cracking the screen. Kay slumps to the side, nearly tumbling into the aisleway, and Ntunga reflexively reaches out to catch her. But he too soon collapses, and they fall to the floor together.

Your friend Caleb stumbles toward the front of the bus as if drunk, trying to reach you and Quentin -- to form a last-ditch brain trust -- but it's too late. Quentin is down. Soon Caleb goes down, too (although even his collapse has a strange grace to it). Orin Wayne kicks and pounds impotently at the windows over the unconscious body of his girlfriend. He's crying, his face streaked red with tears. Whitney is helping him try to break out -- no avail. They're the last two who go down before you yourself feel the pull of wooziness and--

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I have to sleep for a few hours. To anyone who is still here, please keep the thread bumped.

I will be back. When we return, we will finally get the official instructions of Battle Royale Program NA-1.

We will be assigned a weapon (along with the rest of the class) and given a map of our playing area with important landmarks included.

And then it's off to the races.

Actually -- for anyone still here -- would you like the map of the playing area now? It's a mild spoiler for the scene where the program director introduces the Battle Royale concept, but it's coming up next anyway. Could be something to discuss while I'm away.

>>35297222
Map? Yes please.

>>35297222
Might as well do it by the books. I say just wait.

>>35297238
The books had the map on the inside cover. For the reader, it's not really breaking any tradition to let us see it in advance.

>>35297244
I meant that as an expression actually

>>35297238
>>35297236

I will wait. I'll be back after my nap.

Hopefully things are enjoyable so far. It's hard to make introducing a majority of 42 characters interesting, so things might feel slow right now.

>>35293868
Battle Royale Quest? Aww yisss, good job Pro

Bump

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Looks awesome.

Please come back to us, OP.

bump for justice

Pls don't be kill OP ;_;

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>>35300826

The only solution is to get OP's personal information, call his mom, and tell her to call OP to wake him up and make sure he's none dead.

That, or stripper gram.

This is a joke, mods please don't stick your banhammer up my pooper.

Ntunga best girl

>>35296649
>Evangeline Genèse
underrated name

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the heat. Your face is drenched in sweat and your shirt adheres to your body like a second skin.

You raise your head from the hard wood desk. In the bluish, almost surreal fluorescent light, you see several of your other classmates also beginning to stir at their desks. You seem to be arranged in the same order that you sit in during homeroom - but this definitely isn't your homeroom. It's a claustrophobic, rundown little class with musty wood flooring and (obviously) no amenities like A/C.

"Where are we...?" slurs Gena Masters (Girls #12), captain of the Judo club. She's one of the few people fully conscious.

"Gena--" comes the voice of Mark Lerner (Boys #8). Gena's words seem to have woken him from his deep slumber. "Are you okay?"

Mark is co-captain of the Judo club. Even though he doesn't have lifelong experience with the martial art the way Gena does, he still ranks a close second. Together or alone, both are a force to be reckoned with. In fact, Gena is the only girl Orin Wayne is afraid of -- as evidenced by the "incident" at Homecoming last October.

"My head..." This would be Zoe Thurston (Girls #18), co-chair of the Computer Club along with Quentin. She's basically his female doppelganger -- weird and prone to sexually inappropriate comments, but whip-smart. Even though Quentin has his eyes on Heather, it's accepted by most of the school that one day he's going to marry Zoe.

You sit straight and glance to your right. Claire is here, still unconscious. You watch her doze for a moment, and that's when you notice it -- the collar. They have her collared like a wild animal.

She isn't the only one with this strange metal device around her neck. As students wake up and realize they've been shackled, a collective wail of disbelief and fear rises. You clutch at your neck, and -- yes, you've got one, too. You tug and pull at it, but it's secured tightly, and won't budge. You feel like you'll suffocate.

"What is the meaning of this?" (Lucy Bancroft, Girls #1 -- richest girl on campus). "My father is going to sue! He'll sue all of you! You have no right!"

"We're dying... we're gonna die..." (Victoria Selwyn, girls #16, whose weight problem has made her a perpetual target for bullying.)

"Shut up, Victoria!" (Kyle Phalen, Boys #14, one of Caleb's twerpy suck-ups who can't resist lashing out in his panic).

And so it goes -- a tenor of confusion, fear, and panic grips everyone.

The classroom door opens and four men in army fatigues march in, bearing assault rifles. Following them is a man in a dapper black fitted suit, slicked-back blond hair with a nice part on the right, and a winning smile. He could be a game show host or a candidate for Vice President.

The class goes silent at this theatric entrance. The four armed thugs stand at attention along the blackboard at the front of the room, guns to the side -- but ready to use them at a second's notice. The suited man leans his tailbone against the empty teacher's desk, taking center stage, and claps his hands together in a cheerful, energetic way.

"Good evening," he says. "It's already 10:00, so we don't have much time. I'd like to have you out of here by midnight if possible."

Heather takes the initiative, acting in her role as class rep. She stands, coolly pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. "What's going on?" she asks, voice level. "What did you do to us?"

"Burton Junior High Class C-4 is an exceptional group of students," the man says. He smoothes the lapel of his blazer. "And very intelligent. You're all familiar with the Survival Program the GEAR runs annually in each of its prefectures on the Home Islands. You've learned that much from your social studies class, I hope."

Worried glances all around. Claire, who has finally woken up herself, looks your way. Her lips tremble. Her hazel eyes shimmer with a cargo of tears.

"Zeke..." she says.

[] Comfort her.
[] Protest the situation.

>>35304320
>[x] Comfort her.
If we talk shit, we get hit. Or in this case, killed.

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>>35304320

>[X] Comfort her

Now is not the time for anger.

That comes later.

>>35304320
[] Comfort her.

>>35304320
>[] Comfort her.

Protesting is futile.

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>[x] Comfort her.

You don't know how. You're not exactly feeling comforted yourself. But you know you have to try. You reach out and take her hand in yours.

This is the first time you have ever held hands. You can feel her pulse through her palm, she's so scared.

As you hold her, you think of all the time you've spent with her -- climbing into each other's windows late at night, sharing books and toys and video games and stories all through childhood -- and you wonder why you've never told her how you feel.

"Sit down, Heather," the suited man says. "Please."

"I will not sit down," Heather says, indignant. "What you're doing is not legal. It's kidnapping. You could go to pris--"

Heather stops cold as the man steps forward and looms over her menacingly. He's much taller than he seems. The armed men train their gunsights on her, and she gets the message. She sits.

"Thank you," he says. That buttery smile of his returns. "Now then. My name is Glengarry Lindt, but please -- call me Mr. Lindt. Ms. Lambert can't be here today, so I'm your substitute."

"Where is she?" demands Quentin.

"Dead," says Mr. Lindt. As if it's the most inconsequential detail of his day.

In the stunned silence that follows, he continues: "Class -- today's lesson is simple. You're going to kill each other."

"The program..." mutters Adam Shakel (Boys #17), one of Quentin's geeky friends in the computer club. "They're running a Battle Royale in America..."

He isn't the only one to have understood this -- just the first to say it out loud.

"Very good," Mr. Lindt says. "I knew you kids were bright. So, yes -- kudos are in order. You're the lucky students chosen for a pilot of the newly-instituted North American Survival Program. If you perform well -- and our forecasts suggest you will -- the US military may institute its own system of survival programs all over the country. Isn't that wonderful?"

Claire's hand in yours squeezes hard. Her face is ashen with horror.

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Sakura Natsuo leaps to her feet. "You cannot do this to me!" she wails. "I am pure Japanese! You American pigdogs have no standing to steal my nation's institutions and use them against me--! My father was a--"

Mr. Lindt cuts her off, spewing a waterfall of fluent Japanese back at her. Sakura obviously did not expect this American pigdog to know her mother tongue. Growing panicked, she stutters back in Japanese of her own, and the two have an excited argument that Sakura seems to get the worst of.

Finally, Mr. Lindt grows tired of it. He shouts over Sakuras's babbling, using English once more, silencing her: "this kind of disrespect will not be tolerated in my program. Ms. Natsuo, you are lucky that many important people have placed bets on you to win. If I did something to you, it would lend an appearance of impropriety to the proceedings. So instead I have to do this."

Without breaking Sakura's gaze, he pulls a pistol from his waistband, aims it at the center aisle, and fires.

Victoria Selwyn's face explodes in a shower of gore.

Paige Devin, the girl behind her, gets the worst of it -- her goth makeup is splattered with a fine mist of blood and chunks of brain matter. Other students in the vicinity, including Quentin, also get some splashback.

Girls and boys alike shriek. Claire begins to hyperventilate. Quentin cradles his face in his hands and can't bring himself to look. The armed thugs sweep their gunsights this way and that amongst the screaming students to ensure no one does anything stupid.

So no one liked Victoria that much -- no one would ever have wished for this. Her weighty corpse slumps to the bloodstained ground with a thud. The legs of her desk squeak against the wood floor as the fall jostles it aside.

Mr. Lindt stares at Sakura. He doesn't even look at what he's done, the psychopath. Sakura, usually so strident, cannot say a word. She sits there, as dumfounded as everyone.

"Do not disrespect me," Mr. Lindt says.

>41 Students Remain.

>>35305135
The fat one died first? Great.

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You have gained an Adrenaline Die.

The Adrenaline Die is a single d6 you can add to rolls to help pass a difficulty check. You can hold an Adrenaline Die in reserve as long as you wish, but you can only use it once. You can hold unlimited Adrenaline Dice in reserve and can use however many at the same time as you please.

I'll explain the combat and rolling a little more thoroughly when we actually start making rolls. But Adrenaline Dice are useful resources that you won't come by easily, so use them wisely.

>>35305287
welp the only thing we can do now is hoard these things till something awful/awesome is about to happen

>>35305602

Clearly.

Mr. Lindt fires his pistol twice into the air to silence the screaming.

"I'm sure you're all familiar with the rules of Battle Royale," he says. He paces the aisles of desks up and down, stopping to nudge Victoria's body with the winged tip of his loafer. You want to leap forward and rip off his head, but you know trying would only get you killed.

"Each of you will be given a drop bag..." At this, two more thugs in army fatigues push two carts into the room, stacked with black duffel bags. Mr. Lindt grabs one from the top of the pile and opens it.

"This would have been Victoria's, I suppose," he says. "But now that she's no longer with us, we can use it as a demonstration. Every student gets three items: a weapon, chosen at random; a loaf of bread; and two liters of water. Ration your supplies carefully. They will deplete faster than you think."

He draws the objects out of Victoria's bag, each in turn, and arrays them on the teacher's desk. Amongst them is an shiny black revolver with a fine walnut grip. "Smith & Wesson .38," Mr. Lindt muses admiringly. "She might have stood a fighting chance with a weapon like that... oh well."

He turns to face the class again. "Some of the weapons are quite powerful. Others are -- not so much. Of course, there's nothing to prevent a student from stealing another's weapons. Any strategy is permitted in the Battle Royale."

The only thing to do now is to put Claire out of her misery as soon as we are able.

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"You can't seriously expect us to kill each other," Heather protests. "We're friends."

Mr. Lindt grins. "Are you?" he says.

The students glance around at one another.

"Maybe not all of you are willing to play," Mr. Lindt says. "But some of you are. The Japanese Programs always have students willing to play -- and let's face it, people are people wherever you go."

He taps his fingers on the desk.

"Naturally, I and my friends--" he indicates the armed men behind him-- "will be monitoring the proceedings closely. If no one dies in a consecutive 24 hour period, all of you will." He taps his neck, drawing everyone's eyes to their own collars. "Those collars are bombs. We will detonate them if no one plays. So there is your incentive."

Some of the students squeal, and begin trying to tug their collars off, but Mr. Lindt laughs cruelly, waving them off. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warns. "If you tamper with them too much, they'll also go off."

Dozens of pairs of hands freeze in place on their collars, and then slowly let go.

"In your desks, you will find a map of the playing area. It has been divided into a 10x10 grid, half a mile to grid-square. To ensure you all keep on the move, every hour a grid square will be randomly designated as off-limits. If you get caught in an off-limits square... or try to leave the playing area..." He taps his neck again, and doesn't need to say the rest.

"Welcome to Felicity, Nevada," he says.

Are we gonna go full sociopath in this or are we planning a different kind of player, finding out we are a sociopath would be rather amusing really, you know we are just doing what it takes to survie no matter what

>>35305780
Helluva map.

>Grandish

Heh.

>>35305791
I'd prefer to not go full sociopath really but if it is necessary then a slow descent into madness is preferable.

I'm gonna need 5 rolls of 1d100.

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>35305827

Rolled 74, 24, 59, 23, 85 = 265 (5d100)

>>35305827
oh joy

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>35305827

Rolled 76 (1d100)

>>35305827

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>35305827

>>35305842
>>35305854
>>35305861
damn guys we are probably getting out of the next resulting chaos alive maybe

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>35305827

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>35305827
Roll

>>35305850
I'm not gonna count this roll since you rolled 5 times. Unfortunately, that means the 87 gets counted, which is some seriously bad luck...

Writing.

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>35305944
Wait what.
Why is that bad?
Can't you just take the first result? So 64, 74, 93, 76, 51?

>>35305944
>'m not gonna count this roll since you rolled 5 times. Unfortunately, that means the 87 gets counted, which is some seriously bad luck...
>Writing.
SHIT I FUCKED UP, which is good, high rolls or low rolls?

>>35305944
Wait what,, I thought we were rolling high?

>>35305944
C'mon, be a high roller.

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"There's a pen in each of your desks. Mark these squares down, now. These will be the ones designated off-limits."

"At 12:00 AM, when the game officially starts -- I9. That's where this school is. I know you all want to spend some quality time with me, but we can't have you kids coming back here after you leave and stirring up trouble, since this is our command headquarters for the Program. Sorry."

"At 1:00 AM, G4. At 2:00 AM, J3 -- but who would want to hang out around an abandoned mine? At 3:00 AM, H6. Too bad, using the main roads is much easier than wandering the desert, so that's going to cause some headaches, won't it? At 4:00 AM, F1. And--" he cringes-- "At 5:00 AM, I7. That's where the only clinic in Felicty Township is. If you need medical supplies, I suggest you stock up..."

You mark the squares down as he says them. You don't plan on playing this sick game, but it's good to know the boundaries. Some of the other students are too shellshocked to record them. Quentin records them -- as does Caleb, and Vera Kinkaide (Girls #8), the Literature Club girl who hasn't said a word since this nightmare began. She also makes a few other stray notes on her map, but you can't see what. She looks oddly composed, and you wonder what she's writing. Is she planning something?

I have to go do something so there's two immediate things we can do.

First is to hit up the med clinic. Problem there is everyone else will too.

Second is to go to the general store while everyone else is going for the clinic. It won't have the best medical supplies but it may have some basic stuff as well as other things.

Good luck!

>>35306146
A note on formatting.

Squares in dark brown are soon to be off-limits.

Squares that turn black are off-limits.

If you're in a dark brown square, watch the time closely. Don't want any accidents.

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>>35306146
Oh, this is useful to know. I'll mark your location, also.

As we progress, the locations of other important players may also be visible on the map.

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>>35306146

Okay, let's see how we can get DayZ up in this motherfucker.

I'm assuming a lot of the land between marked locations is unforgiving, hot desert. The lake, the town and its surrounding area, and the farms could be potential hotspots for lots of movement--lots more people will die on those streets than get picked apart by buzzards. As such, we should avoid those areas. If we can into innadesert, it might be a good idea to hold out in the badlands or the canyons near the nuclear test site--hell even the church would be better than holding out in town. The mountain is another choice--the higher altitude could yield green clearings, cool weather, freshwater streams, and plenty of food--provided we know what plants to eat and not eat or we can into bannock and hunting.

Also, I hope to the Almighty we get a gun in our grab bag and not something like an umbrella--and a good gun at that. If a homicidal madman in the original series was able to fuck over half the class with an AMT Automag and an Uzi, I'm hoping for at least a handgun.

Now I'm gonna need... 8 rolls of 1d41. The first 7 will assign weapons to individual students, and the last one will let me assign weapons to the rest of the class list.

You'll only know Zeke's weapon at first, of course.

A high roll is not necessarily the best. My list of weapons is dispersed pretty randomly.

Rolled 5 (1d41)

>>35306384

Rolled 27 (1d41)

>>35306384

Rolled 2 (1d41)

>>35306384

Rolled 26 (1d41)

>>35306384

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Rolled 29 (1d41)

>>35306384

Something practical and rugged, I hope.

>>35306407

Haha, oh wow. Well, Zeke's weapon is chosen...

Keep em coming.

>>35306418

Oh, Jesus.

>>35306384

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Rolled 33 (1d41)

>>35306456
>>35306384

Please just tell us we got something nice.

Rolled 14 (1d41)

>>35306519
agh

>>35306520
>inb4 we have a spork as a weapon

I still need one more roll for the class.

>>35306562

A spork IS on the weapon list. We didn't get it though.

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>>35306520

Rolled 24 (1d41)

>>35306384

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Rolled 15 (1d41)

>>35306562

Is it a metal spork, at least? If it's metal, we still have a dog in this fight; if it's plastic, it'd probably just be simpler to start rerolling a new character.

All right. Writing.

The weapon assignments are pretty neat for the most part. Things are gonna be interesting.

>>35306623
To be honest our fist would be better then a metal spork

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>>35306742
Which definition are you using?

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Rolled 24 (1d41)

>>35306743

You can't dig out a man's eyes with your...well, I guess you *can* do it with your hands, but it's probably easier if you had a spork.

>>35306827
Go back to playing with dinosaurs wash.

Mr. Lindt checks his wristwatch. "All right," he says. "It's time to wrap this up. I'll call your names in alphabetical order, starting from--"

Near the back of the room, Orin and Shannon are whispering to one another, likely plotting to meet up somewhere once the game starts. Mr. Lindt sees them and instantly puts a stop to it. He pulls his gun and shoots Shannon in the hand. She jerks backward, screeching, and collapses against her desk. The pistol's report rings in your ears. You feel like vomiting. The smell of blood -- first from Victoria, now from Shannon -- hangs in the air.

"No talking," Mr. Lindt says.

Shannon moans -- "help me! My hand... oh god... I'm bleeding everywhere... someone help me..." but no one comes to her aid, too terrified are they of inciting this madman's violence further.

"Orin," she pleads. And you never liked her much, always thought she was stuck-up and snooty, but her begging rips your heart in two. "Please... I thought you loved me... owww... help me--"

Finally it's Ulysses Allen (Boys #2) -- Uly, captain of the boys' soccer team, who stands to help his classmate. Mr. Lindt casts him a displeased glance, and Uly holds up both hands as a show of goodwill. "J-just let me give her a tourniquet," he says. "That's all. Please. I don't mean any disrespect."

"If you insist," Mr. Lindt harumphs. "Although I don't see how you benefit from it. You children need to think more strategically."

Uly takes off his undershirt, and fashions it into a makeshift tourniquet to stanch Shannon's blood loss. She sniffles and thanks Uly, but continues to sob quietly, pitifully, even after she's been patched up. Just a few hours ago, Shannon, queen of the cheerleaders, would never have given Uly the time of day. Now she has him to thank for her life.

You have a feeling this game is going to make strange bedfellows of you all.

>>35307006
Man I can tell already this is going to be fucking brutal, I wonder who will crack first

"Every two minutes I will call a name," Mr. Lindt continues as Uly sits back down. "Alternating boys and girls, alphabetically. You will take your bag and leave the premises when called. No funny business -- don't open your bag until you are clear of the front doors. After that, the game has started, and you are free to do as you please. Remember, the last one alive wins a generous cash prize, so do your best."

Utter silence, except for Shannon's continued mewls of pain.

"We will start with Boys #3, Quentin Bonhomie. Quentin!"

You heart sinks. Your last name comes before Quentin's alphabetically, and Claire's comes after. Almost the entire class will be called in between your names.

You don't think anyone will play... but can you truly trust that? Will Claire trust that? Will she wait for you outside the school, and if she does, will she be safe?

[ ] Try to communicate to her a place to meet.
[ ] Leave it up to fate.

>>35307076
>[ ] Leave it up to fate.
Let's try to not get killed this early.

>>35307076
>[ ] Leave it up to fate.
Not risking it this guy isn't up for bullshitting about

>>35307076
[ ] Try to communicate to her a place to meet.

>>35307076
>[ ] Try to communicate to her a place to meet.

>>35307076
>[ ] Leave it up to fate.

We just saw what happened to people planning together.

>>35307076
>[ ] Leave it up to fate.

>>35307076
[ ] Try to communicate to her a place to meet

>>35307076

>[X] Leave it up to fate

How else will we sing exactly one part of a duet? Also, I don't want to get shot.

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>>35307076
>[X] Leave it up to fate.

We'll just need to leave it to fate to take care of our friends. We ride out these first few hours, the next few days should be gravy. Until such time, however, our only objective is to survive.

I realise now the first thing we need to do is go hotwire a car to get somewhere before anyone else

>>35307124
>>35307139
>>35307164
Are you daft?

>>35307076
>[x] Leave it up to fate.

>>35307180
So what, we're just leaving our friends to die to look out for number one? That's pretty fucking cold, and playing into the game mentality

>>35307180
We don't wanna die lets just take our things and leave fuck this asshole and his fucking suit he'll get his

>>35307213
Well, what do you propose we do then to get our point across to Claire? Have any bright ideas? Didn't you just see what happened to Shannon?

>>35307213

We won't be much help to her if we get shot.

>>35307213
But we arent stupid we can't help anyone if we get fucking shot and killed

I wonder who OP assigned weapons to individually. They must be the characters to watch.

I think Ntunga and Orin are going to be big characters for sure. Someone said Ntunga is our Shogo, will we have a Kazuo?

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>>35307213

Right now, the smart move is on playing it safe and hoping our friends weather the storm.

The smart money right now would be on a kid with the luck of getting a rifle or crossbow camping in a good vantage point near what will probably be the first destination for most of the class--the medical clinic. The next best spots would be near the lake or in town, looking down a wide avenue.

>>35307295

The real question is will we have a Mitsuko Souma.

And can we waifu her.

>>35307175
>>35307295
/k/ please stay

>>35307329
Impart upon knowledge of whatever weapon we get stuck with and tell us how to gimmick the fuck out of it

Closing, writing.

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>>35307318
>Mitsuko Souma

The nymphomaniac with daddy issues? Would Zeke really be so stupid as to stick his dick in crazy?

>>35307076
>Wink at Claire.

We could circle a meeting point on the map and try to draw her attention to it.

>>35307405
when has /tg/ not stuck their collective dick in the crazy, this is the quest where waifuing someone will probably get us fucking killed and I wholeheartedly recommend that we dont do that

>>35307473
*we do do that
Aren't we already waifuing Claire, or at least thinking of teaming up with her when we have the chance?

Fixed.

>>35307503
I mean I think we have thought about teaming up but getting into a relationship in this clusterfuck sounds like a bad idea maybe a promise of "if we survive lets hook up" or something like that

>>35307541
Nah, we're going to be the Mitsuko Souma, waifuing girls and then murdering them in the afterglow, or maybe even in the act.

>[x] Leave it up to fate.

You give Claire a reassuring nod. She's still all fluttery and afraid, but she returns the gesture. A silent acknowledgement that you cannot communicate, but that you WILL track each other down, somehow.

You're not going to let Claire die out there in the desert, alone. You're going to find her and you're going to protect her from this awful game.

You think of Shuya Nanahara and Noriko Nakagawa from the news report you overheard earlier. If those two can do it...

There's a way out. You're sure of it.

Quentin steps to the front and grabs his bag roughly from Mr. Lindt. He turns to face the class. And then he looks directly at you.

"Remember this date," he says. "Remember this DATE."

And then he's gone.

You ponder over that for a while, until Mr. Lindt calls the next name, Jessie Black -- Girls #2. Jessie is a true punk, not like those goth pretenders -- and recently she's taken Charlotte Metcalf (Girls #12) under her wing. It's an odd pairing, Jessie with her psychadelic hair and spiky jackets, plain Charlotte with her giant glasses and frumpy clothes from Kmart clearance racks. No one knows why Jessie took Charlotte on as a "personal project" but the two are inseparable now. And the wink Jessie gives Charlotte as she leaves indicates to you they may already have a clandestine plan to meet. Charlotte nods meekly.

It's going to be a long, anxious wait before you finally have the chance to leave this room.

>>35307554
hell if we tru;ly do descend into madness Ill be down with it, what if we meet a girl who is equally crazy and sleeps with us and we both try and kill each other

>>35307554
I kinda want to kill Mr. Lindt. Fuck program directors, they are literally always desensitized scumbags who relish the program and how it basically voids any accountability of their actions

I hope we get a Number 2 pencil so we can jab it in that fucker's throat

we can still totally be a widow maker, if we go crazy, but I want Director killing on the table

>>35307660
Man i look forward to an opportunity to end this fucker and no bullshit of ending up like him its his fault we are killing him not leaving him to backstab us

>>35307682
If we end up playing to win the game, I'm going to vote for going Shogo Kawada all the way, funneling our winnings to bring these fuckers down and taking every opportunity to take pot shots at them

>>35307682
Please use punctuation.

"Boys #12, Ntunga Obongo-Enner."

Ntunga stands, slowly, deliberately, and walks lankily up to Mr. Lindt. Ntunga's imperturbable face is as placid as ever, but you sense the hatred lurking underneath. His limbs are dark and sinewed, his face gaunt, the body of someone who has known famine, but only long ago, and has only been made stronger by it. You hope you don't run across him during the game.

...Are you already distrusting your classmates?

But how can you not distrust this strange foreign exchange student? He doesn't know anyone. Not even Kay Maitlock, who has tried so hard to befriend him (even if for selfish reasons).

Ntunga stares placidly at the bag Lindt offers him. He doesn't take it.

"No," he says.

The class holds its breath. Mr. Lindt just chuckles. "No?" Mr. Lindt repeats, grinning.

"I desire that one." Ntunga points to a different bag on top of the pile.

You don't know how he could possibly tell the contents of one bag from another just by looking at the outside, but he's insistent. And shockingly, Mr. Lindt obeys the command. "You'll do well, boy," he says. "Take whatever bag you like. And have fun."

Ntunga grabs his bag and strolls out. Even the armed thugs along the wall look impressed by the bravado.

>>35307856
We are either going to be best friends buddy cop style with this guy or he is going to hate us, I can see it already

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>>35307856

Obongo confrimed final boss.

>>35307856

This guy is a potential ally. Seems like he'd be hard to find, though.

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You are Kay Maitlock, O.I.R. (How you loathe the way people use that nickname on you!)

Just hours ago you were on a bus bound for the Hoover Dam. It was an adventure with all your friends, the last hurrah of middle school -- now your teacher is dead, your classmates have been pitted against one another, and you're stranded in the desert. Left for dead. By your own government. Forced into this twisted competition. How can this happen in the United States of America?

As you walk down the school's main hallway with your drop bag, you pass what must be at least a dozen men in military getup stationed all along the walls. Are these real US military, or are they GEAR sympathizers, dissidents, planning a coup d'etat? Is this the first step in an invasion of some kind?

The room directly across from Mr. Lindt's classroom looks to be some kind of comm center. You glimpse dozens of more military men at computer terminals, buzzing back and forth, placing phonecalls, arranging sheafs of paper -- these are the cronies who will be ensuring the game continues, or else you all will die. You hate them with all your heart.

But there's nothing you can do. Not now, at least.

If you can get out -- you'll burst the story wide open. You've had your tape recorder running since Mr. Lindt announced the competition. You're going to make Watergate look like an entry in local police blotter of a small-town paper. The world will know the travesty that's happening in Felicity.

If you can get out. If you can get out.

You hurry out the double doors of the school.

Let us present ourselves as meek so that we can be seen as no threat, but no so much that people start thinking they can take us out easily.

>>35308071
Blech, this is all a secret? I prefer the reality TV program.

>>35308071
Oh boy here we go, lets see where this goes then
>>35308107
I bet it is a reality show, in GEAR territory at least

>>35308071

Note: Kay is a POV character, of course.

We will switch amongst Zeke, Kay, and one other character as the story progresses. I'll make sure you know exactly when switches happen.

>>35308071

My, my, a perspective change?

We should definitely check our bag--but not before we get out of sight.

>>35308142
I'd be tempted to send tactical missiles in GEAR territory, if I found out about this shit

>>35308071
Sweet, a torturer girl!
>Kay's waterboarding someone.
>"Rubadubadub, is that true?"
>"Cough, cough... suck *wheeze* my-"
>Back to the waterboarding.
>"RUBADUBADUB, IS THAT TRUE!?"
>"Yes, yes! Goddamnit!"
>"You go, big guy!"

>>35308071
You know, are there any famous paparazzi other than Aya? There must be but it always seems to be her.

Yes I know I'm on 4chan but you know.

Outside, a scouring wind blows sand in plumes across the flat Earth. The sand abrades your skin and makes your eyes water. It's just before midnight, and it must be over 90F out here. Even the wind is hot -- like God's hair dryer.

2 liters of water. Which has to last... 3 days? That's the upper time limit on this game.

3 days in the desert, 2 liters of water. You don't like this math.

You quickly check your bag. The water is there, as promised, divvied out in two bottle. And the bread, also as promised. And finally your weapon -- you pull it out, and the blade glints in the moonlight. A butcher's knife. Good for protection if you need it, you guess -- but some of the students will have guns. You don't like this math, either.

You hear crackling in the distance, as of branches snapping. You look up, clutching your knife as you swing the bag over your shoulder. Unfortunately, James W. Nye K-12 is surrounded by bright floodlights, and the rest of the desert plain stretches away into a gloomy purple gradient in all directions. You can't see where the movement came from. You think perhaps from the sagebrush to the south.

Panicking, you run to some thistles alongside the east wall of the school, brown and dead with dehydration. You hide yourself in them, even as they scrape the exposed parts of your skin. You wince in pain, hold very still, and wait.

You were right -- someone else is around. Wesley Mandelbrot, that weirdo math genius, is pacing back and forth near the school entrance. You think you can hear him mumbling to himself.

He got called a couple names before you did -- why is he still around? He should have left the school grounds by now.

You watch as he circles the campus and climbs to the top of a utility shed near the track on the school's north side. He's too far away to see clearly anymore. You wish you had something like binoculars to keep him your sight -- you don't trust his intentions. If someone wanted to win early, the best strategy would be to hang outside the school and pick off students as they leave.

Dylan Northrup, the school's resident midnight toker -- you've always found him so distasteful -- is the next to leave.

He beats a hasty retreat in exactly the wrong direction, north, toward the tracks.

Before you can shout out a warning, you hear a loud swish, as of a flung projectile cutting through the air. It happens in an instant. Dylan's silhouette in the moonlight collapses. The geyser of blood that erupts from his neck leaves no mistake, its crimson hue visible even at 40 paces. Wesley has killed him.

>40 Students Remain.

>>35308466
Shit man wesley has gone full SURVIVOR on us

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>>35308466

Okay, a cleaver--not a handgun but at the very least it is silent. With how hot it is, there's no way we'll be able to make 2 liters last 3 days. It's a shitty deal, but we'll probably need to raid some of the houses in town for more water--wouldn't be a bad idea to pick up some canned food, preferably beans or stew.

Since we're in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Nevada, it's probably not too far to say that one dude in town is a redneck prepper type, and has stashed somewhere tons of water and MRE's, not to mention a veritable arsenal. If we can find his house, we'll be able to ride out this storm in comfort. Of course, it's also probably not far to say that there's a biker gang hideout or meth tweaker house on the outskirts of town, too--also ready supplies of fresh armaments, which could be anything from shotguns in sawed-off and pump flavors to battle rifles.

I think this is a good time to explain some combat details. Just in case.

You get 50 health points. Health points cannot be recovered if lost.

Each MC gets stats in several categories, from 1-10. Here is Kay Maitlock, our intrepid reporter.

Strength 3
Accuracy 2
Perceptiveness 9
Stealth 10
Speed 3
Endurance 3
Intelligence 9
Technical Skill 7

Adrenaline Dice: 2
Health 50

(as you can see, she's a little min-maxed)

Stats above 5 lower difficulty checks. Stats below 5 add to difficulty checks. For each action, you roll 3d10. Generally, individual actions are governed by one stat only, although some may use combinations of stats if they are complex.

You can add Adrenaline Dice to any roll you wish as long as you have AD in reserve.

>>35308623
Oh, one more thing.

All stats suffer a malus if you drop below certain health levels.

25-50: -0
10-24: -1
5-9: -2
1-4: -3
0: You dead, son.

>>35308623
>>35308702
Damn we cannot let ourselves get injured this system is unforgiving as fuck

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>>35308623

>High Perception
>High Stealth
>Low Speed
>High Intelligence
>Bretty gud Technical Skill

What I'm getting from this is that we're gonna have to play Kay like Jacket from Hotline Miami--sneak about, smash skulls in, and use guns when absolutely necessary.

By the way, so I don't forget, here is Zeke.

Strength 8
Accuracy 5
Perceptiveness 4
Stealth 3
Speed 6
Endurance 6
Intelligence 5
Technical Skill 8

Adrenaline Dice 1
Health 50

>>35308623
Stat system is an anagram for "Eat Piss"

(Endurance Accuracy Technical, Perception, Intelligence Stealth Speed)

I think I know how to survive

>>35308832
Hey man. In the desert, you do what you gotta. If we go Bear Grylls mode, I wouldn't be surprised.

Wesley descends from his perch on the roof of the shed and hurries to Dylan's corpse. He pulls the projectile from Dylan's body with a wet squelch -- whatever it was. You can't tell from this remove.

"Shouldn't have done that," he says, his voice trembling with remorse and agitation. "Shouldn't have done that. Should not have done that. Sorry. Sorry, sorry. Had to do it. Should not have... should not..."

"What the--" Gena Masters -- Judo master -- yelps in shock from the exit to the school. She sees Wesley hunched over Dylan's corpse. "Oh god... Oh my--"

Wesley stands bolt-upright when he hears Gena. He hurls a projectile at her. She nimbly dodges it, and it lodges into the dry ground with a twang. As the projectile passes by the shrub you're hiding in, you catch a better glimpse of it.

It looks like... a giant dart?

Wesley has more than one of these huge darts. He grabs another from his bag. Gena breaks into a full run, headed southeast, fleeing. Wesley mutters, "Sorry, sorry-- Sorry, have to-- sorry--" and gives chase.

You can hardly breathe. Wesley was always odd, but how could he take part so readily in this program? How many other students will do the same?

You like Gena. She's lived in your neighborhood for years -- she's hardworking, athletic -- she could be a good ally. The thought that Wesley might kill her sends a shudder up your spine. Though the rational part of you seriously doubts asthmatic Wesley Mandelbrot could keep pace with someone as fit as she is.

Dylan's corpse twitches in the pale moonlight.

The next student out the school's front doors should be Ntunga. Will he be playing the game, too? He's still a cipher to you, as much as you have tried to learn about him.

[ ] Stay put for now.
[ ] Go after Wesley and try to help Gena.
[ ] Examine Dylan's corpse.
[ ] (write in -- go somewhere else)

>>35309014
>[ ] Examine Dylan's corpse.

>>35309014
>examine corpse
>Take the dart and whatever stuff the corpse had

All right. Gonna need 1 roll of 3d10.

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>>35309014
>[X] Examine Dylan's corpse.

Take the water and bread if Wesley hasn't already. Then,

>[X] Go after Wesley and try to help Gena.

>>35309014
>[x] Examine Dylan's corpse.
Grab his gear

Rolled 2, 2, 7 = 11 (3d10)

>>35309189

Rolled 10, 8, 9 = 27 (3d10)

>>35309189

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You hate yourself for being so brutally utilitarian, but you hurry to Dylan's corpse and rifle through his things. Like Wesley before you, you find yourself apologizing to his body for the violation. You can hardly bring yourself to look at his face, frozen as it is in a silent shout, the last exrpession he will ever make.

You take his water and his bread from the drop bag. His weapon is much better than your knife -- an Ingram MAC-10 machine pistol, complete with suppressor. He never even had the chance to learn he was carrying it, much less use it to defend himself. You shove the gun in your bag and search his jeans pockets next. You find what you're expect -- some coins, a wallet fashioned from duct tape, a baggie of weed, some rolling papers, and a lighter. You take the lighter and the rolling papers, figuring they may be useful.

You overestimated how much time you would have. Behind you, you hear the school doors click open. Ntunga exits quickly, bag slung over his shoulder. He looks up sees you standing over Dylan before you can duck for cover again.

"I didn't do it!" you say reflexively, holding up your hands. "Wesley-- he threw this-- this dart-- I swear!"

Ntunga steps closer, training a gun on you, a sleek, heavy-looking pistol -- semi-auto, by the looks of it. "Kay Maitlock will kindly refrain from making any sudden movement," he says.

>What will you do?

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>>35309388

Oh god, Obongo actually can guess which bag has the sweetest gear!

>>35309388
Raise your hands and ask if he wants to partner up

>>35309388
Carefully drop your backpack. "Look through my backpack. He had a gun and I have the knife. That wound clearly isnt from either."

>>35309388
Do as he says and keep your hands visible. Also warn him that Wesley might be coming back to loot Dylan anytime now so we shouldn't spend too long with this.

>>35309441
I don't think he likes Kay very much.

>>35309533
I'm pretty sure if he didn't like us he would of just shot us.

>>35309533

He's just tsuntsun.

>All around, the students start dropping -- first the smaller ones. Amy slumps to the floor, losing the camcorder and cracking the screen. Kay slumps to the side, nearly tumbling into the aisleway, and Ntunga reflexively reaches out to catch her. But he too soon collapses, and they fall to the floor together.

>>35309388
>Stealth 10
>Bounce like a fart in the wind

>Carefully drop your backpack. "Look through my backpack. He had a gun and I have the knife. That wound clearly isnt from either."

You feel a strange inner calm, even though you're putting your life in the hands of this boy you hardly know. He looks at you with catlike suspicion, as if unsure whether you are trying to trick him, whether you're laying a trap. But he ultimately decides to extend this modicum of trust. He bends over and picks the bag up from the groun. He searches through it. He looks at Dylan's body, the clean circular wound in his neck, still burbling black blood.

"Kay Maitlock did not do this thing," he says, delivering his assessment.

"Wesley," you aver, nodding eagerly, reliever. "Wesley did it."

"Wesley the young mathematician. I see." Ntunga holds a forefinger to his lips, thoughtful. "That makes him a participant. One naturally desires to steer clear of the participants. Thank you for this information."

"Are you-- are you participating?"

Ntunga hands you back your bag. "Safe travels, Kay Maitlock." He turns to go.

[ ] Wait-- Let's travel together.
[ ] Goodbye.

>>35309728
>Wait lets travel together

>>35309728
>[ ] Wait-- Let's travel together.
Also not a bad time to apologize for badgering him.

>>35309728
>[x] Wait-- Let's travel together.
curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal

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>>35309388

>Suppressed MAC-10

It's a damn fine step up. 45ACP is easy enough to come by, and the suppressor makes this a handy weapon to hold on to. Recoil is a bitch due to the heavy round, but the suppressor should make it more manageable in addition to making it run quiet. Plus, it's got 1980's style oozing all out of it.

But just do as Ntunga says--not like we have the reflexes to manage an accurate snap shot, even if it is at close range.

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>>35309728
>[X] Wait-- Let's travel together.

Safety in numbers, people!

>[x] Wait-- lets travel together

Ntunga frowns. "Kay Maitlock is not still looking for her human interest credentials, is she?"

"No-- of course not," you say. "It's just... I thought we could help each other. I don't know who else to trust. And-- I'm basically the only friend you've got, you know. Isn't it smarter to travel in a group?"

Ntunga considers this. "You may follow me for as long as you wish," he says. "As long as you do not get in the way. Kay Maitlock wearies me enough as it is. I do not wish to be going around always saving her life. You must not expect me to do such things."

You nod. The arrangement is an uneasy truce -- an agreement to aid one another, but only to a certain extent. That's all you expected to get from this anyway.

"We have much traveling to do before the dawn," he says. He turns and breaks into a speedwalk due north. You have no choice but to do your best to keep up.

"Where are we going?" you ask, but as you expected -- silence.

I have to step out for an hour or two. When I come back, we'll get with Zeke once more.

For now, enjoy this piece of mood music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM

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>>35309867
This is going to end in a hardcore interracial porno isn't it?

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>>35309903

Take your time, OP.

To kill some time, here's some more information on the MAC-10 family:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6x9qHkgdTpc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRP_6JPh98k

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>>35310025

God damn it /k/!

>>35310025
Before I go, I guess there's no harm in identifying Ntunga's weapon for all you /k/ommandos out there, since he's (at least for now) a party member. He carries a Browning Hi-Power 9mm Semi-auto, Standard.

>>35309558
would have

>>35308623
I'd rather she be an on-the-scene reporter rather than a blogger. Can the speed and technical skill be switched around?

>>35309903
OP, this is the first quest I've ever thought about joining in on. Keep up the great work. Oh and pls no sociopath Zeke, guys. We're obviously a gentleman.

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>>35310112

>Browning HP

Classy choice, OP. SMG's and handguns are nice, but it makes me wonder if anyone got a carbine or full-size rifle in their grab bag.

>>35310967
Nah, I'd say Zeke's a jock because I would like having more variety among Quest MCs besides a bunch of white knights.

>>35311216
I doubt it, any weapon with a rifle sized round would be such a force multiplier it isn't even funny.

Just consider it for a few, a high veloocity pistol round's maximum range is usually about 50 meters when you're a good shot and you've got time to aim. With an intermediate rifle cartridge, you'll be slapping an extra zero on there. With a full sized rifle round, range is barely a fucking issue. Hell, even a Ruger 10/22 in .22lr would be superior to a pistol.

>>35311295
Why not both? Could easily be one of the jocks without being an amalgamation stereotypes based on /tg/'s repressed memories of being bullied.

Not that he shouldn't have flaws. Characters who always make the 'right' decision are hardly fun.

The class begins to thin out. When Claire goes, she gives your hand one last squeeze and casts a worried glance your way before stepping out the door. Some of the students -- like that loner Alex Paxton and that awful little prick Vince Pope -- seem all too eager to take their drop bags. It gives you a sick lurch of dread in the pit of your gut.

Other students, like Amy Tong, Kay's best friend in journalism club, are more reticent. Mr. Lindt has to shout threats at perpetual wallflower Charlotte Metcalf before she finally takes the bag he offers her.

The last ones out before you get called are Boyd and Chelsea West, the wonder twins. How fortuitous for them that they don't have to track one another down. There's no doubt in your mind that they'll be traveling together throughout the program. But will they be killing together?

Finally, only three students are left -- you, rich bitch Lucy Bancroft, and soccer star Ulysses Allen. Mr. Lindt calls you up.

"Better hurry," he says, handing you your bag. "Who knows what trouble that girlfriend of yours has gotten herself into?"

You yank your bag from his hands, wishing you could kill him. You feel the rage and helplessness well up inside you, and you almost do strike at him, before your better angels get ahold of you. Uly gives you a glance that says -- cool it. Lucy stares at the ground, apparently still unable to accept that her millions can no longer save her.

You leave the room, bag in hand.

Jeebus I hate that people get so technical with guns. You just point it and shoot. That's all there is to guns.

>>35311356
I get that you've never held one in your hands before, but stop being butthurt some people know what they're talking about

>>35311356
You must either be baiting or very ignorant.

>>35311340
Okay, as long as he isn't adverse to doing what's necessary.

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>>35311448
Of course, we're going to make it out alive. If that means we've got to play the hard game, we'll play the hard game.

>>35311351
It. Begins.

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Outside, you wipe the sweat from your brow and try to calm your nerves. That school is crawling with armed men -- mercenaries? Army reserve? Whoever they are, there are way too many to overpower. You saw at least two dozen of them in the halls on your way out.

Before, you had had the vaguest inkling of a plan. You might be able to find Quentin, and Caleb, and a few others, start corralling people, uniting them together -- make an effort to strike back against Mr. Lindt and his fascist cronies. But even granting you could disable the collars somehow, and return to the school without literally exploding... you're hopelessly outgunned.

It seems so futile. What can you do but accept your fate?

No. You have to stay positive. That's the only way to survive. You're not going to give in to Mr. Lindt's program.

Inside your bag are the bottles of water and loaf of bread you were promised, and... no, it can't be.

Is that a FAMAS?

Yes. It is. A FAMAS G2, with a NATO magazine loaded into it, and a spare in your bag. Even you can recognize a gun this iconic.

At least you're well-armed.

You check your watch. It's 11:50. In a few moments, Lucy Bancroft should be leaving the school -- you're not sure if you want to be around her, although you can't believe that she would have the guts to attack anyone -- and at midnight, this grid square becomes off-limits. You'd better get going.

As you set out, you see a lump on the ground near the school. Your heart sinks when you realize what it is. Boys #11, Dylan Northrup. Dead and looted of his drop bag.

So your classmates are playing this damn game. They didn't even wait for the official start at midnight. Goddamn them.

Dylan's body lying outside the school is a serious problem. Everyone would have seen it on their way out. How can you get people to trust you when everyone has seen this evidence that no one can be trusted?

Claire is nowhere to be found, of course. The only question that remains is...

>what will you do?

>>35311611
Chill out in a bush until Ulysses comes out. He seems like a pretty cool dude, lets try to get him on our side. Seeing as he is the last one out, he cant really spare to be choosy about allies anyway, unless he has somebody waiting in the wings.

>>35311611
Survey the terrain, look for any tracks or signs of people moving by or hiding in the nearby vicinity let's see what we've got here. May as well start tracking our friends down, or find a path others are unlikely to take.

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>>35311611

>FAMAS

Oh fuck yes. 60 rounds isn't much, but the integral bipod is definitely gonna be a plus if we ever need to shoot prone.

Let's get to the medical clinic and pick up some painkillers and gauze!

>>35311731
Seconding this fine operator. We need to get stocked.

>>35311731
>>35311758
All right. Writing.

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>>35311711

Looking at the map, it looks like most people would probably be heading west, to the Medical Clinic, to stock up on things before it gets declared a Danger Zone. Kay and Ntunga headed north, which would put them en route for Felicity Township proper.

The road less traveled may be north--hit the township and follow the road until you get ot the General Store and Country Club.

>>35312065
Sounds like a good idea, we'd need to be careful about Obongo, though. He might be a threat. We'll also probably need to take the traveled road if only to find our friends. We can't just let Claire and Quentin die on their own, can we?

You walk west, leaving grid square I9 and the prospect of imminent death. The bright floodlights surrounding the school and the poorly-maintained yet still paved parking lots give way to a parched desert landscape, so dark you can hardly see your own hands. Sparse plantlife dominates, tripping you up every few yards, and the plain extends for several miles in all directions. With a good pair of binoculars, you would have a serious leg up on any hostiles. You'd be able to see people from halfway across the playing area.

To the north you spy a cluster of dark buildings that must be Felicity proper. They must have cut electricity service to the town before initiating the program. Blowing up from the south is the awful stink of fertilizer. The facility responsible for it still has electrical service. It glows like a gem in the night, the artificial lighting vaguely green-yellow, the silos and piping and support rails so enormous that you can clearly make them out from half a mile away.

In the distance, you hear the sound of a boy's voice crying out, as if in pain, and then quickly going silent. You can't tell who it is or where it came from. This is followed by quick reports of gunfire that echo from all directions. You can see muzzle flashes to the west and north, widely separated. One act of violence seems to have set off a domino effect of paranoia -- those damn idiots are firing wildly, probably at nothing.

You wish it was daytime and that visibility was better. Of course, daytime will bring its own challenges.

You fall to your stomach, waiting for the gunfire to pass, and holding very still. You wait.

A few minutes later -- just as you're ready to stand up and continue toward the clinic -- you grit your teeth and clap your hands to your ears when you hear the screeching noise of mic feedback.

"Greetings, students! This is Mr. Lindt. It's midnight, which means Survival Program NA-1 has officially commenced."

>>35312285

Oh right, daily announcements are a thing.

Well, we know of two confirmed kills already--who knows how many, if any at all, were downed in that little spate earlier.

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"It's time for an update. I'll be using this intercom system we installed in the playing area to give the surviving students information every six hours.

"First, deaths. I'll keep you all apprised of who has died since my last update, so that you know how close you are to winning. And -- holy moly, you kids didn't waste any time. There are three deaths to report and the game didn't technically start until a minute ago.

"First, Girls #16, Victoria Selwyn. Well, I guess you all already know about her. That one is my fault, I have to admit. But she was just dead weight anyway, right? Ha ha.

"Next, Boys #11, Dylan Northrup. I'm guessing that many of you saw him on your way out of the school. Great job to the lucky student who scored that kill. You're being really proactive, and that's exactly what I like to see.

"Finally -- hot off the presses, this one happened just moments ago! Boys #14, Kyle Phalen."

...So that's the pained shout you heard. Kyle is -- was -- one of Caleb's friends. It's amazing that he was the only casualty in that fracas a few minutes back.

"You guys are really making me proud over here. This is the kind of can-do spirit I expect from Americans. Let's show those Japs how to run a survival program. Everyone, do your best!"

>>35312523
This motherfucker. Okay, we need to pop our collar and wipe that shit eating grin off his face at some point.

Someone roll a d100.

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>35312634

Rolled 73 (1d100)

c'mon.

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>>35312647
35312671 Here, I like this roll more, plus he came first!

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"Now," Mr. Lindt continues, "a friendly reminder. These are the grid squares that will be off limits over the next few hours. Get out your pens and mark these down if you didn't earlier.

"At 1:00 AM, G4. At 2:00 AM, J3. At 3:00 AM, H6. At 4:00 AM, F1. At 5:00 AM, I7. And finally, at 6:00 AM, D9.

"Please keep those in mind whenever you're traveling. Well then -- that's all I have for you now. You're doing very well, so keep it up. I will be back at 6 AM with another report on which of your friends have died, and a new list of off-limits squares. Don't oversleep, you could miss life-saving information!"

The microphone squeals feedback again as Mr. Lindt clicks off. And then silence once more pervades the Nevada air.

PREGAME PHASE COMPLETE
PHASE 2 - START GAME
>39 Students Remain.

>>35312817
The real Dark Souls begins here.

"This game is barbaric," you say.

"Ntunga is in complete accord."

"Listen," you say, trying to sound nonchalant. You jog a bit to catch up and maintain pace with him. He navigates this rocky terrain so much better than you can. "There's a few other people we should be trying to catch up with. Amy is a friend of mine, and she's really smart, she could help us a lot. Then there's Uly... he's super quick and strong, and you saw how he helped Shannon back there... I'm sure we can trust him--"

"Ooo-kay," he says, slurring that word in his usual way. It's a strange, slow drawl that you know he uses to mask his frustration. He says it a lot to end conversations he doesn't want to have, of which there are many, many, many. But you're not going to let him sandbag you this time.

"So, I think Amy would probably have headed into town. And we're sort of on the outskirts of town at the moment. Just so you know. If we want to find her, we should start heading west."

"Look for whomever you like wherever you like," Ntunga says. "Your opportunities are boundless."

"But-- what about you?"

"I have no particular desire to be around anyone at the moment."

"You're around me."

Ntunga says nothing.

"Fine," you say. "At least tell me where you're headed. You seem to have a pretty good idea."

"If we are to survive, I believe we need to be smarter than the average participant. The average participant will be headed into town or toward the clinic or what-have-you." (He says 'what have you' as if it's a single word, and this drives you totally bonkers with irrational anger). "Therefore I believe we should embark on an opposite vector."

"An opposite vector is fine, but don't you have... you know, a destination in mind?"

"Indeed I do. Two liters of water is a paltry offering for travelers in the desert. I intend to 'stock up' as you say in America."

Stepping out for just a few moments to shower. Back in a jiff.

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>>35313142

>I intend to 'stock up' as you say in America

Excepting the township, there are three destinations in mind that could have potable water--the casino, the general store, and the country club. The lake water would probably need to be purified before it could be considered drinkable, unless you want to weather stomach dysentery, diarrhea, and fever.

>>35313502
The general store is the more secure bet, so everyone is going to go there. The country club is number two, as people are either going to see it as defensible or a safehouse.

That leaves the Casino, that's less reliable but also a much less obvious target.

>>35313502
or have a pot and can build a fire.

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Does no one else want to go see the alpacas?

>>35313502
Theoretically any of the buildings could have water so long as the infrastructure still works.

It might not.

Beyond that, the lake might have some water assuming it isn't completely dry albeit we need something to filter it with.

>>35313723
>TFW the alpacas are most likely going to become food.

>>35313748
The lake being dry is a definite possibility. No one ever promised us water in there. And it would be just like the program runners to mislead students into heading for a false hope.

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>>35313594

There's also that one building due east of town--"El Casa Paraiso". I doubt a simple house would just be listed on the map, so I'm thinking it's a walled compound--a relic from the late 70's/early 80's, built with drug money and having anything a cocaine cowboy could ask for.

>>35313779

There's also an unlabeled house in the middle of the badlands. Not sure if that's just a mistake though. Everything else has a name.

>>35313779
Casa Paraiso is spanish for "Paradise House" by the way.

>>35313837
whelp, probably a brothel then.

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>>35313723

Our friends are busy trying not to get killed by everyone else in our class, who seem to be shooting at each other with reckless abandon. Why in the world would we visit an alpaca farm in an area that's fit to become a little warzone?

>>35313843
Probably a shithole deathtrap meant to trick people into heading there.

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>>35313843

Actually a very real possibility--prostitution, after all, is legal in Nevada. It wouldn't be so far to suppose that, with a name like "Casa Paraiso", it's a whorehouse.

You hold your FAMAS at the ready as you approach the health clinic. It sits at the bottom of a tall ridge, hidden in its shadow, the road from town curving around via the north.

It's taken you about half an hour to progress even this far. You've been traveling slowly, surveying your surroundings as closely as possible in the dark. But now you have a new obstacle. The inside of the clinic is going to be pitch black, and you doubt there's electricity available there. You have nothing to provide light, so if you go inside, you'll be going blind.

There's no one in your vicinity -- not that you can see or hear, anyway. The area where you stand is somewhat thicker with vegetation than the rest of the desert, gnarled trees and the odd cactus or two dotting the hillside. That means someone could, in theory, be hiding -- and you feel awfully exposed right now. The fertilizer plant is about half a mile to the south, across that seemingly endless flat plain. Felicity is a mile or more to the north, mostly hidden behind gentle rolling hills.

>[ ] Descend the ridge and explore the clinic in the dark
>[ ] A new plan (specify)

>>35314019
Forget this place, it's either an ambush or already cleaned out. I say we go west to the presumed whorehouse. Hell, Quentin might be headed there.

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>>35314019

>[X] Descend the ridge and explore the clinic in the dark

We can't wait for morning to come--the clinic's gonna be declared a Danger Zone in a couple of hours. Let's just get in there and stuff whatever we can in our bags. Priority goes to painkillers, gauze, and bandages--however, this being the desert, it might also be a good idea to pick up antivenom for scorpions and snakes and a snake bite kit.