Donald Rugg had been surprised when he encountered Norman Pearson at the headquarters of Extech. Honestly he didn’t remember much of the year they had lived together. Like all students, Donald Rugg had much of his life taking a steady dose of nootropics to keep his mind focussed and alert. Under their influence a person’s ability to absorb, retain and recall information increased dramatically. Most students found that they needed to be taking them constantly to have any hope of graduating with a degree worth anything, Donald included. Donald was more gifted than most, and he thought that with utmost humility, especially when aided by the nootropics. But when he came to the end of his first year of university, and his peers and flatmates were busy celebrating by not studying for a few hours, he began to worry. What if his ability, his gift for learning, was all because of the drugs? Could he truly say that his skill of retention and recall were his own? Thoughts like this plagued him as prepared for the annual gauntlet that was exam season. With nowhere else to turn, Donald found himself talking to one of his flatmates: Norman Pearson. Norman was the picture of an average student. Twitchy, neurotic and paranoid. He was short, with arms that looked a little too long for his body, and dark eyes that seemed to need to blink less than one would think healthy. He, like Donald and most students, also took large amounts of nootropics. Donald was never quite sure how much Norman was taking, Norman was characteristically cagey about how much he took along with just about anything about him, but Donald was fairly certain it was more than was recommended on the pill bottle. It was perhaps because of this that Donald found himself confiding in Norman. It certainly wasn’t because Donald expected any useful advice from his flatmate, or indeed any sympathy at all. Norman was a little too wrapped up in himself to care very much about anyone else.

“I feel like these achievements, these grades… I feel like they’re somehow… meaningless?” Donald was trying to explain himself to Norman, “Even if I pass my three degrees… does it really mean anything if I did it thanks to the drugs? It’s like I didn’t properly earn them.” They were talking in the flat’s kitchen, both waiting for the water in the kettle to be boiled so that they could have their usual meal of two cups of instant noodles each. The couple of minutes that it took for the water to boil, and the few minutes more it took for the noodles to be ready, was the longest break they usually allowed themselves. It was the evening before their last exam. Norman looked uninterested in Donald’s issue, like he’d never particularly considered if his achievements mattered and, now that Donald had brought it up, didn’t think the issue required much thought.

“Does it matter?” he confirmed as such, “If you get the degrees you get the degrees. No one cares if you got them while under the influence of drugs.”

“But… I care, for some reason.” Donald stared at the brightly coloured cups of instant noodles lined up on the kitchen top.

“Well say if you studied without the nootropics, and failed your degrees, wouldn’t that be worse?” Donald was surprised that Norman had offered more of a single sentence of thought on the matter. He also wasn’t sure if he had an answer to Norman’s hypothetical question. “How about you quit the drugs then? Not right now!” Norman added hastily, seeing the look on Donald’s face. “After the exam tomorrow, just don’t take any pills for, say… a day. Just see what it’s like.” This was a really surprising amount of input from Norman. The kettle clicked to communicate that it was finished, and that the water within had boiled. Norman picked it up and poured the steaming water into his two cups and left the room with them. Evidently the conversation was over.

Donald did as Norman had suggested and didn’t take any nootropic pills for a day. Over the course of that day he lost an entire year’s worth of knowledge, along with many of his memories. It was like an entire year had just been erased from his mind. In the end he found that his clearest memory was of the one who had done this to him.

Norman Pearson.

The university decided to allow Donald to redo his first year of his courses. It was more money for the university and Donald was a highly capable student. If he had been applying normally again most universities would have been happy to take him.

So Donald Rugg was surprised but not displeased when he encountered Norman Pearson at the headquarters of Extech. Norman himself had somehow gotten a strange candidate, a young woman called Millicent Lute, attached to him but he hadn’t changed at all. Donald didn’t hate Norman, he remembered so very little of him, but he did want to cause Norman a lot of pain and prevent him from getting a job. Fortunately he had the perfect chance to do so, as the his clumsy once-flatmate somehow managed to make it through to the final stage of the assessment day, the battle royale. The beginning of the battle royale had been uneventful. While there had been three or so candidates starting just to his left, they were all too focussed on fighting each other to bother Donald. So Donald dropped down and began searching for Norman. It took a while, the first tone sounded while he searched, but he found Norman, along with the weird woman Millicent, by a bridge. Donald had to give Norman credit, he trusted no one. Throughout their conversation Norman never let his guard down, even when he appeared to be having something resembling an existential crisis. Donald had been hoping to find a good moment to strike but none came and they were interrupted by yet another oddity, a candidate who wanted to talk to Millicent about some revolutionary crackpot plan. In the end Donald’s patience ran out, and he swung hard, separating the candidate’s head from his shoulders with the sword he’d been carrying all day. It felt good. Millicent didn’t scream, though she did look shocked at the spilling of blood. Did she really understand what they were doing here?

“Don…” her voice quavered. Donald was tired of having to smile all the time. He wanted to fight, and he was going to do it now. He span his sword and couple of times and pointed it at Millicent.

“I’d stop worrying about whoever this was, Millicent.” he said, “I’d start worrying about yourself.”

Norman chose that moment to punch him across the jaw. It was a heavy punch, like being hit with a block of metal which, Donald considered, they probably were. He leaned with the direction of the punch and span, raising his sword to strike Norman. Norman was already up close. He’d evidently decided, with Donald swinging something so long and sharp, that the safest place to be was within arms reach of Donald, where Donald would struggle to manoeuvre his sword. The thing about being in arms reach of a person though is that they can use their arms, which Donald did to strike Norman in the stomach. Judging by the look of Norman’s face and the fact that he stumbled and almost collapsed, this hurt a lot and left him doubled over, standing at the perfect angle for Donald to bring his sword down on Norman’s neck. It seemed that Norman had also realised this and he dashed backwards, managing to narrowly avoid Donald’s swing. Donald was already dashing forwards, ready to swing the other way. Norman reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at Donald but he was already too close and swung his sword. Norman dashed back again but the pistol was let loose from his hand and sailed through the air, landing with a metallic clatter somewhere nearby. For some reason Donald got the sense that Norman’s expression communicated a sentiment something close to not again. Norman continued to edge backwards and Donald pushed forwards, making sure to restrict the number of safe movement options. This forced Norman further and further back and closer and closer to the bridge. Norman had noticed this as well but every time he tried to press forwards to regain ground Donald would cut him off. Not literally, but he would stop Norman from advancing. Norman was on the bridge now, his avenues for escape were significantly reduced purely by the long drops either side of him. This was the moment! Donald took a stride forwards and swung down hard at Norman. Norman chose this moment to duck flow and charge forwards. He caught Donald’s arms and turned. Donald realised what Norman was trying to do. He was trying to throw Donald over his shoulder and off the bridge! Donald growled , shifted his weight and put an arm around Norman’s neck. Suddenly Norman was the one in trouble, as Donald threw him down. Norman hit the floor of the bridge and Donald raised his sword high to bring it down on Norman.

A sound rang out. A gunshot. Then Donald felt a sharp pain in his back. He turned to see Millicent standing there at the end of the bridge, Norman’s discarded pistol in her hands.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Donald said. He fell backwards and lay there on the bridge as his vision darkened. It was there, on a concrete bridge in a concrete arena gazing at a concrete sky, that Donald Rugg spoke his last words.

Unfortunately they are not considered appropriate for print.