! written by u/Arktuos on 2018-05-12

I finish my chicken and calmly wipe the crumbs from my face. I had chosen fried chicken earlier. I could have had baked, grilled, or fried. I chose fried. I haven't eaten in nearly a week. It's the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.

A flash of memory hits me. I am standing above a man, attempting to crawl to the safety of his squad. He kneels alone. I lift the frying pan that I found and...

I stand. The organizer of this sick, twisted contest twists his mouth in a wry grin. "Congratulations! I'm truly sorry to hear about your friends, but such is life in the Battlegrounds," he says. I feel sick.

Flash.

I am crouched in a dried-out bush, attempting to stay unseen. I can hear sound of blood dripping from the frying pan attached to my belt. It has saved my life twice now, preventing the rounds of an unseen enemy from hitting my spine as I line up a shot on another enemy. My squad leader makes the call. We're going into a small town listed on our map as Impala. "I have a bad feeling about this," I whisper to the squad leader, but he insists that we move to stay ahead of the nano-bot storm that one of us had the displeasure of experiencing before. She said it was a constant bee sting, but all over. She shuddered while describing it, but said the pain was short-lived.

"Why do you make people do this?" I ask, not really concerned with the answer; I just want to show my displeasure. The organizer only laughs and makes a motion to follow him through a dimly-lit door at the back of the room.

As I step through the door, I feel the air moving behind me. Ambush! I think. I spin as quickly as I can, reaching for a pan that is no longer there. It's too late. I feel something close around my neck and see the largest man I've ever seen standing in front of me, his arms protruding towards my neck. I expect to be choked to death, but he simply lowers his arms. A sad, resigned, smile flashes across his eyes. I notice a small black band around his neck, and instinctively reach towards mine. I feel a band as well. I can't be sure, but it's almost certainly the same as the large man's.

Flash

I am standing inside what appears to be an abandoned shipping warehouse. Assorted crates are scattered here and there, with the occasional rusted-steel barrel dotting the gaps between crates. I don't have time to consider the layout for very long, as three men dash into the warehouse just in time to avoid the storm. A shot from a sniper takes my squad leader from his perch by the window. I shout commands to my fellow squad, but they are already engaging the enemy.

"What the hell is this?" I ask, confused. The organizer replies. "This is a guarantee. It's to make sure that I stay safe. You will be working for me now. You have a job to do."

"A job?" I ask, knowing that I won't be paid. "What makes you think I will work for you?"

"The band around your neck. It is a steel band with a small amount of explosive inside. It's not enough to harm those around you, but it will certainly do enough damage to cause you to bleed out in seconds," he replies in a flat, almost bored, tone. Well, shit. I think.

"What is it you want me to do?" I ask. He replies with a smile "Oh, the task is quite simple..."

The door to the truck opens. Inside is a smattering of various weapons, mostly shotguns, pistols, and sub-machine guns, but with the occasional rifle or DMR scattered here and there. My task has been explained to me, and the storm has been cleared. We are to spread these weapons around Miramar. The sun has gone down, and it is quite cold. Like the corpses of my friends. I think grimly. I reach up and grab an M16 and a couple of boxes of ammunition.

Flash

I am crouched outside the warehouse, watching the door. I saw my squad go down, but I still hear suppressed gunfire inside. A new squad must have entered the warehouse, I think. A quick glance in the opposite direction of the warehouse reveals that the storm is closing. I notice that it's a circle small enough to guess the distance to the other side. A thought crosses my mind: It must be less than 100 meters in diameter now. Surely no one would stay in that storm for long, so there can't be many more people left in this town. I estimate that only the people in the warehouse remain. The gunfire has stopped. I have to survive. I toss three flashbangs into the window of the warehouse, projecting my position to the enemy, wait for the sound of the first to mask my footsteps, and begin running towards the opposite side of the warehouse. As I turn the corner, two people are entering the warehouse, firing on an unseen enemy at the other end. One of them is hit, and on his knees. He crawls towards me, and spots me. He begins to shout, "There's another one over," but is cut off by the pronounced boooong of my pan cracking him over the skull. I drop the pan, grab my sidearm, and fire three rapid shots into the remaining enemy's forehead just as he turns to fire at me. The storm dissipates, and I hear a helicopter approaching.

We're not allowed to speak to one another. It is now approaching mid-morning, and time is almost up. I'm exhausted now that the adrenaline has had time to subside. We've worked roughly from the outside of the area towards a central point, Pecado, and we have a surplus of the nicer weapons. Time is running out. We glance at the sun, then at each other (especially the collars), then at the guns, then at the stadium. We all know what it means. We rush to unload the truck. As we finish, we each have a bag placed over our heads, and are taken to a small barrack somewhere nearby.

And I get to do it all over again tomorrow night, I think as sleep finally overtakes me.