DGS3 -- Spectator Central

[Fenix]

As the hooting and hollering continued, Suwako rested a hand against the side of her face, quietly enjoying a drink as the fight continued. "What a stained blade you are, now." the goddess hissed, flicking her tongue out. The Creature's description, it's origins, it's ideals marked it as a Yokai all it's own, and one closer to a Kami than most. A valiant creature, but one that had felt so very innocent at the start of this.

Now, it had gone through so many different stains upon it's soul. Rage, hatred, love, loss, terror, amusement, disgust, confusion, discomfort, and now...
Now, the loneliness so unique to an immortal being with nothing left. The hollow understanding that you had outlived all you wanted to protect. The knowledge of your own powerlessness and the end to a tragic story.

"And what will you do now, little angel?" Suwako asked aloud with a bemused expression, as she looked to a Scowling Vic and a remarkably chipper Sigmund. "I'm certain my little solutions right here won't really work for you. You will have to find one beyond even my gaze. So, how will you recover your pride as a blade from this?"
The old god gave a nostalgic sigh. "Either way, I look forward to your future progress, Zayin. Continue to walk these tarnished worlds. Whether your blade is tempered or rusted, His grip tightens. I imagine you will have to meet his challenge soon." Suwako murmurs, gently closing her eyes.

"...Would that I could challenge Darkseid myself."

 

[John Connor]

John blinked, looking at Jack who had just gotten the next round of drinks. He eyed the rum and shrugged. Jack could drink all he wanted when he didn’t have a base to keep under control full of soldiers.

It was times like this he wished didn’t have to save the world from the Unmaking and Terminators in general.

He took a sip of rum and nursed it.

He wasn’t too much of a drinker now that he thought of it.

His eyes snapped at the screen in front of him. It was over and those left standing were Trevor or as he had known him, Shinku. He watched the bigger guy and Shinku be carried off to an infirmary or hospital room of some kind.

John stood up and looked over at Jack and became serious "It's over, I think your friend is injured but doing ok."

Bringing the others along for a visit was another thing.

 

[John Connor]

John sighed, dragging a drunk Jack behind him. “God damnit, Jack, I hope you get undrunk by the time Shinku wakes up.”

The Commander frowned “Make sure Jack doesn’t puke on anything while he’s drunk, Marcus.”

Marcus arched a eyebrow as a gun was on his back “Are you kidding me? You are sticking me with Jack while he’s drunk again?!”

John frowned “It’s not a question, it’s a order, Marcus.”

The Sgt muttered and took the drunken Jack off his Commander’s hands.

He placed the man on his shoulders and moved with John toward the hospital room Shinku aka Trevor was in, or presuming was in anyway.

The terminator and John walked toward the room as he walked to the nurse’s station “Looking for someone that goes by the name Shinku or Trevor.

The bored nurse looked up “Hold on, let me look.”

“Ah, oh, Shinku is in Room #230.”

“Just go a few halls that way and you should find him.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John sighed and walked into Shinku’s hospital room as he laid there with aches and pains after he’d been through a death game, which he did.

The nurse tending to Shinku looked up “Oh, you have visitors, Shinku.”

The nurse looked around and got up “Who’s this.”

John sat down with harsh eyes “I’m General Connor. Over here is my Sgt. Marcus Wright”

Marcus sat in a chair and set the drunken Jack over a chair until he was able to sit up and talk again.

Marcus whispered “What do we do about Jack. He’s drunk…again”

Jack sat slumped in a chair, mumbling something.

 

[Shinku]

"Hey, you came!," Shinku greeted, helping himself up, wincing slightly as he moved his sore muscles. "And what happened to him?" he continued his eyes suddenly trained at the wasted Jack.

How many days could have passed? It was difficult to tell, but with the pain and exhaustion he previously felt in his body felt like it went on for eternity. Seeing the familiar faces of his comrades, however, brought a sense of relief that it was all finally over.

 

[John Connor]

The annoyed Sgt looked over at Shinku and sighed "According to John, Jack overdid it on the Rum again in the bar area."

John looked over at Shinku and got up, trying to avoid his other hand being shaken at the time.

"It's been approximately a few days since you've been in Death game, congrats are in order."
John was drifting off toward his comm that was always on as an encrypted message came on.
"Shit, got to take this."
Connor stood outside Shinku's hospital room while Marcus sat in the chair, waiting for Connor to come back.
But through those words, Marcus and Shinku could hear if they listened enough.

"This is Tech- Com DN38416."
John stood quietly as he seemed shocked "Sgt?!"

 

[Shinku]

"Haha. Very typical of him," Shinku chuckled, shaking his head in response to the pirate's drunkenness. It had been a while since he had been with Jack, but it seemed like nothing had changed that much.

"So how's the situation out there?," he eyed Marcus, seeing that Connor was busy on the phone with someone. It was more of a conversational longevity act rather than a real question of concern. Though he was genuinely concerned of what had become of the world outside of the death game, especially that of the unmaking.

 

[The Man in Red]

A general note for anyone/everyone involved here!

The spectator thread will be closing and being locked as of Friday, March 17. At that time I will be going through and calculating a participation bonus for everyone who has posted in it.

Thanks again to everyone, and happy shenanigans until then!

 

[King Ghidorah]

As he waddled unsteadily towards the teleport docks, drunk and surly and ready to move on with his life, Rory couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

Yeah, he’d made some cash, but not the ludicrous bundle he’d been hoping for.

Sure, he’d made friends, but those d00ds were a clone and a robot and neither one of them had survived the competition – at every opportunity, from this day forward, the perfidious penguin would pour one out for Peter Pellbrook II and the Franky Shogun.

Yeah, most of his enemies and rivals had died gruesomely, but they were also probably fine now, and somehow the two d00ds who’d showed up to contend with him and Peter against the hammer-pants super-guy had won the whole thing.

It had been a rough few days. It was time to get back to what he did best.

Merchandising.

A predatory gleam entered Rory’s beady eyes as he rummaged around in his luggage with one flipper, eventually producing the little articulated scale model of himself that he’d received as part of his consolation prize-package. He prodded at the button on its back with his bill.

“We’ve got this, mang,” The figure said. “Time to make some real people money.”

Rory nodded once, firmly satisfied. “Fuck yeah, d00d. I may not have won, and I may not be stupid-rich, but I’ve got brand recognition now.”

He prodded at the figure again.

“I’m a commodity, d00d,” it said, echoing his thoughts through a tinny little speaker. “Cash-Cash money. ”

And not just him either. Some of these other d00ds, those who’d made it to the finals, they were marketable. They probably didn’t even realise how marketable. Like, t-shirts and waffle irons and cheaply-produced cartoons marketable.

The landshark in particular had some potential. Yes, Rory was already getting some ideas.

The penguin couldn’t help but wonder how closely anyone would examine the alleged signature of a creature that came across like it thought ‘contract’ was the noise a bag of fish-sticks made when you opened it with your teeth.

He put the figurine away. The near-future was looking bright. Right now though, he should probably get out of here before anyone realised just how much stuff he’d stolen from behind various doors and countertops around the pre-show area.

“To Opealon, d00d,” he said, addressing a nearby Carnivale employee who appeared to be acting the role of porter. Ruffling his plumage and shaking himself back into order, Rory stepped onto one of the outgoing platforms and took one last look around the old-world opulence of the Death Game lobby. “Ideally somewhere in walking distance of a notary’s office. I’ve got an LLC to register and business cards to print.”

 

[Ridley]

Ridley had lived through and waged many battles. Many wars. Had fought against the greatest beings in his universe and this one, time and again. Had been cyberized, corrupted by phazon, and unmade - all to return to what he was. The perfect being. The perfect beast.

In four decades of experience, he had never seen a single thing as convoluted or ridiculous as the battle that had been waged on-screen.

The sheer level of nonsense that deathgame had brought to the table had more than exceeded Ridley’s expectations. DA had been a similarly difficult challenge, with it’s share of strange powers and creatures, but nothing to this extent! And yet, throughout the nonsense…
Lilith had done quite well for herself injuring all of Wyvern’s competitors early on. This… Chorus Droid had shown quite some promise and done well for himself, in good part due to her sacrifice.

Ridley snorted. Though she claimed it was the last time Ridley would ever see her, he knew better. If Lilith was that easy to rid the universe of, she’d have never made it as a pirate in the first place. No, he would have melted her down into burnt rubber the first time they’d met. His enforcer would be by his side quite soon. That he knew without a doubt.

And Flak…

He wasn’t sure what Flak had done. Or how an idiot who struggled with basic math, language, and object permanence had managed to take the moves he had. He had no idea how he’d so quickly achieved an ally like this… Trevor o’scully, and he certainly had no idea how someone enters a fighting competition as a large human male and ends up…

Well, as The Princess of Flavor.

But he had thrown him into adversity, an ever-shifting situation that confused even the great Lord Ridley, taken every twist shown to him, and won the tournament regardless. His performance evaluation could not have ended any better in Lord Ridley’s estimation. His methods were unorthodox and his basic dignity was questionable…

But Lord Ridley understood better than most what kind of man was needed to command an army, and Flak filled every qualification.

Jervix, sitting nervously next to him, finally looked up to Ridley. “S-so he’s really a general, now?”

“Lord Flak is a general, and now, your superior, Jervix.” The wyrm snapped, his eyes meeting the space pirate with a gulp.

“B-but, he’s not even a-”

“Jervix.”

Ridley’s voice was cold, calculating, and made it clear just how meaningless he saw the zebesian’s life. The bridge of the Dreadnought turned as quiet as a pin drop.

Ridley made no more sound, but eventually cast his claws to a coordinate. “Arcadia.”

“I thought we weren’t raiding there yet.”

The old Wyrm sported a toothy grin. “We’re going shopping. You are in charge of getting supplies for the party Lord Flak has earned for WYVERN.”

The bridge looked at eachother as a whole in dead silence for roughly a full second, as smiles grew across their insectoid faces, and a loud cheer erupted on the bridge.

Ridley narrowed his eyes at communications officer Ratt as he loudly and immediately announced the party on loudspeaker across the ship. He had yet to give the order, which would have bothered him if he hadn’t banked on it.

Still,as the hooting and hollering echoed across the ship, it gave him comfort to see the beasts of his pack howling in triumph at the moment of the kill.

All that was left was for WYVERN to feast upon it.