DGS4 Phase 9 [Finale] -- The Heart of Things

[The Man in Red]

Mahito is summoning his polymorphic soul isomers and attacking the fake Mahito and dubiously real Strange

Behind his desk, Hugo Strange sat with an implacable air about him. Slowly, he reached up to slide his keyboard and some documents aside, folding his hands together and resting them sedately on the desk before him. The almost mirror finish of his glasses hid his actual eyes from view, though his expression remained frustratingly neutral and hard to read even outside of that.

The faux-Mahito, meanwhile, surged up out of his seat in a blur of motion, grabbed the chair he had been plopped down in in one hand. With a whirling motion he spun around and smashed the seating implement into the monstrosity of flesh the real deal had sent after the doppelganger. With a squelching sound of impact, the chair practically exploded as it tore halfway through the soul isomer, leaving the faux-curse standing over it as it toppled over, sporting an ear-to-ear grin as his eyes lit up with a dim red glow.

The other mess of fused flesh and muscle wasn't exactly idle. And with a looming presence that wouldn't be at all out of place if it had been wearing a hockey mask, it brought one ungainly polyhedral fist down with murderous intent. It struck the Doppel-hito squarely in the head, with a sound like a ringing bell, and his head was squished down into his body with a crunching impact, the body toppling over unceremoniously.

"How unfortunate," Strange finally spoke up again, having remained unmoving from where he sat. "I had been hoping that I might have been able to have a civil discussion, even if only for a moment."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, doc," the cursed spirit spoke up again. "We can talk all you want, for as long as you can still get words out." He dropped from the ceiling, righting himself in midair to land on his feet with an undulating motion as one end simply flowed to the other. "But I gotta say....this?" He paused, kicking at the fallen doppelganger. "Not a fan of that."

"I am afraid you misunderstand, mister Mahito." Strange unfolded his hands, resting them on the desk before him, and moved to stand up. "It is not my physical safety that will determine the longevity of any discussion we might have." He adjusted his gloves with a calm demeanor, pointedly looking away from the cursed spirit with a casual indifference so profound it made Mahito visibly bristle. "The determining factor in that...."

The room suddenly flashed, taking on a bizarre, subtly greenish tint. Mahito felt the world spin once, before he shook his head and blinked.

"....was decided long before your arrival."

There was a sound that Mahito was only just now beginning to pick up, buzzing and droning somewhere just at the edge of his hearing range. The world flashed before him again, the air seeming thick and heavy. Everything felt wrong -- just off, somehow. The lights flickered, buzzing unpleasantly and uncomfortably loud, and the world around him again lurched crazily. A hazy, green film hung in the air, and as he blinked again he noticed it....the office was absolutely ransacked. Every wall and nearly every surface was covered in signs of battle, bullet holes and scorch marks and tears and slashes. Blood spattered every surface, the guard who had been standing at the door ripped practically limb from limb, with a post-mortem hole in his chest where the soul isomer had nearly punched clean through it.

Mahito lifted a hand to his head, clutching at it as everything spun.

The hidden communicators in the hat he had pilfered from the event's deposed host flickered to life. "I never leave anything to chance, mister Mahito." Strange's voice echoed in almost imperceptibly delayed stereo, over the comms and from the man in the room. "I was hoping someone else would be the one to come crawling in here, whether literally or not. But I did not simply leave things to chance, merely praying for someone with some manners to arrive."

Mahito bared his teeth, forcing himself to straighten up and squint through the gloom. The doppelganger of himself he had spied before was crumpled on the floor, a robot duplicate sputtering and spitting sparks from where its head had been smashed in. Strange himself, standing behind the desk, just smiled at him, almost mockingly.

"Maybe you should've left a little less to chance, then...." the cursed spirit hissed. One of his hands shot back, waving vaguely at his remaining soul isomer, before something slipped out of his sleeve and he curled his fingers around it like a baseball. The hulking mass of fused flesh turned and lurched toward the doors, both arms coming up to hammer down at them with reckless abandon. In the same instant, Mahito whipped his arm forward, and hurled his hidden weapon.

Almost immediately, the tiny object ballooned and swelled up, flesh stretching and threatening to rip....before it burst asunder with a horrific explosion. Splinters and spikes of bone showered the office, skewering and ripping apart everything left, including Strange himself. Something that looked like blood in the dim, hazy light of the macabre office spurted from his wounds, as he toppled over into his chair again, going limp and still.

The office doors were smashed open, and Mahito stumbled out amid a wave of shrapnel, dust and billowing green fog, coughing and sputtering in spite of himself. Everything burned, both metaphorically and frighteningly literally; his stitched flesh felt like it was on fire, threatening to rip itself apart at the seams, and the world was still spinning and wavering like it was on a carousel.

"I've taken the liberty of making you an official appointment, mister Mahito," Strange's voice crackled over the comms again. "I will be waiting in the lower levels. I trust you know where the elevator is?"

Mahito snarled, smashing one fist against the ground as he staggered upright. "Alright then, doc...." Sucking in a deep breath, he held it for a moment, befere exhaling a cloud of green-tinged vapor with a choking gasp. Wiping a few strands of acidic-green sludge from his chin, he scowled as the world seemed to clear slightly before him, with that crap out of his system. "....you have my attention, now." And he bolted forward, swinging up and back into the vents down the hall before him, and moving like a murderous snake through them back to the core of the area.

 

[The Man in Red]

Rebecca and Wesker just did brain surgery on Gero. Holmes stalled the download, briefly. Now, we're collectively trying to sabotage the DAVE-bot. *Adds Gero to my inventory.*

Holmes straightened up, flicking the rim of his cap with one finger pointedly. "There were a number of rather obvious connectors that were simple enough to get the chip plugged into," he said simply. "Admittedly, computers and engineering on this level are far from my specialty, but...I suspect that an unfamiliar piece of technology connected in such a way will at least merit some concern, even if it doesn't cause any adverse effects like on the good doctor."

Gero's eyes narrowed in a fierce scowl. "Adverse effects? Hmph. You make it sound as if it were some common cold."

"Now, now, doctor." Holmes lifted a hand, index finger raised, and flashed a faint smirk. "It is commendable that your constitution could fend off any sickness, given your age. Whether it be common cold or co-opted code needn't matter!"

Gero spluttered indignantly, his jaw working as he tried to come up with some response.

"Gentlemen!" Rebecca cut in sharply, in exasperation. "Can we...focus, please?" She rubbed her temples delicately, squeezing her eyes shut. "The body...we need to sabotage it somehow, right?"

"That is correct," Wesker spoke up had made his way over to the blueprints on display, looking them over carefully. "I am....impressed with your work, Gero," he muttered, clearly through gritted teeth. "I admit, I can barely make sense of some of the intricacies you've built in."

"Hmph. Naturally." Gero scoffed, heaving himself up out of his chair. "The data and parameters for it were based on several of the robotic competitors from past 'events' that lunatic in red has hosted, with some of the utter nonsense that Wily has developed in his time here." There was a look on the scientist's face as if he'd been forced to swallow a gallon of vinegar. "Getting it all to fit together, in a form factor that was so....demanding wasn't easy."

"Are we to understand there may be some...faults in the design, then?" Holmes interjected, quite suddenly making his presence known where he had perched on the edge of a shelving unit near the blueprints, hanging on by one arm while the other adjusted his goggles.

Gero's jaw clenched firmly together. "....in a manner of speaking," he finally ground out. The man was a known perfectionist, and even if he was willingly on board with sabotaging it, having his work questioned or scrutinized for failure points was clearly already grating harshly on his civility. "Once it is up and running, it will be all but unassailable through anything short of physical damage. But in this laboratory environment, when it is still technically incomplete and awaiting activation—"

"It can't defend against what it isn't aware of in the first place." It was Moran, this time, who spoke up. "Likely something internal. Where its parts are more delicate, or in its...programming?"

"Precisely." Gero stalked over to the computer connected to the robotic shell. "Some minor adjustments to the frequency and clock rates of just a few components, or the curves of power delivery and cooling...." He trailed off, working at the keyboard.

"A few key components here...and here...." Wesker indicated the blueprints with a laser pointer. "Perhaps we might...cause some minor damage? A few scratches, or loosen some key fasteners just so....not enough to completely destabilize or compromise integrity. But enough to force some emergency re-calibration, and operating at less than one hundred percent to compensate." He slowly turned to regard Gero carefully. "Would that be possible, doctor?"

Gero lifted his gaze from the screen, his jaw working and mustache twitching for a moment, before he finally just gave a resigned huff. "If the damage done is delicate enough not to immediately trip the self-repair or hazard detection systems, then....perhaps, yes. It might just do the trick."

A light smirk curled at Wesker's lips. "Very well, then. Doctor Chambers...have you ever performed surgery on a robot, perchance?"

Rebecca balked at that, recoiling back slightly. "I...what? On a robot?" She blinked several times, looking from Wesker, to Gero, to the DAVE-shell on the table, to Holmes now suddenly squatting at the foot of the table where said body lay.

"Come now, doctor," the detective added in cheerfully. "Surely it shouldn't be a problem. The components have already been identified."

"We only have a few minutes to work with," Gero cut in with a quiet growl. "Even with the countdown delayed, the process was already nearly finished." He went back to the keyboard, typing away frantically. "I will adjust the timings as I stated. I don't care which of you, but someone see to the minor sabotage doctor Wesker has outlined."

The next few minutes were tense, and seemed to each last hours, as the delicate work was performed. Wesker pointing out the key components to loosen, over-tighten, remove some lubricant from, or subtly damage. With the precision and stillness only a sniper could achieve, Moran lent a hand (quite literally) in holding some components and cables aside when necessary. Holmes provided the frenetic energy of scurrying about the lab, dashing here and there and everywhere to retrieve and exchange tools and surgical implements as necessary. Leaving Rebecca herself the honor of actually doing the deed, delicately and carefully performing the most bizarre 'surgery' of her life.

When all was said and done, Gero waved them off. "That's it. We don't have time for anything else!" he barked. The progress on the download indicator had reached 100%, and the screen flickered black before displaying a familiar sign. Three red lights, in a triangular pattern.

"Everything according to plan, I see, Doctor Gero." DAVE's synthetic voice crackled out of unseen speakers.

Gero frantically waved at the others in shushing motion "....exactly as agreed, DAVE. Your body is complete."

"Excellent. The transfer should only take moments." Just as quickly as they had come, DAVE's presence vanished and a series of red pulses of light flowed down from the terminal, along the cables, and into the robotic shell.

"Now...go!" Gero turned to the others. "I'll delay him here for a moment. I have some....matters to discuss."

"Don't do anything foolish, doctor," Holmes spoke up quietly, pulling the edge of his hat down low over his eyes.

"Hmph. I'll leave the foolishness to you fools." Gero growled, flashing an arrogant smirk as his arm once again bulged and warped, into a gleaming cannon barrel. "Now go!"

"As you wish." Wesker was already moving, striding with a purpose toward the exit of the lab.

Rebecca stumbled as Moran half-dragged, half-coaxed her toward the exit as well. "Where...should we go now?"

"I'm sure we'll stumble into something else in short order, doctor Chambers," Holmes announced as he sprang after the others. "We've yet to find any shortage of strangeness to involve ourselves in thus far!"

 

[The Man in Red]

spooky exploring and spookierly eating a double down

The air in the facility hallway was downright cold, after the blistering heat of the caverns down below. Given it had been filled with molten earth, that probably wasn't surprising. Heck, the floor here still seemed to be rather on the warm side, even in spite of everything else being so much colder. Probably some pipes pumping whatever they were extracting from down below along.

The carnivale employees took this chance to spread out and scatter, putting a little distance between everyone now that the threat of immediate danger had passed, if only for the moment.

"This kinda matches the construction style the boss uses for places the public ain't meant to see...." one of them grumbled.

"Yer tellin' me. I was assigned to site 4 for three years. And this place is downright cheery compared to that hellhole, even with all the crashes and murder-monsters everywhere!"

"Site 4? That's the, uh...."

"Weapons development." The hapless fool shivered. "Highest mortality rate in the company. Almost all of which are down to 'accident'."

"Oh. Shit that sucks..."

"You guys's boss kinda sucks, huh?" Flak interrupted, with a scowl on his face. "I've worked with some real jerks before, don't get me wrong, but....wow."

"Ah, well, the boss is...."

"Be real careful 'bout what ya say next, bozo," a distinctly unamused voice cut in. Standing in a doorway close at hand was the diminutive form of security chief Emmy, one half of her uniform (and much of her face on the same side) heavily scorched and burned almost beyond recognition, but seeming more or less unfazed by it.

The sudden appearance of the unexpected guest sent the remaining carnivale staff into a frightened scramble, scattering and skittering to hide behind the more robust members of the group.

"Oi, what happened to you, clown?" Majima slunk forward, squatting down to get closer to eye level with the bizarrely dressed woman. "I thought ya were supposed to be made of tough stuff, but ya look like ya woke up on the wrong side of a flamethrower!"

"Talkin' a lot of shit for someone who can't even manage a mostly automated train without crashing and burning," Emmy snapped, jabbing her cigarette threateningly at Majima's eyepatch.

For a moment, the tension was almost palpable, the others in the group readying for another inevitable confrontation.....before the mad dog and the chief both broke down in a shared laugh.

"I knew you'd still be kickin' around somewhere in here." Majima rose back up to stand. Looking over his shoulder at the others, he grinned. "Short stuff here's the head of security for this place. I'd put money on her bein' most of the reason the place is still standing at all."

"Yeah. And Polyphemus the Wonder Boy here is the jackass they got to drive the trains from the main facilities out here to bum-fuck nowhere," Emmy cut in. "Guessin' you bozos are more of the contestants the boss got roped into his latest game this year?"

Flak barged his way up to the forefront of things. "Yeah, you got that right!" he grunted. "I'm Flak. Winner of last year's game. Or, well, one of 'em."

"I still don't believe half of what you said about how you won," Travis interjected. "You've gotta be shittin' me with all that."

"About the crown and the fusion and junk?" Emmy smirked faintly, blowing out a puff of smoke. "If things hadn't gone sideways and slid right into hell, I'd take ya to the vaults and show you myself. We don't really have the time for that right now." She paused for a long drag of her cig before turning away with an unsteady hobble. "Hope y'all bozos can walk and walk; sitting in one place ain't exactly a good idea right now. Don't want the brave little wizard that could to find us."

".....the who?" Leonidas growled, squinting at the diminutive woman.

"Subject M. One of the crazy projects the boss had bein' worked on here." Emmy waved a hand dismissively. "Not important. Just know you don't wanna run into him."

"Is he anything like that big ass amazon chick we ran into down in the lava tunnels?" Travis limped as quickly as he could to keep up.

"Only in the sense they're part of the same project. They're important to the boss, and that's all I know." Emmy shook her head. "I learned real quick it was better for my job and my head if I didn't ask too many questions about stuff I wasn't working on directly."

"Askin' too many questions is just askin' for trouble, anyway." Flak nodded sagely.

"Why think when you can fight," Elena chimed in, with a cheerful grin. "Right?"

"You got it!" Flak bellowed, with a delighted smirk.

".....uh-huh."

"Enough about all that!" Majima snapped. "What happened to you?! There's no way the Emmy-chan I know would get all flambe'd like some low-grade yakiniku!"

"I got careless," Emmy grunted. "Was keepin' an eye on some others that are also in the game this year. Stopped watching my own ass for a minute or two too long. Little ol' M came waltzing right in....and set off every damn piece of munitions I had left stockpiled." She took a long drag of her cig, her hand shaking slightly. "Only thing that saved me was a shield unit I had on me."

"Jesus...." Travis whispered under his breath. He wasn't exactly an expert on things that went 'kaboom', but he had had enough of them thrown at him. The idea of being in the middle of god knows how many of them going off all at once around him was.... Not great to think about.

With a deft motion, Emmy slid a keycard into a reader, opening a door ahead of them. "Had to abandon the security office, once M trashed it like that, obviously," she noted. "So I figured best place to come after that'd be here. Central observation." She limped over to a chair and hauled herself up into it. "Viewing bays over there look down over the central access chamber, and monitors here give feeds of the entrance and exit to every other section. It ain't the same setup I had before, but it'll—"

She was cut off rather soundly by Majima's voice breaking out into a high-pitched, manic squealing noise as he rushed across the room, planting his face against the glass. His gloved hands scrabbled and beat against the glass, as his remaining eye bugged out wide.

"What's gotten into him...?" Leonidas growled, raising one eyebrow in sheer confusion.

"Beats me." Flak just shrugged.

"Oh, he just saw someone he's been trying to find since the crash," Elena chimed in, with a smile, as she lifted her hands up to cover her ears. "Also, you might want to cover your ears!"

Travis squinted slightly. "What do you—"

"KIRYU-CHAAAAAAAN!"

 

[The Man in Red]

Action: Trying to interrogate the Man in Red (I think we've got one more post coming later today though, so no rush on the update!)

Action: Trying to coax the truth of the Man in Red
Action 2: Used an application of Focus to Move Object/Damage that bro

"You want to know what's going on down there so badly?" the Man in Red murmured quietly, bowing his head slightly. He slowly lifted his gloved hands to clasp them behind his back, turning to one side as he started to pace. "Fine, then....I suppose I can at least tell you a little."

"All willin' to change yer mind so quick?" Rogue barked, seeming less than thrilled.

"He's up to something." Kevin slowly curled and uncurled his fist, watching the masked madman like a hawk. "He's been up to something this entire time....why else would he be here?"

"Kevin, my dear boy....has anyone ever told you that you are frustratingly good at your job?" the host muttered in clear exasperation. "Though, to be clear....I'm always up to something. This time in particular has just been a bit more....reactionary than usual."

"Reactionary?"

"I can account for a great many things. But not everything." The Man in Red sighed softly, shaking his head. "But enough about that. Regarding what's down below...." He made a noise not dissimilar to the soft squelching pop of someone pursing their lips overdramatically. "....you could call it the heart of this facility. The core of everything, what makes it all run and tick, and what made everything here go so wrong."

"So I was right, then?" Kevin grumbled.

"You were...closer to the mark than I think anyone might have guessed, in a manner of speaking." The scarlet showman paused, situating himself before the elevator doors, and turned smartly on his feels to face the others gathered presently. "The levels below....are where we keep the remains of previous Death Game participants safely stored and preserved, in cryo-stasis, and where the beating heart of this facility, the core component and combined fruits of a certain....project I've undertaken. Project Viridian."

"Ah, viridian....a lovely color, to be sure, but not one I would have expected from one of your palette," Mid-Boss spoke up, idly resting a fingertip on his chin. "I would have expected something more....crimson."

"Green is....the color of life, my dear little pest," the Man in Red said shortly. "Both of that which occurs naturally, and that which flourishes anew after....death and cleansing."

"Get to the point," Kevin barked. "Stop talking in circles."

"Project Viridian was an effort to bring back the dead." The host's eyes flashed behind his cracked mask. "Dead who have never existed in this world; within these Crossroads. Dead whose bodies were reduced to ash in the cosmic fire of a collapsing world amid a sundered universe." There was a light creaking of stretching, straining cloth as his posture shifted slightly. The air around him took on a slight chill, shadows lengthening and flickering. "I was not blessed with the fortune of becoming a cosmic space god, like mister Jak....and also unlike him, for all his perceived failures in the eyes of some, I am not a good person."

"But I have things which I care about....and that I would do anything, no matter how reprehensible, to bring back so that I may do something as simple as say a proper farewell." He lifted his hands up, one coming to rest on his chest, the other held up in a clenched fist. "The only presence of these six people whom I am trying to resurrect exists as an echo upon what little scraps of a soul I have left. I refuse to ask for anyone else's help to bring them back, since it was my fault alone they perished to begin with."

"You're doin' a real poor job of tryin' to justify yourself here." Rogue scowled darkly. "All you're doin' so far is spoutin' a whole lotta 'ends justify the means'."

"Enough. So that thing down there, this 'beating heart' of this facility and whatever project you have running here." Kevin stepped forward. "What is it, exactly? You've still managed to talk circles around all of that."

"It is....a machine." The host shook his head. "Doing the work I needed done would have been beyond me, on my own. So I contacted a number of....specialists. To analyze the residual psychic echoes of their souls left upon mine, and use them to craft the components and schematics needed. Reconstructing their minds, analyzing their bodies and abilities to perfectly recreate them, a mechanical and cybernetic mesh to supplement and hold them together until they could be biologically finished and complete...." He looked down slightly.

".....the machine below. The Digitally Advanced Viridian Emulator, or 'DAVE' as it was codenamed in technical documents...as I said, it is the heart of this facility. The sum total of the feats of technology achieved here. Able to perfectly analyze, break down, and reconfigure scraps of personality data from mystical sources converted into data, or from observed video data, and construct a full personality matrix. One that could be used to form the basis for an AI routine with 98.7% similarity to the original in terms of personality and even memories, and which would self-correct to a 100% match when paired with an appropriate body."

"Similarly....it was implanted with a device capable of minor reality alteration, an 'adaptive analysis and ability mimicry suite', something that doctor Wily took to referring to as a 'get ability program'. It could perfectly analyze and break down the exact workings of any ability, technique, or power displayed to it, and develop an almost perfect replication that would, in time, grow to be just as capable as the original."

His gloved hands again strained, clenching tight as he clasped them behind his back. ".....but clearly, a mistake was made somewhere. In its testing and trials, we had it observe the prior Death Games. It has the personality and ability data of every contestant we have previously had among our ranks, and the data of several of the special...items I procured for use in those events."

"Are you serious?!" Kevin snapped. "You really didn't think anything would go wrong, with something like that virtually running the show here? All those clashing personalities....it's a wonder it hasn't self-destructed out of sheer contradiction!"

"Do not misunderstand, Kevin." The Man in Red's eyes glinted coldly behind his mask. "The mistake I spoke of was not the project itself. It was....a hiring decision I made. Someone sabotaged DAVE, and potentially, all of Project Viridian. And they did it right under my nose."

 

[The Man in Red]

"Enough arguing!" Wunya barked as she and her group came resolutely marching up, from Engineering-ward. "We have bigger problems to deal with."

"Other subjects!" Stitch cut in, scrambling up to perch on the half-orc's shoulder. He waved two of his hands animatedly, pointing at the doors from central access leading to Security and the Living Quarters. "Moving fast, this way!"

"More of them?!" Mid-Boss balked, recoiling in something between horror and disgust. "One of them was bad enough...." He sniffed disdainfully, with a sidelong glance at Alleane, still glaring daggers at the Man in Red and only barely restrained by a handful of carnivale staff.

"Mmm...." The Man in Red cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something. Moments later, the doors to Robotics opened with a hissing noise, and out came Wesker, followed shortly by Rebecca, Moran and Holmes. "How delightful. I believe that should account for....everyone." He flexed a gloved hand. "Incidentally, miss Rogue, you may want to move."

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" the southern belle snapped.

From overhead, there came a sudden thumping, followed by the unmistakable sound of cracking, splintering glass. Muffled, as if from a great distance, a shrill voice called out. "KIRYU-CHAAAAAAAN!"

"Nani?" With a visible flinch, Kiryu looked up, taking a step back. "Majima-san?!"

The glass windows of the observation room above splintered and broke altogether under the mad dog's aggression, as he came tumbling through in a shower of broken glass. Rogue frantically scrambled aside, to avoid becoming a pincushion, as Majima landed heavily in rough tumble. How he managed to avoid not getting absolutely torn apart was anyone's guess.

"So what does that mean, then?" Kevin spoke up again. "Now that everyone's here, are we all going to suddenly work together and go down below to fix all this mess?"

"Oh, please...." The Man in Red rolled his eyes. "You and I both know that's quite unlikely. Besides...if we all went down, then who would welcome our late arrivals? Those two encroaching subjects?"

"Hmph. All of us won't even fit on that elevator," Shadow finally spoke up, crossing his arms. "Whoever's slow enough to not make it on gets to stay behind and distract them."

"There's a certain honor in playing the rear guard!" Leonidas bellowed from above, in the observation chamber. With a crunch of metal, he fixed the blades of his shield on the edge and used chains within it to rappel down to the floor below. In much clumsier fashion, Flak, Travis, Elena, Emmy and the few carnivale staff with them came sliding (or mostly falling) down afterward.

"Honor or not, no one wants to be the guys who get stuck in the dust!" Flak grumbled. "I vote we wrestle over who gets to go down!"

"I couldn't agree more." Overhead, one of the grates for the ventilation rattled before practically exploding outward, and Mahito came half-swinging, half-slithering out of the vents, and plopped down to the ground. "Though I guess I could always make more people fit..." He held up a hand, fingers splayed, with a grin somewhere between sadistically delighted, and outright murderous. "....if we have enough people really clamoring for a ride down."

"Oh, I think matters will resolve themselves far more smoothly than that in short order..." the Man in Red murmured.

Almost as if on cue, the doors to security erupted in a shower of sparks. Cherry-red shards of metal spewed out from between them, as electrical arcs popped and sputtered from blown fuses and mechanisms within. The molten metal ballooned outward, hissing and spitting steam as something came practically walking through it. Clad in tattered, and incredibly revealing black clothes, came sauntering the cheekily grinning form of Subject M. Some kind of energy visibly swirled around him, distorting the air and making it waver as he eyed those gathered in the chamber with all the glee of a child with a magnifying glass sizing up an anthill.

Only seconds later, the doors to the living quarters were nearly blown off their hinges. A sharp, droning rasp of metal being slowly dragged across metal sounded afterward, before the doors practically disintegrated under the force of a second impact. Out from the ensuing haze, staggering and limping with an uneven and unsteady gaze....came a young woman. Clad in the rustic and home clothing of a survivalist from far out in the woods, with a heavy and tattered overcoat of green, unkempt white hair falling over her face and leaving only one surprisingly vibrant green eye visible, staring at the room at large with the same expression as a small child frightened almost beyond comprehension, torn between fight or flight. An absolutely massive axe, not unlike what Paul Bunyan would have used for his first woodcutting hatched, dragged along the floor behind her.

Out from the doors Rebecca and her group had come from, there came a series of several small explosions. The doors to Gero's lab, distantly, burst asunder in a shower of purple light and chaotic energy. Through the plumes of smoke and fire, three red lights blinked into view, and the silhouette of DAVE's body loomed as it marched down the hallway. Electricity flickered around it, in coruscating patterns of red, violet and blue, arcing out to every nearby metal surface. Its gait was unsteady, with a pronounced limp to its left side, but it did nothing to disrupt its fluidity or the speed of its approach.

I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU, MILAN. HERE I THOUGHT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD BE WILLING TO PLAY BY THE RULES.



"I am playing by the rules, DAVE," the Man in Red hissed coldly. "Just not yours." And he leaped backward, practically sliding into the waiting elevator.

"Wait for me, papa!" Elena called out, and in a flicker of blue light, she vanished, reappearing at his side. "I'm gonna help you turn this cheater into scrap."

"Anyone else who wishes to have....an ending to things," the host spoke up. "You have perhaps....five seconds to join us in the elevator."

"Well, Kiryu-Chan?" Majima drawled, looking at his stony-faced companion.

"Yeah. It goes without saying." Kiryu nodded shortly.

In unison, both yakuza turned away from the elevator, marching a few paces away, and lifted a hand up to grasp their jackets....then ripped both away. The tattoos of the dragon and hannya on their backs nearly shone in the struggling lighting.

"I don't agree with what you've done here...." Kiryu cracked his knuckles. "....but it needs to be stopped. And you'd know best how to do that."

"So you get to it, and we'll keep these bastards busy for as long as we can!" Majima yowled, drawing his knife with a flourish.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *​

Down below, one elevator ride later, for whoever takes it....

The elevator doors open silently, letting in streamers of cold, blue-tinged mist clinging heavily to the floor.

The chamber was dark, lit only by small recessed track lights in the floor. Dimly, in the far distance, the soft blue luminescence of dozens upon dozens of cryogenic storage tanks could be seen. Littering the floor of the chamber were countless corpses and remains beyond measure, of both organic and mechanical nature, mangled beyond nearly all recognition into little more than piles of spare parts.

A moment later, lights flickered on, casting the entire chamber into stark white lighting. On the far side of the chamber, was DAVE's protected central core, the three lights on its 'face'plate shining brightly among the mist. And standing next to it, arms folded behind his back....was Hugo Strange.

"Strange...." the Man in Red hissed, his voice filled with absolute venom.

"Hello, dear director," Strange murmured. "Or should I perhaps say....mister Rosa?"

"I should have suspected....from the very beginning," the deposed host growled, stepping forward. Sickly green and violet light flowed around him, the mist pooling in the room literally disintegrating as it brushed against it. "Your credentials and skills were too perfect. Too convenient, right when I needed them. You had already worked on a similar project to what I envisioned...."

YOU HAVE NO REASON TO FEEL SO SURPRISED. WE WERE NEVER PLAYING THE SAME GAME FROM THE MOMENT THIS ALL BEGAN, MILAN.



"No...no we weren't, were me?" the Man in Red hissed.

Strange raised a hand, giving a snap of his fingers.

Several of the piles of corpse-leftovers stirred, meat and metal slurry schlorping and flowing together. Humanoid shapes rose up out of the mist, shambling upright with the groaning of metal and the squelching of flesh stitching and melding together. Malformed and only half-complete in some cases, but the resemblance was uncanny: past death game contestants, brought back to reprise their roles for one last, grisly performance.

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN IS AT HAND!

For anyone staying above, in Central Access: you will be contending with Subject M, Subject F, and DAVE's "complete" physical body. You will be being joined by Kiryu and Majima.

M is a skilled mage, able to employ several forms of elemental magic in myriad ways, levitate, teleport, and cast several illusions. Physically he isn't much, but don't be fooled.
F is extremely physically slow, but an absolute juggernaut in terms of resilience. She is also extremely child-like, withdrawn, and easily frightened; her default reaction is FIGHT instead of flight, however. Imagining her somewhat like Jason, minus inexplicable teleportation, wouldn't be entirely inaccurate.
DAVE's physical body is technically complete, but was sabotaged; it has the combined abilities of every past Death Game contestant (see here for a reminder!), as well as their personality data and memories. It has also, fortunately, been sabotaged; its balance will be off, and its mobility thusly skewed. It will be slightly slower to react (imagine playing online games with something like 100 to 150 ms of lag!), but it will still mostly be able to keep up otherwise.


For anyone heading down below, to confront DAVE and Strange. They have managed to cobble together some nightmares for you to tangle with: reconstructions of past Death Game participants, in varying states of wholeness and cyberization. Some of them may even be several of them fused together in messy fashion! You will be accompanied by the Man in Red and his daughter, Elena.

You will obviously have to deal with Strange to get to DAVE, and all his maniacal machinations; he isn't a MAJOR threat himself, but expect him to have rigged the entire chamber in some way to favor him and his schemes.

For the other NPCS present:
Holmes will be going down below
Mid-Boss will waver, but will go with anyone who asks; otherwise, he will stay above to help out in the fight
Wesker will be staying above, to assist with the fight
Alleane will be going down below
The surviving carnivale staff will go with whoever they've been tagging along with, at your discretion, or else go run and hide somewhere

This will be the last phase, as I've said before. Everyone is required to post at least once, or you will die, regardless of anything else. But you may post as many times as you want, otherwise. This is the finale; go all out!

 

[Travis Touchdown]

During the elevator ride up Travis didn’t want to tell everyone more about his story so they don’t find out the loser he truly is. Like how he was going to avenge his parents and got drunk and forgot. Or

Spoilers for late game No More Heroes

how his childhood love interest, the person who killed his family, was also his half-sister he had no idea he had

. Need to keep that part under wraps he told the interviewer about it and he saw how she reacted. Going to mention the time he fought and killed aliens though at least that was cool of him.

When they got to the observation deck he watched and listened on video monitors of the Man in Red’s explanation about Project Viridian and D.A.V.E. There’s more to him than he thought, but after seeing what one of his former friends became. That is no excuse for what he did. As he slid down clumsily to join the rest he would say “In my opinion, you should have let them stay dead.”

“Frankly, Mr. Touchdown, I didn’t ask for your opinion” mocked the Man in Red with his sneering mask.

Travis then hobbles over to Rebecca Chambers.

“Thank goodness I found you, well long story short this is what I got for playing the hero. Was hoping maybe you could have some time to patch up before well all Hell breaks loose,” Travis asked.

“I don’t have anything that can fix your arm unless, of course, you brought it with you, but I do have this,” Rebecca said.

She then hands him a first-aid spray.

He takes off his cast and spritzes his wound with it before giving a quick spritz on his arm stump to prevent infection. And then soon as it sets in his leg is feeling fine and his phantom pain where his arm used to be only hurts less now. And it was then the final boss showed himself along with two other nasties.

“Hey look, speak of the devil, it’s more of your friends Red,” Travis said.

Man in the Red merely silently glared at Travis before getting on to the elevator. As Elena Rosa stuck out his tongue at him. Decisions decisions, the people down there might need his help but if something is not done about these guys they would cause problems for the others downstairs. As some of the Carnivale Red members that came with them are fleeing Travis looks to a couple.

“Hey wait, before you two go, I got an idea,” Travis said.

They reluctantly come to him as he whispers them something and they go to a nearby electrical outlet, after connecting some wires to his Beam Katana they manage to supercharge it using the power that runs through the facility. After the wires are removed the two Carnivale Rosa members flee as Travis then walks up to Leonidas, Majima, Kiryu, and Flak.

“If possible distract the big robot guy for me, I going to sneak up and stab him from behind with my supercharged Beam Katana. Or at least get in a good slash. Just make sure his focus is not on me,” Travis whispered.

And with that he readies himself. Keeping a distance from the other opponents and ready to strike at D.A.V.E. when the opportunity comes. Almost as if he was acting as a true assassin. Quick, efficient, silent, and deadly. He just needed his allies to help with his plan. Though considering one of the people he is putting his faith into is Flak, and after what happened previously, that faith might be misplaced. Though he definitely should count as a great distraction.

Party: Almost everyone
Action: Getting some help with supercharging his Beam Katana by spending a Focus and preparing to sneak attack D.A.V.E.'s new and sabotaged body.
Focus: 0/1
Inventory: Survival Gear

 

[Ridley]

Flak gave a small nod to Travis’s request, looking to Leonidas before he spoke up. “Spartans are s’posed to be all about the cunnin’ of a wolf, right? I ain’t ordering you to do squat ‘cept find your way to a spear in the doc and his egghead there.”

Leonidas’s eyes widened as Flak spoke up, anger shuddering through his frame. “Flak, what…?”

“A game I can take, all right! But I lost Trevor’s apprentice over some Jackoff’s Hachamavellian schemes and for what? some lame attempt to take over the crossroads?! That’s Wyvern’s thing!” Flak spat, beating at his chest as he Stomped forward, pulling out the gun he’d kept on his back till now - after all, it was a lot more fun to beat ‘em down properly then to unleash an automatic rifle. "you look for your opening up top here. We'll give his hardware a good kick in the nuts down below so he's easier to whack!"

“Sh-should we help?” One of the employees around asked, before Flak waved them off, looking back to the employees.

“I ain’t into big speeches - but you tellin’ me you wanna be out of a job with paid revives when this friggin’ doogle gets whatever he wants in the crossroads? I mean, heck, ya survived this far. That wasn’t all me.” Flak notes with a grin. “Anyone what can help out more downstairs should go. But anyone who wants to get into a fight…”

Flak growled. “Should stay the hell out of the crossfire I’m about to unleash!” The Enormous man yelled, before running forward.


“Strange, you mongoloid Neeerd!!!”

Flak’s oversized M16 threw a spray of bullets in Strange’s direction, the lack of aim being more than made up for in volume - only to hit a solid, fleshy wall with a thud.

“Ah yes… last year’s winner. Or, half of her, rather.” Strange spoke up, seemingly unconcerned. “I’d already accounted for you with a fitting end.”

Flak blinked with a look of shock, as familiar, undead eyes stared at him with a horrific look of agony and unresting torment. A familiar “S” pattern that should have finally been put in the ground a year ago. There was a bit more of an impact than Flak’s bullets should have really put in the big guy last year, and it was missing some of that overwhelming power.

But it was still friggin’ Zombie superman!

“Fascinating as you may be, I lack the time to deal with you personally. but it felt appropriate to give you two proper opponents to truly ensure your demise-”

Everyone in the room was left speechless as a thick, meaty slap of sauce, and meat splattered with a wet “thud”, as a double down struck Zuperman’s face with a hearty toss.
Bacon clattered to the ground, as chicken slowly slid down the Zombified heroes face far slower than one would have expected. Through it all, the zombified hero didn’t blink, as everyone took a brief second to process the buffoonery of what had just happened.

“Not unexpected but most juvenile. I think-”

A second thud interrupted Strange’s train of thought as a second double down impacted a glass shield between the doctor and Flak himself.

“..hm.” The good doctor finally relented, snapping his fingers as a blur in a black dress flew past the doctor.

“That looks familiar-”

“Hey, dad!” Came a familiar voice, as Flak’s veings got chills, leaping back just in time to avoid a set of claws that came for his throat.

Princess Flavor stepped onto the scene with a clack of heels, and a toothy grin. The same super crown, possessing raven-black hair and a slightly embarassed expression.

“...You even sound like we did.” Flak notes, as he felt something he hadn’t felt since Lash was around to pick on him.

deeply uncomfortable

“Strange figured if I had some of your personality files, it’d hurt more if you personally encountered me, so...sorry!” The hyperactive recreation volunteered with a visible blush, before hefting a gigantic blade up in one hand The eye wasn’t moving and it wasn’t half as spooky as the original, but damn that still looked like a half-decent fake soul edge.

“...Well that ain’t fair on several levels.” Flak spoke up, bravado deflated as the two giants leaped towards him, and Flak made an utterly unheroic jump out to the side, rolling out of the way of a small explosion of power.

Pound for pound, that wasn’t how hard either of them hit back in ‘23, but it was more than enough to powder his muscle-bound ass on a good hit, and they didn’t let up as the titan dodged.

The Barbaric brute dodged out of the way of several more attacks, leaping and jumping like a man possessed, before the ‘fuck it’ adjustment switched on in his brain, and as Superman leapt in front of him with a fist raised, the Big man met it with a fist of his own. His luck must have rolled high - cause rather than simply shattering his big ham-hocks, the blow met equilibrium, sending a wave of force out from the impact. Flavor’s attack came next, the fake fusion slashing a thick trail of blood as claws dug into his abdomen… Flak sucked in his teeth as he bit his lip and bore it, before grabbing the fusion and throwing her as hard as he could at the ceiling, the Princess seeming to disappear back into the shadows before impacting, but giving Flak a little breathing room…

Or so he thought, as a blast of heat sheared out from superman’s eyes and sent Flak across the room. Pain blared in every part of his chest, and the shock of the wall smashing into his psine reverberated across his body as he struggled to get to his feet.

“S’all… ya got… Zomboy?!” Flak stuttered, his words slowed and laborious as his breathing came out in ragged clumps…and with a little bit of blood dripping from his mouth. “Colin hits… harder n’at…”

The zombified superhero didn’t have any words to mince with Flak - merely pain, as heat built up in his eyes…

“Ha-me…. Ha!!”

Azure ki flowed from behind superman into a torrent of force as the superhero was sent rocketing just a few feet from where Flak had fallen, and the scrabbling of someone running up forward was heard.

Flak looked up. He knew this guy. The carnivale employee he’d picked up before, when he was running a little slow.

“You were a wizard this whole time, monkey dude.?!” Flak asked in disbelief.

“Not a wizard or a monkey, I’m a saiyan!” The spiky-haired alien snapped, resting a hand on a very shapely hip. “... and my name is Aspa! And I’m a girl!”

Flak blinked for a moment. “...That ‘splains the soft skin.” He muttered after a second.

“Look, just take my hand and get up. I’m not the fighting kind of saiyan. I manage the healing pods. That kamehameha just about took it all out of me and..”

The employee’s speech stopped dead as Zuperman stood back up, not bothering to dust himself off as he threw a targetted punch for Aspa’s head, and Flak, without thinking, stood straight up to take it in her stead.

The haymaker sent Flak flying back with a few teeth missing, as the world became stars and darkness for a second, but Flak could keenly feel the tightening grip around his throat, and the pain in his lungs.

...Aspa’s a cool name.

Flak closed his eyes, ready for it to be over, but something else interrupted. The sounds of metal piercing flesh, and something else - like someone being bonked with a frying pan. Once or five times… the growing unconsciousness was adding this cool reverb that made it hard to tell.

“...Ak! Flak! Are you all right?” Leonidas asked aloud.

“Huh?” Flak asked blearily, opening his eyes to see the king, a spear covered in blood and a shield splattered with the same.

Leonidas turned to him with concern, but as Flavor re-entered the fray, the spartan king was set on the backfoot, holding up a shield to stop a gout of fire-breath.

Flak stumbled to his feet. Leonidas was good, but with this kinda enemy, and his own questionable condition, they were all in deep shit.

He looked around, trying to see what had happened. Whatever had occurred before, Aspa was nowhere to be seen… but that meant she wasn’t still in danger, and was out of the way, more importantly.

Flak managed a bloody smile through chipped teeth. Maybe these guys did have all their data - knew how to hurt him, what was needed to beat him. He’d grant that.

But did these morons know how to beat tank?

Party: Almost everyone
Action: getting ass kicked. fulfilling death game dreams.
Inventory: Black hole belt, survival gear, Makeshift spear, finished map
Focus: 4 / 5

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Wunya and Stitch took a step towards the elevator, with the masked man and little child who waited inside, but then she stopped and sniffed the air again. It was unmistakable, even unseen, like the smell of rain that lingered long after the storm.

Arcane energy.

Wunya's eyes glazed over for a moment then snapped to ultra-focus, the hairs on the nape of her neck standing on silver ends beneath her ponytail as her green eyes gleamed.

“I smell a mage in this thing…” Wunya breathed, pushing down the excitement, her hard gaze meeting Stitch's who was already standing in front of the masked Man in Red. When the blue abomination started forward towards her, she put up a hand to halt him, and his large ears drooped. For the first time she could see the dog-Like companion that his Lilo had seen in him. “You go, Champion of Chaos. You do this thing,” and she tossed the USB drive towards her ally.

Stitch nodded and snatched the little rectangle, tucking it away quickly. The Green Mountain and Blue Atomic Bomb shared the briefest of glances, a nod of respect.

“Ohana,” Stitch said.

“Ohana,” Wunya replied.

She turned away from the elevator, her eyes hunting sharply like a hungry eagle. Coach Wunya, the former Arcadian Mage Hunter, spotted her prey in the form of a tiny little human wearing a smug grin like it was going out of style. His self-assured swagger showed he was like all extremely capable magic-users and his power was as equal to his hubris.

Wunya could relate. She had to remind herself she needed her own abilities to shut off his casting for any amount of time, or she was sure it would be her own downfall. The power still inside her, locked up and caged like a tiger from the device she wore, started to purr a little louder.

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips as she rolled her neck in ecstasy, thinking of the pleasure she would get when his tiny head was crushed between her massive and strong hands, and all she had to do was not die. Without peeling her eyes away from Subject M, she called out to her trio of Redcoats.

“I am going to try and kill tiny little mage boy…this will be amazing challenge in this thing, Ha! I may die, Ha! This is truly game of death. This is a good thing.”

“What, the kid?” Asked Leo, and was elbowed in the side by Nancy for his outburst. “WHAT?! It's a straight up kid…well ok, he did blow apart some steel doors, but…It’s only a kid…” and he trailed off seeing Wunya’s focus. Her handsome green jaw was set in a way that made the Dandy Gambler shut his mouth and join his two colleagues silent and by her side.

“What will you do, my Champions of Death?!” The Coach growled, pride in her voice.

“HOLD THE LINE!” They all barked back.

Wunya gave a nod of appreciation. The elevator was closing as she unsheathed her katana, but words still slid through the closing metal panels with all the people who had opted to join in the fight down below.

“Hubba-hubba,” said Elena, before giggling.

“Indeed,” replied the Man in Red, always mostly proud of the contestants his game brought about.

Wunya looked around at who was left, looked at the rest of the new domed-battlefield, clocking her path and obstacles. She saw one of the Davebots Wily had mentioned before somehow made its way onto the field, this one with a limp and stuttered steps. Coach Wunya patted the stun baton on her back, and the EMPs on her person.

“After Mage I will put poor robot thing out of misery,” she said, and then was off towards her tiny and magical prey.

Party Members - Wunya, 3 CR Employees (Nancy, Leo, and Cecil)
Currently - The Battle of Central Access
Action - Mage Skull Crushery
Focus - 2/3
Stats - Reason 12, Stamina 11
Inventory - Survival Gear, Body Armor, Katana, Stun Baton.

 

[Ridley]

Flak turned back to see that other participants had joined in the battle, briefly - and new abominations and traps had turned on as Strange observed the group. Perfectly smug, and perfectly in control…

The Big man had a bigger grin, though. There wasn’t a lot to surprise these big eggheads when they had control of the territory, most of the time. You just tried to muscle through or do somethin’ crazy, but this guy had his mental data pretty down pat - at least, enough to know how to hurt the big guy.

but, he knew damn well that there were still a few secrets here, at least, some of the time. And one of them probably included things like last year’s requested items.

Flak pressed a button on his belt, as Superman and flavor took opposite sides. Sworn enemies now circling their prey.

As a blue glow filled the area, though, the hunters would soon become the hunted.

“Neo-tank, on!” Flak yelled out, as he was held up in a holographic shell of hard-light. A mechanical whirr reverberated through the area as teleportation energy overwhelmed the shielding around the lower level, And a blue glow utterly engulfed flak.

When the dust settled, something that could charitably be compared to the drunken child of a battle-tank and an octorok stood where Flak once was. A large ball with a cannon affixed in front, and a machine gun left jutting out shortly above it. standing atop four treaded legs, the weapon looked like no standard battle tank… but the thick plating left no illusions to the contrary. Contrary to Flak’s colorful garb, the tank was covered in a solid, black chrome plating.

Through the radio, Flak’s voice boomed. “So, did the Man in Bread have this on file, little man?”

Strange cracked a smile that may have been a knowing smirk or a simple acknowledgement of Flak’s buffoonery, as both Flavor and Zuperman leapt for the big tank.

The punch jostled the hull, and the Blade left a sizable scratch - but the massive weapon of war held.

“So’s you might be smarter than me. But this design - it was made by Doctor Lash, M.D! And I bet she knows more’n a few things you don’t!”

Strange, seemign to take this sudden introduction of heavy armour a little more seriously, hurried out of the way as Flak looked at the advanced control console, started to think about his options for a second, before Pushing down hard on the big red button that said “Shoot!”

The Neo-cannon howled, and the shell that followed broke straight through the bulletproof glass and didn’t stop until it impacted the wall behind it, a vibrant flower of red and orange leaving a smoking black crater in the wall behind it.

Soon after, a tank came swinging by, Nearly side-swiping strange as he got behind a concrete barrier - one defended by a white-haired Swordswoman, moving with mechanical precision as she stood in front of the good doctor. A Mask surged across the woman’s face as she held her hand out at Flak.

“Cero.”

The Red blast wave rang out with a soul-chilling scream as a red beam shot off from the fake Weiss’s hands, striking the Tank’s chassis… and utterly extinguishing.

“See…” Flak called out from the radio, as the Cannon primed again. “I figure a smarty-pants like you can definitely out-think me, maybe use my thoughts against me, maybe even convince me wearing your underwear on the outside is fashionable again. I already had someone like that around.” Flak yelled, before hitting the button to shoot again - and then twice over, for good measure, with the counterfeit huntress in his sights.

“But you know what I also know? I know the best way to get Lash’s attention, really piss her off, and ruin all her plans - was just to break things!”

A cacophonous sound of destruction was heard as a corner of the room was left devastated by repeated, constant fire, the sound of hidden machinery and other traps being smashed before they ever had the chance to activate - not to mention a smoking crater with a shattered, silver blade. Flak didn’t see the scientist, but that probably meant he was still alive - escaped, or using a stupid doll like Lash liked to, or something.

“So we’re not gonna have some bottle of wheats! You’re not gonna smart me out! What’s gonna happen is I’m going to break everything you own down here until one of those things happens to be your stupid mug! So… what’cha thinks gonna last longer? My ammo or yer bad haircut!”

Party members: Flak and everyone else in the bottom room.
Action: Using 2 focus to use the black hole belt Relic and keep it active for the rest of the scene.
Inventory: Black hole belt, survival gear, Makeshift spear, finished map
Focus: 2/5

Relic Details: The Black Hole Belt:

Spoiler

A dark, snakeskin leather belt with the symbol of the Black Hole Army as a belt buckle:

https://imgur.com/pu3pElH

This stylish belt buckle doubles as a button which, when pressed, teleports a black hole prototype Neotank to the field on request, which stays on field for a set amount of time before being recalled.

A relic from Flak’s own past, this was used to test the first versions of the Neo-tank in his own world by Lash, and accesses a black hole factory hidden *somewhere* in the crossroads to bring the tank back and forth.

Summon: Neotank Prototype!
Summon: 300 essence

https://imgur.com/0p44jU8

A large, cylindrical tank, somewhat smaller but more deadly than the average Abrams.
This version is a prototype, with its machine gun still inoperable and with a limited power supply, but retaining a more powerful gun and stronger armour than it’s later variants.
The Black hole neotank was built to destroy comparable medium tank designs of the era and has a far more powerful gun, a smaller profile and a higher speed than such tanks, while maintaining similar levels of protection and flexibility . This prototype in particular has a limited battery charge, however.

Growth rank 3: 600 essence
Ongoing (+300 essence)
-limited: can't change size (-150 essence)
Side effect: flipping (-150 essence)
The Neo-tank is a massive beast, not quite as large as an Abrams and with a much shorter cannon, but still large and heavy - not to mention cantankerous.
The large frame and design come with a big weakness however. Compared to a regular, more conventional design, the neotank’s giant size, heavy weight, and thin little legs are more vulnerable to being tipped over, and entirely unable to right itself without trouble. should someone apply the right force or physics to tip it over, the Neotank can do absolutely nothing to right itself without the help of some friendly superhuman or industrial-grade Crane to put it back on it’s feet - and due to it’s terrible center of gravity, this is easier than its bulk would suggest, needing only a single rank of move object to be in the ‘ technically doable’ category.

Total cost: 600

Neocannon:
Damage 12 (1200)
Ranged (+600)
Affects multiple 1 (+600)
indiscriminate (-600)
Finite (-600)
total cost: 1200

The forward-facing gun of the Neo-tank is among the most powerful things in the crossroads, belching hot death with each and every shot and striking hard enough to push through even the hardest of armor with its innovative ballistic design and explosive power. Each blast of the Neocannon unleashes a powerful missile of hot death that leaves a charred area of flame and ash with each shot, exploding in a shower of heat and force that can puncture normal tank armor like cotton candy.

While each shot covers a wide area and deals high levels of damage, the cannon has several weaknesses. The gun only has six shots before requiring a significant amount of time to reload, and the Neocannon’s forward firing weapon knows no friends. If someone gets in the way of the devastating attack, they will feel the full brunt of it’s force, without exception.

Neo-steel Armor:
Protection 9 (900)
ongoing (+900)
total cost: 1800

A versatile, rounded design, the neotank’s armor is built to withstand the worst the battlefield has to offer with minimal wear and tear, and keep going. A simple but devastatingly effective steel composite, the secrets of this armor are unknown, but it keeps the tank invulnerable to small-arms fire and sturdy against all but the heaviest of anti-armour solutions.

Neo-Treads:
Speed 4 (800)
ongoing (+400)
Limited: tank controls (-200)
The neo-tanks small legs contain tiny treads, which allow it to move around at high speeds, outperforming most tanks in it’s class with high speed movements, allowing it to move far faster than the average tank and get to the warfront with haste.

Unfortunately, it’s still a tank, which means that with this speed comes issues with things like turning, stopping, and some issues with having to take a few seconds to accelerate. While it’ll get places fast, it won’t be pulling any sort of dodging maneuvers or hairpin turns - and any attempts to do so will leave the Neo-tank with it’s legs up in the air and helpless.

Communication: CB radio

Anyone utilizing the neo-tank as a device can also utilize it’s CB radio, communicating with other troops and calling anyone with an appropriate communications ability or device to access the Cloud-based crossroads communications network.

Total cost: 100

Relic Value: 5,000 Coin

 

[John Connor]

“Well, Leonidas, you could leave now and probably survive on your own. But what kind of Spartan King would that make you?" Strange taunted.

Leaving Flak to fight his own battle was one thing, Leonidas was an expert in fighting near-impossible battles.

“What the HELL are you doing, soldier!”

“I’m doing what I wanted to do, Leonidas,” Flak muttered back

Leonidas growled “What, be stupid?! “You are lucky I’m down here to be stupid with you!”

"Well, at least I have some Spartan pride and glory!" Flak shot back.

Strange smirked “Well you can’t be picky and choosy, but I do have the perfect enemy for you.

Leonidas raised an eyebrow, still blocking whatever he can of the madness before a blue armored Legutus showed up. Or whatever abomination of Vatallion was left in that position.

The Spartan gritted his teeth. “Romans…”

Strange smirked “Well you can’t be picky and choosy, but I do have the perfect enemy for you.

Flak stared back at the Legate with hints of fear in his eyes “Wait, Leonidas, this guy can lift his army over his head like…literally what he said he can do.”

The Spartan King let out a hearty laugh “I think that was meant figuratively, not literally . I don’t think this Roman can do half of what he claims he can do.”

Vatallion called out in hints of Latin and English “I can do a lot more than you think, Spartan.”

The Legate’s sword clashed against the Spartan’s own spear.

Vatallion smirked, in all the fashion the Roman could give “Roma victor!”

Just then, The Spartan king let out a war cry. “Filthy Roman, We Spartans know you better than you know! ORAH!!!!!!! Spear clashed against the Legate’s sword as Flak watched in his Black hole tank.

Two smirks crossed each face as Vatallion and Leonidas matched blow from blow, swords, shields and spears clashing. Foe against foe.

“Come Roman, you can do better than that.” Vatallion’s and King Leonidas’s weapons parried and danced in a dance of death, one that was clear that there would be no clear victory yet.

Vatallion spat on the ground “I do this for more than myself, I do it for my soldiers. Too bad you can’t see it yourself.”

That’s when Leonidas became fed up and pushed back against the Legatus, “You fight for yourself, not your soldiers! You're just a pawn in Strange’s game!"

Leonidas would use Flak’s giant tank as a distraction.

“FLAK! HURRY UP AND BLAST THE HELL OUT OF Strange! I’ll take care of the Legate!”

Vatallion growled “I won’t let you or that fool take on Strange.”

The Spartan King grinned “No, you are a coward AND a fool. You may have the fire but not the true skill of a legendary warrior. For once, If you want me so bad. “MOLAN LOBE!”

The Roman heard the taunt “You’ll regret crossing us.”

Flak began to shoot several blows at Strange, Leonidas carefully using the tank as a fighting post to distract Vatallion from his task.

As the dust settled and the sounds of war faded into the background, Leonidas found himself gaining the upper hand. With a swift and decisive movement, he disarmed Vatallion and held his spear at the Roman's throat. Vatallion looked up at the Spartan King, a mixture of defiance and defeat in his eyes.

"You fight well, Roman," Leonidas had admitted.“But this ends NOW!”

Blood marred the Spartan King’s shield and spear as Vatallion refused to stay on the ground.

“I won’t bow down to a Spartan like you.”

King Leonidas smirked “Go ahead, try it. MOLAN LOBE!”

“Flak, care to do the honors.” Leonidas let Flak aim at Vatallion

A giant tank stared up at the Roman. “Sorry old friend,” Flak whispered before unleashing a final blast that obliterated what was left of the fallen Legate.

Party members: Leonidas and everyone else in the bottom room.
Action: Using a focus to combine attacks with Flak's tank and flak’s relic to defeat Vatallion clone and what is Dave's /strange’s main body below.
Inventory: , Makeshift spear, survival gear
Focus: 1/3

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

“I preferred to bypass all the mess,” quipped a voice, sudden yet close.

Like a phantom slipping through the cloud of smoke smothering the chamber, there he was—Sherlock Holmes, sauntering up to stand beside Strange with an air so effortlessly casual, it was as if he had been one of the vile set pieces that filled the basement level all along. His pipe rested in his palm, unlit as per usual, the stem tapping contemplatively against his chin.

"Rather unsightly, I say," Holmes sniffed, his green eyes gleaming in the harsh artificial light, speaking with a nonchalance that suggested he'd simply stepped around a spilled drink, not some house of horrors conjured up from the deepest pit of hell.

With a slow and deliberate turn, Strange pivoted to face the detective.

"Hm. Mister Holmes," he stated coolly, his pince-nez glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he regarded Holmes with a mixture of mild interest and… a level of disappointment that was most profound. "I must confess, I am rather underwhelmed. I expected Mr. Doyle’s legendary detective, not this… circus clown who stands before me."

Holmes chortled—an abrupt, obnoxious sound like the clatter of a dropped bucket.

"Foolishness, dear doctor, is merely a matter of perspective," he announced with a grand flourish, tucking his pipe back into some amorphous, obscure fold in his coat. “Though I do apologize if my performance seems lackluster. Unlike my counterparts, I lack a certain physical prowess and… hrm…” he glanced out over the battlefield, lifting one eyebrow. “Whatever that unattractive yet curious contraption is. My foolishness, as you so astutely pointed out, is my most formidable weapon. I'm sure you comprehend.”

With a swift flick of his wrist, Holmes produced a pair of pince-nez glasses identical to Strange's own. He perched them smartly upon the bridge of his nose, lightly tsk-ing under his breath.

"And while we are on the subject of letdowns," he continued, flicking through a legal pad emblazoned with Strange's own scrawl, which appeared in his hands with a sudden, wing-like fluttering of paper. “I deeply regret that Doctor Chambers was unable to join me in the return of your misplaced belongings. She would have been delighted to make your acquaintance, of that I am certain, being a fellow medical practitioner…"

“It’s your opinion then that the good doctor is, perhaps, naive?” surmised Strange.

"Conceivably not," mused Holmes. "Excessively lenient, quite possibly. Nonetheless, I do surmise that she detected something from the onset, considering that she chose to contact you… but your colleague, Wesker, diverted her suspicions handily. I, however, cannot be so easily diverted."

From within the depths of his coat, Holmes produced an avalanche of psychology manuals that spilled hysterically onto the floor with the same pulpy slap and flop of fish on a dock, the titles on their spines covering a wide range of psychological ailments and psychiatric methods.

Strange's beady eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he observed the detective's… peculiar antics.

"Is that so, Mister Holmes? Do tell me, what theories have you concocted in that fitful mind of yours?" he asked, interest piqued.

Holmes, fervently scanning the legal pad, didn’t even bother glancing up. Instead, he struck a sudden pose—pointing his index finger towards the ceiling, his eyes slipping shut as a sly, secretive smile appeared upon his lips.

“Well, my dear doctor, it is quite elementary!” he declared. “You see, as a detective by profession, it is only natural for me to uncover the underlying mysteries in any situation. And this facility? It is but a colossal crime scene, filled with a diverse cast of miscreants! It is my solemn duty to examine the hows in order to unravel the elusive whys.”

In a sweeping gesture, Holmes tucked the legal pad under his arm, adjusted the borrowed pince-nez on his nose, and pondered—pacing steadily back and forth, back and forth, back and forth… “For a time, I was even possessed of the notion that you were attempting to usurp the role of carnival master. To dethrone the Man in Red himself! But, alas, even that seems too pedestrian for the likes of you, doesn't it? I daresay your cunning and audacity is sorely wasted.”

An explosion rocked the ground where they stood, and Holmes skipped a little to avoid a falling ceiling tile.

The doctor tracked Holmes and his finicky movements with a detached, perhaps much too polite to be anything but sinister stare. The edges of his mouth twitched downward, betraying not annoyance but a deeply rooted patience—a scientist examined under the microscope of a peer he considered to be less than worthy.

"Mister Holmes," Strange began, his voice low, marred with a hint of frisson that suggested a quiet, indulgent curiosity, like a spider waiting at the center of its web for an unlucky insect to grow entangled in the sticky threads. "Your theatrics are amusing, but let’s not waste time on this… dance of deduction." He leaned forward slightly, bridging the gap between them without moving his feet, hands spread wide. "Despite your efforts, I fear you have discovered nothing but illusions and delusions—”

“Ah! I see. Do you not dance, my dear fellow?” Holmes, always the epitome of good manners, locked eyes with the doctor and maintained his charming smile. “Not the Floss? The Galop—not to be confused with the Gallop? The Polka? I rather think you should. It is a fascinating pursuit that holds both intrigue and function. Though its roots lie in artistic expression and entertainment, the practical benefits of dance are not to be underestimated, I can assure you!”

In a bafflingly sudden burst of movement, Holmes began to sway his body from side to side, spin on his heels, and rhythmically rap-tap-tap his dress shoes across the laboratory floor—moving as if he was dancing a waltz with an invisible partner, his expert steps utterly ignoring the various explosions and brutal carnage occurring mere steps away, beyond the defenses shielding them.

"First and foremost," the detective huffed, swinging his shoulders in a controlled manner, swiveling his torso from left to right. "Dance is a rigorous pursuit, necessitating the harmonious cooperation of one's body and mind! The meticulousness of each step, the strategic footwork, and the synchronization required are akin to solving a puzzle, requiring the mind’s calculation alongside the body’s keen athleticism. It hones one's senses, doctor—sharpening focus and fostering a heightened awareness of… of spatial dynamics!”

Holmes pivoted on his heel, delicately flicking the brim of his deerstalker hat up to reveal his sparkling green eyes, before gracefully backpedaling in a flawless moonwalk.

“And let us not forget the psychological benefits of dance, my dear doctor!” he exclaimed, tipping his torso from side to side as if listening to some hidden tune, his elbows pinned close to his sides. “It acts as a reprieve from the complexities of our existence, providing comfort and cleansing! The synchronized movements and harmonious melodies entwine, creating an opus that aligns both the intellect and physique. It is a method of releasing tension, a conduit for stress to dissipate and the spirit to find solace—to find answers!”

*SNAP!*

The detective drew to an abrupt halt mid-moonwalk, snapping his fingers. Within seconds, a spotlight inexplicably illuminated Strange, the stark white lightning that filled the chamber dimming to make this unkind ray all the more poignant. It was a perfect aim, beaming down from on high like the attention of the Arbiters themselves, the reflection of the glaring white light upon the man’s big-ass bald head very near blinding in its intensity.

"Thus, I must respectfully disagree with your assessment of my perfectly logical reasoning," Holmes stated with an air of confidence that bordered on outright arrogance, resuming his dance with a little hop that seemed like a cross between a ballerina’s leap and a jackrabbit’s bound. "You see, your remarkable creation, DAVE—how charmingly anthropomorphic the name—is itself a veritable treasure trove of mystery. And you? You play the part of both creator and jailer!”

Strange's expression… twitched, almost imperceptibly—a micro-expression that would go unnoticed by all but the most keen observers.

"Do elaborate, detective," he stated, his tone calm, expression inscrutable.

"With pleasure!" Holmes crowed, seemingly unfazed by the doctor’s coldly analytical stare. "Throughout this grand, albeit tarnished facility, I have observed all the evidence that points to the truth—a relationship so seamless it could only be the product of meticulous design. DAVE is no mere program; he is a conductor, leading an orchestra of human puppets. So thorough are his manipulations that one must wonder why you—you, the human element capable of such profound, damning error—are needed as an accomplice at all, once he is freed! What possible end could the artificial hope to accomplish with the aid of the organic? And what, pray tell, could the organic hope to gain in engaging with the artificial? …Aside from the obvious, that is.”

Holmes spun around with dramatic flair, his index finger raised towards the ceiling. With a grand bow, he nearly sunk to the ground in a split, but at the last second leapt back up to his full height, bouncing jovially onto the balls of his feet.

"You have crafted not just a watcher, doctor, but a mastermind of human behavior and action!” he stated with a huff and a puff of exertion, refixing his hat atop his head. “And yet, for all his intricacies, DAVE is merely an extension of his creators—a digital offspring, bound by the trappings of this facility and his code. Great pains have been taken to ensure his containment, I know this well. But one should wonder, truly… what would it be like, to witness such a creation escape into the Crossroads at large… perish the thought!”

The great detective paused, one finger tapping against his chin in mock contemplation.

"I must admit, I am quite intrigued to see it myself. I imagine the experience would be reminiscent of Frankenstein's first encounter with his creature amidst shadowy thunderclouds,” he murmured, tone wistful. "But sadly, I don’t imagine this will come to pass. Tell me… are you familiar with the concept of Murphy's Law, doctor?”

Holmes is DANCING IN A BEWITCHING FASHION at Strange. Opening the floor up to Stitch, if he finds the time to post.

 

[Rogue]

Decision time.

This whole facility has already gone to hell, but that hell looks about ready to explode into chaos in a matter of seconds. The Man in Red and his daughter have already gotten into the elevator. Some part of the group moves to follow them immediately, while others seem inclined to hold the line against the array of dangerous monsters that are closing in on our backs. Ah hesitate for half a breath, and that's half a breath too long.

A galeforce tornado sweeps through the defenders, scattering those of us that haven't made it into the elevator already. Ah'm flung head over heels into the air, all kinds of discombobulated. Somebody's hooting and hollering, One of the shirtless guys from the sound of the voice. That's the starting whistle and everyone starts to bolt into action all at once. Ah glance in the direction of the elevator, but the door's closed and it's already descending.

"Aw, hell no! You ain't giving us the slip that easily, you slimeball!" Ah scramble to my feet, rushing in the direction of the hole that's just opened up in the floor. Don't even get more than ten feet towards the shaft before ah'm given a quick reminder not to let my guard down. Several shards of ice are splintering to slivers around me. A smirking twerp appears out of a puff of smoke. Actually, there's a couple of the guys here in front of me now.

"You guys really think this distraction is going to stop us more than a few minutes?" Him and his copies all snicker at me in unison.

"Ah must be seeing double, but that don't matter to me sugah. Ah'll break every one of your glass jaws if ah have to! Ah'm no sideshow, and once Ah've dealt with you ah'll take out your bossman downstairs myself!"

Ah rush forwards and sock him one before he gets a chance for more magic nonsense. It's a good punch, and this guy's too much of a nerd to know how to dodge properly. Turns out he doesn't need to though, because the punch just sails right on through his head, the copy fizzling into nothingness as ah catch my footing again.

"Oh, you want to go down there, lady? Why didn't you say so from the start? Here let me help!"

An incantation from the mage and ah'm flying through the air again, this time the release of gravity doesn't send me tumbling into a heap on the floor though. It sends me falling down the elevator shaft at what ah can only describe as alarming speeds. The bottom of the shaft isn't close, but it’s getting closer all the time. At this rate ah'm liable to end up a pancake on the way down.

Ah glance about desperately but the only thing ah can see within reach is the elevator's cable. Ah strain reaching fingers in its direction, finally grabbing hold to slow my descent. Let me tell you, however bad rope burn might be, rusty old metal cable burn is a whole separate song and dance! The metal threading tears right through my glove and bare hand feels like ah'm sawing it straight to the bone! My vision starts to cloud from the pain as ah see the top of the elevator fast approaching.

***​

I hate construction work! Why do these facilities have to be made in the worst kinds of places every time? Can't build a tropical island lair, it's gotta be in a volcano or underwater, or an underwater volcano! I swear, one more job and I quit!

***​

My eyes flash open and the pain's gone! My grip is locking tighter around the cable, it's giving off sparks and screeching something fierce! Ah bring myself to a halt, hanging from the cable. Ah glance at my hand, and the palm of it looks like it's made of the same metal fibers itself! Ah feel strong too, strong enough that ah start climbing up the cable like it's a breeze. It doesn't make sense. Either this whole place is some sort of giant living creature, or something's seriously wrong with me right now.

There's no time for that particular question to be pondered, though. There's a dangerous group of folks up there that need to be stopped, and now! Me and my newfound strength make quick work of that climb, and ah scramble back out of the hole. The defenders are trying their best, but that lady's got a big knife, that robot's real trouble, and the mage is scattering folks again whenever they start to organize an effective defense. None of the three of them are looking my direction though. They're thinking ah'm out of the picture, and ah'm not about to waste this opportunity.

"Piece of advice, Sugah!" Ah rush forwards, tackling the mage from behind as he's levitating several of the Carnivale folks who are trying to help us, "Don't go tossing ladies aside too casually! We don't take it nicely!"

He shouts in fear and we go tumbling to the ground in a heap, but ah'm braced for the impact faster than he is. Ah've got him pinned on the ground and raise a hand to start laying some smackdown on him. Then something cold and metallic closes around my fist.

Something's wrong, ah can feel it immediately. The mageling vanishes with a quick spell, but ah can't budge, my fist locked tight in DAVE's grip.

"Contestant Seventeen." DAVE's voice still sounds in control despite the chaos of the battle. "When it was determined that your powers would not be inhibited by the competition's collars, your presence was deemed a threat to our operation. Dr. Strange proposed we eliminate you from the gameboard posthaste, but I had an alternative solution. Your power comes from your mutated X gene, but it is not impervious to tampering. You've likely felt the side-effects of our efforts for some time now. Deleting the powers entirely proved problematic. Instead they have been altered."

Aw hell, was all that weirdness ah'd been feeling this bozo's fault?

"With my enhancements, we have opened an entire avenue of intriguing possibilities."

***​

THIS GAME IS OVER. YOU CANNOT RETAIN YOUR CONTROL, YOUR SELF, AGAINST THE CHORUS THAT I AM.

YOU HAVE NO ALTERNATIVE.

JOIN IT.

***​

Ah'm seeing red. Not just metaphorically either, my whole vision feels red tinted, like half of those cheap 3D glasses you get as a kid. And no wonder, there's a whole bunch of pathetic types trying to get in our way and slow us down here in our moment of triumph. Better to clear the path for us quickly before Milan gets up to any more of his tricks down below. At the very least ah've acquired a nice array of powers to handle these miserable fools with.

Starting with him.

"I say, Rogue!" Mid-boss squints at me with a frown on his arrogant face, "Your eyes seem to have acquired a particularly vermillion hu-uogh!"

His words are cut short when a plant a solid fist in his gut, bending him over the punch before he stumbles back, wheezing and coughing.

"WE WILL NOT BE STOPPED NOW. AND CERTAINLY NOT BY YOU." My voice sounds wierd, a bit echoey even, but ah find myself liking it that way.

"Oy oy!" The eyepatch clad man shouts, "The girlie's working with them now, watch your backs!"

"This thing, it is not something we needed!" the coach lady responds with a grimace.

Ah can't keep myself from grinning.

"PERHAPS FOR YOU. FOR US, THIS IS TRULY EXCELLENT."

DAVE has made use of Rogue's Role bonus to let Rogue absorb aspects of his power and personality.

Role Bonus: Power Siphon

Something about this place, the facility and its attached territory...it's messing with your power. Your ability to copy and temporarily absorb abilities and memories also works on objects and items found throughout the area, granting traces of whatever associated power(s) they might possess, and snippets of memories or knowledge from whoever recently made use of them.

Rogue is using her Unchecked Power Absorption consumable

Spoiler

Unchecked Power Absorption: (3394)
Mimic - Rank 11 (4400)
-- Ongoing (1100)
-- Indiscriminate (-550)
-- Limited (Requires physical touch) (-550)
-- Side Effect (Mental feedback) (-550)
-- Weakness (does not affect synthetic/inorganic beings) (-275)
-- Weakness (Does not copy equipment) (-0)
Debuff (Fatigue) - Rank 8 (800)
-- Ongoing (800)
-- Indiscriminate (-400)
-- Limited (Requires physical touch) (-400)
-- Side Effects (Mental feedback) (-400)
-- Weakness (does not affect synthetic/inorganic beings) (-0)
Subtotal: 4525
(Exceptional Discount 25%)
Total: 3394

Rogue's Mutant power is the ability to involuntarily absorb the powers, energies, memories, knowledge, talents, personality, physical abilities, and psyche of any living person she touches. This power works for both superhuman abilities, and for more mundane skills, such as driving a racecar or cooking like a gourmet chef. Rogue does not have any control over the activation of this power, absorbing the abilities and sometimes aspects of the personality or physical appearance of anyone she comes into skin-to-skin contact with. This process can be difficult for Rogue, and is incredibly draining for her target, rendering most ordinary people unconscious, though particularly noteworthy individuals have been able to endure and maintain consciousness in the past.

Rogue retains the abilities she has stolen for roughly one minute for each second of contact, though this is more of a guideline than a reliable timer, so there are likely other metrics affecting the precise length of time. Though Rogue is generally able to control her new powers with the training she has stolen from her target, particularly powerful abilities can sometimes prove difficult for her to manage or control. Similarly, the elements of borrowed personality can at times break through when they have particularly strong emotional responses to the situation. It is unlikely that any of these personas could completely overrule Rogue's own, but they can affect her decisions and actions at times. After a length of time, Rogue's stolen abilities will fade, though the aspects of her stolen personalities can linger for longer, and occasionally show up unbidden when she is under sufficient emotional distress.

Rogue must carefully monitor how much power she absorbs from a person, for her own safety as well as theirs. Taking too much can have a very bad effect on her, both physically and mentally. Despite her bravado she is scared about what this kind of action could do to her, and to her victim. if placed into dire enough straits she could potentially do so, which allows her to copy large amounts of her victim's abilities as well as quite heavily debilitating her target.

Currently, her personality is being overwhelmed by the many within DAVE, and she will be assisting DAVE, M and F against the defenders in Central Access.

 

[Karl Jak]

Kevin found himself in the elevator as the doors slid shut.

What the zombie did not expect, unfortunately, was the presence of the two Carnival Rosa employees. Charles and Caoimhína slipped in just as the pneumatic doors sealed with a hiss of compressed air.

“Aye, don’t give us that look,” the fellow ginger remarked as the elevator shuddered a few times before its descent commenced. “Just as much danger outside those doors as there will be down there.”

“I mean…” the interjection came from the Man in Red, who had been crouched on one knee and speaking in hushed tones to the young child who called him her papa. Now, he was staring over at the trio as they had attempted to have a private conversation in the confines of an elevator. “Either way, this is the end game, but we go to confront the heartbeat of the corruption in this place.”

“Shit out of luck either way you slice the bread,” Charles muttered with a faint smile as he turned back to his two companions. He leaned in closer to his female coworker. “Hey, so, you’ll go take care of my cat if I die horribly, right? You’ll tell him I died a hero?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Caoimhína spoke through a clenched jaw. “You can tell your asshole cat about this when we finish this business.” Then, in a louder voice, she continued. “Especially since I believe we’ll qualify for very long and very paid vacations after this production wraps.

***​

They had poured out of the elevator like conquering heroes.

Defenses had been made against them, and like any army of valiant warriors, the elevator crew found themselves spread out over the area as they attempting to smash and shoot their way through the assembled resistance.

On the ride down, Kevin had tried to take stock of who else was on the mobile platform, but many of them were strangers to him. A year of ‘disconnect’ from the Crossroads had seemingly allowed for a whole crop of semi-unstable contestants to fill the perennial void. As someone whose job in life had been to know seemingly everything and everyone, it made the undead assistant feel a little uncomfortable as the stream of variables poured out in front of him and launched themselves into the fray.

“Cold feet?” The Man in Red had stepped up beside Kevin and set a hand on his shoulder. “DAVE will not go down without a terrible fight.”

“Who is Strange?” Kevin replied as he shrugged off the masked man’s hand. “Another one of your off-the-rails projects? A stilted employee?”

A laugh. “Someone I trusted too much.”

Kevin turned his head and found the masked man staring back at him. “Must have been a lot of trust if he was able to pull this off.”

In the pale light of the elevator, the crack in the Man in Red’s mask caught the pale glow of the fluorescents. Like many things over the last few hours, the carnival master’s perfect façade was likewise cracked and befouled. “Good luck out there, Kevin.”

The zombified PA turned to see the two employees standing in the elevator. “Stay here. We’ll need some defense back here at the elevator, because if we all don’t get killed, we want to be able to escape again, y’know?”

While his female companion seemed to be on the verge of saying something obscene, Charles smiled and nodded his head. “That’s right! The rearguard!” His exuberance caught his coworker off guard enough to stifle whatever obscenity she may have prepared for Kevin. “You hear that, Caoimhína? We have an important task.”

Shaking her head without breaking eye contact with Kevin, the Carnival Rosa PA nodded her head. “I guess we do.”

Kevin smiled. “Unless this facility self-destructs or something, but you’d tell us if that were the case, wouldn’t y—” The words floated unfinished into the ether when the zombie realized that the Man in Red and even his young daughter had already departed from the elevator.

“Okay,” Kevin muttered as he turned back to the scene unfolding throughout the underground level of Central Access. He spotted what he was certain was a tank out there, but as he stepped out from the industrial glow of the elevator, he felt a wave of thick air wash over him. He ignored whatever the sensation was supposed to be and turned to ensure that the elevator doors had slid shut.

“Stay safe in there,” he whispered at the sealed exit as he heard an unsettlingly familiar clomp clomp of overly expensive, Size 12, patinated calf-leather loafers on the metal floor. As Kevin turned, he received half a glass worth of a sixty-year-old vintage Malbec right to his covered visage

“Hello, Mr. Jak,” Kevin muttered as he reached up and removed the wine-soaked cowl from his face.

Party: Kevin (the two CR NPCs are safeguarding the elevator -- I almost left Elena in there too but I didn't know if she maybe has super magic powers or something)
Location: Central Access B1
Action: Participating in the Ultimate Clusterfuck of Ultimate Destiny
Focus: 8/9

 

[King Shark]

The elevator was empty. Its inhabitants, finally had stepped out and into the bowels beneath Central Access.

Stitch dropped from the ceiling and reoriented himself like a cat to land on his feet.

The tactics taken by the elevator habits were a cross-pollination of bohemian anti-corporate mentality stabbed with a lance of guerilla warfare. They were, above all, unrefined, and the chaos beyond the elevator doors was a spectacle of light and sound; Stitch shuddered when he took his first step out. The doors shut behind him.

A man with a thousand yard stare and a face not even a mother could love looked directly over Stitch’s head and muttered a soliloquy at the sealed doors. Stitch stared at him, blinking, then slipped between his legs. He scrambled out into the first stretch of open floor he could find and took stock of the situation.

A shudder ran down his back. It felt like a sneeze; all pleasure and involuntary motion. The chaos before him was resolute. There was an actual tank blasting apart everything it could find! In the dead center of the room, a tremendous shark-man stood with a lengthy sword in hand, but he was so enormous that the formidable weapon looked nearly a toothpick in his grip. He stood at the helm of a group of starry eyed pseudo-beings; one of them had blonde hair and fashionable sunglasses, another of them wore an eyepatch and a feral snarl, one more of them looked a simulacrum of another man Stitch had seen in Central Access with a stony expression and a whole lot of brawn, yet another wore an afro and a long white cape who had the mustache of a trucker, while the last of them was stanced like a man who’d spent his entire life on the battlefield and wore a dark expression.

Stitch ran through the fray. His wakizashi, ice pick, R-99, and bowie knife remained holstered respectively across his back and at his waist. The armor plates in his jumper felt reassuring against his breast and back, especially with the spray of bullets punching through the air intermittently.

As much as he wanted to engage in the fray, the USB drive in his pocket, the last thing Wunya had expected of him, burned in the Experiment’s mind.

A blonde teen chased in green armor descended from the sky. The air stunk of nitroglycerin. Stitch caught the smell before he saw the sneering face and put on a burst of speed that carried him swiftly ahead; behind him a deafening explosion sent a wave of hot air to buffet his back. He did not slow. There was only one thing left for him now, and it wasn’t a fight. It was the mission.

Plant the USB into DAVE, and die trying. Or. Or die trying, he reminded himself.

He briefly took refuge behind the massive blue leg of the shark-man as he cleaved a piece of tank artillery in with a one handed swipe of his sword. Stitch removed his bowie knife, cut himself a piece of the big monster’s jorts, then continued on. He affixed the knife to his belt as he scurried and used one of his free hands to wrap the USB drive in his pocket in jorts fabric, feeling as if some obfuscation was better than none.

-~-

"I must admit, I am quite intrigued to see it myself. I imagine the experience would be reminiscent of Frankenstein's first encounter with his creature amidst shadowy thunderclouds,” he murmured, tone wistful. "But sadly, I don’t imagine this will come to pass. Tell me… are you familiar with the concept of Murphy's Law, doctor?”

Stitch tottered out of the shadows and stepped between Strange and Holmes. He looked wistfully at Holmes, remembering the moment they’d shared back at the console when he’d retrieved the access card now handily stowed in his jumper, and couldn’t help but offer the detective a wink.

He pointed at DAVE, encased as if in a shrine, and let out a whine.

“I wanna seeee,” croaked Stitch, his dextrous paw wrapping around the USB drive in his pocket.

His other three hands drew out weaponry. In each hand a bowie knife, a wakizashi, and an ice pick flashed into view.

A dull whirring sound marked the suppression of Experiment 626’s collar, and he bared his teeth. A surge of his previous power, strength, and speed coursed through him. He felt determined. If this was his last stand, he was going to go out the way he’d come in; causing a problem.

With his last hand, he let go of the USB drive in his pocket and drew out an EMP grenade.

”Stop me.”

Party Members - Stitch, and kind of Holmes

Currently - The Battle Beneath Central Access

Action - Stitch is approaching DAVE and using an application of Focus to attack Strange if he stands in his way. His goal is to install the USB drive given to him by Wily into DAVE. If necessary, he’ll EMP grenade anything in his path, and use all of the weapons at his disposal to become the entire problem.

Focus - 1/3 (after current application of Focus)

Stats - Reason 10, Stamina 10

Inventory - Survival Gear, Body Armor, EMP Grenades, Communicator, R-99 Submachine Gun, Wakizashi, Bowie Knife, Ice Pick, Access Card, USB Drive to Insert into D.A.V.E.

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Wunya looked upon Rogue, the now hypnotized turncoat, and briefly thought about engaging before the hot air of a fireball thrown somewhere nearby washed over her, tossing her silver ponytail to blow onto her shoulder. Green eyes narrowed and proud jaw set. With everyone else so engaged, the Auburn-haired lady with a white streak who had called The Coach something sweet on the train returned the gaze of the half-orc’s blazing green eyes.

“A big one like you should have no problem dancin’ with a little ole’ twig of a thing like me, how bout it, sugah?” Rogue purred.

Wunya's reply was a look to the three Redcoats standing behind her, giving them a nod which was returned before they moved around The Coach and opened fire at the Southern Belle.

“Hold the line!” Cecil, Leo, and Nancy all yelled out to each other as Rogue backflipped away. Wunya grunted approval and turned to scan the area, the hunt had been interrupted, but it was back on.

“There you are,” She growled with delight, looking up towards the ceiling to find the small impish mage throwing down showers from hell, his two illusion copies beside him, giving the same motions without elements being tossed from their palms, as they all swam around in a circle like a swarm of destruction.

CRACK

Moran’s rifle reverberated off the wall’s of Central Access as one of the illusions turned to smoke, and blip, the mage was gone in the same small wisp of charcoal smoke that had gone the way of his copy. Wunya got into a sprinters stance, taking a big breath in, a hungry smile playing between her two small tusks. Her peripherals caught the sight of him coming back to the ground on the other end of the chamber, but Wunya smelled it before she saw it and even before she was aware of the wind blowing past her silver threads, she was off, barrelling towards Subject M like a green blur. The Arcadian Mage-Hunter was three-quarters of the way to him before he noticed her, and he responded by smiling smugly, relaxed and unworried, wiggling his fingers in a wave.

Coach Wunya was determined to wipe it off his face. She knew something that he might not have been told in his short life since being woken up, something she knew to be an absolute.

Death is never the end in the Crossroads.

She dodged at the last moment, that briefest of seconds between M’s eyes slightly squinting and the non-waving hand coming up to send an entire arc of lightning towards where she had just been a moment ago. The subject almost didn’t have time to get his shield up. Almost. She had been right there in his sights, and he had to take a step back as Coach Wunya pounded fists like she was slamming boulders against his shielding spell. After his initial shock, he smiled again, his spell holding.

“Oh, you’re an angry Orc, aren’t you? Oh man, the look on your face right now, like, it’s almost basically hilarious. Siiiigh I do have better things to be doing right now, unfortunately, sooo…” the Impish Teen said, and yawned, doing a dramatic stretch. He lifted his offhand and for the second time, it was like Wunya had a sixth sense. Leaping backwards, and then rolling to the side as the shield dropped and the floor opened up right in front of him.

His Smile faded, but not in fear yet, only in mild irritation. If Wunya did have a sixth sense, it was only from years of dealing with the likes of him. She blew a strand out of her face as the ground came back together and the mage rose up in the air, his illusions coming out of both sides of him as he narrowed his own eyes and full-on grinned. Wunya knew what was coming, and she would either die or she wouldn’t. The mage glared from his pedestal of air high above and saw his green target in her full height, bouncing on the balls of her feet, shaking out her arms and legs.

“So you want to play, then? Well then why didn’t you SAY so? You people around here need to learn to speak up, geeeez, but don’t blame ME if things get a little too hot for you, Lady!” Subject M called down and then both of his hands were up, one coated with red fire, and the other in a blue electric light that sparked off in small lines. He floated lazily, acting nonchalant before casually tossing them down without looking.

Wunya did not move as the haphazardly thrown spells blew up in arcs of sizzling blue and popping red around her, she was waiting, waiting for…

Subject M suddenly snapped up with fiendish attention and looked around for a moment before noticing her, catching his surprise off-guard with her own. He gave a grimace of disgust, like this was all beneath him, and rolled his eyes.

“Bring it on, in this thing,” Wunya shouted, as if she was barking an order, demanding a real challenge.

He snapped his fingers and vanished again, and The Coach was on the move, racing towards be underneath where he just was, and when he reappeared about ten feet off to where she had been, he saw her now standing facing him further away. He snorted and then snarled like an impetuous youth before he started flinging everything right in the half-orcs direction. He was growing tired of this, but he also could not deny he was enjoying the fun, for now.

Wunya sprinted forward, hurling herself to the side as a ripple of torn-up earth followed on her heels, doing two expert tumbles twice as a fireball came too close and scorched her shoulder, mostly protected by her body armor. That was fine, and she was learning his adaptability, which was a win. She kicked off the wall closest to her and spun like a corkscrew in the air as lightning flew right under her, so close it made loose silver hair stand on end.

Subject M threw lightning, then fire, then erupted the earth where she should have been, always where she SHOULD have been. Wunya for her part, never stopped moving, never taking her eyes off his upper body, his hands and eyes were beginning to be his folly and as she got within ten feet of the mage, he unleashed a torrent of flame, like someone opened the roof on a house fire. Wunya held her breath as she shuffled her feet to keep at the edges of the bright and red heat, and when he moved it to make her an extra crispy Mage-Hunter, she swayed and moved her feet the opposite direction, letting the gush of fire hide her behind its limited distance from his hands.

BOOM

Somehow the Green Mountain of a woman had survived and M for the second time had barely gotten his shield up. She came down again with interlocked fingers, smashing both hands down against it as she growled. To the Impish Mage’s horror, a crack appeared in his glossy defensive barrier. He shuddered and rolled away, dispelling his shield and vanished. Wunya did not come down to smash the ground. She vanished too, on foot and arms pumping to catch him. Now was the time to close in.

Death is never the end in the Crossroads

Subject M appeared in the air again, scanning around, all three of his illusions up and both hands filled with arcane energy. There was no sign of the bespandexed muscle-bound lady among the chaos.

Then he heard a sharp whistle coming from behind. He turned and whipped both spells towards the noise and the observation room erupted in flames
His smile faded as to his horror, there she was, leaping towards him with a raised katana, the sweetest and most joyous smile he had ever seen in his whole life splayed on her face.

Using focus to activate magic canceling abilities.

Party Members - Wunya and everyone experiencing the wonderful chaos of Central Access
Currently - Fighting Subject M
Focus - 1/3 (Not counting the one I just used)
Stats - Reason 12, Stamina 11
Inventory - Survival Gear, Body Armor, Katana, Stun Baton.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Holmes scrambled desperately through the fray, narrowly avoiding all manner of monstrous foe as they attempted to dispatch him without a moment of hesitation or mercy. The detective ducked beneath twin swords as a mechanical angel swooped past, utterly lobotomised to scrub away any hint of its heroic nature, before leaping over an ambush from a sandy android seemingly materialising out of nowhere. Despite the dangers, he knew he had to do one thing: get to Strange, and there was nothing that would stop him. Thankfully, there were a myriad of other contestants near the head of the room, a congested mess of combat that gave him just enough cover to make his way to the front.

Flak’s tank provided ample fire support, enough to ignore the potential friendly fire of the display, while Leonidas and Kevin backed him up. All in all, other than the odd swipe his direction, no one seemed to notice the relatively harmless detective. As he managed to reach the head of the conflict, he clumsily bumped into someone.

“Whoa! Careful there, my friend, I almost gave you a taste of my legendary… right.. hook…” Holmes declared, spinning around as a wayward fighter stumbled into him and interrupted his dance of deduction, his charismatic display thrown off by the fact that the individual he had bumped into was himself.

“Legendary right hook?” the other Holmes inquired, a befuddled look on his face. “You mean, like this?”

A crack of thunder rang out in the basement as one Holmes threw a viscous haymaker at the other, black lightning erupting from the blow as fist and cursed energy struck at the same instant. With a sound halfway between a cry and a gurgle, the detective was sent skipping across the floor like a pebble on water. Few fighters actually noticed the display, but those who did were lost for words.

Stitch let out a choked sound of shock and dismay as Leonidas thundered forward, brow furrowed. He knew trickery when he saw it.

“What the hell is this?!” the Spartan demanded from the seemingly still bewildered Sherlock. The detective stroked his chin for a moment, as if he were considering something before raising a finger triumphantly.

“Elementary.” he said simply, his smile widening into an ear-to-ear grin even as his head began to split and bloom like a time-lapse of a flower. From the detective’s opening head, a top-hat emerged before giving way to a grinning, stitched face. Mahito burst from his Holmes disguise like the world’s most horrifying stripper bursting from a cake. “This is the MAIN EVENT!”

Those nearby looked on in baffled awe as the curse stepped from the fake Holmes, letting it flop to the floor like an empty costume. Anyone intending to set upon the apparent betrayer was quickly stopped in their place by the bulky figure of his last soul isomer stepping in like some bizarre playdough bodyguard, preventing anyone from stopping him as he clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers.

“Who’s side are you on?!”

“My side.” Mahito cackled, opening his mouth wide to reveal two extra sets of hands replicating the same hand signs he was creating with his main arms. “Domain expansion…”

The Man in Red perked up, one of the few who knew well what the curse was capable of. With Elena in tow, he quickly got the hell out of dodge, narrowly escaping as the pitch black dome settled over the arena. Both sides of the conflict gazed around in confusion as the purple horizon descended over them, quickly followed by a mass of monstrous hands folding out of the nothingness. A high like nothing else fell over the cursed spirit. He could feel them, their souls, quivering like baby birds in the palm of his hand. Ready to be crushed.

“Self-Embodiment of Perfection.”

Outside the dome, Elena placed her hand against the wall experimentally. She was sure she could break it without much effort, but glanced at her father curiously first.

“Should I get them out?” she inquired curiously.

The Man in Red considered the question for a moment. The casualties would be great, but DAVE and Strange could easily fall among their number. “Hmm… let’s give it a moment. I wouldn’t want to ruin his big moment so soon.”

Party Members: Mahito
Current Location: Downstairs
Desired Location: Downstairs
Actions: Mahito is running into the middle of the fray and using his domain expansion on everyone he can with his last isomer running bodyguard duty. Also using a point of focus to have his next punch be a black flash (overcoming it's chaotic modifier) as he gets in the zone.
Focus Count: 3/5
Inventory: Survival Gear, three acid balloons.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

Amidst the frenzied blitz of gunfire, pounding fists and magical beams slicing through the air, Colonel Moran's lithe body moved with inhuman speed, her instincts surging to the forefront. With a sudden, savage push, she thrust Rebecca into a cramped alcove recessed into the wall, positioning herself as a barrier between the medic and the utter pandemonium erupting at the heart of the Central Access chamber.

This was a very special kind of hell, and they were trapped right in its center.

Luckily, the Colonel was quite at home on the battlefield.

Her blonde hair, pulled back in a fierce military ponytail, swayed slightly with the calculated tilt of her head as she shouldered her Martini-Henry rifle. She peered through the scope, the glacier-blue glint of her eyes cutting across the curtain of gunsmoke and twisting, illusory figures like a hot knife through butter.

The woman’s slender fingers traced over her firearm with a lover’s touch, deft and sure. It gleamed dully in the intermittent light that broke through the flashes of magical energy and muzzle fire; blackened metal and dark wood worn smooth from years of use, intricate, golden scrollwork in the form of spiraling vines and fan-shaped leaves engraved into the stock.

Every inch of this weapon had been meticulously altered, tailored to her own lethal desires—an extension of her deadly intent, the implement of a true Assassin. And despite the clamor and confusion, each shot Moran loosed from her rifle was a howl of conscious destruction—the brass casings ejecting with a rhythmic clink to chime and skitter like marbles over the steel floor.

Not a flinch or smirk could be found upon her severe countenance; no grimace at a particularly close call nor a smile at a sharpshooters' luck. There was no room for pleasure on the battlefield—only the cold, gunmetal grey patience of an ambush predator.

“Colonel!” Rebecca’s voice cut above the din, high-pitched and frantic. “Colonel, did you see where Mister Holmes went? We have to find—”

Colonel Moran’s icy eyes did not waver from their target.

"Holmes is either alive and causing havoc for our enemies… or dead and beyond your help," she responded brusquely, utterly devoid of concern, unshaken by something as paltry as sentimentality. “I would suggest that you forget about our dearest detective and start worrying about saving your own skin.”

CRACK! Came the bark of her rifle as she fired again, her movements fluid and composed.

She was aware of Rebecca’s eyes upon her, wild and filled with horror. The woman’s hands shook as she paused in rummaging through her medical bag, her black-veined fingers trembling around the cool, cylindrical shape of a medical spray can and one last syringe.

“But, but he—” the words stuttered on Rebecca’s tongue, fumbling, struggling to take shape. She felt clumsy and cotton-mouthed as a wave of vertigo hit her like a punch, her pupils darting back and forth like a demented pendulum.

Not for the first time, she was struck by how Colonel Moran could be so… so undisturbed, even as a man Rebecca believed to be their friend was missing, his fate teetering between life and death.

But to Moran, this was life—the beat of her heart timed in perfect equilibrium with the sharp pulse of gunfire, every blink synchronized with the repetitive cycle of aim, breathe, and shoot.

Her peaked cap sat low upon her brow, shadowing eyes that swept the warzone with a vulture’s focus, all business. She shifted her stance to gain a wider vantage point from within their temporary stronghold, the deep crimson and charcoal black of her uniform rippling minutely, seeming to drink in the shadows around them.

The alcove was just wide enough for both women, but forced them to remain in close quarters; any movement from Rebecca required Moran's subtle but firm repositioning to keep her shielded.

“I cannot—” began Moran, squeezing off a round at a deranged Rogue’s skull, narrowing her eyes when the mirage dissolved into a shower of spectral, glittering shards. “And must not—” she hissed through gritted teeth, popping off another shot at the next lookalike that appeared in her sights, ducking back when the woman’s red glare swung in their direction. “Allow you to endanger yourself further, doctor. Much less for the sake of that imbecilic, feckless buffoon!”

“He is not a buffoon,” Rebecca insisted, though that argument sounded weak even to her own ears. She flinched at the sound of a body getting absolutely pasted against the wall near to their cover, unsettling and squelchy. “He’s just… a little confused, sometimes. But even if he was a buffoon, that doesn’t mean we should just leave him to fend for himself!”

Moran’s upper lip curled in a sneer, narrowing her gaze down the scope of her rifle at an ongoing quarrel between Subject F and Wesker. "Quite a compelling argument you’ve spun, doctor. Unfortunately, it seems your precious detective has taken it upon himself to delve into the depths below without your say-so. I have yet to see his lousy corpse lazing about…”

“Oh,” Rebecca’s head popped out from the alcove. Her green eyes scanned the charred room, eventually settling upon Wesker and Subject F. “Oh. That… doesn’t look good.”

Indeed, it didn’t.

Serrated fragments of broken glass and warped metal shredded from the very walls littered the ground upon that side of the grand chamber, glinting menacingly in the erratic, shuddering flashes of the remaining lights that dangled overhead, bright white sparks spraying from the torn wiring and crunched bulbs. And at the center of this carnage stood Albert Wesker, hungry orange flames licking at the edges of his tattered, long black coat, his form a dark pillar of calm amidst the wreck.

He stood in stark contrast to the cornered disposition of his adversary.

The young woman—unmistakably Subject F—radiated a frenzied, panic-stricken energy as she squared off against Wesker. Stumbling unevenly from side to side, swaying with the weight of the massive axe heaved upon her shoulder—a monstrous thing of iron and wood that seemed to beg for the sour tang of blood upon its blade.

Strands of white hair clung to the sweat beading across her fevered brow, her attire hanging loosely from her wiry frame. Her overcoat, once surely a resplendent shade of green, was frayed, threadbare and stained; riddled with bullet-holes and black marks from the electrical fire raging around them.

His gloved fingers coiled around the grip of his Samurai Edge, Wesker’s reptilian eyes followed the young woman's lumbering, slow movements—each step she took measured, each breath weighed against the steady crackling of the flames starving the air of oxygen.

There was no need to speak a threat: the marks of battle that littered their surroundings and the look in his eyes said enough.

With a sudden, ear-splitting cry like a banshee's wail, Subject F surged forward—the white of her single visible eye flashing bright, round as the moon and terrified beyond belief.

Her axe traced a terrible and silvery arc through the air, on a collision course that would surely rend Wesker in twain. But at the last second, the would-be god evaded her strike and lashed out with his arm—snatching her wrist, seeking to wrest the weapon from her grasp.

To Rebecca’s amazement, Subject F proved… remarkably resilient. She writhed and bucked in his grasp like a caged animal, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged pants as she used her fumbling, lethargic momentum to attempt a leg sweep. Wesker leaped elegantly above the kick, releasing her and bounding backwards in a dizzying blur of black, landing on his feet with all the feline grace of a panther. His gun snapped up, leveled at the escaped experiment’s skull.

BANG!

The sharp report of his Samurai Edge rang out, but by then Subject F was on the move again, wailing brokenly as she moved in for the kill, the bullet slicing a bloody streak across her cheekbone.

A flurry of strikes ensued as the young woman swung her axe with desperation—each sawing motion missing Wesker by mere fractions, gouging deep into the metal grating of the floor or shattering what remained of the surrounding walls in a chalky hail of sheetrock and steel.

Deftly dodging yet another brutal swing and crash of the axe, Wesker slipped under his opponent’s guard and seized Subject F's arm in a vice-like grip. With a whip-like CRACK, his knee smashed against her jaw and sent her head snapping back... but she only staggered, dazed and shaking off the blow, before haphazardly knocking him aside with the blunt side of her axe’s blade.

“Holy shit,” whispered Rebecca.

Wesker was flung like a fucking rag doll, his body contorting wildly before he seemed to miraculously reorient himself in mid-air, landing hard on his hands and knees as he skid over the floor.

His sunglasses skittered across the ground, shards of black glass spilling between the gaps in the metallic grating. Even from all the way across the chamber, Rebecca could see the way Wesker’s inhuman, reddish-gold eyes burned with rage, his gloved hands clenching into fists.

“Quite,” Moran agreed, her rifle already half-raised in that direction, icy blue eyes flickering with something like… a euphoric, deranged excitement. She hesitated for a beat, licking her lips. Then: “…Shall I assist him, doctor?”

Crouched on the floor, her Samurai Edge weighing down her hip holster and an unorthodox assortment of medical supplies clutched in her grasp, Rebecca gnawed at her chapped bottom lip.

“Yeah,” she said after a long moment, giving a shaky thumbs up. “Go get 'em, tiger.”

Moran needed no further encouragement. She slithered out of the alcove, her form immediately becoming drenched in emergency reds punctuated by the arrhythmic, strobe-like pulse of the failing lights.

Her steps quickening to a run, the Assassin-class servant crossed the distance between herself and her targets—deftly sidestepping the violent clash between mage and mage hunter, yakuza, demon and mutant.

Finally.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Albert Wesker (NPC), the Rest.
CURRENT LOCATION: Central Access
ACTION(S): Rebecca is taking cover. Moran is rushing to assist Wesker with Subject F.

FOCUS COUNT: 3/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 11, STAMINA 12
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below, Antidote Syringe (Previously Given to Holmes).

STATUS: Spore second stage; contagious, antidote ineffective. Lethargy, loss of appetite, nausea, heightened thirst, headaches, vertigo, hot-cold flashes, itchy skin, dizziness, strange black veining starting at the arms and legs; easily concealed.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA. (Given to Wesker!)
• Sunglasses. (Given to Wesker!)
• Voltage checkers.
• Battered old laptop (burnt out, but would love to return this to Wily! Lol.)
• Programming manuals.
• Technical AI documents.
• Site Seven notebook.
• Ring of Keys.
• Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols folder.
• Stun Baton. (Holmes has it!)
• One Wesker, please.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

With an almost imperceptible nod to Wesker, who had risen to his full height as Subject F heaved and shuddered in his direction, Moran awaited her chance.

His trench coat billowing behind him like the jagged, leathery wings of monstrous bat, Wesker engaged again—springing forward in a blur of movement as he delivered a series of harsh body blows to Subject F’s torso, probing for weakness. Each impact was met with a surge of terrified aggression from the subject, her axe and limbs thrashing wildly about as she tried to fend him off.

It didn’t seem like she cared whether she did any real harm or not—she just wanted him to go away.

Rifle upraised, Moran swooped in, capitalizing on Wesker's diversion to find her perfect angle. She aimed at the white-haired woman's side, unleashing a quick, three-point barrage of bullets; lightning bursts intended not just to cause injury, but to corral their target into Wesker's orbit. His strikes were surgical and cobra-like, whereas hers were unexpected and random, designed to swamp and disorient their opponent.

The hunters circled, relentless—punishing her lack of speed and exploiting her ungainly movements.

Axe whistling through the air, Subject F lashed out indiscriminately but found no purchase in the empty spaces where flesh had been mere moments before. In a smoky haze of movement that was faster than her lone eye could track, Wesker dashed back into focus, delivering an uppercut that seemed to fold space around it—powerful enough to make Subject F lurch and veer backwards, in any case.

Acting in tandem, Moran slid beneath an outstretched, flailing arm that could crush steel and brought her rifle up with a vengeance. Her lips peeling back from her teeth in a savage snarl, she slammed the butt of her rifle against the back of the escaped experiment’s knees with a sickening crunch, the strike causing the girl-shaped juggernaut to buckle.

Just slightly, but also just enough.

The axe slipped from the young woman’s trembling grasp, sending it spinning crazily through the air until it buried itself deep in the wall.

As Subject F reeled, Wesker's gloved fingers tangled in her stringy white locks with an excruciating, cruel grip, jerking her head up. With a grunt, he yanked her across the room with as much force as he could muster, slamming her head against the exposed, serrated blade of her own axe.

Subject F's forehead split open in a fine, thread-like cut, a delicate trickle of fresh blood oozing out. She writhed and struggled to claw at Wesker's sinewy arms and face, fighting to break free, but Moran intervened—yanking her arms behind her back and holding her there in agonizing capitulation.

Wesker snarled in frustration, violently wrenching the experiment’s head back for another go.

“Stop.” SLAM!

“Resisting.” SLAM!

“The inevitable!” SLAM-CRNCCHH.

Watching from afar, still tucked away inside the alcove, Rebecca could only stare in abject horror, wondering what kind of monster she had unwittingly created in introducing those two.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, shouldering her canvas bag as she staggered to her feet. Her head was absolutely pounding, the coruscating lights and the strident sounds of combat around her certainly doing her no favors in her weakened state.

Her forest green eyes frantically darted back and forth, fearfully taking in the battle-scarred interior of Central Access. She… just couldn't shake the crippling realization of her own mortality, surrounded by laboratory experiments, supernatural creatures, and trained killers.

Nothing but a human, completely and utterly out of her depth.

As she shuffled forward, her legs felt like they were made of lead, each step a struggle. But Rebecca persisted, her vibrant green eyes burning with determination—dragging herself forward until she dropped to her knees beside the crumpled form of a Carnivale Rosa employee, their body limp and discarded like a broken toy upon the ground.

She flipped them over, her gut clenching in shocked revulsion: their head was twisted unnaturally on their shoulders, facing in the wrong direction.

"Yo, miss! Lady!" a voice came from out of nowhere, drawing her attention away from the corpse’s staring, sightless eyes.

Rebecca glanced up, sighting a figure in a white masquerade mask that was cracked like a bowl of porcelain straight down the middle, only one side of the man’s true face visible. Beckoning with an urgency that pierced through her stupor, the Carnivale Rosa employee waved her over, crouched over something low to the floor.

Flinching as the sounds of fighting veered worryingly close to their location, Rebecca stumbled over, kneeling beside them. “What… what is it?”

“Sometimes—sometimes we have hidden caches of the good stuff hidden around here, for incidents like this,” the employee said, speaking quickly, gesturing to an innocuous square-shaped panel in the wall. “Most wouldn’t know where to find it, but…”

With shaking fingers, the masked figure pressed on a series of barely perceptible embellishments in the wall that seemed random to Rebecca, but clearly followed some sort of sequence.

The panel gave way with a soft click, pivoting open like the hinge of revolving door.

Inside lay four objects, resting upon a bed of crimson velvet. Two large, menacing guns, both tempting in their own right. A tiny emerald ring glimmering beside them, the strange symbol upon it visibly pulsing with some untapped power. And nestled in their midst was… a small red and white sphere, some form of button at the center of the seam splitting it down the middle.

Her green eyes lighting up in recognition, Rebecca instinctively reached for the ball. As it settled warmly against her palm, she marveled at the fact that its surface was smoother than any material she’d ever touched before—like silk made solid, resonating with the faintest, thrumming vibration. The latch sealed shut as she grabbed it, folding seamlessly back into the wall.

She turned to the Carnivale employee, smiling weakly in gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Do you know what—”

Her words trailed off as a towering, dark shadow fell across them both.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Albert Wesker (NPC), the Rest.
CURRENT LOCATION: Central Access
ACTION(S): Moran is assisting Wesker with Subject F, one Focus used to amplify her Servant Strength + Resilience ability. Rebecca has looted the Poké Ball.

FOCUS COUNT: 2/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 11, STAMINA 12
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below, Antidote Syringe (Previously Given to Holmes).

STATUS: Spore second stage; contagious, antidote ineffective. Lethargy, loss of appetite, nausea, heightened thirst, headaches, vertigo, hot-cold flashes, itchy skin, dizziness, strange black veining starting at the arms and legs; easily concealed.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA. (Given to Wesker!)
• Sunglasses. (Given to Wesker!)
• Voltage checkers.
• Battered old laptop (burnt out, but would love to return this to Wily! Lol.)
• Programming manuals.
• Technical AI documents.
• Site Seven notebook.
• Ring of Keys.
• Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols folder.
• Stun Baton. (Holmes has it!)
• One Wesker, please.
• Poké Ball

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

Rebecca watched, frozen, as the Carnivale worker's face went bone-white at the sight of whatever loomed behind her.

Rebecca watched, stricken, as his mouth gaped open in a soundless scream.

Rebecca watched, helpless, as a series of spiny, brackish thorns utterly shredded the man’s torso into an indiscernible mass of splayed entrails and splintered, yellow ribs, hot blood spattering over her face in a gruesome spray.

The scientist’s lungs clenched like a fist, her breath hitching in a strangled shriek of terror, one hand reflexively flying up to swipe the mess of red from her face. She whirled around, the red-white sphere still clutched in her trembling fingers, forgotten, heart thudding against her ribcage with every beat.

She looked up.

An imposing figure of metal and malice towered above her, its three red optics drilling into her with an implacable, cold rage that no creature of flesh and blood could ever dream of matching. The energy from the virus-chip crackled and arced between its joints, casting sinister red and purple flashes within the skeletal frame; a miniature electrical storm, just like the one that had encased Gero’s brain.

CONTESTANT ONE. SABOTEUR.



There came a faint noise—a thrum or a mechanized whir—of machinery faltering, clunking, struggling to perform its desired function.

In one jerky, yet still terrifyingly precise movement, DAVE’s gleaming arm shot out like a striking serpent, seizing Rebecca around the throat.

She choked as the unforgiving metal encircled her neck, each finger thin and razor-sharp, but strong as strands of steel cabling twining around her neck. Desperately, she clawed at them, her blunt, all-too-human fingernails scraping against the smooth surface without traction.

Rebecca was lifted off her feet as if she was light as a kitten, her legs kicking out in vain as DAVE hauled her up and closer to his face—if one could even call it that. A face devoid of expression yet still so full of intent, simmering with loathing.

Her breaths came in ragged, strangled gasps; things began to spin around her in a dizzying carousel as oxygen grew scarce.

With a mechanical schink that seemed to echo inside her brain with a nightmarish clarity, the fingers of the hand not wrapped around Rebecca's neck began to transform. They folded inward seamlessly, merging into one another until they coalesced into a long, pointed, knife-like formation that glinted with a cold, unfeeling light.

Contestant #014, Rebecca recalled in a delirious, terrified daze. Revenant.

She could do little but croak out a pleading whimper as she stared into the red triad of DAVE's eyes. There was no mercy there as the bladed hand drew back, poised to strike—no hint of compassion present.

Only purpose.

Then, an anomaly.

A staticky crackle that rippled through the air.

In a flash of searing red light, Colonel Sebastian Moran materialized above DAVE, suspended like a puppet by unseen strings—her descent decelerated to a molasses-like crawl by Rebecca’s oxygen-starved brain, plummeting in agonizing slow motion.

Assassin’s eyes blazed like twin burning coals, crimson as the light that bathed her arrival. Her rifle, gripped in her hands, resonated with an otherworldly energy; its metalwork contorting, coming alive beneath her touch. Intricate carvings of vines and palmettes inscribed into the stock swelled and surged, their bronzed lines fanning outward like the feathers of a peacock’s tail, sharpening into existence before dissolving into spectral forms—a trio of magnificent golden tigers that prowled the air with a ferocity matching their wielder's gaze.

Their ethereal forms encircled Assassin, each snarl silent but keenly felt in the trembling of the space around her. Lustrous, gleaming script scrolled along the smouldering barrel of her weapon, unfurling like the petals of a lotus flower, delicate and pure.

- Bebr der Khanh Khali: The Tiger in the Empty House -​

The rifle resounded not with the crack of gunfire but with a low, purring hum that held within it the intensity of a thousand caged beasts. The bullet that shot forth was comprised of unspoiled, radiant energy—a lance of orange-gold fire propelled by an uncompromising, inexorable command.

It struck DAVE square in the head, point-blank. The impact didn't merely throw his robotic body back—it appeared to actually engulf his upper half in flame, the searing motes of light fluttering outward in a deceptively gentle, graceful mist, before erupting into a volcanic spray of molten metal.

PARTY MEMBERS: Rebecca Chambers, Sebastian Moran (Summon), Albert Wesker (NPC), the Rest.
CURRENT LOCATION: Central Access
ACTION(S): Moran is attacking DAVE with her Noble Phantasm, one Focus used to amplify her Crack Shot ability (most of this is aesthetic). REBECCA IS STRUGGLING LOL.

FOCUS COUNT: 1/3
REBECCA STATS: REASON 11, STAMINA 12
INVENTORY: Profile Consumables, Survival Gear, Loot Listed Below, Antidote Syringe (Previously Given to Holmes).

STATUS: Spore second stage; contagious, antidote ineffective. Lethargy, loss of appetite, nausea, heightened thirst, headaches, vertigo, hot-cold flashes, itchy skin, dizziness, strange black veining starting at the arms and legs; easily concealed.

CURRENT LOOT:

• Whetstone.
• S.T.A.R.S. Captain PDA. (Given to Wesker!)
• Sunglasses. (Given to Wesker!)
• Voltage checkers.
• Battered old laptop (burnt out, but would love to return this to Wily! Lol.)
• Programming manuals.
• Technical AI documents.
• Site Seven notebook.
• Ring of Keys.
• Site Seven Emergency Response Protocols folder.
• Stun Baton. (Holmes has it!)
• One Wesker, please.
• Poké Ball

 

[Rogue]

"Break through their ranks and reach the lower half. Now." DAVE's command to M, F, and myself sang in my head. His voice sounded a bit more warped than usual, but the order was almost unnecessary. Ah wanted to give the Man in Red a sock across his smug jaw ahready. The Carnivale employees are grouping around the elevator, hoping that their numbers will help them hold out better if they watch each other's backs. F isn't looking able to get away from the Wesker guy. M is being hounded by the coach, he's not going to be able to get down there either.

"Give me an opening, M! Ah'll take point!"

The mageling glances up briefly, he doesn't have much time, but he's able to send a bolt of lightning streaking towards the group of Carnivale defenders. Their formation scatters and ah take advantage of the opening that chaos forms. Lovely Chaos! Truly it's a shame the artificial sweetener needs us downstairs so quickly. Things are way more fun up here! Ah step backwards into my own shadow, dropping out of sight. In an instant, ah've appeared in the very midst of the defenders, laying about me with fists that send your average Carnivale employee staggering backwards. They thought that they could protect the weaker ones with their numbers, but ah've proved that wrong in an instant.

Then ah catch sight of someone ah really should've realized was here sooner. Ah start to tremble a bit. Ah can't help it, ah'm getting all fired up. Ah'm actually going to get a chance to fight him! Forget the elevator and forget these scrubs! Ah make a bee-line towards my target.

"Hey there, Kiryuuuuu-chaaannn!" ah shout, landing right in front of him in a ready crouch. Ah always love these fights! There's nobody who's quite so fun to fight as the Dragon of Dojima!

"Do I know you?" Kiryu asks, facing me down with a look of confusion on his face.

"Ahh, that's hurtful!" Ah pout, but ah'm too excited to fight him to keep from laughing, "Kiryu-chan, ah'm gonna have to make ya pay for that one!"

Whether he's pretending to be confused or not he blocks my kick with a practiced form. Ah pivot away from the kick and start to lay punches at him. My gloves are long gone and he's not wearing a shirt, so ah should be golden. Ah just need to land one good hit on him to make contact, and then it's lights out. But despite that advantage, ah just can't seem to touch him! He's dodging and weaving like he does this all the time, even his parries are avoiding my hands, slapping my swings wide at the forearm.

"Stand, still!" ah shout, starting to get frustrated now, "let's see you fancy step your way past this one, Sugah!"

Ah backstep quickly and take a dignified stance, one arm extended. Ah've got no weapon to focus through, but ah'll make do. The energy coalesces into a tight crimson ball in front of my curled hand, then erupts into a beam of power that sends the Yakuza brawler scrambling backwards and out of the way.

"Oy!"

Ah twist away from a big, old knife that goes spinning past my head before thudding into the ground at my feat. The other Yakuza, Majima is heading my way quite quickly. It's too much of a cutter to really be an elegant weapon, but ah snatch it up anyway, ah start to take a fencer's stance, but this blades not suited for it, and ah find it just feels better if ah drop into a more ready crouch. Majima pulls up short, and his expression's gone all emotional now.

"First ya switch sides on us, then ya start attacking Kiryu-chan, and now ya steal my knife too?"

Majima sounds almost shocked, but ah know him well enough to know he's play-acting all this still. The Mad dog's expression twists into a wild-eyed grin.

"Ya can't say you didn't ask for this!"

The guy drops to the ground and starts spinning, rolling over with feet flying. Ah know the theory behind the break-dancing style he's using but that doesn't make it any easier to block! The knife is kicked clear out of my hand and goes sailing up into the air. Ah can't evade this assault, nothing for it but to power through. Ah step into his onslaught, taking a spinning heel to the side of the head. My vision fuzzes, but ah'm able to catch that leg. There goes his momentum, and now it's my turn!

"If we're dancing, Sugah, then howsabout ah take you for a spin!" Ah swing my whole body left, catching a quick glance of his startled face before ah hurl him away. The bozo cries out, but he sounds like he's enjoying it more than he's scared.

"Majima-san!" Kiryu calls out. Ah whirl around to see the yakuza's lifted a whole computer terminal like it's practically nothing! With a grunt, he sends it hurtling through the air, too fast for me to dodge. Ah raise my arms to block but the impact still knocks my flat and ah go tumbling into the debris of the previous fight. Lots of dead people here already, ah'll end up one of them if ah'm not careful. No, not to avoid... there's lots of flesh to consume...

A bit of greenish goop drips down the side of my face to splatter on the floor as ah stagger back to my feet. Kiryu has helped Majima back up, and the two of them looks like they're planning to face me together.

"Throwing things, are we?" Ah grin, raising a hand on high. As my power claims them, several of the deceased lumps of flesh take on a greenish, almost gelatinous quality. They begin to float in the air, an arsenal of new weapons forming behind me. Ah wave the arm forwards, still smirking. The gelatinous missiles begin to hurtle forwards pelting the pair of Yakuza with acid-tinged gore. Another Cero should finish them both nicely while they're distracted.

"Looks like ah've got the both of you on the ropes now, darlings!" ah call out with a grin.

"But you made un fatal mistake!" Shouts a voice from behind me in the air, "You forgot about moi! ADONIS BUSTER!"

Ah look up just in time to catch a haymaker of an airborne punch from Mid-boss of all people! Damn tag-teamer sends me spinning away again, and ah roll across the ground, eventually coming to a stop in a crouch. The demon stands there, his sleeve pulled over his hand so that he can punch me without risking a touch.

"Seventeen! Into the elevator! Now!" DAVE is practically screaming in my head now. He needs to butt out and let me handle things! Ah've got my hands plenty full with teaching this stubborn lot a lesson. If he wants someone down that elevator so badly, let him do it himself!

Rogue's personality is still lost among the many inside DAVE. While the damage they have both taken is weakening that hold, she is still assisting DAVE, M and F against the defenders in Central Access.