[Preshow] The Recreation Dome

[Karl Jak]

The Recreation Dome contains various restaurants and bars serving a plethora of cuisines spread out across a few levels. The top several floors contain a handful of high-tech movie theatres screening blockbusters old, new, and alien to the individuals attending the convention. There are a variety of rooms that can be rented for public and private use for people who want to play other types of games.

 

[Omelette Robotnik]

Great ceiling lamps illuminated the massive hallway and served to frame Christine in a fluorescent halo of light. She was like an angel. A divine being of blood and death, beauty and salvation. And Slurt stood rooted in place, staring up at her, hypnotized by her grace. The world around him seemed distant and unimportant, and even the coolness of the slowly drying blood on his face and back felt more like something happening to some stranger.

It took the sudden intervention of a besuited fellow, squirrely in frame and obviously nervous, to break the moment with the rough clearing of his throat. As it shattered, like glass, a strange feeling welled up within Slurt's heart. Fury… irritation… something alien to the boy, a child who had only ever known fear, jealousy, envy… but never anger. There had never before been room in his life for the emotion.

"Miss…" the obviously new hire began, glancing down at his clipboard with pale blue eyes. "Calamity. As you sh-should know, the murder of Syntech Employees is grounds for disqualification from this event…"

It was officious and rote, and the man hurried along as though racing to finish and escape before Christine could do anything. As for Slurt, he couldn't possibly be less interested in what the fellow had to say. But, the moment of wonder he'd had was gone as well. Instead, it was something else entirely which grabbed hold of his attention. A scent, wafting through the air, carried on the slight breeze which the air-conditioning system provided. Mechanically, as though pulled along by some invisible force, Slurt stumbled forward with large eyes unfocused and nose leading the way.

Christine's face darkened as the stutteringly fearful fellow continued, though whether from anger or embarrassment… who could tell?

"F-furthermore," the man continued, a slight sheen of sweat forming on his pale skin. "Violence against other contestants is strictly prohibited outside of the game itself, and…"

In the end, the entire lecture couldn't have lasted longer than perhaps a few minutes, yet when the man finally accepted her half-hearted and reluctant promise to refrain from further violence within the Pre-Show facility, and hurried off to wherever he had wormed his way out from, Christine was surprised to find that she was alone. The little one, this Slurt, who had somehow stayed her hand with nothing but his presence, had wandered off somewhere.

Flashes of flame and gouts of fragrant steam transfixed the young orphan, his large eyes even wider in the wonder of it all. Saliva ran, unstoppable, from his open mouth, accompanied by the distractingly loud gurgle of his stomach. Restaurants and shops were everywhere within this dome, each sending its own distinct delicious aroma into the air. And, once again, the lad stood in awe of what was before him. It was like heaven and Slurt pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

And, yet, even though it was true… that this paradise existed and he was mere steps away from filling his empty stomach, he couldn't move closer. Short though they were, years of his life had been spent being chased away from such places, often with threats of violence on his heels. He knew that his part would be the cold leftovers which were thrown away. At least, what he could wrest away from the dogs and cats which also made the streets of Arcadia their home.

Despair and envy fell onto him like a boulder, dragging him to the ground with its weight. Tears, unbidden and unwanted, flowed from his eyes as his lips trembled from the sheer unfairness of it all. His body shuddered from unfulfilled sobs, a small child wracked with true pain and loss. This… this was the sight Christine laid eyes on when she finally found the object of her curiosity. This tiny, pitiable creature, surrounded by all the delights the Crossroads had to offer, and stricken with sadness rather than joy. What came next was a surprise, even to her.

 

[Gildarts]

The patented Syntech smile erased from the man’s face as he realized he had to go talk to the giant woman brandishing an equally sizable katana. He didn’t know how that worked, since he just heard her speaking French. But it wasn’t his place to judge, it was merely his place to… Go up and tell her not to be as murderous during the pre-event peace time.

Gulp. An index finger fished at his shirt’s collar hoping to unhook what now felt exceptionally tight. It took a certain type of ignorance to tell Christine no, Jenkins had and moments later he’d paid the penalty and had been brutally decapitated.

One moment, the colossal woman seemed to be inches away from killing the little verdant creature beside her. The next, she had placed a careful hand on the small fellow’s back. The man with an identifying nametag declaring his name to be Tom made out the goblin child’s tears as he approached.

Tom blinked, unable to fathom someone who was surely going to murder the goblin, then with a fickle change of heart was by its side comforting it instead.

Syntech Tom approached her, finding his voice lost in a swirl of fear as his eyes fell into her black abyssal pits. Her gaze was the antithesis of a sweet siren’s song, instead Tom began to feel a hex claw at his skin, he looked down with sweat ripping across his brow just to be sure no blood had been drawn. That he was still intact. He gulped again, feeling his throat devoid of anything but raw sand.

Stepping once again closer to the cursed woman he could not help but to feel immediate despair and pain cripple him with a ghastly chill. Tom felt his authority and confidence swerve, replaced with another emotion as he gazed no longer at this woman, but at the creature that lay beneath her skin. Her gaze fell on him, twinges of anger pricked her brows that had shaped downward in displeasure.

“Violence?” She echoed with the weight of her accent pulling on her tongue.

Christine’s attention had been pulled away from Slurt, now resting with full intensity of Syntech’s most precious, Tom.

“You wish to speak to me about violence?” Her voice was the embodiment of a solemn challenge, her eyes had clung to him like a piece of living meat. Her gaze was angry, then it flickered to a different sort of emotion as her facial muscles convulsed and her head tilted back in an outburst of unrelenting laughter, “Are you not a servant for the Reaper ’imself? A pipsqueak like you admonishing me for violence during what is about to surely be an all out war?”

Tom blinked, still gazing up at her taught, bloodspattered chin. Pipsqueak? His eyes crawled around the ground at the woman’s feet, hoping to find the little goblin and remind himself he was taller than the greenboi at least. That his protecting words had meant something. But Slurt had vanished. Instead, Tom’s heart once frozen and full of trepidation felt relief at her laughter. His fully gripped heart released at the sound of her pleasure, rather than shattered at the wrathful gaze she’d bestowed on him.

The blade hung easily from her hips. He could still see the maroon blood still dripping through the sheathe. Her eyes caught his wandering gaze as he looked around for her little friend.

“Thank you for reminding me of this world’s silly treaties that are made of measly words no one truly wishes to follow. You were excellent comedic relief, I will tell you something very funny too.” She leaned in with a deadly whisper in his ear, “You’re lucky I’ve already eaten. Now, I must go find my friend.”

Christine bounced back up, having leaned down to share her secret directly in Tom’s ear and cast a wicked, blood-red smile of dismissal at him. Then she turned around and pinpointed Slurt.

“Oh, petit prince, what are you crying about?” She said through a frown, leaning down once again to check on Slurt, the prince of her heart. He continued to cry, weeping irrevocably. There were some wounds which mere words could not heal.

Madame Calamity’s eyes slid over to the direction the young goblin was facing and saw the vast array of food that most humanoids would find delectable. The food of the flesh, a majestic table full of food that didn’t look like food, for it was assorted in decorative flourishes with colorful garnish to help the artistry ascend off the table.

“Is… That what you want?” Thoughtful eyes returned to the crying boy who nodded but the waterfalls from his eyes remained torrents still. “Well, I have learned it is best to go out and take what you want.”

Christine’s hand folded into a slice of reality that looked like a black sliver of mist. Then it returned with a single doughnut in hand, she’d grasped it off the distant table seamlessly without having to leave the young boy’s side.

“All that food up there? That can all be yours, I will see to it no one gets in your way, if that is what you wish. And well, if you can eat all of it. It is meant for you, you know. You’re here for a reason, young one.” Christine cooed.

Slurt opened his eyes, filled with wet saline goopy tears. The watery tinge in his vision did not take away from the beacon of light that was the sugary enhanced fusha glazed carbohydrate ring inches from his face. The confection sweetness met his nose with mouthwatering perfection.

The sweet temptation closed in. Christine’s hand grew closer as though in slow motion, Slurt was finding it hard to believe this were true. Though her hand held the glowing decadence as it slowly closed the gap and fell within his reach.

The tearful Slurt… Reached for it hope hinging on this very act of kindness.

A cloud of fusha smoke, the same exact shade the doughnut’s icing suddenly filled their vision. Interrupting the beautiful moment as a murderer offered a child a fruitful gift of anecdotal guidance. All while a cartwheeling mischief-maker debuted her noteworthy chaos.

Christine felt the weight snatch out of her fingers, yet the woman whose hands were still stained with blood did not relent so easily. In her hand lay one remaining half of a once-whole pastry.

Calamity’s eyes fell on the cause of this, a cascade of constellation-like freckles adorning a woman who had skin of the sky. This theft of stealing candy from a child- her Slurt- would’ve normally had Christine in a bloodlust of vengeful rage. However, the new tiefling’s unique introduction left the monstrous woman rather… Defenseless.

“I’m impressed! Someone with slower fingers would’ve lost the whole thing.” Jester winked as she shoved her freshly-claimed half of the doughnut in her mouth, crumbs dropped from her face as she and the sugary treat ascended into one.

Christine reciprocated the notion, she had also been impressed. Jester had taken the very advice she was giving to Slurt quite coincidentally, at the perfect timing. The woman did not have it in her to reprimand the stranger for something she herself would’ve done.

Meanwhile, Slurt gazed up at the distinctly azul woman with his wounded eyes pointed at her as though she had just eaten his heart. Then he tried to compete with the action, perhaps to make sure the tiefling couldn’t snatch the doughnut’s other half and Christine did not move as Slurt proceeded with things as planned. The peckish goblin took the remainder of the gift intended from the French woman and reciprocated the big bite the blue woman had bragged in his face over, however the amount did not quite fit in his mouth.

The doughnut filled his adorable, youthful cheeks like he was a chipmunk. His expression was a determined one as he glared at the unnamed woman and pronounced his bites very loudly and obviously. His maw’s intentional movement as he scowled at the blue being.

Christine would’ve sought to clarify with a threat, had the tiefling been anything other than her blue, radiant, unapologetic self. The ethereal being would have but they had that in common. (Christine Calamity, master of blood and death would not find herself apologizing either.) However it was quite evident that the opposing woman either knew she was playing with fire as she snatched the claimed doughnut out of a monster’s hand, or simply didn’t care.

Either way, the specter was intrigued by this new presence.

 

[Sandor Clegane]

Jester stood there with a wide smile, cheeks stuffed with donut, pink eyes glimmering, blue hair framing her freckled blue face, and an air of mischief hanging about her like a mantle. She winked at the looming specter of violence that was Christine, her quarry from whom she’d snagged the pastry, then pivoted her gaze to the little goblin.


“Oh, aren’t you so cute!?” Jester exclaimed, then stooped to a squat. The Tiefling rested her hands on her knees and leaned in with wide and excited eyes. “I have a friend who looks exactly like you! She is a girl, though, and she is very cool. The two of us together are-“


Before she got too off track, she was interrupted by an abrupt ‘ahem’ that tugged her gaze back over to Christine Calamity. The woman stood tall, carried herself with a posture that suggested a hairpin trigger, and stared with black eyes that suggested bemused approval.


“You are very bold to steal from me, Mademoiselle, but I must admit…I would do the same thing. So I –“


“Aaactually, you remind me of someone else I know,” Jester cut in, unabashed about interrupting. She stood up and strode up to Christine, leaned in, and got almost nose to nose with her. In that moment her pink eyes pierced right into Christine’s black ones and scanned them. It was clear she was looking for something. Then, she sighed. “You are not the same, though. There’s something that’s preeeetty different, though I can’t quite…”


The Tiefling trailed off, turned from Christine, and appeared to herself in thought. Her thumb and forefinger framed her chin, which they stroked contemplatively, while Jester’s face screwed up in concentration.


She sat down on the floor, pulled out a notebook, then began to doodle something. She doodled with an intensity and a concentration that suggested the rest of the world was lost to her in that moment. Christine was curious and surprised by the eccentric blueberry who’d crashed into their lives like a tsunami based on her perplexed expression. Slurt, too, postured in open curiosity, then shifted cautiously closer to the Tiefling. Like a cat who’d found something new in their house the Goblin boy paused felt out the vibe, edged closer, waited to see if Jester was reacting to him, and then when he discovered that she was not…only then did he give himself the greenlight to approach and lean over her shoulder.


His eyes darted about across the open notebook, and he hesitantly pointed a dexterous green finger.


“W-w-what…w-what is…?”


“That one is you,” Jester explained, pointing with a pencil towards a rather detailed if not comically exaggerated drawing of the goblin child. “And that one is her.”


“B-b-but w-what are th-th-those on the other p-page?” Slurt asked, pointing at the left-most page, a page she’d drawn earlier.


“Oh! Those are dicks,” stated Jester. “The Traveler thinks they’re funny, so I like to draw them on stuff.”


“W-what’s-“


“Nevermind that, petit Prince,” cut in Christine, and Jester observed that her tone had that kind of protective air she’d heard in traveling companions before. “Maybe it would be better if we left Mademoiselle-“


“Jester,” Jester introduced, grinning widely. Peaked canines flashed through her plump lips when they split apart. “And you are?”


“I-I’m Swurt,” the Goblin stated meekly. It didn’t escape Jester’s notice that the child fumbled over his own fingers nervously when he spoke, sometimes.


“Nice to meet you, little Slurt,” Jester sing-songed, reaching out a blue hand with long fingernails painted pink. “You should be more confident. I am sure you are very brave, even though you are technically very small. Technically. But! I bet you have a very big heart.”


The Goblin boy eyed her hand suspiciously, like a dog who’d gotten too used to being struck, and had trouble identifying kindness even when it presented itself blatantly. Eventually after a lengthy, pregnant pause he put his much smaller hand in Jester’s.


“I am Christine Calamity,” the Madame introduced. Her voice held equal parts hesitance and admiration; it was clear the verdict was still out on Jester for her. That was okay, though. The Tiefling was used to that. Most folks didn’t trust Tieflings right away, or sometimes ever. “Petit Prince, maybe we should enter one of the restaurants and get you some more food.”


Jester found Christine’s lightly accented voice delightful. Anything that made an individual unique, and different was a delight to her, and accents especially were something she latched onto. She herself spoke in a pleasantly mischievous, nearly song-like voice tinged with its own thick accent…which was very vaguely Eastern European, in some universe.


“That is a pretty good idea!” exclaimed Jester. She clapped her notebook shut, jumped up, then gave a friendly pat onto Christine’s rather tall back. “I’ll go with you! I am very, very hungry.”


She beamed from one misfit to the other, feeling happy to find a couple of oddballs, whether or not they were glad to have been found by her.

 

[Kopaka]

So now I'm in another bid to fight for my right to exist. I'm sure plenty of people would be eager to cash in some chips on my death, but I always was a bit of a black horse in these things. Syntech ain't good for a lot of shit outside of publicized murder, but if you volunteered, life was real easy for a day or two. The purple bandaid they slapped on my stab wound alone was worth it though.

A productive choice may have been to scout the competition, but I'm not here to prove a point. The idiots will weed themselves out early, and I like to think I have an eye for talent.

So for now, I just focus on getting my priorities straight.

"Whiskey, straight up." Riddick rumbled, easing onto the bar stool inside of the classically appointed Karl's Tapas & Tap. It was the sort of Irish-light gastropub bullshit that was all the rage in certain circles of people with no hobbies outside of drinking IPA. It was noticeable, then, when the carnival stepped through the threshold, all giggles and wide-eyed. Tall chick, blue chick, and a...grot, or gremlin, or whatever. They were all collared up like show-dogs, marking them as competition. The tall chick looked like she knew a thing or two about subtracting people from the census, but the others...well...the idiots would weed themselves out early.

Riddick turned back to stare at the broadcasted melodramas playing out on Syntech's branded TV screens behind the bar. The whiskey was good; top shelf stuff that would have run up a pretty tab under different circumstances. Luckily for him, other people would be cashing him out with their spilled blood.

Maybe this ain't such a bad gig after all.

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

Chara’s father was never the drinking type, but her mother, Toriel, had always told her it had helped build camaraderie among warriors. A way to work on confidence and vent unnecessary stress. It was also strictly an adult’s drink and one she’d been instructed not to try in front of Asriel, though that was back when Rei was still a child. She had been fascinated by the drink that had transformed her mother from the stern, kind, yet serious creature she was into a rowdy gal that dropped F-bombs like a sailor and threw pizzas like frisbees.

Still, her job back in the day hadn’t really left her with time to be boozy, and she didn’t want to be a bad example to Asriel, so she played the role of the big sister and abstained well into adulthood.

Still, she was in a murder tournament where the odds were against her, she had quite a short limit left on the time till her next death… her final death, potentially!... And the conversation with sigmund had, frankly, left her rather depressed. She knew she could bring herself to kill Sigmund if it came down to it, - she had been tried and tested, long before now - but she also knew it would leave another dent on a fairly ragged soul.


So it was that Chara flashed a plastic smile already tearing a little at the syntech bartender, lifted a finger, and asked, “bartender, I want your finest alcoholic beverage. One of the ones with the umbrellas, if you please.”

The bartender turned to her with a surprised expression, looking her up and down, before answering. “...First time, huh?”

“Likely my last, too.” Chara would quip, reaching into her wallet.

“Syntech-bought, no worries.” The Bartender replied, waving her hand away. “If Karl Jak really needed your money, you can bet he’d just take it in the tournament contract. But, uhh… Karl Jak really doesn’t need your money.” He’d note, gesturing around.

“Not even a tip, then?” She’d ask.

The bartender’s smile quirked up, a hand twirling through her blonde mustache. “Lady, If you knew how much Karl Jak paid me to do this job once a year, I think you’d be the one asking for a tip.”

Chara just gave a derisive snort to that, exploding in laughter she couldn’t quite contain. “Ha ha… I suppose. Do you have those bendy straws? Maybe one in pink?”

The Bartender just leaned over with a smile. “Kid, I’m the syntech bartender. We set up this year with the understanding our clientele might include robots, dragons, cartoon mice and godzilla. If you want it, I probably have it covered.”

Chara gave a brief blink, before giving a realizing nod, even as the barkeep made her drink. “...Oh, right. Mickey mouse was here, wasn’t he?”

“You saw him in DA?”

Chara shook his head. “No, just saw that the cartoon mouse I’d grown up with had somehow joined. Didn’t really want to see him.”

“Not a fan of Mickey Mouse?”

“No, just not a fan of bloodsports. I think Mickey Mouse is a nice guy, but I do prefer Donald Duck at the end of the day.”

The bartender handed Chara a drink filled with blue goo, the Beverage having an immediate aroma of alcohol, mostly hidden under a strong, sweet scent that reminded her of coconuts. There was a little slice of pineapple on the rim, and Chara had to admit it at least looked good.

“What would this one be called?” She asked, looking it up and down.

“Blue Hawaiian. Went a little light for you, so it’s less of a knockout punch.” The Bartender mentioned, a grin coming across his well-chiseled features. “Tell me how it is.”

Chara took a great big sip as the Bartender looked her over, eyes washing over with enjoyment as she found out that, yes, it tasted fantastic. The taste washed over her and put her in a brief bliss as she enjoyed the textures.

“Fantastic.” Chara would reply, giving a silent smile. “...What was your name, by the way?”

“Alexei.” The man was quick to mention. “Though barkeep does just as well.” The man offered, and Chara gave a smile. This man was an employee, a syntech pusher who knew she was about to die, and a very cynical man who likely wouldn’t stay up about it.

But still, he was a person she could have some peace with here. Alexei was just a dude with quips and a weird job. Not an enemy…

And yet.

She had a power here. So did everyone else, but as she looked Alexei up and down, she realized immediately that she’d made a small mistake here.


She’d committed herself to the inevitability of a conflict, that there was pain to be found this DA, but even Sigmund had confirmed to her this was not the case, had he not?

This wasn’t the underground, and she couldn’t save everyone. She wasn’t equipped to do that. But if she was going to fight in this battle, her first instinct should not be to fight at all. Even if her first friend turned out to be a bit… mentally unstable, she’d made something with him - something that could become more with the right work. It was up to her to find that balance.

She had once informed another human he had the power to change who lived or died, depending on his choices. She had that power, here, now, and she was so busy avoiding the inevitability of fighting and killing those she couldn’t save - at this rate, she would miss the ones she could by process of inaction.

For once, Chara was the protagonist of her own story, and if she couldn’t practice what she preached… well, what good was she?

“...It appears I might need to go speak to some people, Alexei. I…” Chara trailed off as she attempted to move her legs and nearly stumbled, catching the bar counter with one hand. “...oh. I hate this immediately.”

“...figured you for a lightweight.” Alexi offered with a grin. “How about you sit down for a minute first, while I get you something else?”

“Chocolate milkshake?” she asked, turning pink in embarassment on the stool.

The bartender turned back and produced a tin. “Coming right up!”

 

[Lilith]

"Oh shit, am I still live?"

Lilith squinted at her phone screen and glanced towards the camera hovering a few feet away, confirming that she was indeed broadcasting to a steadily rising number of viewers. Professionalism was never her forte.

"Suppose now's as good a time as any to take questions."

'Did you see that wolf chick? The things I'd watch you do to her…'

"Mhm, I see her alright. She seems kinda easy, could definitely have some fun with her. Can't say I've ever banged a wolf girl, so it'd be worth it for that alone."

'That cultist boy is soooooo adorable!!!!! ♡♡♡'

"Hmm… Not sure if he's my type. Gotta check out all these new people fo sho. But first I'ma stuff my face."

Off went the carnal woman, weaving her way through the labyrinth of limitless meal choices, guided by the scent of fresh slaughter. Bright flashing signs and the medley of miscellaneous aromas blurred together in her pursuit of an establishment that might quench her distinctly raw palate. In passing, she witnessed some sort of pastry theft, but didn't think too strongly of it, save for the blue-hued perpetrator. Another fine ass tail to pull.

In no time at all, Lilith arrived at the Syntech branded (like everything here) butcher shop. It lived up to the standard of all the other restaurants and diners; hundreds of items neatly displayed, clean and sterile interior, and a smiling, energetic person standing out front.

"The name's Randy! What can I get for you today?" The middle-aged man bounced with positivity in spite of his place of work.

"Hmmmmm…" The indecisive carnivore scanned all the meats the shop had to offer, starting with the well-lit displays, up to the enormous menu. "I wanna try something exotic. Freshly killed, preferably."

"Ah, you've got very particular tastes. I'm sure we can find something that'll—"

Rattle rattle

"What's that in the fridge?" She peeked over Randy's shoulder.

"Uhhh, I'm not—"

"You got a human in there?"

The man frantically threw his hands up, waving dismissively. "Nonononono, the thing in the fridge is definitely not human meat."

The monolithic metal prison lurched side to side, the screeching, growling thing wanting freedom from the frigid depths. Lilith’s curiosity rose as she eyed the concealed creature, whilst the shopkeeper's face became suffused in a sheen of sweat.

"I'll take that one!" she resolutely declared, swooping over the counter and investigating the fridge for herself. Locks and chains posed to hindrance against her ravenous force. She swung open the entrance to her prize, only for it to latch onto and drag her in to have a feast of its own.

"I don't mind- aurgh- a little challenge!" The predatory woman strangled the indescribable amalgamation, tenderizing its pulsating flesh with her knuckles. "DIE YOU MOTHERFUCKER!" Alien limbs struggled to fend off the humanoid's crushing power. "Grhh, hrrgh, hyeagh!!" The camera captured only glimpses of the creature as Lilith slaughtered it to a wretched pulp.

What came next was utterly repulsive. The sound alone was unbearable, monstrous meat squelched between abhorrent teeth. She savored the vulgarity of it all; it's not like she could get any filthier.

Randy, meanwhile, coped with the situation by having a complete meltdown.

"Hahh…" After having her fill, Lilith withdrew from the butcher shop with streaks of magenta and a slightly torn dress, skirting ever closer towards indecency.

"Right. Now who will be my first?"

 

[Omelette Robotnik]

Following the scent of food and babble of happy voices, the unlikely trio of slayer, jokester, and child made their way into a tavern-like establishment off the side of the main area. Dubbed ‘Karl’s Tapas & Tap’, the place was filled with the sights and sounds of merriment, sparking wonder in the eyes of the tiny goblin lad. Yet again, he was shocked by just how different things were here than back on the streets of Arcadia. There was joy where he had only before knew despair, and none of the smiles he could see seemed forced at all.

Of course, that made the few people who weren’t enjoying their time in the tavern stand out even more. Both were seated at the bar, and, frankly, couldn’t have been more different from each other. Not just in looks, but in mannerisms, and each sat about as far from the other as they could manage and still be at the bar. The first reminded him a bit of Jester, a young lady unsteadily wobbling upon her stool while a sympathetic barkeep worked on something to steady her stomach. The other was a stoic fellow, as serious in expression as he was bald of pate. Something about him made Slurt’s ears lay back in fear, and the tiny goblin quickly avoided his regarding stare by dipping around to Christine’s other side.

Before Slurt could mention it to either of his companions, he was distracted by… something marvelous. As Christine found them a place to sit, Slurt’s attention was drawn towards a large window-like opening towards the back of the room. Behind it, a robust fellow worked, the sweat beading upon his forehead dabbed away with a large, greasy handkerchief before he reached out of view and took hold of something. Slurt watched in awe as the chef squashed a handful of mulched meat between his hands, forming it into a thick patty and, unceremoniously, dropping it upon the grill before him. Immediately, the scent hit the boy, nearly staggering him under the delicious aroma. The pops and hisses of the grease were music to his ears, and he was locked in rapt worship of it all.

"M-miss Jestaw?" Slurt asked plaintively, tugging on the hem of her shirt with a small, green hand.

“Huh? Oh hey! Slurt! What do you need, buddy?”

"What's dat?" He asked, using his other hand to point at the miracle happening just the other side of the wall.

"What? The g- Oh! It's a cheeseburger!" Jester replied with a sardonic grin. "Never seen one before?"

Without removing his focused stare from the meat, Slurt shook his head. A… cheeeeeese buuuurgeeeeer… His mind danced with fanciful thoughts, of kings and queens at their grand tables, of Gods in their banquet halls, all with a delectable burger before them.

Finally, and with a force of will the little Goblin had never before possessed, he broke his gaze and looked up at Christine.

With eyes wide and ears laid-back, he softly, almost reverently, asked, "Miss Cwistine? Can I haz cheesebuwgew?"

“Oh… my petit prince… You may have anything you desire,” his self-appointed protector said, a warm smile accentuating her kind words. Casting about with her eyes, Christine spotted a nearby worker and, hand seeming to twitch unconsciously towards her blade, demanded, “A… cheese… burger… for mon bel ami!”

The word seemed as foreign to her as it was to Slurt, and even more awkward with her accent, but the skinny fellow she had accosted seemed to understand, and understand even more the violent implications behind her demand. With due haste, he said, “Right away ma’am,” and disappeared through a door beside the window to relay the message. Nearby, Jester watched the exchange with an amused quirk to her lips, yet her eyes seemed a bit more moist than they usually did, and her under-lip had a slight quiver to it, as though she had just been a part of the cutest interaction of her life. Perhaps eager to direct their attention elsewhere, Jester dashed forward and planted her derriere into one of the cushioned chairs around a small table near that window. By the time her companions had followed suite, her normal flippant visage had been restored.

 

[Lilith]

The blue demon, the wolfgirl, or that ghoulish lady… She just couldn't pick one. None of them really captivated her. Sure it might be nice to tease them now, but what about in a contest for their lives, in front of millions? The scene remained incomplete, yearning for the perfect actor to fill the role.

Weeks could go by and she still wouldn't cover the entire grounds of the Recreation Dome. So, rather than tire herself out, she opted to contemplate her options over a heavy drink, letting the alcohol lead her judgements. Hell of a lot easier to let the prey come to her anyways.

The devious woman prowled into a bar, selecting this particular one by chance. It exuded a tame atmosphere, housing a sparse number of guests. At first glance, nobody seemed out of the ordinary, but then again her expectations weren't high. She headed straight for the counter, causing a mini tremor as she settled into her seat. Fingers strumming across the polished wood, she beckoned for the barkeep, "One tall glass of your finest red wine."

"Coming right up, Miss Lilith."

"Ahh, my name sounds just right coming off your tongue." She wasn't used to being referred to with such politeness, except for those who fully submitted to her.

Chara's train of thought came to a catastrophic halt after a head-on collision with another train. Her chocolate milk suddenly felt like liquid cement, forming a gritty lump in her throat. It took all her willpower to not spit the drink right then and there. Resolving to avoid total embarrassment, she finished her sip without so much as a choke or sputter.

"Geez. Didn't know they let kids drink here." Lilith inferred that the little girl had only a meager taste of alcohol, and now saw fit to drown her intestines in that sugary stomach churning swill. She glossed over the crime against beverages, eyes transfixed on the stalwart mage, her gaze impossible to pry away.

Chara would give a smile devoid of warmth. "Would you not suppose that a tournament pitting 'children' against monsters the likes of you should at least allow for a drink beforehand?"

"Oh no, I completely endorse it! Everyone should get totally hammered before we fuck each other up!" Perfect timing as the barkeep poured her drink. "Hm. I've never met you. But I feel like I know you."

"...That voice. I am afraid the same is true of me, Lilith," Chara would say, a hawklike stare glancing over Lilith as she turned to see them. "I never saw you during the Sinking of Nausicaa, but I did see your sketch comedy on the news, afterwards. As well as the fact you killed many good men for fun."

"Well I found the whole event extremely hilarious, so I'm not sure what part you're talking about… unless you mean when I flashed everyone. Amazing comedy right there." She sighed in blissful reminiscence.

And at that, Chara would quirk her head, studying the acid woman with intense, crimson eyes. "...I have not introduced myself. Greetings. I am Chara."

"Pretty name. So you got to experience the city crumble firsthand. Ah… you shoulda seen me. I mean, you'd be dead, but something tells me you're not too worried about that." She paused for a swig of wine. "Purrrr… good stuff."

"You've come here to do much the same. There's no need for this competition to end in bloodshed." It was a hopeless endeavor, but she wouldn't be Chara Dreemurr if she gave up on someone. No matter how beyond saving they are.

Her tone shifted, lips curving into an insidious grin. "I've already formed my own opinions about that. We're all in for a nasty surprise, violent or pacifist. Hey, at least you tried. Even though it's pointless. You should know, since we're already very familiar with each other."

Chara tensed up at whatever this woman was getting at, but her curiosity urged her to push for more answers. "This is our first encounter. How could you come to that conclusion?"

"You're… hold on." Lilith whipped out her phone and rummaged for the right information. "19. Your composure, though… You've lived several lifetimes in the short span of one. You put on this young and cheerful facade, hiding your soul from the world. But you're on the same path as me, only a few steps back. Perhaps if you'd made some different choices… who knows."

Their words had no visible impact on Chara. "You are exceedingly good at making assumptions, if nothing else." She reached for the more adult of her two drinks, basking in the comforts of its coconut-y flavor.

"Oh! I'll join too. Maybe you'll stop being so stiff." Lilith hoisted the wine glass and tilted her head high, guzzling down the maroon liquid until the very last drop. The grandiose chalice cracked as she slammed it down. "Unnff~ I needed that."

Chara, meanwhile, drank at a moderate pace, ogling respectfully at the adjacent alcoholic. Heavens above, her chest is ginormous! Especially considering how huge she is. It's definitely heavy and dense, yet she flaunts it effortlessly. I'd probably get lost trying to explore. Why does it have to belong to this monster?! Of course, there's no way for Lilith to actually know what the perverted human was thinking, this is just a theoretical approximation.

"See something you like?" Her eye contact was clearly not being met. At least somebody appreciated her body— somebody she could see in person. Speaking of which…

"Not at all," dismissed the nonchalant mage, setting down her empty cup.

"I'm sure you'd love to analyze every inch of me, but you're far too innocent for that," taunted Lilith, ditching the subtlety of her provocation.

"You do have a lot of... inches," Chara quipped, the confidence in her voice faltering as the embarrassment overtook her.

"Hmhmhm~ Hey so while we're here you wanna pose for the camera? Cool! 3, 2, 1…" Before she could hear any objections, Lilith readied her phone and squished Chara into frame, blowing a kiss.

Chara posed on reflex, looking chill and making a peace sign.

Click

"Ooh, not bad."

Only seconds later did the regret set in. It's not Chara's fault her face is chest height.

After admiring the group selfie, an incredibly tipsy Lilith asked, "You know, you're alright. Do ya wanna catch a movie??"

She almost sounded reasonable.

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

It was a little disappointing, really. Chara had really thought she was ready for this one. A shallow lowlife with a consistent perversion and no moral center. A literal embodiment of negative thoughts and emotions if some reports were to be believed. And she was a partner of Ridley, a mildly notorious crimelord with a very notorious sense of sadism. She’d been ready for everything from an invitation to bang on the counter to a strangling attempt.



A relatively loose offer to go see a movie because ‘she seemed alright’ did not come up in her thoughts once, and Chara’s eyes widened in legitimate surprise as she processed the thought. This was new to her. Out of left field. Which meant the one she’d written off as easiest to read had left her speechless.

This raised questions the Judge really wished she had not had to think about. Was she right about Lilith’s motivations? Or her irredeemability? Was she someone different due to recent changes, or is this simply something she had never shown anyone.

Multiple things coincided with one another in her thoughts, as a new curiosity filled her. Curiosity about Lilith’s real thoughts. How she came to be this way. What motivations filled her…

‘Is she wearing a bra’ snuck in there briefly as well, leaving Chara with only one real response as she looked into the eyes of what could be the living definition of ‘pure evil’ in the crossroads.

“...Are you familiar with Zombieland?”

---

The walk there was filled with… surprisingly normal chatter.

“-All I’m saying is, you would look cool. Let me add some battle damage!”

“T-shirts do not grow on trees. And I do not need a bare midriff.”

“You say that, but you’d be surprised at the looks given your way.’

“I do not need to resort to that sort of thing to get whoever I want in the first place. I am quite capable of turning heads in a potato sack and everyone knows it!]”

“Ooh! Confidence! I like that!”

Not that Lilith was ever known to be a philosopher, but she apparently had some opinions on fashion and clothing, style and sense - enough to laugh at stores they passed by, silly things they saw on the way, all that.

By the time they’d reached the theater, a stupid thought hit her. “Karl jak is a showman, is he not?...I wonder if this is more or less his style to focus on…?”

Lilith gave a wide grin, “oh no, trust me, see, this doesn’t do it all on it’s own, but later on, we’ll be on the island, and you’ll be like, forced into a fight with me, and it makes easy coin when I’m like ‘rawr’, and you’re like ‘but I thought we were frieeeends!’ audiences love that stuff.”

Chara looked over with a casual grin, as though she was just chatting with a schoolfriend, before adding, “Lillith, the only question I will be asking if you attack me in the event is ‘is she dead yet?’ Chara would playfully snap back. Playing up the goofy normal kid worked in certain situations, but Lilith had seen a bit more of Chara in their brief interaction than Chara would like to admit. No real reason to hoist a flag of weakness too high around a girl who clearly doesn’t care for it.

“Maybe I was wrong on that innocence thing. You really do have flirting down, at least.”

Lilith replied, as Chara turned on the digital projector. It seemed to be connected to something called ‘youtube’ but with an effectively unlimited budget, so she swiped through and quickly found Zombieland. Idly, she considered buying out every movie on this weird site on the off-chance Karl Jak actually paid for it, but even if that was true she doubted the purchase would ever even reach his notice. And really, what was the point of wasting someone else’s money if they’re not really bothered by it?

Chara gave a sigh, as she turned on the projector. Another hour and change taken off her time left, and it was going to be wasted watching Zombieland. Not Bill’s best work, but she figured Lilith wasn’t going to be interested in something as tame as ‘ghostbusters’, and she wasn’t interested in watching something without stupid jokes, so it was a compromise.

It progressed nicely, more or less, though Chara couldn’t help but keep an eye on the acid woman. The worst death she had on record was to a chainsaw, but she suspected being eaten by Lilith’s cells would be far worse. To her surprise, Lilith and Chara ended up laughing a lot at the same jokes, even if most of them tended to be ‘dumb ways people ended up dying’. Still, Lilith was quick to turn her nose up at much of the gore, while Chara enjoyed it.

“It is so unrealistic! You mean they couldn’t just get a few dozen people with no future to die for a shred of authenticity?”

Ah. Right.

A subtle spark of annoyance grew in Chara’s heart, but she suppressed it down. She was trying to be diplomatic, after all. Instead, she chose to take it from another angle.

“The Lack of realism is funny in it’s own ways. You can take in the details and figure out how they did it.”

“And how is that supposed to be entertaining?” Lilith groaned, a little grumpy.

“Because it means that, with how this shot’s set up guy’s been sitting there for several minutes on the muddy ground, and with the way he’s sinking he is doing an admirable job not screaming for air. Unfortunate footing. All the while, he has to sit there, miserable, deciding on if it is worth spoiling the scene to try to rub his nose, aware it might make ‘em do it all over again.

“Ohhh… so, misery? I guess I can get behind that.” Lilith states. “Didn’t figure you were the type.to enjoy that sort of thing.”

“On a small scale. Less mass murder and more Jar of snakes.” Chara would note, ignoring the slight voice in her head that reminded her

“That’s not entirely true.” Lilith spoke up, and Chara turned, forcing herself not to show her surprise.

“I mean, for someone not interested in killing people, I saw that glimmer earlier. There’s definitely something holding you back, obviously, but I’ve seen a lot of killers in my time, and you, girl? You got that murderous intent in spades! I mean, be honest, you might have some fun here, but you might have more in the Abyss. You know, if you decide not to be a wuss about it.”

“I have had my share of fights. I think I will be fine not indulging myself. I would like to get home, go back to fixing fridges, wasting time, and eating my brother’s cooking.” Chara noted, before something about what she mentioned registered as a mistake and Lilith’s eyes glimmered.

“Brother, huh?” She asked, looking surprised.

A glow suffused the hall, as the area beneath the theater glowed crimson. Knives formed behind Chara - hundreds of them. All of them floated with a serene grace, giving out the faintest hum. All of them were fixated directly towards a surprised Lilith.

It took a second before Chara remembered where they were, giving out a deep sigh before snapping her fingers. The daggers disappeared with a cacaphony of crackles, leaving Chara with a blank expression, closing her eyes

“...Congratulations. You struck a nerve.”

Lilith’s lip curved upwards into a grin. “Well, it was definitely exciting. Your powers work on the same principle as mine too, so that’s pretty cool! Guess my assumptions were pretty on point, then. How about that!” Lilith offered, running a hand through her hair to toss it back.

“-Never hit a kid before. I mean, that’s like asking who Gandhi is.” The screen Blared, And Chara turned around with a guilty expression. “...We are about to miss the best part. Unfortunate.”

“Not going to stomp down in anger after that little outburst?” Lilith would ask. “That’s good of you.’

“No, that would be self-defeating and impulsive.” Chara would note, with an eyebrow raised.

“...I have no interest in seeing my brother melted by your malice, but you also do not seem the type to target someone’s family stealthily. If you wish to have my head, you will go or it directly.” Chara mentioned, looking her straight in the eye.

“You’re putting a lot of faith in your assumptions of me, now.” Lilith would point out, “...but you’re right.”

“No faith.” Chara added, sitting down. “But we will likely leave Dante’s abyss at close to the same time, meaning I will be around if you mess with my brother.” Chara would mention.

“And i I had?” Lilith would ask.

Chara’s eyes glew bright. “Perhaps I am not quite so composed in the bedroom, but I can assure you - in the field of killing an immortal being over, and over, and over…”

The mage leaned just a little closer as a jokey tone returned to her voice, entering Lilith’s space now “You would find I’m very experienced.”

Lilith seemed to think about that for a moment, before sitting back. “Got it! Well… this has been a very fun conversation. Anything else you wanted to add?”

Chara thought about it for a moment. “...Would you like to do this again sometime? Say, a few months after DA?”

Lilith’s eyes opened in surprise, trying to process this. “You mean killing each other on television?”

“No, seeing a movie. Or perhaps giving this drinking thing another shot. If you do not kill anyone, I am willing to do almost anything you would like?”

“Almost?”

“Okay I am not spelling this out on the same television show my brother may be watching.”

Lilith’s smile quirked up. “...What? Is this your way to try and… convert me into a good person?”

“Likely not, but I want to understand you, at least.” Chara would add. “...Besides, any minute I spend finding a way to entertain you is a minute you are not murdering innocent souls. Given you seem to come back endlessly, I believe that is the extent of what I can accomplish.”

“That and stare directly at my honkers.”

“They are impressive, but unrelated.” Chara would admit, turning pink. “...But they are impressive.”

Lilith just gave a smirk to that, as Chara turned back around to see the movie. “...Fine. but only if you keep these little hang-outs entertaining.”

Chara gave a small nod. “Trust me, if there is one thing I know how to do, it is entertain myself.”

“...You know, I bet your brother would actually be proud of you if you went and motorboated-”

“He would not and stop tempting me!”

 

[Gildarts]

The bloody, velvet hue of her hair continued its ghostly pulse as though flickering amid an unchallenged wind.

Jester’s lighthearted laughter filled Christine’s ears as the adorable prince partook in his first feast. The first bite of perfection. One moment. Most enjoyable, delightful even. Was still one that a lifeless entity such as herself could not fully enjoy, nor in the least bit, feel. This was not abnormal for her. As much as her eyes took in every flicker of fresh observation, it was not nearly ever enough.

Her soulless corpse could barely laugh without malice being at the source. She considered her playtime with Tom previously. He had advised to her, no murder. She had told him he would’ve been next if fate had delivered them on a different path. Her foul amusement on that note had been unhindered. The threat of his death had given her pleasure. Yet this warm moment, almost familial, was devoid of life. At least, for her. Soulless, she remained an outsider to true joy…

The waiter had accidentally delivered three cheeseburgers to them. Misinterpreting Christine’s request or perhaps intentionally over ordering rather than leave the menacing woman underserved. She watched as Jester and Slurt however, were competing in a friendly competition of who could eat their french fries the fastest.

Slurt splodged a glob of ketchup on his plate and watched as Jester swathed her crispy golden piece of perfection across it and then into her mouth.

Slurt attempted to do the same, the graceless goblin blinking as he nearly dropped the fry into his lap before it landed in his mouth. Jester smirked and upped the challenge, the air of competition lay thick around her as she banged the side of her fist against her plate in careful calculation as a fry catapulted with impeccable trajectory to her mouth.

Slurt’s eyes widened and his lips gaped in awe of Jester’s impeccable aim. The little prince attempted to do the same, banging his hand against the plate and sending a handful of frites flying towards his face.

Jester grinned with a giggle as she extended her blue digits and caught the handful of the fries before they landed across Slurt’s face in a smattering of mess. Saving him from the collision also in turn, saving him from more tears. Jester’s innate mischief, was a far cry from murder, Christine regarded helplessly.

Seeing them happy further engrained her soulless envy of life.

“Are you not hungry?” A lingering waitress said compassionately, her tone reaching out in a helpful sort of way as she eyed the extra cheeseburger that had been pushed over to the small goblin.

“I’m sure your food is quite satisfactory but I myself am used to a… Different palette. Plus, a good huntress never prepares for a hunt by eating.” Intentionally, she added in her mind, “Being thirsty for the mark you’re more likely to,” Her eyes swept to her right, the child and the mischief maker were not as lethal company as she usually conducted, so she toned her brutality down. “Well, be the victor.”

This choice to tone it down, however, would prove to take its toll.

The passing waitress nodded, likely thinking to herself a prompt no thank you would’ve done just as well.

Jester’s presence seemed to add a more civilized tone to the amazon’s pattern of unbridled violence. Christine wondered just how long she’d be able to hold it in and keep up the facade. The executioner rationalized her leash at this point as being more useful than not. The more tools at her disposal for later, the better.

Still, the murderous thirst lingered in her mind, creeping in on all functioning thoughts, threatening to commandeer them. Her scorched eyes fell back to the whispering call her blade continued to make, humming at a frequency only she was tuned to. Christine felt her body fidgeting amid the discomfort and shifting in her seat as she fought the ravenous sensation to slay all those in her wake.

Her call to murder lay embedded within the katana at her hip. This cursed blade would be her deliverance, despite being the very thing that had sealed her fate. Currently, it occupied the place of her deepest vice and proved strenuous to fight against. If she gave in, however, the choice would reap consequences of ruin.

With closed eyes, Christine drank in a slow breath. The flavorless food of the restaurant mingled with the astringent scent of alcohol. All the usual consumable smells repulsed her, except that of the fresh and bloody stack of meat currently mashing under the little goblin’s maw.

Blood was her currency. The fibers of her lifeless being were sewn together on that fact. For this reason, it was hard to not imagine the entire room gushing with it. Bloodshed... Filling her demised body with a brief flood of satisfactory warmth. Each time, just filling enough to make her want to live once again.

Her cherry lips parted, the froth of effervescent saliva foamed in response to the tempting thought of this very room bespattered with complete and utter carnage. It would be… Exquisite. Her mind hinged on it and below the table’s edge, her fingers unconsciously fell twirling at her hip, inches above her blade’s hilt.

Christine suddenly rose, her amazonian figure parting ways with the teeny chair that she had crumpled herself into, “If you’ll excuse me. Ladies’ room.” She announced, unable to say more as she swiftly parted ways with the two endearing comrades and rushed past them leaving them in the path of her lingering chill.

Christine exhaled, her hands falling down on the edges of the sink and she began to squeeze against the stone, making a dense impression without cracking it. Her head hung heavily over her hunched shoulders as her jaw opened and clenched as she bit on empty air and grunted with immense frustration. Her smear of hair cast a shadow around the frame of her clouded vision. Her peripheral gaze caught the blur of her gaunt face in the reflection of the mirror which could only tell truths the observer could regard.

Desperation.

Swiftly she spun inside one of the cubicles and closed the door. A spiral of thought was all that could contain her to the claustrophobic cell. Her fingertips pressed against the edges of the condensed room as she tried to press this new reality into her figmenting mind as the presence of tangible thoughts grew more and more sparse. Falling into the natural cravings of what she now knew herself to be. Enchanted only by the full throttle of her unending thirst for slaughter.

Another hesitant breath sipped into her as she pulled her blade from its sheath. Wisps of black smoke crawled around the reflective supernatural silver as her eyes met with the blade’s distinct omnipresent gaze. The specter narrowed her eyes at the weapon as though meeting its challenge.

They are not my mark. None of these people are. I will feast, when I am not in the presence of anyone’s observation.

The murder of the innocent was something she occassionally fought against. Life itself was something she craved to have, not to take. She reminded herself amid another wobbly drink of air. Her newly erected fist immediately vanished as it launched into one of the looming sides of the stall. The dismal crash of her knuckles rupturing the wood was mostly suppressed by her fist remaining in the hole. The smash gave no escape from the insatiable burning smolder of her mind. Craving death.

No other thing would ever compare.

Faithlessly, her eyes rolled upward. Her jaw unclenched once more as her uncontrollable anger ceded.

Someday, she could control this inner beast. Willpower would return to her on the same day her soul and life were restored. This was only one way to make it all better. She had made up her mind after her first kill and knew exactly who would be her last.

Her eyes closed, the spectral smoke of her captive flames instead of blood poured out of the newly splintered slits on her knuckles. The haze of her entity began to seep out of her skin as she found she was no longer filled with Jenkins’ fresh flow of blood, but instead left with the empty heat of hungry steam it left behind. Her hair began to flicker as it became overtaken with its sable hue once more. As if she needed that to tell her she was no longer full.

Her focus wavered with wobbling hesitation as her palm met the all too familiar sensation of the leather hilt of her katana. Fitting so perfectly, like the very act of murder was made for her and her alone. It filled her empty void of an existence in a way she could tangibly feel, unlike everything else. The instrument of death melded into her hand as suitably as the flow of water.

“Un jour, you will no longer have a hold on me. Until that day, I am the one who controls you.”

Flesh and souls were what kept this haunting presence at bay. The personal sacrifice of Jenkins’ head had not been enough to sate it. The hunger of the beast in her mind began to growl with a crescendo of consumption. The ebb and flow of the chaotic rhythms danced with temptation in her mind. She flicked her head to the side swiftly as though combatting a sensation she was losing to.

“You think it is so fun to be your puppet.” She seethed viciously. “Yet I use you every day to get closer to what I need to survive in this world. I will continue to take from you with every moment that you give me.”

Such was the nature of this symbiotic curse.

Christine’s hands firmly found their foothold around the woven leather straps and held her obsidian-flamed blade toward the ground. The smoke cascading from her hand matched the blade’s radiant flicker. She closed her eyes and searched for her inner focus. Demanding to hear it once again.

The prophecy and the clues that were her compass on the hunt to retrieve her soul. The voice, that of the katana, that of the curse that had ripped her essence away from her body began to speak in a collective hiss of whispers.

“He who bears your soul within him will be impenetrable. You will not recognize yourself within him until your blade comes down upon him. Slay him and regain the invaluable piece that was stolen from you.”

Invaluable peace. She corrected with a twitch of her agitated mind. She let the words fill her and they restored her with a sense of calm as her composure was regained. No longer was she filled with the certainty of bloodlust. But rather that of her goal as she considered the incorporeal compass and its clue and let it be her mind’s guide.

She would find him and slay him. Whoever he may be, wherever he dwelled. And she would do so without remorse. On the day the prophecy spoke of, she would take back what was hers as though it were any other soul.

Christine sheathed her spectral blade and opened the bathroom stall’s door with so much unsuppressed vigor it took the feeble mechanism clear off its hinges and with a loud rupture, rattled to the ground. The executioner barely batted an eye at the wreckage the brunette left in her wake.

The only thing that mattered was the beckoning call that she continued to hear in her ear. The blade’s tongue slithered amid an amalgamation of haunted voices.

Feed me.

 

[Kopaka]

Riddick continued to nurse his tumbler as more people trickled into the synthetic dive. Chara he recognized; she'd made the news a few months ago for killing off a couple hundred monsters. Another teenage killer who couldn't explain why they were here. It also seemed like the gremlin was a kid too. What was the angle on  that?

Syntech was a company that thrived on drama, that was the angle. No one in this fucking universe was too proud to cash in on the misery of the innocent. The viewers at home would drink it up, exclaiming....

'oh can you believe that poor goblin?'

or

'Where are that poor Chara girl's parents?'

Lying to themselves like they don't want it. Karl Jak was a shrewd son of a bitch, and Riddick could respect that. Give the people what they want.

In my case, it just reminds me of unfinished business. A promise I couldn't keep...too busy keeping my nose in the shit. Maybe Jack had forgotten me by now. Maybe would try to redeem myself by giving these kids a pass.

We'll see. But then everyone's favorite slime queen strolls in, and I'm on the hunt. The walking manifestation of post-nut clarity known only as Lilith. Has a rap sheet twice as long as her legs. Figures she would roll through here, where death barely matters, hoping someone will cash her in so she can pretend she never did anything wrong. No bounty, no harm right? If I already died, my sins don't count.

What a fuck up.

Riddick watched her flirt with the Chara kid for a while until his drink ran empty. She had to know he was staring at her; sick puppies were always hungry for attention. They left soon enough, and Riddick wasn't curious enough to follow. Lilith and Chara were bonding, and he could work with that.

Things started to get rowdy a few seats down. The blue idiot and the green baby exchanging deep-fried artillery fire like they weren't about to be gutted on the altar of pay-per-view. Maybe he should have said something, but what's the point?

He followed the queue of their mom though. The red-haired femme fatale ducked out when things got silly, and honestly sister? Same. By the time Riddick slipped out of the tavern, she was skulking around the bathrooms, looking like a spooked cat.

"Second thoughts?" Riddick rasped, leaning against the opposite wall. He sized her up, glancing at the sword, her powerful build, and the killer's crazy that glinted in her eyes.

"They let you in here with that? Those things are dangerous." Riddick said with a dry humor, pointing at the sword on her hip.

 

[Sandor Clegane]

“M-miss Jestaw?” quavered Slurt. He looked up at her with big puppy dog eyes. “W-w-where did Miss Cwistine go?”

Jester chewed a fry contemplatively, gazed towards the direction of the bathrooms, and let out a low ‘hum’. Christine had been gone a long time…that much was for certain. Contextual clues put themselves together in the Tiefling’s chaotic mind. First: Christine hadn’t so much as touched the burger put in front of her. In fact, she hadn’t touched any food at all! In addition she’d worn a look of intense consternation right before she’d departed. Consternation bordering on discomfort, even. Lastly, the way she’d sprung right up from the table and excused herself, and the hasty way she’d departed…

“Well, little Slurt, can I tell you a secret?” then she leaned in conspiratorially, side-eyeing the little goblin, and covered her mouth partially with her hand. “I am a very good detective.I am technically one of the best detectives. Technically. Soooo…I can tell you with a lot of certainty that Christine really, really had to poop. Like a lot. A loooot.”

Slurt’s eyes grew as large as saucers.

“Miss Cwistine h-had to…?”

“Yes, poop. She really, really had to poop.”

Jester finger-slapped a spoon strategically positioned at the edge of the table, which catapulted the french fry that had rested in its divot into a flip-flopping parabola angled straight at Slurt’s maw. At this point they’d gotten down a bit of a rhythm and technique, and the tremulous goblin opened his toothy mouth up instinctively. The fry landed.

“Ten out of ten,” praised Jester, positively beaming at the boy. “You are getting pretty good! Why don’t you…” she grinned mischievously, showing some teeth, and squinted at her tiny tot companion. “...try to do it to me?”

Slurt gulped nervously. He’d bungled this once already and had barely avoided a face full of potato mess that time. The child fidgeted, wallowing in discomfort, and glanced from side to side.

“D-do you t-think I weally sh-sh-”

Jester put a finger to his lips, and ‘ssshhhed’ him.

“You are very brave. Remember that, because what we are going to do soon is going to be pretty hard.”

The cleric knew she’d uttered the understatement of the century. How a tiny, adorable, little squish-face like Slurt found himself thrust through the gates of Hell and into the belly of the bloodthirsty beast that was this murder-show was beyond her, but if she could do anything to deliver some prep-work to the child’s confidence levels before the show, she’d sure try.

“Come on, you adorable little squish face,” she instructed, pantomiming the spoon-a-pult motion.

“S-sq-squi-”

“Shush, shush, shush. Less talking, more…” and she swirled her finger in the air.

The goblin eyed his spoon anxiously, placed a fry on it, and then popped its end to fling the snack at Jester. Jester’s eyes widened, she reflexively jerked her head to the side since the fry was rocketing at her at lightning speed, and heard it whistle past her peaked ear and away from their table. There was a muffled thump, nearly indiscernible, and then a lengthy pregnant pause.

“...who the Hell threw that?”

Jester whipped around and drew a sharp intake of breath. A monstrous, and terribly ugly behemoth of a creature all grey, muscular, and dull of countenance had bolted to his feet and tossed his chair to the side in the process. He wore a tank-top that was more a decoration than an article of clothing on his considerable mass, and covered his nether regions with a scant bolt of cloth that served, just barely, as a loincloth. Seven feet if he was an inch, he painted a formidable figure, and he was staring right at Jester and Slurt.

“...it was him,” stated Jester, pointing a finger at the table next to theirs where a gangly fellow wearing glasses suddenly gaped in dismay. “He said he doesn’t like your face and he thinks your shirt is pretty ugly.”

“B-but I-”

But whatever excuse he was fumbling towards never came to fruition as a tomato splattered him full on in the face. The goopy red slop sloughed off the geek’s face and landed on the table with a plop; for a moment the trickster cleric thought the man might cry…then he gathered up a handful of mashed potatoes like a snowball and hurled them unceremoniously at the hulking muscle-freak’s skull. It splattered, and prompted a roar of fury from the nerdy boy’s quarry.

Leaping into action, Jester clambered onto the table and stood at her fullest height (all five feet and three inches of it). She cupped her hands around her mouth and howled into the air:

“FOOD FIGHT!”

…and then ducked as an ice cream cone went sailing over her head. Grinning, she looked at Slurt, and gave the goblin a wink.

 

[Josuke Higashikata]

From all the training Josuke completed, hunger is inevitable with energy-wasting away. Constantly using his stand power for an hour straight can tire the user. Sweat glistens from his forehead, and a few droplets roll down across the smooth, light-toned skin. Each breath that leaves Josuke is heavy, moving his chest up and down. His lungs catch the clean Syntech air with no problems. The boy's physique is advance thanks to the Joestar blood, but he's never exercised this hard before; even physical education at his school wasn't hard pushing compared to the dojo's training.

In Josuke's daily life, he never bothers to make his way to the local gym since it feels boring to take up free time when he could instead hang out with friends or have shenanigans. Knowing what Crazy Diamond is capable of now becomes crossed off the list that Josuke wanted to complete before the game begins. Now that food and socializing among other contestants are present on his mind, the stand user takes his leave from the dojo. He thanks Chris for taking his time to train him and prepare importantly despite what's upcoming. Leaving the dojo, the pompadour teen heads over to the recreation dome wing with interest in what Syntech offers for entertainment, food, and shops.

Earlier, a contestant did cross paths with Josuke, but that person seemed disinterested in keeping an eye on him. Well, if he had eyes making the teenage boy think about the mystery of what the dirtied bandages hid. The thought did gross him out that maybe his eye sockets are empty. It would be best not to think of that topic, slowly making him lose his appetite. Curiosity does consume his mind on the other contestants he will get the chance to meet before battling and if they're off-world from his home. Soon after, other contestants found their way to the dojo quickly, which is starting to make this place more popular than before.

Everyone's appearance that entered the training grounds seemed to tell a story on who they identify with or what sense of style they keep in their daily lives. At least one competitor did throw out a "Yo" to Josuke but didn't have any interest in interacting between him and his trainer. The stand user replied "Yo" back to her earlier before she quickly finished a cup of water and left them. For the wolf girl's style, she had a chill punk/gothic tone happening, but from hearing her voice, she sounded like a cool wolf girl to hang around and drink some beers. Although goth fashion doesn't fit Josuke's vogue, although he had nothing against the community, the boy gives credit to those that can pull off that style well.

His footsteps remain at a steady pace having his hands in his pocket and still feeling worn out after the heavy training he made Crazy Diamond go through.

Upon entering the recreation dome, a mall setting greets guests where stores, restaurants, an arcade, and a movie theater remain on the comet. It greatly wows him the number of options he can choose from, a place that Josuke wishes he had visited earlier because this would be where he and his friends would chill for the day. The smell of delicious prepped food makes his stomach grumble more, begging for something to consume. He agrees with his gut and looks at what Syntech offers to him. Maybe everything is free here, similar to what the dojo presented to guests. It couldn't hurt to pop into a place and ask the Syntech staff for free food to make his hunger disappear.

Barely is anyone present outside the restaurants and stores while Josuke walks along the dome's strip. His eyes are distracted from seeing all brands of chain stores and fast-food joints that contracted with Syntech. While not paying attention to stare forward, he and a stranger collide into each other. Upon running into another body, Josuke stumbled back a little owing to the impressive physique that the stranger carries.

"Oi, sorry for not paying attention." The stand user apologizes for his clumsy ways, slowly looking upwards at the stranger towering over and catching a surprising look within his eyes that whoever is standing taller than himself appears to be a woman, gifted by Amazonian qualities.

Her fashion seemed to appear on a darker side, far from the goth style that a wolf girl carried earlier back at the dojo. No, this one seemed off straying toward the frightening spectrum. Her sense of class must be a way to intimidate anyone partaking in this game. Maybe it is best not to judge a book by the cover initially, but it would be innovative thinking to keep an eye on some individuals when partaking competitively. The looks on her were nearly blackened out, almost hypnotizing to focus, making eye contact. Scary impressions don't turn Josuke cowardly and flee like a cockroach after being discovered hiding underneath something. Still, a chill does run down his spine, causing his skin to create rough goosebumps upon interacting with the frigid air.

After bumping into her, Christine looks down upon Josuke thinking his age is about to conclude his teenage years. Ah yes, young prey has always given off a blast of thrills when the hunt persists. Why do they need to carry expectations that everything will be alright at the very end? They always seem to think that they have a long life ahead of them, but time after time, the mistress of death has proven countless times that she is their unfortunate faith. Could this young boy be the soul she's been on the deadly search for quite some time now?

Maybe she'll find the answer when the competition begins; just the thought of it swells her with excitement, almost making her feel she can no longer hold back the lust to kill. Josuke's words trail off as Christine remains deep in her thoughts.

"Oi? Oi? Can you hear me?" Josuke attempts to pull her back into reality, causing the goliath woman to blink and focus her black piercing eyes back down on the stylish pompadour teenage boy.

"Young child, you might want to be careful next time upon who you run into; it would just be terrible if someone had their fall." The shadowy mistress coldly speaks to Josuke, sliding past him to retreat to where her business happened from before.

When the wickedly sensed woman walked by him, chilled air overcomes Josuke, almost making him think that the AC in this place is just too freezing or could be his way of feeling things right about now. He turns his head over his shoulder, still stunned by the aura that she carried with her. Those words that the dark woman said echoed with him, giving off a threatening manner.

"Better to watch my back and keep an eye on her if we meet again." Josuke thought aloud softly to himself, seeing that the darkening woman had vanished from his sight.

The stand user brushes aside that weird encounter and proceeds down the strip, looking at all the restaurants and stores. After a couple of minutes, wander around and see what options Syntech proposes to guests. He is still not paying attention to whoever is walking toward his path, causing him to bump into two girls who are walking away from the movie theater.

Dammit, here I go again for not keeping my eyes out before I run into someone's space.

One girl appeared younger and shorter than Josuke from how tall he stood, but the other wasn't a hundred percent human between the other two. Chara's and Lillith's conversation abruptly stops after the mishap of running into the stranger. They didn't seem mad about the accident colliding, but Lillith thought was thinking running about running the course of teasing. At the same time, Chara was curious about this new contestant she hadn't seen before, but his appearance and attitude seemed like he could have a better moral choice than she's been looking for within one of these competitors here. For the moment when Josuke looks upon Lillith, her impressive cleavage catches Josuke's eyes.

The boy looks up before Lillith notices where he's staring, but she already knows what he's staring at, making her crave more attention while grinning.

"My bad." Josuke apologizes for the mishap between the three that crossed their paths, nearly blushing that he thinks Lillith already knows where his eyes were before.

"You're alright? This place can be rather distracting." Chara kindly accepts Josuke's apology while standing beside her supposedly friend.

"My~ my~, I figured you are more of the average, lady-respecting hero type, but I've noticed your hands did grab my girls a little when we ran into each other." Lillith outright smiles seductively and puts Josuke on the spot, causing him to blush immensely.

His face lights up red quickly, making this whole interaction seem fun to Chara for her to watch.

"W-what, I didn't mean to place my hands there!" Josuke awkwardly speaks up in embarrassment, with Lillith thinking this whole interaction is amusement to see the teenage boy become bashful. The stand user is usually comfortable around girls since back in Morioh, when he headed for school, he always had high school girls following him that thought Josuke was charming. He's not used to when girls attempt to tease provocatively, usually.

Josuke attempts to clear his throat and introduce himself to the girls to break up the awkward silence. "Anyways, my name is Josuke. I'm pretty stoked to talk to other competitors and get along before the big game begins."

"Nice to meet you, Josuke. I'm Chara, and this here is Lillith, and don't worry, she doesn't attempt to bite as much." Chara joins in on the teasing with Lillith at the participant, giving off a laughing smile.

"Don't mind what she's saying. I do bite~, a whole lot~" Lillith steps closer to Josuke, playfully whispering in his ear to get him to blush one more time. The pompadour teenager tries to hold it back this time and keeps his posture well.

"Why are we just standing around? There's a cool pizzeria I just passed by, and I'm starving. How about we sit down and hang out while all the free time we have?" Josuke offers the girls that could be a great way to burn sometime down before the madness begins.

 

[Lilith]

A glimpse of red razor-sharp spite. An appetizer that left her salivating for more. Tantalizing her with unveiling the young human's unrealized desires. Patience. The conniving woman will have her way, the future held certain. She always gets her way, before entertaining any compromise.

Lilith pictured it, clear as the full moon, a hail of knives mutilating her into a porous corpse. Coveting a death by a thousand cuts. Seeing, feeling, tasting red. To siphon hatred and revenge. Literally staring daggers into her.

Threaten Chara. Threaten who they cherish. Her options presented a straight and narrow path.

Prime the prey beforehand.

"I'm a temptress, hun. Tempting is what I do best. And I've got you making so many bad decisions~" purred the dangerously attractive woman.

"My decisions have been my own. No outside influence whatsoever," rebutted the strong-willed mage.

"Really? I'm not swaying you at all?" Lilith puffed out her chest and stretched left to right, challenging the ridiculous claim.

"Nope!" Chara chirped, tugging her impulsive pupils from the pair of gravity wells jutting from beneath the black silk.

"Hm. Ah well, I wasn't trying that hard anyways." Having had her fill of movies, the giantess moved to inspect the projector.

The fallen human speculated what Lilith 'trying' would look like, before shaking her head and swatting away the intrusive thoughts pervading her mind.

The heinous woman brushed the device's ports, then summoned a flash drive from thin air. With the two connected, she began extracting the contents of the digital library, committing millions worth of copyright infringement in mere seconds. Lilith is a pirate, after all.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Downloading all the movies."

"Oh." … "Isn't that illegal?"

"Yeah. But it's free. And I'll be able to pick out what movie we're watching next time."

"You're already thinking about our next date," remarked Chara as a matter of fact, a knowing smirk plastered across her face.

"Sure, you can call it that," Lilith conceded. The whole arrangement didn't bother her. At the very least, she'd get to subject her new plaything to more intricate depictions of violence.

Rivalries were not unfamiliar to the sadist. Myriads of assassins hounded her constantly, and grudges formed with the more troublesome ones to eliminate. At this very moment, she knew the competition was targeting her… Not anyone in particular though. Just in general. But hunting each other one day, then kissing and making up the next? A unique dynamic, to say the least. It certainly beat massacring hordes of soldiers.

Her motives extended beyond entertainment. She wanted to see how long Chara lasted before breaking.



On their way to find activities to pass the time…

"So, this 'murder-free entertainment' biz… Sounds to me like you're just pet sitting me to make sure I behave," Lilith teased.

"Well, you already are wearing the collar..." Chara would tease back, playing along with the banter.

"Ah ah, but your purpose is to entertain me. You just signed up to be my toy," she boasted, a wicked glint in her eyes.

"A toy? That is strange. You are the gift with no return policy here," Chara shot back, "as the crossroads has learned."

"I know you want to get rid of me so bad. But this is my place now, and you'll learn your place too." With a twinge of annoyance, she muttered, "Brat."

"I never said I wanted to get rid of you." Chara would note, cocking her head. "You just do not give a girl many options."

"The challenge is part of the fun. You wouldn't be giving me all this attention if I was easy~" The tension was palpable. With neither making the first move, the two would be locked in a stalemate of lustful frustration.

"I suppose you could be considered 'challenge mode,' " Chara shot back with a self-assured grin.

The absurd duo could go at each other all day. Verbally, that is. But fate had other plans, as Josuke, the clumsy teenage hero, interrupted them.

On the list of people Lilith would be displeased to see, Josuke sat up top. But screw it, she was in a good mood. So the salacious woman fooled around to great success, embarrassing the schoolboy and shattering his confidence.

That was all well and good, until Josuke asked them to eat pizza together.

Is he desperate or just plain clueless?

Lilith would immediately reject the offer, but in anticipation of such a response, Chara spoke up first, "We'd love to!"

You are making up for this later. Her expression conveyed exactly what she thought.

Lilith had no interest in prepared foods, especially of the non-meat variety. Although she disdained the company of this third wheel, she silenced her complaints, and went along to the restaurant. Just deal with it and move on.

Naturally, as the crowd of three seated in the pizzeria, Lilith and Chara remained at each other's sides across from Josuke. The scent was inoffensive. Burning wood, baked dough, tangy sauce, greasy cheese and toppings. The curmudgeon would share the same meal as the other two, save for her choice of drink.

"More wine, please!"

 

[Rebecca Chambers]

“Ugh, dude, you seriously can’t be eating that.”

In a corner of the Recreation Dome’s food court located as far away as possible from any contestants (but still conveniently within optimal spying distance), two Syntech employees were enjoying a quiet lunch.

Or, rather, a quiet lunch that had been broken by an exceptionally rude statement, in Kevin’s opinion. The former intern, current PA to Karl Jak, looked up from his Syntech-brand Tupperware® container, plastic fork hovering mid-air over his meal.

He graced his dining companion with Registered Bitchface #002— you know, the one reserved for stupid questions and even stupider people. “And why the hell not, Charlie?”

Weathering his dour expression with all the grace of someone already heavily accustomed to it, Charlie wrinkled her nose. “That’s, like. Really fattening with all that oil, bacon and cheese. Didn’t you say you wanted to start eating healthier?”

Expression twisting, Kevin looked back down at his meal. All it was was a head of broccoli that had been cut into florets and dressed with some light lemon juice, sea salt, and olive oil. He’d even roasted it in his oven for about twenty minutes, topping it off with a light dusting of parmesan cheese and bacon afterward. It smelled perfect— savory but with a definite tang of citrus. By his estimation, this sort of dish was practically a salad. Totally healthy, right? Then again, he was no nutrition expert…

At last he shrugged, spearing a few florets of the cheesy-baconified broccoli on his fork. He viciously stuffed the bite into his mouth, chewed for a few seconds, then swallowed with apparent relish.

“I need fattening,” the redhead insisted, jabbing his fork at Charlie’s own food— something with a lot of kale and avocado slices in it, or at least that’s what he thought it looked like. “… Not whatever that is. Karl has me dashing around like a sled dog delivering life-saving medication to dying children in the Yukon. I need something to tide me over or I’m gonna be run ragged. I can’t even keep up with my usual exercise routine as it is, I’m so exhausted by the end of the day...”

“Why’d you want to start that regimen, anyway?” Charlie asked with an incredulous stare, though her tone was sympathetic. “You’ve been listening to nothing but the Glee cast rendition of 80s power ballads for like four months now. Ever since Mr. Jak announced that there would be a new season, anyway. You’re scaring me, dude.”

Taking another bite of his lunch, the ginger-haired PA chewed slowly, considering her words. Why had he been feeling such a weird urgency to get into shape? The impulse had certainly arisen before. An anxious need to burn off excess energy always seemed to arise around the time preparations for Dante’s Abyss would begin— almost like his subconscious mind was urging him to get ready for something.

The feeling usually wouldn’t leave him for several months, at least, only seeming to die down once the finale of Dante’s Abyss took place. Last year’s had been especially bad— he couldn’t even begin to count how many times he’d returned to his quarters, exhausted and sore from hours spent in the Dojo. Maybe he had a problem.

A light touch on his arm broke him from his thoughts. Glancing up, Kevin was mildly startled to see Charlie leaning across the table towards him, her face brimming with concern. “Kev? You good?”

The PA shook his head fiercely, as if that alone could clear the gloomy miasma of indistinct memories from his head. Oh, right. She’d asked him a question, hadn’t she?

“I’m fine,” he replied, voice utterly deadpan. “Just, you know. Training up to run away from psycho killer clowns without tripping on the stairs again, as one does.”

Drawing her hand back, Charlie snorted inelegantly, covering her face to stifle her laughter. “Hah! Well, that explains the cardio obsession you’ve developed.”

Her mentor hmm-ed distractedly and refocused on his food, trying to decide what piece of lightly-charred broccoli to devour next.

“That’s enough about my dieting choices or lack thereof. What’s been happening on the frontlines? See any interesting people, familiar faces…?” he asked, trying to adopt a polite interest in the goings-on of his old job. “Anyone I should know about?”

Charlie thought on this for a while, crunching down on a leaf of kale. “Well, I guess. Mr. Pool is back for another year, but we all knew and expected that. From what I can tell, there’s also a lot of contestants double-dipping in Dante’s Abyss and that other show. What’s it called— the Rose Carnival? Death Game?”

“Something like that. And that’s definitely not surprising,” Kevin said with a snort. “It’s always the same kinds of people signing up for these things, even if it’s by mistake. They all want something— doesn’t matter if it’s fame, money, or to send a message to all the rest of the murder hobos out there. You’d be surprised by how many literally trip into the Abyss, though. You would think they’d get a clue somewhere around the time when they’re filling out all the waivers and whatnot, but…”

The brown-haired woman nodded, braids flicking with the motion. She nibbled lightly on the end of her fork, apparently mulling over his words. “To tell you the truth, I’m… honestly kind of confused about why Mr. Jak hasn’t cracked down on that other event a bit more. I mean, it’s literally going off the same basic idea...”

Kevin shook his head. “Listen, Charlie, we’ve been over this. Nobody cares that it’s ’kind of’ the same thing. Honest. It’s entertainment, and everyone loves a blood sport— that’s true in every universe. So long as they don’t claim the Syntech brand or start parading around acting like we’re the unoriginal ones, it’s all gucci. The NFL doesn’t come down hard on every little league football team for daring to exist, right?”

Charlie just looked confused. “That’s an uncharitable comparison. And what’s an NFL?”

“Oh, right. Don’t worry about it, it’s just a sports thing.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know you were into sports.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving,” Kevin glanced down at the data padd resting on the table at his elbow, checking for any notifications. The preshow seemed fairly subdued for now, but he wouldn't rule out the possibility that some of this year's contestants would cause a stir— there was always something. “I really like hockey, but Karl keeps trying to get me into tennis. Says it might help tone up my legs. I told him that he should mind his own legs, thank you very much, and that my dumb chicken legs are perfectly fine.”

She gaped at him, raising her eyebrows so high that they were nearly above her hairline.

“You really said that to him?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Erm, well… no, not directly,” stuttered Kevin, gesturing dismissively with his fork. “But I did mumble it under my breath, and I think he heard me but elected to ignore it. He’s pretty cool about stuff like that.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll take your word for it, buddy.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, individually picking at their lunches. Abandoning his food for a moment, Kevin leaned over and poked at a few more things on his data padd, pursing his lips as a few last-minute schedule changes began moving around the glowing screen. He’d need to wrangle some of the janitorial staff to clean up an actual biohazard in one of the Dojo restrooms, apparently. Freakin’ perfect…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He looked up at Charlie, who was flipping through her data padd for something or other as well, her acrylic fingernails clicking audibly on the glass screen while low volume staticky music played from the speakers. “Hey, you didn’t answer my question from before. Did anyone interesting show up in the lobby?”

“Not really,” drawled Charlie, not looking up from her padd. “Why do you wanna know so bad? I thought you hated my job.”

Her mentor leaned back in his seat with a huff. “I didn’t hate it. It just wasn’t what I wanted to do, you know? Being the welcoming committee really wasn’t my thing and my current job absolutely is! It’s as simple as that. Anyway, can’t I just be curious about what my young padawan thinks of my old work?”

Finally tearing her gaze away from whatever inane cat video was playing on-screen, Charlie just stared at him.

The redhead sighed, clearly put upon. “Ugh. Fine, fine, I’ll tell you. We have a… a bet going around the office. It all hinges on who might win this year, because we apparently have nothing better to do with our time. Before all the contestants' rosters become publicly available, I'd like to get the inside scoop from you so that I can outmaneuver Richard in Accounting. That dick predicted that Gilgamesh would win last year when literally no one else did; I thought for sure that golden asshole would find some way to get Malefactor’d again...”

“Richard…? Isn’t he also the guy who doesn’t respond to your e-mails until it’s almost time to log off for the night?”

Nodding, Kevin grit his teeth. “He also stole the last energy drink out of the break room fridge. The rest of us were drinking that nasty coconut water stuff Monica brought in for weeks. But yeah. That’s the one.”

“Wow,” Charlie remarked. “Didn’t realize the well of hatred ran that deep, but okay. Let me think… I don’t really know what you’d be looking for in a potential champion. Like, thinking back on the last two seasons, there was the sad cowboy fused with Mr. Pool, right? And then the ruthless king. Those guys just aren’t comparable in personality or goals. I might need some more solid criteria to go off of if I’m gonna make a real prediction…”

The pair seemed to have completely forgotten that they were meant to be eating while on their lunch break. As Charlie waited for guidance from Kevin, the redhead merely looked contemplative, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he rolled his fork between his fingers like one might with a fancy cigar.

At last arriving at a decision, Kevin nodded resolutely to himself, setting his fork down on the sticky cafeteria table with an air of finality. “I think the winner this season will be wearing a hat.”

Charlie blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Think about it,” Kevin enthused, gesturing to the room at large— chiefly the contestants hanging about in the dining area, going about their ridiculous business. “According to the data I have access to, a decent number of Dante’s Abyss champions have worn hats. Or helmets. Or crowns. Whatever. Even Gilgamesh had a hat at one point, and putting that hat on was the turning point of the whole war…”

Charlie shot him a dubious look. “You’ve… kind of lost me on this one, Kev, but I gotta admit, there have been a fair amount of hat-wearing champions. I still think the RNG might fuck it all up, but you’ve got a good hypothesis going there. Fortune does seem to favor the, uh. The behatted.”

The PA nodded in satisfaction, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I thought you might see my logic. Which leads me into my next line of reasoning— the champion must also be capable of acting like an absolute bastard to win.”

“I mean… duh, it’s a battle royale. Anyone willing to kill other people has gotta be at least a liiiiittle bit of a douche.”

“Exactly! Exactly, see, you’re getting it now. And we have people here who aren’t like that, so they can be eliminated from the running practically right off the bat!”

“I suppose so…” admitted Charlie, though she still seemed rather unsure. This whole conversation had become… kind of hilarious, actually. She was also pretty positive that Kevin was just pulling her leg.

Speaking of Kevin, he was now looking at her expectantly.

“So? How about it? Does anyone fit those two things?”

The young woman hummed, tapping her chin with one finger as she mulled it over. “Well, there was one guy who came in wearing a hat that I saw. Biiiig guy, real scary. He wasn’t too much of a bastard to me, though, so I think you might be out of luck. I personally think the hat thing is an optional predictor for victory while the bastard thing is required one hundred percent, but that’s just me.”

“Fuck,” Kevin sighed, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m going to lose so much money.”

A light weight rested on his back, patting gently between his shoulder blades.

“How much did you already bet that someone wearing a hat would win?” Charlie asked, guessing at the reason for his distress.

Kevin groaned in abject misery.

“Too freakin’ much.”

 

[Omelette Robotnik]

The battle had begun. Ballistic broccoli and airborne asparagus clashed with grenadine grenades and macaroni missiles. Slurt took a face-full of mashed potatoes, and a sudden joy filled his boyish heart as he wiped it away and counter-attacked with a handful of chicken fingers scooped off a plate beside him. Jester dodged the barrage like a dancer, and Slurt knew this was the life he wanted to live from now on. No more scrounging on the streets. No more falling asleep while ignoring the gnawing in his stomach. He wanted a life where food was so plentiful, that it could be used as a toy. Even hours earlier, the idea would have seemed nearly blasphemous, but he couldn’t help it. It was just so much fun!

A burly fellow with a decidedly foreign childish-grin plastered on his face, sent him tumbling across the dirty restaurant floor in a comical roll. But the young lad didn’t panic, as he usually would. For the first time in his life, he was lost in the simple pleasure of being a child at play. His bare feet slid in a puddle of strange-smelling liquid as he regained his feet, a wide smile signaling his intention to return the favor with whatever foodstuff happened to be close at hand. But… that smile slipped away, and his heart filled with dread, when Slurt realized that he could no longer see Jester in all the commotion.

Suddenly, he remembered that he was in a room full of strangers. Big strangers. Strong strangers. Memories of a life spent running and hiding from the dangers of the street flooded his young mind. Slurt’s breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as his eyes continued to scan the room. She… she had to be here somewhere, right? He didn’t know her that well… but she had been nice to him, and that was all the little goblin had to hold onto. Christine was gone. Jester was gone. And he was alone again.

His large eyes welled up with unbidden tears, obscuring his vision and causing him to fearfully wipe them away as soon as they appeared, lest he miss the sight of his blue friend. And then, as though by a miracle, a gap in the crowd formed and he saw her. She was still dipping and dodging, each fistful of food passing her by without so much as sullying her check with a crumb. Slowly, at first, but with increasing speed, he rushed towards her. His feet slid in the thickening mass of food on the floor, and he stumbled into furniture and people, but eventually he found her. Immediately, the little boy wrapped his arms tightly around her leg and buried his face into her pants, sobbing uncontrollably.

“M-mis Jestaw! Whewe wewe you!?”

“Oh, shush, shush, now… I am right here,” Jester cooed, while ducking down behind an overturned table and trying to peel the young goblin from her leg “We are going to have to work on that separation anxiety, my little squish-face. I do not know how you got here, but… well, when we get to that island, we are not going to be together all of the time. We are all going to be alone, and that will seem very, very scary...but it will be okay. Technically, we all have the same odds...technically.”

“J-Jimmy dawed me to do it! I didn’t wanna join! Not weawwy! And you… you can’t tuwn down a dawe, Miss Jestaw! It’s da ruwes! But I’m just a widdle kid and I thought dat maybe dey wouwdn’t wet me in…” Slurt continued in a rush of words, voice muffled by Jester’s pant-leg. “I’m so scawed, Miss Jestaw! I seen da videos thwough da stowe window! Peopew die hewe, wight? Am… am I gonna die too?”

By this point, the blue-hued cleric’s leg was a sodden mess of goblin snot and tears, but she put on her best comforting tone and leant over, giving the little boy an awkward hug that moved him from her leg to her stomach.

“Now, now, little one. It is going to be okay. It is probably alright. Probably. You prooobably don't need to worry, I think it will be fine. I do not think Christine is the kind of woman to let anything happen to you. And neither will I,” she said, gently stroking Slurt’s little green head and pretending she wasn’t secretly upset over the mess on her clothes. All that work dodging food, only to get slimed by a crying kid. Ironic.

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

Josuke Higashikata, Chara Dreemurr, and Lilith walked into a Pizzeria together.

What was this? A joke?

Chara gave the quip some thought, before choosing against saying it aloud. She’d already ticked off Lilith inviting Josuke over, and she didn’t need to be in more hot water with her…

Not girlfriend.

Not friend.

Not comrade.

Not hated foe.

Rival? Nah…

…Her Lilith. Good enough.

She ordered Hawaiian, Josuke turned up his nose and chose a meatlovers, And she was pretty sure Lilith just repeated that one on the instinct of hearing ‘meatlovers’ and because it allowed her to put the minimum effort into this interaction.

“...I’ll make it up later.” Chara would whisper to her companion, the action slightly surprising Lilith before she just shot back a look of “you better.”

“So, you are from Erde as well?” Chara would ask Josuke, as the strange teenager leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah, From Morioh. Okuyasu would have been here with me, but he’s down with something.

Chara squinted. “...You wanted to bring your friend with you?”

Josuke gave a shrug at that. “I heard he did well last time. Why wouldn’t he?”

Chara gave him a look. “Well, correct me if I am wrong, but you are here for casual interest, right?” Chara asked, not sure if she could keep up the ‘stupid’ act entirely with Josuke. Bless his heart, she could see the innocence and zest for life from his features to his clothing, but…

One of them needed to be a smart one here. Luckily for her, Lilith was chomping at the bit to spell it out.

“Okay, this beating around the bush is pissing me off.” Lilith would say to her companion, giving Josuke a venomous look. “This isn’t the peace and friendship tournament. People come here to kill people in a big murder orgy. It’s the murder orgy event! And it’s pretty clear you haven’t even thought of killing a dude in your life!”

Josuke looked surprised at that, as the information hit him. “Well, I heard this time people are going to be working together-”

Chara sighed, leaning in. “Josuke.” She would say slowly. “People have the option to work together. That does not mean they will do so.”

Josuke looked up with a confident grin. “Then I just beat them up. Problem solved.”

Chara gave a shake of her head. “Admirable simplicity…”

Lilith gave a snort. “-cough stupidity cough”

Chara gave a long sigh at the comment, but… she wasn’t wrong, exactly.

“Josuke… this tournament ends with a set of winners and a set of dead people. No TKO’s. That’s how it works in Karl Jak’s world.”

“Th…” Josuke stammered, as the light changed in his eyes. “Then I’ll convince them…”

Chara would offer a sad smile despite herself, shaking her head. It was naive, foolish, and proof of a very pure soul. It was something she had to cure him of for them to move forward, but…

Well, she wished humans like him weren’t so rare.

“Lilith, do you plan on making peace with the other contestants?” Chara would ask, waiting for the expected middle finger.

“Fuck no! I came here to melt some faces, not just enjoy a friendship circle. I am looking way too forward to melting that squishy little face of yours~!” Lilith cooed, a hand brushing across Chara’s cheek

She did not shrink back, though her eyes flashed crimson as she stared Lilith in the eyes for that, a lazy confidence shining through them. “And you are welcome to receive your judgement for trying.” Chara would offer, before giving a sigh as she turned to Josuke.

“Lilith happens to be my… companion for the evening. She is also a murderer of dozens of people for no other particular reason than because that is who she is. At least, as far as I can tell.” Chara would say, her eyes boring a hole in Josuke’s own, as the truth started to finally hit, his fingers tightening around his pizza. Chara took the chance to take a bite of her own - she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was starving - and surprised both of them when she downed the pizza in about two bites, reducing it to a lump in her throat in a couple seconds.

“...I’d like to see you try that on a hot dog!!” Lilith complained at the display, though Josuke’s mind clearly switched back to the previous topic.

“The point is, you have important choices to make from here.” Chara replied, feeling nostalgic. “Many here have no real desire to harm if they can avoid it, but greed, Fear, hatred… they all have their own reasons to fight. Some of them you may have to kill, for the sake of your own life. Others…” Chara replied, leaning back as she looked Jousuke in the eyes. “While it is very difficult to kill only those necessary, betrayal is an excellent way to kill the kind-hearted. You will have to tell friend from foe correctly to survive.”

Josuke’s expression seemed to shatter at that, and his world whirred with the implications. She could swear she almost seemed to see him tear up for a moment as he wrestled with the idea. “...And which are you?”

Chara just gave a smile. “I do not intend to kill anyone I do not have to. Nor am I looking for a great prize. I just want to go home and see my brother.”

Lilith leaned in on Chara, getting uncomfortably close to the girl’s ear. “Not thinking of skipping out on me, are you?”

Chara just gave her a smile. “If you do not cheat on me by attacking my companions first, I think I can make sure I take your life personally. Is that a deal?”

“Only if you promise - no mercy~.” Lilith shot back.

A crimson knife materialized just beneath Lilith’s chin, as Chara bent in with an easy smile. “I promise. I have prepared for our second date in advance. I am certain you will… enjoy what I have planned~.”

Lilith’s previous annoyance left - at least for the moment - as she flashed a smile towards Chara, her shoulders slacking in satisfaction.

“...So in short, Lilith is not the only one Lilith-ing at this death convention.” Chara would volunteer, looking to Josuke. “And we will both have to make our choices on who lives and who dies.”

She expected to see Josuke’s shoulders fall, and they did. She expected to see tears fall from his eyes, and they didn’t. The expected deep breath came as she watched, but it wasn’t accompanied by a break in voice. The man looked up to her with new eyes, one little sigh erasing his nervousness.

“Good grief. That’s just great.” Josuke groaned, as his expression hardened. “I can’t believe this is what I got myself into… but I’m here, I signed up.”

His fist tightened as he placed it on the table. “I can’t say it is a noble goal, or that I’m particularly virtuous for making my decision so late, but still… I want to save as many people as I can. During the tournament. Will you help me do this?” Josuke asked, looking Chara straight in the eyes.

Chara gave a grateful smile to the teen, happy at this. Perhaps she had found something to bind together those desperate few that needed it. Better than a banner, a symbol of peace. Now it would come down to if Josuke could fulfil the role she’d already started planning for him.

“I do have a date to get back to. How about you head over to the Tailor’s Syntech have here, and we will meet up a little later?”

“Tailors?” Josuke asked, as Chara leaned forward and whispered her magnum opus as quietly as possible. Josuke’s face turned from confused, to thoughtful, before a gigantic grin planted itself from ear to ear on his face.

“That’s a great idea!”

 

[Gildarts]

Spoiler

The shadows of the dimly lit hallway parted their faces, lining the curves of their features as though each were looking out a window, simply through one another. Parting between the shadows were shades of gray creating distance between them. Contouring the distinct sincerities of the moment that were drawn within the lines of a perfect picture.

The height of this encounter set Christine’s nerves in a prickle of danger. The feeling clattered against her mind before the smoke of thought formed into shape.

The perpetual moment lingered between them. Pulling and giving way as they each impressed themselves against it. Her sense was heightened by the collision and spray of rash thoughts that came with the threat of him. It hung, airing in the moment. Swept underneath the broad skin of two rival minds.

The context clues of the confidence in his gait began her mind’s Michelangelo level of a masterful scribble. With the scalpel of her mind, she would carve out the truest path.

Proverbial poker. She felt the match brewing. The questions danced. Where would the cards fall? Who held the entire deck? These answers were held in the breaths they didn’t breathe. Tiny coded secrets held within the words they hadn’t spoken, rather than between the words they did. The prison of words of this exchange would be the loser’s tomb.

Time had slowed to the heightened moments in between the blink of an eye. Through their staring contest they tried to detect the mirrored/paralleled shades of morally gray in comparison to their own. To see how much of a match their histories drew in contrast to one another.

The sketch of minds had to be a quick one, a fervid skatter of hints placed upon the page of action that only instinct could draw. A colorless impression of who they were to one another. Predator, foe, friend? Rival? They would know at the end of this altercation whose confidence might rest in the hands of the victor.

The man saw right through her. Her presence was haunting, if you let it be. But to him she was nothing more than a slightly intimidating witch. His rich voice playfully beckoned her as he eyed the toothpick on her hip. “Will I be next?”

See, society hates murder because of the suspicion it places in our minds overriding society’s natural complacency of trust. With one simple question, the very question he had just asked. Each, however, seemed to have a sense in knowing that death and murder could be good or bad. Even when there was none. Still there was always someone that tried to assign the meaning of it all. And Christine got the sense it wouldn’t be either of them.

The answer of this conversation would fall to the winner to decide just that. It was the ultimate debt for either to pay out to one another. Any debt at all, for either of them, was utter and complete failure. Worth every tooth and claw it would take to climb to the top.

Weakness? Intolerable. Their unrelenting beast wouldn’t allow it. In which case, each knew the rules.

And it was time to deal.

Christine responded in a subtly smooth tone as the cards began to fall, clues stacking upon hints that they gave within their words to one another. Context? Who needed it. This decision, to gauge who they are, was everything. Christine responded by matching his playful tone with her own, “Be careful what you wish for.”

The gentle stacking of facts tilted until either of their chips would fall. A sketch drawn from each one of their individual smatterings of self-proclaimed justice. How much gray fell in the lines and what would be left black and white. Depth of illustration, designed in a mere glance of an exchange. It was not within their words. But amid the grind of pressure against them.

The duality of reflection in their shared ensnared gaze. Unmatchable by any others. His, ultra reflective. Hers, a deep abyss.

“Your eyes.” She casually regarded his most striking feature. There was something about his eyes that were different. She played her interest as lightly curious. Like hers, but also, certainly not. She sensed the killer equally in him. Something that happened naturally among beasts of men. And just as he, she would not relent. “They look like they see things most people would miss.”

Oh, the words she was saying in between the words she was saying.

Riddick leaned in, his coy response smothered by the deep rasp in his voice, “It’s a [/i]secret[/i].”

“Then maybe I can take a guess.” Christine was fully ready to shoot the shit. Her confidence bounded from the charisma she allowed to roll off her. Her poised posture illustrated her unforgiving nature. She was ready for anything and everything.

Christine tilted her head as the possibilities swished in her mind. The man was a predator. Nocturnal. She felt a click of response from her gut. Highly likely. Maybe he sensed heat? That was also likely, since her vapid existence emanated none, it would’ve caught his attention enough for him to come over in the first place.

Her now blackened hair, as though scorched by death itself tossed past her shoulder. Without telling her, he told her everything. Though, the woman couldn’t help but to wonder if he was able to see through her own darkness too.

“Something tells me you don’t see what you want to see when you get an impression of people.” Christine spoke again before deducing. “You’re not afraid of their dark.”

The stranger’s brow raised. He smirked. “You got that right, sister.”

“So, I can’t help but to wonder, if you see me as I am?” Christine took an aggressive step forward. Closing the space. His reaction was nothing, though she felt within a fighter’s sense that his muscles tensed and lay at the ready.

She then held his gaze for a moment, before stepping back. “Or maybe you came over just wanted to dance?” She regarded her previous encounter with the prior clumsy youth barely snagged away to this moment, where she needed each thought in between to run fluently for her. Her survival depended on it.

Motion of their words continued to ripple in time as Christine felt no need to move her still steaming hand away. The vapor rolling out of her was her version of blood. Maybe he’d see this with his special eyes. Ironically, if he noticed, he didn’t seem like the type to care on the same level as others.

Interest, for him, was deeply rooted in his own survival.

It wasn’t blood leaking out of her skinsuit. But the subtle flow of ashy smoke. Unabashed, she raised her hand for him to examine her own most distinct feature. By doing so, she declared to herself that she was confident and even stronger. And would never shy away from letting him see the darkness that lie within her form. Perhaps it was one even he could not see with the pair of moonstones he had for eyes.

“You’ve got yours and I’ve got mine.” She pronounced, alluding to his secret.


The man gazed at his reflection in the pitless depths of the void that was her eyes.

Truth? He could tell she had a mutual killer instinct. He admitted to himself he even liked, well rather, respected that in her. But would he use it against her? The thought grew within his mind as he narrowed his eyes. Shortening the measured distance between his focus on her.

She thought she was hot shit. She walked around like she owned the place. However, he had noticed that shift within her. The flicker as she’d gotten up and quickly run into a place that she wouldn’t be seen. Not so much to hide, no, this was a woman who would never lurk in the shadows. It was not within her nature, he deduced. Instead, something told him, the thought stood out in his mind, that she was like him in a way.

Control however, was everything. Perhaps she was losing hers. If she was it sure as hell didn’t seem like she’d lost her edge with it. Her eyes, sharper than any blade. Verbal combat? Impeccable at describing that great I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.

“Good, then you know better than anyone what it means to keep one.” The man said calmly. The impending words hung above her.

Christine didn’t get this far in the universe, unable to detect these tiny, finite pieces of herself as they bonded into life. Her instincts told her he was the greatest threat to her in the room. Not because of anything other than his lethal observation. So far, her assumption was being proven. He deserved her utmost attention because of this. Analysis was everything. It painted the strength in her own resolve.

He knew everything he needed to through mere observation alone. This told her enough about the type of threat he posed. The type of threat she was in the face of. Not because of his physical ability, but because of his beastly ability to sniff out blood. His own inner truth was ruthless. Much like her own. She felt the conflict arise, twinging at her confidence. Would she pale in comparison?

Their ultimate difference, she began to suss out, amid the pause of brainwaves amid their vocal tussle, was that he didn’t care about consequence, despite being ultra aware of it. This complexity was certainly a hurder for her. Meanwhile Christine, a flicker of a smile passed through her lips as the thought crossed her mind. She reflected through her observation of him, in contrast that she herself enjoyed the consequences. It was her high. The only high she could get within her hollow, lifeless body.

Maybe it was the same for him. The woman was curious. This was a question however, she wasn’t sure how to ask within asking.

She pronounced her deduction of his character plainly. “I can tell you’re the type of person who isn’t afraid to die. You use this as an asset. You can probably tell with me, I’m the same. However, the reason is not because I’m anything like you. It is because I am already dead.” She said unexpectedly. Maybe this stranger’s presence brought out her truth. Maybe, she felt like he was the only person that she could share it with.

The stranger was uncertain if she meant this literally, or just as a metaphor. Coulda been both given the woman’s… Shadowy presence. Unlike everyone else here, she seemed particularly devoid of light. Sucking it in rather than reflecting it out.

She continued, “So I ask you, as a man of… Many talents.” Many murders “What do you think the difference between good and evil is?” Would his answer be the same as his definition of life and death?

The room. The life. And the death that always followed both of them. Always trailing behind the pair of captive killers in a tether of mangled corpses. Stalking the innermost of their minds.

His eyes flashed with seriousness. They drew lines within their words. Worlds within the worlds of one another. The ultimate cross of rivals.

She felt a flicker, a sense of the predator’s scent on her. Fear? No, she’d bled the last trace of that out long ago. This was one of a lingering question alone. She felt the power of that question flood her. She knew then that first blood had been drawn.

Proverbial, not literal.

The man’s brow furrowed. The first glimpse of a genuine expression she’d seen in him. He wasn’t trying to be clever when he asked her plainly, “What do you mean you’re dead?”

He wanted her to spell it out for him. Christine felt the agonizing question split her mind in two. “I am only barely a part of the world of the living. I’m sure you can see it with those powerful eyes of yours, my lack of blood, flesh… Life.”

The conversation’s captor toggled with the concept of this in his mind. He’d heard some fucked-up shit in his life, but nothing quite like this. He let the concept settle in before jumping to a response for her.

Within the draw of silence, inner doubt began to explode in her thoughts. The reason? She could not perceive whether or not he wanted to kill her then and there. Just to see if her claim was true.

He sensed the sudden flow of displaced ease in her breath and she knew then he wouldn’t ever, ever hesitate. The brawny killer regarded this. Perhaps this was the reason his reptilian predatory sense for her was omitted from his instincts. Leaving him without the need.

Christine’s subtle, flickering smile of amusement grew into a cold and rigid line. She considered the value she placed on her own being. The risks and extent she would go to assure her survival until the end of this wretched existence. It would define their perhaps inevitable deathmatch’s winner. Was it more than his? Was it enough? Or… Would it even be enough?

Christine’s doubt, her questioning. He seemed to relish in it.

It was then, within the sight of her own inner turmoil, the glimpse of vulnerability he’d inferred, that she had sensed him fully. At the fall of her own guard, she was able to see through him. And through the depths of herself she found a very important hint, intuition prompted her to ask herself a question that superseded her once-mounting doubt of where exactly he fell in the balance between her own life and death.

He decided her survival? Would she allow that? No, she too was unrelenting as the revelation descended in her mind. She’d been so focused on the threat he posed to her, what about finding his crux?

The new question. So, so simple. What was the curse he bore? For she now knew, the answer was his weakness. The same as hers.

Furthermore, she finally had the answer of the poker match that lay suspended in between the words of reality and those within her mind.

They… Were due to end in a draw.

The consequence of this weighed in Christine’s mind as a new question arose? How could she use this knowledge?

If the stranger knew this, if they were to continue on this path, she sensed he wouldn’t stand for it. The threat of losing what she could gain from the situation pressed in her mind. Christine tampered with the idea of allowing him to think he’d won. Would he even be able to tell?

She regarded him again, she needed a new light for this picture. A need for a new perspective alleviated with each in-between moment of their gaze.

Ego and arrogance did not run through this man like any other. This stranger whose sense of self began within his id. That fact alone was hard to avoid. It fueled the power of his unpredictability. And she was finding it harder and harder to convince herself this man didn’t need to die.

“Difference? Universally speaking? There is none.” He concluded her last question. The one regarding good and evil. He offered a soft nod, “Individually speaking, it’s everything. Survival.” The thing that pushes people to do things they would not even consider on a daily basis, amid the monotony of society’s complacent routine.

This was it. She let the words he spoke morph her perception of him. She now knew who he was and this confirmed it. She felt the smile return to her lips. With his response, she knew he would respect, or at least understand her quest then. His conclusion was one she pronounced her agreement, “Life, ironically being something you’d kill for.”


The woman before him was quite a piece of work. He sized her up again, seeing her make these statements and sensing an angle forming. She acted like she knew it all. Maybe she even thought she did, Hell, in her own reality, she surely did and if anything told her differently, she probably wiped the floor with them.

Except, the stranger knew something she didn’t.

The deciding factor on this woman was her remarkable ability to observe the truth. So far, he’d sensed no lie, no desperation in her words. Barely any emotion at all. Though, if she opted to feign weakness or sought to lie for her own betterment. His decision, his knowing that it always, always mattered who was the victor. Longterm, short term, past, present, everything that happened decided the future.

Because the past was the very factor of who was able to put it all on the line and sacrifice anything and everything and still be able to get exactly what they came here for. He’d come here for answers too. He felt his eyes soften as he realized that’s all she wanted from him.

But for what? He questioned with annoyance that she, like the answer, evaded him.

He didn’t know what the exact point of her observational remarks were meant to reveal. But it didn’t matter. He knew himself, he knew the lines people expected to put on conversations like these. She wasn’t drawing within those lines and rather was making her own.

At the end of the day, there would always be a question of who was the greatest lion to rule the plains. It was a question no one ever had to ask because they always knew who ruled.

Who was the most badass motherfucker? No one could claim it didn’t matter. Because the answer was the person nobody dared to fuck with. They understood and lived with it. Because if they challenged his rule. They would die.

The stranger’s thoughts wove together, drawing a final line with a single dot of finality at the end.

That answer. The victor. Was him.

Within their tangle of words, they both knew.

However, this premature declaration would be his ultimate weakness. His gut told him the answer he knew as it garnered his suspicion. The one he’d been led to. By her.

The context of the importance of this drew a fresh new line over his finalized portrait of the woman. His previous thoughts on canvas all may as well have been destroyed.

Damn, she was a piece of work.


Overall, so far she had been dying to know him. Enough that she would take a strategic risk. She had already drawn her own first-blood. To reveal she was the least afraid of what he could ever do to her. Would she find herself going further still?

Wondering if he saw her plot already, her eyes laced with his. The solemn intensity of their exchange, unmatched.

They were twins. Everything was always on the table in each breath, each moment. It wasn’t a lifestyle choice, but a mentality of conquest. Each knew that everything was at stake. Because their survival was their everything. Because each of them knew that each moment would lead up to the next. And the next could be their last. If they weren’t careful. This analysis… Led her to a new question within herself.

The question being, would she dare to stop him? Was she foolish or brave enough? Her distinguishing marks would reveal herself whether she liked it or not. All the stranger had to do was wait for his moment to strike.


His silence had meant he agreed with her, to an extent.

The depth of their commonality straddled that of gazing into a mirror as each new word and moment added a fresh detail to their exchange of ever-changing portraits.

What both of them knew was that they were staring at their portraits of one another. A face was just a face. Beyond their perceptions lay the details they’d chosen to regard. Each hint they defined as worthwhile from the thin wrinkles crowding his eyes to the subtle purple tint under her own. Their gazes, both too confident and yet each one of them too ballsy to ever consider backing down. Because they sensed the inner monster in one another. Each, unrelentingly bared their covert teeth.

Their clash, a question of who was bigger and badder, was one only destiny could provide an answer to.

Their survival hinged in any context, on who could paint a more accurate one faster. This danger alone was perhaps even more visceral than any kill they had taken before. Better than a dagger pressed against her jugular, or the edge of her katana’s reach poking the underneath of his chin.

They were, at present, neck and neck. As they gallantly played their game of life and death, with the ease only a killer could pull from. Each, drawing their defining lines without needing to draw their blades.

A fresh reflection at her fast analysis of what Christine saw at her rough sketch of him and all her thoughts that had come before was that of… A challenge.

My, it had been a while since she’d met one so formidable.

They knew without words what each of them were to one another. But they also knew that each craved this, no they lived for this. For it was how the mind of a beast measured defined themselves. They had each previously slain to ascend to the same feeling. The paramount in between of the twin beasts alike was to meet their eventual match in the wild. Or perhaps it was destiny calling.

The truth no one wanted to look at was the key to winning the hunt was also about finding their own death. The ultimate dilemma of a monster with a deadly survival instinct was about deciding when. And always believe that voice in their head, the grip in their gut. Each knew their power. They each had the power to choose when.

And more distinctly, when not to die.

Christine smirked as she made the ultimate revelation. In this, she chose her own time of demise. It would be now. Not a literal death, her loss? Her tomb? Pride was the only hint of sacrifice. She wouldn’t even feel the remorse of its loss. She knew it was not this moment, albeit her strategy would conclude with a different final product. She did not want his blood the way she craved that of the weak simply because they were equals. Though fact alone this was not victory enough. The end result she thirsted for was not his death at her hands.

There was only one way to get what she actually wanted.

The stranger surely assumed victory ended in death, or forfeit, or at the cost of his challenge. She saw a new path. One that was different from the war currently waged against one another.

She intended to find out if she could gain the upper hand. She reminded herself she was speaking not simply for herself but as well for two others she had previously acquainted herself with, those who dwelled outside the conservation.


The mercenary knew how things got made. He was also aware she was playing a fun little game of poker amid their little talk. Subtleties could be her definition. He however, played a different game entirely.

See, the funny thing about poker is that it wasn’t even poker at all. They were playing a game of bullshit. There was no need to sugarcoat it. Who was more chicken? Who would flinch first? That’s who would lose in the end. No blades or blood, just whoever ended first and they’d count the chips.

He’d been drawn to approach her for curiosity’s sake alone. Or, because he had sensed when blood was about to be drawn, and by who. At that moment, she’d been it.

If he didn’t have this instinct, he’d already be dead. His instinct told him that it was definitely this bitch who looked like she was always ready for a kill. It told him that was how she had a good time.

But, maybe he’d give her the benefit of the doubt. Give her an opportunity for honesty. He seemed to know what he was dealing with. She certainly seemed capable of such a feat. So far, it had paid off. What may have been her deepest secret and vulnerability, he’d caught her not so red handed.

However, she had not shied away. He admired that in an enemy. Now was his turn to lean in. See if he could get her to admire him in the same way. In a way that might leave her quaking in her boots. Or, in a way maybe he wouldn’t expect. Either way, making a splash and then seeing whether or not people managed to float was amusing. Bullshit, poker, this conversation. Whatever, it was all sink or swim.

He in his life was not defined by the seasons that would trick someone into believing he was any bit of a behaviorist. He simply was an amalgamation of behavior and because of this saw everything so clearly. Answers he looked for not in her eyes for the clues to read the truth in her soul.

When he looked closer for this clue, he found however, there was a gap in his logic. A page missing from the book of her life. However not one he would ever miss. Which proved to him she was the one missing it.

Instinct rushed in with a frenzy of swelled adrenaline. He’d found it. Her jugular. He kept his credence hidden behind his own upturned lips.

Her morality. It was missing. Just omitted like the puffs of smoke still spewing from the splices in her hand and the distinct lack of blood.

She wasn’t fearless, she was incapable of fear.

Her inner moral compass? Was actually quite literally gone. Unlike his, which had been crumpled up and stuffed in a jar so deep inside him he’d forgotten which unlabeled piece of himself it hid itself away in.

The difference between them, he pinpointed. Was that he didn’t need his. And hers… Perhaps she was looking to retrieve it where it had gone missing.

His considerable tone narrated the moment of his ultimate deduction. Call it what you want, soul-searching, self-reflection. It had worked. He’d found her Achilles’ heel. He gazed at her with a new twinkle in his eye. Now, the idea teased his mind.

What to do with it? This all important information? The crux of her being. He looked at her, trying to decide. Her fate, a ball to be molded, resting in his hands.


Christine felt it. The vulnerable tug of his suspicions as they tweezed within her innermost specks. She did not give way to the dense gravity of his presence.

What did the fucker want? She could not help but to wonder this simple question for the adversary across from her. If he could have anything in the world, life, death, opportunity to play god? Within murder were all were one and the same. So, what did this stranger want? The answer was everything. What would his search lead him to do? And what did it have to do with her?

Could she just ask?

She knew his ability to see the light would not detract from the prince of darkness, for she knew deep down that would remain the queen of shadows. It was her very essence. He however, still had a choice about which path he would follow. The slow, stickiness was one she padded so delicately as her mind tossed up the options.

One led by light, or frequented by shadow.

“So, I’ll tell you what you want to know, though you already know it.” Christine would rather opt to cut her own throat with truth in hopes to gain from it, rather than wait and let him have the pleasure. “I’m willing to kill. Plain and simple. Not because I do not think life has value. But because I know it does.”

“Okay...” The man responded, she wasn’t bluffing. Nor was she threatening. Her claim however, seemed baseless. He didn’t understand what she intended to gain from this. Her self-pronounced definition seemed a little out of character. Though, that had been all she was doing.

All while a new thought descended. The nobility and naivety of her meaningless goal to declare her truth reminded him of something he had attempted desperately to forget. Humanity all within one human. One woman.

What about this had brought up this very specific memory? He wanted so badly to push it away, however the fondness of it stuck with him longer than he wanted to admit.

The smirk on his lips turned to a frown that swayed on his chin. His gaze fell upon the one in front of him. Distaste and anger surfaced in him as his eyes rested on the carves of her skin once more. Christine. Her naivety dwelled in a darkness. One he did not want to admit he recognized within himself.

Her? How could she -this bitterly murderous woman- be anything like Carolyn, who had died for him? The answer was no. Solid. Unmoving. But his gut churned, tempted by the press of an open-ended thought.

Maybe.

What a dangerous word. What a threatening, potentially life-altering thought. One that sliced straight to his very core.

No longer was there anything but hesitation within him. All thought seized as they tugged and gambled at the utter hindrance of the concept.

Maybe.

He stared at the portrait. The flame of newly ruptured emotion hidden behind his reflective eyes, tossed up by a blow that landed too close to an old wound.

How could this be the outcome his instinctual dice had tossed at him?

The woman. Her slightly muscular stature was nothing compared to his. Her demeanor was too careless to ever seem serious enough to even deliver death. And her expression? Fraught with the simultaneous engagement of their conversation.

His own must’ve looked the same. Empty and emotionless while their minds tangled in full blaze.

He hated her.

He hated the weakness she’d revealed within him.

The maybe of it was all the hesitation she’d needed to deliver him to. And he’d brought it on himself.

A worthy adversary. An even worthier ally. No, the only worthy person actually worth his time. The hardest pill to swallow? This phantom of a woman had made it seem like hadn’t even tried.

Worse. For Chrsitine was that she had no way of knowing she’d won by revealing everything he needed to know about her, only to reveal his own weakness within himself within the observation. No blood had been drawn. But the memory of blood, the thought of what could be drawn had been enough to stop him in his tracks.


The man tasted the loss and it was worse than actual hot gooey blood on his teeth, but did not let it make him bitter. Even with such a revelation, their rivalry had been a shared defeat, he had won in revealing her weakness too.

A draw indeed.

But, in the wild, where blood truly ran when beasts like them fought. A draw started with blood and ended inevitably in the death of two untended, unrelenting, stubborn ass wolves who would keep going until they were too weak to even lick their own wounds. Each would bleed out. Just lethal enough so the other wouldn’t survive.

He could see it now. Like a duel under moonlight. Two killing blows. Equally laid. They both would lose. Perhaps that was why he had the impression she’d ceded her hand first. Without a whisper of protest.

Because she knew and preferred someone had to win. Christine honored the natural order of things. It seemed, she would have even died for it.

Given the context, she might as well have said: I’m at your service.

The stranger considered this amid his frustration, the pull of a rain-filled memory threatened to take him away. He was liking her more and more despite his own mind moving faster than their conversation could carry.

Amid their draw, it was evident. Christine had chosen him to win. Why?

He could only guess as to why. Self preservation? The natural order of things? The internal juggle continued as the question screamed. Did she think she could use him? The only answer could be to benefit her. Did Christine think she could get her way by ceding their good natured little… Scrimmage.

The ending however, she alone decided. With the collateral offered in her words, she now chose to fall on her own sword when she revealed everything he needed to know about her without even asking. Honesty, complete and utter honesty, truth revealing her ultimate weakness. Her unbridled truth. A jugular he could and would strike at without even bothering to aim.

Her silent whisper began at the parting of her lips. Words meant for his ears and his alone. As though answering the questions he felt forming within him.

“I will tell you everything. I will tell you why.” I kill. “I’m searching for a possession of mine that I have lost possession of. You may not know, or care to understand. My soul is missing from this thing that some might call a sentient body.” I lack a heart, her eyes said with a smoldering subtext.

She explained, “Whether you believe this or not. It is my truth. My soul has been reborn within another presently living person. The only clue I have is that he is someone stronger than me. I search still, because I happen to believe it is still mine. Because of what my existence has meant without it. Who I have become. I am willing to die… More importantly, to kill. I kill others in search of it. Each death provides me an answer. Like chalk on the wall of a cell, tallying up how many days spent in my lifeless prison in vain. Instead of days, I’m spending lives. Life is the currency and it is not mine to cash. But I do it anyway. Because my goal is enough to outweigh its burden.”

Her fervent eyes rested on him as her shield tossed to the wind. Her tone, breathless as it carried the weight of something he did not detect as a lie.

The man regarded this. Mulling it over as the theory of a lie began to dissipate. And a fascinating concept remained unearthed. Her truth. He almost pitied her. Almost.

She was searching for her soul and using their deaths to find her salvation. No the murder of others. And after all these years, he thought he was soulless.

Talk about soul-searching. He smirked sarcastically, “You’re on a search for your soul? Well let me tell you something and save you the trouble.” His gruff voice cackled, “You don’t need it back.”

If she did ever get to return this notion of her soul to herself. He wasn’t sure she would be able to face herself, after all the bloodshed, she probably wouldn’t even be able to look at herself in the mirror. He smirked, basking ever so slightly amid the aptness of his truth. He’d been correct.

He could laugh. And did. Outwardly, a burst that echoed the hollow hall they sulked in amid their hidden exchange. He retorted wryly. Curiously suspicious that she had not told him so that she could freely attempt to kill him too. “And how do you know your soul is not in me?”

“Because you are… Not more powerful than me.” She declared, unflinching as she tested the waters with her analysis. It wasn’t meant to be an insult. “If we would clash, it would end in nothing but a draw. I know it as you know it, to be true.”

“How do you know you’re even killing the right people if you’re able to kill someone you believe is stronger than you?” The man’s grisled voice picked the most irrational point in her logic. She must’ve been crazy if this was her truth. Her truth, a lie she told herself to kill. It wasn’t all that uncommon.

“Simple.” She declared confidently. “By being faster and ultimately better. I don’t need to be stronger than them to win. Just better. Better in every other way.” Her gaze narrowed on him.

She was right. He’d killed bigger guys, impossible situations. Guns versus his bare hands. Deep in the shit, logic would tell anyone, you can’t kill someone without being an equal match. But it wasn’t true. An equal match was hard to find.

He found himself agreeing with her, mostly. The probability they would kill one another rather than one die before the other was likely enough.

Plus, the man couldn’t call bullshit on something that was just outrageous enough to be true. Plus, she did seem to be fast. If her wit was anything to measure by.

The chips began to fall. Truth being their catalyst. He accepted it.

Touché.

The man thought as he regarded where the cascade of thought was leading both of them. Realizing he’d been clueless. The entire time to her sacrifice. She had forfeited their game just as it had begun in order to show him how she identified, appraised, and regarded his value of the utmost importance.

The answer rested in this. Her own forfeit. She regarded him as more pivotal than herself. And was able to set her self preservation instinct aside in hopes of an acquisition.

The man’s gaze finally settled as his jaw unclenched from the depths of thoughtful contemplation. He regarded the deadly female’s knowing gaze confirmed what he’d already evaluated. She’d lost in order to win his trust. Clever.

Because she knew he was worth it. Her loss, her self mutilation revealing a vulnerable sacrifice. How could she have possibly known out of this entire crowd that he was the only fucker here who wouldn’t explode his own justice on this murderer’s fact against a deprived salvation with an even more daring conclusion now forming within him.

Thing is, it was ballsy.

She’d revealed her final truth. She had wanted him to win.

And? Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

He knew he was damn well worth it.


After the vigor of their intensive mental joust, he considered that he actually liked the outcome. He sat on top. She’d known enough to forfeit. He’d won the game of bullshit before they’d even begun to play. It was enough for him to grin. A leisurely, well-deserved smile.

Victorious, indeed.

All the while, Christine surmised that this had been the only outcome where she won even by losing. The best possible choice for the situation and one that elevated her status in his mind past what he thought even possible.

If neither could win, if they were both bleeding out, both destined to die. She had chosen her path. Simply, to lose.

Within this notion, he found her allegiance to him.


This… Soulless woman standing in front of him could very well have been his ultimate match. She was strategic, smart, and cunning. Everything he wanted in someone who might stab him in the back… But wouldn’t out of respect for the ultimate law of nature. The initiative allegiance she’d revealed so subtly…

He shook his head as he marveled.

She’d created a wolf pack. Called him to be its leader. He howled, and she’d be there.

She’d kill for him without a second thought.

In the context of a death game? Someone who was willing to lose for him. The deeper context was far from coincidental in the game they would soon play.

And you know what? He didn’t doubt it for a second. Her intentions. Her willingness to die with the consequence. The untold sacrifice of truth, appealed to his all important survival instinct. He caught no scent of even a trace of a lie. A soulless woman capable of sacrifice? Now part of his command?

Their wordless pact, this woman was suicidal enough for it all to not only be believable. But for it to be true.

He thought and then threw all this shit out the window.

The woman before him was a fuckin’ monster. And he’d just decided he liked her for it. Because she was now his fuckin’ monster.

He’d cheers to that.

“And what about blue and green over there?” The man alluded to the pair she’d left to dine alone.

Christine smirked, “Funny, in the dark, I thought you only saw in shades of gray.”

***


Check-fucking-mate.

She had it. Her answer. The one her mind predicted that she would stake everything on. All her chips. She’d make her bet and risk everything because she deduced he was just that kind of guy. Her mind decided this confidently as she detached herself from the apparition of events that had happened in her mind’s eye and sought out to make the ending a reality.

She knew her desired outcome before her very first word was spoken. All that had happened in her mind before the first words could come tumbling out of her lips.

That’s right, everything previous to this had been nothing more than Christine’s own narrative speculation on the man across from her. Now, she spiraled as she attempted to tackle walking their conversation backwards, retracing the exact steps her mind had provided in order to get the same results as her scheming imagination promised. She hoped that it would not prove to be the ultimate retcon away from her desired reality.

And, with her drawing of him was completed. Her plan was set.

The question remained, would he take the bait? Could she manage to get there again, just by reading him and dodging the verbal punches he would throw?

Weaving through all that strenuous mental wrestling to get her desired outcome a second time would be the real trick.

If she could pull it off. This time though, the grenade was live. Wire lit. Flame sizzled between them as subtly time was life ticking away.

Her lips opened, for the actual first time to speak words between them. To answer him.

She would bear her truth to a stranger and prevail? Time to see if it would actually work. She held her breath for a moment and drank in the last moment of safety within the timelessness of her mind. That was the play. Of the many blooming in her mind but this was the one that won.

A grin brightened on her illuminated lips as she watched the man ease his posture against the wall. She was glimmered with an impeccable sense of knowingness.

“This? Dangerous?” She looked down at the blade that had severed her soul and destroyed everything in her life. Her smile remained, though it grew hollow with this surfacing thought. Despite this, blissful confidence remained imbued in every subtle fluctuation of her amused tone. “I would ‘ave never thought.”

There was a small pause as she added coyly. “You out of anyone would know this is only a prop.” A utensil used for evil, hardly its means. She called his bluff and added her all-important question. She needed to know the name of the man she had every intention of taking down. Christine inquired, “To whom do I have the pleasure speaking with?”

“The name’s Riddick. And you?” His gruff voice hashed through the smoothness of hers like an impulsive cleaver.

“Christine.” She announced casually, eager to know the man she was willing to intentionally lose to. She was one hell of a gambler to decide to bet everything before having even learned his name. The ever-changing image of this fluctuating moment was all based on feeling over fact. This alone is how she intended to win. Her charming, easy smile remained plastered on her face as though she had already done so.

“That your real name?” His gruff, raspy voice challenged with a smirk. He felt the tugs of deception kneading the uncertainty about her in his gut.

She offered the same smile with a glimmer of an answer in her eyes. But no direct answer to his question. “It’s what I go by.” She offered vaguely. The answer for him lay in what she did not confirm. She did not attempt to challenge him in return.

“You’ve got an awfully big smile on your face to be talkin’ to me.” Riddick felt his senses zero in as his mind lined with suspicion. His tone was playful as he responded to her lack of an answer with his own vague accusation. He hoped to extract the truth, painlessly or not. He might even get more than he’d asked.

Instead she had something more valuable to give him. “I have something to tell you. The very reason I live for. Perhaps the only thing I would ‘appily die for. And I have chosen to reveal it to you.”

“And just why would I need to know that?” Riddick playfully challenged again, unrelenting, his satisfactory tone was not amused however, by whatever bullshit she was about to feed him. Sure, he was curious about what she had to say, but he’d rather know the reason she wanted to be so open with him in the first place before hearing any more.

This was the ever-shifting moment that changed the portrait of the picture of Riddick she’d drawn and colored in. Once, so sure. Now, Christine held her breath. Caught with the sideswiping punch of change that shook her collateral with just one blow.

She concluded her thought with a sudden, unexpected declaration. “Because I’d kill for you.” And it would mean nothing to her to do so out of context, death to her was just a splash of blood. However, to do it for another, being as selfish as this woman seemed to be, well, that was everything he needed to know. Why she felt the need to reveal this, he didn't know.

The only problem? He didn’t need her to.

Because he was a murderer all his own.

 

[Kopaka]

"Well that makes two of us." Riddick grinned. He shifted his weight off of the shadowed wall, and took a step closer to Christine. Their eyes were still mutually locked, unblinking. The wraith took note of his movement as he walked. His padding, heel-toe gait was perfectly silent, even on the polished ceramic floor. For his part, the rogue noted the slight shift of her weight onto her left foot...the twitch of open fingers on her folded hands. A quick draw and cut of her voodoo sword, straight from the scabbard, aimed across his left clavicle.

I'll kill you if I have to.

Well so will I.

But maybe we'll surprise each-other.

Depends.

Don't it always?

These were the sentiments that flickered between them, unspoken, as they loomed at the fringes of each other's deadly reach. Riddick lingered there for a moment, then slipped past her, just barely inside the boundary of her personal bubble. It was close enough that she could feel the heat, the life, of his skin on her cold husk of a body.

"Whatever we get up to, you can bet I'm gonna go all in." he growled. Christine inclined her head to watch him slink down the hallway.

"It is the only way to live, monsieur." she said flatly.

"Hm." Riddick chuckled, "...I like that. I'll see you around, toots."

So things got real fuckin' French there for a minute. It's a good thing I've had practice for those kinds of staring contests after bluffing my way through all kinds of shakedowns. This Christine lady is gonna be a problem for me one way or another. The last thing I need is someone taking special interest in me, or, someone I'm tempted to take interest in.

Either option is gonna give me a twitch, and that's gonna be a problem when you're forced to live at a hundred miles per hour...staying ahead of the pack.

Speaking of the herd, I had planned on casing out the other bounties on the menu for this year's game, but I'm told by a purple shirt that it's time to get put in my pre-show box. You can imagine I'm mighty tempted to make it someone's problem, but that don't get me closer to the score.

Nah, I'll play along for now. If I'm gonna undercut both Karl Jak and Tibus Heth in one week, I need to start picking my battles carefully.