Day 1

[Karl Jak]

“Ladies and Gentleman!” The exuberant voice of Karl Jak resounded from dozens of intercoms across the island, ensuring that the producer’s voice was heard across the island. “If we haven’t met before, I’m Karl Jak. I hate to interrupt those of you who may still be shaking off the haze of slumber, but we’re about to start. I just want to welcome you all to your home for the next few days. Here is everything you need to know…

“Find each other. Kill each other.

“If a winner isn’t found in seven days… nobody wins! So let’s not let that happen, ‘kay? Good luck, and just remember… you signed up for this!”

Karl turned off the control and smiled as he reclined into his office chair. He used a version of the same speech everywhere, but that was because he was a man who enjoyed indulging in fun habits.

After all the years, Dante’s Abyss—this, it’s most organic and nostalgic form—remained his favorite habit. In the years since he had swallowed a bullet in the ruins of Central City, he’d learned to love the small things. Even when you were cosmic, you had to ground yourself in what made you happy, otherwise you run the risk of losing yourself in a sea of transcendent nonsense.

And there were fewer things that got him more excited than watching 46 individuals murder, betray, and steal their way to the top.

This was a great day to be alive.

Out-of-Karl Bulletins (READ THESE OR DIEEEE)

• It is 1200 AM on the Island (0000 military time). All contestants were collared and then transported to the island via helicopter before being dumped out of said helicopters a ‘safe distance’ above the ground. As the helicopter windows were black, your character was no able to figure out where they were and/or see other characters being dropped off so don’t bother with that. Your copy of the map does mark your start location, though.
• You do not need to roleplay out the trip here or the collaring unless you feel the need to, it is not mandatory.
• Weather – Clear skies at night – full moon in the sky (if you’re in a spot to see it)
• All ocean squares are IMMEDIATELY danger zones (to be 100% clear, those squares are: A1, A2, A3, A10, B1, B10, D10, G10, H1, H10, I1, I9, I10, J1, J7, J8, J9, J10).
• Tomorrow, July 15 at 1000 AM Chicago Time I will lock this thread to post an announcement as Karl Jak that will coincide with sunrise at 0600 hours on the island (so it will remain dark IC for the next 24 hours OOC). At that time, the following squares will become danger zones: A9, I8, C10, J2, H9. If you are still on those squares at 1000 AM tomorrow, your character will perish.
• Remember to use PMs for official movements, alliances, pre-F2F ‘prep’, and anything else. You may use Discord DMs to hit me up with questions, unless you think it best you ask that question in the Dante’s Abyss channel.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Arthur came to his senses somewhere in the wilderness, the wind roaring like a monstrous thing in his ears as the helicopter departed.

Instantly he fell to his knees, dizzy and sick from his unconventional transportation to the island. He braced himself with one palm against the rugged ground as his vision reeled, breathing harshly through his nose and struggling to tamp down the nausea roiling in his stomach. His fingers traced over the collar around his neck, the tight metal band seeming to only make his motion sickness worse.

After a long moment, Arthur was finally able to steady himself enough to take a gander at his surroundings. His eyes squinted against the dark, struggling to make out something through the curtain of mist and darkness swirling around him.

Trees. Hundreds of them, shrouded by the fog. To make matters worse, it was still night, so he could hardly see anything of the landscape around him. He could just barely make out a slight hill or ridge in the distance, brown rock rising above the ground. It was unlikely he could scale it, so he’d need to head in a different direction...

It was then that he saw the Wolf.

Against the soft sky-line and rugged ground it stood, the dusky grey of its pelt seeming to shiver against the mass of tall pine trees surrounding the mountainous ridge. It stood with its feet planted and ears cocked forward, shoulders hunched and braced toward him in a predatory lean. Even with a distance of about fifty yards between them, the trunks of trees blocking his view, Arthur could just barely glimpse the gleam of its snarling teeth, the yellow medallions of its eyes glittering in the dark.

The former outlaw froze. He hadn’t known there would be wild animals on the island. Not the most heartening start to his stay here, but he’d been in worse scrapes. He didn’t have his gun with him, but surely something useful would be in the pack provided to him…

Not taking his eyes off the wolf, Arthur slid the large bag from his shoulder so that it slumped on the ground in front of him. His hands fumbled blindly with the zippers, the painful tension in his shoulders not making it any easier; he could almost feel the wolf’s approach just as well as he could see it loping down the hillside, brushing over him like the tangible ripples made by a watersnake hunting after a minnow.

At last he was able to force the duffel open, hands tearing inside to feel around for something useful, something he could use as a weapon. It was only as his trembling, fumbling hands wrapped around something inside the bag that the wolf... changed.

It was unreal, like being caught somewhere outside of reality; like existing inside the kind of ethereal space that only takes shape within a dream. One moment there was a wolf trotting down the hill toward him, skipping up pebbles under its paws in its eagerness to reach him, and the next…

About twenty yards away, stamping its hooves nervously into the dirt where the wolf once stood, was a Buck. Arthur blinked hard, eyes pinching together to the point where it were almost painful, and opened them again. No, the creature that had once been a wolf was still a big white-tailed buck, its rippling flaxen coat and gently sloping antlers catching the moonlight.

For a minute he simply stared at it, still crouched on the ground with his hands delving into his pack, unsure of what to think or do. His mouth and throat were too dry to form the words necessary to shout at the animal, attempt to shoo it off. And despite how much he dearly wished to, Arthur still didn’t dare try to take his eyes off the buck.

As he continued to observe it, silent and still, the buck moved forward. Slowly, like ink dripping over a wet page in a languorous glide, its form shifted into that of the wolf. The wolf persisted in stalking toward him for a couple more yards, golden yellow eyes intent, before abruptly growing into something larger, more slender as opposed to mangy, until a pair of big wet doe eyes stared mournfully back at him, seeming to bore into his very soul.

It was then that Arthur realized, in his fogged brain, that he was hallucinating. A soft sigh of breath left him at the realization, battle-ready tension leaving him all in a rush. Carefully, he turned his attention to the open bag resting on the ground before him, still keeping the otherworldly illusion in his periphery, just in case—against all logic—the creature turned out to be made of real flesh and blood.

Inside the bag were four little packets labelled with the names of various foods, obviously meant to sustain him while on the island. Arthur estimated that he could make them last for at least eight days, if he rationed well enough. At least four clear bottles were packed in alongside them, filled with clean water. A compass, his journal, and a map, his location labelled on one square. And at the very bottom, tucked under all the mess like the big lump it was…

Arthur had to use both of his hands to pick up the pieces of this… thing he was expected to wield. It was utterly massive… he couldn’t believe he’d have to lug this thing around on his back for a while. Still, it was best to assemble it now; he didn’t want anyone getting the drop on him while he was unarmed.

Ignoring the ghost-like shape hovering about a dozen yards out, Arthur began to put together his weapon. It was unfamiliar, like some of the weapons in the firing range, but he thought he managed well enough— all the components fit together smoothly, zero gaps in between, so it was unlikely the damned thing would explode.

He looked up, seeing that the hallucination had returned to the top of the ridge. Its nonexistent form wavered, the timid threads linking it to reality growing more and more frayed the less frightened of it Arthur became. One second it would be the buck. The next, the wolf. Again and again and again, the vastly different creatures commingled together into an amorphous phantom-like mirage, contrary to one another and yet breathtakingly interconnected, until—as if by magic—they vanished from his sight.

As the vision faded into the ether, Arthur wondered dimly if he would be like the buck, shielding allies in the face of serious peril, or more like the wolf... hunting down and butchering others to go on living.

Dragging a weary, trembling hand down the side of his face, Arthur got to his feet, weapon returned to his bag. He traced the line between the sky and the ground with his eyes, gaze settling on a towering landform in the distance. Shouldering his bag and with a final survey of his surroundings, he set off in that direction, boots tramping doggedly over the ground.

 

[The Future Warrior]

And so it began.

In a whirl of activity, the final stages were rushed through. Collar in place to restrict some functions, and then dropped off on the island via helicopter. Simple enough.

Upon touching down, Ashe craned her neck back, looking up toward the sky. "Dark out..." she murmured, before turning her attention to the duffel bag of supplies which had been, as far as she was aware, given out to every contestant. Presumably, the contents would be the same for everyone.

Unzipping it, she quickly sorted through the contents. Rations. Water. Compass. Map. Enough basic food to last for a day or two for many, and the bare essentials for limited orienteering about the island. And...

"surely this must be some kind of joke..." She fished the last item out, holding it between two fingers and staring at it, as it flapped listlessly in a slight breeze. "For holding further supplies scavenged from the island, no doubt..." she murmured. And with resignation just packed it all away again, leaving only the map out and in her hand.

A quick check of it, committing it to memory and taking note of her starting location. Dropped off among all this greenery...and so close to the edge. Hmm. Inland.

She folded the map and stowed it away, reaching for the compass. And after a moment to get her bearings she set off, with a brisk stride.

The plan here was simple, in her mind: move away from the edges of the island. With the limited supplies available, she was certain many would want to finish this quickly, search for more, or perhaps both. She had no real need for such supplies, but knowing that most everyone else would...

There were a few places she had spotted on the map which seemed plausible as being areas where some kind of civilization or people had once been. Perhaps there would still be leftovers there. And leftovers would mean others going there to scavenge them. All she had to do was get there and wait for them.

It only made her question which would be the best place...

 

[Mickey Mouse]

In the blink of an eye, the Most Dangerous Game was on.

Mickey Mouse sat on a cliff face, fiddling with the contents of his duffel bag. It seemed like, if memory served, all the normal items were accounted for: some food, some bottled water, a compass, and a map. Additionally, tucked down in the bottom, Mickey could see the weapon Karl dumped on — ahem, bequeathed to him.

His gloved hands reached up and tugged on the collar around his neck. This, he knew, was the real confirmation that Dante’s Abyss had begun.

He gazed down at the water, watching as violent waves splashed against the base of the cliff hundreds of feet below him. As his fingers traced the metal of the not-super-stylish neckwear forced on him, he knew this was pretty much his last opportunity to back out of these shenanigans. If he wanted to, he could just slip-and-slide off his perch and plummet towards the ocean, letting the inevitable collar explosion or the fall itself yank him out of this bloody death tournament before he’d even had a chance to run into one of the jerks roaming this island.

Within the open duffel, moonlight barely struck the silhouette of his weapon, catching his eye. He took a long, deep breath in, zipped the bag closed, and hopped to his feet.

Yeah, it was freakin’ on.

He spun around. Dirt crunched underneath the mouse king’s feet as he stepped, somehow confidently, into Dante’s Abyss. He’d been mentally prepping himself for a hot minute now to really lean into this game, somehow, someway, and by Gosh, he was going to try his best to do so. He’d been here before. He’d done all this before. He could do this.

I can do this.

He slung his bag up on one of his shoulders and prepared to cut a path into the island as a shooting pain suddenly snaked up through his tiny legs and brought the mouse king to his knees.

Ugh.

He hadn’t even been on this island for five goshdarn minutes and it seemed like Karl Jak had already come up with a new-fangled way to torture him. He glanced back at his legs, trying to figure out the source of the discomfort. Strangely, it felt like the muscles in his legs were… expanding? His eyes grew as he watched them contract and expand again and again, until finally, the sensation seemed to subside and he was able to clamber back onto his feet. As he did, he realized that he was… taller?

It wasn’t a huge improvement, but he was certainly a bigger mouse than he had been when he’d been swooped off to this island. He glanced idly at a boulder nearby. Moments ago, he’d been shorter than the thing, but now it definitely only came up to his chin.

Once more, his hands moved to the collar. So first Karl didn’t like the Rambo look he’d tried out, and now he was too freakin’ short?

“Hmph,” he exhaled. Karl Jak was not making it easy to get his head in the game.

As if on cue, the man himself’s flamboyant voice echoed across the island, piercing the mouse’s big ears. Mickey listened to the message, which reminded him, in case it wasn’t clear, that he had somehow ended up joining this weird ol’ death game yet again, and that in order to win and get to the purple-suited prune, and maybe get some answers on where the heck exactly he was and what he was supposed to do in this new universe, he’d have to find his way through a sea of dead fellas. As it was now, though, he could barely hear himself think because of Karl’s constant droning on. The man had a silky smooth voice, but gosh, the mouse couldn’t help but be annoyed by just how condescending he sounded.

“Geez, pal, shut up,” he muttered under his breath, careful not to let his frustration echo too loudly lest there were others nearby. He mentally scolded himself for using the ‘s-u’ curse but also… Karl Jak kinda deserved it.

The island stretched out in front of his newly three-foot-tall self. From his relatively high vantage point, he could see a good chunk of the arena that lie ahead. Undoubtedly, the other competitors had already embarked on their journeys to — as Karl so succinctly put it — ‘find each other. Kill each other.’ He adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder and steeled his resolve, then set off.

He hopped and leaped across the uneven landscape, forcing himself forward as the stars above his head twinkled. The island might be dark, but there was truly no time to waste; any second, he knew, someone like Arthur the Cowboy or Vicky Wolfe could swoop out from the shadows and try to make roast mouse out of him, and he wasn’t about to have that. Mickey Mouse may not have been a killer, but over the past few years, he’d grown to fancy himself a little bit of a survivor — and survive this heckscape he would.

At least, he idly comforted himself, he was alone for the moment.

That didn’t last long.

 

[Solomon Grundy]

They'd come for him quickly, although he'd been asleep. They still sedated him for the ride, but the stand user refused to even wake up in time for the drop. Two masked and suited game personnel shrugged, and as one, rolled Okuyasu's sleeping form off the helicopter.

SPLUT. SPLUT.

"Waaauuggghhh!" Okuyasu managed to fall feet first to the ground, followed by the heavy canvas duffel bag with his supplies. Both hit the mud with equal force, but Okuyasu's shoes sank knee deep in thick, glutinous loam. "Awww, what the crap! My shoes are already fricken' ruined!" Grabbing the bag, he drowsily took stock of the pitch dark surroundings around him. Moonlight filtered through dead and spidery branches as Okuyasu summoned his Stand to peer through the trees. "Great. More of this nasty crap." Spotting a patch of high ground a couple dozen yards out, he swiped towards it and adjusted his posture.

BMMMMMM

He made it about five feet before he dropped into the mud again. The noise of frustration that came from his mouth shook the trees, the lack of comedic crow calls only making it more funny.

Sighing, he tried again, two more times, befoee finally making it onto a dry hill. So, The Hand's teleport was severely limited now, huh? Okuyasu's fingers brushed against the collar as he wiped mud off his pants and scuffed his shoes against the dry grass. Pulling one of the bottles of water from his satchel, he drank half of it and used the rest to rinse off his shoes. The thought of practical survival tactics, such as rationing, didn't even cross his mind.

He had been fired up to get down here and get fighting, but being dropped in the middle of the night from a helicopter into "the wilderness" was sobering. Sobering enough to realize that until a couple weeks ago, he hadn't ever really left Morioh. The wilderness seemed like the real enemy...oppressive and full of shadows.

Then he hefted the duffel bag and unzipped it to see what the hell the huge blocky thing inside was. "Oh, no way." He pulled the strange contraption out, only to see that it affixed easily to his back. There was even enough space to fit the survival pack on top of it! Okuyasu clenched the joystick-like remote in one hand, and jerked the control forward.

"Waaaaaaaaahaahaahaahaaaaa!"

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#01 Arthur Morgan vs #09 Mugen
​

Mugen had left behind the spot where he’d been dumped onto the island just minutes before he stumbled across the cowboy. A quick look inside his own survival bag told the swordless swordsman that he would need a much better weapon if he planned to go the distance. The man, Arthur, still seemed to be shaking off the early morning haze, so this would likely be one of the best chances that the samurai would have to expand his arsenal.

Dipping down, Mugen collected a broken branch and what seemed to be a fruit of some kind. With all the haze that hung over the forest, he couldn’t be sure, but the object had enough heft to it to suit his demands.

Rushing out from his cover, Mugen hurtled the fruit so it whizzed passed the side of the cowboy’s head. As Arthur turned, the younger man got behind him and jabbed the end of the branch into his side. “I don’t want any trouble, but I’m going to need what’s in your bag… uh, pardner. I assure you that this is nothing personal.”

Arthur snickered as he pointed up to the moon. “You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight, boy?”

Mugen furrowed his brow, but before he could pose the question that dangled to the tip of his tongue, an elbow crashed into his jaw. The samurai lost his balance and stumbled backwards—his focus drifting from his intended target for just long enough to let Arthur’s hands slip into the bag that hung from his shoulder. When Mugen turned back to the cowboy just a few precious moments later, there was a large firearm in the older man’s hands.

“Now this ain’t personal.”

There was a distinct and nearly serene hum as the BFG9000 powered to life—its barrel flickering green for just a heartbeat before the night air was alive with the roar of plasma.

The blast caught Mugen in the chest and ragdolled the young man through the same tree he had used as cover before launching his ambush. Deaf from the ringing in his ears and too afraid to look down at his chest, the samurai clawed his way up to his feet and vanished into the mist-laced woods, hoping that the fog and the fallen remains of the tree would be enough to cover his retreat.

Results

28 Contestants Remain​

Mugen has suffered burn across his chest (Minor Injury) and his hearing will be impacted for a couple of hours (Story Injury)
Arthur Morgan has the BFG

Arthur and Mugen are on a 12 hour cooldown where they cannot be in a F2F, unless they waive this right by PM'ing me.

 

[Kopaka]

Kopaka hit the ground like a meteor, or, perhaps a comet. The short fall from the throbbing hull of the helicopter was high enough that his metal chassis created a notable divot as it hit the loamy soil. The Toa's leg servo's whined loudly as he stood upright, and watched as the garishly purple Syntech helicopter thumped off into the darkness. Its blinking lights illuminated the rippling grass like flashes of lightning, before finally things were still, and calm.

Kopaka took in a deep breath of fresh, succulent air and looked around. Unlike the sanitized and artificial park in the Lobby, this landscape very much felt - smelled real. The wind sighed through the long grass around him, and he could hear the yawning roar of ocean waves not too far away. It felt...familiar. Correct. He was, in fact, so deeply at east that it unsettled him. Now was not the time to relish in nature's grandeur. This was a deathmatch, and not one where he would be caught off guard.

The Toa set about rummaging through his rucksack, and translated and identified all of the items it contained. Food, water, a map and compass were all welcome. There was also a spread of small, brightly colored packages labeled with words Kopaka could barely string together. The word 'sauce' translated easily. Very well. He rummaged through the bag some more.

That was it.

A bolus of rage and disappointment boiled up as he checked the bag again. Food, with additional garnish. What did Karl Jak take him for? The bottle of water, the sauce packets, and the MREs gradually froze to be hard as bricks as Kopaka wrestled with the lot he had been cast. He himself stood, frozen, on the balmy grass, trying to figure out what to do.

The fury was pushed down, and he steadied his focus. A cursory glance at the map indicated an area of this island that was rich with ice and snow. If he had not been given an advantage, he would have to make one himself. It was the only clear option at this point. Furthermore, cursory testing indicated that his mastery over cold and frost was largely unmitigated by the black, blinking collar fixed around his neck servos.

The android let out a long, cold breath, and glanced up at the leering moon. Its wan light caused the frolicking grass to glitter like an ocean, and he found his center again.

"I am Kopaka, Toa of Ice." he muttered to himself, as he shouldered his bag. The bionicle immediately set off down the hillside at a brisk pace. His thudding footsteps and whirring motors were the only sound besides the crickets and the breeze.

"Even without weapon or mask, I am far from helpless." he continued. The map had already been committed to his memory banks, and a more defensible position had been chosen...at least...so long as his ability to read the common language hadn't failed him. With a high moon, and miles of open terrain before him, he would be able to make good time on his journey to Freezeland before the day was through.

And woe betide the brazen fool who dared cross his path. It would be a sheer delight to exercise his frustration on the pliant bodies of these soft, organic humans.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Sigmund blinked a few times as he stumbled groggily from the obnoxiously loud thing he had been dropped off in, taking a moment for his mind to wake up and his eyes to adjust.

“Gods, how long has it been since I last slept.” He mumbled, glancing around at the darkness and shaking off the last of the tranquilliser. “Hrmm… my body clock must be non-existent at this point…”

The cultist hadn't expected it to be so dark when he dropped onto the island, but what could one do. As soon as that thought had passed, he paused for a moment, furrowing his brow. The high priest could tell that something was wrong, but it took him a moment to realise what it was. He couldn't see anything. His divine sight had been robbed from him.

Sigmund spat a curse as his hands leapt to the collar around his neck, careful not to handle it too tight, lest he grant himself a swift elimination. Huffing quietly, he tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. There was a strong smell of salt on the air and if he listened closely, he could hear a vaguely familiar rumbling sound in the distance. A few moments later and he realised it was the crashing of waves.

“I'm on the coast then.” The high priest noted as he dropped his duffle bag to the ground, rifling through it. Stashed within were a set of survival essentials. Water, odd packets which assured the cultist that they were food and a piece of paper that, after a few moments of adjusting vision, was revealed to be a map. As he reached the bottom of the bag, however, Sigmund’s brow furrowed.

“I suppose this is my weapon.” He murmured to himself as he pulled it into the moonlight, looking it over with mounting enthusiasm. It wasn't made with self-defense in mind, it wasn't even designed to kill quickly. It was a tool made to torment and terrorise, and that suited the cultist just fine. Slipping on his new toy, Sigmund couldn't help but grin gleefully at it before turning to the map.

“Hmm… I suppose I should head inland.” He murmured to himself, reaching for the compass and squinting at the paper as his eyes finally adjusted enough to read it. The psion doubted he'd run into many competitors if he lazed around on the beach and they certainly weren't going to drive themselves mad… well, probably not, anyway.

“I hope they’re not ready for me. They go mad so much quicker when everything falls apart.” Sigmund said, chuckling a little as he hoisted his duffle bag onto his shoulder and set off inland, glancing between the map and the compass a few more times before stashing them away. After a moment, he checked the bag again, hoping half-heartedly that he had missed something, though he knew he hadn't.

“Damn… No writing supplies.” The scholar muttered. He thought for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to take notes on the deterioration of his foe’s minds without anything to write on when he vaguely remembered that the competition was recorded. A terrible idea came to mind, one that would probably get him killed if he wasn't careful.

“I’m making this event educational!” He called, making sure that if a camera was on him it would be able to hear him, before shooting a thumbs-up straight into the air. “We’re going to be learning how a human mind breaks!”

 

[Cho]

The sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach had all but disappeared for the brief time Cho had been speaking with Victor, only for it to return with a vengeance as he descended from the Helicopter. He squinted against the dark as the wind whipped up, jostling his hair and clothes, in the wake of the chopper.

“Great.” He huffed, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other holding onto the strap of his duffel bag, “Middle of the pissing night. Can’t see shit and there’s people out to kill everyone else. Sweet.”

For what little he could make out around him, Cho found himself standing in the middle of what appeared to be a naturally hewn, sloped pathway. Beyond that, trees. A sea of trees standing strong against the elements. He watched the helicopter leave, the sense of dread growing more and more prevalent with every passing second. With an exasperated sigh, he moved over to the edge of the path and hunkered down in between some rocks for the time being, drawing his feet out in a wide arc over his head. A slab of stone responded and created a vague, rough roof to give him a little cover and some fleeting sense of security.

Cho pulled the duffel from his shoulder and placed it down before him, immediately attempting to delve into it and check on his supplies. He battled with the zipper for a good few moments, his attention drawn from the bag to the surrounding wilderness every now and then; panic setting in at each and every sound, from the chirping of nocturnal insects to the not so distant rustle of feathers. Cho froze, eyes wide in fear as he struggled to make out the source of the noise. Morbid possibilities ran rampant through his mind as he stared into the inky black night before him, praying to whatever deities this universe held to scoop him up and take him home.

The darkness was no barrier for the long-eared owl. In the inkiness she swooped on a rodent using hearing alone, grasping it first time, her talons sinking deeply into its still living flesh. A bark nearby let her know her mate was near. Once alighted she hooted back before beginning her meal. The mouse could scramble with its legs all it wanted, it was going nowhere.

Cho practically jumped out of his skin, which had paled considerably as the Owl burst into view. A fist flung forward in panic saw the rocky slab above his head shift and careen for the creature, threatening to flatten it against the sandy road. Fortunately, for the Owl, the movement of the rock was not quiet, nor were the Earthbenders labored breaths. It took off, prey in tow and scarpered in the direction of its mate. Cho remained, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, outstretched fist trembling viciously. He raised his free hand and wiped away the cold sweat that had formed at his brow and returned to battling with the zipper on his duffel bag.

Food. Water. Map. Compass. And.. something else. His fingers clasped some cold metal at the bottom of his bag. He couldn’t figure out what it was and didn’t fancy trying to figure it out in the dark. Instead, he pulled his knees into his chest and stayed within the rocks for a short while.

 

[Kayleigh Eudora]

The ground approached at an alarming rate as Kayleigh got ‘assisted’ off the helicopter. One would assume Karl would like his playthings unharmed before entering in his puppet show of the insane and delusional, but you would be wrong. Managing a non fatal landing, Eudora finally touched the comet’s ground...flat on her ass. “May the fury of the gods rip your cocks from your bodies!” She shrieked out in anger towards the friendly employees of syntech who evacuated her from the chopper. Darkness engulfed around the cursed one as the lights of her hostile ride vanished into the night sky. Shouting was no longer the wisest thing to do now that the murderfest had started.

Her temper faded faster than usual — being fully aware of the perilous situation she placed herself in, her mind was required to be both sharp and alert. Kayleigh removed the leathered glove on her right hand before lighting a small fire on the tip of her index finger. Equipped with a keen eye she observed the surroundings upon which she landed. It wasn’t before long she noticed just how treacherous this area was. Travelling would have to be slow, steady and necessary to find a place to hold out for the night.

Next to her feet on the ground she noticed the bag Syntec prepared for her, the instructions were clear, every contestant received one of these to aid them in the struggle ahead. Kaleigh opened her bag and started to go through the pack’s content, when suddenly she stopped. A slight grin emerged on her face, “Oh Karl, seems the gods favor me for you to bestow upon me such a gracious gift.” She unclutched her gift and reached for some gravel on which she stands. Letting it slide through her fingers, as she held her hand up towards the sky, she loudly proclaimed her opening statement, “ What lies beneath my feet?!” She called out, allowing her words to vanish into silence for but a moment , “I stand upon sacred ground, soon to be watered with tears of blood of my enemies before i send them to the fucking afterlife... Now we begin!”

A strong, determined promise from the virago addressed to the audience, knowing fully well they would receive her unyielding message. She was well informed about these games, not only skill in combat would bring you victory, both mind and favour of the crowd are powerful weapons. But again, shouting was not the brightest idea.

Before moving along she had to check one thing and kneeled next to a thorn bush. With her bare index finger she pressed down onto one of the spikes, letting it penetrate her skin and allowing a drop of blood to find a path down along both her hand and wrist. A genuine chuckle revealed itself as she witnessed actual blood emerge from her body. The bush wasn’t as lucky, her touch turned the shrub to a smoking pile of ash. With her glove back on her hand she moved her hand across the collar, for now she was satisfied. All she had to do now was win.

Kayleigh collected her things and strapped the pack tight on her back, ready to get a move on. Karl’s gift was firm in her hand, never knowing when it might come in handy. With steady pace the maiden was finding her path in the unknown territory, seeking a place to rest for the remainder of the night.

 

[Malloki Tuwile]

“Dear diary.

“I hardly had any time to sleep last night, but that’s alright. I was awoken to the soothing tones of Cartman’s voice announcing the start of a new game! Corduroy said we have seven days, not nearly as long as I had hoped for to play with all these nice gamers! Alas, I’ll just have to make due. Maybe seek them out later for a private game. That’ll be f--ACK!”

Malloki stopped his internal dialogue for only a moment as a bug splattered his face. “But anyway, we were all given fancy new necklaces! I like the style, but it makes my stomach feel a bit queasy. Turns out it’s supposed to ‘make it fair’ for everyone. That’s alright though, I love a good challenge! And don’t worry, Diary… I won’t be taking it off early. I was ALSO told that if I did, it would be game over early!”

As the sight of his landing destination came into focus, Malloki gripped onto a pull cord tethered into the arm strap of his fancy new backpack. “Well, I can’t write too much right now. I was told it was too risky to drop in low, so I was given a fancy parachute.” For a moment, his hand released. The ground was quickly approaching. “Or should I just enjoy myself now?”

So close… he could almost see the tops of trees. It would be so nice to see Dolloki again! How long had it been? Four? Five days since their last encounter? Too long.

An upsurge of anticipation tightened the tendons in his hand. “No, I can’t let Dolloki down. He was so excited about this game! Anyway, tata Diary, I’ll write more soon!” With the outro to a completely verbal diary entry, Malloki yanked the cord and in just a few seconds the wind was stolen out of him as it caught in the sails overhead.

There was not much in his immediate area he could reach. Being dropped so low and taking time to “write” in his diary, he had lost the altitude to --

“OOF!”

The impact was rough. Not quite bone-shattering, but at the very least rattling. The intention (and instructions) had been to pull the cord as soon as he was clear of the helicopter. Of course, he had ignored them. In any case, he had at least landed in a bit of soft grass.

“Hehehe, I gotta do that again!” Next time, no parachute! As the aching man peeled himself off the ground, a thought occurred. Technically… he already did something like this without a parachute. Guess this might be a new hobby.

Waving his hands about to dismiss the idea, the unhinged man had to hinge himself a moment to get his bearings. He unclipped the harness in a few areas before shrugging off the backpack and expended parachute. His supply bag, worn on his chest, was dropped onto the ground for a good look at what was within.

“Hmm. Food. Good, gonna need that. Oooh, water, they thought of everything! Wait… WAIT… Where’s the fucking toilet paper! Damnit, what good is food if there ain’t no shit paper!” He threw his head back for a deep huff. “Fine, fine, whatever, I can live without double ply quilted heaven for seven days…”

Back to spelunking. The other contents were more standard goods. A compass and a map would be useful to navigate. A moment was spent to unfurl said map and give it a good gander. The island looked pretty small, which was a good thing. The other thing he noted was his own location. “Oh, nice! Completely missed frozen nipples!”

That was good. The last item in the rucksack was given a glance over once… then twice. Taking note of everything else, he realized this must be his “special goodie.” A wicked curl spun his lips like a delighted man in green fur. “Oooooohhh, Carmon Sandiago, you shouldn’t have.”

And so with a little manipulation, his special goody was used almost immediately. It goes to prove you do not always need to wait for good things.

 

[The Future Warrior]

The wonderful thing about being a machine was the ability to quite literally automate certain things. Leave tedious and minimally difficult tasks on effective auto-pilot while devoting one's mind and actual focus to actively working on other things. Like trying to coordinate her current position and surroundings with the map and keep headed the right direction.

....that, and of course trying to devise a solution to her other problem. The flimsy, plastic, bag-shaped problem.

In her mind, she couldn't make logical sense of giving everyone the same ridiculous thing. If this was a death game, then a flimsy container for carrying groceries was hardly fitting. Which left her with two immediately obvious conclusions: this Karl Jak was completely insane and just having a mad laugh at handing out useless items to the contestants, or else everyone had gotten something completely random and unpredictable. Either she was just one out of many flabbergasted participants, or she was just one of the 'lucky' ones.

But, with it being intended as a means for carrying things, it did provide her with some ideas. Which she had already begun to work toward on her slow, steady march through the tropical jungles. It had involved the sacrifice of the water in the provided bottles, as she simply couldn't be bothered wasting time to divert and search for another source of water. But it had yielded one part of the material for her plan, leaving her with a bottle stuffed with an assorted mess of small stones, splinters of wood and slimy mud.

Placed into the plastic bag and then back into the duffel bag.

The next item for acquisition was a sturdy branch. Finding one of suitable size was a chore in and of itself, but it was one that she simply relegated to a 'background' task; just searching for it while she went actively about her other business.

From there, most of her troubles were focused on dealing with the local fauna lurking about. Not that they were particularly dangerous. but they were more than slightly aggressive and territorial. The old adage 'more scared of you than you are of them' certainly held true. Not just because she wasn't afraid of them at all, either. They were, however, mostly quiet and rarely seen thanks to the late hour. Only a handful of such encounters, one of which ended with fending off a particularly angry tiger (she was quite certain it wasn't dead, but would be before the night was through after the way it had impacted that tree), and she was soon enough treading onto dusty, rocky ground and passing out of the gloom of the jungle.

Looking up as she marched along, she let her eye rove around to take in the sight of the rocky walls and cliff faces looming overhead. All manner of caves and crevices among the craggy, dusty walls. For all she knew, there could be anything up there. More cranky beasts, or even another competitor. In a place like this, the high ground was very literal, and pouncing from up there...

For someone like her it would be a deadly maneuver, she was sure. Even with her size mysteriously and confoundingly reduced by this collar (which was still a source of endless disgruntlement for her, due in no small part to all the confused error and warning messages and diagnostics it was making flash across her displays), it would still be easily half a ton of weight landing on whatever was unfortunate enough to be her target.

She pulled her map out again and made a quick note of her current place for later. It might be a good place to set up something of a hunter's blind.

But for the moment, she was only passing through. She would only stop long enough to stare up at a particularly worn, cracked section of cliff for a solid minute, as if judging it for something or other. She eventually lifted one hand to place against it, pressing against it and lightly running her hand to and fro across the splintered surface.

"....this should do," she finally murmured, And her opposite arm lifted up, fingers curling into a fist. She took a moment to carefully line up and plot out her strike...and then like a piledriver her arm shot forward, striking the cliff face like a sledgehammer. It cracked and fractured further, and large chunks of it began to break loose and fall free with huge showers of dust and crackling cascades of loose rocky fragments.

Many of these chunks of dusty stone were picked up, and promptly crushed and ground into a fine powder and dust, then carefully deposited in another of the now-empty bottles. Several larger pieces were likewise picked up and more carefully deposited in the bag itself for later use.

"Two of the major components..." She noted aloud, mostly to herself. "One remains. The most cruel, but the most effective." She nodded, and zipped the duffel bag shut again once all the contents were safely inside. Slinging it over her shoulder, she picked up the gnarled length of wood ripped from a jungle tree in her other hand like a makeshift staff, and began her plodding march onward again.

 

[Malloki Tuwile]

“Ohhohohooo! The hunt is on!”

The little device in his hand displayed a miniature map of the island, and upon it blipped a number of dots. Assuming one is himself, he pinpointed exactly which dot had to be him. “Oh nice, there’s one just south!”

His gaze squinted upon the compass to point his way. He spun about in a circle, just to make sure it worked correctly. OF course, he spun a few more times just for that pleasurable sick feeling but after that, he looked off into the distance. Towers of some sort of large factory caught his gaze against the poorly lit world scape.

“Fun, fun, FUN!” His battle cry tore through the night as he gathered all his temporary belongings. With his backpack thrown over his shoulder, Malloki skipped on his merry way a few steps… then tripped over a root.

“I’d kill for night-vision goggles…” Of course, that was a figure of speech. After all, I’d never actually KILL someone! The man plucked himself off the ground yet again. Once more he gathered all his spilled belongings and this time he actually closed the bag before flinging it over his shoulders. “Alright now, cheery-O!”

And like before, the giddy man began his gay prancing southbound towards the outer workings of what looked to be a filthy, run-down, and very much abandoned manufacturing town.

“Gonna play some pattycake, pattycake! Gonna play some pattycake till no one’s awaaaake!” The twisted children’s tune sounded like it could be happy. It sounded so cheery like the mad man might have a paternal instinct to sing a lullaby to a child… but this was not a form of pattycake a child would want to play.

Already he could imagine the victory bath of red painting the walls. The sting of many wounds he would take. “What should I bring?” He contemplated. Already his hand rose as if holding onto something. “Maybe a pea shooter? Pew Pew! No… Ooh, how about an umbrella with removable sheath!” His hand cut through the air as if holding a ritualistic katana.

“Nah… Maybe I’ll bring a pencil and we’ll play a writing game!” With a quick juke, he shanked the air. “Ohh, I do love writing games. Sometimes I wish my whole life could be one writing game… All that pretty ink spilling everywhere.” The zen sigh came with a shiver down his spine. “So much ink…”

The thought of spilling said ink is what urged Malloki into a full sprint towards that little blip on his fun new toy. That Camron is quite the generous fellow!

 

[Gilgamesh]

The next time Gilgamesh woke up, not to his surprise, he was no longer in his room. Though unfortunately, the Syntech crew had left him on the ground with nothing to sleep upon. His bones cracked in satisfaction as he sat upright from his position, getting a better look at his surroundings. He casually scanned the area around him: rocky formations, a beautiful sea that reflected the bright moon, and a large canyon. Though Gilgamesh hated to admit it, Karl had some good toys.

Speaking of the devil, Karl’s voice echoed around the island. The Golden King knew the routine and tuned him out. Kill everyone else and win the prize. For some, it may be whatever treasures that Karl could imagine. For Gilgamesh...he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted. His core tensed as he rolled onto his heels and stood up. He turned next to him and saw the familiar gym bag that contained all of his necessary items for the upcoming week.

‘His lackeys couldn’t use this as a pillow?’ he thought. ‘What lazy mongrels.’

He bent over to pick up the bag, the weight much lighter than he expected. His hand rested next to the zipper, curious about what the bag’s contents may be. The fear of the worst stopped him from opening it. Perhaps Karl had played another joke on Gilgamesh and gave him an equally idiotic item as before. The bag had not begun to scream profanities at him, which was a good sign. The King of Heroes placed the strap over his shoulder and began to climb down from his position. The glory he was seeking would not be attained by remaining put.

Gilgamesh did forget that traveling only using the moonlight, was extremely difficult. Managing not to slip off the cliff or stumble into venomous insects proved more challenging than he remembered. He had been walking for quite some time before a familiar voice broke the monotonous sound of tumbleweeds blowing.

“Gilgamesh?” the familiar, squeaky voice questioned.

Startled, the King quickly jumped to turn the stranger and ripped open the zipper to his bag. While he may not have been able to distinguish the pale shadow of the likes of the cowboy or the naked zombie, this mouse-silhouette was ingrained into his brain. Mickey. Mouse.

“You’re here too?” the mouse probed, taking a step backward. While Gilgamesh was surprised for a moment, the reality soon set in. If he and Karl Jak were on this plane, it would only make sense that Mickey and others could be here as well.

“Of course, Rodent,” Gilgamesh hissed, digging his hand into his bag. He could feel the map, the MRE’s, and a few other survival items. His skin flushed, and he broke into a cold sweat. Had Karl truly fucked him and not given him anything to attack with? The King had begun to process the cold possibility that he might need to beat Mickey to a pulp and steal his weapon. “It seems that Omni was done with both of us,” he stated with a deadpan expression. He took a step forward.

Mickey had mentally prepared to fight a medley of opponents, ranging from the cowboy to his ex-bounty hunter. However, the appearance of his old rival stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Wait, pal,” Mickey outstretched his hands and continued to retreat.“We don’t have to do this,” he pleaded.

The King of Heroes cringed, he was not this mongrel’s “pal”. “It’s the Abyss,” Gilgamesh spoke coldly. “I was the laughing stock of the Omniverse. I will not be a jester here,” Gilgamesh continued to advance, his words became more venomous with each step. His hand finally struck something small and metal in his bag. He smirked as he grasped the handle and felt the trigger. It made him want to laugh that he had just practiced shooting with the cowboy.

“You will serve as my first step to recognition! A King does not lose!” Gilgamesh decreed as he pulled out a blue, metallic gun. He pulled the trigger, and a blue beam shot forth at the mouse. Mickey side-stepped the shot and looked back at his attacker with a pale face.

“You weren’t a joke,” Mickey mumbled, his voice laced with guilt.

“You didn’t live my life,” Gilgamesh shouted. “A King like me should be respected, not treated like a mutt,” he spat. Mickey deflated and slumped in position, frowning and letting his guard down. Gilgamesh shot another beam. Mickey reacted late, however, and while he jumped back, his foot got caught in the beam. Frost collected around it, before enveloping his entire leg. The King of Heroes grinned, he liked the way the gun felt in his hand and even more how it shot. He strode up towards Mickey, who was squirming in place to get his leg free.

“Any last words, rat?” Gilgamesh seethed.

“Wait,” Mickey asked. “All I want is to ask Karl what the heck is up. And why does he do this murder contest every year?” he squeaked.

“Pathetic last words,” Gilgamesh muttered.

“We are more likely to succeed together than separately. We can both get far! I can ask Karl and you can get the respect you want,” he quickly blurted, his hands still prying the ice from his legs.

Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow, “I’m listening, mouse.”

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#09 Malloki vs #04 Kopaka​

Malloki pranced his way through the forest—his face wild and his spirits high as he pursued the object on his screen. It was but one of many blips on his radar. But one of many objectives that he would have to find some way to deal with. How, you might ask?

A gentlemen never tells.

With a chuckle, Malloki broke through a line of dense shrubs, and his eyes fell immediately to device in his palm, which chirped pleasantly between his twitching finger. “Where are y—a”

“I’m standing right here,” a robotic voice intoned as the man tilted his head up and jammed the GPS into his satchel.

“Well this is new,” Malloki commented as he eyed the snow and ice that blanketed the savannah. “How did I notice that Christmas had come early?”

“You were running foolishly and it would appear to me that your were speaking with the full capacity of your lungs,” Kopaka replied as the Toa of Ice as the air around the machine started to blur with an increase in snow flurries.

“Does this make you Father Christmas?” Malloki spoke with a grin as he glanced to his surroundings. Aside from the now frozen bushes behind him, there didn’t seem to be anything around him that was concealing some larger weapon. Icecubes aside, the robot didn’t seem to be packing anything, given how his bag looked nearly limp against his mechanical form.

“I am Kopaka, Toa of Ice,” the biomechanical warrior intoned. “You are the false pacifist.”

The living voodoo put a hand on his chest and gasped. “You know me?”

“This information was publicly available from Syntech’s digital databases. Did you not perform adequate research?”

The man shook his head and sneered. “I’m a fan of coming up with the plan as I go along. I’m pretty sure that’s what sells more ad space.”

And just like that, the only sound on the savannah was the growing storm centered around Kopaka, who simply stared out at the bearded, smiling ‘pacifist’.

For his part, Malloki watched and waiting, knowing that his whole life story was likely unavailable on the internet (or at least tucked into the nastier side of things). “I’ve always enjoy a good fist fight to really get the blood flowing on these cold mornings,” he chuckled as he started to leisurely advance toward Kopaka.

Before Malloki got without four feet of the toa, he was intercepted by a partially frozen sphere of snow. The projectile crashed into the man’s forehead, staggered him, and momentarily obscured his vision behind a sheet of sparkling white snow crystals. “A snowball? That’s your power? A sno—”

The three-foot icicle slammed into the man’s body just above his right kidney, and while the impact knocked him onto his ass, the opportunity for a follow-up attack was thwarted when Kopaka felt a sting of pain in his side. The snowstorm calmed immediately as the coldhearted knight glanced down at the wound. His scratch mirrored the greater wound on his adversary, which revealed that his brash adversary had some sort of unseen powers.

“Interesting.” Kopaka turned back to Malloki, but the ‘pacifist’ had vanished back into the darkness of the savannah.

Out in the darkness, Malloki winced faintly at the ache in his ankle. “All a part of the game.”

Results

28 Contestants Remain​

Malloki has been impaled with a now-melted shard of ice (Minor Injury) and suffered from a twisted ankle (Minor Injury) and needs to go warm himself up (Story Injury)
Kopaka has a scratch on the right side of his chest from Malloki’s voodoo Ability (Story Injury)

Kopaka has used 1 application of Focus

Malloki and Kopaka are on a 12 hour cooldown where they cannot be in a F2F, unless they waive this right by PM'ing me.

 

[Yuuka Kazami]

She was beginning to suspect Karl Jak did not like her.

With a great splash, she was unceremoniously dumped into the icy water, jolted awake from the sedatives all at once with a gasp. Scrambling as sudden desperation set in, she found her hands stabbing with pain as all she could reach was the sharp, cold rocks the shore was decorated with. But she was never one to quit. She pulled herself up and onto the rocky outcropping, hefting the duffel bag along with her.

After that rude awakening, she couldn’t say she was shocked to learn they had forgotten to pack her a weapon as well.

With a grimace, she zipped the bag back up, far from... satisfied with the experience. Whatever. She could probably trade this garbage, or maybe get creative with it at a later date. Besides, when had she ever needed a weapon, anyhow? If she could manage the ring last year, she could manage an island. She would just need to be every bit the weapon she could ever want herself.

Tentatively, she grabbed a couple of the sharper rocks and stuffed them into the pockets of her jacket, slinging the bag over her shoulder as she got on her knees. South meant warmer, didn’t it? She’d be far more likely to find what she needed if she headed south, she figured. Shelter before water before food- and the latter two were covered by the bag, mostly. She just wished the sponsorship money had afforded her some extra Pepsi for the journey.

Scrubby, mountain-hardy flowers bloomed to drink up the water in her hair as she pulled herself to her feet and trekked- south.

 

[Malloki Tuwile]

“Fuckfuckfuck!” Malloki limped away with a giddy smile. Though his torso ached with a melting hole in it and his ankle stung like a bitch, the sensations brought him great delight. The pain that surged with each step urged him faster, so he could feel it again and again.

“Ooh, I hope Santa puts me on the Nice list after that! I totally want a couple more of those popsicles!” Nevertheless, he continued on his way with a brisk pace. It was dark, quite difficult to really see much, but from what he saw he knew roughly where he was heading.

Further south, there was another blip when last he checked… Another player without a game. That would never do. What is a gamer with no game? An R, that’s what they are. And no one wants an R.

Unless it’s an R rated movie. That gave Malloki pause for a moment. “Am I depriving people of a good flick?” ….. “Nah. Time to play!”

Malloki hobbled like the devil was on his heels, giggling and cackling like some tsundere disposing of Senpai’s last love interest. “Twinkle twingle little scar!” He sang as he poked idly at the small hole in his gut. Of course, he did not put the mental effort into finishing the song.

No, his mind quickly went to his next game. “I should play a game of strategy for this next one! Yes, maybe some stealth and surprise! Peekaboo could be so much fun at night!” Of course, Malloki continued running… and talking to himself… at the top of his lungs…

At this point he was just tiring himself out, but the beating of his heart helped blood flow, and the humid night helped warm his chilled bones. It was not quite a roaring fire, but the tenderness of his nose tip and fingers drove him. He would definitely have to come back to that one.

 

[Jester Lavorre]

He hurtled through the night with reckless abandon, letting out a steam of curses that his old travelling companion, Mickey, would faint if he heard. Mugen had no idea what the Hell he'd just been blasted with, but he wasn't sticking around to find out. His dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight had devolved rapidly from a box step into a clumsy tango, and Mugen suspected that if he'd stuck around a moment longer, it would've turned into a chicken dance. Of death.

He couldn't hear, and though adrenaline had granted him a convenient but temporary numbing, he could feel a vague tingling across his chest that was rapidly blossoming into a white hot pain.

His feet beat a rapid succession of steps into the precarious mountaintop terrain as he pelted past trees and...

...careened off of a steep ledge.

The ronin's panic reached a crescendo as he felt himself momentarily free-falling; then, the wind was knocked out of him when his back collided with a rocky slope hard. All of the momentum he'd gathered in his dead sprint converted into a death roll down a cliff face, and the only thing the swordless samurai could do was tuck himself into a ball. For a few moments Mugen was a blur of scrunched up body and crimson overcoat. Then, collided with a tree, and came to an abrupt halt with a painful 'oof!'

For what felt like an eternity, he just laid there in a heap.

Then he sat up.

He took stock of himself there, in the dark, perched on a ledge out on the sheer face of a mountain. Just Mugen and a barren tree. Just a guy, his survival pack, and his...Popsicle?

Mugen sighed, recalling what he had momentarily forgotten, and fished around in his backpack until his hand found chilled polyethylene. He pulled the treat from his pack, removed its overwrap, and gave it a tentative lick. The Popsicle that had gotten him into that mess.

Salty, but sweet. Delicious.

He had plans for it, however.

The white undershirt the swordsman wore had been scorched asunder by mysterious green fire-goop. This, in turn, had left his scorched chest painfully exposed. The skin covering his breastbone was a vivid splash of angry red punctuated with puss spots, but all things considered, it could've been a lot worse. Whatever that shit was that'd burned him, he'd shaken off the majority of it in his mad-dash to safety.

With a grimace, Mugen pressed his 'weapon' against his chest and felt the hot sting then cool, soothing relief it brought. What an odd sight he realized he must be, to anyone watching from their television sets: a gangly nineteen year old samurai fresh from a failed mugging rubbing a Popsicle all over his chest and groaning quietly.

Could've gone worse, the thuggish ronin reminded himself. And it could be worse, still. He'd had but minutes to see where he was, and where he planned on going before the Cowboy opportunity had presented itself. It wasn't tough to guess he'd find someone atop a mountain - it was likely the easiest drop site. After seeing his 'weapon', there'd been little other option.

A branch to the cowpoke's back...he was was proud of that little bit of improvisation. And he'd guessed that Arthur - the man from the stream back in the pre-show - wouldn't have been sharp enough to catch on. That wasn't a mistake he'd be making again soon. That rootin', tootin' old man could move.

Mugen shook himself from his reverie and drank in his surroundings.

It was serenely silent on the mountainside, aside from a high pitched ringing that wouldn't subside. Whatever had gone off next to him had done a number on his ears, Mugen realized. He plunged his pinkies into either ear, and opened his mouth.

"M...www...ahhh..." Mugen made sounds, hoping to pop his eardrums or do something, anything that might bring some normalcy back to his hearing. It sounded like his own voice was coming from rooms away. "Muhhhh...muhhhhhhhh..."

No use. With a sigh, he stood up, and looked out over the horizon.

It was time to move on. The rest of the contestants weren't going to mug themselves, and they couldn't all be carrying goop-rifles.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
#09 Malloki vs #26 Nico Cinder​

It had been a few hours, and in that time, Nico had just been able to decipher the map and get some clue as to where he was on the island. From what he had deduced, he was somewhere between the ‘Gear Savannah’ and some plains that bore the same name.

“So far, this isn’t too bad,” Nico spoke as he thumbed at the collar locked around his neck. In another time or place, he might have even enjoyed the metal, but with the threat of having to kill a bunch of people looming high (literally, in the voice of Karl Jak booming across the island), Nico couldn’t lose much time contemplating accessories.

Beep.

Nico’s brow furrowed at the melodic chime.

“Well this is lovely.”

The young-looking man craned his neck at the gruff voice creeping up from the south. The voice was attached to someone with a visible limp and a clear shiver.

Malloki looked up from the screen of his GPS and managed a trembling smirk before pocketing the device. “Nice goth getup… but the Nightmare is supposed to come before the Christmas part of the movie.”

“Is this the part where we exchange tense sentence fragments before attacking each other?” Nico asked with a smile as he pushed his hood off the top of his head.

“Something like that,” the human voodoo doll chuckled as he shook some feeling back into his injured ankle.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Nico said, holding up a hand. “Does this work? Running around trying to jump people in the wee hours of the morning?”

The pacifist paused mid-step and smiled. “Results aren’t in yet, but this is just Round 2.”

“Well,” Nico remarked as he reached down and plucked something dark off the ground. “I think you’ll enjoy these results.”

For his part, Malloki’s eyes widened a little as the rocket launcher went off.

Nico, vision slightly obscured by the smog that now laid heavy in the air around him, started to laugh. “Wherever you are, Pecan, you sure as shit aren’t packing this much heat.” As he went to set down the weapon, the young man with the ruffled raven hair suddenly winced as he felt a sudden heaviness on his chest. “The fuck,” he grumbled as he tried to catch his breath.

Results

28 Contestants Remain​

Malloki has burns across his torso and upper arms (Story Injury) and his ankle is now broken (Minor injury is now a Major Injury). You might also say that Malloki now doesn’t have to worry about warming himself back up again.
Nico has some bruises and 1st degree burns on his chest (Story Injury)

Nico Cinder has the Rocket Launcher

Malloki and Nico are on a 12 hour cooldown where they cannot be in a F2F, unless they waive this right by PM'ing me.

 

[Fenix]

Suwako sat patiently in the barracks, rather feeling like a sardine crammed in amongst Big-fin Tuna. Not in terms of importance, of course - Suwako had long since gotten used to being shorter than most.

Though that didn’t stop her from flaring her tongue a little at the mouse, who seemed not to notice, on the way in. Frogs did eat mice, after all… Well, they’d find out who came out on top at the end of the round. She did appreciate seeing someone smaller than her own size to pick on when it came to it later, at least. It simply wouldn’t be fair if everybody else got to bully someone smaller and she couldn’t.

She was interrupted in her thoughts by the sudden feeling of something tight snapping around her neck. Looking down, she saw that Karl wasn’t kidding about the metal collars. It didn’t take long to realize that this was the same collar Gilgamesh had worn when they had first spoken. Guess it wasn’t part of his armor after all.

With an errant touch of the cold metal with her pink tongue, Suwako immediately blew a long raspberry in the helicopter. “Bleh! This tastes awful!” She insisted. “And the color is terrible too! Don’t you have something in like, purple? Maybe a nice green?” She insisted, looking at the syntech employee who’d fastened it, only to get no response.

“A little floral print? Something with a bit more pizazz? Maybe like a glow in the dark function?” Suwako listed off. To the frustration of her ever increasing boredom, she got no response from the employee.

“You’re no fun!”

The syntech employee refused to give her anything to work with, and Suwako childishly stamped on the floor, before sighing, Staying quiet until the helicopter reached it’s destination. She couldn’t really see anything, but she heard enough ‘thumps’, to be nervous.

“Hey, uhhh… could you maybe let me down gently? I’m kind of a small girl. It’d be awful if I got a boo-boo, and all. Maybe throw me onto the beach? I haven’t worked on my tan in a Whii-Ohh god!” Suwako screamed, as the unmistakable feeling of a hard push had her thinking about the rough landing that always came with it.

The Girl quickly scrabbled as she fell through the air and against all odds managed to land on all fours. With a quick “kero” of fear, she breathed a sigh of relief as she fell the rest of the way… only for the duffel bag to land on her head with a quick “thunk”

“Aaauuu!” Suwako cried, falling over as the bag left her sprawling. After sitting there for a couple seconds, the girl sighed, got up, and dusted off her stockings. The usual ditzy and happy expression she’d been keeping up during the pre-show faded to a relatively bored and grumpy expression as she held the duffel bag’s straps up with her tongue, and unzipped to see what she’d earned.

Karl jak knew what to give a girl on a survival island, at least. MRE’s, water, a map, a compass - She’d been scared she’d have to use one of those new-fangled cellphones Sanae had taken to for navigation.

As she looked in the bag and saw what else was hidden in there, a smile crossed her lips. Retracting her tongue, she gave a savage lick of her lips as she saw what was hidden inside. “Looks like my time at the shooting range was well-spent.”

“Well then. Plenty of people out for my head…. And plenty of heads for me to collect. ‘Bout time I stop playing the buffoon.” Suwako added with a sinister grin. “It’s time for me to show ‘em what it’s like… playing with an old god.”

With a simple gesture, and a motion to the surrounding area, Suwako brought the earth up, creating a short pillar beneath her feet to hop onto, and took a good look around the area. Trees, mountains, but no living beings so far. Well… Given she had a nice collar that was going to make sure she moved around anyways, She may as well come to them.

She’d originally joined this contest for the ability to be noticed, to be liked, to be worshipped across the worlds by using Karl Jaks’ broadcast for free publicity… but now that she was here, she really didn’t like the idea of losing to any of these jokers. Or at least, not without popping a couple.

A grin held on her lips as she found a good spot in the horizon. Holding her duffel bag, the Frog did a swan dive from her pillar into the earth below, as it swallowed her up. A faint bump in the middle of the earth formed, and then began moving, as the old goddess ‘swam’, through the ground, the earth parting and reforming at her call.

She didn’t envy whoever faced her first.