Battle Royale Fan Fiction ❯ Battle Royale: All American High School ❯ All American High School ( Chapter 1 )

--------> TONIGHT ON THE PREMIER EPISODE OF “BATTLE ROYALE!”

 

What appears to be a normal, all American group of high school kids are about to be plunge into an unimaginable gauntlet of terror! Tonight we meet the valiant hero, the innocent little girl, the sexy vixen, and the diabolical villain! Who will live? Who will die? When will the nightmare stop? The newest season of the show government critics have been calling “The best thing to happen to reality programming since the Shot-To-Kill option was added to Big Brother!” premiers tonight! All new! All real! No stunt doubles used! Don't miss “BATTLE ROYALE 5: DESERTED ISLAND!”

 

At 2000 hours tonight on America Network 7.

 

GOD BLESS AMERICA AND THE GOVERNMENT! <--------

 

----

 

Chapter 1: All American High School

 

----

 

Hi. My name's Brandon Custer.

 

I've always thought of myself as a pretty average guy. I'm sixteen. I go to the local high school. I do well in my classes. I have a pretty girlfriend. I have a lot of friends. I don't drink, I don't do drugs, I don't have sex, and I don't listen to rock n' roll music. I'm normal. I've only gotten a detention notion once this year.

 

I want to go to collage and become a doctor of some sort. I haven't decided on the specifics yet. Maybe a surgeon of some sort. Maybe not. I can't really stand blood. I live with my mother. My dad was killed in the Great Independence War of 1990. I and my mom have been comfortably living under Government Certificates for most of my life.

 

Sometimes I get scared. Really, I do. I hear stories from the other students about what this great country was like before the Independence War. They talk about how the people voted on the ruler, how music and entertainment was issued and retailed without government approval. I hear about all the crime. Sometimes I worry because I hear these things and think it all sounds really cool. Of course I usually snap to my senses before long and realizes that how could life without the Leader be any better? But there are times when I don't realize that. I scare myself sometimes.

 

Lauren, my girlfriend, lets talk about her. You'd be hard press to find a prettier girl in the school. Everyday I see her march around school in her uniform and think about how wonderfully it fits her. But it's not just that, she also one of the nicest people I've ever met. Always there with a joke or a song to cheer you up when you're down. I try not to think about love because I know I'm not really mature enough to recognize that kind of thing. I mean, I do still like to watch the Children's Broadcasts, so how mature can I be? Sometimes though, I do think about how nice it would be. Then there's the whole sex issue. Something else I'm never sure about and try to avoid. I hear the other guys talk about it and how much they enjoy it and sometimes feel sort of embarrassed. Really, though, I can't see myself rushing into that. That's an important decision. You're only innocent once. After that, it's all gone. No return check. No restart button. You can't go back to Point A once you've reached Point B. Lauren's talked about doing it before and sometimes we almost go through with it, but I always trip at the finish line, I guess you could say. I don't know. Sex is something that just makes me kinda' uncomfortable. Maybe in collage.

 

I said earlier I have a lot of friends. I know everyone in my home room, all forty students. I admit I like most of them. I'm friends with people like Victor Adams, Matthew Snyder, and Carrie Pultz. People you can just hang out with and talk to but at the same time people you can have serious conversation with as well. Some people in the class are really shy and get a little uncomfortable when I talk to them. People like Zach Clopton or Samantha Barrack. I'm sure they're all very nice, but they seem pretty distance at the same time. I guess it's just something in me that wants to bring people out of their shells. Lauren says that sometimes I'm too friendly for my own good. I usually just laugh that off. I said earlier I like most people here, but there are a few I don't care for. Some boys in the class seem like they always gotta' act serious and tough and can't just let their simpler side show through. And some people are just way in to social climbing. Trying so hard to be the top dog that they forget about the people they've flatten on the way up. Ashley Nixion and Alistair Taylor come to mind. Again, I'm sure that in private they're all very nice people. I find it hard to believe that anybody could act like that all the time and not go crazy. There's only one person here that I'm truly afraid of. Luke Shipman. He is a silent type, but people say he use to get into fights all the time at his old school. There was a rumor going around that he once killed someone. They apparently got into a fight about something and Luke stabbed the poor guy in the stomach. What scares me the most about him though is that he seems so uninterested in all of it. He hears the rumors and the stories and doesn't seem to care. He doesn't get angry about it or laugh about it. He just sits there with the strangest smile on his face. I worried that maybe all the stories are true. But other then that I like most people. I'm willing to help others. People like me in return. That's all I really ask.

 

At this moment I sit in math class. I'm not really paying attention to the teacher. I got something in my student mailbox earlier today that said I was selected for a special trip. I've been excited about it all day. I'm not really an outstanding student, so I'm curious about why I was chosen. I heard about this trip before from the teachers. Students in this age group are selected for a special test that places them in line for this legendary collage, the best education in the world, they say. I really hope that's it. Mom would be so excited if that was the case. She always said I'd be someone great one day.

 

The bell rings and I get up from my seat. This is it. The letter said after third period, converge in the Propaganda Room where Mr. Stephens will present you with your special prize. Mr. Stephens is our principal, by the way. I quickly gather my things at my console and head for the P. Room.

 

----

 

People say I'm strange. Not strange as in the, he collects stamps, variety of strange. A different type of strange they say. My father says that every school has one. The weird one. The one everyone is afraid of. I hear stories about me. People whispering in the corners of the classroom and bathrooms. I'm that weird transfer student that beat up a teacher once, that murder a cat and strung it's intestines about the school once, or that kill that one guy just because he wouldn't give me his muffin at lunch once. (The stories always end in once, I've noticed) All I can do is sit and listen and know the truth. They will always be in speculation and be left to their guesses. I, of course, am the only one that knows the truthfulness of these stories. If I came out and said that it was a janitor or that it wasn't over a muffin (Now that I think about it, I didn't killed George over anything at all.) it would spoil their fun. I wouldn't want to spoil their fun. I'm the stuff urban legends are made of.

 

I currently stand in the boy's bathroom, pissing. I hear my associates (I don't call them friends. To me, a friend is somebody who you can consider your equal. None of these people are equal to me. I have yet to meet anybody who is. ) talking about what “sweet snatch” a certain girl. They often talk about girls. Which one's they've fucked and which ones they want to fuck. The stories are probably bullshit, but I image that one of them, once upon a time, was lucky enough to see up a cheerleader's skirt or see their mother undress. I finish urinating, quickly wash my hands, and walk up to the two boys. Their names, which in the length of things are ultimately pointless, are Brad Bartles and Benjamin Manoli. They continue to talk about the female genitalia even when they spread out to make room for me. Do you want to know why I pair myself with people who are obviously below me? I do it because they fear me but also because they respect me. They know what I'm capable of. They've seen me in the street fights that we partake in from time to time. They've seen me yank out a man's eyeball and then shatter the same man's jaw with one punch. They've seen me bring down oppressor twice my size. They respect me because of my keen fighting abilities and they fear me because they know I can do the same to them. They're the muscle, if you will. They serve me like soldiers do a general. I like them, really. They're simple but resourceful. They can both hold them selves well in fights, and while neither of them are very bright, they do have some, I suppose you could call it, “street smarts.” They know how to cheat, how to fight and where to find the best drugs. Not equals by any means, but people I can associate with to pass the time without feeling too bore.

 

Bradley went on, “Yeah, that Amber Hamilton. I liked to tap that ass.”

 

“Fuck, man, don't we all? I wish I could see her come face.” Ben responds.

 

They both laugh for some reason before Bradley turns to me, “Luke, what do you think about her? Hot shit or what?”

 

I smile and say in a vaguely sarcastic tone that I know they wouldn't comprehend, “I've had better.”

 

They all hooted and holler at that, just as I knew they would, before we head out the door. The cameras, from their faithful perch above the hallway doors, observe us as we head towards the Propaganda Room. Apparently all three of us where invited to some sort of seminar. Considering the room chosen for the presentation I only assume its more tripe about how we need to support the government and get functional, rational jobs as doctors or military positions. God save the Leader and all that. Either that or the same old, same old about the evils of drug use and non-government approved entertainment. I really didn't care either way. It was just more of the same of the activity of school.

 

----

 

I was excited, you know. I had never been to anything like this before. A friend of mine, Erika, said her older sister had been invited to a special seminar before and was sent on that Battle Royale show. I, of course, knew Erika was joking. I knew that the Leader would never place Americans in peril. The people on Battle Royale where always foreigners. I never really liked that show by the way. I always thought it was kinda' cruel. I had heard stories from the other students about it and it sounded way too gruesome for me. I enjoyed the Lite Entertainment Broadcastings myself. They make me feel good. Anyway, I've gotten off topic...

 

When I got to school today I looked through my student mailbox, right. The usual stuff was there. You know, daily reports, progress from the war front, but there was something different here today. It was a notice from Mr. Stephens. It said how I had been selected from all the students in the school for a special program. The paper also said it was a very important and Mr. Stephens didn't want to ruin the surprise for me. I can't wait. I'm on my way there now. I hope this is something good.

 

I know Erika was joking, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I can't help but worry that this really is some sort of way to recruit people for experiments or something. Something bad. Usually though common sense kicks in and I realize that things like that don't really happen. It's just lies spread by enemy spies. You don't think Erika is a spy, do you? I hope not. I've always really liked her.

 

Speaking of Erika, they're she is right now. She's the only person I've ever really been able to talk to. I've had other friends, true, but I think Erika is really my only true friend. I walk towards her and tap her on the shoulder.

 

“Hey, Erika!”

 

She turns to me. “Hey, Samantha. Where are you headed?”

 

“Special presentation in the P. Room. I told you about it.”

 

Erika laughed. “Me too. Isn't that weird?”

 

I laughed too. “I think it's really cool. Looks like both of us are headed for the same first class collages.”

 

Erika gave out a strange, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

 

We where at the doorway to the P. Room. How cool is this? God, I hope this is something good. We enter the room and I see about all of the people from my homeroom here. Hmm, that's strange. Maybe homerooms are gathered by intelligence.

 

God, I hope this is something good.

 

----

 

I look at Trevor Herbert's back and wonder how good of a fuck he is. He's black, after all. I wonder if it's true what they say about black people. Trevor is the last of the hot boys in my homeroom that I haven't had all ready. He's a Rumble-Ball player, so I bet his dick is pretty big. I hear that's one of the fortunate side-effects of the drugs that the school makes the jocks take. I've seen a lot of big dicks in my life, both in the literal term and the derogatory form. The biggest one, though, has to belong to Burt McGarland, from the ninth grade. He was only my third job. God, was he ever good. He was the fuck by which I rate all other fucks. So confidante about it too. Before we started he said he was going to make me like it, and he was right to. There are times when I enjoy my job way to much. God, that little newbie of a girl seems like such a stranger to me now. How far I've come in the past three years.

 

I really don't know what the hell this presentation is about. It could be anything. The classroom is almost full and I noticed awhile ago that all these kids are from my homeroom. I know this isn't about academic ability. I knew that as soon as I walked into the room. I've never been very smart. Honestly, and write this down children, the only thing you need to get through high school are a nice rack and the ability to give awesome blowjobs. Luckily, I possess both of those.

 

Two more people enter, Samantha Barrack and Erika Cooper. Both geek girls. I was a lot like them, back in the day. Sooner or later though, I'm sure of it, they will run into the over-zealous boyfriend or the sexual frustrated stepfather or the mysterious stranger and their naïve and innocent view of the world will be robed from them by a pair of cold hands and a limp dick. It always works that way. Three more kids follow the girls, all of them boys. Luke Shipman (psycho), Ben Manoli (idiot), and Bradley Bartles (Small dick and even bigger idiot). Bradley turns and winks at me like he's some smooth-as-owl-shit Casanova. You know, give a guy a hand job once and they bother you for the rest of the year. I adjust my nametag, which has “ASHLEY NIXION” printed on it in fine gold letters, and that gives Brad a free view of my cleavage. I'm surprised he didn't pop a boner right there and pass out from blood loss. The only thing that grew larger was his smile. There, Brad, some more masturbation fodder for ya'. I'm a tease, I know. I can't help myself.

 

Soon, Brandon Custer, resident nice guy, enters the class and the room is full. Whatever this is, I hope it's over with soon. The late bell rings and the doors lock shut. I hear the teacher's elevator open. All the heads in the class room turn around to see Mr. Stephens enter the room. Shit, this must be important.

 

----

 

Hi, Brandon Custer again.

 

This isn't a random selection of kids, like I thought. This is my homeroom. I see my girl Lauren sitting two rows behind me and my friend Victor three seats down. That's kinda' strange. Why would they pick the whole homeroom for...

 

The teacher elevator activates and most everyone's heads zip around to see Mr. Stephens entering the room. He gives a smile as he sees this.

 

“Now, everybody, calm down.” He says with an encouraging hand motion, “This is just a simple presentation and will be over with soon enough.”

 

Mr. Stephens walks to the front of the room, in front of the telescreen, still wearing the same smile. His smile is the kind I've heard people call a “shit-eating grin.” I don't quite understand the phrases but it seems to fit pretty well.

 

“Students, this is important. Pay very close attention.” Mr. Stephens picked up the telescreen controller and turned it on. All that was on the screen was a small red dot. Mr. Stephens continued. “Now, students, whatever you do, remained focused on the tiny red dot.”

 

It's now I see Mr. Stephens reach under the desk again and pull out a mask of some sort. A mask? And what's with that red dot? This is getting kinda'...

 

its at this moment that i notice that the room is filling with a green smoke and that the mask mr stephens is wearing is a gas mask things stop making sense and i get very sleepy the last thing I remember seeing is dustin butler the kid who got pushed back a year picking up a chair and hitting the door with it.

 

I go sleepy-sleep now.

 

----

 

End of chapter one.

 

“40 contestants remaining!”