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Battle Royale Returns

NobBe Nobbs

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Firstly, I know that most of you will not have read anything I've written. I don't advise you to go back and read any of my previous diaries as, to be perfectly honest, they were cack. Read my entries in the TEW Diary Survivor though, because they didn't suck quite as much.

When discussions come up about the 'elite' of the Diary Dome, Gongsun Zan's name rarely comes up, which I came help thinking is a shame. The original Battle Royales were excellent pieces of writing, and I fully advise you to read Battle Royale II (the very first BR was on EWB III, and there seems to be no working link to it any more, but if you can find it, read that as well). Project Oblivion, also, looks like it could be an excellent addition to the Dome.

This may seem like I'm kissing his ass, but you all know it's true. Unfortunately, Battle Royale II was never finished. Zan told us all what he had intended to happen, but for one reason or another, never got around to writing it.

I can guess that most of you who read this will compare it to the originals, and more than likely find it lacking. I wouldn't be surprised either; Zan is a legend, and I doubt I can actually do this without stealing some of his ideas (be it inadvertantly or...advertantly? Is that a word? It is now). Nevertheless, I talked to Zan about it and sent him what would be the initial post of the story, and he gave me the go-ahead in return.

The writing will be done in a similar style to Zan - i.e. flicking from man to man, not focusing on one person in particular. Some of the BR rules have been altered slightly, in order to keep the story moving along and prevent it becoming stagnant. In terms of the other Royales, I have tried to treat it as if this one is taking place in the same universe and the same timeline as the previous ones. So you're not going to see people who died in before coming back from the dead. However, I haven't been able to find a full list of the wrestlers featured in Battle Royale I, so there may be some mistakes in that case. If anyone has a 'cast list', as it were, for BRI, please send me it.

Thank you for reading. Whether or not you choose to continue is down to you now.

Edited by ZeMapper
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Well you're a good writer ZeMapper, so I'll be reading, especially since I'm about fifty pages away from the end of Battle Royale the book (which I haven't fully read yet, despite having it for something like two months now), but if you leave us hanging like Gongsun did, I will slit your throat and have your entire family faceraped by rabid hyenas.

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The Beginning –

Wakey, wakey, little snakey…

Over the years, the name of New Skyros has become legend among the crowds universally known as ‘the wrong ones’. The tales they tell are always the same; those of violence that fully befit the moniker of ‘ultra-violence’. Underground fighting rings, gangland executions - humiliation, torture and murder are the exports of New Skyros.

In spite of all this, something new is coming. Something to put the rest of New Skyros to shame. Something that would make Jack the Ripper look like Mahatma Gandhi.

Battle Royale returns.


Amidst the burnt-out shells of a thousand cars, a bright yellow school bus couldn’t look more out of place. After the mass exodus provoked by the words ‘Battle Royale’ – not to mention the considerable amount of folding cash handed over – one lone beggar remained. He stared in frank amazement at the bus, as it ferried it’s unwilling quarry to whatever hell awaited them, then turned on around. He just didn’t care.


They do say ignorance is bliss. In the case of Roderick Strong, they - whoever ‘they’ are - were right on the money. Barely five minutes ago, he’d woken from a deep sleep to find himself shackled and chained to a seat in what looked like a bus. Sitting next to him, similarly restrained, was a heavy-set man he didn’t recognise.

Nor, from the looks of things, did he particularly want to. He looked to the front again and again, his eyes were drawn to the guards. Obviously there in case someone tried to escape, they each were armed with brutal-looking rifles. Strong didn’t even pretend to know much about weaponry, but he knew enough to know that getting shot hurt.

His head was locked in place, so turning around was obviously impossible, but he refused to give up. The guards couldn’t help but be amused at the sight of Strong pointlessly trying to break free from the chains, but they were under orders to stop any sign of rebellion.

‘Quit screwing around, you,’ growled one of the guards

Strong didn’t even waste his breath replying, continuing to struggle. Smiling nastily, the guard slung around his rifle, pointing it at Strong. He stopped instantly.

‘That always scares them,’ said the guard, moments before he brought the butt of the rifle down on Strong’s jaw. Again, he saw the blackness and his eyes fell shut.

Sleep tight…don’t let the bedbugs bite…


‘Good morning, everyone.’

The black-suited man stepped onto the podium at the front of the room. The men gathered in the room looked over at him, some confused, others with hatred.

‘I suppose you’re all wondering why you’re here.’

‘What the fuck’s going on here?’ shouted Homicide, his sentiments echoed by others. The man smiled gently.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then. Before I tell you, I’d just like to perform a litmus test, if you will. How many of you have ever dreamt of killing someone, and meant it?’

No-one answered. No-one even seemed to have understood.

‘Anyone? So much the better for us, then.’

‘No, seriously, what’s going on?’ called out Chris Hero.

‘Patience, my friends. All shall be revealed soon enough. Actually, all shall be revealed now. How many of you have heard the words ‘Battle Royale’ before?’

Once again, no-one answered.

‘Even better. The reason you are all here today is something that I can tell you is going to make great television – you guys are going to kill one another.’

Again, there was quiet. The Blue Meanie was the first to break the silence. ‘That’s insane. That’s just fucking stupid.’

The man smiled his gentle smile again. ‘That’s what the last bunch said as well. They all thought it was crazy, and one by one, they all played the game. Or got killed. One or the other. So believe me, it’s far easier if you all play the game from the outset – it gives you a bigger chance of surviving, and a bigger chance of winning the game.’

‘I don’t believe you’ said Samoa Joe and Chris Harris in unison.

‘You all know of Mick Foley, right? He was in the last Battle Royale, and he killed.’

‘No, no, no…no, that’s bullshit!’ shouted Bubba Ray Dudley. ‘I know Mick and he’s not a killer!’

‘You sound like Vader. Vader was a contestant in the second Battle Royale, and in the first one, Mick won it. Foley killed plenty of men in the first one, and when we told Vader, he refused to believe us. Then he saw Foley kill someone. So I wouldn’t be so sure.

It’s a real pity Foley’s not still around.’

Bubba sat down, his head in his hands, and Sabu looked around in despair. Seemingly please with the consternation his announcement had caused, the man carried on.

‘You guys may have noticed the metal collars you’re wearing. I will give you one piece of advice right now – don’t touch them. Those collars monitor your life signs, and are pretty much invulnerable against anything short of a rocket launcher. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that blowing it off with a rocket will kill you as well.’

‘Why can’t we touch them?’ asked Frankie Kazarian.

‘Because the collars will explode, and your head will be blown to pieces. They can be remotely detonated, by this little device I have here.’ The man waved a small black remote. ‘The collars will also detonate if you try to force them off, or if you’re caught in a danger zone.

From the expressions on your faces, I’ll hazard a guess and say that you don’t know what a danger zone is. If you’ll direct your attention to the screen behind me…’

The screen flashed on, showing a blue and green graphic behind a black grid.

‘This is a digital representation of the city you are currently in. The red crosses show you all, and as long as the crosses stay pulsing, you’re still alive.’

Behind him, one cross turned blue, as did the name above it – Akio’s.

‘When the cross turns blue – you’re dead.’

On cue, the collar around Akio’s neck started beeping shrilly. Akio’s expression froze, eyes wide in absolute terror. His last conscious action was to charge at the black-suited man, hands held out as if to strangle him – then his collar exploded. Akio’s head and neck simply disintegrated in a shower of blood and brain matter, and his body slumped onto the podium.

Again pleased with the horror his actions had instilled upon the other wrestlers, the man continued, gesturing at the line of dark green duffel bags by the front of the room.

‘These kitbags here are yours. They each contain food and water supplies, a torch with batteries, a map of the city with a grid and boundaries of the city marked on, and a weapon. Exactly which weapon you get is random – you might be lucky and get a gun…or you might get something a little worse.

‘Now, for the safety of myself and my bodyguards, once you all leave this building, it will become a danger zone. As for the others, I will be announcing new danger zones the hour after you leave, then every three hours after that. It’s probably not wise to sleep – imagine if you fall asleep and end up in a danger zone. Not a nice thought, is it?

‘You’ll be leaving in alphabetical order, so Abyss will take his bag and leave first, then two minutes after him, Abdullah the Butcher, then after him, the Blue Meanie and so on, so forth. Oh, one last thing. If there are no kills in a twelve-hour period, three of you will have your collars detonated. Which three is completely random.

‘Happy hunting.’

42 Wrestlers Remaining

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I like the look of this Diary. Being one who was a massive fan of both BR's this is definetly on my to read list.

Just one question, any chance of a complete list of wrestlers involved?

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Most certainly. Here you are -


Abdullah the Butcher


The Blue Meanie

Bubba Ray Dudley

Chad Collyer

Charlie Haas

Chavo Guerrero

Chris Harris

Chris Hero

Chris Masters

Claudio Castagnoli

Dan Maff

Devon Storm

Doug Williams

Eddie Guerrero

Frankie Kazarian


J.C Ice

James Storm

Jimmy Jacobs

Johnny Kashmere

Kenta Kobashi

Matt Hardy

The Messiah

Mike Quackenbush

Mirko Cro Cop


Petey Williams


Rob Black

Rob Van Dam

Roderick Strong


Samoa Joe

Scott Steiner

Shane Helms

Super Dragon


Tito Ortiz

Trent Acid

Val Venis

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0000 – 0100

Hour 1, Day 1

Forty-one more people were still alive and perfectly prepared to kill him, but Charlie Haas already had an advantage over them. The Blue Meanie, Abyss and Abdullah the Butcher had left before him, and Charlie couldn’t be sure whether they were prepared to kill him or not. But hey, if they were, he would be ready.

He was lucky; his bag had contained a Desert Eagle – famed the world over for it’s ease and it’s stopping power. It was louder than a Dutch whore, but with more than two hundred bullets, he wasn’t likely to run out of ammo any time soon. Before carrying on, he looked around. He had been walking down a dark alleyway between a couple of housing blocks with a dumpster behind him; anyone could have attacked him.

Just to be safe, he walked back to the dumpster, shining his torch inside. The aroma of rotting garbage was disgusting, but now was no time to feel ill. He turned away and carried on out of the alleyway, shining his torch around warily.


Chavo Guerrero breathed a sigh of relief. He had just began to check his kitbag when he saw a flash of light. Intrigued and scared in about equal amounts, he’d followed the source of the light down an alleyway, but with no light to guide him, he nearly walked into a dumpster. Chavo had just sat against it when the man with the light opened the skip up, and began to rummage through it.

Barely breathing, Chavo sneaked a glance around the edge of the dumpster. The first thing he saw was the gleaming metal barrel of a Desert Eagle, shortly followed by Charlie Haas’ face. Chavo looked back down at his kitbag, and the broken bottle lying within it.

I need a weapon, he thought. And having that would give me one hell of an advantage.

The idea that Charlie was his friend and colleague from their time together in the WWE never even crossed his mind – in spite of his words, Chavo was apparently willing to kill. He threw his bottle past Haas, and the noise of it shattering was enough to draw his attention for a split-second. Chavo struck; he grabbed hold of Charlie's hand and tried to prise the gun away. Taken by surprise, Charlie didn't have the presence of mind to hold on, but fought back nevertheless. He kicked at Chavo's legs, but in vain as Chavo brought the butt of the pistol down on Charlie's jaw. Charlie fell back against the wall, barely conscious. He looked up at Chavo, then at the gun barrel.

Chavo looked down at Charlie, slumped against the wall. Slowly, enjoying himself, he cocked the pistol.


Back inside the building, a group of five were discussing what they'd just seen and heard in hushed tones.

'Do you guys think he was telling the truth about Foley?' asked Rob Van Dam, voicing the question they all wanted to ask.

'I don't know. I knew Mick before, in ECW, and I looked up to him,' said Rhino. 'I just can't imagine it happening.'

'But then again, who could have imagined something like this happening?' interjected Nova. 'Us being abducted, then forced to kill one another?'

Dan Maff's name was called, and he left silently, picking up his bag and walking out.

'The bigger question here, I suppose, is whether any of us can actually kill a man,' said Samoa Joe pensively. 'I don't think that I could.'

'Even if you'd be killed otherwise?' asked Trent Acid incredulously.


'Well, you say that now, but how long you last before you kill is debatable. If I had to kill, I would; not because I'd enjoy it, but because I want to survive this.'

'I have to agree,' said Nova. 'I want to see my wife and my kids again, and if it means that I have to kill a man to do it...so be it.'


Chris Harris stalked down the dark road, taking a swig from his water bottle. He couldn't help being more than a little bit nervous; for all intents and purposes, he was unarmed. Of all the possible weapons he could have been assigned, he had been given a French baguette. So, obviously, his top priority was finding something a little more lethal than a loaf of bread.

He slipped into the doorway of a house and pushed at the door. Surprisingly, it opened, although unbeknownest to the wrestlers, none of the doors on any of New Skryos' buildings were locked. Chris moved in quietly - he doubted that there would be anyone inside, but it never hurt to be cautious. Something squeaked, and he jumped before realising it was nothing more than the door closing. Mentally, Chris gave himself a couple of slaps - if he got paranoid now, he was as good as dead.

Chris switched on his torch, and flashed it around the room. He tried the light switch, but the electrics were dead. In the brief moment of hindsight, having a light on would be a very bad idea; people would inevitably be drawn to it like moths to a flame, and without a decent weapon, he would be dead in a matter of hours. The torchlight caught something that twinkled, and Chris shone the light on it. A long steak knife stood embedded in the counter; it was probably blunt, but it was a better weapon at the very least.

Gently, he ran his finger along the edge of the blade. A surge of pain darted through his arm, and he jerked it away as a tiny drop of blood dripped to the floor. Taking the torch in his weaker left hand, he crept from the house. At least now he had a chance. Chris stopped, turning off his torch. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he'd seen a flash of light from the alley opposite. He turned the knife over in his hand uneasily. He wasn't too sure whether he could use it or not, but the light meant someone else was nearby. The choice of whether he could kill still awaited him, but if he were with someone else, he could postpone making it.


The Blue Meanie, despite all evidence to the contrary, wasn't stupid. He knew he wasn't going to win out by being defensive and hiding somewhere, waiting for the clock to run out. He knew that he didn't want to run the risk of having his collar randomly detonated either, and in his mind, there was only one way to solve it - come out swinging. He'd drawn the baseball bat, and in a pinch, Meanie thought he could probably knock out anyone with a well-aimed strike. Killing them would be a much more difficult matter, but if push came to shove, he'd use their own weapon.

Nevertheless, he was more than a little apprehensive. He'd drawn a reasonably good weapon, but what if others were walking around with guns?

There's only one thing you can really do against a man with a gun, and that was charge in and catch him with his guard down.

Meanie smashed his bat into a nearby wall. He didn't know whether there was anybody around to hear him, nor did he much care, but if someone was they'd naturally investigate. Meanie strolled down the black streets, casually hitting anything he came across.

Apprehension? Fuck it.


Devon Storm couldn't help but smile. He may be trapped in a ghost town, he may be fitted with a collar that would explode at the slightest provocation, he may have to kill forty-one other men to get out of here alive but he already had a distinct advantage of every one of them. From the moment he'd taken his kitbag, he knew that he'd gotten something good and heavy. It could have been that he'd gotten a sledgehammer, but no.

He'd drawn an AK47. He didn't have a clue how to use it other than 'point and shoot', but with enough ammunition to kill everyone about ten times over, he wasn't going to die without a good long fight. Storm cocked the rifle, relishing the sound it made; a deliciously evil metallic click, striking fear into anyone who heard it.

It was the sound of the Grim Reaper himself.

Storm heard a door slam off to his left, and levelled the rifle in the direction of the sound. Something stirred; it could have been human, it could have been the wind, it could have been anything. But here and now, assuming anything could easily mean death. He fired off a quick burst, then slowly walked forward. He listened for any sound of movement, but there seemed to be nothing. Either he’d killed his target, or he was merely being paranoid.

Storm opened the door that had slammed shut, digging his torch from his bag, all the while keeping his AK prepared. There was a faint sound, like a mouse within the wall, but otherwise it was silent. Storm looked around once more, then backed away.

It’s last man standing rules. There will be other targets.


Inside the building, Frankie Kazarian lay motionless. The only thing that had kept him alive was the complete lack of light anywhere. He had left the bunker quickly and found a place to hide until someone else came along. His weapon – a Bowie knife – would only really be of use if he could sneak up on someone and slit their throat. It was only bad luck that the door had chosen to slam shut when it did.

The flurry of bullets that had flown through the wooden door had mostly missed him, but one stray round had embedded itself in his leg. Knowing well that if he made a noise, whoever had shot him would come to finish the job, he fought desperately to stay silent.

It had worked. Someone had come in and left without properly looking around. Frankie allowed himself to slide down the wall to the floor, staring at his knife. Was he going to die? He shook his head vigorously. He’d been shot in the leg, but he’d survive…for now at least. Hauling himself to his feet, Frankie limped towards the door.


Chris Harris, steak knife in hand, stood at the mouth of the alley. Chavo Guerrero was aiming at a beaten Charlie Haas with a Desert Eagle. Chris’ mind reeled, but he knew he had only seconds to make his choice – either he killed Chavo, or Chavo killed Charlie and probably him as well. Self-preservation took over.

Chris charged. Chavo was only able to turn halfway before Chris tackled him to the ground. The Desert Eagle went flying as Chris punched at Chavo’s face, hoping that he could knock the Mexican out and not have to kill him. Charlie looked out of it, slumped against the wall, but Chris was running on adrenaline alone. Gradually, Chavo’s resistance weakened and weakened until his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

Breathing heavily, Chris turned to Charlie, holding out his hand. Charlie revived himself enough to let Chris help him up, and stood on his own.

‘Can you walk?’ asked Chris. Charlie hesitated, then nodded.

‘I’ll be alright. Bastard pistol-whipped me.’

Chris picked his knife from the ground, and turned to take the Desert Eagle as well.

It was gone.

42 Wrestlers Remaining

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Oh fark, this is good. I take it EWR really doesn't come into it though, :P.

You're a damn fine writer, I've got to say. I could actually feel the tension as I read this, and I've got a newfound non-sexual man crush on poor Charlie Haas. :P

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Like I told ZeMapper, I'm pretty impressed with his writing, seeing as well, I have no clue who is he >_<

Anyways, I think you've got the spirit of the diary down perfectly, and assuming you manage to finish this, I'm pretty fine with you taking the role of 'that guy who surpassed that other guy with the original diary idea' :P.

On a personal note, I'm pretty interested in seeing Battle Royale being handled other than someone other than myself (and Hamster, but that's another story :P). Plus, I can't help but feel that by letting go of the proverbial ownership of the Wrestling Battle Royale, I can finally free myself to start off on some other projects :D

So uh yep, enough about me. Good luck (Y)

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Looking very good so far Ze Mapper. I like your writing style as well.

One thing though:

'I have to agree,' said Nova. 'I want to see my wife and my kids again, and if it means that I have to kill a man to do it...so be it.'

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'I have to agree,' said Nova. 'I want to see my wife and my kids again, and if it means that I have to kill a man to do it...so be it.'

Nova doesn't have a wife and kids...he doesn't play for that team, if you catch my drift!!

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