06-02-2015, 03:04 AM
Alone.
That had never been one of Mickey Mouse’s favorite words. Never had he ever been in a dangerous situation where he could not rely on his friends to back him up. Even in this murderous heckhole, he had somehow stumbled upon trustworthy people that he would protect with his life. Erza, Samus, Harry—heck, he might have even taken a bullet for Pepsiman.
Their last moments together now seemed like a lifetime ago. One second, they had been surrounding their makeshift fire, relishing in the relative peace they had managed to find, and in a snap, they had all been whooshed away. Mickey had landed with a not-so-gentle thump in the darkness of the forest with nobody around. Honestly, it surprised Mickey how much he instantly missed these people—especially Erza. He had met her less than two days ago, but he would have given anything to hear the redhead’s frustrated grunts right about now.
His insides pained him when he realized that they had been stolen from him. Ripped from where they stood and thrown by themselves into the dangerous, violent wilderness of Dante’s Abyss. As of Karl Jak’s last announcement, twenty-nine Primes remained in the game; on the bright side, they had less people to worry about, but Mickey knew that with each death, some contestants’ bloodlust increased tenfold.
Solemnity washed over the mouse as he picked himself up off the ground. He had never been a close bedfellow with loneliness, but Karl Jak and the other producers of this sadistic murder-game had introduced them rather quickly just minutes ago. The mouse pouted, wondering how in the world he would survive this game without his friends.
He wanted them back, goshdarnit.
On the ground next to him lay the metallic gauntlet he had started with and the sword Samus had presented him with. He reached down and gripped the hilt of the blade, hoping that it would reinvigorate him like the last time he had touched it. Something stirred, but it did not dissuade the agony in his stomach. He lifted the weapon up off the ground, and then squatted down to pick up the glove. As he laid his fingers on it, though, he began to have second thoughts. He straightened up, throwing the Master Sword next to the gauntlet and turning away from his weapons.
“I won’t do it,” he said to no one in particular, though he imagined he was talking to Karl Jak and the rest of the sadists in charge of this awful game. “I’m not gonna play anymore.”
The mouse sat down defiantly, crossing his arms in a huff. He’d had it up to here with this game, and this was the final straw. Yes, he had chosen to enter for the good of the people of Bree. He had known the game would test his moral limits, and put him into uncomfortable situations. But he would not allow Jak to revel in the violence this program promoted any longer, not on his account. He realized now that he had made a grave mistake entering in the first place.
Well, he would not continue. I give up, he resolved, I forfeit. Twenty-nine Primes remained, and essentially, he had just knocked the number down to twenty-eight. In a matter of minutes, he knew, once Karl and his goons realized that he actually meant to quit the competition, his collar would explode and this whole nightmare would be over.
He waited. Minutes passed by and not even a stray beep emanated from the collar. Were these sons of guns not taking him seriously? He grunted at the thought—no one ever took him seriously. Even back in the old days, in the Country of the Musketeers, his opponents had always underestimated him. Pete had laughed at him, mocking his diminutive stature and peaceful nature. Mickey had showed him who was boss, but how in the world could he prove to Karl Jak that he meant business when he was alone on a murder island?
If only Minnie were here, she would know what to do. He had never been the smart one in the marriage—the lady mouse always had a plan, and he simply followed it to the letter. After all, he only ever got into trouble when he went against her advice. Kind of like now, he realized. She had been begging him to stay at home for a little while, keep her company in the big, empty castle… but he had left. Even when she had pleaded with him to stay, he had chosen his duty over the love of his life, and he had ended up stuck in this ridiculous multiverse for it, the pawn in some crazy white silhouette’s game.
His stupidity had cost him his wife and all his friends, and now he had been stupid once again, entering this competition and making new friends only to lose them just as quickly.
A rustling in the tall grass before him alerted the mouse, and he broke from his defiant position to chase after the disturbance. Taking a closer look, he discovered Minnie the rat had somehow been teleported with him when the producers’ evil scheme had swept him away from his allies. Desperately clinging to any sign of them, he reached out for the little girl rat, but she had been scared by the trip and scuttled away quicker than he could catch her, disappearing into the forest without a trace.
Well, that was it. Now he had actually lost everyone.
Suddenly, he began uncontrollably weeping. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, but now here he stood, tears streaming down his face faster than his gloved hands could wipe them away. He had actually lost everyone—Minnie, Donald, Goofy, Daisy, Pluto, Erza, Samus, Harry, Pepsiman, Pazo the Caterpie, and even Minnie the rat. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his palms, truly and utterly broken.
He took a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of his body, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. He turned his face to the sky and screamed. “I QUIT!” he bellowed, trying his best to find the slimy, smirking face of Karl Jak in the clouds. “Let me out of this goshdarn game! I don’t wanna play anymore!”
He could only imagine how the viewers at home felt about him. He was sure that he looked absolutely pathetic right now, wallowing in his own loneliness and misery. Well, to be completely honest and frank, the mouse did not care one single bit what any of the residents of this Omniverse thought about him. The sooner he got out of this arena, the sooner he would find his way home and be rid of these deplorable people—Primes, Secondaries, whatever—and back to all those he held dear. He would miss his new friends, but when it came down to it, he had only known them for two days.
Despite his shouts, still nothing happened. He let out a roar that might have sounded a little more ferocious if only his voice weren’t so high-pitched. “Fine,” he hissed, standing back up at looking at the tops of the trees, hoping one of Jak’s camera would catch him. “If you won’t let me out—I’ll get out myself.”
He braced himself for the most painful experience of his life. He swallowed his nerves. All he had to do was pull. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and letting the idea wash over him that soon he would be back in the regular Omniverse. Normally, he wouldn’t consider that a perk, but he had had more than enough of this murder-island in the two days he had been stuck on it. It was time to go.
One, two, three, then do it, Mickey, he coached himself. His fingers gripped the collar.
“Fuck, I didn’t know a Mickey post could be so depressing.”
The gauntlet flew onto one arm as the other reached for the Master Sword. Blade at the ready and repulsor glove charged and ready to fire, Mickey spun toward the voice and prepared to fight his new opponent.
“Who the heck are you?”
That had never been one of Mickey Mouse’s favorite words. Never had he ever been in a dangerous situation where he could not rely on his friends to back him up. Even in this murderous heckhole, he had somehow stumbled upon trustworthy people that he would protect with his life. Erza, Samus, Harry—heck, he might have even taken a bullet for Pepsiman.
Their last moments together now seemed like a lifetime ago. One second, they had been surrounding their makeshift fire, relishing in the relative peace they had managed to find, and in a snap, they had all been whooshed away. Mickey had landed with a not-so-gentle thump in the darkness of the forest with nobody around. Honestly, it surprised Mickey how much he instantly missed these people—especially Erza. He had met her less than two days ago, but he would have given anything to hear the redhead’s frustrated grunts right about now.
His insides pained him when he realized that they had been stolen from him. Ripped from where they stood and thrown by themselves into the dangerous, violent wilderness of Dante’s Abyss. As of Karl Jak’s last announcement, twenty-nine Primes remained in the game; on the bright side, they had less people to worry about, but Mickey knew that with each death, some contestants’ bloodlust increased tenfold.
Solemnity washed over the mouse as he picked himself up off the ground. He had never been a close bedfellow with loneliness, but Karl Jak and the other producers of this sadistic murder-game had introduced them rather quickly just minutes ago. The mouse pouted, wondering how in the world he would survive this game without his friends.
He wanted them back, goshdarnit.
On the ground next to him lay the metallic gauntlet he had started with and the sword Samus had presented him with. He reached down and gripped the hilt of the blade, hoping that it would reinvigorate him like the last time he had touched it. Something stirred, but it did not dissuade the agony in his stomach. He lifted the weapon up off the ground, and then squatted down to pick up the glove. As he laid his fingers on it, though, he began to have second thoughts. He straightened up, throwing the Master Sword next to the gauntlet and turning away from his weapons.
“I won’t do it,” he said to no one in particular, though he imagined he was talking to Karl Jak and the rest of the sadists in charge of this awful game. “I’m not gonna play anymore.”
The mouse sat down defiantly, crossing his arms in a huff. He’d had it up to here with this game, and this was the final straw. Yes, he had chosen to enter for the good of the people of Bree. He had known the game would test his moral limits, and put him into uncomfortable situations. But he would not allow Jak to revel in the violence this program promoted any longer, not on his account. He realized now that he had made a grave mistake entering in the first place.
Well, he would not continue. I give up, he resolved, I forfeit. Twenty-nine Primes remained, and essentially, he had just knocked the number down to twenty-eight. In a matter of minutes, he knew, once Karl and his goons realized that he actually meant to quit the competition, his collar would explode and this whole nightmare would be over.
He waited. Minutes passed by and not even a stray beep emanated from the collar. Were these sons of guns not taking him seriously? He grunted at the thought—no one ever took him seriously. Even back in the old days, in the Country of the Musketeers, his opponents had always underestimated him. Pete had laughed at him, mocking his diminutive stature and peaceful nature. Mickey had showed him who was boss, but how in the world could he prove to Karl Jak that he meant business when he was alone on a murder island?
If only Minnie were here, she would know what to do. He had never been the smart one in the marriage—the lady mouse always had a plan, and he simply followed it to the letter. After all, he only ever got into trouble when he went against her advice. Kind of like now, he realized. She had been begging him to stay at home for a little while, keep her company in the big, empty castle… but he had left. Even when she had pleaded with him to stay, he had chosen his duty over the love of his life, and he had ended up stuck in this ridiculous multiverse for it, the pawn in some crazy white silhouette’s game.
His stupidity had cost him his wife and all his friends, and now he had been stupid once again, entering this competition and making new friends only to lose them just as quickly.
A rustling in the tall grass before him alerted the mouse, and he broke from his defiant position to chase after the disturbance. Taking a closer look, he discovered Minnie the rat had somehow been teleported with him when the producers’ evil scheme had swept him away from his allies. Desperately clinging to any sign of them, he reached out for the little girl rat, but she had been scared by the trip and scuttled away quicker than he could catch her, disappearing into the forest without a trace.
Well, that was it. Now he had actually lost everyone.
Suddenly, he began uncontrollably weeping. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, but now here he stood, tears streaming down his face faster than his gloved hands could wipe them away. He had actually lost everyone—Minnie, Donald, Goofy, Daisy, Pluto, Erza, Samus, Harry, Pepsiman, Pazo the Caterpie, and even Minnie the rat. He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his palms, truly and utterly broken.
He took a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of his body, but the tears wouldn’t stop coming. He turned his face to the sky and screamed. “I QUIT!” he bellowed, trying his best to find the slimy, smirking face of Karl Jak in the clouds. “Let me out of this goshdarn game! I don’t wanna play anymore!”
He could only imagine how the viewers at home felt about him. He was sure that he looked absolutely pathetic right now, wallowing in his own loneliness and misery. Well, to be completely honest and frank, the mouse did not care one single bit what any of the residents of this Omniverse thought about him. The sooner he got out of this arena, the sooner he would find his way home and be rid of these deplorable people—Primes, Secondaries, whatever—and back to all those he held dear. He would miss his new friends, but when it came down to it, he had only known them for two days.
Despite his shouts, still nothing happened. He let out a roar that might have sounded a little more ferocious if only his voice weren’t so high-pitched. “Fine,” he hissed, standing back up at looking at the tops of the trees, hoping one of Jak’s camera would catch him. “If you won’t let me out—I’ll get out myself.”
He braced himself for the most painful experience of his life. He swallowed his nerves. All he had to do was pull. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and letting the idea wash over him that soon he would be back in the regular Omniverse. Normally, he wouldn’t consider that a perk, but he had had more than enough of this murder-island in the two days he had been stuck on it. It was time to go.
One, two, three, then do it, Mickey, he coached himself. His fingers gripped the collar.
“Fuck, I didn’t know a Mickey post could be so depressing.”
The gauntlet flew onto one arm as the other reached for the Master Sword. Blade at the ready and repulsor glove charged and ready to fire, Mickey spun toward the voice and prepared to fight his new opponent.
“Who the heck are you?”
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)