Re: DEATHGAME 9000 [S!3] Round One: Gamexus X99
02-22-2012, 08:32 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Snowyowl.
Weaver arrived in the city after only a short time, and parked the car by the time-tested technique of stalling the engine and letting it drift to a stop in the middle of the road. He checked the glovebox and a few likely looking hidey-holes to see if someone had left a weapon in here. This was a military vehicle. Perhaps there would be some spare guns in here, in case the driver lost his or ran out of ammo... but no, there was nothing. A pity. He got out of the car and left it stuck across both lanes. If anyone came down the street, they would have to either move it themselves or drive past on the pavement. Weaver scanned around at the generic-looking office blocks, then strode down the street, looking for a map or a tourist office... or ideally, some sign of the other contestants.
The few other pedestrians looked briefly at Weaver as he passed, then carried on with their routine as though they hadn't seen anything unusual. Weaver didn't think much on this, only noting briefly that it was very convenient for him that nobody here paid too much attention to him. If he'd been better at reading faces, he would have seen that each time someone looked at him, the same emotions flickered briefly across their features: confusion, suspicion, fear, and then burning anger. Then they suddenly returned to their normal routine, as though they'd forgotten entirely that they'd seen anything at all. But each time the anger lasted a millisecond longer.
The city was aware that something was happening, though it didn't fully understand what. It was something like a niggling headache, or a smudge on a pair of glasses, or a faint buzzing sound almost but not quite too high to hear. Something was out of place, some outsider was interfering with the proper running of the city. It couldn't quite understand where the intrusion was - the general unfamiliarity of this place didn't help - but it would soon enough.
Moods and emotions rippled through the city like water, bouncing off walls and building on each other. Without anything seeming to change, a few people who before had been striding through their domains with confidence, knowing what they were going to do and where they were going to do it, now patrolled cautiously, squinting occasionally, on the lookout for anything or anyone that could pose a threat to them.
Weaver was 620 meters from his car, in the direction he had mentally labelled "North", when he heard raised voices from an alley on his right.
"Money and watch. Now."
"I... I don't..."
Weaver peered down the alley. The city was very foggy, and he couldn't see very far, but he made out the silhouette of one man pointing his switchblade at another. He silently walked forward for a closer look.
"Din' you hear me? Gimme all your money, an' that fancy watch o' yours. Or I'mma stab you. NOW!"
"Alright! All right... I'm giving it to you. Cool it."
The victim pulled his wallet out of his pocket and held it out. The mugger lowered his knife, and reached out to take the wallet, when his victim tried to hit him with a right hook. The mugger saw it coming, and easily dodged the blow before stabbing his victim in the gut.
"Dumb goof." muttered the mugger, as his victim curled up on the floor. He picked up the wallet, checked the money inside it, glanced once behind him (not reacting to Weaver's presence), and ran off in the other direction.
Weaver ran up to the injured man. "Are you fatally hurt?" The man didn't respond, clutching his wound and sobbing in pain. "Hey." Weaver tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. The man squinted up at him, then his eyes widened. "I said, are you badly injured?"
"Money and watch. Now." said a familiar voice.
Weaver turned around slowly, and straightened up to his full height - which was a head and a half taller than the mugger. Intimidation should work, and if the mugger called his bluff, well, knife wounds wouldn't hurt much. "Interesting. How and why did you come back here so quickly?"
"Din' you hear me?"
"Actually, no." The mugger had somehow turned around and run back here without making a sound. Remarkable. "That is to say I heard your questi-"
"Gimme all your money, an' that fancy... uh..." The mugger blinked, as though seeing Weaver properly for the first time.
"I don't carry any money." That wasn't strictly true, but Weaver doubted the mugger had the technology to use any of the currencies he was carrying. "This man needs help. I have transport. Where is the nearest emergency room?"
"What? Who?" stuttered the mugger. This wasn't how it usually happened. "What are you?"
"The man you stabbed." Weaver gestured downwards at the - at the empty space where the victim had been seconds earlier. "Oh." So... people here were capable of teleportation? Did they have control over this ability? Or maybe they were not real people, but some sort of robot or recording, with a malfunction? Or Weaver had somehow travelled a few seconds back in time? Was any of that even possible?
The mugger started to panic. Usually people just gave in when they saw he was armed and they weren't. Sometimes they tried to fight back. When they did... ah. The panic washed away. He was back on familiar territory.
Weaver's train of thought was interrupted when the mugger stabbed him in the gut, glanced once behind him, and turned to run. Weaver grabbed his arm and held him back. The mugger struggled, then Weaver took him by the shoulder, held him still, and bent down so they were face-to-face. The mugger saw Weaver's perfectly expressionless face, the way his mouth that didn't move when he talked, and his complete indifference to the knife still stuck in him. He panicked again. Then Weaver said, with no more emotion in his voice than before,
"Please take me to whoever's in charge."
Weaver arrived in the city after only a short time, and parked the car by the time-tested technique of stalling the engine and letting it drift to a stop in the middle of the road. He checked the glovebox and a few likely looking hidey-holes to see if someone had left a weapon in here. This was a military vehicle. Perhaps there would be some spare guns in here, in case the driver lost his or ran out of ammo... but no, there was nothing. A pity. He got out of the car and left it stuck across both lanes. If anyone came down the street, they would have to either move it themselves or drive past on the pavement. Weaver scanned around at the generic-looking office blocks, then strode down the street, looking for a map or a tourist office... or ideally, some sign of the other contestants.
The few other pedestrians looked briefly at Weaver as he passed, then carried on with their routine as though they hadn't seen anything unusual. Weaver didn't think much on this, only noting briefly that it was very convenient for him that nobody here paid too much attention to him. If he'd been better at reading faces, he would have seen that each time someone looked at him, the same emotions flickered briefly across their features: confusion, suspicion, fear, and then burning anger. Then they suddenly returned to their normal routine, as though they'd forgotten entirely that they'd seen anything at all. But each time the anger lasted a millisecond longer.
The city was aware that something was happening, though it didn't fully understand what. It was something like a niggling headache, or a smudge on a pair of glasses, or a faint buzzing sound almost but not quite too high to hear. Something was out of place, some outsider was interfering with the proper running of the city. It couldn't quite understand where the intrusion was - the general unfamiliarity of this place didn't help - but it would soon enough.
Moods and emotions rippled through the city like water, bouncing off walls and building on each other. Without anything seeming to change, a few people who before had been striding through their domains with confidence, knowing what they were going to do and where they were going to do it, now patrolled cautiously, squinting occasionally, on the lookout for anything or anyone that could pose a threat to them.
Weaver was 620 meters from his car, in the direction he had mentally labelled "North", when he heard raised voices from an alley on his right.
"Money and watch. Now."
"I... I don't..."
Weaver peered down the alley. The city was very foggy, and he couldn't see very far, but he made out the silhouette of one man pointing his switchblade at another. He silently walked forward for a closer look.
"Din' you hear me? Gimme all your money, an' that fancy watch o' yours. Or I'mma stab you. NOW!"
"Alright! All right... I'm giving it to you. Cool it."
The victim pulled his wallet out of his pocket and held it out. The mugger lowered his knife, and reached out to take the wallet, when his victim tried to hit him with a right hook. The mugger saw it coming, and easily dodged the blow before stabbing his victim in the gut.
"Dumb goof." muttered the mugger, as his victim curled up on the floor. He picked up the wallet, checked the money inside it, glanced once behind him (not reacting to Weaver's presence), and ran off in the other direction.
Weaver ran up to the injured man. "Are you fatally hurt?" The man didn't respond, clutching his wound and sobbing in pain. "Hey." Weaver tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. The man squinted up at him, then his eyes widened. "I said, are you badly injured?"
"Money and watch. Now." said a familiar voice.
Weaver turned around slowly, and straightened up to his full height - which was a head and a half taller than the mugger. Intimidation should work, and if the mugger called his bluff, well, knife wounds wouldn't hurt much. "Interesting. How and why did you come back here so quickly?"
"Din' you hear me?"
"Actually, no." The mugger had somehow turned around and run back here without making a sound. Remarkable. "That is to say I heard your questi-"
"Gimme all your money, an' that fancy... uh..." The mugger blinked, as though seeing Weaver properly for the first time.
"I don't carry any money." That wasn't strictly true, but Weaver doubted the mugger had the technology to use any of the currencies he was carrying. "This man needs help. I have transport. Where is the nearest emergency room?"
"What? Who?" stuttered the mugger. This wasn't how it usually happened. "What are you?"
"The man you stabbed." Weaver gestured downwards at the - at the empty space where the victim had been seconds earlier. "Oh." So... people here were capable of teleportation? Did they have control over this ability? Or maybe they were not real people, but some sort of robot or recording, with a malfunction? Or Weaver had somehow travelled a few seconds back in time? Was any of that even possible?
The mugger started to panic. Usually people just gave in when they saw he was armed and they weren't. Sometimes they tried to fight back. When they did... ah. The panic washed away. He was back on familiar territory.
Weaver's train of thought was interrupted when the mugger stabbed him in the gut, glanced once behind him, and turned to run. Weaver grabbed his arm and held him back. The mugger struggled, then Weaver took him by the shoulder, held him still, and bent down so they were face-to-face. The mugger saw Weaver's perfectly expressionless face, the way his mouth that didn't move when he talked, and his complete indifference to the knife still stuck in him. He panicked again. Then Weaver said, with no more emotion in his voice than before,
"Please take me to whoever's in charge."