The students wake up and soon learn of their fate.
The words : “FUCK YOU, FUCK THE SCHOOL” “TONY BLAIR SUCK MY DICK!” and “THE PRIME MINISTER LOVES WOMEN IN UNIFROM!” were carved into the surface in several places.
Wait a minute! This wasn’t right!
He was supposed to be in the ILC for some kind of student address. Where the fuck was he!?
Lifting his head, he looked around himself, turning his head in an almost jerking motion. As he did so, the thick black mesh that was his afro almost seemed to bob. He was, as far as he could make out, in a dreary, dark classroom. The other students who were in the ILC at the time of his sudden memory lapse were also here, either slumped over desks or looking around in a manner similar to himself.
The windows, positioned along one side of the room ( just above a long cabinet that spanned the classroom’s entire length), appeared to be painted over, obscuring any light that attempted to break in.
Where the fuck was he?
Alice Woode (Female Student #9) had just woken up. The first thought that raced through her mind as she stared around the dark room was : “Oh my god! If it’s night time, I might miss going out clubbing!”
Her next thought was: “Wait…Where am I?”
Groaning to herself, she reached out with her hands and clasped the end of the desk furthest away from her. As she hoisted herself up into a sitting position, her long false nails scraped against the wood, making for a slightly unpleasant sensation.
Opening her eyes wide, she looked around herself. This, however, was impeded as a bright, almost blinding, light seared through the class.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen!” rang out a clear, glee-filled voice from the front of the room. The sound of clapping hands was then heard as the owner of the voice attempted to rouse the students from their gas induced slumber.
“Any nasty after effects?” the voice rang out again. “I doubt it.” The voice answered itself. “The gas was designed to not produce any problems such as that. We want you all at your best when we start our little event.”
The students eyes gradually grew accustomed to the burning, searing, whiteness that could be called light, that was being spewed from several high intensity floodlights at the front of the room. Blinking repeatedly, they finally managed to recognise the owner of the voice.
He was a short, but not overly so, middle aged man. His hair (which may once have been the subject of a receding hairline) was shaved close to the skin, permitting him the appearance of someone bald. His face was twisted into a toothy (Ugh, yellow teeth. How attractive.) grin. Fitting close to his chubby body, was a short sleeved pink suit shirt.
“Now that I have your attention, I can get down to business.”
The students remained silent, holding their collective breath in expectance of an answer to the fiasco.
“You have all been chosen to participate in the season finale of ‘The Program’!”