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Viewing Single Post From: Dude, how come I feel like i'm not in Kansas anymore?
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((B143 - Augustus MacDougal - START))

"Alright Augustus", his father said, pushing the countless leaflets he was reading (John MacDougal read way too many scientific leaflets, in Dougal's opinion) to the side and turning to face his son. "You sure you got your bags packed for tomorrow?"

"Yes, dad". Dougal sighed, leaning on the wall, his hands hovering near the front door ready to go out for one last night out with his mates before the trip tomorrow.

"Well, if you're so sure..." John MacDougal briefly glanced at his wife, giving her a look that said "Make sure anyway." Returning to his son, he continued "Shame about your sister's birthdays being on the second day of the trip." Dougal sighed. Big deal. They'd been over this countless times before. They'd already come to an agreement; Dougal will give them a call to say happy birthday, and his parents will give the girls his gifts (Dougal had, knowing how much Abigail loved his films to the point of obsession, gotten her a Johnny Depp boxset, and he'd brought Sophia a couple of cheap games for her new Wii.)

"Yes, dad, I know." Yes, his sisters' having their fifteenth birthdays was a joyous occasion and all, but Dougal had other things on his mind. The trip tomorrow would be his last proper time spent with his schoolmates, and he had his graduation coming up soon, and while he knew his parents appreciated that, they weren't showing it. His parents had already given him all the lectures about the trip and covered every possible problem countless times, and it was wearing Dougal's patience thin. "Do I have freedom to go now?"

His dad chuckled quietly. "Yeah, sure. See you later."

"Bye, son" his mum said, not looking up from the financial reports she was reading.

"Bye mum, bye dad." With that, Dougal swung open the door and shot out.

As memories of the night before, the day of the trip and the trip itself began to hit Dougal, he began to groggily open his eyes. Why he was lying face down in a dirty patch on the ground, the sounds of nature around him, his glasses sprawled out (but still intact) a foot or two away from him, he had no idea.

Then, one final memory hit him.


He was boned. He weren't cut out for this killing sport, hell, he weren't sure he'd been able to kill in self-defence, let alone actively hunt out his fellow classmates, no matter how stupid and annoyingly blindlessly optimistic some of them were.

Ignoring his friend Albert, who was being obliviously optimistic and calling him Doug (he HATED that show), he crawled to his feet, grabbing his dirty glasses as he did so, a blank look on his face.

He'd never see anyone again. He'd die.

He'd never see dad, mom, Jacob, Bill (he'd known that guy since he was in diapers), Alberta (he had had many a friendly argument with her), his sisters, his grandparents or even his girlfriend Annabel again. They'd all watch him die on the TV. Die a lonely, painful death; all because some homicidal fucks had to take their problems out on some random high school students as they prepared to graduate. He wouldn't survive. Neither would Albert. Or most other people on the trip. Teachers were already dead. This was as bad as things could get. Everything was fucked. On the bright side (well, on the not totally shitty side); none of his family or his little inner circle of friends would die a pointless, painful death here.

Struggling to remain calm, he stroked the intricate explosive-laden collar around his neck, still with a catatonic expression planted on his features. If he had the right time, tools and luck and didn't have the threat of having his neck blown to smithereens, he did probably have the scientific and technical expertise to remove it. However, he was too intelligent to take the risk. He didn't really wanna die such a pointless death by collar detonation. Jacob was a fan of the show, and even HE thought collar-fiddlers were as intelligent as a dung beetle.

It was pointless. He'd just be another bit of cannon fodder in Danya's pointless game.

Tears began streaming down his face as he collapsed onto his knees. He was crying, albeit almost silently, for the first time in years. This shit wasn't meant to happen to him. He had a life to live. He always had the opinion crying about problems couldn't solve them, but he had no other way to cope with his thoughts. Dougal may have viewed himself as a nihilist, but he liked living, and he didn't want to have to kill to survive. He held his head in his hands, tugging at his blonde hair. He was oblivious to his surroundings, including the two bags that had been dumped next to him.
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