The Veteran's Battle Arena

[Notesurfer]

Notesurfer glanced around the helipad that he had respawned at. The bright yellow markings were covered in scum in various areas, and the whole place was relatively wet and grimy. Perfect. He drew Darkmatter and hurried down inside the ship to wait.

Raven and Garrant slowly drew nearer to the body, making sure that Draxas was dead.

“Er, I suppose we should fight now” suggested Raven.

“Yea, I guess” sighed Garrant. “But you have to admit, that was fun to watch.”

“Oh, most definitively” Raven replied concisely. Garrant turned to face him and gasped. There were two Ravens.

“Um, is something wrong?” the one replied. The second stole a glance two his left and gasped. “What happened?!?!?” he asked. The first looked to his right and had a similar gasp and exclamation.

“One of us is the real one, and I know it's me” the first said.

“No, it's me you idiot, I don't know who you are, but go away! I don't have a twin!”

“What are you talking about, come on Garrant, you and I both know that I am the real one!” the second urged. Garrant shook his head confusedly.

“If there's one thing I know Notesurfer likes to do, it's mess with people's minds” Garrant speculated. “This has to be his doing.” The second drew a Falcon 2 and shot the first through the head, smirking.

“There” he said. “Problem solved.” And as he turned his face back to Garrant his stormy blue eyes were met full force with the Dark Blaster.

“I knew it was you all along” Garrant said as the two bodies faded away.

[Garrant]

Garrant quickly retreated to the darkness of the winding hallways. He soon found his way to the lower levels of the large complex and a jamming field.

"Omnishaft, this is General Garrant. My scanning equipment is being jammed by an unknown source. I'll need you to start scanning for me. Tell the spotters to warn me of any moving targets, biological or mechanical."

Garrant's radio crackled and buzzed, but a response eventually came through.

"General, good to hear your voice. I'll have the equipment up and running asap. Also we got some news from HQ, it seems that the counter-offensive against the reaverbots on Terra was a success! The orbiting artificial planet Elysium was acitvated though..."

Garrant found a rather large storage closet and hid inside as he continued to listen to the report.

[niff]

Niff was sitting still above the helipad. He saw the whole fight, the two puddles of blood swirling there, being blown about like syrup in the thick wind, and Garrant. Hiding.
Niff stuck four fingers in his mouth. He let out a quick, sharp whistle. He looked straight up at Zero, Zaber was looking down at him. The wolf pawed at an object on the ground. It came twirling down and Niff outstretched his covered arm upwards. He caught the Steyr, the sling flying about madly. He slung it onto his back, barrel pointing upwards to the right of his head. Niff jumped down silently - landing by the blood. He took off quickly across the decking, down to a small slope that delves into the ship. To the right of this crevice, was rows of storage containers. Niff quickly glanced over them all.
Garrant had gone into one of these.. he thought.
He unslung the Steyr from his back. He swung it around, and pointed the barrel towards the containers.
He pulled the trigger.
Round after round after round pummeled into each of the closet-like containers, holes ripping into the steel and steam pouring from them. Niff twitched the gun forward, so he had access to the back half. He took out the curved clip, accessed a new one from his jacket pocket and slid a new one in.
He was slightly interrupted by a clank from behind him. Garrant was standing there, fist raised, ready to strike.
Niff quickly slid to the right, and launched a kick. His foot flew through the air, connecting with the other warrior's fist. Garrant flinched and withdrew his injured arm. Niff drew back the cocking lever on his Steyr, diving backwards he retaliated with 12 rounds launched towards the foe. Garrant launched himself 5 metres into the air, launched in the direction of cover. Both hiding behind the steel crates, they were at a standstill.

"So, Garrant. What are we gonna do now?"

[Garrant]

OOC: Just as a reminder Garrant's right hand and arm is robotic up to his elbow.

IC: Garrant cursed under his breath as the pain in his left hand was quickly subdued by the nanobots the flowed through his body. Some of his fingers were also broken, a fact all to evident as Garrant's beam saber slipped from his grasp when he unclipped it.

"Niff, how about a duel? 10 paces, then we turn and fire, fastest draw wins."

[Notesurfer]

Gently snoring, Notesurfer re-awakened.

“Oh, my head, what happened?” He looked around and noticed that it was very very dark. He stepped out of the closet. All around him he heard watery noises. “Wait a sec, where are we now?” He pressed a button on the side of the circular compartment, and he was shocked to see the inside of a Maian vessel on the other side. “No way, we're underwater in the Deep Sea vessel!” Pondering this strange happening as he stepped out onto the metal grate connecting the submarine to the ship, he reached a startling conclusion. “We must have been drugged by . . . someone . . . or something. And if I was revived before everyone else because of my resistance to pacification . . . that means . . .” Notesurfer smiled and deployed his crossbow. Wherever Niff and Garrant had been, they would have to exit the sub the same way he had . . . and when they did, he'd be waiting for them.

[Garrant]

Even though his body had been incapacitated, Garrant's mind was hard at work trying to wake him up. He slowly began to stir and after a few minutes of waiting for his vision to return to normal, Garrant stood up and gazed at his surroundings. His tracking equipment was still on the fritz, and after a failed attepmt of communicating with the Omnishaft, so was his communicator. A few system checks later and Garrant was already heading for the exit to the ship he had woke up on.

[NeoPhife]

The observer of all things Terran, the great star Solaris sinks below the outline of the Pacific Ocean's horizon. The sky is painted with several colors of the visible spectrum, composed mainly of orange, pink, and red that blend together. Upon the absence of the sun, the great canopy of Earth begins to shimmer with constellations of the Northern Hemisphere. It is a unique view indeed, Phife thought, for it reminds him of the old skirmishes that took place at his destination. As Phife's modified A51 drone cuts through the salty waters, some mist sprays on the prime, but aging face of the PDBA Legend.

Forty years have passed in his violent life, and half his life have been spent sending hard lead slugs into the skulls of his adversaries. His recent return to the Carrington Institute after the Kyoto Conspiracy was evident of age creeping in. He suffered heavy wounds infiltrating a "police station" and preventing a Yakuza takeover of one of Japan's most critical cities. Most of those wounds would have easily been prevented if it weren't for his rustiness due to a long rest from engaging in melees or gunfights. Seven days before Phife decided to enter the new PDBA invitation, he restlessly trained to bring back his original finesse and dexterity. Some things still need to be worked out, but Phife decided to go back into the fray regardless of a few loose ends.

The long range radar switchs to short range as the U.S. Government aquatic resarch center comes into view. The Pelagic II is massive in size and dweels within a secluded location, making it a perfect place to bust some heads once again. Phife checks his armaments: the two DY-357 Magnums are holstered at the hips of his dD Sniper Suit as usual with the copius amount of .357 slugs. This is a veteran's battle, however, so Phife decided earlier not to hold back. This was enough reason for him to carry a CI-issued AR34 Assault Rifle slung over his back along with several filled magazines. A couple of fragmentation grenades completes his expanded arsenal.

Phife closes in on the vessel, hovers upwards, and scans the helipad. He immediately spots a large puddle of blood reflecting the last of the light shimmering from the darkening horizon. It appears that Phife is more than fashionably late. Phife hovers lower to the helipad and leaps onto it, allowing Grievis to revolve around the Pelagic II on autopilot. His eyes focused on the decline towards the moon pool, Phife flips the two magnums out of the leather holsters and wields them akimbo.

He pauses there silently.

[Draxas]

*Is sorely tempted to delete garbage posts, this being a VETERAN arena, where we should be showing some MATURITY...*

Draxas respawned on the bridge of the Pelagic II, keenly aware that he had been out of commission for a long time. He had still been barely concious after his battle with Notesurfer, not quite dead but unable to respond from the myriad of damaged and broken parts in his body. He could only guess that he had probably eventually died from internal bleeding, or something similar...

He activated his R-Tracker and tried to gauge exactly how long he had been down. Both produced disheartening results. There was only one other signal in range of his scan, and it seemed to be emanating from where he had just been, the Moon Pool lift. The entire rest of the ship seemed completely abandoned. Draxas mused over the possibility of an arena change, but the official comm channel remained silent. Where the devil has everyone gone?

Quickly but warily Draxas made his way back to the hangar, encounering nothing but an eerie calm on the ship. He drew his DMCs, and prepared to confront the only other person he could find...

[NeoPhife]

Draxas blesses his intuition as his leftwards tumble allows him to avoid an airborne .357 slug. The report from the muzzle flash reflects rapidly about the room creating a near-deafening cacophany. Phife's adversary crouches behind a metal crate, cringing slightly at the noise. Not a word is uttered by Phife, which creates a strange silence that lasts for five seconds. The insignia on Phife's forehead glows with a crimson, foreboding light.

With the aid of his R-Tracker, Draxas breaks the calmness with his right DMC, blind-firing over the crate. Even though he is unable to accurately plant a bullet in Phife's cranium, the hail of 9mm's pins Phife down at his location. Drax swivels his left sub-machine gun around the box and adds to the rain of pain. Phife dives across the thin patch of air that poses the least risk of mortal wounding. He falls on his stomach, and if it weren't for Lady Luck, Ol' Drax would have gloated and emptied the last of his sub-machine gun mags on Phife's prone body. Curse my inexperience, Phife thinks.

In his case, Draxas is busy removing and reloading clips. Phife stumbles ever so slightly as he recovers and crouches behind a loading crane. Phife peers over the yellow vehicle and falls backwards again to avoid ten more pistol rounds flying his way. No more of this business, Phife thinks. With the quick action of hand and teeth, Phife pulls the piece of metal out of the frag that was attached to his suit. Holding the ticking cylinder of death for two seconds, Phife unleashes a strong overhand lob that arcs the grenade across the pool. Drax frantically dashes laterally from his hiding spot. A timely dive prevent the gunman from being chopped into borsht by the shrapnel blowing within a sizable radius.

Phife releases another .357 magnum round into the wild, but not only does the shot miss Draxas by a mere centimeter, but Draxas dashes forward with DMC's ablaze. Suddenly, a new reflex activates within Phife's mind, and Phife leaps up onto the crane's engine. With the leverage from the crane, Phife jumps higher than people have known him to have done before. Avoiding the hail of fire in midair, Phife extends his right arm downwards towards Drax. His opponent sees Phife's descent and attempts to sidestep. Even though Draxas is still prone to injury, his action saves his life.

Phife grabs for Drax's head in midair, but gets his right arm instead. Phife twists 360 degrees clockwise, and Drax witnesses the explosive destruction of his right arm. Ignoring any pain from the dismemberment, Drax swivels the DMC that he still wields and sprays ten more 9mm's. Phife lands and is riddled with the slugs. In his mind, Phife curses his rotten luck and error as he crashes to the ground. It is safe to say that Draxas has won this gunfight.

As Drax walks away from Phife's bleeding body, he walks away from Phife not even thinking about what happened to his arm. How in blazes did Phife learn that attack, Drax thinks. Phife was never much for hand-to-hand combat, much less an acrobatic maneuver like that.

Before Drax can even ponder interrogating Phife, assuming he's still alive, shock seeps in and Drax bellows a blood-curdling scream. His vision blacks out and Drax falls down to the ground only five meters away from Phife.

[N3B]

A lone sound rang through the cold, rusted internal hull of the Pelagic II. The sound of footsteps, the oh so dreaded footsteps that could twist a man's mind, and bend it, and manipulate it. Those very same footsteps had been heard before, yes, before. Familiar sound indeed. It drew nearer, and yet, further away at the same time. From both sides, they seemed to come and go.

N3B leaned against a stray wall holding his ZZT in one hand, and a damp, oily rag in the other. He pushed the small stick with the cloth at the end down the barrel of the sub machine gun, twisted it around, and then pulled it out, examining the grease and lubricant left on the gauze. Tossing it to the side, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, portable bottle of barrel lube, and put a few drops in, spreading them around with the silky lubricant wipe that came with it.

It was the first time in several months since he'd gone and cleaned out his ZZT, a weapon he didn't tend to use much and often left on the side in combat. He twirled it around his finger tip as the trigger dropped back lossely, and then stowed it in the thigh-holster on his leg.

He then brought a magnum out from the hip-sheath and began polishing it boredily. It felt as though nothing would ever happen in this old, cramped sub. He began to pace around the small hallway with his eye focused on the large, red button which lay on the wall. After a minute of this pacing, he heard a loud crash come from elsewhere on the sub.

Following it were several audible gunshots, as well as loud thumping sounds. He took a few steps closer to the noise. It got quiet. Moments later, there was a loud scream, and then silence regained control of the situation. Looking around, and then back at the deadened hallway, he decided not to press the button, no, not this time. Instead, he took his arsenal and took off down the halls in the sound of the commotion.

The footsteps drew nearer, nearer. The silence broken, the same eerie footsteps that could bend a man's mind, and corupt it, and manipulate. Yes, the same, fimiliar footsteps ...

[Notesurfer]

Garrant stepped forward, the rusty metal grate creaking in unison with his footfall. Warily he crept forward into the attack ship. A fleeting shadow up to his right caused him to dart forward and sprint for the relative cover of the entrance doorway. Several shots from the metal support beams on the ceiling confirmed his dire suspicion that someone had awoken from their drugged sleep sooner than anticipated. Knowing what he did, he could only hazard to guess that it was Notesurfer. As he crouched and huddled into a dark corner of the extremely dark inner room his suspicions were confirmed at the sight of the small red winged creatures, no more than two inches tall, that seemed to be made of an evil aura. Notesurfer had bragged about his creations, and how, after being released from his shadowsaber they did not instantly kill an opponent with a sliced throat.

“They like to torture their adversary to death” Garrant whispered to himself. At the sound of his voice, the six bat-like energy based weapons froze, then began, one by one, to dart into a corner of the room and stay there, bathing each area the touched with a bloody glow. At this rate they would find him and kill him in less than twenty-one seconds Garrant calculated. Taking a gamble, he began to charge up his arm. Even the small whining noise it made alerted the bats, and they regrouped, preparing for a charge. Jumping out into the slight light shed from the previous room, Garrant let out a wild cry and aimed his cybernetic arm at the little flying monsters.

“HOLY BLASTER!” Garrant cried, and let loose the white energy stored in his arm. The creatures screamed small agonizing tinny screams and dissolved into nothingness. At an angry noise behind his back, Garrant whirled to see Notesurfer standing in the doorway, a furious look on his face.

“Hi Notey!” Garrant waved, drawing his beam saber with his other hand, now restored to it's normal shape. The small and thin greenish-white energy glowed in the dark with a presence that pushed back all darkness. Holding out his hand palm up, Notesurfer produced Darkmatter there, the hilt rising out of his hand like a fountain of water from a spring. Even as he gripped it with both ands and lit it in front of him, the jagged-edged black-red energy lit up his unusual cloak and hood ensemble.

“I see you want a challenge today” Garrant said sarcastically. Notesurfer did not smile, and Garrant assumed a similar facial expression. Notesurfer lept and cried out, smashing down on Garrant with all his strength. Garrant blocked the blow, then slid the crackling energy off of his, to cause Notesurfer to slice a clean, smoking gash in the floor. Whirling his blade, he created a small gash in Notesurfer's shoulder. Smirking confidently, he quickly dodged a swipe by Notesurfer, and did a quick forward flip over Notesurfer's head, expertly carving through the places where his cloak was attached. Thinking that Notesurfer would then be forced to regenerate, giving him an opening, he charged again, this time swiping at Notesurfer's shimmering back. He could not have been more shocked when the blade was sucked out of his hand, into Notesurfer's back.

“Hey, that's not fair! You always told me that you would never absorb an enemy's weapon!” Garrant cried out.

“I lied” responded the now smirking Notesurfer. He whirled around and sliced a huge gaping diagonal gash across Garrant's chest. Jumping backwards, Garrant barely avoided making the stab at his heart lethal.

“I guess now would be a good time to tell you I had a Superdragon stashed on my person eh?” Garrant smiled. Quickly pulling out the aforementioned weapon, he filled Notesurfer full of lead. Blood spurted from his mouth and chest onto the floor. Even after he had fallen, Garrant used two more clips up, just to be sure. With Notesurfer and his mind games, you could never be to careful. Smiling at his kill, Garrant turned to find six more of the bats. “Hey, I thought I got rid of you guys!” he said. But he never said anything more. The creatures darted and flew at him, severing appendages, arteries, bloodlines, and, finally, his throat. But he did not die from the cut in his throat, for he was already dead. Drowned, in a pool of Notesurfer's and his blood intermingled.

[Draxas]

Um, when did the Pelagic II sink exactly? And how did Phife board it if that's the case?

And as I said before, PLEASE don't call me Drax. Type the extra 2 letters, it's not that big a deal. I hate being called Drax.

Why was my last message saying the same thing deleted?

[Notesurfer]

You don't understand, I was using the arena change as a way to revive this dead topic.

[NeoPhife]

(I will try to fix my situation so that I'll be in the Deep Sea level as originally planeed.)

Phife's eyes bulge open as sufficient amounts of blood course through his "brain" once again. He gets up on one knee and realizes that he barely survived the encounter with Draxas. The platelets that were guided by the computer have stopped the multiple wounds from bleeding, but the damage is much more than extensive. All ten 9mm rounds pounded into his torso, leaving him weak. He certainly cannot fight under these conditions.

To further Phife's dismay, he notices that a leak in the ship's hull has occured. A leak, Phife thought, on this part of the ship? How can this be possible? Noticing that his radio link to Grievis has also been severed, he realizes that the Pelagic II has either sunk or submerged. Nevertheless, Phife attempts to find a way out from his vulnerable stance.

Suddenly, the leak in the corner blasts wide open from the differences of air pressure, and water pours in rapidly. Phife can do nothing as the water flows above the top of his head.

Phife respawns in a dark area gasping for oxygen. He raises up to his feet and activates the NV. He sees a network of wide, cylindrical tunnels that seem to be alive. It is undoubtable that Phife has spawned into the Cetan Megaweapon.

[Draxas]

Draxas respawned in a metallic elevator chamber, wondering exactly why and how he had died. He glanced down at his right arm, relieved to see the bionics intact once again. Even still, he couldn't help but ponder several things. How did Phife manage to tear my arm off in the first place? He just pulled some fancy martial arts, or so it seemed, and he paid for it right after, but still...

Another thing was troubling him, and he mentally altered his HUD to internal diagnostic mode. He checked the tactile feedback cutoff level, and it was set normally: In the event of heavy damage that would result in extreme pain, the system was supposed to immediately stop sending feedback signals to his brain. The system had obviously malfunctioned, he shouldn't have felt any pain from his didmemberment, let alone passed out becuase it was so excruciating. It was another mystery, attached to Phife's already mysterious ability...

And then, a small but persistent thought that had been nagging at the back of his mind took center stage. Draxas looked around, and said aloud before he had even realized, "Wait a second, where the hell am I?" The room he was in was rather large, with an elevator shaft that towered well above him, out of sight. It didn't appear on the ship blueprints he had studied before coming to this arena, nor would any sane ship designer put this sort of room aboard a seafaring vessel. He glanced around for an elevator control, hoping to ride upward for a better vantage point, but there was none to be found. It seemed the elevator was above him somewhere, and the engineers who had designed it had lacked the foresight to add a call button...

"Useless crap," Draxas muttered, realizing he was stuck here. He activated his R-Tracker to determine if he was the only one, and wound up with two signals. The first was far out on the limits of detection for the device, but was nearly exactly on level with him. The other was a very faint signal, but was nearly superimposed with his own, but registered as being a great distance above him. "Without the elevator, there's no way I can get to the area above me, so..."

Draxas turned 180 degrees to face toward the first signal, and wound up facing an enormous bulkhead, firmly sealed. A large red button was placed next to the door, and so Draxas pushed it, feeling he had nothing to lose. A loud hydraulic hiss emanated from the bulkhead, and the two halves of the door slowly slid apart, allowing him entry into a glass-walled corridor beyond.

Draxas advanced down this transparent hallway, and was rather surprised to find that he was inside some sort of tunnel on the ocean floor. Groups of colorful fish swam away from the glass at his approach, but something else had caught his eye. Draxas approached the glass, and craned his neck upward to follow a movement outside that had caught his eye. What he saw he was even less prepared for than his realization the he was walking on the sea floor. A large Maian vessel was slowly spinning toward the surface of the ocean, casting an eerie blue glow on its surroundings. In the light of the alien craft, Draxas could see the hull of a ship, which appeared to have been connected to the elevator shaft he had been standing near before. A brief flicker of aqua light over the side of the ship illuminated a name printed on the side of the hull: Pelagic II.

Well, that's ONE mystery solved. I'm dead because I likely drowned while I was out cold, what with most of the doors on the ship being left open... But still, it begs a deeper question: Why were the Maians interfering with this arena? And why would they sink a government vessel, just to bring us to wherever this is, when they possess transporter technology?

Draxas turned away from the glass as the Maian vessel's light faded from view. He had long ago learned that aliens, Skedar, Maians, whatever, had strange motivations. He figured they had their reasons for messing with a bunch of humans, however stupid those reasons might be. He tagged another large red button as he pondered, and another bulkhead slid open... This time to reveal a landscape like nothing he had ever seen before.

The green, pulsing, organic walls of the Cetan ship gave off their own internal green glow, and it took all of Draxas's self control to gather his wits again. He had heard about this place, read about it in the CI's mission logs for Agent Dark, but he never imagined that he would be standing inside of the very place himself. Especially since those mission logs had reported the vessel as completely destroyed, which was obviously not the case.

A flicker of movement from the R-Tracker display caught his eye, and snapped him out of his thoughts. Well, alien vessel or not, I'm here for a reason. I can worry about alien business later, for now, it's kill or be killed...

His mind focused on the battle once more, Draxas readied his weapons and began to stalk his prey...