Tristan Hui '24
It’s a game, it’s a war. It breaks people up, tears friendships to shreds with gleaming teeth, replaces student-teacher cordiality with animosity. There is no better time for long-due revenge and no worse time to be a freshman who doesn’t know how heated this will get. A collection of vignettes about the game might not help you to win or survive, but maybe it will help you pass time in the relative safety of your dorm room. Or, if you’ve been killed already, it may entertain (and for all those of you who are already out, there is a note for you at the end). If you’re roaming campus reading this, you would be wise to put it down and walk faster to the nearest safe zone instead.
As soon as the announcer utters those dreaded words, Hitchcock Theater dissolves into chaos. The words shine white on the stage screen, but even the collected serenity of the ‘Focus’ Google Slides theme fails to sugarcoat the news.
First comes the murmuring of disbelief that ripples through the seats like a wave in a crowded football stadium, and the sound of necks cracking as the students who weren’t really paying attention snap their heads up fast enough to get whiplash.
“Now?”
“Now as in now, or now as in, like, now now?”
“Are you serious?”
“Wasn’t it later last year?”
Second, fear sets in. People start to grab onto each other, reaching across seats to find friends, hiding their faces.
“We are going to die before we even get out of here, this is so dangerous—”
“I am so scared right now, I am so scared—”
“We’re all gonna have to up our anxiety meds for this.”
Third, the air in the theater seems to thicken with urgency as hundreds of poorly-hushed voices begin to strategize.
“Okay, you need to stay with me when we leave, otherwise we’ll both be dead in seconds.”
“Oh, my god, here, take my arm and do not let go.”
“No matter what happens, under no circumstances, will you two go without me, alright? We need to stay in threes.”
“Who has a last period near the math building?”
“Does anyone have an M-Block free to walk me to my car?”
“Do you think staying here to avoid getting murdered would be worth the detention for missing sem?”
The penultimate phase is the paranoia that now plagues the Cate campus.
“Who do you have?”
“Why should we tell you?”
“Because otherwise I won’t trust any of you anymore. Consider our friendship on hiatus.”
“You gotta show the email, I need to see evidence.”
“Do not come any closer, I will run straight through the Keck Lab if need be.”
“If you end up getting me, I swear to god—”
And finally: the bloodbath.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“You’re eliminated.”
“Do you know what the homework is for Calc?”
“Say again?”
“Do you know what the homework is for Calc? Also, you’re eliminated.”
“Hey. You’re eliminated.”
“You have got to be kidding me! I’ve been walking around with you all day!”
“You’re eliminated.”
“On Lunar New Year? Come on, man!”
Before you go, here is (as promised) the note for those of you who’ve been out for a long time now. These words of advice have been shared by anonymous and experienced eliminatees, all of whom did not let being eliminated stop their fun:
“You really only live once—go nuts and slay, figuratively and literally!”
“You should tell someone you know who they have, make up someone entirely not at this school, and then say it’s like a random freshman or something, I dunno.”
“It’d be really funny if you could just like, lie, lie, lie some mo—wait, are you actually transcribing what I’m saying right now?”
“Well, I was a triple agent last year, and a double agent the year before that… it was pretty fun.”
The point is, just because you’re out doesn’t mean you can’t participate or hinder other people’s progress. Don’t let your moral compass stop you from causing problems!
And to those of you who (by some miracle) are still in, best of luck and happy hunting.
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