NationStates Jolt Archive

Wyat spun around a corner and pulled the trigger, several shots hit the man in front of him and he fell down dead.
He picked up the other mans gun and quickly made his way out of there, you could never stand still in this game, always on the move, always.

He had done his fair share of bad things in his life, actually a load of bad things. But he actually thought he'd done his thing to be forgiven.
Apperantly the judge didnt think as him, after a minor setback when he got out of prison and accidently robbed a store he was sent here. Some of the players called it hell, others called it heaven.
Wyats opinion was that it just sucked and he HAD to get out of here. Unfortunally he couldn't do it alone, and so far no one seemed to listen to him long enough before they started to fire at him.
Or throw knives, explosives, hell. This place had so much firepower minor wars could be settled within these walls.
He continued and slowly walked up some stairs, footsteps from the other side of the wall. Doorway some few feet away.

"Hey, you on the other side maybe we could talk about this?" Wyat said and ducked down back in the stairs again.
His answer was some 20 shots through the wall.
dammit, why cant they just listen for once?
He raised his gun and aimed at the doorway, a unknown face looked out and quickly withdrawed itselfe when the barrel of Wyats gun began to spit out bullets.
Now Wyat wasnt the smartest of them all, but he wasnt stupid. So he simply aimed at the wall where the guy should be standing and fired some shots.
Blood flowed through the bullet holes and the man on the other side growled before he died.

So, what is this place? Well, tiered of seeing the funding for prisons grow each year the government hired a outside entertainment company to somehow make the minus in the budget to plus.
First idea was a Prison Reality show, but after numerous discussions they agreed that seeing men on men action wasnt really a best selling idea.
Some weeks passed by and one day a man who now days are considered a media genius came up with the brilliant idea of "Death Game".

Criminals who just wouldnt lay of the criminality would be sent to a structure. Five floors high and 200m2 wide. Lots of corridors, lots of small rooms and lots of objects to hide behind.
The individuals would be equiped with a random weapon and the one with the most "frags" after one week would be allowed freedom and some serious cash.
Human right activists called it inhumane, other critics simply said it was disgusting. But the general public cheered and nailed themselves in front of the TV every day between 19.00 and 21.00.
Or if you bought the Death Game channel, you could see everything, 24/7. Every day.

And the industry around Death Game grew to enormous proportions, each week there was betting. And then you had the interviews with the weeks winners, t-shirts, lunch boxes. Action Figures of famous Death Gamers.
A whole 3 billion + nation was totally hooked to the thing.

Wyat had been so close to get to number one so many times, this was, in his calculations the 34th week he was here. As far as he knew, it was only him and a few others that had managed to pass 30 weeks. It was some kind of record.
But he was seriously tiered of this, the stress, the lack of sleep. Since sleeping was more or less suicide. He just wanted to get out here, and he had a plan. If he only could find someone to plan with.
He walked over to the corpse and picked up a empty shotgun and a gun with one shot left.
Well if he had to he could wack someone in the head with the shotgun. Wyat had been lucky the day he set fot in here, he got a gun with a full mag. Others had got stuff like piano wire and a kitchen knife.
So yeah, in some ways, this place was hell. But Wyat sure wasnt going to stay, some day he'd find someone that was more into talking than into shooting.

The Company that owned Death Game Entertainment Now had done some deals with foreign nations to start broadcasting there. Death Game was about to turn world wide, and George Feelroy, the man behind it all was about to become a very, very rich man.

OOC: Feel free to throw in your GI Joe, Avarage Joe or Kamikaze Joe. Hell, why not a pacifist. :) Or whatever idea that pops up in your head.

(Hmm, A less inspired version of Slaughter of Sin...)

The newbie never knew what hit him, one moment he was standing there with a gun, the next there was a sharp pain in the back of his neck. He fell down, unable to move his legs. He gasped for breath, clawing at his neck, his mind starting to go black as the lack of oxygen started to slowly kill him.

The face of an angel appeared before his eyes. She had golden hair, and deep blue eyes set in an square, but soft face. The angel smiled slightly and then spoke softly. "Thanks kid, I needed a reload." The smile turned up at one corner and the eyes revealed a manevolence. This angelic beauty was as pure as a whore in Gamora.

Amy Watts watched the blood pool around the corpse. She gripped the handle of the knife and pulled it out of her victims spine, wipping the blood off on his shirt sleave. She picked up the newbie's gun. The blue eyes evaluated its weight and make. "F*** peice of crap." she said quietly.

Amy pulled out the magazine and stuck it in a shirt pocket. She moved her foot back from the expanding pool of blood as she began to break the semi-automatic down. A moment later the chambered round and firing pin were in one hand, the remaining gun parts in the other. After eight years in a merc company, Amy could break down a cheap 1918 knock off in a few seconds. The handgun went back together quickly, sans the firing pin. Its next user would likely discover that he had an ornamental weapon.

Amy began to retreat from her latest victim's body. She pondered the fact that she was living a rather bad version of a Dyellian T.V. show.
What the f*** am I doing here? I'm not a criminal, so alright I took money from foolish old rich men and poor widows. And printed four hundread million in fake bearer bonds...but still It's not like I murdered anyone. Well except for Poskey, but he wouldn't give up the old cout. Not like he was going to use that five hundread grand for anything other than porn. And Jimmy, but he was getting grabby...and greedy. Alright and that private d*** in Florenece, but that was self-defense.

She stopped in a dark corner and curled up into a small ball; unseen but aware of her surrondings.

But these f***kers don't know any of that. Just because I hired some goon to rape a girl so she wouldn't be so damn pesky around Phillip. I mean hell he was my score, I couldn't have someone actually in love with him screw up the gig. God damn Judge, it should be illegal for the uncle of the girl to sit on my trial damn it!

Amy stopped pondering why she was here, and the horrors of the local justice system, as something scrapped against a wall not far away. Someone was moving in this direction, another person to kill apparently.

Itchi breathed heavily and sheathed his stick-katana as he downed the last of four consecutive opponents. These ones had been nothing; at best, they had been here a week or two. Although it was rare to find anyone older than that these days, anyways. He didn't bother checking the bodies for ammo; Itchi's revolver was already well-stocked, and he hated guns, even if he was a decent shot.

Itchi had been an underdog when he had arrived at the Death Games. Already in prision for thirty years and totally blind(He was pushing fifty five at the time), he was given a sword and thrown into the fight without even being told what he was supposed to do. No one had counted on Itchi's extraordinary sense of hearing, however. Known for killing anyone who stepped in his way, he quickly becoming a fan favorite. His style was subtle, not running and gunning but rather stalking, speed, and stealth. Itchi seemed to many to be the modern equvilent to a blind, wandering ronin; however hard he tried, though, he never had made it to number one.

Itchi himself was tired of this game. He knew he deserved this treatment for all the havoc he had caused in his early life, but he wished someone would get it over with and kill him already! As of yet, Itchi had not found anyone of such skill and speed that could take him down, and few had ever escaped with thier lives after a fight.

As he continued to trek down the hallway, he heard more footsteps behind him. Another one? Itchi dashed silently behind a pillar. It was time to stalk.

It was all like a very bad dream. The smell of death percolated throughout this place, peppered with the muffled sounds of automatic fire. The screams and growls of the dying seemed to become a part of the very walls. Liam crouched behind a crate as another man ducked into the room, laying in wait until his pursuer appeared in the doorway. Poor bastard didn't stand there for very long.

While the victor dragged the body further into the room and began searching it for anything useful, Liam made his move. Silent and swift, he grabbed the man from behind, encircling his head with one arm, and dragging a knifeblade through his throat before he even really had the presence of mind to defend himself.

Liam was a rebel, and although not a killer by nature, he did relish the opportunity when it presented itself. His killings usually held a sort of divine purpose, a nationalistic pride. It was all for the Republic. Each death brought him closer to freedom. Or so he told himself. The operative had been caught during a kidnapping attempt, though he had taken two armed Enforcers down with him. Now all he had to do was wait, and stay alive until his mates could launch a rescue. Given their recent track record, that may take a while.

Removing two switchblades off his victem and a loaded pistol of unfamiliar make, he retreated back into the darkness until another opportunity would present itself. This place was a nightmare. Fortunately, Liam liked nightmares.

Bortz struggled to keep his balance as he perched above the corridor, blood had permanatly stained the walls in this room, it seemed to be quite a hotspot. His military background told him that hotspots from the past are less likely to be hotspots in the future, which is why he was here. He grimaced as he pulled tight the piece of material he had strapped found his thigh, the bullet hole was clean, and he was sure that no material from his pants had gone in with the bullet. The bullet was still in there, but he would have to deal with that later, there was too much at stake here. His breathe stopped as he heard footsteps approaching...

He strained to hear them but he knew they were coming in his direction. They grew louder and colser and he made out that one of the feet was shuffling, suggesting an injury much like his own. The room he was in was set up like an office... it had four desks in the middle, and various filing cabinets and the like scattered around the room. There was an identical room opposite, seperated by a narrow corridor... in fact the whole corridor was lined with these offices, each had a door and a window that lead to it. This room was the only room in which the window wasn't broken, but hte door had been snapped into several pieces, possibly to make a crude weapon, but more likely that somebody had been thrown through it,

By this time, the footsteps were at the end of this corridor, Bortz drew a knife from his boot and crouched low next to the remains of the door, which was still hanging by just one hinge. The footsteps got nearer and nearer, and Bortz got edgier and edgier. It was dark in this section of the building, which was another factor of why he chose this to be the place to strike his victims. That was what they were. Victims. They were not contestants, he thought of winnig and getting out of this blood ridden place had scarsly crossed his mind. Killing was what he was good at, the only thing he was good at and he'd done it most of his life.

He snapped back to reality as he finally caught sight of his prey. This guy was kinda short, and most definitly not fit... He was middle aged and had not shaved for a few days, the stubble untidy on his face. He was holding a chair leg like somebody would hold a baseball bat, and was constantly looking around, wracked with nerves... this guy hadn't been here long, but he knew the score, death lurked at the end of corridors like this. His leg was cut somewhere below his right knee, his trousers were soaked with blood and he dragged his foot like a piece of meat, blood smearing the lino.

Bortz waited until the guy had passed his door, before creeping out of his hiding place and creaping forward. In a flash he bought the blade low acroose the mans good ankle, cutting the achilles' in half, the guy fell to the floor and before he could let out a scream Bortz was on top of him, his hand over the mans mouth.

"The pro's don't leave trails... trails can be followed" he said, gesturing to the smears of blood left by the man. "At least I'll be eating for a few days" he grinned. The mans eyes were wide with fear, but not for long, his muffled cries for help were cut dead as Bortz sliced across the mans throat. He stood up and wiped both sides of the knife on his trousers. He tutted softly in annoyance... this one hadn't even been carrying any decent weapons that he could trade with the gangs of people who had joined together in a bid to make the survival longer. He had been offered to join several. But being alone was in his nature. Instead, he traded weapons in return for his safe being and protection, and the promise that whoever came into his corridor would be left to Bortz.

He sighed as he stood and sheathed his knife. He bent down and grabbed the mans arm. He dragged it into the office with a sigh. He wondered how long until the next victim came along.

Quadoo Manduri had been one of Tarayshia's most dangerous killers, and nothing had changed since he had been forced to enter the Death Game tv show. Quadoo slicked back his black hair as he quietly made his way down the hall; his shoes not making a sound on the sament floor. Allowing his black eyes to get adjusted to the dim light, Quadoo went behind a wall as he spotted some movement from not far off. The man had been in prison back in Tarayshia for killing two bank employees, his ex-wife and her boyfriend, for the asult and murders of four other women and five boys, a police officer and for kidnapping a little girl and holding her for randsome. The death of the child had been an honest accident in Quadoo's mind because he had put her in the trunk and shut the lid with out thinking of her suffocating in the trunk.
So here he was; his twenty-eightth day in this game of death. Not seeing a way out accept for one and that was his murder. He had become a favorite with the fans of the show because no one knew what weapon he would use to kill. At one time it could be a sword, a simple knife, a club or a gun..one never knew.

(OOC; I think this game/rp is interesting..i mean, jailers killing one another. To bad it wasn't for real..we could get a tax cut and won't have to worry about the bastards)

Riegan had been tossed into the pit of the Death Game with naught but a weighted scarf. When compared to the hosts of guns, knives and other more lethal weapons, the odds on his survival were naturally rated as abysmally poor. Even thought the odds had been stacked against him from the outset, he'd yet to be attacked, and had managed to garrote a woman who'd carried a pistol but had run out of rounds for it.

As he stalked through the maze, seeking someone with a weapon that didn't require as much risk as the one he'd been given, he cursed the bastard goverment(ooc: Not Theao) that had put him there. It wasn't even that big a crime, just trying to overthrow a tyrannical goverment after all. He also knew, thought he'd never be able to prove that even if he did manage to get to and stay in first for a year, he'd never get out of the bloodsoaked hell-hole thanks to a deal he was sure the tyrants had arranged with the organisers of the Game.

Seeing a man trying to catch his breath, dragging a shotgun behing him, Riegan moved up and with a quick looping around the man's neck began steadily squeezing the life out of the soon to be corpse.

Wyat sat down in a room, like the rest of this place most of the furniture had been blown up or used to fend of a foe.
Every once in a while a greenie would get allot of food with him, the taste of human flesh wasnt all that appealing and Wyat always kept an eye out for what was luxury, food.
He was down to one sports bar, after that he would probably have to eat.. somebody.
Wyat was tiered, way to tiered. He wasnt the same as he used to be, the first 2 weeks had been.. chaotic. The place was so huge and you had no idea where to go. But he found his way around nowadays, corners, shadows, hiding places.
But it wasnt enough anymore, yesterday some crazy Ninja guy with a sword almost got him. It was by pure luck that he was able to escape.
He opened the sports bar and began to eat it. Rotting corpses, human bones, bloodstained wall. Yeah, hell.. this is what hell must look like. He'd never really thought about it, well of course the first weeks but he got used to it.
Wyat couldn't put his finger on when it happened, but somewhere along the road he got more humane. Wyat got up on his feet and began to search the area, he had made his mind up now. No more killing, no more of this idiotic stuff.
He was a star in the outside world, people had dolls, pictures, posters of him. A legend you might say, Wyat had no clue of this, as far as he was concern they could all go to hell. Criminal or no criminal, no one deserved this.
To fight for their survival week after week.
Wyat threw away the gun with only one bullet left, if he had any luck someone would put him out of his misery with it.
He made is way down a corridor, the blood splatter was more tense here, and it smelled like fresh blood.
Someone had killed someone here recently. Maybe that someone was still here, it was worth checking out.
Wyat put everything at stake, his life, he would try by all means to negotiate with the next person he came across.
"So uhm, to anyone who may be around here. I uhm, come in peace"
yeah right like that will help
"Im putting down my guns so we can uhm, talk about things."
he slowly put down his gun and the empty shotgun.
If he pulled this of the TV-network would get so pissed, this was about killing, not talking.
"Dude, girl, whatever, I just want to talk. If you dont like what I have to say.. do whatever you want, Im to tiered to do this anymore"


(ooc: Im gonna be a little dictator and set up a new rule, when interacting with other players, put a TAG Nation name to make sure it gets to whom it concerns. Great thing I learned from the starwars rp forum :) )

TAG Notmo

"Oye! You there! Those chips are mine!" shouted a tall skinny man at a fleeing figure.

"Can't trust anyone, old man!" was the reply from the fleeing figure.

Can't trust a bloody soul in this corrupt game...thought the tall man, as he pulled a pistol from his pocket. Barely looking, he shot it in the direction of the other man and began to walk towards the now fallen figure.

"Tsk tsk tsk...Double crossers, quite drab..." said the skinny man as he took the bag of old chips and several clips of ammo for a rifle and pistol.

Sebastian Fotherington- Smallbridge. Smallbridge was about 6'4 and was pretty skinny, but had a surprising amount of strength in him. He had brown hair and a handlebar mustache (think the Jumanji Poacher lol).

He was once one of society's elite. Rich, somewhat famous, and quite happy with life. Although a bit greedy and snobby with others, he tended to get along with most other people. He belonged to many clubs, and was once part of the army and given awards for his amazing ability to shoot accurately at almost any distance with almost any firearm. He also belonged to a swordsmanship club, where they taught him many ways to kill with a sword, which he was decent in, but not masterful, as he didnt get enough time to finish the course...

He found out his wife was cheating on him and threatened the philanderers with court. How Ironic it was he who ended up here... His wife and her foolish friend had framed him with murder and was sent to this dump...Not looked upon highly by the elite.

Luckily, the judge let him bring along his lucky explorer hat, monocle, brown leather boots, and tan safari clothes along, as he thought it fitting he would be hunting other "Justified" criminals.

Many weeks ago, not quite sure when since Smallbridge's watch died out long ago and he hasnt seen a clock yet, Smallbride was placed in the games as the one people believed would die instantly. He was the one everyone booed at since they were not so well off as he was. He, however, showed them how good of a fighter he was as he found a now-considered-lucky one shot rifle. Getting kills in one shot, and his silly Posh english dialect made him a favorite of the crowds. Soon after, Smallbridge decided that he should find weapons that he was used to, so sure enough, he killed a man with a pistol and a sabre in a sheath, which he strapped to his belt.

Smallbridge made his way down the hallway and turned into a dark corridor , scanning carefully in each direction. One thing that the games have done for him was heightened his senses, a skill required to survive. Smallbridge swiftly pulled out his sword and thrust it to his right, resulting in a a muffled scream and a heavy body falling to the floor. Smallbridge whiped the blood off his sword and felt the body for any ammo or weapons. Finding only a knife, he put it in another pouch on his belt and continued walking, his shoes making a faint clicking sound. He then turned another corner into a brighter room and closed the door, locked it, and pushed a heavy bookcase to block it.

"Peace...and quiet..." whispered Smallbridge to himself. He walked to the middle of the room and looked at the only other entrance to the room, on the opposite side. It was similarly blocked. Smallbridge then sat down on a chair next to a table full of books. He put his pistol on a pile of books and his rifle next to his chair.

This little room became Smallbridge's homebase, as it was filled with books he could entertain himself with, and some food that he has scavenged over the weeks. Where Smallbridge sat was out of the line of fire anyone shooting from the outside could shoot, but if they were to enter, Smallbridge could easily shoot them. He also set several explosives on both sides that he can explode with a touch of a button on a small control he hid in one of the many pouches on his belt.

Everyday, however, he would walk out into the frenzy to get his hands on any more weapons, food, ammo, or traps, but only for a short amount of time. Sure, he hasnt been a crowd favorite for a while now, but he is surviving and getting ready for when he can go running and gunning to earn his freedom.

Smallbridge took off his boots and set his feet on top of the table, next to where he set his pistol. He opened his new bag of chips and began to munch on them as he reclined in his seat and began to read a book...

Amy was silently closing down the hall. She had just killed a rather horrific old crone with a rusty sword. Then she heard a door slam shut. Quite an odd sound, she hadn't actually seen a working door in quite some time. She bent low and peered around the corner.

It was a dark hall, but one could just make out the light coming out from behind the door at the end. "Intresting..." she said to herself as she crept forward. She put her hand in some warm blood. Someone had just been by here and killed the poor sap laying on the ground.

Amy continued forward till she reached the door. She could see that there was something blocking the door. The darker shadow in the middle indicated it was something.

She leaned her ear against the door, holding her breath. Nothing, wait no there was a sound. A sound of...someone bitting into a crisp.

God, a crip...I haven't had one of those in ages. Only these god awful protein bars...

Amy leaned up against the wall near the door in thought for a moment. There is someone in there with crips...and who knows what else. Someone with a safe place apparently. Well I want a safe place...So I am just going to have to take it from them.

Amy pondered for a moment, Alright, so do we go in to get them? No, impractical the very reason their in there is attempting to enter would be too hazardous. So we need to get them outside, we need to get our little Hassen with a trap outside his lair.

Amy looked down at the sword, it was rather useless as a weapon. But it might make a good part of a trap. Amy stepped over to the door and felt the depth of the frame from the wall, about half an inch. How nice....perfect now all I need is some fragment of wood, rope, a nail and that length of piano wire.

Amy slipped back down the hall and found a four foot length of wood from a broken peice of furniture. Rope was more difficult, but a few blood soaked cloths cut into strips worked, and a bit of stiff wire served as a sort term nail.

Amy tied the sword to the fragment of wood at the tang, but to make things work she needed to get the wood fragment up against the cealing. She looked up, it was drywall. Amy approached the door quietly again and placed down the sword and board. She pulled the piano wire out and looped it around the door handle. She then bent the peice of stiff wire into a flat S shape.

Watts pulled out her knife and stabbed up into the drywall above the cealing, cutting out a short, rectangular hole. The sound of her pulling the drywall off the joist above made her wince. It was a bit too loud. The non-sword end of the board went up onto the thin ledge of the door frame and the handle into the hole. The wire went into the cealing and the drywall was attached to keep the board in place. The piano wire went through the end of the small peice of drywall.

When whoever was behind that door opened it, well there was going to be a sword plunging out of the cealing towards her. Not with enough force to kill them, but enough to force them to focus on the trap rather than Amy and her gun.

Blastit Empire

"Blast! What is it this time?" muttered Smallbridge angrily. He finally gets to settle down with a good book and he hears a strange noise near his door. He put on his boots, adjusted his monocle, swung his rifle over his shoulder, and crept up to the door where he heard the noise. He stood silent for a while, listening intently for any more sound at all. After hearing none, he slid the bookshelf with an uncomfortable racket and stared at the door for a moment, thinking I'm not going to give up my base...It has everything I need....

Well, any decision is do or die in this game...I do hope it is the former of those two things... Smallbridge thought with a deep breath, as he continued to ponder if he should run away through the other door or protect his base. He looked at the doorway and decided that someone, a patient someone, could be standing their with their gun pointed at the door, waiting for it to open...

Smallbridge decided that protecting what was his would be his best bet. He stood to the left of the doorway, and slowly turned the knob and gave the door a little pull to give it momentum to continue its opening, while making sure no part of him stuck out in the doorway, and keeping his pistol aimed at the doorway....


Tag Alcona and Hubris

Itchi sheathed his sword for the second time as blood poured from his recent victim. This one hadn't been a newbie, but apparently wasn't a real pro either-just some lucky bastard who had been able to live until now. He checked the body and uncovered a pair of grenades and a small dirk. He kept both; expendable weapons were always useful, and explosives were valuable.

Itchi turned and wandered down a random hallways, using his sword as a kind of walking stick in the process. As he went farther and farther, he nearly tripped over what appeared to be a decapitated body; running his hands along it's cold face, Itchi concluded that it was a rather old women who had been chopped up by a sword edge. He frowned. He didn't think that many old women deserved that fate.

A loud noise suddenly rang out. It sounded like someone pulling apart a piece of wall. Itchi swung his sword out of it's sheath and sped silently down the remainder of the hallway, stopping at it's end to hide behind a thin pillar. Judging by the minimal amount of warmth he felt around him, he was far enough out of the light to be decently well-hidden. He could hear the sound of breathing ahead of him; it's lightness and high pitch indicated a women. What she was doing was anyone's guess, but Itchi decided not to attack immedetely. The women ahead was staying in one place, waiting for something-or someone. Could she know he was here? Mabey, but unlikely. Better to wait and see if someone else came around.

Itchi sheathed his sword and quitely withdrew a grenade, keeping a tight hand on it's pin if he needed to pull it.

Alcona and Hubris(And Blastit Empire, I suppose.

Guts emptied a shotgun shell into another passerby and his body spilled onto the floor. Quickly Guts dragged the corpse into his hiding spot and piled into onto the others reloading his 23 guage Agrica Special.

"What the hell is going on?" He muttered under his breath whiping the sweat from his brow. Only three shells left and an armorment of half loaded enemy firepower Guts began contemplating finding another spot, or perhaps some allies.

Tag for later post.

OOC: My creature is a half human, genetically engineered, and can take many bullets, so, ok.

IC: He stalked down the hallway, smelling fesh blood, and smoke. He growled, and jumped six feet in the air and spread his wings, bat wings. The only person that saw him at that moment would have later said "It was a demon, there is a demon in the building" if he had not been killed and eaten. After feasting on the human, Demano stalked back to his lair, a room where he had ripped up many of his victims clothes and built them into a nest. The only door into the place could be barricaded in a second, if someone tried to get at his stash, for, being here since the show started made him even more of an expert killer. He put the mans weapons, ammo and clothes in a chest he had found when the game had started. Reaching for one of his many books he began to sense something from the being in the nest, the nest through the wall. He got up, and making sure his pet rat was safely tucked in the wall nest, Demano got up, and silently jumped up into the vents, which thankfully was big enough for him to crawl in. He hovered over the hallway next to the beings nest, waiting, watching.

Ravea, Blastit Empire, Alcona and Hubris

Sweat dropped from Beck Reznor's 17 year old face and landed on his prison issue boots. The adrenaline from inside him made his hands twitch around the Colt M1911A1 that sat upon them. There was no longer color in his face.

He had been sentenced to life in prison at 16 for killing his family. All of the evidence pointed towards him, yet he was not guilty.

His father was a police officer, his mother a teacher, and his sister only in elementary school. He didn't get home until late the evening of the incident.

Beck was sneaking up to his house, hiding in the bushes, so he could avoid being grounded yet again for being out late. In the driveway was a black sedan, all four doors wide open, and the front door was gaping. He heard guns going off from inside.

It was terrifying.

He got into a fetal position and hid. Like a cat scared of a dog, he lay there as the four men came out of the house that used to be his home. All of them were familiar faces to him. They were in his father's precinct, and in the Narcotics Division with him.

Beck ran inside, sobbing at the sight of senseless murder infront of him. He heard the sirens creeping up the pavement. Running out the front door, the officers in the white cars saw him, and chased him.

There was no escaping them.

He was in court for only 1 month, and was convicted to be guilty. The youngest life sentence in the nation's history. Then he was only 15. His life is in ruins, and will always be. He signed up for this 'game' as a hope to die.

Sweat dropped from Beck Reznor's 17 year old face and landed on his prison issue boots. He placed the muzzle of the gun ont the back of the man's head he had been following and fired. Hot, wet blood plattered on his black suit. Now he deserves his sentence. He has killed.

Bellowing from his diaphragm rang a cry of "Why am I in here?" His decision to sign up for this began to make no sense. Nonetheless, his thirst for blood is on the rise.

Amy of course was crouched low below eye level in a doorway allowing her to watch the door. The object before the door moved. Alright a**hole your comming out to...

There was another sound, one that clicked into the back of her mind. It was slight, but unique. The sound of unoiled steel sliding either in or out of a scabbard. And it was a slight sound, which ment that someone who really knew what she was doing with a blade was behind her, in the dark. Oh, f***...

Unfotunatly for Itchi he's present victim had grown up on one of the isles in the Dark Sea, the United Duchies. A culture, for both symbolic and practical reasons, still had a sword culture. Although Amy was from the bottom of the social ladder, she did have enough sense to know she was in serious trouble.

Alright, either baddie alpha or baddie beta. F*** baddie alpha, at least he has the crips

The shadow behind the door had changed again. But Amy had missed which side it had vanished behind. Shit...alright bluff

The door opened slightly, the piano wire became taught and pulled at the small fragment of drywall. The sword came down and through the doorway, angling slightly as the board wasn't perfectly flat on the hinge end.

Amy raised herself slightly and ran foward, as the sword clattered onto the floor. She leveled her fourty five, sweeping between the wall behind the door and the wall next to the latch. "Alright, I've got you pinned, make a move and I'll just shoot through the wall to get you. I don't feel like butching someone for crisps today." The short sentence allowed her all the way into the doorway, she pointed the gun towards the space right inside the door. As she jumped in that direction.

If the person was behind the door, well, she was in a worse situation. Because she grapped the piano wire and pulled hard, cutting her left hand. Her only chance lay in the sudden annoucement and the trap would keep her former intended victim from blowing her away.

Of course she had to keep one step ahead of the person with the sword behind her.

The Gang of Four, Empire, Ravena..etc

Itchi frowned. He had been detected; he could tell by the changing patterns of his targets breathing. Whoever he was stalking right now was definetly a women, and an extremely nervous one at that. Itchi strained his ears; obviously his prey wasn't too concerned, or she would have made a move by now.

There are two targets.

Someone was behind that door, probably somewhere to the left. A man? Mabey. Too far away to tell by the breath. Itchi frowned as he heard something else, something above him. It almost sounded growling animal-far too deep to be human.

Itchi had the urge to simply toss a grenade and be done with the situation, but he wanted to solve this problem without using his precious explosives. He put a hand on his sword and moved closer-much closer-to the door. The women was only a few steps inside, and the man only a little beyond that. Whichever came out alive would fall to his blade.

Beck had been walknig in an endless maze of metal. Food came scarce, once in awhile he found a room with dead occupants, and luckily, some food not yet eaten. He had killed three more times.

His Colt still had 5 bullets left in it, but he had acqired some other weapons. Some piano string, which had already been used to strangle victim number two, an art straight razor, and an aluminum baseball bat. Crude weapons for a crude situation.

There had not been action around in him in what seemed like hours, but easily could have been fifteen minutes. He was already lonely, and was beginning to talk to himself. The insanity was rising in him. That is when he heard the sound.

He was reminded of when he helped his father finish the basement. The immense amount of drywall and its cutting was a memory still partially fresh in his mind.

He stalked to a corridor, where he, from a distance, saw a woman in a hall, outside of a door. Behind her was a man with a swod. His intent was to kill, most definatley. The woman moved into the door, and the man shortly behind, sword drawn.

The swordman seemed to sense a presence. This was the point where Beck Reznor fired to bullets, both missing the man. "Hey, you, watch your back!", he yelled to the woman. He knew he was up shit creek now.

Ah, hell. Bad Idea. His thoughts were right on.

TAG Well, about everyone now

The burly scarred man stalked down a corridor shotgun in hand and an armorment of weaponry on his back. The dim lighting made him extra cautious as he could hear the echos of fighting in the distance. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday when I tried eating one of the fallen combatants and vomitted shortly afterwards. He had resorted to slitting bodies and drinking blood for nutrition. The light of the hallway flickered and came back on with another person no more than three feet away. Two shots burst and one remained standing. Guts fell clutching the bullet in his right shoulder dropping his guns.

The pain was blinding and he laid against the concrete wall tieing a ripped shirt around his wound. He had no idea what that would do but it might stop the bleeding which was running out like a waterfall. "Dammit" he muttered as his vision faded.

He sensed another presence in the corridor and tried to grab his gun but slipped into unconciousness.

Demano heard the cutting, and sniffing the air, realized that there were four. A good harvest from the three. That the one have his nest. Demano ripped open the vent, falling on his feet, and lashed his razor sharp tail at the nearest person, a woman.

OOC: By the way Ravea, my character is preety intelligent, just so ya know. Ain't a beast.

OCC: Don't worry, I know. Itchi's just unfarmiliar with Demano sound, so he's not quite sure what he's up against.

Itchi dashed to the left, away from the door, as several things happened at once. First, something very large and unfarmiliar landed right in front of him; whatever it was seemed to be concentrating on the women. Not a direct threat at the moment. Itchi grabbed one of his grenades, pulled the pin, and hurled it straight into the doorway. That should serve as an apt distraction for the time being.

Second, two bullets impacted the wall next to him, and a young teen voiced a warning. Damn kid had ruined everything. Looks like he wasn't a very great shot either. Itchi turned and started to head towards him, sword drawn. The old man was suprisingly agile, running very quickly back and forth in a stagger to decrease the chance of getting shot. Whoever he was heading for wasn't going to be alive in a few seconds.

Unfortuneately for Itchi, Demano grabbed the grenade in mid-air. Judging by the fact theat the grenade wasn't thrown very hard and very unaccurately made Demano judge that at best, the man behind him was old, or blind, or possibly both. Demano crushed the greande, and diverted just enough of his energy away from the woman to twist and get a good look at the man. Definitely old, likely blind. But, Demano had more importent things then an old, blind man.

Guts was awakened by the sounds of gunfire close by. "Nah I'm not dead yet" he chuckled as he struggled to his feet. He threw the shotgun away and swtiched to an old fashioned Colt .45.

He dragged himself along the wall struggling to find the source of action only to stumble on his face. He looked up and saw an old man standing dignified as well as some other undiscernable figures. From his position he didn't know whether to shoot or to talk. He raised his pistol in hopes to get attention.

(technical note as I wait for Empire to respond: that Grenade would explode if you crushed it. Most modern grenades use explosives similar to C4 which will dentonate if extreme pressure is applied. Bang!)

Beck winced at the man rushing at him. He looked to be old and frail, but looks are very decieving. Instinct showed itself at moment's notice.

He reached to his belt, grabbing the aluminum bat from it. The oldman was zig-zagging at him, and behind that man was a god-foresaken monster.

The sword from the man came at him a hell of a lot faster than he expected. He managed to parry with the bat, but a second too late, a large gash was no in his arm. He felt no pain at the time.

Hitting the man's heel, Mr. Reznor rolled to the side, and ran the only way he could, directly towards the beast. The swordsman wasn't even fazed by the situation.

Beck dived between the beast's legs, his years of baseball and track finally paying off. The face first slide brought him part way into the room, right behind the woman.

In only seconds, the tide had changed. I am going to die today, thought Beck.

Demano noticed the man dive under his legs, and pointed his razor tail right at the mans face. He grabbed the back of the womans shirt and threw her halfway across the room, twisted, grabbed the old mans sword, and, violentl yanking it out of his hand, roared "STOP! What do you think you are doing? I have waited for almost 15 years on this stupid show for somebody to have some COMMAN SENSE! In the name of the Emperor, we should be focusing on getting OUT OF HERE instead of fighting like petty animals!" he was panting in anger, using his telepathic fear power to freeze the humans, at least for a second. He glared at the humans, waiting for them to respond. At least, the one with the nest may have some commen sense.

"Shit man! Don't Kill me! I want out of here, and I do not want to have to kill anyone else. If you have my back, I sure as hell have yours!"

The teenager was scared. Not just scared, terrified. Maybe he has an allie. But maybe he has sudden death.

He was tired. Very tired. He'd been in the god damned place for so long he'd lost track of days. The rules had been explained to him, but he didn't care anymore. For what must have been a few weeks, he'd tried to kill as many people as possible, but had never gotten the exit pass that he longed for so much. Eventually he had resigned himself to a life of hell until the whole damned system collapsed. In the beginning, he hadn't ever thought he'd end up a criminal. But then so much happened so fast, and the building just sort of ... exploded. Before he knew it, he was a Black Hand enforcer, Haraki's most deadly terrorist organization. Eventually they found out about him, and six months later he was caught in a hovel in Danneland. He'd made the mistake of getting caught in a country with this twisted murderous game, and the Harakian government had apparently been quite happy to discreetly allow him to be punished as a citizen of Danneland. Next thing he knew he was in the damn maze, surrounded by psychopathic killers out for blood. God damn, life sucked.

He had eventually resigned himself to never succeeding in the maze, and realized that if everyone inside the maze decided to stop fighting, what could the government and the police do about it? They had dropped some of the most dangerous men and women in many countries into a big maze and given them all weapons. Some people had been in the place so long that they had every corner memorized. No tactical officer could figure that out from a map, it could only be won with blood, sweat and bullets. A fight in this place would take down a lot of police and soldiers along with the criminals, almost all of whom would end up dead anyway, with or without police involvement. And if they all saw it his way, every criminal that committed a crime - something the world was never short of - would only bolster their numbers. They could make a god damned army and tear down the walls, fight their way out and destroy the city and the governments that had trapped them there. And every one who got out was a potential ally on the outside, and a very rich one.

Of course, this whole theory depended on other people seeing eye to eye with him. So far he hadn't managed to convince anyone. He'd had a kid with him for a few days, but he wasn't sure if that was because he actually believed the idea or because he just wanted an ally in the maze. Eventually the kid had taken a bullet to the temple, and that was the end of him being a team player. But he never stopped trying to preach his demented gospel. Someday they would all wake up and realize what he was saying was true, and then the world would tremble.

Having resigned himself to never being the weekly 'champion' of death, he had instead resolved to find a way to live there. He had found a fairly isolated place in the maze, away in a corner. Few people ever went there, and he had made it his home. barricades were set up blocking the way into the small room that he called home. A pile of dust, cobwebs and empty protein bar wrappers covered in a dirty, hole-ridden blanket was his bed. A pile of protein bars and water bottles lay beside it, and periodically he ventured out to get more. Beside that lay a pile of weapons. These were the full ones. The empty ones had their magazines put back in them so they seemed full, and were then left outside the barricade walls, or sometimes made part of the barricade. People who ran out of ammunition outside his walls stayed out of ammunition.

And, of course, there was the little pile of treasures in the corner of the room. Mostly things he found in dead people's pockets, they included a sharp knife he used as a razor, a small mirror, a cliffs notes version of George Orwell's 1984, a dirty magazine, a small notebook and pen, and a pack of gum. It had three pieces left in it. He had gotten it however long ago with five pieces in it. He saved them for the most special occasions ever. One had gone when he'd gotten the kid to believe his theories. Another had gone when he'd discovered the copy of 1984. It was his only entertainment. He could've recited the first five chapters off by heart. Funny that he'd never read it before entering the godforsaken maze.

The notebook was also only for special occasions. The first five pages were dedicated to his writing with the pen for his theories for uniting the criminals and destroying the maze. That was in case he died, so someone else could take up the hopeless campaign of destroying this shithole. The last page was a life-like portrait of his girlfriend back in Haraki who he'd had to leave in a hurry. Beside the picture of her head and shoulders, done entirely in blue ink, he'd drawn her left hand, complete with crescent moon birthmark and a wedding ring that he'd never had time to give her. It was still in his pocket, the one posession of his own he had smuggled in.

Above his head was the lone lightbulb that illuminated the room. It was turned just enough to provide light and close enough to being unscrewed that he could switch it with a moment's twist of the wrist and maybe a couple of burned fingers. He had a stash of lightbulbs, too. He'd taken them from other places in his expeditions out. If a bulb burned out, he could replace it. And the poor bastards out there were left without light in what could be crucial places in the maze. He didn't care. They could all die for all he cared. Then maybe he could go home. It also helped for the rare occasions when someone did discover his hideaway. He could switch off the light that showed where he was, while the lights above his opponents' heads were still on, giving him a perfect target and giving them a strange barricade made up of parts of destroyed walls and whatever items he could find lying around. He hadn't lost a fight yet. Of course, he always tried to give them a chance for survival. He offered them the hand of friendship and to unite against the people that had put them there. They didn't listen. They were too busy shooting each other, desperately trying to get the most kills so they would be released. It was a hopeless dream and they all knew it. That was why they died.

He couldn't remember how long he'd been in there, but by the stubble on his face he could tell he hadn't shaved in three days. At least that was something.

OCC:I'm giving you a little leniency on this, Altusha. Yanking a sword out of Itchi's hands is a nigh impossible thing to do, but in this situation, it works.

IC:Itchi grimiced. That damn kid was lucky; he had managed to actaully land a hit. Suddenly, his sword was yanked out of his arm by something very strong. Hardly fazed, Itchi withdrew his pistol and cocked it, the barrel only a little more than a foot away from Demano's head. He snorted.

"Who do you think you are? The only way to get out of here is to kill, if you havn't noticed. Now give me back my sword or I'll make sure you die painfully."

Riegan shook out his scarf after he'd finished strangling another one of the numerous inmates in this inprisoned hell-hole. Wrapping it around an arm again for ease of carrying, he searched the body and came up with only a small combat knife.

Heading down a corridor, he found a group of peoples in a 'Mexican Standoff'. Pulling back, he watched for an opening.

The first thing thought that went through Ken's mind as he woke up was:
"Oh-my-God! They killed Kenny!"

Then he thought, "No that's not true....they put me in the big house. The slam, death's hot holiday hotel."

"Mom, I'm home for breakfast..."

Then the crying started. That damned noise that the kid always made.

"Wah, waaah, wa-wa-wa-waaah. WAAAAAH....."

Shut that damn kid UP!

"Kill them daddy....kill them....wa-wa-waaaaah."

Kenny fumbled with the awkward mass on his chest. It was long, broad and had a hard rough edge and a handle with a weight...oddly shaped.... and a , ahhh. He knew what it was now.

He stood in the dark room, his five foot eight inch frame crouched forward and all the muscles in his obsessive body builder form quivering in anticipation. He slipped his shoes off and tore at the cuffs of his pants. After ripping one leg almost to the knee he had enough cloth tied together for what he wanted.

Padding quietly out of the room into the hall, he heard a giggle melting into a laugh....
"LOOK DADDY!"

He saw a strange tableau of people, weapons and...a demon? Ha! Hell indeed!
I made it, so here's where we start to screw satan!

He made a kind of coughing roar that was drowned out by the roar of an engine starting. The loop of cloth through his belt loops and tied to the ripcord of the chainsaw worked long enough for the engine to catch as he worked the throttle and swung the four-foot Stiehl chainsaw above his head.

He waited to see their eyes widen in terror so he could choose which one to chase down....

(TAG: Any and everyone in the current scene)

OCC:I'm giving you a little leniency on this, Altusha. Yanking a sword out of Itchi's hands is a nigh impossible thing to do, but in this situation, it works.

IC:Itchi grimiced. That damn kid was lucky; he had managed to actaully land a hit. Suddenly, his sword was yanked out of his arm by something very strong. Hardly fazed, Itchi withdrew his pistol and cocked it, the barrel only a little more than a foot away from Demano's head. He snorted.

"Who do you think you are? The only way to get out of here is to kill, if you havn't noticed. Now give me back my sword or I'll make sure you die painfully."

Demano smiled. "You idiot. I have been here from the start. I have gotten the most kills for three weaks in a row, and nothing happened. The people that have 'won' were taken out, and slaughtered. They can't allow people like that to be running free. Oh, and I think I am a half Alien, half man, with skin, and wings, as hard as steel." With the end of that thought he spread his wings with amazing speed, unfolding razor sharp spines on his wings. He snapped out his hand and forced the mans hand right towrd his razor tail. He brought his tail up, ducked his head, and flipped over, breaking the mans hand, and almost about to cut into it. He looked back at the teen "You, get a gun, bring this man down." He called out to the man in the room "You can come out, you seem sinsible enough!"

(That's taking things a little too far, Altusha.)

Itchi camly pulled out his second grenade and lossened the pin.

"How about this? You release me, give me my sword back, and I won't kill you. Yet, at least. Mabey I'll even agree to this little plan of yours. Or I could kill all of us right here and now. I'm old enough to die. Think you are? Or how about you, boy?"

Itchi led out a gruff laugh. If he died now, he didn't care-as long as he took down as many people as he could.

(That's taking things a little too far, Altusha.)

Itchi camly pulled out his second grenade and lossened the pin.

"How about this? You release me, give me my sword back, and I won't kill you. Yet, at least. Mabey I'll even agree to this little plan of yours. Or I could kill all of us right here and now. I'm old enough to die. Think you are? Or how about you, boy?"

Itchi led out a gruff laugh. If he died now, he didn't care-as long as he took down as many people as he could.

Demano laughed at the old mans feeble attempt to kill them. Now he wasn't going to crush the grenade, because last time he did that, he recieved severe burns to his hand. Instead, he batted it toward the insane man over on the other side of the hallway, where it exploded, killing him. Demano dropped the sword, and laughed. "Go ahead old man. Take your sword. By the way, if you don't die here you still have 23 1/2 years to go. So, I suggest you agree to my plan, get out, and live a good, healthy life. Or not. You choose. But I am taking the kid. If you need to contact me, follow the acid." With that he whipped up Itchi's sword, plunged it an inch into his arm, and even that was hard for him. Letting the acid-blood drip down from his arm, he lifted the kid up, and gentlely swung him into the pipe-system. Demano laughed, and jumped up there himself.

(OCC:Altusha, Please restrain yourself from being able to override everything my charachter does. I've let you take a sword from a master swordsman, deflect two grenades that you shouldn't have been able to, and deprive Itchi of every weapon he owns at no expense to Demano.)

(OOC my char was introduced on page 1..got busy so I'm trying to jump back in the rp)

IC:

Quadoo still stood in the hallway, watching what he thought was someone coming closer to where he was standing. Deciding that it was safe, he crept forward and still not seeing anyone he bolted down the hallway. Making a sharp left at the end of it, Quadoo saw what looked like a makeshift barricade against a door. Studdying it more carefully, Quadoo saw that it was made up of guns, magazines, and many other items that he couldn't make out. The man tensed as he heard movement coming from the other side of the door, and he crouched raising his gun up before speaking, "Hello, who's behind there?"
Quadoo wasn't in the mood for violence; he never was anymore. Although he bragged about his killings and being one of Tarayshia's most dangerous killers; he was beginning to be tired of it.
That was even a surprise for him;

(Tag Theao)

Kenny stood there, then lowered the still running chainsaw. Setting the idle on low, he took him hand off the throttle and wiped his eyes.

Humph...no reaction at all.

Daddy, the guy with the scarf. It looks like my scarf. He stole IT. Waaaah, wa-wa-wa-waaaah....

"SHUT UP!" he yelled at no one in particular.

"You, there with the scarf. " He pointed the still idling chainsaw at the ground and started to walk over.

"My kid's lost his scarf and needs to keep warm. He had one that looked like yours. Can I have it? He's really cold, I think he's caught something...."

(OOC: I think everyone should please be aware of the noise of an idling chainsaw. It would carry a long way and through lots of walls. The guy carrying it is about 5'8", a broad build, very "V" shaped like a muscular guy. He's wearing prison greys, barefoot, with the pants ripped up to the knee on his right leg. He has high and tight black hair, a broad face and lost looking eyes.)

Note...now I seem to have two character's in the thread. egad!

OOC: I, too, would rather this not turn into an RP with a super monster. Altusha, you actually have been godmoding, by saying what happens to other people's characters. I kinda hate to say it, but you've stepped over the line away from good RPing. I think before we make any hasty action, Alcona, we should wait for Danneland to get back and post again, beause I'm sure he'll have something to say about this situation.

In the meantime, if you wanted to establish something different somewhere else, I have an open character...



Sorry about the OOC post.

There's no need for that. There's no way to get better at RPing except to try. There's only so much you can learn from watching. My advice? Just remove the monster. Make your character a normal person and redo the exchange. No wings, no flight, no razor tail, no super strength. Just a normal person who uses weapons. Again, sorry for the OOC post.

OOC: I don't mind monsters with uber capablities. And I did over-react somewhat but that was more to the Rave S similarites than anything.

But I did think of a completely unique subplot, one which better drives my next character's actions. So Amy is likely going to wind up wounded/dead here anyway.

Now to balance out the advantages I'm about to hand my next character. I am going to also make it so she really doesn't want to kill anyone she doesn't have to, and will go to great lengths not to.

Offically she was prisoner 972109A, name Susan Feilds a self-confessed murder by arson. In reality, Susan hadn't killed the drunk by burning him alive, the man had died of a heart attack earlier in the evening. But an unrepentant murderer was the only sure way into the game.

Susan sat quietly in the cage that served as a confrence room here, she was looking through a small book of abstract drawings. Upper Hathgate, Lower Hathgate, Area 51... were the labels to colorful drawings of blocks and lines on colored backgrounds. Susan had been staring at the notebook for the past week as she awaited entry into The Game.

"972109A, your lawyer is here...last minute appeal?" Susan looked up at the guard. She threw the long ponytail of straw yellow hair behind her shoulder and stood.

Her 'lawyer' entered the room and nodded to the guard. He sat down at the table across from her. She returned to her seat. Susan seemed stark, cold and unfreindly towards the young man.
"So you've been enjoying my sister's sketches?"
Susan translated the phrase in her mind, Have you memorized the notebook?
"Yes, I did enjoy them and can't stop thinking about them...quite beautiful definately a strong indication of Powell"
Yes, and I got the maps that they contained out of them.

"Well, my other sister has a new boyfreind, he is quite taken with her. He is likely to propose"
The hooker got to the guard and between the cash and the sex is going to hand me the gun and ammo I wanted

"That's nice, any news on my brother? I'd like to know how we're going to settle things"
The rest of the gear?
"He will be in Holloway Downs soon, I expect him to be receptive to your last requests"
Newbie in another section...Great I'm going to have to run over there before someone else nabs him

"And my sister?"
Where was Watt's last reported location?

"She appears to have run into trouble in Potter Park recently, we're not sure how she's doing or if she'll pull through"

F*** Watt's luck just ran out, she's either dead or wounded. This has become a cadaver search before someone eats her foot.

"Oh, god..." Susan leaned over and began to make fake sobs. She had noticed the guard moving back towards the door.

The lawyer nodded and patted her on the shoulder. The guard stepped in, "Alright time for you to joint the game sweetie"

Susan stood and smiled at the guard, it was oddly terrifying. Most women with no record like Susan should have been scared witless. Of course the real Susan Feilds was presently enjoying starting a restraunt in Blood Harbor and had left Danneland after 'winning' the Cawahaba sweepstakes a few days before she began to burn abandoned buildings with dead men inside down. True, four hundread thousand kronor wasn't much but better than the poor life she had been living just days before.

"I'm ready." They lead the blond, brown eyed woman to the door that would insert her into the building of death. Hell itself, most would say. The guard smiled and handed her a .45 revolver and a large box of ammo. "My girl says your a natural with this, so enjoy girly" Susan couldn't help but almost laugh the bullets were a notorius design, used by the former agents of Socialist Hubris for decades.

Susan put her ponytail inside of the dark blue shirt she was wearing. She picked up the gun and stepped out the door into the game. She slowed her breathing till it would take an elephant to hear. She stood there, in the darkness waiting, smelling, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

There was a scrape at the intersection not far away. Obviously someone was waiting to pick off a newbie. Yup...but your gun is showing a**hole She moved quietly down the hall, flat footed to reduce any pressure on dirt and debries on the floor. Susan paused for a moment, watching the shadow of the buisness end of a shotgun move up and down. The breath was heavy, masculine Lucky day bastard, I don't feel like killing you... Susan gripped the end of the shotgun and spun around the corner on that arm, pinning the weapon to the wall. Her foot arced around the corner and smashed into his groin at full force.

The dirty, smelly and blood covered player grunted loudly and started to bend over in massive pain as his balls were pulverized. His grip on the shotgun losened and Susan pulled it from him. Then she dropped the stock down on the back of his head several times, just to make him even less lucid. The player groaned in pain, but Susan stopped. She just stepped over the writhing figure and picked at his personal belongings. "What have we got, can of Pink Bunny Cola, half used bottle of water, moldy fish sticks, and a half eaten bag of pretzels. Well aren't you the wealthy dogger about town now?" She picked up the cola, water, and pretzels. "You get your life, and the fish sticks buddy...cause I have to go meet my brother."

Susan turned and began running down the halls. Her 'brother', another newbie had just entered the game from the other side. With only a baton and a bag of food. His chances were less than nil considering he had been set up. What the f**ck am I doing here? F**king Fifty Million krondors is seriously starting too look to f***king cheap for this.

Somewhere in the world, a good number of bookies just swallowed a great deal of their pride. A sixty to one shot had well...wait did a knockout count as a frag?

(Yes kronor and krondor was correct)

OOC: A little bit to much ooc here, Im kinda stuck with my character atm, tho I admit I should throw in something for ya'll to do as a rp-starter.
And I'll start to work on a update :)

OOC: Sorry for the late reply Danneland. Been busy.

Bortz was stood in the corner of his temporary base. It was little more than an office cubical but it served its purpose, having only one entrance, which had been blocked with the aid of a filing cabinet. The dead fat man was hung by his feet like the carcass of a pig, the last drops of blood dripping onto the spreading puddle of blood. Bortz was cutting slices of flesh from the man. He laid them on a desk, one pile for steaks that he would need to eat soon, and some to be dried out as jerky. The vast majority of blood had been collected in a trashcan that had been salvaged, which he had mixed with water from a water dispenser in this room. He now had two of these big bottles of blood mix, which he drank only when he needed to... He hadn't had blood for a while, so his system needed to get used to it again.

Unexpectidly, he heard a voice from out in the corridor. How had he not heard this person approaching? He cursed himself under his breath as he laid the butchers knife on the table next to his food. He picked up one of the combat knives and edged to the door, his back against the wall, looking out of a crack he had left between the door frame and the cabinet. He analysed what he saw. There was a man, on his own stood in the middle of the corridor. The man looked tired, Bortz reckoned that this man had been heer longer than himself.

"What do you want?" He called to the man. Before waiting for an answer he added, "if you really come in peace kick your weapons towards this door and prove to me that you have no concelaed weapons. And if I were you, I'd hurry up, a group of my, erm, associates will be along soon."

Liam heard the low rumble of a machine coming from somewhere. Straining, he focused on the sound. It seemed clearly to belong to a chainsaw, up on the floor above him perhaps? Damn accoustics in this building made it impossible to locate anything from a distance. Grimly, he bit the corner off one of his protein bars, ignoring the taste as well as possible. A chainsaw.. one of the screws was a real sick bastard. He rechecked the ammo in his pistol quickly before peeking out into the hallway. Fughing hell, what I wouldn't give for a smoke about now..

ooc: Altusha, I would apreicate if you refrained from posting in this thread again, and delete all your messages.



Notmo, no worries. RL is hell (:

IC:

Wyat sighed and kicked over his guns, the man was soaked in blood. ew he didnt do what Wyat thought he was doing.. was he?

"Dont have anything else, now I understand that in a place like this, someone like me who throws over his guns either is mad, or have something in mind that involves your death. I can asure you, you can categorize me with the mad kind."

Wyat leaned over and looked begind the mans back, a fat man hanging from the sealing.
and Im suposed to be the mad man.. christ.. by the looks of it Im ending up on his dinnertable
"I hope im getting those back if you decide not to shoot me" Wyat looked around "associates? Youre expecting company?"

TAG Notmo

Alright the guy with the chainsaw is going down...where the f**k does he even get gas for the thing?

The weirdo started to pick himself up again. "I thought I told you to stay down!" The butt of the shot gun went into the the man's right arm. He screamed in pain as the blow wrenched his arm from its socket. "He collapsed against the wall slightly. Susan grapped the creep by his oily hair and thrust him towards an intersecting hall. He collapsed leaning on the wall near the corner

"Just fucking give up you moron!" The butt of the shot gun went down on the hand going for the knife. You could hear the sickening sound as the fragile handbones were pulverized, the screams of pain were quite annoying.

Susan looked down the hall as she stepped near the corner. Another dezien of the place had just popped his head out the door. "Fuck..." Susan wipped behind the corner and shook her head. "This is taking too long...I need to keep moving, not playing smash the dolt with the local thugs."

Susan looked down at the nine millimeter the creep had dropped. "Alright, time to get moving", she stated quietly to herself. She picked up the handgun and took off the slide. It was now really just a lump of metal with bullets inside. She turned to face the wall and then slid down to pop the shot gun into the hall as she dropped into a kneeling postion. The shotgun blasted the cealing sending drywall dust everywhere.

Susan pivited on the balls of her feet and threw the useless handgun down the hall. Hoping it would distract the dezien near the other end. She then began to sprint down the route she had been taking before running into the creep. Who was now laying on the floor sobbing in pain.

Gaeltach

He ducked reflexively at a series of noises which proved themselves far too close for comfort. There was a cry and yelling, a shotgun blast, and finally the sound of something metallic clanging down the hallway before him. Training warned him that it might be a grenade, but instinct wasn't so willing to accept the fact. Frantically scraping drywall dust from his eyes, he pulled back inside his room. When a few seconds ticked by and nothing exploded, he growled to himself and lunged out into the hallway. He caught a brief glimpse of a figure retreating in more or less the opposite direction. Clicking off the safety, he gave chase, stepping nimbly over the sobbing waste of a man crumpled against a wall. Scared me half outta me wits just then. Let's put a face to that shadow.

Following meant crossing spaces a bit too open for his liking, which of course required a great deal of care and attention. Sticking to the sides of the room where there was a wall to protect at least one side of him seemed the safe bet.

Notmo was unsure. This man had just thrown down his only weapons, his only protection in this place. Bortz slipped his foot out of the gap and slid one of the guns over too him. He slipped the mag out and saw that there was at least one round in it. If the worst came to the worst, he would only need one. He picked the gun up and pointed it at the man.

"My name is Bortz, and although they say I'm clinically insane... I believe otehrwise. I am not one for senseless killing and you seem like you're not going to try and kill me. You can have your weapons back once I feel that it is appropriate. But as for now, I'm not going to harm you." He stuck his head out of the door and quickly checked both ends of the corridor. "Come inside... You'll find some kindling and a flint in the corner, I'd appreciate it if you lit a fire. I'm hungry."

He slid the cabinet out of the way and lowered the gun letting the man through. "I'm just going to make some preparations for my guests, I'll knock on the cabinet four times... If you don't let me in. I will kill you. Do you understand?" Bortz didn't wait for a response but instead quickly jogged down to the end of the corridor. He knelt down on one knee and did something that was out of veiw from the newcomer. He stood up and did the exact same thing at the opposite end of the corridor. Then he returned to the office, knocking four times and waited for his guest to open up for him.

TAG Danneland

"Great, a full on loon." Reigan thought to himself as a nut-job with a chain-saw began gibbering about some kid. "First off all dude, there's no kid here, and if there was, I'm sure he'd have been worked over and butchered by now. Second of all, you can go to Shem'Ar first. And lastly, you must be cursed with an active diety to think you'd be getting anything from me."
ooc: (Tag Trinity Prime)

Great...now I'm playing follow the leader...

Susan was using speed to keep anyone from drawing a bead on her. Really she did hold to one wall or the other when first entering a room, but would likely dive strait across if she needed to, and the room appeared clear. She was good at moving quickly and silently through the places. Only the occasional scuff when she chaned direction could be heard.

Alright, time to ditch my tail up here

The hallway zigzaged up ahead. Susan really didn't want to waste a bullet, but having someone on her six right now was not a good idea either. She took the second turn and stopped against the wall just around the corner. The shotgun went down onto the floor as she pulled the revolver up by the lantree around her neck.

The Hubarian 0.45 was one of those weapons that soviet/hubarian ingenuity came up with during the cold war. Really it was the ammo that was the key to the weapon. Using a higher explosive than gunpowder, and some nasty specialized bullets, a Hubarian 0.45 special round could only be fired from a reinforced barrel (usually titanium or some Ti alloy) and needed recoil damening.

Susan held the revolver up in her hands and thumbed a red rimmed round into the firing position. Then she throught better of it, after all she needed to conserve this ammo, unlkely she would get a resupply. She dropped the revolver and grabbed the shotgun, leveling it and pulling the trigger.

The opposing corner of the wall exploded as the shotgun round, which was fairly heavy shot, smashed into the wall. "Alright a**hole I don't know what your major malfunction is, but I think I've made it fairly clear that you following my tail is not appreciated. What that creep I left wasn't fresh enough meet for ya!" The statement was puctuated by the obvious sound of her pumping a fresh round into the chamber.

Susan dropped down into a crouch at the corner. Alright, if your mindless enough to try and turn that corner third strike your out.

He dodged through rooms with plenty of concealment, thankful for once when he would enter a patch of narrow hallway. The figure ahead seemed a bit more agile than he, and although normally he would not find disadvantage in that, here it was a considerable asset. Eventually he followed into a winding hallway whose constructors hadn't been quite sure which direction it should lead. Having lost sight of the figure, he slowed his pace a bit and held the gun before him with both hands. His suspicions were confirmed when a shotgun blast nearly created a new doorway through a corner ahead. Flattening his back against the wall closer to the source of the shot, he slowed his forward motion to a slow creep.

A lassie, eh? Just fughing wonderful.

"Aisy there girl.. That was unfriendly. I might think you was tryin' te kill me."

He grinned despite himself, keeping a healthy distance and a trained eye on the corner ahead.

Susan quirked an eyebrow. "If I wanted you dead, I would have waited until you were at the corner...mate. Or scragged you with creep boy back there. Now is their a particular reason your chasing my six like a lost pup? What need one more kill to meet your frag quota for the day? I don't know why you twits spend your time scragging each other like a buch of methheads in an armory around this place, not like its going to get you anything..."

Susan was as much listening and watching as talking. Waiting for the scot to try and flip the corner and shoot her.

"Why am I following you? Well as a rule, I don't take well to being shot at. Tends to leave me a bit cranky. If it was kills I was after, lass, I'd've finished off that bloody sod you left a ways back."

Careful mate. She's waiting for you to slip up.

He angled his head away from the wall slowly, trying to steal a glimpse of what lay ahead. And to determine why she may be setting up. In the back of his head, he almost thought it might be better just to walk away. But of course there were those open rooms again..

Susan replied coldy, "Well I've seen enough episodes of this game to know I really don't want to give any of you the first chance. Now, considering most people in this game scrag first and eat later, I think a simple hole in the cealing was rather polite gesture to keep off my back. Also, one more inch futher and your eye will be seeing the effects of a shot gun blast first hand."

Because of where Susan had chosen to 'introduce' herself, Liam's ear was showing before his eye would get to see around the corner.

He froze in place, but couldn't suppress a grin. His pistol was still drawn and held at the ready, but he relaxed somewhat.

"Now that's interestin'.. Ya say that like ya aren't 'one of us.' What brings a fine girl such as yerself here then, I wonder?"

Briefly, he contemplated drawing his head back out of her potential line of fire, but eventually decided against it. Liam was generally amused with the situation he'd found himself in. I was certainly different than the usual shootouts in any case. After a few moments, he added a thought.

"No.. I don't think I could ever eat another man, meself." A woman, however.. now that held an entirely different connotation. Liam, boyo, yer gonna wind up someplace warm and uncomfortable, you keep this up.

yes, insane is the word
Wyat shook his head as Bortz dissapeard to, fetch some food. Wyat had never fallen into cannibalism. It just wasnt his style.
He'd gone without food for a whole week once untill he came across.. a food supply. He looked at the skinned fat man as he hung from the sealing.
ew... Compromises does give you strange bedfellow.

He began to lit a fire with the remaining furniture and leaned towards a wall. Here he was, the prime age of his life. Stuck in a building with men
killing for their survival, and a cannibal. And wyat had no gun anymore, he was back at square one. Wyat felt his pocket for a kandybar.
dammit! why do they always run out?
He looked around, it was.. the friendliest place he'd seen for 32 weeks. Wyat sneezed and wiped his nose with his sleeve.
I could use a change of clothes to.. its amazing that I havent got cancer or anything.
"If people would just stop shooting at one another we'd actually be able to get out of this place. Well.. some of us at least." He said to himself as he sat there in front of the fire.

TAG Notmo

After the new guy had let him in, Bortz saw that the guy had lit a fire in one corner. "You want something to eat?" He said, gesturing at the pile of meat on the table. Seeing the mans face he smiled and went over to one of the filing cabinets, he opened a drawer and threw a candy bar to the man.

"I got it from a kid couple of days ago... But i prefer to eat meat."

"So what brings you to this neck of the woods?" he asked.

"Oh and by the way, here's your weapons back" he said as he lay the reprimanded guns down on the floor. "My visitors tend not to be too friendly... and I have a feeling even less so today" Bortz smiled evily.

"When they come, I expect you to be polite and only speak when spoken to. If they don't like what I'm saying, open up on them. I'd appreciate it."

Bortz sat down besides the fire, which was now burning quie nicely, he skewered a piece of meat onto a knife and held it over the flames.

TAG Danneland

Susan just shook her head slightly, the man had stopped moving into her line of fire, but hadn't moved back either. "Fine young lass? Wrong adjectives there...I would say that my goals vary dramatically from most in this Slaughter of Sin remake. I have no intention of adding more black marks against my soul than the minimum to complete my mission."

Susan paused, "And right now time is somewhat precious to me, as my exit stratagy is wandering around likely about to be scragged by one of your more canabalistic neighbors." Shit...I just told him I had an exit stratagy. Well the bugger has balls at least...and doesn't come off as too crazy...he might be useful

who are these visitors he keeps talking about? his..food?

Wyat grabbed the candybar and slowly ate it.
"well.. I guess what brought me here is that cursed goverment. And i've been here a while now.. three days more and its 33 weeks."
He swallowed and watched as Bortz 'cooked' his meal.
"Anyway, I want out. Im sick and tierd of the smell of rotting corpses, the screams, the killing, to always be on your guard.. to always be paranoid. I want out, but to do that I need help".
Wyat took a new bite of the candybar. "The main problem is that no one wants to listen, everyone likes to shoot, the seccond problem is.." he glanced at the roof. "I dont know where they are, but the cameras.. and microphones... and whatever they have installed. The fact that most of these walls withstands handgranades is just..wierd. So.. I dont have a full plan yet.. I have.. ideas, I need to find out where the winners are extracted.. because that I have never seen, the only way in here is through the top hatch where everyone are thrown down.."

TAG Notmo

Bingo.

"Then I propose a solution, if I may. Since the both of us has our backs exposed for this little exchange, why not team up? Form a working partnership of sorts. I help you find yer mark, and you help me get the fugh outta here."

He was intreguied to hear her answer. The fact that she hadn't just leaned over and shot him already told him she was being truthful about avoiding kills, not to mention the poor bastard back near the atruim. And the fact that he had left himself somewhat exposed to her shotgun ought to suggest he was making the first step towards a show of trust. Either way, he needed to move soon. He didn't like not being able to watch his back, especially in the hallway where there wasn't much room to run.

(actually she couldn't lean over and blast him since there was a wall in the way but anyway)

Susan thought for a second, Alright now what...well he just wants out...any sane person would. So we make a deal.

"Alright, if you want my assistance in getting out of this man made hell...throw your weapons down around the corner and step out with your hands up. If not, I suggest you go back to your little den and I'll head on to meet my brother, your choice."

Susan stood up, and waited for the dezien to make his choice.

OOC: My bad. Just the way I pictured it in my head.

It was a serious risk, but one he was willing to take. Ejecting the clip from the pistol, he pocketed that, and slid the gun across the floor towards the sound of her voice. Next, he tossed one of the knives and let it skid to her. The other he kept sheathed at the small of his back, figuring that if she had a shotgun leveled and ready to reduce his height a bit, it would be of little use anyway.

"Alright lassie, I'm coming out."

He didn't waste time with prayer, and simply raised his hands and walked towards her, bringing himself fully into view. Afterall, he didn't have much to lose in the decision.

{great RP, will follow, unless you feel a "feild producer" charachter would be benifitial.}

Beck had been running for hours after he scrambled and got away from the corridor incident. As he ran, he heard the screams of women, men, and what sounded like children. Maybe he was going insane.

The gun had only 3 bullets left. The bat and piano wire were still wedged into his cloth belt. His black jumpsuit was stained with blood.

I need to find safety. And fast.
***
Beck had been outsourced from his home country to Danneland for this game. The Nationalistic State of the Last Anarchy Order has almost completely rid itself of crime. There are only two prisons in the country, well at least at the time when he was on trial.

The Supreme Councellor exiled him, and foced to him to sign up for the game. Talk about getting screwed by the man.
***
After even more jogging, avoiding rapists, murderers, and sadists, Beck Reznor arrived at a door. It was to a room, and possibly safety. He could see silhouttes under the door, which happened to be lit with what appeared to be a fire.

You are going to die in here, at least take a chance to find some comrades.

He reached up, knocking on the door, while simultaneously saying, "I don't want to hurt you, I just want a safe place!"

TAG Notmo and Danneland

Susan stepped out from behind the opposite corner. She was holding the shot gun with one hand. The other was now grasping the fourty-five. She set down the shot gun and stepped forward.

The handgun looked like an antique model in some ways, it had a longer than normal barrel, and the eight chambers were longer than most modern fourty-fives. where the handle and the gun frame intersected, there was a rather blocky mounting, unusual for any handgun. The light didn't reflect off frame or barrel of the weapon at all, it wasn't normal gun metal.

"Your completely disarmed? If I find anything on you I'm just going to shoot, and this makes a mess" She indicated the fourty-five pointed at Liam's head.

She started to pat him down with her free hand, her eyes locked on his hands. When Susan got to Liam's waist, she grabbed his privates in a horrificly crushing grip. "You'd be surprised how many jacka** think that a girl won't pad them down there..." She released his family jewels after finding nothing and continued down his legs.

Her eyes didn't move from his hands or shoulders.

Bortz knew that somebody was coming... His crude but effective warning device at the end of the corridor had seen to that before whoever it was had even seen the office he was in. The question now was who it was...

He stood with his back against the wall once again. "Christ, how many people want refuge in one day?" He thought to himself. He turned to look at the man sitting by the fire, whose name he still did not know, "You got anything to do with this?" The man shook his head and strangely, Bortz could tell he was telling the truth.

He moved the filing cabinet back a few inches yet again, and looked through.

"Give me your gun and whatever other weapons you have, or I will not hesitate to kill you. And hurry up about it... I'm expecting somebody very soon!" Bortz ordered.

As he waited for the mans response, Bortz cursed under his breath, he could not risk leaving his den again, but he knew he now had no warning of the gang he was expecting soon. They would want paying or they would kill him, and his chances were looking up at the moment...

"Great, a full on loon." Reigan thought to himself as a nut-job with a chain-saw began gibbering about some kid. "First off all dude, there's no kid here, and if there was, I'm sure he'd have been worked over and butchered by now. Second of all, you can go to Shem'Ar first. And lastly, you must be cursed with an active diety to think you'd be getting anything from me."


" Trade you for the scarf....", as Kenny put the saw down and released the kill switch. All went quiet as he used his foot to push the saw over to the scarf guy.

"Even-up...."

Liam stood quietly as he watched her approach. Calmly and stoically, he watched as she set down the shot gun and began searching him. He winced when she decided to test the resiliency of his goods, but as she stared at him so incessantly, strove for a speedy recovery.

"If ya wanted a feel, luv, ya could've just asked.."

As her hands moved on down his legs in search of any weapons, he thought a warning might be prudent.

"There's a small knife at the back of my trousers. Careful not to cut those delicate fingers o' yours."

" Trade you for the scarf....", as Kenny put the saw down and released the kill switch. All went quiet as he used his foot to push the saw over to the scarf guy.

"Even-up...."
"That thing is very shortly going to be a cumbersome club, why in Shem'Ar's name would I want to trade for it?" Riegan said with a note of disgust for the craven lunatic in front of him.

After hearing the man's order, Beck dropped his gun and piano wire to the floor, and kicked them under the door. He sat the bat onto the floor.

"There are my weapons. I also have a bat that is laying on the floor beside me, but it is too large to fit under the door."

Shit, he thought, Now once again, I am going to die.

Alright, I've got a frisky one

Susan indicated with the gun Liam should turn around. She pulled the knife out from the small of his back and threw it on the ground. She then pushed him against the wall.

"Turn around and drop your hands. Now what should I call you, besides annoyingly coy?"

She leaned up against the opposite wall, the fourty-five in her grip, only slightly lowered from pointing at his mid-riff. The brown eyes were quite hard, "You can call me Captain...Captain Dante." She smiled slightly at the joke. Well better not leave any real trail like her actual name.

"So here is a quick rundown of the mission tasks. First we need to locate 'brother' and retreive the exit stratagy. Second, we need to find the target, dead or alive, and retreive something. Third, we find the exit location and extridite ourselves from hell. Task one and two need to be completed before three. We will remove all obsticals from these goals with the minimal force needed. So are you in?"

He complied patiently with her instructions, wondering briefly if he'd ever get those weapons back. It'd certainly be a death sentence in here without them. Finally allowed to turn from the wall, he faced her and crossed his arms. He grinned slyly before responding, a look he seemed to wear constantly. As she introduced herself, he tipped an imaginary hat to her, acknowledging her authority in the situation.

"Yes ma'am. Me friends call me Liam. I suppose that'll have to do for you as well, then."

Liam didn't see any harm in revealing his given name. Afterall, it was common enough, especially in Gaeltach were traditional sentiment still ruled over much of the culture. He nodded slightly as she gave a mission rundown, his face degenerating into the serious look of someone who was not only accustomed to briefings, but also taking in every point sincerely.

"So basically, ya're sayin' no engagements unless absolutely necessary, and no freedom until we find your mate. Aye then. Anythin's better than stayin' here."

Dante nodded, "The more live bodies we have in this place, the better our overall chance of escape is going to be Liam." She pointed to the weapons scattered along the floor. "Now pick up your gear and let's get moving..."

The Captain turned and put the fourty-five into a pocket of her shirt. Leaning over and grabbing the shotgun she waved it that Liam should start off infront of her.

(OOC: srry I been gone for the past two days...been busy lol and I can see a lot has happened! I have several questions, So are we going to act like the demon dude never came and/or was never there? and is Amy still alive? LoL Will post in this space when questions are answered)

"That thing is very shortly going to be a cumbersome club, why in Shem'Ar's name would I want to trade for it?" Riegan said with a note of disgust for the craven lunatic in front of him.

"We talk and I don't hear other things. We don't, other things will tell me to get rid of you. I want company I can see."

"We can hunt together, or we settle this now."

"Talk or die"

He steps forward with his right foot to within 10 feet of Theao. He slowly draws his left foot in a two foot semi-circle to bring it on point in front of him. He closes his eyes, spreads the fingers on his hands (still at his sides) and leans ever so slightly forward.

Dante nodded, "The more live bodies we have in this place, the better our overall chance of escape is going to be Liam." She pointed to the weapons scattered along the floor. "Now pick up your gear and let's get moving..."

The Captain turned and put the fourty-five into a pocket of her shirt. Leaning over and grabbing the shotgun she waved it that Liam should start off infront of her.
So live bodies were a good thing now. Something seemed awfully backward about that, but she was obviously privvy to some critical information which he was not. So they'd play by her rules. Without any ceremony whatsoever, he retrieved the knives and pistol, reloading the latter before tucking the knives away on his person.

With a quick glance down the hallway from whence he'd come, he checked for anyone creeping up on them. Satisfied, he took point as she'd indicated, holding the pistol at ready. It was only a matter of time before he'd need it.

"Just let me know where we're goin', lass. And how 'bouts we make sure your guns stayed aimed someplace other than me back?"

He'd been at gunpoint quite enough for one day, and didn't fancy picking up the habit. After a quick roll of the shoulders, he started down the hallway on par with her original course.

Gaeltach

Dante was not actually pointing the gun at his back. She was moving to the right and just behind Liam. Obviously if he turned to try and double cross her, she could pivot to deal with him, but he was not between her and the enemy directly.

The corridors continued to zigzag about the place. Actually it was proving to be a mini-maze apparently. Which might explain why no one was in here at the moment, getting lost in the switch backing corridors and dead ends was likely not appealing to anyone.

Dante however did appear to have some knowledge of where she was going. She would suddenly inform Liam which way to go at each intersection without much worry.

They passed a dead corpse, and the captain stated in a low whisper "slowly...we're coming up to an area they like to call ambush alley"

She stepped forward of Liam and approached a dim intersection up ahead. Something moved nearby..the sound was slight. Dante stood up near the wall, not against it but ramrod strait almost a half inch from the wall. She slowly moved towards the intersection, careful steps she indicated Liam should step forward, then stop with her left hand.

Dante stopped at the corner, and indicated Liam should step on some broken glass. As Liam's foot went down, Dante dropped and rotated on her right foot bringing the butt of the shot gun level. There was the sound of drywall breaking and then a muffled umph. Then several more umphs and some crying.

Dante had broken through a peice of drywall that some player was hiding behind. Presently that player was now withering as the blond used to the stock of the gun to pummel her opponent into a bloody pulp.

"The next guy is going to think we're well...doing things to this a**hole considering we haven't shot him yet. So we have a moment to lift any valuables off him..."

Wyat took the last chew of the candybar.

"Popular place eh?" "By the way, the name is Wyat.. just.. Wyat".

TAGThe Last Anarchy Order, notmo.

Bortz picked up the gun and the piano wire and tossed them to Wyat. "Hold those" He commanded. "OK I'm letting you in, don't be trying any funyn business, there is a gun aiming at your head..."

He moved the filing cabinet out of the way and opened the door with his left hand. He had his back against the door and his right hand across his body holding the gun at roughly head height. "Walk slowly inside, hands on your head"

Botrz nodded at Wyat who held up his gun and pointed at the man.

"Stay there."

Popping his head out of the door Bortz kicked the bat between his leg and it skidded into the room. He quickly closed the door and replaced the cabinet. After a quick pat down of the new man he walked over to the fire and started to eat. "Make yourself at home, I want answers."

He took a bite of the steak and wiped the grease from his mouth.

"Who are you, what do you want and what do you need me to do? I'm expecting a gang of players to arrive shortly, I trade weapons and food to them in return for my safe being. However, due to recent events, like you two arriving at my door, I'm reconsidering my business plan. With the help of you two, we may be able to overcome them and take their weapons and supplies for ourselves. After that who knows..." He pointed at Wyat, who was sat on the other side of the fire. "This man arrived just before you did, he was saying something about trying to find an escape from this place..."

snip

Riegan looked at the man who was talking complete nonsense, words barely strung together coherently and completely at odds with the situation. "Frankly, with that thing, you might be able to chop down a tree, but there is no way you could get a person, so either go bother someone else, or you can test your faith personally."

ooc: First of all, the dude is not from Theao. Second of all his name is Riegan, not Theao. Third of all in Riegan's culture, he's been hitting Ken with some of the worst possible insults imaginable.

ooc: First of all, the dude is not from Theao. Second of all his name is Riegan, not Theao. Third of all in Riegan's culture, he's been hitting Ken with some of the worst possible insults imaginable.

(OOC: I was using the quote funtion, hence the name. His name is Ken or Kenny, not Trinity Prime. He doesn't know your society or its rules, neither does he care. Go ahead and kill him if you wish, or leave him. I don't think I'll be posting in this thread any more. If you kill him, make it fun!

Have fun folks, see you in other plays!!!!)

From behind a wall, Quadoo had overheard Suzan and the other man's conversation. Smiling to himself, he stept out of his hiding place.
"I do believe your ideas are marvelous," Quadoo stated to the two people, "I as well would like to get out of hell."
Quadoo finished as he took out his gun and dropped it at the woman's feet before saying, "That's all I got miss."

Liam made quick work of the bastard, quickly lifting anything of value from his person. This included a few protein bars, a few pieces of chocolate in an old scrap of foil and a long cylindrical object. A flare? What did the bastard hope to accomplish with that?

Checking his pockets, he grabbed a Beretta and three extra magazines. The man also had a set of brass knuckles and a short length of chain. Never knowing what might come in handy in this place, he pocketed everything.

When an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind him, Liam grabbed up his own pistol in surprize, whirling on the man with a snarl and an itchy trigger finger. The stranger had already dropped his weapon at the Captain's feet, so Liam held off. Glaring malevolantly at the stranger, he waited for her order.

OOC: Er...considering where you just popped up, realize I am going to play this as your a bloody lunatic since that intro is severly tardy...

Tarayshia, Gaeltach

Considering Liam and Dante (also known as Susan) conversation was about nailing the next guy. And possibly doing something to their last subject the sudden appearence of said guy seemed to throw her off for a second.

Dante just blinked, for a second and then put the buisness end of the shot gun under Quadoo's chin and pushed him against the wall. "Alright, so you came quietly, now the question is do I blow your brains out or just beat you to a pulp like the fellow here."

"Liam, keep your ears and eyes open, this loon might have some freinds he is distracting us for." Or the people running this place has a piss poor version of a ringer...

Everyone
(OOC: Ideas approved by Danneland before posting and should be considered offical in nature. I’ve tried to include everyone’s ‘vision’ as they have stated it. Note this type of construction does not prevent atriums, staircases etc...just you can not blast your way through the floor or do much damage with a grenade structurally)

It was a bar somewhere in Danneland, and Peter Strauss, Susan’s attorney of record was sitting at the bar watching the T.V. It was an international television network, Gamble One. Gamble One was in negotiations to bring the Death Game out internationally. It didn’t hurt that Gamble One was a subsidiary of Quincy Mining which also owned Thedora Prime, an international online and off-track betting concern that was taking millions bets on the Death Game.
As Peter began to sip as his beer, the network went from showing a horse race in some piss-pot country to a talk show for gamblers, known as “The Inside Track” The odds for various games continued to roll by on the ticker.

“Hello, and welcome to the Inside Track here on Gamble One, where we investigate all of the nuances of the games you bet on, so that you can gamble and win with confidence. I am your host, Will Beluck. Today we have a special guest for us, direct from Quincy Mining’s construction division, project administrator Paul Dyson. Welcome Paul…”
The camera moved to show Paul, who looked like a movie star in an expensive three piece suit.
“Thanks Will, glad to be here…”
“So why do we have Paul on the show? Two words…Death Game…the Death Game Building was Paul’s most recent project. And Paul is going to give you…our viewers the inside scoop into the construction of the building that houses the Death Game. Now Paul, I want to know this…why doesn’t the building just collapse. I mean with all the misses and blasts and weapons, why doesn’t the thing just fall down?”
“Well Will, the building that contains the Death Game is actually not unique in the world. It is actually a standard poured pier and beam concrete building. That means that it is constructed of large twenty six inch square piers of reinforced concrete on a five by five meter grid connected at each floor by forty eight by twenty six inch beams. This is further reinforced by the poured reinforced concrete floor which uses standard waffel design to acheive the strength to cover those spans without interuption. So to damage to the structural integrity of the building a player has to blow up one of those posts or beams; difficult to do with a fragmentary hand grenade Will.”
“Alright, so the interior walls have nothing to do with the structural support?”
“Nope, they are standard interior metal stud walls. Each stud is on 16 inch centers attached to a bottom at top plated that are bolted into the concrete floor and the bottom of the concrete floor above. The metal studs are covered with a high impact blue board to keep the amount of blood soaking into the walls at a minimum, taped and left unpainted."
“The blueboard is more resistant to fragmentary grenad damage more than regular drywall?”
“Yes, the ceiling is standard drywall mounted onto metal joists running about eight feet off the floor. This leaves about two feet between the ceiling and the bottom of the poured floor above for utilties such as lights, cameras, microphones."
“With all that electronics up there that building is really wired. How to avoid having to send maintenance crews into the Game? And keep players from damaging it?”
“Well the most common problem is lighting, even night vision needs some light to work. Rather than have the traditional direct source lighting we use shielded fiber optic cables to light areas. The building has a central core. The fiber optics run back to the core where they are bundled and lit by various bulbs. It allows us to light the entire building with enough dimness to allow night vision to work, but leaves the players in the dark. It also means that bulbs can be replaced by maintance crews in saftey. The same thing for all the cameras and mikes, their wires are inside of flexible steel tubing keeping the players from messing with the wiring. Nothing fancy, standard industrial metal flex conduit, with a heavier mouting the normal. Any switches, image processers, camera controllers are remote and inside the core.”
“Alright, ventilation, I mean we haven’t seen anyone popping out of the vents yet…”
“Very unlikely too either, there are human sized vents in places, but more as a game feature rather than ventilation. No we used a small tube, high velocity forced air system that brings air from the outside and pushes it inside. The units are mounted to the outside walls of the building, nothing for the players to gain access to. The used air vents through a series of small vents along the outer wall.”
“Actually what is the outer wall made of?”
“The outer wall and the core walls are sixteen inch poured concrete. In the case of the outer walls their supported by the pier and post system.”
“Now we have seen drinking fountains about in various locations, what is the water and waste system like?”
“Ah, well there are those European style squat toilets in places, and we do have a few drinking fountains about the place. Really each floor drains into a cesspool in the sub-core. That's really part of the core but seperated by a wall dividing the structure in two. Now these cesspools are actually incinerators; they turn on, boil the water and burn up all the organic matter. The resulting waste gases are vented back into the floor.”
“That sounds smelly, well are time is almost up, one quick question, what are those smaller wings on the main building?”
“Oh those are where the gates for loading prisoners are. We spread them out over the building so players wouldn’t pile up in one place waiting for fresh meat.”
“Well that’s all we have time for today…I hope to see you tomorrow…”

Peter ignored the T.V. really Paul wasn’t an engineer. Nope, the engineer of the project had both a pang of consciousness and realized a serious defect. Unfortunately Quincy decided to remove him permanently for the former before finding out about the latter. The problem was that the assassin for the job had a much more lucrative proposition.

“Dad’t a**hole wouldn’t know didly about his own member if it didn’t come with instructions…”
“Well our little dove is in…”
“I am pained da say this but, wouldn’t it have been better to hire someone who…”
“kills more? The captain is capable of killing, she just prefers not to do it wantonly.”
“But they might catch on…”
“Greedy bastards remain greedy bastards even when ruin is running strait at them with a katna and a sign that says, ‘your dead’. Usually they are thinking that they’ll just f**k ruin up the a**.”
“Ah…well tis better than being dead”
“That’s my back-up plan…”
The other man gulped at his beer.

Tarayshia, Alcona

He nodded with a small grunt of a response. Certain that Dante was in perfect control of the intruder, he nonetheless regarded the man with a look of pure hatred, usually reserved for enemies of the Republic. Make a move, ya daft bastard. Just try it, and we'll be repainting this hall.

Keeping half an eye on the Captain's prisoner, he edged to a corner and peered around. Another hallway opened up here, on a strange angle to the one they were standing in, and forming somewhat of a skewed T-intersection. He scrutinized both directions before satisfying himself that there was no immediate threat. Turning to look behind them, he saw nothing of particular interest there either. Scowling, he resorted to his old training to keep watch. He crouched near the junction, ready at a moment's notice to turn and fire should the need arise.

Tarayshia, Alcona

He nodded with a small grunt of a response. Certain that Dante was in perfect control of the intruder, he nonetheless regarded the man with a look of pure hatred, usually reserved for enemies of the Republic. Make a move, ya daft bastard. Just try it, and we'll be repainting this hall.

Keeping half an eye on the Captain's prisoner, he edged to a corner and peered around. Another hallway opened up here, on a strange angle to the one they were standing in, and forming somewhat of a skewed T-intersection. He scrutinized both directions before satisfying himself that there was no immediate threat. Turning to look behind them, he saw nothing of particular interest there either. Scowling, he resorted to his old training to keep watch. He crouched near the junction, ready at a moment's notice to turn and fire should the need arise.

Alcona and Gaeltach

(OOC; sorry for me just popping up like that, I was waiting for a reply from someone and they never came back to the rp. I'm still new to this forum so I hope I haven't afended anyone. I certainly didn't do that on purpose. I'm sure you all were newbies to.)

IC:
Quadoo grunted as she had pushed him up against the wall, his expression blank as she spoke to him.
"I," he cleared his throat as the gun was pushed against his chin, "I would like to help. Nothing more nothing less."
Quadoo kept his guard up at all times; his eyes darted around looking at his surroundings. He could run off but knew that he'd be dead before he would reach the end of the hall. He could get his gun back and just leave however he figured that would also be suicide. He just waited for her next move after weighing his options.

"You want to help? You mentioned something about 'I as well would like to get out of hell' which considering we haven't talked about around here means two things. Either your a clairvoiant, or you were listening in via the microphones. Now, I find it intresting that a player can listen in to a conversation over the sound system in here. Which means are you actually a player?"

Dante's eyes were cold and hard. The wrong answer here would mean instant death.

Tarayshia, Gaeltach
T.G. Tarayshia

"You want to help? You mentioned something about 'I as well would like to get out of hell' which considering we haven't talked about around here means two things. Either your a clairvoiant, or you were listening in via the microphones. Now, I find it intresting that a player can listen in to a conversation over the sound system in here. Which means are you actually a player?"

Dante's eyes were cold and hard. The wrong answer here would mean instant death.

Tarayshia, Gaeltach
T.G. Tarayshia

Quadoo cleared his throat again, "I, am certainly a player of this game. And as for getting out of this place, any sane person would like to get out of here."
Quadoo put up his hands in defense, "You can search me if you like, I don't have nothing except what lays at your feet; even though that is ashame."


(OOC; what does, "T.G Tarayshia," mean?)

Gaeltach, Alcona

(OOC; what does, "T.G Tarayshia," mean?)


(Telegram, the telegram system for Nation States)

Quadoo cleared his throat again, "I, am certainly a player of this game. And as for getting out of this place, any sane person would like to get out of here."
Quadoo put up his hands in defense, "You can search me if you like, I don't have nothing except what lays at your feet; even though that is ashame."

Liam resisted the urge to glance back at the man over his shoulder. Nothin' in that thick skull a yours, neither.

There was some motion at the far end of the "T" which caused him to raise his pistol to a firing position. Focusing, he watched the spot until he could determine what exactly had drawn his attention.

Dante pushed the end of the shotgun further up into Quadoo's jaw. "You didn't answer my question, and my time is valuable. So answer my questions, or I will make up the answers myself. I will even rephrase it, how exactly do you know that we are not a pair of happy mass murdering f**k bunnies out for a stroll in the Themeland of Hell?" She indicated Liam with her eyes, "Cause your taking an awful chance if you don't know that we're not."

Dante had noticed Liam looking down the hall. Her left hand was ready to move to the fourty-five in her pocket if need be.

****
Somewhere a bookie was smiling, "She's going to Frag this one...I can feel it!"

Riegan shrugged and just walked away from the nutcase weilding a chainsaw. He'd soon be eaten, possibly literally, in the jungle of the Death Game. Reigan began searching for a drinking fountain as he wasn't a fan of drinking blood.

(Alright...sorry Tarayshia but this is the only way we can work this out....this is a bit god moddish, but better than killing the sap...)

The sound of boots down the hall sounded closer, and Dante seemed to have enough of the rather idiotic individual in front of her. She pulled the shotgun out from under his chin and then dropped the but down on Quadoo's head a few times.

She picked up his weapon and then looked down the hall. "No more time to play, frag this sucker..." She indicated the person approaching.

Liam nodded brusquely in acknowledgement of the order and brought his pistol on aim. He fired two quick shots in succession. The first slammed high into the chest of whomever was approaching, the second catching the person in the throat. The only sound was a sickly gurgling as Liam quietly stood and chambered another round. He was nearly certain this person wasn't the source of motion he'd observed earlier, but whatever it was seemed to show no interest in them. It was a fact he would keep on the back-burner for now.

"Neutralized."