Day One: Part 1

[Mickey Mouse]

Island landscape rolled out before his eyes. At this height, Mickey postulated that he might be able to see the whole thing if he squinted enough.

Truth be told, ‘beautiful’ was the only word that described the island accurately. Mickey had to hand it to the producers of this death-match; they sure knew how to decorate. The façade did not fool him, though: all too soon, blood of innocent people—and not so innocent people—would cover this entire scene. The picturesque land those monsters had created would be stained with the taint of so much death.

Alright, the mouse mused, Enough taking in the scenery. Time to get started.

The King turned and re-entered the lantern room. The lanterns swung idly in the wind, begging the mouse to light them; he knew better. Though not everyone in this competition could be described as deplorable, Mickey knew some people were out for blood. Lighting the lighthouse’s lamps would immediately alert anyone looking for an early kill to his location.

His duffel bag lay where he’d left it, slumped up against the wall on the opposite side of the chamber. He unzipped it, rifling through it quickly to make sure none of his possessions had gone missing—he could not tell you how they would have disappeared, but paranoia had crept in regardless—and inspecting the new item once again. He reached in and touched it, holding it carefully in his hand. He had a good idea of how to use it, but his good nature told him to keep it in the bag. No matter how much the producers of this game encouraged him to, he did not want to resort to violence. He would hold out as long as he could manage.

Stuffing the weapon back in the duffel bag, he zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder. Weighed down by the sheer mass of the new addition, it slammed against the ground with a thump and forced the mouse’s shoulders into misalignment. “Golly gee willickers,” the King grunted. In this new forced pose, he reminded himself very vaguely of one of his subjects—Quasimodo, of the church in Paris, one of the worlds he ruled over.

At the thought of the hunchback, Mickey wondered if maybe this competition would be broadcast in more places than just the Omniverse; could, perhaps, Quasimodo see him right now? Did the producers of this death game have some way of reaching even out to the Disney Realms? It seemed altogether unlikely, but the mouse took comfort in the fact that maybe, just maybe, his subjects might be watching him right now, cheering him on.

He’d need all the help he could get, after all.

The mouse started down the stairs, dragging the heavy bag behind him. Carrying the item in the bag would no doubt slow him down; perhaps, the mouse thought, it would be better to just take it out, and wear it on his person. He had a feeling it would get lighter when it wasn’t dead weight in the bag.

No, he resolved, I won’t do it. Not until I have to. Wearing it would surely tempt him to use it at the first opportunity, and he honestly didn’t know how he would live with himself if some poor innocent soul died because he attacked them first.

The bag ka-thunked along behind him, clinking with each step it hit on the way down. Oh, boy, the mouse thought to himself, I sure hope it doesn’t break.

Outside, he was much less worried about the item’s resilience; sure, he still had to drag it on the ground—cons of being such a tiny mouse with such a heavy object—but at least it wasn’t colliding with a hard, stone stair every step he took. With any luck, it would still be battle-ready in the instance that he needed to defend himself against some cold-blooded killer.

After a few minutes, the mouse managed to get near the water, and began his trek along the shore-line. He would follow the rocky coast for a little while, until he was made to change his course by heck or high water.

…literally.