05-25-2015, 10:31 PM
"Aaauuummm,"
Neal's deep meditation was far more intense than any he had ever entered before. In the real world, or at least his home dimension, he would have become stiff within a few hours. However, this world was not his own - and for that matter he was not the same misdirected youth that lived in that stifling dimension. Neal was a man of his own creation. He could, in theory, do anything.
Knock, Knock, Knock! The heavy hand knocking at the door brought the man from his Zen. It took almost ten whole seconds for his heart to speed back up and his breath to fill his blood with enough oxygen to support an active body. "Competitor Neal, we are here to escort you to your starting position."
So it begins, Neal mused to himself. He rose to his feet and brought his arms over his head for a deep breath. The rush of oxygen had the room spinning for a moment until he exhaled, and then took in another deep breath to even himself out. His duffle bag was next to the door, easy to pick up before he opened up to the Syntax workers. "I'm ready."
Not a word was shared through the trip. A few times, Neal's escorts tapped, or called his name - but only to make sure he was still breathing. Still bordering on that Zen, he spent every second he could mentally and physically preparing for the events about to befall him.
It may not have been the wisest move to meditate for the last three days before undertaking the competition. Even the breaks where he ate and relieved himself felt automated at the time. And for the whole period, Neal could not remember actually falling asleep. Then again, maybe he simply slept the whole time instead of meditated? At that depth it was hard to truly determine.
Either way, the moment his escort opened the helicopter door, Neal takes up his dufflebag and moves to the exit, gaining life with every inch closer he came. The helicopter was still descending, but within ten foot of the ground, Neal dives from the skyborne vessel. He lands on his feet, but breaks his fall with a roll before springing back to his feet once again.
What kind of hellhole did they pick for this bloodbath? Neal internally inquired. His quandary was met by even more questions when he noted that his surroundings were surprisingly serene. He had even landed near a road on a grassy field that had obviously been meant for landing purposes. What the hell?
Or lack there off, would be a better exclimation. There was no "hell" to speak of, no fires or brimstone to instill fear. There was not even true darkness, Neal could tell by the lush green of the surroundings that the current darkness was nothing more... than nighttime.
With a shake of his head, Neal dropped onto his rear and pulled his bag into his lap. It was time to survey his starting gear. Sure enough, answers came in the form of a map. His location was clearly marked, but not those of his opponents. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Still, he seemed to be in a rather opportune location. Three hotspots, all within an hour's walk.
Click. Idea... I'll make them come to me... like lambs to the slaughter. Ideas for a Mob Grinder filled Neal's skull, rattling about like dancing succubi. Attractive yet monstrous, tantalizing, yet devious, promising yet conniving. And what shall I use to slay my foes with? Neal inquired giddily as he digs through his bag. Food, water, map, compass, and...
"I swear to Omni, those bastards are pure evil." He stares at the special item, given at the last moment to make or break the competitor. He stares, heatedly, at the small, cardboard box in his hand, like his eyes could melt its surface. Alas, nothing melted. As he begrudgingly stares at it, the box stares back at him.
UNO
Talk about a wildcar--"Goddamnit I'm making jabs at my own downfall!" Neal's free hand flicks to his forehead with a mighty Slap! The sheer ferocity of the face-palm did little to stifle the utter defeat he suffered to the whims of whomever came up with this competition. Might as well find a ditch to go hide in... So much for playing offensively.
Taking the map up again, He peers it over. "Guess I'm going west." Neal grumbled. With a weighted spirit, he rose to his feet, stuffing all his supplies back into his bag. Fuck my life, he mentally moped as feet fall into an automated stride, bringing him onto the road.
"Aaauuummm,"
[float=right]"Aaauuummm..."[/float]Neal's deep meditation was far more intense than any he had ever entered before. In the real world, or at least his home dimension, he would have become stiff within a few hours. However, this world was not his own - and for that matter he was not the same misdirected youth that lived in that stifling dimension. Neal was a man of his own creation. He could, in theory, do anything.
Knock, Knock, Knock! The heavy hand knocking at the door brought the man from his Zen. It took almost ten whole seconds for his heart to speed back up and his breath to fill his blood with enough oxygen to support an active body. "Competitor Neal, we are here to escort you to your starting position."
So it begins, Neal mused to himself. He rose to his feet and brought his arms over his head for a deep breath. The rush of oxygen had the room spinning for a moment until he exhaled, and then took in another deep breath to even himself out. His duffle bag was next to the door, easy to pick up before he opened up to the Syntax workers. "I'm ready."
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Not a word was shared through the trip. A few times, Neal's escorts tapped, or called his name - but only to make sure he was still breathing. Still bordering on that Zen, he spent every second he could mentally and physically preparing for the events about to befall him.
It may not have been the wisest move to meditate for the last three days before undertaking the competition. Even the breaks where he ate and relieved himself felt automated at the time. And for the whole period, Neal could not remember actually falling asleep. Then again, maybe he simply slept the whole time instead of meditated? At that depth it was hard to truly determine.
Either way, the moment his escort opened the helicopter door, Neal takes up his dufflebag and moves to the exit, gaining life with every inch closer he came. The helicopter was still descending, but within ten foot of the ground, Neal dives from the skyborne vessel. He lands on his feet, but breaks his fall with a roll before springing back to his feet once again.
What kind of hellhole did they pick for this bloodbath? Neal internally inquired. His quandary was met by even more questions when he noted that his surroundings were surprisingly serene. He had even landed near a road on a grassy field that had obviously been meant for landing purposes. What the hell?
Or lack there off, would be a better exclimation. There was no "hell" to speak of, no fires or brimstone to instill fear. There was not even true darkness, Neal could tell by the lush green of the surroundings that the current darkness was nothing more... than nighttime.
With a shake of his head, Neal dropped onto his rear and pulled his bag into his lap. It was time to survey his starting gear. Sure enough, answers came in the form of a map. His location was clearly marked, but not those of his opponents. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Still, he seemed to be in a rather opportune location. Three hotspots, all within an hour's walk.
Click. Idea... I'll make them come to me... like lambs to the slaughter. Ideas for a Mob Grinder filled Neal's skull, rattling about like dancing succubi. Attractive yet monstrous, tantalizing, yet devious, promising yet conniving. And what shall I use to slay my foes with? Neal inquired giddily as he digs through his bag. Food, water, map, compass, and...
"I swear to Omni, those bastards are pure evil." He stares at the special item, given at the last moment to make or break the competitor. He stares, heatedly, at the small, cardboard box in his hand, like his eyes could melt its surface. Alas, nothing melted. As he begrudgingly stares at it, the box stares back at him.
UNO
Talk about a wildcar--"Goddamnit I'm making jabs at my own downfall!" Neal's free hand flicks to his forehead with a mighty Slap! The sheer ferocity of the face-palm did little to stifle the utter defeat he suffered to the whims of whomever came up with this competition. Might as well find a ditch to go hide in... So much for playing offensively.
Taking the map up again, He peers it over. "Guess I'm going west." Neal grumbled. With a weighted spirit, he rose to his feet, stuffing all his supplies back into his bag. Fuck my life, he mentally moped as feet fall into an automated stride, bringing him onto the road.