Day 3, Phase 4

[The Man in Red]

Day 3, Phase 4
Night Phase: 1800 to 0000​

”Good evening. Time does march on down there, doesn’t it? As of last phase, we have been reduced to almost half of our original contestants. Alas, indeed, we have lost…

#004 Gollum

A true shame of the highest order...but it means we are drawing ever closer to the end of our little game, as well as that final prize for the yet elusive winner! What fun!

For next phase, we shall be introducing the following spaces as new Dead Zones:

I-5!
J-5!
K-5!
I-6!
K-6!
I-7!
J-7!
K-7!
I-8!
J-8!

The space left has dwindled to quite a cramped little area, hasn’t it? So confining, so little room to avoid each other… I sense our final confrontation drawing quite near, indeed. Make the most of your remaining time!”


Bulletins and Updates

• SchedulingSchedulingSchedulingSchedulingSchedulingScheduling. This phase will last until 8:00 PM EST on November 23.
• With the changes in weather, the night has become utterly pitch black without even a shred of moonlight or starlight to illuminate things. The remaining ‘safe’ spaces still have a faint cloudy haze of light, to help guide you, however.

 

[Ben]

Weiss groaned as she leaned against the spindly remnants of the shack. Pressing her back up against it, she spent most of her focus just on not falling over. The… thing that they’d fought had left a score of cuts and bruises on her body, ripping flesh and tearing into muscle.

Weiss didn’t know how she was alive through that mess, Didn’t even want to look down. She wasn’t sure what cord was left throughout her body that was capable of holding it in one piece, but even a shiver kept threatening to undo it.

The huntress took a deep breath, looking to Kazooie with a tense smile.

“...You doing okay over there, laser-beam?” Kazooie asked, not bothering to hide the concern in her voice.

Weiss struggled to answer, taking a couple breaths before she could get her voice back.

“It’s been a really bad couple days.” She answered. “...I can still move. Somehow.”

Kazooie’s expression turned to concern, but before she could say anything, both of them became very aware of another conflict going in near the shed.


“-Listen, you need to trust me! This thing is dangerous! you need to put this rock as far away from you as you can!” Anubis yelled to his user, who resolutely shook one eye.

The Jackal crossed his hands, invisible to the rest of the group, as a glare appeared. “I’m telling you! Drop it, or I’ll break it!”

The prisoner began moving wildly, as the Jackal made his intentions clear, the sword swinging the prisoner around as though he was flopping in the wind.

Weiss and Gengar both got up in surprise, looking to hold down the Prisoner as he did, but he was pulled away from his companion by the blade, like a dog yanking at a leash.

“Gengar! Hold him down! I’ll…”

Weiss looked down.

“Use my feet…?”

Meanwhile, the prisoner was resolutely holding onto the shard. “Come on! Let - go - of - the - shard!”

The Prisoner’s eyes screwed up in concentration as the Sword lifted him up this time, threw him in a ballerina spin… and caused the prisoner to, finally, huck the gemshard. The crystalline blade spun out into the shed and began bouncing around with a surprising amount of force, like a bullet, and Gengar was quick to jump away from it with a “holy Carp!”

Weiss Dodged with cool grace, barely avoiding its jump off a table and keeping her neck, having a slightly smug grin as she realized she could still avoid something of this speed -

Until the Shard glanced off the floor once more, the woord arcing it away, smacking it off a broken window, and sending it directly into The huntress’s chest.

Where her heart was.

“Oh my Arceus!!!” Gengar screamed,

Pain struck her body as she dimly remembered that this was where her blood was supposed to pump from… And then tumbled to the floor in a heap.

----

The Prisoner and Gengar looked towards eachother, and then back to Kazooie. Regret was clear on their faces.

“...I’m… We’re sorry. We really didn’t mean to-”

“Uh-huh.” Was Kazooie’s reply.


"So, do you still wanna maybe… work together? You are still kinda a part of the-”

Gengar’s apologetic motions were a wasted effort, as Kazooie turned to pick up Weiss’s body. She did not even look back at the pair, the bird instead opting to flip them the bird.

Gengar cringed at the sudden cold shoulder. "Understandable. Have a nice day."

It took until the two left for Kazooie to finally allow her tears to shed, striking the poor, mangled girl in the chest.

And then, she allowed herself a gasp, as she felt a sudden twitch.

 

[Omelette Robotnik]

Even as the world went mad around it, The Prisoner left the shed behind with a sullen step and sagged shoulders, its feet dragging along the short grass and dirt while its arms hung limply at its sides. Worried for his friend, Gengar floated behind the corpse-candle, his ever-present grin nowhere to be seen.

"Listen… it wasn't your fault, pal. It was an accident. Coulda happened to anyone."

Anubis, speaking directly to its mind, also chimed in.

"Yeah. Besides, I told you that crystal was bad news! And she was gonna hafta die eventually anyway! Better now than later!"

If The Prisoner heard either of them, it made no sign of it. Why it was so distraught over this particular death, when it had slain the pretentious demon and the little goblin without any remorse was unknown, perhaps even to the undead. But it would be quite some time before it pulled itself together and was able to focus on the game again.

 

[Ben]

Weiss’s world began again in mute blackness. The Huntress’s eyes were closed, and sleep called to her through the void with a quiet, seductive lilt.. To call her ‘groggy’ was an understatement - the veteran warrior felt an irritation flood through her veins like an alcoholic after a bad hangover, leaving her head feeling like it was about to split in two and pain wracking her body.

The huntress didn’t know where she was, and she couldn’t open her eyes to see. She felt completely paralyzed - she couldn’t move, but she was acutely aware of her breathing, how shallow it was, how hard it was to keep going.

Weiss struggled to get a hold of her body again in a panic, trying to force herself to move, before she felt something else, something that caused her migraine to turn into a migraine. The injured hollow felt something scratching away at her consciousness, familiar to her, like the hunger of a hollow, but with far more malice as it pushed onto her with the force of an intellectual freight train.

It had no real subtlety to it, unlike the temptations of a hollow’s mind - it was merely a large ball of insanity, spite, and misery. Unfortunately, it also struck with all the force of a tornado. Whatever presence this was, it had the determination of a pack of mules, and Weiss was pushed back with sheer, mindless insanity, barely able to keep her thoughts straight enough to even try to resist.

Weiss gave a voiceless groan under the strain… but she held, and she forced herself out of the hail. She might not have been prepared for this sudden mental assault, but she had spent weeks meditating in another place. She had spent months chasing after a singular goal with purpose. She had gone through countless experiences where her only choices were endure or break - and she’d grown from every single one.

The storm raged around her, but she was a rock, immovable and implacable, and against that rock the wind raged uselessly, as Weiss found her center and stood firm. With a noiseless scream of resentment, the tempest beat harder, but Weiss no longer felt the cut of it’s biting wind, pushing it to the back of her mind. The wind seemed to lose focus as it lost it’s ability to touch Weiss’s mind, beating instead on itself as she forced it into submission.

The heaviness of her mind began to grow lighter, as she felt herself drift back up to proper consciousness… but she knew she hadn’t left this experience unscarred, even if she didn’t truly understand what had just happened. She knew she needed to keep her guard up - even the most secure fortresses could let in a draft.


---eiss! Weiss! Wake up!”

Kazooie’s familiar chirp brought Weiss back up to reality with a surprising ease.

“I’m awake, I’m awake.” Weiss added with a groan.

“What happened?!”

“I… guess the shard did something to me.” Weiss replied slowly, as she looked at the familiar sight of the ruined shed. She didn’t see Gengar or his headless friend anywhere - did they run off?

Weiss groaned, as the thought went through her heads. Of course the tricksy duo had ran off and left her here. Couldn’t trust them.

“...Are you okay?”

“...I think so. I don’t…” Weiss started, as she looked down at her body and… aside from the lack of arms, found herself completely fine. The burns from earlier, the scars Caustic had left across her body with the orbital blast - they were all gone. She didn’t have a mark on her. “I feel as good as I can… for someone without limbs, at least.”

“Yeah, it looks like everything else was healed. You’re looking better than when I met you! Outside of…”

Weiss nodded. “It’s fine, precious. We don’t really have the time to worry about it.”

“Oh, uhhh, getting a little forward, are we?” Kazooie blurted, the girl turning a little pink.

Weiss blinked a few times as the words that just flew out of her mouth sunk in. “Oh, uhm… I think that might have been a concussion talking. That just...“

“Look, it’s fine, you’ve died twice today, can’t blame ya for brains being a little scrambled…”

“Let’s keep moving, shall we?”

“Yeah, moving sounds like a pretty great idea!”

“Movement!”

 

[Karl Jak]

Karl grimaced as he limped away from the scene. Although he had additional baubles to keep him company during the waning hours of the event, he now sported a variety of unsavory—unless you were into that kind of scene—bruises and lacerations.

While his early scuffle with the princess had rendered him a bit uncomfortable, the overly dramatic set piece that he found in his rearview mirror had left literally bits of him behind. With the Asian knife stick as a cane, Karl gingerly advanced through the underbrush. “I just had to run across my kryptonite,” he muttered as he pressed a palm against the laceration. “Comedic relief tropes.”

Nothing amused Karl more than vainglorious heroes… especially when they were the ones who would indirectly commit widespread genocide in pursuit of whatever ideals they pretended to embody. On the other hand, he also got a kick out of those stupid villains who never seemed to know when to stop talking and just shoot their foe. Wait, they also have a god complex? Those types caused Karl’s tummy to flutter with electricity. Their downfalls always made for such fantastic television.

But the types who got by with tricks, puns, or stale humor? In a day and age where everyone was either a cynical jagoff or unable to turn off their virtual signal, audiences seemed to gush over anyone capable of shooting someone and then getting out a few one-liners.

The audience often loves gags. Karl also loves gags, but that is neither here nor there.

“Kaispeed, not-Deadpool,” Karl whispered into the night. “May your dead friend steel your resolve as you head off to finish in third place behind a bunch of yahoos who haven’t done anything of merit for the last three days.” Nothing can make a person more jaded than dying to a character with five minutes of screen time that isn’t wearing a hockey mask.

“Where the hell was I?” The producer groaned as he slipped what looked like a toy onto the waist of his mangled trousers. “Oh, yes, I’ve been impaled by Blink.”

No, that’s not right.

“Are you sure? Wasn’t there teleportation involved?” No answer came. Wasn’t an answer supposed to come?

I mean, normally the only one coming in scenes involving you and impalement would be …

“Nevermind,” Karl muttered as he looked at the tip the Asian knife stick. “Wow, my blood spatters pretty nicely,” he added as he tilted his head and stared at how the moonlight caught the blade. “Why does holding this make me want to harm my aunt?”

The executive producer scowled as he looked around the scene for his duffel bag. After scouring the underbrush for a few minutes, he retrieved the torn remnants of the oversized sack and filtered through what was left. All of his MREs were still there, and for the most part, what felt like perpetually nighttime and being moistened had kept them somewhere below warm.

“Close enough,” Karl spoke softly as he pressed the lukecold sacks of food against his wound. A beat later, he commissioned the remnants of his duffel bag into long strips of fabric and proceeded to wrap his core with them. “Where we were?” He spoke once the bandage had been secured into place. His attention again moved to the bloodied weapon. As if waiting for that exact signal, the voice of the event’s host issued forth from the island’s litany of totally non-copyright infringing secret surveillance equipment.

Although he felt a bit lightheaded from the loss of blood and variety of unwanted electroshock therapy, Karl was able to follow along with the announcements. Once the speakers had fallen silent, the producer gingerly crouched down and retrieved the remains of the island map. As luck would have it, the half of the map that had survived the fight showed the ‘active’ remains of the area, and a quick once-over revealed that they were all being herded toward the same location.

“That’s the finale announcement?” Karl glanced up at the sky.

Dark.

“When was it…” the man glanced at the Asian knife stick to verify that it had suddenly stopped catching moonlight—an easy task when the night sky was now an empty void of nothing. Furrowing his brow, Karl squinted as something in the distance caught his eye. While the skies over his head were darkness incarnate, there was what seemed to be a faintly glimmering expanse of light on the horizon. “So, this is the ‘somber’ finale mood?” Karl asked to no one in particular as he crumpled up the map and tossed it over his shoulder.

While he had used a majority of the MREs to smoosh his side wound closed, Karl found a pouch still laying near the unused remains of his duffel. After rolling his eyes, he slowly dropped to a knee and scooped up the bag of processed foodstuffs. Illuminating a finger with a glow of ki, Karl scanned the label. “Salted ham.”

Glancing around and then up into the night sky, Karl slowly shook his head. “This isn’t the part of the death island narrative where we wax comedic with props.” Once he’d flicked the bag into the darkness, the producer retrieved his Asian knife stick and set his sights on the faraway safe zone.

How many other individuals were left? Eight? Seven? Twelve?

He knew he should have done a better job keeping track, but for some strange reason, he felt like he was missing entire hours of his life over the last four days.

Was it four?

Still frowning, Karl at last made his way from the scene of the bloody showdown. In the distance, the ending loomed large on the horizon. Had his story on this island already reached its apex? Was he staring at a falling action that consisted of little more than a few more action-filled set pieces followed be an inevitable, life-ending explosion? Or, perhaps, this had just been a false climax, and there was a much more magnificent and victorious money shot that awaited beneath that synthetically illuminated zone of island?

 

[Masahir N'air]

There's a statistic that is often listed in reference to large predatory animals, that something like nine out of every ten hunts end in failure; that predators are anxious, strategic creatures out of both fear and necessity- a single slip up in the mode of pursuit could lead to disastrous injury and imminent death for such solo beasts. Then in their moment of weakness, the hunter would become the hunted, carrion food for the crows to pick at with greedy, hungry black beaks and squabble over like scrappy junkyard dogs. It was this distinct urge of self preservation that drove predators to conserve their energy, to bide their time carefully and prepare ambushes to stack the odds in their favor.

Except that time was up now, the wall of deathly deletion encroached further upon them with each passing moment. This was going to be it. Tonight, more blood would spill. This event was going to be over, they were down to the final ring, backed into a hazy corner that threatened with gleefully growing anticipation to swallow the two robots up whole. Every single trap the hitman had attempted to set up had failed at best and backfired at worst, leaving their frames battered and creaking. He was no stranger to pain, no stranger to death- he looked it straight in it's beady black eyes and dared it to try, try to keep him down just one more time. It never worked, death always managed to fail, leaving his kill-switch to trigger and sending his reeling mind into a new synthetic nightmare of an existence.

That's why it didn't matter how long he took to find a kill, it didn't matter how many times he personally failed to wrack up new additions to his list of names or his collection of dog-tags. It didn't matter how many times he was stomped into the dirt and made to suffer and snivel and cry out his agony with a whining keen. His wailing and wallowing mattered not one single iota, and at the end of the day, neither did this tedious little game of hide-and-seek.

Revenant reached a hand up, behind his back, to trail his dull fingers along the jagged edges of the slash Yojimbo had gouged into his frame once more. Soon enough this wrecked tin can of a body would be replaced. Soon enough he would be out of this arena, through winning or losing it again failed to mean much to the simulacra. It would be done, dealt with, an irreversible and cyclical past that he'd become so well acquainted with in his three hundred plus years of hunting and being hunted.

His ghastly eyes glinted, piercing through the haze and the darkness as pools of languid yellow-orange anguish. The outer ring of his optics had widened considerably, no longer just mimicking the iris of an average human, but instead encompassing even where the whites would normally be, each now centered by a dangerously thin slit red pupil. The mercenary slunk from his perch of rapidly withering branches with the silence and grace of a shadow, and beckoned to his make-shift companion to follow. The MRVN's head swiveled to look up at him, and in that moment realized just exactly why his friend had earned his name sake. In these final hours the angry synth had composed himself with a steely air of stubborn, determined resolve, and he glided seamlessly across the fields and prairies and distorted meadows like a specter, freshly risen from the grave.

Put simply, he was the living definition of a revenant.

Pathfinder's frame wobbled as he rushed to keep up with his partner's borderline break-neck speed, flinging his grapple out to pull his metal frame forward as quickly as possible. "Where are we going friend? I thought we were lying low."

A dry grunt sounded, but, much to his surprise, an actual reply followed suit. "The only thing we've killed so far is time, and I'm tired of waiting. Death comes for everyone, so let's not keep it yearning!" The merc's voice revved with an deeply unsettling excitement, though Path was bothered little by it, if at all by this point. Instead the wayfaring robot took the time to really look him over, the bruised metallic shell of an enigmatic apparent once-man. The deep orange-red ocular whirred softly as he contemplated everything they'd gone through over the past seventy-two hours. And then, he noticed it- just barely in the ruddy light cast from his eye.

Coiled around Revenant's skeletal several times as to not get in the way and against all odds, the red yarn-turned-bracelet clung on.

 

[Mirage]

“The villains may have gotten away now, but soon their time will be up!” Mirage and his dupe dashed through what was left of the greenery, the dark blanket of void doing nothing to calm the anxiety he felt. All he could do was let the Power of Red attempt to comfort him through some twisted attempt at self-therapy.

“Our heroes’ sacrifices will not go unremembered, and their deaths will be avenged with justice!” Another decoy came to assure as the previous simply vanished into the night.

Not again.

It was all that flooded his mind as he swung through the sparse trees and occasionally building. Twice now, Wraith had saved him by taking most of the hits, more directly this time than the last. That drill thing was pretty powerful, he had seen it just tear through that armor that she had. He could only assume that the blue glow from earlier in the fight was where they lost Bloodhound to that Dekugo person? People? Perpeople? Something like that. They must have barely managed to take that weirdo out.

All that matters is being the last one alive.

The ringing of that line in his head sent him tumbling in the grass, finally realizing how long he had been in a daze as he laid out in an open field. The Power of Red finally faded as he came to his senses. His whole body hurt, especially the insides, though from the physical or emotional turmoil he couldn’t tell. He was covered with scratches, bruises, and lots of sore spots. It had been hours since the bloodshed, and he hadn’t even checked what he had looted from his friends and enemies.

“Only a few squads left and I’m on my own? Nothing stressful about that…”

There were no stars in the sky to give him company, no moon to guide him in the night, nothing but the void and the blades of grass beneath him. Wraith would’ve liked this a lot better than he did.

With a groan, he pushed the thought out of his mind and turned his attention to the duffel of loot. It was time to see what it was all for.

“Not too bad, a bit too much for just me now, but I think I can rock this crown at least.”

He held it up, seeing the note attached to it. It was probably too dark to read anyway. For now, if he was going to be the champion, he might as well wear the crown and show off his good side. For the fans of course.

After tossing the note aside, the trickster simply fashioned the adornment to his head shifting about and sending out a decoy to check out how he looked, only to be suddenly met with shimmering light. Maybe he should have read that note…
Mirage swung his new assets about, getting a full glimpse on each side with his duplicate beside him. It seemed that the crown did a lot more than just make his head look good. Better yet, he couldn’t even feel the soreness from earlier, and that’s on top of him looking like he just took a fresh shower and spa break.


He felt stronger as he examined his new turtle shell back and tail, the new sets of sharp teeth and claws, his nails were even done! And finally, the best part, his eyes sparkled as he realized the other obvious change to himself. He was a handsome lady! Not that he wasn’t handsome before, but maybe the quick clean up and pair of breasts he now got to look at without shame definitely brought up his mood. Though he supposed it was her mood now. Gotta make sure to get in the right mindset of the pronouns.

“This is definitely gonna get the party started. Now I can have fangirls AND fanboys. High five me!”

“HIGH FIVE, FRIEND!” Her decoy shimmered and disappeared as Pathfinder passed through it to fulfill the legend’s request.

“Who- wait, you? Then that means- where-” Mirage panicked, clutching at her newfound breasts in fear.

“Right behind you, skinbag.” Came the grave voice he knew to stay away from.

“PLEASE DON’T EAT ME, YOU WOULD HATE THE TASTE OF TURTLES, TRUST ME!” Mirage jumped about, getting some distance before turning to face the duo.

Revenant could only sigh before giving his demand with that familiar snide leer. “Sure, as long as you hand over what you have, nobody gets eaten.”

“And how do I know you won’t eat me afterward?”

“We don’t have mouths, friend!”

“That- that’s a good point actually. Wait, how about we team up, huh guys?” The legend quipped anxiously. Maybe she could try something, Pathfinder was pretty gul-- galli- easy to trick, right?

Mirage attempted to squish his chest up and shook his shoulders in a rather awkward manner over to the robot. “Maybe you could uh, let me join you guys? I’m a great shot and uh.. “ she started to feel more comfortable, suddenly taking an upright pose. “ I mean, I look great don’t I?”

The two robotic beings stared at Mirage for a second.

“I don’t know what you are doing friend, but you can always count on me!”

“Hmph.” Revenant didn’t seem to even want to dignify the trickster with a response. At least he had another meatshield, and this time actually true to it's name.

Mirage glanced around awkwardly for a moment. “So, it’s a deal then, sweet! Here, do you guys have anything already, maybe we can trade or something.”

Revenant looked down at his wrist, and in one swift motion, slid the bracelet off and tossed it into the air at Mirage, causing her to fumble with it for a moment. Was that, yarn?

"Does it do anything?" She asked.

"Yeah, it makes a real nice garrote wire."

Mirage chuckled nervously, a grimace on her face. As she looked down she realized her hair was a bit longer than before, now long enough to get in the way of her vision.

"I'll just uh, keep it like this then." After messing with it in his hair for a bit, she managed to make a small bow and tie her hair back.

"Perfect. Now how about we get ready for the last ring closing in? This is gonna be great, let's fight!"

Though her heart soared again, Mirage could've sworn she heard a familiar voice.

All that matters is being the last one alive.