Day 1, Phase 4

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The Man in Red

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Day 1, Phase 4
Evening Phase: 1800 to 0000​

“And so the day comes to a close, as night begins to fall over the island.” The clear voice of the event’s host chimed out over the intercom, with no preceding static to the announcement this time. ”The deathless lull is broken, and one of you has met their end…

#016 Magus

“Let us not forget them, but move forward quickly and eagerly to add more bodies to the pile! From the course of events on the island, that pile may soon be growing very large indeed…”

“The Danger Zones from earlier are now wonderfully active, and those from this morning are now far more deadly! Come the striking of midnight, there will be even more to be watchful of:

D-3!
C-4!
C-5!
E-4!
C-3!
D-4!
E-3!
B-5!
H-14!
I-14!
J-14!
K-14!
N-7!

Do make sure you’re not present in those areas once the new day arrives, now! Perhaps some of you could do with a bit of rest, as the late hours arrive? Pleasant dreams!”



NPC Movement Updates[/B]
Mid-Boss remains unrevealed, shuffling around out there somewhere...
Cell continues to lurk among the swamplands, waiting for a good opportunity.
Agent Hunk makes his way into another city, searching for more supplies to scavenge and more ambush sites to set up.
Sigma curses and scowls as he retreats from the site of his latest fight, bitter over his defeat and looking for another, easier mark.
Darth Vader clings to life with all his angry willpower.
King slowly staggers through the grass, struggling not to simply bleed out.


Bulletins and Updates
  • Military time. If it’s a head-scratcher, that’s 6 PM to Midnight. Sun going down, so it’s getting dark out once again.
  • The weather has finally broken and started to actually rain, or snow in the mountainous/colder spaces. Fairly light for now, but will intensify throughout the night.
 
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The Man in Red

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#008 Cell vs #017 King​

King had put forth a valiant effort. Or at least he’d like to think so. He’d managed to get up and half crawl, half stumble, for a long ways. Several miles, back along the river and the coast of the lake. He didn’t even really know where he was going, everything was so...off.

Cold.

When he finally reached a point where he saw a bridge over a river, he collapsed in exhaustion against a tree. Dimly he was aware of the clear trail of blood he had left in his wake, staining the grass red. How he had managed to lose so much and still keep alive was beyond him. Maybe...maybe he really was a Hero after all, and just had never realized it….?

The sky overhead rumbled faintly, and rain began to fall. Slowly at first, just a light sprinkling, but it was somehow...refreshing. King slowly closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the tree with a soft thunk. Maybe...he could just rest for a minute…

There was a soft plodding sound as something suddenly loomed over him, blocking out the rain. “Well, well, well...look what we have here. The great hero,” a voice hissed.

King’s eyes slowly opened, staring in an unfocused daze at the green…thing standing over him. Normally he would have been petrified, terrified to the point of screaming and needing new pants...but he was just so tired. So worn out and exhausted and through with this whole thing, he couldn’t even muster up the strength for that. Weakly, he just lifted up his duffel bag with a trembling arm. “H-Here...just...take it…”

Cell’s beak cracked open with a fierce cackle as he reached down and plucked the bag from the bloody fingers of his foe. “How generous. In return, I suppose the least I can do is make this...quick.” His tail slowly rose up over his shoulder, the needle-sharp point gleaming in the cloudy, fading light of oncoming evening.

King just groaned sadly and let his eyes drift closed. He didn’t even have the strength to cry out in pain when that ghastly needle stabbed into his chest. Nor when it started to drain something out of him, with greedy slurping and sucking noises. The body of the so-called greatest hero simply began to deflate and degrade, like an old balloon weeks after a party...until it was eventually no more, with only his bloodstained and tear-streaked clothes left behind.

Cell cackled madly as he withdrew his tail and turned to stalk away, ripping open the bag he had acquired. He fished out one of the shining emeralds within, and his eyes narrowed at it. He set it aside and crouched down, digging through the bag and flinging the useless MREs and water out with reckless abandon, carefully piling the remaining emeralds together until he finally found the note which had come with them.

His tail thrashed about behind him, as he let out a triumphant, maniacal cackle. He crushed it and threw it aside, standing up and kicking the rest of the “hero’s” worthless garbage aside as he scooped up the emeralds. “And now...my perfection..is at hand.” And the emeralds as one began to blow, and he theow them into the air, the point of his tail yawning wide into a huge maw as he caught the falling gemstones in it.

They vanished within, the tail’s opening clamping shut around then. The shining points of light slowly worked their way up...vanishing into the monster’s torso.

His maniacal laugh echoed around the clearing, and beyond, lightning flashing in the sky overhead as his voice slowly changed...from something monstrous and rasping into a beautifully cultured and far too human tone.


18 Contestants Remain

King has had his power (and Focus) completely drained and absorbed by Cell.

Cell has taken, and absorbed/used, the Chaos Emeralds.
Cell has taken the Boombox.

Thanks to his absorptions, Cell has advanced to his Perfect form. He has been healed of all injuries, his Handicap has increased, and he has gained additional movement.
 
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Arno Timber

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The Warthog ground to a less than graceful halt as the clouds overhead finally broke. The faint pitter patter of rain drops on the metallics of the vehicle and the Hunter’s helmet steadily grew in intensity. Bloodhound exited the vehicle, retrieving the duffel bag on the way. They settled themselves down against one of the wheels and rummaged around the survival kit for food and water. Helmet and respirator set aside, they set about the MRE in contemplative silence.

Silence was odd, for the Hunter at least. Usually, they’d have a Raven cawing at their ear, begging for scraps of food. But they’d been separated. The employees of this “death game” thought having a companion along might provide Bloodhound with an unfair advantage in the early stages. They were right, naturally, but it still stung a bit. Their thoughts drifted, somewhat, from the Raven to its namesake, eliciting a hefty sigh. Soon, their thoughts turned to the Allfather. Bloodhound canted their head to the sky, raindrops wetting the skin of their face. He’d have put those in the forest in their path, such is His way of controlling their path, but they couldn’t figure out why?

There was no glory here, not yet at least. Was there some hidden lesson He wanted the hunter to learn? The Allfather was usually less mysterious about such matters, though. A shake of their head dismissed the thought.

As Bloodhound pushed themself to their feet, a heavy gust of wind blew through the open plain around them, back in the direction they’d come from. They turned, bolstered somewhat, a sign from the Allfather, no doubt.

“The gustr of wind will lead us to victory."
 

Fennec Shand

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The sun began to set on the island, and Izuku Midoriya continued his trek. The would-be gyro chef had been trudging through the wilderness, alone, for the better part of a day now, with just a few breaks to get his ass wholly beaten. Not exactly his idea of a respite, and not exactly something he wanted to make a habit out of. So when he saw the girl making her way down the street from afar, he quickly slipped into a nearby building and took up a vantage point in a second floor window, prepping to get the drop on her.

Normally, he would’ve avoided combat altogether as scraped up as he was, especially with a girl. He didn’t know why he particularly hated fighting them -- he wasn’t a sexist or anything. On the contrary, most of the women Deku was acquainted with were badasses in a different realm than the men he’d interacted with. Still, something about… hitting one felt completely off to him. He supposed, at times like this, he was altogether too polite for his own good, because avoiding combat wasn’t an option. His kitchen knives were cool as hell, and symbolic of his greater goals on this island in their own way, but they did pretty much nada against any real enemy. The fat robot guy hadn’t even flinched at the sight of them, and they’d been altogether useless against the old geezer villain and the black-suited part-robot villain. He needed new gear, and he needed it right now -- so this girl would have to suffice.

She made her way bouncily and boisterously through the street, shouting expletives as her booted feet stepped in puddle after puddle of swampy muck. This city seemed to be sitting quite precariously amongst the residue of the more explicitly swampy area from the north, stone and wooden buildings alike rising from the humid bayou illuminated by an eerie blue light. The tall structures stood all over the outskirts of this settlement, casting everything in a deep, ghostly glow, especially pronounced as the dark of the night began to creep in.

If Izuku knew anything about strategy, this was the perfect time and place for an ambush.

...oh, but he still felt so damn guilty! He gritted his teeth and whined just a bit, then pushed himself forward and out the window.

“Take… this!” he idiotically announced his presence, foot flying towards the blonde girl below. At the sound of his battle cry, she spun around, her hair -- which was somehow flowy and spiky at the same time -- whipping in the wind as she lifted a clawed hand and reached for the hero’s foot. Midoriya’s eyes widened at the size of the impressive talons, and at the big turtle shell she seemed to be lugging on her back. From afar, it had just appeared to be a strangely spherical backpack, but upon closer inspection, the young man realized it might be… attached to her?!

First a chicken-man, now a turtle girl. Dammit.

Long, pointed talons enclosed around his foot and quickly tossed him aside like a ragdoll. He landed with a splash in a muddier segment of the road, brown and green gunk collecting on him as he rolled out his landing and managed to steady himself back into a kneeling position. He glanced up just in time to hear the girl’s first words to them.

“What the hell, nerd?!”

Hm, Midoriya noted, that sounds… oddly familiar.

He didn’t dwell. He knew if he let the girl continue to get the drop on him, he’d end up in just as bad a position as he did fighting Sigma, and he needed whatever weapon she had on her. He rushed forward, green sparks crackling around him as he charged, pink energy starting to flow electrically through his biceps and then into his forearm as the words began to form on his lips. “Detroit… SMA --

BOOM!

The girl’s hand came up at exactly the right moment, almost as if she had Deku’s moves pegged without even knowing him for more than seconds. An explosive burst of fiery energy erupted from the palm of her hand, and Izuku’s eyes went wide as the blast blew him backwards, back into the muck, back onto his ass. He blinked as he pushed himself to his feet, realizing quickly that the fiery sparks hadn’t done any actual damage. For whatever reason, this girl had only meant to knock him back, to deflect his Smash, not actually hurt him, and she’d done so, somehow, by using one of Kacchan’s signature techniques! But how could she have known how to do that? Was there someone else wandering out here in the Crossroads with Kacchan’s Quirk? How was that possible? That wasn’t supposed to be --

“Deku,” she interrupted his racing thoughts, popping a hip and crossing her arms. “It’s me, you damn nerd.”

The realization hit the green-haired, green-eyed youth like a brick and he froze where he stood, brain suddenly completely empty. Normally, young Midoriya couldn’t stop thinking. He had a habit of never letting up with his deductive brain, always trying to problem solve even when there weren’t problems. He had an answer for the strangest questions, but this puzzle was, perhaps, weirder than anything he’d ever tried to suss out before.

Kacchan?” he asked.

With an all-too-familiar grunt and a nod, Princess Bakugo confirmed the youth’s suspicions. She stood before him in all of her glory, and for the first time, as all thoughts of ambushing her and snatching her weapon washed away, Deku saw her. She stood just as tall as Kacchan had, in the same black combat boots he always wore. She wore his clothes, and -- now that he really looked -- had his same, furious scowl on, the same ash blonde hair. The resemblance actually was striking. She was Katsuki Bakugo, no doubt, the one and the same. Just with a goddamn crown sitting prettily on the top of her head, which, Deku deduced, must’ve been the Easter Egg -- and the cause for this startling transformation.

She had a few… other adjustments, and Midoriya’s mouth hung wide open as his eyes unconsciously traced every curve of her body. This competition was fucking weird.

“Quit looking at me like that, you fucking nerd.”
 
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King Shark

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“KA-KA-...KACCHAN!?”

Midoriya lowered his hands, each of which clutched an ornate kitchen knife. His body language shifted from aggressive and apprehensive to nervous and uncomfortable, but it was his eyes that really sealed the deal. The seafoam green eyes of Izuku, so much like the swampland to their north, met Princess Bakugo’s own ruby red eyes first and then dropped another twenty degrees. There they lingered for a moment that caused them both to shift uncomfortably.

“But you’re...you’re…” Midoriya stammered, and then flushed red. He cast his eyes down towards his feet, abashed.

“A motherfucking Princess,” finished Bakugo, her tone a blended recipe of pride, triumph, and sass. “You bet your Arbiter-be-damned-ass I am.”

She stepped forward, and behind her a scaly tail the length of her entire body gave a you-bet-your-ass thwap against the muddy ground with a muffled thump. Posturing, Princess Bakugo took a step forward toward Deku.

“I knew I’d find you here. You fucking nerd.”

Bakugo gave a tap against the interface of her ruby red scouter, looking smug.

“You’re so predictable. I knew the second I saw you in that bloody fucking city that I’d be crossing paths with you a day or two later. It’s just like you, isn’t it? Slithering up out of nowhere to leech some of my glory...you know we can’t both make it out of here, don’t you? You never should’ve come here. You should’ve just squatted your lazy ass back in the office where you could -” she paused mid-monologue when a blip on her scouter tugged away her attention.

As much as she loved berating and belittling Deku there was still the portent signals of her eyepiece to attend to. After all, this little piece of technical achievement was probably half the reason Princess Bakugo had fared so well thus far in this competition. Combined with her well marked piece of cartography, the map she carried bearing the danger zones and the marked combatants, P-Bak had managed to capitalize on each opportunity presented to her throughout the course of the day.

The stabbing of the morning past seemed a distant memory. Forefront in the turtle-backed Princess’ mind was the victory in the north-east city.

Compared to that city, this one was a scum-hole worth royalty’s derision. Still in the mouth of it, Bakugo was unimpressed. The streets were dimly lit mud and night was closing in on them quicker than any of their opponents were.

“Shut up, nerd,” commanded the Princess, adjusting her crowd with a prim poise befitting of her self-perceived station. The crown, owning odd looking vertical black eyes of its own, seemed to leer at Deku with its own sort of impassive judgement. “We’ve got to get indoors.”

“...y-yeah,” agreed Izuku, lifting up a knife in a gesture not unlike a child showing its crayon drawing to a parent. “Let’s find a place with a kitchen. I have to practice.”

“Practice…? What the fuck are you abou- you know what?” Bakugo shook her head, feminine features perplexed. She took a clawed hand to her temples and rubbed them tenderly as if to say that dealing with Deku were a chore beyond the scope of her duties. “Nevermind. Sure. We’ll find a kitchen. Make me your Princess some food.”

Deku soaked in the beam of the woman’s ‘acceptance’, for a moment, and even dared to cast his eyes up to hers before blushing and turning them back to the murky road beneath. At this point, a light drizzle had begun, and in the few moments the two of them stood awkwardly bathing in the old bathwater of their dysfunctional social dynamic the ground beneath them began to turn to soup. And yet they stood, still, at odds with which one of them should move first. Bakugo, self-inflated on her win and her self-appointed royalty, had decided Deku should lead her to shelter. Deku, unnerved by the presence of a woman, and one with whom he already had a bizarre abusive relationship with, was hesitant to start towards a building.

...but finally, he did, after casting another confused up-and-down over PB’s figure.

They spent nearly ten minutes in the rain - the duration of which Bakugo hurled a series of insults and impatient howlings at her ‘subordinate’ - peering in dimly lit buildings until they found what gave the impression of a high-class ground floor apartment.

Bakugo used her crown-begot-strength to kick the door in, and they entered the abode.

“Get cooking, nerd,” the Princess commanded, pointing towards the kitchen.

The light was still on in there, as if the inhabitants of that kitchen had vanished on the spot. In fact, the entire living room with its furniture full of pomp and middle-class prestige, looked much the same...as if an entitled couple had vanished from it right on the spot.

Bakugo flopped her body, weighted as it was with the spined shell, back on an oversized armchair. It hissed with the weight of her and sank against her weight...which, altogether, P-Bubs found pretty rude. She huffed, and small jets of flame spewed from her nostrils.

“Don’t make fun of a lady’s weight,” Bakugo commanded, pounding a fist against the arm of the chair. “DEKU. WHERE ARE YOU WITH THAT FUCKING FOOD!?”
 

The Man in Red

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? ? ?
#015 Darth Vader​


Vader was struggling. His pace had faltered and fallen off enough that the doctor had left him behind. Or he had opted to remain behind himself. He couldn’t recall which.

His mechanical limbs sparked and sputtered, as the heavy rasps of his breathing system grew more strained. After several hours, he staggered forward and collapsed with a heavy creaking groan. The indicator lights on his life support system had all been smashed; he had no way of being sure if it was functioning correctly. Caustic had assured him it was repaired, at least enough to stabilize and regulate his breathing, but…

Long-since deadened to pain, his flesh too burned and withered to feel much of anything anymore...it now screamed and writhed. Like there was fire coursing through his veins, making every shuddering breath a struggle, every movement a monumental and agonizing task.

It took him a long while to rationalize and finally figure out what had happened. Either the fix that the doctor had managed was only temporary, and had given out again, some other unforeseen failure, or else...deliberate sabotage.

Several rasping, wheezing breaths later...and his entire frame shuddered. The ground around him rippled and tremored, stalks of wheat and blades of grass bowing and snapping as if in a fierce gale. Pebbles and rocks lifted into the air, ground to powder and dust.

The Sith Lord lifted a shaking hand to rest on the instrument panel for his life support...and with a cascade of sparks and the sound of shredding plastic and steel, he ripped it loose as if pulling off a sticker. All of the cables, the filters and pumps and regulators, the computerized implants and chips and tubing, all ripped out and away with it. He crushed it into useless slag, throwing it away, as he tore free the mask of his helmet.

The ragged, skin of Darth Vader, sickeningly pale and withered from its long entombment, was greeted by the rain-filled evening air. He had not the strength to draw breath normally, in his ravaged state...but his sheer hatred forced his lungs to work and pull air into and force it out of his body again.

Slowly, he rose upright again, his yellow eyes narrowed to shaking pinpricks. It was only pure hatred and stubborn refusal to die keeping him going, but he was still going.

He marched off with an unsteady gait, in the direction his former ‘ally’ had gone in. There would be more than one death from this action...of that much, he would make sure.


18 Contestants Remain

Darth Vader has been poisoned by Dr. Caustic (Insane Injury). In response, he has ripped out his entire life support system (Mortal Injury), and persists for now solely on his own Force powers.
 
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The Man in Red

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#009 Agent HUNK vs #011 Dr. Caustic​


”Good evening, Doctor. I trust your day on the island thus far has been eventful?” The crackling hiss of the radio on Caustic’s person came seemingly out of nowhere. ”I’m contacting you about some...company in your immediate vicinity. Contestant number nine, Agent HUNK. Under normal circumstances, I have little doubt he would prove to simply be ‘just another soldier’ and you could handle him...as well as any of your other former acquaintances.”

There was a brief pause for a chuckle.

”Unlike many others here, he has no outstanding abilities. No special powers or supernatural capabilities. He is just a man. Former military, special ops, then inducted into the special operations branch of a certain bio-industrial and pharmaceutical company. He is...unnaturally driven and fierce. A man without fear, and an unwillingness to compromise. Skilled with all weapons, especially knives and close-quarters combat. He is one of the few survivors of an actual zombie apocalypse. Do not underestimate Mister Death, Doctor.””

The radio crackled with static, and then went dead.

Caustic seethed as he slowly crept forward. Just a man, and this radio operator was telling him to be so careful and cautious? After the other insanity he had already dealt with and survived? Ghosts and superpowered youths and other incredulity-inspiring nonsense, but this...this mere soldier was supposed to be a threat on par with them?

Had the intel not been so sound and useful thus far, he would have dismissed it entirely.

As he crept under the shadow of a stand of trees, he racked his brains for methods he could use. Out here in these open fields, there would be no scavenging of tools or even basic chemicals to make improvised weapons again. He would have to get creative to have any chance of--

Snap

He had only half a heartbeat to register the noise before he felt something slam into his back, sending him staggering forward. He whirled around to face his attacker to behold the armored visage of HUNK. He was battered and dirty, his gear scuffed and torn in several places, one of the lenses of his gas mask shattered.

But he still seemed in prime fighting shape.

“Doctor Caustic,” the mercenary hissed. “I took the liberty of reading up on your file, along with all the other contestants, before we went to the barracks.” He shifted into a fighting stance, favoring one leg over the other. “I’m impressed. You’re a man after my own heart.” He faltered slightly, favoring one leg over the other, as he lunged forward.

“At least you have some sense of professionalism,” Caustic rasped as he brought his gloved hands up to prepare for the incoming fight.

Vicious blows struck out. Fists and elbows, knees and feet, shoulder checks and headbutts. Military precision and training clashed against hard-won brutal experience and survival-forged strength. Both combatants eventually staggered apart, breathing heavily and glaring at the other.

“I wouldn’t have expected a scientist to be such a capable fighter, if I hadn’ seen it myself.” HUNK sucked in a deep, pained breath of air as he drew a silvered dagger from his belt. “But not the first surprise I’ve ever seen.” And with a flick of his wrist, he struck out with the Vampire Killer.

“Science demands survival!” Caustic snapped, and he darted to one side behind a tree as the whip cracked and tore through the bark like a sword through paper. “I cannot study death if I so easily embrace it.”

“A sound philosophy. I can respect that.” HUNK lashed out with the whip, grasping onto a high tree limb and yanking down on it. The limb snapped free and crashed down, forcing the doctor to dive out of the way -- and right into the path of HUNK’s boot as it collided with his face, sending both combatants sprawling in the dirt, gasping for breath. “Outside of this event...maybe we could have even worked together.”

Caustic barked a harsh laugh. “It would not be the first...unlikely partnership I have been put into.” And he rolled over and sprang back to his feet, diving for the still-extended chain of the whip. He yanked on it with all his might, tearing it from the winded and still-prone mercenary’s grasp. “But that is a scenario we will never see play out.”

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.” There was a flash of red and a sputtering of sudden heat as HUNK’s arm rose up, holding a lit flare. A guttering, fiercely burning red signal flare. He stood up on shaking legs. “It’s unfortunate, doctor...but you’re not the first scientist I’ve had to kill.” He threw the flare at Caustic, and then turned to sprint away.

The toxic doctor was preparing to give chase, when he heard the telltale sound of something approaching. Helicopter rotors, slicing through the rain. The piercing whine of gatling guns spinning up. And then he saw it, lights blinking and flashing through the evening gloom, as a gunship came screaming out of the darkness with weapons hot.

Cursing his luck and everything about this entire game, Caustic recalled the whip to tis more portable state and turned to scramble away as the entire stand of trees was blown to splinters.


17 Contestants Remain

Dr. Caustic has stolen the Vampire Killer.
Agent Hunk has the Signal Flares. He has used one.

Caustic has suffered several bruises and battering injuries (Story Injury) as well as a broken nose (Minor Injury).
Agent HUNK has suffered severe battering, bruising and chemical burns from his fight with Caustic (Minor Injury).
 
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The Man in Red

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#001 The Prisoner & #003 Gengar vs #006 Mid-Boss​


“I really hope whoever we run into next is a lot less pathetic than that last guy.” Even now, hours later, the ghost pokemon was still grumpy and all manner of disgruntled.

The Prisoner, marching at his side, just offered a silent nod of agreement. Who had even let that guy join in the first place?

As they steadily marched deeper into the heart of one of the many small cities dotted over the island, the duo paused momentarily to look around.

“You hear that?” the ghost finally spoke up. “Issat...music, or something?”

The flame-headed undead brought a hand up to the side of his head, as if cupping it around a non-existent ear and leaned forward slightly. After a moment, it nodded energetically. It was, in fact, music!

“What kinda idiot would be out here playing music…” Gengar cackled. “...and lead us right to them?” He did his ghostly imitation of cracking his knuckles as his grin just spread wider. “Let’s go find out!” And he darted off, his ally running after him.

Just a few streets over, the violet-haired specimen of pure demonic perfection strolled blithely down the street, caring not a bit for the steadily-intensifying downpour. In fact, Mid-Boss seemed entirely too pleased with the turn of events; the way his suddenly sopping wet clothes clung to his immaculate physique to be nothing short of...well, proper!

The duffel bag of supplies was slung over his shoulders. At one hip rested an ornate sword with a long tassel. And in his hands was a beautifully crafted ocarina of blue, which he played as he made his way along. The music it emitted was...hauntingly beautiful and pure, echoing through the city and clearly audible even over the rain.

He seemed off in his own little world, as the undead duo observed him. The Prisoner’s flames flashed briefly yellow, as he recognized the strange man. The one who had been so helpful before, in the barracks.

“Man, look at this guy. What a chump.” Gengar grinned, turning to look up at his ally. “Let’s go take care of him. He looks like a stuck-up loser.” Without waiting for a response, the ghost slunk off and slipped under the ground.

With a silent sigh, the Prisoner simply drew his sword and stalked off toward the demon. Anubis shimmered into view over him, arms crossed proudly. “Look, he’s got a sword of his own. Now’s my chance to….ack, I mean, our chance to shine! Let’s carve ‘im up!”

For all his seeming detachment from the world, the demonic nobility was hard to take off guard. He ceased his playing and delicately placed the ocarina back in his bag as the Prisoner charged toward him. “Ha-ha! If it isn’t you, my silent friend!” he spoke up. His eyes fell to the drawn sword, as his lips curled up into a smirk. “Judging by your weapon, you have come to face moi directly in battle, yes?” He laughed boisterously, twirling in place with a dancer’s grace and dropping into a wide-spread battle stance, drawing his own sword into one hand as his other hand rippled and glowed with shifting colors of arcane might.

“You should be aware that I have lived for millennia! And in that time, I have studied not only swordsmanship of countless schools and styles, but the deadliest and most pure of martial arts forms! Studied and learned under the wisest and most ancient sages.” He grinned broadly, flashing his pointed teeth. “And I have honed my already perfect body into such a fine, deadly weapon that no living creature could possibly...”

Thonk

A tiny pelly whizzed through the air and hit Mid-Boss squarely in the forehead, leaving a tiny red mark.

All was silent suddenly, his boasting cut off mid-sentence. Then, he exploded.

“Y-You! How dare you! I was gracing you with the full list of my most glorious accomplishments...and you think yourself so bold as to not only attack moi, but to interrupt The Dark Adonis mid-sentence?!” His crimson eyes flashed with barely-restrained anger. “You are going to regre--”

A second pellet sprang forth, striking him in the cheek, along with a loud tinny-sounding roar of engines and smoke cloud belching up into his face.

He lost his composure entirely, his eyes going bloodshot as he sucked in a deep breath. Then fading entirely to empty pools of white as veins popped out along his forehead and arms. “That is it! As a gentleman, I can forgive one slight against my person...but now you have not only disrespected moi once, but levied such disrespect twice, and coupled it with an insult! That cannot stand!” He drew back his sword, shifting into a classic fencing stance. “Have at you, fiend!”

And he rushed forward to strike at the Prisoner, only for his blade to bounce off a shimmering veil of blue energy. Gengar slowly phased out of the ground, holding the controller for the Edelweiss in one hand, and the hilt of his own sword in the other. “Sup, chumpie,” he snickered. “You’re an even bigger dork than I thought you were!”

The protests from the enraged demon were soundly interrupted as the Prisoner stepped forward and planted its boot squarely in Mid-Boss’s perfectly chiseled abs, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flopping down the street.

He scarcely had time to regain his feet before his foes were upon him again. He battled valiantly, striking and slicing and stabbing and punching and magic-blasting. But it soon became clear he was simply outmatched; one of this pair had a surprisingly potent defense, the other a remarkably potent offense. Individually, Mid-Boss suspected he might have fared better…

Eventually, he grit his teeth and quickly leaped straight up, curling into an acrobatic somersault to land atop the roof of a nearby building. His luxurious jacket had been shredded, and he was covered in countless bloody cuts and gashes, but he seemed undeterred. “You are both formidable foes, indeed! But I have not yet shown all of my tricks!” He plucked the tassel of his sword up, flourishing it to reveal a whistle hidden within, and blew it.

Lightning flashed in the sky overhead, turning the scenery white. The sound of wooden sandly clacking against stone sounded, and from around the corner of a building emerged a towering figure. Garbed in luxurious flowing robes, with a pair of immense swords at their hip, and a huge grizzled bear...dog...thing trotting along behind them. A frightening mask obscuring their face, and a wide-brimmed hat adorning their head.

Out into the street, and they paused, turning to survey the scene. A brief nod to their pet, and it let out a fierce barking as it thundered down the street. From within its robes, the figure withdrew a handful of long, ornate knives...and hurled them at the undead duo like shots from a gun.

The unexpected assault and assistance briefly turned the tide in Mid-Boss’s favor as he leaped down from the rooftop to rejoin the attack...but all too soon he was left beaten, battered, bloodied and buried under a wrecked vehicle. He tried to claw his way out, giving a deep hacking cough, before a chunk of rubble from above cracked loose and tumbled down. It clonked him on the head, and with one last sputtering gasp he went still.

“That was way better than last time!” Gengar laughed uproariously as he and the Prisoner casually loped off down the street. “Like I told you, what a chump!”


#006 Mid-Boss eliminated
17 Contestants Remain

The Prisoner has suffered several deep stab wounds from Yojimbo’s throwing knives (Minor Injury) and several bear-dog related wounds (Minor Injury), as well as dozens of minor nicks, scratches and bruises from the fight with Mid-Boss (Story Injury)
Gengar has suffered several deep stab wounds from Yojimbo’s throwing knives (Minor Injury) as well as several bear-dog related wounds (Minor Injury), as well as dozens of minor nicks, scratches and bruises from the fight with Mid-Boss (Story Injury)

Mid-Boss had Yojimbo and the Ocarina.
 
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Rebecca Chambers

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After hours of waiting, Pathfinder began to grow more and more antsy. He fidgeted. He hummed and tapped his fingers together. He’d even tried cajoling Revenant into playing various games with him… and succeeded, once, when the simulacrum had finally tired of staring at a fat lot of nothing tromping down the road toward them.

Five finger fillet, Revenant had called it. Pathfinder, of course, was all too eager to learn about this distinctly human pastime, and his excitement hadn’t dimmed for a second as Rev was explaining it to him, even when knives were introduced to the game. Of course, Path hadn’t been nearly as skilled as Rev at avoiding stabbing his own digits with the simulacrum’s makeshift shiv, but it was fun all the same!

Unfortunately, though, it turned out that their chosen hunting ground was pretty lacking in prey. Even as the island began to grow dark, the shadows of day lengthening and a distant smattering of stars twinkling in the midnight sky, not a single hostile appeared to challenge them.

To say that the two robotic entities were disappointed would be a massive understatement; what kind of death game was this, if they couldn’t even find something to murder to death?

(Not that Path minded too much-- he was thrilled to be spending so much time with his friend, really! It was just a little boring, especially without all the action and gunfire he was accustomed to…)

And then… well. Then it started to rain.

They soon abandoned their scouting point among the trees, trekking past tamed fields and scattered farmhouses back toward the coastline. It was there, nestled atop a decently sized rise beside the sea, that they found shelter in the form of an abandoned nuclear site.

Two lofty reactors, a toxic purple glow emanating from the smoking cylindrical stacks, towered over them as they approached. An empty parking lot sat out front, the entire facility hemmed in by tall barbed wire fencing. The nuclear power plant cut an eerie shape in the darkness, several spotlights sending blindingly bright arcs of white through the air, illuminating the severely gray shapes of decrepit outbuildings and dead trees. All in all, it was a ghastly, depressing sight, only slightly mitigated by the shimmering slivers of rain falling from the sky.

“Look at that, friend!” said Pathfinder, gazing up at the deserted facility without a touch of concern. “Do you think we will find someone hiding in there?”

Revenant surveyed the building for a tense moment, the uncanny yellow of his eyes emitting a faint sheen through the gloomy downpour hailing from above. Finally, he jerked one shoulder in a shrug, creeping forward to climb the nearest section of barbed wire, deftly scaling up and over it with all the liquid grace of a living shadow.

The MRVN was quick to follow, deciding to imitate Revenant’s silence for now, though he couldn’t quite manage to avoid rattling the chainlink during his climb. He practically bounded after Revenant as they made their way inside the ancient plant-- surely this time they would find something...
 

Raal Deathwind

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Weiss’s breathing came in ragged patches as she slowly lowered her hands, every piece of her body filled with pain as she placed her good arm on her hip.

Well…

Weiss bit her lip as she looked that hand over. “Good” was a very subjective term. Every part of Weiss’s body ached like crazy, with the injuries she’d sustained. It didn’t matter, as they moved through the night - she needed to keep going. It might not have been the wisest course of action, but looking for trouble felt a heck of a lot more pro-active than waiting for it to come to her. She would face her death proudly, if it came to it, not hiding in a cave and waiting for the job to be done.

The Huntress’s hands closed around the empty air where Myrtenaster’s hilt once sat, and she let out a groan. This time, she was without Ruby, without Kopaka, without even Okor by her side, and even her oldest companion no longer sat at her hilt.

Still, a slight smile crossed her face as she looked over to her bandaged left arm. A set of red ribbons bound the limb up much more securely than it had sat previously. It was still unusable, but it kept it still, and held in one place.

Weiss might not have any of her old friends, but she was demonstrably not alone, and as though the redhead knew she’d been talked about, Kazooie popped her head out of the backpack behind her, stretching her arms out with the hugest yawn she’d heard in a while.

“Maaan, that was a good nap! Hey, princess!”

Weiss turned with a smile. The Redheaded partner had been a shock at first, but as soon as they’d both figured out where they were, and their awful situation, working together had come fairly naturally. It was just as well - Weiss didn’t know if she could hurt someone so…

Well, snarky, but snarky with a heart of gold. It reminded Weiss of a few of the best people she’d met back home.

“Hey, Kazooie. Arm’s holding up well.”

“Well, of course it is. I did the tie-job myself.” Kazooie added with a bit of snark, and just a bit of relief hidden in the cracks of her words. “I just wanted to let you know I’m awake and rarin’ to go. Speakin’ of, what’s our genius plan?”

“Keep walking in this direction.” Weiss replied evenly. “If we hit something we can’t walk past, we’ll turn left or right, depending on how we feel.”

“...I feel like I might have put my faith in this plan a little too early.”

“Sorry.” Weiss added with an even tone. “I’m not a huge leader type, and we haven’t really met anyone that wasn’t an insane jerk so far, so I don’t really have any diplomatic ideas. I did think about hiding and waiting…”

“Not a bad idea. So are we doing that instead-”

“...But I don’t want to hide like an idiot while I wait for something else to go wrong. This island doesn’t seem to like it when people avoid fighting, so… I’m just going to go where my feet take me, and hope for the best.”

“...You know, this might be a plan even Banjo would’ve thought farther ahead on.”

“So you’re against it?”

“Heck no! This sounds like the kind of adventure I’m talking about! Full speed ahead captain Weiss!”

Weiss stifled an actual laugh with more than a little effort from herself. She had another human being to talk to again. One with fire and enthusiasm and conversational skills. And she was bubbly! And fun! And happy!

It felt…

Weiss Grinned, as Kazooie deposited herself back in the backpack, ready to go with the huntress coming along.

It felt so nostalgic it caused Weiss to tear up, and these were the first tears she’d had in a long time that had felt so warm.

Kazooie's picture, now that the cat's out of the bag!
 

Mad Maggie

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Just a little closer...I reached with my finger, a tear of pain squeezing out of the corner of my eye as liquid heat lanced through my mouth. Digging, digging....and free.

I pulled the finger out of my mouth and spit out the broken tooth. Coughing up bloody mucus and holding my side, I inspected the crumpled frame of my respirator. I could patch it for now, but it was now functionally useless. Which was fine. I had never used it for its intended purpose. It was vanity. Pure vanity.

The Game's media specialists had insisted that I wear it. Despite my detailed explanation about how I was able to achieve immunity to my own gas and share it with others, they waved it off with the rationale that the viewing public would be too stupid to grasp the concept entirely. And, they pressed, it fit my 'aesthetic'. I found it hard pressed to disagree on both points, and ever since then I've felt naked killing without it.

No matter. It would stay on my face for one more blow. I coughed loudly, spitting up mucus and bits of clotted blood. Blowing the wad of congealed fluids from my broken nostrils brought another shock of meaningless signal from my pain center.

I allowed myself a small chuckle inspecting the prize I'd rested from the craniocephalic military grunt so typical of his ilk. I rolled my eyes thinking of Bangalore and her ceaseless prattle of jargon. Still, the silvery chain dagger fit nicely on my gauntlet, and a few padding adjustments cushioned my injured rib. All in all, considering the various paths the experiment had already taken, I was looking fairly well off. I'd been in worse situations before, and now that I had a weapon I could use at my leisure, I was almost 70 percent sure of my survival to the final rin- round.
 

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The day had come and gone.

The vacant lights of the city were, at least for the moment, somewhere in Karl Jak's rearview mirror. Ahead, the landscape quickly succumbed to its more primal instincts, with the swarming canopy of vine-draped trees quickly dominating everything in his line of sight. Beneath his loafers, the group went from firm grass to something between peat and pea soup within a matter of a few miles. Had he really gone a day and only run into the bug? From the announcements, it sounded like people were dead.

Karl shuffled into his duffel bag and retrieved the grid map of the island. With his charcoal crayon, he drew smeary x's through the spaces that the announcer had been rattling off over the last few hours. Even with all the grimy black marks, there was still a vast sea of island for people to meander aimlessly about.

"All this space, and I see no large mountain rangers," Karl shook his head. Any self-respecting island should have a nefarious mountain somewhere, but instead of that, this place was just a bunch of endless terrain and the occasional cluster of buildings. Sure, this would probably make sense if they were working in platoons or squads or something and had the capability to quickly traverse terrain. Who thought it a brilliant idea to drop twenty people onto an island that size of a small country?

"At least make the grids bigger," Karl muttered as he calmly folded the map and stuffed it back into the duffel bag. "Rookies."

As he pushed deeper into the swamp, the executive producer quickly became aware of sound in his periphery. A slow glimpse to his left revealed a deer staring at him from the other side of a scraggly bush laden with barbed thorns and jagged little leaves. The animal, for its part, seemed almost transfixed by the man in the suit as he stared at it from a few yards away.

"You should be lucky that I'm me, rather than someone vying to be an edgelord. You know how many deer like you get murdered for the sake of edginess?" The deer tilted its head but offered no response. "Bugger off, Bambi," Karl replied as he stepped forward and shooed the animal back into the swampy forest. Even if he did require food, he'd rather opt for the 'look at me struggle to eat MREs' set piece rather than the 'I is primal hunter, watch me hunt and kill animals' scene.

"This is north, isn't it?" Karl asked as he tilted his head back to stare at a sky that was mostly black. While no one at home really understood what was going on, the producer nodded his head and started to walk once more.
 
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