(Pre-Show) The Barracks

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The hours had passed quickly for the pale Prime as he poured over the information kindly provided by Jak and the Syntex corporation. Thankfully, the Library had stayed true to its quite stereotype and he had successfully avoided any unnecessary conflict up to this point. While he had heard several people entering and moving about the room, he had not looked up once. The ex-Turk was far too absorbed in the data before him, trying to soak up as much information (and therefor advantage) as possible.

Though the cataloged information of past contests and parallel histories was interesting to say the least, Vincent focused most closely on the profiles of the other entrants; 'Know your enemy' as the saying went. These autobiographical entries could provide insight into the other entrants, possibly revealing a weakness or character flaw that could be abused to gain an advantage. Whilst some had immediate vanity issues and others bore obvious issues with controlling their anger, Vincent was shocked to find that in many cases the entrants seemed to be 'average' people. He used the term loosely, but in comparison to the things he had seen, what awaited him was not altogether too threatening. He could not fool himself into lowering his guard, however. The ex-Turk knew only too well that even the most mild-mannered, gentle person could become another thing entirely if pushed to an extreme. Vincent could already tell that this Abyss would be such an extreme.

“Mr. Valentine?”

The raven-haired Prime looked up from the display, slightly startled by the woman's intrusion.

“Um, sorry to interrupt. I was told to bring you this,” the librarian said, depositing a small envelope on the desk, “and to let you know that entrants are to head to the barracks as soon as possible.”

Vincent muttered his thanks, opening the unsealed envelope as the cataloger returned to her desk. It contained a small slip of paper stamped with the number '30' in plain black ink as well as a small folded letter. The Prime opened note, skimming its contents.


Congratulations!

We at the Abyss are glad to have you in our little show. If you are reading this, all paperwork submitted is in order and you have been accepted into our roster. Your player number is enclosed. Please report to the barracks at your earliest convenience. Combatants are urged to mix with other entrants in the common area.

Have Fun!
Dante's Abyss Staff


The gunslinger stuffed the papers back into the envelope and slipped everything into his pocket. Valentine noted that the library's inhabitants seemed to be vacating, heading back toward the lobby. These were no doubt other entrants having received similar summons from Karl and his co-conspirators. He pondered this as he rose to his feet, following the path that the others had taken. The Prime followed at a lazy pace, sizing a few of them up; he might be the one to end their lives in the days to come. Though the thought of killing for sport sickened him, he though back to the Solas and Nanaki waiting for him back in Coruscant. He steeled his resolve, striding confidently toward the barracks.

“Everyone head toward the elevator after I check you off. Got that?” the official inquired, glaring through a pair of bushy eyebrows. “Any equipment should be deposited in this bin. Swords, wands, guns, melon-ballers, I want all of it.”

The group passed single-file through the gauntlet, verifying their position among the eligible combatants and depositing their gear. Vincent reluctantly dropped Cerberus unto the bin, locking eyes with the grumpy officiant as he did so.

“Calm down Mr. Prime. We don't want any of your garbage. If you live, we'll give your shit back.” He smirked at the gunslinger, clearly taking pleasure in depriving him of he weapon. “Number 30, Vincent Valentine. Go ahead up.”

The pale Prime and the rest of his group made their way up the elevator, finally arriving at the barracks. The elevator ride had been over with quite quickly, though Vincent knew well enough that they had traveled deceptively high up to reach their destination. The gunslinger followed his fellow combatants out of the car and gazed around for direction. He quickly found the hallway labeled '21 – 30' and followed it to the very end, where he was met with a door emblazoned with his designated number.

The room itself was quite small and modest, the polar opposite of the lavish and extravagant rooms that Vincent had observed to far. The walls were a dull gray, encompassing perhaps 20 square feet of space. A small cot took up most of this space, along with an end table on which the Prime found duffel bag #30. He verified its contents against what he read about past contests, finding everything in order. The ex-Turk was lacking his support item, though he remembered that these were to be distributed soon. He retrieved the map, dropping the bag near the bed. From the hall he could hear the commotion of other entrants finding their short-term homes and briefly considered closing the door before remembering what his letter had advised: “Combatants are urged to mix with other entrants...”. This, no doubt, was to please the cameras and increase the 'drama' of the event. The ex-Turk did not wish to play into Karl's hand, though he conceded that he may need any advantage that could be offered if he wanted to survive. Reluctantly, he propped the door open and took a seat on his cot, unfolding his map.