Day One: Part 1

[Doomguy]

So much for fucking sleep.

You would think that when you signed the paper with the fine print, that you already gave consent. That they don't need to fill the room you're in with sleep gas, drag your unresponsive body into a helicopter and then throw you out from several feet off the ground with a bag full of meager supplies and the hatred to kill everyone within two square miles. Left to survive and kill for the amusement of others. That probably would have happened if my helmet wasn’t designed to hermetically seal in a hostile atmosphere. Being a light sleeper also helped when the unaware guard walked in, assumed that I was out like the others had been, and the shotgun I slept with at my side didn't need to be loaded to make people think it was. There was a brief moment of awkward silence before finally one of them managed to muster enough balls to tell me that the event has officially started, and i was to leave most of my weapons and follow them to the transport. With their guns still pointed at me.

I left the room, absentmindedly rubbed the visor of my helmet as I wanted to get the sand out of my eyes, and headed to the transport that would lead me down to the island and to the battlefield. The guards did not fallow, as they were too busy with broken bones and bloodied faces. And new jobs, once they healed.

Once in the darkened transport and towards the arena that new fates will be born from, I sat on the bench once meant to seat five soldiers each and lead them into death and fire. Now it was just me, as my guards were probably still clutched in pain at this time. A lack of a window to the outside not just kept me from any hint as to my location or the location of the others. Which was the point, obviously. Left without intel or a supply line, dropped behind enemy lines with a superior enemy. This left like my job. I guess that's what made me perfect for such a mission.

Once the door was opened (remotely, by the pilot. If there was a pilot), I looked to see the landing zone. A wide clearing, immaculately trimmed, clearly cleaned and preserved by human hands rather than naturally formed. Or rather made to look like that, I remembered. Even the trees were placed with humans in mind, twisted paths snaked through them so that large groups of people, such as a happy family, could stroll through them side by side of one another. it would be the kind of place I would loath to be dropped into. Not enough cover, to easy to be spotted from the tree lines.

But I didn't have a choice. I threw the bag out first, let it drop down the fifteen or so feet until it splat on the ground, and I followed after it soon after.

I would say welcome to Hell; but, you know.

What did I have left, other than my armor and the will to survive? My two biggest weapons, the contents of the bag and the bag itself were what I had to count on. I squatted down to keep myself low to the ground, and watched every direction as I pulled the zipper. It seemed so unlikely that they would put everyone close together, and yet I could not expect anything else. The suit that leads this blood sport wanted blood, and so did everyone that watched. And if Karl Jak said so, they would get it.

Inside was four days worth of MREs, brown sealed bag with enough nutrient and calories to last you a day and none of the pesky taste to get in your way. For a moment I prayed that it would at least be the decent kind with the boxed foods and little surprises like matches and powdered drinks, and when I rattled the baggie to my surprise and joy it was. It was the small things in life that kept you from hanging yourself in your shoelaces and not having to eat a solid bar or a paste of nutrient was certainly a small thing. Four corresponding bottles of water came next, although those were less likely to last four days than the MREs. A low grade map of the island with a magnet market for "you are here" and a compass folded up in a side pocket. Orientation training flooded back to me, and I stowed the rations and equipment in empty ammo pouches.

the last thing was strange, definitely not military standard issue, but it was close enough to what I've had to use before that there would be little problem to use it. Looked a bit silly, though.

I bolted for the trees once I had my situation figured, the pieces of a plan formed into something at least somewhat coherent: Wait the first day out in a defensive position, let the other kill each other in the hopes of winning, head towards clean water, and then try to hunt down whoever's left. It was exactly how they train you in the military when you're behind enemy lines, and that it sounded fucked up to anyone not in the know would not dawn on me until long afterwards. Survive, outlast, then destroy your enemy. Just like how they taught you.

Time and boredom was the real killer here, aside from the fifty some primes that stalked around me that thirsted for my metaphorical blood. Boredom softened the mind and made real dangers unreal, while time made fleeting thoughts of unreal dangers seem as real as the plasma rifle in my hands. Paranoia had kept me alive for a long time, but when the doldrums of camp settled in then it came with wild enemies far greater than what actually was there. I was equally sure that a prime, some beast, or even the demons I faced who waited until I was valuable, were just behind the bush I used as cover, and that I was being over dramatic. The only thing I had for company other than the weapons that I laid so close was the muted sounds of nocturnal nature and the much more obnoxious voice of Karl above us on invisible speaker. The jackass liked to hear himself speak that was sure.
The little camp was no more than the shadow of a young maple, a long and leafy branch over my head and a semi circle of chokeberries kept any lazy glances away. I had opened a bag of “chilli con carne”, spilt the content, and was already cooking the entrée with some of the water from my bottle and the heater, while I snacked on the fiber crackers, energy bars, and what was called french toast but I was half sure was a bar of soap. No point in trying to ration these, as the promise of combat meant that being at top performance outweighed the hope that I wouldn’t need to be at full strength. Four days would be enough, at least until I was either dead or managed to take the supplies from the corpse of someone else.

Time for the long haul. And if I was alive by the next midnight, then God have mercy on everyone still here.