Female Student #16, Robyn Sheere, sighed deeply. Tightening her grip on her assigned weapon, her eyes picked out the writing on the side of the barrel: ‘SIG-Sauer P230 9mm Short Semi-Automatic Pistol’.
Would she actually ever have to use this thing?!
Never before in her life had she ever expected that she would be involved in this evil excuse for a game. Even when the first instalment of ‘The Program’ had aired on television, she had (albeit foolishly) assumed that she would be spared from this massacre. She had believed that she would be fine. She was relieved when it was announced on the News that this series was coming to an end. She had come into school believing that she would be fine…
…Then she woke up to that sadistic fuck in the pink shirt!
Words couldn’t describe how unbelievably… angry she was!!
Needless to say, this wasn’t the approach that the majority were taking to dealing with ‘The Program.’
While the rest of her fellow students had opted, either for foolhardy courage or blind panic, she had simply gotten angry. Angry…No, furious, with those in charge of the game. How dare they. How DARE they choose her for this sick, twisted excuse for a government policy!!
She wouldn’t, no, she couldn’t let this shit get to her!
There was no way that she was buying into this shit. They couldn’t just say to her: “There you go. Kill your friends.” How dare they!
There was, however, the issue of the collar. The choking, suffocating ring of metal that had wound itself around her neck. The collar that seemed to squeeze the very life out of her. The collar that made her feel as if she were some kind of dog! How dare they!
And then there was that ‘Instructor’ or ‘Teacher’ or whatever the fuck he was! Standing there, having fun watching them squirm. That sadistic, megalomaniac, narcissistic fuck! That…That… CUNT!!
There was really no other way to describe him. She hated that word. She really DESTESTED that word, with such a strong passion that even thinking it made her feel even less of a person. But… that’s exactly what he was! An evil, self-obsessed, shit-spewing, fucking CUNT!!
Feeling herself almost literally boiling over with anger, Robyn gritted her teeth and began to mentally count to ten.
Letting out another deep sigh, her gaze fell onto the silver glimmer of light that shone from the lapel of her slim-fitting suit jacket. It was her executive badge. Like (the now deceased) Jeremy, it was large and silver. She was (or used to be) in charge of all the house officers in the school.
She couldn’t let this get the better of her. After all, she was a Lead Student. Her Head Girl, Louise, wouldn’t be acting like this. She had to set an example. There was no way she was panicking.
Female Student #3 Louise Blare placed her finger on the trigger of her Czechoslovakian CZ 75 Semi-Automatic Pistol.
Unlike Robyn’s image of her, she was on the end of her rope. To put it in simple terms, she was ‘freaking-the-fuck-out’!
How the hell was she supposed to survive in this game!? People killing each other. It was kind of obvious that so many of them would start to kill each other. Everyone was crazy!
Or…maybe she was the crazy one…?
If everyone was getting into the game and she wasn’t…maybe she was the one with something wrong with her!?
With her highly intelligent nature, and athletic build, she should have been a prime candidate to win the season finale. Unfortunately, those who were probably betting on her hadn’t foreseen her slightly unhinged approach to dealing with the situation.
Everything seemed to put her on-edge. Every rustle of an animal moving through the undergrowth. Every sensation the wind created as it passed her by. It all seemed to intensify the feeling that death was ready to strike her at any second.
She could practically see the ominous figure looming behind her as she walked. The skull that symbolised the ever-present threat of death. The cloak that threatened to enclose around her, like the suffocating blackness of the night sky. The scythe that threatened to reap her life at any second.
Louise Blare was being stalked by death.
And he was growing closer with every passing heartbeat.
Male Student #19, Dean Koontz was walking (No. It was more of a stagger.) along the edge of a field. He was currently, still, somewhere in the viscinity of zone H-3. After his massacre of approximately 1/5 of the male population of the Girls Grammar School, he hadn’t done much.
His past two hours had consisted of merely wandering around the area surrounding the water tower, smoking.
His nonchalant attitude was completely out of place in the madness and insanity of ‘The Program’. Perhaps this was the reason why he was so good at this. It wasn’t that he was having fun, or doing it because he had to.
He simply didn’t care.
Up ahead of him was a small farmhouse.
29 Students Remaining
Sign up to rate and review this story