(PNK4 Ben Grayson Start.)
Ben laid on his side, head throbbing, right arm bent at an uncomfortable angle. These things were the first sensations he recollected, eyelids twitching but not opening. Sound came next, the gentle rhythm of waves crashing into the softness of the sand. He groaned, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly as the sun beat down upon him. Shifting to a seated position, he deliberately chose to focus on his arm before anything else. Rubbing at the elbow, he restored circulation. As he turned his head to survey his surroundings, he felt the collar around his neck. Sighing, he knew better than to mess with it.
Then his gaze fell upon the backpack. "You're going to have to acknowledge it at some point..." he grumbled to himself. But still he refused to think about where he was and why.
Climbing to his feet, Ben grabbed the pack. An old boat shack stood a ways off. Ben squinted towards it but there were no signs of movement or other life. Making his way closer, Ben suddenly thought of that day from before. Outside and after school. Zach, Suzanne, and who was that guy who called him Ben-o? Shawn. Yeah, that was him. Unless those people were on his team he'd have to kill them. Ben tried not to think of that either.
He reached the shack. Nothing much inside and trying to use a boat seemed pointless. Try to escape and they'd activate your collar. Not to even mention the internet backlash. So, Ben plopped into the sand once more. Unzipping the backpack, he rummaged through the contents. A brief smile crossed his face at the first-aid kit. With it, he could apply his medical knowledge to himself or to his teammates. Not that he'd relish performing impromptu surgery on anyone.
Forming an inventory in his mind, he paused and frowned. No gun, no blade, nothing that even resembled a weapon. Except...he had extra bandanas. Two pink ones with frilly, girlish love hearts. Then in a separate bag a few dyed with other colors. The message was clear enough. Multiples of pink meant that was his team, while the others could be used for subterfuge. But was that it? The homicidal applications of bandanas were few. Strangulation came to mind, but maybe that would be easier if he could fool people into thinking he was their squad mate.
His fingers hit the bottom of the pack and it hit him. He didn't have his sketchbook. Well, of course not. Why would the producers provide such a personal item?
He staggered to his feet and gulped in huge amounts of salty sea air. He needed it, he needed that book. Truthfully, it had been a crutch, but Ben rationalized it as an outlet for his emotions. What would he do without it now?
"This is Survival of the Fittest," he said to himself. "Find your team."
Voice and hands shook as he tied one of those outrageous bandanas around his head. If he had to find his teammates or someone he could pretend to be a teammate of.
[[Terrilynn "Lynn" Boden continued from nowhere in particular...]]
It wasn't red.
This was a major issue.
She'd coordinated this outfit special. It was supposed to go with her hat, her favorite hat, and that hat was bright red. It wasn't grey, like the bandanna she found in her backpack when she woke up and started searching, in a panic, when she realized her bandanna was gone. She'd figured, okay, they needed to take her bandanna off to put that fucking collar on her- not even gonna get started on that thing, it was seriously fucking with her swag- so she'd gone through her backpack and she'd found a bandanna and it was grey.
It was ugly and she hated it, but then she remembered the whole team bit.
Lynn didn't play well with others, usually. She had friends, yeah, and she worked okay with them, but they weren't gonna put her on a team with her friends, were they? They were gonna put her on a team with...with whoever the fuck they wanted to. Probably the girls that made fun of her- they'd think that was hilarious, yeah, or maybe they'd stick her with some of those stuck up rich bitches from the other school, what was it? Silver Dragon Whatever the Fuck? Any one of those kids probably had enough money to buy Detroit Central. Fucking conceited little...
Well, there was time for that. Time to freak out some more, once she knew who was actually on her team. As far as she knew she'd ended up her boys back from DCHS and they could just run around, popping bitches off. Easy. Not that she really wanted to think about that, that whole killing people thing. She'd heard of people dying, heard gunshots on the street, and she'd beaten the everloving shit out of more than one person in her time. But killing?
Not that she had to think of that right now. She didn't exactly have anything to be killing with.
She found it pretty quickly, opening her backpack- it was easily the bulkiest thing inside. She recognized it for what it was pretty quickly- a bulletproof fucking vest. It wasn't a bad thing to have, definitely not, what with the bullets she was sure would be flying everywhere the second the game really got started. So she got the thing on, and kept digging, and realized- that was her weapon. Or what she got instead of a weapon, more like.
So when Lynn saw the silhouette of a person in the near distance, she probably shouldn't have started walking towards it. She probably should've gone far away, but Lynn didn't want to spend any more time than she had to alone. Who knew? Maybe she'd get lucky.
There was a bandanna on the boy's- it was a boy, she saw now- head. She couldn't tell what color, but it was light, and so was hers. Who knew? Maybe she'd gotten lucky.
"Hey! You!" she called, less than tactfully. "You on my team?"