DGS4: Phase 1 -- The Train

[The Man in Red]

A low rumbling sound echoed through the Barracks as what had originally seemed to be a wall split neatly in two, each half slowly retracting and sliding seamlessly into the walls on either side like one massive set of doors. Beyond it was revealed a wide flight of stairs, leading down to a landing which...seemed like it connected to the Station below, at first glance. In actuality it was yet another, smaller, private station upon which rested a single train, its engine already thrumming and roaring, ready to embark on its journey.

Within the Barracks, assorted noise immediately died down as speakers went silent, screens briefly faded to black before showcasing the logo of the Carnivale Rosa....and then were replaced by another image. Those who may have been lurking elsewhere out of the common areas would find their suppression device of choice helpfully projecting a holographic image before them of the same video feed, to keep them in the know as well. The video feed in question being the cheerful, smiling face of someone dressed in some kind of jester's costume, or something like it, merrily seated in a high-backed office chair, one leg crossed over the other and with her hands together in front of her.

"Good afternoon, contestants~ ♥" she spoke up cheerfully, a little red heart playfully flitting up from her head at her words. "My name's Kamilla. ♥ Since our normal host with the most has decided to join you personally down there this time out, I'll be filling in for him and giving you all your lovely commentary and announce-y needs! ♥"

"For now, though.... ♥" And she turned slightly, a series of ever so slightly more pink rather than red lights blinking on in sequence, drawing attention toward the open doors and the train platform further beyond. "If all of our lovely contestants this year could make their way to the train? ♥ We've decided to go with something a little more....low tech and less immediately jarring for transport to the event venue this year~ ♥"

"For the record, you're all not on camera juuuuust yet, so don't worry about getting all hammy and violent right away. ♥" She laughed, spinning around in the oversized chair once...twice...three times. Finally she came to a halt on her knees in the chair, propped up on her elbows on the desk in front of her as she grinned at the camera directly. "But that''ll change soon~ We start rolling the moment you touch down. Have fun! ♥"

You are all aboard a train. In the typical fashion and stylistic choices of the Carnivale, think of something out of early 20th century luxury, but with all the modern comforts and advancements you might want. Communication effects still function perfectly fine at this point, though as the ride continues that will begin to change. The train itself is quite large, featuring approximately 20 cars in total. It runs the gamut of features for what you might expect on such a thing.

The train ride includes everyone participating in the event, minus Kamilla (she's watching from somewhere safe, you didn't think she'd be going here with all you psychos, did you???), as well as approximately a few dozen of the more generic Carnivale staff and workers to keep things operating smoothly. You're welcome to go just about anywhere you like, even to the conductor's cabin if you want to mess with the driver.

In character, the train ride will last for roughly four hours. For anyone who looks out the windows, he first hour or so will mostly be darkness interspersed with glimpses of distant stars, nebula, and other typical space things. After that, the weather will begin to get progressively worse, progressing through wind, rain, lightning, and snow. The doors and windows will refuse to open under any circumstances.

Out of character, this first phase will last until abooouuut Thursday, at 12 PM EST. At that time, there will be...an event to really get us all underway. No one will be eliminated or die this phase, but the 'judging' for how people fare will officially start being tracked now, and eliminations will immediately begin effective the next phase. Get your game faces on, everyone!

 

[Gizmo Gear]

And now they had to travel to their destination and on a train again no less, why not just teleport there? It’s a good thing he already slept in the barracks and had a better dream than the one he had last time on one of these. He's unsure he can sleep on a train again after that nightmare. A part of it might have to do with how comfortable his bed was. Still, now he is rested and ready for whatever is to come.

Still, what Kamilla said about the former host joining them got him suspicious. Now why would their gracious host risk his own life to be able to participate in his own sick twisted game? The only reason he can think of is if this host was extremely sure of his abilities. And that he got bored of only watching the games and decided to join in on the fun like some kind of masochistic sadist. Meaning there’s another person to worry about, this mysterious masked man.

Granted there are bound to be other dangerous opponents he has to face that he hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting or seeing just yet. He needed to be on his toes. That’s why he is keeping to himself in a private room watching the door and has his hand by his Beam Katana while sitting on his bed. Ready to chop someone’s head off if they try anything funny.

He tried not to scratch the limiter bracelet on his Death Glove despite how uncomfortable it felt against his skin. They wanted him to be challenged as they didn’t want to make things too easy for him and to make the audiences more invested so he’s forced to rely on his beam katana and wrestling moves. However, they allowed him one flashy use of his Full Green Mode armor, his ace in the hole. Something to get the audience pumped up. Also, it’s a good thing that the limiter is not on his head cause he is pretty sure if this thing is taken off or is attempted to, that it will explode. And he doesn’t want his head to be blown up there’s no coming back from that.

He then looks out the window to see the beautiful view of space. He still doesn’t know how the Hell that this thing is flying through space. It’s probably best not to question things especially since this is not the weirdest thing that has happened to him. He just hopes no one is stupid enough to break open one of these windows.

He then found himself to be parched. It’s been a while since he’s had a hard drink. After all of his preparation, he deserves to treat himself. He decided to say fuck it and opens the door just a crack to see if anyone is out there. Seeing no one besides the creepy staff members he goes to where the bar is and asks for a drink.

“One and a half ounces of sake, one ounce of light rum, a half ounce of red cinnamon schnapps, stirred,” Travis said.

“Quite a complex and interesting mix sir,” the bartender replied.

The bartender begins working on the drink. Carefully measure the amount of each component before stirring it all together. As the drink is then presented before Travis, he downs it and lets out a big joyful sigh.

“Oh, that’s the good shit right there!” he said.

He was going to take a moment to relax before shit hits the fan and the possible staged crashing of this train happens. If it doesn't he'll be shocked. Usually shows pull that sort of stuff to keep the viewers at home watching and sit through the commercials. He wouldn't be surprised if Kamilla lied and that the cameras were still rolling. All this Death Game is missing is a confessional booth or cameras to interview the cast.

 

[Elizabeth La Varet]

All the commotion woke Tia from her nap. She lifted her head from the pillow, hair and drool stuck to the side of her face. She om nom nom’d a bit. Her mouth was dry. Her hair was a complete mess and she looked like Doc from this weird video she had seen on Cevanti once. Taking a brush from her bra of holding the brunette fixed her hair before returning it to its fluffy ponytail status. As she had been brushing Tia had noticed a fancy wrist brace on her left arm.

“Property of…Syntech? Huh. How did that get there?”

The brunette shrugged it off and unzipped her duffle bag. Time to put everything in her special holding place. She was done just in time for a little hologram to blip on that was being projected from her arm brace. As the cheerful lady began to talk Tia found herself enamored with her.

“She’s hot. I’d smash.” She said before downing a bottle of water from the minifridge in her barracks room.

They were supposed to get on a train and just enjoy the ride. What disappointed Tia the most is that they weren’t being filmed yet. Trains can be fun, right?

Right?

The brunette lunatic made her out into the corridor of the barracks and along with every other contestant, made her way down and boarded the train. It was full of contestants she had seen and most of whom she hadn’t seen. Tia knew exactly what she wanted. She made her way through the various cars finally making into the diner car. She was hungry again.

“Can I help you miss?” The tender behind the counter asked.

“I want a sandwich. What have you got?”

“How about a turkey and cheese wrap with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and spicy ranch. Does that sound fitting?”

“Gods yes. Gimme gimme.” Tia said as she leaned on the bar eager for food.

The man behind the counter knelt and removed a prepackaged container from the refrigerated section and slid it over to the brunette. Tia ripped the package open and took the wrap in one hand, grabbing a bottle of water from a stand on the counter in the other. She secured the bottle between her boobs and retreated towards the front of the train. She took a massive bite of her wrap. My god. It was equally good as the sandwich she had earlier. She was in heaven. Pushing past various contestants, she finally reached the front of the train in time to shove the last bite of her food in her mouth. Sliding the little door open she stepped over and into the cabin of the locomotive. There was a man in there wearing an eye patch and making sure the train was working smoothly.

“What’chya doin?” Tia said through a mouthful of turkey wrap.

The engineer man turned around startled that anyone would be up here.

“What? I’m driving the train…gorgeous.” He winked at her before adjusting various things with the train systems.

In an instant Tia was over his shoulder, pressing herself against him. Her eyes widened with how many controls and levers the train had.

“Why does one lever say, ‘Drift This Bitch’ and another say, ‘Drift King’.” She asked, reaching for one of them.

He slapped her hand away. And again.

“Are you trying to get me fired? I’m not allowed to drift anymore.”

“Awww that’s lame. What does his one do?” She said pressing a button on one of the panels before he could stop her.

A mini disco ball lowered from the ceiling of the cabin, the lights dimmed, strobe lights lit up, and music started playing.

“That’s…the party button.” He said.

“OoooOoOoOo” She said, pulling on his shirt.

“It’s suddenly hot in here. Let’s take this off.”

He slapped her hands away.

“This job is important! I must upset Kiryu! I cannot mess up!”

“Not even a little bit…” She looked at his name tag. “Majima?”

He looked at her. She bit her bottom lip and gave him the “fuck me” eyes.

“I’ve never fucked anyone with an eyepatch before!” Tia said excitedly.

She removed a small baggie from her bra and opened it. She took a pinch of the powder that was in it and snorted it. He watched as her pupils almost immediately dilated, a wicked grin spreading across her face. She reached for both drift levers, but he took hold of her hands.

“Woman! I told you!” He pulled her away. “We. Don’t. Touch. Those.”

She took hold of his hands and pressed them on her chest. “You can touch these.”

Majima looked at her with a raised eyebrow before looking at where his hands were. He squeezed once before turning back around to resume his work.

“Don’t you have contestants you can bother? My work here is very important!”

Tia shrugged and leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, having an almost complete mood shift to…normal? What was normal for her anyway.

“Yeah, but you’ve proven much more interesting. Who has a disco ball in the drive room of a locomotive?”

Tia. Asking the real questions.

 

[Rogue]

There was no denying it, now. Ah was on the train to some fresh hell, with a cadre of the crossroads' most insane oddballs and monsters no less. When a freak show like me passed for one of the more normal parts of your cast, it said something about the kind of competition that was coming out way.

As ah'm strolling through the train cars, the muffled sound manic laughter echoes from one of the rooms right as ah pass by, the real high-pitched kind of laugh where you start to wonder where they're getting all the breath from. It doesn't seem prudent to go poking the poor devil in what sounds like a private moment, so ah don't stop to figure out who it is or why they're giddier than a prom queen on a friday morning. It seems to me that with this lot, the sooner we're all out of confined spaces and set loose the better.

Or, well, confined space anyway. My brooding thoughts trail away as ah stare out the window, awestruck despite myself. Jumpin' gee golly! We're riding a train through honest to goodness space and the feel is smooth as butter! There's a fair few folks who'd have been willing to kill or be killed just for this view ah'm fairly certain. And that clown had said they weren't even filming during this section? Ah shake my head in disbelief and head off in search of a place to sit.

The dining car ends up being the closest thing to a lounge ah can find. It's pretty empty still, one street punk at the bar and a few of the Carnivale's attendants. Nobody hanging from the ceiling or chewing on the light fixtures yet. it's a start.

Ah settle down in one of the corner booths, feet propped up on the table, arms pulled into the sleeves of my coat, letting it have a try at being a make-shift parka for a bit. It's comfortable enough, these seats are fancy so far as trains are concerned. Arbiters only know how much they must've paid for even just this one room!

"Anything to drink madam?" One of the carnivale creeps practically teleports from behind the bar to the edge of my booth. Ah swear ah could still see his afterimage fading away across the room as ah turn to glace up at him.

"Well thanks, darling. All this space-flying is a little much for a country gal like me! How about something to calm my nerves? Oh, and get that fellow another one of whatever he had last? Thanks, Sugar."

The guy makes one of those put-upon half smiles that you really only see from the folks who make a living dealing with folks that have more money than sense. He walks back towards the bar at far less supersonic speeds, but ah don't mind. At another time ah could probably doze off here it's so comfy. As it is right now, ah'm feeling that creeping excitement starting to itch again. This lot will be strange ones to steal from, but that only makes me more excited if ah'm being honest!

Keeping one eye on the door and one eye on the gorgeous view outside, ah lie in wait to scope out my potential prey.

 

[John Connor]

The Barracks was quiet then loud.

The Spartan could hardly hear his own thoughts as the pumping music burst through the large area.

As the door creaked open, Leonidas eyed the screens that had come down showing not that man in red but another woman in some sort of jester outfit.

“Something was off. Why would the host of this bloody spectacle want to be in his own game?” It made Leonidas stop and think as he made his way away from the barracks toward the strange modern marvel called the train.

Leonidas made sure he had everything before checking the area before he headed off toward the train.

The Spartans jumped when Leonidas spoke to them, something coming out of a box they insisted on having.

“Uh… S… Sir, I heard your voice over this box thing.” One of the Spartans chatted, still not sure of hearing their King over a strange object.

“This thing is called a communicator. It’s something only the gods could have dreamed of creating.”

Just before the Spartan king left, he checked to make sure nothing had watched him communicate. With that, he stepped down each step toward the station carefully and steadily.

Getting on the train was interesting to say the least, Leonidas walked the ramp inside the train.

The Spartan king’s eyes almost comically stared down the whole “luxury” modern train experience. He smirked, “Now this is befitting of a king.”

The king took advantage of the common luxuries of the modern world.

There was a train with a cigar and wine room, two modern amenities almost guaranteed to mix.

The man with a strange sweater vest offered a select of cigars selected from somewhere called the Hinterlands and fine wine brewed from Inverse.

“What can I offer you, stranger.”

The Spartan looked up at the selection “One of your Hinterlands cigars and the rare Inverse wine, please.”

The man smiled “Fine choice, sir. Here you go as he slipped the cigar into a fancy box and placed the wine into a plastic bag.

Soon Leonidas found himself in what they called a “smoking area” where the King could enjoy his luxury cigar in peace.

He was thinking and debating over the multiverse games and its “new host.”

Leonidas thought this a challenge set up by the Gods to test his mettle. Maybe it was more.

The man with the sweater vest found himself moving towards the sliding door and moving into the smoking room, wiping down the counters.

“Enjoying your purchases?” The man was actually pretty curious even though the smell inside hid the whiff of vanilla smoke inside the seats.

The King looked up and nodded “Of course. I’ve never experienced the best the modern world has to offer.”

"Ah, so you're a stranger to these parts, then?" the man inquired, nodding in understanding as he continued to clean the counter. "Well, consider yourself welcome aboard the train, Your Highness."

"Your Highness?" Leonidas repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How do you know I'm royalty?"

“The way you carry yourself, sir.”

He sighed and stared out the window, the first time he traveled across space. He gritted his teeth and thought.

What of his Spartans, his brothers? What would they think? Where were they?
In parts unknown, the Spartans stared at a screen in another part elsewhere.

 

[Domri Rade]

Domri's face contorted into a sneer once his eyes were set upon the wretched, metal abomination. Trains were one of the worst inventions mankind could have invented. Forests were endlessly decimated to lay down the track. Coal was continuously shoveled into the maw of the monster, pumping out carbon and blackening the sky. Strip mines hollowing out the earth to fulfill humanity's constant desire for more. Trains were truly the embodiment of how humanity has separated itself from the natural world. It was revolting. Nothing would make the beastmaster happier than to thrash the train and let nature take back what it is owed.

But the beastmaster’s pack wasn’t big enough to tackle such a beast, not big enough yet at least. The collar they shackled around his neck also served as a deterrent. ‘Obey,’ the collar commanded. ‘Behave.’ It was only a matter of time before the Carnival let Domri off his leash.

Money. It is always about money. Once the cameras turned on and the chaos broadcasted, Domri could do whatever he wanted. He could break, riot, and rage against the machine as long as the viewers enjoyed the show. That is exactly what he was going to give them. He would play along enacting violence and creating chaos for the show. However, once he gathers his beasties, he will come back and burn this eyesore to the ground.

---

The Jester’s announcement confirmed his suspicions. Heads will be rolling when they arrive at their destination. While it may only take a few hours, for Domri it would feel like an eternity. He was overstimulated. He was forced into this metal atrocity and collared like a pet. He needed a good fight to get his blood pumping, to let off some steam. The idea drove him crazy. Domri bit his fingernails to stubs and his legs jittered in his seat. The beastmaster slammed his palms onto the table in front of him. “I can’t take it!” he shouted, “I hate this!” punctuating his statement by slamming his fist down. Domri pushed himself up, out of his seat, and strode out of the first train car.

He continued to walk through the cars, the train bouncing and shoving him against the walls. The beastmaster had but one thought on his mind. V-I-O-L-E-N-C-E. He began to see red, but a familiar, faint squeal emanated from the car over. Domri rushed over, slamming the car door open. The car was filled with animals in stalls, each uneasy from the turbulence. The biggest whiner, however, was Tusker who squealed and hollered from across the room. Domri’s statured relaxed a bit and he let out a sigh.

“Oh, I hope the food was worth it, you dumbass. We both know you hate cages,” he mocked, a grin creeping onto his face.

The boar whined in response.

“Oh, right. Of course,” Domri nodded, his voice laden with insincere sympathy. “You totally don’t need me here, since you’re so tough. I guess I’ll just leave you to it.” The beastmaster shrugged and started walking to the door.

Tusker groaned in response, his feet stomping. Domri could hear the jingle of chains. His eyebrow furrowed in frustration, he couldn't leave his pal like this. “Those bastards cuffed you up too, huh? We’ll show them,” he strode to Tusker’s stall with purpose and opened the door.

“Let’s get these off of you.”

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

After being so enthusiastically ushered out from the barracks, Rebecca Chambers wandered between the various train cars, her steps muffled against the soft-carpeted floors as she went. She couldn't help but admire the ornate details of the old-world decor, her green eyes flitting from the embellished, gilt-encrusted ceiling to the lavish red velvet seats, drinking it all in.

Just like the train station from before, though, there were hints of much more modern tech, scattered hither and thither. Mahogany wood paneling and woven silk rugs blended near seamlessly with sleek LED lights and the gentle, trundling vibrations of a perfectly-crafted locomotive. Said locomotive boasted around twenty coaches, each furnished with a plethora of luxuries behind their frosted glass doors—from a fine dining car to a chic cocktail bar, private lounges, and even what appeared to be individual sleeping compartments.

Of course, Rebecca had scouted things out, and rather promptly discovered that the exit doors and windows refused to open. A security feature. Not the most comforting situation for a person like Rebecca, who'd seen her fair share of trouble whilst trapped inside the restrictive bounds of a train, but there was nothing for it.

Settling in one of the passenger cars—a cozy enough space indubitably designed with weary travelers in mind, judging by its plush, darkened interior—Rebecca found herself retreating into the comforting solitude it afforded her.

Free from the presence of other passengers in her immediate vicinity, the brown-haired woman allowed her head to lean back against the seat's embroidered upholstery, her eyes closing momentarily as she basked in the soft, rumbling purr of the train's engine. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the smooth metal collar that was tightly fastened around her neck, its black finish icy beneath her touch.

It was... unsettling, to say the least, akin to having a cold hand gripped around her throat. A reminder that she was a captive, of sorts.

Plus, she couldn't shake off the memory of the patch-faced man, Mahito, wearing an identical collar. An inhibitor, that was what Holmes had called it.

Rebecca feared that there wasn't much to inhibit, in her case.

Blinking her eyes open, her focus shifted to the world outside of the train, moving past in a lazy scroll of deep, enduring darkness, only broken occasionally by the distant glittering of stars. The frosted glass panes of the window framed an utterly breathtaking view of space—distant nebula, drifting space rubble, and other unnameable celestial objects twirling in the infinite black void. From time to time, Rebecca even caught a glimpse of her own reflection staring back at her, appearing just as lost in this vast emptiness as she felt.

Clutched snugly between her jittering knees, a drab olive-colored canvas bag stood out against the antique pomp and splendor of the passenger coach. The bold red cross emblazoned on its flap served as a constant, burning reminder of the medic's calling, even if she wasn't entirely sure about what lay ahead.

This bag was her one lifeline, currently, and Rebecca clung to it with a fervent energy that bordered on desperation. Inside were the essentials like MREs, bottled water, a compass, and a map. It also held two blister packs—each containing a single, solitary pill. One white, one black.

An ominous addition, no doubt.

But the medical supplies within—Rebecca's health sprays, sterile syringes, and two more pill bottles—were courtesy of Colonel Moran. Lifesavers in a literal sense. And holstered at her hip, as always, was the familiar weight of her S.T.A.R.S. custom Samurai Edge handgun—an old, trusted friend that had crossed realities alongside her.

Exhaustion finally tugged at the frayed edges of Rebecca's consciousness. Her forehead rested against the cool, hard glass of the windowpane as she began to drift off, her eyes growing half-lidded, tugging her down beneath the heavy veil of sleep.

 

[Elise]

All these things happening in the light of gently rumbling cars, evoking the halcyon days of rail travel, were a lovely thing for sure. But, elsewhere, at the back of the train, rattled the refrigeration car. There was no pithy banter here, no sweaty fumblings, nor cocktail repartee...only coldness and darkness. Perhaps it was fitting, or perhaps unfair, that this was the place where the containment vessel for Contestant Nineteen had been loaded. The polished, black cylinder stood there on the frosted floorboards, seemingly inert to the equally frozen wares around it.

That is, until three small lights configured into a triangle winked to life on the face of the container. There was a hiss of steam as the vessel vented its atmosphere into the hoary air. A cloud of steam backlit by a rose-red nimbus spilled from the opening black door, not unlike some dread sarcophagus calling its occupant back to the world. And indeed, therein stood a silhouette, bottom heavy, dressed in slacks and a sailor's scarf. A single, wooden pipe probed forth from the roiling cloud, and with it, the first hint of life within the frigid car.

Toooooo-oooot

There was a sudden jostle as the train hit a switch, and Popeye was sent tumbling arse-over-teakettle along the icy floor in a rolling series of 'oofs', 'yipes', and 'arfs'. He eventually skidded to a halt, chin first, into the door at the front of the car, and slowly picked himself up. Groggy he was, and not a little confused to boot, as he brushed off his black shirt and squinted around in the darkness.

It was at that moment that a can of Spinach was forcibly ejected from the containment pod with a petulant 'kerpop', and clonked the Sailorman right upside his noggin. You'd better believe the poor guy had all matter of stars and twisters spinning off of his dome.

"Whoa!" he croaked as he went tumbling back down to his chin, "...uyyyy. Think I oughts ta' upgrade me ticket..."

He did pocket that can o' spinach, of course, after righting himself once again and taking stock of the situation. Looks like that white-masked wiseguy had seen fit to try and keelhaul him into the freezer car after gettin' his mooks to jump him. That would also explain this weird metal collar around his skinny neck, probably but...you know, old Popeye didn't really see that as a problem at the moment, so he chose not to worry about it.

"Gawrshk, I guessk if the egg is on me face, this must be the yoke, arf!" Popeye chuckled, trying to loosen the iron shackle into a more comfortable position. So that was it huh? Thought they could force a sailorman into their crew did they? Well, he would certainly be eager to re-edjumacate them about all of that! But then again...say...maybe this choo-choo had a place for him to chew?

"Right...hot dogs foist, then I'll shows 'em what I think o' this Death Game businessk." he hiccuped.

And, with that, he cranked the refigerator door open with a single twist and marched towards...yeah, towards the front of the train. He deduced this by looking out a crack in the car connecter and at the sky beyond.

"Gawrshk, musta got pretty late whiles I was nappin'. Youz can see the whole Milk Maid ups there in the sky." Popeye grumbled to himself. He was, of course, mistaking the appropriate term for the night-sky sight known as the 'Milky Way', but since the sailorman was medium stupid, he called it something completely different. This is going to happen a lot, so please orient yourself with this fact quickly, thank you.

So after staring at the Milk Maid for a few moments, he kept a-marching his way up the train through a couple'o freight cars before reaching the livestock car. You sure could smell it before you even knew what you were stepping into, that's for sure, and what he was stepping into was a lot of straw and manure. The sailorman looked down dissaprovingly at his galoshes with a grunt, but didn't fret it too much. Besides, it looked like there was another one of those contestants hangin' out in this car, if the metal necklace chokin' his adams apple was anything to go by.

The grungy kid seemed to be trying to get some hairy lookin' pig out of its restraints, not that it was any of Popeye's business. But hey, we're here, so...

"That's a weird lookin' dog; does he bite?" the Sailorman growled, chewing on his pipe thoughtfully. He continued to march up the car menacingly, arms swinging heavily, but that was sort of normal for him.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

Content Warning: Leeches.​

Curled against the ice-crusted pane of the window, Rebecca's eyes slowly slipped shut, her breaths growing deep and even as the train's soothing motion gently rocked her into a doze.

Yet soon enough, her sleep grew restless, troubled. Her body twisted and turned in her seat, her teeth gritting together as her breaths quickened, her brow crinkling in distress as memories replayed behind her eyelids, flickering like the shutter of an old movie projector.

Once again, Rebecca was cast into a nightmare.

Gone was the comfort of the passenger car on the Carnivale's transport; instead, she found herself standing at the center of an opulent dining car—a tainted, blood-stained echo of the doomed Ecliptic Express, complete with crumpled napkins, rolling wine bottles, and abandoned plates of half-eaten food strewn across tables shrouded by fluttering white tablecloths.

Chandeliers made of gold hung low from the ceiling, their sparkling crystalline teardrops casting a sickly orange glow over the space, the light dimming and buzzing with every trundling motion of the train car. Fine china plates clattered and rolled about, their shattered remains spraying over the sumptuous scarlet rug blanketing the floor. An overpowering stench of acrid, spoiled wine hung thick in the air, intermingling with the coppery odor of stale blood, the ominous, rust-colored stains seeping into the brocade drapes and tasseled curtains lining the windows on either side of the carriage.

Crnn-cchh.

Rebecca froze up, her green eyes shooting wide. She looked down to see fragments of white ceramic scattered on the ground, crunching beneath the soles of her boots.

This isn't right, she thought wildly, her gloved hands trembling. No, no... that's not how it's meant go. It didn't happen like this before!

Slowly, as if moving through a vat of thick molasses, Rebecca's head lifted. She felt paralyzed, unable to move or even breathe; a sick twinge of dread squirming inside her gut that was so devastatingly strong it kept her utterly rooted to the spot.

Emerging from the shadows at the opposite end of the dining car, what had appeared to be a blot of mere darkness fused together into a humanoid shape, lurching towards her with slow, squelching steps, the figure's limbs oozing a trail of glistening, viscous slime in its wake. Its movements were unsettling fluid—instead of bone and muscle, it appeared to consist of a squirming mass of slick, ebony bodies that could stretch and contort at will, advancing towards her like a nightmarish puppet, fish-belly white eyes bulging out from its false skull, writhing and throbbing in a nauseating manner.

And then, just like the nightmare she'd lived through once before, the thing launched itself at her—its false skin undulating like a gruesome, bulbous balloon, breaking apart from the crown of its head to its groin and spilling outward in a flood of hissing, swarming leeches.

They slithered up her legs as Rebecca stumbled backwards in surprise, their tiny, saw-like teeth piercing her flesh with each bite, stinging rivulets of pain searing through her. Even as she shrieked and tried to swipe them off of her, their slippery bodies clung to her skin and the fabric of her uniform like a seething torrent of sticky, inky black, attempting to engulf her in their mass, suffocating and drowning her in a sea of leeches.

She thrashed and screamed as the leeches swarmed faster with her frantic movements, hundreds of little mouths burrowing deeper into her skin, their wriggling, icy-cold bodies multiplying—covering every inch of her body until she was completely swallowed up by the relentless, bloodthirsty tide.

Gradually, her world grew murky, the faint yellow light from the chandeliers blinking out like dying stars, consumed by the pitch-dark ocean of leeches. The pain grew dimmer, the train car around her colder, a numbing, oh-so-comfortable darkness threatening to drag her under...

Rebecca snapped awake with a harsh, spluttering gasp, her entire body jerking upright in her seat, heart pounding like a jackhammer inside her chest. Her hand shot out, fingers fumbling for the reassuring grip of her Samurai Edge, but instead grasped onto the cool, frosted surface of the window next to her, leaving sweaty, jumbled smears of condensation on the reinforced glass.

Sweat trickled from her brow as she frantically scanned the darkened passenger car, her sharp, panicked breaths the only sound in the otherwise deathly silent coach. But, no—she was alone still, the lingering fragments of the night terror already fading fast from her mind, the soundless expanse of outer space slowly wheeling past the window, completely indifferent to her plight.

Heaving a shaky sigh that was as much a release of tension as a genuine expression of relief, Rebecca sank back against her seat, her brain too awash with anxiety to chance another attempt at sleep.

She should've known better than to try it, anyway.

Yet even as she caught her breath, the nightmare still clung to Rebecca's thoughts like a shroud, and quite abruptly, she didn't feel very secure anymore; quite a feat, considering she didn't feel super safe in the first place! The coziness and relative luxury of the passenger coach's interior served only as a cold comfort to her nerves, doing precious little to assuage her lingering unease.

With a soft huff, Rebecca stood from her seat on shaky legs, glancing around at her immediate surroundings with an intensity drummed into her from years of training with the BSAA.

Might as well take a look around, considering she was certainly wide fucking awake, now.

Setting out, Rebecca's boots thumped against the carpeted floor with every step, echoing dully as she moved with her head down, her olive-colored canvas bag slung over one shoulder and one hand trailing near the holstered gun at her hip. As she made her way towards the back of the train, occasionally hearing muffled voices and clattering from behind closed doors, the swanky decorations eventually gave way to a more bland, utilitarian space that didn't hold any trace of fluff or luxury whatsoever: the cargo compartment.

With a deep, rusted groan and a little elbow grease, the door to the cargo compartment slowly ground open. Hundreds of dust particles drifted in the thin, yellowish stream of light pouring in through the narrow opening, revealing a host of largely empty shelves and barren walls. A sharp contrast to the lavish cars she had just left behind.

Slipping inside the car on silent feet, Rebecca wrinkled her nose at the thick, musty odor that suffused the compartment's interior, hinting at traces of old leather, mold, and severe neglect. Her eyes adjusting to the dimness just enough to discern a light switch, she flicked it on—the single bulb hanging overhead casting gloomy, dancing shadows across rows upon rows of empty, gunmetal grey shelving units, swinging just slightly with the train's movement.

A solitary metal bin, shoved to a dark corner of the room, caught her eye. It was littered with what appeared to be the abandoned belongings of previous passengers—a collection of mismatched bags and parcels, including a tattered duffel bag, a hard-shell suitcase with a broken zipper, and various other pieces of luggage that looked like they hadn't been touched in actual years.

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Rebecca approached the bin, her hands—clad in fingerless gloves—reaching for the first bag. Her fingertips slid along the worn, frayed seams and the cold metal clasps, tracing the faded fabric patterned with red, yellow and off-white garden flowers accompanied by leafy vines. Upon opening the bag, however, she found that it was... well, empty.

"Of course," muttered Rebecca, shaking her head a little at her own cluelessness. A small smile tugged at her lips, a humbled glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "They wouldn't just... leave things in here, now would they? That would be too easy."

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers.
PREVIOUS LOCATION: Miscellaneous passenger car.
CURRENT OR DESIRED LOCATION: Cargo compartment on the train.
ACTION(S): Rebecca is investigating the abandoned luggage of past passengers, but will also scout the room in general.
FOCUS COUNT: 3/3

 

[The Man in Red]

Lucky Break​

The cargo cars of the train were clearly tread only rarely. There were things scattered among the old luggage and forgotten items of past passengers that looked ancient, as if they'd been left to languish in obscurity and gather dust for years, while others seemed only a week or two present at most. A truly eclectic and bizarre assortment of old suitcases, backpacks, duffel bags, and even an old plastic trash or grocery bag or three. It was a strange sight, to be certain, especially when compounded with the myriad different garments and leftover articles of clothing hung up on shelves and racks further into the car.

There seemed precious little of any value or substance left among everything. Certainly plenty of misplaced clothes and personal trinkets. Someone's long lost phone, a worrying number of sets of keys, a few mostly empty wallets, a positively silly number of top hats and single gloves. A lavishly and beautifully embroidered waistcoat. A scattering of the uniforms and jumpsuits of the Carnivale employees, and a display rack containing over a dozen of their eerie masks, in many different styles and emotional facial depictions. Digging through the car enough however, a few things stood out rather starkly from the rest.

A gleaming, reinforced attache case, the name once engraved on its nameplate worn away by a combination of dust and being jostled around for who knows how long. Contained within there were several empty magazines for a handgun, a whetstone, a few neatly folded pairs of clothes, technical manuals for police and security operations, an encrypted PDA or similar device, and a glasses case containing a dark, gleaming mirrored pair of sunglasses.

A haggard looking case fraying at its edges, only one of its buckles working, the stenciling on its nametag having long worn away to nothing'. Within the case there were piles of electronic and technical gizmos and gadgetry, bundles of wires, a battered old laptop, several grubby looking changes of clothes, a labcoat, gloves, some programming manuals and technical documents on AI development.

A much more pristinely kept and managed suitcase, a heavy engraving on the handle bearing the initials 'H.S.' Kept within several neatly folded changes of clothes, two
glasses cases (only one of which still contained the glasses), a spare labcoat, a pair of long forearm covering gloves, manuals on psychology and profiling methods. The most noteworthy thing among it all however were two items: a dark red folder bearing the embossed symbol of a comedy mask and bearing the words 'Carnivale Rosa: New Employree Orientation", along with a smaller notebook simply labeled 'Site Seven Documentation'.

 

[King Shark]

Stitch sat alone. The compartment was plain but not uncomfortable, but it felt oversized; it was hard not to notice how much smaller he was than the other competitors, and the world that surrounded him. He was reminded rather unpleasantly of those small dogs divas toted around in little purses like accessories, and tried to shake the feeling that he had been built in mini when the world was decidedly jumbo.

Traveling made him feel pangs. It was an everyday occurrence that he swooned for the comforts of home; not a day went by when he didn’t remember warm sun, tunes singing out from the chords of ukulele strings, and good Hawaiian cooking. Oh, how he missed Hawaiian cooking. Try as he might, he’d never been able to touch the flavors, and there was nothing in the Crossroads that quite compared to his memory. He could practically smell suckling pig, and it was hard not to think about that outlandish man’s pig-beast. They were on the train, and wouldn’t it be so nice to just roast that sucker and give that combination of flavors another shot?

Was that nostalgia, or was there really just nothing like Hawaiian cooking in the Crossroads? Sugarcane and pineapple, a pig roasted whole hog on a spit over an open fire, and the most sensational blend of tropical fruits brought to life by their pairing with the blander flavors of ordinary beans. When things died down and the night took its hold over the beach and you could suck the juice of the melon right down to the rind while you listened to a tale by firelight? That was tops.

And here he was, body slack in a jumper, hurtling through space into the unknown destination. He had his suspicions that it wasn’t going to be sunlight and campfires. Stitch did, in fact, have a sneaking suspicion that where he was going the comforts of a campfire might actually provide little comfort at all. He wished he’d packed heavier. Lightly furred as he was, he thought of the few frigid winters he’d endured, and couldn’t help but err on the side of deep suspicion.

The train hurtled through conditions. Space was familiar to him, but the further they traveled, the weirder the spectacle he observed through the windows seemed to become. Space wasn’t supposed to have weather. It was supposed to be the void. So, why was shit popping off out there? He’d seen rain and lightning, and he could’ve sworn that he had swallowed an eyeful of snow in those big ol’ lumps of coal that served as his eyes. He could be imaginative, but those flakes as big as marshmallows looked pretty real from where he was sitting.

Stitch’s ears folded back. He felt the hackles on the back of his neck raise and travel down his spine, prickling the back of his jumper. This was the hard part. When he was alone and idle it was easy to think, and when it was easy to think it was easy to remember. He wasn’t here to think of Hawaii, he was here to pursue it with dogged determination until he crossed the threshold of the portal that would take him back to a home long past where he didn’t have to live in a foreign land whose worlds were built to burn.

He hated it here. He was ready to pull the very seams of this universe apart until he ripped the hole open that would take him back to her.

Feeling itchy again, Stitch reached towards his empty waist and wished for plasma blasters. His little blue fist balled then unfurled, hungry for something to grab, be it weapon or lever or unguarded throat.

Outside of his compartment he’d seen some competitors sweep by.

A strong chin preceded a man with forearms built like tumors; he staggered by, muttering in a way that made the non-native common incomprehensible to Stitch.

Shortly thereafter a woman with a furtive gaze crept past him, looking contemplative. She didn’t even notice he was in his compartment. He took some comfort in that, and wondered how someone so sneaky could make herself so noticeable.

Stitch hopped up on his seat and stretched all six of his limbs, then straightened his antennae in a pawing, grooming stroke.

Maybe none of them would notice him. That could be ideal, even. If he went forgotten, it would be easy enough to loot their packs, poison their weird pig companions, eat their spinach, and steal their shoes.

Where they were going, he was pretty sure they’d need shoes. It wouldn’t hurt to have twenty extra pairs.
Stitch rearranged the constricting collar around his neck, grimacing. The collar protested with a warning ‘BEEP’, and he stopped touching it abruptly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d worn something like this, though it was the first time he’d found himself so aware of it. This wasn’t one he’d be able to slip out of and skate out into the stars. This one was part of his ticket.

He couldn’t be sure of the others, but they seemed listless, like they’d come here searching for something, and that some of them weren’t even sure of what that thing was.

At least he knew what he was after.

He sat back down and shifted restlessly, swinging his legs, then drumming the claws at the tips of his fingers on the window.

The sooner this train ride was over, the better. There was a world of discovery out there, and he was feeling motivated to carve a path of indiscriminate and wanton problem solving from here to the end of the road, and pluck his prize from the end of the path.

Every single thing he could make his mark on along the way would be feathers in his cap. Heck, maybe he could even find a good cap. Once the train came to a stop, anyway.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

In the steady orange-gold glow of the dining car's gently swaying chandeliers, a blonde-haired woman and a young girl engaged in an animated bout of Go Fish. Colonel Sebastian Moran's ordinarily stern countenance softened as she watched her diminutive opponent seated across from her, whose laughter tinkled like the silvery chime of a bell against the backdrop of the star-studded void looming just outside the window.

"Go Fish!" the little girl grinned, her rose-tinted eyes sparkling with impish mirth as Sebastian grumbled quite theatrically and drew yet another card from the center of their table, adding it to her hand. The last card from the "ocean."

"Very well," Seb replied with a touch of good humor, chewing thoughtfully on the starchy toothpick jutting out from the corner of her mouth. Her own eyes crinkled up at the corners beneath the shadow of her peaked cap's visor. "Your turn, then."

Simmering down a little, the girl studied her hand with great seriousness, her small fingers tracing the painted symbols on the silky, shiny white cardstock. "Hmm! Do you have a... queen?"

Seb pursed her lips, her icy gaze flickering over her hand of cards. Slowly, she handed her sole remaining queen over. "Indeed, I do."

With a triumphant whoop, the young girl gathered her winnings—a pile of candied chestnuts resting inside a nearby scalloped glass dish—her bluish hair flouncing with every wobble of her head. "I have four of a kind! Again!"

Glancing down at the table, Moran marveled at the fact that she had, indeed, managed to collect quite a few books, just a tad more than Moran's own.

Drat.

Leaning back in her chair and slinging one leg over the other, Moran applauded lightly, a mellow chuckle escaping her. "Well done! I must say, young miss, you are quite the formidable opponent..."

The girl giggled and reached out to reshuffle the cards haphazardly, her eyes darting around the table. "Again!" she said, her voice a sugary rush of expectation; muffled slightly by a mouthful of candied chestnuts. She glanced up at Moran with the sort of exuberance only a child, or those who were still children at heart, could possess.

And, well. Who could say no to a precious face like that, truly?

 

[Gizmo Gear]

Travis then got another glass on his table, the same thing he ordered before.

“What the Hell I didn’t ask for”

“It’s the courtesy of that young lady over there,” the bartender said.

He then turned he raised an eyebrow at the beautiful young woman. The mix of white hair and brown hair made her look exotic. She was quite a looker. Though of course, he’s now a married man. And he may be an asshole but he’s a loyal asshole.

He then turned away from her and took a sip from his drink. Savoring it.

“You know if I didn’t know any better I would think that you would be trying to get me shitfaced on purpose. To get info out of me, to kill me before the games start, or even just to throw me off my game, but who am I to turn down a gift from a lady? I am a gentleman after all.” Travis said.

He then takes another sip from the glass.

“Though if you have a thing for me I hate to inform you but I am a married man so don’t get any funny ideas.” before taking another sip.

"Don't worry Sugah, ah'm not playing any games just yet. Ah think there are two sorts of people who start drinking alone right before a lot of killing starts. The ones expecting they're about to be killed, and the ones expecting they're about to do a lot of killing. In either case, seemed like you could do with more than a single drink." Rogue responded.

“A Southern Belle eh? Well you’re right I am expected to do a lot of killing, I am an assassin after all. And why do a job that I don’t love doing?” Travis said.

“Ah’m hoping of course that doesn’t include me on your little hit list,” Rogue said.

“Nah, I wasn’t hired to kill anyone here and you haven’t given me a reason to. I was recruited and joined for my reasons. Though of course I’ll probably be forced to kill a few people if I get into a fight or they get in my way. Might have to kill some animals too if this is one of those wilderness survival-type things. However, that doesn’t mean I won’t spare a few if they don’t deserve it,” Travis said.

“Do you ever get tired of it? Killing people I mean?” Rogue asked.

“For a while I did, tried to get away from it all but it always comes back to bite me. You see this guy, Bad Man, I killed his daughter once long ago and he came for revenge, but then we discovered a way to bring her back so I agreed to help him out so he wouldn’t kill me and I wouldn’t kill him.” Travis said.

“Now why did you go and kill her in the first place?” Rogue asked.

“Well, I got caught up in this assassin association where people killed others for the chance to be number one. She was ranked number two and I wanted to be number one. Granted when I first met her she was a real crazy bitch. Batting BDSM people to death like it was nothing while chugging down beers. It was like putting down a rabid Chihuahua,” Travis explained.

He then took another sip of his drink before he remembered Bad Man.

“And yeah it worked, Bad Girl didn’t turn out to be such a bad girl after all. Just got caught in a shitty situation that made her into a psychopath. Though years later there was this alien invasion led by this bastard named Fu. He came to me for a fight and instead ripped one of my friend’s arms off and then ripped Bad Man’s head off. Bad Girl didn’t take it so well and of course, I didn’t either,” Travis said.

“Your life sure sounds complicated sugah, trust me though I can relate. Mah life is as weird as they come,” Rogue said.

“Well then cheers to our fucked up lives, and to delving into the Garden of Madness,” Travis said.

Holding their drinks up they drank in unison as Travis finally finished his drink and let out another relieved sigh. Before setting the glass down. He then decides to hang out here for a while. Instead of going back to his room. Might meet more interesting folk.

 

[Shinku]

As the speakers fell silent and the screens displayed the logo of Carnivale Rosa, Elise's curiosity piqued. She watched intently as the image shifted to reveal a cheerful, smiling face introducing herself as Kamilla, the temporary host. Elise couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of what was to come.

When Kamilla announced that it was time to board the train, Elise felt a rush of adrenaline. She followed the other contestants as they made their way to the platform, marveling at the luxurious train that awaited them. It was like stepping into a bygone era of elegance and sophistication, yet with all the modern comforts and conveniences one could desire.

Finding herself aboard the train, Elise wandered through the various cars, taking in the opulence and grandeur of her surroundings. She couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the thought of the journey that lay ahead. With each passing moment, her excitement grew, knowing that the competition was about to truly begin.

As the train ride commenced, Elise found herself drawn to the windows, eager to catch a glimpse of the passing scenery. For the first hour, she watched in wonder as distant stars and nebulae flickered in the darkness outside. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that filled her with a sense of wonder and awe.

As the weather began to worsen, Elise's excitement only grew. She knew that the true challenge was about to begin, and she was ready to face it head-on. With determination in her heart, she prepared herself for whatever lay ahead, hoping everything would go well for her.

As she looked around, her eyes widened slightly as she recognized an imposing figure seated nearby. It was Leonidas, the Spartan King whom she had encountered earlier in the prep level of the contest building. She remembered their brief interaction and his formidable presence.

Summoning her courage, Elise made her way over to where Leonidas sat, the clinking of her armor echoing softly in the luxurious train car. With a respectful nod, she greeted him.

"Good to see you again, Leonidas," she said, her voice steady despite the nervousness coursing through her veins. "This is quite a magnificent train isn't it?"

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

The soft hum of the train's engine and the steady, swaying rhythm of the tracks beneath her rumbled through Rebecca as she knelt on the floor of the cargo compartment, her finds spread out around her. Her greenish-brown eyes were fixated on the sleek, reinforced attache case in particular, her hands still trembling where they had flicked its latch open.

It held no visible markings or discernible labels, covered in a fine layer of dust that indicated quite a long period of disuse, but Rebecca knew. Oh, she knew.

Nestled innocuously inside the padded interior of the case, the sight of the empty magazines for a handgun—designed for 9mm Parabellum rounds—immediately snagged the woman's attention. They were the very same caliber as her own trusty Samurai Edge. Not completely outside of the realm of mere coincidence, but—

But the PDA with the S.T.A.R.S. emblem on the back was no accident, she was sure. No fickle whim of fate.

Shaking so hard that she had to actually focus on steadying her arm, Rebecca's fingers fumbled for the on button. Despite its age, the PDA powered on with a soft whir, greeting her with a 'Welcome back, Captain' message, the soft illumination cast by the electronic display reflecting in the watery depths of her eyes, painting her features in a sickly, greenish glow.

Rebecca went completely, utterly still. A shudder ran up her spine like a phantom's touch, all the fine hairs at the nape of her neck standing sharply on end, as she stared down at the device like it was a snake poised to bite her.

"What...?" she choked out, her voice wavering from disbelief. "No, no... there's no way. No way."

She attempted to access it. Password protected. It was a dead end for now, but the mere existence of it here was... it was...

Shaking her head roughly to dispel any catastrophic thinking, Rebecca rifled through the rest of the contents of the case. The dark clothing folded within was of little interest to her, nothing in the pockets whatsoever when she dug through them. The manuals were a bit of a curiosity—refreshers on how to interact with the public in emergencies, security protocols, police regulations that were at least a decade old.

But most damning of all were the sunglasses, the tiny 'pop' of the case they were inside being opened echoing in the profound stillness of the shadowy train car. The lenses were dark, coated in a fine mirrored finish that suggested they were designed for more than just protection from the sun.

Though lightly scratched, they held no identifying marks, but all of that simply didn't matter, because Rebecca recognized them instantly.

Or, rather, who they belonged to.

"Wesker," she breathed.

Just speaking the name felt like sacrilege. In her native universe, Wesker had been dead for five long years, the nightmare that had haunted the remnants of S.T.A.R.S. finally over.

An indescribable horror built within Rebecca's chest upon realizing that she was in a universe that housed Dr. Albert Wesker, her mind spiraling into an icy vortex of fear. Was he... still alive? How did his things come to be here? Did he know that she was here? Rebecca hadn't exactly been cautious in her work with the Crossroads' many academic institutions... publishing her research, speaking at conferences, teaching classes...

Her heart raced, her body flushing both hot and cold as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her chest hurt, blooming with a ghostly, bone-cracking pain that hadn't been truly felt in years.

She needed to calm the hell down. Center her thoughts. She'd come back to this. She would. She just... needed a moment.

A very long moment.

Tearing her gaze away from the belongings of what must have been her former, treacherous Captain, Rebecca turned to the haggard, fraying case. Upon opening it—mindful of the damaged buckles—she found that it was a veritable treasure trove of electronic components and tools. Things that would be invaluable to someone with the right technical expertise, but certainly not her.

Not one to be sidelined, however, Rebecca browsed through the technical manuals within, flipping through their pages, her brows furrowing at the complexity of the subjects they covered. Thankfully, there were a few more basic tutorials in there, scattered amidst highly specialized artificial intelligence development documents...

Gently stacking them together, Rebecca carefully set the manuals aside. She'd need to review them later, for sure.

The battered old laptop, like the PDA, was locked... but it turned on, too. Two accounts, Rebecca noted. The skull profile image of one hinted at someone with a definite flair for the dramatic... or perhaps the morbid.

Next came the pristine suitcase, marked with the initials 'H.S.' It was... meticulously organized. So much so that Rebecca almost hesitated to disturb its contents. The glasses within were an oddity, a tad eccentric in style—pince-nez with a reflective finish. And in the pockets of the lab coat was a legal pad, with a list of names she recognized from the Carnivale Rosa's records, alongside various scrawled notes.

Curiouser and curiouser, thought Rebecca, her eyes darting about behind her glasses.

The new employee orientation folder was a glimpse into the organization she'd been captured by, though it was fairly dated. A 'Doctor Strange' was mentioned inside—a name that conjured images of... well... certainly not a very trustworthy medical professional, but maybe it was just a particularly unfortunate surname. The Site Seven notebook was a real goldmine, though. It detailed security protocols and measures with precision and clarity, even providing passwords for some... enigmatic facility.

For a moment, Rebecca just sat there with various documents piled atop her lap, absorbing the weight of the information in her hands. She was a doctor, a scientist—not a spy or a sleuth. Yet here she was, knee-deep in what seemed to be a very distressing mystery that struck a liiiiittle too close to home.

Fortunately, Rebecca knew just the person for the job.

Climbing to her feet and dusting off her cargo capris, Rebecca raised one hand at the assortment of objects in a, quite frankly, wildly unnecessary 'stay' gesture. Then, she darted for the still-cracked door, her slight form bursting back out into the opulent corridor, the door swinging shut behind her with a resounding thud.

She had scarcely taken a few steps before she collided with someone, the impact accompanied by a muffled 'oomphf!' from both parties.

Rebecca staggered backwards, dazed, and looked up to see the very man she'd been seeking—Sherlock Holmes.

He looked down at her in mild bemusement, his piercing green eyes sparkling under the brim of his brown deerstalker cap. His long coat billowed slightly as the train chugged along, the blue-lensed goggles perched atop his hat glinting in the wavering light.

I still don't know what those whacky things are for, thought Rebecca, feeling a little deranged.

"Mr. Holmes," she panted, her chest heaving as she desperately fought to catch her breath. The woman braced a hand against the wall to steady herself, her words tumbling out all in a rush. "Detective—I need your help."

One of Sherlock's eyebrows arched, his gaze immediately sharp and assessing. "Dr. Chambers," he began, sounding considerably calmer than Rebecca felt. "You're pale as a ghost! What has you in such a state?"

Feeling tired and sick to her stomach, Rebecca sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, then forced herself to speak.

"I found some... things in the cargo car. Back there," she gestured behind her, at the cracked door. "I... I think they could tell us what's about to happen to us, potentially. Or provide some clues that might help us out later on. Someone from my universe was here, Mr. Holmes, and he—"

Sherlock's interest was visibly galvanized as he leaned in, his green eyes flitting to the cargo compartment's door, which swung and creaked slightly on its hinges.

"And," he murmured, tobacco pipe suddenly and quite inexplicably in hand, tapping its stem against his lips. "You believe the presence of these items might reveal something about the overarching machinations of the Carnivale Rosa."

Rebecca nodded frantically, her green eyes flying up to meet his. "Exactly. I think there's much more to this competition than we realize, Mr. Holmes. But I'm going to need your help to figure out what that is. There's... quite a few documents and password-encrypted devices. Do you know anything about cracking codes?"

With an unreadable expression, Sherlock appraised her for a long, heart-stopping moment in which Rebecca feared he might nonsensically decline. Then, a small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, and all was well again.

"Dr. Chambers, your intuition is commendable," the detective complimented her, sweeping into a theatrical bow. "I would be remiss not to aid a fellow intellectual in the pursuit of truth... and indeed, I have dabbled in deciphering codes, as you so eloquently put it. Lead on."

Relief washed over Rebecca in an actual palpable wave, her shoulders slumping beneath its weight. "Thank you. I have a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get on this one, though..."

With Rebecca in the lead, the pair returned to the cargo compartment, stepping inside the darkened space. Everything was just as Rebecca had left it—the musty air undisturbed, the opened cases still in their proper places, Rebecca's footprints trailing in the dust around them. She hadn't ventured very far, after all.

"Here," said Rebecca, crouching beside the assorted items, gesturing with a hand. "I have the laptop set up here, and this... this PDA. As you can see, they're password-protected. I thought that perhaps the manuals or documents scattered around might have a clue, but... I'm afraid I'm a bit stumped."

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sherlock Holmes.
CURRENT LOCATION: Cargo compartment on the train.
ACTION(S): Rebecca is attempting to drag Holmes into her investigation of the items she's found, hoping that he might be able to assist.
FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below.

LOOTING SUMMARY:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA.
• Sunglasses.
• Voltage checkers.
• Battered old laptop.
• Programming manuals.
• Technical AI documents.
• Pince-nez style glasses.
• Legal pad (Carnivale contestants' names listed).
• Psychology manuals.
• Site Seven notebook.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Mahito kicked back lazily in his seat, still fidgeting with hardly contained energy but feeling slightly more capable of holding it in now that he knew the contestants were on their way to the illustrious Death Game. With so many people stuck in a confined area, he really did wish that he could let loose here and now, but the show runners had wisely decided to keep him fully suppressed right up until the last moment. It was a real pain in the ass, even beyond not being able to kill anyone. The curse would have loved the opportunity to transfigured himself to scope out the competition with a tad more grace than he had as a stitch-faced man.

When the jester came on the screen, he watched with minimal interest right up until she mentioned that the Man in Red himself had joined the festivities for whatever reason. Instantly perking up, Mahito glanced around for the bastard who had put him in this situation in the first place before steadying himself, slumping back down in his seat with a wicked smile. He didn’t need to know where the Man was right now, in fact it was better to wait for his opportunity. All he needed to know is that he was here, and that he’d get his when the time came.

Waiting less than patiently for the game to begin, Mahito tried to amuse himself by watching the antics of his fellow passengers and occasionally glancing out the windows. He didn’t know much at all about space, but it was a weird sight to look outside of a train and see it. It got even weirder when fog and lightning enveloped the train, obscuring the inky void from sight. The curse was pretty sure that you didn’t get storms in space, but then again what did he know? Maybe space storms were a real common sight around these parts. His idle musing was interrupted when one particular individual threw a tantrum and stormed off into another train car, evidently just as sick of waiting as Mahito himself.

“Yeah, I feel that.” the curse chuckled to himself before hopping out of his seat and trailing behind the savage man, though not before a particularly gruff individual with abnormally large forearms went to ask about his ‘dog’. Mahito glanced around the cattle car, wondering what the Death Game needed with so many caged animals. More caged animals than the contestants, that is. With a shrug, the curse slipped into one of the animal stalls, his sound masked by the cacophony around him.

A couple of chickens were understandably upset by the intrusion, but only slightly more than they had been moments ago, so nothing seemed particularly amiss in the car. Mahito didn’t particularly care for animals, he would hardly hesitate to kill one if he needed to, but it simply wasn’t as fun as killing a person. Far less emotional weight. Settling in, he eavesdropped on the conversation happening nearby, curious to see what the brutish youth’s deal was. From first impressions alone, he seemed like the simple and violent type.

In another word: fun!

 

[Christopher Chaos]

Shadow the Hedgehog remained quiet, even as the rumbling of the train got louder and louder. He’d spent most of his time in the barracks observing the antics of the little blue one — Stitch, maybe? — and found himself utterly flabbergasted by it.

Where was that creature’s sense of purpose? Yes, it reveled in chaos, bouncing around the room creating all sorts of mischief and eating whatever slightly-edible thing it could get its hands on, and that was, in some ways, worthwhile in a competition like this. Keep your enemies guessing, and they’ll never know when you were going to come at them — or, more importantly, how. Shadow had grander designs than that, though. He wanted to control the chaos, to bring it to heel in his own design.

So for now, he had to remove himself from it. Already people were yelling and storming into other cars, and that type of energy wouldn’t serve anyone at the beginning of this venture. No; he hadn’t been alive for long, but he could already see an advantage in not being one of the most loud, raucous competitors on the train.

Domri Rade had gone one way, so Shadow went the other. He’d watched as several of the other contestants, too, had made their way through the different cars, but one in particular caught his eye: the strangely buxom woman who had assisted Stitch in his flooding of the barracks.

He slipped through the door of the compartment he’d started in. He was not altogether trying to hide, but he was small, so he did harbor the hope that his exit would mostly go unnoticed. He maneuvered through the cars, passing some private compartments, hearing the gentle snores of a contestant or two. An attempt at rest before the event proper began. How quaint.

Who needs sleep when you’re the ultimate lifeform?

He’d rather quickly lost Tia’s trail — all he could tell was that she was heading toward the front of the train. Shadow gave pursuit as surreptitiously as he could, sliding open the door from the diner car and entering the next compartment: first class.

The first class car was lavish beyond belief, with stylish, velvety-red curtains and huge, plush couches instead of chairs. Shadow supposed that this car was intended only for the host of their festivities — since he was apparently joining them — and his most special guests, but the Man In Red was nowhere to be found. The compartment was, as it were, totally empty. The hedgehog smirked at the opportunity to go carte blanche on the rich and famous, but once again, found his burden of purpose tugging at him.

Yes, yes, he didn’t know for what purpose he’d been brought into the Crossroads yet, but he knew that he’d been brought here for something more extraordinary than being a thief. He’d been sent to the Death Game to be tested — that’s what the Cytokine doctor had said, right? To test his abilities.

But test them how? And for what?

He grunted a bit in frustration and crossed his arms, glancing at the window to the next compartment. The next car held the train’s fuel supply, and further down he finally saw Tia, absolutely throwing herself at the train’s driver. “Fool,” he muttered to himself, continually confused by humanoids and their strangely primal urges, “she’s going to make him crash the train.”

Shadow moved toward the edge of the train compartment, placing his hand close to the knob that would lead him into the next car. He paused for a moment, though, glancing at Tia through two sets of windows.

These humans… their baser urges were primal, yes, but he could also see the advantage. If whatever ruse she was constructing worked, the conductor of the train would be at her will. How… intriguing that she’d immediately gone for the top. Shadow glanced back at the lavish furnishings of this haven for the competition’s upper echelons, and a thought immediately struck him.

He was the ultimate lifeform. He didn’t need money or fame to prove that — he could do it on his abilities alone. But the others on this train… they weren’t so lucky. They were peons next to his might, and so it didn’t escape him that they might’ve smuggled in some additives to help themselves. Futile, of course, but a worthwhile effort that he’d commend them for, nevertheless. They’d be smart to try and bring some extras on board to help them when the time came for bloodshed. And the people in this compartment… the rich and powerful… they’d have access to the best of the best.

Perhaps it would behoove him to take a look.

PARTY MEMBERS: Shadow the Hedgehog.
CURRENT LOCATION: First class car on the train.
ACTION(S): Shadow is going to poke around the first class cabin looking for anything useful.
FOCUS COUNT: 1/1
INVENTORY: Survival Gear.

 

[Domri Rade]

The cattle car was disgusting. Each slot was separated by thick metal bars, squeezing the animals shoulder to shoulder. This room was likely not cleaned frequently: straw peeked through the gaps of the floorboard and old animal dung was swept into corners. The foul odor was even starting to bother Domri.

The beastmaster opened the Tusker’s spot and knelt next to his hoof. A rusty, iron cuff clamped around the animal's calf and connected to the metal bars of its cage. Domri spat into both of his hands and placed them securely on the chain link. He braced his feet against the metal bars and pulled and yanked with all of his might. Domri’s thin arms twisted and contorted, trying to get the chain’s mount to come loose. The metal let out soft groans of protest. Sweat trickled down the beastmaster’s brow and his palms began to lose their grip. His grip didn’t hold, and the momentum carried Domri backward forcing him onto his ass. The boar let out a short, low grunt expressing its dissatisfaction.

“Fuck,” Domri mumbled to himself, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He pushed himself up against the opposite metal fence and stared intently at the metal cuff. “I’m not sure that thing is coming off without a key. You sure you can’t rip it out?”

Tusker let out a short squeal and shook his head. It looked like the animal didn’t have enough space to force its way out. Domri sighed and shook his head, just another reason he needed to tear apart his train when all was done.

---


“Does he bite?” a voice came from behind. The beastmaster turned his head, his eyes looking up towards a man in a naval uniform. He was a rather unimposing figure, nearly as scrawny as Domri. That was what he thought until his eyes landed on the man’s enormous forearms. The man unnerved the beastmaster, the sailor’s gait demonstrating his self-confidence.

“Not unless I tell him to,” Domri sighed, pushing himself off the floor and onto his feet. “Tusker’s a pig though.”

The boar snorted in frustration and slammed his nose into Domri’s stomach.

“Tusker is a boar,” the beastmaster wheezed out, clutching his stomach as he corrected himself, “He likes to be called a boar.” He shot daggers at Tusker, the pig smirking back at him. “If you’re nice to him, he’ll be nice to you.”

The sailor slapped Domri on the back, nearly knocking the man over. “Arf arf arf,” his laugh bellowed through the room. The man wiped a teardrop from his eye, catching his breath from the laughter. His gregarious smile lasted for a moment before found himself in thought.

“What’s da’ matta’? Why’s you’s frownin’?” he crossed his arms with a serious look on his face.
“Tch.” Domri turned his head down, with a sneer. “Tusker here got himself locked in here, and this chain is impossible to break.”

“Imposkible? Nothing’s imposkible for me’s.” the sailor loudly proclaimed. He knelt to the cufflink and clenched his hand around the metal. The bracelet screamed in agony as it seemed to melt in his hand. With a quick tug, the iron split into two pieces on the floor.

The boar shook its now freed leg in glee and excitedly rubbed its furry head into the sailor’s chest. Domri’s sneer quickly transformed into a giddy smile.

“Hey Tusk, go easy on the guy.” He patted Tusker on the back.

The sailor chuckled as the boar affectionately licked his face, gently pushing Tusker off of him.

“Hey, you’re different from the rest of them,” Domri extended his hand. “The name’s Domri.”

“Popeye,” the sailor responded, taking hold of Domri’s hand. The beastmaster’s hand felt as if it would break underneath Popeye’s grip. Thankfully, he managed to escape the handshake unscathed.

“I’ll remember I owe you one. The Gruul Clan never forgets a favor.”

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Wunya had stepped onto the train, duffel bag raised over head. It was a polite gesture as most trains were not built for the larger bits of humanity, and she did not want to bonk anyone in the head. Her first destination was the dining car and she was relieved it was empty. A server had almost immediately come to take her order, as she put the duffel bag in the seat next to her.

“I will have eggs in large bowl and black coffee, please,” Wunya said in her firm way, but not unpleasant besides the way it resembled a rockfall.

“Ah yes, very good choice. Simple and light, consider it my pleasure, Madame,” The waiter said as he pulled down his vest a bit, and went about his business of putting the order in. A massive green-skinned hand you would not think capable of such delicate touch grabbed his elbow softly. He froze in place and looked back at the only other person in the dining car.

“You say ‘light’. What do you mean by this thing?” The Coach asked, staring at him with an intense curiosity.

“Er, I…what?” The man asked nervously. “I just mean a few eggs, it's a light fair and I just thought that with the contest almost here-” The waiter was scrambling a bit on top of his natural fast-paced way of speaking, but always a professional. He breathed a sigh of relief when she let go of his elbow, and shook her head. “...Is something wrong, Madame?” He asked, hiding the nervousness.

“You say few eggs. I do not want a few eggs. I want bowl of eggs. Scrambled with heavy cream. Big bowl, please. Make coffee large, too. The fault for confusion is mine in this thing. Thank you,” She said and turned towards the window, watching the galaxies from behind the glass.

“But Madame, er, we only have a limited supply of eggs on board, what of the other contestants?” The waiter replied with hesitation.

Without looking back towards him, but meeting his eyes in the reflection of the window she said “Then tell them I did this thing and ate them. They can come collect payment when we arrive at destination,” and she watched him scurry off, which earned her a small smile to herself more than seeing the cosmos displayed in its vastness and beauty while careening through the sky on a space-train.

A short time later she was now hoisting her duffel bag above her head in only one hand, and a large mixing-bowl of scrambled eggs in the other. She had sat and ate a bit while drinking her coffee, but once the carafe of black and bitter liquid was extinguished she had chosen to move on. The large half-orc in the tracksuit was focused on navigating through the aisles without disrupting anyone else’s enjoyment of the ride that she failed to notice any of her future fellow contestants she passed, save for a beautiful young lady with a shock of white in her hair who had called her “Shugah” when she had to squeeze by.

Coach Wunya finally found what she was looking for in an older looking train-car complete with wooden benches and handrails towards the top.

“This thing is perfect place,” Wunya said to herself and sat down on a bench, eating the eggs and watching the universe pass them by. After her ‘light’ breakfast, she sat with folded her legs on the ground of the compartment, the thin carpet and whatever material lay beneath letting her feel the hum of the engines within this mechanical marvel. She closed her eyes and meditated, letting the food settle within her body and fuel her strength for the first day. She still needed to organize her duffel bag but that could come later, this was her time to focus on the new thick piece of cold jewelry around her neck and understand just how much she had been diminished. The vibration from underneath, the distant noises from other cars coming through the small windows at either end of this special and quiet one for her, was all she needed to finally come to a full relaxed state of mind. The exact moment she was completely and utterly centered - she sprang up, fully airborne off the ground and snatched the railings in both hands, her long arms making it an easy grab.

“First, must work on core…never forget this thing,” She said to herself as she dangled in full control, putting her legs out in front of her and lifting them to the ceiling and back down again.

Her morning calisthenics went on for a long while. By the end, she had worked up a decent sweat, practicing her stances and giving all the muscles of her body at least a little attention. Becoming one with yourself and body was a life journey and Wunya never took a day off. She sat down on a bench, and started on the duffel bag.

“Organization key to clear mind,” The coach to herself, alone in the place.

“I couldn’t agree more…” Came a woman’s voice seething with pedigree from further down the compartment. Wunya immediately stood up, a water bottle in each hand. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” The woman said with feigned concern, a small and secret smile playing on her lips.

“HA! No. You did not do this thing,” The large former Arcadian Mage Hunter said, and rose to her full height, dropping the water bottles into the duffel and crossing her arms as she stared into the newcomers.

The impeccably dressed woman sauntered forward, reaching up and touching the rail that Wunya had turned into a pull-up bar, as if looking for dust.

“It isn't every day one comes across a specimen such as yourself. Truly remarkable the care you have taken in turning yourself into such a formidable adversary for the other contestants-”

“You open mouth and honey comes out. Ha! All I hear in this thing is hissing of snake,” Wunya said, lifting her chin in challenge, arms still crossed, making her biceps stand out even larger in her tank-top, the tracksuit jacket folded neatly on a bench nearby.

“Hm. Charming. Well, I see you are a…” and she looked Wunya up and down before continuing “...discerning woman. Fair play, I will get to the point. I am Colonel Moran and I represent parties interested in one of your fellow contestants,” Sebastian Moran said, stretching out a hand for a shake, leaving it outstretched for a few moments before realizing the gesture would not be reciprocated.

Wunya, for her part, had been measuring this stranger since they first announced themselves. They moved with grace but not without purpose, and their balance was impeccable. The Colonel's hands seemed as steady as the Coaches own, and Wunya was impressed at the iron nerve to come right up to her like this, alone in the old car and half her size.

“I do not want to help in this thing. I have own notariety to concern my thoughts. Thank you,” Coach Wunya said, and knelt down towards the duffel to continue organizing its contents.

The Colonel was not one to give up so easily. “There is plenty of notoriety in keeping Doctor Chambers alive, I guarantee you,”

“Doctor has no business joining in this thing. Not smart Doctor,” The half-orc replied, silver ponytail moved from her shoulder to her back as she rearranged some rations in the duffel.

“What if I told you she was kidnapped, forced to compete against her will?” Colonel Moran fired back, now leaning easily on her knee that was lifted up on the bench nearest the bent down Wunya, still only at eye level with the taller woman and observing Wunya’s organizing.

“Sad story. Not my problem, this thing,” Wunya replied, unconcerned.

“You would let a champion in the medical field just die out here? I ca-”

“Champion? She…she is champion?” Wunya said, cutting her off. The Coach was now looking fully into Moran’s eyes, trying and failing to hide the earnest eagerness.

Colonel Sebastian Moran smiled broadly, like a pit of vipers. “Indeed,” She replied.

 

[Karl Jak]

Kevin swayed with the gentle movements of the faux modern train.

His eyes shifted to the nearby window. Outside, it was a picturesque landscape illuminated by all sorts of sparkling stars and shimmering nebulae. Were they in space? The PA shifted in his chair as he fumbled with the window latch.

“Sealed.”

That was a fun discovery, but it was one that could easily be assumed in the given situation. After all, the minds behind the event probably didn’t want anyone accidentally defenestrating themselves, especially if there weren’t any cameras around to film.

Kevin glanced around once again. He hadn’t left this train car since departure, and he wasn’t sure where he was in the grand scheme. From the décor, this was a passenger car, but he had to assume it wasn’t the only one. After all, he was by himself, which he chalked up to either the stench or the fact that his face looked like he had gone ten rounds in the ring with an errant blender.

Shrugging his shoulders, the zombie PA reached down and picked up the pad of paper. The tablet he had wielded in life was persona non grata in an event like this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t improvise. Scrawled in purple pen, the top page of the legal pad he’d swiped on his walk out of the barracks was adorned with all the information he had gathered. To an onlooker, his notes probably looked like utter gibberish, and his appearance would likely serve to reinforce that belief.

Rising to his feet, Kevin shambled his way toward the front-facing door of the car. After passing between the doorways, he found himself in another part of the train that featured a prominent bar on its starboard side. After bringing himself to a rest atop a leather stool, Kevin slumped forward—an unintentional natural state of his undeath—and observed the bartender from the corner of his eyes. It took the man six minutes before he seemed to swallow deep and make his way to the end of the bar.

“Hello… Sir,” the young man spoke softly. When Kevin jerked his head upright to meet the server’s gaze, the bartender nearly threw himself against the wall of bottles and novelty glasses. “C-can I serve you something?”

“Malbec,” Kevin replied. “Do you have any from Argentina?”

The man was already gone. He was likely fetching the first bottle he could find.

“Red wine, Sir,” the bartender set the glass down in front of Kevin, whose head lolled down to observe what had been placed before him.

“That’s a rock’s glass.” The zombie muttered.

“I can put it in a pint, if you’d like?”

Kevin looked up and saw that the pallid bartender was telling the truth about his glassware. “No, that’s fine.” He spoke as his hand moved forward in a quick succession of rigor mortis-infused jerking motions. His fingers closed around the glass with an audible creak as he brought the glass up and sipped the contents.

The bartender, who despite the smell and the sweat on his brow, stood around for too long. When he heard the pitter-patter of the wine as it literally ran through the zombie’s body and exited from a number of wounds, the young man excused himself to go vomit in a lavatory.

Unaware, Kevin took another sip before picking up the bottle and refilling his glass.

Kevin is sitting at the bar 'drinking' wine.