15strangers | Fighting For Your Life!

WELL SH*IKSSHSH*

[The first thing you feel when you finally come to is a headache.

The bad thing is that it's not even a painful headache - it's one of those annoying headaches that's just below the threshold of pain, and it's centered right in the middle of your forehead. Just...ugh. Where's the aspirin?

For that matter, actually, where are you? This is not your beautiful house! In fact, as get out of your bed, you realize this place isn't even remotely a home. And whatever you're wearing isn't even remotely what you recall wearing. ~~(I mean, yeah, it's not uncomfortable, and whoever dressed you was kind enough to make sure you had underwear on, I suppose. That's one less thing to worry about, right?)~~

Also, you have a weird wrist...watch...comm...thing on you, which is nice. Or at least it would be, if it and every other computer in the place didn't suddenly start making the second most ungodly noise you will no doubt come to hear in this place. The noise is followed by a a message on every desktop in the area, which won't be disappearing any time soon. Thankfully, your nifty wristwatch comm is spared this unavoidable screen, and tapping a button let's it disappear to reveal a simple profile interface, alongside a a text, calling, and photo function. Something tells you those latter two won't be particularly useful to you in the long run.

In any case, apparently you now have a Title, as well as a power, even if you've never had one before. Why? Where the hell are you? Who else is with you? Can you get out?

And...is someone laughing? The sound seems to bounce off and echo faintly throughout the floors. It's high-pitched, and - as you get closer to the theater - it gets just a little louder and just a little more grating. It sounds like a rabid hyena that huffed helium. Hopefully, it's just a movie or something that can be turned off. Someone ought to go in and do that.

In the meantime, welcome, Titled - and good luck.

There are fifteen strangers in this place.]

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Mister Yurick, then. And I don't know, I don't think people will really care, given we were all sort of kidnapped.

[ He pauses to consider the second bit. ]

I... can't say, for that one. You'd have to ask whoever kidnapped us.

Just Yurick is fine.

[Well, maybe he'll stay in the suit until he finds his gear. Running around mostly naked means he'll be vulnerable, not that he's sure how much damage this odd suit can take.]

Wonderful. And I don't suppose they'll be very forthcoming with answers. We might not even see them.

I don't know, the cackling suggests otherwise. They're probably in the theater.

[ Just saying. ]

Glad they're so amused. They won't be, once we drag them out of that room and give them hell.

[Personally, he's going to give whoever it is the hotfoot of a lifetime.]

... What part of this is "we"?

[ Staaaaaaaring. ]

I read those rules. I'd rather not risk getting anyone else killed. This body doesn't really particularly matter, but...

... what rules?

[Yeah, someone was too distracted by panic and claustrophobia/cleithrophobia to notice what was on those monitor things.]

The ones posted in the rooms... do you need me to read them to you?

[ Just asking. ]

I can read, I simply didn't notice them at the time.

[You saw him freaking out, right? He's lucky he didn't run into anything with the inside of the helmet fogged up.]

... Well, I would implore you to read them, even if they're somewhat mind-bogglingly stupid in terms of writing execution.

[ Seriously, whoever wrote those rules probably talks like they write. ]

[Since he's just outside the room he woke up in, Yurick turns and marches back inside. So there really are words on that strange statue, glowing as if by magic. Somehow he can understand them, though they're not in the language of the Empire.

His eyes narrow when he reaches number 7, his fists clenching on top of the desk.]

... so that's what this is. Some noble's wretched idea of sport, with expendable common lives.

So it seems.

[ He sighs. ]

A bit unfair, isn't it?

When is life ever fair?

[Wow, that is a lot of bitterness suddenly. The temperature of the room practically drops from all that frost.]

I'm not about to let any of you lot kill me, you can be sure of that.

Well, if it's any consolation, I have little reason to be committing murder. It would be inefficient for me to return to my Heavenly Host that way.

Forgive me if I'm still skeptical. Trust in strangers tends to lead to knives buried in your back.

... I can understand the mentality, at least.

[ He looks down. There's a small, sad smile. ]

You never know who will hurt you. When you'll next be the person on the floor, bleeding, while everyone else watches and jeers. Humans are parasites.

More like stray dogs, either cowering from life's cruelties or tearing at others for whatever scraps they can find. And then there are the kennel-masters, the wealthy, who have made all those they deem lesser into those very dogs.

[Yurick shrugs.]

But yes, the comparisons are both apt.

[ He wears a pleasant smile a little too easy upon hearing that. ]

Of course. It's only human nature for the greedy to continue to be greedy.

And for the kind to never learn to prevent others from taking advantage of them. Kindness, naivete, compassion... the world at large always seeks to prey on those things.

[Why are these two such pessimists? They're feeding each other's cynicism.]

[ C is a nihilistic soul, that's why. NEVER-ENDING CHAIN OF PESSIMISM. ]

... It's true. It's often the kindest souls that get hurt the worst.

[ He smiles, but it's sad. He might be thinking of someone in particular. ]

Those kinds of things are never going to change, but... that doesn't mean there aren't going to be others who don't think that way. All you can really hope to do is help them.

Help them....

[The blurred face, the distorted voice, the missing name... Yurick knows someone gained more than his trust, even became his dearest friend. That person helped him time and again when he needed someone.

He remembers that he felt something brighter through the clouds of his melancholy in that person's presence.]

Is it worth it? Helping someone when you might never be repaid? Caring when it could be thrown back in your face when you least expect it?

... If you'd asked me that before I met someone very important to me, I might have said no. But I have seen firsthand that at least trying makes a difference, as long as the person is good inside.

[ ... Besides. Charlotte would be sad to hear him completely given up on people. What kind of God would he be? ]

It's just that sometimes, those people aren't easy to find in the crowd of bad people.

Fighting For Your Life!

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