Elimination Exit

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gunslinger's eyes opened slowly at first, blinking through harsh, fluorescent light. Though his body lay upon the plush cot in the medical ward, his mind had yet to fully return. Consciousness trickled back into his mind as water leaks from dripping tap. For many moments the ex-Turk lay barely conscious, his mind slowly slipping back into his body. Unable to voluntarily move a single fiber, he could only lay and blink away the light as the attendees buzzed around him.

“Vincent Valentine?” an unfamiliar male voice asserted from somewhere beyond the fog.

“Yes,” a second voice answered, this one female. Her words became louder as the Prime felt cool, gloved hands on his neck. “Entrant #30.” As she spoke, the Prime could feel something being freed from his neck.

“After you're done with that, administer this.” The first voice commanded. Vincent lacked the strength to even focus his eyes in the direction of the voice.

“What is this?” The female voice responded, bewildered.

“It's a bit above your pay-grade. Just do as you're told,” the gruff male voice sneered. “Won't you, love?” After a short pause, the pale Prime felt the prick of a needle piercing his neck.

- - -

“Ah, I see you're coming around. Great. Really swell. Listen, everyone else is pretty much gone. You might wanna follow suit.”

The raven-haired Prime's eyes sprang open, spinning wildly in their sockets. He forced himself into a sitting position, a familiar headache pounding behind his ears.

“Yeah, you're gonna feel kinda groggy for a bit. Dantephysics and all.”

Vincent turned to face the source of the banter, his crimson irises slowly focusing in on the bespectacled man sitting by his side. He looked to be not a day over 30, a messy tuft of blonde hair coming nearly over his glasses. A white lab coat denoted his status, a clipboard clutched in his hand. “So, let's finish up. Name? Do you know where you are?”

The medical worker rattled off question after question, each designed to determine his level of consciousness. Vincent replied in kind, slowly getting a better grip on where he was. The medical ward seemed rather vacant, with only a few other technicians mulling around, attending the occasional patient. He looked to be nearly the last one to awaken.

“Well, all seems to be in order. You've come back from this rather well. Expect to keep those scars, though. Call them a gift from Karl to you.” The man smiled mischievously.

“My head...” The prime muttered, digging his fingers into his scalp. He felt like a drill war boring through his gray matter.

The attendant looked back at him quizzically. “Headache? You should be relatively painless; the revival process is usually pretty smooth. Most report more numbness than anything else. Perhaps I should contact Mr. Jak...”
Vincent spun toward the bespectacled man at the second mention of the event coordinator's name. “Karl Jak. Where is he? I need to speak with him!”

“Mr. Jak?” the man replied, cocking his head. “Gone, I'd imagine. He's already doled out the rewards. I haven't the foggiest where he goes in the off-season.”

The cloaked prime swore under his breath, still rubbing his sore noggin. “I have to find him. He's the reason I joined this bloodbath!”

The attendant pulled his chair away from the cot a few inches, wary of the gunslinger's ire. “I'm afraid I can't help you. And, uh, you'll need to leave. We're closing down.”

Vincent sprang to his feet, feeling at his waist for Cerberus. “I'm not going anywhere until I speak with Karl Jak.”

“I'm afraid you have no say in that,” a voice responded behind the prime. Vincent was left with a moment to ponder this before cold steel met his neck, electricity crackling through his body. His limbs fell limp, his tall frame slumping to the floor as unconsciousness swallowed him once more.