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Dude, how come I feel like i'm not in Kansas anymore?; B10 Start
Topic Started: Aug 8 2010, 12:57 PM (4,586 Views)
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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.

Fuck.

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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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Dougal continued to just sit there, head buried in his hands, and let tears stream down his pale face, ignoring the sounds and sights around him. He still hadn't even thought to check the two bags that were his only remaining possessions. He was breathing heavily, his mind trying to make sense of the situation. Would he be able to play? Would others be able to play? Was someone dead already? What weapon had he been rolled? How was his family and friends taking this? What human could do this and be able to sleep at night? Why the hell had he been in the one school unlucky enough to be affected by this? He was a good person, if a bit of a prick sometimes, he had his life to live, he had done NOTHING to deserve this. Nobody in his year had done anything to deserve it. NOBODY. They were just an average school in boring St. Paul, Minnesota, a state which the terrorists were meant to pass up on and focus on California and New York and whatnot instead....

His head was aching. His stomach felt like shit. His throat felt dry, his legs hurt and he just felt like shit in every humanly possible way.

He then noticed someone talking to him, trying to console him. It was Albert Lions, one of his best mates at Bayview. Whereas Dougal was a pessimistic cynical nihilist who thought evil was inevitable (but it weren't meant to happen to him. No, Dougal was not expecting that) and that in the grand scheme of things his life was pointless (the grand scheme of things being one of the many things Dougal really did not give a flying fuck about right this second), Albert was a optimistic, happy-go-lucky fellow who....no, he was just naive, plain and simple. No way around it. Dougal always hung out with the naive optimists, his own girlfriend being a prime example. Dougal just didn't like most of his fellow nihilists, a majority of them being stereotypical obnoxious twats who read Nietzsche (who Dougal had never even considered reading before) and completely missed the point of it.

And Albert had picked a GREAT way to try and comfort him. Telling a joke. A shitty joke that everyone had heard before and he couldn't even tell right. Now was not the time. This was just making Dougal feel worse.

And without even thinking about it, Dougal clenched his fist and threw a punch, aiming right at Albert's face.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
The punch connected, knocking Albert down and shutting him up immediately. Dougal relished the brief silence between the two, using the opportunity to climb to his feet, collect his thoughts and let out a heavy sigh, quickly dusting some dirt off of his jeans. At least he'd stopped his pitiful crying; now he could focus on checking his bags and thinking of a pragmatic way to tackle this problem.

He then looked at Albert.

Albert was giving Dougal a look that Dougal had never received before. Albert was in a state of shock, and he looked scared. He was scared of him, stuttering as he tried to respond.

Well, great job Augustus MacDougal. You've just made one of your best friends terrified of you. Well done, you're doing EXACTLY what Danya wants you to do.

"Shit...sorry, Albert....but...." Dougal struggled to think of a way to justify his impulses to Albert without being too blunt or even more jerkish. "Basically, we're going to die, and your jokey attitude weren't helping. The only way we can survive is if we kill our classmates, which I am NOT keen on doing, or finding some magical genie bottle and wishing our way out of this or something." Dougal had already written off the possibility of escape; it weren't going to happen. The cameras and the collars made sure of that, and even if those two issues were gone, the lack of a proper boat would be an issue.

"Listen, Albert....let's just stay together for now. Sorry about that punch. It's just....you were pissing me off. Here, lemme help you up. No major damage?" He offered his hand to Albert, hoping he would be in a forgiving mood. Looking around the area, he noticed two bags. One was his one bag (presumably still filled with his clothes and stuff) and one other bag he'd never seen before. And on that bag, rested two wooden skis. His 'weapon' roll, presumably.

Oh, hardy dee har har.

Fuck you, Danya.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Albert grabbed Dougal's hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. He seemed to a bit more serious (going over to check his weapons), but he still hadn't completely come down from cuckoo land, still cracking jokes and doing a terrible impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger as he admired his rather hefty weapon draw, which was a shotgun....Wait, a shotgun? That could be useful. Dougal wasn't a gun nut, but he knew enough to be able to name the weapon, and enough to know it was one of the better weapons on the island, especially in contrast to his own use-impaired weapon. "Woah. Nice draw there, mate", he nodded approvingly, having an ally with a shotgun being the only good thing to have happened on the island so far, "Check for an instruction manual, Albert. I can do the shooting if you'd prefer that." Dougal weren't exactly mentally prepared for using a gun, but Albert was even less so. It would probably take seeing a body to finally make Albert realise the full gravity of the situation they were in.

As he walked over to his own bags, Dougal still had no idea what to do on the island. An escape plan? Nah, he'd join it if one with a decent chance started, but he doubted he and Albert could get one to work. It'd just mean a nasty, disappointing death from collar removal, and wouldn't help anyone. No, Dougal would have to be the last one standing if he wanted to get off. Unlike most of his peers, most of his friends and his girlfriend were still alive, still in St. Paul. The nihilist had something to live for. He COULD play, but for all the nihilist talk he would spout in debates and tell himself in his head, Dougal wasn't comfortable with the thought of killing his classmates. Punching Albert was probably as far as he could go in terms of violence against his fellow Bayview students. He didn't want to become a bad person because of this stupid game, no-one would want anything to do with him if he made his way back. The other way was simple; survive, just kill in self defence, hold out until the end. That seemed the most logical way, and would be best for his mental health. Yeah, he'd probably go down that route, but he wouldn't rule the other options out at this early stage.

"Well, Albert...." he said, slinging his two bags over his shoulders (he would check them later, he knew what was in the SOTF-issued bag and he didn't expect much from his other bag to be gone) and grabbing the two ski sticks (an old wooden stick was better than nothing), "Guess we just have to try and survive as long as possible. Maybe wait for a rescue attempt", he hopefully added, being uncharacteristically optimistic more for Albert's sake than his own (if the US government was able or was willing to stop the SOTF ACT, then they would have done so by now.) "Should we get going?" he asked, pointing to a nondescript part of the forest in the nearby distance.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Thanks, man," Dougal muttered, catching the shotgun as Albert tossed it over to him. Right, he knew the basics of loading a shotgun. That was the bit you put the shells in, and pumping the shotgun did...something. It wasn't just for making a dramatic noise, he knew that. Still, he had a pretty good chance of survival with this. And as Albert produced an instruction manual and a box of shells from his bag, Dougal took them off of Al's hands and stuffed the box and the book in his pockets. He'd read it when they were travelling, make sure he knew what to do and had the shotgun prepared for a surprise attack. "Alright, let's get going away from this mountain."

As he set off walking towards the trees, he asked Al a question. "So, what do you think we should do? Play this game a bit, or just keep to ourselves?" Rescue and escape would be impossible. Hell, even if the SAS or CIA or something found this island, Danya would just detonate the collars.

He had a hunch someone was nearby, but he didn't care. He just kept his eyes ahead off him, making sure he didn't trip, ignoring any sounds coming back from the mountain. In an ideal world, Dougal wouldn't come across anyone else, friend, foe or neutral, until the final four, then Albert would have a quick, painless death thanks to one of the other two, and the remaining two would kill each other, and he'd get to go home with as much of his sanity intact as possible. But that wouldn't happen, so until then he'd just stay vigilant and try and stay away from others. Hopefully Albert would do the same.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Skipping post order to keep Dougal active and get him out of the thread))

Slinging the rather heavy shotgun over his right shoulder and readjusting his slightly wonky brown-rimmed glasses and pushing them back up his nose, Dougal continued walking towards the trees. He began to hum a couple of old songs his mum liked to listen to (songs Dougal hated, but was forced to listen to whenever he went on a car journey when his mum was driving, and he was ashamed he knew the words) and focused his mind on kicking large rocks on the ground to try and keep his mind off of the rather bleak situation he found himself in. As he reached the first tree at the perimeter of the forest, he rested against it, leaning his shotgun on the rather rotten tree next to him, and pulled out a map and decided to think of a place that was good to hide in. No luck whatsoever. They all either looked like horrible places to be in or places that were already probably filled to the brim.

Quickly giving Albert a wave and motioning him to come along, Dougal picked up his stuff and set off into the trees. He had no idea what he was doing, but he just had to keep moving.

((Augustus MacDougal continued in No Rest for the Wicked.))
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