[Preshow] The Recreation Dome

[Karl Jak]

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

 

[Gilgamesh]

Gilgamesh was blinded by the flash of light and felt a brief moment of weightlessness. Just as quickly as it came, the sensation left. The Golden Monarch was in the familiar Pre-Show Facility. “Third times the charm,” he mumbled to himself as he placed his hand around his neck. As is Dante’s Abyss tradition, he was collared like a common mutt. The metal device felt like an anaconda constricting his throat. Though Gilgamesh thought about adjusting the collar, he remembered the ‘explosive’ reaction that the machinery had when it was tampered with. It would be no fun if he couldn’t participate in the ‘festivities’.

Gathering his surroundings, he looked for the one relaxing thing about Dante’s Abyss, the free drinks. Noticing that the layout was the same as that of his previous attempts at the death gauntlet, he strode off in the direction of the Recreation Dome. The chrome door automatically opened as he walked through. He chuckled at the technology, “Automatic servants? I could get used to this.” Almost as if he had forgotten the recent troubles of the Frost Planet, or as if he intentionally repressed these thoughts. Though it might be difficult, considering he was still in the broken suit of armor stitched with heavy fabric. He stretched his body, the metal creaking and groaning in response to the movement. ‘It might be time to update my wardrobe’ Gilgamesh thought to himself. There must be a boutique around here somewhere. He passed by movie theatres and bars, each obnoxiously advertised with neon signs. Eventually, a more regal shop came into view. A golden sign topped the shop, ‘Louis’ Boutique’, with elegant clothing on the display mannequins in the window. Finally, something simple.

Gilgamesh entered the shop, looking around at the elegant clothing. Each item had some form of gold embroidered in it. While Gilgamesh’s armor would normally fit the bill of the store, the broken metal stuck out like a sore thumb. A man in a stylish black and white suit looked up from his sewing station.

“I take it that you are Louis? I shall require an outfit worthy of someone like myself,” Gilgamesh looked down at his tattered clothing and armor with a mixture of anger and disgust.

The man stood up from his position, “It is Lou-ee sir, not Lew-is,” he spoke with a thick french accent and his nose scrunched up when he pronounced the American version of his name. The man hurried over to the golden king and looked him up and down. “It is painfully obvious that you need a new ensemble,” he stifled a chuckle as he spoke. He then cleared his throat and forced a straight face, walking backward and bringing his hands up, as if he were taking a picture of Gilgamesh with an invisible camera. “What were we thinking today, sir? A night out on the town? A pretty woman? Come on, tell me.”

“This is not a King’s responsibility. You decide for me. It seems to me that you are competent enough for such a task,” Gilgamesh spoke with disinterest, looking at the grime underneath his nails when speaking.

“Of course, sir, right away. I could tell that you were royalty from the moment you walked in,” Louis gave Gilgamesh a wink to punctate his sentence.

“As you should have,” Gilgamesh continued as he began to tediously clean his nails. The man bowed and retreated behind a curtain in the back room. Gilgamesh heard the clinking of clothes hangers as the man presumably looked for something that would suit him.

“God that felt good,” Gilgamesh muttered to himself. It had been such a long time since someone had obeyed his command so willingly. Too bad this was such a rarity. About half an hour passed before the man exited from the back room.

“I have crafted an outfit that should express you perfectly, your highness,” Louis exclaimed, peeking his head from the curtain. He motioned for the golden monarch to come forth into the back room, likely to try the outfit on.

Gilgamesh had not been impressed in a long time. The white coat and black pants, with accents of gold, complimented him perfectly. What was even more surprising was how well it fit, considering Louis never officially took his measurements.

“How does it fit, my liege?” Louis asked, his hands clasped together.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Louis. This is excellent,” Gilgamesh spoke as he turned around, admiring each aspect of the outfit. He even appreciated the golden watch and necklace that Louis had provided him. “I have not had such excellent service for a long time. What will it take for you to join my court?”

Louis bowed his head, “I’m sorry sir, but my loyalty lies with Mr. Jak. I hope you understand.”

“Tch,” Gilgamesh tutted. “What a shame. I doubt Karl Jak appreciates good men such as you,” he shook his head and frowned. “Though I admire your loyalty, please take this as a reward,” he reached into his pocket to pay Louis.

The Frenchman waved his hand, “There’s no need sir. This is all-inclusive for competitors, such as yourself.”

“So be it,” Gilgamesh sighed. He turned to look at the torn set of armor and deflated a bit to see its sorry state.

“If it pleases the king, I can have it repaired and given to you once the event starts,” Louis spoke with joy in his voice. “It would be my pleasure to bring that set of armor to its former glory.”

Gilgamesh raised his eyebrow, “And an armorsmith too? I accept. Please have it done before the competition begins.” He gave Louis a solemn nod before striding out of the store with a new set of clothes and a renewed sense of confidence.

Gilgamesh looked around the rest of the recreation dome, his stomach aching for a meal other than greasy blubber of burnt fish. From the corner of his eye, a sign labeled ‘The King’s Head.’ He softly chuckled to himself. How appropriate. He heard the chime of a bell as he opened the door to the tavern. Almost immediately a waitress had entered the room with a menu in her hand.

“A competitor? Right this way please,” she smiled and walked briskly towards the dining room. It was quite odd to see this establishment nearly empty. It seemed that there were one or two spectator patrons, but the majority of the room had yet to be seated. The Abyss must have just opened, Gilgamesh reasoned. Eventually, she sat him at a booth near the window, placing the menu in front of him.

“Is it that obvious,” Gilgamesh mumbled as he stared out of the window. The blinking lights from the busy recreation dome flickered in his eyes.

“Is what obvious?” that waitress asked herself. “Oh, you being a competitor? Ah yes, well the collar is quite the giveaway. I promise I meant no offense,” she smiled sheepishly at the golden king.

“None taken,” he waved his hand as he continued to stare out the window.

“My name is Maria. Is there anything I can get you started with? Any drinks perhaps?” the woman cheerfully said, with a bright smile.

“Fetch me an old fashioned,” Gilgamesh smiled back politely. “Oh and be sure to use the finest bourbon you have available. I will not have my taste buds assaulted by swill,” he demanded.

“Of course, sir. I first will need to check your I.D.” she said.

A weird pause ensued before Gilgamesh broke off into laughter. “Karl surely outdid himself. That is quite hilarious,” he caught his breath from his excessive laughter and wiped a tear from his eye. He picked up the menu and began to read its contents, but the waitress had not left.

“I’m serious, sir. I’m going to need some form of identification that says you’re of legal age to drink,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“While initially humorous, this joke has ceased to be entertaining. Stop at once,” Gilgamesh decreed as he continued to read. The fried fish sounded delicious.

“I beg your pardon, but I cannot serve you alcohol until you provide some sort of documentation of your age. I’m serious,” she snapped at Gilgamesh.

The golden king placed his menu on the desk and had an irritated look on his face. “So am I. Bring me my drink at once.”

“Sir, I cannot-” The woman was interrupted.

“Do you have some sort of higher-up? A King perhaps or a supervisor?” Gilgamesh hissed. “Fetch me them. I do not wish to deal with your incompetence.” Before she could respond, Gilgamesh waved her away. The woman scowled at Gilgamesh before storming away. He could overhear commotion in the backroom before another woman came out to speak with him. The woman’s name tag read ‘Stephanie’. She came up to him with a forced smile and spoke.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” she asked calmly.

“Yes, I wish to order a drink but your waitress refuses to fetch it for me,” Gilgamesh snarked.

“Yes, well that is because you haven’t provided a form of ID yet. It is the law,” the woman continued with her calm voice, her hands pressed into one another.

“Do you not know who I am? I am King Gilgamesh. I am the law!” he decreed. “I have traveled from the death planet of Inverxe to this comet. I do not have identification because I was slaying monstrosities nor should I even need it.”

“Yes sir, but even so--” the woman was interrupted by Maria who had a phone in her hand. He heard her whisper ‘this is for you’ before she handed the phone over.

‘This is The King’s Head, Stephanie speaking,” she spoke almost as if it was a prerecorded message. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” she glanced over to Gilgamesh who still had a prominent frown on his face. “But sir. Yes. I understand,” the cheery and calm attitude disappeared from her face and she handed the phone back to Maria. “Well good news sir. We would love to get you that drink. It’ll just be a moment,” she said putting back on the cheery facade. They then promptly turned around and walked toward the kitchen.

“Fucking Karens,” Maria mumbled as she just left earshot. Gilgamesh turned his head back out to watch as more people poured into the dome.

 

[Solomon Grundy]

Okuyasu headed out of the park and towards the Pleasure Dome decreed by Karlba Khan. He could already smell the different foods and hear the electronic bleeping of arcades. It took a fair amount of willpower to......to not just...

"I'll have the sampler platter, with a side of lime coconut prawns and a yuzu to drink! Thank you!" His ass was in a worn red leather seat before he passed the first bank of restaurants, his stomach having BMMMMMed him here faster than The Hand. Inside the small hibachi, the grill was sizzling and the atmosphere was loud and friendly. It reminded him of a less expensive version of Tonio's restaurant, although the food was nowhere near as transcendant. It was good enough for Okuyasu to nearly devour half the menu before he was finally satiated, though. And then the best part came...

"Free? Frrreeeeeeee?!" The youth stood bolt upright with a clatter of dirty dishware, before letting out a hearty guffaw. "I'm doing this every year then! You can be sure I'll be back." As he left the restaurant towards the more discerning entertainment, the lights and bleeps drawing the delinquent just as a surely as if he'd been hooked. However, there was....jeez, what was that? It shined brightly, an almost iridescent outline of a man sitting at the bar of another complimentary restaurant.

Okuyasu had to bring The Hand out to see clearly, and when he saw the pretty, sculpted face and aquiline nose of the seated figure, he grinned. This must be another competitor, and unlike Ashe-0, or the dirty guy by the fire, or even Mickey Freakin' Mouse, this guy just LOOKED like his face deserved a punch. He was even half sneering at the waitstaff around him, as if no one could tell; or he didn't care if they could tell.

The Hothead Appears

Okuyasu walked right up behind him and cleared his throat. "You really gonna wear that down in the game? People'll see ya coming a mile away!" He jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned to the side, The Hand manifesting opposite him and mirroring his pose. "I mean, check my clothes out. I like gold, I wanna be rich. It's about being subtle and cool." He jingled the golden ¥ attached to his lapel and sneered like the tough guy he knew he was.

Okuyasu wasn't a smart guy, but just his approach had raised some sort of nearly visible ire from the gold figure. Killing Intent....maybe he'd messed up talking to this guy. His pretty-boy face reminded hin of Rohan at his most patronizing, but the oppressive presence radiating from the golden figure when you came into his world was as menacing as the killer that had haunted Morioh for years.

He held the pose for Gilgamesh to see if and when he turned around, making his mind up that if he was going to really knock the stuffing out of anyone here, it might as well be someone who looked like they deserved it.

 

[Jak]

A flash of pristine light and disappearing into the next area made the eco warrior not miss the familiar dome of Dante’s Abyss’s past. The Recreation dome was like a high-tech mall meant for every one of the competitors. Jak’s mouth fell open as he remembered so much entertainment in one building, enough that would make his fellow partner-in-crime, Daxter, jealous that he didn’t get to come.

The eco warrior calmed himself and brushed back his dreadlocks. This place always either gave him an awkward feeling or an uneasy feeling as he bit back the feeling of being back for four years straight.

But that was all in the past, right? He hoped so, anyways.

The eco warrior tried to hide any unneeded attention he could drag to himself during the tournament but the almost gaudy “explosion” collars didn’t exactly fit well with his scarf.

He squeezed his fist in and out taking a breath.

The Nobel hero almost immediately spoke in his head “Mar, you alright?”

The eco warrior looked up, appearing to be speaking to himself.

“I’m fine, Light. Don’t worry, alright?”

There was so much to do, so much to think about now that he was inside Dante’s Abyss.

Mar was staring at the shop and various wares, it was when he passed a television set showing some more competitors.

Memories flashed by his mind when the television sets flashed competitors past, present and now. But one of the competitors brought back uneasy memories.

The golden King, Gilgamesh.

If he was here, then the other man, Victor Wolfe wasn’t too far behind.


Mar stopped when he felt his fist clench, almost unintentionally.

When he said those two names in his head, a hissing unintentionally came from his lips, then perhaps he might have given the Dark King more power in his head than he thought.

The Nobel hero held back his host inside his head from the Dark King “Them! They made a fool out of me and Dax!”

Light held back “ENOUGH! Mar! Snap out of it. They are pawns in this game as much as you are. Don’t let your anger show in front of them, they’ll use it in the real game against you.”

Mar bit his tongue, immediately calming down after smacking himself into shape.

It’s when if he didn’t like it or not, he hid behind a wall and listened in on what seemed to be some conversation about a King at a bar. Must be the King himself.

Not only that, another stranger wore a purple suit with a money symbol on his coat, and seemed to be nearby.

Jak turned and kept quiet, just listening into what he could gain in terms of information.

 

[Gilgamesh]

Gilgamesh tapped his fingers on the table in front of him out of boredom. Eventually, Maria came back with the Old Fashioned and placed it in front of Gilgamesh. Her smile this time seemed especially forced.

“What can I get for you?” she spoke through her closed smile.

“I’ll take the roasted quail,” Gilgamesh spoke with a dismissive tone, tossing the menu on the table. He never once glanced towards her, but picked up the drink and casually sipped on it. While it wasn’t comparable to the exquisite liquor in his own collection, it was indeed welcome after his long trip. This was especially true when this god forsaken collar prevented him from accessing his treasury. The Golden King swirled the drink around in his hand, the ice making a pleasant clinking sound as it bounced around the glass.

From behind, he heard a voice speaking.

"You really gonna wear that down in the game? People'll see ya coming a mile away! I mean, check my clothes out. I like gold, I wanna be rich. It's about being subtle and cool."

Gilgamesh tensed as he heard about his ‘fashion sense’ being chastised by this unknown force. If this collar was not choking him, he would do the fool a favor and separate his head from his body. However, this was not the case. Gilgamesh let out a deep sigh, relaxing his muscles, and set down his drink. He shifted his body in his seat to where he was half facing the figure behind him. Looking at the man up and down, the Golden King realized that this person was nothing more than a boy. The swagger in his stance informed Gilgamesh that he has confidence, although possibly ill-advised. Judging by the collar of his neck, this was one of his future adversaries.

“Oh?” the King asked while raising an eyebrow. “It is important to me that I seperate myself from the likes of a common mutt,” he ended the sentence harshly. Now sit. I do wish to know the person who can so boldly address a King in such a disrespectful manner,” Gilgamesh demanded as he gestured to the seat across from him at the table.

“Oi. Where’s the dog? I love dogs!” the young man shouted, looking around the bar. Gilgamesh gave him a confused look as Okuyasu continued to genuinely search for this dog, even looking under the table Gilgamesh was sitting at. Disappointed that there was no canine in sight, Okuyasu moved to take the seat in front of Gilgamesh. “I don’t like being lied to, mister,” he muttered, glaring at the Golden King. As he scooted in his seat, Gilgamesh picked up his drink and took another sip. The young man instead kicked up his feet and started to pick his teeth from likely a previous meal. The Golden King sneered at him.

“What are you lookin at?” the young man scoffed, continuing to idly dislodge the meat stuck in his teeth.

“I asked you to identify yourself,” Gilgamesh’s temper was getting short. He narrowed his eyes at this disrespectful cur. At the very least, he should be dignified in such company. Gilgamesh has met people who willingly followed his rule or even challenged his authenticity. But ignoring him? This was a new degree of fury that he hadn’t experienced before.

“Ohhh,” the man said, his mouth agape as if he just remembered. “My name is Okuyasu and I’m going to win this competition!” he gave Gilgamesh a big grin and flexed his arms.

“Okuyasu…”Gilgamesh trailed off as he repeated his name. “Well, Okuyasu, people often show humility in front of a King,” he said snidely. “Besides, to claim victory so boldly in front of someone obviously superior is unwise,” he hissed before he took another sip of his drink.

 

[Solomon Grundy]

Okuyasu sat up a little straighter and stared across the table at Gilgamesh. The resemblance was uncanny, from the blonde hair to the malice in his eyes. The arrogance of a life lived unopposed. That alone was enough to make him dislike this King, even more so when he opened his mouth.


"Haw hawwwww! You sayin' you can beat me? I never met a king before, but can you even run a mile? Don't you have throne-sitting and banquets to get back to?" It started off as an insult, but Okuyasu seemed to lose his train of thought. "And piles of money, and pretty girls serving your every whim, and all the finest art and wine..." He trailed off, before snapping back to it and focusing on Gilgamesh again. "Anyway, don't expect me to take it easy on ya just cuz you're old!"


A vein pulsed in the King's temple. This....simpleton...this utter, braying jackass had more swagger in his empty head than brains. "Oh, I am old. Legendarily old. You should pay more attention to your ancestral betters in history class, boy." His purr of a voice dripped with poison as a hairline crack appeared in his drinking vessel from the pressure of his palm.


The Stand user brought out The Hand again to glower behind him intimidatingly, but Gilgamesh didn't blink, not even when Okuyasu reached out with one chunky white finger a hair's breadth from Gilgamesh's nose. He couldn't.....he couldn't see Stands? Okuyasu nearly laughed out loud and started to cook up a prank to play on this lonely King. "Well then, I mean, I am pretty dumb. Thinking too much hurts my brain, so I guess I better just go practice fighting some more!"


He got up and patted Gilgamesh roughly on the back, an odd bassy noise emanating from the youth's right hand. As Okuyasu stepped away with his hand over his mouth, snickering to himself, Gilgamesh would feel a jerking motion, followed by a strange and uncomfortable yank upwards and backwards. His arms had moved maybe an inch, but his elbows felt like they were fighting against being pinned against a wall, his chest straining suddenly against the fabric of his clothes. What the hell had the boy done to him?

 

[Malloki Tuwile]

Though Malloki had no means of natural flight, the smell of food had almost yanked the man off his feet as he dashed into the mixing pot of fantastic scents. Every step he nearly fell over his own feet as he stumbled into the godsend of food courts.

“OH WHOOCHIEMAMA!” The exclamation brought a few eyes his way, but the general appearance of the man kept those eyes upon him. With a quick adjustment of the towel covering his modesty, wet feet continue their quick slapping-splattering pace into and through the food court to take a look at all the delicious goods laid out before him.

The King’s Head looked neato. The old-fashioned-yet-regal tavern would be Malloki’s first victim today! The man barreled through the doors with eager bravado. “The fuuuun has ariiiived! Thank you very much!”

Once again, all eyes fell upon Malloki for his entrance but stayed for the presence he revealed. With his arms outstretched and his feet placed shoulder width, he was eagle spread and offering a good long look at the gorestastic visad that was Dante’s Abyss’ most…

How would people describe Malloki? The maddest? No, he was far too cheery to be mad. Deranged? Closer, but not quite. He was a force of personality - but that just lumped him in with every other contestant.

When the royal eyes of Gilgamesh fell upon this force they were immediately assaulted by the splotches of tried blood clinging to the pale flesh, barely concealing poorly healed scars. Some sort of lumpy biomass had solidified into the man’s hair. While Gilgamesh was familiar with such carnage, to see one wearing it so proudly as he would wear a suit was still wrong.

Okuyasa, on the other hand, could identify with Malloki. The idiot’s energy matched the idiot’s energy. The gore though? Little excessive.

Both, however, were stunned silent for a moment with eyes glancing down in unison to the towel that had fallen with a wet splat to the floor.

“That’s just wrong,” Maria stated before noping out of the room and into the kitchen for a pallet cleanser.

Malloki, following the gaze of the others, took notice of his excessive exposure. “Woopsie!” He quickly dipped down to gather up his modesty and retrieve the blood-soaked cloth.

 

[Gilgamesh]

Gilgamesh’s jacket suddenly constricted around him, the fabrics ripping against his body. It was as if he were trying to fit into pre-teen skinny jeans. Frustrated, Gilgamesh tried to get off his tight clothing but struggled as if he were fitted into a straight jacket. Maria had come back out, with the quail entree on top of a clearly fake, gold platter. The sight of the obnoxious king struggling in discomfort made her giggle. Gilgamesh shot her a dirty glare as she placed the platter on top of his table. She cleared her throat and looked at the only other person nearby. Hoping that Okuyasu was the cause of Gilgamesh’s suffering, she gave him a seductive wink.

“Is there anything I can get you, honey,” she said charmingly.

Okuyasu, blushed for a moment before gathering his composure. “What he’s having looks delicious. Give me two of those!” he exclaimed, giving her a cheesy smile.

“Coming right up, handsome,” she turned, her walk itself now seemed more like a strut. Either she did really like Okuyasu or she really hoped to piss off Gilgamesh. Even she, herself, didn’t know.

“Oi King Guy! That waitress is totally hot,” he trailed off, staring at her as she disappeared into the Kitchen. He spit into his hand and slicked back his hair. He made finger guns and clicked his tongue.

Gilgamesh just barely managed to get the jacket off of his body, parts of it torn apart. “Tch. I suppose you could say that. If you are attracted to such mongrels,” Gilgamesh mumbled the last sentence underneath his breath.

Okuyasu looked back at the King and saw the ornate jacket torn on his lap. He couldn’t help but snicker at his devilish prank. Gilgamesh turned and realized that this boy must have a power that had caused this. He curled his fist into a ball and---

The door to the bar blasted open. Gilgamesh and Okuyasu turned their heads and their jaws dropped. A bloody mess of a man, covered in just a towel, had burst through the door. He stood proudly as if he enjoyed having the eye of every patron locked on him.

The fuuuun has ariiiived! Thank you very much!”

Maria was just coming back to the table, Okuyasu’s order balanced precariously on her shoulder. She instinctively turned her head to welcome the new guest, but she stopped in her tracks when her eyes met his. As if on queue, the towel that was tied haphazardly around his waist had plopped into a wet mess on the floor.

The now-naked man continued in his ‘superman’ pose until Maria dropped the platter on the floor. Her face went from disgust to confusion before eventually settling on disgust. She covered her mouth to stifle a vomit before she burped out, “That’s just wrong,” before running into the kitchen. From behind the kitchen doors, everyone could hear her retching.

For the first time, the man took in his surroundings and realized he was exposed. With a sheepish smile, he dropped to the floor and picked up the towel, again lazily wrapping it around his waist. “Whoopsie,” he said as if he were apologizing for bumping someone on the street.

Gilgamesh dropped the quail leg that was nearly in his mouth. In all of his time in this life or his previous lives, he had never seen anything nearly as offensive to the senses. The man looked like one of the monstrous corpses on Inverxe, but with the foolish confidence of mankind.

The man frowned as Maria never came back, “Well...I guess that’s okay. I can seat myself.” He scanned the room for an open table, but his eyes settled on the two figures that stood out amongst the crowd. Okuyasu took a few steps back as the walking corpse drew nearer.

To Gilgamesh’s horror, he could see more details as it drew closer. His hair was matted from what was assumed to be blood and his body covered in blood and scars. He eventually got to the table and pulled out the chair. “This seat taken?” the stranger asked politely with a smile, revealing his bloodstained teeth. The King and Okuyasu remained speechless for a moment. “Oh, where are my manners! My name is Malloki! And yours?” he mockingly hit his head with his palm, as if he had forgotten something. He then dared to try and shake Gilgamesh’s hand.

The Golden King recoiled and gained control of himself again. He pushed his platter in front of Malloki and stood up. “Do not speak to me unless spoken too, abomination. Here, have at my scraps,” Gilgamesh hissed as he began to walk away.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush,” Malloki said, blushing.

“If you so wish to perish at my hands, wait until the game begins. Mongrel,” Gilgamesh recoiled.

“Oh, then I’ll definitely be looking for you…” Malloki trailed off. The Golden King shuddered at the thought.

“Okuyasu! Do you wish to follow?” Gilgamesh turned to look at the teen, still paralyzed in place. “Decide now or the next we will meet it shall be as enemies on the Island.”

 

[Solomon Grundy]

Okuyasu took the seat Gilgamesh had been occupying and responded to his question with a wave. "Nah, the waitress dropped my food. I hope we get to fight down there! Bye!" He then very deliberately placed his hand in front of his eyes, and manifested The Hand behind him so he could still see.

"Okay, so, second; you gotta put on some damn clothes, man. Or else the waitress won't come back, and she totally had eyes for me." He gestured vaguely in Malloki's direction, using his Stand to pick up Gilgamesh's abandoned mug of ale and bring it to his lips. To Malloki, it would look like a blatant display of telepathic powers.

"Also, you're like, totally covered in blood. Your hair is just-" Okuyasu shuddered and reached up to gingerly touch his pompadour. "Actually, that's making me want to vomit, hold still a second." He swiped his right hand over Malloki's head, his invisible guardian mirroring the motion.

BMMMMVVVV

The festering landscape of bulbous bloody flesh flattened to Malloki's head, restoring some semblance of a normal scalp. Completely painless, and confusingly precise. Okuyasu gave a thumbs up, his other hand still over his eyes. "Now put some goddamn pants on before I throw you out the window, please."

 

[Malloki Tuwile]

"What are pants?" Malloki inquired, tilting his head ever so slightly. Did he question the antics of floating objects? The removal of the guts intertwined with his hair? The idea that any living creature could possibly be attracted to this ugly fucker?

"Heh, kidding. I know what pants are! I'll grab a pair... one second." A sudden turn and a flick of his hand, he pointed at a poor random bystander resembling his own size. "Can you run over to that fancy place with all those neato threads and grab me something?"

The random man had frozen like a deer in the spotlights. Okuyasa had stood to attention, ready to step up against the psychotic man. In the end, both were stunned into a moment of But... why tho? "You know, gotta fill the tank before the big game!"

"So, whacha say, Greg?"

"It's ... Phil."

"I'll never remember that, nicknaming you Fonzy. So, about those pants? Pleeeaaasse!" There was something about the way he asked so nicely, with even his molars on display, caked in blood from the all-encompasing shower of death that he had been reborn into. There was silence for a moment as the man began inching away towards the door. Why poke the hungry tiger?

The pair of eyes from Okuyasa (and the entity poor Malloki could not see) fell back onto Malloki. “Are you going to eat that?” He asked, pointing at the plate of ‘scraps’ Gilgamesh left behind.

 

[Roy Mustang]

Mustang idly tracked the bloody footprints as they trailed through the recreation dome. It was quite a sight, shops and stalls littered the space, goods of all sorts ready and waiting for any contestants. He paused just before he followed the gore trail into the tavern. Mustang's gaze was drawn to the golden king, exiting the building with a look of disdain clear upon his face. The man was well dressed, exuding an aura that demanded attention. There was little doubt this man was one of the other contestants. Gilgamesh glanced briefly in Mustang's direction. he stopped, returning mustang's stare with growing irritation.

"You will avert your gaze, mongrel." He commanded, mounting frustrations eroding his restraint. "You are in the presence of a King."

Mustang raised an eyebrow at the insult, glancing away with an easy smirk.

"Well, I can't say I was expecting to come across royalty here. You certainly wouldn't see King Dulamare attending an event like this."

Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes slightly, hands held in his pockets with an easy confidence.

"If you're with Syntech Security, the abomination you want is inside. If you're a contestant..." He lingered on this sentence; Mustang met his gaze again. The two men measuring each other up as they stood in the street just outside the tavern.

"The latter." Mustang said eventually, breaking the stare with another smirk. He passed the golden king, giving the man a playful knock on the arm as he entered the tavern. "See you on the island, friend."

Mustang frowned as he entered the tavern, spotting the blood-soaked mess he had been following. The monster of a man was sitting across from some punk kid, cheerfully gobbling at the plate in front of him with no regard for the hygiene involved or the blood that he was still shedding on the floor. Those few patrons still around were giving them a wide berth. Mustang noted a waitress, reluctantly peering out from the kitchen. Surprisingly, It didn't seem like anyone was in immediate danger. The best move here would be not to acknowledge the bloody man until he better understood the situation.

"Evening, madam. Is this place still open for business?" he asked with a wink. She hesitated, glancing between the table and him before nodding.

"Oi! Soldier man!" came the high-pitched shout from the table behind him. Mustang turned to see the punk staring at him with a hostile look. "No cutting in line! I'm still waiting on my food!"

"Come on, Kid." Mustang shrugged, gesturing with one hand in his pocket. "There's no reason to make a fuss about it."

"No reason?" Okuyasu repeated incredulously, "You've got funny priorities there, Soldier man! Don't go making any moves, you hear me?"

"Fine." Mustang leaned his back to the bar, waiting across from the pair's table. So much for that plan. He glanced over one shoulder to the poor waitress still waiting in the kitchen doorway. "I'll just take some coffee then. In a mug if you can get one. Thanks, Honey."

He turned back to face the two of them, noticing that Okuyasu was still staring daggers at him.

"Ooo! are we about to start a new game?" the blood-soaked man asked excitedly, head bobbing between the two of them. Mustang looked at him with blank confusion.

"I thought we weren't allowed to play until we reached the island, but if we're gonna play now, I'm in!" the madman grinned, licking grease from bloody fingers.

"You just... play games, do you?" Mustang asked measuredly, trying to get a sense for just what kind of psychopath he was dealing with. He seemed aware that he wasn't allowed to hurt people here, but not to realize the utter abhorrence of his appearance. Malloki held up one finger with a corrective air.

"Bup, bup, bup. I don't just play games! I win games!" He answered with a healthy serving of self-satisfaction.

"...right." Mustang said eventually, unsure how else to respond to the man's clear delusions. He allowed himself a slight amount of satisfaction. At least some of these contestants he wouldn't have to feel bad for fighting. "We'll have to play on the island, then." he told Malloki, inwardly revolted by the look of glee that instantly sprung to the Malloki's eyes.

"Really? You bet I'll be looking for you!" the madman responded with a wide grin.

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Mickey squeezed his nose tightly as he stepped into the putrid stench that blanketed the Recreation Dome. Much to his surprise, the smells of freshly baked pretzels, hot lunch sandwiches, and cold, refreshing Pepsi were not, in fact, the first aromas to greet him; rather, the scent of blood and gore already wafted into his nose, undoubtedly arising from the trail of bloody footprints leading further into the huge, Syntech-themed shopping mall. The mouse hero’s eyes followed the trail, trying to see how far it went, but it turned a corner out of his sight, and after a moment’s deliberation, he decided not to follow it.

Oh, brother. Wasn’t this place supposed to be the calm before the storm?

Certainly there’d be enough blood and gore on the island; he could take care of whoever the nasty villain was who’d made this mess there. No reason to chase him down now and get himself in all kinds of trouble with Karl Jak.

As he reached the split in the hallway, he spotted Kopaka scurrying his way holding some sort of iced coffee drink. He tried to call out to the warrior, but he seemed altogether uninterested in conversation and all but completely ignored Mickey’s salutations. He ducked after the Toa, following him briefly down a side hallway until the warrior disappeared through a door to the Library.

Ah, the Library. So the Toa wanted some alone time, eh? Mickey understood, and would grant it to him.

He sped back to the main hallway, emerging just in time to barely miss a certain golden-hair king sweeping through, and gazed once more at his two paths. Down the fork the bloody footprints decorated, Mickey Mouse could hear a further commotion. Once again, he felt extreme trepidation about getting involved in anything so raucous before he was even on the dreaded heckscape that was the Dante’s Abyss island.

Instead, he took the fork in the hallway that the bloody footprints did not travel down and plunged deeper into the Recreation Dome’s goodies. As he furthered himself from the carnage, it began to look more like what he’d grown to expect of Karl’s magnificently huge fortune: neon signs in various shades of pink, purple, and red, boutiques with the wildest clothes, and shameless corporate advertisements painting the walls instead of murals.

He gazed at the section of the shopping mall laid out in front of him. Across the way, a fancy-lookin’ restaurant called ‘Olive’s Garden’ took up most of the wall. Lining the rest of the miniature corridor were mostly clothing shops. Stuck in amongst them, a convenience store advertised that they were selling bottles of the competition’s signature sponsor, Pepsi.

Seeing the blue, white, and red logo plastered on a sign outside the storefront brought a smile to Mickey’s face. Who was he to deny himself the fresh, refreshing taste?

Minutes later, he’d strolled up to the counter, bottle of Pepsi in hand and coin dropping with a clink before the shopkeeper. Mickey glanced down at the money he’d just dropped and realized he didn’t exactly know where he’d procured it from. His brow furrowed. “Oh boy, I’m sorry,” he squeaked, “I, uh, don’t even know what you folks use for money here. Is this stuff good?” He glanced up toward the face on the other side of the glass, but wasn’t met with a face at all, per se.

“We accept any form of currency in the worthy quest to acquire a bottle of refreshing Pepsi,” the dulcet tones of Pepsiman greeted him from behind his blue-and-silver mask.

Mickey almost screamed.

“Pepsiman!!”

Okay, so maybe he did scream a little bit. He leapt up, bottle of Pepsi escaping from his hand, and clambered onto the counter, slinging his tiny arms around Pepsiman’s neck and yanking him into a tight hug.

“Mickey?” a voice called from outside the shop. The mouse glanced over to see that Mugen had, indeed, followed him from the park. “You’re a fast little mouse.”

“Mugen!” the king cried, equally excited. “Mugen, look, this dude’s a friend of mine!”

“Mickey Mouse,” Pepsiman droned, reaching around and patting his much smaller… ‘friend’ on the back, “you have dropped your Pepsi.”

Mickey glanced at the bottle, then hopped down and swiped it up, twisting off the top and placing it to his lips. He sighed as he downed a big gulp of the liquid, memories of his and Pepsiman’s adventures through the wilds of the Dante’s Abyss island flowing back into him with every drop. He simply could not believe that his friend was actually here, in the… well, he didn’t know if he could say in the flesh, but in reality.

“Mugen, Pepsiman,” the mouse performed introductions, “Pepsiman, Mugen.”

Mugen, for his part, stared quizzically at the corporate robot behind the counter, not altogether processing his existence or why his little mouse friend was so convinced that he and this cyborg were… ‘friends.’ Nevertheless, the samurai wasn’t so impolite as to not go along with Mickey’s story. “Pleasure to meet ya, Pepsiman.”

“Indeed,” Pepsiman said back, and if his whole face hadn’t been covered in the fabric of his unitard, Mickey thought he might’ve been smiling. “Can I interest you in a refreshing bottle of Pepsi?”

“No need, we can share!” Mickey offered, holding out the bottle of Pepsi for Mugen to drink. The samurai cautiously accepted it and placed it to his lips, which curled almost immediately into a smile.

“Damn, that’s good,” Mugen nodded.

“Language!” Mickey waved a scolding finger in Mugen’s direction, “but I know, right?!”

 

[Solomon Grundy]

After a certain point, Okuyasu just plain lost his appetite. Watching the bloody corpselike figure pick and chew at the leftovers was intoxicatingly repulsive. Okuyasu couldn't help but watch at the spittle and gore specked the table. The Hand had it's palms full knocking stray bits of quail from its user's face. Tge youth stood up in fact, slowly edging away from the ragged individual. "Yeah, uh, sure, real nice meeting you, Malkey..."

As Malloki ate, the waitress came back out bearing a plate of two quails. Her face fell as she saw Okuyasu was leaving, and he waved at her bashfully, gesturing for her to give the food to Malloki so he hopefully would stay....focused on that. To sweeten the pot, he mimed drinking a bottle of something and pointed at the back of Malloki's head. 'Get him drunk'.

The waitress looked crestfallen as the money themed Stand user jammed his hands in his pockets before whistling innocently and aligning himself with the doorframe.

"THE HAND!"

BMMMMMM

Okuyasu went zipping out the door, followed by the entire stack of receipts that was on the host station behind him. A papery tornado of inconvenience and complete abdication of responsibility swirled around the tavern before one slip settled on the two roast quails that had been flung in front of Malloki, along with a dusty bottle of wine. When the voodoo man had turned to look at the waitress, smiling a misshapen jawed smile, she shrieked again and run back into the kitchen. "Finish your meal and go get some real clothes or I'm calling security!"


Outside the tavern, Okuyasu breathed a sigh of relief that wasn't tinged with the whiff of decay and mania. A sad old janitor was scrubbing bloodstains off the cobblestones with a brush, grumbling about how good he'd had it back when he served the drinks on Karl's plane.

Okuyasu clenched a fist and looked up at the signposts near the bar and tavern he'd exited. Man, that place had gotten bizarre real fast.

 

[Malloki Tuwile]

The world was lining up for Malloki. Two people already appeared happy to meet him on the island for a fun game, and a third basically handed over a meal fit for a king! And he was already eating a meal fit for a king!

Alas, the broken man knew when enough was enough. After wiping the residue of grease from his lips with a napkin - but of course forgoing cleaning any mess anywhere else - he slouched back in his chair. “Ahh, magnifique! Fantastico! Darn toot’n!” He had little idea the actual context for each of those statements, but they sounded appropriate for such a good meal, and the meal to come once he could safely take another bite.

Mustang was once again the center of Malloki’s world. The wide, unblinking eyes and ear to ear grin brought a weight to the pit of the alchemist’s stomach. “So, who do you think’s gonna win? My bet’s on the grumpy king. Ya don’t just become royal without knowing how to play Chess, am I right?”

The analysis even further threw Roy for a loop. This man, caked in blood and guts, so eager to play the game of life and death, did not have the insane confidence to win? “I can’t say. There’s a lot of strong contestants from the look of it. Strong will is just as good as a strong weapon in these sorts of things.”

“Right, right, but seriously, who’s your coin on? You think you’re going to come out on top? What’s your game? Wait, don’t tell me, you look long a mahjong kinda guy, am I right?”

“...”

“Oh! Maybe a game of Bullshit?” Everything this man says is bullshit, Roy deduced quite quickly. “You know, the card game? No? Maybe Baseball-wait, they take weapons, don’t they?”

“Actually, yes they do. Seeing as you question it, I guess you came here with nothing for them to take.” The man’s calculating gaze did not trail down in fear of the towel’s current effectiveness in covering jewels. He had no desire to know if there were as many scars down there as everywhere else.

Malloki nodded at the brilliant deduction. “I don’t play games that need a lot of pieces. I enjoy more theatre of the mind! You know, like pattycake until someone gets so tired they fall asleep!”

 

[The Future Warrior]

Departing from the park, Ashe slowly made her way back into the central portion of the facility. The 'lobby', as it were, if it could even be called such a thing. Given that it held access to not only the entrance to the facility, as well as access to the other various locations....it did technically qualify by definition. Though currently the place was definitely...in poor shape. She didn't even pause in her stride as she ducked through the entrance from the park, and made her way through. She caught sight of the awkward little human, Kevin, still where he had been upon her arrival. Far more haggard and exhausted than before, and he could barely muster up the energy for a halfhearted smile.

"You appear to be far overdue for several days off," Ashe noted offhandedly while walking past him.

"Hah, yeah...so you'd think..." His shoulders drooped and he tried in vain to properly adjust his glasses.

"I do not think. It was a simple observation." And she ducked under and through another entrance out of the lobby area, and out into the dome it lead to. She had simply chosen at random, not entirely interested in where it might lead to at the moment. No sooner had she stepped fully through however did she regret that decision. An assault upon the senses, prompting an immediate adjustment to her sensitivity levels and dulling the onslaught of sensory input. Flashing lights in dazzling shades of assorted neon, a symphonic cacophony of noises both musical and less so, and the stupefying swirl of many and myriad aromas of different food.

None of it was especially appealing to her, and served as little more than a nuisance. She was programmed and built with the capability to do things such as eat and drink, and even manage to accurately taste such things. But it did quite literally nothing for her; it didn't even get converted into energy. Just another seemingly useless tidbit intended to foster further options for 'bonding' with the soldiers she was slated to be deployed with.

Utterly ridiculous.

She only lightly squinted her large eye and peered around for a moment. Aside from the glaring scenery, there was one detail that stood out somewhat...morbidly. A trail of bloody footprints. Made by bare feet, and caked with no small amount of dust and other assorted debris.

"They are not overly discerning on who they allow to sign up for this event..." That was Ashe's sole observation, and provided a clear enough indicator of who or whatever the one who had made such a mess might be. She had no interest in meeting them at this particular moment, and so resolved to simply ignore the trail rather pointedly. She turned and wandered off in the complete opposite direction through the veritable paradise of assorted recreational nonsense.

There was no small measure of commotion, and given that it came from a direction in which she tracked an absolutely putrid odor of blood and something more foul, she disregarded it entirely.

Her aimless stroll through the recreational zone in search of some sign of other competitors turned out to be fruitless. Perhaps they had all been drawn to that commotion over near the source of the absolutely wretched smells. It might not be the worst idea for her to...

GAMES OF SKILL

What did skill have to do with games? How had she ended up outside of these bleeping, flashing arcades? Had she not just been wandering through a veritable maze of differing classes and types of food establishments? She stopped in her tracks, a puzzled glance around at her surroundings quickly earning her confirmation that yes, just a few dozen paces back, there they were indeed. A few dozen paces back and down a flight of stairs she had scarcely even registered.

".....this place is an organizational nightmare." Only the mind of someone truly insane, or truly rich (if not both) could dream up such a ridiculous place. Fitting, given it was owned by one with enough power and fortitude to host a literal death game.

Her frustration and confusion at the outer area and its mind-searing layout eventually fizzled out, replaced by curiosity as to what might lay inside. The prospect of 'skill' actually being involved was a mildly intriguing one, and so she simply shrugged it off and carefully ducked her way through the doors and into the arcade in question.

It would pass some time, if nothing else.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Sigmund perked up as he found himself presented with an array of exotic aromas, his stomach suddenly rumbling. It was immediately apparent that no, the high priest hadn't eaten in the last week. Following his nose, he found himself being led into a strange, seedy bar. A tall, pale man was behind the counter as Sigmund approached, looking up at the cultist with a pair of dull black eyes.

“Hello, valued customer.” The bartender said, his gaze locked onto the cultist. Sigmund couldn't help but notice that his lips didn't move, though it was more with curiosity than unease. “How may I serve you today?”

“I'm looking for some food. I assume you serve food here?”

“Of course. Please, follow me to your table.” The bartender said. Rather than step out from behind the bar and lead the high priest to his table, however, an identical man stepped out from seemingly nowhere, gesturing for Sigmund to follow him. He did as he was told, following the pale waiter to a table where a menu was already waiting. “What will you be having today?”

The cultist opened the menu and looked over it for a few moments, pondering the selection. The menu contained many rather exotic items but Sigmund was rather unphased by the odd selection. On the contrary, he was rather excited to try something new.

“Hmm… could I have the xer’sai claw and… are the cerebrospinal noodles made with human cerebrospinal fluid?”

“On request, sir.”

“I'll have it without human cerebrospinal fluid, thanks.” Sigmund said, handing over the menu to the waiter.

“Of course, sir.” The odd man replied before disappearing into the kitchen. The high priest waited patiently for his food, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had his tome with his. A little light reading would definitely not go amiss. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long, with the man soon returning with a plate of gnarled blue claws and a bowl of steaming liquid, pale noodles suspended in the strange broth.

Sigmund thanked the waiter before starting on the claws. He cracked open the blue carapace of one, curiously noting the purple flesh within that he could have sworn still pulsed with life. He briefly wondered what kind of creature a xer’sai was before shrugging and reaching for his cutlery. The regular assortment of knife, fork and spoon was there, as well as a bizarre combination between the latter two. The cultist picked up the strange utensil, beholding it for a few moments before setting it back down.

Taking up his fork, Sigmund dug out a piece of the meat and speared it on the end of the silverware. He raised it to his face, getting a better look at it. The purple flesh was dripping slightly with an unusual purple liquid, but little else could be ascertained about it from a simple look. There was only one thing to do.

‘Here goes nothing.’ Sigmund thought as he inserted the morsel into his mouth. Immediately, it felt oddly rubbery, but when he bit down on the meat it had next to no resistance, giving to his teeth immediately and releasing a gush of the odd juice he had noted earlier into his mouth. The meat had likely been seasoned in some way, as Sigmund could vaguely detect the familiar flavours of salt and pepper, along with some other mystery spices mixed in with the liquid, but overall it had a strange, bitter flavour that slightly burned his mouth, almost as if he had just taken a swig of salty mouthwash. “Not bad.”

Sigmund dug in, quickly finishing off the first and second claws before he turned to the noodles. The bowl had come on a tray, along with a pair of wooden sticks stuck together, but the high priest couldn't tell what their purpose was. Shrugging a little, he picked up his spoon and dipped it into the broth. It was a little cloudy, but overall looked similar to water. Suspended in it were some unusual noodles which were frayed at each end, but Sigmund was ignoring them for the moment. The psionic raised the broth to his mouth and took a sip.

Immediately, he was hit with an odd sensation as the fluid ran into his mouth. It was rather hot, as to be expected, and was seasoned with several spices foreign to the mindbreaker. Underlying these spices was a bland, somewhat hard to describe, but not unpleasant flavour. Swallowing the broth, Sigmund took his fork and picked up some of the noodles, swirling them around the fork to avoid slurping. The noodles were thick and strangely fatty, with little flavour of their own. However, they had clearly absorbed a considerable amount of fluid, having captured the strong, spicy taste. Pleased with his selection, Sigmund wolfed his food down, finishing it off promptly.

“Ah, I can't remember the last time I ate so well.” He sighed to himself as he rose to his feet. The waiter noticed his departure and bowed deeply, his knees bending forwards to provide some extra depth to the bow.

“I do hope you'll come again, sir.”

The high priest briefly wondered what he should be doing next as he idly wandered the recreation dome. As he did, a barrage of flashing lights and incessant sounds suddenly struck him, jolting him from his thoughts. The sensory overload almost drove Sigmund away, but the promise of “games of skill” caught his eye. He wasn't sure what constituted a game of skill in this world, but the prospect was intriguing.

“I should probably find Victor, he'll want to talk to me…” He reasoned with himself. “Although… If he wants to talk, I'm sure he’ll just call me.”

Satisfied with his own logic, the cultist turned and entered the slightly disorienting arcade. It was time to prove himself.

 

[Victor Wolfe]

The familiar yet new site of the Dante’s Abyss lobby filled Victor’s vision, the many stalls and advertisements mingling together to create an almost overwhelming assault on the senses. Taking a moment to adjust, the Emperor steadied himself. Upon taking a good look around at the dreaded lobby, Victor’s heart sank. For once, he didn’t recognize a single familiar face.


It appeared that he had come all that way for nothing. He had hoped to be reunited with a former comrade in arms, his master, or even an old enemy to taunt before their inevitable demise.


His eyes turned to the floor as his usual sadistic grin was replaced by a far more mellow frown, the wolfish aura that seemed to trail him wherever he went dying down to a pup’s whimper. Perhaps what he had found already really was all that remained of his former family and home. And now he was in a very different and decidedly deadly world, with only those he had invited along to keep him company.


Victor sighed; not recognising anyone at all was a mood killer. After all, where was the fun in murdering a bunch of perfect strangers? Perhaps he would cancel his sign up. But first, he would need a drink, and if there was one thing that Karl Jak was undoubtedly an expert on, it would be a good wine.


Skulking in the direction of the restaurant dome, Victor could not even get excited at the chaos that seemed to have taken place in the area. A sickening mixture of blood and food painted the floor, reeking of copper and grime. Alas, Victor could not find it within him to be even remotely curious. The prospect that this was going to be just another fruitless endeavour was a harder punch to the gut than he had expected, the slow, sinking misery forming in the pit of his stomach spreading a numbness through his veins.


As he turned the corner, his plan to stuff himself with rich food and wine until the tournament began had to be postponed. For as he walked towards the restaurant he beheld a sight that sent him rushing to crouch behind a stone pillar Three large black fuzzy spheres had overtaken his vision... an unmistakable silhouette.


Mickey Mouse.


The Terror of Nippur, Destroyer of the Golden City, Pillager of the People, and New Babylon’s most wanted number one.


His back pressed to the pillar, Victor listened in on the conversation the mouse was currently engaged in. It was definitely Mickey, and he seemed to be speaking to a rather strange individual, lean and rather lackadaisical in his mannerisms but with a stare that could cut stone.


Victor had to hold his jaw to prevent the manic laugh that was building in his chest. After all these years, all the nightmares and murder fantasies… where would Victor find the Mouse, but the place it all began?


The Abyss was truly a magical place, filled to the brim with wonderful terrors.


Victor slid down the pillar until he was seated, the euphoria from finding his next victim was overpowering, his legs turning to jelly with the excitement and nerves. He would only get one chance to create the perfect show leading to Mickey’s brutal demise, but what exactly would the game be this time...?


The possibilities ran through the assassin’s mind. He could play at making friends with him, and then right at the end of the event stab him in the back! But that had been done already; no one liked a rerun. He could play it sneakily... slit the little rodent’s throat before he even had a chance to squeak once on the island, but that was so anticlimactic to the suffering the detestable mouse had caused so many.


No, Victor knew exactly what he had to do. The fire in his stomach burned hot, and the thoughts of finally executing that damned mouse had gotten his face flushed and breathing heavier than he would have liked. Standing up straight and getting his hyperventilating under control, Victor removed a letter from his inside cloak pocket and slipped out from behind the pillar’s shadow.


With a warm smile, Victor sauntered towards Mickey like an old friend, lightly tapping him on the shoulder.


“Good evening my fellow prime!” announced Victor, practically batting his lashes to play up the innocent act. “How about we have a nice discussion over some of Mr Jak’s finest vintage and spaghetti? Why, maybe we can even meet in the middle of one if you like. After all, I feel we have a lot to talk about!”

 

[The Future Warrior]

"Fantastic! New high score!"

The machine in front of her, labeled as 'WHAC-A-POOL' in large red and black lettering, droned its message in an obnoxiously enthusiastic, excited tone. The words 'HI SCORE' flashed on the readout in bright, bold orange-red lettering, alternating with the actual numbers of her score. "....hmmm. Fascinating."

In each of her four hands, she delicately clasped the handle of an almost comically padded mallet. Sized for humans, they barely provided enough space to wrap two fingers around for her, but still sufficient to keep hold of them. She had grasped the objective of the game readily enough upon watching others play it, simply use the provided mallet (or in her case, mallets) to deliver a sound whack to the diminutive figures which popped out of various holes in the machine. Small little things generously shaped like an out of proportion humanoid, in some bizarre red and black attire and each one making a different absurd face. The kind which perfectly incentivized them to be pummeled without mercy.

Fitting, given the simple objective, she supposed.

Though even with four arms, and thus double the normal possible number of striking opportunities as most possessed, she was hard-pressed to keep up once it progressed to a certain point. Early on it was trivial, and a single arm would more than suffice. But it seemed that it sped up as she kept up, and the longer the game went on the faster things moved and the shorter the taunting little figures remained up. Less a game of skill and more one of reflexes, but she supposed it was close enough. Deciding which ones to go for and in which order did certainly require a bit of quick thinking.

And it was definitely helping her work out some of the lingering inability in her limbs. The second pair of arms slung over her back especially, moved sluggishly and weakly. Like they would on a human who had lost feeling from sleeping on them wrong, she suspected. A frustrating thing to contend with, but she would manage in short order. Working them out in this manner was proving useful for....debugging, in a sense.

She carefully set the assorted mallets down and slowly rose up from her crouched posture before the game. It had seemed an obnoxious place at first, but slowly she was beginning to understand. This arcade was not entirely a place for useless entertainment and wasted time. Mostly, perhaps. But there were some small benefits to be gained, if you sought out the right activities.

Though she suspected most were in here simply for the thrill of 'higher scores' and 'having fun' rather than anything so meaningful as had kept her about past her initial disinterested look.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

After the first few minutes of sensory overload, Sigmund found himself getting used to the upbeat chaos of the arcade. It was surprisingly busy, with people flitting between the machines energetically. The cultist stopped at a game that was currently unoccupied, curiously looking it up and down. A large, gaudy logo was emblazoned on the top of the machine, reading “Karl’s Big Kraw Hunt” in brightly coloured letters, and the sides of the game each featured a full body picture of a man posing against a jungle backdrop, gun in hand and dinosaur beneath his boot. The image looked real, but Sigmund was skeptical that one could keep so well-kept on Kraw.

“Pull the trigger to play!” A slightly robotic voice cheerily announced while demo footage of various beasts being shot played on the screen. The high priest glanced down, finding a plastic rifle attached to the machine by a cord.

“Ah, this must be the game of skill.” Sigmund observed, taking the rifle in his hand, surprised at how light it was. He aimed it at the screen and pulled the trigger, causing the demo footage to halt, fading to a first person view of someone trudging through the jungle behind the man that could only be Karl Jak. Across the top of the screen, the words “!! Help Karl bag some big ones !!” flashed incessantly. The psion raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly it meant before a clearing appeared. As the camera entered the clearing, raptors began to pour from the other end, hissing and roaring as they charged towards the screen.

“Get ready… Fire!” The game announced, prompting Sigmund to raise the rifle and start firing. His reticle snapped to the nearest dinosaur as he pulled the trigger rapidly. Once, twice, thrice, he unloaded his virtual rifle into the beast, but to little effect. Before he could shoot again, however, another gunshot sounded from the left and the raptor fell to the ground, dead. Confused, the high priest glanced to the side of the screen, noticing that Karl was standing off to the side, his own gun in hand.

‘He stole my kill… That wasn't in the demonstration footage.” Sigmund thought to himself, slightly confused. Shrugging a little, he turned to the next raptor. Determined to kill this one, he pulled the trigger as fast as he could. The cultist had sank over a dozen shots into the oncoming predator before another shot rang out from Karl, putting it down. Bewildered, the mindbreaker fired a single shot at the next raptor. After a few moments, it too was slain by Karl. ‘All I do is set them up for him?’

Sigmund was tempted to put the toy gun down and walk away but curiosity ate at him. Did anything else happen? Would he get to kill his own beast at any point? The waves of raptors gradually petered out before being replaced by hordes of lesser jagras, then a number of basilisks charged forward to be slaughtered. By Karl, of course, with the cultist acting as little more than a distraction. After the last basilisk fell, there was a moment of silence before a roar shook the jungle and “!! Boss Incoming !!” flashed across the screen in red text.

The mindbreaker raised an eyebrow at this. Was something exciting about to happen? He was momentarily thrilled as a tyrannosaurus burst from the jungle, throwing its head back and bellowing. Sigmund raised his rifle and began firing at the beast, only for it to repeat the same roar that it had moments before. And then again, and again. The cultist stopped firing, watching in disbelief as the t-rex repeated the same animation loop over and over again. After a dozen loops, however, the titanic reptile began walking towards the screen. Sigmund simply stood and watched as it opened its mouth and bit down where the player would have been standing.

“Game over! Thanks for playing!” The machine buzzed happily as a text box flashed up on the screen.

“You died! Don't worry, though. Karl took it down without trouble.” It read, complete with a small, compressed image of Karl standing triumphantly atop the dead tyrannosaur, a bloody arm hanging from its mouth.

“Well, that was certainly an experience.” Sigmund muttered, placing the gun back in its holster. Frowning to himself, he searched for something else to do. As he did, he noticed a strange young man across the arcade. He was dressed in an odd outfit, covered in symbols foreign to the cultist with ‘billion’ emblazoned on the sleeves. Stranger still, he was making a series of bizarre sounds as he glanced from game to game. Entranced by his strange mannerisms, Sigmund began crossing the arcade, wondering vaguely if he was dying or just very, very enthused.

 

[Roy Mustang]

Theatre of the mind? The hell does that mean? Mustang clenched his jaw, staring down the madman from across the room. Malloki was now sitting cross-legged on the chair, watching him with a wistful expression. Mustang was struggling to tell how useful the information he was getting from the exchange even was. Could he really trust anything the psychopath was telling him?

"You play your games up close, huh?" he asked, phrasing the question as nonchalantly as possible.

"Eh, sometimes. It depends what my playmate wants to play!" Malloki seemed to consider this question earnestly. "I always win, so I try and give them a chance, you know?"

"How considerate of you."

"So. Now it's your turn! I'm answering all your questions, now you gotta answer mine! What game do you play?" Malloki's stare was unnerving to say the least. Even though Mustang was now reasonably sure the madman was not an immediate danger to the people here, it was still difficult not to squirm under the gaze of such a blood-soaked spectre.

"Well... I suppose I am partial to chess..." Mustang answered hesitantly, "A well-positioned team is a wonderful sight." He reached for the coffee mug, only just having realized the waitress had quietly placed it on the counter beside him. He couldn't exactly blame her subtlety; the madman was frightening even when he was only sitting there smiling. And now... Mustang noticed with trepidation that Malloki was most certainly not smiling.

"So, you make other people play your games for you?" Malloki asked, arms crossed, staring the state alchemist down. Had Mustang even seen him blink once since their conversation started? He sipped the coffee, Malloki's frown deepening.

"That's messed up." the blood-soaked man intoned with a simple clarity, as though his admonishment held no mediocrum of irony.

Mustang grit his teeth, biting back a retort. This psychopath, just how aware was he? Did he see Mustang as someone worse than himself somehow? Could Mustang be sure the madman was wrong to think that way?

The soldier rubbed his forehead with one hand and set the mug back on the counter, largely untouched. He needed some air. Or something. Mustang mumbled a vague apology to the waitress and headed for the door, stepping to one side as a nonplussed Syntech employee arrived with clothes for Malloki.

Mustang stalked through the Recreation dome, hands in his pockets, eyes downcast. It was too crowded, the flashing lights and music, the vendors, he needed some space to think. He briefly considered returning to the park but decided against it lest he encounter more contestants sitting by the campfire.

He paused, noting a sign indicating the Comet had a library available for contestants as well. That would be quiet at the very least. Glowering slightly, Mustang left the bustle of the recreation dome behind him.