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V3 World Heavyweight Champion
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((Start of B063))

Dallas' world as he knew it had been rocked. One minute he was tilting his 6 gallon Stetson over his eyes for a nap on the bus ride to the campground, the next minute he was watching first hand as his classmates died trying to escape the room.

Mr. Danya and Survival of the Fittest...

The Texan knew of the sick game, but he never thought he was in any real danger of the program. He certainly felt terrible for the families of the kids who had died during the game. He almost felt worse for the families of the winners. Still, dwelling on his personal feelings was not what he had to do right now. He had to focus and try to find some people and sort out the situation. They needed to formulate a plan. The problem was Dallas kept thinking the word "they", when it still just "He".

As if on cue, Dallas happened upon a fellow student standing in a very cinematic pose, holding a sword and checking a compass.

"Darren Locke, you sight for sore eyes." Dallas said, with the slightest of southern drawls.

Dallas approached the boy slowly and continued to speak.

"I tell you what, this is not what I had in mind when I got on that bus. Hell I'd be willing to bet that it ain't what anyone had in mind when they got on the bus. Really makes you wonder what the hell we're going to do."

Dallas took a breath as he sat down on the stump of a tree.

"I mean, look at my weapons. Handcuffs and a ball gag. I looked at these and laughed. Probably the only time I'll laugh while I'm out here. Ah well. I'm glad I ran into you though. I think he we can get enough people together, we might be able to actually do something about this pickle we find ourselves in. What do you think man? Think its...OW!"

Dallas' question was interrupted by a sharp pain on his arm. He looked down at his right arm. His eyes widened in horror at the sight. There sat a large wasp, and next to the wasp was the clear mark of a sting.

"Da...Darr...AH FUCK!" Dallas screamed as he frantically searched through his assigned bag for the epi-pen he'd packed.

"Damn it!" Came another curse of frustration.

Dallas could feel the sweat building on his face as his unfortunate allergy was beginning to sink in. Terrified, he continued to tear apart his bag searching for the antidote. Unfortunately for Dallas, the pen was nowhere to be found. He thought he'd packed it, but the pen was back home in St. Paul, sitting on his kitchen table.

"Urghh..!" Dallas' breathing was becoming more and more difficult. His throat was beginning to close.

Dallas' mind was now in full panic mode. He hastily ripped his shirt off hoping it would help, but it did nothing. Shorter and shorter breaths were coming in waves.

"N-no!" He coughed.

No longer was he thinking rationally. His throat was expanding, it needed room! He need to give it room. Dallas' hands went straight to his neck where he felt the cool collar around his neck. He had forgotten every warning that he'd been fairly given. He slipped his fingers underneath the collar and pulled with all his might.


The resulting explosion severed Dallas' neck killing him instantly. No time for any thoughts, well wishes or snappy one-liners, Dallas Reynolds just fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head.

B063 - Dallas Reynolds - DECEASED
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Orientation · The Felled Forest: South