PIIIIIIIPE WREEEEEENCH FIIIIIIIIIGHT

[unrecovered]

Who| Wash and others
What| Murderworld. So much Murderworld.
Where| All over the arena - locations are in toplevels
When| Murderworld! Late day 1, all of day 2, and early day 3
Warnings/Notes| Violence for days. Most of these have been planned using the almighty spreadsheet - if you want to plan something, feel free to poke me on plurk!

Get pulled from a perfectly benign covert mission to be thrown into a bad Hunger Games ripoff run by someone with zero sense of style or humor. Survive, probably on his own, until help comes or he manages to escape. Sure. Okay.

What could possibly go wrong?

Comments

Grif | Temperate Zone | Day 1 | Afternoon

[unrecovered]

NPCs | Temperate Zone | Day 1 | Evening

[unrecovered]

Nita | Ocean Zone | Day 2 | Early

[unrecovered]

Master Chief | Escher Zone | Day 2 | Midday

[unrecovered]

Ana | Industrial Zone | Day 2 | Afternoon

[unrecovered]

Pidge | Industrial Zone | Day 2 | Evening

[unrecovered]

Casey | City Zone | Day 3 | Early

[unrecovered]

Sam | City Zone | Day 3 | Late Morning

[unrecovered]

[isthisapidge]

It's never silent in the Industrial Zone, and honestly? It's starting to drive Pidge a little nuts. She came here to scavenge whatever parts she could possibly use to get...out of here...

Yeah, she doesn't have a plan. She's out on her own right now. And she has the worst feeling she's being watched...

[jonesiseverywhere]

The screams and mechanical noises are like a beacon meant especially for Casey. Back home, that used to mean Kraang in their metal suits. Now it means...metal suits without the Kraang. OK. Cool. Works for him. If he registers that Wash is in a nearby hall, he doesn't show it. He figures the moment Wash hears people in trouble, he'll also be on these guys like a bad rash.

"Hey, metal dudes! You want a piece of me?" He taps his hockey stick against the ground. Actually, it does kind of look like these things want a piece of him. Like...literally. There's two of them, and he figures he's high enough in the building that knocking them out a window or something will be a cinch. He clearly has their attention, but he doesn't notice the one coming up behind him...

[unrecovered]

That was not a good landing.

There were a lot of great things to be said about gathering half the Legion stuck in this little corner of hell into a single convoy hell-bent on breaking out. There were equally as many less-than-great things to be said about their inevitable failure and Arcade's subsequent scattering them to the corners of the arena. Abruptly. With no consideration for inertia.

So when Wash plows facefirst into a grassy field at painfully high velocity, he can't exactly say he's surprised. Instead, he rolls over slowly and groans. "That," he declares to the sky, "was the worst landing ever. Of all time."

[unrecovered]

Wash, on the other hand, has tuned the noise out. When the the soundtrack of your life is the humming of a spaceship or the constant chatter of someone with a low IQ and a lot of feelings, you get used to noise fairly quickly. (Conversely, it's the silences that get eerie, but Wash has never been one for complete quiet to begin with.)

He's caught a blip on his motion tracker, and he's following closely enough to keep them in earshot but far enough away not to attract attention. He can hope he's following a Legionnaire; worst case scenario, it's something out to kill him. Again.

Whatever it is, it's around a corner, and right now Wash is trying to decide whether the potential benefits of turning that corner and revealing himself outweigh the risks.

[unrecovered]

If Wash never sees another teleport storm, it'll be too soon. This one has managed to drop him into what he's pretty sure is actual hell. He's seen Event Horizon - there's no way a living ship (or whatever the hell this hallway is in) is good news.

Right now, he's as close to the wall as he can be without actually touching it, moving at a brisk pace and trying to find an exit. Priority one is getting the fuck out of Dodge; everything else can wait.

[unrecovered]

The ocean is a beautiful place in the morning. The sunlight sparkles on the water as the pinks and oranges of the sunrise give way to the bright blue sky of a new day. It's a natural, if temporary, masterpiece.

Wash would probably appreciate it a hell of a lot more if he weren't running for his life, sprinting down the beach with a shark with robotic legs in hungry pursuit.

What the fuck is his life anymore.

[whyarewehere]

Nice landing. It'd be a real shame if something were to happen to it.

Grif pops back into existence mid-scream, bounces off of something that is quite probably human, rolls for several feet, and lays there like the dead for a good fifteen seconds, stunned.

He finally catches his breath, sits up to spit out a mouthful of dirt and grass, and looks over.

Oh, that was Wash. Sorry, Wash.

"Can I just be the first one here to say what the fuck?"

[littlecousin]

The merfolk have learned the hard way that Nita can't be drowned, and are sulking out of reach, because they're sensible enough to realize that being kicked in the face and then scolded for bad behavior is at best unpleasant and at worst hideously embarrassing. Having established there's nothing too interesting in the sunken structures they haunt, Nita has let the detente stand, dozing on the ocean floor and watching the dappled play of light filter down to her. She feels like she might almost not be sticky anymore. If she never sees a gumdrop again, it'll be too soon.

All in all, not a bad morning, gladiatorial nonsense notwithstanding.

Stretching, she decides it's time to see about breakfast, and rockets back up to the surface in a stream of bubbles, grumbling about her lost ability to fly as she swims to shore like some kind of peasant. It didn't occur to her to take off her trousers, and she's primarily concerned with how extraordinarily uncomfortable sodden rip-stop fabric is when a man goes dashing past her, pursued by a shark on legs.

Huh.

Like any self-respecting Atlantean confronted with this sort of problem, Nita hauls off and decks the shark.

[unrecovered]

Wash doubles over, curling in on himself as something impacts his stomach and rolls off. It's like getting a gut punch from Maine, and he absolutely does not miss those.

He rolls over on his side, still curled up and struggling to catch his breath. Whatever that is - wait, it's Grif, are you fucking kidding - has knocked the breath out of him. It's going to be a minute or two before he's got a witty retort, aside from a very labored, "fuck...you."

[isthisapidge]

Maybe on another day when her nerves haven't been so frayed and she'd been getting better sleep, or at least not sleeping by her own choice, she might have handled this battle. But when her own proximity tracker goes off, she makes a snap decision.

"I have a grenade!" She holds it above her head as if she's about to throw it, and hopefully whoever's following her won't notice she hasn't pulled the pin.

[whyarewehere]

Grif rolls his eyes.

"Oh yeah, I decided to do that. With all my decision making powers. You're not gonna die, right?"

He's doing pretty well himself, but that's because a certain poor bastard in this conversation broke his fall.

[unrecovered]

"I'll be fine," Wash grits out, sitting up slowly and taking as deep a breath as he can. That wasn't fun, but it'll take a whole lot more than that to kill him. "Are you okay?"

[unrecovered]

Well. He recognizes that voice. "If you set that off in here, it'll kill us both." No reason to come around the corner and startle her - not if she really does have a grenade.

[unrecovered]

He notices the woman coming out of the water in his periphery, but there's no time to stop - hopefully the shark keeps after him instead of turning on her. If it goes after her...well, he's going to have to fight a shark, isn't he.

And then there's an impact, and the shark starts making noises. Wash doesn't know what noises a shark is supposed to make aside from the Jaws theme, but he's pretty sure these aren't they. He stops short and turns around, and-

That shark sure is on the ground. That woman sure is standing over it.

What. What.

"Did you just punch that shark?"

[littlecousin]

Nita looks at Wash, then back at the shark, then at Wash again, and flips her long, dripping ponytail back over her shoulder.

"Obviously?"

A short, barefoot woman with elf ears and Mercury wings on her ankles just appeared out of the ocean and KO'ed a cyborg shark, and she's acting like he's the weird one.

[unrecovered]

Yeah, Wash's sliding scale of weird is pretty much broken at this point. He raises an eyebrow at Nita - "Ooookay." - then looks consideringly at the shark, then back up at Nita. "I'm thinking breakfast."

In a futuristic land of vegans, he is definitely asking for permission to kill a shark.

[littlecousin]

"Sure, why not?" She shrugs. "It doesn't look like one of the toxic species."

While Nita's got nothing against veganism, she certainly wouldn't be one if she were given any choice, and shark's a perfectly normal food where she's from. No ratting out Wash to the Diet Police will be occurring here.