Mr O explains the rules and introduces the students to their new additions.
Sighing to himself, Mr O raised his hand into the air and fired several warning shots from his gun (which just so happened to be a Military & Police Issue 38. Calibre Smith & Wesson, but that was besides the point) into the ceiling.
Everyone stopped screaming.
“Okay, let me get this straight?” Mr O sighed, lowering his arm. “The man with the gun shoots someone for speaking out of turn, and you decide to scream and run around? And here was me thinking that this class had promise.” He broke into his ever familiar gleeful smile. “Now sit the fuck back down or I’ll shoot you.”
Slowly, almost painfully, the standing students slinked back behind their desks and into their seats, before glaring, through hooded eyes at the madman with a gun who was calling himself their ‘new teacher’. Fuck off, you sick bastard!
“Now,” he said, clapping his hands together. “In order to avoid any unpleasantness, I think it’s time to take some precautions.” Turning towards the only door into the room, he called out : “You can come in now!!”
Bursting through the door and storming to the front of the room, beside Mr O, several Special Defence forces officers in Khaki uniforms entered. Each of them wore and assault rife over their shoulder and a large automatic pistol strapped to their belts.
Every student had the same thought : Fucking coward!
Indicating one of the officers, he pointed to Matt’s body and said: “If you don’t mind?”
Nodding gruffly, the officer strode into the isle and grasped the body by it’s right arm before slinging it up onto his back. As he did so, a mighty gush of blood spewed forth from Matt’s disfigured head and splashed on the floor, expanding the massive puddle of crimson. Turning back up the isle, the officer heaved when he reached the front of the room and threw the body at the base of the blackboard. Landing in a crumpled heap, his disfigured head lolled to the side, so that it was pointing towards the class. Every aspect of the splintered bone and mashed brain was visible to the students.
A heavy groan was heard from the back of the room, followed by a damp splash. Someone had vomited. They could all smell it, but only barely, due to the reeking stench of fresh blood that encircled and suffocated the room.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Mr O smirked. As he said this, the class simultaneously gritted their teeth. “You may have noticed that there are seven…well, hahaha, now there’s eight, empty seats. This is because, due to your school being a female dominated environment, we have decided to bring in outside students to…how should I say…even the odds.”
Turning towards another of the officers, he said: “Bring them in.”
The student’s (or should I say the remaining students) gazes were glued to the entrance to the room. They wanted to see exactly who these people were going to be.
Entering in a long line, their new ‘classmates’ each bore the same harrowing look as themselves. That was a relief. Well…except one.
He was tall and lanky, with hair the colour of sandstone that stuck out wildly in several different directions. There was a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He appeared, horrifyingly enough, bored.
“Hurry up, hurry up!” Mr O ushered, pointing them towards their respective seats. Some of them slipped slightly on the blood that covered the floor, adding to their horrified expressions. “I haven’t even got to the good part yet!”
Still the students glared.
“As you have probably guessed, your parents have been notified. They send their love, kisses, yadda yadda, the usual.” He broke into his gleeful smile. He’s getting off on this! The sick fuck! “Down to business. In this game, you are all unequal. That’s the way it is. It’s the way you were born. The way you have lived. And, for 38 of you, how you will die. That is why this particular piece of entertainment has so much appeal. Imagine the thrill when some gutter trash chav takes out the top football star, or when an upper class little princess gives up her virginity to…well, whoever’s willing to take it.” He smiled again.“Fair does not enter into this. You may want to keep that in mind.”
God damn. Their so called teacher’s a fucking loon.
“Now that you are all here, I should probably explain the rules,” he said, turning back to the board and drawing a large square on it in chalk. “Listen as if your lives depend on it, because, funnily enough, they do. You are in a square area, approximately six kilometres in perimeter. The entire area in your arena. There are no time outs. No safe zones.” He drew an X slightly off centre inside the square. “This is the school building we are inside right now. During the game, I will be here overseeing the troops monitoring your progress or lack thereof. Do even try to escape. The perimeter is surrounded by twenty foot high electric fences. Underground escape is ill advised as well. We have taken the precaution of inserting steel plates under the fence up to 15 feet down.”
Great. So there was no way out!
“And, even if you do manage to get out, there are tanks posted outside. They have orders to shoot on sight.” Reaching up with the chalk, he proceeded to draw a grid across the square and write the letters along the top and numbers along the side: A-1, A-2... Etc. The entire thing now vaguely resembled a map. “Now, in order to add another random aspect to the game, every six hours I will be broadcasting randomly selected ‘Dead Zones’. Now you need to take note of these because of the collars you’re wearing.”
What the fuck? What collars?
Reaching up with their hands, the students felt the cold bite of metal fastened around their necks. Collars! Like they were fucking dogs! Some screamed. Others furiously tried to tear them away from their skin.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” Mr O said. “If you try to remove it, it will explode.”
They immediately ceased their attempts and sat, nervously, with their hand on their laps.
“You need to get out of the danger zones indicated, before they become active. Otherwise…” The students knew what he would say. “Your collars will explode. And don’t try to remove them. They’re waterproof, shockproof, and nu-uh, no way, they wont come off. And, as I said before. If you try, they will detonate. No more head. Bye bye, so long. Its gone.”
As he said this, another of the special defence forces officers had entered the room, wheeling a large cart, covered with khaki duffle bags.
“As you leave here, you will each take the bag off the top. Each one contains food, water, a map, compass, a watch and a randomly selected weapon. Some advice to the female students would be to get your hands on some sort of firearm early on. Unless you are confident that you can physically overpower the male students.”
Turning towards the class he broke into his gleeful smile and rubbed his left hand over his shaved head. “Any questions?”
The students were silent. They were totally overpowered by the severity of the situation. Not to mention the stench of Matt Halsmon’s fresh blood as it filled their lungs.
“One…” arose a lazily calm voice from the back of the room. It was one of the ‘transfer students’. His cigarette was still hanging from his mouth.
“Yeeeeesss?” Mr O asked, comically.
“When does the game begin?”
“As soon as you leave here of course,” he grinned in response. “Oh! And I forgot to mention this but; five minutes after the last of you leaves, this grid square on the map becomes a permanent danger zone. Loitering is ill advised.”
Turning towards another of the officers, he motioned for him to hand out a stack of lined paper on the desk in front of him and a packet of pencils.
“Before you leave, I want you to write me lines. Writing things help you remember.” When he was sure every student had a pencil and a piece of paper, he said: “I want you to write: ‘I will kill’ ten times. When you are done, I want you to write: ‘If I do not kill, I will be killed’.”
Fucking bastard, thought Beau Mehtre (Male Student #12) I’ll stab you in the neck with this pencil.
39 Students Remaining