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That’s totally fine!
Oh, yeah you can use Jonathan if there is a worthy time! He’s not really a fighter (retired fighter perhaps) but he’s extremely dedicated to his job. He’ll go through anything to deliver valuable mail lol. Do you need any details about him? (If you do want to include him just ask me for whatever you need)
"And so I left this world just as I had entered it. Confused."
He does not need to fight at all! Yes, you can give me a little bio if you want to.
“Everything is a mountain”
Ok! And if you don’t end up using him for anything, that’s a-ok.
Jonathan Ledger
Jonathan is a traveling mailman from the outside world of ATOH. He carries mail for anyone, no matter which bunker or location on the outside. Jonathan is caring, and hates to see others hurting. He has roughly 8 kids in adoptive family, and many others he provides for. He has dark skin and hair, and a short beard. He wears hiking boots and outdoors clothes with a large sidebag for his mail, and a backpack for supplies. I think I said he was 43 on the other page? Yeah, we’ll go 42 lol.
"And so I left this world just as I had entered it. Confused."
@whalekeeper ahh ok.
I thought of an ending if you haven’t written that yet, that most of the characters get out okay because I’m seeing wayyy to many good characters here that will vanish into nothing if they lose, which they will.
You don’t have to use this if you don’t want to, but the idea I had was that there’s a rule that states the winner can bring all the other characters back and send them home, but only if they give up their own life in the process. That might make it interesting if someone like Crosshair or Alpha wins.
Let’s use Crosshair as an example. He wins, he gets whatever spoils this place is giving him, and he’s tempted to walk out….but then he remembers all the characters he’s had to kill to get her. Their names. Their personalities. Maybe he remembers, say, the joking conversation he had with Mundy on the way to the ship before they got captured. Or he remembers overhearing Riker saying he has to win this to return to his family. Or he recalls the fear in November’s or Joe’s eyes right before Cross delivered a killing blow. And he decides that whatever he won, isn’t worth the total and complete annihilation of all these people. He’s done a lot of bad things under the Empire, but he could make these twenty or so characters’ lives better.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
AHHHH 🤩🤩 Girl that was so good!! It was perfect, you wrote Dylan better than I do😂
And yes I agree with Loopy!! It’s meant to be fun, not perfect, and it’s so nice of you to take the time to write this! <3
#HugRikerSquad
also forgive me for any typos or poorly written thoughts. I was up at 10 last night writing that and my mom was yelling at me to go do something I’d promised to do with my brother before going to sleep.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
Thx for the thoughts. The ending is already planned out and I will not reveal anything. 😁
I’m so glad you approve of his scene!!! I was worried for a minute there because I don’t know what his everyday life is like.
“Everything is a mountain”
@whalekeeper nooooo I don’t want twenty-three characters to disappear into nothing forever
lol it’s your story do whatever you want and ignore my weird rants haha
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
@whalekeeper found another soundtrack!!
when the battle begins and twenty-four characters are spread throughout the landscape to find and kill each other, this is what echoes in their minds:
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
Cool, I listened to it while writing.
I’m still tinkering away at this! but casually. And I actually have to write future scenes before posting the next bit because of all the plot threads, deaths, etc etc etc.
“Everything is a mountain”
@whalekeeper lolll that meme
still waiting to see who dies first out of my two. They’ve been arguing about it for months.
Weird thing to argue about, but that’s dragon snipers for you.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
Heheheh 😈 Spoilers I guess, but the characters all end up in little groups, and Crosshair and Mundy are in the same group.
“Everything is a mountain”
@whalekeeper AHHHH SHE BROKE THE SILENCE AND ACTUALLY TOLD ME SOMETHING ABOUT MY CHARACTERS
lol
so they technically shouldn’t be trying to kill each other. But they probably will fight a lot. XD
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
@keilah-h @esther-c @lydibug @loopylin @jonas @godlyfantasy12 @freed_and_redeemed @smiley @grcr @highscribeofaetherium @rae @lightoverdarkness6
Warning, everyone… this part is pretty chaotic because everyone is in the same room, trying to figure out what is going on, talking over each other. This is also the exposition part.
Briefing Over Breakfast
The tributes walked into a large room, with sleek black walls falling to either side of them.
There was a long, black table, which stretched from one end of the room to the other. Food sparkled on enormous silver plates. Unfamiliar dishes dazzled them all with a variety of colors, from luscious ruby reds, to fruits with a dark golden sheen. The scents hit them twice as strongly, floating through the air with an almost palpable color of their own.
Arabella traced the tabletop with her finger, whispering, “This must be rare food.”
November tugged his ginger curls and nodded.
Arabella furrowed her brow. These people not only took the tributes from their homes, but had the gall to show off their beautiful wealth. Some of the tributes might have to survive on nuts and berries, for weeks at a time. None of this food was for a good cause.
Arabella didn’t like to speak ill of anybody. But underneath her nerves, a small twinge of anger tickled her mind.
As if to annoy them even further, a little girl pointed at a bowl with a label. It said: Do not touch.
Pieces of fruit filled the bowl, perfectly round and dripping with deep violet juice. They sparkled like jewels.
Ara let out a deep sigh. She looked around her for a moment, then lightly touched one of the fruits with her fingertips, just to prove she could do it without the world imploding.
A shot of energy burst up her arm, like static. Suddenly Ara had a strange feeling, almost as if eyes watched her from every corner of the room. She had crossed a boundary into another sense, which she did not know how to use. It made her feel both confident and guilty, and those emotions surprised her.
No one else touched it… This isn’t right.
Ara quickly pulled her fingers away, and studied the food with what must have been a thoughtful expression.
“Do you think we’ll get in trouble?” November asked over her shoulder.
It was best not to worry him. Ara put her hand in her pocket, and shook her head.
Everyone jumped. At the end of a table, a man sat in the head chair. He smiled at them all. He had a cheerful face, and his dark hair fell over his eyes in light swoops of black and violet. His long midnight sleeves ended in ink-stained hands. He had to be the President.
He waved his hand over the table. “Won’t you all join me for breakfast?”
“…No,” someone flatly stated.
“Master Haziair,” the President pointed a casual finger – a dark, metallic finger – at the tribute who spoke. “Thank you for speaking up. I am sorry they took your thoughts away. Would you like to sit next to me?”
Markus, who was already quiet to begin with, faded back into the group. But the barrier of silence was broken, and the complaints piled in, all directed towards the President. He smiled calmly as the voices rose.
“You took away my freedom.”
“…I needed to be there to protect, and you took me away. What if something is happening in my world?”
“Took my sword!”
“My gun -”
“My original clothes are gone, hat and all. I feel violated.”
“- Potentially my life!”
“My microwave lasagna…”
Everyone stopped to stare at a slouched man in sunglasses, Joe. He shrugged. “I’m still hungry.”
“Then eat…” The President drew out the word like a spoon from a barrel of honey. He waved at the seats on either side of the table, twelve chairs to his left, and twelve to his right. When most of the tributes sat down, he grinned, and handed a plate of bread around the table.
The boiling emotions reduced to a dull simmer. The food was absolutely delicious. A huge bird sat on a plate, stuffed with herbs, and cooked to perfection. Spices, honey, and roasting hot meat mixed together into a crescendo of flavors. The meal was just as good as a homemade dinner, almost nostalgic, and everyone had enough to eat. Even those who refused to sit watched the food go with restrained interest.
“It is high time I introduce myself.” The President crossed his legs boyishly. “I am Regnum Quill. You may call me Reggie. I know each and every one of you already, by name.”
“Names aren’t much,” Esper pointed out, cradling her pet fox.
“Ah, but as Alpha or our little Naomi can tell you, a name – a word – can suggest an idea. We thrive on words. They are the crux of what makes us… what we are.”
Zash, a sharp-featured man, sneered. “This is all very fun and mind-warping, but I just happen to -“
“Be tired of my precious words, yes, I know. You tend to have a skewed perception of value. Better work on that.”
“Why are we here?” Diana asked quietly.
“Because.” Reggie’s eyes widened, black as night. “One of you will change the current of choice.”
They fell silent, and waited for an explanation.
“One of you will take choice by the horns, and wring it out for all its worth. I confuse you; I apologize – one of you will win the Game, and thus win a wish. It may be anything within your world or without it, for I have access to the weaving of reality itself.” Watching the man now, it was hard for anyone to doubt him. Stars and moons floated under his gaze. “You may wish for love. Acceptance. A change in history. Protection. A pumpkin spice latte. Whatever it is, I hold the power to grant it under my very fingertips.”
“…Love?” someone asked.
“Yes, my dear, delectable Dylan.”
November raised his hand. When no one objected, he awkwardly said, “If I wanted to wish… for someone to be protected… but they’re a-already lost – what -“
“I’ll bring them back.”
The people around the table immediately began whispering and exclaiming with questions. Only a few remained calm. One of these, Sebastian, put his hand over his chest and smiled crookedly.
Reggie smiled back. “I look forward to seeing how you all plan on capturing the wish.”
This wasn’t enough of an answer. After all, what if they didn’t want to fight for the wish? Where were they expected to fight for it? How were they supposed to survive? The number of discontented individuals only increased. A man stood up to throw over the table.
“Aggravation noted.” Reggie flicked a hand, and something like spines clicked up and down his back. The loose fluorescent clothing began to look less and less like clothing, and more like a floaty extension of his body. “Now. If you please. Stand up.”
Immediately the table vanished. A voice punctured their minds.
Players.
Your spirit will either be recovered from the battleground and replaced in our archives, or rise to champion, but not before you undergo this trial.
Survival hinges upon boldness and certainty, not trust. To trust is to die in the worst and most foolish way possible. This leads to nothing but more pain for the spectators… your friends, your family. Give them no reason to doubt your abilities.
May you know that this is not bloodshed – this is spilling ink. May you know this is not murder – it is only a simulation.
After all, are these truly people at all? Could they not be creatures of our own making? We guarantee you, they are.
So fight to win the greatest gift, the gift of freedom and foresight. Not only will we give you the crown, but also the key to succeeding in your own world – whatever that success may look like. You need only look within yourself to know that possible future.
One must stand fast.
And remember…
The only real thing you can count on is yourself.
Every tribute took a deep breath.
Either neutrality overtook them like a cold block of ice, or the emotions swirled, leaving their fists sweaty and their pupils dilated.
Reggie met eyes with each of them, not without a touch of despair in those twinkling eyes. Then everything glared white as day.
“Everything is a mountain”
“My gun -”
“My original clothes are gone, hat and all. I feel violated.”
Crosshair and Mundy?
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
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