[Preshow] The Lobby and the Park

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Karl Jak

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Players arrive at the far end of the 'Lobby', a grand hallway at the centerpiece of a lavish, modern facility that is connected to four large domes. At the far end of the hallway is an elevator that leads up to the barracks on the top floor. Behind the arrival point is the first of these domes, the Park. The Park resembles Central Park and contains a small lodge where they sell picnic goods and rent athletic equipment. Over the duration of the convention, the ceiling of the Park simulates natural-ish, 24-hour day and night cycles. The stars displayed at night would be unrecognizable to 98% of people at the Preshow Facility.
 

Arthur Morgan

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Never before had Arthur experienced something so unsettling. It’d been like… like being turned inside out, then chucked onto a speeding train only to be dumped out someplace halfway across the country a moment later. It took a moment of hard breathing and willing his churning stomach to settle for him to gather the will to look up, squinting against the blindingly bright lights illuminating wherever he was.

Once he’d recovered from the nausea, the first thing Arthur noticed about the Dante’s Abyss Convention lobby was that it was unbelievably clean. Spotless floors that looked so well-scrubbed you could eat off of them trailed down the long hallway, luxurious couches and well-appointed tables scattered along it. The second thing Arthur noticed, however…

Good for stealing, thought Arthur, eying up a nearby statue that seemed to be made of pure gold. If he could find a nearby fence, that statue would sell for… well, it’d sell for a lot. Enough to buy a good horse with, even.

Almost instantly Arthur shook the thought from his head; he could’ve smacked himself. Figured that if whoever owned this sort of place caught wind that someone was stealing from them, the consequences were bound to be bad. Besides, what in the hell would he do with it during the competition? Carry it around? It’d be more trouble than it was probably worth.

“Mr. Morgan? Mr. Morgan, can you hear me?”

Arthur turned his head at the sound of his name, staring at the attendant who was staring right back at him. This feller had on a purple shirt like Melissa, freckled skin so pale it almost looked translucent, and long gingery hair tied back in a bun. He also had on a pair of silver spectacles, which he reached up to tweak nervously as Arthur continued to stare.

Finally, swallowing down another bout of nausea, Arthur spoke. “What… was that?”

The kid blinked. “Oh, uhm, the teleporter? It’s like… a machine that transports you places in a very short amount of time. Pretty much instantly…” he trailed off, watching with growing concern as Arthur’s gaze fixated on a nearby television playing some insipid advertisement for Pepsi. “Errr, you good, guy?”

Tearing his eyes away from the flashing, shifting images on the screen, Arthur forced himself to deliberately focus on the kid. He noticed, belatedly, that a little card on the attendant’s chest read ‘Kevin’.

“I’m fine, just… never done something like that before,” Arthur admitted.

He remembered suddenly that he had something important to do, and looked down at the form and pencil still clutched in his hand. Unfortunately, his fingers had clenched around it during transit, so the paper was miserably crinkled and the pencil snapped into two distinct pieces. He held them up slowly for Kevin’s inspection.

“Oh!” Kevin spun around, going to a nearby table and digging through it. He turned back with another form and pencil, smiling. “Here. That happens more often than you’d think. Sometimes people even let go while being ‘ported here, haha!”

“Ha,” agreed Arthur, tone flat. He took the replacement form from Kevin, then looked around for a place to take a seat and get down to business.

Just as he began to walk off, Arthur felt a light pressure on his lower arm. He glanced pointedly down at Kevin’s fingers wrapped around his elbow, then up at Kevin’s face, one brow raised.

The kid gaped at him, shaking a little, but pointed at a nearby set of cubby-like fixtures. “Uhm, a-actually, you need to remove your weapons and place them over there. Also, you’ll need to remove all items usable for healing and communication and… you know what, let’s just look around in your bag and I’ll take out all the things you can’t have with you. Things’ll go much quicker if we do that.”

Arthur stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, eyes scanning his face, then nodded.

“Sure.”

Once all of his belongings Kevin deemed unacceptable were removed from his satchel (and the satchel itself confiscated besides), just about all Arthur had left was his journal. Everything else was put away for ‘safekeeping’, or whatever Kevin decided to call it. Arthur felt that it was more of a sly term for robbing him blind, if anything, but so long as he got everything back he wouldn’t complain.

Taking a seat on a nearby couch, Arthur set about filling out the form provided to him, the scritching of the pencil lead as he wrote soothing his churning stomach better than any medicine ever could. The thing asked a few odd questions, mostly if he thought he’d know anybody here and what kinds of skills he had when fighting. It was a quick job, anyway, and it weren’t long before he’d returned the paper and pencil to Kevin.

From there, Arthur was pretty much cut loose, permitted to do as he pleased throughout the entire facility. Sure, Kevin muttered something about avoiding fights and other restrictions, but that didn’t trouble Arthur any. He’d take it under advisement.

Seeing a sign with an arrow that read ‘Park’, Arthur set off down the hallway right behind the arrival point, eager to find someplace without fancy moving pictures and glaring lights taking up all his attention. Looking at them for too long gave him a powerful headache.

The Park, as it turned out, was fairly large— more of a tamed forest, if anything, with neatly groomed trees and clear, streetlamp-lined pathways for walking, a couple benches set up conveniently along the way. Standing in the shade of a set of interlocking branches, Arthur looked up at the almost perfectly blue and cloudless sky, then down at the paved ground under his feet, a few littered leaves crunching beneath his boots.

Right. He’d make do with this, then.

-

“Sir? Uhmmm, sir?”

“Yessir?” asked Arthur a bit sardonically, not looking up from his burning campfire. The leaves and sticks he’d managed to gather made for fine kindling. He’d also acquired some raw fish from a very confused saleslady over at a nearby lodge and was deep in the process of cooking it, the meat mounted on a stick so that the fire just barely lapped at its edges. It was dripping, smoky, and smelled delicious. Perfect.

The attendant speaking to him shifted nervously, stammering. “Well, it’s just that, uh, I’m not sure if you should be, I mean for the safety of everyone in this facility—”

Arthur looked up at the attendant. They stopped speaking.

“You think I can’t handle a little fire, partner?” the ex-outlaw asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes glittered from beneath the brim of his hat.

“No, no, it’s just—”

“It’s fine, is what it is,” said Arthur, waving them off and turning back to his cooking. He watched them waver for a moment in his peripheral vision, clearly unsure, and then finally turn and walk away.

Arthur huffed quietly to himself. City folk.
 

Kopaka

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There was a flash of light that bloomed both from outside and from within the android's body. A twisting, vibrating sensation carried Kopaka millions of miles, it felt, without so much as a single lurch of momentum. In an instant, the Toa found himself staggering out from the far side of the platform, into a circular, concrete room that was kept intentionally dim. The bionicle steadied himself against the wall with a sharp, rasping clang, and focused on breathing while his guidance systems reoriented themselves. A muffled, humming sound broke through the ringing in his audio receptors.

"You must be...Kopaker? Coming in from Opealon?"

Kopaka reeled around, finally regaining his balance, and leered at the source of the noise. Another human-type configuration stood a short distance away, holding a container of liquid and a small board with writing on it. The Toa of Ice scoffed.

"Kopaka." he corrected. The human squinted at his inscribed papers.

"Says Kopaker here. I guess-"

"Then it is mistaken." Kopaka hissed. He was rapidly losing patience for this situation, and stormed towards the red-haired human.

"Of course! Sure! We'll get it corrected. You just need to come this way to finish the intake." the human grinned. The Syntech worker guided Kopaka out of the teleport landing and into the proper lobby. Under different circumstances, the Toa may have been impressed by the architecture and splendor of this venue, but as it was, he was impatient and confused.

"I agreed to the task of fighting for survival on an island. This looks like...something else." he growled. The Syntech human touched a worried hand to his face and shook his head slowly.

"Ooh dear. They didn't do a very good job prepping you, did they? It's just all about feet in the door with the booth workers, I swear. Well, let me get you up to speed. My name is Kevin."


_


A short time later, Kevin had explained the full parameters and details of the Dante's Abyss competition to Kopaka. The biomech appreciated this, but remained silently hostile to any of the human's attempt at assuaging his grumpy attitude. There was no need to make peace with an underling of this 'Karl Jak' figure; a person for whom Kopaka had a growing dislike. To Kevin's credit, however, the young human did not demand Kopaka to disarm himself until the legally binding documents had been signed and filled out.

This, in and of itself, was a seemingly monstrous task. Kopaka had neither the ability to read nor write in the script most common to the Crossroads, which meant that Kevin had to ask Kopaka each question by mouth, and then fill out the relevant spaces by proxy. The only thing Kopaka was able to write himself was the messy scrawl of his own name on the third attempt; managing to mark his signature without breaking a pencil.

Then came the task of handing in his sacred equipment for safekeeping during the actual competition. Handing over his sword and shield was hard enough, though it secretly amused Kopaka to watch the humans struggle to handle the extremely heavy, super-cooled weaponry. Once they stashed these implements in their vault, the Toa turned to go before being stopped by the Kevin human.

"Er, Kopaka! Sorry. Just..." Kevin held his clasped hands up, and then opened them in a pleading manner, "...you said you were wearing some sort of Mask of Power? We need to keep that as well."

Kopaka wheeled around, and narrowed his eyes to gleaming, blue slits.

"The Kanohi Akaku is no mere armor or crude...tool. It is an artifact of power, imbued by the very will of Mata Nui." Kopaka snapped. A fresh rime of frost crackled across his carapace. Kevin offered a conciliatory smile, which had no effect on Kopaka whatsoever.

"Which is why we will take very good care of it, but, we the terms of the challenge dictate-"

Kopaka rolled his shoulders and scoffed.

"I know the terms. I was not refusing. It was a warning." the Toa seethed. He reached up to his face and deftly pressed the releases on the anchor points which kept the Kanohi fused to his physical form. There was a loud hiss of steam and crackle of swirling lightning as the mask of power was snapped free from his true face. Kevin would have liked to think that Kopaka would have looked less angry with the glaring brow of the Akaku mask removed, but this was not the case.

The face and head behind the mask was a bleak, monolithic parody of humanoid features. Kopaka had eyes, a mouth, and what could ostensibly be called a nose, but the proportions were so chiseled and rigid that he looked more like one of those Easter Island statues mixed with a lawnmower. Kopaka set the Kanohi down on the bosun's counter with a heavy clunk. A stray crackle of energy rippled across the lenses.

"I will return for this." the android concluded. Kevin couldn't help but note that, despite his cold confidence, Kopaka was having a hard time looking people in the eye with his mask removed.

"Yeah! Yeah of course. Hey why don't you...find a place to relax until the rest of the competitors are here? We're all set." Kevin said, gingerly patting the android's freezing shoulders. A shiver of resentment ran down Kopaka's back, and he shrugged the hand away before storming off into the lobby again. Kevin watched him depart, and held his numbed hand under his arm. God, he wished that was going to be the most difficult application to deal with today, but he'd worked this gig for several seasons. They were just getting started.


_


The Toa walked listlessly through the halls, unsure of what to do with himself. The Kevin human had spoken of a Library on the premises, but it was becoming apparent to Kopaka that he was effectively illiterate in this world. The tantalizing promise of boundless information, kept barely out of reach, was enough to put him in a foul mood. There was something else, however. During his tirade against the Kevin, Kopaka had used a name that he did not remember, with reverence from an unknown source. Mata Nui.

He could feel the darkness of his clouded past threatening to overtake him again, to stain him with doubt. He had to move. To go somewhere else. The bionicle glanced around, and saw a bird flitter through the glass-covered eaves of the Lobby. It traced a swift line through some planted bushes, and over a gushing fountain, into a large green space beyond an archway. The Toa turned on his heel in a daze, and began trudging in that same direction. His protodermis feet rang loudly on the rose marble flooring, but it soon became soft again on loamy, grassy paths.

More birds sprinted and ducked through the branches here. There was a sky overhead, but it seemed too shallow. The trees were too thin, and the ground did not seem to hold him with the true strength of earth. Even the air seemed rarified and bleached. It was an artificial sanctuary, then, but it would at least deliver him from his anxieties. Kopaka happened upon a small, similarly fake, brook and followed the current for a time before spying a hunched figure over fire through the bushes. It was another human-type entity, with a stronger, stockier configuration. The figure tipped his hat up and nodded at Kopaka.

"Afternoon there, mister." he grumbled. The human looked at him with a mixed look of awe and concern; moreso than others had given him. Kopaka gestured at the fire crackling at the tips of the camper's boots.

"Do you...control this fire?" Kopaka asked. The human clicked his tongue, and shook his head once, firmly.

"Now I done told you folks, I have the fire..." he said, standing up with a grunt, "...under control. And what're you s'posed to be. Some kinda knight in shining armor, like outta one of them nickel books?"

"I am Kopaka, Toa of Ice." Kopaka said flatly. Neither of them moved for a moment, before the human spat a bolus of brown liquid into a bush.

"Uh, Arthur. Arthur Morgan if you're inclined."

Kopaka was not, in fact, inclined. But he had nothing else to do at the moment, and it struck him that this human might possess useful information. Perhaps a conversation could leverage an advantage in the imminent challenge...
 

Mickey Mouse

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HIIIIIIIIIIII-YA!

Blinding light swirled up from the circular platform as all two feet and three inches of Mickey Mouse burst into the room. He somersaulted off of the platform, rolling with all the grace of a true gymnast down the ramp that bridged the teleporter to the intake desk, dropping into a low kneel as he skidded to a halt. The ties of his bandana drooping just below his big ears, he glanced up at what awaited him inside the all-too-familiar preshow facility; despite having seen it all twice before, the sight nevertheless amazed him.

Huge, marble columns held up the ceiling of the expansive hallway. Just like in past years, several domes split off from the main hall, holding what the guerilla mouse knew were the last droplets of civilization, relaxation, and meditation he’d see before he was dropped off in the arena with all those other nasty fellas, looking to stain the artificial plains with lots and lots of blood.

Grody.

Ahead of him, a pale, ginger boy with a messy bun stared at him, mouth slightly agape and one eyebrow significantly higher than the other. “…Mickey Mouse?” he finally asked after a silence the mouse king found considerable.

“You know it, pal!” he shouted, pumping his fist into the air. Clasped in that gloved hand was a clipboard and form Melissa had shoved into his paws before sending him sweeping off through the cosmos from Kraw to wherever-this-was, and the sight of the paperwork seemed to ignite Kevin’s spirits.

“Ah, well, at least you handled the teleporter better than some of our other contestants,” the redhead nodded. Conceivably, further instructions would’ve been on their way, but Mickey felt the need to interject.

“Yeah, bud,” he squeaked, “I’ve been around this block a few times.”

He leapt off the ground, making a whole bunch of noises as he spun through the air that he thought sounded like Karate Kid battle cries but instead sounded more like the dying gasps of some poor, pathetic animal. Kevin cringed, watching as the diminutive fighter landed on the intake desk and launched the clipboard through the air like a ninja star. It spun across the hallway until, at last, it smacked into the neck of a nearby golden statue. Cracks snaked through the sculpture until its head finally slid off its body, crashing into the marble floor around the same time as Mickey’s intake paperwork.

Kevin sighed. “Ooooooookay,” he mumbled. “You can do this, Kevin.”

Mickey watched as the intake intern trudged toward the statue, ignoring the decapitation entirely — par for the course for a crazy death tournament, the mouse supposed — and collecting the scattered paperwork before spinning around with a carefully rehearsed, spotless smile.

“I’m gonna need ya to fill this out, Mr. Mouse,” Kevin instructed, sliding the clipboard across the desk to Mickey’s feet. “Oh, and Karl — uh, Mr. Jak — wanted a message relayed to you when you arrived.”

Mickey’s ears perked up. Karl already trying to talk to him?

“It reads: ‘Mick, the new look sucks big mouse balls.’”

He scowled.

“He’s taken the liberty of having your regular clothes transported here,” Kevin continued, ignoring the disdain on Mickey’s face. “They should be here any second, so if you’d do me the favor of filling out those forms you can change back into them as soon as they arrive!” Kevin shot a bright grin at Mickey, and the former king sighed.

He supposed adventure was still out there, even without cool Rambo clothes.

“Anything else, Kev?” Mickey asked, picking up the paperwork.

“Yes,” Kevin nodded. “Feet off the desk, please, sir. It’s mahogany.”

* * *​

Intake paperwork done, keyblade confiscated, and classic duds re-applied, Mick bounded out into the nearest dome, truly enraptured by the sight of trees that weren’t freakin’ trying to eat him.

The Dante’s Abyss Preshow Facility never disappointed when it came to amenities; a false sense of security, the mouse knew, all too familiar with the real horrors this competition had in store. With that said, though, as he swung from branch to branch, flying this way and that over the park’s artificial streams, the memories from his previous universe seemed hazier and hazier. None of them were truly gone; unfortunately, he knew there were some images he’d just never forget. But long stretches of memory? That was gettin’ tougher. Names? Some remained, but some had just turned into alphabet soup in his ol’ noggin.

“Wahoo!” he shouted, fingers slipping from one branch and launching him into the air again. He soared toward the next tree, aiming to land squarely on one of its many arms, but misjudged the distance ever-so-slightly. His toe caught underneath the branch instead of atop it, and he fell face first past the branch and toward a raging campfire someone had set below.

“Whoa, there, partner,” a gruff voice sounded. Fingers grasped at the back of Mickey Mouse’s deep black jacket, bunching up the fabric and catching him just before he’d managed to fall right into the flames. The little guy’s hood flew up and over his head, covering his big ears.

Mickey’s eyes widened. Dang. For an adventurer, he’d sure been doing kinda a sour job at adventuring, lately.

“Tryin’ to get yourself killed before the fightin’ even starts, kid?” the adult-sized man said, tossing Mickey gently to the grass.

“Gee, thanks, pal,” Mickey squeaked, reaching up and sliding his hood off his head to look up at the other dude. The mouse’s eyes and the man’s eyes both engorged simultaneously, each stricken by exactly what lay before them.

“You’re a… talking mouse?!”

“You’re a real-life cowboy?!”

“And I am Kopaka, Toa of Ice.”
 

The Future Warrior

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The harsh glare of light slowly faded from Ashe's vision, to be replaced with the far more gentle glow of interior lighting. She slowly trudged down off of the teleporter platform to the level floor below and peered around curiously. The place she had arrived in was...in a word, immaculate. Lavish and excellently decorated, just on the verge of being ostentatious but remaining just well done enough to not verge entirely into that territory. Clearly showing off for something or other, but she didn't really care what it might have been.

The oddity of a headless golden statue did strike her as bizarre even by the standards of the worlds she had seen thus far, however.

She stopped in her tracks upon registering another figure present there. Slowly leaning forward, she peered down at them, earning a surprised and wide-eyed stare in response. Remarkably pale and freckled, red hair messily pulled back into a bun, and clad in a uniform not entirely dissimilar to the ones worn by the staff in the Syntech facility she had been in before being transported here. The same ridiculous shade of purple in the vest, even. A nametag pinned to it identified him as 'Kevin'.

How mundane.

"So, uh...you're another entrant into Dante's Abyss, then?" he finally ventured, slowly reaching up one hand to ever so slightly adjust the silvery glasses on his face.

"That is correct." Ashe simply held up one hand, still delicately holding the forms she had been given before. "I was informed I would need to fill this out. But was not given a spare moment to do so, nor any kind of writing implement."

"Oh. Wow. They are just...all kinds of on the ball out there." He sighed in apparent frustration. "Fourth one today..." he muttered, his expression dropping momentarily into one of exhausted aggravation. "Well!" And right away it was back, the picture of somewhat-nervous enthusiasm. "I can help you with that much, at least. The...getting it all filled out part."

"You have a difficult job," Ashe noted, and simply took the few steps necessary to follow this Kevin across the hallway to a table set up there. It was not a question. "You have my sympathies."

The flat, monotone nature of her words made her sympathies carry about as much weight as a stern slap from a feather duster in the mandibles of a particularly angry moth.

"Y-Yeeeeaaaah....th-thanks." It took the employee a moment to regain his composure. "So. uh. I can...fill it out for you? If you can't manage for uh..." He faltered, not wanting to blurt out 'because you might be to big' but not really knowing what else to say.

"It will be more expedient if I do." She leaned over him, picking a pencil up off the table. "Your offer is noted and appreciated, however." And she returned to standing upright. Carefully balancing the paper on the upturned palm of one hand, she delicately took the pencil between two fingers in her opposite one and set to writing. Machine-driven precision made the task an easy one, even when writing in such a comparatively small surface.

After a minute or so of the sound of scritch-scratching at paper, she was finished, and announced as much. "Portions of this seemed incredibly unnecessary and silly," she noted while handing it over to the intern. "I will be somewhat disappointed if the event itself is equally as frivolous."

"Oh, well, uh...n-no worries about that! It's a real...sight to see!" Kevin nervously laughed at that, just setting the forms aside on the table he now leaned against with a slightly-shaking hand. "S-so....just one last quick check for any kind of weapons or external equipment on you, then you're free to go."

"And now I am to be searched." She peered down at the intern quizzically. "I will not need to remove my clothing for this, I trust."

"Wha-uh, n-no, that--" Kevin sputtered at first, his face adopting a curious tinge of red.

"They are removable, if that is necessary. But I feel that would be improper, if my judgement of human standards of decency are correct." Ashe went on without even missing a beat. "But you may rifle through my pockets, if you are obligated to."

"Okay, wow, jeeze lady, just..." He held up one hand, slapping the table with the open palm of his other and letting out a strong wheeze and trying desperately to catch both his breath and composure. The feat took him almost a full minute. "Just...turn out all your pockets and stuff, alright? I can't...really reach anyway."

"You are a very strange human." She did comply, however. It inevitably, when it turned out her pockets did not actually 'turn out' -- they were too rigid for that -- ended with Kevin needing to find a way to articulate he would need her to 'get down on his level' for a moment, and dropping down to effectively sit flat on her butt, to let him personally -- and quite awkwardly -- check over her person and through each individual pocket.

"Okay, okay, okay...nothing in there you can't bring along, I guess." He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, adding far more quietly under his breath, "You don't really have a damn thing on you anyway...frickin' hell..." And then he coughed lightly to clear his throat. "So, uh...yeah. Welcome officially to the show. Go knock yourself out, facility's open to you or...whatever. You'll be kept in the loop about....stuff."

"It is safe to assume that 'stuff' include such details as 'when the event actually starts', I would hope." Ashe rose up to stand again, lightly brushing herself off and peering down at Kevin quizzically until he nodded in the affirmative. "Very well then." And without further ado, she turned and simply strode away.

To his credit, the intern managed to hold his composure this time until she was out of sight around back of the arrival port, and hopefully out of earshot. "I don't get paid enough for this..." he gave a loud whine of exasperation, rubbing at his eyes with both hands. "Please, for the love of Karl, let whoever comes through that teleporter next be normal!"


When Ashe's aimless stride spat her out into what seemed like a park, she was at first confused. It took a minute or two of observation for her to begin fully registering that it was all fake. Or perhaps a very convincing simulation would be a better term. Everything here was definitely real, but it was all too....orderly. Too well-maintained, with a sterile and synthetic feel to it. Not really nature...but the best one cold hope for. Especially if the ridiculous comments about this place actually being on some kind of meteor hurtling through the stars were to actually be believed.

Never one to be an admirer of nature, the war machine simply paced idly through the greenery. A path wound one way, she simply stepped over it. A line of trees formed a delicate wall, she walked between them. A stream flowed merrily along, she simply plodded right through it.

....or she tried to. In her state of focusing so much on the profound aspect of 'nothing', she failed to notice the number of smooth, slippery stones dotting the base of the stream. To one of her size, they were scarcely better than marbles under the boots of an unwary wanderer, and produced a similar effect. Water splashed and went up, as Ashe herself went down.

The impact made a crash which sent up a cascade of water, mud and loose bits of grass, along with a handful of the offending stones, along with quite literally shaking the earth in the vicinity of her impact.

She landed on her back, barely knee-deep in the current of the stream, and her head narrowly missing squashing another figure near at hand. It would have been amusing, the way her sudden impact left her in a shallow crater of a perfect outline of her shape...had it not been so utterly unexpected.

".....well. Think that might be the best entrance so far," a gruff voice spoke up. It made Ashe slowly twist her head in place, to find herself staring over the smoking silhouette of a fire at a figure she could only describe as something straight out of one of those old absurd 'western' films. He was not the only one who was taken aback by her sudden fall. Two others were present.

One which she could have sworn was an actual mouse, much like the Syntech attendant who had directed her to signup had been a corgi, and who could only offer a short, "Yeah, I'd say that was pretty spectacular, alright," in a high-pitched tone she immediately found impossible to decipher -- was he mocking her, or amused?

And the other....bore an expression that seriously rivaled the air around him for dominance over 'coldest thing in the vicinity'. "Yes. Truly spectacular." His tone, on the other hand, was readily apparent and took no puzzling over to decipher. Not the sort to be easily entertained.

"My apologies," Ashe stated flatly, slowly turning her head to face skyward again...just in time for the mess she had sent flying with her tumble to come showering back down. "I did not mean to drop in unannounced."

"Hi-larious," the cowboy grunted, not actually seeming amused.
 
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Solomon Grundy

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He materialized about two feet off the platform, the sensation of weightlessness followed by the hook of gravity yanking his diaphragm a familiar one. Okuyasu landed perfectly, hands in his pockets, mouth lazily slack. The boy's stomach rumbled, and he gripped it with one hand. "Oi! Guy!" He shouted at the red haired attendant. "Which way to the food?"

Kevin pointed down the hallway towards a large set of doors. "Through there to the park, then follow the big signs for the entertainment complex. There's restaurants and arcades and all sorts of Syntech sponsored content."

Okuyasu gripped him on the shoulder tightly and fished a credit out of his pocket, flipping it to the junior bureaucrat. "Thanks for the tip! Now here's one for you!" He dashed off to the dors and busted through them, his rumbling stomach lending him speed and purpose. As soon as he saw the green and blue of what was unmistakably a peaceful public park, he pulled his move, hoping to impress.

shing

"THE HAND!"

His Stand sprang forth in a musical spray of sparks and shimmering, extending it's nuclear bomb of an extremity backwards as Okuyasu noticed a plume of smoke off into the greenspace. Oh well. Not his problem.

BMMMMMM

The blue suited hothead zipped upwards into the sky, a disconcerting VWIP noise trailing behind him for each swipe The Hand made, propelling him through the air like a glittering firework in long lazy parabolic arcs. "Gahahaha! Next stop, lunch!" He hollered as he flew above a group of people gathered near the fire. Hazarding a glance down, he did a double take. "Oh hey, it's the giant lady! And....mickey mouse? WUU-AAUGGH!"

He looked back up in time to jink left with a short swipe of his arm, narrowly dodging a billboard and aiming to land in the ground.
 

Arthur Morgan

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Spirits of Vengeance
“I...” Arthur had to take a moment to collect himself. First, it’d been the metal man, then the talking mouse, and now a... giant, one-eyed woman. It was all getting to be a little much for him.

“WUU-AAUGGH!”

At the boisterous yell from above, the ex-outlaw looked up. Great, now there was someone hurling through the sky.

Dragging a hand down the side of his face, Arthur navigated around the campfire and over to the woman still laying flat on her back in the creek. He extended a hand, trying to keep from being intimidated by her frankly gargantuan build.

“Here, let’s get you up and out of that water. Can’t be comfortable.”

The woman stared at him a minute with her... massive single eye. Only then did Arthur notice the pointy ears and the second set of arms positioned under her. Huh, how about that.

“Your offer to assist is appreciated, but not required,” the woman informed him, tone barren of emotion.

“Fair enough,” said Arthur, giving her space. She heaved herself to her feet and clambered out of the creek, her brown leather boots only slipping a little on the damp rocks.

Arthur had to take a step back to admire the sheer amount of height she had on him. Hell, she was about as tall as some of the streetlamps he’d seen near the more populated areas of the park. Though, he supposed this area was getting to be one of the more populated areas, as well...

In the distance, the flying man had made it to the ground without somehow seriously injuring himself, and the giant one-eyed woman seemed to recognize him, and— well, Arthur’d be mighty surprised if they weren’t gonna talk to each other. He’d offer her a seat beside his fire once she wasn’t so distracted.

He returned to his fire and decided to continue on as he was before. Namely, getting the coffee hot and ready. He’d... acquired a percolator from the lodge, as well. Again, from a very confused saleslady who kept asking him why he wouldn’t just head over to some food place and buy a hot coffee already made. The answer was simple: Arthur just didn’t want to.

Over the earthy, almost chocolatey smell of the grounds being sifted through with boiling water, Arthur glanced between the talking mouse and... Kopaka, was it? Kopaka, and something about ice. If the feller’d been a bit chilly before, he was near frigid now, seeming stiff-limbed and mighty uncomfortable with the sudden surge of people around Arthur’s tiny little campfire. The mouse, for his part, kept shooting glances at the iceman, clearly shocked to see him. That only seemed to make Kopaka more cold if it was at all possible, and Arthur’d be surprised if the poor guy didn’t up and leave because of it.

Using one of the dinky little tin cups the saleslady had given him, Arthur poured himself some steaming hot coffee. Taking a hearty sip with little care for the heat, he glanced between the two. “Y’all know each other or something?”

“No,” said Kopaka, right about the same time that the mouse spluttered out a fervent “Yes.

“Hm,” said Arthur. He took another gulp of his coffee, swallowed it. “That does appear to be quite the conundrum, fellers.”
 

Kopaka

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Two entities had stumbled into the brookside clearing; one miniscule and one enormous. Neither of them were specifically of the human-type configuration, but the overall anatomical features followed the same template. The large entity was of particular interest to the bionicle. Most the externalities of the creature attempted to mimic an organic appearance, but Kopaka had keen eyes, even without the aid of the Kanohi Akaku.

The glassy, precise way her limbs moved, the way her immense iris focused and twitched in specific intervals, and especially fact that she was not breathing, indicated that she was primarily mechanical in construction. It was the first non-organic individual Kopaka had encountered in the Crossroads.

He was about to inquire into her operational parameters when the other new entity (previously disregarded for being vacuous), indicated that he knew who Kopaka was. The toa's neck servos whined and clicked softly as he turned to regard the tiny organism with cold scrutiny. He was approximately one-third the height of the android, exclusively biological in construction, and seemes to possess far too much exuberance for his stature.

"You...know me?" Kopaka asked. His tone was measured, but not explicitly hostile. Mickey nodded, and pointed an accusatort finger at the Toa.

"You betcha! I remember you from...a different world! You wanted to hurt me and my sweetheart!" the mouse shouted. His voice was shrill, and gave no reason for Kopaka to believe the organism was lying. The Toa considered this, and remained perfectly still.

Was this creature an enemy, then? It occurred to him that these assorted entities were likely other aspirants for Karl Jak's challenge. This essentially identified all of them as 'enemies', but Kopaka had more important business than mere bloodshed. He had been trying to escape his occluded past life, but, it was hard to pass up such an opportunity for clarity. A ripple of birdsong brought him back to the moment.

"What do you know about Mata Nui?" he asked. The mouse creature blinked.

"Mata Who-y?" Mickey replied, scratching his ear. Kopaka let out a sharp breath of chilly mist. This was already becoming tedious.

"The name lingers heavily in my mind and soul, yet I cannot place it. You claim to know of me, from another world. Do you lie?" Kopaka growled. He deeply wished to have his sacred weapons at hand, to punctuate his indignation. As it was, the best he could conjure was a brisk crackling of frost over everything within a few feet of him.

"Dagnabbit!" cried the human, spitting out his coffee. He leered at Kopaka, and wearily swirled the percolator around on the fire again.

"Y'all wanna take yer bad blood away from my supper?" the cowpoke grumbled.

"Perhaps more thorough identifications are called for." the immense construct said. Her tone was soft, but the words still caused the air itself to shake. Kopaka didn't care; he kept his glowering blue eyes firmly fixed on the mouse.
 

Jester Lavorre

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CRACK!

The teleporter's sharp report pierced the area giving a start to the red-headed greeter near the base of the device. Mugen's form appeared suddenly where previously there had been nothing. The samurai doubled over, clenching his gut, and proceeded to vomit up a viscous combination of stomach fluids, a sausage and egg roll, and sake. His breakfast spattered the floor with a sickeningly thick and wet sound.

"Oh, COME ON!" Kevin, the greeter, clutched at his hair and went wide eyed. "On the floor, man!? Seriously!?"

The lanky samurai straightened and drew his forearm across his mouth to wipe the remnants of his evacuated stomach from his thin lips, then spit into the puddle of his vomit.

"Ugh. That was a new kind of Hell," Mugen groaned. He felt around his hip and found his sake flask - he'd told himself that he'd take it easy today, but this called for a liberal swig. "...this doesn't look like an island."

Kevin was already moving towards a nearby mop and bucket, but stopped with a pained expression, realizing that his duties would have to precede clean-up. He sighed and turned back to Mugen, extending a hand for his papers.

"Have you completed your entrant's form, yet?" Kevin asked - his tone sounded hopeful, but his expression betrayed an ingrained cynicism acquired over years of employment.

"Completed my..." Mugen trailed off, and gave a shrug. "Don't know what you're looking for, kid."

Kevin looked from one empty calloused hand to the other, and realized that Mugen hadn't even been given the form to fill out to begin with. He'd just been ushered through the teleporter no questions asked. Further back and forth between the two revealed that not only had the competitor not even given his name at his entrance interview, he also did not know how to read or write. A grueling half hour ensued henceforth, with Kevin desperately pleading the form's questionnaire to Mugen, who in turn answered with all the charisma of a cat with a hand petting its fur the wrong way.

When they were finally finished, the redheaded attendant stripped Mugen of his sword after addressing his many protestations, and pointed the samurai out the door.

---

He was clip-clopping his way through the park on his raised sandals, staring at the sake gourd in his hand longingly - there was perhaps three quarters of the gourd left, but it wouldn't last - when he heard a familiar sound from several yards out. Out in the distance there was a smattering of mismatched figures gathered near a babbling brook, and over the sound of that babbling brook was a louder and higher pitched babbling erupting from a familiar diminutive form. Mugen could make out Mickey Mouse in what looked to be a terse exchange with a...what was that, exactly? It looked almost like an armored samurai of the sort one might find in the employ of a rather wealthy Shogunate. Having never been employed by anything higher ranking than a street level crime lord, Mugen had never owned any armor quite so ornate himself.

As he drew closer, he took in the other figures as well. There was a behemoth among the gathered, nearly twenty feet tall if his eyes were correct, as well as a man who in comparison to his company appeared rather ordinary. The behemoth was an eye grabber - Mugen hearkened back to his memories of a rather large Oni he'd fought with back in Japan, and decided with a sagacity that usually eluded him that he would remain wary of anything over ten feet tall throughout the duration of this competition.

"Hey! Mick!" Mugen called out. He raised a long arm upward to draw the mouse's attention. "Long time no see."

The ronin drew in close to the group, interrupting the terse exchange between the biomechanical knight and the far smaller Mickey Mouse. He took one more sip of his sake, making a mental note that it now felt about halfway drained, and internally mulling over a joke to himself about the sake gourd being half full or half empty.

"...hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
 

Mickey Mouse

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Soooo… there was a heckuva lot happening.

To say each new development overwhelmed the mouse the slightest bit more was an understatement. Mickey already had a little trouble focusing on the task at hand, especially when the task at hand involved a huge free-for-all death tournament that was the source of some of his most major traumas. Combining all that with the arrival of a gaggle of weirdos just about sent him over the edge and into full on Mad Hatter-territory.

The cowboy first. What a sight! Deep in his tiny soul, the mouse king had always harbored a desire to meet an actual cowboy and go out on the range with him; that adventure ranked near the top of his bucket list, for sure. This dude seemed like the real deal, though to be fair, he probably wasn’t here to do any wrangling unless it was of his fellow competitors; a once-over of the gruff dude told Mickey this guy wasn’t here to simply spectate.

The other entity Arthur the Cowboy had rescued from the elements, the big lady, also intrigued Mickey — in the sense, at least, that she was huge, and even as Kopaka glared at him and yelled weird words at him, Mickey found himself incredibly called to try and perch on her shoulder.

The Toa of Ice’s tirade convinced him to hold back on that impulse.

“You really don’t remember me, fella?” Mickey asked the icy knight. “It’s me, good ol’ Mickey Mouse!”

Kopaka narrowed his eyes, or at least it looked like he did, as Mickey presented his more ‘thorough identification.’ As it became more and more clear that the bionicle’s memories were, indeed, dashed, Mickey felt his shoulders begin to loosen and his knees begin to straighten. ‘Twas super weird, though — Kopaka had hunted him so vigorously and so long. Mickey’s memories of his last universe might be hazy, but not hazy enough to forget someone who tormented him for years!

The mouse’s gaze met the Toa’s, who finally spoke in reply. “I have no recollection of a Mickey Mouse,” he droned. He betrayed no emotion, but beneath the façade, Mickey suspected he was troubled about this.

For just a moment, the warrior mouse drowned in his own muddled memories. Then, thankfully, Mugen interrupted.

The samurai was a sight for sore eyes.

“Mu!” Mickey called out, leaping up and wrapping his arms around his new — only? — friend’s neck and squeezing tight. Mugen chuckled, patting the diminutive creature on the back and letting his eyes return to the menacing thing that had been staring at his companion. Mickey, too, glanced over his shoulder to find Kopaka’s glare still fixed on him.

“You are hardly causing an interruption,” the big lady interjected. “The pair have been exchanging words, but the conversation was going nowhere.”

Kopaka at last broke his intense stare to glance at the woman. “We are still awaiting a thorough introduction from you.”

“My designation is Ashe-0,” she responded flatly. “Does that satisfy your request?”

The Toa seemed to be about to speak when Mickey, now sat upon Mugen’s shoulder, interrupted. “Satisfies me, ho-ho!” he giggled. “Like I said before, my name’s Mickey and this here’s Mugen, my pal!” Mugen threw up a lazy wave.

“This bonified cowboy over here goes by Arthur,” the western warrior tipped his hat, continuing to try to roast more things on the fire. He seemed intent on making this pre-tournament excursion a genuine camping trip. “Now enough chatter,” he waved his dinky coffee cup in the air, splashing some brown liquid in Kopaka’s direction. The Toa flinched. “This here’s a campfire, so sit down and sing a god-damn campfire song or shut up.”

Mickey’s expression brightened noticeably. He didn’t love the bad language, but he loved singing!

“Count me in, partner,” the mouse crooned, hopping off the samurai and sitting criss-cross apple sauce on the ground before the raging flames. Mugen slid into the spot between Mickey and Ashe. To the mouse’s surprise, he felt the chilly aura of Kopaka find a seat on his other side.

“If you know of Mata Nui…” Kopaka trailed off, too quiet for most of the rest of the group to hear.

Mickey glanced over at the fierce-looking ice dude. He’d admit that the words ‘Mata Nui’ were not altogether unfamiliar, but not from his last universe, and he somehow doubted he and Kopaka originated from the same place. He observed the warrior’s features, sensing something stormy beneath the surface, and much to Mick’s surprise, he started to feel… sorry for the guy?

It was a strange sensation — Kopaka had spent years hunting him relentlessly, mercilessly, and yet here the mouse was, feeling some sort of sympathy for him. To tell the truth, it almost seemed as if he and the Toa of Ice were going through much the same thing.

Tentatively, Mickey reached out and placed a gloved hand on Kopaka’s armored one. The Toa jerked slightly, glancing with mild alarm at the physical connection, but stopped short of breaking it.

“We’re gonna get through this, fella.”

Kopaka’s eyes drifted up to meet Mickey’s. They lingered with each other before, a few seconds later, Mickey broke the eye contact and physical contact to turn back to the group.

“Okay, okay, I got one,” he stood, sucking in a deep breath all the way to his tiny diaphragm. “This one’s for you, Mr. Cowboy Man!” he shouted before belting into the Preshow Facility’s artificial evening sky.

Hooooooome, home on the range! Where the deer and the antelope play…
 

Malloki Tuwile

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Of all the things to come out of that bright flash, no one would have expected the blood soaked naked man. As bare feet splat onto the freshly polished floor, the man took a good look at his surroundings. “Ooohohoh! Looks like a bigwig really went all out for this game!”

The sensation of the transporter brought with it an oddly tingling sensation that, for some reason came on a delay for the twisted man. The third step was the charm and with a thud, down went Malloki. Almost immediately, everything that Malloki had eaten this morning was yacked up. Considering the newly revived body, the bloody mess of a man just dry heaved for a few moments.

The wide-eyed red-haired attendant just stared, wide eyed at the scene. Thus far, an oversized mouse, a robot-like creature with a stone-cold face and a colder-stone human had been pretty high on the list of odd contestants, but this one was a different kind of weird. “You, uh… you must be Miliki?”

“Ye-HERK-Yes?” The unsettling stomach ache was waning, allowing him to finally giggle at the flip-flopping pain. “Wait…” Malloki rolled over onto his back, with hands clutching his stomach. “Da fuq is Miliki?”

“Uh… You?” A narrowed gaze fell upon the official. The name tag read Kevin. Of course its Keven. He peered down at the waver signed and faxed for another moment, trying to read Malloki’s terrible scribble.

Splish, splash, sploosh Malloki was slurping back to his feet. Of course, he ignored the vaguely Malloki shaped puddle. “Mah-Low-k-EYE.”

Kevin hesitated for a long moment. The correction sounded angry, and he was not eager to add to the stains of the pristine masterpiece that was the entry hall. “Right, I see that now…” Of course, he quickly moved on. “So… there is a bit more paperwork, when you’re ready…”



Somewhere along the line, Malloki had been given a towel to tie around his waist. It covered the bits which Kevin had stated clearly should not be exposed here. That was after Malloki had found himself a seat upon the disembodied head of a golden statue, leaving bloody prints of his fantastic cheeks upon its solid gold hairline.

The last scraps of paperwork forgone by the Opaelon outreach boat was finished up with a bit more information, a few more signatures, and quite a few bloody handprints. Kevin held a hand over his mouth as he tried his best to ignore the encroaching stench of blood and a few far more worse bits. The townspeople had a hearty breakfast before lobbing Malloki off the edge. Hearty dinner too.

“Alrighty-Mikey, I think we’re good to go!” Malloki chimed as he happily held out the paperwork. Still poised upon the golden head, Kevin was slow to approach the overly giddy gore-tastic visad that was sitting before him.

He gave the paperwork a quick glance over, cringing when he spotted what could only be eyeball splooge clinging to one of the corners. “Okay… Well… At this point I’m supposed to request any weapons, items and other such things. I guess we don’t really need to worry about that too much.”

Malloki offered a moment to pat his hips, lean forward to pat his ass, and generally reveal he had no pockets to hide any items away. Surprising. “Just brought me, myself and Malloki!”

“Catchy…” Kevin was not exactly a fan of this contestant. Well, not when it came to registering him. The psychotic nature hidden beneath the man’s childish smile made the ginger lad curious as to his ferocity in a fight and tenacity for survival. He might enjoy watching this murderer through the comfort of a screen. “If that’s the case, you have free reign over the facility… within reason.”

Malloki hopped up from the head and made his way towards the various doors. “Hold on… A few rules. Namely, no killing other contestants before the game begins.”

“But I don’t kill people…?” Kevin was almost taken aback by that statement.

“Fine,” he sighed. “No playing with other contestants.”

“Oh!” Well that makes much more sense! “Gotta leave ‘em fresh for the big game, I guess! No problemo Jimbo.”

“Kevin…”

“Right, Clark. So, which way to the grub?”

With a sigh and a point, Kevin watched the homicidal creature sprint off. Every step was a wet splat of gore and the only question in beneath that orange-red mop was How much blood can be stuck to one man’s feet?”
 

Kopaka

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Kopaka trapped in a fairly deep ravine of self-doubt and confusion. Offers of solidarity and camaraderie from a diminutive biologic did not help. Kopaka glanced around the growing menagerie of challengers, and began to feel a deep sense of isolation. Nothing of what the Mickey entity had said made complete sense. He had accused Kopaka of being an enemy, but then made every inference that Kopaka should trust in him. Not only that, but it was apparent that Mickey had no knowledge of the name that burned so fiercely in Kopaka's mind.

And yet, it was clear that the mouse did know him, for good or ill.

Whether or not anyone noticed, Kopaka left the campfire. This was becoming place of warmth and togetherness - a place that Kopaka did not belong. He did not pity his sense of isolation, or resent the other contestants their Unity. A good Toa knew when to stick to their element, and it was clear that he was deeply out of his. Besides, the artificial landscape was beginning to irritate his refined senses.

The android clomped loudly back into the man concourse of the reception area, and after asking for directions, trudged towards the Library. Perhaps he could not read or write in the strange characters of the Crossroads, but information came in more forms than simple writing. Besides, inscribing his name to the paper earlier had sparked a tangential memory of his former life, and he wanted to act on it while the impetus was fresh...
 

The Future Warrior

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This had become quite the....odd little spectacle. The stern insistence of the one who identified himself as Arthur had gotten them all to sit down, if only for the moment. It was not quite a circle around the unexpected sight of the fire, owing in no small part to the almost comically mismatched sizes of those who sat near at hand, but it was close enough.

For her part, Ashe could only stare listlessly at the diminutive mouse-like creature as he had begun to do what she could, she supposed, generously call 'singing'. It was certainly in proper rhythm, and the tune was right...but that atrocious high-pitched wail of a voice, especially at the volume his performance entailed, was nothing short of grating. A blessing for her then that she could, in fact, quite literally turn down the volume. Or at least dampen her hearing, enough to mostly drown out the mouse's song, reducing it to much more tolerable levels.

Thus her focus drifted elsewhere. She would let the others have their 'fun'. Humans and other living creatures were always said to be fond of such whimsy and merriment, especially before something as presumably stressful and worrisome as this 'event' was to be. Dante's Abyss was, from what she had ascertained after her quick read of the myriad forms and warnings, very much a stage for risking one's life. Death looming in the very near future was probably not all that pleasant to look forward to for most. All those she had seen thus far did seem to be handling it....quite well, considering.

Either they were far braver than appearances might let on, or far stupider. Perhaps both.

Her eye shifted slightly, roving over as she caught movement, to catch the form of Kopaka rise and lumber away from the rest of the group. That one....was hard to judge. Based on word choice and the brief window she had to observe his general demeanor...he would not be an easy obstacle to overcome. She did not necessarily like the cold particularly well.

These others, however...

The so-called 'bonafide cowboy', Arthur. He seemed alarmingly mundane. Strong and hardy, certainly. By no means a pushover. But altogether...quite unassuming and easy enough to write off. Under normal circumstances, he would pose a very minimal threat. These circumstances were far from normal, of course.

Then there was the odd mouse-like creature. Mickey. Mickey Mouse, had he said before? An almost childishly easy to remember name, and one almost painfully obvious in who it was referring to. He seemed...all but completely harmless. Small size and build would limit any kind of significant force being brought to bear. It would make him a much smaller and harder to pin down target. No noticeable weapons, either...though all of those had been confiscated for the duration of this event regardless. So unless he also had some other abilities not readily apparent....Also minimal threat.

Then the last one. Mugen, according to the mouse that was apparently Mickey. A complete puzzle. There was nothing about him that she could pick out which indicated anything noteworthy. Was he actually here to compete? Being a friend of the mouse, perhaps he was simply here as some sort of spectator... Bizarre.

It took her a moment to realize that there was an abundance of eyes on her. She slowly shifted her head, her eye swiveling about from one person to the next as she brought her hearing back up to its normal levels. "Is something the matter?"

"Lady, you was starin' like you were trying to light us all on fire," Arthur noted, taking a long sip from his coffee. "I think 'is something the matter' would be more our line."

"....my apologies." was all Ashe could muster up in response. "I was thinking."

"Gee. Musta been thinkin' pretty hard! You were totally spaced out there!" the mouse piped up. "Everybody else already went around and did their part, with the songs! Then it got to you and just sorta..." He trailed off, leaning forward slightly with an expectant look.

"I am not programmed for musical whimsy and campfire entertainment," she said, her words utterly flat and deadpan. "I could provide music, though unless you are particularly fond of being serenaded by the dulcet tones of a cacophony of synthesized screeches from a tone generator, perhaps I should simply remain audience."

This drew a dull, blank stare from all, and prompted the one she couldn't get a read on to lean down and whisper, "It just me, or did that mean a whole lotta nothing?" to his mouse-friend.

"You're a real special case of 'something else', lady." Arthur just shook his head, expression somewhere between confused and sad about all the science-y whatever talk she had just spewed out.

"....you could not possibly calculate how correct you are," the war machine noted.
 

Arthur Morgan

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Spirits of Vengeance
“Well, it ain’t really my business. If you don’t feel like singin’, you don’t feel like signin’,” said Arthur, leaning forward to pour some more coffee into his cup. He frowned as the traces of slick ice frosting over the percolator nipped at his fingers, but settled for moving the metal contraption a little closer to the fire to defrost. It was only then that he noted that the iceman, Kopaka, had vanished during all the ruckus.

Truth be told, Arthur didn’t blame him one bit for dipping out when he did; crowds like this weren’t for everyone. It was only through years of loitering inside various bars, taverns, saloons, and other terms for ‘drinking establishment’ that Arthur’d acquired the ability to blend in with most any crowd— engaging in lively conversation with a couple of strangers after a few shots of whiskey never hurt anyone. That is, if said strangers didn’t try to get a rise out of him. Luckily, these particular folks didn’t seem inclined to do so. Thus, Arthur was glad for their company and perspective... if only to put off the inevitable life-or-death struggle they’d all signed on for.

In reaction to Arthur’s statement, Ashe blinked her big odd-looking eye at him. “That is not what I said. I merely indicated that it would be an unpleasant experience for all involved.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur responded easily, chuckling a little. “We can’t all have the voice of an angel like the little rodent feller.”

Said rodent feller, Mickey Mouse as he’d introduced himself, stuck out his chest with a broad mousy grin on his face. His big ol’ round ears twitched in his excitement. “Thanks, pal! I’ve had a lot of practice!”

Arthur hmmed to himself, hands resting loosely on his knees. His jovial mood seemed to fade a bit as he turned to face the mouse, a serious crinkle between his eyebrows. “Forgive my askin’, but you don’t seem the type to be in a place like this... killin’ folks, I mean. Your friend there, maybe. He seems the right sort for it. Ashe, too— if you don’t mind my sayin’ it, ma’am. And me, well, I ain’t got much to look forward to in this world. But you...”

The ex-outlaw trailed off, seeming troubled. “You’re a happy, bright little guy, Mr. Mouse. You seem like you’ve got a big heart in that little body of yours. What are you doing here?”

It was a rough question to ask someone and Arthur knew it. If someone’d posed the same question to him, he didn’t rightly know what he would’ve possibly said to them. He deeply suspected it was ‘cause he was a bit rotten on the inside, soul all twisted and grey from the things he’d done. He was a husk of a man. Always had been, and no amount of making amends or personal sacrifices would fix that. But a person like Mickey Mouse, who seemed pure and good and perfectly willing to sing merry songs at Arthur’s campfire.... that sort of feller was far from rotten inside. A person like that had to have a reason to even entertain the thought of killing other folks.

It had to be something. Something selfless. Something brave.

Mickey seemed to stew on his question for a little bit, chewing it over in his mind. Finally, he looked at Arthur with his big brown eyes, a fierce look on his face. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to be, Mr. Cowboy. I’ve been in a competition like this before, and each time I tried and failed to put a stop to it. But not this time! This time, I’m gonna get to the bottom of what this Karl Jak guy is trying to accomplish by putting on this twisted farce of a show!”

The ronin seated at the mouse’s side shot Mickey a sideways grin, giving him a friendly (albeit a little sloppy) pat on the back. “You’ll get ‘em, Mick. Eye of the tiger.”

“Karl Jak?” asked Arthur, interest successfully piqued. “Never heard that name before.”

“That is the host of this event,” Ashe informed him. She tilted her head, staring off into space as if recalling that little tidbit of information and much, much more. “The paperwork provided to all entrants mentioned this.”

“Didn’t see any paperwork,” said Arthur, frowning deeply. “Some girl... Melissa was her name, talked big about this place before I decided to sign on. You tellin’ me I didn’t get the full spiel?”

Mickey perked up. “Melissa? The nice attendant lady on Kraw?”

Arthur nodded. “That’s the one. Why? You meet her, too?”

“Yeah! Wow, we may have joined up literally a few hours apart or something!” Mickey chirped, leaning forward to peer at Arthur’s face with renewed interest. “What were you doing on Kraw?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Arthur looked down at his hands. His journal sat in his lap, seeming heavy despite its actually rather light weight. “Just ended up there. Wasn’t someplace I’d intended to go, anyway.”

“Oh,” said Mick, cheery disposition dulling a bit before brightening once more, a figurative sun peeking out from behind the storm clouds of Arthur’s mind. “Well, you’re in good company now! Maybe you’ll be able to find out why you’re here soon.”

“Sure hope so,” agreed Arthur. “Though I’m not sure this was the best way to try and find out, to tell you the truth.”
 

Roy Mustang

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Mustang stumbled out of the teleportation device leaning against a nearby support column. Sentech’s ability to transport its contestants onto the comet was impressive, and certainly implied they had significant technology at their disposal. All the same, it struck mustang as slightly... lower budget in terms of comfort. Taking a moment to settle his stomach, Roy stepped into the lobby proper. He was greeted by a very beleaguered Kevin, dejectedly mopping with an instrument that had clearly seen better days. The intern looked up with mild apprehension, cautiously weighing the newest arrival's potential for further property damage.

"Welcome to the comet, sir. You wouldn't happen to have your application on you by any chance?" the poor man asked, though he clearly held little hope at this point.

"Mm, oh yeah!" Mustang fished in his coat, pulling out a neatly folder file. "You have a pen, kid? There's still a few fields I need to fill out."

Kevin breathed a sigh of relief. He reached over and tossed Mustang a writing utensil from the cup at his desk. Mustang caught it with a nod and stepped over to a small kiosk, entering in the last bits of information without a particular amount of care. He idly glanced at the lobby, noting its general disarray.

"I thought we weren't fighting until we reached the island?" he spoke up. Kevin nodded as he dutifully swabbed the tiles.

"That's correct sir." he responded; attention focused on his task.

"That's an awful lot of blood, then." The state alchemist noted. He signed the last box with a slight flourish, waving the application slightly as he walked back over to the desk.

"The ah... the contestants have been interesting just now, Sir." the doorman said, as he set down the mop to come collect the paperwork.

"Really? What counts as interesting these days?" Mustang raised an eyebrow as Kevin poured over his information, checking his answers with the screen in front of him.

"Wouldn't believe me if I told you, Sir. You'll have to see for yourself. Go ahead in, I just need your ignition gloves." Kevin held out a hand and Mustang surrendered the gloves with only the slightest trepidation.

He stepped around the puddles that littered the lobby and strolled through the park, breathing deeply as he considered his next move. He was growing increasingly convinced that his alleged mission was not actually of very high importance to his superiors. Syntech's reach was impressive, but they operated on a principal of controlled chaos that would be impossible to weaponize on a threatening scale to the kingdom's interests. He followed the sound of singing voices to a makeshift campfire. A group of people who he could only assume were contestants lounged about the flames. They were disparate in size, appearance and manner, different breeds in every sense of the word. They could possibly be rallied together for a short venture, but not long enough to overthrow a government.

He paused, watching them now discussing earnestly. the songs over as quickly as they'd likely begun. There was something about the scene that felt uncomfortably familiar to him. With a frown he realized that he recognized their controlled fear, the nervous anticipation of the next morning's battle. It was not an uncommon sight in camp the night before a large conflict, a soldier's fear. The looming truth of their mortality laid bare in their minds. It drove them to sing, to share, to do anything they could be prove that, for today at least, they were alive.

"There a problem, Lawman?" One member of the group asked him, a gruff fellow, covered in the dirt of the road. Mustang looked at him with some confusion. "You're just standing there." the cowboy elaborated after a moment.

"Did you want to sing campfire songs with us?" the small mouse asked hopefully, "I know I sure could go for another round." feet swinging in the air as his legs were too short to reach the ground from his perch. Mustang sighed with a smile turning to continue his walk.

"Generous, but no. We're all about to fight each other to the death in a few hours. It's better not to learn that your enemies are people."

With a nonchalant wave, the Flame Alchemist moved on from the campfire. He stalked forward, steeling his gaze as he accepted the truth. This was not some arena full of hardened thugs and remorseless killers. Their reasons for being here were likely as varied as their appearances. It would be unreasonable to believe they all deserved the fate that awaited them tomorrow. Certainly, some of them had more right to survive than he did. Regardless, he would have to kill every one of them.
 

Mickey Mouse

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Kopaka was gone.

The creepy dude’s disappearance had gone mostly under Mickey Mouse’s nose. When the weird military guy started spouting some super depressing talk, the mouse turned to shoot the Toa a furtive glance, and was met by only the empty space on the grass where he’d briefly been sitting. Where had he gone off to?

Mickey rose to his feet almost without thinking about it. He craned his neck, searching for any trace of where the icy warrior had run off to.

“Y’okay, little buddy?” Arthur the Cowboy asked from across the campfire. Mickey’s attention snapped back to his three compadrés. His eyes met Arthur’s, then Mugen’s. They would’ve met Ashe’s, but she seemed to have little interest in whatever was troubling him.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m okay.”

This was mostly true. Despite the litany of irons he had in the fire, the former King was, in fact, what he would call ‘okay.’ He’d been dropped into a brand new world mere days ago, but thus far he thought he was succeeding at trying to embrace it. He’d allowed himself to make new friends, and now he’d even found some things that were familiar, between the Abyss and Kopaka.

The alchemist’s words had struck a chord, though. ‘It’s better not to learn your enemies are people.’

Mickey’s face scrunched up just thinking about that. Mostly because — if he were being really honest — it was already too late. It’d been too late from the start, for him: it was just in his nature to see the person-ness within the others around him. Arthur Morgan loved song, and loved the outdoors, and was a welcoming man who hadn’t denied anyone the chance to convene around this fire. Ashe seemed off in a different world, but she was in a world nonetheless; Mickey couldn’t pin her down, but wasn’t that evidence of a complexity that surpassed the baseline of consciousness?

And Mugen. He was flawed, too reliant on his drink, reckless and wild. But his flaws gave him his humanity, and they were seasoned with his fun-loving, adventure-thirsty personality. If nothing else, those were two qualities he himself shared with the ronin. He was… happy to have the samurai as his first real friend here, and he looked forward to the adventures to come with the young man.

Assuming they made it out of here in one piece, anyway.

That was easier said than done. Mickey knew by now how Karl Jak worked. In his perfect world, only one contestant made it out alive. In his perfect world, it was kill or be killed.

Well, Karl, I still won’t kill for your entertainment. I’m here to find out more about this place.

And where I fit in it.


Kopaka had been the first clue, and now he was gone. Mickey Mouse thought about resuming his seat around the campfire, but his overwhelming curiosity about how he and the Toa had — separately — ended up in the same place kept pulling him away.

“I’m going to find the creepy guy,” he said to Mugen, leaning over to almost whisper it. The samurai jerked a little bit; he’d zoned out, it seemed.

“Really?” came the response.

“Yeah,” Mickey nodded. “I got some questions for him. I’m gonna go ahead, but feel free to come along after if ya want. I’m gonna start in the big mall thingy.”

Mugen blinked for a few moments before realizing his friend meant the recreation area. By the time the samurai was up to speed, though, Mickey had breezed through some polite goodbyes to Arthur and Ashe and sped off down the nearby path toward the huge, expansive dome, perhaps the biggest in the whole Preshow complex, that housed the restaurants and shops and games and such.

He was a mouse on a mission, it seemed.
 

Arthur Morgan

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“Well,” Arthur announced as he shoved himself onto his feet, dusting off his pants. “I oughta be gettin' on.”

Ashe turned to stare at him with her vague, strangely all-encompassing eyeball. After seeming to think for a long moment, she spoke. “Where will you go?”

The ex-outlaw shrugged. “No idea, to tell you the truth. Just got a hankering to explore the rest of this place.”

He paused for a moment, looking down to survey the last dregs of his fire. A few guttering embers still burned in the pile of leaves and sticks turned to mostly ash, the tiny flickers of orange emitting soft puffs of smoke. Toeing at the ground with his boots, Arthur kicked a bit of damp earth over the flames, effectively snuffing them out. That handled, he glanced at Ashe again.

“Maybe I’ll get an eye for the... ‘competition’,” Arthur tacked on as an afterthought, musing aloud.

“You have placed unnecessary emphasis on the word competition,” Ashe stated, tilting her head inquiringly to the side— and wasn’t that an eerie look on her face, like a bird of prey on the lookout for a field mouse. “Do you not consider the other contestants as targets to be eliminated?”

And weren’t that a rough-edged question. A mighty difficult one, to boot. Arthur thought about it for about a minute or so, rubbing a hand over his chin, before shrugging once more.

“Don’t reckon so,” the man said, finally. Gestured to her with a hand, the expression of his face caught somewhere between amusement and inner turmoil. “You look like you can handle yourself in a fight. Hell, somebody like you could likely take down a dozen men without so much as battin' an eye. If it comes down to it, I ain’t gonna hold that against you. Worse has been done to me before, and I done worse.”

Turning away, Arthur swiped up the percolator and other camping supplies the park attendant had loaned him, inspecting the silvery surface for any scuff marks and frowning at all the watery ice still in the long, slow process of dripping from it. Figured it’d be alright and turned back around to face the woman of incredible size, a touch of good humor on his rugged face.

“Ma’am,” he said, giving her a tip of his hat.

With that, Arthur turned and strode back toward the entrance to the park— but not before returning the supplies he’d been loaned, first.
 

The Future Warrior

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Ashe remained where she sat for a good while, after the others had departed. The fire had been thoroughly extinguished by Arthur before he had made his exit, so the immediate are had been left in relative darkness. It didn't bother her, though. There was more than enough light, both from the artificial imitation of 'natural' light, as well as the promise of the electrical lights lining the path when the simulated day/night cycle reached its nocturnal portion.

She deliberately shut off her internal clock to have a free moment to herself without bothering to worry about how long it took, or how much time it 'wasted'. The handful of people she had seen thus far, all of them seeming to be competitors here for this event, were...a very colorful group. None of them had seemed at all bothered about the prospect of death in the coming days. Not outwardly, at least. Inwardly, however...

She wasn't programmed with sufficient empathy to get any true gauge on what lay behind their expressions.

But they were all here. They had all signed up, even if their levels of preparedness and information regarding the inner workings of the Dante's Abyss event were skewed and lacking. They were ready and mentally prepared enough to have gone through with it and made their way here. They were all willing to risk death, and that was not an easy thing to muster the guts to do, for a human. In her case, she was expendable; she knew she had enough secret and convoluted components that even total destruction and 'death' wouldn't be permanent...she could even file away the trauma and pain of such an experience and it wouldn't have any lasting effects upon her. She was less than worried about such a thing.

But these others... Would it be so impermanent for them, as well? She doubted even if it was that any of them could simply 'forget' the experience, even if they wanted to. And yet they were still here...

"These creatures are so frustratingly bizarre..." she finally murmured, reaching no clear conclusion. Was the chance for prizes and fame so strong an attraction?

She dismissed the train of thought and finally rose up to stand again, taking time to carefully brush herself off and clear away the detritus of sitting on the ground. Simply idling in place to wait for things to start didn't seem right. She slowly plodded out of the shadow of trees, and carefully navigated the stream she had slipped in before. There had been other places, besides just this park. She was certain there had to be more participants by now, but she had seen only a few.

Now she was on a mission to simply peruse the remainder of the facilities here, and get a look at as many of the other contestants as she could. No time to do a proper analysis, but a general look at them should provide...something.
 

Sigmund Vrell

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The cultist stumbled out of the teleporter, his stomach heaving momentarily as he stumbled out into the lobby.

“Gods, what was that?” He mumbled, taking a deep breath as he righted himself. Teleportation normally didn't phase the high priest, but the Syntech teleportation pads were something new and nauseating.

“Another contestant.” A nearby man, somehow even paler than Sigmund himself, observed. A quick glance revealed that his name was Kevin, courtesy of a convenient little tag on his shirt. Kevin presented a form to the cultist, complete with a pen and clipboard. “Please fill this out, it's a form for competitors.”

Nodding along, Sigmund did as he was told, quickly filling it out before handing it back to the man, his rapid scrawling just legible enough for Kevin to accept it with a shrug.

“This is a fine facility you have here.” The scion noted, his eyes darting about as he attempted to take everything in. “Where would you recommend I go first?”

“Erm… The recreation dome is that way.” The ginger replied, gesturing down one of the hallways. “You can find food and entertainment down there.”

“Ah, thank you.” Sigmund said gratefully, wondering how long it had been since he last ate. It would be terribly embarrassing for his body to give out in the competition because he hadn't eaten in a week. As he turned to head towards the recreation dome, the high priest noticed an odd tightness around his throat. Curious, his hand unconsciously rose to his neck, feeling something hard bound around it.

“Oh! Don't mess with that.” Kevin cut in before Sigmund could do more than touch it, clearly not prepared to watch a competitor give himself an explosive beheading. “The collar suppresses natural abilities and it'll blow your head off if you try to take it off.”

“How curious.” The cultist said, forcing himself to pull his hands away from the choker. “Thank you very much, Kevin.”
 

Aku

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The teleportation booth hisses as the vacuum drops from the slide door opening. A black figure steps out of the machine from traveling across the crossroads. Teleporting does not bother this new contender that arrived at the comet since he experienced intergalactic travel before. Atlas, Aku had reached Dante's Abyss. His nostrils move as they smell what new environment he is experiencing.

The smell was not nasty; it was normal, and nothing unusual to grab his senses.

"Greetings, contender! My name is Kevin, and welcome to Dante's Abyss brought to you by Syntech Corporation. You must be Aku, correct?" Kevin greeted Aku after a couple of seconds; he stepped out of the teleporter.

The master of darkness' turns his head to see Kevin walking up to him as he spoke.

"YES, IT IS I AKU, READY TO CLAIM THIS CONTEST IN A FLAWLESS VICTORY," Aku responds to Kevin with high confidence about Dante's Abyss.

"Splendid! I will need you to sign out one more form to give us more knowledge about you for the event." Kevin continues as he walks back to a table with forms to write on.

The associate grabs a form and pen for Aku before he let him explore the facility. As Kevin comes back, the shogun of sorrow realizes there is no one here at the lobby entrance. Strange, he thought he would meet the other competitors on the other side, but they must be roaming around in this beautiful, well-crafted facility. Kevin hands the paper form on a clipboard over to Aku, and the embodiment of evil grabs it. He begins to fill it out as the associate waits patiently for him.

"Done, here you go," Aku speaks as he hands back the form to Kevin, softly.

The Syntech employee takes it and walks back over to the pile of written forms on his table to combine it with the rest. He comes back over to Aku to ask one more question.

"Now, here comes the part that people don't like, please hand over any physical weapons and items. I will store them in a safe keep." Kevin asks the master of darkness for his inventory.

"HAHAHAHA! I DON'T CARRY ANY FOOLISH MORTAL WEAPONS. MY POWERS ARE SIGNIFICANTLY GREATER!" Aku laughs at the demand that isn't going to affect him.

From that moment and on, the shogun of sorrow thinks that this will be an easy contest for himself since other contestants have to hand over their belongings.

"Very well then, enjoy your stay and good luck," Kevin said before heading back to his table to wait for more players.

Aku can see that there are directions set up at the arrival point to help newbies where everything is.
 
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