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G018 - Acacia Salinger - Start

Acacia awoke with a start. Her eyes blinked open, seeing nothing but open sky and feeling damp earth underneath her. For two glorious seconds she had no idea where she was, then it all came back to her in a sudden rush. The coach journey, the sudden sleepiness, finding it hilarious that everyone sitting around her also felt sleepy, being tied to a chair, the introduction, then... Then she was here. She felt strangely okay with everything though, removed from the situation, and sat up slowly, her head spinning. Acacia drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, looking at her surroundings. Which was trees. Or rather, what looked like used to be trees, there were endless stumps, with the odd straggly tree that had survived the cull. Next to her was her duffel bag and a supplementary bag with her name and "G018" printed on it. So that was her number, huh? She'd watched the odd episode of the programme, enough to know that she really was in deep shit.

Reaching over for the bags, she drew them closer to her, and looked from one to the other with a frown, thinking about how impractical it was to carry quite so much stuff around anyway. There was no way she'd be able to run, or use her weapon... Hang on, a weapon! Acacia looked between the bags, and decided on the one she'd been issued, it seemed like the more likely choice. Barely a moment of looking drew her eyes to the most gunnish looking gun she'd ever seen. A brown handle with a black barrel, a pistol, a revolver, she had no idea. What was the difference anyway She knew nothing about guns, and looking at her weapon felt herself beginning to succumb to tears. Her hands shook as she looked at the gun and the separate... other bit... that she somehow had to fit in to it. Why couldn't the gun have come fully loaded? Surely that was what usually happened, or was this some kind of additional trauma. The blonde bimbo who didn't know how to use a gun. Feeling self conscious suddenly she looked around for a camera, and spied one about ten metres away, affixed to a tree. Pointing directly at her. She stared at it, her eyes watering with tears, vaguely aware that anything she said now might be broadcast to her family back home.

"Fuck you," she said softly, so softly she wasn't sure if the camera could hear her. Were the microphones on the camera or were they separate? Like, in the grass? She had no idea. Could they hear her breathing, which had gradually been getting heavier and heavier as the real weight of it set in. Her mind reeled, going through all these thoughts. Why hadn't she ever planned for this? She'd always considered herself immune from bad stuff happening. What with moving twice (and not just piddly around the corner moving, like, 1000 miles each time), her aunt dying, her brother being shipped off to die in Iraq (God, we can't both die, that'd just be too unfair). She took an inventory of the bag that she'd brought with her on the trip. Clothes were all still there, cellphone gone, insulin. Insulin!

There was a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. Weren't potential weapons confiscated from bags? Potential weapons, potentially including needles? She rifled through, cursing herself for packing so badly, before unearthing the black zipped case and opening it with a practiced swoop. Two pens, test machine, testing strip, lancets, a pack of glucose tablets and additional pack of tastier jelly beans. Her medic alert bracelet, which she picked up and turned over, reading the text inscribed on the back. ACACIA SALINGER / DOB: 6/12/1992 / TYPE I DIABETIC / INSULIN DEPENDANT / ICE: K. SALINGER 777-0892-3345. She felt the tears welling up again at her mother's cellphone number. Odds she would ever ring that again? Close to zero. Maybe even actually zero, unless she could figure out how to work the damn gun. Picking up her backs, the daybag on her back and her duffel bag over one shoulder, she picked up the gun last, and started walking aimlessly. She pointed the empty pistol into the jungle, and pulled the trigger.

At the sme time there was an explosion from somewhere behind her.

Acacia started, staring at the gun in her hand for a few seconds before dropping it as though it was boiling hot. It clattered to the ground and disappeared under some ground level dust. She crouched down to recover it, then turned and began to head towards the noise. After all, noise meant people, probably, and people meant help. She didn't want to be going alone at this point. Not this early on. As she reached the scene she saw one decapitated body and a few people that she recognised. One was called, Darren, she wasn't sure of his surname. Alice Blake, she knew of her mainly because of her height even if she didn't know her especially well as a person. Still, better than nothing, at least she knew her surname. The third person she thought was called Roman, or Troy, or something like that. Still, where was the harm in saying hi? If things got tricky she had a gun to wave at them, none of them looked like especially gun savvy people, perhaps they wouldn't notice it was loaded?

"Hi!" she said in her sunniest voice, trying to hold back the tears and panic. She gave a little wave, starting it with the gun hand but then realising that might cause panic or something (and God knew she needed friends at that point) switched to the other. She stopped short as she got near the body, looking guiltily at Roman/Troy/something whom she had just sort of cut across, and nodded at him directly. She knew who he was talking about, Victoria Jackson, purple hair. But she hadn't seen her. In fact she hadn't seen anyone. "Sorry," she said to Roman, "but you're the first people I've seen."
the world is on my side
i have no reason to run

v4 nostalgia

shiny shiny V5 concepts (now with clickies)
Phoebe Cho - I shall be playing Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor. Wizard!
Harry Hanley - I've got Hershey's at half price today! Get 'em quick before I have rehearsal!
Lor Van Diepen - I'm gonna make a video later. About running. Does that sum me up enough?
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Orientation · The Felled Forest: South