Death Game Season 2 -- Staging: The Prep Level

[The Man in Red]

On this level you can find numerous different types of training facilities. Standard gyms and physical fitness equipment, with classes even available to ensure some optimal training and sufficient adaptability to handle most any level of strength or performance. Private dojos where you can get in some last minute practice or brush up on your skills either by yourself, with a partner or sign up for classes with an instructor. They can offer assistance and courses in everything from combat to surviving out in the wilderness and abandoned areas. Lastly, there are several facilities containing computers which hold records of past events and games the Carnivale has put on, databanks and logs of common questions and concerns, and information on competitors, both past and (as they sign up) current so you can read up and study.

 

[Mad Maggie]

I staggered out of the elevator bank and inspected the floor I'd arrived on. This was much less of a lavishly decorated show off room, the walls coated in clean white tile. I could smell soap and chlorine wafting through the air, with numerous doors clearly marked as leading towards gyms and dojos, but one specific highlight caught my eye. A blue tiled section of the wall, with a sign indicating that it led towards the health spa. I was never one for frivolous indulgences, but being a doctor and a long time terminal patient I was aware of what "health crazes" actually provided some benefit. Perhaps I could also use some medical authority to requisition certain drugs to help treat my symptoms.

The spa was rustically furnished, with wooden beams forming most of the walls, flowers and a large canister of ice water filled with flowers and various sliced fruits. Licking my lips, I realized how long it had been since I'd had a drink, and with the sour taste of bloody pulmonary flesh still coating my tongue, I removed my goggles and respirator, revealing my full face to the astonished spa attendant. He took in a breath as I take a cup, and fill it with the enhanced water, greedily draining it in two gulps and going back for more. "This is.....surprisingly refreshing." I admit to the man behind the desk. "I would like to avail myself of your services before the competition."

In response, he reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out a little plastic statuette of......me. Hmmph. Good to see the third party merchandisers were still infesting this corner of the galaxy. I didn't particularly mind, but others profiting off my image was something I had very low on my priority list. He spoke in excited tones. "I watched you last Death Game. There's a few people who think you might win it this year too, Doctor."

I wipe my mouth and tuck my goggles and mask away. "Hrrrngh. Then I hope they have placed respectable odds on me. I need...several things. First of all..... do you have an acupuncturist?"

_______

Some time later I was face down, wincing as thin, metallic needles gently pierce my flesh. I could feel things inside me beginning to drain and release, and the spa had provided a spit bucket when I informed them of my unique condition. Thankfully, I hadn't needed to use it, the small bald man administering the treatment an expert in his craft. I could actually feel the pressure and tightness starting to release a bit, enough for me to actually begin to start thinking about what my plans would be for the competition.

Soon, I was finished, getting up and slowly rolling my shoulders and stretching my torso. I was severely underdressed, with only a towel tied around my waist covering up a pair of athletic shorts. Blinking a few times, my vision clarified without the constant sting of pain distracting me, and I headed down the hallway, stopping by another passing spa employee to place a specific order. "I require food and medicine. Muscle relaxant, anti-convulsives, cough suppressant. And a large order of your 'antioxidant tonic'."

 

[Aquarius]

As the end of the nightmare that was Sand Hawk's elevator game reached the Preparation Level, Aquarius thought this a rather opportune moment to break away from those he wished death upon. Soon enough, soon enough. Without glancing behind him to see who might follow him to this floor, Aquarius stepped out unceremoniously and headed towards the front desk of the floor. A young, shaggy haired man who chewed his gum loudly while staring at his phone. Was this a Death Game, or was it just a house full of morons? Unbelievable.

"Excuse me." The automaton spoke politely towards the distracted twenty-something. The man gave an upward nod to indicate he knew Aquarius was there but proceeded to pop his gum, divulging that he couldn't give a shit less.

"Where can I find a private room for practice?" The machine asked with much less patience this time. The receptionist sighed and looked at Aquarius with just his periphery as he pointed east from here. Then, as if it was literally killing him, he snapped his hand back to his phone to message whoever the hell he'd been typing at for the entire interaction. With a shake of his head, Aquarius headed towards the dojos.

The dojo itself wasn't enormous but it felt roomy. Sheila, the attendant who'd let him into the room, had been much more attentive and kind than the previous blowhard. IT gave him hope that not everyone here was a massive dumbass. It was too bad their interaction was the shortest of them all so far. Now Aquarius had his own space to prepare his combat ability and loosen up. He didn't know who'd want to succeed with him or who wanted to see him turn to scrap metal. After all, all is fair.

Aquarius began his regiment on the Mu Ren Zhuang that was provided with the room. His hands and feet would be his best friends in this competition, it was best they were prepared.

 

[Mad Maggie]

I was feeling much better as I stepped out of the sauna and began to redress myself. Most of my kit had been confiscated upon teleportation here, and all I had was my lab coat and prodigious size and muscle. Even terminally ill, I was more limber and agile than most, and it was time to go remind myself of that fact. Even my gloves had been scrubbed clean of the acidic residue that gave my punches a stinging edge. The weight of my chemical tanks on my hips being gone would result in much more agile and forceful movements. Without the heavy bulk of my chemical rig, I was even faster, vaguely remembering seeing Mirage watching some inane ancient cartoon regarding warriors who trained with weighted clothing. I allowed myself a chuckle as I took a deeper breath than I had been able to in hours, but even so I ended up overdoing it and coughing a few times. Still, much better than the crippling fit I'd experienced upon materializing in the Carnivale.

I decided to head towards one of the fighting dojos, the bored attendant barely giving me a second look as I followed the sounds of rapid strikes and blows against wood down the hallway, only to find the Arcadian antique Aquarius training on a dummy. I cleared my throat and leaned against the doorframe, projecting a position of strength instead of the hurried, protected stance I'd shown him earlier. "The Carnivale's method of suppression this year has aggravated my cancer, most likely by robbing my body of the experimental enhancements I've worked on myself with over the years. Would you care to spar with me? I would...appreciate some confirmation I'm going to be capable of fending for myself this round. And if the others don't know we're allies...." I let the implication hang in the air as I strode into the dojo and adopted a fighting stance, my weight on my back foot and both hands spaced on either side of my head, vertically. As overly friendly as Gibraltar was, in his attempts to "bond" with me he'd showed me some of his ancestral fighting styles. I adopted the strong haka stance he'd shown me and beckoned towards Aquarius. "Don't hold back...comrade."

 

[Klarion]

After spending juuuuuust enough time in the elevator to properly revel in the chaos caused by the sandy bird man, Klarion managed to escape the weird box-like contraption and arrive at an entirely new part of the Carnivale Rosa’s facility. He only jumped the tiniest bit when the automatic doors slid closed behind him, too.

Glancing around to regain his bearings (and his dignity), the witch boy wrinkled his nose in distaste. The whole floor appeared to be well-lit, clean, and far too orderly for his tastes. Faint music played from somewhere, the indistinct and tinny quality rendering the words entirely incomprehensible. What’s more, there were a bunch of… signs hanging around, advertising things like “exercise rooms,” “dojos” and “survival classes.”

Klarion speed-walked past them all, scowling distrustfully at the stationary bicycles and all the other funky-looking equipment that was displayed behind the glass display windows of the various establishments. Weights, treadmills, yoga mats. He didn’t have any need for things like that, being a professional sorcerer and all, but it was quite curious to the witch kid that most of the facilities seemed to be… straight up deserted. Where were all the other contestants?

A few voices bounced off the walls and tiled floors, startling Klarion into looking up. Just as he did, a pair of employees from the Carnivale pushed what looked like a janitorial cart out from the entryway to one of the many dojos, chattering to each other all the while.

Slowing his footsteps to an achingly deliberate, stealthy prowl, Klarion backed away, moving to crouch behind an ornate statue of a naked lady or something; he didn’t pay attention to the decor much. As he hunkered down and attempted to steady his breathing, the witch kid felt like one of those teenagers attempting to hide from a monstrous killer in a horror story, only considerably more pissy about it.

But, still. Needs must when the Devil drives. He wanted to evade the notice of his kidnappers at all costs— there was no telling what sort of heinous niceties they might subject him to next. That Coda girl had been bad enough. Being around her had been like… like… like being asked to attend a Christmas service, all polite and cheerful and generous. Bluh! Blech! Gag! No, he wouldn’t go through that again. Never!

Shaking his head, Klarion refocused on the here and now. He sucked in a short breath through his teeth as the two employees veered closer. A cart laden down with all manner of cleaning supplies wobbled between them, the violent churn and splash of dirty mop water accompanying the steady trundling of the cart’s wheels. The smell of a powerful disinfectant tickled at Klarion’s nose, notes of lemon and vinegar brushing over him in a light wind as the cart moved past.

It was only when they had disappeared down the hall that he dared to breathe again, emerging from out of his hiding spot a moment later. Being a relatively gawky, long-limbed kid, it was not unlike watching a jack-in-the-box toy unfold itself— an emo jack-in-the-box dressed up like he’d had priority seating on the Mayflower, anyway.

Klarion snorted quietly to himself, fixing the wrinkles in his suit with a snappy, practiced motion. Turning away from the direction the janitorial staff had gone, he narrowed his eyes at the line of workout rooms spread before him, considering his options.

Most of it just didn’t interest him. Honestly, he didn’t want to lift weights or mill treads or whatever else. Boxing? Dull. He’d claw some eyes out if it came right down to it, but punching was kind of a banal option when it came to violence.

One sign did manage to catch his eye, however. Klarion walked closer, peering up at the large placard outside the door. Field Medicine. That sounded a little useful, at least. There were even a few more specific courses available, such as battlefield surgery and emergency amputations.

“Good, bloody fun,” Klarion muttered, leaning over to peer inside.

Through the clear glass of the doorway, Klarion could see a woman was seated at a desk just inside, idly turning the pages of a tattered old book. Her uniform seemed a bit more clinical in appearance than Coda’s had—primarily white in color, almost like a doctor’s coat—and contrasted sharply with the fiery red color of her hair. In fact, aside from the crispness of her uniform, the woman herself appeared to be wildly disheveled, a messy ponytail on the top of her head and spiky bangs jutting out from her forehead. The bags under her eyes were dark enough to look like bruises, too, turning her already pale complexion into something even more ghastly.

As for her book, the binding was a dusty crimson with a big white cross emblazoned on the front, but the title itself appeared to have been worn away with age, only the faintest traces of gold lettering visible on the spine. Looking down at her desk, Klarion noticed a nameplate sitting there, the name “Aileen D.” printed on it in golden letters.

Klarion couldn’t help but notice that Aileen’s chin was tilted downward, looking away from the door and wholly focused on whatever words she was reading from her book. A sharp grin tugged at his lips, a mischievous bent to his gaze…

KNOCK KNOCK!

Aileen startled at the sudden banging on her door, glancing up from her book. She’d just been reading about providing care under hostile fire, a rather interesting passage written by some army doctor. She was quite annoyed that someone had apparently decided to try and fracture the glass, if the force of that knock was any indication.

“Door’s open!” she hollered, immediately settling back in so that she could tuck her nose back into her book. She’d show them to go around treating doors like that. They could very well walk themselves in and speak to her like proper folk, now couldn’t they?

Only, the door didn’t open, and no inconsiderate shitbird came waltzing in. After a solid minute of waiting, Aileen’s gaze reluctantly parted from her book, fixing on the barren doorway with a confused stare.

What, had they decided to move on, after all? Best give ‘em another shout, just to be sure.

“I said, door’s open!” she repeated herself, raising her voice a bit higher.

Several minutes passed, and still nothing. Hmph. Must’ve been the wind? Shrugging, Aileen returned to her book, refocusing on the words, even as a tiny little voice niggled at her that something wasn’t quite right with this situation. Whatever, she wanted to read her book.

She’d barely gotten to the end of a new paragraph before there was another clattering at the door, this time nearly rattling the glass pane off its hinges.

KNOCK KNOCK!

Sighing the sigh of the extremely put upon, Aileen stood up from her stool behind the desk. She stretched, popping just about every vertebrae in her spine as she did so, and then slouched forward, storming over to the doorway.

Flinging the door open, the young woman stuck her head out and glared into the open facility. Her eyes narrowed, scanning her surroundings, intent on sussing out the culprit.

Only… there was nothing there. Not a single thing out of place, and the hallway was empty, to boot. A few potted plants and benches were all that stared back at her, and they didn’t rightly have hands for knocking on people’s doors, now did they? But she could have sworn…

With a slight grumble, Aileen turned away, starting to head back for her desk. Turned away as she was, she didn’t notice as a little witch boy unfolded himself from behind one of the potted topiaries artfully placed beside the door, giggling all the while.

Klarion snickered behind his hand, absolutely giddy. Oh, this was just too good! It had been a long time since he’d gotten such a reaction out of a prank— the inhabitants of Nos’Talgia usually reacted with honest puzzlement, not quite understanding what was happening to them. But this! The anger, the irritation, the suspicion… it was perfect! Just perfect!

Oh, he’d do it one more time before moving on and finding something more interesting to do. Just once more!

Biting his lip to keep the laughter at bay, Klarion reached out to knock on the door once again, scarcely able to stifle his mirth.

SLAM! His knuckles had scarcely touched the glass before the door swung open, a very angry woman marching out to greet him. It all happened so fast, it was like the woman had practically teleported across the room to reach him in time!

“YOU,” Aileen snarled, lashing out to seize the witch boy by the collar. “Get in here and take my class or go away!”

Klarion barely managed to duck out of her reach in time, a sound caught somewhere between a hyena’s barked laugh and a yelp squeaking out of him. No way! He didn’t want to take some stupid, silly class! He wouldn’t, never!

The pair stood there, Aileen poised in the still-open doorway and Klarion hunched over a short distance away, squaring off against each other. There was a beat of silence, a line of tension simmering between the two combatants; a face-off between a beleaguered teacher and an unruly, delinquent child.

Naturally, Klarion was the first to break it.

“Fine, I’ll go!” the witch boy huffed and puffed, sneering at her. “You were getting boring, anyway. Enjoy your even more boring class!”

And with that, he beat a hasty retreat, cackling at the apparently stunning wit of this final parting shot.

Aileen merely watched him go, scowling.

“I hope you wind up needing a class on field amputation,” she muttered. With a light sniff, she turned and went back inside.

 

[Klarion]

Following his encounter with Aileen, Klarion decided to stick around for a little while longer on the Prep Level, intent on discovering something that might benefit him. The bright, buzzing fluorescent lights still irked him, but over time his eyes had gradually adjusted, so he no longer had a painful headache to go along with his annoyance. He still tried to avoid walking out in the open, however, and actively skulked along the walls whenever an employee of the Carnivale wandered past— a strange little quirk that attracted many stares and lingering glances, much to the witch boy’s chagrin.

Well, whatever. Klarion didn’t really care what his KIDNAPPERS thought of him. He just leered right back, willing the mean flower show people to look away. Most of them did, but a few hesitated long enough that he seriously considered snatching their eyeballs. You know, just for fun.

Anyway, aside from the rare crossing of paths with one of his jailers, the Prep Level turned out to be just as straightforward as his original assessment. Klarion very quickly grew bored of wandering around, wondering what the point of this little pre-show was. Was he supposed to be socializing? Making friends? Who did that kind of thing?

Throwing himself across a random bench, Klarion couldn’t suppress a lofty sigh of annoyance. Oh, woe, woe! There he was, a poor lonesome witch boy, no fuzzy familiar to comfort him and no magic to wreak havoc with. He was so… so bored!

The witch kid’s dark eyes rolled around, his head lolling to the side. His body sagged, the dark fabric of his suit jacket nearly fusing with the metal bench he was strewn across, such was his immense boredom. Ugh! What was there to do around this place other than mill treads and play with bells that were, apparently, dumb?

Suddenly, something snagged his attention. Just a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, but it shone as bright as a flash of quicksilver. Expecting to see yet another inscrutable variety of exercise equipment, Klarion’s eyes flicked in that direction, not really expecting much but hopeful all the same.

Through a glassy wall, a couple dozen banks of glowing screens stared back at him.

Klarion rolled over onto his front with such speed he was nearly a blur, his dark dress shoes slapping against the tile with an annoyingly loud, echoing smack. He stared at the multitude of screens, wondering why they looked so familiar. Hadn’t he seen devices like that before?

He racked his brain, trying to recall. The things looked kind of like… a smartbone, or whatever dumb thing they were called. He’d stolen one from some traveler, long ago. A bright fuzzy thing, amusing from all the various colors and sounds it could generate. Its pathetic electronic battery had died, so he usually kept it running with a little touch of magic. Were these devices the same?

“Hey,” the witch boy said, attempting to snag the attention of one of those mean flower show people who just so happened to be wandering past. When they didn’t immediately turn, he scowled a bit, raising his voice. “HEY!”

The Carnivale employee paused in their stride, turning to face him. They eyed him dubiously for a moment, mainly focusing on his wacky hairdo, and then seemed to mentally shrug and just go with it. “Hi there! Can I… help you?”

Klarion got to his feet, throwing his shoulders back to appear larger and more in control of the situation than he felt. He narrowed his eyes at the employee, lifting his chin with an air of superiority.

“Yes, you can. What are those?” Klarion asked, pointing with one clawed finger to indicate the roomful of illuminated screens.

They turned to look behind them, appearing mildly confused. “Oh, those? They’re just, uh. Computers.”

“Computers!” Klarion exclaimed. Then, more quietly, “Of course… computers. I knew that. Is that anything like a smartbone?”

For a moment, the employee seemed incapable of responding. They stared at him, mouth working as if to voice some concern that Klarion really did not care to hear, and then appeared to have some kind of miraculous epiphany.

“I… oh! You mean smartphones. Yeah, I guess. They’re kind of like larger smartphones, really,” the employee shrugged, then paused, speaking a bit more hesitantly. “You have a cell but haven’t used a computer?”

Klarion sniffed haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course I’ve used a computer before! I just… haven’t seen this kind before.”

“Ah. Okay, well… if that’s everything…”

They escaped before he could voice any further questions. Klarion frowned at their retreating back—what was their problem?—and then shook his head, returning his attention to the matter at hand. He didn’t have time to consider the feelings of the evil, mean, horrible people who had kidnapped him from his home. He needed to investigate this… this… what was this place called, again?

Klarion sauntered forward, scrutinizing the placard located above the glass doorway. A computer lab. From outside, it seemed that the lights in the lab had been dimmed somewhat, allowing the blue illumination of the idle computers to fill the space. Only one employee was manning the entire place and, as he stood there peering in, they looked up and waved at him, obviously beckoning for him to come in through the doors.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Klarion walked inside.

“Hello there!” the waver, a young person with shoulder-length black hair and olive skin, greeted him cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

Klarion glanced around. He thought it was fairly obvious. “I am interested in using your… computers…”

They grinned, waving him over to a nearby computer and ushering him into taking a seat. “Oh, cool, cool! Here, why don’t I help you get signed in. So, what brought you here today?”

“The escalator did?” Klarion answered, a little unsettled by even more friendly behavior. To his surprise, the employee merely shook their head, actually chuckling at him.

“Oh, no,” they said, not unkindly. “I mean, what are you wanting to utilize our services for? You can use them to look up information, anything you want really. I’d say a good use for them now would be searching up information on your fellow competitors. We’re getting down to the wire, you know.”

Interest piqued, Klarion perked up. “You have that information?”

The employee nodded. “We do. Would you like to see?”

In answer, the witch boy could only nod eagerly, suddenly very invested in learning all there was to know about computers.

About an hour later and after much blood, sweat and tears, Klarion wound up utterly abandoned to his own devices, squinting against the bright glare of the computer screen as he fought to master it solo. He pecked at the computer keys one finger at a time, painstakingly typing out the words he’d been informed would help him search up the information he wanted.

Klarion looked down at the “mouse” the helpful attendant, Trish, had shown him. He didn’t really see how it resembled a rodent in any way, shape or form, but whatever; people came up with stupid names for stuff aaaaaaaallllllll the time.

Huffing in amusement, Klarion carefully prodded at the mouse. The little white arrow on the screen, the “cursor” he’d been informed, moved about as he did so, sling-shotting wildly across the glowing screen. After a moment of entertaining himself by playing with the mouse, Klarion was able to fine-tune his movements, moving the cursor about the screen in a far more deliberate, controlled manner.

He grinned as the dossiers for his fellow contestants appeared. Naturally, Klarion clicked on all of them at once— a multitude of windows covering the screen with lines of text and colorful, flashing images. His eyes roamed around, squinting as if searching for something in particular, aaaaaaaaaaand— there!

Glancing between the mouse and screen to check himself, a satisfying click rang out as Klarion selected one of the files. The witch boy hummed in slight glee as an image appeared on screen, sinister plans and machinations already forming in his mind.

“Aquarius, huh?” Klarion murmured, scrutinizing the information on screen. “Pretty interesting kit for an Arcadian robot...”

He glanced through a few of the other files, each new juicy morsel of information sticking in his mind like… like… like something sticky. He wasn’t the best at fighting without his magic, sure, but Klarion could play smart, at least. All of these people were potential enemies, maybe even allies. He’d need to know whatever tricks they had up their sleeves!

It did unsettle him to find his own file, a rather unflattering image of himself crouched, visibly bewildered and tucked into the corner of a brightly-lit glass box included. His eyes were wide and round, dark shadows cast under them from the harsh lighting. Not at all the terrifyingly imposing energy he sought to exude!

“No fair,” Klarion whined, leaning heavily on one hand as he stared at the screen. His hair stuck up in odd places, distressed from him dragging his fingers through it.

The fact of the matter was, he knew he was stronger than all of these people in the outside world! But here? Nooooo, he was all magicked out. What a sham.

Shaking his head to rouse himself from this bout of self-pity, Klarion straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes at the screen once more. All of these people… Aquarius, Dr. Caustic, Karl Jak, Amalia, and all of the other contestants… they were nothing compared to him! Even without his magic, he would be just fine. And when all of this was over, things would just go right back to how they were, he was sure of it.

A sudden crackle of static interrupted these thoughts, a smooth voice booming from some unidentifiable source.

“Attention all contestants: the Barracks are now open. Please report to your designated room at your leisure—”

Hah! Klarion tuned out the rest, going back to messing with the computer. He’d already been kidnapped against his will today. They couldn’t tell him what to do and expect him to actually do it!