Death Game Season 2 -- Barracks

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The Man in Red

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Lurking on a level which seems to be below all of the others, is the Barracks. The final staging ground, and section for any last-minute preparations for the finalized list of contestants who have signed up and been fully cleared and approved to take part in the event. An announcement will be made over the intercom systems when this level has been opened, and a helpful employee will always be only a raised voice away from arriving to escort you there should you need it.

There is a common area for the contestants to simply hang out and wile away the remaining time, talk among each other, or plan the inevitable order of murder to be had once on the island. Violence of any kind is strictly not allowed, even here; that has to be saved for the cameras, after all.

Each contestant has their own private room, which for security's sake can only be opened by the one assigned to it. These rooms are labeled by number, which you can helpfully figure out who is which by simply checking your profile. Within this room you will find a bed for resting, a radio and basic television, a secured footlocker which holds your supplies for the upcoming game, as well as a sturdy dresser and storage trunk to keep any or all of your valuables and/or banned equipment for safekeeping during the game.

All of the various NPC contestants will be available here for the brief duration in the barracks. Some may be less...pleasant than others to deal with, so some measure of caution is, as always, advise.


The Barracks are, as of this post going up, officially open and accessible. An announcement will be made in-character announcing this fact. At approximately sometime o'clock on Friday, January 28, a secondary announcement will be made informing all registered contestants to report to the barracks until the start of the event.
 

Klarion

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Against his wishes, Klarion did wind up being ushered into the Barracks. A gang of “escorts” in finely-tailored suits corralled him eventually, half-dragging the witch boy aaaaall the way across the facility before unceremoniously dumping him just inside the doorway.

Dusting off his trousers with one of his signature “I’m about to make every person I meet’s life a living hell” scowls, Klarion got to his feet. His dark eyes flashed as he did a quick scan of his new surroundings, shoulders hunched and head lowered as if he was expecting a sudden attack from some invisible foe.

Thankfully, no attack came, though the witch kid wasn’t letting his guard down just yet. As it turned out, the Barracks looked sort of like a well-appointed sitting area, or perhaps the kind of room someone might host snobbish tea parties in. There were a few low tables with plush, cream-colored settees placed around them, all of it perfectly symmetrical and orderly. Beyond the common room was a hall of various doors, each one labelled with a number engraved into the smooth walnut wood. That piqued Klarion’s interest— what were those doors hiding, huh?

Casting another quick glance over his shoulder to check for any unsavory characters sneaking up on him, Klarion quickly paced over to the line of doors, nearly buzzing out of his skin with nerves. The witch boy made sure to knock every piece of furniture in the common room out of alignment as he wandered past, of course— almost compulsively tossing soft velvet pillows and decorative magazines about until it was all a slightly-disordered, woefully lopsided mess.

He arrived in front of a door labeled “#001.” This was his door, Klarion was fairly certain. Mainly because, well— he was simply the best, and also because he wanted it, wanted it, wanted it. The room was in a good location, for one thing. If he so desired, he could peek outside and get an eyeful of the other contestants whenever they arrived, and even more importantly, spy on them. He’d only seen that automaton and the sandy man so far, after all. Maybe there were other contestants who, like him, had been kidnapped against their will?

Shaking his head to clear it of the doldrums, Klarion’s attention returned to the matter at hand. The handle of the door turned easily enough; good, it wasn’t locked. It swung open to reveal a small room containing a neatly-made bed, a few electronic devices that Klarion’s eyes immediately glossed over, and several pieces of standard bedroom furniture. Not that Klarion had ever had a bedroom all for himself, but still. He knew the drill.

The witch kid stepped inside the room, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a soft click.

“So, this is it, huh?” Klarion murmured to himself, crossing his arms at the wonderfully comfortable-seeming accommodations. He wouldn’t be fooled— no matter how much they tried to butter him up with things like blankets and pillows and a room all to himself, this was still a prison! A prison that he would eventually escape, if given the opportunity.

But, ah… it wouldn’t hurt to investigate everything a little, now would it? Really take advantage of the things so generously provided to him. Smirking a little to himself, Klarion began to explore the room in earnest.

As it turned out, the room was fairly threadbare and there were not many secrets to find. Nothing in the drawers of the dresser. Nothing stuffed under the bed. A few spare blankets tucked away inside the large storage trunk, and they were so soft in texture it was a wonder they didn’t slip through his fingers like water. And finally, a simple footlocker at the end of the bed, tempting him with its potential contents.

Unfortunately, the locker was… well, locked. No matter how much he strained and whined and threatened the latch sealing it shut, Klarion could not for the life of him get it open. Trying to peer inside through the tiny, mesh-like gaps in the door didn’t reveal any clue to the locker’s contents, either. Dang it!

Sighing, Klarion flopped backwards onto the frustratingly comfy bed, bouncing slightly as he landed. His eyes felt heavy-lidded, weighed down by the stress of his circumstances. Maybe he could take a quick catnap; he’d had a long day, after all…

In mere moments the witch boy had curled up and fallen into a twitchy, fretful slumber.
 

Cho

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Entirely skipping any and all interviewers, the entrance hall and the rest of the contestants, Bloodhound entered the Barracks. They gave a huff as they stepped through the threshold, vague recognition wafting over them as they peered around. The Hunter let out a disgruntled murmur as they glanced over the common room. Everything was skewed. Only slightly, but just enough to be off-putting. This was far from the image these people strove to uphold, meaning there was someone else here. At least, they assumed so. Nobody made themselves known. Yet. Regardless, Bloodhound sighed, and started across the room, headed directly for one of the cream settees. The otherwise pristine floor found itself stained by the Hunter’s boots — small amounts of leaf-litter and mud freeing itself from the soles with every step, leaving the varnished floor tarnished.

They let out another groan as they sunk into the absurdly comfortable sofa. Bloodhound unslung the rifle from their shoulder and rested it against the arm of the settee. Like an owl, their head spun on a swivel, inspecting their surroundings idly. A multitude of numbered doors lay on the outskirts of the common room. ‘One for each contestant’, they surmised inwardly.

“Thirteen.” The Hunter snorted, smirking wryly beneath their respirator as their gaze settled on their numbered door, “Unlucky for them, perhaps. A boon for me.”

The Hunter stood from their seat, grasping their rifle by the strap as they went, with a mild groan, years of stalking prey — Legend or otherwise — had certainly begun to take their toll. Determined and resolute, the Hunter Sent by The Gods stomped over to the door bearing the thirteen and tried the handle. Something within the mechanism beeped and clicked, allowing the door to swing open, inwards. Bloodhound passed the threshold and stepped inside, closing the door behind them.

Much the same as the other rooms, aside from the common room, this one was put together incredibly well. Everything was aligned perfectly, despite the room's relative simplicity. Bloodhound mused for a moment, the all too familiar heft of the Kraber had them contemplating refusing to leave it behind, but rules are rules. Legends made do with whatever weapon they were supplied with, these games should be no different. They stowed the Kraber within the storage trunk, followed by the axe that was clipped to their belt.

Their respirator hissed and rasped as Bloodhound exhaled sharply. They turned back to their door and pulled it open once again, before taking a step out. This time, however, they didn’t head for the settees. Now, the Hunter remained in position, leant against their door, waiting to inspect the opposition as they entered.
 

Mad Maggie

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I stepped off the elevator, coughing, but still feeling more alive and ready then I had since the injection. Entering the common room that served as the central nexus of the barracks, I inspected the décor with disdain and turned back to glare at the elevator banks. I wanted to project an aura of menace and strength that would unnerve and hopefully drive away the weaker willed competitors. A few moments passed as I stood there, but something about the room made my eye twitch. "Koff...khhk, hgggk....hmrmmm.." I hack into my elbow, before stepping in front of one of the bookshelves displaying thick volumes....only to see that each book had been carefully nudged askance by someone intent of subconsciously ruining the aesthetic of the meeting room. "Trivial....but indicative of a cunning mind."

I scanned the rest of the room and the subtle chaos began to bleed through the facsimile of a well put together and well appointed room. The lights above most of the private rooms were red and dull, except for Number 1 which was green and bright. Number Thirteen was also green, but as I looked closer I could see a reflection peeking through the slightly parted doorframe. I started to approach the private bunk, and the glint grew more familiar. I froze as a few memories lit up the instinctual portions of my brain. I'd seen that same glare of light many times back in the Apex Games. In fact...I'd even seen it the last Death Game I joined...

"Blodhundr?" I asked the door. "Hrm. We meet in these Death Games again...although I'm more looking forward to seeing Witt and Wraith...and giving them a friendly greeting." I intoned neutrally. "Have you seen them yet?"
 

Karl Jak

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The man knew the schlock the moment he stepped away from the teleportation platform and found himself along a surprisingly muted throughway. Yes, the architecture and the presentation were dialed up, but aside from the event’s staff, it appeared that all the pomp and circumstance had been rolled out for what was essentially a glorified bank of elevators and some desks. Certainly, someone had thought this design through and realized that you don’t spend this type of budget on a hallway only to section off everything else behind lifts and pads.

“I don’t care,” Karl muttered under his breath as he adjusted his coat and bisected the corridor.

He had made it all of fifteen feet before a young employee stepped out to greet him. “Hello, Sir? Are you lost? Are you looking for the Spectator Seating?”

Without turning, Karl glanced at the young man from the corner of his eyes and withered him with a dead-eyed stare. “Where’s your royalty-free collection site for all your contestants?” Karl reached into his pocket and pulled out a card with a seven emblazoned upon its laminated surface.

“Oh, my… my apologies,” the employee mumbled as he took a few steps and pointed to a nondescript lift near the end of the passageway. “The Barracks is through that lift.”

“They couldn’t even change the name to something like ‘the Ready Room’ or ‘the Gorilla Position’? Or just ‘the Waiting Area’? Ain’t this supposed to be a gameshow or some shit?”

“I don’t follow, Sir.”

Karl waved the worker away. “Go tend to your eccentric boss.”

Without waiting for a cursory response, Karl Jak silently trudged his way down to the elevator that would take him to the Barracks. When the lift touched down, he exited and promptly made his way to his room, which was naturally marked with his number (because why reinvent the wheel). Along that short route, he did his best to ignore any of the contestants/volunteers/sadomasochists who were milling about the common room portion of the stage. He had absolutely zero fucking interest in exchanging pleasantries with a bunch of his fellow future corpses. He half-expected most of them to be teenagers, metaphorical one-off nobodies, or walking punchlines. If he wanted to wallow in a pigsty, he wouldn’t have dressed in his Sunday finest.

Once he was inside his glorified prison cell, Karl Jak took a moment to drag the dresser in front of the door. After all, he had to assume that its purpose was to barricade the chamber against outside egress, because who the fuck would need a place to store clothes when they were going to be transported to a killing field in a few hours?

A trunk and a footlocker were also present in the little room. Had Karl misread some part of the terms of service? Was this actually the event location? Were they going to live out the rest of their lives within a subterranean hovel?

“I guess that’s one means to innovate?” The older man muttered as he nudged open the footlocker with its eponymous body part and stared at the equipment that he’d been assigned by the random number gods. Nestled among the random nonsense was the only real thing of value among the lot, and despite his assumptions, it wasn’t a stack of playing cards, box of condoms, or an adult magazine. “It’s a weapon!” Karl mockingly ‘exclaimed’ beneath his breath. “It’s really powerful, especially against living things.”

After shutting the footlocker again, Karl sank onto the bed and stared at the door, half-tempting someone to try and breach the room. When no such activity unfolded, he allowed the deathlike embrace of sleep to momentarily wash over him.
 

Aquarius

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A slow saunter to this lowered area left Aquarius feeling like they were all in a dome, trapped and left to the mercy of whatever the coordinator had planned. If he’d had a nervous system he may feel cold through it all. A chill perhaps would wrap itself around the confused machine. This game may have the opportunity to offer him riches, but at what cost? Would his life really end here?

Not likely. Many have tried up to this point. It would require him to be smart and safe through the expedition but he was no stranger to patience. Years, centuries even, in a cave has proven that in it’s entirety. Plus if he’d heard correctly then they were to be awarded a single item for their participation. A welcome reprieve from having his abilities stripped from him. He felt naked without his tools and any opportunity to feel less so would be greatly appreciated.

Upon entering his room he was greeted with colorless walls and simplistic surroundings. A bed as generic as sin, and a small chest in the corner. He meandered over to the chest and swung it open to reveal a lone book. It was tattered and in disarray , it had likely seen many years in the Crossroads. He knelt down to grab it and flung it open to a random page.

An ignominious mistake. The book flashed the words writ upon it through his mind. It attempted to claw and bite through his electronic psyche and with a single thought he slammed it shut.

This was his tool? Some maniacal and demonic journal that spoke of nightmares straight to his brain. Not quite as straightforward as a firearm. Perhaps useful if able to be deciphered. Now, though, his time would be best spent seeing who all was down here.

Aquarius exited his room after securing the journal and stood outside his door, eyeing those who walked the halls openly and intently. It was no secret that he wanted to know who his opponents were. The witch boy was already on that list.
 

Fennec Shand

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Nezuko had been waiting for them.

Deep in the bowels of the Death Game’s facilities, while the rest of the contestants exchanged pleasantries or… well, not-so-pleasantries, a petite demon girl gritted her sharp teeth. She howled and growled, fighting against the chains that had been clasped onto her wrists and ankles, writhing up in the air. Outside the door of Room 008, a redheaded worker sat in a chair, nervously bopping his knee up and down as the ferocious noises of the Barracks’ first victim echoed through the steel door. She wanted out, clearly.

But letting her out… didn’t seem wise. Not to mention that it was against the boss’ direct orders, of course, and Kevon didn’t want to go against the boss. Especially when one of the most accomplished guards – coincidentally, the one who’d captured Nezuko – lounged on one of the neutral-colored settees nearby.

Inside the room, Nezuko huffed. She hung in the air, arms and legs constricted by some surprisingly powerful restraints, as she awaited her fate. The tranquilizer’s effects had only just now begun to wear off, and as the feral girl felt her faculties returning, she took stock of her surroundings. She felt contained in this tiny room; it reminded her of… something, small… chambers… her home?

Disparate thoughts bounced throughout her messy, animalistic brain, neurons firing but finding no path for the synapses to connect.

She felt… mad.

She growled again.

“Alright, you heard the boss,” a voice came from outside. Nezuko blinked. A familiar voice, the same man who’d taunted her out in the snows of Inverxe.

“I’m… n-not sure it’s wise to let her out,” Kevon replied.

“Boss says even feral demons deserve a chance to say hi to the people they’re going to try to kill,” the guard ordered. Nezuko heard the screeeeeeech of a chair moving, and the jingling of keys. She blinked more, trying to focus her senses. There was a sound of something big sliding in the room next to hers, scraping across the floor. Footsteps… lots of footsteps… echoing outside. More people were coming into the room, she could tell, and… sniff… humans. Some of them, anyway. Some smelled… different.

The door swung open, and Nezuko roared. She yanked the chains forward, snapping the ones on her wrists and lunging for the soldier who stood in the doorway. As she flew across the room, the chains around her ankles stopped her short, and she fell to the floor with a thump.

“Oh, she’s strong, eh?” the guard chuckled, brushing past her and kneeling down next to her ankle restraints. “No reason to get testy, Ms. Kamado,” he raised his hands up, “I’m letting you out, after all. Truce?”

Nezuko scowled as the keys slid into her ankle restraints and unhooked them. The clasps came undone, and she waited a single beat before taking her opportunity to strike.

She bolted for the soldier, lifting her clawed fingers and baring her sharp, demonic teeth. The guard lifted up his wrist, pressing a button on one of his bracers. A forcefield materialized around him almost instantaneously, and Nezuko crashed into it. The force of the energy field flung her back, through the doorway and onto one of the couches in the middle of the room. She dug into the fabric with her talons, ripping the upholstery as she pulled herself to a stop and fixed her pink eyes on her prey as he stepped out of Room 008.

The demon girl growled, and leaned back on her haunches, ready to strike again, when the guard lifted his hand up and began to ‘tsk’ at her.

“Now, now,” he said, “this is as good a time as any to remind everyone there’s no violence before you get to the arena. Otherwise, you’ll be the one who meets an early doom.”

Nezuko scowled. Kill him.

She galloped forward on all fours, skidding to a stop only when he crouched, unafraid, in front of her. Behind him, Kevon cowered behind his chair.

“Did you hear me, ugly?” he smirked. “No hurty. Or you… die,” he said condescendingly, bringing his thumb across his neck in a gesture even an animal like this bitch could understand. Nezuko gritted her teeth, glancing around the room to see that, just for a moment, the other figures in the room were eyeing her. It was hard to say who they all were or what they were all thinking… she could vaguely smell most of them, but some scents were more potent than others. Not to mention, the general stench of these concrete barracks seemed designed to nullify any of her sense of smell’s real advantages.

The guard started to walk towards the door, mouthing ‘behave’ as he walked by her, and Nezuko couldn’t control her ferocity. She leapt at him again, crashing once more into the quickly summoned forcefield and getting flung backwards. She flew backwards, slamming into the metallic frame of Door 007 and sliding to the floor.

As she regained her footing, her prey slipped out of the room, unharmed. She glanced around the room at the rest of the collected folks. If they got in her way as she tried to get out of this cage, they wouldn’t be nearly as lucky.
 
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