[Preshow] The Recreation Dome
- Thread starter Karl Jak
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I’ve spoken at length about what it felt like to move through a teleporter. The nausea, the disorientation, the shock up your entire spine as you’re hurled through an unknown rip in the rules of reality before you’re smack dab in the middle of elsewhere. It seemed that Syntech has not changed much in that aspect since last I’ve used it’s teleporters, stepping out of the flash of light with slight annoyance. I had arrived at the lobby of the grand building overlooking the battlefield, the room already littered with people who wanted to see the spectacle up close. I didn't have much tolerance for the media circus packed in deep from corner to corner of the room, so I quickly shouldered my way through mics and cameras and made my way deeper into the facility.
Left with no one to supervise me, inside a building with many people who will in moments want to rip my throat out, and a massive complex to explore, I did what seemed right:
Get absolutely wasted on Syntech’s dime.
I quickly found a bar that I wouldn’t stand out of too much, a modern bar with few frills. I wasn’t opposed to the others, I had been to every beer swilling establishment two different multiverses had to offer, from taverns with dragon heads mounted over the fireplaces to laser blinking nightclubs where the dance was shared by cyborgs and all-powerful businessmen. They just felt a little gimmicky right next to each other and the facade of both is made of plastic.
“Beer, shot of whiskey.” I told the bartender, then held my hand up quick to get their attention “No, not that weak shit import stuff. Beer. if It And keep it coming until I say otherwise.” I soon had my helmet off and a beer and my hand, and I leans back on the bar and watched for any others to pass by while I enjoyed myself.
Left with no one to supervise me, inside a building with many people who will in moments want to rip my throat out, and a massive complex to explore, I did what seemed right:
Get absolutely wasted on Syntech’s dime.
I quickly found a bar that I wouldn’t stand out of too much, a modern bar with few frills. I wasn’t opposed to the others, I had been to every beer swilling establishment two different multiverses had to offer, from taverns with dragon heads mounted over the fireplaces to laser blinking nightclubs where the dance was shared by cyborgs and all-powerful businessmen. They just felt a little gimmicky right next to each other and the facade of both is made of plastic.
“Beer, shot of whiskey.” I told the bartender, then held my hand up quick to get their attention “No, not that weak shit import stuff. Beer. if It And keep it coming until I say otherwise.” I soon had my helmet off and a beer and my hand, and I leans back on the bar and watched for any others to pass by while I enjoyed myself.
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Mustang was tired. He wandered the facility without really knowing his destination. This event was going to be a farce compared to the very real battlefield he was leaving behind. He trusted Hawkeye to organize his efforts in Markov once she had recovered from the encounter with the parademons, but it still felt like a misuse of his time to be here in the first place. These people, Karl Jak, the contestants, the audience. They didn’t want to see a war. They wanted to see a game of war. They would pay extra for the death and gore, secure in the knowledge that it was agreed to beforehand. He held up a gloved hand, the white fabric stretched tightly over his fingers. Whiter than he deserved.
With a sigh, Mustang looked up to find that he had subconsciously wandered up to the door of a bar. Perhaps a drink would be the best thing at this point, after all. He pushed open the building's door and took a seat, waving the bartender for a drink but not bothering to specify the kind. The place was mostly empty, A few Syntech workers likely off-duty, and no one else of interest save for a armor clad man with a small array of empty glasses at the bar next to him. The man was clearly military, a mercenary would pick a more distinctive look. His outfit was practical and effective. The soldier raised his glass in a casual greeting. Mustang returned the gesture when the barkeep passed one across the bar to him. It was very standard fare, but that suited Mustang fine for the time being.
“So which kind are you?” Mustang asked pensively, staring at his drink. The marine glanced his direction.
"Hmm?” the armor clad man responded.
“You were in the Abyss last year unless I’m mistaken.” Mustang elaborated, still staring at the frothing liquid, “We both know what kind of event this is. The kind of brutality that we’ve agreed to. A first-timer can claim ignorance to the whole affair. That they didn’t read the fine print, didn’t know what they had agreed to. Not us. We know exactly what we’re about to do.”
He took a drink, pausing briefly before he exhaled with a sigh. “Only a lunatic or a monster would agree to this kind of experience more than once. Hell, the very idea that you could sign up for an event at the same place you died last year is ludicrous.”
“So.” Mustang canted his head in the other contestant’s direction with an appraising glance. “I’m curious, lunatic or monster?”
With a sigh, Mustang looked up to find that he had subconsciously wandered up to the door of a bar. Perhaps a drink would be the best thing at this point, after all. He pushed open the building's door and took a seat, waving the bartender for a drink but not bothering to specify the kind. The place was mostly empty, A few Syntech workers likely off-duty, and no one else of interest save for a armor clad man with a small array of empty glasses at the bar next to him. The man was clearly military, a mercenary would pick a more distinctive look. His outfit was practical and effective. The soldier raised his glass in a casual greeting. Mustang returned the gesture when the barkeep passed one across the bar to him. It was very standard fare, but that suited Mustang fine for the time being.
“So which kind are you?” Mustang asked pensively, staring at his drink. The marine glanced his direction.
"Hmm?” the armor clad man responded.
“You were in the Abyss last year unless I’m mistaken.” Mustang elaborated, still staring at the frothing liquid, “We both know what kind of event this is. The kind of brutality that we’ve agreed to. A first-timer can claim ignorance to the whole affair. That they didn’t read the fine print, didn’t know what they had agreed to. Not us. We know exactly what we’re about to do.”
He took a drink, pausing briefly before he exhaled with a sigh. “Only a lunatic or a monster would agree to this kind of experience more than once. Hell, the very idea that you could sign up for an event at the same place you died last year is ludicrous.”
“So.” Mustang canted his head in the other contestant’s direction with an appraising glance. “I’m curious, lunatic or monster?”
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A few beers in and I was already starting to feel relaxed, a warm sensation draped over me after I knocked back a few. It was probably the first smile I had in weeks that wasn’t due to violence, and probably the first good meal I'd had in longer. I vowed to get myself something with a little more substance, some literal meat, after the event and just cracked open the next can.
The arrival of the man in blue dress uniform shook me up from my quiet respite of reality, standing starkly to the casual demeanor of the Syntech employees desperately trying to get the most from their meager breaks. He stood tall, his eyes swept the room, tenseness in his bones. It was the posture of someone who knew a threat could be anywhere, anytime. Something I knew far too well. This wasn’t just a fighter, but a veteran.
I gave a friendly gesture, appreciating the possibility I’d get to talk to someone closer to my own experience. I have talked to some strange fellows during my travels, the prospect of a conversation with someone relatively normal made coming here worth it more than the alcohol.
I could feel myself grow quiet at such a heavy subject, taken aback as my own eyes watched the soldier. By the insignias on his uniform I could guess he was an officer, and the weight in the man’s eyes showed they were no academy brass. I didn’t see any weapon on him, but just the way he kept himself meant he was not defenseless. He spoke with a question with an almost piercing sternness, yet there was no judgement to it. At least, he wasn’t judging.
“I’m not-” I almost blurted out ‘crazy’ before I pulled back, who was I trying to convince with that? It’s been something I’ve been telling myself for years, a reflex I gained from when I was still not sure what I saw in the bowels of the twisted and blood soaked walls of the Phobos facility. “I’m not a monster, I can tell you that much.” I answered more truthfully. I had pretty much swore of this place the first time I was here, back in Omni’s playhouse. So perhaps there was a point in what he asked. Or perhaps I’m just an idiot .
“What about you, fancypants?” I looked at him, his glance narrowing in response. “No judgement. I’ve been through Hell several times, I’m not about to say I’m better.”
“Haven’t we all?” he asks thoughtfully, and I just chuckled as we both took a swig from our drink. Let him find out on his own I meant that literally.
The arrival of the man in blue dress uniform shook me up from my quiet respite of reality, standing starkly to the casual demeanor of the Syntech employees desperately trying to get the most from their meager breaks. He stood tall, his eyes swept the room, tenseness in his bones. It was the posture of someone who knew a threat could be anywhere, anytime. Something I knew far too well. This wasn’t just a fighter, but a veteran.
I gave a friendly gesture, appreciating the possibility I’d get to talk to someone closer to my own experience. I have talked to some strange fellows during my travels, the prospect of a conversation with someone relatively normal made coming here worth it more than the alcohol.
I could feel myself grow quiet at such a heavy subject, taken aback as my own eyes watched the soldier. By the insignias on his uniform I could guess he was an officer, and the weight in the man’s eyes showed they were no academy brass. I didn’t see any weapon on him, but just the way he kept himself meant he was not defenseless. He spoke with a question with an almost piercing sternness, yet there was no judgement to it. At least, he wasn’t judging.
“I’m not-” I almost blurted out ‘crazy’ before I pulled back, who was I trying to convince with that? It’s been something I’ve been telling myself for years, a reflex I gained from when I was still not sure what I saw in the bowels of the twisted and blood soaked walls of the Phobos facility. “I’m not a monster, I can tell you that much.” I answered more truthfully. I had pretty much swore of this place the first time I was here, back in Omni’s playhouse. So perhaps there was a point in what he asked. Or perhaps I’m just an idiot .
“What about you, fancypants?” I looked at him, his glance narrowing in response. “No judgement. I’ve been through Hell several times, I’m not about to say I’m better.”
“Haven’t we all?” he asks thoughtfully, and I just chuckled as we both took a swig from our drink. Let him find out on his own I meant that literally.
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Strazio didn't seem eager to discuss the offer further, so Elise took her leave after a few more terse, defensive exchanges. Maybe he would cooperate, maybe he wouldn't. The albino mage's most valuable skill seemed to be a bottomless reservoir of spite, and he was happy to be a fountain for it. Whatever. Maybe his attitude would change after a few days of misery.
"Yeah right. Dude has half a death wish." Elise muttered to herself, shaking her head. She was contemplating too many 'maybes' recently, and she wasn't fond of it. As much as she was stuck in the body and mentality of a teenager, the deeper reaches of her soul had come to appreciate a sense of predictability and consistency in her life. Unfortunately, ever since that purple idiot Cyrus had fallen out of the sky, things had been completely off the rails.
It was nothing that a little retail therapy couldn't fix.
Elise had to assume that they would not be getting much opportunity for luxuries and nice clothes during the competition itself. Knowing Syntech, they wanted to try and make things as gritty as possible. Or at least to the point that the audience was convinced of the realism of this war at the expense of the contestants' suffering. Congratulations, Elise thought to herself. You're officially a method actress. Regardless of how hardcore the competition was going to be, it stood to reason that a vampiric sorceress was going to have to glow up while she had the chance.
The aptly named Recreation Dome was awash in a gently bobbing sea of spectators and Syntech staff, many of whom had rented hotel rooms on the Comet for the duration of the event. Elise shook her head. She had seen the 'Box Seating' prices listed near the civilian entrance, and they were absurd. Who would pay that much money just to watch something on a bigger screen than usual? It wasn't as if they would have the best seats in an arena.
Then again, Syntech tended to cater to people who had a very specific type of problem. That was, people who had the problem of having too much money. Karl Jak and his bougie empire had simply taken on the humble task of taking it away from these encumbered trust funders. Despite her own skepticism, Elise herself found great joy in being tended at the various nail salons, hair parlors and wardrobe boutiques she swept through in the ensuing hour or two.
The clothes she had purchased were not overly ornate, per se. She had to imagine that anything she wore into the Abyss was going to be chewed up fairly bad, so the vampire had elected for a sort of 'freedom fighter chic' look, complete with a charcoal beret, turtleneck sweater, and of course heavily garnished tripp pants. This was all completed with a cute little black and white striped shawl.
The nails were kept fairly simple, but she elected for black French tips that had been filed pretty close. One of them would probably break, and it would probably piss her off. She knew this. But the fact that she was clean, no longer covered in bloody rags, and looking fresh immediately put her in a good mood.
Finally, accessories were a new pair of cute little black steel skull gauges to fit into her earlobes. Her other glittering piercings would have to be left behind; she was willing to look cute, but there was no sense in having shiny, reflective targets all over her face. Well...maybe there was some room for glitter. Elise opted to have her name bedazzled onto her explosive suppression collar; the final accessory provided by Karl Jak. If she had to wear the damn thing, it might as well be fly as hell.
Okay.
Maybe she had overdone it a little bit. But like...fuck it.
She did, however, pitiy the poor Syntech dreg who was sweating with each sticky rhinestone applied to the explosive device. But the girl did a great job, and Elise tipped her profusely. Perhaps, if she had more time, Elise would have been tempted to make a snack of the mousy little kiosk maiden...but no. And that would not be very pitying of her. There would be time to sate her Thirst soon.
Hopefully...hopefully very soon. She was having trouble containing her fangs every time an exposed neck came within five feet of her. Elise growled to herself and shook her head, trying to banish the phantoms of her curse. Soon enough, just...fuck off. She needed a distraction.
The drip-clad woman made her way over to the bar. People with alcohol coursing through their veins made easy prey, sure, but it also tasted terrible and tended to mess with her undead anatomy. Most of the people in here seemed to normies, having their little chats about their little normie lives. Then there was Mustang and Doomguy sitting over at the bar. She hadn't recognized Roy at first in the Library - she had missed most of his air time last year - but Doomguy was unmistakable. Both of them were collared up and sharing a bit of a moment. It was kind of cute, and she found no reason to disrupt them.
What she did disrupt, however, was a conversation between two Syntech organizers who had recently gotten off the clock. They were sharing a murmured conversation in the booth behind her, but her predatory senses could easily pick out their mumblings over the general buzz and clatter of the gastro pub. They were talking about the two celebrities at the bar.
"Fuck me, he's bigger in real life." one man whispered. His uniform was different than your average Syntech schlep; all pressed and buttoned down. Probably some kind of middle management. His feeble attempt at an over-greased handlebar moustache confirmed this.
"Do you think they know?" the drinking buddy replied. She was an older woman with artificial curls burned into her dyed auburn hair. Her wrists clicked and jangled with dozens of cheap, costume jewelry bracelets.
"Naahh...Nah." the moustache replied. He took a slow pull from his fizzing gin and tonic. "They won't know until they're thrown in."
"I feel kinda bad...almost. Not really." the dye job chuckled in response. She hesitated for a moment. "It's just...they really seem to enjoy talking. Two military types, you know? They could probably really hit it off if they weren't..."
The lady trailed off, and the clattering of her bracelets indicated that she was making some sort of furtive gesturing. Elise wheeled over the divider between her booth and theirs, and leaned her elbows conspiratorially on the burnished cherry wood.
"Weren't what?" she whispered in a sing-song voice. The two employees jumped, and looked at her with panicked eyes. Like sweet, innocent baby animals. Delicious. Get a grip.
"Yeesh." the man said, running a hand down his face. "Elise right?"
The vampire gestured to her bejeweled death collar.
"Oh nice. Anyway, can't talk about team placements with contestants." he said with a cordial smile. Elise nodded politely and returned the smile.
"So they're on different teams huh?" she whispered.
"Dammit Frank." the woman snapped in an urgent whisper. Elise waved her hand, as if dispelling the obvious breach of contract Frank had just committed.
"I ain't a narc. It is kinda sad though. They're really broing it up over there..." Elise sighed, looking over at the two soldiers. In that precise moment, she realized that she missed Greenstripes. And her parents. And all of her dead friends. She puffed out a soft sigh, trying to suppress her sudden sentimental panic. Death games had a habit of drawing those thoughts out of people, she supposed.
Oh well. They were probably complete dicks.
"Yeah right. Dude has half a death wish." Elise muttered to herself, shaking her head. She was contemplating too many 'maybes' recently, and she wasn't fond of it. As much as she was stuck in the body and mentality of a teenager, the deeper reaches of her soul had come to appreciate a sense of predictability and consistency in her life. Unfortunately, ever since that purple idiot Cyrus had fallen out of the sky, things had been completely off the rails.
It was nothing that a little retail therapy couldn't fix.
Elise had to assume that they would not be getting much opportunity for luxuries and nice clothes during the competition itself. Knowing Syntech, they wanted to try and make things as gritty as possible. Or at least to the point that the audience was convinced of the realism of this war at the expense of the contestants' suffering. Congratulations, Elise thought to herself. You're officially a method actress. Regardless of how hardcore the competition was going to be, it stood to reason that a vampiric sorceress was going to have to glow up while she had the chance.
The aptly named Recreation Dome was awash in a gently bobbing sea of spectators and Syntech staff, many of whom had rented hotel rooms on the Comet for the duration of the event. Elise shook her head. She had seen the 'Box Seating' prices listed near the civilian entrance, and they were absurd. Who would pay that much money just to watch something on a bigger screen than usual? It wasn't as if they would have the best seats in an arena.
Then again, Syntech tended to cater to people who had a very specific type of problem. That was, people who had the problem of having too much money. Karl Jak and his bougie empire had simply taken on the humble task of taking it away from these encumbered trust funders. Despite her own skepticism, Elise herself found great joy in being tended at the various nail salons, hair parlors and wardrobe boutiques she swept through in the ensuing hour or two.
The clothes she had purchased were not overly ornate, per se. She had to imagine that anything she wore into the Abyss was going to be chewed up fairly bad, so the vampire had elected for a sort of 'freedom fighter chic' look, complete with a charcoal beret, turtleneck sweater, and of course heavily garnished tripp pants. This was all completed with a cute little black and white striped shawl.
The nails were kept fairly simple, but she elected for black French tips that had been filed pretty close. One of them would probably break, and it would probably piss her off. She knew this. But the fact that she was clean, no longer covered in bloody rags, and looking fresh immediately put her in a good mood.
Finally, accessories were a new pair of cute little black steel skull gauges to fit into her earlobes. Her other glittering piercings would have to be left behind; she was willing to look cute, but there was no sense in having shiny, reflective targets all over her face. Well...maybe there was some room for glitter. Elise opted to have her name bedazzled onto her explosive suppression collar; the final accessory provided by Karl Jak. If she had to wear the damn thing, it might as well be fly as hell.
Okay.
Maybe she had overdone it a little bit. But like...fuck it.
She did, however, pitiy the poor Syntech dreg who was sweating with each sticky rhinestone applied to the explosive device. But the girl did a great job, and Elise tipped her profusely. Perhaps, if she had more time, Elise would have been tempted to make a snack of the mousy little kiosk maiden...but no. And that would not be very pitying of her. There would be time to sate her Thirst soon.
Hopefully...hopefully very soon. She was having trouble containing her fangs every time an exposed neck came within five feet of her. Elise growled to herself and shook her head, trying to banish the phantoms of her curse. Soon enough, just...fuck off. She needed a distraction.
The drip-clad woman made her way over to the bar. People with alcohol coursing through their veins made easy prey, sure, but it also tasted terrible and tended to mess with her undead anatomy. Most of the people in here seemed to normies, having their little chats about their little normie lives. Then there was Mustang and Doomguy sitting over at the bar. She hadn't recognized Roy at first in the Library - she had missed most of his air time last year - but Doomguy was unmistakable. Both of them were collared up and sharing a bit of a moment. It was kind of cute, and she found no reason to disrupt them.
What she did disrupt, however, was a conversation between two Syntech organizers who had recently gotten off the clock. They were sharing a murmured conversation in the booth behind her, but her predatory senses could easily pick out their mumblings over the general buzz and clatter of the gastro pub. They were talking about the two celebrities at the bar.
"Fuck me, he's bigger in real life." one man whispered. His uniform was different than your average Syntech schlep; all pressed and buttoned down. Probably some kind of middle management. His feeble attempt at an over-greased handlebar moustache confirmed this.
"Do you think they know?" the drinking buddy replied. She was an older woman with artificial curls burned into her dyed auburn hair. Her wrists clicked and jangled with dozens of cheap, costume jewelry bracelets.
"Naahh...Nah." the moustache replied. He took a slow pull from his fizzing gin and tonic. "They won't know until they're thrown in."
"I feel kinda bad...almost. Not really." the dye job chuckled in response. She hesitated for a moment. "It's just...they really seem to enjoy talking. Two military types, you know? They could probably really hit it off if they weren't..."
The lady trailed off, and the clattering of her bracelets indicated that she was making some sort of furtive gesturing. Elise wheeled over the divider between her booth and theirs, and leaned her elbows conspiratorially on the burnished cherry wood.
"Weren't what?" she whispered in a sing-song voice. The two employees jumped, and looked at her with panicked eyes. Like sweet, innocent baby animals. Delicious. Get a grip.
"Yeesh." the man said, running a hand down his face. "Elise right?"
The vampire gestured to her bejeweled death collar.
"Oh nice. Anyway, can't talk about team placements with contestants." he said with a cordial smile. Elise nodded politely and returned the smile.
"So they're on different teams huh?" she whispered.
"Dammit Frank." the woman snapped in an urgent whisper. Elise waved her hand, as if dispelling the obvious breach of contract Frank had just committed.
"I ain't a narc. It is kinda sad though. They're really broing it up over there..." Elise sighed, looking over at the two soldiers. In that precise moment, she realized that she missed Greenstripes. And her parents. And all of her dead friends. She puffed out a soft sigh, trying to suppress her sudden sentimental panic. Death games had a habit of drawing those thoughts out of people, she supposed.
Oh well. They were probably complete dicks.
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Connor made his way through the quickly clearing out preshow area, eager to get some of the better stuff Syntech had in their restaurants before they were pushed out the door literally. “Uncle Bob” had insisted John get some food before the shop closed because tonight they were being directed to their “barracks” for the fight.
Food in the post-apocalyptic wasteland was hardly distinguishable as food and whatever the hell was left was split between survivors and whatever Resistance members could pick up out of broken piles and even those humans who weren’t suffering from nuclear radiation. Survival was hard but it was the key to winning.
The T-800 looked over at a table and pointed in his signature light Austrian accent “Sit down, Connor. We have much to discuss but low key. I’m not sure how much time we have before things start.”
John lightly took a bite of a few carrots, and some water, taking in small bites of just about everything.
Anything or anyone starting over their shoulder, Uncle Bob would take notice of them and glare over.
John kept hushed as he trusted the terminator to take notes of things as the pre-show was about to end.
After looking over a bit of notes in the empty pre-show area, the T-800 looked around again and nodded to Connor “You know what you have to do, Connor. Kick ass, take names. I’ll be out there as well.”
If just then, a bell rang loudly following a announcement
“The Pre-show is now over. Prepare your weapons and get ready to go to your assigned areas.”
John became serious and nodded at the T-800 who did the same as both of them prepared their stack of weapons, strapping them on.
As soon as they had everything on them, John grabbed some extra food and other things in the preshow, sticking them in his pack. Rations were ok but whatever he could get was good.
Connor walked outside and took a breath, a helicopter waited outside as Connor looked over at the terminator as both hopped on, it suddenly taking off. Both of them preparing and hopping in, seatbelt on, the terminator holding on.
(Brief Narration in the background)
(This is Connor, the war against two new enemies have not started, but it looks to be rougher than the one against Skynet)
Food in the post-apocalyptic wasteland was hardly distinguishable as food and whatever the hell was left was split between survivors and whatever Resistance members could pick up out of broken piles and even those humans who weren’t suffering from nuclear radiation. Survival was hard but it was the key to winning.
The T-800 looked over at a table and pointed in his signature light Austrian accent “Sit down, Connor. We have much to discuss but low key. I’m not sure how much time we have before things start.”
John lightly took a bite of a few carrots, and some water, taking in small bites of just about everything.
Anything or anyone starting over their shoulder, Uncle Bob would take notice of them and glare over.
John kept hushed as he trusted the terminator to take notes of things as the pre-show was about to end.
After looking over a bit of notes in the empty pre-show area, the T-800 looked around again and nodded to Connor “You know what you have to do, Connor. Kick ass, take names. I’ll be out there as well.”
If just then, a bell rang loudly following a announcement
“The Pre-show is now over. Prepare your weapons and get ready to go to your assigned areas.”
John became serious and nodded at the T-800 who did the same as both of them prepared their stack of weapons, strapping them on.
As soon as they had everything on them, John grabbed some extra food and other things in the preshow, sticking them in his pack. Rations were ok but whatever he could get was good.
Connor walked outside and took a breath, a helicopter waited outside as Connor looked over at the terminator as both hopped on, it suddenly taking off. Both of them preparing and hopping in, seatbelt on, the terminator holding on.
(Brief Narration in the background)
(This is Connor, the war against two new enemies have not started, but it looks to be rougher than the one against Skynet)
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“I’ve been called both monster and fool before.” Mustang eventually responded. He would only glance occasionally towards the marine as he spoke, “I won’t even argue the point, I probably deserve both titles. All you can do is keep on moving forward. No matter the cost.”
The marine smiled faintly. “I’ll drink to that.”
Mustang lapsed back into silent introspection. Could he call this moving forward? Here he was a year later, following the same inane orders, even as the crossroads themselves were being faced with an unimaginable threat that had nearly destroyed his home. They had managed to stave off the assault, but their scouts had been unable to find what had become of the Doomsday mech. Though he didn’t want to admit it, Mustang seriously doubted they had the manpower to effectively combat it anymore even if someone did find it. They had prevented Markov’s demise, but they’d only won a respite, not a victory.
He rubbed at his face tiredly, leaning back on the stool. He didn’t have the luxury of regrets right now. He would have to focus on the battle ahead. A soldier who’s mind wandered too far from the here and now would soon find himself nowhere at all.
“At least they’re making a mock war of the thing this year.” He mused, “There will be some element of strategy. Actual objectives to seek beyond just wandering around an island, hunting and killing people you’ve never met or heard of before.”
The armored man gave a grunt, though whether it was of amusement or agreement wasn't quite clear.
“I can’t say that I think much of Syntech using the Unmaking for a supposed contest. It's a deadly threat, not a novelty trend. But if I had to choose a foe in this farce of a battlefield, I’d much rather die fighting twisted things like that.”
“I’d much rather live killing twisted things like that.” The marine commented with a smirk. Mustang smiled faintly at that.
The two sat at the bar, lost in their respective thoughts, until the speakers announced the beginning of the event.
The marine smiled faintly. “I’ll drink to that.”
Mustang lapsed back into silent introspection. Could he call this moving forward? Here he was a year later, following the same inane orders, even as the crossroads themselves were being faced with an unimaginable threat that had nearly destroyed his home. They had managed to stave off the assault, but their scouts had been unable to find what had become of the Doomsday mech. Though he didn’t want to admit it, Mustang seriously doubted they had the manpower to effectively combat it anymore even if someone did find it. They had prevented Markov’s demise, but they’d only won a respite, not a victory.
He rubbed at his face tiredly, leaning back on the stool. He didn’t have the luxury of regrets right now. He would have to focus on the battle ahead. A soldier who’s mind wandered too far from the here and now would soon find himself nowhere at all.
“At least they’re making a mock war of the thing this year.” He mused, “There will be some element of strategy. Actual objectives to seek beyond just wandering around an island, hunting and killing people you’ve never met or heard of before.”
The armored man gave a grunt, though whether it was of amusement or agreement wasn't quite clear.
“I can’t say that I think much of Syntech using the Unmaking for a supposed contest. It's a deadly threat, not a novelty trend. But if I had to choose a foe in this farce of a battlefield, I’d much rather die fighting twisted things like that.”
“I’d much rather live killing twisted things like that.” The marine commented with a smirk. Mustang smiled faintly at that.
The two sat at the bar, lost in their respective thoughts, until the speakers announced the beginning of the event.
- Status