DGS4 -- Staging: Registration

[The Man in Red]

As always, a reminder to make sure you've read the rules before joining. Things are a little different this year!

"So here we are, once again," the Man in Red murmured. "We've arrived at the turning point, time to get underway." With as much flair for the dramatic as he could, he lifted a gloved hand and snapped his fingers.

All at once, a number of lights on a literal wall of consoles and monitors blinked to life, going from a dim, barely nightlight glow to a bright, cheerfully gleaming glow of vibrant red as the letters 'ACTIVE' flickered to life under each one in a glimmering cursive script of silver.

All across the Crossroads, upon their various worlds and settlements beyond count (for a lazy or impatient man, at least) the staff and agents of the Carnivale Rosa went into action. They had already prepared their various locations and facilities many days ago, but now they revealed them. Opening them for business, dropping the cloaking fields and perception filters to reveal them to the world, or simple doing the last-minute setup to get them set up and deploying or unveiling the actual advertisements and notices of what they actually were.

The scouts and advertisers for the event returned in droves, to make their reports and file their findings. And in turn, they were relieved by another wave of scouts and the recruiters for the event, dashing out into the fold to go commence their own work.

"Yes...it is time, once more," the Man in Red chortled.

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

In her makeshift lab, Dr. Rebecca Chambers crouched over her workstation, dirt and sweat staining the once-pristine white coat that hung from her shoulders. Her glasses were fogged, but she hardly noticed as she carefully arranged beakers and test tubes in the cramped space. Every now and then, she paused to wipe the sweat from her brow, the jungle humidity making it feel like she was working in an actual sauna.

Above her head, an overhang of mossy rocks served as a makeshift roof and barrier keeping her separated from the outside world. The tangled vines crawling across it acted as a curtain, shielding her from sight and muffling the sounds of the larger settlement. Rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a speckled effect on her work table.

The constant buzz of insects and chirping of birds provided a soothing soundtrack noise as Rebecca worked. Occasionally, she would hear the crunch of footsteps on fallen twigs and leaves, signaling the presence of hunters passing by. Sometimes, they would pause to peer curiously at her collection of jars and beakers before continuing on their way.

Despite the wild surroundings, Rebecca was the very picture of order and control. As she carefully mixed chemicals and recorded data, she seemed to be in perfect harmony with the riot of nature and science all around her—unbothered. Happy. In her lane. Focused. Flourishing.

Her brownish-green eyes were glued to her microscope as she carefully transferred a sample of an alien mold onto a petri dish, nestling it in the palm of her gloved hand. The muted hum of equipment and a faint, acrid scent of chemicals enveloped her in her lab, blocking out any distractions from the outside world.

The mold had been extracted from within an ancient ruin deep in the jungle, its crumbling walls and eerie silence contrasting with the verdant life that surrounded it. A big blue robot guy, Pathfinder, had delivered it to her, and then promptly fucked off to abuse the zip-lining obstacle course located nearby.

Rebecca hadn't bothered to stop him, since he seemed so happy about it, but she was fairly sure the lines wouldn't bear the weight of his heavy metal body.

With her nimble fingers, she delicately turned the knobs of the microscope, adjusting them until the image came into focus. Her eyes narrowed as she observed the strange mold specimen, a spark of fascination in their depths. It was unlike anything she had encountered before—its structure seemed to defy all biological norms, with a resiliency and aggressiveness that both fascinated and unsettled her. It looked like... like a complex labyrinth of black threads and fine filaments, each hyphae pulsing with life under the powerful magnification...

Rebecca's pencil flew across the pages of her worn journal, filling each line with precise observations and calculations. She leaned in closer to the microscope, adjusting the focus as she identified the various components of the mold under its lens. The centrifuge hummed rhythmically in the background, providing a steady, purring soundtrack to her meticulous work.

Her lips moved silently as she mumbled to herself, lost in thought as she connected each new piece of information to her growing understanding of the strange specimen. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she carefully measured out specific amounts of chemicals and added them to each sample, deftly wielding a pipette between her gloved fingers to do so.

"Remarkable... the hyphae are more complex than any fungal structure I've ever seen," she whispered into the heated jungle air, oblivious to the sounds of the settlement going on around her. "Pathfinder may have found more than just an unusual sample."

As the sounds of chirping birds, the humming centrifuge and rustling leaves continued all around her, a discordant note struck Rebecca's ears—a solitary crunch of a twig underfoot, the sound originating from way too close to be a wandering hunter. It was a disruption to the orchestra of her enclosed wilderness, intruding into her focus, and it immediately had her on edge.

With a sigh, she put down her petri dish, halting her examination. Augh. "I swear..." she muttered under her breath, pulling off a glove with a sharp tug and snap of nitrile rubber. "If this is about lunch again, Scott, I did eat something, alright? And yes, I remembered my—"

Turning on her heel, any pre-meditated reprimand died on her lips as she faced the intruder. A tall stranger stood just at the very edge of her lab nestled beneath the rocky overhang, draped in a suit of deep red velvet that seemed to drink in all the sunlight filtering in through the canopy of vines.

Their face was hidden behind an opaque white mask, making their identity impossible to discern, but they at least... seemed human. Though the eerie smile on the mask's face was... something, alright.

"Dr. Chambers," the stranger greeted her, their voice smooth like the velvet they wore. There was something disconcerting about their composed demeanor, a stark contrast to the squidgy mud underfoot and the relentless buzzing of mosquitoes in the air.

Rebecca, condensation pearling on her forehead despite the respite offered by the shade, scrutinized the stranger with measured caution. Compared to her worn-out, dust-kissed boots and her sweaty field wear, the stranger was definitely out of place in the raw, untamed wilds of Kraw.

"Helloooo..." she replied, drawing the word out slowly, a hint of confusion edging her polite tone. She peeled her glasses off and swiped at a bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face, feeling the sticky humidity cling to her pale skin. "If you don't mind my saying so, you... don't look like you've been planet-side for long. What brings you to my lab?"

Without uttering a word, the stranger slunk out from the dimly lit corner of her workstation and surveyed the intricate equipment lining the walls, squat shelves full of everything from test tubes to Bunsen burners tucked away in the gloomy shade. Their masked face slowly turned, taking in the rows of beakers and vials scattered across the workbench—one of which they picked up, seeing as it was... thankfully empty.

Still, Rebecca stiffened a little at witnessing her equipment being so casually handled. What if there had been a very important sample in there? If they'd just asked to handle it first, she would've—

"I've got an opportunity for you, Dr. Chambers," the stranger stated, turning the vial in their white-gloved fingers. Their voice was muffled slightly by the mask, but they sounded... masculine, maybe. "Something that aligns perfectly with your expertise."

Rebecca's eyes briefly swept over her lab, filled with beakers bubbling and machines whirring; a stark contrast to the rough and tumble environment that encompassed the rest of the large encampment. Did she... look like she was looking for new opportunities for work, right now? She really didn't think so. She had so much stuff to do here, so much still to learn!

She shook her head, frizzy strands of her short brown hair spilling out from where they were tucked behind her ears. "I'm absolutely swamped here in New Abraxas," she said, gesturing to the utter bedlam around her. "But I know a brilliant doctor on Erde Nona who could help you with your project, if you'd like a referral..."

The stranger chuckled, a low, mirthless sound. "It's not that kind of opportunity," they clarified in a rather cryptic manner.

There was a pause, a heavy silence hanging between them, pregnant with implication.

"Tell me, Dr. Chambers," they began suddenly, their tone casual, yet laced with an undercurrent of intensity, stepping closer. "Do you ever... miss the adrenaline rush of fieldwork? The thrill of being on the front line, the satisfaction of putting your medical skills to practical use whilst under pressure?"

Rebecca's polite demeanor faltered. She felt her body tense as the stranger's probing questions hit a nerve, evoking a jumble of unsettling memories she had worked hard to tuck away into neat little boxes inside her head, to be pulled out and looked at every once in a while, usually in the dark, lonely recesses of the night.

But she held her ground, her gaze steady as she regarded the stranger.

"I can't deny that I miss it," she confessed, the words escaping her lips with a hint of reluctance. "But I've made a choice to pursue a different line of work now. A quieter one, sure, but no less meaningful. And... I'm sorry, but who are you? Who sent you?"

The stranger tilted their head. Their mask rendered their expression entirely unreadable. Still, there was a palpable sense of scrutiny that made Rebecca's skin prickle under her lab coat—even with the heated jungle air.

"Is that so?" they mused, their tone suggesting they were far from convinced, their voice smooth and controlled. They completely ignored her question about who they were, who sent them. "And what of the nightmares, Dr. Chambers? The bad memories? Do they still haunt you?"

Rebecca's heart skipped a beat. Nightmares. This stranger knew far more than they should, their words a merciless echo of her sleepless nights; it was almost enough to make her squirm.

"Everyone has nightmares," she replied evenly, though her mind was racing. How did this stranger know about her nightmares? "They're part of being... human, I should think. I've learned to live with mine. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do..." she left the sentence dangling pointedly, hoping they'd fill in the blanks.

The stranger nodded, their masked face betraying no emotion. "Of course, Dr. Chambers. But you see, I’m on a bit of a tight schedule...”

Rebecca's lab coat swished around her knees as she turned sharply away from the stranger, her movements conveying a clear message of dismissal.

“I'm sorry, but no,” she said, her back now to the intruder as she reached for a vial on her cluttered bench. Her focus was firmly fixed on her research. "Unless it's literally life or death, I think you should look for someone else."

She didn't even hear them move. One second they were all the way across the lab, and then a heartbeat later—

A sharp pinch at the base of her neck. Sudden, precise.

Rebecca's sharp intake of breath was followed by a frantic reach towards her nape, where the cold needle had just pricked her. Her fingers scrabbled desperately at the spot, but it was already too late; a strange warmth flooded her veins, spreading rapidly with every panic-stricken thud of her heart.

The vial in the woman's other hand slipped from her nerveless grip and shattered against the counter, sending glittering glass shards flying everywhere. Her legs gave way beneath her, knocking awkwardly together as she collapsed onto the hard dirt floor of the lab, feeble as a kitten.

Everything around her swirled into a dizzying blur as she fought to stay conscious.

Then, darkness. Oblivion.

Consciousness crept back in at a slow crawl, Rebecca's senses returning to her in a disjointed mess, bombarding her with new information all at once—the sharp tang of sawdust tickling her nose, the cold blast of air conditioning against her flushed cheeks.

Her eyes fluttered open, squinting through the fog of confusion and alarm.

Gradually, she realized she was slumped in a chair at the center of a... tent, it seemed, its garish colors and decorations swirling around her, fuzzy and uncertain. A single camera on a tripod was pointed directly at her from a few feet away, its red recording light glaring like a menacing eye.

Panic surged through her body, but when she tried to stand or run, her legs refused to move, as if they were no longer under her control.

A voice, disembodied, called from somewhere in the shadows. "What is your name? What skills do you possess? What do you bring to the competition?"

Competition? Rebecca's mind reeled, thoughts sluggish from whatever she'd been drugged with, struggling through the thick mire of confusion.

"My name is Rebecca Chambers," she stammered a little on the words, turning her head to try and perceive her captors, her voice sounding distant to her own ears, hollow. She straightened her glasses with trembling fingers. "I'm a doctor—a scientist. My skills are in medical care, biological research..."

Her words trailed off as she scanned her surroundings, trying to piece together how she had found herself here. Her green eyes darted about, glinting behind her lenses as they took in the dimly lit corners of the space, the red and white striped tent rising high overhead, its flapping exit beckoning to her—the dusty, well-trodden lawn of New Abraxas visible just past it.

"Competition?" Rebecca repeated, her voice firmer now as clarity began to wage war against the fog in her mind, gears turning in her brain. She was no performer, no clown in some... twisted arena. She had to get out, had to understand. "What competition?"

There was a pause before the voice responded, seemingly unconcerned by her question, or perhaps disregarding it entirely. "Dr. Chambers, we have already completed your paperwork for you. The facility is ready for your arrival. Please proceed to the teleportation pad immediately."

Teleportation pad? Rebecca's eyes flicked towards the corner of the room, where—yeah, there it was. A strange circular disc, humming softly. Its metal body gleamed under the harsh lights, surrounded by pulsing blue rings of energy.

Rebecca felt her palms grow clammy, her gaze darting back to where she'd last heard the voice originate from. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!"

The response came in the form of an exasperated sigh. "She's being difficult, Elias. You said she was supposed to be optimistic. Perky."

"Given that we just kidnapped her, Sato, I think her reaction is understandable," replied the other voice calmly; this one was familiar. "But ultimately, Dr. Chambers, you do not have a choice in the matter. Please proceed to the teleporter, or you will be assisted to said teleporter."

Gritting her teeth in stubborn annoyance, Rebecca shook her head roughly. "No way. If you think for one second that I'm going to—"

Before she could protest any further, strong hands seized the back of her chair and lifted her up. Looking wildly down at the suddenly alarmingly distant floor, Rebecca caught a brief glimpse of the person's bulging muscles, velvety suit, and white mask before they very delicately set her down on a glowing teleporter pad.

Still seated in the chair.

Rebecca was so stunned she couldn't even speak.

"HEY!" she yelped belatedly, starting to rise, but it was too late. In an instant, she was gone in a flash, leaving only a faint trail of flickering lights behind.

 

[Maximus]

Appearing in what seemed to be in the middle of a location with glass and metal made the Spartan king stop for a second from the buzzing and loud noises passing him.Unfamiliar buzzing chariots which actually were cars sped above above his head without warning.

Even the people around seemed perplexed with the choice of clothing the soldier had on.

However, many who had a smartphone became curious and took a picture of the strange man trying to mind his own business.

Leonidas head was covered with his traditional Spartan helmet decked with a red cape and helmet with a few other items on the outside.

A building held a cheesy banner on the front advertising for the latest tournament as a man decked out in a white mask held a cheesy smile out of front hiding it with a mask.

“Well, hello there stranger…” A man with an apparent five o’ clock shadow replied with the most excited grin he could muster the whole day after glaring at blank paperwork.

The male looked up and neatly piled the center of papers where the latest contestants had just signed up.

“So are you here to sign up for the tournament, Mr-, the man looked at his watch and sighed, watching time waste away.

“Stranger?”

“I am no ordinary person, I am King Leonidas of the Spartans!”

The man blinks, still blinks and then throws confetti in the air “Well, Mr. Leonidas, welcome to the twenty-first century!!”

“So Mr. former king, I’m going to need you to fill out some paperwork, sign here and sign here.”

The Spartan king blinked as he took the pen, not fond of reading tiny words but stared at a few of them and squinted trying to understand.

“Alright.”

“Now what would you like to show the world about yourself?”

The Spartan king still looked out on the camera with a giant cigar in his mouth, still spewing smoke out at the male.

Leonidas laughed as he looked into the camera screens “Greetings, strangers, humanity, whatever else is out there. The cigar hung from the former Spartan King’s mouth. “I am known as King Leonidas, the Spartan King”, as soon as he spat out the cigar,

He spun around his shield with the signature logo in a battle pose of some sort.

Thank you Leo, you can go to the transportation area now.

“Leo? I said my name was Leonidas!” The king growled.

“What’s a transport?!” The king protested as the man pushed him onto the pad.

The man groaned “Finally.”

 

[Karl Jak]

The staffer at the Carnival Rosa tent literally felt the smell wash over them before they had peeled their attention away from the tablet computer concealed behind their workstation and on their lap. Her nose wrinkled harshly as she closed the tab and lifted her head.

“Hel-ohleyshit.” The woman had worked a few of these events, and even she was a bit taken aback by the abomination that was casually staring at her from the other side of the work station. “…can I … what the fu--what are you?”

The figure didn’t strike a fairly threatening pose, since he—it looked like a he, at least—wasn’t terribly tall or muscular. Instead, his arms seem to hang limply at his side, and his legs seemed to actively be leaking some sort of fluid. Since the attendant wasn’t a doctor, she couldn’t say what it was, but it likely wasn’t blood given it was black and smelled with pus and dirt.

Even so, most people in the Crossroads had likely seen some type of horror movie. Either that, or they’d watched any variety of death shows or live action reports from the frontlines. In any case, the average person who was connected to society at large usually had some degree of desensitization when it came to bodies or violence.

Yet, the figure who stood in front of her was something altogether unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps if his head had lolled to one side or even been missing completely, it would have been less of a jarring visual. Instead, this young man’s head was stitched together from about two dozen various pieces, and worse than that, the job had been haphazard. Uneven pieces of skull poked out from the gangrenous and gray flesh, and the hair looked as if the majority of it had just been stapled into place.

Despite the poorly assembled jigsaw puzzle that was his head, the figure had entirely intact eyes, and that was perhaps what made the whole thing completely abhorring to the woman. She was looking at a Frankenstein monster with dashing green eyes.

“He always said my eyes could have been better,” the zombie said with perfect intonation and cadence, prompting the woman to recoil slightly. Reaching into the tattered rags he wore on his scraggly, partially decomposed form, the young man took out a pair of broken, twisted spectacles and put them on his face. Despite the fact that his nose was angle and he had half an ear missing, the glasses somehow managed to stay where they should once he let his arm limply fall back to his side.

“Can I help you?” The woman finally inquired.

“Here,” the zombie placed a stack of documents on the countertop that smelled faintly of mold and gangrene. “I don’t think much of the information has changed, so I think we can just streamline the process.”

While she really didn’t want to touch the papers, the attendant also knew that she enjoyed the fact that this job paid fairly well. Gingerly, she plucked the first paper off the short stack and saw that it was a printout of the contestant paperwork, although the timestamp was for last season.

“How did you?” She asked as she glanced up to see that the man had also produced a small flash drive.

“Interview.” He spoke in his soft and strangely welcoming voice as he let the woman glance over the remainder of the documents.

“I suppose I can upload these … or maybe scan them with my phone,” the idea of running the slightly moist papers through the only machine at her station would probably end poorly.

“Am I good to go?” The young man inquired as he lifted a partially rotten finger to point at the teleportation platform that lay beyond the attendant’s desk.

“Uhh,” she glanced around but found no reason not to approve the shambling, stench-laden corpse. “Yes, you are clear to go, Mr. Kaj.” A beat later, she turned and cleared her throat as the twitching figure paused.

“You should get that checked out.”

“Can I ask why someone in your, uh, condition … is here?”

The zombie laughed—a horrifying, wheezy sound given his lungs likely either decayed or simply out of operation. “A clause in my contract.”

“You’re a dedicated worker.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

With that, Zombie Kevin stepped onto the teleportation pad.

 

[Christopher Chaos]

At first, all he could see was darkness — but he was awake.

He heard the chug, chug, chug of his tank rolling down the corridor. The sound of its wheels shrugging over the small humps in the metallic floor where the bolts weren’t quite flush; the light whirring of automatic, hydraulic-powered doors sliding open and closed as they passed through them.

He couldn’t fully open his eyes yet, but he could see a few things just past the glass. He saw a door off to the side, labeled ‘Experiment 626.’ He could tell that the only lights on in the corridor were the emergency lights.

The laboratory was closed for the day. He didn’t know how he’d inferred this, but it seemed very obvious to him. He floated in the bacta fluid, peering out through half-open eyelids, taking in the world for the first real time, making judgments about it. That was something he hadn’t realized he could do, but his mind was moving automatically, creating thoughts and theories and feelings. Putting puzzle pieces together like they’d been laid out for him before, in some world he’d never quite known.

Just ahead, he saw the scurrying, hunched form of the doctor who’d often come to check up on him, back in his own chamber. The only man he’d ever seen, in his brief flirtations with the woken world from before.

The doctor didn’t look young. He was bald, with a fraying gray mustache and glasses that looked about an inch thick. His coat hung over his form a bit loosely, implying a certain lack of energy. The skin on his face was a bit stretched, as if it was desperately trying to cling onto his face. It drooped a bit at his jowls, threatening to fall to the floor at any moment. His big, robust fingers wrapped around a piece of rope that had already started to come apart. Little spots of red had begun to form on his palm as he dragged.

Inside the tank, its occupant’s head cocked to one side curiously. He wasn’t totally confident the doctor had the strength to take him where they were going… wherever that may be.

The door ahead of them started to slide open, and the light of Cevanti’s moon peeked in through the crack.

The night… perfect for a Shadow.

He searched his memory banks for any images that resembled the embattled city streets they ended up on. All of his instincts were telling him that this was ‘Markov,’ capital of Cevanti, but the files that had been uploaded into his mindspace made it seem far less wartorn. He looked out at the city before them and came to the conclusion that since his memory banks had been formulated, the city had gone through something truly terrible. Maybe that was why he was finally being awakened, then.

He seemed to inherently know that he’d been in stasis for… well, for what felt like years. He remembered the age when he’d been an active project, seeing the doctor every day, beginning to wake up, and then all of a sudden, he’d been in hibernation again. Cast off like yesterday’s news — or like bad news.

Bad, bad news.

“Doctor,” a more squirrely voice called out from the darkness ahead.

The doctor looked up, sweat dripping from his brow. “Out of my way.”

“Doctor, I have to protest what you’re doing,” the younger scientist — probably a fuckin’ intern or something — said, placing a hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

Up ahead, the occupant of the tank could see the faint outlines of several large, red tents erected in the middle of what must’ve once been a bustling town square. Even in the dead of night in this shitty city, they glimmered a bit. Obviously meant to entice the average onlooker. It certainly enticed the creature floating in the bacta fluid. He began to curl his fingers in slowly, testing their capacity for movement.

“Holy shit,” the intern gasped, “it’s… it’s awake?!”

“Of course he’s awake,” the doctor snapped, slapping the intern’s hand out of his face and standing up straight. He turned and looked at the creature in the tank, some sense of pride beginning to turn his face a bit pink. “He’s been perfect for years now, if only they’d let me use him…”

“Doctor, you know there were perfectly good reasons Ms. T’Loak had the Shadow Project discontinued,” the younger scientist buzzed. Still, the creature couldn’t help but notice how the intern’s glare lingered on him.

See something you like, boy?

He curled his gloved fingers into a fist and launched them at the glass, cracking it in at least eighty different directions. The intern stumbled back, but the doctor remained surefooted.

“Doctor,” the boy muttered, “weren’t you the one who told Cytokine the Shadow Project should be decommissioned because it was too unpredictable?! Why the hell are you doing this? Why are you releasing it now?!”

The project lifted his fist again, but held it before bringing it down.

Yes, Doctor, he thought, I remember now.

“I just think the Project is too unpredictable,” he remembered the doctor saying. Yes, yes, that was it — the words of his creator were beginning to flow back into his consciousness. “It is my professional recommendation that we only activate the Shadow Protocol if we are truly desperate. We have no idea what it could do once it’s been released.”

Well, then. He must be desperate, because here I am.

He slammed his fist into the glass. Bacta fluid went surging at the doctor and the intern, knocking them off their feet. The creature leapt out of the tank, landing squarely on the soaked concrete of Markov’s streets, looking around. He completely ignored the doctor and the intern as he stepped forward, taking in the sights.

The city of Markov looked rough. Buildings had begun to crumble, and you couldn’t look down a single block without seeing at least ten cracked or shattered windows. Even the roads beneath his tennis shoes were starting to break apart. He didn’t know what had occurred here — or, he expected, what had occurred throughout the entire Crossroads — but he felt, deep within whatever he had been programmed with in place of a soul, that he’d been brought here to do something about it. Which left him with just a few questions.

He turned back to the doctor, who was already scrambling back to his feet.

“You’re here,” he sputtered. “You’re — you’re finally here!”

The bipedal hedgehog didn’t respond.

“Doctor,” the intern shouted, pulling a gun out of his coat, “what have you done?! We’ve got to stop it before — ”

The doctor turned and, once again, slapped down the intern’s hand.

“He knows his purpose,” he snarled.

Purpose?

The hedgehog’s eyes flickered towards the intern, who had raised his gun again. He heard the BANG! before he could think to react much — his systems still calibrating, no doubt, so all he could do was bring up his arms to block what he could — but didn’t feel the pain of the bullet striking his chest. No; when he glanced up again from behind his arms, all he could see was the doctor standing between him and the gun. Deep red began to pool on his white lab coat, and he fell to the ground.

When the doctor’s limp form slumped out of the way, the intern couldn’t see the hedgehog. He’d already dashed out of view. The intern didn’t even know what hit him when the glimmer of two gloved hands reached around from behind him, pulling him into a headlock.

He felt tiny, black fur-laden arms wrap around his neck and start to squeeze on his throat. Instinctively, his hand released the gun, but the creature didn’t stop choking him. The life left him quickly.

The experiment stepped over the lifeless intern’s body and looked down at the doctor. The old man looked up at him, blood spilling from the bullet wound in his abdomen. The hedgehog wondered how he could be smiling so big — death was imminent, and no help would be coming for him. He knelt down next to the old man, but didn’t touch him. Even when the doctor reached out to caress his face, he recoiled.

“Shadow…” the doctor panted, “don’t you recognize me?”

Shadow stood up. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

The doctor’s lips curled into something like a smile, but more sinister. “Oh, you… you’re the Ultimate Lifeform. You’re the thing that’s going to save us from all this mess. You’re the last hope this galaxy has.”

“Last hope against what?” Shadow said quickly.

The doctor didn’t answer at first, but started to chuckle.

“Against the… against the…” his life began to slip away from him, but he managed to get out one last set of words. “Against the dark.”

Shadow bit his lip. He watched, silently, as the doctor rolled onto his back, blood pooling in his belly, and slipped into the entrails of death. The hedgehog lifted his chin, then turned his gaze from the dead doctor to the red tents in front of him. It was only now that he saw a sign draped from one of the awnings — or maybe only now that his memory banks had warmed up enough to read it.

The Carnivale Rosa.

He furrowed his brow. The doctor had been pushing him towards those tents.

He walked up slowly, looking around as he stepped underneath one of the burgundy entrance flaps. Inside, a young girl — in human years, perhaps, no more than nineteen or twenty — looked up at him with slight surprise in her eyes. “We’re closed for the night, unfortunately,” she smiled, stacking up a few clipboards on a table and lifting them up.

Shadow didn’t move from where he stood. He stared at her for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. She stared back. He got the feeling that she was waiting for him to… maybe leave? Let her go about her business?

Well, he wasn’t going to do that.

The girl set the clipboards down and grabbed one off the top of the stack. “Alright, alright, teleporter’s still warm, I’ll bite,” she acquiesced, sliding into her folding chair behind the table. “Who the hell are you?”

Shadow blinked. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question, so he just repeated what the doctor had said.

“I’m the ultimate lifeform,” he droned.

“Okay, edgelord,” the girl snickered, kicking her legs up onto the table. “What’s your name, spikes?”

“I’m Shadow,” he said, almost without thinking. “Shadow the Hedgehog.”

 

[Elizabeth La Varet]

It was unbearably hot in her cell on Mesa Roja. She had been in here for what felt like years. Tia was desperate for freedom and maybe some drugs. Sex too. She could also use some sex. The brunette let her ponytail down and rested her head against the back wall of her cell as she sat on the only seat available, her stone slab of a bed. She had eaten her meager rations for the day, saving a piece of bread in her bra for later. She was ready for another day of nothing when the doors to the holding cells clanked open.

“Lachipter. You’re going free today.”

“What!?” She jumped up and took hold of the bars, pressing her face against them with excitement.

“You may be excited now, but we’ve negotiated a special transfer for you. You’re being sent to the Carnival Rosa.”

“The what?” She asked, tilting her head.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Step back from the door.”

The guard inserted the key and opened the cell she was in. Immediately slapping a pair of irons on her he dragged her from the cell and out into the processing area. She was led into one of the interrogation rooms where she was chained to the table and forced to stand.

“Can I at least get a chair?”

“No. Stand there.”

With a flustered sigh she exhaled upward through lips, blowing hair out of her face. After a few minutes a woman dressed very professionally entered with a clipboard carrying a duffel bag.

“Greetings, Constastia.”

“Call me Tia. My names Tia.” The brunette corrected.

“That’s fine. Tia. You have been selected by the Mesa Roja guard to participate in our little event. They have secured your freedom if you join.”

“So I don’t really have a choice do I?”

“Of course you do. Go back to jail or be teleported to the staging area for the games.”

Tia pursed her lips in thought before a wicked grin spread across her face, a plan being formed in her mind.

“Alright. I’ll join. What do I need to do?” She asked.

The woman took out some paperwork from the file folder she was carrying. Retrieving a little camera from her own bag she set it up to record Tia through the interview process.

“Is this a televised event or something?” The brunette asked.

“Yes. Our viewers are very interested in those who choose to join.”

“Not much a choice, lady.” Tia said, pulling on her cuffs.

“First, I have some paperwork I need you to fill out. Standard stuff. Insurance waivers and a brief description of your talents.”

Pushing the paperwork across the table the woman handed the brunette assassin a pen. Tia took it and did her best to fill out what she thought was relevant, even with her cuffed hands. Signing her name in big letters on the last form she slid the papers and pen back to her interviewer. Taking a moment to look everything over the woman smirked.

“Good with a bow. Good in close quarters combat. Though you listed your ability to give the best head as a talent?”

“Damn straight. You can get a lot of out a guy if you suck his dick well enough.”

The interviewer coughed uncomfortably.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, but otherwise noted.”

The woman reached down and undid the cuffs around Tia’s wrists.

“Now that you’re registered, we don’t need to restrain you anymore, do we?”

“Nope.” Tia said, reaching into her bra for the hunk of bread she had saved.

Putting it in her mouth she held it there and looked at the camera and waved, smiling with the food in her mouth. Taking a bite, she began to chew.

“Oh! I know!” She said happily.

Putting the bread back between her teeth she grabbed hold of her tank top and pulled her shirt up to flash her breasts to the camera for a moment. Lowering her shirt, she took another bite and gave two finger guns to the camera.

“They oughta love that.”

“Yes well. You do know that this interview is being shown to millions of people, right?”

Tia nodded. “Who doesn’t love boobs? And I happen to have some great ones thank you very much.” She nodded in agreement with herself whilst chewing her stale three-day old bread.

“You mentioned a staging area. Will there be a place to shower and grab some food? Or am I, unfortunately, theoretically fucked?”

“No. You’ll be able to eat and get ready however you see fit. We’re giving you a duffle bag to take into the games with you. It has been specially assembled just for you.” The interviewer motioned to the bag on the floor.

“Okayyyyy.” Tia replied, smiling for the camera.

“Do you think they like my hair down or in a ponytail?” The brunette pulled her hair back and removed a hair tie from her bra.

Putting her hair into a fluffy ponytail she gave a cheesy smile to the camera.

“Ponytails make it easier for the guys to grab.” Tia remarked, winking at the camera.

The interviewer coughed.

“When you’re done showing off for the camera, I can get you teleported to the staging area.”

“Sounds great, mysterious lady I’ve never seen before!” The brunette said slamming her palms on the table.

Blowing a kissing to the camera just as the interviewer removed it, the professionally dressed woman removed a device from her bag and pointed it at Tia.

“Three. Two. One.”

Tia grabbed the duffle bag quick, draping the strap across her chest, putting the bag in the center of her back. Just in time too, as the device being pointed at her zapped her with a bluish energy that sent her spiraling through the cosmos. After what felt like a really really bad carnival ride, Tia stumbled into what looked like the teleporter room. She felt herself hurk slightly. Her stomach reeling from the trip.

“Time to find something to eat and shower! God knows I need to shave!”

Tia set off to find herself something to eat.

 

[Shinku]

The sun, a radiant orb of golden brilliance, ascended the azure backdrop with a gentle warmth that painted the world in soft pastels and shined on Elise as she stepped out of the gates of Arcadia. The lady paused for a moment, absorbing the breathtaking panorama before her, before stepping into the forest, drawn by her routinary morning training.

The air carried the usual sweet perfume of blooming flowers, and the melodic chatter of awakening birds added a harmonious touch to the scene. What she didn't expect however, were vibrant colors and an otherworldly glow peering through a foliage of tall bushes. With her curiosity triggered, she decided to carefully venture through the foliage, where a number of vibrant tents, adorned with rich red fabric and golden trim caught her sight. Elise felt a sense of wonder and anticipation as she continued her approach, drawn by the enchanting allure of the place.

"Looking for something?" To her surprise, a girl suddenly appeared out of no where without her even noticing the stranger's presence prior, in spite of her training to heighten her senses.

Elise found herself taken aback by the sudden appearance of the young girl who seemed to be in her late teens. "No, I just can't help but notice the beautiful tents here. I usually come this way for my training and haven't seen these before."

The girl's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "Training, you say? Are you perhaps a warrior of sort?."

Elise chuckled awkwardly, uncertain of how to respond with the girl's sudden interest but managed to open her lips anyway. "Err..no I just learned to handle the sword..."

"A swordsman! How fascinating!," the girl exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she interrupted Elise before the lady could even finish her speech. "I bet your swordplay is as graceful as a dance. Oh I love graceful swordsmen! Can you show me your moves pretty please!"
Elise hesitated for a moment, not accustomed to showcasing her skills in such an impromptu manner. However, she couldn't resist the infectious enthusiasm of the girl. With a reluctant smile, she drew her sword with a fluid motion, the blade catching the morning sunlight.

In a series of elegant and precise movements, Elise performed a brief sword dance, the rhythmic swish of the steel to the wind resonating with the lively atmosphere of the carnival. She finished the display with a graceful flourish, returning the sword to its sheath.

The girl clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, that was marvelous! You truly have the spirit of a performer. Have you ever considered participating in a talent showcase?"

Elise, still catching her breath from the impromptu performance, shook her head. "No, not really, I just want to get stronger that's all."

Marigold's eyes widened with curiosity. "Getting stronger? Oh, that's intriguing! Everyone has their own reasons for seeking strength. May I ask what yours are?"

Elise took a moment to collect her thoughts before answering. "I'm searching for my parents and siblings. I got separated from them when Govermorne was destroyed. On day, if ever I found them again, I want to be strong enough to protect them and not to lose them again as I did last time."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, the girl leaned in and whispered, "We're hosting a competition right here for people from different worlds. Your parents or one of your siblings might join in. Who knows."

Elise's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and hope. "Is it really possible for me to find them here?"

Marigold nodded, her excitement infectious. "Yes! The Carnival Rosa is a place for everyone in the Crossroads! It is not just a place of entertainment; it's a convergence of destinies. Who knows what you might discover in the midst of the competition? Your family might be closer than you think"

Intrigued by the possibility, Elise contemplated the idea of participating. The thought of reuniting with her family in the midst of a competition added an irresistible allure to the offer.

"So what do you say? Shall I sign you up?" The girl's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"Well, I might if I could really meet my family here. But what do I need to do?"

As if by magic, the girl produced a paper and a pen seemingly out of thin air. "That's simple! Just fill in your details here, and you'll be an official participant."

Elise was a bit hesitant at first but eventually decided to take the paper, glancing at the neatly printed lines. As she wrote her name and a brief description, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered within her. Memories of her parents and her siblings rushed in her mind, reinforcing her hope of being reunited with them once again.

Marigold watched with a satisfied grin as Elise filled in her details. The air seemed charged with anticipation as the ink traced across the paper, sealing Elise's entry into the competition.

"Excellent choice!" Marigold exclaimed, taking the completed form. "Now, you're officially part of the Carnival Rosa Tournament. Get ready for a journey like no other!"
With a swift motion, Marigold twirled the paper between her fingers, and it disappeared into thin air. Elise couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious girl's abilities.

"Now, prepare yourself, err... Elise, for an adventure that transcends worlds," the girl said with a playful wink, before gesturing for Elise to follow her towards one of the tents. As they weaved through the gold laced curtain of the tent, Elise couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Once inside, Elise was welcomed by a shimmering portal pulsating with otherworldly energy.

"Step through, Elise," the girl urged, her eyes gleaming with an enigmatic allure. "This portal will transport you to the arena where the competition takes place. Have fun!"

Elise took a deep breath, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. With a determined nod, she stepped through the portal, feeling a surge of energy enveloping her. The world around her blurred, and as the colors swirled, she found herself transported to a gleaming hall unlike anything she had ever seen. To her surprise however, her sword was no longer in her hands.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

“Bravo squad, moving in.” Bravo-1 reported as her squad assembled outside of a recently abandoned building. Up until recently, there had been a thriving farming community out in the Hinterlands. Now, there was only an eerie silence and blood.

Lots of blood.

But they weren’t here to investigate or even stop the culprit, really. They were here on what the Man in Red diplomatically referred to as ‘recruitment’, as if you were supposed to turn up to a job interview in full riot gear.

“Opening.” Bravo-2 called as they flung open the door. All seven members of the team immediately shone their flashlights into the suffocating darkness of the abandoned building, seemingly once a town hall of some sort. When the coast appeared to be clear, they steadily filtered in, keeping eyes on every angle.

Their lights glinted in pools of blood that splattered - not spattered, the gratuitous volume was far too excessive for that - the ground, and 4 cringed as they stepped on a fragile piece of bone, feeling it crumble beneath their weight. The squad were dead silent as they assembled in the foyer, quiet enough to hear the creaking of the building settling. Then, another sound became audible.

Laboured breathing.

“Does everyone hear that?” 3 asked.

“Yeah.” 1 replied. “Bravo-2 and 3, go check it out, safety off.”

The two operatives nodded, heading down a side corridor as their teammates watched their backs. The soldiers followed the sound of breathing to a door on the right near the end of the corridor and slowly creaked it open. Even back in the foyer, the rest of the team could hear the moment that all hell broke loose.

“What the fu-”

“Do you have an appointment!?” something almost human croaked.

“Open fire!” Bravo-3 screamed, unloading his assault rifle into whatever it was that was in the room. 2 quickly joined in, filling the room with lead, drowning out a chorus of distorted screeches with the thunder of gunfire. At the cacophony, the rest of the team sprinted down the corridor, rushing to help their comrades. The way was too cramped for all of the to see into the room, but those that could found themselves faced with a small army of horrible, malformed monsters. The things flopped and crawled towards the door, making a desperate break for it before being mowed down by the soldiers.

After a short firefight, the twisted abominations in the room fell silent, leaving the six soldiers to catch their breath in the corridor. Bravo-1 took a moment to catch her breath, less from the sprint and more from the shock of seeing a hoard of aberrations storming towards her. Some things you never got used to. As she glanced around at her squad, though, her blood ran cold.

“Bravo squad, sound off.”

“Bravo-2, clear.”

“Bravo-3, clear.”

“Bravo-4, clear.”

“...”

Dead silence.

“Shit… squad, split into pairs and search for 5.”

“Oh… we won’t need to, 1. I can see him running over to us.” 4 piped up. 1 looked back the way they came and, sure enough, a person in riot gear was sprinting towards them. 5 was always a good runner though, someone who took care of his fitness, but right now he looked almost drunk, horribly uncoordinated as he entered the corridor.

Boxing them in.

“FUCK! GET OUT OF THE CORRIDOR!” Bravo-1 screamed as she dived into the room they had just cleared. “5’S BEEN TRANSFIGURED!”

2 and 3, who were closest to the room, were right behind 1. 4 and 6, though, hesitated just a moment too late as their brains tried to comprehend what was about to happen. As soon as 5 moved within a metre of the two, his suit stretched grotesquely before bone spines erupted from his body like a gory porcupine, skewering the agents on the spot and plugging the exit with deadly spikes. 7 fell on his ass, narrowly avoiding being impaled by spine, and the others could hear him vomiting in his helmet.

“Bravo-7 get in here now!” 1 ordered. 3 poked her head out of the door to try and recover the agent, looking over just in time to see something snaking through the spikes of what was once 5. A hand? 7 spotted it too, scrambling away as quick as he could.

But not quick enough.

The hand grabbed his ankle and he froze, tensing up as if rigor mortis took him then and there. Then, his body began to squish down, his torso compacting until it popped off of his lower half with incredible force, splatting the upper bodies of both 3 and 7 simultaneously. Bravo-2 screamed as he watched his squad mates turn into a fine red mist, training his gun on the doorway as he backed towards the windows.

“We’re still on the ground floor, we can get out!” He exclaimed, throwing open the curtains that had plunged the town hall into darkness. When they opened, he found himself staring at a bright, sunny sky and the grinning, stitched face of what looked like a human.

Bravo-1 watched in horror as a hand punched through the glass window and grabbed her final squadmate by the throat, his rifle unloading haplessly into the floor as he lost control of his limbs. The hand pulled back, bringing 2’s neck with it, but not the rest of his body. Instead, the neck streeeeeeetched like taffy until the curse outside got bored and dropped it, allowing the corpse to fall limp in the windowsill.

With an eager grin, Mahito vaulted over the dead soldier as if he was playing leapfrog, a massive grin on his face.

“I was hoping some police would show up soon. Killing these country bumpkins is fun but gets a little old after a while, y’know?” the curse mused as he casually walked towards 1. “I need a little bit of a challenge. Helps get the creativity flowing.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Bravo-1 spat through gritted teeth. “You’re in for the challenge of a lifetime.”

With tha, she dropped her assault rifle and went for her unconventional sidearm: a netgun specially provided to her by the Carnivale. Loaded with some spiritual nonsense she didn’t quite understand but was assured would keep the thing she was looking at under control.

With a dumbfounded look on his face, Mahito didn’t even try to dodge the net, a move that he would regret the moment that it touched his skin. The immediate sensation of getting tangled in an electric fence came over him as he fell to the ground in agony.

“Simple domain?!” he managed to choke out. “H-How-“

“Save it for the Man in Red.” 1 grunted as she removed a pair of specialized handcuffs from her belt, designed to seal the whole hand, and placed them on the sprint.

“Target neutralised. Extracting now.” the agent called over her radio as she slung the captured spirit over her shoulder.

“Casualty report.” base replied.

“I’m the only survivor.” she sighed, glancing back at Mahito and scowling, quickly switching off her radio. “I’m going to enjoy seeing you get torn apart in the Death Game, freak.”

~~~~~~~~~​

“Name.”

“Mahito.” the curse sighed, bored out of his mind. He had been freed from that god-awful net, but they had left the handcuffs on and strapped him with a collar that had utterly disabled his control over cursed energy. Right now, he may as well have just been some ordinary guy. At the very least, they promised that the collar would partially release its restriction on the island and give him back his cursed technique, but he wasn’t looking forward to the wait.

“Occupation.”

“Personal trainer.”

“...personal trainer?”

“You wouldn’t believe how fast I can help people lose weight.” Mahito beamed, though the heavy-duty handcuffs and pre-emptive collaring made it hard to believe.

“...Right… any special skills that you bring to the Death Game.”

“I give killer hi-fives.”

“... Alright, take him away.”

“Byyyyeeeeee.” Mahito called as a pair of Carnivale employees lifted him by his armpits and took him away, leaving the irritated interviewer to wonder how useless the material they had been given was.

 

[King Shark]

Experiment 626 arrived with little fanfare. They rolled his containment tank into the tent on a hand truck that had been artfully wedged by a brute in a shirt too tight for him. Stitch’s tight little blue fists beat an angry, arrhythmic tune against thick and hazy orange glass. His view from inside was distorted, and it was making him feel feral.

A woman approached the glass. She wore the kind of uniform that companies hire another company to pick up, clean, then drop back off once a week. It was a crimson so rich that it offended the senses. She held a clipboard. She had a waspy face that was made for a library.

Stitch dug his claws into the glass, pulled his lips back to bare his fangs, and hissed. Her face was a distorted, fun-house caricature through the lens of the heat strengthened cylinder they’d sealed him in.

Inside his prison the air was thick, cloying, and smelled of his musk. His entire body was tense, had been tense since he’d been sealed in the tube, and would conceivably remain tense until he was let out. He wore a red jumper that clashed with his fur. His pelt was the color of dyed denim barred with streaks of color that resembled muddled blueberry skins. Two giant black orbs, narrowed and flashing, loomed through the orange glass at his spectator.

Stitch put his ass on the glass and rubbed it.

The clips of sound that he could pick up from the outside of his tube were muffled, as if he were trying to listen to a concise instruction with a comforter wrapped around his head. Even so, having ears the size spatch-cocked bananas lent him some clarity.

“Is that some kind of fucked up dog or something?” the waspy woman asked, looking at someone on the other side of his cylinder.

The experiment whipped around and squinted but couldn’t make out who she was talking to. The back guard of the hand truck blocked his vision.

“Something like that,” the voice that answered sounded like a gorilla had smoked ten cartons of cigarettes, then slid their voice box over a cheese grater. “It’s called ‘Experiment Six-Two-Six. Shipped here from Cevanti, I guess. Not sure why they didn’t just teleport it from there.”

“Arbiter above,” remarked the woman, sucking in her lips so tightly that they turned white. “Imagine the freight costs! That tank must weigh a ton!”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been lugging this little fucker all over Hell’s half-acre, and he’s been like that the whole time.”

Four paws, shockingly hand-like, flipped their middle digits against the glass and danced about.

“Does that thing have six legs? Like some kind of bug?” the woman made a note on a clipboard. “Yuck.”

“I think four of them are arms,” the man responded off-handedly. He took an odd pause, and Stitch realized that the man was smoking a cigarette. Judging by the sounds of him, it could be one of the last cigarette nails in a coffin built from cigarette packs. “It goes by ‘Stitch’. There’s a little nameplate on the base of his tube, there.”

She stooped, ponytail falling over her shoulder, read the plate, then stood.

“So what does it do?”

“I’m told it’s really destructive. When they caught it, it was in some company’s break room pouring two percent milk into a bunch of empty almond milk containers then resealing them.”

“Isn’t that more petty than destructive?”

“It had also rigged up a bomb in the men’s room.”

“Oh.”

She leaned closer to the glass and inspected Stitch, whose tongue shot out and licked the inside of the tube until it was nice and wet, then retracted back into his mouth like a seatbelt.

“So it’s evil.”

“Or misunderstood,” the man replied back coolly. “Is it really for us to judge sentient morality?”

The woman blinked back at the unknown voice on the other side of the hand truck.

“Whatever. Wheel it over to the teleporter. They’ll let it loose on the other side. I don’t get paid enough to deal with things like that.”

 

[Ridley]

Rodney Let out a deep breath as he adjusted his broad baseball cap atop his head, greasy palms barely able to hold onto his steering wheel. His mustache twitched back and forth - a nervous habit that was now on overdrive - as he kept his eyes as far away from the rear-view mirror as he possibly could.

He’d driven a few VIP’s around, a couple celebrities keeping the down-low, a washed up Nos’talgia actor, even a pretty important activist on Kraw, once, long ago. But this guy was seriously bad news. It wasn’t even the idea that he’d piss the guy off with a comment, or on driving.

He’d seen this guy before, on the big screen, and even then he was marked as one of the big guys. A commander of Wyvern.

Man hadn’t said a single word since he had got in, told him ‘drive’, and then told him the destination after Rodney had wearily informed him that ‘drive’ wasn’t enough information to go off of here. And Rodney’d more or less been fine to just ignore that, occasionally adjusting his mirror so the goggles didn’t reflect in.

Until now, as they were ready to park.

“So people ask whether a hot dog’s a sandwich, right?” The Wyvern Commander’s voice boomed. “‘Cause like, I hear that one all the time. But that’s pretty stupid, don’t you think?”

Rodney’s heart partly stopped as he brought the vehicle in, breaking hard as they stopped in front of the airport.

“Wh-what?”

The Gorilla-shaped humanoid slammed his fist into the side of the vehicle, Causing Rodney to hyperventilate. “Don’t play games with me, little man! You know exactly what I’m talking about! People ask about it all the time. Hot dog. Is it sandwich!” The man roared, causing the Driver to cringe.

He Nervously ran a hand through his arm hair. “Y-yeah. I’ve heard that one all the time.” Rodney lied. Some small part of him admitted curiosity with this question, actually new to his ears, but the far larger part was too busy drowning in terror driving a man around who might be able to trash his taxi like it was made of confetti.

“And that’s useless!” the man roared, his chin popping out. “Because the question doesn’t make sense. A hot dog is a Taco!”

“A-aren’t those with Corn, usually?” Rodney spoke up, before biting down on his tongue so hard he nearly sliced it off. His talkative nature usually made him get along with his patrons.

“Heh. you’re thinking at least, I like that.” The Hulking man responded, adjusting his helmet down. “Yeah, corn tortillas. But there’s flour tortillas too. And while some people wrap those tacos up fully, it still counts as a taco if it’s left partly open faced. So what’s the difference if that flour-based tortilla’s just a lot thicker, right? It’s still holding what it’s s’posed ta.”

“I-I mean, yeah.” Rodney replied, his mustache twitching ever so slightly faster as the grey hairs grew just a little greyer. “I guess it kinda does look like a taco too.”

“Heh, yeah it does! You get it. What’s your name?”

“R-Rodney.”

“Rodney. Rooooodney. Got it. Name’s Flak! You’re smart. I like keepin’ smart guys around. ‘Specially the ones what don’t talk back!”

Rodney had no power to do anything but nod, before asking, “i-is there anything else you need before… you leave the vehicle, sir?”

“Need? Nah, I’m just making conversation.” Flak replied, and as Rodney looked back at the man, arms crossed, feet on the floor, he suddenly felt enough nerve to ask.

“...S-so are you waiting for someone?”

Flak gave a chuckle, before shaking his head.

“Nah. My legs cramped up like five minutes ago. Don’t know what to do about it.”

Rodney hiccuped. “...I… don’t know what I can do about that, sir.”

Flak gave a shrug in response, and Rodney began debating how much a massage therapist would cost to bring in on a car call when Flak’s car door swung open, showing something else he wasn’t expecting to see.

As someone who’d frequented Death-game’s broadcasts semi-frequently, he’d last seen this one grinning as she gleefully stabbed her friend through the heart with a blade, some kind of vampire.

“Greetings. I’m Daiten. We never properly met last death-game, but you might remember me? I was sent here to offer you another shot in the games. Perhaps another chance to win a championship?”

Flak leaned in. “...Well, I’m technically on vacation right now. So sure, why not? Just need you to answer a question for me.

The vampiress gave a grin in response, leaning forward onto Rodney’s vehicle as she looked inside

. “And what might you have in mind?”

“Do you think Hot dogs are a kind of taco?”

“Dude! I was just thinking that!” Daiten replied, her eyes lighting up like a christmas tree at the statement.

Rodney’s face fell directly on the horn of his vehicle as he realized these assholes were going to be taking their sweet time exiting his vehicle.

 

[Jim Raynor]

Majin Buu waddled up to the registration area. A number of stalls processed snaking queues of people, headed by three or four registrars conducting interviews. One of the stalls to the side became free. Babidi pulled on Buu’s cape.

“There!” the diminutive sorcerer said, pointing. “Sign up over there!”

“Hmph!”

Buu ambled over. He didn’t understand why he was doing this. He just broke free of his prison! Why was he waiting in lines and talking to people? He wanted candy! He wanted mayhem! Babidi promised he would get it, but when? Buu was bored!

“Oh, don’t pout,” Babidi said, floating into the air so he could be seen over the stall counter. “I said you’ll get all the food and fighting you can stomach! Just be patient!”

Buu growled impertinently.

“Why hello there!” a cheery woman in a smart pants-suit said, hugging a tablet to her chest. “Are you interested in participating in the Carnivale Rosa?”

Babidi grunted. He did that a lot. “Listen here, Earth woman. I don’t know how we got here, but I-“

“Earth?” she interjected, shaking her head. “This isn’t Earth, sir. We’re on Erde Nona!”

Babidi went quiet as he looked around the grassy area with a critical eye. “Fine, whatever! Buu’s hatching probably warped us here somehow, it isn’t important! I want you to sign up my prized warrior, Majin Buu! He’ll make jokes of all of your contestants, and with the added bonus of easily showing the world how powerful he is! Hehehehehe!”

Buu put his hands on his waist and thrust out his chest. He was super strong! And he’d prove it, too!

The woman smiled, though the warmth wasn’t there anymore. “Of course, sir. We’ll fill out a quick application form and he’ll be on his way!”

“Yes, very good,” Babidi said, the annoyed boredom returning to his tone.

“So, your name is Majin Buu?” she said, talking to the rubber skinned warrior.

“Yeah! Me Buu!”

“OK Buu, what can you tell us about yourself?”

Buu put a finger in his mouth, thoughtful. “Uhhh... well, Buu really strong! Buu clobber everyone!”

A levitating drone hovered by the registrar’s shoulder. “Could you show us some of your moves?”

Buu grinned. He punched the air, sending a bullet of wind across the plains and bending the grass. He sprung backwards in a bouncing cartwheel, leapt into a triple backflip, and landed with his hands in the air. He slowly opened his mouth, and light poured from the back of his throat.

“Buu!” Babidi said. “Don’t kill her! She’s getting you into the contest!”

Buu quickly spun around and spat out a ball of ki that whizzed into the distance. A moment later, a dome of sizzling white light bloomed and launched a powerful gale over them, tossing the drone into the sky. The registrar screamed, gripping her stall for dear life as the winds battered her feet from the ground.

“Buu!” Babidi yelled, latching onto his summoned monster’s cape and flapping about. “Too much! Stop!”

“Oh. OK!”

That was the first time since his reawakening that Buu had done anything fun. He couldn’t wait to start fighting strong guys in the tournament!

“OK, I think we have enough data,” the frazzled registrar said, smoothing down her hair. She motioned to a silver disc on the ground. “Step onto the teleporter and you’ll be transported to the staging area.”

“Off you go,” Babidi said. “I’ll be watching! I’m expecting great things!”

Buu beamed, showing off his teeth. “Buu will win and show Babidi how strong Buu is!”

The Majin jogged to the disc and vanished in a flash of light.

 

[Ridley]

Flak was quick to the booth as he started filling in the necessary paperwork - a little slowly, but mostly getting it right.


Luckily, Ridley’d given him one of those newfangled phone things. Lacked the power of a radio, but it allowed him to sneakily cheat at things like these.

Luckily, the Guy at the front clearly didn’t have anywhere near the attention span of his english teacher as he filled in his paperwork, so his constant spellchecking was going unnoticed.

“F… l… a… k…” The WYVERN commander muttered under his breath, checking his phone to make sure he got that right as he finally finished the document, and the bureaucrat in front of him finished sighing at something probably unrelated while he turned the form in.

“Excuse me, Champion Flak!”

Flak turned around to see a very pretty blonde reporter, and gave his most charming smile. Ridley did tell him to always look his best for the camera.

“Oh shucks, you can just call me… actually, wait. No. I like that. Call me Champion Flak!”

“As one of the two victors last year, what’s compelled you to come back to such a dangerous game, filled with challenges?” The Reporter asked, as Flak took a second to look up and down the woman.

Pretty, though not quite his type - a very professional woman standing about 5’2 and with a very nice blue dress he didn’t think reporters wore in his homeland - but then again, this place was, sadly, not constantly at war, so maybe it made sense?

“Oh, uhhh… I was really bored and it’s good money, I guess.” Flak replied, giving a non-commital shrug as he stared the woman in the eyes.

“So are you confident you’ll win this year?” The reporter asked, leaning in a little as she held out the microphone.

“Uhhh… well, I’ve been in… one deathgame. And I’ve won in one deathgame. So accordin’ to, uhhh, Hawke and his teachin’s on statistits, think that means I got a hundred percent chance o’ winning ‘ccording to previous dater!” Flak confidently spoke up. “So yeah, guess I’ll win this one too.”

“Wow, very confident. Do you think you’re more prepared to win this year than last?” The reporter asked politely, looking him up and down.

“Well, maybe. Might need another army like the Flavor army, sure, but I think I can do it. ‘Specially since this time I get a gun!” Flak calls out with a grin, pointing to the DC-15 blaster rifle strapped to his back. “Guns make everything a whole lot easier, know what I mean? Even if they’re hot-throwers rather than slug-throwers.”

“I… See.” The reporter replied, before urging the camera down as a smile split across her face. “Now… one last question. What do you think of me?”

Flak’s eyes looked her up and down. “You’re very… small.”

“Is that a problem?” She asked, her voice spiking up a bit.

“Uhhh… not unless you’re trying to win a weightlifting competition.”

“How about a date?”

Flak scrached his head, producing a nasty squeak from the metal helmet atop it. “They’re okay, I guess. Not really my favorite food.”

“Oh, Flak.” The woman laughed with a giggle. “I meant, going on a date with me.”

“Weird question to ask during an interview.” Flak replied. “...If you’re paying for the food, sure.”

The Blonde just gave an excited grin, as Flak realized the mic hadn’t been powered on for a little bit. “I’ll call you then. Have fun in the deathgame~”

Flak just stared at her. “...Wait, what’s your name?”

“It’s Stacy. I’ll be waiting in Arcadia!” The reporter called out, as the camera crew left, and Flak was left standing there in front of the teleporter blank-faced for a second.

“...Wait, how’s she know my number?” the Champion asked himself, wiping his goggles, before just shrugging and stepping into the teleporter.

 

[Gizmo Gear]

​

A stranger makes his way through the streets of 8-Bitain. Black spiky unkempt hair, orange sunglasses, blue eyes, and a red leather jacket. He wields a strange beam-like sword over his shoulder. As he eyes his target, what looks to be a military man covered head to toe in weaponry. Looked to be from one of those war first-person shooter games. The gunman then turned and started shooting at the stranger with an automatic rifle. The stranger blocks with his Beam Katana.

The stranger then rushes forward as the gunman is reloading and slices off his head with the Beam Katana. Blood sprayed like a geyser from his victim's neck. Before the corpse slumps to the ground. As the stranger turns off his Beam Katana and attaches it to his belt.

"Alright, I'll make this summary as quick as possible since not everyone seems to know me. Shocking I know, but not everyone might like what I bring to the table. Travis Touchdown, former Assassin who recently just had to deal with a spoiled alien prince jackass who thought he could screw with my town. Just from that sentence alone you know I've seen and dealt with some shit, you don't know the half of it. I could say more, but that would be spoilers, and I don't want to let any potential new fans. Long story short I ended up sucked here and have been forced to go back to my old gig to make ends meet." he explained.

He then heard clapping from behind him as a strange man in a trenchcoat approached him. The kind of suspicious person you would warn your kids to stay away from.

"Travis Touchdown, I heard you're very fond of games. I have just the one for you. A game about death even." the stranger said.

"I've had my share of games about death, let me guess though I have to fight 10 people in order and move up in the rankings right?" Travis asked condescendingly.

"This is a game of survival. You won't have to kill your fellow competitors and can even ally with some if you so wish. Not that there won't be any fighting or killing. Though I assure you the grand prize is worth it." the man said.

"A grand prize huh, any chance it's a way out of this weird place and a way back home?" Travis asked.

"I cannot say or promise anything, just come with me if you're interested." the stranger replied.

Travis was hesitant at first, though if risking his life like this was his main ticket out of this place he'll accept the offer. He then follows the guy hoping that this won't be a complete waste of time.

---

It was then he was sitting in the interview room across the way from a beautiful young woman. He laid his arm on the back of his chair as he made sure to have eye contact with the lady in question. He's a married man now after all he can't just treat his girl Sylvia like that. That's the main reason he's even in this Death Games in the first place so he could get back to her. The lady was reading the resume he signed and the notes she had taken throughout the interview. She looked at him with a stern look.

"So let me get this straight, you joined the United Assassins Association and I quote "mad fucking pussy"?" the interviewer asked.

"To be fair it was extremely good pussy." pointed out.

"I am sorry I am used to people lying on their resumes, but it seems like you've made most of the shit on here up." the lady said.

"No it's all true, every person I killed and everything I told you during the interview," Travis said with a serious expression.

"Even the part about your half-sister?" she asked.

He then looked away and rubbed the back of his head.

"Oh my Arbiter." the lady gasped.

"Hey you wanted to know my life story, just be glad I gave the abridged version," Travis said.

"Well, you still gave too much information, though if anything you're the kind of freak that would join these Death Games though I doubt many people will root for you? " the lady said.

"You'd be surprised, got into Super Smash Bros. if you ever heard of it, well I got in as a Mii Fighter but still. Pretty big accomplishment if you ask me." Travis said.

"I have not and no idea what that is but more power to you I guess. Anyway you're in, just please never talk to me again." the lady pleaded rubbing the temples of her head.

Travis then left the way he came. And as he was outside he facepalmed himself.

"Damn it Travis you just had to blurt that one out did you?" he shouted.

Before storming off in a huff.

 

[Domri Rade]

Droplets of wet rain awoke Domri from his long, long slumber. The young anarchist opened his eyes and saw the bright, blue sky and radiant sun. His back, was pressed against a large tree, covering him in a pleasant shade. His view of the scenery was blocked by an oversized pig, and what he thought was rain was just drool. His face recoiled in disgust and he scurried out of the splash-zone of his dear friend.

“Oh Tusker, that is disgusting,” he shouted, desperately wiping the saliva off of his forehead and cheeks. The boar seemed to chuckle in response. “Oh you think that’s funny, dickhead? I’ll show you what’s funny!” Domri pushed himself off the ground, walked over to the beast, and slugged the boar in the flank. The punch fell flat. Tusker’s thick hide and dense shoulder meat absorbed the shock entirely and left the beastmaster’s fist throbbing in pain. The boar snorted in frustration and whipped his head into the anarchist’s stomach.

Domri doubled over as the weight of the beast’s skull forced the air out of his lungs. His knees buckled and gave out, forcing him to his knees. “Hey that’s not fair,” he managed to gasp out, “I bet I didn’t even hurt you.” The beastmaster swore that the damned boar cracked a smile.

Tusker lowered his head and Domri used the beast’s tusks to prop himself up onto his feet. It was then, he could feel the hole in his stomach. He must have not eaten in quite some time, since the last thing he remembered was fighting those blue beasts back. Domri’s stomach rumbled in agreement. The thought of food was enough to make his mouth start watering. “You hungry, Tusker? Cause I could really eat right about now,” he smiled, rubbing his stomach in anticipation. The boar stomped and snorted in affirmation. “Alright, let’s see where we can get some sort of grub,” Domri mumbled to himself as he peered into the distance, his eyes eventually settling on a large city several miles away. “Civilization,” he groaned, his words laced with disdain.

His attitude changed drastically as they entered the city. The people here seemed in harmony with nature. The trees incorporated with the buildings, beasts living alongside humans, and a wide array of species co-existing. It’s the best one could hope for, aside from the constant police patrols that is. The beastmaster couldn’t help but sneer at the armored watch as they passed by on their mounts. They exist solely to benefit those in power. Oh how he would love to feel their skulls cave in against his mace.

Domri’s disdain evaporated as the smell of something savory traveled through the air and into his nose. Meat was cooking, and Tusker could smell it too. “Let’s go find it, Tusk,” his voice lightened up, anticipating the delicious food. The two practically sprinted across the city block, bumping into pedestrians with no hesitation before coming across a small stand. A burly man attended the stand, with a variety of skewered meat cooking on a grill behind him.

Domri strode up to the stand, a great smile on his face. “We would like some meat, please,” his eyes brimmed with excitement. The man peered over the anarchist’s shoulder and saw the boar sitting patiently a few yards away.

“Of course. Each skewer is five coin. What kind and how many?” the chef spoke with a smile.

“Coin? I don’t have any coin,” Domri spoke hesitantly.

The chef let out a sigh, “Look kid, if you don’t have the coin to pay you’re gonna have to get out of the way. I have paying customers to get to.” Domri’s face looked like a mixture of rage and disappointment. “Alright,” the cook extended his hands out in appeasement, “if you come back at the end of the day, I’ll give you what I have left. It’d just go in the trash anyways. Now unless you’re paying, would you kindly leave?”

The beastmaster stood in place for a moment. He could just beat the cook, and take the meat for himself, but he didn’t have any of his clan to back him up in case the law came around. Domri decided it wasn’t worth the risk and turned away, shoulders slumped. “Thanks for nothing,” he muttered.

“Do you need coin?” a voice exclaimed from the crowd, peppy and vibrant. “Do you want to be famous, to be powerful, to be rich?”

Domri turned his head to see another stand, one that seemingly appeared out of thin air. The attendant was out in the open, shouting for all to hear.

“Tired of feeling unimportant? You too can participate in the festival to win great prizes!” the voice bellowed once more.

“Hey!” the beastmaster shouted out, “What’s up with this festival?” The crowd parted to make room for Domri and the large boar. The pair stood before the strange man, "You saying it pays good?"

The announcer's smile widened into an unnerving grin, “Oh yes, the festival, good sir! You can sign up for the wonderful games and win amazing prizes!” He turned back momentarily to retrieve something. A moment later he handed a clipboard and paper to Domri, “Just fill out the application and give us a bit of promotional material to advertise you across the planes.”

The characters on the page wouldn’t stop moving, his eyes squinting in concentration to make out the words. He let out a pained sigh. Disgruntled and frustrated, Domri shoved the clipboard into the man’s chest. “I hate filling out papers. There’s gotta be something else I can do,” he grumbled.

“A little abnormal,” he tilted his head, “though I suppose we could have your answers dictated.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Domri rolled his eyes and paused for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A vein bulged on his forehead before he gave up and his body relaxed. “What does that mean?” he sighed.

“It means we write down what you say.”


----

The attendant finished writing the last words of the application, and with a flourish, put the pen back in his front pocket. “Wonderful. Now say a catchy slogan, to get any fans of yours riled up,” he pointed to a camera person who had been sitting behind the countertop for some time.

Domri froze for a moment, he was never good at coming up with things on the fly. These kinds of speeches had to be natural, or else it would be forced. “No laws, no peace!” he managed to come up, raising his fist in the air. He could feel the crowd's eyes on him. This was usually when his clan would cheer in turn and begin the riot. The deafness of the silence though, was ego-bruising.

“Great,” the man clasped his hands together. “Now if you could follow our camera crew, you’ll be taken to the staging facilities.”

“Fine, but the pig’s coming with me,” Domri shouted, placing his hand on Tusker’s flank and walking towards the teleporter.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

[Rogue]

It’s important to keep something ahead of you. Ah believe that to be true without a doubt. You need to have a goal to be aiming towards, some mountain that you’re looking still to climb. Once you get to the top of that one you need to find another peak, else you’re going to end up sliding back down the slope.

Ah can personally attest to that. Sign up for something’ that’s supposed to be one of the most dangerous games in the Crossroads and ah thrash the lot of ‘em. Find out the only thing ah can’t beat is someone with a whole bundle of superpower who went and changed time on me? That’s not a new mountain peak to climb towards. That mountain’s up in space.

So ah slid. The fancy fellows in Arcadia weren’t sure about a hinterlander like me racing their chocobos from the get-go, and after they saw how my powers worked in crystal clear pictures on every screen, they didn’t take too long to piece together how ah’d gotten so good at the sport so quickly. That was fine, ah snuck Remi from the pens one night and we haven’t looked back.

Skipping town didn’t exactly fix everything though. The gloves and the skunk hair tend to make me easy enough to recognize. Folks got to weighing their odds on whether it was worth the trouble to talk to me. These days folks just keep their distance mostly, hoping ah’ll get bored and keep on moving. The only ones to bother me are the ones that’re bad news, or at least think they are.

So when two fellows step out of the shadows in the alleyway behind the club ah’m already cracking my knuckles. Two masked fellows, one short and one tall, looking like they belong to some sort of opera or circus. We size one another up for a moment, or at least that’s what ah’m guessing they’re doing behind the masks. Maybe they’re just grinning their asses off too, hell if
ah know. All ah know is ah’m quickly getting bored of waiting for them.

“What’s the flavor then, boys?” Ah crossed my arms, staring each of them down. “This a robbery or attempting to prove that you’re bigshots?”

The taller of the pair swept off his tophat and cracked a corny bow.

“Neither m’dear. We’re actually here to deliver a request from our master to you. He would be most pleased if you were to join his assembly for a time. There is to be a grand contest soon to separate those of great ability from those possessing naught but ego.”

“Ego and skill! Ego and Skill!” the smaller of the pair was practically chanting he seemed so excited.

“Alright, it’s the third option. If you’re here to deliver a message from your boss you can give him my reply right away. Ah’m not interested in another stupid game full of people who didn’t know what they were signing up for. I’ve done my time, and ah’ve proved myself with your competitor. Don't really see the point in doing something like that again, thanks.”

The taller one clicked his tongue behind his mask like an arrogant prick.

“You are incorrect on two of your assertions my dear. We are not merely here to deliver an invitation. And you have not proven yourself so completely as you would like to claim. As I recall your attempt to claim the crown would have ended with your own destruction had your opponent been less merciful.”

“Oh, is that yer reasoning? She must not be strong if she can’t beat a fellow who can do whatever just by thinking it AND un-nuke a place?”

“I am merely pointing out that you do not, in fact, have the crown you seem to think you have.”

It was too dark for them to see my scowl most likely, but ah took a few steps forwards to make it clear ah wasn’t worried about throwin’ down.

“You two can start making tracks of your own, or ah’ll make ‘em for you when ah stomp yer asses all the way out of town!”

“Stomp town? Stomp town!” the smaller one matched my movements, rolling one of his arms in a wide circle while he massaged his shoulder. Looks like we were coming to blows after all.

“Last chance to back down, Sugah. The gloves are comin’ off.” They knew who ah was, they knew what that threat meant, so ah made it nice and clear when ah pulled the gloves free.

“We have been given our task by the master, m’dear.” the taller one gave a sigh.

“Task? Master! Task Master!” The shorter fellow rushed towards me faster then ah was expecting for how short his legs were. IAh side-stepped nice and close to the wall of the alley, then swept my hand across to intercept his tackle. My fingers grazed across the porcelain surface of his mask, then hooked into his ear.

***​

That man. That man was so wonderful! His mystique! His grace! A performer so advanced in their craft that they did not need any audience to love them! His very choices were what made something theatrical by the very nature of being something the Man in Red would do!

***​

He had all that he needed, wealth and skill and power and beauty! And he chose to share that with the Crossroads! With all of us! But his dreams were grand! Too grand for any one man to accomplish without the powers of an arbiter. So he reached out a hand, and he pulled one to the stage. No matter how small and insignificant they had been, they were grand and beautiful because of him.

***​

“Come!” he said, “You two can be a part of the great dance!”

All we had to do was follow his lead.

***​

Ah stumbled backwards as the smaller fellow collapsed, catching my balance on the wall of the alleyway. The taller one was standing right beside me now, his grinning mask of a face only inches from my own.

“And just how are we feeling? Had a change of heart perhaps?”

Ah pushed off from the wall and brought up my fists in a fighter’s stance, but really, ah didn’t much feel like fighting this guy at this point. It had been a bit of an overreaction to drop the other guy to begin with. They were just inviting me to join the competition after all. The fellow was standing there still, that damn mask still grinning at me in the nightlights.

“You’re an emotional sponge m’dear, and Carling is exquistely committed to our cause. He was, in fact, specifically picked to help collect you. If you’re feeling more amenable to joining our little performance, I can get your paperwork processed quite quickly I’m sure. I’ll just need a few things from you first.”

Ah relaxed out of my fighting stance. Evidently these fellows thought that absorbin’ personalities would up and change my line o’ thinking to be more what they were hoping. It wasn’t anywhere near that strong. Sure ah wasn’t quite so peeved at their boss as before, but it wasn’t like ah was gettin' my own thoughts overrun. What ah did come to understand, as the short one's memories started to pop up in my head, was that these two wouldn’t be the last. If ah didn’t play along they’d be sending goons after me until either one o’ them got lucky or they ran outta time. And not all of them would be askin’ me first.

It might not be a higher mountain to climb, but it wasn’t exactly lower either…

“Ah guess you caught me in a good mood, Sugah.” Ah snorted, “If ah did in fact end up joinin’ your little game, what would yah be needin’ from me, first? Do ah need to state my name fer the record or whatever?”

“Truthfully we have much of your information from your, ahem, prior activities. But we’d need to record some new promo material. Got an angle in mind for how you’d be participating?”

Ah allowed myself a bit of a grin.

“Sugah, ah don’t think ah need to take up the valuable time of the good folks who’ve tuned in to watch yer little deathsport. Ah think mah work in the field stands for itself. If yah need to know anything, it’s that this time, ah ain’t coming to make friends. Ah’m here for the title, and ah’ll be doin’ whatever it takes to win.”

The masked man clicked a recorder with a nod. Damn, he knew how to jump on that kinda stuff fast. Guess it came with the territory.

“Splendid.” he was probably grinning under that mask too, now. Or at least it sounded like it, “Then it’s time to, as they say, steal the show!”

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

Wunya started towards the mage in the expensive three-piece suit and even after all this time, she could not deny the sheer joy it brought her to watch his magic fizzle out as he tried again and again to throw fireballs at her. She had purposefully chosen this warehouse for the long expanse of room for the realization to dawn on his rat-like face and beady eyes that rested under his gangster fedora.


“Who are you?! What is happening?!” the mage called out as the runes were drawn in the air before him and fizzled out as she took another step in closing the distance. She recognized the incantation as a strong necrotic force blast, and she almost laughed as he whimpered. His highest level spell, probably, and worth nothing in this situation.


He fell back, and Wunya saw in the moonlight streaming through the long broken-out teeth of glass that were the warehouse windows, he was trying a simpler spell. His hands shakily tried to just make himself invisible in a last ditch effort. She could not help herself, and she did laugh now, hearty and booming coming from the deepest part of her belly; hardly ever reached and reserved for only the funniest of things to her.


It felt good to laugh. The mage she was contracted to get rid of here in this factory decided it was time skip the magic and try athletics, and she let him, this also causing her to laugh more as the spindly rat-faced man tried to climb some crates, and promptly fell. He scrambled up them again, but fell again, and Wunya was still laughing as her heavy footfalls stopped right behind him. The magic-using mobster tried to straighten his suit before turning to face her with beady eyes now red with frustration, fear, and embarrassment.


“Hello. You are funny man. You try to climb like pigeon who think it is a mouse. Very good, thank you for this thing,” Wunya said with a smile, and even did a pantomime of the man’s struggle to climb away and free of her presence.


“F-fuck you, cun-”


“No,” Said Wunya flatly, the humor out of her in a heartbeat as he wrapped her massive mit of a hand around his face and lifted him off the ground by it. She stared at him, letting the fear in his little black eyes meet the pity in her bright green ones. “You have been naughty boy, tsk tsk. Not a good thing when mob says you are too crazy for crime family. I get interested, I ask your bosses 'how crazy is too crazy’, then, they tell me of all the things you do. Shameful things. I am not sorry for this thing I am to do,” Wunya finished and squeezed expertly in the same way she had done countless times to countless unathletic and wimpy mages. The crunch was always a little satisfying in itself though. One has to stay positive by focusing on the little things in this life, she believed.


She let the fresh corpse drop unceremoniously to the floor and took out a wet-wipe from her fannypack around her waist, this one like all the fannypacks in her collection matching her sneakers and tracksuit for the day perfectly. Then she strolled out of the decrepit warehouse and tossed away the wipe, not needing it too much as her skill at crushing heads resulted in little blood splatter. It was a good skill, and like all the rest she possessed, aimed at perfection. When she got to the road, her tracksuit swishing in the still and chill night of this lower and grimey district of Arcadia, her assistant ran up to her from where the car was parked a little ways up past the gate leading to the factory.


“Everything went alright, Coach?” The assistant asked, their wings on their back keeping them afloat a few feet off the ground.


“Yes. I miss real challenge. Old days. Real battles. Hunting Sword-Mages, Ha! Good stuff,” Wunya took a heavy sigh, and flipped her long and immaculately braided ponytail from her shoulder to her back. The moonlight was their only source of light and it reflected off her hair's silver color, an effect of her centuries stuck in stasis.


“Welllll, I got some good news…So the money we made from this job, means we are one step closer to upgrading to a new gym! Oh, and I forgot…” Her assistant said, beaming as she relayed the news and floated to the ground, tucking their wings back into place as she entered the driver’s seat of their large SUV. Wunya got in the passenger side and they were driving away before the assistant started up again. “You know the kid we’ve been scouting, Babyface Branson? Well, he said he will absolutely join our team. He’ll be at the gym Monday, he was very excited. He’s a big fan, he said his favorite match was yours against ‘Axe-hands Tom’,” The assistant said and gave a big grin now that all the good news was out of her system.


“I went and saw Grumblekeg earlier today…he said no to us renting the space we want. He said we need more notariety,” Wunya said in her calm and bassy voice, as she pulled out tobacco and papers from her fanny pack and rolled a cigarette.


“Pfft, what's that old dwarf know anyway, you’re a LEGEND in the underground circuits! Everyone wants to come to you now that you’ve been coaching these past couple years…did…you two didn’t…you know..?” The pixie assistant asked sheepishly, but her impish eyes betrayed her real curiosity.


“HA! No,” Wunya replied.


“You do talk about his beard a lot, though…”


“It’s good beard,” Wunya said, shrugging and pulling a drag on her rolled tobacco. “How do we get this thing…notariety?”


“Well, for one you could always join the above board fighting circuits. They may not be as violent, but it would…no? I can tell by your face you hate the idea of that-ok, well…” The assistant said and trailed off as they passed one of those office spaces that is reused seasonally for different holidays. They had re-entered the lower levels of the city proper now and the car slowed down to find a parking space. “THAT!” The pixie almost shouted and pointed.


Confused and staring at the businesses out her window they had parked in front of, somewhere between an all-night donuts shop and a closed down Movie-rental store, made Wunya squint to read in the dark. “Car…nee…val Ros-ah? What is this thing, Trixie? I already laugh today, no need for games,” She said to her assistant, but Trixie the pixie was already getting out of the car.


About twenty minutes later Wunya was sitting in front of a recording camera as a sweaty man in a clip-on tie and short sleeve button-up was nervously wringing his hands.


“Why this man so nervous?” Wunya asked her assistant.


“Well, I don't think he gets a lot of sales, you heard the conference call he was on when we walked in, he got called out by name...I think he is bad at his job…also you threatened to kill him if this does nothing to help us…” her assistant replied in a whisper.


Wunya nodded and gave a smile to the man with her handsome strong jawline and bright green eyes, silver ponytail over her broad shoulders. Her tall frame barely fit in the chair.


“Uhh..ok, uhh..so just..uhh..say something? For the camera? Please?” The man behind the camera said and hit a button that made the front of the camera blip on a red light, but doing so made him somehow drop all the paperwork they had just filled out.


“I am Coach Wunya. I do this so people know coming to train with me is a good thing. I make champions…” Wunya gaze trailed and looked to Trixie off-camera who rolled her fingers in a ‘keep going’ motion. “I fight well. If you see me fight and want to train, come to ‘Wunya’s Gym’ in Arcadia, we teach you…” She looked to Trixie again who just shrugged, so Wunya took off her tracksuit suit jacket and flexed for the cameras, showing off her biceps, her most favorite asset. Then not knowing what else to do, she did a handstand, her large designer sneakers almost touching the coffee-stained roof of the large empty space. “Good? I can hold for a very long time, I assure you” She said upside down to the Death Game worker and he nodded in a very unconfident way, continuing to pick up their paperwork.


He really was terrible at his job.


After some goodbyes and a list of things back and forth of what to do. Trixe flew up high with her wings to give Wunya a goodbye hug, and with a final nod, the tall former Arcadian Mage Hunter turned coach stepped onto the teleporter.

 

[Elise]

'Twere a stormy sort of day out there on the old Kirden Wharf, and the breakers were positively chomping at the bit to get everyone's galoshes soggy. One man stood all by his lonesome at the end of the long, rickety pier. There was a bit of pipe smoke puffing ponderously from under the yellow hood of an oily poncho.

Yep, no one out there but Popeye, squintin' at all the angry faces up there in them clouds. No sense trying to get the S.S. Spinach warmed up for a little steam over to Isla de Spanky to see Olive today, that was for sure. Popeye sucked in a deep breath and blew out a lonely cloud of smoke, frowny face twisting away in the stormy breeze.

"Welpsk. Better find somethin'a go do." Popeye grumbled. He marched back down the pier towards the creaking, towering scrap piles that counted as homes down here in the surf. The sailor plodded along, kicking a can down the lumpy deckboards with his meaty hands stuffed way down in his pockets. Go fer a drink? Nah, hard to be thoisty in all this wet. Maybe get a bite of chow? Not if Auntie Agony was on the soup pot, no sir.

Hey what's this about? There was a big archway here with a sign put together from old ship names and boat hulls, leading down some rickety alleyway.

"Carn-ee-val Rosask...say, I don't minda good carn-ee-val, arf arf!" Popeye barked. The sailorman rolled his pipe around in his mouth and slumped through the arching sign and towards the wide-toothed mook sittin' down there behind a wooden desk at the far end. Popeye looked around and didn't see no kind of merry-go-rounds or popcorns, so you know he was already startin' to feel a bit steamed.

"Hey now, whattsabig idea sayin' there's a carn-ee-val down thisaways when there ain't even a hot dog stand?" he growled. Popeye marched right on up to that monkey-suited wise guy and leaned in close, peering at him with his good eye. Some cheap red suit and a wall-eyed clown mask weren't gonna stop old Popeye from giving this guy a piece of his mind.

But this mook didnsk say nothin' for a minute. Just sat totally still.

"I asked yas, whattsabig idea-"

"GGGGRRrrrrrrrreeeEEEEEEttings valued contestant! That's right, you heard right! Come on down!" the clown mask shouted. His voice was all scratchy and loud, like the captain shoutin' down the speaky-tube of a freighter.

"Where'sat voice comin' from, this some kinda prank?" Popeye grumbled, looking around. He took his hands out of his pockets, rotating his torso and trying to get a read on where that crackling gobble-talk was comin out of.

"Valued customtestant! You! Thank you for hearing! Come one and here to the Carnivale Rosa! Prove your contestant mettle in our very own Death Game with your thank you!" the clown man prattled on. Now, you may have gathered by this point that this red-suited clown wasn't speaking a lot of sense, and there stood Popeye, wet and hot dogn't. Death game huh?

"Oh yeah?!" the Sailorman snapped. A big heavy fist caught that clown mask right unner da chin and sent the mook's head flying up into the clouds where it clipped the bottom of a passing skyboat with a loud DING.

That probably wasn't right.

Popeye trundled forward and shook the stuffed doll out a bit, still looking around for that speaker.

"Hercules!" the speaker blared out. It was loud enough to give a man a headache, I tells ya.

"Yeah so whatdo I win? Boy when I finds that speak tube..." Popeye grumbled. You know what? Forget this. Maybe he'd give Auntie Agony's clam chowder another shot. The sailorman turned on his heel and began to stomp back up the alleyway, only to see another red-suited, clown masked bozo propped up against a pile of junk in his path.

"Hercules! Strong...man! Strong enough to be on the Big Screen at the Death Game!" the doll screeched.

Popeye's fist paused mid-swing and that set the old sailorman to thinking. His pipe puffed and chuffed for a moment as he rubbed his chin.

"Big screen huh? Like television? Does it pay?"

The clown mask continued to grin, unmoving, with a bunch of rain trickling down its porcelain face.

"Pay? Pay?! Who doesn't?"

"Hmmmm...suits me! Where do I sign?" Popeye grunted. At these words, a big camera set rose up out of an old soggy crate nearby. Both film cans were already spinning, and the lens leaned in to get a better look at the old sailorman's chin.

"Tell us a bit about yourself!" the clown doll screeched. Popeye turned around to leer at the loud little guy, but straighted up his poncho. Well, what was there to say?

"Well...I'm Popeye the Sailorman!"

"...what?"

"I'm Popeye the Sailorman!"

"...and?"

"I fights to the finish, cuz I eats me spinach!"

The clown mask blinked slowly. This one-eyed sailor with the pipe was starting to creep him out a little bit.

"Well, that's good enough for me! We'll send a car to take you over to-"

Popeye held up a giant hand and shook his head.

"Nawr, I'll take tha short way."

Popeye turned back to the film camera, steepled his hands together and cracked his fingers loudly before grabbing the lens aperture by the rim and stretching it wide open like a piece of taffy. With that, he stepped on through the camera and off into TV Land, which is of course, where the Death Games live. The only thing left of the new contestant in the alleyway was the final refrain of his shanty tune echoing from inside the film can.

"...I'm Popeye the Sailor Maaaaaan!"

TOOT TOOT