DGS3 -- Barracks

[The Man in Red]

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. The contents of the room are rather...spartan and extremely slim, this year around. They hold only a reasonably comfortable bed to get any last-minute rest on, a securely-locked footlocker which would seem to contain your supplies for the upcoming event (and which will, regrettably, remain locked until time to ship out for said event), and a simple storage trunk in which you can safely store any items not allowed to be taken onto the island and used in the event. If you have not yet received your collar or been otherwise suppressed, you will find it here awaiting you, as well.

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.

Of particular note, this year, is that there may occasionally be...unexpected visits from event staff. Periodically just popping in to 'check on things', going over the common areas and doing rounds of the contestants' private rooms. Just making sure everything is operational and everyone is thoroughly prepared and ready for what is to come. They seem tense, ill at ease, maybe even a little frightened. Even moreso than the norm for the staff in a place like this, but will infallibly offer nothing but reassurances everything is fine, there are no problems, the event is proceeding smoothly, why would you ask otherwise?

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 Thursday, February 9, a secondary announcement will be made informing all registered contestants to report to the barracks until the start of the event.

 

[Sandor Clegane]

“No, no, stand right over there, Nanaue, and prop that up,” Coda instructed, watching the shark closely. “Yeah, set it up on it’s side - perfect. That’s perfect.”

She turned to look at Zayin, eyebrow raised.

“It is pretty good,” he admitted.

The Angel of Challenge squatted, then leaned forward.

“Do you think it’s going to fit all three of us, though?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time,” Coda affirmed, smirking.

She crawled into the blanket fort, where silence fell over her for a moment, then she let out a whoop.

“Come on in! It’s awesome in here!”

Zayin funneled in after her, followed closely by Nanaue who had to stoop pretty far over and even then almost knocked the entire thing over with his dorsal fin; after a moment of precarious doubt, however, they found their places in the fabric fortress.

What they’d done was drag the contents of their three respective rooms all out into the center of the common area, and that’s where they’d set to work. Under Coda’s instruction Zayin and Nanaue had stripped the beds down to their frames, upended them so that they stood from floor to ceiling length-wise, piled all the pillows and some of the blankets across the length of the floor, draped the remaining blankets and sheets over the three pillar-like bedframes, then formed a series of walls from bed to bed using the storage trunks. With the beds stood on end and arranged in a triangle, and the storage trunks forming a sort of defensive perimeter, what they’d ended up with was an almost teepee-like structure with a vaulted ceiling and a padded floor.

An added benefit of the blanket wall was its effective use as a veil to block out the other contestants’ staring.

Nanaue lay on his side, head propped up in his enormous hand, Coda lounged with her head against his enormous shins, and Zayin sat crisscross applesauce nearby. It was surprisingly roomy given the size of Nanaue - the Carnivale hadn’t skimped on bed-size, and that was good, because fitting a colossal shark-man in a blanket fort was no easy feat.

“...and this is a normal thing to do?” Zayin asked, looking around, skeptical. “This doesn’t seem like a normal thing to do.”

“Oh, yeah. This is way normal,” Coda assured him, letting out a sigh.

“Good nap time,” Nanaue added sleepily.

Zayin frowned.

“If this is normal, then why were all the other contestants staring at us?”

“Are.”

“What?”

“Why are all the other contestants staring at us,” Coda corrected, rolling over to face him. “They’re definitely still staring.”

Zayin pushed aside a blanket flap, poked his head out of the makeshift entrance, and made direct eye contact with an enormous beefcake in a red and blue leotard. The look that passed between them was uncomfortable for them both, so the dark haired Angel popped back into the blanket fort, mortified. His skin flushed beet red.

“I don’t think I’m ever leaving this blanket fortress,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“That’s the spirit!” Coda said, grinning. “That’s how these things are supposed to feel! If they have a problem with it, we’ll have Nanaue eat ‘em.”

Zayin shifted uncomfortably, while Nanaue tensed in anticipation.

“She’s joking, big guy,” Zayin said uncertainly. “...I think.”

Coda didn’t answer, but she did snicker in such a way as to inspire a smirk on Zayin’s face, too. After a moment’s hesitation, Nanaue joined in, and his deep rumble of a laugh bounced off of the blanket walls and filled the make-shift fort with a deep reverberation.

They laughed together like that for a little while before it tapered off and left a comfortable silence.

“What brought you here, anyway, Nanaue?” Zayin asked, after the silence had reached that dreaded penultimate awkward phase. “What are you competing for?”

Silence again.

Then…

“Num nums.”

Zayin sighed, rubbing his temples.

“I don’t know what I expected. That’s all you’re here for? Do you even know what you’ve signed up for?” the thought seemed to dawn on Zayin, and his eyes widened. “You…you do know what all of this is, don’t you?”

Nanaue didn’t answer, but he looked at Coda expectantly.

“He’s talking to you, Nanaue,” she said, while the corners of her mouth turned down. She sat up, smoothing down her blonde hair, then looked at the shark-man through the tint of her shades. “...Nanaue. Do you know what all of this is?”

The shark sat up, too, his head tenting up a part of the outer-wall.

“Blanket fort,” he answered, pointing a finger up.

Zayin and Coda looked at each other, then back at Nanaue.

…but what was there to say?

Luckily, a masculine voice from outside the blanket fort’s entrance derailed the interaction.

“Do you mind if I come in? Is there room for one more?”

Coda sidled over a little closer to Zayin, and the flap opened to reveal a dark haired man, wearing a collar like the rest of them, and dressed in vibrant blue and red spandex. A cape mantled his shoulders, and his chiseled jawline softened in response to the scene inside the fortress.

“...come in,” Zayin said, hesitantly.

He blushed again as an enormous caped man clambered into their hut and sat amongst the heap of blankets and pillows.

 

[Toga Voorhees]

Beem boom

As I heard the announcement chime, my entire body tensed up in expectation. Perhaps in spite of the fear I still felt emanating from the monster beside me, I had begun to grow rather bored of all the waiting around.

“Attention contestants!” it began, in the immediately familiar tones and accents of the Man in Red. “The Barracks are now open! I repeat, The Barracks are now open!”

The announcement ended with the tell-tale sound of the receiver being put back in place. Shooting a glance, and a shrug, past Myers to my companion, I slung my rifle across my back and grabbed hold of my side of the handtruck. Moving Myers was a two-person job, though I’d have felt better if there was someone else around, just to keep an eye on the murderer. Just as we leaned him back to wheel out of here, the chime rang out again.

“So… I noticed a lot of you aren’t… moving. So, I’ll say it again.”

The sound of the Man in Red’s feigned clearing of the throat brought a small grin to my lips, fear forgotten for a second as I waited for what I knew was coming.

“The Barracks are now open! Anyone not participating in the event should exit the facility immediately. All of our dear ‘guests’ should make their way to The Barracks now. I’d hate to have to send you to the island without your gear, but… well, actually, I wouldn’t hate that at all! It’d be pretty funny, actually. Probably good for the ratings too.”

As the broadcast paused (likely because the Man in Red was imagining just how that scenario would play out”, the Entrance Hall became a kicked anthill, with people all scurrying towards the elevators in the back of the Hall.

“Hmm? Oh, good! Now you look motivated! Love to see it! Alright, have fun, kiddos! Adios!”

Once again the broadcast went dead, and annoyance and mirth warred within me at what it had wrought. Annoyance that the mayhem would delay our ability to lock Myers in his room, since the elevator was swarmed by the various contestants and other people trying not to get on the Man in Red’s bad side; but mirth because all these people jostling for position was… well, pretty damn funny to watch.

As Sammy and I waited for the crowd to clear (neither of us felt comfortable putting Myers onto a crowded elevator, she turned to me and asked.

“Hey, you wanna go grab a drink after this?”

As I saw the redness around her eyes, I gave her a soft smile and said, “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stifled a yawn against the back of my hand, rubbing my eyes with the other. It had only been an hour or so, but I was already bored out of my mind. But, when the Man in Red gives you a job to do, you do it. I only knew about one person who refused the guy and… well, the official statement was “They no longer work here.” The same thing they said whenever a recruitment specialist didn’t come back from a job.

Taking in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, I returned my attention to the monitor in front of me. Honestly, I should be grateful. A lot of the guys were stuck cleaning, or prepping the island. All I had to do was watch one guy in his cell. But, would it kill him to move around a little? It was creepy how he just… stood there, staring at the door. Aaron and Sammy had unstrapped Myers when they got him up there, and when the sedative had worn off… well, this is what happened.

Was he waiting for something? Or someone? I don’t think the door is locked. He could, like, just leave. I’d heard he was some kind of monster. That he’d wiped out half the team sent to retrieve him. I had expected him to be banging on the door, or out there wiping out all the contestants. But… maybe he was a monster because he didn’t do what everyone thought he should… Maybe he was a monster because he waited until the time was right.

 

[Zayin]

Before coming to the barracks, Zayin had taken the opportunity to check the profiles of his fellow participants (except for Coda’s), curious about what the competition looked like. When he did, the game proved to be filled with… morally dubious individuals, just as the game’s illustrious showrunner had promised. An assassin, a necromancer, a mercenary, a serial killer, a… penguin? Even a demon. The angel had bemoaned the loss of his blades as he searched through them. There were enemies abound in this contest.

But, not all of them were quite so bad.

He found himself reading about a proud general, a muscle-bound alchemist with a storied lineage, another demon who frankly seemed like more of a danger to himself than anyone else, a champion of the arena who knew no equal. And then the living weapon found his profile. His name synonymous with the idea of a hero, a pure paragon of justice. Even his name was incredible, if a little absurd.

‘Superman.’

It reminded Zayin of his home, of the champions who would give everything to protect the innocent. It reminded him of people like his wielder. The swordsman wanted to meet the superhero, but at the same time he hesitated. It would only make things more difficult if they met on the battlefield, and if things got especially heated, the angel of challenge couldn’t guarantee that he would be able to resist the urge to test Superman’s strength. And so, he had decided not to seek him out.

Fate was a funny thing.

The slimmer pair of the group, Zayin and Coda were squished together between the significantly wider two. The Carnivale employee was cheerful in her disposition, if a little less so than before they were a bit squished, but the angel’s eyes were positively glowing, both literally and metaphorically.

“Cozy little place you guys have made.” The Kryptonian said, glancing around the snug little pillow fort the group had set up in the barracks. “Not quite what I expected to find here but… cozy.”

“Yeah, I thought we’d set up something nice to hole up in before the competition started.” Coda said, a tiny bit embarrassed to have another person squished into their pillow fort. “I’m glad you like it…?”

“Mr. Superman.” Zayin cut in before his companion could finish, his brow furrowing a beat later. “Er, Mr. Man? Uh… can I just call you Superman?”

“Superman is fine.” The man of steel chuckled, bemused by how excited the angel was getting. “Sounds like you’ve heard of me, then?”

The living weapon suddenly felt a moment of introspection hit him and he felt his face flush with embarrassment at his fanboyish behaviour. “Ahem, yes I have. I saw your profile when I was going through the contestants of the game. Your noble dedication to heroics and unbreakable will. It was… pretty cool.”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that.” The superhero said humbly, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “I’m just doing what’s right.”

Before Zayin could respond to that, almost certainly to praise Superman judging from the massive grin on his face, the man of steel continued.

“So, you all know me, what are your names?”

“I’m Coda.” The Carnivale employee responded from her spot squished next to her angelic companion.

“And I’m Zayin.” He followed up.

“And this is Nanaue.” Coda said, gesturing at King Shark.

“Blue.” Their sharkman friend said, pointing at Superman.

“That’s right, blue.” The Kryptonian nodded, glancing at his suit before looking at the more verbose two of the trio, his demeanour turning solemn. “So, if you don’t mind me asking… what exactly brought you to this ‘Death Game’?”

“Well, pfft, it’s a bit of a long story.” The Carnivale Employee mumbled, getting a vibe that the superhero probably wasn’t the biggest fan of the competition or the company behind it. “Let’s just say I didn’t get out of bed this morning expecting to end up in the Death Game.”

The Man of Steel gave a morose nod to the young woman before turning to her companion.

“I got hit with a uh… what did you call it Coda? A super taser?” Zayin said, glancing at his friend for confirmation. “Whatever it was, I got knocked out and woke up with this collar around my neck. Next thing I knew I was stuck in this game. I even went up to the Man in Red’s office to chew him out but he just gave me a big speech about some greater purpose to the games.”

“You went to his office too?” Superman said, a small smirk on his face. “I like your attitude.”

The Angel of Challenge couldn’t help the grin from forming on his his face at that comment, a warm sense of pride forming in his chest.

“What did he say to you when you went to his office?” Coda asked, doing her best to be subtle about her curiosity around what happened with her boss.

“Well… I tried to get him to shut the game down and he offered me a deal.” The superhero explained, looking rather solemn as he told his story. “If I win, this will be the last Death Game.”

A silence fell over the pillow fort as Coda and Zayin glanced at one another, with even Nanaue looking around silently as the gravity of the situation worked its way into his simple mind.

“Do you believe him?” Coda said, breaking the silence with the question in everyone’s mind.

“I… I don’t know.” Superman sighed, his mighty shoulders slumping. “I feel like I have to try, though. Even if it’s a small chance, it’s still a chance to stop this madness.”

“Then you need to win, obviously.” The swordsman said, receiving looks from the rest of the group. After a moment, he cleared his throat as the complexity of the situation set in. “Well… Ok, it’s not that simple…”

“No, it isn’t.” The Kryptonian said glumly. Regardless of how friendly the group may be now, at best one of them would survive the coming ordeal, and at worst none of them would. The solemn atmosphere settling over the group was quickly broken, however, by none other than Nanaue.

“Aha… hahaha.” The sharkman began to giggle, pointing at Zayin’s feet. “Wear silly shoes!”

“Oh my g-“ Coda giggled as she leaned over, stopping herself from using the lord’s name in vain in front of the angel as she got a look at his footwear. “You’re still wearing those things?”

“What?” The living weapon asked. “Why is everyone so judgemental of these ‘crocs’? These are fine footwear worthy of a true hero. Right?”

The hero glanced hopefully at the superhero, searching for his approval of his choice of shoes. The Man of Steel took one look at the crocs, then another at Zayin’s incredibly earnest face, before breaking into a heart chuckle and placing one powerful hand on the swordsman’s shoulder, slapping it gently.

“You know what, son? I think they look great.” Superman said, bringing a radiant and, to Coda’s amusement, rather smug smile to the angel’s face.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

It was the perfect paradox: discussing something as serious as life and death, only to find themselves derailed by the most whimsical of conversational topics. The emotions Coda felt in response were strange, primarily a mixture of fear and foreboding, but also of jubilation, of delight and mirth. But what she was truly glad for was this last moment of relative peace. Here, in this little place they had carved out for themselves, she allowed herself to feel cautiously optimistic. If she could only remain positive, keeping a glass-half-full outlook, maybe things really would turn out okay.

Coda knew that, by themselves, each one of them had only the slimmest chance of surviving the Death Game. But together...? Ahhh! Then their odds of survival changed dramatically— and for the better, surely?

Hope flickered dimly like a candle's flame in her chest, never quite guttering out, though always at the edge of snuffing.

She smiled to herself, certain that with their combined skills, anything was achievable. After all, she had read a little about the battles Zayin and Superman had fought in their respective universes— if anyone could conquer the Death Game, it would surely be those two, even if they stood alone. No matter how difficult the odds or how formidable their foes, Coda had little doubt that they would battle until the finish.

Her grin stalled, faltering a bit as the thought crossed her mind, her expression growing morose. Sitting to one side of her was a powerful superhero with miraculous strength and an angelic living weapon with a heart of gold... and then, on the other side, a burly shark-man who nearly always seemed to be radiating childlike innocence, reminding her once again of just what kind of organization she was working for.

It really felt like too much, sometimes. Certainly too much for someone like Coda— Coda, who felt much like a double agent right about now, a turncoat sitting amongst a group of unwitting soldiers in the security of their fort. A real Trojan Horse made of living, breathing flesh and blood...

Abruptly, the sound of footsteps came from outside the blanket fort, rap-tap-tapping over the floor. They approached, slowly and deliberately growing closer, until they stopped right next to the fortress.

Coda's head snapped up at the sound, her lips pursing together in slight worry. Who could it be now? Hopefully not another guy in a cape...

With a certain amount of trepidation, Coda (unfortunately leaving her comfy Nanaue-shaped cushion behind, sending a regretful glance over her shoulder as she went) pushed her way through the blanket flap, and there— standing in front of her, face to face —was a fellow Carnivale employee.

He seemed... stressed. Pale. Sweating. A strained pinch around his eyes and mouth. His uniform all in disarray... certainly not according to regulation! A cacophony of warning sirens sounded off in Coda's mind at the sight, but her expression betrayed nothing, her inner supply of cool-itude serving her well once more.

Instead, she inched closer, her countenance filled with a professional sort of concern. A professional concern that said: hey, I wanna know what's going on, but fuck if I'm actually gonna help you. Still, feel free to vent!

"Everything okay out there?" she asked quietly, tossing a quick glance around the surrounding barracks. Mostly empty, though the other contestants would surely trickle in soon enough... hopefully. "Are... all the preparations going well?"

She was keenly aware that Zayin and Superman were still deep in conversation behind her, their soft exchange of words keeping their attention focused elsewhere. Perfect. She didn't want to take any chances with the man in the blue and red spandex if he decided she was anything like one of the villains he usually tackled. And what if Zayin, taking up with his newfound idol, also decided she was one of the bad guys?

She shuddered and tried not to speculate, but Coda suspected it wouldn't end well for her.

The Carnivale employee glanced distractedly past her, taking in the fort and its occupants with a look of genuine befuddlement, before turning his gaze back to her. He forced a thin, tight-lipped smile, obviously mostly meant for her benefit.

“Fine! Absolutely tip top!” he exclaimed, frantically jittering around on his heels, almost like he couldn't help himself. “The event is moving along just swimmingly— why, whatever gave you the impression it wasn’t?”

Coda blinked, then squinted in confusion. She looked the man up and down, slowly, assessing every detail of his nervy, trembling appearance. One eyebrow lifted in cool disbelief. Was this guy... serious? He had the worst poker face she'd ever seen.

"It's just that you, er. You look like you're about to unravel or something, dude," Coda said, leaning in a bit closer to scrutinize his face. She tsk-ed softly under her breath. "How much caffeine have you had today? Or are you just that stressed out?"

The man let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair as he shifted on his feet.

"Stressed?" he repeated, dumbly, like he'd never heard the word before in his life. "No, no, I'm fine. Just a bit, ah... eager. We're all very excited for the show to begin, as I'm sure you know," he added, winking at her. It was more like a pained wince than a wink, though, like he'd just been jabbed in the buttocks with a hot needle and was fighting not to show it.

Coda opened her mouth to speak, but he swiftly cut her off.

"Good luck in there," he bit out, with a cheeriness so obviously forced that it had all the effect of a screen door inside a submarine, utterly failing to stave off the impending flood of Coda's concerns. "You're going to need it."

With that, he spun on his heel and began to speedily stride away from the pillow fort, leaving Coda to stare after him, pondering the strange encounter. Questions spun around inside her head, bouncing around like a pinball machine gone wild.

What the hell was that all about?

 

[Ridley]

The trip down to the barracks had Flak in high spirits. Maybe this deathgame was going to be a bit harsh, but damn did that preshow turn his thoughts fast. He thought it was going to be boring, but he made some good friends, got to pump some iron, and found out what a double down was - and was happier for it.

Still, he was hankering to head down to the barracks for a second, just to see what they’d be waiting in during the boring part, see if he should grab a game boy color or something before the match so the last stretch wasn’t a complete snore, that sort of thing.

Whatever Flak was thinking went out the window as he entered the staging area with Mister Satan and Trevor in tow. The big man nearly fell to his knees shortly after seeing it, gasping for air like he’d suddenly went on a great big jog, with his meaty fists shivering in nervousness as he instinctively balled his fingers up.

“Flak? What’s wrong?” Shinku asked, but Flak initially only had the strength to point forward.

“The… blanket fort?”

Flak blinked a few times, staring at Mister Satan like he’d grown an extra head. “Blanket fort? My man, that is no mere blanket fort. That is a blanket Castle! That blanket fort is the sort of blanket fort people dream of living in. People would pay billions to have that sort of thing custom-designed for them and here we walk into the barracks and someone has already laid claim to it!” The CO yelled, before pointing straight to it. “What’s more, it’s… it’s really cool! It’s way too cool!” Flak added with a pained grunt, a growl on his features.

“We could… ask to come in?” Mister Satan asked, as Flak’s jaw slacked,

“Ask to.. My man, that is an Enemy HQ! You don’t just ask to come in!” Flak would insist, though give a sigh. “Alright, it’s fine. Luckily, you have a proper CO here. Listen up, Boots. That over there’s the Enemy HQ. it’s well-defended, and they have plenty of Terrain advantage. The area around it’s definitely not as well-defended, meaning we’ll have a devil of a time capturing it.”

“C-c-capturing…?” Mister Satan stammered, having completely lost the plot.

“Satan! Go over to the lounge. Steal some throw pillows, cushions, lay it all on a LA-Z-Boy if you can find one. We’re going to need indirects against an entrenched enemy positions. Trev, man, go get as many pillows as you can. Ain’t no Pillow APC here so we’ll need plenty of standardized ammunition or we’ll run out before their forces are depleted! As for me… I’m gonna get a couple things, then open up the rooms, we’ll start building our own base for deployment purposes! Now hop to it!”

Ten minutes later, the group had re-assembled, with Flak showing off the makeshift barricades he had built. He had stolen a couple couches for the front, as well as a couple magazines to reinforce a few hard-points, but he had no doubt that his makeshift work wasn’t going to be remotely as durable as the masterpiece in front of him, especially with the lack of overhead protection - but it’s not like he wouldn’t own both, pretty soon!

Flak grinned, “bring the artillery chair forward, Satan. Then place the cushion jjust like I told ya.” he mentioned with a flourish of his oversized hands, “Trev, take cover on the other side, it’s time to show these clowns who the real death-game winners are!”

“Like the actual-” Trevor started to ask

“-Contest for who owns the pillow fort, yeah.” Flak replied, before holding up a ‘loudspeaker’,constructed of a folded piece of construction paper, taped together in a conical fashion, and put on his loudest booming voice as he yelled,

“People of Blanket Town! This is General Flak, of the New Black Hole Army! This territory now belongs to me!”

The Black hole general waited a second, confidently, as someone came out. A rather particular someone.

“-...is… is that Superman?”

Flak made a mental note that if he ever saw Adder again, he’d punch him in the shoulder for lying. He was real, after all!

“Listen big guy, I don’t know what this is about, but we really are trying to get some peace and quiet here. I know you’ve probably put a lot of effort into this, but We’re trying to get some rest for the coming battle and-”

Flak was pretty sure Superman would be going on longer than his attention span was going to keep if he let him, so he took the faster way out of the equation and smacked the Man of steel straight in the face with a pillow. The blue-and-red superhero’s face stayed remarkably impassive, as it slid slowly off his face, though he did briefly squint as it hit.

There was a silence for the moment, before Flak ducked just in time for a super-powered pillow throw to smack him right in the helmet, leaving the Cushion firmly embedded on the metal spike.

“Grrch…” Flak grunted, trying and failing to pull the thing off.

“By now, a few of the others had poked their head out at the display, and Flak had the feeling they were outnumbered on this particular battlefield. But that didn’t matter when he had the tech avantage!

“Open fire!” he yelled, and Mister Satan pulled the La-Z-boy’s reclining lever, the unfurled recliner sending a Pillow skyrocketing into the pillow fort. The initial barrage only caused the fort to Shake, but that didn’t matter when they were just getting started.

“Trez, protect the artillery piece! Satan, keep firing! Let’s show these civilians what real war looks like!”

 

[John Connor]

Vatallion clipped the little universal language translator to his ear as everything translated into Latin from English as he said it. He had no idea what it did, but at least it made his life easier for once.

He eyed the sign that said “Barracks” and blinked. At least this place wasn’t too overdone in terms of decorations sake and there was no confusing computer parts or terms he needed to know here, right?”

He eyed the room and stepped inside, moving away from the door area as quickly as he could as there was already some sort of party occurring here. Some decorated “fort” with fluffy white feathered items on top with a sheet covering the area as there were many voices coming from the little cave like area inside, chatting happily.

And of course, the uh many others outside the “blankets”.

Then it was like an awkward reunion of people like Flak, Shinku and Mr. Satan strode inside and began to create their own pillow fort.

What was a blanket fort? And just what were the pillows? He was about to find out as pillows flew everywhere and it felt more like a warzone of feathers rather than anything.

Hey… it wasn’t the typical bloody battle at least and the Barbarians bled feathers instead of blood and gore. He quickly looked up and his eyes widened, as he sides stepped many soft pillows being thrown in his direction.

“Oh, COME ON!”

Something akin to a curse word or several in long strings of Latin came out of Vatallin’s mouth as everyone had made this place a living warzone.

Some came out to complain “We are trying to sleep, come on.”

Pillowgame’ 23 had started with pillows flying everywhere.

If this was typical Roman soldier shit, there would be some sort of lashings involved on the back or worse, but this was something else entirely.

He swiftly dodged two or three pillows before being hit on the face and groaned, throwing it somewhere back at the two forts. “Whoops.”

 

[Sandor Clegane]

The flaps blew open, and from their recesses emerged King Shark. Superman had emerged first, and Nanaue was second, so between the two of them a pretty formidable wall of beef stood between the blanket fortress and the besiegers - Superman’s beef was, of course, the more refined slab of the two, but what Nanaue lacked in definition he made up for in sheer volume for he was taller than his caped Allie, and broader to boot. Sure, he toted about some size around the midsection where the Man of Steel was flat and trim, but he was no slouch in the mass department.

And he looked pissed.

Superman leaned in towards his ear and whispered something. The movement of his lips was nearly imperceptible.

Nanaue’s grin grew wide, fiendish. He and Superman ducked back into the blanket fort one after the other, and for a time were absent from the battlefield. Flak commanded his troops with canny deference towards their dispositions, preparing for whatever might follow the lull, but wary of spending his arsenal before he knew what was coming. Many an unwise general had shot their wad before the battle proper, and lived to regret it in the aftermath.

When the King of Sharks and the Man of Steel emerged, they were no longer unarmored. Long, thin cords of shredded blanket bound thick pillows to their torsos, arms, and legs. Nanaue wore a particularly long body pillow up along the length of his neck and the top of his head that extended straight from his dorsal fin to the tip of nose, but left his beady eyes exposed on either end of his head.

Flak stood on one end of No Man’s Land, Nanaue and Superman on the other. King Shark’s head roved from the top of Flak’s head, down to his feet, then back up again; an ugly expression crossed his face punctuated by the horrific slash of his toothy mouth made wide with a hungry smile.

“Eyes and meat,” rumbled Nanaue, and his tone was slow and ominous. “...all you are.”

Superman shot an uncomfortable sidelong glance at his companion, but tried to shrug off his misgivings in the spirit of sportsmanship. The look on his face said that he was only mildly successful.

“Maybe you shouldn’t say that kind of-”

Interrupted by a pillow to the maw. Supes grabbed the pillow as it fell, nodded to Nanaue who shifted over a step, then widened his stance. The two stood directly in front of their fortress, berserkers of fluff, and each wielded his own kind of weapon. Nanaue held one long body pillow with a provocative shark woman on it (presumably set in his room with great intention) while Superman wielded two smaller pillows one to a hand.

Flak remained undeterred. He swung an arm like a guillotine and a barrage of artillery cut an arc parabolic over the battlefield, descending on the massive men’s positions. Swinging wildly, they deflected some shots and tanked others, moving forward slowly.

“Advance!” commanded Superman, voice boisterous and well suited to command. “Advance!”

Each time he shouted, Nanaue took a step, and so did he.

Each time he shouted, Flak cut an order and unleashed feather Hell on their heads.

When they stood in the dead center of the battlefield halfway between their Forward Operating Base and the enemy’s Siege Artillery, Superman raised a hand then closed it into a fist which prompted Nanaue to kneel down. All blue and red muscle, the Man of Steel moved behind him, put a foot on Nanaue’s back, then catapulted himself forward with a roar; both pillows cocked back over his head, and he hurtled towards Flak.

Flak’s eyes widened, then narrowed with an insane confidence.

“That fort is mine!” Flak shouted over Superman’s battlecry. “It’s TOO! COOL! FOR! YOU!”

He had his own pillow, and as Supes descended on him with a homerun swing, he matched him with a from-the-hip cross-body move that used all the ripping steel in his hips, legs, and abdomen. The pillows met between them, and the sound of rending fabric cut through the air, halting all other movement. An explosion of feathers erupted from their location, drowning out all sight of both the men.

“Commander!” husked out the deep voice of Mr. Satan, dripping with concern.

“HOLD!” responded Flak’s voice, unwavering.

“But I think you should-”

“I SAID HOLD!”

So hold they did, and all was silent as the mist of feathers descended slowly to the floor, eddying and whirling about the air in an elegant display so far from the ugly cacophony of war in its nature, and yet so like it in its tight coordination.

When the feathers had dissipated, Flak and Superman stood so close to one another that they could’ve kissed if they’d had half the mind.

“You’ve advanced too far into enemy territory,” Flak said, smirking. “You’ve left your reserve troops unguarded, and my forces are ready to advance.”

“Have I?” the caped paragon clapped back, looking smug. “Maybe you should take another look.”

And sure enough, Nanaue had fallen back, using every brain cell available to him to orchestrate a taut two step command. After the initial onslaught, he’d retreated back to the pillow-fort where he stood sentinel before its gates - it remained unbowed, unbeaten, unbroken.

“So you’ve left three troops back at your operating base and advanced alone?” Flak asked, and he actually threw back his head to laugh. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of tactical-”

SPLURP!

Flak’s head jerked forward, pelted from behind by a pillow. He looked over his shoulder, slowly, letting out a long breath.

Several feet behind him stood Coda and Zayin, a heap of pillow ammunition between them. They looked smug.

“They moved up while you were obfuscated,” Superman explained off-handedly.

Flak cursed, but on either flank his troops were readying themselves for the next attack. Satan had turned his attention to Nanaue and the Fortress of Blankets, while Trevor had pivoted to the siege breaking force who’d attempted to rout his General.

And the pillow war raged on.

 

[King Ghidorah]

The door to the elevator slid open – and for the first time since joining the competition, Rory had some misgivings.

It wasn’t the veritable hurricane of feathers swirling through the air in cyclonic torrents of silky down. It wasn’t the overturned furniture or the besieged blanket-fort – or even the gleeful, whimsical abandon with which the participants were pummeling each other. It wasn’t even the d00d in the cape – although that guy did make him a little nervous; He’d read some deeply frightening things about d00ds with capes.

It was the godsdamn land shark, . There was a land shark in this competition.

Rory was a penguin. An intelligent penguin from a place of godlike science, draconian political intrigue, and vast and terrible whimsy, but a penguin nonetheless. And that, right there, was a shark with feet.

It sniffed the air. Ponderously, it turned. It stared at him.

“… num-nums?”

Rory ran, waddling through the g-rated carnage as fast as his downy little legs could carry him.

“Nuh-uh! Not num-nums! Not today d00d!”

His room wasn’t hard to find – it was the only one with a door-handle he could reach without jumping - but in an atavistic panic the penguin made unsuccessful attempts at several others before finally diving through to safety and slamming the door behind him.

Nanaue blinked, processing what had just happened. Then, with the unblemished enthusiasm of the truly oblivious, he went back to swinging his pillow.

 

[Shinku]

Trevor chuckled lightly, hands resting on the pile of pillows they'd accumulated from the chaotic exchange. Had it happened a bit in the past, the assassin of shadows would have left the pillow battle as soon as it started but right then, he knew more than just being a jerk and dismissing such a game as a waste of time. He played along, momentarily taking his mind off the upcoming death game.

"We've been tricked! Satan, Trez! Execute plan B!," Flak's voice boomed over his makeshift megaphone.

"Eh...What's our plan B?," Satan whispered, faking a confident grin as he glanced over at the shark's fort. He held tightly to a heart-shaped pillow, which he hadn't even noticed, boggled at whatever plan their commander meant.

Trevor himself felt puzzled at the huge soldier's speech but stood his ground, shrugging off any thought of futility in their last stand. He was about to randomly throw one of the pillows when he felt a sudden surge of energy from behind. "So he's gotten serious eh," Trevor mused, before his image blurred out and disappeared right in front of Coda and Zayin.

While on the other side of the siege, Flak roared as he felt a rising energy that surged from his core. Aided by the powerup, he pulled the pillow he held and then launched it in a point-blank attack right at superman's face.

Uncertain of what to do, Mr Satan imitate the same roar and launched as many pillows as he could at Nanaue. Trevor on the other hand, appeared right behind Coda, in an attempt to grab a pillow from the lady's hand.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Not expecting his sudden disappearing act and subsequent reappearance, Coda was completely taken aback by Trevor's attempt to steal her pillow. She yelped in alarm as he swiped at her fluffy ammo, her body tensing up as they grappled for it in a comical game of tug of war.

Alas, it seemed that the element of surprise was firmly on Trevor's side. He ripped the pillow from her grip with great strength, the plump goose down-stuffed case flipping up to hammer Coda full in the face— flinging her sunglasses from their once-secure perch on her nose, propelled to a distant corner of the barracks at great speed.

Mouth gaping open in shock, Coda could only watch as her treasured shades clattered over the cold, hard floor, eventually sliding under one of the lounge's many couches. She nearly sagged with relief; at least they weren't at risk of getting stepped on and cracked, under there.

Coda stood stone-still, her breaths ragged and deep, staring after her precious eye-wear quite uselessly. Her yellow-gold eyes, usually so warm and welcoming, were now burning with a primal, red-tinged rage, her temper flaring despite the apparent accidental nature of the attack. Her slitted, reptilian pupils narrowed ever further, seeming to pierce through Trevor's very being— focusing upon him with acute attention, and him alone.

"So. Contestant #006, Trevor O'Skully..." the Carnivale employee remarked, voice dripping with dislike as she looked him up and down. "You've really become... quite an inconvenience for me."

Trevor paused, his pillow suspended in midair. He quirked an eyebrow and uttered in a dry tone, "Ah, so you know who I am. And yet, I don't think we have been properly introduced..."

The young woman laughed. It was not a girlish, tittering laugh as it once had been, but a cruel and calculating one that spoke of a purely malevolent intent.

"You're right. We haven't! But rest assured... only the strong will inherit this pillow castle!" Coda declared, the strange bioluminescence of her eyes pulsing ever brighter, her teeth flashing in a slightly manic grin. "Everyone else is just so much chaff. So, now... I have to separate this chaff from the wheat!"

And with an almighty roar, she seized a forgotten pillow up from the floor and hurled it at Trevor in a flurry of feathers.

 

[Zayin]

‘Well that’s no fair.’ Zayin thought to himself as he watched Trevor disappear as Flak powered himself up for a Herculean pillow toss. ‘They don’t have their collars on yet.’

The angel turned to Coda to discuss their next move, only to be cut off by the intruding shadow assassin before he could even get a word out. As his companion’s glasses were sent tumbling to the ground, provoking her into a slightly megalomaniacal rant, the living weapon held his pose, stunned.

Standing there, mouth agape, Zayin tried to process what had just occurred in front of him. His friend lied about her ‘eye condition’, though he had suspected as much, and what in the Heroic Expanse was that about wheat and chaff? That was the monologue of an evil tyrant if ever he’d heard one.

‘It’s just a pillow fight. Nothing serious. She’s probably just playing a part and getting into character.’ The hero rationalised, even as he looked into a pair of eyes that seemed ready to kill. If he had possessed a stomach, he was sure that it would be turning right now. ‘Really into character…’

Deciding that now wasn’t the time to dwell on such concerns, Zayin took a pillow in each hand and leapt towards Trevor, brandishing his dual-cushions as if they were his soul bound swords.

“Normally I’d respect a duel, but if you’re going to throw yourself at the two of us, I’ll honour your deathwish.” The challenger crowed before pausing, considering his own choice of words. “Hrmm… I’ll honour your light-bruising-wish.”

Giving a quick scan of the ‘battlefield’, the assassin took ahold of a pillow and tucked it under his arm for a brief moment before slinging it forward and up, knocking aside an attack from Coda. As it continued its momentum, he then took ahold of it with both hands and pivoted on his feet, bringing his unconventional weapon down with both hands.

Surprised, Zayin brought one of his own pillows up to parry the blow, then brought the other around in a sweeping blow to Trevor’s side. To surprise him even more, his foe was able to catch himself quickly, blocking the strike to his flank by altering the trajectory of his parried pillow and bracing it in the path of the angel’s swing.

The living weapon did a double take as his opponent pushed him off, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Those were swords techniques that Trevor was using. Obviously, the style developed independently to his own and they were fighting with pillows, so it wasn’t quite the same as how the hero fought, but he recognised the man’s skill with the blade nonetheless. And skill he had indeed, this guy was good. In a pure contest of swords, one against one, Zayin wasn’t sure that he would win.

Good thing, then, that he wasn’t fighting one against one.

Not giving Trevor a moment to breathe, the angel came in from the front, bringing both of his pillows in from the same side in a crushing double blow. The assassin, of course, saw this coming, stepping back and using his own ‘weapon’ to smack the strike forward even further, forcing the hero to overextend and fall off balance.

“Got you.” Trevor grinned as he tucked his pillow once more, bringing it out in a blindingly fast blow. The living weapon let out an undignified ‘bleh’ as the pillow struck him first in the stomach and then in the chin in an expertly executed combination of strikes. To the assassin’s surprise, however, Zayin gave him a big grin of his own as he stumbled back.

“I’m not the one you should be looking out for.” He chuckled, moments before a pillow came sailing into the back of his foe. Whipping around, Trevor spotted a wickedly grinning Coda moments before another pillow smacked his square in the face. Refusing to let him catch his bearings, the angel pressed the attack, crossing his arms before bringing both pillows down in an X, a solid ‘poof’ sounding out with each impact.

Reeling but not out of the fight yet, the assassin shook his head before grinning and vanishing in another blur. Zayin and Coda glanced around desperately, searching for their opponent to no avail.

“We really need to ban that move.” The hero tutted before hearing a chuckle behind him. He whirled around, ready to continue the fight, only to receive a powerful two-handed pillow blow to the face for his troubles, landing squarely on his ass from the force of it. “Bleh!”

 

[John Connor]

What’s a Commander without an army to lead?

Not much, Vatallion could tell you right now.

Maybe he’d been too harsh with the idea of a battlefield made of fluffy white pillows in the middle of a death game.

It’s not like he was crawling walls of a castle anymore with his men anyway. Better if you can’t beat them, than… join them, right?”

So he already built his own “fort” of whatever the hell he could find scattered in the area.

It was built sort of weird, not unlike something you’d see a typical Roman solider build but something else for once.

He eyed the forts of the shark man, the angel, and the blue and red caped man and then Flak and their crowds.

Focusing his attention on both, he would do everything himself. No punishments, no blood, no lazing off, for once a “fun” thing the Commander- General could do.

So they say, the higher the rank, the less friends you have. It’s lonely at the top sometimes.

 

[Ridley]

Flak was surprised. He’d heard plenty of superman being a super man, but honestly he was pretty sure he’d be an average CO at best, and he’d fought way worse than the average CO. Granted he… also tended to lose to them, but he still had the experience, dangit!

Still, Flak was skilled in finding a way out of incredible tactical blunders, and he’d be damned if he let himself get captured here, so instead of Fighting, he growled to the two before giving an uncharacteristic salute, and launching himself onto the nearest couch-based barricade, the springs straining under his massive weight. Somehow, the springs held firm, before snapping back as Flak turned to Mister Satan.

“Satan… hold them off here. I’ll remember you when I take the fort!”

Mr. Satan looked back incredulously. “Ehh? W-wait! Flak!”

But the springs had already bounced violently back, sending Flak flying - straight for the enemy HQ.

“Hehehehaha! won’t matter none if they’ve hit our base if I take their HQ! and it’s practically undef…”

‘Practically’ was a bad way to put it, as it turned out. Two beady shark eyes glanced out, as Flak glanced back, and the two regarded eachother, slowly blinking as they took stock.

Flak eventually broke the silence, not by speaking, or attacking, but by letting out a warcry as he firmly beat across his chest with his meaty fists like an upright gorilla.

Nanaue, either by the divine understanding shared by simpler brutes, or just by simple imitation, did the same, the pounding of their chests resounding across the barracks.

After a moment of drum-beating, the two both stopped and grinned at eachother.

“You’re big.” Flak replied with a grin. “I’m biggest!”

“No, me!” Was the sharkman’s response, as the two grabbed up their pillows and stepped forward.

To call it a pillow ‘fight’ would not be applicable to these two, as Flak took his sack of cotton in hand and swung with both hands to strike the Shark demigod straight in the face. To call it a pillow brawl would be more applicable, as Nanaue returned the black hole general’s blow with interest. There was no interest in tactics, or dodging, or blocking. There was simply two large titans going blow for blow, smack for smack, putting everything they had in making sure their opponent fell first.

Which was probably going to take a while, as the two’s pillows softly slapped against their faces, strongmen or not. Pillows.

 

[King Ghidorah]

Rory lay on his bed in his little room staring up at the ceiling. It was pretty comfy – silk sheets and goosefeather comforters. He couldn’t fault it, even if putting him in a bed stuffed with bird-feathers felt a little racist. But the rest of the amenities were less than he’d hoped for.

A locked military-style footlocker sat on the plush white carpet at the foot of the bed. A trunk labeled ‘for personal items’ was pressed up against one wall; And finally, a ring of plain grey metal with a hinge, an LED on the side and a lockable catch hung on the bed-post with a sticky note reading ‘Wear me <3’.

The penguin, ever the optimist, had really hoped they’d forgotten the bomb-collar, but apparently no such-luck.

Rory honked a sigh. He’d been hoping to make some friends, shake a few hands, do some networking before they all got dumped on the island – but as long as that landshark was out there hitting d00ds with pillows and on the prowl for snacks that just wasn’t going to happen. So, instead, he set about making ready for the deathmatch.

He hopped off the bed and waddled over to the trunk, levering it open without the lid banging back down immediately on his third try. Then, tentacles and cilia twitching as they emerged from the inner surface of his flippers, he unbuckled his fanny-pack, opened the flap, and upended it into the maw of the waiting receptacle.

A selection of guns, broken beer-bottles, fancy business cards from a dozen different enterprises under a dozen different names, t-shirts, keys, snow-globes, hand-grenades, a broken sword, a simple wooden goblet, six pounds of RDX rolled up in a ball, a green cylinder containing a metal sphere suspend between two rods in bubbling liquid, a plastic Richard Nixon Halloween mask and a dozen other items tumbled out – far too many to fit in the little satchel; When the deluge of treasure and mysterious garbage was over, it filled the trunk to the brim.

With another dejected honk, Rory tossed his empty pack on the top of the pile.

There was a knock at the door, and, without waiting for a reply, a Carnivale employee poked their head into the Penguin’s room. There were feathers stuck in their hair.

“D00d,” said Rory. “Not cool. I coulda been naked, mang. I mean, I’m always naked, but it’s the principle of the thing, y’know? Boundaries, d00d.”

The intruder smiled nervously. “Sincere apologies. Just, uh, just checking that everything is going smoothly. You’re settling in all right? Nothing… unusual? I mean, there wouldn’t be would there. Everything is fine!”

Rory stared, wondering if he’d ever lied this badly. Most people were so weirded out by the talking penguin thing that they didn’t think too critically about anything he said, and even if they did they had no idea how to read his body language, but still.

“All ship-shape here, d00d. Just putting all my stuff in the box.”

He used one of his webbed feet to point at the mountain of kitsch and variably-lethal knickknacks.

“ And I’m trusting you d00ds here, mang. Seriously. Don’t touch my stuff.”

The intruder nodded. “Good. Excellent. Well – best of luck then! Have fun! And remember – everything is fine.”

He began to retreat, but his eyes slid over to the pile. He squinted. “… is… is that a tiny Henry Kissinger in a glass jar with a stick and a leaf?”

Rory ruffled his plumage, cocked his head to one side, and made deeply uncomfortable eye-contact. “Absolutely not, d00d. That would be, like, deeply existentially troubling and raise all sorts of questions.”

He waddled over to the door. “I gotta put my collar on now. Sooooo…. Later!”

“But-!”

Rory pushed the door closed in the man’s face.

“Some people, d00d. No respect for privacy.”

A tiny voice, nigh-imperceptible, little more than mild tinnitus if one didn’t know better, framed a scathing, sarcastic response.

Rory rolled his eyes.

“Oh, whatever d00d. Like anyone wants your opinion. Just shut up, Henry: You know what you did.”

 

[Roy Mustang]

Armstrong gave a rumbling chuckle, “What brings me to such a contest? I would wager you know as well as I that the circumstances that lead to one’s involvement in the carnival are not entirely voluntary nor generally pleasant.” He gave a polite cough, “ Suffice it to say that while I was not physically forced to volunteer, I found myself with no better recourse than to participate in the competition.”

Lauren nodded thoughtfully as she lit her smoke, “Suppose that makes sense. Room’s all yours if you need it, let me just clean up the mess. ”

Armstrong eyed the array of dirt upon the ground, “Meditation?”

“Not precisely, just getting some advice.” Lauren knelt down with a small envelope, brushing the dirt back into it with a careful precision. Clearly something of significance given the discretion she showed in its reclamation.

“Hrmm, I see. You will forgive the presumptive question, but you also do not strike me as the type to engage in a frivolous indulgence of violence like this.”

“Nope, can’t stand the stuff.” Lauren said with a hard to place tone. “But now that I’m here I may as well see the thing through. There’s probably some folks here that’ll end up needing a hand before the thing’s done.” She stood back up, shrugging casually.

“Alchemists, be thou for the people.” Armstrong uttered with a faint nod, “The creed of my discipline. Your sentiment to aid the other participants when your own life is on the line is commendable.”

“Well, that’ll depend on whether they’re trying to kill me or not.” Lauren smiled with one corner of her mouth.

Their collars began beeping in unison.

Hey! Pardon the interruption and all that stuff, but you guys need to get your asses to the barracks like… an hour ago. Droptime’s coming up like really soon! You gotta be in your rooms for that.

“Hrmm, it seems we find ourselves without time for further reflection.”

“Yup, sorry you didn’t get a chance to use the dojo, big guy.”

“Hah! Think nothing of it, I shall endure. Come, come! We mustn’t keep our benefactor waiting over long!”

Lauren slid her coat back on and followed the massive figure as he strode towards the elevator. Armstrong ducked under the doorway, turning about with his hands clasped behind him in parade rest. Lauren briefly glanced at the compartment’s weight clearance then put out her smoke and stepped in after him.

“A word of warning, unneeded though it might be….” Armstrong entoned as the elevator descended towards the barracks, “Though there are likely some participants who were brought to this competition without their consent, there will undoubtedly be many contestants of a bloodthirsty and dangerous nature as well.”

Lauren eyed him from behind her sunglasses but did not say anything. This statement was clearly for himself as much as for her benefit.

“In order to avoid being caught off-guard during the conflict you must remain wary. There will be no shortage of threats in the coming days, the likes of which it will be impossible to anticipate.”

The elevator doors opened accompanied by a gust of downy feathers. The room ahead was in tatters, its furniture up-ended into fortifications and a variety of contestants shouting to and at one another while wielding pillows with a dedication and aplomb rarely seen in such conflicts. Armstrong and Lauren stood in the elevator, neither entirely sure how to process the scene before them.

“Unexpected tactics.” Lauren mused, suddenly wishing she hadn’t put out her smoke, “Yeah, I see it.”

 

[Eddie the Head]

“That the time already?” the rockstar glanced at an imaginary watch wrapped around his preternatural wrist.

“I simply must get changed before the big show.” He announced to himself with an index finger aimed to the sky and dipped out, aiming toward solitude. He stalked into position and awaited his final form.

“I can’t believe I can only pick one outfit for the finale! Choices… Choices…” Eddie gaped with a exasperated woe on his face. “I have to pick my absolute best suit.”

"Wahahaha..." The sound churned and echoed into the evaporating night.

Spoiler

You know what time it is

Spoiler

 

[John Connor]

Puta me non dormire. ((Fuck, I overslept.))

Vatallion could feel parts of his Latin slipping for the more favorable English language. The barracks were surprisingly quiet for this time of night. Those soldiers on the pillow battlefield looked like they were going to keel out from exhaustion eventually.

A steaming hot cup of “mud” water was found in the tiny little kitchen the barracks afforded whatever they called this coffee stuff.

Nothing like a container of piping hot coffee beans.

“I don’t know what I missed when this mud liquid was created.”

The Commander-General took several sips of the piping hot liquid as he watched the pillow battlefield in interest and awe and was wide awake.

Long mornings on the job could have been solved faster in Rome with this stuff.

With a long slug, the caffeinated beverage was done, and the Roman Commander frowned, hearing the translation device tell him the death games were due to start today sometime.

 

[Lilith]

The slaughterers and lambs were corralled into the Barracks, some frothing at the mouth for the festivities to commence, others afflicted by soul-devouring dread. The pale woman wasn't particularly riled up, her murderous lust resting at lukewarm levels. She wanted to partake, yes, but she lacked that same conviction she once had. Perhaps it could all be chalked up to the charm of such events wearing off. The facilities certainly didn't impress Lilith. Although, she speculated if the truth was far more grim.

“Fuck, I can't be going through burnout already. I'm not even in my prime yet! Quick, I needa find somethin' interesting!” Scouring for a cure to her unexpected existential crisis, she barged into the orgy of cushiony extremities, her appearance scarcely acknowledged by the fluff-soaked soldiers before they resumed their sortie.

Though not the biggest in absolute terms, the giantess surpassed the heights of almost every competitor, the exception being the husky wolfman hunk. Forget wolf girls, I wanna get ravaged by this huge beast immediately! I bet his… Hold on now, can't spend all day drooling over half the contestants. Especially not the devilishly handsome rockstar.

Lilith found her scanty state of near undress suitable for the occasion, the fresh smattering of blood accenting her attire. The rest of the flock, even the hulking manshark, were more modestly clothed. She almost didn't account for the cocaine-fueled penguin being naked, because why would that be out of the ordinary?

There was a distinct absence of a certain doctor amidst the quarrel of cotton. It's not like she relied on them, she just appreciated seeing a familiar face. And having someone to tolerate her existence. Ah well, with the myriad of C-listers this year, it's about time she mixed things up anyways. She did recognize one person however. That sly assassin.

So then, who would accompany her impending massacre? Well Ridley and Dr. Caustic are smart, and she worked efficiently with them. It stood to reason that conspiring with the smartest person here was a sound strategy. She ruled out the participants engaging in sleepover-based combat. Most of the spectators seemed to have their wits about, but none really stood out to her. That goth chick might have some wisdom to share… Or maybe that robot contemplating in the corner? Ah, of course! What could be better than a walking supercomputer?

Looming over the droid, Lilith introduced herself with a simple “Yo.”

The consort of artificial intelligences angled its faceless visor upward as it processed an appropriate response. It parsed the wealth of data relating to the individual standing before itself, evaluating the importance of their knowledge in comparison to the complexity of accessing it. The verdict: an ideal balance. “Hello,” it droned in a static inflection.

“Listen, you seem like a real insightful er, robot. What do ya think of everything going on?”

A test of their situational acumen. A relatively effortless task. High probability of establishing rapport with an exceptionally adept executioner. “This set of circumstances was precisely orchestrated. The endless supply of pillows is no coincidence. A provocateur provides arms indiscriminately, alliances form, and the audience draws a line between the righteous and the wicked.”

“Y'know, I did think it was kinda suspicious…” Lilith stood side by side with the observant droid, noticing an increasing stockpile of pillows. “I mean, what is this, Slumber Party Game? Who would tune in to something so cliche?”

Unbeknownst to the pair, a producer was taking notes.

“We are The Chorus. We presume you wish to coordinate with us? We calculate this decision to be mutually beneficial. We only request information as compensation.” The Voice discerned an unfathomable multitude of internal discussions, requiring but a fraction of a moment to return an acceptable output.

“I'm not crazy into emotionless killing machines, but I'm sure my boss would be. And he's got tons of data to feed those brains of yours.” Lilith tapped on the droid's metallic skull. “Hey, this could be like your WYVERN initiation!” Once again, the hedonist's ally was totally incapable of being seduced. Which was probably for the best, all things considered.

“We deem your proposal to be satisfactory.” It was rare for the Conductors, especially Conflict and Diplomacy, to all be in overwhelming agreement. The cybernetic hivemind, however, had few relevant objections.

“Cool, cool. So uh, you learn anything useful from your studyin'?” Lilith whipped out her phone and skimmed over the competition's profiles. Better last minute than going in completely clueless.

“Zayin, the Angel of Challenge, has positioned himself as the savior of Death Game. The majority of the focus will be on him, and Superman as well for similar reasons in conjunction with his physical advantage.”

“Oh yeah, both of those guys are like my antithesis. Hmm… The angel's got nothin' between his legs. Lame. Twink's got a fine pair of lips on em though. Bet he gives a nice divine kiss, know what I'm sayin'?”

“We are well-versed in your style of euphemism. The subtext of your words is implying that Zayin is highly proficient in performing or—”

“I know, I know, ya don't gotta give me a whole definition.” Lilith fiddled with her collar, huffing in irritation. “Damn thing's a pain in the neck…”

“Understood. Coda Nitai, the product of genetic engineering, is more clever and cutthroat than she appears. It is advisable to be wary of her enhancements.”

“That skinny broad with the shades? What's she gonna do, hit me with a rulebook?” Lilith checked out the clash of the human-shark hybrid and the bald berserker. “Hey, who's the more intelligent one between those two?”

“Insufficient research. Results: inconclusive.”

“Pft. Sounds about right. Since you two new recruits are here, why don't we have a little welcoming party?” The deviant woman interrupted the pretend bludgeoning with an assertive pose. “Heya, Flak. Having a good time I see. Master Ridley has high expectations for us, best we don't disappoint, eh?”

“Hehuh, yup.” The Black Hole general lowered his plush weapon, unfazed by his opponent's continued pillow slapping. “Sorry lady, who are you?”

“That's no way to greet your superior. You should know the chain of command.” The sadist leaned down, flashing a ravenous smile.

Flak audibly gulped. He gawked at the goliath lady, horrified at the revelation. “M-my apologies, ma'am!” He gave the most respectful salute of his life. “I'll never forget it!”

“Lilith, Head Enforcer of WYVERN. Don't worry, I know you won't.” The debauchee grazed a thoughtful finger under the man's chin. “I can tell we're gonna have a lotta fun.”

Nervous laughter gurgled out of Flak's mouth. “Y-you got it, Ms. Lilith.” This insanely tall lady was more terrifying than two Lash's put together.

“We are The Chorus,” the droid chimed in.

“Where's the rest of you?” Flak scratched his army helmet.

“In this machine,” came the robot's reply, which only confused the soldier more.

“What's important right now is your two friends over there.” Lilith led the WYVERN initiates to the couch barrier protecting the universe's greatest fighter. “Heya, Mr. Satan. Awesome name by the way. Is that your title 'cuz you're a devil in the ring?”

“Hahhah…” The martial artist chuckled nervously. “That's actually my last name.”

“Oh.”

…

…

“Anyways. You're gonna be teaming up with your buddy Flak here, right?” Lilith demanded more than she questioned.

“Er, well, we haven't exactly figu—”

“Perfect! With you 3 muscley dudes– I haven't forgotten about you, Trevor– combined, you'll crush the competition for sure!” Carnage filled Lilith's glimmering eyes.

“Heh, yeah… Yeah! We'll show everyone who's the toughest squad out there!” Mr. Satan pumped his fist with newfound resolve, uncertain of what he just agreed to.