And so we look into what the curly haired killer, Will Pryer has been doing since the start if the game.
I know that this is getting to be a regular thing, but, there really is no other way to describe how she was feeling. She was alone. She was cold. Her friends were dying. People were killing each other, and may even try to kill her (Well, duh, of course they were going to try and kill her). If you were in her position you, too, would be terrified.
She was currently somewhere in the vicinity of zone G3, although she may have easily been in H3, due to her position of almost practically on the line that divided the two on her map.
It had been twenty minutes since she had heard those five gunshots. They sounded close. She had debated whether or not to move for about fifteen minutes, however, she soon decided against this. If she moved from her hiding spot, there was a high possibility that she would run into someone.
Oh! I should probably say WHERE she was hiding.
While most of the other students either took to the urban or rustic approaches, respectively, Emma was very different in her choice of hideout. Despite her terrified nature, she had made a logical choice. She was currently sitting inside a small farmhouse.
Located on the border of zone G3, it was remote, isolated and was the only hospitable location this far from the two small villages. Its only weakness was the fact that someone may have had the same idea as her, however the odds of this were 100 to 1.
Looking around the farmhouse, her gaze fell on the furniture. Worn, old… Exactly what you would expect.
I suppose the only consolation in all of this was that she wasn’t out there in the fields…cold and terrified. She could rest safely here…Even if she was going to die.
Allowing her field of vision to wander, her eyes picked out a shape on top of the coffee table to her left. The long barrel of the gleaming dark metal pointed accusingly towards her, as the light shone off of the magazine that was protruding from the base of the grip. This weapon was, unmistakable, an Uzi.
Granted, it was probably (as odds go) one of the best weapons included in this games, but something about it repulsed her. The feeling that this thing could kill someone was…horrible.
Suddenly, a sound assaulted her ears. The sound of splintering wood.
The door had been kicked in.
Will Pryer (Male Student #11) was sitting propped up against a tree. On the floor beside him was his duffle bag, partially open, revealing it’s contents. The Bowie Knife that had been previously embedded in the skull of Brynn Jones, poked out at an odd angle, reflecting the shape of the zip in its shiny surface. Underneath it, a half open box of bullets was laying propped up against a large 2 litre water bottle.
Looking down into the bag, Will reached out and clasped the tips of several 9mm bullets before pulling his hand out of the khaki material. Pushing the bullets into his spare magazine, he pocketed the dark shaft-like structure and picked up his latest weapon.
Clasped in his palm was what appeared to be a flat, tin, desert box with a handle poking out from the bottom. The back of this structure was occupied by a short stock guard, and the side of the weapon sported a small rectangular gap, used in the expelling of spent shells. Just above his finger, which was currently occupying a space just in front of the trigger, a small slide-like structure was poking from the metal. Above this slide was the word ‘safety.’
Yes, this weapon was none other that an Ingram MAC-10, 9mm submachine gun.
You may be asking yourself “Where the fuck did he get that!?” And this, my friends, is a very important question. Cast your minds back to our dear departed friend, Mr Rajan Lail. No assailant was named after his, poor untimely demise…. Starting to catch on?
Glancing down at his waist, his eyes fell on yet another of his weapons. Strapped to his belt was a holster cradling, yet another, gun. It was a Makarov pistol. A Russian model gun.
Underneath his black suit shirt, a slight bulk was present. This wasn’t due to the fact that he was overweight, but rather a direct result of the Kevlar vest that was strapped to him.
Letting out a deep sigh, he stood up and began to pace the small clearing that he was in. Any observing person may have found this odd, considering the situation, however, like everything else he did, it had a reason. Strung out around the outcrop of trees he inhabited was a long length of wire he had obtained during his brief visit to one of the villages a few hours prior. Tied to one end of this wire, and balanced on top of a relatively flat tree branch, was an empty can. Yes, you’ve guessed it! It was a homemade alarm system.
How, do you ask, did he know how to do all this. Simple. The only book he had read for the past two and a half years was Battle Royale. The infamous novel which outlined the lives of 42 students in the original Program, hosted in the Republic Of Greater East Asia.
But this wasn’t all he had done. Oh no. During his night time wander, he collected other supplies. Supplies that were hidden in a safe place. A place in the blind spot of the numerous cameras that lined this countryside, filming the ‘latest episode’ for the public.
He was, what you would call, a natural!
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