Title: 99 Ways To Die
Description: The RP is again underway!
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:23 PM (GMT)
THE CAST:Here's the deal:
AXEL as Axel Ferdinand
CAT, as Freddy 'The Shredder' Jones
MACE, as Eric Sheithauer
SKWID as Jonathan 'Jonah' Brice
MRGOSH as Dennis Wijker
SILVERBOLT as Duncan
LOOSHKIN as Hank Black
EL STORMO as Thomas Greene, Erin Raynes, Talia Kindrayn, Kendrick Holmes and just about everyone else!
First we'll need to have all the participants ready. When everyone who wants to join has done so, we'll settle on a posting order. The idea is to have every participant post, after which I send storylines and occurences to every player. Players can send me a PM to join ('ll give you all several days time) and then we'll start.Introduction
As most of you know, you will be playing characters who have signed up (willingly or coerced) for a deadly new bloodsport somewhere in the near future. They are given a weapon they may choose from an assortment and are then dropped at random places in a ruined city. The rules are simple: last man alive wins the game, and may ask the Network (the only entertainment company in the world, and the organizer of the games) for any prize he desires, limited of course by the Network's possibility of fulfilling their desires. However, only one of the hundred participants can claim his prize. The rest will be brutally terminated. And naturally, everything that goes on will be broadcast via satellite cameras to every living room in the civilised world, giving the weary and extinguished citizens something to kick on.Rules of the Game
As stated before, there is but one rule: the last survivor is the winner. The participants are free to use any means they desire to eradicate the opposition. The players are of course not sent out unarmed. They may select one weapon from an assortment. When they register, they have to select the prize they claim should they win. They may select anything feasible, realism prohibited naturally. One player may ask for treatment of his sick father, the other may ask for a million dollars, and yet another may put his life on the line for one night with the incredibly hot game show hostess.
Naturally, the other players aren't the only threat a participant will face. The ruined city is full of booby traps, ravenous predators and other hazards, and to make it worse, robotic sentinels patrol the city, blasting any hapless player who happens to run through their crosshairs. Bonuses can also be found, ranging from lockpicks over rations and sleeping bags to a minute of air time (to say 'hi' to the family for instance).
There is no quitting. Players who throw in the towel are usually killed by another player who sees an easy kill, or, should a surrendering character remain undiscovered by the other players, he or she is transferred to the game show studio and horribly executed - drives up the ratings.
The weapon a character may select is determined before the actual show begins. Characters who score well on the preceding trial get first pick. There are exactly one hundred weapons to choose from. The first is able to choose from a wide range of weapons, while the last one will be stranded with the last remaining weapon, usually something useless such as a broom or a trash can lid.
Claiming weapons, rations or other items from a slain opponent is, of course, perfectly allowed.
The participants do not
meet each other beforehand, that makes it easier to kill eachother, but they may meet with, ally or betray each other during the course of the adventure.Rules of the RP
I'd like to ask you all to role-play as well as you can; don't try to 'win' the game - that's your character's job. Your job is to portray a convincing character who behaves realistically - remember their lives are on the line and very few people think twice about stabbing someone else in the back when their own hides are involved, especially if every participant knew the risks before joining :)
Please do not make all-powerful characters. Your characters are citizens from a gray, anonymous world, not heroes or demigods. That's all I ask - keep it realistic :)Also, don't post in this thread just yet! I'll nee d to send you the post order and such before we get started!
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:24 PM (GMT)
EPISODE ONE - 26th of February 2026 - Contestants remaining: 100
The grungy apartment is lit only by a dim desklamp. There is only a sofa and a TV on a metal tray. The sofa is old and worn, even moreso than the man sitting on it. He has a protruding belly stretching a dirty white undershirt and his receding hairline is greasy and trailing dandruff. He is holding a brown glass bottle in his hand; beer, but of the synthetic variety. Alcohol was outlawed in 2024, two years ago. The man scratches his groin and pushes a button on his remote control, bringing the TV out of standby. His wife, a scrawny, ugly wretch clad in a faded pink bathrobe with matching slippers comes shuffling out of the gloomy kitchen. "Is it starting?" she asks with a raspy croak.
The man doesn't reply. He simply stares at the television screen, which is now displaying commercials, even though only five percent of the people can actually afford more than the Standard State Rations distributed at the Citizen Centre. Outside, shots ring out and a police siren promptly engages.
TV is an escape. After another day of drudgery, of sustained yet pointless existence, the TV is there to provide the common man with distraction. It operates under the premise that as long as a man is focused on something, he does not see the uselessness of his life. It is a tactic older than any who still apply it today. So the government distributes free TVs and the programmes to show on it. They would be crazy not to. It's cheaper than paying decent wages to its employees.
The woman sits down next to the man, who does not put his arm around her or show any other sign of affection. The woman wonders when they last made love and is not surprised to realize she doesn't remember.
"They're airing a new show today." The first thing the man has said since he came home from work. "Supposed to be good. Something that hasn't been done before." The woman shrugs.
The commercials are at last at an end and the TV displays an aerial view of the city, that is, the uptown quarter where one percent of the population lives. The camera flies between the tall buildings, looping around a skyscraper and heading straight for the gigantic building that dwarfs all the others. The building is lit by large searchlights and on top of it is a huge sign identifying it as the Network's main building. The music kicks in, a typical exciting trumpet-tune announcing the start of a show. The camera still flies toward the building, as if to collide with it, but then suddenly it adjusts its course and flies in through a large window, shooting through the hallways and emerging (projected via computer of course) into the game show studio, skimming over the heads of the clapping men and women in the audience. The music is still blaring through the TV's speakers when the camera flies down the aisle, between the seats of the audience and slows to a halt focusing on the game show hostess standing in the huge yellow background of the studio. The music quickly fades out.
"Hello, America, and welcome to the new Network show, "99 Ways To Die", a show the likes of which have never before been seen! I'm your hostess, Talia Kindrayn, and in the next hour I'll show you how literally we mean the title of this show!"
The camera hovers even closer to the hostess. She's an incredibly beautiful woman, surgically and genetically enhanced of course, clad in a tight and scanty red cryolatex outfit showing her flat and tanned belly and stretching around her round and full breasts and her groin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Her blonde hair is tied into a streaming ponytail at the top of her head. She walks with a deliberate sultryness toward a TV-screen several metres high and turns around, her perfect, even and white teeth showing in a smile which shows nothing but unabashed (but feigned) promiscuity. "This screen will be your closest companion for the next weeks as we show you the fates of our one hundred contestants as they strive to be the winner of our main prize!"
"That's right, Talia!" The camera swerves and focuses on Kendrick Holmes, the Network's president, clad in a synthenylon four-piece suit, smiling with teeth just as perfect and white as those of the wonderful Talia Kindrayn. His hair is combed to one side, the gray on his temples deliberately accented, giving him that 'sexy middle-aged man-look'. "Forget about Pain Threshold or Buff for Bucks and Disrobed for Dollars! From now on, they'll be shows for the soft folk! "99 Ways To Die" will be the show for you, the hardcore viewer who wants more than simple pain or humiliation! After all, how can a show be truly exciting if the participants can just go home afterwards?"
The camera swerves toward Talia again as she walks toward the staircase on the right-hand side of the studio. "Well, Ken, this time only one of the contestants will walk down these stairs a second time. All the others will have been eliminated right on your television screen!" She jabs a finger at the camera when she says 'your', showing the manicured nail, minutely painted red. "There are literally ninety-nine ways to die for our contestants! They'll be up against each other, making it a one against 99 contest where only the smartest and most brutal of them will survive. The rest will have several episodes of glory and a death scene for billions of people!"
"Not a shabby deal, Talia," comments Kendrick Holmes. "But doesn't that make them all winners?"
"It does, Ken, but the last survivor will be rewarded even more wonderfully than the others! He can choose the prize he wins, whatever - and wel literally mean whatever," her breasts bounce as she stresses the word, "he or she wants! The Network guarantees it!"
"I can't believe it," Kendrick Holmes exclaims with feigned wonderment. "Well, without further ado, let us welcome our first contestant for the evening! Ms. Kindrayn, will you please introduce us to the first of our one hundred brave people?"
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:24 PM (GMT)
“Why, certainly, Kendrick!” Talia says cheerfully as she turns toward the camera again. “But before I do, a word about the preliminary trials first.”
Behind her, the large screen begins showing random and pointless images.
“Our contestants won’t be going into the arena unarmed, of course, but letting them choose a weapon would be,” she tosses her hair, “too easy. So we’ve given an assortment of weapons for them to choose from, ranging from rocket launchers over throwing knives to the dreaded trash can lid!” The crowd murmurs when the last weapon is mentioned, wondering amongst themselves who would be so unlucky to be stuck with that weapon.
“Our preliminary trial was a simple arithmetic problem that needed solving, and the speed and accuracy in which they solved it determines who gets first picks! We’ll introduce our most colourful participants briefly, and then we have a special surprise for you! Stay with us as we let you acquaint yourself with the people who will die for you over the next weeks!”
“That’s right, Talia!” Kendrick Holmes chimes in. “And let’s not wait to introduce our first finisher of the preliminary trials; Mr. Richmond Derleston!”
Descending from the stairs and greeted by applause comes Richmond Derleston, a small, thin little man with greasy hair and buck teeth. He waves enthousiastically, obviously brimming with pride.
Talia claps her hands sensuously as he walks toward her. “Mr. Derleston! Welcome to the show and congratulations for winning the preliminaries!”
“Thanks, Talia,” Derleston replies. He seems to have some kind of speech disorder, stretching the vowels and pronouning them nasally. “It’s an honour to be standing next to you!”
Talia laughs and makes an ‘oh-stop’-gesture and proceeds to ask, “So Mr. Derleston... can I call you Richmond?”
“You can call me sweetheart too,” Derleston wise-cracks, laughing with his own joke.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now, Richmond, tell us something about yourself!”
“Well,” he begins with his whiny voice, “my name’s Richmond Derleston and I live in a small town in Wyoming. I’m a mathematician-“
“So this trial must have been quite a stroke of luck, then?” Talia interrupts.
“Heh, yeah, quite a stroke of luck,” Derleston agrees, staring at Ms. Kindrayn’s voluptuous bosom with unveiled sleazyness. “So, uh, my hobbies are quizzing and watching movies. And my favourite food is salmon.”
“That’s wonderful, Richmond,” Talia replies, “but what motivates a cultivated, succesful and slightly dull person as yourself to participate in this show?”
“Well, Talia, since I’ve already conquered the mathematical world, I feel I need to conquer the competitive world as well. And what better way to do this than with this show?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Talia says cheerfully. “And what would your prize be, should you win the game?”
Derleston looks right into the camera and whines, “If I win, I want a mansion, ah, palace, palace, I want a palace, with staff and a large harem.”
“To conquer the physical world as well?” Talia asks suggestively. Derleston’s sides split as he answers ‘yes’.
“Now, before we send you off, what weapon have you chosen, Richmond?”
Derleston calms down and whines, “The guided rocket launcher, Talia!”
“Excellent choice,” Talia exclaims, her breasts bouncing, provoking more leering from Derleston. “Well, Richmond, good luck, and we’ll see you here in a few weeks!”
Derleston hyucks with laughter and ascends the stairs.
“Well, we won’t be seeing him again,” Kendrick Holmes comments. Talia giggles in response.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:25 PM (GMT)
It had been 5 minutes since the second person was called up the stairs. Dennis was pretty sure, it wasn't long till it was his turn. He had done quite well in the test, and he still wondered how, he wasnt good at anything, especially tests.
"Its your turn now Mr. Wijker" Said the Program assistant, who just walked up to him "They are waiting for you".
Dennis gulped, feeling a large lump in his troat. It was never his choice to be on this show. And right now he was fearing his live would be over quite soon.
"How could i have been so stupid" He thought, "I should have never stolen that money". Three weeks ago, he had stolen a rather large amount of money from his employee, who in turn wasnt that happy with him. He was send to prison immediatly, and the judge had ruled, that he was to be used as a contestant in the show. In the Small case that he should win, he would be granted freedom, and still get the big price.
He had hoped America would give him Fame and Fortune, instead of the poverty he lived in, in Europe. At the age of 17 when his mother died, he moved to the US. It took him a full year to even find a job, living on the streets all the time between. He was used to being poor, back in Europe they were very poor aswell.
His employee, a food dispenser company that traded in Coupon's for Standard State Rations, had treated him bad from the start. Allways refereing to him as "the scumbag" or "street rat", and at times even smacking him around. Dennis didn't dare oppose him, in fear of losing his job. Right now he needed the money too hard.
After about a year, at the age of 19, he was told he would probably be fired. His employee had bought some slaves off the market, all around the age of 15, who could do the job much cheaper. Enraged, Dennis stole all the money that was in the Boss' save, About 300 American dollars. A small fortune. He got caught in the act, and as the police arrived, Dennis was taking into custody, and trown in a jail. The judge had ruled him to be on the show. And that's were he was now. Attempting to walk the stairs.
Step for step, he walked the long stairs, a dark tunnel surrounding him, and the brightlight of the studio in the distance. Soon he also heard the clapping of the audience, and heard his name being called out.
"And here he is. Our number 3 contestant. Dennis Wijker!" Talia called out.
And with that, He stepped though the opening, and into the light.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:25 PM (GMT)
Axel looked up over at the clock hanging across the room. An hour had already passed since the contestents had one by one left. He was going to be next, and there definitely wasn't any way of getting out of this. He was already regretting his choice to come here.
As he saw the program assistant walk toward him and he started to shake a little. It was his turn to go, and although he managed to get in 12th, he couldn't help but think he was going to get something like a trash can lid or frying pan. He took a deep breath and stood up. There wasn't any turning back, not now. Why he decided risking his life was worth getting some fame and a nice paycheck was now beyond him.
He had lived his life poor, much like a lot of people these days. He was sick of it, sick of his over worked, but under payed job, sick of being a nobody, just plain sick of life. Sure, he had enough to live, though it was barely enough. With the sudden realization that he was risking, and will probably lose, his life, his life didn't seemed so bad.
"And now for our 12th contestant, Axel Ferdinand!" Talia cheered out.
Lost in thought, he had somehow wandered out onto the stage. With a bit of a lost look on his face, he looked around at the cameras and then over at Talia.
'Here goes nothing, I guess.' He thought to himself and again took a deep breath.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:28 PM (GMT)
“Axel Ferdinand ladies and gentlemen, let’s hope he has fun with his shiny sniper rifle!” Talia Kindrayn says cheerfully, offering parting words to the young man who had introduced himself so insecurely that the crowd had found him both ludicrous and endearing at the same time.
“The next contestant we’ve picked out to introduce to you hails from Detroit, he’s tired of school and the people bullying him, and he wants to show them what he can do; ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome Thomas Greene!”
Greene comes down the steps, smiling timidly and goes to stand next to Talia, rubbing his hands together nervously. He is a young man in his late teens, not unhandsome but with a bad rash on the side of his neck. It’s clear that this is one of the reasons he’s so nervous. He is dressed casually, but tidily, his t-shirt tucked neatly into his bluejeans.
“Welcome to the show, Thomas,” Talia says, as sensuously as she addressed the other candidates, even the vile Richmond Derleston. “So, you’re tired of being bullied, is that right?”
He nods. “That’s uh, right Talia.” He pronounces his words with care and has a pleasant voice. “I had to choose, it was this or going crazy and killing those bullies.”
Talia nods, feigning sympathy. “Poor you. Well, they’ll certainly change their minds about you when they see how well you do on the show! What would your prize be when you win, Thomas?”
Thomas hesitates a little, and then replies, ”I’d probably be happy with the respect I’d get, and I’m kind of hoping a girl in my street will realize I’m worth spending time with.”
“Oooh,” Talia says in a sultry voice, but she pushes her breasts against his shoulder as if to show him he’d be a fool to like any girl other than herself. Greene goes slightly red in the face.
“A gurrrl,” Talia purrs. “Finally someone who does it for something other than material gain,“ Talia remarks as if she’s above something as base as the love of money. “So... what weapon did you select from our assortment, Thomas?”
“I picked the cattle prod, Talia.”
“Fascinating choice, Thomas! What do you like about the cattle prod?”
Thomas hesitates again. “Well, the way I see it, people who select guns are pretty short-sighted. Sure, they’re powerful, but fire one or two shots and they’re out of ammunition and all they’re left with is a club. The cattle prod recharges, so I can keep using it.”
“Well, Thomas, I hope you’ll give your opponents a shocking end!” Talia concludes, most likely finding her pun immensely witty. “Give him a round of applause, ladies and gentlemen, Thomas Greene!” Greene ascends the stairs quite reluctantly.
“Let’s see how well he can prod the cattle, Talia!” Kendrick Holmes adds to the conversation. “Now, let’s have a look at another interesting candidate!”
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:28 PM (GMT)
"That idiot!" Eric thought aloud as he paced the backstage area, "I swear I'm gonna kill him first!"
The fool he spoke of was the contestant that would be going right before him, number 57. Eric had copied his answer during the trial portion of the show, hoping that his stereotype of people with glasses would hold true. It didn't.
"Our next contestant hails from New California, lets give a warm welcome to Mr. Eric Sheithauer!" Talia called out, interrupting Eric's murderous thoughts.
Huh, that didn't take long. Eric thought, a slight grin becoming visible on his face.
Eric deceded the stairs with great determination, he was probably the first contestant on the show to exhibit no fear.
"So, Eric," Talia began, as sensual as always, "What will you be-" But she was interupted as Eric slapped her behind.
Without uttering a word he made his way for the weapons table. He stroked his chin as he examined the possible choices left at his disposal; his eyes fell on a handgun, standard issue for the US military. He then caught sight of a 12 gauge shotgun. Eric looked from one to the other several times, before shrugging and grabbing both. He had never been one for tough decisions.
"Excuse me, Eric, there are only enough weapons for each person to have one." Kendrick exclaimed.
"Well, then it sucks to be the last guy, doesn't it?" Eric shot back, obviously showing no remorse over his decision.
Kendrick tried to speak up again, only to be shot down by Eric's middle finger.
"There's only one rule, remember? Last man standing wins. Call this a strategy if you want." Eric laughed as he walked back towards the staircase. He stopped halfway through his ascension, and turned to face the camera.
"Oh yeah, next time you see me, have a check for a billion dollars ready."
He then disappeared behind the curtain.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:29 PM (GMT)
As Eric Sheithauer walks away, we see Kendrick Holmes as no one has ever seen him before: mouth open, and utterly at a loss for words. It doesn't take long however and as soon as it appears, the uncertainty is gone again. "Well,'" he grunts. "That guy just signed his own death warrant."
Talia is too busy wiping her backside and rearranging her skimpy skirt to offer any comment.
Wily as he is, Kendrick Holmes immediately bends the situation to his advantage. As he turns toward the audience he triumphantly exclaims, "Well, ladies and gentlemen! We'll be following this individual extra closely and when he buys the farm - and we'll make sure he will - we'll make sure it's a grand spectacle for you!"
Talia, in the meantime, can be seen pressing her finger against her ear monitor, listening to the orders of the director. She regains her composure and in a blink of an eye, she’s back to being the gorgeous, dominant woman the audience knows and loves. “Well, Kendrick, after this entertaining interlude, what do you say we introduce our last interesting candidate?”
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:29 PM (GMT)
Kendrick smiles and grins, pointing down the isle, "I say, bring him on down! Our next contestant, 28, weighs in at two hundred and thirty seven pounds of muscle and attitude, and is kindly escorted by two guards from Butcher Bay prison!" On cue, a couple of burly looking guards push a man down the isle, who is chained securely, as well as with protection over his mouth. He took his time walking down the isle alone, cold brown eyes staring straight in front of him. He wore a black tanktop, tan cargo pants and combat boots, as was standard issue prision garb. He had shaved off his hair for whatever reason, and was completely bald. And the muscles were plainly apparent as he slightly pulled at his chains, attempting to bend and break them. The man stopped on stage without a word.
"Ladies and gentleman, the man who stands before you is none other than Freddy 'The Shredder' Jones, convicted fellon and the murderer of several entire families with various objects around their homes. We all remember that little escapade, don't we?" Talia smirked at him, "So Mr. Shredder, care to tell us a little about yourself?"
"No." He said coldly. The smile left her face a little.
"So what is your motivation?"
"Several people have asked me that... they didn't get an answer either." He stood up straight slowly, not a sudden movement, he knew there were several guns on him, "I got nothing to loose."
"Interesting! So what weapon have you selected?" Talia watched him browse the table over.
"Well..." He started, tilting his head to the side, "I'm kinda of hung over between the staple gun and the pencil..." Finally, hands still in chains, he picked up the staple gun, holding it loosely and gently.
"And what do you desire as your grand prize?"
He turned and started walking back up the isle, "Freedom." As he neared the top, the guards grabbed him back my the shoulders and led him through the door. Talia looked back towards the weapon table. The pencil was gone too...
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:29 PM (GMT)
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, that’s all for now, as far as our contestants are concerned. We can’t introduce them all to you, we have a show to run, but we’ve showed you some of the most interesting figures among our little group.” Kendrick turns to Talia again, who is listening to guidelines from the director again. She nods and says to the audience, “But before we show you how we send our brave warriors to the arena, we have a special little tidbit to show you.”
The picture changes and we see Eric Sheithauer walking through the corridors of the Network Building, following the ‘Contestants’-plaques. From behind a pillar, a helmeted and masked NeoCop sneaks behind Sheithauer and before he realizes what happens, the NeoCop has already pushed a hypodermic needle in his back. Sheithauer falls over without a sound. The officer hauls him onto his shoulders and leaves the shotgun and sidearm in the corridor.
The camera follows the Cop and his burden as he walks on and emerges in the open night air. The plumes on his helmet flap in the wind and the noise of the rotors of the waiting helicopters is deafening. The Cop walks on and drops Sheithauer roughly on the ground next to twenty blindfolded contestants, who are being guided to their seats inside the chopper’s cargo hold by masked men in green Special Air Ops outfits. The NeoCop and the Air Force men salute each other briefly, and the cop walks away. The pilots guide all the contestants to their seats and buckle them in, and then haul Sheithauer into the hold and buckle him in as well.
The camera goes back to Talia and Kendrick, who are trying to quell the loud applause from the audience, but thoroughly enjoying it as well.
“You see,” Talia remarks when the clapping has subsided, “No action is without consequences in life!”
“That’s right, Talia,” Kendrick Holmes comments for the third time now. “Well, without further ado, let’s see where our candidates are taken!”
“One moment, Kendrick,” Talia interrupts. The interruption was studied naturally, but Kendrick still acts surprised. “Before we send them off, we had one surprise for you, we promised, remember?”
She looks to the stairs again. “Will you please welcome the candidate who finished last of all the one hundred contestants, Ms. Mindy Thompson!”
The young woman who comes down the stairs is not exactly beautiful, but she has a likeable, friendly face. She isn’t slender, but not overweight either, somewhere between the two, and it suits her. She looks very afraid as she descends the stairs however, and while her face should normally be friendly, it’s now rigid with tension.
“Welcome Mindy,” Talia says, the disdain oozing from her voice. “Not exactly the world’s best mathematician, are you?”
“Well-“ she begins, but Talia promptly interrupts her. “Only one question of the fifty answered correctly. That’s pretty sad, Mindy,” she says as if she were a teacher berating her for bad grades.
“But I couldn’t-“
“... get at least two questions right? Exactly, you couldn’t.” Talia interrupts again, shaking her head.
Mindy grows more nervous by the second and she’s fiddling with the hem of her pink T-shirt. The print on her shirt reads ‘Sweetheart’. “That’s because I had-“
“Mindy comes from California and she likes reading and going out with her friends!” Talia exclaims to the audience. “The reason she’s joined is because the government tries to evict her and her mother to make a LevTrain track through California, and she needs the money to buy a new house!”
“And since she’s finished last on the preliminaries, do you think she deserves to join this show?” Kendrick Holmes asks the audience. Some people murmur but the crowd doesn’t come into motion. Mindy is sweating with anxiety, the front of her t-shirt moist with sweat. She looks around insecurely, but she sees only masked NeoCops on the edges of the set.
“Do you think she deserves to be on this show?!” Kendrick asks, louder this time. Some of the members of the audience yell something this time.
“DO YOU THINK SHE DESERVES TO BE ONTHIS SHOW?!” Kendrick roars.
“NO!!” the crowd roars back.
Mindy goes entirely pale, and it’s obvious she knows she won’t be simply sent home. Finally she realizes this game is serious. “But it’s not fair!” she yells, “I had food poisoning, I couldn’t concentrate! It’s not fair if you have food poisoning!”
“Look on the bright side, Mindy. At least you won’t have to worry about the LevTrain anymore,” Talia says innocently.
“IT’S NOT FAIR!” Mindy screams, hysterical now, clutching the sides of her jeans. “I WOULD ‘VE SCORED WELL IF I WASN’T SICK! IT’S NOT FAIR! YOU DIDN’T EVEN GIVE ME THE CHANCE!” Tears are running down her cheeks and several locks are hanging out of her blonde ponytail. “IT’S NOT FAIR!”
“Bye Mindy,” Talia says sultrily. She scoops a High Velocity Gauss Pistol from a table wheeled in several minutes ago, aims and fires.
“IT’S NOT F-“ Mindy still screams as three bullets hit her in the chest, making fist-sized holes in her pink T-shirt. The impacts slam into her, knocking her backward in three blows. She falls flat on her face, three holes in her back showing red tissue, blood, and white edges of bone sticking out like sugar canes. Blood sprays the floor as far as four metres behind her.
“That was yummy,” Talia remarks, moving her hips obscenely.
“Well, that’s the end of Mindy Thompson from California, but don’t worry, the things you’ll see next week won’t be so artificial! From then on it’s real, unorchestrated death and killing! Remember, you still have ninety-eight deaths to watch! Tune in next week for another episode of ’99 Ways to Die’, when I’ll leave the presentation solely to Talia – so all the guys have something else to look forward to,” Kendrick Holmes says lewdly.
“That’s right, Kendrick! Make sure to watch us as we show you the real, gritty, down-to-concrete proceedings of our show! See you next week!”
Kendrick comes to stand next to Talia and they both wave towards the camera, the crod cheering and applauding. In the background, Mindy Thompson from California who joined because the LevTrain evicted her and her mother, is being dragged away respectlessly, while cleaners march in to wipe up the mess.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:31 PM (GMT)
Dropped, dropped off was the key word. More like shoved off the chopper, from a good distance. He landed hard on a pile of rubble, groaned and sat up. His staple gun was clenched in his hand, and the pencil was in his pocket.
"Mmm..." He sat on his haunches, looking around. Felt like home... rubble and skeletons of buildings around him. Devastated.
"Need to find a shiv..." He stood up, looking around, shifting through some of the rubble, nothing particularly useful. He walked around a little bit before sitting down with a sigh.
"Sure beats the slam. No one to tell me what to do, no one in my way... yet." He closed his eyes, thinking, willing away his sore back before standing again. He rubbed his wrists, sore from the chains.
"This is the closest thing to freedom I've had in years." He laughed to himself, pulling himself up on a bar and doing some pull ups for exercise. He stopped, walking around a bit more.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:31 PM (GMT)
Axel started to flip some rocks and pieces of brick over and threw some access dust and dirt around.
After being thrown out of that chopper, he had landed on a loose pile rubble and fell. His leg was cut open badly on the end of a sharp piece of metal. Blood flew everywhere as he hoped around from the extreme pain. He started to calm down now. The blood had slowed and he had torn a piece of his shirt off to use as a bandage. For the most part, things seemed to be quiet.
He looked up at where the blood use to be. You could barely tell the difference from before the incident. Something else caught his eye though. Strangely, he found an envelope on the ground amongst the rubble. He looked at it puzzled. It hadn't been opened, nor did it have any sort of dirt on it.
"I don't remember that being there before..." he thought to himself out loud.
Axel picked up the envelope and shredded it to bits. He held up the contents to his face.
"A chip?" Axel looked a little disappointed. "Darn. I was kinda hopin' for a map or directions or at least a cheat code. Oh well."
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:32 PM (GMT)
The chopper ride had been anything besides comfortable, the chopper pounding up and down, shaking its inhabitants violently. They were each dropped out one by one. Well dropped wasnt the correct word, they were just pushed out of the door, from about 9 Feet, as the chopper hovered over the land.
Dennis stood up, shaking the blur from his head. He had fallen down, and landed flat on his back. It was likely he had been out of it for a couple of minutes, as the chopper was no where to be seen or heard.
When he looked around him, all he could see was debris, half destroyed buildings, rubble everywhere. It looked like there was a sort of street here quite a while ago, but it had been broken up badly.
He then remembered this wasn't some fun vacation, and quickly grabbed the crossbow from his back. He loaded the spring mechanism with a bolt from the magazine.
"Why for pete's sake did I choose a fucking crossbow? When I'm out of bolts, I have no way to protect myself when I get attacked" He thought to himself. Frowning at his own stupidity, he threw the strap over his shoulder, and kept the crossbow high, as he walked towards the nearest building.
It was then that he noticed how warm it was, sweat ran down his face. And he wondered if he would have enough water.
When he reached the building, he looked around him, nothing to see still, and there wasn’t anything in the building either. It looked like an old apartments building, although it was hardly recognizable. There were no doors, no windows anymore, and most of the lights weren't working anymore.
Suddenly he heard a loud noise behind him, from where he had just walked. There stood a man, looking quite confused, as he was turning his head from left to right and back.
Dennis' first reaction was to yell, but his wits came back before he was stupid enough to do so.
"This is it," he thought. "This is what i am here for, trying to save my own ass, not to be friendly"
With that, he jumped over a small wall, to get some cover. Unfortunaly the man had seen him, and had gotten a menacingly smile on his face, when he drew a large dagger. The man looked like someone in his mid 40's, wearing old Jeans, and a pale red shirt. His long greyish hair was messy, and hung all over his face.
The man started to move his way, walking with a limp, he had probably hurt himself as he was dropped out of the chopper like he had. Dennis swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, as he looked around the corner of the wall, and saw the man was still walking his way. With a sudden burst of courage, he turned around the corner facing the man, who was still at least forty feet away. He raised his crossbow to his face, and took aim. His heart was pumping adrenaline through his body at an extreme speed, making it difficult for him to get the man in his scope, let alone keep him in it.
The man changed posture when he saw the crossbow, his facial expression turned to fear, as he turned and started to run back, limping heavily now.
Dennis swallowed hard once more, breathed out, and pulled the trigger. With a sort 'swoosh' the bolt shot towards the man, scraping his sides, but not doing any real damage. Cursing, Dennis loaded another bolt into the bow, and ran towards the man. He sat down on one knee, and took aim again, this time being much closer. He now had the man's back in his sight, as he turned around to face Dennis, blood gushing from his side, fear on his face.
Dennis pulled the trigger and this time the bolt hit the man in the chest.
The man collapsed, screaming in agony, as blood sprayed from his wound. He clutched the arrow with both hands, and dropped the blade he was carrying.
Dennis trembled with fear and adrenaline, tears filling his eyes. "I shot a man". The sentence was flying though his thoughts.
He stood up and slowly walked towards the man, who had now collapsed on the floor, and was moaning from pain and terror as he saw Dennis walking his way.
When he was next to the man on the floor, he felt guilty, but knew what had to be done. Dennis picked up the blade from the man, and bent down.
"No... Please.... Don't do it" The man croaked, blood spluttering from his mouth, "my children... please... PLEASE"
Dennis closed his eyes, and thrust down hard with the knife. He felt a warm fluid cover his hands, as he opened his eyes, his hands were covered in blood. He had hit the man right in the heart, ending his life with one stroke.
With disgust he looked down on his hands, the blade still stuck between the man’s ribs, blood everywhere. With that, he threw up.
He kept vomiting for attleast 15 minutes, till he regained control over his body, and mind. He walked back towards the man, and grabbed the knife with both hands, and pulled it out of the corpse. He cleaned it with his shirt, and then stuck it under his belt. Figuring he would need that later on. He then turned the man over, and pulled one of his darts, out too, and putting it back in its magazine.
With that, he walked away, his first kill haunting his thoughts.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:32 PM (GMT)
He’d had better days. But he’d had much worse ones as well. Like the day they had pulled that gun on him. He still saw their faces, laughing as they shoved the hard muzzle of the pistol against his temple. He had felt the power of the thing just by having it pressed against his head, felt the force the bullet would be propelled with. He remembered feeling the warm wetness in his pants too. And how they laughed even harder. They called him pizzaneck. Well, after the gun-thing they called him pisserneck. Bastards. How he hated them. How he hated the humiliation. Never knowing a moment’s peace, because they could be there, around the corner, or in the hallway, standing by the lockers, any time. And if they decided to single him out again, they would. And it was a rare day when they actually let him pass.
So this wasn’t so bad after all. There were no classmates humiliating and threatening him, no mother calling him her sweetie-pie, no more father telling him he was a spineless softass for not sticking up for himself, and especially no Kristen avert his eyes from out of fear of seeing any disdain in her eyes. If she did despise him, she’d think differently of him when he won this game.
If he won this game. The possibility of him dying seemed real for the first time. But no, he couldn’t die here. If he died, everything was over. And that was just impossible. He’d make it through. He unhooked the cattle prod from the loop in his belt and pressed the big red button. The prod crackled with current and blue sparks popped from its end. It worked.
Now, to find the others withut getting killed by them. Somewhere far away, he heard an explosion. Probably that loathsome Richmond Derleston with his rocket launcher, vaporizing some poor sap armed with only a bottle of milk. He certainly seemed like the kind of guy who’d take enjoyment in blowing up people more poorly armed than he was. No matter. The rocket launcher only had a few shots in it anyway, and every shot he wasted was one less rocket that could be fired at him.
He sat down on a pile of rubble and tried to decide on a strategy...
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:32 PM (GMT)
Eric slowly began to regain conciousness. He found himself lying face-down in a mixture of rubble and blood- his blood. His vision was blurry for a few seconds, but it eventually leveled out. After surveying his surroundings he realised that he was no longer in the studio, no, he was on the battlefield, and what was worse was that both of his weapons were missing.
"What the fuck happened?" He thought aloud, compressing his forehead to minimize his blood loss.
It didn't take him too long to put two and two together, the network didn't take too kindly to his actions, apparently.
"I guess they just wanted to give the other contestants a fighting chance." He said to no one in particular, trying to suppress his fear with overconfidence.
Eric took another look around, trying to find something that could be used to kill a man, but he came up with nothing.
"Alright Eric, think, what are you going to do now?" He stroked his chin with his free hand, "Should I stay here and wait for someone, or should I go looking for trouble?"
While any sane person wouldn't have to think twice about hiding, that just wasn't Eric's style. A bright flash suddenly illuminated the dusky sky, an explosion, apparently that Richmond had claimed his first kill. A mischievious grin appeared on Eric's face as he began to head towards the fireball. Richmond was the type of guy that Eric could snap like a twig, and a rocketlauncher could prove handy in this game of kill or be killed.
"You better not waste all of those rockets, dumbass!" Eric yelled as he ran towards his target, almost as if it were his warcry.
His mind was made up, if he wasn't going to win, he would at least go out in style.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:33 PM (GMT)
EPISODE TWO – 5th of March 2026 – Ways To Die: 87
After a week of toil and blandness, the citizens of New Washington settle in their grungy couches, drinking their synthetic alcohol. It has been a long week, though not longer than the others. Or any different. But that doesn’t matter. The show is about to begin.
Talia is alone now, standing in a seductive pose in the tacky yellow background. This time she is wearing a white silken dress, cut out in almost every place imaginable, so it is in fact more like a ribbon wrapped around her. The clapping and irritating trumpet music subside again, and Talia blows a kiss to the audience.
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! It’s been a long and gray week for you, but we’ve got the necessary things to juice up your life again after all that hard labour!” She probably hasn’t seen a single day of labour in all her pampered life.
“We have only had half a week, because the other half was, of course, used up by transporting our contestants and prepping them for their challenge. But even so, the footage we’ve distilled from these few days is guaranteed to bring you to the edge of your seat, and even further! We have some emotional drama, some defeat, some victory, and of course, a whole lot of death!”
The crowd applauds. (the APPLAUSE light has come on).
Talia quells the crowd and proceeds, “First, we’ll show you a little something we think you’ll enjoy!”
The camera swerves toward the great screen and the TV shows a man trying to get to his feet, still groggy. His forehead has been gashed open and he clumsily binds it. Laughter can be heard from the audience. Then the man, whom we all recognize as the indomitable Eric Sheithauer, abruptly turns his head and speeds away, his face contorted like a madman. He seems to be screaming. The crowd laughs even harder.
“What a clown, hey?” Talia asks, winking toward the audience. “Probably running off to get killed, you think? We’ll see what happened to him next week!
“But first, a small teaser, something you’ve all been waiting for: actual, real death! Real people killing each other, blowing each other open, caving each other’s skull in!” She sounds almost orgasmic. “The true wonder of this show! We already have one little fragment for you!”
Again the camera swerves toward the screen and we see a young man with black greasy hair and a white-and-blue-striped T-shirt sneaking through the ruins. He’s holding his flintlock rifle so hard his knuckles are white. What ever compelled him to choose a flintlock rifle from the First Civil War? He seems to be wondering himself. He peers around a corner and tenses up. He leans back and closes his eyes, breathing slowly and muttering something to himself. He seems close to crying. He inhales sharply one last time and then he charges around the corner. We can’t see whom he’s charging at, but suddenly a bright yellow blast flares up, sending rubble in every direction. The satellite camera swerves slightly, and we see the man (he’s just a boy really) lying on the ground. Well, we see part of him at least. He is lying on his back, but below his back there is only red. His insides are the lowest part of him. Everything else is blasted away. Bright red and ropy, his intestines lie exposed in the dust. His pelvis and legs are simply gone.
The crowd has fallen silent. Suddenly we see how the boy’s eyes flutter, and he tries to move his arm. He is still alive! In the distance, we see a familiar figure approaching – Richmond Derleston, grinning like a madman and holding a smoking Rocket Launcher. The boy looks like he’s trying to say something, and Derleston kneels next to him – but instead of talking to him, he snatches up the rifle and walks away again. The boy slowly lowers his arm and then is still.
A thundering applause breaks out from the crowd, but on their faces we see doubt. Perhaps it was just special effects? They didn’t really kill that kid, did they? Sure they didn’t. Just believe they didn’t, they say to themselves, and we can go on enjoying it.
Talia turns back to the crowd, and perhaps it’s the light, but she looks a little shaken herself. Trick of the light or not – it’s gone very quickly.
“Looks like Richmond chose the right tool for the job!” Talia remarks, and the crowd cheers and claps again.
“And we have more!” Talia calls out. “We have some deep human drama as well. Observe!”
We see the screen again. A man with gray hair is running away, but he is caught by a crossbow bolt and sent to the ground. Another man walks towards him, we can’t see his face. If we could, we’d know it’s Dennis Wijker, the kid who got introduced last episode. He walks slowly towards the prone man, who has raised his hand and appears to be begging. The camera swings around and we see the face of Mr. Wijker, drawn with horror and sympathy. He kneels before the other man, and, with a short hesitation, drives his knife deep into his chest. We clearly see how he is shaken with grief.
Then the screen blanks and shows a young woman sneaking through the ruins. She’s gripping a woodcutter’s axe. She’s a pretty young woman with shoulder length blonde hair with a red tinge. She’s wearing an orange T-shirt exposing her midriff, and tight dark blue jeans. Suddenly she rounds the corner and swings the axe downward, cleaving the skull of the man standing behind it. The man promptly falls to the ground, his lead pipe clanging silently to the ground. The girl stands open-mouthed, looking at what she has done, and then she falls to her knees beside him, taking his hand in both of hers and laying her forehead down on it. The satellite camera zooms in and we see her body hitching with her sobs. She raises her head. Her face is wet with tears and we see her lips mouthing the same words over and over again: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” She doesn’t seem to stop. The screen fades to a dull gray.
“Wonderful!” Talia claps. “The drama! The humanity! This is television, ladies and gentlemen! We’ve reached the end of our show (crowd awwww-s) but before we go – we give you this week’s rankings: the top killer demons of this show.
“On number one, we have Des Rodrick, with two kills! And tied right behind him, all the candidates with one kill to their name: our good friend Derleston, Frank Alger, Roger Johanssen, Erin Raynes, Pim Fortune, Dennis Wijker, George Forrest, Colin Rice and Patrick Phillips! Give our blood-smellers a warm round of applause, and parents, spouses and relatives, you can be proud of these fine men and women I just mentioned! See you next week! And next week, we’ll have audio, so you can be even closer tothe explosions!”
The annoying music begins again, and while Talia waves to the crowd, the pictures of the top killers scroll across the screen. All of them are normal looking people.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:33 PM (GMT)
Eric had been running for the greater portion of the past two hours, only taking a small break to catch his breath. He had plenty of time to think, plenty of time to realize that his current plan was almost definitively suicidal. He didn't care, though; besides, what other choice did he have? At least this way he might catch someone off guard.
Finally some ruins came into sight, the first thing Eric had seen other than rubble since he had left the studio. Eric slowed his pace, knowing that there was a high chance he would run into another contestant once inside.
The ruins themselves seemed almost ancient. Dilapidated concrete structures lining a primitive paved road of sorts, with occasional signs and advertisements here and there. Eric's eyes scanned his surroundings as his walk became slower and more calculated. Suddenly something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Amid the bleek variations of grey Eric caught sight of streams of scarlet. He followed them around a corner to their source, the remnants of what once was human. The corpse was that of a young boy, his skin scarce, and where it remained it was singed black. A few meters away Eric spotted the epicenter of the explosion that took the kid's life, with a trail of blood and vital organs leading from there to his present location. The body was ominous, warning Eric of what might happen to him if he were to continue his search for Richmond, but it was far too late to opt out now, he couldn't run home, he couldn't turn back.
Eric searched the area quickly, without moving from his position near the pile of intestines, trying to see where the boy's weapon might have disappeared to. He came up with nothing, apparently Richmond realized the lack of ammunition in the rocket launcher and took whatever the kid had with him. Either that or the boy drew slot one hundred, and got shafted because of Eric's actions.
Wouldn't that be ironic? He thought to himself, a slight grin on his face.
His attention was quickly averted by another spectacular explosion erupting nearby. If it was Richmond, that left one rocket for Eric to make use of, and all signs pointed to it being Richmond.
Eric took off in a dead sprint, trying to get to the rocket launcher before it was rendered useless. He ran through an alleyway which brought him to a four-lane street that seemed to bisect the ruins of the once thriving urban area. The street itself was generally empty, spare a figure in the middle of it... the figure was holding a rocket launcher, and looking right at Eric.
"FUCK!" Eric roared, running full speed away from the building he was standing next to.
The missle fired by Richmond whizzed into the window, then erupted in a hellish inferno, sending a shockwave that knocked Eric to his knees. Debris flew in all directions, cloaking the street as the structure collapsed. Eric felt several new wounds on his body, but knew that he had to get up before the smoke cleared.
Eric leapt to his feet and made his way towards where Richmond was. The dust soon settled to reveal much to Eric's horror, that Richmond was still a good 20 meters away. The scrawny, sorry excuse for a man had already discarded his prized rocket launcher, and was currently aiming some sort of rifle at Eric, laughing like some sort of lunatic.
"Bye Bye!" He yelled in a maniacal tone, before squeezing the trigger.
A white cloud of smoke was emitted from the muzzle of the gun, telling Eric that Richmond had fired his shot, but he apparently missed. Richmond's demeanor abrubtly changed to one of pure fear, he tried to fire another shot, only to hear a loud 'click'. Richmond didn't know how to reload the antique rifle, and even if he did, there was no way he'd have enough time to do so.
Eric was now the one who was laughing; he slowly made his way towards Richmond, cracking his knuckles as he walked.
Richmond Derlestron's eyes darted from side to side, his hands were trembling. He unsuredly held the flintlock with its rusted bayonette pointing in Eric's direction.
"Do you really think that that is gonna do anything?" Eric cackled, continuing to advance towards his prey.
Delestron shrunk back, slowly retreating while refusing to take his eyes off of Eric. It didn't take him long to trip over a piece of rubble, and when that happened, Eric pounced.
He rushed the man, and was practically on top of him before he even hit the ground. Eric delivered a hard kick to the man's head, causing it to collide with the pavement, bouncing off of the street and bleeding profusely. He then reached over and snatched the rifle from Richmond.
"Why did you have to waste the rockets... you DUMBASS!" He yelled, clubbing Richmond with the but of the gun.
The blow had sent Richmond's teeth flying from his mouth, with blood following close behind. He was amazingly still conscious, barely.
Eric turned the rifle around, the bayonette now facing the almost-dead Richmond.
The man coughed blood, crimson tears coming from his eyes.
Eric forcibly stomped on Richmond's stomach, then jabbed the bayonette into his chest, just below the heart. He then preceeded to tear upwards, carving away as the cold metal made its way towards Richmond's neck.
In a bloody and merciless act, Eric gained his first kill. He left the carcass of Delestron to be ravaged by the birds, and made his way over to a crater that was further down the road. It was the sight of Richmond's second and final kill, apparently Eric arrived before Richmond could gather the weapon. The weapon itself was nothing spectacular, but would serve Eric's purpose more than an empty rocket launcher or unloadable rifle. He dropped the flintlock and picked up his new killing device, a katana... a sharp one at that. Things were finally starting to go his way.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:34 PM (GMT)
Thomas Greene had made his first kill. A middle-aged woman armed with a nail gun. He had charged her, and the woman had fired wildly, apparently completely ignorant on how to use a nailgun. Only one nail had hit, and that one had luckily glanced off his ribs (it still hurt like a motherfucker though). It had all happened in a haze, like somebody else was running his body. He had closed the distance quickly and when he was real close, the woman had simply dropped the nailgun and raised her hands. He had rammed the cattle prod against her temple and pressed the red button. Blasts of blue sparks had flown from the end of the prod, and the woman had gone down, convulsing and spasming. Still in that unreal trance, he had taken a large rock and rammed it down on her head as hard as he could, until he heard a sharp crack and his entire hand had come away bloody. Then he had sat back and returned to himself... the reality of the situation had struck him like a physical blow, the wave of emotions washing him away. He had leaned forward and thrown up right where he sat. And as he sat there and looked up, he saw a young man with flappy ears coming from behind a wall, charging him and waving his battery-powered hedge-trimmer at him. With only a short hesitation, Thomas had picked up the nail gun and fired. Two nails hit the kid in the face, one going straight in through his nose, the other embedding itself in his forehead. The kid had crashed to the ground, and that was the end of it.
So here he was, sitting near the two bodies, munching a ration-bar (the vomiting had made him hungry), and scratching his rash, tears running down his face. He though about Kristen and how she suddenly seemed so far away. Was she worth this? He wondered how he could ever have joined this horror in the first place...
Not so far away, another explosion rocked the ground. Thomas Greene only briefly lifted his head, and then went back to his doubts.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:34 PM (GMT)
It was beginning to get late, and not once had Axel taken a rest all day. It wasn't because he was looking, no, he was being looked for. This game, as it's suppose to be, wasn't the dream he had hoped for. None of this was worth the prize, not even if he had asked for everything. At the very least, he had learned how to be stealthy.
Axel prized his sniper rifle more and more as time progressed. It's scope proved useful since he could look far ahead to make sure the coast was clear. He hadn't even fired a shot yet, which made him a bit proud of himself.
He had now walked out onto what was main street of the city. This was obviously where the main setting of whatever ruined this city. All that was left of the once tall and bold buildings surrounding the main street were rough outlines and piles of twisted metal and chunks of concrete. His heart sunk.
"Such destruction... compared to these people's fate, I've been so lucky." Axel sighed.
While looking around and taking it all in, he noticed a body off to the side. From his view it was kind of hard to see, even so, Axel could only stare at it in fear. This was the first dead body he had ever seen, the feeling of vomit rose into his throat. For whatever reason, he was still compelled to go get a closer look.
Axel hesitantly took one step after another toward the deceased person. The body laid spread out, impaled by the metal on which it laid on. It was so badly torn and mutilated he had trouble making out its features. There was something else though that disturbed and scared Axel even more then this. The shreds of clothing left on the body were still soaking wet from the blood of the corpse. It was fresh, too fresh.
In horror upon finding this, Axel literally jumped back. Not only was someone psychotic enough to do such an inhuman act, but they were still here somewhere. Axel quickly held up his rifle's scope to his eye and looked around. There wasn't anyone to be seen. He looked again. He wasn't going to die, he just couldn't. The thought of death was too great for him. He started to swung his rifle around again and again, looking along the horizon for any sight of anyone. Unfortunately, he found just that.
He had to blink and look again to make sure the sighting was real. It was a man who was a good distance away, and apparently hadn't seen Axel yet. The man was running, to where was unknown, though probably to some unsuspecting prey. He held a butcher knife, swinging it as he ran wildly thought the street.
Axel started to shake uncontrollably. Sure, it was an easy kill, but it was just that. He didn't want to see any more death. He had never killed anyone before, and after these events, he never wanted to. However, he had to. As much as he didn't want to pull that trigger and kill, he had to. It was this freak or him. The sight of the man through his scope slowly enraged him. He had the power, he was able to be strong and live, yet at the same time, if he would kill the man, whether that freak had killed that person or not, he would become what he now hated most. However, if he didn't do this, if he couldn't even kill this man, he wouldn't just be a coward, he would be a failure, and it would certainly lead him to his death.
Axel finally made up his mind. His shaking finger reached for the trigger. He could feel his eyes water up and his vision blur. After a deep breath, he pulled the trigger. The shot rung out furiously, and for a moment all he could hear was silence. He couldn't believe what had been done, he couldn't even keep his eyes open! When he did, he found the madman now running toward him. He missed.
Again, surge of mixed emotions filled Axel. Relief for not hitting the man, anger for missing, hate for all of humankind because of this senseless violence, and fear, for he couldn't run any longer. He now had to finish this. Axel took aim again, with his eyes still full of tears and his heart thumping a mile a minute, he pulled the trigger to that death machine he gripped tightly in his hands. The bullet struck, but not well enough. The man dropped to his knees, screaming in agony. Axel panicked. He couldn't take it, he just wanted it to all end, he just wanted to wake up.
"Stop it! Will you just stop it and die!" Axel begged the man as tears started to run down his cheeks in swarms. He could feel his stomach coming up, and his heart beat merciless in his chest. For the third and final time, Axel pulled the trigger. The bullet lethally hit the man in the neck, killing him and finally shutting him up. Blood splattered everywhere from the man's wounds. Axel found himself looking at the same site as the corpse he looked at before. Horror, disbelief, and an overwhelming feeling of regret overtook him.
Axel could now hear them. Their shouting and screaming. They wanted to win the race, they wanted to get to him. The shots, the yelling, everything was just a calling for them. They were all around him, he was surrounded. There wasn't any way out now. Axel spun around, flinging his rifle around trigger-happy. Momentarily the tears had slowed down, but only to be replaced by sweat.
He didn't know what to do, and so he ran. He ran for everything he thought he had. It was useless however, he knew he wont last long. Randomly he chose streets, alleys, and small pathways curving and weaving though the city. He hadn't a clue where he was going or what he was doing. They were right on his heals, he could hear their curses and ways they would kill him. Who knows how long he was running, or how far, but now he found himself in a part of the city he didn't know. Winded, he leaned against a still standing wall to get his breathe back. Everything had been rushing though his head, and no matter how hard he tried, Axel just couldn't get the images of what he had seen and done out of his head. They were embedded in his mind, he had passed the line of no return. All that was left was death. Axel prepared himself and looked back to where he had ran from, just to see them before they got him.
There wasn't anyone there.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:34 PM (GMT)
"god what mess have it got myself into" Dennis thought, while walking over an ancient looking road.
He had alot of time to think about his actions, and to think about how in hells name he was going to
survive this hell game.
He hadn't seen anyone, since the guy he shot down. He still felt nauseaus when he thought back. Dennis had lost all
sense of time. It was allready dark, but he couldnt tell whether it had been dark for 10 minutes, or 6 hours.
Thinking about food, made him realise he needed to eat some. Figuring it be smart, if he found some hidden spot to
eat, instead of just sitting down here in the middle of the road.
Looking around him, he noticed a small, still pretty much in one piece, except for all the windows being blown out,
across the street. When he walked closer he noticed that the building probably used to be a store of some sorts. It
had big holes, where the windows used to be, and a completly blank sort of sign, above the door.
When he walked in, his supsicions where confirmed, the place was filled with shelves, all empty, and most had
topped over. As if some gigantic earthquake had hit this whole goddamn place. Dennis decided that sitting behind the,
once to be, counter, would be a great place to hide. Even if someone walked in, they wouldnt be able to see him, from
That angle, and he would hear it, so he could get ready, in case it be necesary.
He walked over to the counter, well, it couldnt be called walking. Climbing was more the word, as the shelves were
all stacked up. When he finally reached it, he sat down, and grabbed one of his rations. He straightend his back
against the counter. And started chewing on the cookie like, substance. It tasted like, nothing really. Just dry
crummes in his mouth. Grabbing his flask to take a swig, he looked down, and something caught his eye.
About 10 feet from him, on the other side of the store, he saw a envelope. It was completly clean. So i had to be
placed there after, what ever happend to this city. Slowly standing up, he placed his flask on the ground, and
suck the last bit of the ration in his mouth. Alltho it was small, and didnt taste good. It definitly filled the
stomache. He walked over to the envelope, first checking, if no one would be able to see him from outside, he didnt want
to attract unwanted attention. As he came closer to the enveloppe, he could clearly see the Network logo stamped on its
When he picked it up, he realised how stupid that just was. It could well have been a boobytrap, for anyone dumb
enough to indeed pick it up. He placed the enveloppe against his ear, in a futile attempt to listen for a bomb, of
some sort. Wondering what it could be, he turned it over and over, looking at it from all possible angles. Dennis
couldn't decide what to do with it, so he put it down again, and continued eating his rations.
"i have to know, i just do. Even if it could be the end for me" He said to himself, as he picked up the enveloppe after
he put it down, about an hour ago. Or perhaps 4. He didnt know.
He grabbed his knive, and slowly slit open the top of the enveloppe, quickly throwing it away after it opened completly.
Sighing, that nothing happend. He walked over to it again, and picked it up. He turned it over, and a small card fell out.
Dennis picked it up and read 'One minute of Network time'.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:35 PM (GMT)
The dark. That was Freddy's best friend. They were one, blending in with the shadows... moving slowly... staple gun in hand. His prey was close by... he could hear his breathing, not far off... around the corner. Making as much noise as possible, he dashed along the opening in the wall and paused on the other side. He heard the click as the gun was raised... waiting to bite into his flesh... not close enough. Have to draw him...
A Few Minutes Earlier
Roger Johanssen sat in a clearing, perfectly concealed in a small barricade of rocks, a small fort. He used to build stuff like this for fun when he was younger... playing with toy soldiers and the like... having wars with his younger brother... He was average height for his age, messy red hair and glasses, slim fit... He held his breath, watching, waiting, staring at the body in the clearing. His AK-47 had ripped through the body more than he had thought it would. The clip gone was a total waste of ammo...
He raised the gun, hearing something not far off, like footsteps. He couldn't get snuck up on... there were only two ways into this clearing, and he was facing them. His finger paused on the trigger, finally he saw the figure and shot a couple of times. It was... just rocks... god... he hated the dark. It always fooled around with him...
Opposite for Freddy. He sat in wait, letting the young man stew in thoughts, while he focused on his own spiderwebbed thoughts... then he called out...
"How was it?" loud enough for Roger to hear, but not to pinpoint his location. The sound seemed to reverberate off of the walls. Roger froze in fear, there WAS someone out there. But where?! He moved the gun slightly, shifting back and forth, staying still. Finally, he asserted he was perfectly fine... if whoever was out there had a gun, they would've used it by now... he had the advantage. He had the gun. He was safe. He'd be fine...
"H-how was what?" he cursed silently for the fear in his voice.
"You first kill..." The Shredder looked over his staple gun, making sure it wasn't jammed. Sure enough it was... always check your weapon...
"W-what??" he paused, looking at the corpse again. He hadn't gotten sick, it just bewildered him how fragile life was, how quick he could take it away from someone... He had prepared himself for this... he knew he'd be killing people... he shook his head, who ever was out there just wanted to throw him off guard so he'd be easily startled.
"It doesn't matter." Roger finally said.
"It just doesn't."
"You liked it, didn't you..." Freddy grinned.
"Honestly... I don't know what any of you people were thinking when you signed up for this contest. We're all going to die, you know. Except for one... which means someone is going to have to climb to the top..." he paused to throw a rock into the clearing, it clattered loudly, and was followed by gunfire. Good. He was nervous. AKs74u, otherwise known as AK-47. Probably standard edition, 30 shot clips, scope-less...
"I'm not going to die! You are!" Roger shouted, loosing his cool.
"Every man meets his death, how soon it comes... well... you never know..."
"WHO ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU!??" He screamed, searching around frantically with his gun, wanting to shut up this voice that sounded like his concience... Silence, silence, silence. Had he moved? He moved... he must've moved... Roger climbed over the wall that was his barricade, and started searching around the area... Freddy stayed perfectly still, smile on his face... watching him... When he was close enough he struck, slamming the staple gun into his face with a loud crack, throwing him off guard. As Roger raised his gun to fire, missing twice at point blank range. Freddy dropped to all fours and tripped him, then lept upon him and started basing his face in with the staple gun. He rose slowly, wiping the blood off his hands, and picked up the gun, taking out the clip. Fifteen shots left. What a waste...
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:35 PM (GMT)
EPISODE THREE – 6th of March 2026 – Ways to die: 62
99 Ways To Die has gone daily now – something which wasn’t unexpected after the incredible viewer totals. Every citizen, with a few exceptions, has watched the show, so the Network, opportunistic as it is, has decided to make the show run daily.
Talia Kindrayn now graces the screen of the viewers every day, something which none of the male viewers will object to. And she is looking especially ravishing today, in a black leather outfit, again as skimpy as it is tight. She’s wearing net stockings and high heels, and her eyes have been lined black to give her a special Gothic look. She is smiling broadly again, waving at the audience, seemingly overjoyed to bring the news of the show going daily.
“And now, without further ado, the highlights of this week! Our friend Erin Raynes is one of the few females remaining, and she’s added another notch to her kill count – have a look:”
The camera swerves toward the screen again, and we see the pretty young woman with shoulder-length blonde-with-faint-red-tinge hair again. The subtle make-up on her eyes has smeared slightly because she has cried, but other than that, she looks grim and determined, clenching her axe with both her hands. Suddenly another young woman steps out from behind the corner, swinging a metal clawhammer at her. She jerks her head sideways and the hammer misses her skull barely – but it comes down on her shoulder and, since the show now has audio-modules on its satellites, we hear a horrid crunch as the hammer breaks her collarbone. She shrieks and falls to her knees, but as the other woman brings the hammer up for another blow, Erin swings the axe low, catching her in the hip. Another dull crunch sounds and the other woman collapses, a white knob of bone visible through her shattered hip. Erin groans in pain as she lifts the axe again, but she doesn’t hesitate and brings it down on the woman’s face, shattering it.
“Wonderful! This girl is definitely my favourite,” Talia exclaims. Whether she means it is another question. “And also, we have a clash of titans for you!”
A drum roll kicks in, and on the screen we see a manipulated image, showing Eric Sheithauer and Richmond Derleston face-to-face. The audience murmurs in anticipation. The screen blacks out and shows the city again, with Eric Sheithauer running at Richmond Derleston, dodging a rocket with a cat-like leap and then he is upon him, taking his flintlock rifle away from him and ramming it into Derleston’s mouth. Derleston collapses, his shattered teeth rattling on the concrete, and Sheithauer brutally plunges the bayonet into his chest and proceeds to hack upward, Derleston’s body jolting with Sheithauer’s hacks. The footage ends as the bayonet catches under Derleston’s chin.
The crowd has fallen silent.
“Eric Sheithauer, ladies and gentlemen!” Talia shouts. “Isn’t he great?! And won’t it be even greater when he is put down like the mad dog he is?!” The crowd suddenly roars in approval.
Talia smiles. “We also have some footage showing our friend Thomas Greene!”
The screen goes black again and then shows Greene, sitting dejectedly on a pile of stones. Then suddenly, a young man waving a hedge trimmer ran up towards him. Seemingly without emotion, Greene hefts a nail gun and shoots the young man dead.
“Really!” Talia says, appalled. I had no idea that such a cutie could be so emotionless!” She naturally forgets to say that Greene was in shock from his previous victim. And the notion of Talia Kindrayn thinking of a piece of trash like Greene as a cutie is too silly to be believed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Talia says, turning to the audience. “We still have 62 people alive after this week, and we here at the Network feel that the kills are a bit slow. At this rate, we’ll be on the air for a whole year. It is therefore my pleasure to introduce this episode’s Surprise Addition. Observe!”
The screen goes black again, and then we see the hangars we saw when the candidates were transported from the arena in the first episode. There were choppers there then, and there are choppers now. The choppers lift off and fly over the arena, dropping small packages on parachutes. When the parachutes come down, the camera zooms into one, and we see the package transforming into a small robot, the size of a small dog, on tracks and with a small gatling gun assembled to one arm. The other arm ends in a wicked meatcleaver. The robots quickly scoot off between the ruins. The second chopper drops smaller parcels, and when the camera zooms in, they turn out to be cluster mines. The last chopper opens its hangar doors in the air, and three large, metallic creatures fly out. The resemble large stingrays and move in the same manner. Mounted on their robotic bellies is a high-velocity laser sniper installation.
Talia is back, clapping vigorously. “This ends this week – sorry, today’s episode! We’ll see you tomorrow, sleep well, but first allow me to tell you the current kings of the kill. In first place, we still have Des Rodrick, who has scored two more kills, putting him on a total of four! Tied in second place, there’s Thomas Greene, Frank Alger, Erin Raynes, and Patrick Phillips, with two kills each. And we have a whole slew of beginners with one kill to their name. The list of those killed will also be displayed, so family members and friends, take note! See you tomorrow!!”
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:36 PM (GMT)
Axel hadn't slept nor ate since he started to hear the voices, and he was starting to physically show signs of it. He now walked aimlessly through the streets and rubble. His feet dragged along behind him like they were made of lead. Sometimes he would wander to find someone who would kill him, sometimes in hopes to find someone who wasn't at all bloodthirsty. Sometimes he walked, other times he ran. Ultimately he was looking for one thing, a wall, a limit, an end. He wanted stop this nightmare. It was senseless, inhuman, and pointless.
Axel could hardly be recognized anymore. Under the grime, blood, and tears laid a pale face that looked to be of an old man's. An expression of guilt and regret engraved itself into the baggy, tired face. Constant mutters of regret and prays to die sounded under his breath.
Most of the time he was in his own little world, however he snapped back in long enough to hear a chopper fly overhead. Axel stopped and looked up from the ground beneath him. When the chopper disappeared behind the ruins, he looked back at the ground unaffected by the event.
Just as humans have the ability to be silent, robots have the ability to be loud. The sound similar to that of a RC car reeled on behind him. At first he just ignored it, but it's sound grow louder, and out of curiosity Axel stopped and looked behind him to see what it was. Coming toward him was this tiny robotic powerhouse. Equipped with a gatling gun and meatcleaver, the small robotic tank wasn't something to mess with. Its weapons were bigger then its body, only something Hollywood would make. The robot stopped a few meters away from Axel. Its gatling gun pointed right at him.
"How ironic is this? I vowed never to kill a living thing again, so they send a robot!" Axel laughed insanely. "Tell ya what little guy, if you want me, you're gonna have ta catch me, 'kay?" With that, Axel burst into a run.
He had no clue why he was running, this is what he wanted, right? To die and forget all of this, to wake up and find that it was all just a dream? He was running now, and he wasn't going to stop.
Not far ahead lied the city park. It was something you would have never have thought would exist in such a grime place like this. Although most of the larger plant life was destroyed, small things like grass and flowers survived. It was a beautiful place, at least compared to the rest of the city. On the north side lied the playground, which was now a pile of twisted metal filled with the echos of long forgotten children. The south side contained a small lake, its water polluted and discolored. On the west part of the park was a baseball field with a small slope surrounding it. The east and center parts of the park were now just an oversized jungle.
Axel was coming from the west. He looked back behind him to see where the robot was. It was lagging behind. The robot couldn't move that fast with its undersized treads, and the large piles of uneven rubble didn't help it. Axel had reached the park. However, it wasn't going to be a pleasurable trip.
About halfway down the slope, on his third step, his carelessness caught up with him. He lost his footing. Axel landed face first into a comical position on the ground. A severe pain ran through in his lower right leg. After screaming about every known curse word in English, he looked back at his leg to see if it was alright. His ankle was swelling up, he had sprained it.
"Wonderful, now I'm going to have to wait for that damn robot to come and kill me." Axel sighed. When it did reach him, all Axel could say to it was, "What took ya?"The robot drove nearly on top of Axel. Its gatling gun digging itself into his head. The robot stalled though. "What, no ammo?" Axel asked it. No reply was made at first, but finally, a red light appeared above a slot on the robot's side. "What's that suppose to mean? Don't tell me your battery died! Great, now I'm going to have to wait for something else to come and kill me!" Axel grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it at the robot.
"Come on, do something!" Axel yelled as he threw another fistful of dirt at it. To his surprise, it accually answered this time. "Beep beep beep." The robot squealed. "I should've know you wouldn't know how to talk." Axel sighed again, but then he heard it again, though this time it was from his pocket. Axel quickly shoved his hand in and pulled it out. It was the chip he found earlier. Axel reexamined the slot on the robot's side, and then tried putting the chip in. It was a perfect fit. On a small screen next to it appear "COMMAND_"
"Alright, now I just have to find the instructions." Axel muttered to himself.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:36 PM (GMT)
With his first kill under his belt, Eric was feeling as optimistic as ever. He had taken down the number one contender without even using a weapon... all doubt had been washed away. He was going to win this contest.
With a sinister grin on blood-covered face, Eric made his way down the boulevard. His eyes scanned for anything that moved, his ears were pricked, searching far ahead of what his eyes could see. With his new-found sword in hand, Eric felt like some sort of predatory animal from the days of old. He was fully aware of his surroundings, and was confident that he wouldn't be caught offguard.
His pace gradually transformed from a slow prowl to a quick jog. He was looking forward to another opportunity to kill. The anticipation of the adrenaline he would experience urged him to quicken his pace. Suddenly, though, he stopped. A sound in the distance was coming his way quickly. The mechanical whir of a helicopter.
He turned to face the direction from which they came. There were three of them in all, and they traveled in a straight line, until dispersing to different parts of the city. One had come his way, but passed overhead and continued on its way.
"What the hell is a chopper doing here?" Eric thought aloud.
It didn't take him long to imagine that whatever their purpose, it wasn't something he'd enjoy. Without giving it much more thought, Eric turned onto the next avenue and continued on his way... in the direction that no helicopters had gone to. It was his hope that he wasn't the only one that put two and two together.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:37 PM (GMT)
There was a sound coming from behind a wall – a gasping, or whimpering. Thomas Greene gripped his cattle prod in his left hand and the nailgun in his right (he had left the ridiculous hedge-trimmer with its deceased owner). He advanced slowly, careful not to make any noise on the unstable ground. He stuck his head around the crumbled corner carefully. There was a young woman lying there, one hand clutching her shoulder. He couldn’t see her face, only a head of beautiful blonde hair, with a slight red tinge. She was wearing an orange t-shirt with spaghetti straps, which left her lower back exposed. Under her hand, her shoulder had turned purple and something was terribly wrong with its shape. A woodcutter’s axe was lying by her side.
Thomas edged closer. The girl lifted her head. She was more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen in the ghetto. Even Kristen seemed flawed compared to this girl. He immediately felt the urge to put his hand over the side of his neck, but resisted it.
“Don’t kill me...” the girl wimpered. “Please...” Her pretty face was wet with tears.
Thomas cautiously stepped closer. “You promise you won’t attack me if I help you?”
The girl looked away, insulted. “No... I won’t attack you. Please help me.”
“What’s your name?”
He sighed. He was probably making a terrible mistake. But regardless, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll help you. What happened?”
“Hit... by hammer.” She removed her hand. The bones were obviously shattered. A horrible blue bruise had formed and her shoulder had swollen immensely.
“Roll on your back.”
She did so. Her orange shirt showed her flat belly and stretched around the swellings of her breasts, which were considerable, even though she was lying on her back. He felt something harden in his groin, but did his best to disregard it. He pulled off his gray woollen pullover and pulled a large strip of cloth from his shirt. “Hold still.”
The girl screamed between her teeth when he clumsily but tightly wrapped the bandage around her shoulder. “That’s all I can do for now. I don’t know if it’ll heal properly.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the girl replied. “I won’t survive the night.”
Thomas sighed. “I said I wasn’t going to hurt you, and I’ll stick by it.”
The girl laughed raggedly. “Again, doesn’t matter. If you don’t do it, someone else will. And even then, only one of us can leave this place – so in the rare case that the two of us are the only survivors-“
“No!” Thomas snapped suddenly. “If the two of us are the only ones left, then I’ll say that my prize is you! I’ll ask if I can let you live, as my prize!”
The girl snorted, turned her head and looked away. “Don’t be silly.”
“Oh? I’m being silly, am I? Maybe I’ve just had enough of this stupid crazy game! And maybe if I’m able to save just one more, I’ll grab that chance with both hands!”
The girl sighed again. “I’m sorry. I guess you’re right. You’re still silly though.” But this time she said it with a grin, something which must have been hard to accomplish, given the pain she was doubtless in.
“Want something to eat?” Thomas held out a ration bar.
“Thanks,” the girl replied, taking the bar with her good arm, wincing with the movement. “They only gave me two, so I haven’t eaten in a day.”
“That’s a bitch.”
“Yeah. You’d still need to win, though.”
“To claim your prize. D’you think you have a chance?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I do. We all have a chance. And I don’t think there’s many left. Most of them will probably have been killed already.” He didn’t know how wrong he was. At least fifty people were still alive and out to kill each other. They still had more than half to go. Erin munched her ration bar. “Tastes like crap.”
“If you don’t want it, let me know, so I keep the rest for myself,” Thomas replied with a grin. He was normally so nervous around girls, and now, with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen (and she was pretty, even though he only knew the girls from the ghetto, who weren’t exactly up to standard) he was completely at ease. He didn’t stammer or act clumsy. Maybe this game had been good for something after all.
“What happened to your neck?”
He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts and his hand immediately went to the side of his neck. Now he was nervous again. “Don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:37 PM (GMT)
The envelope was firmly in his pocket, and his crossbow was loaded and ready to fire. Dennis figured he’d better not use the envelope yet. Better to save it up until he needed it – he didn’t really have a lot to say to the home-front right now. Better wait until he had some decent stories to tell instead of what he’d been through until now. He had doubted a while whether or not to use his minute of Network time, thinking that maybe it’d be nice to let his parents know he was still alive and that he loved them, but he had decided against it in the end. Better to save it until he really needed it.
He peered round a corner, scanning the area. Nothing. He was going down a rubbly slope and he had to be careful – it was treacherous underfoot. His heart leapt when a puff of dust shot up next to his feet, accompanied by a dry clack. He threw himself to one side as the next bullet pierced the air he had stood in a fraction of a second ago. This time he had seen the flare of the rifle’s muzzle and aiming carefully, he shot a bolt through the window. There was a muffled cry of pain and the clatter of a rifle falling to the ground. Dennis let out a breath of relief and scrambled to his feet again – but the ground slid away under his shoes and he fell, the gravel and rubble bruising his back and backside as he slid off the slope and plummeted several metres downward. He landed on his back, which flared immediately with agonizing pain and a crunching feeling which was nothing short of excruciating. He screamed in agony.
He lay there for a while, half-conscious, waiting for the pain to stop, but it didn’t. Except for his legs. They didn’t hurt at all. Strange, that, for his pants were wet with blood. Oh my God, he realised suddenly. My back’s broken!
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:37 PM (GMT)
EPISODE 4 - 7th of March 2026 - Ways to Die: 48
We have something wonderful tonight!" Talia exclaims to the viewers of '99 Ways To Die'. We seem to have missed the opening song because we turned on our television set too late. No matter. It's just the annoying intro.
Talia is wearing hotpants this time, in camouflage colours, and her breasts are stretching her camo top so hard it looks like it's about to burst. She even has two Gauss pistols slung around her hips to complete the lusty-soldieress-look. Her top has a strategic tear, showing the cleft between her two breasts.
She walks to the screen. "The most unfortunate accident someone can have in this game, and we've caught it on satellite tape. Observe:..."
The screen lights up, showing Dennis Wijker clumsily firing his crossbow and tumbling down the slope. When he's reached the bottom, the screen freezes and the colours change so that we see a blue wire-frame of Wijker's fallen body. At the lower back, a red flare pulsates urgently. The wireframe fades, and his fall is shown again. The audience laughed the first time, and sure enough, they laugh now. Apparently a broken back should be no impediment to the enjoyment of a ludicrous moment.
Talia claps at Dennis. "Well done, Mr. Wijker!" She's laughing too. "And we have something else for you!"
The screen shows a man with graying hair, dressed in a polo shirt, sneaking through the ruins, as we've seen so many contestants do. Almost all the contestants that were shown this way got themselves killed. This one is no different. The man is holding a sledgehammer, and this weapon is no match against the one fired by the fifteen-year-old girl on the other side of the street. He hasn't seen her, even when the circular saw hits him in the throat in a flawless shot, separating his head from his shoulders. The sledgehammer pounds down on the shattered pavement right before the severed head lands with a wet thud. His polo shirt is soaked with the blood spurting from his severed neck.
"That has to hurt!" Talia remarks, and then, "Well, at least he quit while he was still ahead!"
The crowd roars with laughter at this horrible joke.
Suddenly Talia grows serious again. Sternly, she looks at the audience, and then into the camera. "But we've also got something less cheerful for you. Apparently some people have forgotten what this contest is about. Watch."
Thomas Greene is shown, first as he inspects Erin Raynes' wounds, then as he hands her a ration bar. The crowd murmurs in indignation and disapproval. Talia crosses her arms in front of her magnificent breasts and pouts with disdain. "Apparently these two are working together. Do we like this?"
"No!" The crowd roars back in unison.
"Didn't think so," Talia says flatly. "Rest assured, ladies and gentlemen, that we will keep our satellite cameras firmly trained on these two, and that we will broadcast their deaths in high-resolution and in extreme zoom, so that you can see the organs fly from the front row! We'll even interrupt whatever programme is running at the moment to bring you the events LIVE!"
The crowd cheers.
"And besides," she scoffs, "that Greene-fellow's probably hoping he can have his way with her or something. I guess she's not too bad, if you like that rundown gutter trash look. Now, back to some less unpleasant matters. As you all know, we've added a surprise to the game yesterday, and it wasn't without its uses!"
On the screen, we see the robots riding across the landscape, and suddenly a clownesque music kicks in. While the music plays, we see a compilation of the deaths caused by the robots. Here we see a woman chopped open by a meatcleaver, and there a man is cut in two by automatic weapons fire. And there a scruffy-looking fellow is blown backward with a hole in his chest the size of a tea saucer, shot from above by one of the flying stingray robots. The music ends with a cheerful xylophone rhythm, accompanied visually by a 16-year-old kid caught in a spray of gatling gun fire. It looks like he's dancing to the music. The crowd laughs their collective heads off as the kid dances to the rhythm of the bullets slamming into him and ripping him to shreds.
Talia's eyes are streaming with laughter. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Our directors have surpassed themselves yet again! Now before we leave you, Kendrick told me that there'll be an extra surprise on tomorrow's episode! I don't know what it is, but he told me it'll be a hoot! So don't miss us, tomorrow, on Network One VH channel! We've reached the end of the show, but as always, the top killers as they are now:
The cannons of our leading man, Des Rodrick, have been silent today, so he's still in first place at four kills, followed by Erin Raynes, Thomas Greene, Frank Alger and Patrick Philips, with two kills, who are joined by Gary Toverton and Romana Velàzquez, who've been movin' on up. Remember, family, friends and supporters, that we'll have a list of fallen contenders after the credits. See you tomorrow!!"
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:38 PM (GMT)
To have a friend, to know that someone is there for you, is the only thing keeping some of us sane -weather that friend is human or not.
Axel looked down at his ankle. It had swelled and even became slightly discolored shortly after he sprained it. Thankfully most of the pain went away. Ironically, because of his injury, he now had a friend. Well, he had something that didn't want to kill him. Bobby Blue, as Axel had named the robot, did little, but every few minutes it would emit a beep or two. Axel talked constantly to his new companion, despite the fact that it wasn't listening to him. His mental problems had vanished for the time being.
Hunger, it was something Axel had neglected since his first kill. However now that he had become sane, needs and feelings had returned to him. Unfortunately when he madly ran away from Bobby Blue, he had accidently dropped what was left of his rations. Now Axel was left to find food with a sprained ankle. Lucky for him, his companion was able to find such things for him.
On a strict command not to shoot at, nor kill, anyone, Axel sent out Bobby Blue to find some rations. The first two times weren't even close to success. The first time it came back with a medium sized rock, and the second it didn't come back with anything. Bobby was on his third trip now and Axel had sent it south this time.
"He better hurry up... I'm starving." Axel sighed. It had been about half an hour since he saw the tiny robot scurry off. There was a small pause in the air, as if was all focusing on something. From a patch of bushes a rustle emerged. Axel looked over to it. They had came from the east.
"Bobby?" an undertone of scariness ran throughout his call. It wasn't Bobby and he knew it. Reluctantly however Axel pulled himself closer to the bushes. Whoever it was, they weren't going to come out to him.
Closer and closer he dragged himself. He could see now, just as he comes into reach of the bushes, someone with a big knife will pop out. Unable to go anywhere fast, he'd be helpless and surely be killed. Despite his doubts and fears he continued to slowly crawl toward whomever was lurking within the bushes. When he finally reached his destination, no one popped out. His worry worsened. After a deep breath Axel grabbed part of a bush and pulled it out his way. What he found behind it could only bring back the most horrid memories.
Amongst the bloody bushes laid a man no older then thirty. In the man's shoulder stuck out an arrow deeply embedded in his flesh. Worse yet, little to no action was done to treat the wound. The arrow was still there and there wasn't anything covering the wound to keep it from bleeding everywhere. Behind the man was a long, thick trail of blood. On the trees, grass and anything else the man came close to was marked by his excessive lost of blood. Axel tried to say something, to scream something, but nothing could come out. Out of hope Axel reached out and felt the man's neck. It was weak, but the man still had a pulse.
After pulling the man from out of the bushes Axel treated the wound the best he knew how to. He ripped the arrow out from the man's shoulder and covered it with a torn part of his shirt. The would had been there too long though and it wasn't likely that he would live much longer.
The sound of tiny treads broke the depressing silence. Bobby Blue was here and hopefully with food. As it came within Axel's sight however, it was apparent that Blue had once again failed. Axel notice something slightly different about Bobby. Its stare seems fixed on something.
"What is it?" he uselessly called out to the robot. It didn't respond. This wasn't good. Although normally it wouldn't answer, Axel knew something wasn't write. Neither Axel nor Bobby Blue would moved or made a sound. It
wasn't until there was a long moan coming from behind Axel that either of them took any action. The wounded man had more or less awaken. The robot moved as fast as it could toward where the noise had come from.
"No, don't!" Axel shouted as he leaped onto Bobby in an attempt to stop it. It kept going, even with Axel on top of it. Unaware of what was going on, the man wobbly sat up, clutching his wounded shoulder. "Run away!" Axel shouted. He was too weak from hunger to hold the tiny robot back and was slowly being dragged toward where the wounded man laid. The man did nothing. "Run away!" Axel shouted for the second time at the man. This time the man reacted. The man, after a few tries, stood up. He took three steps before he fell back down to the ground. It was up to Axel now.
Violently Axel smashed the various buttons on Bobby's control panel, trying to get it to stop. For whatever reason though, it refused to stop. It was obviously programmed not to stop if it had locked on to a target. "Stop it! Don't do it Bobby!" Axel helplessly shouted, hoping it was listening for once. Bobby got in range though. The man laid ahead of them on the ground, slowly crawling away in an attempt to live. Bobby lifted his mini minigun. Time ran out and nothing could be done except to watch as the robot inhumanly tore through the man's flesh with hellish accuracy from the minigun mounted on its arm. Blood flew everywhere as the man's body jumped in a rhythmic seizure. Axel had failed to save another once again.
There wasn't much of the man that was in one piece when Bobby finally decided to stop firing. Axel's face longed with horror. "Why?" he softly spoke under his breath. "A robot has no feelings and therefore cannot know the pain of death. Such a thing shouldn't be able to give pain without feeling some for itself." Axel's voiced had lowered. He stood up and walked over to his stuff, despite the pain in his ankle. He grabbed his rifle and turned to Blue. It hadn't moved. Axel took aim with his sniper rifle at the small robot. "Why couldn't you just listen?" He said as he shot Bobby Blue over and over again.
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:38 PM (GMT)
"Someone's coming," Thomas hissed sharply. "Stay down."
Erin groaned a response. She probably couldn't do much else than staying down. Thomas put the nailgun in Erin's hand and scanned the dusky area through the hole in the wall of their little hideout. Well, hideout... It was more like four walls who had been lucky enough to stay up, except for the rubble that used to be one of the corners. He and Erin had started to refer to that area as 'the door'. Stupid.
He turned toward Erin. "Stay quiet," he whispered, raising the cattleprod. "If I'm killed, keep a cool head and pump a few nails in them, OK? If there's more than one, you've got to run."
Erin simply kept her eyes on him. He assumed she'd understood. How far would she be able to run? She probably wouldn't even be able to get up quickly enough. Nevertheless, she leveled the nailgun at the 'door' while Thomas got into place behind it, choosing his position so he could still look through the hole. "There's two of them," he hissed, the nervosity in his voice obvious. "One of them has to be crawling or something, he's really small." Stay calm, don't panic. If you panic, you're dead. He closed his eyes and heard a clicking sound from Erin. When he opened them, he saw that she'd discarded the half-empty nail clip and loaded a new one. Smart girl. She nodded at him.
The sounds of feet crunching on the gravel and rubble drew closer. It was easy to gauge the distance in the silence of dusk, but impossible to see any shadows. That would've been a boon. There were feet coming closer, and one constant, quieter sound, as if something was being dragged across the gravel. Imagine it was some guy dragging a dead contender, aiming to eat him here, driven mad by this contest. You'd go crazy for less, he guessed.
The dragging sound grew closer. He shot one last look at Erin, who was still grimly determined, and then he armed the cattleprod. It let out a quiet whine as the generators powered up, and suddenly the dragging stopped, only to start again, speeding toward them. When the thing rounded the corner, Thomas slammed the cattleprod into it and pushed the red button.
The robot blew apart in a shower of blue sparks and smoking metal parts. A fucking robot? What'd they do here? Those fuckers at the Network weren't playing fair! It was only then that he saw the figure behind the robot - this one was human, all right. He was hunched over, clutching his forehead. Blood ran out between his fingers. He was probably hit by one of the robot's armoured plates. Thomas and Erin were galvanised at the same time, both aiming their weapons at the stunned contender.
"Don't move!" "Freeze!" they shouted simultaneously. When the figure didn't comply (he only stood and rocked, clutching his head), Thomas threw himself upon him and pinned him to the ground, tying his arms behind him with a rubber cord the robot had 'lost'.
"He seems to have a serious concussion," Thomas muttered. Erin looked at the kid with a worried expression. "I wonder what he'll say when he comes to."
"Don't forget that he tried to kill us. And he had a robot with him, maybe he's some guy from the Network posing as a contestant. I wouldn't be surprised if they employed those dirty tricks as well."
"Mmmh," Erin mused. "I don't know. He's awfully young."
They had messily bound the kid's head, stopping most of the bleeding. It didn't seem like a skull fracture, but he'd probably be out for the count for a while. The robot had almost disintegrated, but in its armoured plating, Thomas saw holes that were made by a high-velocity sniper rifle. At close range.
"Tell me you're not going to go through his pockets," Erin said with a frown.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to rob him. Just see who he is..." he had slipped an Identity Pack out of the kid's pocket and was trying to get the IDCard out. "Hmmm. He seems pretty legit," Thomas muttered while he scanned the kid's Card.
"We're not leaving him." Erin said with an obvious finality. "Besides, we could use him." She pointed her chin at the sniper rifle the kid had dropped when the plate had hit him. "Or can you use one of those?"
Thomas shrugged. "I don't know."
"If you don't know if you can use a rifle, then you probably can't."
"Doesn't matter. It's out of ammo. He was holding it to use it as a club. I wonder..."
"Well, I think he was actually trying to destroy that robot."
"So, what's his name?" Erin asked, trying to shift position but giving up with a grimace.
"Contestant number 65. Axel Ferdinand."
El Stormo - June 7, 2005 10:39 PM (GMT)
Contestant number 73 ducked into the dark corridor of a rundown building. The stress of avoiding death had begun to take its toll on him. Sitting down, he laid his head back against the grungy grey wall and closed his eyes...only to be startled by a noise from the darkness. He listened carefully, trying to distinguish what he was hearing. He slowly brought himself to his feet, trying not to make a sound. That was spoiled when a small squeak came from the blackness. He jumped back, creating a stir. A fair size rat emerged from the other side towards the door. Pouncing on it, he quickly broke its neck...food for the night. Though he didn't know it now, he wouldn't have the chance to enjoy his freshly caught dinner.
Flashlight in hand --it was the weapon of choice, though the light busted within the first ten minutes after tripping over a rock-- he took his catch and continued on towards the next building. It would be dark soon, he needed to find wood to cook his dinner with.
Most of the land was rock...loose and corroded, dust and ash of tragedies gone by. Metal skeletons of buildings had been exposed after years of wear and tear. He found a couple of loose rods that he thought would do to create a spark...but they fell apart in his hand, rusted through to the core.
"They just don't make 'em like they used to, I guess." he said to himself, though in a way as to imply someone was listening.
"Are you sure they ever did?" The voice behind him caused him to whirl swinging his flashlight...but it was no where near its target. The stranger held up a hand as a sign of peace.
"Easy, friend..." The stranger spoke cautiously, "I'm here as an ally." He stretched out his hand...an offer unexpected in a place such as this. He took it, though...knowing an ally could mean a longer survival rate.
But 'could' is such an iffy word.
In one swift motion, the stranger spun him tightly into his free arm, and with a quick pull of the chin, his neck snapped like a twig. The stranger let his victim fall to the ground unceremoniously, keeping the flashlight as the dead contestant's grip loosened from it.
Jonathan 'Jonah' Brice stood looking down at the man he had just killed. He knelt down, reaching into the man's pouch. He pulled out one dead rat, an ID card showing his number in the 'game', and a broken flashlight lense. He tossed the lense, took the pouch and continued on.
He had come late. He had been met with refusal to let him in the show. Not one to take rejection well, he decided it was best to just 'replace' an existing contestant...and so now Jonah was contestant number 73.
Though this type of contest isn't exactly a dream vacation...it was a sure way --pending his survival-- of getting close to Talia.
It had been long enough...the time was near.
Jonah set up camp in a small hideaway, and began to consider the dead rat in his newly acquired pouch.
El Stormo - June 19, 2005 09:55 PM (GMT)
"Shit. Only fifteen rounds left," Freddy 'The Shredder' Jones muttered. The guy he'd wasted had been a prick to spend all those rounds and hit nothing. Served that dumbass right that he got put out of his misery. He looked down at his victim one last time and spat on the bloody mass that used to be his head. "Dumbass," he said, quite redundantly.
The thought occurred to him to drop the AK-47 and fuck it all, but he eventually decided that those fifteen rounds were worth the weight of lugging the assault rifle around. "Now I can reach out and touch someone," he grunted to himself, pleased with how cool he sounded. He had always found the sound of his own voice comforting. It had kept him sane during all those nights in the closet. Yes, he was sane and you can't tell him otherwise!
He broke into a run and, having regained his good cheer, went gleefully in search of another victim. This was the life, dammit! Let the idiots slave away in their gray suits! Here he was, finally sucking the marrow out of life and actually getting famous because of it! And he'd win this thing, of that he was sure. The others he'd encountered had all been worthless sacks of manure. He'd killed them with a stupid staple-gun. Yeah, he was one mother you'd better not mess with, bitches! Hahaha!
Let 'em try! he thought to himself. Bring 'em all on! I'll waste every fucking one of you pussies! And as he thought his uplifting thoughts, he spotted another one. This one lay sprawled on the ground, dragging himself forward by his arms. Ha! He was wounded! I'm gonna have fun with you, The Shredder thought to himself. Nothing personal, you know. You're just inferior. We all play our parts, and mine is that of your executioner.
El Stormo - June 19, 2005 10:32 PM (GMT)
Episode 5 - 8th of March 2026 - Ways to Die: 42
"You know what we showed you last week?" Talia Kindrayn says as the camera zooms in on her. She pouts in a disapproving and you-naughty-children way. "It's gotten worse." She turns around on her high heels, the legs under her miniskirt taking the breath of thousands, if not millions, of viewers away. Above the skirt, she's wearing a tight white corset and her breasts are pushed up even more than usual by a rigid (but revealing) brassiere. Her face is made up with pale foundation and her cheeks dabbed with rouge. She looks like a promiscuous Victorian noblewoman with a modern bent.
She strides toward the screen, which is showing the 99 Ways To Die-logo. A counter has been added above the screen, showing (Live!) the number of contestants remaining. The counter displays 42 in bright yellow letters. Presumably it clicks to a lower number when a contestant gets killed. When Talia carresses the screen (many people would love to trade places with an inanimate object at this point) the logo slides away and we see Thomas Greene and Erin Raynes. Erin is lying on the ground, a purple bruise has replaced her shoulder. Greene is standing, and reading an IDCard. Then we see Greene bending over a prone figure and checking an apparent head wound.
Talia turns around. The look in her eyes could freeze molten rock. "Now there's three of them. How rude of them to act this way, and deprive you, the esteemed viewer, of your pleasure!"
The crowd murmurs loudly at this.
"But we'll show them!" She turns to the screen again. "Commander?!"
The screen now shows a robotic face. The yellow lenses that apparently serve as the robot's eyes swivel toward the camera. In a flat and lifeless voice, it replies, "Yes, Miss Kindrayn?"
"Commander..." Talia says sultrily, making it look like she's still deciding on a course of action, or that she's considering being lenient. She is doing neither. "Command your Airborne Sniper Mechas to prioritize deletion of subjects numbers 28 - 65 - 81." The numbers of respectively Raynes, Ferdinand and Greene.
The robot nods. "Certainly, Milady. It shall be done as you request."
He fades out. The crowd applauds in approval. Somewhere in another grungy apartment a girl named Kristen is wondering why that Greene-kid enrolled in that insane competition, thinking she'd notice him if he did. The kid was crazy. As if that'd suddenly make him less of a wimp. Well, looks like he found someone that wasn't disgusted by him, from the looks of it. Of course, half-cripples couldn't be choosers, so that chick probably stuck with him out of necessity.
"Now that that's taken care of," Talia says cheerfully, "we have something more interesting to show you. Observe."
The crowd instantly murmurs appreciatively when Freddy 'The Shredder' Jones comes on-screen. Many people have bets riding on him, and he's pegged to win this one. Eric Sheithauer has quite a lot of cash behind his name too, along with Des Rodrick, the leader of the competition, who's shown an extraordinary amount of killing urge for a regular Joe from the worker's quarter.
The Shredder slowly but unhesitatingly advances on a prone figure which we immediately recognize as Dennis Wijker, the poor bastard with the broken back. Wijker has noticed him and has raised his hands to show he means no harm and wishes to parley. The Shredder advances on him, apparently deaf to the boy's pleas. He lifts the AK-47 and fires a round point-blank into Wijker's lower belly. The kid wails in agony and clutches his abdomen. Jones laughs heartlessly and fires at the same place, the bullet smashing his hands and making another hole in the same place. Wijker has started rolling from side to side, and is making shrieks that don't sound like they can be produced by the human vocal apparatus. Freddy 'The Shredder' Jones squats and watches the kid scream. After a while, he lifts the assault rifle again and fires two rounds, one in both shoulders. The shrieking intensifies until it's broken off, even though Wijker is still alive and thrashing. He only makes a rasping sound from his ruptured vocal folds.
At length Jones loses interest and without even putting Wijker out of his misery, he stands up and wanders off, collecting the crossbow as he leaves. Wijker continues to thrash and writhe on the ground. He will finally be put out of his misery an hour and twenty-three minutes later, when an Airborne Sniper Mecha fires a round through his skull.
Talia swallows (but is it real?) and turns back to the audience. "What a mean, mad dog, isn't he?"
The crowd murmurs their answer to Talia's question.
"Well, that's all for today! Be sure to tune in tomorrow for more death!" Talia waves at the audience and blows a kiss to the camera as the credits and the names of the Top Killers and deceased contestants roll over the screen.
Axel - June 30, 2005 09:53 PM (GMT)
'My head...' Axel thought to himself. 'Why can't I move my hands? What happened?' Axel tried to struggle free, but found that he didn't have the strength. "Uughhh" he groaned out aloud. He heard someone whisper a reply. "Where am I?" He asked whomever was close enough to hear him. He really didn't care though. He knew where he was. He was in that Inferno contest. Axel struggled some more to remember what had happened. It started to come to him, but it was blurry.
"I think he's finally waking up!" one of them, a female, stated obviously. The male looked over. Axel was weakly struggling to get untied. It was to no use however. Defeated, he tried to instead sit up. He looked over at the other two.
"Um, hi." Axel spoke to the two. He hadn't a clue what they wanted, nor why they hadn't killed him yet. "So is there any chance I get to live?" he half joked, half pleaded.
"It depends." the man spoke.
"Oh, on what?" Axel asked.
"It depends on if you're a threat or not." he answered.
"I doubt I could be of any threat. I'm kinda tied up and everything, ya know?"
"Would you help us?" the girl shot in. She was lying down and clutched her shoulder, which looked badly bent out of shape. "Maybe we should introduce ourselves. This is Thomas and I'm Erin. Might make it easier for you to have a conversation."
Axel thought for a moment. "I think I'd be more of a burden to you however. I can barely sit up. Let alone fight. It would probably be best if I just go."
"You can't." The male took a step toward him. "You might come back after us."
"My ankle is broken. I don't think I could get far. Not to mention I don't have a weapon. I'll surely get killed, so wouldn't that just be one less kill you'll have to make?"
"You'll just be bringing someone else here who could try and kill us." Thomas looked over at what was left of the robot. Axel's eyes followed Thomas.
"Bobby..." Axel sighed. He wasn't sure if he was happy or sad to find it destroyed.
"Is that what you call it?" Erin asked.
"About that-" Thomas started.
"I'd rather not go into it." Axel interupted.
"Why were trying to destroy it?" Thomas ignored Axel's plea. "It doesn't look like it was attacking you."
"I was trying to help someone who was hit by an arrow. When Bobby saw him..." he looked down, "he just freaked out and killed the guy."
"You were helping someone?" Erin questioned Axel.
Thomas thought over what Axel said. "If you help us, we would untie you."
"I still say I'd be a burden to you, but alright." Axel smiled.
Silverbolt - July 1, 2005 03:14 PM (GMT)
His name was Duncan. He was eighteen and had lived his entire life in a small town, so unimportant that it wasn’t worth mentioning to anyone. Society was corrupted. Duncan, however, had been lucky. His father was one of those men who refused to be consumed by it. Education was minimal everywhere. All the world needed were drones for the fat cats. Mindless laborers filling up the pockets of the corporate bosses. Duncan’s father decided that isolation was the best option. Duncan had never had any friends, but he was content. People were shit. Too few of them were worth the trouble of even talking to. He decided he didn’t want anything to do with any of them. His father taught him everything he needed to know. They were happy in their solitude, until…the contest. The “99 ways to die” show had been advertised around the entire world. Not even he could have not noticed. The idea was disgusting. It was the epitome of “disgusting”. It was unsettling. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep. His father wasn’t doing better either. When asked “How can humanity do such things?” his father simply replied “It’s not our place to fix it, Duncan. We can not do anything about it.”. Well, Duncan thought differently. The next day, he grabbed all the money he had saved and took the first plane to the “auditions”. He didn’t leave a note. His father would surely know where he had gone off. Now, he stood here. In this ruined city in the middle of nowhere. He had been wandering aimlessly for a few days now, and hadn’t met anyone. He had scavenged for food, and slept where he could, trying to make his way to what he thought was “downtown”. He smirked at the memory of his entry in the contest. He should have gotten an award for that performance…
Talia Kindaryn announced his number.
“And, now Kendrick, we have a very special contestant. Number 71, please come up here!”
Duncan ran up on the stage, wearing the best fake smile anyone had ever seen.
“What is your name, Contestant 71?”
“It’s Duncan…umm…Parker.” Duncan was not so stupid as to give them his real last name.
“And, check this out, ladies and gentlemen. Duncan doesn’t want to let us know where he comes from…why all the mystery, handsome?”
“Oh, Talia. I really think it’s irrelevant. I mean, who gives a fuck?” Duncan grinned.
Kendrick Holmes cleared his throat.
“Excuse, me…Duncan, but you can’t say that on TV…”
“Oh, sure. You can kill people in the most violent ways thinkable, but you can’t say fuck.” He thought to himself, then spoke out loud. “Of course, Kendrick. Please excuse me.”
“So, tell us, mystery man, what do you want for a prize, should you win?”
“Oh, I want nothing more but to meet the ones that are responsible for creating and producing this fantastic show, in a location of my choosing. I want to congratulate them personally.”
“Wow…that must be the most flattering thing anyone has said all evening. Now tell us, Duncan…what weapon do you want? You did very good on the preliminaries, so you can choose almost any weapon you wish.”
“I would like…the aluminum staff.”
“A blunt melee weapon? Are you sure you don’t want the Katana or a firearm?”
“Oh, heavens no, Talia. It’s too easy to kill with a firearm or a katana, and quite frankly, I think these fine people want violence, haha.”
The audience laughed with him. He never thought he could be this good.
“You really are something, Duncan…” Talia said, rubbing up against him.
Duncan tried not to show how nauseous this woman made him. He wondered who was faker at that particular moment. He gently pushed her aside.
“Well, Talia, if you don’t mind, I have some death to deal. Goodbye.” With that he left the stage, praying that if his father was watching, he realized what he was doing.
Duncan had reached a former business area of the city. He went inside the first office building he saw, seeking something that could be scavenged. As he reached the second floor, he heard footsteps. He ducked behind a desk. A heavy-set young boy was wandering around, obviously scared. He had a medieval flail in his hands. Duncan tried to crawl out of his range. He had no desire to kill anyone. Duncan accidentally knocked over a bottle. It rattled and fell on the floor, breaking into pieces. The fat kid shouted and raised his flail. He hit the desk, breaking it in half. Duncan knew they were being watched. He took out his extensible staff, and prepared for battle, at the same time, trying to let the kid know by gestures and mimic that he didn’t want to kill him. The kid yelled. He was obviously too panicked to understand. He raised his flail and tried to hit Duncan’s head. Duncan parried the blow with his staff. The flail’s chain coiled itself on the staff, and Duncan pulled it out of the boy’s hands and let it slide off onto the floor. The boy started to cry and attacked Duncan with his fists, while babbling a plea for mercy. Duncan hit the boy in the plexus, then on the back of the head. The boy passed out. Duncan then started to pretend to hit the boy over and over again, while discretely pouring a bit of spoiled ketchup, that he found, on the boy’s “wounds”. Now the producers were going to think he simply didn’t realize he didn’t kill the boy. However, that depended on what he was going to do when he woke up. With a cruel voice, Duncan spoke.
“Mess with the best, you die like the rest. Here’s your flail, dumbass.”
He pushed the flail with the foot towards the “dead body” and walked towards the door twirling his staff.
“David Copperfield, eat your heart out…” he thought to himself. However, he needed to be more careful in the future. His plan was to avoid conflict, let the others kill each other, if it could not be prevented and then go one on one with the final contestant. What he would do then, was going to depend on whom the other person was. If he would manage to get that far.
El Stormo - July 4, 2005 11:25 PM (GMT)
In a destroyed office building, a dazed kid walked out into the sunlight. His body was covered in bruises, but he wasn't seriously wounded. He had thought he was when he saw all the red on his body, but it had turned out to be ketchup. He had been panicked at first, and then relieved, even though the ketchup stank horribly.
The fat kid squinted against the sunlight, which felt warm on his face. he'd been granted a second chance. And he'd use it to save the remaining contestants! Somehow he would-
His chest burst apart and the kid was lifted off his legs and slammed into the wall behind him. His glasses hung crooked on his face and the sunlight glinted off them as he died.
In the air, an ASM Mark II flew off in search for another victim.
Skwid - July 10, 2005 06:39 AM (GMT)
Jonah was racing through alleyways, attempting to keep out of sight. He wasn't sure where he was headed...he only knew he wanted to get there quickly. Weaving in and out of ripped up buildings to maintain his cover, he lost his footing and pulled a perfect 10 face dive into the outside corner of a brick wall. Within a few seconds of lying on the ground, he could feel the blood trickling down his temple.
"Fuck." It was more of an exclamation of self disappointment, rather than anger or frustration. He sat up, and wiped the grit from his hands. Reaching into his pouch,
Well, it's mine 'now', anyway...he thought,
he took out a piece of the rat he cooked the night before and nibbled on it. He didn't know where his next meal was coming from, so he was rationing the rodent. He pondered his course. He tried to determine where he had come from, hoping he hadn't come full circle. He put his hand down to push himself up, when he heard a faint whistle.
No...he thought, not a whistle. A scream.
But it wasn't a human scream. It was more like the scream of a jet bursting through the air at breakneck speeds. He looked up the alley, and the sun shone through from the east side.
It was the sun that saved his life.
He caught a glimpse of a flash...only momentarily...as it passed through the sunbeam from the east. Jonah dropped to his back and rolled to his left, watching as a flat round metal object whizzed by him and embedded itself into a distant wall.
He looked ahead again to see where it came from, but no assailant could be found. Not wanting to risk his luck, he began running back towards the piece of metal that had nearly ended his life.
It was a sawblade.
"Sonuvabitch...", Jonah touhed it, feeling the heat still encasing it. "Did I ever pick the wrong guy to roll over. A fucking flashlight!"
He could hear the whistle (no, scream of another blade kareening towards him. He ducked into the nearest nook, as the second blade stuck close to the first. He tried to yank on the second one, since it wasn't as deep as the first, but to no avail. Trapped in a dead end, he would have to go towards his would-be killer if he was to get out of this alive. He had no way of knowing how much ammunition this person had, and didn't want to be a sitting duck waiting to find out. One thing he was sure of, is that it was a single shot weapon...and chances are he would have some time to reach the east opening where the sun shone through. Jonah eased out of the nook again, and began to make his way up the alley, cocking his ear to hear the scream sound of the next blade. In the distance, the sun must be sitting differently, as he catches the gleam of something moving around. Now running, he reaches the east alley and emerges around the other side of the building. It would take some guesswork to figure out where his opponent was, and hope that they couldn't figure out where he'd be coming out at such a close range...as he wouldn't have time to dodge a bullet a screaming saw blade bullet at that speed.
Jonah jolted in and out of alleys and buildings again, keeping his steps light, but swift. Stopping at a corner, he carefully peered around. Nothing. He slowly made his way along the wall to the other corner...then heard the shifting of stones behind him. He bolted quickly around the corner without even looking behind him, knowing the blade had barely missed him. He heard it hit something off in the distance, but instead of sticking, it riccoched off and bounced around and back towards him, but not near the speed it should have. It wobbled uncontrollably through the air and dropped a few yards away from him. Jonah quickly snatched it up in his hand and rounded the building again, this time making a wider arc to where he had been, hoping to come up behind his attacker. Up the pathway, he hugged the wall hoping to come up directly behind them. As he neared the corner, he noticed the heel of a foot sticking out.
Doesn't much matter who it is...I'll have to kill 'em eventually.Jonah thought quickly, Let's just hope it's the sonuvabitch that owns this damn blade...
Jonah got to the corner and swung his arm around it, with the blade in a discus throwing like position. He felt the metal teeth sink into his assailant, and a gurgled scream a different scream come out of his mystery person. He let the blade go as the body fell to the ground with a thud.
A wave of relief swept over him, and he waited a moment before rounding the corner. Sweeping his hair back out of his eyes, and wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked around, and was shocked to see what was lying on the ground at his feet.
The body of a girl, no older than 15 or 16 years old.
"Jesus..." Jonah whispered, though he knew Jesus had nothing to do with this. "Who the fuck are these people?!"
Jonah reached down to feel for a pulse, knowing there wasn't one before he even began the act itself. He dragged her lifeless body into the closest entrance of the nearest building. The rats would get to her, but it's the best he could do for a burial.
He slung the 'gun' over his shoulder, and headed back towards the wall with the two embedded blades. If he could dig them out, they would at least be two more shots. Thinking about it, he first went back to her body, and found a sack on her hip. Inside was four more shots, plus the one in her throat. That's seven in total if he can get out the other two.
"Better than nothing, I suppose." Jonah said to himself.
As he made his way to the other blades, he began to think of just what kind of 'game' he was in.
And he wondered if getting to Talia was worth the price of a young girl's life.
El Stormo - July 14, 2005 10:52 AM (GMT)
Eric Sheithauer immediately knew a kindred spirit roamed around the battlefield when he saw the kid lying on the ground, in the sun, with flies already buzzing around the corpse. He had been shot in the belly twice, had his hands blown to shreds and a round pumped in both shoulders. And a high-velocity cartridge had made red and yellow mush out of his skull. Whoever had done this was a combatant worthy of him. He already imagined the glory and the awe of the viewers as he and the other one, the last men standing, took on each other in mortal combat. It would make all the previous battles put together pale. And they would not breathe until the fight was over, and greet the victor with applause and roars, while the loser lies in the dust.
And the funny thing was, he didn't care if he won or lost. All that matters was that he and this beast would face off as the last combatants. That was his goal and he would cut through hordes of contestants to achieve it, and he was certain the other would do the same.
Looshkin - July 21, 2005 12:56 PM (GMT)
Hank Black woke up. The last couple of weeks had been a blur. He could remember running from some stupid looking robots, and taking cover in an old 7/11. This is what he missed. The exileration of the chase, the excitement of the kill, the adrenaline pumping through his body as he reduced a gook's head to jelly with the butt of his rifle. Wait, he thought, that was before this. For a brief moment he thought he was back in the jungle, but the dire greyness of the landscape brought him back to reality.
So far he'd only encountered one person in the long weeks since his being dumped in this twisted urban nightmare. He had heard several explosions in the first days, but it had been quiet since. He was a man on a mission, he would show them all.
All he had wanted was to be recognised and applauded, they had promised him a parade, medals, speeches. They had said he would be a hero. They had lied. He had seen Rambo, and thought it was entirely inaccurate. That's not what happened. There was no cavalry to save the day, and wounds could not be patched up with a flaming brand.
The poor schmuk he had met was half dead from blood loss. He seemed to be a soldier of some kind, from the ASA Marine Corp. fatigues he wore. Half of his face was missing and his left leg had been severed below the knee. It looked like someone had attacked him with a sword judging from the wounds inflicted. The fool was unconsious when he found him, so he ended his suffering by snapping his neck. Whatever weapon he had was long gone, but while Hank searched his body for rations he found an object in the guy's trouser pocket. It seemed to be a painter device, the type used for pinpoint missile strikes. Pocketing he painter he had dragged the body into a safe spot he had spent a week keeping low and lit a fire with the flame thrower he had chosen at the start fo this ordeal, and began to cook the body of the dead marine. Desperate times called for desperate measures and he hadn't eaten for six days.
His thoughts returned to the present and looked around for any sign of the robots. I wouldn't mind one of those minguns, he thought. Making his way back to his base camp, he pulled out a piece of meat and ate as he moved. Staying too long in one place was risky but in this environment it paid to stay put and wait for the enemy to come to him, as he rounded the corner to his camp, Hank stumbled on some loose debris and cracked his head on the floor. Stephen got back up straight away, and looked around in shock.
"Where the hell am I?" said Stephen Black, "What's going on?"
Looking around Stephen saw the remains of a dead body lying in a pile of ashes. It looked like he had been cooked. Looking at his hands, Stephen noticed a piece of meat in his hands. "Oh, sweet Jesus, no?" He exclaimed, then retched. Stephen threw up. His mind was reeling from shock. He didn't know where he was or why he was here. He had a flame thrower slung accross his back, where'd he get that from? Was it this guy's on the floor? Tears ran down his face and Stephen sat down and cried.
After about an hour Stephen got up shakily, and felt about his body for some sort of clue as to where he was. He turned up an ID card saying his name was Hank Black, 26, from Seattle, Contestant No. 88. I'm Stephen Black, he thought, and apart from the last name and this guys age, everything else is wrong. Contestant? That made no sense, and who was this Hank Black. Seattle? I'm from Indianapolis.
He felt around a bit more and found the painter. He couldn't identify it though, but thinking it may come in handy later on he re-pocketed the item.
Stephen decided to explore this vision of hell he was in. What had happened? Did the city get hit by a nuke or something? Am I still in Indianapolis? To answer these questions, Stephen went into the ruins, to search for his answers.
El Stormo - July 24, 2005 09:16 PM (GMT)
"So..." the kid apparently called Axel began. "You're the first people I see who actually talk instead of shooting and hacking as much as they can."
Thomas shrugged. "I guess we both feel that this contest is insane."
Erin nodded in agreement.
"And now there's three of us," Greene continued. "That's good."
Axel shrugged. "Still, only three out of a hundred. Not exactly impressive, is it?"
"Maybe not," said Erin, "but it's better than being alone. At least this way we also have a fighting chance against those bastards who don't want to talk."
Thomas nodded. "Yeah. I'm willing to bet that few people are willing to exchange pleasantries in this place."
Everyone fell silent, looking out with grim faces and thinking their own thoughts.
At length Erin asked, "Can you use that rifle, Axel?"
The kid shrugged in reply. "I would, if it still had ammunition."
"So you're just left with a club?" Thomas asked.
The kid shrugged again. "Guess so."
Greene chuckled. "See how smart I was to pick the cattle-prod?"
El Stormo - July 24, 2005 10:07 PM (GMT)
Episode 6 - 9th of March 2026 - Ways to Die: 35
"Des Rodrick is at it again, ladies and gentlemen!" Talia chimes to the audience. "Watch!"
For the first time, we actually see the elusive Des Rodrick, the current killer king. Many viewers were expecting a brutal commando-style guerrillero, and so the crowd falls silent in surprise when we finally see Des Rodrick.
He is sitting on a pile of rocks, next to a dead body, with his face in his hands. At length he gets up and starts shifting rocks. He looks incredibly average, with his hair combed casually into a division, his white shirt with the top button undone and sleeveless red pullover. When he's through shifting rocks, he picks up the maimed body (it seems to have no insides left, only a bloody spine connects the two halves) and drags it to the depression he's made. Then, he carefully replaces the rocks on top of the body and walks away, collecting his weapon. It looks like a large gun, but unlike any we've ever seen before. Rodrick must have finished second on his preliminary.
Talia turns back to the audience, letting the image sink in for a while. Eventually she says, "Well, that wasn't what I expected."
The crowd remains silent.
"But we still have Sheithauer and Jones for your pleasure, don't we, beloved audience!"
The audience gets out of its apathy and applauds vigorously.
Talia turns around, the seat of her blue-jeans stretched tight over her magnificent backside. Her hair has been tied into a long braid which falls over her back, stroking her strategically torn white T-shirt whenever she moves. She stops, turns back to the audience and ponders, a slim, well-manicured finger on her gleaming, full lower lip. "You know, with all these cheaters lately, we haven't shown a lot of fights anymore, like back in the good old days, when it started. Why don't we do so now."
The screen goes black and then we see the all-too-familiar vista of a person sneaking through some part of the ruined city. This time it's a woman in her late twenties. She has jet-black hair and coffee-and-cream skin. She's holding a large knife. Suddenly she sneaks off into the ruin of what
used to be a bookstore - imagine that! A store where they still sold books!
Suddenly, Eric Sheithauer pounces from the shadows, and swinging his katana with a murderous howl, he slashes straight across the woman's belly. The woman shrieks and drops her knife, trying to hold her bowels in, but they slide out in a ropy, bright red mass between her fingers. She staggers a few paces and then Sheithauer swings again, with all his might, aiming at her neck. The blow lands true and he hacks off the woman's head. It thumps to the ground and the woman's body flops down right after, with a wet splat. Blood and intestines are everywhere, including on Sheithauer's clothes. He grins, and we can almost see him thinking: your turn, mysterious adversary!
Talia mutters under her breath, but loud enough to be heard, "Fucking nigger bitch."
The crowd applauds.