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.
[Preshow] The Recreation Dome
- Thread starter Karl Jak
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Marriage, to Dr. William Birkin, was a meeting of the minds, a grand merger of intellects. It was about finding someone who shared his goals, someone who could at least somewhat match his intelligence, someone who would fully support him in all of his various and highly questionable scientific endeavors.
And if there was one person Birkin felt he could count on in this cold, uncaring universe, it was his wife.
Except not right now, because she’d sicced fucking Wesker on him.
Birkin's hand spasmed, the pen in his grasp trembling with a blend of anger and over-caffeinated fatigue, nearly tearing through the pages of his notebook as he scrawled sharp, erratic marks on its surface—markings that looked more like the ravings of a lunatic than the methodical work of a gifted scientist. His knuckles paled from the strain, his head tilted at a sharp angle, an awkward brick of a phone nestled between the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"I can’t believe this," Birkin nearly spat, the words hissing like steam from a pressure valve. "My own wife and my greatest intellectual rival, conspiring against me!"
All around him, one of the Recreation Dome’s many fancy food courts buzzed with idle chitchat and the clatter of silverware, a weirdly mundane setting for the, quite frankly, fucking absurd conversation he found himself tangled up in.
Not that anyone paid him any mind. Most of his fellow employees were acclimatized to Birkin's countless ‘spirited’ telephone discourses by now, and those who didn’t know him seemed leery of the man’s frenzied scribbling and gave him wide berth, anyway.
Thank god.
"Oh, please," Wesker's voice was a staticky chuckle in Birkin’s ear, slick and dark like oil on water. If Birkin didn’t know his old buddy so well, he definitely would’ve gotten the heebie-jeebies; as it was, he merely sneered contemptuously. "Don’t be so dramatic, William. Dear Annette is merely… concerned for your well-being, and I concur with her assessment. Be realistic. You're a lab rat, not a fighter."
His face screwing up into an ugly scowl, Birkin hunched his shoulders further, sinking down into his seat. His eyes darted across his chicken scratch notes, as if he hoped they might spontaneously manifest a clever rebuttal to Wesker's heckling.
Instead, a crumb fell from his hastily gnawed-on ham and cheese sandwich and onto the page, leaving a tiny smudge of grease on the scattered numbers and formulas.
"A lab rat," Birkin grumbled under his breath as he flicked away the crumb with a scoff. His chair squeaked in protest as he shifted his weight around, one knee jumping with a fitful, jittery energy. "Where do you even get off, Al! And when did you and Annie start getting so chummy, huh?"
William started suddenly. He slanted an accusing glance at the hard plastic phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder, his blue eyes narrowing down to stormy slits.
"Wait a sec. You’re not… seeing each other or something, are you?" he asked, tone low with suspicion, a hint of paranoid tension creeping into his slumped shoulders. "Actually, don’t bother answering that. I couldn’t care less. But you better not be trying to take my research by cozying up to my wife, Albert Wesker!"
"I assure you, William, I have far better things to do than put your fractured marriage out of its misery," Wesker’s voice crackled from the receiver. A soft hiss of static marked a quiet, disappointed sigh. "You truly have no idea what awaits you out there, do you…? The physical rigors alone would surely be enough to break a man of your… stature."
Birkin paused mid-scribble, feeling a tad bit self conscious, but mostly pissed. His stature was… it was fine! Wasn’t it?
The virologist straightened slightly in his seat, thoroughly offended, and puffed out his scrawny, too-thin chest. "My genius will make up for any… alleged shortcomings," he insisted, clenching his jaw. "Strength isn’t everything, you know. That’s why there’s that saying! You know the one. Brains over brawn."
"And what of your fellow competitors? They're not exactly going to be playing fair," Wesker's sibilant voice sneered in a familiar way that never failed to send a jolt of ire through Birkin. "Your brains won’t be worth very much when they’re spattered all over the walls, will they?"
William shoved back from the table, standing abruptly enough that his chair toppled over with a loud clatter. A few heads turned in his direction, but they quickly lost interest and returned to their meals and discussions upon seeing some nerdy little guy in a lab coat just kinda… standing there. Birkin barely noticed; his focus was laser-like on Wesker's disembodied taunting.
"Says the guy who called me about gluing his arm back on when your people fudged it," Birkin countered viciously into the phone pressed hard against his ear, his fingers wrapped tightly around it, almost crushing it in his grip. "I don’t need fair! With Golgotha, I… I have everything!"
Wesker let out a heavy exhale, a condescending sigh that was so thoroughly laden with false sympathy that it seemed practically designed to only aggravate Birkin further.
"Perhaps," he drawled, sounding uninterested. "This little tantrum of yours aside… do remember to consider my previous offer. Annette has informed me that you’ve been funneling her the necessary funds for a private endeavor. I would simply hate to continue such a personal project in your stead, but if I must…"
The line went dead. Birkin stood there for a moment, swaying slightly... then glanced sharply down at the fallen chair.
Slowly, he crouched down, straightened it out, brushed away any debris from the seat, and settled back into it.
Fine, then. He’d just… do it himself.
And if there was one person Birkin felt he could count on in this cold, uncaring universe, it was his wife.
Except not right now, because she’d sicced fucking Wesker on him.
Birkin's hand spasmed, the pen in his grasp trembling with a blend of anger and over-caffeinated fatigue, nearly tearing through the pages of his notebook as he scrawled sharp, erratic marks on its surface—markings that looked more like the ravings of a lunatic than the methodical work of a gifted scientist. His knuckles paled from the strain, his head tilted at a sharp angle, an awkward brick of a phone nestled between the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"I can’t believe this," Birkin nearly spat, the words hissing like steam from a pressure valve. "My own wife and my greatest intellectual rival, conspiring against me!"
All around him, one of the Recreation Dome’s many fancy food courts buzzed with idle chitchat and the clatter of silverware, a weirdly mundane setting for the, quite frankly, fucking absurd conversation he found himself tangled up in.
Not that anyone paid him any mind. Most of his fellow employees were acclimatized to Birkin's countless ‘spirited’ telephone discourses by now, and those who didn’t know him seemed leery of the man’s frenzied scribbling and gave him wide berth, anyway.
Thank god.
"Oh, please," Wesker's voice was a staticky chuckle in Birkin’s ear, slick and dark like oil on water. If Birkin didn’t know his old buddy so well, he definitely would’ve gotten the heebie-jeebies; as it was, he merely sneered contemptuously. "Don’t be so dramatic, William. Dear Annette is merely… concerned for your well-being, and I concur with her assessment. Be realistic. You're a lab rat, not a fighter."
His face screwing up into an ugly scowl, Birkin hunched his shoulders further, sinking down into his seat. His eyes darted across his chicken scratch notes, as if he hoped they might spontaneously manifest a clever rebuttal to Wesker's heckling.
Instead, a crumb fell from his hastily gnawed-on ham and cheese sandwich and onto the page, leaving a tiny smudge of grease on the scattered numbers and formulas.
"A lab rat," Birkin grumbled under his breath as he flicked away the crumb with a scoff. His chair squeaked in protest as he shifted his weight around, one knee jumping with a fitful, jittery energy. "Where do you even get off, Al! And when did you and Annie start getting so chummy, huh?"
William started suddenly. He slanted an accusing glance at the hard plastic phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder, his blue eyes narrowing down to stormy slits.
"Wait a sec. You’re not… seeing each other or something, are you?" he asked, tone low with suspicion, a hint of paranoid tension creeping into his slumped shoulders. "Actually, don’t bother answering that. I couldn’t care less. But you better not be trying to take my research by cozying up to my wife, Albert Wesker!"
"I assure you, William, I have far better things to do than put your fractured marriage out of its misery," Wesker’s voice crackled from the receiver. A soft hiss of static marked a quiet, disappointed sigh. "You truly have no idea what awaits you out there, do you…? The physical rigors alone would surely be enough to break a man of your… stature."
Birkin paused mid-scribble, feeling a tad bit self conscious, but mostly pissed. His stature was… it was fine! Wasn’t it?
The virologist straightened slightly in his seat, thoroughly offended, and puffed out his scrawny, too-thin chest. "My genius will make up for any… alleged shortcomings," he insisted, clenching his jaw. "Strength isn’t everything, you know. That’s why there’s that saying! You know the one. Brains over brawn."
"And what of your fellow competitors? They're not exactly going to be playing fair," Wesker's sibilant voice sneered in a familiar way that never failed to send a jolt of ire through Birkin. "Your brains won’t be worth very much when they’re spattered all over the walls, will they?"
William shoved back from the table, standing abruptly enough that his chair toppled over with a loud clatter. A few heads turned in his direction, but they quickly lost interest and returned to their meals and discussions upon seeing some nerdy little guy in a lab coat just kinda… standing there. Birkin barely noticed; his focus was laser-like on Wesker's disembodied taunting.
"Says the guy who called me about gluing his arm back on when your people fudged it," Birkin countered viciously into the phone pressed hard against his ear, his fingers wrapped tightly around it, almost crushing it in his grip. "I don’t need fair! With Golgotha, I… I have everything!"
Wesker let out a heavy exhale, a condescending sigh that was so thoroughly laden with false sympathy that it seemed practically designed to only aggravate Birkin further.
"Perhaps," he drawled, sounding uninterested. "This little tantrum of yours aside… do remember to consider my previous offer. Annette has informed me that you’ve been funneling her the necessary funds for a private endeavor. I would simply hate to continue such a personal project in your stead, but if I must…"
The line went dead. Birkin stood there for a moment, swaying slightly... then glanced sharply down at the fallen chair.
Slowly, he crouched down, straightened it out, brushed away any debris from the seat, and settled back into it.
Fine, then. He’d just… do it himself.
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Democles sat on what they called a luxury sofa in the Recreation dome. After his experiences lately, he gritted his teeth, he was clearly frustrated in being pushed to fight more than he had been lately.
His face was covered with white dust and red blood, covered with some sort of mask to hide his potential identity. Not to mention the various small cameras that buzzed around his head. He was a first time contestant in a game of experienced fighters.
"malum sit!" /(Dammit)
He swatted at the cameras buzzing around his head. Thank the gods they had nothing like this back home.
He was glad the people who signed him up remembered to sign him up as Democles. He wasn't sure how many fans were going to come buzzing after his stint here.
The experienced fighters had fans already lining the red carpets while Democles had a few people staring down his profile "Who the heck is he?" This was no modern gladiator arena but something more.
Here he was, a nobody thrown into the "den of lions" so to speak.
Yet, Democles liked to think of himself more of a underdog than anything.
His face was covered with white dust and red blood, covered with some sort of mask to hide his potential identity. Not to mention the various small cameras that buzzed around his head. He was a first time contestant in a game of experienced fighters.
"malum sit!" /(Dammit)
He swatted at the cameras buzzing around his head. Thank the gods they had nothing like this back home.
He was glad the people who signed him up remembered to sign him up as Democles. He wasn't sure how many fans were going to come buzzing after his stint here.
The experienced fighters had fans already lining the red carpets while Democles had a few people staring down his profile "Who the heck is he?" This was no modern gladiator arena but something more.
Here he was, a nobody thrown into the "den of lions" so to speak.
Yet, Democles liked to think of himself more of a underdog than anything.
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Boros ended up wandering from the lobby and park to the recreation dome. He smelled that a lot of food was being made, but his species also evolved not to need food. They can still eat but just for pleasure. Even the pleasure of food has lost its touch with him though. Though he does admit something about the cuisine here smelled enticing.
He spotted a scientist and some guy in armor but he could sense from their aura nothing special either. So many weaklings were eager to die for glory. Not him though he was here for a grander purpose. Nothing else mattered more. A reason to keep on living.
"Excuse me sir?" a voice called out.
He looked down to see a very generic-looking businessman with short black hair with a pathetically low aura like any normal human being.
"Apparently because of the ruckus you caused in the lobby and the fact you just shook the whole building with just a stomp, I am afraid you are going to have to put on your restraining collar now?" the man said.
"A restraining collar? Seems redundant since my armor already restrains my great power," Boros pointed out.
"Look according to the rules all contestants have to wear one of these either you don't or you're out of the competition," Saitama noted.
Oh right, the rules. Boros glanced over them but he didn't know the restraining collar was mandatory he was hoping to explain that his armor does it already and that it should be of no issue. Nevertheless, if it allows him to stay in the competition he has no choice but to comply. He grabs the collar and puts it on and then suddenly he can't see anyone's aura anymore. This is going to make finding his opponents harder as well as gauging out how strong they are but it seems that is the point of the collar as if they knew that limiting one's senses would make things more interesting.
"Well good luck getting your minute of fame in a glorified reality TV survival show," the man said.
"Hmph, fame? I am not interested in that. I am merely here just to cure my boredom," Boros said.
"Your boredom? There's other things to do to cure boredom? Like videogames and whatnot if you even know what that is," the man pointed out.
"I used to find pleasure in combat, and yet because of the great strength I was born with, I find myself unable to find joy in even that. When you're so strong that you can just annihilate most enemies in one punch. That is why I have come all of this way to this competition to seek the strongest of the Crossroads,"Boros explained.
The man just looks at Boros confused.
"Are you stupid or something? Not even telemarketers would think to do something that crazy," the man said.
"You wouldn't understand cause you're weak and have never understood how agonizing boredom is," Boros said.
"Nah I can relate to being bored. I was unable to hold a job back in my old world but since coming here I have been unable to hold a job and now that I got one I grew to hate it." the man explained.
"Why don't you just quit then?" Boros asked.
"Can't, it pays the bills. Plus I can't become what I always wanted to be as a kid," the man said.
"And what would that be?" Boros inquired.
"A hero that could protect the innocent. There were a lot of heroes back where I came from beating up monsters. Yet it's unrealistic for me to do so since like you said I am so weak," the man said.
"I see, still though I would seize whatever I want. Leave this cycle of boredom and go live your dream young man. Become the warrior you said you wanted to become," Boros encouraged.
All the man could do was chuckle.
"Here I am being encouraged by some kind of monster or alien or whatever the Hell you are. Speaking of who and what are you?" the man asked.
"I am Boros, Lord Boros to my followers, Dominator of the Universe to my enemies. And I come from a species from space that evolved in inhospitable conditions and became stronger for it." Boros explained.
"Those are some titles and backstories. Anyway, my name is Saitama. Do you want to go eat lunch or something I heard you contestants get free food so I only get to pay for myself." invited Saitama.
"Fine, I suppose I'll try your food. My body should be able to handle whatever it is that your species makes. Though I prefer meat," Boros said.
Saitama and Boros then went to the food court Saitama got himself a steak dinner with fries with the fries being just like he wants them all nice long and soft. Boros was given the same thing as well and he was poking his steak curiously. Before picking it up with one hand and gnawing on it. Surprised by the flavors of the meat he began scarfing the rest down.
"Whoa slow down I know you probably haven't eaten all day but at least use the fork and knife. If you like that so much you should try the french fries." Saitama said.
Boros then picked up one of the strange long whatever they were.
"What is this supposed to be made of?" Boros asked.
"It's a vegetable cut up, fried, and salted. It's a lot tastier than it sounds though they're not really good for you. It's more for pleasure if anything." Saitama explained.
He then eat the so called french fry and is shocked of this new salty flavor as he begins eating the rest with fervor. He then downs his drink, a basic cola was enraptured by the sweet flavor of the concoction. Before slamming the cup down on the table.
"Whatever planet you came from I should have come to it sooner if you had cuisine that is this good. Still, though it doesn't beat a true battle the food definitely gave me some amount of joy so at the very least I thank you for your kindness. Once I find and beat my rival I will spare you once I conquer the Crossroads," Boros said.
"Uh yeah, thanks for that," Saitama responded.
"What did I get myself into?" Saitama thought.
He spotted a scientist and some guy in armor but he could sense from their aura nothing special either. So many weaklings were eager to die for glory. Not him though he was here for a grander purpose. Nothing else mattered more. A reason to keep on living.
"Excuse me sir?" a voice called out.
He looked down to see a very generic-looking businessman with short black hair with a pathetically low aura like any normal human being.
"Apparently because of the ruckus you caused in the lobby and the fact you just shook the whole building with just a stomp, I am afraid you are going to have to put on your restraining collar now?" the man said.
"A restraining collar? Seems redundant since my armor already restrains my great power," Boros pointed out.
"Look according to the rules all contestants have to wear one of these either you don't or you're out of the competition," Saitama noted.
Oh right, the rules. Boros glanced over them but he didn't know the restraining collar was mandatory he was hoping to explain that his armor does it already and that it should be of no issue. Nevertheless, if it allows him to stay in the competition he has no choice but to comply. He grabs the collar and puts it on and then suddenly he can't see anyone's aura anymore. This is going to make finding his opponents harder as well as gauging out how strong they are but it seems that is the point of the collar as if they knew that limiting one's senses would make things more interesting.
"Well good luck getting your minute of fame in a glorified reality TV survival show," the man said.
"Hmph, fame? I am not interested in that. I am merely here just to cure my boredom," Boros said.
"Your boredom? There's other things to do to cure boredom? Like videogames and whatnot if you even know what that is," the man pointed out.
"I used to find pleasure in combat, and yet because of the great strength I was born with, I find myself unable to find joy in even that. When you're so strong that you can just annihilate most enemies in one punch. That is why I have come all of this way to this competition to seek the strongest of the Crossroads,"Boros explained.
The man just looks at Boros confused.
"Are you stupid or something? Not even telemarketers would think to do something that crazy," the man said.
"You wouldn't understand cause you're weak and have never understood how agonizing boredom is," Boros said.
"Nah I can relate to being bored. I was unable to hold a job back in my old world but since coming here I have been unable to hold a job and now that I got one I grew to hate it." the man explained.
"Why don't you just quit then?" Boros asked.
"Can't, it pays the bills. Plus I can't become what I always wanted to be as a kid," the man said.
"And what would that be?" Boros inquired.
"A hero that could protect the innocent. There were a lot of heroes back where I came from beating up monsters. Yet it's unrealistic for me to do so since like you said I am so weak," the man said.
"I see, still though I would seize whatever I want. Leave this cycle of boredom and go live your dream young man. Become the warrior you said you wanted to become," Boros encouraged.
All the man could do was chuckle.
"Here I am being encouraged by some kind of monster or alien or whatever the Hell you are. Speaking of who and what are you?" the man asked.
"I am Boros, Lord Boros to my followers, Dominator of the Universe to my enemies. And I come from a species from space that evolved in inhospitable conditions and became stronger for it." Boros explained.
"Those are some titles and backstories. Anyway, my name is Saitama. Do you want to go eat lunch or something I heard you contestants get free food so I only get to pay for myself." invited Saitama.
"Fine, I suppose I'll try your food. My body should be able to handle whatever it is that your species makes. Though I prefer meat," Boros said.
Saitama and Boros then went to the food court Saitama got himself a steak dinner with fries with the fries being just like he wants them all nice long and soft. Boros was given the same thing as well and he was poking his steak curiously. Before picking it up with one hand and gnawing on it. Surprised by the flavors of the meat he began scarfing the rest down.
"Whoa slow down I know you probably haven't eaten all day but at least use the fork and knife. If you like that so much you should try the french fries." Saitama said.
Boros then picked up one of the strange long whatever they were.
"What is this supposed to be made of?" Boros asked.
"It's a vegetable cut up, fried, and salted. It's a lot tastier than it sounds though they're not really good for you. It's more for pleasure if anything." Saitama explained.
He then eat the so called french fry and is shocked of this new salty flavor as he begins eating the rest with fervor. He then downs his drink, a basic cola was enraptured by the sweet flavor of the concoction. Before slamming the cup down on the table.
"Whatever planet you came from I should have come to it sooner if you had cuisine that is this good. Still, though it doesn't beat a true battle the food definitely gave me some amount of joy so at the very least I thank you for your kindness. Once I find and beat my rival I will spare you once I conquer the Crossroads," Boros said.
"Uh yeah, thanks for that," Saitama responded.
"What did I get myself into?" Saitama thought.
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“Excuse me?” The woman seated at the table held out her hand and waved at the nearest waiter.
“Yes, Ma’am?” The sheepish young man remarked as he looked down at her plate. “Is everything okay?”
“I am afraid not,” she replied. “This isn’t what I ordered.” In front of her was a bone-in ham.
“That’s what the food is, Ma’am.”
“Excuse me?” The woman scowled. “That’s ridiculous. Where’s your manager? Where’s Pierre?”
Before she could get an answer, the swinging double doors that led to the kitchen of the brew-pub swung outward and violently crashed against the walls as a tall, domineering woman with long, black hair and an outfit comprised of black and green leather stormed forth with a sneer on her face that instantly took the piss out of the unsatisfied customer.
“What’s going on?” Hela barked as she grabbed a fistful of the waiter’s shirt and lifted him up off his feet with one hand. “Is this little shit giving you problems?” She asked as she looked down at the other woman. The seated lady’s color had already drained from her face, and she was quick to wave her hands and shake her head.
“N-no, I was j-just…” she winced as the waiter was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. “Is this not Pierre’s Bistro Gastronomic?”
Hela laughed—a cruel little sound that made the customer squirm a little in her seat. “No. This is the Valhalla Brew Pub.”
“But,” the lady in the seat held up a pamphlet that detailed the establishments in this area of the Recreation Dome, and Hela react by smacking the document out of her hand—breaking the other woman’s fingers in the process.
“New management,” Hela remarked as she scooped up the ham and jammed it down the customer’s throat and halfway into her stomach to make her stop with her already irksome shrieking and wailing about her fat little piggies. “Not my fault Karl Jak doesn’t update the handouts in a timely manner.”
With a dull thud, the woman with the ham down her throat fell to the ground and stopped moving.
“Someone clean this shit up! I’m trying to run a business!” Hela barked as she turned around and started back toward the kitchen area.
A slurred voice from the bar carried through the momentary hush that had befallen Brew Pub Valhalla. “You’re doing a shit job, but that’s not really a surprise.”
Hela stopped and turned to face Azula, who was seated at the far end of the bar. “Are you even allowed to legally drink?”
The younger woman rolled her eyes as she took another long sip from the oversized stein of ale. “Are you even allowed to legally still be alive?” Azula’s beady eyes were laced with red, and the former princess of the Fire Nation had yet more crimson hues across her cheeks.
“It shouldn’t surprise anyone that you can’t hold your alcohol!” Hela shouted as she dismissed the over-aged adolescent with a wave of her hand and headed back into the office.
“It sh-sh… it shouldn’t sur- … fuck, she’s gone, isn’t she?” Azula’s was face-down on the bar at this point.
“That’s correct,” the bartender spoke softly as he tried to reach for the young woman’s stein.
“If you touch that, I will burn you alive from the inside out and serve you to the customers,” Azula whispered with surprising clarity without lifting her eyes from the polished wood of the countertop.
“Of course, Miss.”
“Yes, Ma’am?” The sheepish young man remarked as he looked down at her plate. “Is everything okay?”
“I am afraid not,” she replied. “This isn’t what I ordered.” In front of her was a bone-in ham.
“That’s what the food is, Ma’am.”
“Excuse me?” The woman scowled. “That’s ridiculous. Where’s your manager? Where’s Pierre?”
Before she could get an answer, the swinging double doors that led to the kitchen of the brew-pub swung outward and violently crashed against the walls as a tall, domineering woman with long, black hair and an outfit comprised of black and green leather stormed forth with a sneer on her face that instantly took the piss out of the unsatisfied customer.
“What’s going on?” Hela barked as she grabbed a fistful of the waiter’s shirt and lifted him up off his feet with one hand. “Is this little shit giving you problems?” She asked as she looked down at the other woman. The seated lady’s color had already drained from her face, and she was quick to wave her hands and shake her head.
“N-no, I was j-just…” she winced as the waiter was dropped unceremoniously onto the floor. “Is this not Pierre’s Bistro Gastronomic?”
Hela laughed—a cruel little sound that made the customer squirm a little in her seat. “No. This is the Valhalla Brew Pub.”
“But,” the lady in the seat held up a pamphlet that detailed the establishments in this area of the Recreation Dome, and Hela react by smacking the document out of her hand—breaking the other woman’s fingers in the process.
“New management,” Hela remarked as she scooped up the ham and jammed it down the customer’s throat and halfway into her stomach to make her stop with her already irksome shrieking and wailing about her fat little piggies. “Not my fault Karl Jak doesn’t update the handouts in a timely manner.”
With a dull thud, the woman with the ham down her throat fell to the ground and stopped moving.
“Someone clean this shit up! I’m trying to run a business!” Hela barked as she turned around and started back toward the kitchen area.
A slurred voice from the bar carried through the momentary hush that had befallen Brew Pub Valhalla. “You’re doing a shit job, but that’s not really a surprise.”
Hela stopped and turned to face Azula, who was seated at the far end of the bar. “Are you even allowed to legally drink?”
The younger woman rolled her eyes as she took another long sip from the oversized stein of ale. “Are you even allowed to legally still be alive?” Azula’s beady eyes were laced with red, and the former princess of the Fire Nation had yet more crimson hues across her cheeks.
“It shouldn’t surprise anyone that you can’t hold your alcohol!” Hela shouted as she dismissed the over-aged adolescent with a wave of her hand and headed back into the office.
“It sh-sh… it shouldn’t sur- … fuck, she’s gone, isn’t she?” Azula’s was face-down on the bar at this point.
“That’s correct,” the bartender spoke softly as he tried to reach for the young woman’s stein.
“If you touch that, I will burn you alive from the inside out and serve you to the customers,” Azula whispered with surprising clarity without lifting her eyes from the polished wood of the countertop.
“Of course, Miss.”
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Boros was still sampling other foods from the court from salty to sweet. As if he was a starving or gluttonous man. Savoring the flavor of each delicacy that goes into his mouth. Saitama was really glad he was not stuck with the bill or offered to pay for him and that the contestants here eat free.
Finally, Boros was done as he let out a satisfied sigh.
"Hey, Boros, I have a question. Why did you tell me about wanting to go live my dream?" Saitama asked.
"Honestly, I found you very weak and pathetic and took pity on you," Boros said.
"That's not very reassuring," Saitama thought.
"But also I wouldn't want anyone else to experience the same boredom that I feel and I also saw the same dead look in your eyes that I have every time I look in my reflection," Boros said.
"Wow, that's very deep actually," Saitama said.
"I have sampled everything your species seems to have or at least that these restaurants serve. What other things does your species do besides eating?" Boros said.
"Well guess I am playing babysitter for this guy to keep him chill before the competition starts. Can't let him start fights or piss anyone off. After that outburst that was reported he was probably close to starting one," Saitama thought.
"There's an arcade just around the corner, we can try that," Saitama said.
So Saitama took Boros to the arcade where he explained what a video game was. Boros tried to get the handle of one of the games. However, it ended up making him frustrated instead when he began losing to something he didn't fully understand. Even with the restriction collar and armor combo his great strength still existed and he ended up slamming his fists into the machine breaking it. Saitama quickly escorts him out before anyone notices that Boros broke it and so a scene isn't caused.
Saitama decided to take him to the bowling alley next. And Boros threw the ball so hard it broke through the pins and through the alley. He got a strike at the very least.
"This sport is too easy and those video games of yours are too confusing is there anything else your people do for pleasure that can revitalize my spirit instead of fighting?" Boros demanded.
Saitama was starting to get nervous. Thinking of something anything to keep this freak occupied. Then he had an idea.
"Well we drink alcohol," Saitama said.
"You mean fermented fruit juices? We already have that in space and my spaceship had its own cellar filled with the best I plundered from several different galaxies," Boros gloated.
"We call that wine but there's different types from Earth than just that I think there's a bar around here somewhere we can try," Saitama said.
As they are going out Saitama spots a bar that he could have sworn was Pierre's Bistro Gastronomic. They then go inside "Valhalla Brew Pub" Saitama sees the corpse of the woman from earlier being dragged away thinking she just had too many drinks and was being kicked out. The bartender then gives Boros a drink in a stein and Saitama one too. As Saitama clinks their mugs together Boros looks down at his drink and takes a sip before spitting it out of his mouth.
"What filth is this? This drink is too bitter. You people actually drink this swill?!" Boros shouted.
Finally, Boros was done as he let out a satisfied sigh.
"Hey, Boros, I have a question. Why did you tell me about wanting to go live my dream?" Saitama asked.
"Honestly, I found you very weak and pathetic and took pity on you," Boros said.
"That's not very reassuring," Saitama thought.
"But also I wouldn't want anyone else to experience the same boredom that I feel and I also saw the same dead look in your eyes that I have every time I look in my reflection," Boros said.
"Wow, that's very deep actually," Saitama said.
"I have sampled everything your species seems to have or at least that these restaurants serve. What other things does your species do besides eating?" Boros said.
"Well guess I am playing babysitter for this guy to keep him chill before the competition starts. Can't let him start fights or piss anyone off. After that outburst that was reported he was probably close to starting one," Saitama thought.
"There's an arcade just around the corner, we can try that," Saitama said.
So Saitama took Boros to the arcade where he explained what a video game was. Boros tried to get the handle of one of the games. However, it ended up making him frustrated instead when he began losing to something he didn't fully understand. Even with the restriction collar and armor combo his great strength still existed and he ended up slamming his fists into the machine breaking it. Saitama quickly escorts him out before anyone notices that Boros broke it and so a scene isn't caused.
Saitama decided to take him to the bowling alley next. And Boros threw the ball so hard it broke through the pins and through the alley. He got a strike at the very least.
"This sport is too easy and those video games of yours are too confusing is there anything else your people do for pleasure that can revitalize my spirit instead of fighting?" Boros demanded.
Saitama was starting to get nervous. Thinking of something anything to keep this freak occupied. Then he had an idea.
"Well we drink alcohol," Saitama said.
"You mean fermented fruit juices? We already have that in space and my spaceship had its own cellar filled with the best I plundered from several different galaxies," Boros gloated.
"We call that wine but there's different types from Earth than just that I think there's a bar around here somewhere we can try," Saitama said.
As they are going out Saitama spots a bar that he could have sworn was Pierre's Bistro Gastronomic. They then go inside "Valhalla Brew Pub" Saitama sees the corpse of the woman from earlier being dragged away thinking she just had too many drinks and was being kicked out. The bartender then gives Boros a drink in a stein and Saitama one too. As Saitama clinks their mugs together Boros looks down at his drink and takes a sip before spitting it out of his mouth.
"What filth is this? This drink is too bitter. You people actually drink this swill?!" Boros shouted.
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"Ha! Weak man can't handle Asgardian Ale," Hela said.
And as someone who prides in his strength, Boros took that personally.
"I don't see how handling a drink makes me strong or not all I said was that I don't like the taste," Boros explained.
"Mortals such as yourself aren't simply suited for the fine palette of drinks brewed by the gods," shrugged Hela.
"A god? I highly doubt that. What kind of goddess would be serving drinks in this place?" Boros asked.
Then spikes started to come out of Hela's helmet and float in the air.
"You come into my bar, insult my beverage, and now you doubt my godly power?!" shouted Hela.
Boros got up from his seat as Saitama was hiding underneath his seat still drinking his ale.
"If you are one then prove it. Fight me, right here right now, make my day," Boros said.
As Hela is about to launch her spikes she is suddenly frozen in place. Boros looks around to see who is responsible only to see a "normal" man that being Karl Jak. Holding some kind of Remote.
"Whoa there we can't have that, can we? Now Mr. Boros, can I call you that, don't care will do it anyway, you shouldn't be starting fights before the competition starts especially against her. Can't have one of the new faces be taken out before their debut on camera," Karl Jak explained.
"I could have beaten her on my own with the restriction collar or not," scoffed Boros.
"Oh and Saitama you haven't been doing a very good job with keeping him busy so he wouldn't you know, break stuff. The damage done to that arcade machine and bowling alley is coming out of your pay," Karl Jak said.
"Wait how did you-"
"Cameras."
"Oh shit of course there were cameras." lamented Saitama.
"Hey, don't let him push you around that like Saitama. Grow some backbone. And you, I take it you're the one who runs this so-called Dante's Abyss." Boros asked.
"Wow, you're new new fresh to the Crossroads not knowing who I am or what my competition is. Just like that poor cat and dog. Tried to invite them to return to this one but they refused especially because the premise of this year's game didn't jive with them so to speak. Makes sense though I imagine those two bright-eyed younguns are still traumatized about the whole thing a shame though they were really popular since they managed to get near the end. Anyway, my name is Karl Jak owner of Syntech pleasure to meet your acquaintance," Karl Jak said.
"Boros, but you'll be calling me Lord Boros soon enough," Boros stated.
"Yeah never gonna happen. Still, though I heard you did a number to the Azure Citadel. Not here long and already got a bounty on you. You're lucky I don't shy away from inviting villains like you to this. Also, be glad no representatives from the Izzet League are here. Still, though I can't help but figure out why you did that," Karl Jak said.
"A being called a Mindflayer wanted intel from those people, I simply took it and gave it to him. He helped me be able to resist the malaise of Inverxe. Simple as that," Boros said.
Saitama and Karl Jak were silently staring at him for a few seconds. One that Boros was crazy enough to help a Mindflayer. And two because he helped a freaking Mindflayer.
"Ahem anyway behave yourself from now on or I'll have to disqualify you from being here and kick you out or worse have you arrested. Remember you have a bounty on you after all," Karl Jak said.
Boros grunted in frustration at this as he gritted his teeth.
"Fine, I'll play by your rules, I suppose I'll sit around and do nothing in the meantime if that will appease you," Boros said.
"Well if you need a nice quiet place to sit around to do nothing the best place for that would be the library," Saitama suggested.
"Good ideas both of you. Just don't break anything, also I'd leave if I were you. Hela is not going to be paused forever," Karl Jak said.
And with that Boros and Saitama left the bar and headed towards the library. Karl Jak takes out his portal gun and uses it to return to his office Hela is unpaused as her spikes hit a random bar patron.
"Oh damn it, we got another one to clean up!" shouted Hela.
And as someone who prides in his strength, Boros took that personally.
"I don't see how handling a drink makes me strong or not all I said was that I don't like the taste," Boros explained.
"Mortals such as yourself aren't simply suited for the fine palette of drinks brewed by the gods," shrugged Hela.
"A god? I highly doubt that. What kind of goddess would be serving drinks in this place?" Boros asked.
Then spikes started to come out of Hela's helmet and float in the air.
"You come into my bar, insult my beverage, and now you doubt my godly power?!" shouted Hela.
Boros got up from his seat as Saitama was hiding underneath his seat still drinking his ale.
"If you are one then prove it. Fight me, right here right now, make my day," Boros said.
As Hela is about to launch her spikes she is suddenly frozen in place. Boros looks around to see who is responsible only to see a "normal" man that being Karl Jak. Holding some kind of Remote.
"Whoa there we can't have that, can we? Now Mr. Boros, can I call you that, don't care will do it anyway, you shouldn't be starting fights before the competition starts especially against her. Can't have one of the new faces be taken out before their debut on camera," Karl Jak explained.
"I could have beaten her on my own with the restriction collar or not," scoffed Boros.
"Oh and Saitama you haven't been doing a very good job with keeping him busy so he wouldn't you know, break stuff. The damage done to that arcade machine and bowling alley is coming out of your pay," Karl Jak said.
"Wait how did you-"
"Cameras."
"Oh shit of course there were cameras." lamented Saitama.
"Hey, don't let him push you around that like Saitama. Grow some backbone. And you, I take it you're the one who runs this so-called Dante's Abyss." Boros asked.
"Wow, you're new new fresh to the Crossroads not knowing who I am or what my competition is. Just like that poor cat and dog. Tried to invite them to return to this one but they refused especially because the premise of this year's game didn't jive with them so to speak. Makes sense though I imagine those two bright-eyed younguns are still traumatized about the whole thing a shame though they were really popular since they managed to get near the end. Anyway, my name is Karl Jak owner of Syntech pleasure to meet your acquaintance," Karl Jak said.
"Boros, but you'll be calling me Lord Boros soon enough," Boros stated.
"Yeah never gonna happen. Still, though I heard you did a number to the Azure Citadel. Not here long and already got a bounty on you. You're lucky I don't shy away from inviting villains like you to this. Also, be glad no representatives from the Izzet League are here. Still, though I can't help but figure out why you did that," Karl Jak said.
"A being called a Mindflayer wanted intel from those people, I simply took it and gave it to him. He helped me be able to resist the malaise of Inverxe. Simple as that," Boros said.
Saitama and Karl Jak were silently staring at him for a few seconds. One that Boros was crazy enough to help a Mindflayer. And two because he helped a freaking Mindflayer.
"Ahem anyway behave yourself from now on or I'll have to disqualify you from being here and kick you out or worse have you arrested. Remember you have a bounty on you after all," Karl Jak said.
Boros grunted in frustration at this as he gritted his teeth.
"Fine, I'll play by your rules, I suppose I'll sit around and do nothing in the meantime if that will appease you," Boros said.
"Well if you need a nice quiet place to sit around to do nothing the best place for that would be the library," Saitama suggested.
"Good ideas both of you. Just don't break anything, also I'd leave if I were you. Hela is not going to be paused forever," Karl Jak said.
And with that Boros and Saitama left the bar and headed towards the library. Karl Jak takes out his portal gun and uses it to return to his office Hela is unpaused as her spikes hit a random bar patron.
"Oh damn it, we got another one to clean up!" shouted Hela.
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It had been decades since Erik had last stepped foot into a Syntech building. Gods, the world had ended around him last time. An odd sense swelled in his chest. Nostalgia, anticipation, a touch of dread. This place was a mustering ground for the slaughterhouse, packed with livestock waiting for the slaughter. The zealot’s heart bumped in his chest, the beast within stirring at the thought. A muttered prayer and the quiet chiming of the prayer bells on his belt grounded him, returning him to his centre. Soon, but not now, not yet.
Glancing around, he breathed in the atmosphere of the recreation wing. Countless excited spectators and competitors milled about, buzzing with excitement that belied the bloodshed that would follow. As was typical of such events. Some people would come to bemoan the violence once they got to the island, but Erik wasn’t one for such dramatics. They all came here knowing well what to expect.
Through the din, the cultist couldn’t help but notice a scientist seated by himself, seething at someone on the other end of a phone. He really should have ignored it and left him be, but over his time he had come to find that approaching random strangers often yielded something interesting or, if he was lucky, useful.
“Brains over brawn?” Erik sniffed as he looked over the seated scientist, glancing him up and down. “That’s a little reductive, don’t you think? One can have both if they put in the effort.”
“What was that?” Birkin snipped, whipping around to address the stranger. His eyes were wide, his jaw tense, evidently flabbergasted at the idea that someone would not only walk up to him out of the blue like this but criticize him in the process.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just thinking out loud.” the cult leader murmured as he looked the scientist up and down. Most men would think twice about speaking to someone like himself so brazenly, but this guy was clearly high on his own supply. These types were always interesting, if nothing else. “‘Brains over brawn’, that’s something that someone says when they’re… compensating, no?”
“Compensating?” Birkin blustered, slamming his weedy fists on the table, drawing the attention of basically no one with the light impact. For a moment, he glared daggers at Erik before a knowing grin crossed his face. “Ah, I see, I get your game.”
“Do you now?” the zealot inquired, genuinely curious as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. Now where was this strange little man going with this?
“Yes, you’re trying to provoke me so I’ll tell you all about my secret weapon, aren’t you?” Bill waggled his finger in Erik’s direction, his smile becoming more smug and superior with each passing moment. The brawler simply blinked down at the offending digit, looking more surprised than anything. He could snap this guy like a twig and yet he didn’t hesitate for a second to taunt him. “Well, it’s not going to work. Clearly you’re the type who values brawn over brains, but that was a good try.”
“You got me.” Erik said, raising his hands in surrender. This one was certainly a character. “Well, Do you mind if I take a seat? Maybe I can watch brilliance at work, learn a thing or two.”
Glancing around, he breathed in the atmosphere of the recreation wing. Countless excited spectators and competitors milled about, buzzing with excitement that belied the bloodshed that would follow. As was typical of such events. Some people would come to bemoan the violence once they got to the island, but Erik wasn’t one for such dramatics. They all came here knowing well what to expect.
Through the din, the cultist couldn’t help but notice a scientist seated by himself, seething at someone on the other end of a phone. He really should have ignored it and left him be, but over his time he had come to find that approaching random strangers often yielded something interesting or, if he was lucky, useful.
“Brains over brawn?” Erik sniffed as he looked over the seated scientist, glancing him up and down. “That’s a little reductive, don’t you think? One can have both if they put in the effort.”
“What was that?” Birkin snipped, whipping around to address the stranger. His eyes were wide, his jaw tense, evidently flabbergasted at the idea that someone would not only walk up to him out of the blue like this but criticize him in the process.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just thinking out loud.” the cult leader murmured as he looked the scientist up and down. Most men would think twice about speaking to someone like himself so brazenly, but this guy was clearly high on his own supply. These types were always interesting, if nothing else. “‘Brains over brawn’, that’s something that someone says when they’re… compensating, no?”
“Compensating?” Birkin blustered, slamming his weedy fists on the table, drawing the attention of basically no one with the light impact. For a moment, he glared daggers at Erik before a knowing grin crossed his face. “Ah, I see, I get your game.”
“Do you now?” the zealot inquired, genuinely curious as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. Now where was this strange little man going with this?
“Yes, you’re trying to provoke me so I’ll tell you all about my secret weapon, aren’t you?” Bill waggled his finger in Erik’s direction, his smile becoming more smug and superior with each passing moment. The brawler simply blinked down at the offending digit, looking more surprised than anything. He could snap this guy like a twig and yet he didn’t hesitate for a second to taunt him. “Well, it’s not going to work. Clearly you’re the type who values brawn over brains, but that was a good try.”
“You got me.” Erik said, raising his hands in surrender. This one was certainly a character. “Well, Do you mind if I take a seat? Maybe I can watch brilliance at work, learn a thing or two.”
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Don’t panic, Birkin. Annie’s always telling you to work on the paranoia thing. It’s detrimental to your health, she says. Your blood pressure is through the roof, not to mention all the sleepless nights.
Like, c’mon. Look at him. Surely this guy isn’t out to steal your life’s work!
The work that consumes your every waking moment. The work that you would gladly give everything for. The work you have given everything for, once upon a time in a city far, far away. YOUR work, and yours alone, except it’s been stolen from you and now you can’t trust anyone, not even strangely wizened, handsomely bearded individuals—
Well, obviously that line of thinking isn't getting us anywhere… productive. So let's move on, shall we?
William's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, more than a few doubts taking root as he squinted warily up at the… the bearded colossus, the dark circles under his eyes seeming to deepen along with his suspicion.
Slowly, his left elbow edged closer to the pile of papers scattered haphazardly across the table… shielding them with the crook of his scrawny arm and the frayed, wrinkled cuff of his lab coat’s sleeve.
But Erik didn’t appear the slightest bit perturbed. Rather, he remained standing, his stormy blue eyes staring down at Birkin with an expectant air, the faintest hint of amusement visible through the dense bristles of his bushy brown beard, ticking just at the corner of his mouth.
Birkin eyeballed him for another lengthy moment before relenting with a sigh, his rigid posture slumping into only a slightly less stiff-backed hunch. He flapped a hand carelessly at the various vacant chairs at his table, returning his attention to his work.
"Whatever, do what you like. I suppose you won't understand a single line of what's written here, anyway," he grumbled, though a tinge of pride colored his words. "And for the record, it’s not about compensation. It’s about innovation.”
"…Really," Vrell replied, his tone neither questioning nor mocking.
He eased himself into a free chair directly across from Birkin, the cheap plastic squeaking under his weight. He glanced over the addled scientist’s makeshift worktable, which appeared to be strewn with diagrams and chemical formulas that might as well have been arcane runes for all the sense they made to him.
Which was saying a lot, considering he was rather well-versed in runes.
As the cult leader settled into his seat, Birkin crossed one leg over the other and leaned closer to the paper-littered table like a heron over fishy waters, ensuring his body still acted as a barrier between Vrell and his… his…
Fuck, what had he been working on? He’d lost his place.
Scowling mightily, Birkin glanced down at his erratic, fitful scribblings. Narrowed his eyes, clicked his pen, and began scratching everything out with thick, bleeding strokes of blue-black ink.
“Yes, really,” he hissed through clenched teeth, dragging his pen across the paper with such incredible ferocity that he actually seemed to break a sweat, much to Vrell’s pity. “All my life, I’ve worked to perfect my… you could call it a secret formula.”
“A secret formula,” repeated Vrell, propping his chin on one bandage-wrapped fist, vaguely intrigued. Alarmed by the sudden movement, Birkin cast him a cursory glance; was this lumberjack-looking lion of a man wearing boxing robes? “You said you weren't planning to reveal your... 'secret weapon.'”
The scientist sharply shook his head, refocusing on his task, his words growing increasingly rambling... distracted.
“They're different things, weapons and formulas. Even you must be able to comprehend that, stranger,” he seethed. “But there's little harm in telling you this... hell, you might even see it in action! And when you do, I want you to know it was my doing. Not Syntech's, not Karl Jak's... mine. Now, this formula... it’s called Golgotha—”
“Gol-goroth?”
“No, no, no. It’s Golgotha,” corrected Birkin with a sneer, a tad snippy. His eyes were bloodshot, wild with a distinctly sleep-deprived intensity as he glared at the mess of massacred notebook paper before him. Grumbling, he feverishly began to stuff the worst of the crumpled scraps into his lab coat’s pockets, which appeared to be practically cavernous in nature. “You know what, let’s just call it G, for simplicity's sake. G is… it’s perfect. It’s everything. It takes ordinary, feeble bone and sinew and creates masterworks, gods… it bridges the gap between us mere mortals and immortality… with a few… negligible caveats, of course.”
He sniffed, prim. “We've staged a few prior... field tests. But this year's sample promises to be especially potent. And I, for one, can't wait to watch.”
Like, c’mon. Look at him. Surely this guy isn’t out to steal your life’s work!
The work that consumes your every waking moment. The work that you would gladly give everything for. The work you have given everything for, once upon a time in a city far, far away. YOUR work, and yours alone, except it’s been stolen from you and now you can’t trust anyone, not even strangely wizened, handsomely bearded individuals—
Well, obviously that line of thinking isn't getting us anywhere… productive. So let's move on, shall we?
William's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, more than a few doubts taking root as he squinted warily up at the… the bearded colossus, the dark circles under his eyes seeming to deepen along with his suspicion.
Slowly, his left elbow edged closer to the pile of papers scattered haphazardly across the table… shielding them with the crook of his scrawny arm and the frayed, wrinkled cuff of his lab coat’s sleeve.
But Erik didn’t appear the slightest bit perturbed. Rather, he remained standing, his stormy blue eyes staring down at Birkin with an expectant air, the faintest hint of amusement visible through the dense bristles of his bushy brown beard, ticking just at the corner of his mouth.
Birkin eyeballed him for another lengthy moment before relenting with a sigh, his rigid posture slumping into only a slightly less stiff-backed hunch. He flapped a hand carelessly at the various vacant chairs at his table, returning his attention to his work.
"Whatever, do what you like. I suppose you won't understand a single line of what's written here, anyway," he grumbled, though a tinge of pride colored his words. "And for the record, it’s not about compensation. It’s about innovation.”
"…Really," Vrell replied, his tone neither questioning nor mocking.
He eased himself into a free chair directly across from Birkin, the cheap plastic squeaking under his weight. He glanced over the addled scientist’s makeshift worktable, which appeared to be strewn with diagrams and chemical formulas that might as well have been arcane runes for all the sense they made to him.
Which was saying a lot, considering he was rather well-versed in runes.
As the cult leader settled into his seat, Birkin crossed one leg over the other and leaned closer to the paper-littered table like a heron over fishy waters, ensuring his body still acted as a barrier between Vrell and his… his…
Fuck, what had he been working on? He’d lost his place.
Scowling mightily, Birkin glanced down at his erratic, fitful scribblings. Narrowed his eyes, clicked his pen, and began scratching everything out with thick, bleeding strokes of blue-black ink.
“Yes, really,” he hissed through clenched teeth, dragging his pen across the paper with such incredible ferocity that he actually seemed to break a sweat, much to Vrell’s pity. “All my life, I’ve worked to perfect my… you could call it a secret formula.”
“A secret formula,” repeated Vrell, propping his chin on one bandage-wrapped fist, vaguely intrigued. Alarmed by the sudden movement, Birkin cast him a cursory glance; was this lumberjack-looking lion of a man wearing boxing robes? “You said you weren't planning to reveal your... 'secret weapon.'”
The scientist sharply shook his head, refocusing on his task, his words growing increasingly rambling... distracted.
“They're different things, weapons and formulas. Even you must be able to comprehend that, stranger,” he seethed. “But there's little harm in telling you this... hell, you might even see it in action! And when you do, I want you to know it was my doing. Not Syntech's, not Karl Jak's... mine. Now, this formula... it’s called Golgotha—”
“Gol-goroth?”
“No, no, no. It’s Golgotha,” corrected Birkin with a sneer, a tad snippy. His eyes were bloodshot, wild with a distinctly sleep-deprived intensity as he glared at the mess of massacred notebook paper before him. Grumbling, he feverishly began to stuff the worst of the crumpled scraps into his lab coat’s pockets, which appeared to be practically cavernous in nature. “You know what, let’s just call it G, for simplicity's sake. G is… it’s perfect. It’s everything. It takes ordinary, feeble bone and sinew and creates masterworks, gods… it bridges the gap between us mere mortals and immortality… with a few… negligible caveats, of course.”
He sniffed, prim. “We've staged a few prior... field tests. But this year's sample promises to be especially potent. And I, for one, can't wait to watch.”
The Valhalla pub seemed just a tad intimidating for Obi-wan’s tastes - not due solely to the blood on the floor when he looked in or the heated argument he wanted no part of, but also due to the strange smells of food unfamiliar that wafted from within.
Luckily, by the time he’d walked in, the pub seemed to have mostly been cleared of distraction, though there were still a few stains.
He took a seat without issue, finding the Menu to be at least written legibly - or so he thought, until he looked at a few of the names.
“Pardon me, miss.” He spoke up to one of the Waiters, “I’m having a bit of a problem with this menu.”
The waiter was quick to shuttle over, a shred of gratefulness wafting over his face. Kenobi assumed he hadn’t heard a polite sentence in a while.
“Of course, sir, is there something confusing to you.”
“Ahh yes, see, there’s this thing called “bone-in ham” on your menu? I believe I’ve yet to hear of this.”
“Oh, well, we actually keep the ham on the bone, so you can eat it as-”
“No, no, I figured it was something like that. I understand bone-in quite well.” Ben interrupted.
“No, it’s more this… ham. What is it?”
The waiter blinked for a moment, taking a second to reply. “You’re… not from the crossroads, are you?” he asked,
“I”m afraid I’m a bit of a new arrival. I come from… far away.” Ben would reply cautiously. Did Palpatine’s reach extend here? Probably not, but it wasn’t as though the waiter needed or wanted his backstory that badly either in all likelihood.
“It’s… an animal primarily raised for meat. Normally pink and fat. It’s one of our best sellers.” The waiter answered, giving a smile. “It’s considered a meal fit for a great warrior. Or so I’ve heard.” The waiter answered, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.
Ben thought of it for a moment. “I see. Far too rich for someone such as myself, then.” Ben would reply. “And… what kind of milk do you have on this sheet?”
“Cow’s milk. Wait… you don’t know what a cow is either, do you…” The waiter replied, his eyes scattering in exasperation as he tried to think of a proper reply.
“I”m sorry for all the questioning on a busy day-” Ben replied, a worried look falling over his face as he noticed the man’s frustration.
“No, no, you’re actually the best customer we’ve had all day. I appreciate the manners, it’s just hard to explain. It’s like… you know, normal white milk, rather robust.”
Ben blinked a moment, trying to hide his revulsion. “white milk? Quite a region I’ve found myself in.” He replied, shivering a little at the thought. The idea of milk being colored white just seemed… perverse, somehow. Like he was drinking something… well, something else. Still, his disgust gave way to practicality.
“Very well then, I’ll have something simple to start. Bring me some of this honeyed bread and cheese, and a glass of this milk…”
“-He’ll be having a bear thigh, and a flagon of mead.”
The woman that undercut Ben’s statement was a vision, indeed - though the sort of vision you expect to hallucinate shortly after your heart is ripped out of your chest, rather than while calmly ordering a meal.
Ben met a piercing stare that could have melted a hole in the back of his seat with his own. It was not enough to make the old Jedi blink, but then, he was certain this woman wasn’t really trying. This is a woman who could make a Rancour pause mid-charge with just a glance, and Ben instinctively knew this was not one to be trifled with.
“I suppose I would be. Would you be the owner of this fine establishment?” Ben would ask, a conversational smile on his face.
“Hela. and you?”
“Ben. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Kenobi responded with an even smile.
“An honour.” Hela corrected, meeting Ben's stare with ferocity.
“...My sincere mistake then. An honour it is.” Ben replied with a growing smile, a flask being handed to him just in time to raise his glass, before having a drink. The alcohol burned hot down his throat as he noticed the distinct taste of honey deep within the rich draught.
He’d had better, but few better, for sure. While his ache for fluids were not sated by the drink, he could rapidly feel the ache of his old bones subside in the warmth that enravelled him in it’s embrace.
“This is… quite good. Though I might need some water with this.”
Hela gave a smirk. “Until you mentioned the water, you almost reminded me of one of my brothers a moment.”
“Then I hope you get along well with your brothers.” Ben replied smoothly, as he eyed the deer that now raced to his plate impossibly fast.
“Terribly, actually. I hope you enjoy the deer - I killed it myself~” Hela replied.
Ben’s heart briefly sunk, as he tried to make heads or tails of where that left him standing, but by the time he looked back up to try and make an improvised retort of some kind, the Asgardian woman was already gone.
“...Well then.” Ben commented blandly, raising his flagon once more. “To new food, new drinks, and with any luck, a wonderful new poison to sleep off!”
Luckily, by the time he’d walked in, the pub seemed to have mostly been cleared of distraction, though there were still a few stains.
He took a seat without issue, finding the Menu to be at least written legibly - or so he thought, until he looked at a few of the names.
“Pardon me, miss.” He spoke up to one of the Waiters, “I’m having a bit of a problem with this menu.”
The waiter was quick to shuttle over, a shred of gratefulness wafting over his face. Kenobi assumed he hadn’t heard a polite sentence in a while.
“Of course, sir, is there something confusing to you.”
“Ahh yes, see, there’s this thing called “bone-in ham” on your menu? I believe I’ve yet to hear of this.”
“Oh, well, we actually keep the ham on the bone, so you can eat it as-”
“No, no, I figured it was something like that. I understand bone-in quite well.” Ben interrupted.
“No, it’s more this… ham. What is it?”
The waiter blinked for a moment, taking a second to reply. “You’re… not from the crossroads, are you?” he asked,
“I”m afraid I’m a bit of a new arrival. I come from… far away.” Ben would reply cautiously. Did Palpatine’s reach extend here? Probably not, but it wasn’t as though the waiter needed or wanted his backstory that badly either in all likelihood.
“It’s… an animal primarily raised for meat. Normally pink and fat. It’s one of our best sellers.” The waiter answered, giving a smile. “It’s considered a meal fit for a great warrior. Or so I’ve heard.” The waiter answered, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.
Ben thought of it for a moment. “I see. Far too rich for someone such as myself, then.” Ben would reply. “And… what kind of milk do you have on this sheet?”
“Cow’s milk. Wait… you don’t know what a cow is either, do you…” The waiter replied, his eyes scattering in exasperation as he tried to think of a proper reply.
“I”m sorry for all the questioning on a busy day-” Ben replied, a worried look falling over his face as he noticed the man’s frustration.
“No, no, you’re actually the best customer we’ve had all day. I appreciate the manners, it’s just hard to explain. It’s like… you know, normal white milk, rather robust.”
Ben blinked a moment, trying to hide his revulsion. “white milk? Quite a region I’ve found myself in.” He replied, shivering a little at the thought. The idea of milk being colored white just seemed… perverse, somehow. Like he was drinking something… well, something else. Still, his disgust gave way to practicality.
“Very well then, I’ll have something simple to start. Bring me some of this honeyed bread and cheese, and a glass of this milk…”
“-He’ll be having a bear thigh, and a flagon of mead.”
The woman that undercut Ben’s statement was a vision, indeed - though the sort of vision you expect to hallucinate shortly after your heart is ripped out of your chest, rather than while calmly ordering a meal.
Ben met a piercing stare that could have melted a hole in the back of his seat with his own. It was not enough to make the old Jedi blink, but then, he was certain this woman wasn’t really trying. This is a woman who could make a Rancour pause mid-charge with just a glance, and Ben instinctively knew this was not one to be trifled with.
“I suppose I would be. Would you be the owner of this fine establishment?” Ben would ask, a conversational smile on his face.
“Hela. and you?”
“Ben. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Kenobi responded with an even smile.
“An honour.” Hela corrected, meeting Ben's stare with ferocity.
“...My sincere mistake then. An honour it is.” Ben replied with a growing smile, a flask being handed to him just in time to raise his glass, before having a drink. The alcohol burned hot down his throat as he noticed the distinct taste of honey deep within the rich draught.
He’d had better, but few better, for sure. While his ache for fluids were not sated by the drink, he could rapidly feel the ache of his old bones subside in the warmth that enravelled him in it’s embrace.
“This is… quite good. Though I might need some water with this.”
Hela gave a smirk. “Until you mentioned the water, you almost reminded me of one of my brothers a moment.”
“Then I hope you get along well with your brothers.” Ben replied smoothly, as he eyed the deer that now raced to his plate impossibly fast.
“Terribly, actually. I hope you enjoy the deer - I killed it myself~” Hela replied.
Ben’s heart briefly sunk, as he tried to make heads or tails of where that left him standing, but by the time he looked back up to try and make an improvised retort of some kind, the Asgardian woman was already gone.
“...Well then.” Ben commented blandly, raising his flagon once more. “To new food, new drinks, and with any luck, a wonderful new poison to sleep off!”
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Boros and Saitama arrived back at the Recreation Dome. Where Saitama begins to explain what the last Dante's Abyss was like.
"So this one is a battle royale and survival game on an island but last Dante's Abyss was a lot different and more cooperative. It involved people teaming up with giant monsters and robots to kill Unmade," Saitama explained.
"What is this Unmade that you speak of?" Boros asked.
"Oh well uh I don't fully understand it but it turns good things into bad things like monsters and whatnot I think. They went to different islands to take care of the Unmade on each one. Though it went on for a while so just know we're going to be sitting in the theater for hours. Considering this is the edited version," Saitama said.
"And why use giant robots and creatures to fight? Were they too weak to do so without them?" Boros inquired.
"Uh well, a lot of the Unmade were big and to fight something that big you need something that big you dig?" Saitama said.
"Yes I can dig but I don't see what that has to do with understanding what you are saying," Boros said.
As Boros and Saitama entered the theater. Boros grabbed as much as snacks as he could carry to try out. A large popcorn, and every single candy that they have. He got cola instead of Pepsi cause he wasn't fond of the weird spiciness of the beverage. As they found a place to sit down. The theater was quite packed but they were able to get a table to sit on in the back where people can order stuff to dine in while watching a movie.
The rerun started with a summary of each contestant of last year's Dante's Abyss and the Bond that they are using. As it then showcased each group's progress throughout the islands in rotating order. Boros particularly was annoyed by the weak mammalian teenagers who seemed hesitant about the death that was happening. What kind of idiots would join this competition without fully understanding the consequences if there is anything Boros hates more than the weak of strength and will it's the weak-minded.
Boros was gripped by the flavor of the salty buttery popcorn and found that combining it with the sweet taste of the candy made it even tasty. He then saw a purple draconic figure on a large cycloptic alien in action and admired their ferocity.
"Those two, Ridley and Phantoon I believe that their names were look strong. Didn't the narrator mention that he is the leader of the group called WYVERN?" Boros asked.
"Ridley? Yeah, he's a pretty big deal I am not surprised someone new as you has already heard of WYVERN," Saitama said.
"This Ridley should be an interesting opponent in the future, especially when it comes to taking leadership of WYVERN from him," Boros stated.
"I knew he was crazy but didn't know he was that crazy. It's a good thing I didn't mention anything about Darkseid who knows how he would react to that," Saitama thought.
Boros and Saitama continued watching. From an attack on a space station filled with xenomorphs that Boros is already quite familiar with but managed to deal with less effort than these people are having. To some people dealing with a giant reptilian wearing a hockey mask and holding a gigantic machete. When the Acme Island part came up and Bugs Bunny appeared on-screen people started clapping. And began laughing at the cartoony slapstick antics. Boros failed to see the humor in all of this.
Then came the climax in Central City. With Megatron and his pet kaiju Slattern. As the contestants poured everything they had with many dying one by one. Boros couldn't help but chuckle at the pathetic ends Gizmo and Gadget suffered. He also managed to get a glimpse of Gilgamesh in his mech but was disappointed to see he barely did anything.
As Megatron and Slattern were defeated. The man named Don Isaac with his ship the Red Baron had fused with one of the Decepticon Seekers. After it was over Boros got up and simply walked away with Saitama slowly realizing Boros was going away and following.
"Hey, where are you going? I think I heard some people say there's an after-credits scene announcing Don Isaac is a contestant this year," Saitama said.
"Watching combat didn't provide the same stimulation as experiencing it. That was a huge waste of time. I command you to find something else to keep me from dying from boredom before the event even starts. I refuse to sit through the other past Dante Abyss reruns as you call them," Boros said.
Saitama was about to pull his hair out with the stress this guy was giving him. Nothing seems to satisfy him. He needed to think of something quickly. And then an idea came to him.
"Wait a minute, how about we go and talk to some of the other contestants? You said you can't sense how strong someone is. Why don't we go and ask people how strong they are and gauge their abilities and whatnot? It would be a nice way for you to prepare too." Saitama said.
"With this collar preventing me from seeing people's auras I suppose that should be a good way to not only find more worthy opponents but also allow me to know what they are capable of. I don't believe everyone I read on that computer is the only contestant joining. Let us find others and see what they have in store for me," Boros said.
And with that, he walked slightly faster as if in a hurry. It was hard to tell if he was taking his time or if his armor was restricting his movement. Yet at least Saitama found another way to keep him preoccupied though he has to tag along to be able to act as a mediator in case Boros manages to start a fight because of his massive ego. From what little he has known he so far is looking highly likely.
"So this one is a battle royale and survival game on an island but last Dante's Abyss was a lot different and more cooperative. It involved people teaming up with giant monsters and robots to kill Unmade," Saitama explained.
"What is this Unmade that you speak of?" Boros asked.
"Oh well uh I don't fully understand it but it turns good things into bad things like monsters and whatnot I think. They went to different islands to take care of the Unmade on each one. Though it went on for a while so just know we're going to be sitting in the theater for hours. Considering this is the edited version," Saitama said.
"And why use giant robots and creatures to fight? Were they too weak to do so without them?" Boros inquired.
"Uh well, a lot of the Unmade were big and to fight something that big you need something that big you dig?" Saitama said.
"Yes I can dig but I don't see what that has to do with understanding what you are saying," Boros said.
As Boros and Saitama entered the theater. Boros grabbed as much as snacks as he could carry to try out. A large popcorn, and every single candy that they have. He got cola instead of Pepsi cause he wasn't fond of the weird spiciness of the beverage. As they found a place to sit down. The theater was quite packed but they were able to get a table to sit on in the back where people can order stuff to dine in while watching a movie.
The rerun started with a summary of each contestant of last year's Dante's Abyss and the Bond that they are using. As it then showcased each group's progress throughout the islands in rotating order. Boros particularly was annoyed by the weak mammalian teenagers who seemed hesitant about the death that was happening. What kind of idiots would join this competition without fully understanding the consequences if there is anything Boros hates more than the weak of strength and will it's the weak-minded.
Boros was gripped by the flavor of the salty buttery popcorn and found that combining it with the sweet taste of the candy made it even tasty. He then saw a purple draconic figure on a large cycloptic alien in action and admired their ferocity.
"Those two, Ridley and Phantoon I believe that their names were look strong. Didn't the narrator mention that he is the leader of the group called WYVERN?" Boros asked.
"Ridley? Yeah, he's a pretty big deal I am not surprised someone new as you has already heard of WYVERN," Saitama said.
"This Ridley should be an interesting opponent in the future, especially when it comes to taking leadership of WYVERN from him," Boros stated.
"I knew he was crazy but didn't know he was that crazy. It's a good thing I didn't mention anything about Darkseid who knows how he would react to that," Saitama thought.
Boros and Saitama continued watching. From an attack on a space station filled with xenomorphs that Boros is already quite familiar with but managed to deal with less effort than these people are having. To some people dealing with a giant reptilian wearing a hockey mask and holding a gigantic machete. When the Acme Island part came up and Bugs Bunny appeared on-screen people started clapping. And began laughing at the cartoony slapstick antics. Boros failed to see the humor in all of this.
Then came the climax in Central City. With Megatron and his pet kaiju Slattern. As the contestants poured everything they had with many dying one by one. Boros couldn't help but chuckle at the pathetic ends Gizmo and Gadget suffered. He also managed to get a glimpse of Gilgamesh in his mech but was disappointed to see he barely did anything.
As Megatron and Slattern were defeated. The man named Don Isaac with his ship the Red Baron had fused with one of the Decepticon Seekers. After it was over Boros got up and simply walked away with Saitama slowly realizing Boros was going away and following.
"Hey, where are you going? I think I heard some people say there's an after-credits scene announcing Don Isaac is a contestant this year," Saitama said.
"Watching combat didn't provide the same stimulation as experiencing it. That was a huge waste of time. I command you to find something else to keep me from dying from boredom before the event even starts. I refuse to sit through the other past Dante Abyss reruns as you call them," Boros said.
Saitama was about to pull his hair out with the stress this guy was giving him. Nothing seems to satisfy him. He needed to think of something quickly. And then an idea came to him.
"Wait a minute, how about we go and talk to some of the other contestants? You said you can't sense how strong someone is. Why don't we go and ask people how strong they are and gauge their abilities and whatnot? It would be a nice way for you to prepare too." Saitama said.
"With this collar preventing me from seeing people's auras I suppose that should be a good way to not only find more worthy opponents but also allow me to know what they are capable of. I don't believe everyone I read on that computer is the only contestant joining. Let us find others and see what they have in store for me," Boros said.
And with that, he walked slightly faster as if in a hurry. It was hard to tell if he was taking his time or if his armor was restricting his movement. Yet at least Saitama found another way to keep him preoccupied though he has to tag along to be able to act as a mediator in case Boros manages to start a fight because of his massive ego. From what little he has known he so far is looking highly likely.
As Arc and Ponta wandered the futuristic space that was the preshow facilities of Dante's Abyss, the pair came across the Recreation Dome. There was still some time before the TV show was supposed to start, and they were given leave to move about here as they pleased until then.
Walking down the paths in the giant, spacious dome that separated into distinct levels like it was a big mall, Arc noticed something very odd. Pepsi? Taco Bell? What were such earthly trademarks doing in a place like this? As he pondered it, he had to, of course, walk in and get a cola. "Maaaan, this hits that nostalgia spot! I really miss soda." Is this even okay to have around here? Someone boldly ripped off the Pepsi and Taco Bell trademarks. If this ever wound up back in Japan, they could end up paying a hefty amount of legal fees.
Arc sipped on the soda through the holes in his helmet and also offered a taste of the soda to Ponta. "Kyuu?!" She recoiled in surprise as she started reflexively chewing at the bubbly sensation. "Not a big fan, hmm?" Thinking harder on the matter, Arc thought back to the Earth influences from his first isekai adventure planet. "Between The Great Canada Forest, Ninjas, and various imitation sauces, there was a lot of borrowed Earth culture back there as well. What were the chances that Pepsi didn't come from America but instead was brought there by an interdimensional traveler?"
As he continued to ponder his thoughts, he found some fried octopus tentacles on a stick to try. Ponta had no trouble devouring her share, and it definitely looked tasty, but Arc still did not want to take off his helmet in public. Arc wanted to avoid any potential trouble right before the main event started "Let's find somewhere private."
He kept walking a good distance, his head looking around, trying to find somewhere that might be a good spot to get some privacy. The bathrooms didn't seem like a good idea, and besides, he couldn't even begin to guess what the five differently marked restrooms even meant. Since there were a lot of non-humans, they must be able to accommodate different body structures.
Eventually, he found an alleyway that led to some service entrances. They didn't seem to have any foot traffic and were probably intended for service personnel, so it was as good a spot as any to stop and try the octopus. Unfortunately it was already starting to cool off, but the crunchy outside layer kept in most of the heat of the chewy, delicious meat inside.
Walking down the paths in the giant, spacious dome that separated into distinct levels like it was a big mall, Arc noticed something very odd. Pepsi? Taco Bell? What were such earthly trademarks doing in a place like this? As he pondered it, he had to, of course, walk in and get a cola. "Maaaan, this hits that nostalgia spot! I really miss soda." Is this even okay to have around here? Someone boldly ripped off the Pepsi and Taco Bell trademarks. If this ever wound up back in Japan, they could end up paying a hefty amount of legal fees.
Arc sipped on the soda through the holes in his helmet and also offered a taste of the soda to Ponta. "Kyuu?!" She recoiled in surprise as she started reflexively chewing at the bubbly sensation. "Not a big fan, hmm?" Thinking harder on the matter, Arc thought back to the Earth influences from his first isekai adventure planet. "Between The Great Canada Forest, Ninjas, and various imitation sauces, there was a lot of borrowed Earth culture back there as well. What were the chances that Pepsi didn't come from America but instead was brought there by an interdimensional traveler?"
As he continued to ponder his thoughts, he found some fried octopus tentacles on a stick to try. Ponta had no trouble devouring her share, and it definitely looked tasty, but Arc still did not want to take off his helmet in public. Arc wanted to avoid any potential trouble right before the main event started "Let's find somewhere private."
He kept walking a good distance, his head looking around, trying to find somewhere that might be a good spot to get some privacy. The bathrooms didn't seem like a good idea, and besides, he couldn't even begin to guess what the five differently marked restrooms even meant. Since there were a lot of non-humans, they must be able to accommodate different body structures.
Eventually, he found an alleyway that led to some service entrances. They didn't seem to have any foot traffic and were probably intended for service personnel, so it was as good a spot as any to stop and try the octopus. Unfortunately it was already starting to cool off, but the crunchy outside layer kept in most of the heat of the chewy, delicious meat inside.
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Grog or honeyed mead?
Demetri perused the bar menu and struggled to settle on the mood he wanted to get comfortable in. Honeyed mead reminded him of his childhood, a gentle nostalgia, dichotomous as it was in the later years. Grog brought up memories of sailing sea and sky, the pilfering time of captaining his own ship, which also brought memories of her. He had tried to put the past behind him since the last time he had entered the Abyss, but it seemed to stick to the back of his mind, like some untouched corner of filth that the janitor would always miss in a bathroom stall. The longer he debated it in his mind the more sour his mood became.
"Just give me some gin."
"Sure thing, boss." The bartender quickly poured the drink and slid the glass over to the thief, who carefully plucked it from the bar with his fingertips and swirled it around, staring it down like it tried to insult him.
Why was he even here?
On a surface level, it was because he wanted the attention. Always being in the limelight when he felt like it, slinking in the shadows otherwise. It felt right.
But there was more to it. Before he could process what he was doing, he was staring at the bottom of his glass.
"Another," he demanded. The bartender nodded and obliged.
No, there was a different reason why he was here. Last time, he was curious. Years of watching and cheering gave way to wanting to see himself on the screen. What made it different this time? Was it being reminded of everything he has had before and lost, without fail?
Everything was starting to look up with the new establishment of the guild. Warming up to the new recruits. Taking on some jobs that had couriers seeking him out specifically. The good times were back. Which meant they were soon to be short-lived. Where would he go now if it all went to shit? Inverxe? Those dwarves seemed to be fun to steal from, but he doubted he would last long there. Something about the place anyways set him uneasy.
Another finished drink. It was refilled without a word after he set it forward and nodded to the bartender.
This was punishment. Something that he deserved. After all, why would he always lose it all when he was at the cusp of having everything he wanted? Why would be always be brought down so low when he was at his highest? It was some twisted fate that was woven for him, and this time he wanted to be the one to weave it himself. A preemptive strike upon his own psyche so that he would be prepared for the inevitable fall to follow.
He was not here to win, he was here to die.
"Another."
"Hey, listen boss, you'd best wait a minute, you..." the bartender stopped as Demetri raised a hand and pinched his fingers at him, causing the edges of his vision to darken.
"A-alright, just one more, just relax, okay?"
Demetri grumbled as he took his last shot to go. Maybe this was a mistake, going out on a limb for the last Dante's Abyss. With Ra'tima not here and not knowing he had come, he felt isolated and withdrawn to his darker thoughts. There was no job, no mission, no heist.
It was just him against everyone else... and himself.
He downed the last of his shot and tossed the glass in a nearby can, wandering to see if there was anything he could distract himself with as his mind became fuzzy from the drinks.
Demetri perused the bar menu and struggled to settle on the mood he wanted to get comfortable in. Honeyed mead reminded him of his childhood, a gentle nostalgia, dichotomous as it was in the later years. Grog brought up memories of sailing sea and sky, the pilfering time of captaining his own ship, which also brought memories of her. He had tried to put the past behind him since the last time he had entered the Abyss, but it seemed to stick to the back of his mind, like some untouched corner of filth that the janitor would always miss in a bathroom stall. The longer he debated it in his mind the more sour his mood became.
"Just give me some gin."
"Sure thing, boss." The bartender quickly poured the drink and slid the glass over to the thief, who carefully plucked it from the bar with his fingertips and swirled it around, staring it down like it tried to insult him.
Why was he even here?
On a surface level, it was because he wanted the attention. Always being in the limelight when he felt like it, slinking in the shadows otherwise. It felt right.
But there was more to it. Before he could process what he was doing, he was staring at the bottom of his glass.
"Another," he demanded. The bartender nodded and obliged.
No, there was a different reason why he was here. Last time, he was curious. Years of watching and cheering gave way to wanting to see himself on the screen. What made it different this time? Was it being reminded of everything he has had before and lost, without fail?
Everything was starting to look up with the new establishment of the guild. Warming up to the new recruits. Taking on some jobs that had couriers seeking him out specifically. The good times were back. Which meant they were soon to be short-lived. Where would he go now if it all went to shit? Inverxe? Those dwarves seemed to be fun to steal from, but he doubted he would last long there. Something about the place anyways set him uneasy.
Another finished drink. It was refilled without a word after he set it forward and nodded to the bartender.
This was punishment. Something that he deserved. After all, why would he always lose it all when he was at the cusp of having everything he wanted? Why would be always be brought down so low when he was at his highest? It was some twisted fate that was woven for him, and this time he wanted to be the one to weave it himself. A preemptive strike upon his own psyche so that he would be prepared for the inevitable fall to follow.
He was not here to win, he was here to die.
"Another."
"Hey, listen boss, you'd best wait a minute, you..." the bartender stopped as Demetri raised a hand and pinched his fingers at him, causing the edges of his vision to darken.
"A-alright, just one more, just relax, okay?"
Demetri grumbled as he took his last shot to go. Maybe this was a mistake, going out on a limb for the last Dante's Abyss. With Ra'tima not here and not knowing he had come, he felt isolated and withdrawn to his darker thoughts. There was no job, no mission, no heist.
It was just him against everyone else... and himself.
He downed the last of his shot and tossed the glass in a nearby can, wandering to see if there was anything he could distract himself with as his mind became fuzzy from the drinks.
Android 18 sighed as she downed the second half of her cosmopolitan. Setting the cocktail glass down, she tapped on it with one of her fingernails just as she managed to catch the attention of the bartender. The young man flashed her a thumbs up and then a ‘one moment’ gesture in short succession, ensuring that Eighteen wouldn’t run the risk of accidentally flirting with sobriety at any point during this overgrown circus.
As if waiting for an internal queue, the swinging doors of the gastropub swung open as a jovial Saiyan came nearly crashing into the establishment.
“Woah! Babe!” Raditzu boomed as he jogged over to the bar and dropped his armored mass onto the stool next to her. He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her next to him only to have her squirm out and lift her hands. “You still haven’t taken that chill pill yet?”
“I don’t know how many times I need to explain this,” Eighteen spoke slowly and softly. “I’m not who you think I am.”
Raditzu, for all his kai-like speed, strength, and fortitude in combat, had never accumulated renown for his ability to read signals. “I still don’t get what you mean. I mean, yea, you look a little more ragged, but we just spoke like ten seconds before Karl messaged me to come here.”
“I’m not her.” She left out the part where she had been, but in the decade that she had roamed the multiverse, Android 18 had never really looked back onto her period with the Saiyan as something she had missed. Sure, their relationship had burned strong for a while, but it had also involved terrible lows and a slew of red flags that no one really noticed back then. “Surely you were coached on the whole concept of the multiverse, right?”
“That stuff in the classroom? Tch. I fell asleep,” Rad laughed as he leaned entirely over the countertop and started to rummage through one of the minifridges. The bartender, who had been experiencing stuff like this throughout the week, merely paid a blind eye and reminded himself that everything in here was heavily insured.
After a few moments, Raditzu popped back up with a can of Four Loko. Like a small child in a candy store, he stared wide-eyed at the dripping can for a few moments before flashing it to Eighteen. “Look, Babe! They got the goods. I think it’s time to get crunkkkk.”
An audible sigh pulled both of the warriors’ focus to the other side of the bar, where a scrawny, pale man with dark hair had been attempting to enjoy a glass of something green and bubbly.
“You look familiar,” Raditzu casually remarked at the top of his lungs as he leaned over his seated ‘girlfriend’ and squinted to see the figure who now seemed to regret every decision that had brought him to this point in time. “Oh!” The saiyan shouted quite literally into the face of the blonde cyborg before he put a hand on her shoulder and shook her a few times. “It’s that guy with the skinny arms who had all the social reject friends, Babe!”
For her part, Eighteen glanced over and made eye contact with a pair of eyes identical to her own. “Never met him,” she remarked even as her expression softened and her eyes slightly widened in what seemed to be a silent scream for help.
“Nah, think, Babe!” Raditzu leaned back and promptly smacked the countertop as he thrust a finger that missed clipping the woman’s nose by millimeters. “Remember? We fused on that asteroid and were gonna beat this dude up for talking smack to us?” He went to give her another ‘gentle’ shake but she managed to avoid him this time as she slipped off the stool.
“Nope,” Eighteen reiterated.
“Oh, hey!” Raditzu scowled for a brief moment. “You and that stupid bubblegum friend of yours betrayed me last year! That was not cool, dude!”
Seventeen furrowed his brow. “Last year?”
“He’s living in …” Eighteen tried to think up the correct words. “He’s living back in Season Eight.”
The other cyborg laughed as he took a sip of the bubbling green drink. “That was a good year.”
Raditzu casually uprooted the floor-mounted bar stool where his ‘girl’ had been sitting and casually hurtled it like a javelin at the seated machine-hybrid. For his part, Seventeen had the wherewithal to dematerialize in a swirl of white and blue orbs just long enough for the improvised projectile to pass through his spot and explode into splinters against the far wall.
“Careful now,” Seventeen chuckled. “You might hurt someone.” He took a long sip from the glass mug and winced slightly as the alcohol-laced concoction bubbled and hissed down his gullet.
“Is he in the game, Babe?” Raditzu asked without turning his gaze from Seventeen, who had gone back to enjoying his drink as best he could. When no response came, the saiyan turned and saw that the blonde had absconded. “…Babe?” He tilted his head as he looked around the bar and saw no sign of the lithe woman. “Babe?”
With that, he wandered off once again like a puppy trying to find a toy it had lost.
Seventeen, his mind happy to move to any subject that didn’t include the over-powered, over-stimulated, and over-stupid saiyan, shrugged as he sipped.
“I remember how you and that long-haired asshole left us just before we got jumped that year.”
The cyborg turned and saw a vaguely familiar woman in saiyan armor sitting at a booth in the corner of the pub. Despite the spicy words, she was relaxed and had something of a smirk on her face.
With a tip of his mug, Seventeen took a long sip before offering a reply. “I seem to remember you trying to put a knife in my back the year before that.”
She laughed. “All’s fair in Dante’s Abyss.”
“All’s fair.” He took another sip. “How are you, Celipa? You … displaced like our friend Rad or are you something else?”
As if waiting for an internal queue, the swinging doors of the gastropub swung open as a jovial Saiyan came nearly crashing into the establishment.
“Woah! Babe!” Raditzu boomed as he jogged over to the bar and dropped his armored mass onto the stool next to her. He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her next to him only to have her squirm out and lift her hands. “You still haven’t taken that chill pill yet?”
“I don’t know how many times I need to explain this,” Eighteen spoke slowly and softly. “I’m not who you think I am.”
Raditzu, for all his kai-like speed, strength, and fortitude in combat, had never accumulated renown for his ability to read signals. “I still don’t get what you mean. I mean, yea, you look a little more ragged, but we just spoke like ten seconds before Karl messaged me to come here.”
“I’m not her.” She left out the part where she had been, but in the decade that she had roamed the multiverse, Android 18 had never really looked back onto her period with the Saiyan as something she had missed. Sure, their relationship had burned strong for a while, but it had also involved terrible lows and a slew of red flags that no one really noticed back then. “Surely you were coached on the whole concept of the multiverse, right?”
“That stuff in the classroom? Tch. I fell asleep,” Rad laughed as he leaned entirely over the countertop and started to rummage through one of the minifridges. The bartender, who had been experiencing stuff like this throughout the week, merely paid a blind eye and reminded himself that everything in here was heavily insured.
After a few moments, Raditzu popped back up with a can of Four Loko. Like a small child in a candy store, he stared wide-eyed at the dripping can for a few moments before flashing it to Eighteen. “Look, Babe! They got the goods. I think it’s time to get crunkkkk.”
An audible sigh pulled both of the warriors’ focus to the other side of the bar, where a scrawny, pale man with dark hair had been attempting to enjoy a glass of something green and bubbly.
“You look familiar,” Raditzu casually remarked at the top of his lungs as he leaned over his seated ‘girlfriend’ and squinted to see the figure who now seemed to regret every decision that had brought him to this point in time. “Oh!” The saiyan shouted quite literally into the face of the blonde cyborg before he put a hand on her shoulder and shook her a few times. “It’s that guy with the skinny arms who had all the social reject friends, Babe!”
For her part, Eighteen glanced over and made eye contact with a pair of eyes identical to her own. “Never met him,” she remarked even as her expression softened and her eyes slightly widened in what seemed to be a silent scream for help.
“Nah, think, Babe!” Raditzu leaned back and promptly smacked the countertop as he thrust a finger that missed clipping the woman’s nose by millimeters. “Remember? We fused on that asteroid and were gonna beat this dude up for talking smack to us?” He went to give her another ‘gentle’ shake but she managed to avoid him this time as she slipped off the stool.
“Nope,” Eighteen reiterated.
“Oh, hey!” Raditzu scowled for a brief moment. “You and that stupid bubblegum friend of yours betrayed me last year! That was not cool, dude!”
Seventeen furrowed his brow. “Last year?”
“He’s living in …” Eighteen tried to think up the correct words. “He’s living back in Season Eight.”
The other cyborg laughed as he took a sip of the bubbling green drink. “That was a good year.”
Raditzu casually uprooted the floor-mounted bar stool where his ‘girl’ had been sitting and casually hurtled it like a javelin at the seated machine-hybrid. For his part, Seventeen had the wherewithal to dematerialize in a swirl of white and blue orbs just long enough for the improvised projectile to pass through his spot and explode into splinters against the far wall.
“Careful now,” Seventeen chuckled. “You might hurt someone.” He took a long sip from the glass mug and winced slightly as the alcohol-laced concoction bubbled and hissed down his gullet.
“Is he in the game, Babe?” Raditzu asked without turning his gaze from Seventeen, who had gone back to enjoying his drink as best he could. When no response came, the saiyan turned and saw that the blonde had absconded. “…Babe?” He tilted his head as he looked around the bar and saw no sign of the lithe woman. “Babe?”
With that, he wandered off once again like a puppy trying to find a toy it had lost.
Seventeen, his mind happy to move to any subject that didn’t include the over-powered, over-stimulated, and over-stupid saiyan, shrugged as he sipped.
“I remember how you and that long-haired asshole left us just before we got jumped that year.”
The cyborg turned and saw a vaguely familiar woman in saiyan armor sitting at a booth in the corner of the pub. Despite the spicy words, she was relaxed and had something of a smirk on her face.
With a tip of his mug, Seventeen took a long sip before offering a reply. “I seem to remember you trying to put a knife in my back the year before that.”
She laughed. “All’s fair in Dante’s Abyss.”
“All’s fair.” He took another sip. “How are you, Celipa? You … displaced like our friend Rad or are you something else?”