Categories > Anime/Manga > Battle Royale > Redder Than Blood, Whiter Than Bone

The Worst Game Ever

by Will2672 0 reviews

The Student's new teacher intorduces them to the competition. A slight warning: SEVERE Gore

Category: Battle Royale - Rating: R - Genres: Drama - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2011-01-07 - Updated: 2011-01-07 - 1364 words

[Author’s Note = Hopefully, this will be the last time that you will be hearing from me. I would first like to apologize, in advance, for the beginning of this chapter. For those of you who have read the original novel, you will, almost certainly, find that I am sponging off of it a great deal when it come to the political backing. It is, unfortunately, required that I produce some sort of explanation as to why ‘The Program’ was implemented in Britain. Politics aren’t my strong point and you will be glad to know that this is the last you will hear of them, concerning this work. If you wish to skip ahead, simply scroll to the first *. Thank you, and please REVIEW!! ]

‘The Program’. First created in the Republic of Greater East Asia under the rule of the Great Dictator, over sixty years ago.
I suppose that I should explain how this event (originally incorporated to utilize the ‘services’ of fifty third year junior high school classes a year, under enforced circumstances) managed to cross a continent and ‘set up shop’, one would say, in England.
Although the Republic of Greater East Asia is widely considered, by most western cultures and governments, to be a government comprised of National Socialist ‘demons’ (much how they view us as ‘Evil Imperialists’) many of their ideas have yet to go unused.
During a period of extreme recession and economic depression, in a ‘last ditch’ election, an extremist party know as ‘Elevenths’ were voted into power. In a period known as ‘Rejuvenation’ the party managed to quell the issue and soon gained popular support. They then turned their attention towards the next most severe problem that seemed to be plaguing the country: The ever rising population figures.
Needless to say, they adopted the RGEA’s concept of ‘The Program.’
Due to them gaining popular support, there was little resistance (this may have also been due to their process of seizing control of the military, however, public courtesy was not to speak of such things). Within a few months, the results were a resounding success and, due to a suggestion put forward by an unknown source, they soon decided to … how should I put this…Expand public participation in the event. … Yeah. That should do.
On October 12th 2010, ‘The Program : Season One’ aired on television.


No way. No way no way no way!! Beau Mehtre (Male Student #12) couldn’t believe that this was happening. He… HE was in ‘The Program’ the god, fuckin’, damn PROGRAM!! This had to- No, this must be a dream. There was no way that he could be in ‘The Program’!
It was (and should have always remained) just some thing that people talked about that should never have happened to him! Granted, there was always a chance that ANY group of students could be chosen, but why did it have to be him. He was never this lucky when it came to ordinary things that involved chance, so why did he have to ‘win’ now?!
Its not as if indications of ‘The Program’ weren’t all around him. It was on television every day. Its just that he could never have imagined that he would be there, like the people he saw on TV. Of course, every so often, a girl would come into school crying that her cousin or someone that she knew was on the program and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of anger towards the government, but after a few days, the same girl had stopped crying and started smiling, and his feeling would subside. But…that was the closest he ever came to having anything to do with it. He couldn’t be chosen. So fuck off, man!
Just as he was about to protest the situation, the man in the pink shirt spoke again.


“Very attentive,” he said, breaking into a wide, cheerful, smile. “An attentive class is a responsive class. From your reactions, I can see that you know all about our little game.”
He’s calling it a game? What the hell?! The students didn’t respond. After all, how could they. The sheer notion that they would have to kill each other was so horrifying that they were put under some kind of collective daze.
“Now, as I was saying before, you have all been chosen to participate in the season finale of ‘The Program.’” Still no response. “I will be your new teacher. My name is Mr ‘O’!” Turning around, to the blackboard behind him, Mr O picked up a piece of chalk and wrote his ludicrously short name in large block capitals. “I am going to be overseeing your progress in the competition. I think you will find the next few days…interesting to say the least. You’ll find that most of it is based on personal preference.”
Clasping his hands together in front of him, his thin lips twisted into a gleeful smile as the students continued to stare blankly towards him.
“Some of you may be more inclined towards foolhardy courage, others despicable cowardice. Some are silent loners, others find strength in numbers. I would advise against this if at all possible. Some of those among you might not share the same…sentiments as others.”
As he said this, several of the students began to nervously stare around themselves. Whenever their eyes met one of their classmates’, they hastily averted their gaze. Already, they were suspecting people.
“Basic subtraction,” Mr O continued. “40 minus 39. Only one survivor. Survival of the fittest, or so we like to believe.” His grin grew wider. “Kill or be killed, little warriors.”
The room full of students still didn’t respond. Kill your classmates? No fuckin’ way!
“Umm…Sir…” arose a voice from the far side of the room. Sitting, slightly slumped, in his seat was Matt Halsmon (Male Student #4). A thin film of sweat glisten on his forehead as he raised his hand.
“Oooo! Sir!” Mr O hummed, as if to himself. “Always good. Speak!”
Almost staggering to his feet, Matt began to writhe his hands in an interlocking motion in front of him as he stammered: “I-I-I-I-”
“Spit it out, boy, I don’t have all day!”
Everyone in the room was desperately hoping that he (as the only one not too terrified to speak) may form some kind of protest.
Hey, man. Can ya help us out?!
This hope was snuffed.
“I-I- I counted the students wh- when we were in the ILC,” he stuttered, too terrified to articulate a sentence. “T-there are only thirty three of us…!”
Mr O broke into a gleeful smile as he reached into the pocket of his black suit trousers and said : “That’s not a bad point….”
Suddenly pulling his hand from its enclosing material, he pointed his arm towards Matt in a strong, powerful pose.
Chucks of fragmented bone and a grey jelly-like substance that may have been his brains (Well of course they were his brains!) flew through the air and spattered the students in the immediate vicinity. This was followed, before the body even had a chance to fall, by a truly massive amount of arterial spray, gushing from the painfully red and angry looking stump that was once the bottom half of his head. Spraying out in several different directions, much like a sprinkler system, Beks Donn (Female student #4) who was sat behind him, was covered in the deep crimson blood. Her eyes opened wide in shock and, almost immediately, she began to sporadically twitch and tremble in fear.
Crashing to the floor, Matt’s body twitched slightly, but only for a second. Jutting out from beneath his body, his left arm (which was twisted around in an uncomfortable fashion) and hand poked out from the sleeve of his black blazer. If you were sitting close enough, you may have even seen the second hand of his watch ticking away.
“And if you had let me finish, then I would have explained it to you,” Mr O grinned, lowering his gun. “Oops…I’m not supposed to kill people am I?”
Everyone screamed

39 Students Remaining
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