05-25-2015, 03:23 AM
So, I did not get much of chance to look into my fellow contestants. I was far too distracted by something far more powerful in my own arsenal than gather intel. But it wasn't as if they others hid themselves. Giant super soldiers in powered armor, men in spandex, magical little girls, pirates and ninjas. The more I saw the spread of primes that Omni saw fit to pull into this world, the more it started to dawn on me that I might have been the more "normal" prime there. Which is a sad state of affairs, when you think about it. The gun-totting, Hell destroying marine was the image of normality in the world of Omni's domain. There might have been some that I overlooked in the rushed glance over the competition, but there majority had some sort of strangeness to them, if not in looks than at least in armaments.
What this meant for me in the battle to come was little. May they be quick or lumbering, strong or clever, the diverse cast of strengths was only off set by their own weaknesses. The demons of hell may have been greater in some part to a human, but it was a sole marine that brought their entire world to ruin. The barons of Hells, great and terrible, broke as easily as the others when they found themselves unable to hit me. the quick pinkies tried to rush me, but could not take the pain as I brought the chainsaw down on their heads. Revenants brought the firepower, but I drown them under a rain of plasma and stomped their guards to the grown. What different where these people to the enemies I've fought before? Once we reached the island that was to be the arena of this event, they were just the enemy. I would survive, raise my self to triumph, and when it was said and done I could only hope that my apologies would mean something to those I had to kill.
As I made the final touches to my latest weapon, wrapped in giddiness as the newly summoned parts all fit together and I would be able to test fire it at the dojo, I felt a hand grab me by the shoulder. I whirled around, my hand reached out for the shotgun I left on the workshop table, and I saw it was one of the guards that the jackass who was in charge of this blood sport hired to keep the peace. Poorly, so I heard.
"You're Doomguy, right?" He asked, and I raised an eyebrow that someone actually pronounced by nickname right. For once. "All contestants are to head to the barracks now. I'm here to escort you"
Fair dues to the rent-a-mook, he managed to remain calm and professional even when I had been a few seconds from turning his insides out. I eased up my grip on the shotgun and placed it in the weapon's holster, gathered up everything else, and was lead back through the extravagant lobby dome towards the elevator that I had passed on my first way through. Destiny laid before me, and I was ready to take it heads on.
"Excuse me, Doomguy, could we have a word with you?" A voice behind called out, and I stopped in my tracks to see who it was. My escort tried to hurry me along when he grabbed my shoulder plate, but he only managed to make a fool of himself as his boot squeaked on the polished marble floors. The mustachioed man in a red coat and his motley crew of equipment people. I have to admit, that Ron Burgundy wanted to waste his time with me was flattering, even though I knew the reason was for his own ratings.
"Sure. By ya'll have to keep it quick, I'm on the clock here" I answered, one hand gave the thumbs up towards the camera while I planted the other in the guard's helmet and pushed him down and added a degree of difficulty for him.
"Is that a hint of southern drawl I hear? Nice to meet a fellow American, and one who wears the uniform" That, at least, seemed genuine, and I nodded to confirm his suspicions as I grappled with the guard. "So, what's your reason for joining Dante's Abyss" He said the last bit with half-assed enthusiasm, betraying that he had been prodded into "hyping" the event. Which meant Karl Jak had the media pretty much on the lease. That he had picked me out meant less that I was interesting and perhaps more that he failed to meet some quota when the rest of the primes shrugged him off. I could have just left, but I at least wanted to throw him some kind of bone.
"Anything I can use to get to Omni is something I'm going for. And if I can get to Omni, then maybe I can find a way to get everyone home and maybe get some answers" It was the honest answer, one that most stood by. Ron himself nodded is silent agreement
"A noble cause, Doomy" My eye twitched a little, but my helmet blocked that off "But what makes you think you'll win against all these other primes?"
I could feel the corner of mouth turn up in a wild smile as he asked that. I reached across my back, grabbed the handle of my newest weapon, and let the enormous bulk of the Big Fucking Gun rest on my shoulder. It's weight was pure power, a comforting port in the storm of fate. the warm glow of its plasma generators like a beacon at the gate. With it I felt like nothing would get in my way. Victory was assured.
"Because my cause is just, my will is strong, and my gun is very. very large." As I looked lovingly at the huge weapon, I noticed that two more guards had neared when their comrade failed to reel me to the elevator "Alright, I gotta go. See you on the flip side" was my final farewell as I was finally dragged into the elevator and sent to the final preparations before the fight.
The elevator to the barracks was largely quite, save for the basic yet ever agitating music that always ends up playing inside the metal death trap. I said "Hi" to the guards inside after the guards outside managed to push me inside with minimal casualties, but all I got was a cold silence. Nothing against them. They weren't being paid to be nice. The ride was as uncomfortable as everyone just spent the time look either they eyes glued to the door, while the bad music played through the bad speakers like someone's idea of a joke, and once the doors opened neither one of us said a word as I walked into the into barracks proper.
Compared to the polished to a shine lobby floor that all of us had been in moments ago, the barrack were spartan and built for purpose. Without any life or style, and one would notice the corner cutting if you looked hard enough. It struck a striking resemblance to a USSMC building, or a really shitty hotel, with it's narrow corridors leading into small, pen like rooms with numbers on the front. Grey cement walls were the only furniture worth mentioning, and the front room looked more like the entrance to a subway than a sporting event: queue lines leading to a set of revolving barriers and a single attendant was there to welcome incoming primes.
After I was given my door key and my collar (I was told I didn't HAVE to put it on until the event, it was just mandatory for the unruly primes), I gave a glance around an saw the room that was assigned to me. Number 26. How long was it since the attack on the bar, that I had still not sleep since? Maybe I could dodge everyone and get some shut eye...
What this meant for me in the battle to come was little. May they be quick or lumbering, strong or clever, the diverse cast of strengths was only off set by their own weaknesses. The demons of hell may have been greater in some part to a human, but it was a sole marine that brought their entire world to ruin. The barons of Hells, great and terrible, broke as easily as the others when they found themselves unable to hit me. the quick pinkies tried to rush me, but could not take the pain as I brought the chainsaw down on their heads. Revenants brought the firepower, but I drown them under a rain of plasma and stomped their guards to the grown. What different where these people to the enemies I've fought before? Once we reached the island that was to be the arena of this event, they were just the enemy. I would survive, raise my self to triumph, and when it was said and done I could only hope that my apologies would mean something to those I had to kill.
As I made the final touches to my latest weapon, wrapped in giddiness as the newly summoned parts all fit together and I would be able to test fire it at the dojo, I felt a hand grab me by the shoulder. I whirled around, my hand reached out for the shotgun I left on the workshop table, and I saw it was one of the guards that the jackass who was in charge of this blood sport hired to keep the peace. Poorly, so I heard.
"You're Doomguy, right?" He asked, and I raised an eyebrow that someone actually pronounced by nickname right. For once. "All contestants are to head to the barracks now. I'm here to escort you"
Fair dues to the rent-a-mook, he managed to remain calm and professional even when I had been a few seconds from turning his insides out. I eased up my grip on the shotgun and placed it in the weapon's holster, gathered up everything else, and was lead back through the extravagant lobby dome towards the elevator that I had passed on my first way through. Destiny laid before me, and I was ready to take it heads on.
"Excuse me, Doomguy, could we have a word with you?" A voice behind called out, and I stopped in my tracks to see who it was. My escort tried to hurry me along when he grabbed my shoulder plate, but he only managed to make a fool of himself as his boot squeaked on the polished marble floors. The mustachioed man in a red coat and his motley crew of equipment people. I have to admit, that Ron Burgundy wanted to waste his time with me was flattering, even though I knew the reason was for his own ratings.
"Sure. By ya'll have to keep it quick, I'm on the clock here" I answered, one hand gave the thumbs up towards the camera while I planted the other in the guard's helmet and pushed him down and added a degree of difficulty for him.
"Is that a hint of southern drawl I hear? Nice to meet a fellow American, and one who wears the uniform" That, at least, seemed genuine, and I nodded to confirm his suspicions as I grappled with the guard. "So, what's your reason for joining Dante's Abyss" He said the last bit with half-assed enthusiasm, betraying that he had been prodded into "hyping" the event. Which meant Karl Jak had the media pretty much on the lease. That he had picked me out meant less that I was interesting and perhaps more that he failed to meet some quota when the rest of the primes shrugged him off. I could have just left, but I at least wanted to throw him some kind of bone.
"Anything I can use to get to Omni is something I'm going for. And if I can get to Omni, then maybe I can find a way to get everyone home and maybe get some answers" It was the honest answer, one that most stood by. Ron himself nodded is silent agreement
"A noble cause, Doomy" My eye twitched a little, but my helmet blocked that off "But what makes you think you'll win against all these other primes?"
I could feel the corner of mouth turn up in a wild smile as he asked that. I reached across my back, grabbed the handle of my newest weapon, and let the enormous bulk of the Big Fucking Gun rest on my shoulder. It's weight was pure power, a comforting port in the storm of fate. the warm glow of its plasma generators like a beacon at the gate. With it I felt like nothing would get in my way. Victory was assured.
"Because my cause is just, my will is strong, and my gun is very. very large." As I looked lovingly at the huge weapon, I noticed that two more guards had neared when their comrade failed to reel me to the elevator "Alright, I gotta go. See you on the flip side" was my final farewell as I was finally dragged into the elevator and sent to the final preparations before the fight.
----
The elevator to the barracks was largely quite, save for the basic yet ever agitating music that always ends up playing inside the metal death trap. I said "Hi" to the guards inside after the guards outside managed to push me inside with minimal casualties, but all I got was a cold silence. Nothing against them. They weren't being paid to be nice. The ride was as uncomfortable as everyone just spent the time look either they eyes glued to the door, while the bad music played through the bad speakers like someone's idea of a joke, and once the doors opened neither one of us said a word as I walked into the into barracks proper.
Compared to the polished to a shine lobby floor that all of us had been in moments ago, the barrack were spartan and built for purpose. Without any life or style, and one would notice the corner cutting if you looked hard enough. It struck a striking resemblance to a USSMC building, or a really shitty hotel, with it's narrow corridors leading into small, pen like rooms with numbers on the front. Grey cement walls were the only furniture worth mentioning, and the front room looked more like the entrance to a subway than a sporting event: queue lines leading to a set of revolving barriers and a single attendant was there to welcome incoming primes.
After I was given my door key and my collar (I was told I didn't HAVE to put it on until the event, it was just mandatory for the unruly primes), I gave a glance around an saw the room that was assigned to me. Number 26. How long was it since the attack on the bar, that I had still not sleep since? Maybe I could dodge everyone and get some shut eye...
![[Image: oGzCtPC.png]](http://i.imgur.com/oGzCtPC.png)