05-31-2018, 05:06 PM
How the heck did he convince himself to do this again?
The queue stretched on for what seemed like miles at the Costa del Sol Dante’s Abyss registration booth. Back in the day, when Mickey had first tried his hand at Karl Jak’s certainly borderline-illegal deathmatch challenge, the lines had been small; since the competition (and Jak) had reached celebrity status, it seemed anyone who could even pretend to be a prime wanted in on the action.
Heat radiated from the Vasty Deep’s sun and coated Mickey’s black fur with a thin layer of sweat. The longer the wait, the more the mouse panted, and he wondered, idly, if he still had the stamina to keep up with the other competitors. He certainly hadn’t been in tip top shape these past few months; was the fact that he couldn’t even really deal with a pretty long wait in line a sign that, perhaps, his heroism days were drawing to a close? He knew that he would fight for what was right until he literally breathed his last Omniverse breath, but… would it even make a dent anymore if he was this weakened?
Thankfully, Syntech employees patrolled the line, offering up bottle upon bottle of refreshing Pepsi to help the future competitors keep hydrated. Mickey supposed the corporation had Pepsiman to thank for that—despite being brutalized by the contestants the first time around, the walking soda mascot had kept coming back to the competition, content to be touted out as the sparkling, uber-refreshing celebrity he was. Mickey had always hoped the simple dude would pull the PepsiCo sponsorship, really hit Karl Jak where it hurt: his wallet.
Though he supposed Pepsiman probably didn’t actually pull the PepsiCo strings; not many creatures had the clout and capability to serve as the face of their Empire and run it, like he did. And if he were being truthful, he didn’t know if he’d trust Pepsiman to run so much as a bake sale, let alone a mega-corporation.
He’d have to hit up the guy and check in on him, if he happened to be in the preshow facility. If he ever got to the preshow facility.
As the line dwindled—ever so slowly—Mickey Mouse found his feet getting colder and colder. How was he supposed to measure up to all these people who had been doing this for years? And who was he about to meet again after such a long time removed?
Would Samus be here? Would she debase herself by joining this competition again just to get to Karl Jak? What about Harry, or Erza? Would they be returning? Would people who he’d met elsewhere—Link, or Belle, perhaps—be joining them in the Dante Verse? Would Blues be here, or was he still off fighting that mysterious dark evil thing Minnie had told him about? He felt incredibly conflicted about how much he longed to see his friends in the preshow facility—no doubt he didn’t want them anywhere near this awful event, but he just wanted his buddies back so much.
On the flip side, he hoped he wouldn’t have to see a few people’s ugly mugs up in here. The last thing he needed was to get caught in Kopaka’s crosshairs again, or find out Gilgamesh had somehow escaped the supposedly permanent prison of banishment to fight again.
His gloved fingers reached into his pocket and idly played with the banishment circle sitting at the bottom. Banishment wasn’t really the mouse’s style, but Samus and Proto Man had expressed to him their beliefs that sometimes evil people were so powerful, they had to be sent away for good. And in a place like the Omniverse—a place where actual death meant surprisingly little—sometimes banishment was the only way.
“E-excuse me,” a small voice piped up from outside the line. Mickey leapt a bit, jerking his hand out of his pocket and looking to its source. A small girl with a lollipop in her hand, not much taller than he himself, had wandered over to where he stood and gazed at him with big, bulbous blue eyes. Her jaw hung agape a bit, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
Mickey waited for a few moments, and then when it became clear she wasn’t going to let him know why she’d called out to him, he spoke up. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Uh, um,” she swallowed nervously, “are you… Mickey Mouse?”
The King could feel the eyes of the other would-be competitors wandering over to him casually. “Um,” he glanced around, discerning whether or not any of these people were Empire hooligans, “um, yeah, that’s me, little one. What’s up?”
The little girl stared for a few more seconds, and then reached into one of the pockets of her dress and pulled out a keychain with the mouse king and his wife on it. He and Minnie looked… kinda strange, dressed in their casual clothes. Given how long they’d been royalty now, it’d been a while since he’d worn just the red shorts and she’d sported a polka dot dress, but there they were, little action figures snuggled up and hanging off this girl’s key ring. Mickey’s head tilted curiously at the sight, and noted that his eyes were also completely blacked out. Weird.
“Are you trying to fight in this game?” she asked, taking a lick off her lollipop. Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but all of sudden felt… embarrassed. How was he going to stand here and tell this little girl that he, someone she clearly looked up to for reasons he still didn’t understand, was about to go and engage in ultra-violent combat with a bunch of the most deplorable primes in the entire Omniverse? “My mommy won’t let me watch Dante’s Abyss,” she noted, filling the silence.
“Well, uh,” Mickey stammered, “that’s probably for the best, sister.” He frowned and scratched his head, and glanced back down the line.
It wasn’t too late to not do this. He could still leave.
In that moment, he was startled to feel the girl’s arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in tightly for a hug. Their cheeks met, and tentatively, he reached around and embraced her, too. “What’s your name, kid?” he said in her ear, and she giggled a little bit.
“I’m Susie,” she smiled. “And I actually gotta go. My mommy's calling me.”
Mickey slipped out of the embrace, looking up at little Susie—not so little to him, standing at least half a foot taller than he did. “Well, Susie,” he placed his hands on his hips, defiant and with a decision made. He wasn’t going to let this competition get to him—his morals were more important. Surely there’d be another way to get to Karl Jak and stop him from spreading his corporate evil throughout the Omniverse. “I’m probably actually gonna leave myself.”
“No!” Susie shook her head, placing a finger to Mickey’s lips. “You can’t leave! It’d be so cool for you to be on a TV show here like you were at home! I’m rooting for you!”
Mickey’s ears perked up. Rooting for him?
A real smile slid across the mouse’s face. Someone believed in him, even just a little bit, and that was a special feeling he hadn’t really encountered in quite a while.
“Here,” she said, snapping the keychain off her key ring and shoving it at him, “It’s my lucky one. You should have it. Not that you need it, but, y’know… just in case and all!” Mickey hesitantly reached out and grabbed the keychain, nodding to Susie. She giggled again, taking another lick out of her lollipop and stepping away from the line. “Anyway… good luck, Mr. Mouse! I hope you win!”
And with that, little Susie darted away down the beach out of sight. Mickey materialized his keyblade in his hand and hooked the keychain of him and Minnie on the end of it. He’d keep little Susie with him the whole competition… as a reminder; reminder that he was here to do what’s right. Not to senselessly kill, or give in to this game’s murderous impulses. But to set stuff right.
And when he finally reached the top of the line, that conviction gave him enough motivation to step into the tent to greet the Syntech employees. Three of them sat at a long table, going over forms and whispering in hushed tones to each other about the gaggle of would-be competitors that had already siphoned through the flaps of their tent. The one in the middle looked up, and as he saw Mickey his eye brightened and a smirk flitted onto his face.
“Well, well, well,” the man slid his glasses off his face, “Your name, sir?”
“Mickey Mouse,” the king squeaked nervously, “But I think maybe you already knew that?”
“Always good to check,” the man shrugged. “We have you on file as ‘Ears’ or something boring like that. Long time no see.”
Mickey scowled. These Syntech goons were just as slimy as he remembered. The other two hurriedly collected a bunch of blank forms for him to fill out, but the middle guy stood up and held out a hand. “We’ll get you to fill these forms out in just a second—biography, so the audience can know a little bit about you, and then Lydia will take your vitals and record them. But for you, I’d like to start with a little promo. You want to film a little promo for us, Mickey?”
Truly, he did not. He wanted to send a message.
“Sure,” he snarled, and turned to face the camera. One of the Syntech employees hurried over and pressed the record button. “The name’s Mickey Mouse, y’all. I just want everyone—especially my wife and little Susie—to know I’m not playing this game… but I’m gonna win it. Oh—and one more thing…”
He threw up a peace sign.
“MESH is back.”
The queue stretched on for what seemed like miles at the Costa del Sol Dante’s Abyss registration booth. Back in the day, when Mickey had first tried his hand at Karl Jak’s certainly borderline-illegal deathmatch challenge, the lines had been small; since the competition (and Jak) had reached celebrity status, it seemed anyone who could even pretend to be a prime wanted in on the action.
Heat radiated from the Vasty Deep’s sun and coated Mickey’s black fur with a thin layer of sweat. The longer the wait, the more the mouse panted, and he wondered, idly, if he still had the stamina to keep up with the other competitors. He certainly hadn’t been in tip top shape these past few months; was the fact that he couldn’t even really deal with a pretty long wait in line a sign that, perhaps, his heroism days were drawing to a close? He knew that he would fight for what was right until he literally breathed his last Omniverse breath, but… would it even make a dent anymore if he was this weakened?
Thankfully, Syntech employees patrolled the line, offering up bottle upon bottle of refreshing Pepsi to help the future competitors keep hydrated. Mickey supposed the corporation had Pepsiman to thank for that—despite being brutalized by the contestants the first time around, the walking soda mascot had kept coming back to the competition, content to be touted out as the sparkling, uber-refreshing celebrity he was. Mickey had always hoped the simple dude would pull the PepsiCo sponsorship, really hit Karl Jak where it hurt: his wallet.
Though he supposed Pepsiman probably didn’t actually pull the PepsiCo strings; not many creatures had the clout and capability to serve as the face of their Empire and run it, like he did. And if he were being truthful, he didn’t know if he’d trust Pepsiman to run so much as a bake sale, let alone a mega-corporation.
He’d have to hit up the guy and check in on him, if he happened to be in the preshow facility. If he ever got to the preshow facility.
As the line dwindled—ever so slowly—Mickey Mouse found his feet getting colder and colder. How was he supposed to measure up to all these people who had been doing this for years? And who was he about to meet again after such a long time removed?
Would Samus be here? Would she debase herself by joining this competition again just to get to Karl Jak? What about Harry, or Erza? Would they be returning? Would people who he’d met elsewhere—Link, or Belle, perhaps—be joining them in the Dante Verse? Would Blues be here, or was he still off fighting that mysterious dark evil thing Minnie had told him about? He felt incredibly conflicted about how much he longed to see his friends in the preshow facility—no doubt he didn’t want them anywhere near this awful event, but he just wanted his buddies back so much.
On the flip side, he hoped he wouldn’t have to see a few people’s ugly mugs up in here. The last thing he needed was to get caught in Kopaka’s crosshairs again, or find out Gilgamesh had somehow escaped the supposedly permanent prison of banishment to fight again.
His gloved fingers reached into his pocket and idly played with the banishment circle sitting at the bottom. Banishment wasn’t really the mouse’s style, but Samus and Proto Man had expressed to him their beliefs that sometimes evil people were so powerful, they had to be sent away for good. And in a place like the Omniverse—a place where actual death meant surprisingly little—sometimes banishment was the only way.
“E-excuse me,” a small voice piped up from outside the line. Mickey leapt a bit, jerking his hand out of his pocket and looking to its source. A small girl with a lollipop in her hand, not much taller than he himself, had wandered over to where he stood and gazed at him with big, bulbous blue eyes. Her jaw hung agape a bit, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
Mickey waited for a few moments, and then when it became clear she wasn’t going to let him know why she’d called out to him, he spoke up. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Uh, um,” she swallowed nervously, “are you… Mickey Mouse?”
The King could feel the eyes of the other would-be competitors wandering over to him casually. “Um,” he glanced around, discerning whether or not any of these people were Empire hooligans, “um, yeah, that’s me, little one. What’s up?”
The little girl stared for a few more seconds, and then reached into one of the pockets of her dress and pulled out a keychain with the mouse king and his wife on it. He and Minnie looked… kinda strange, dressed in their casual clothes. Given how long they’d been royalty now, it’d been a while since he’d worn just the red shorts and she’d sported a polka dot dress, but there they were, little action figures snuggled up and hanging off this girl’s key ring. Mickey’s head tilted curiously at the sight, and noted that his eyes were also completely blacked out. Weird.
“Are you trying to fight in this game?” she asked, taking a lick off her lollipop. Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but all of sudden felt… embarrassed. How was he going to stand here and tell this little girl that he, someone she clearly looked up to for reasons he still didn’t understand, was about to go and engage in ultra-violent combat with a bunch of the most deplorable primes in the entire Omniverse? “My mommy won’t let me watch Dante’s Abyss,” she noted, filling the silence.
“Well, uh,” Mickey stammered, “that’s probably for the best, sister.” He frowned and scratched his head, and glanced back down the line.
It wasn’t too late to not do this. He could still leave.
In that moment, he was startled to feel the girl’s arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in tightly for a hug. Their cheeks met, and tentatively, he reached around and embraced her, too. “What’s your name, kid?” he said in her ear, and she giggled a little bit.
“I’m Susie,” she smiled. “And I actually gotta go. My mommy's calling me.”
Mickey slipped out of the embrace, looking up at little Susie—not so little to him, standing at least half a foot taller than he did. “Well, Susie,” he placed his hands on his hips, defiant and with a decision made. He wasn’t going to let this competition get to him—his morals were more important. Surely there’d be another way to get to Karl Jak and stop him from spreading his corporate evil throughout the Omniverse. “I’m probably actually gonna leave myself.”
“No!” Susie shook her head, placing a finger to Mickey’s lips. “You can’t leave! It’d be so cool for you to be on a TV show here like you were at home! I’m rooting for you!”
Mickey’s ears perked up. Rooting for him?
A real smile slid across the mouse’s face. Someone believed in him, even just a little bit, and that was a special feeling he hadn’t really encountered in quite a while.
“Here,” she said, snapping the keychain off her key ring and shoving it at him, “It’s my lucky one. You should have it. Not that you need it, but, y’know… just in case and all!” Mickey hesitantly reached out and grabbed the keychain, nodding to Susie. She giggled again, taking another lick out of her lollipop and stepping away from the line. “Anyway… good luck, Mr. Mouse! I hope you win!”
And with that, little Susie darted away down the beach out of sight. Mickey materialized his keyblade in his hand and hooked the keychain of him and Minnie on the end of it. He’d keep little Susie with him the whole competition… as a reminder; reminder that he was here to do what’s right. Not to senselessly kill, or give in to this game’s murderous impulses. But to set stuff right.
And when he finally reached the top of the line, that conviction gave him enough motivation to step into the tent to greet the Syntech employees. Three of them sat at a long table, going over forms and whispering in hushed tones to each other about the gaggle of would-be competitors that had already siphoned through the flaps of their tent. The one in the middle looked up, and as he saw Mickey his eye brightened and a smirk flitted onto his face.
“Well, well, well,” the man slid his glasses off his face, “Your name, sir?”
“Mickey Mouse,” the king squeaked nervously, “But I think maybe you already knew that?”
“Always good to check,” the man shrugged. “We have you on file as ‘Ears’ or something boring like that. Long time no see.”
Mickey scowled. These Syntech goons were just as slimy as he remembered. The other two hurriedly collected a bunch of blank forms for him to fill out, but the middle guy stood up and held out a hand. “We’ll get you to fill these forms out in just a second—biography, so the audience can know a little bit about you, and then Lydia will take your vitals and record them. But for you, I’d like to start with a little promo. You want to film a little promo for us, Mickey?”
Truly, he did not. He wanted to send a message.
“Sure,” he snarled, and turned to face the camera. One of the Syntech employees hurried over and pressed the record button. “The name’s Mickey Mouse, y’all. I just want everyone—especially my wife and little Susie—to know I’m not playing this game… but I’m gonna win it. Oh—and one more thing…”
He threw up a peace sign.
“MESH is back.”
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