Day Two

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The group of unlikely companions trekked across the lush greenery of the island, leaving the Diner at their backs. With the worst of the storm having dissipated, they had decided leaving the building to be in their best interests, as the shelter had thus far proved to be a beacon for battle-ravaged contestants. With the weather now being manageable but not altogether clear, there were sure to be opportunistic Primes crawling toward the structures, searching for supplies not yet claimed and combatants not yet slain.

The ex-Turk had laid his safety in the hands of the cracked mercenary, the brooding shinobi and the wounded mage child previously (not one of his best decisions, but it was necessary), their trek having lead all but Crona to the Diner in an attempt to not be prematurely killed by flying debris in the gale-force winds of Hurricane Karl. In an admittedly fool-hardy/brave attempt to heal his wounds, Crona had wandered into the storm toward the promise of medical assistance. The remainder of the group sought their solace among the pop-culture relics and the smell of old gravy. Still nursing his deadened senses, the pale Prime could do naught but take cover upon the arrival of Jason and Wartortle. Cowardice was not his MO, though neither was dying.

Having put the biggest issues behind them for the moment, the group directed their attention toward their next goal. Vincent tailed the pack, playing lookout to ensure they were not jumped from behind. His senses had more or less returned, save for the occasional flare-up of audio or visual static. The homicidal tortoise had elected himself wordlessly as their leader, with the hot-headed shinobi and lunatic mercenary bobbing somewhere in the middle. Whether or not he trusted the reptile was immaterial; he did not truly trust any of them. The pale gunslinger's anxiety had now vanished entirely, replaced with a simple drive to keep his feet moving. His nerves were shot, owing to the few days of constant tension (though the lightning strike had likely played some part) on the island and utter lack of rest. The night at the Diner had been anything but a respite, the ex-Turk and his comrades having witnessed the gorey death of a young woman; one who it seemed was quite dear to their Sasuke. 'No rest for the wicked', the saying went.

“Hey, will you assholes try and keep up? How am I faster than all of you when I'm half your fucking size?” The terrorist terrapin snarled, spitting a surprisingly strong torrent of water over his shoulder at the group.

Deadpool snickered loudly at the remark, striding forward comically. “Easy little one,” He cooed, bending to pat the little beast on its head. “We'll get to daddy soon.”

The raven-haired gunslinger turned his watch to the east, ignoring the stream of obscenities pouring from the front of their patrol. He had not intended to find himself among the company of other contestants, as he was sure the others had not either. After all, there could be only one person escaping the Abyss with most of their body intact. When the time came, each knew that they would need to slay the others; whether they chose to acknowledge it or not. Vincent was sure that just like he now was, the other members of their rag-tag squad were considering how they might off the others.

“Don't you dare disrespect the Uchiha name! I'll kill you!” The preteen shinobi roared, his fists clenched into tight balls at his sides. The fire so often attributed to his slaughtered clan burned in his eyes.

“Yeah, good luck. Water beats fire you emo fuck.” Wartortle cackled darkly, resting his nailgun on the crest of his shell. “And hey, I was just asking if they were all as mopey as you. No need to get all pissy about it.”

“As much as I'd love to see a crossover clash between two of my favorite Japanese franchises, we should probably not kill each other JUST yet. Not to get all Freud on ya', but maybe aim that hostility at the ones that want us dead? Like, more than we want each other dead. You know what I mean.”

Whether he liked it or not, the ex-Turk's odds were better with these deeply damaged disputants. In a way, this group seemed somewhat...familiar to the pale Prime. Valentine's thoughts shot back to years past, to his adventures with AVALANCHE; the people that had changed his life. Wartortle, the foul-mouthed gun-toting terrorist reminded the pale Prime very much of Barret in his younger years (as much as a 3 foot talking turtle could remind one of an 8-foot black man), intent on his cause, everyone else be damned. Deadpool, with his incessant jabbering and borderline nonsensical riffing reminded the Prime somewhat of Cait Sith (as much as a katana-weilding mercenary could remind one of a robotic feline astride an enormous stuffed Moogle), his constant harassment and infallibly upbeat attitude somehow bringing the group closer together. Sasuke, the constantly brooding avenger, reminded Vincent strongly of Cloud (this was less of a stretch than the others), his pride and power pushing through anything that obstructed his path. Tension had been a constant throughout the competition, but this brief moment of nostalgic unity quelled the Prime's fear for the moment.

“Step it up, Captain Bondage. We need to keep a quick pace if we want to not be dead.” Deadpool quipped, trotting backward in front of Vincent.

The ex-Turk smirked. “Lead the way.”