ayamketimun, if you return from wherever you dropped off the grid to, please let me know. I really don't like claiming forfeits.

Anyway!



ator?”

“Precisely that.”

Unadulterated confusion flashed on the redhead’s face, her perception of the tattooed man before her flickering back and forth like a flame in the breeze. As he dug through the suitcases he brought to the cheap motel however, her look went unnoticed. After clearing her throat however, she made herself heard. “The RHG aren’t assassins, Serif. They can’t just send one of their people to attack some random civilian.”

“Assassins slay specific people, Annabelle, and that was no random assault. I’m their target.”

“But the RHG wouldn’t-”

“They did.” Withdrawing a photograph from the luggage, he turned to depart his room only to see the woman block the doorway. “Please move.”

Her emerald eyes drilled into his bright sapphires. “And if I do? What are you going to do when you get to the RHG building?”

“I’m going to speak with those in charge.”

“And in what tone with you be doing that?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Annabelle.”

“This does concern me! Have you seen my lobby? All the blood you spilled in my lobby?”

“I was defending myself. And I recall the man saying you’d be reimbursed.”

“You didn’t even try talking to him, and that’s not why I’m fired up! There was a fight out of the blue at the motel I manage! What if I had people inside? It could be death to my business, them, I’m already going to have to close for a few days -which my dad is going to love when he finds out- and you can bet every ounce of ink on your body they won’t cover my downtime! I’m just as invested in this as you are.”

“I highly doubt that.” Serif went to step forward, but the woman wouldn’t budge. The wailing of a siren could just begin to be picked up underneath the ambient music from the hall. “Annabelle, please move.”

“If you storm the RHG building, there will be dozens of other fighters, just like Proton, all bent on killing you if you start something.”

“Then I’ll make sure I’m not caught on my way to the top.”

“Listen to me, dammit!” Cracking on the curse, her voice emitted a shrill screech. “You need to talk to these people, Serif! That’s what they are, okay? They’re people. Sometimes good people who listen and talk back. And what do you mean you won’t get caught? You can barely walk! You’re bleeding, broken and exhausted!”

His eyes narrowed as the sirens grew louder, but she continued holding her ground.

“Then what do you suggest.”

“They’ll be sending someone here to buy my footage. Just wait here, I’ll do the talking.”

“And why is that?”

“...Have you listened to yourself lately?”



There was just something about violence that just so… unifying? Malcolm Mars felt his body tremble with how accurate the word felt. Somehow, one way or another people always came together to destroy each other, and somehow, one way or another, people always made a profit from it. A second shiver gripped Mal’s body, but what he couldn’t shake was that somehow he ended up being a part of it.

It started innocent enough, just a gag application, but when he was called for an interview he couldn’t come up with a lie convincing enough to miss it, and when he was there, he started internally justifying it. His goal was to be a CSI, and exposure to scenes could give him a closer understanding how it all happened, especially if he watched the fight after the fact.

But as he watched a crew of EMTs and paramedics drag a young man, broken and bloody, hardly moving, into an ambulance, he felt the last few strands of his faith in his ‘job’ begin to slip. Heaving in disheartedly however, he moved forward, pushing through the doors before him. Natural light poured in behind as he dragged his feet into the dim motel, sunshine dancing on the shattered glass, juxtaposed entirely to the scene before him. Craters seemed to be in the walls, and blood stoaked the carpet. Splattered splashed along the walls and origins points for injuries seemed far too high to be possible. Faint stains looked to be transferred along the ceiling and more was dripping off the walls. It was almost like the building had revolved for the two to fight.

“You’re with the RHG?”

Snapping back into reality, Malcolm’s head darted to the voice, stumbling to find words to reply with. The faint tremble in the girl’s tone pulled at the strands keeping himself together, and his own stuttering did nothing to ease matters. “Uh, y-yeah,” His entire neck tingled as discomfort seized him, breaking eye contact before even seeing the girl, “Why?” Before she could answer, it suddenly clicked that the gladiator who damn near killed the other neither left with the EMTs or was anywhere to be seen. “And wh-”

“Why?” It suddenly became aware to the intern that his missing man wasn’t the only thing he should be afraid of. “There was a brink-of-deathmatch in my motel! What if I had clients?”

“Knowing this town it’d be good for business…”

“Even when you’re sending a trained swordsmen to fight a citizen?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Finally, Malcolm’s eyes met the redhead’s glaring green pair, serious as disease. “...Did Proton fight someone other than Serif Winters?”

“Oh no, they fought alright!”

Confounded, he squinted at her.

“What?”

“Mr. Winters registered himself as a combatant weeks ago. He just had his demonstration last night.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His pride at using her line died as her glare hardened, “...Unless you meant him and the guy whose hand he hacked off-” Her eyes popping told him that wasn’t the case, “-butthat’ssincebeenclearedup. Uh. What did he tell you?”

“...That he’s not a gladiator.”

“Then he lied to you.”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of that.”

The intern jerked at the new voice. Although just above a whisper, it was absolutely seething with rage, and the body it went with didn’t exactly calm him down. Coated in more ink that any gangster would dream of, a galactically tattooed man limped towards him, one hand bracing his clearly aching back as the other clutched a blade, the cause of most of the crimson stains. Malcolm swallowed hard.

“I swear, this is just a summer job!”

“Serif! I specifically said I’d do the talking!”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“What does that mean?!”
“What does that mean?! Jinx.”

The alleged gladiator sighed at the woman before facing the man once more. “Be honest with me and no harm will befall you.”

“No harm’s befalling him anyway!”

“It’s not?”

“Annabelle, I have no time for his games. I’ll do what I must.”

“Words speak loud enough! Just ask me what you want to know!”

Serif’s brow furrowed. “Why did you say I was a gladiator?”

“Because you are!”

“And why is that?”

“You signed up!”

The warrior stomped a step forward. “I suggest you rethink your answer.”

“We still have the footage! Hell, we even aired some of it when we got a message from The Messenger confirming you went through with your entry battle!”

“My…” Serif’s gaze wandered before a sudden click struck his mind, burning wrath ravaging his body, actively having to fight the urge to lunge over and slice him open, “A man is dead and a child is lost!”

“I only work here!”

“Serif, calm down!”

“Her abductors are over a half day ahead of me, and you’re telling me it’s because you think I enrolled in your petty sport? I don’t even know this land! She could be anywhere, alive or dead!”

“What the hell do you want me to say?” Reduced to a petrified shriek, Malcolm leaned back as far away as possible as he held his arms up to protect his face, as if it’d do him any good, “Ask the fans in the arena, I don’t know!”

“You d-”

“Serif! Thousands of people pay to watch these fights live… He might actually be onto something.”

Eyes burning like an exploding blue star, it took more than a few deep breaths to even begin to lower his voice. Trembling a few feet away, it took just as long, if not longer, for Malcolm to start to stabilize.

“Y-you j-just need an opponent to get in...”

Silence locked them in like a freeze frame, Winters’ cyan irises studying the shying man like an answer key. After what felt like hours to the panicked person, he finally spoke, unable to muster anything calmer than a growl. “Make it happen.”

“He means ‘please make it happen’. And ‘I’m sorry’.”

“No I don’t.”[/spoiler]


A low grumble drifted through the line as Feather dragged the phone closer to her face beneath the covers. “Do you have any idea what time it is this time?”

“Do you?”

Sunshine was bleeding into her motel room through the ragged curtains she’d fought to close the night before, but with eyes clamped so tight duct tape couldn’t do better, she genuinely had no idea. “Of course I do.”

“It’s 12:53.”

“What?”

“Knew it. But anyway!” Feather flinched as Owl clapped loudly into the device, glistening hair a disaster as she suddenly sat upright, “You need to wake up, I found an opponent for you! But how late were you up last night?”

“The Wi-Fi here is garbage, there were a lot of forms to fill out and a lot of terms to read. I don’t know, late? Who am I fighting?”

“‘The Hero of New Salem’, Serif Winters. He’s got a background in hunting, but from what I’m looking at, guns aren’t part of his arsenal.”

“What else would he hunt with? A bow?”

“La. Lots of them.”

It was way too early for that to make sense. Scanning for her brush, Feather finally started putting herself together. “Lots of ‘la’s?”

“Bolas. The thing on the string you throw to trip an animal? Well, apparently, this guy uses them. Getting tangled aside, they shouldn’t give you much trouble if what I’ve heard about you is correct-”

“What’ve you heard about me, exactly?”

“-But the metal ones would be worth watching out for. And how do you feel about knives?”

“They sting I guess? I mean, I’m not worried. Is it just a normal knife?”

“Great!”

“You can’t just cherry pick the questions you want to answer, you know.” Satisfied with her hair, she finally brought her laptop to life, screen already filled with pictures of a man with more ink than a graphic novel. “What do you want with this guy?”

“Honestly? This one’s more for you than me. You need to start your career with a win to get anything out of it, but also because there are some real monsters you might come across in this thing, and it’ll be nice if you could gain an ally.”

“But if he’s a cakewalk, why would I want his help?” Cycling through a few more pictures, a distorted frown conquered her expression without warning. “This guy? This guy’s going to help me?”

“You’re looking at the picture where he just stabbed the guy, aren’t you?”

The picture was so pixilated it could’ve been taken from a phone five years ago, but there was a distinct red streak coming from the blur she assumed was a knife. The guy he did it to had a sword at least, but she could almost hear his horrific scream through the image. “Yeah. Are you sure this guy’s a ‘hero’? But why would he help me? Or why would I want him to help me, for that matter.”

“Because he’s going through what you are.”

An elongated sigh drifted from her as she clicked a few of the other links she had, just a PDF and couple video files. “Right. So to get him on my side, I’m going to fight him. That’s how it works here?”

“Hey, I didn’t make the rules.”

[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]

Sitting in the clinic adjacent to the RHG building, Serif felt self loathing burn his insides as every minute slipped by. After chaos broke loose on The Messenger, he was minutes behind Olivia’s abductors, but fighting the current to swim to shore and collapsing in exhaustion as a result added almost ten hours. Two more after his engagement with Krystal, another before his introduction to Proton and now…

His eyes closed as he did his best to internalize his wrath. 48: That was always the magic number, the ticking clock to have a chance to solve a case, only to see it shatter into a fraction when it passed. At a quarter in he had almost nothing. If he believed in a god, any god, he would’ve prayed the RHG were involved just so he’d have a straw to grasp in the growing current. Knuckles popped as he clenched his fists, but a gentle palm found his shoulder in strong contrast.

“Hey,” Annabelle’s voice had a tender melody as she practically whispered in his ear, “Sometimes throwing a Hail Mary works.”

“I don’t know what that means, but thank you.”

“Just one more fight, okay? Get patched up and hang in there.”

[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]

’This is Olivia Topaz!” Serif’s booming voice burst like thunder against the chaos of clamoring fans, suddenly silenced by the strike as he tore a photograph out of his vest, “She’s an eight year old child who left her home with dreams in her eyes! Olivia wanted to see things, see things of wonder and watch what she’s never even dreamed of! Her only sin was the desire to know what lays beyond, and know what she could never otherwise comprehend! Her hopes perished before she even set foot on this land. A man who watched her grow was slain before her eyes, a man she could rely on, an man she depended on. The man who could bring her home is rotting beneath the sand, and now she’s petrified and alone, in an unknown land of death and terror! Olivia is an innocent blessing to all those around her, and now that beacon of joy risks fading into the abyss. All I ask is that you help find her. All I ask… is that you help me save her.’

“Hey, we’re almost ready for yo

Well I will say i'm a bit surprised he actually killed Feather. Of course it's common and fine in RHG and wRHG, but I didn't expect it from Serif.

Heh, she just needs CPR, he just couldn't feel her pulse either way and didn't really do anything about it

You don't need to come up with an excuse as to why Strikebound is alive. It doesn't bother me, I just wanted an explanation as to why Serif killed him when his personality and past habits show he wouldn't. (Side note: am I misreading him? It says he can do bad things for good people but would he if he had other choices?)

Heh, it wasn't an excuse, when I wrote it I planned on Feather having survived the encounter (and hoped to work with ayamketimun for a small crossover at some point in the future), but as far as his willingness to kill her (or the other people he crossed paths with so far) goes, when he's defending himself in what he views as life or death, his opponent living doesn't matter. He needs to survive to find Olivia to get home, and he wouldn't risk that by opening himself up with pulled punches. Additionally, he has a pretty bad taste from the RHG in his mouth. They've sent people to attack him, twice, which played a direct hand in losing Olivia initially, as well as many of the other injuries he sustained. It's partially their fault, they've left him weak and they're making him lose precious time.

Furthermore, the gladiators are in a blood-sport intentionally, so he essentially has no faith that good people are lining up to beat/maim/murder one another. He doesn't know Feather's backstory, but he sees that she's one of them, and he knew going in that he was in no condition to let it go any longer than it had to. He was just there to get his message out, he doesn't care if people who spread death die or how they do it.

Context for the first encounter would largely determine how things would go with him. He's heavily on guard at the moment and hugely suspicious of everyone (except Annabelle), but like, if you met him at a Starbucks getting a coffee or some other casual thing, he wouldn't go straight for a face-stab or something.

Unless you were like, one specific person. Then maybe.

Quote from Crank

Heh, it wasn't an excuse, when I wrote it I planned on Feather having survived the encounter (and hoped to work with ayamketimun for a small crossover at some point in the future), but as far as his willingness to kill her (or the other people he crossed paths with so far) goes, when he's defending himself in what he views as life or death, his opponent living doesn't matter. He needs to survive to find Olivia to get home, and he wouldn't risk that by opening himself up with pulled punches. Additionally, he has a pretty bad taste from the RHG in his mouth. They've sent people to attack him, twice, which played a direct hand in losing Olivia initially, as well as many of the other injuries he sustained. It's partially their fault, they've left him weak and they're making him lose precious time.

Furthermore, the gladiators are in a blood-sport intentionally, so he essentially has no faith that good people are lining up to beat/maim/murder one another. He doesn't know Feather's backstory, but he sees that she's one of them, and he knew going in that he was in no condition to let it go any longer than it had to. He was just there to get his message out, he doesn't care if people who spread death die or how they do it.

Context for the first encounter would largely determine how things would go with him. He's heavily on guard at the moment and hugely suspicious of everyone (except Annabelle), but like, if you met him at a Starbucks getting a coffee or some other casual thing, he wouldn't go straight for a face-stab or something.

Unless you were like, one specific person. Then maybe.

It just seemed kind of strange since he put effort into sparing Krystal and Proton. At least at the end. And it doesn't help that Strikebound even offered to end the fight. By the way, how would you feel about facing me some time when i'm not so busy?

I'd be more than happy to, just hit me up!

And actually, he didn't. He only turned back for Krystal after he found out he was wrong about her, and with Proton, he considered finishing him off, but didn't because he was out of the moment and was more concerned about who send him. What set Feather apart from both of them was that he needed the win to try to raise mass awareness about Olivia so he couldn't back down, Feather proved right away that it'd take much more to defeat her when she showed him that his knife wouldn't hurt her, and that it remained in the moment until the bubbles stopped. He was close to blacking out towards the end of it, so he didn't see her give up under the water, but he did ultimately drag her out of it once he was sure she wasn't a threat anymore.

I hope that clears things up!