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RP: 188604 [Flight of the Dove] Episode 1: Royal Flush

Underground

Eisley didn't seem that tense, considering. It wasn't that being cut off from escape and surrounded by goons who wanted to see her bled dry wasn't distressing, it was more that this served as an adequate description of her entire adult life. "You don't see many lawyers in these parts, do you? Nobody likes them, I know, but they do clear up these sorts of misunderstandings."

She didn't want to think too far ahead, it seemed safer to wait and find out what she was in for.
 
Underground

"Oh..." Greenview looked a little distant, unfocused, staring at one of the screens with intent. The fuzz of this technology obviously took a little getting used to, and she was clearly resisting an urge to walk up and press her face against a screen, but... Something was turning those cogs in her head, as she watched the little shapes wiz around. "...So that's how it is..."

Did they actually figure out the deep trouble they were in, all by themselves?

"You gotta catch 'em and ride em while they are young! The flying bombs!" Of course not. Actually, she seemed even more irately upbeat, unveiling yet another hidden truth of the universe. "Then they grow up and you gotta big ol' starhouse you fly around inside! It's so simple!"

"Oh, I'm sorry Mister Flynn, was it time for parn harple?" Turning back to him, and then looking back over towards the lead captor, it was as if nothing could break that smile whatsoever. "Good thing these mens are all gotta do the blood sports if they wanna watch it. Otherwise this would be kyna unfair, yea?"

Smiling. Just intense smiling.
 
Underground


Corgan didn't seem to be fazed by the scene. "Well, at least I got a backup yesterday. No big deal, even if I forget that night with Sute. Wouldn't mind experiencing that again for the first time." He said, then looked from Promise to Eisley. "Oh, shit, you girls don't have that option."

He thought about it for a minute. "So look, I don't really know this Flynn guy that well. But I think what he meant to say was... We're just pissed we didn't think of this sooner! The people of 188604 would love this. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement here. You give us Sarena and we will get you a deal with USO. You could reach a whole planet full of new customers."

The Nepleslian gave them a smile. "Well, can we do business?" He figured they wouldn't go for it, but he had to try. While he talked, he looked around the room, counting the number of guards and guns, memorizing their locations.
 
Underground

"I doubt they know what Sarena is," Eisley added hastily, but with enough care to make sure she didn't say the word 'who' before Flynn had a chance to come up with something. As a businesswoman, she felt it best not to give away information for free when negotiating... especially at a disadvantage, like this one.

This might have been related to the way she didn't let on how little she understood of what Corgan and Promise had just said.
 
Underground

Flynn grit his teeth, but didn't make a move for his jacket. As his heart began to pound in anticipation, his eyes darted to and fro for a solution to their predicament. His hopes fell when he could find none.

"Sorry, guys," he said to Promise and Corgan. "But I don't think we're fighting our way out of this one."

And it was true. Any sort of aggressive action from the group would have lead to their immediate slaughter. Even if they'd managed to kill the guards in this room, there were surely hundreds, even thousands more between them and the ship. Those depressing odds aside, they still hadn't found Sarena, the whole reason they were there. Flynn snarled and scowled at Henchman.

"For the record, you're a total bastard. Also, I slept with your sister." spat the smuggler. Henchman simply smiled.

"Charming, Mister Flynn. Now, all of you, please place your weapons on the floor. Slowly..."

At that moment, the men blocking the door trained their weapons on the quartet. There were two guns per person.

"You heard 'em." Flynn sighed, slowly reaching into his jacket, removing his hand-cannon, and slowly setting it on the floor. He then raised his hands high above his head. Obviously, he was still trying to think of an escape plan, but in their current situation, there wasn't one. At this point, it would be best to play along until an opportunity presented itself.
 
Underground

Eisley raised a skeptical eyebrow. She didn't see why they wanted to disarm her when she was clearly outmatched, much less when their goal was to have her fight in their arena. What were they going to do if she refused to take her gun out? Perhaps she'd find out. She didn't react, just as she'd gotten no closer to drawing her weapon when the trap had first been revealed.

The thought never crossed her mind that the others might have been more inclined to take the path of most resistance, lacking the fear of death she took for granted.
 
Corgan sighed and pulled his HHG out of his duster slowly. The box of ammo wouldn't do him any good, so he left it. "After we kill the other team, can we talk to whoever's in charge here?" He asked, raising his hands as he walked over to stand beside Flynn.

"Ladies, just do what the man says. We don't have much of a choice here. Maybe after they have a video of us killing folks we can work something out." Corgan said.

While he waited, he tried to get a message out over the Polysentience. He wasn't very good at using it for complex tasks but messages were easy.

Corgan the Barbarian

Hey, whoever's out there. This is Corgan Garret with Ragnarok PMC. In trouble under the Ice Queen casino. USO will reward you for your assistance. Please send help.
Click to expand...
 
Underground

Promise didn't really say anything, though her hand arced up slightly, like someone standing on eggshells. Or a deer in a wagon's path. A humming sound escaped her closed lips. Little but a splendid hoppy tune, one she couldn't remember to words too.

Then... The cigarette was completely inhaled, and she had to flick it away before the embers burnt her mouth. Within the same motion, she pulled a string on her corset that caused her gun to fall to the floor. Clattered around of its own volition, since nobody was around to catch it.

Narrowing her gaze but still as yet grinning, all there really was left to do was angle her head, cross her arms, and continue humming to nobody whilst facing into the corner.
 
Underground

Corgan would receive a quick, yet brief reply.

Death's Shadow

We're coming. Keep Flynn safe.
Click to expand...

And he would receive no further reply no matter how hard he tried.

Meanwhile, the guards began to chuckle at Eisley's efforts at resistance.

"Ah, teenage arrogance," Henchman sighed. "Sorry, my dear, but you are in the world of grown ups now."

The guards training on Eisley took a stance, ready to shoot. Flynn looked from Eisley to them. Did this girl really think that they wouldn't kill her? Or did she not care?!

"Wait!" Flynn shouted, jumping in front of the girl. The guards jumped, but did not fire upon the sudden movement. Flynn turned and reached for Eisley's holster.

"You don't know these guys like I do. I'm sure you've had your share of troubles back home, but I won't have another innocent's life on my hands. We'll find a way out of this, I promise." he whispered to the girl and tossed the revolver aside. He turned back to the guards and raised his hands once more. "There, it's done. You happy?"

Henchman opened the door and beckoned for the four to follow.

"Don't worry, your weapons will be returned when it is time for you to compete. For now, please take advantage of our hospitality."

Lounge

They were lead, at gunpoint, down the hall to another metal door that only opened from the outside. Inside was a rather spacious lounge, fully furnished with the finest that a criminal empire could buy. Sofas, plush rugs, and a large screen displaying the arena. It was filled with gruff, mercenary-types. Some looked solemn, some looked angry, some even quietly sobbed amongst their comrades in defeat, having lost great friends in the cruel game. Not a word was spoken. The room may have been luxurious, but there was no mistaking that this was a holding cell, full of dead men and women walking.

When the door opened, and the crew of the Dove were shoved inside, all eyes turned to them. There was a moment of silent understanding, rather than the usual sizing-up. There were no enemies here.

Somewhere in the room was Sarena, and her mother's band of fighters. Hopefully, the girl would recognize them from their trip to B7R.

Then, with a resounding boom, the door slammed shut.

They were now officially a part of the Blood Sport.
 
Lounge

Eisley found the henchmen incomprehensible, and deferred to Flynn, shaking her head in bewilderment. She allowed her anger to bake in on her way down the hall, and on arriving, looked at her companions--well, not Corgan, looking up at him was too much trouble--with an expression that much suggested she wanted to grab them and shake them. Neither that, nor the words that would come with it spilled out, though. No point in venting her rage or finding sympathy before being thrown into a fight to the death.

Instead, she called across the room in a voice honed by the need to be heard over the sounds of the sea, on her old ship. "'Ey, Sarena; we're here to rescue you! We've been doing a piss-poor job of it, so far!"

Sarena was asleep on the sofa. She stirred at the sound of Eisley's voice, then spotted Flynn and immediately recognized him. Her hopes shot up for a moment... then came crashing down when she realized his ship wasn't waiting at the other end of the hallway. Instead, she rubbed her eyes and yawned. "I'm not sure why you're here... maybe they'll let us go when sweeps week is over..?"

Eisley moved to her side before Sarena could doze off again, but was intercepted by one of the company's Nekovalkyrja mercenaries, coiled like a spring in front of the couch--an upgraded model from back when the Star Army still sold them as corporate security. In the absence of Sarena's mother (and many more), the company spokesman position had fallen to the company's largest member, a Lorath of House Fyuunen. Signalled by a slight hiss from her comrade, she stood up from behind the couch, and turned to face the four, looming over all over them--even Corgan. "Who are you?"

Eisley froze in place. In her experience, the Fyunnen's role in negotiations, though major, had not ever been a speaking one.
 
Lounge

Corgan didn't acknowledge the message. He was surprised he was able to get through so easily. They really need to update their security, he thought. As much as he wanted to fight back, he suppressed the urge and kept moving until the door slammed behind him. He looked over to where Eisley was heading and saw Sarena.

A Lorath woman a full head taller stood up and blocked his view. He looked up at the woman, equal parts intimidated and turned on. "Didn't expect to meet a beautiful Lorath woman down here. I'm Colonel Corgan Garret, Ragnarok PMC. We're friends of Sarena, and since you seem to be protecting her, that puts us on the same side," Corgan said hopefully. "Got any tips for surviving this thing?"
 
Lounge

"Kill or be killed," the Lorath responded. "Though they do like to experiment, so you must also get lucky." It didn't seem she had much advice to give. She glanced down toward Sarena, doubtfully. The teenage Nepleslian looked at Corgan, just as dubious, and much more confused.

"Friends..?" Sarena sat up on the couch, thinking she recognized him, but not able to put together all four of them. She looked up at Eisley and asked, "Did you bring them all here, for me? ..." She wasn't sure whether to feel better, or much worse.
 
Lounge

Promise didn't know what was going on. She didn't know why they put this really fancy house underground. She didn't know why they locked the doors. She didn't even know who Sarena was. Or this weird giant lady and Uso impersonator. This was supposed to be an adventure among the glorious stars, but now she was stuck inside of some cold alien planet with no name she had ever heard before, millions and billions of miles from home.

Wasn't really much left to do but pray for guidance.

Clutching the gold triangle-within-a-circle medallion that hung around her neck, the country woman just squatted down on the floor and hyperventilated.

"Mister Flynn wouldn't let anything bad happen to us. We are blessed with him we is." A whisper, eyes hidden. "It's all part of his plan. We just need to believe in him."
 
Lounge

Unfortunately for Promise, this was not part of Flynn's plan. But, that didn't mean he wasn't trying to come up with a new one. Believe it or not, he didn't have any interest in dying here.

So, the game seemed simple enough, from what he'd glimpsed back in the control room. A mercenary team was placed in the center of the arena, and then some goons on airbikes were released. The riders were armed only with blades, but their speed made them nearly impossible to hit. The game ended when either the mercs or the riders were all dead.

Maybe they could steal the airbikes? But then the question was about how they got out of the arena. He recalled seeing heavy doors on either end of the space. But how thick were they? Would conventional explosives do the trick? But where would they get explosives?

So many questions...

"Did you guys happen to bring any explosives? Sarena's note mentioned hunter missiles." he asked the lorath woman.
 
Lounge

"Yes. They confiscated the launcher when Gerarda was wounded." The Lorath glanced down at Sarena. From how she tensed up when these words were spoken, she didn't seem to hear the reminder.

The neko was more enthusiastic, bounding behind the lounge and pulling herself up to peek her nose over it. "We have the missiles! We just need to make them go~."

Sarena frowned and shook her head, then doubled over in dismay. "Except, my mother's the only one who knows how to reprogram them!"

Eisley straightened up, straining to appear nonchalant, and took a look around at the other mercenaries.
 
Lounge

"Dammit..." Flynn muttered. He lowered himself into a chair. He felt a bulge inside of his jacket, and noticed he still had a cigar.

Not all was lost, it seemed.

So, as he began to puff away, he mentally prepared himself for... whatever awaited them.

Casino - Main Floor

She was seen, but unseen.

Elegant, but not overly so.

She waltzed through the crowds like a wraith in a size five dress. Her stilettos clicked on the tile. Her destination was a discreet side door with two thugs in suits standing guard. Of course, these men didn't see her as a threat. They exchanged looks as she approached, pulling her lipstick from her purse and applying it.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but you are not permitted to-."

They didn't see her as a threat, so they barely had time to react to her unsheathing the lipstick's hidden dagger and ending them in one swift motion. Quickly, before anyone would look away from the tables and notice her, she dragged the two guards inside the door and shut it behind her.
 
Lounge

Several hours later, the large viewscreens in the center of the space lit up once more. Loud, triumphant music began blaring, like a broadcast of Sunday night football on NSPN.

"Gooooooood evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to Blood Sport!" greeted an obnoxiously-deep voice, like an actual announcer. "We have quite the show tonight, with skilled smuggler Flynn Blackburn, mercenary Corgan Garret, and two unknowns storming out into the arena for the ultimate battle!"

At that moment, the doors opened and several heavily-armored soldiers stormed in, pointing to the Dove crew. The gestured for them to follow.

"And also joining them will be a few leftovers from the previous battle!"

The guards pointed to Sarena's group next. Flynn took a puff of his cigar and shook his head.

"Figures. They think you guys have used up your entertainment value by now, so they're throwing you in with us to make things more interesting. Doesn't matter if you die at this point. Two birds with one stone." he sighed. He paused for a moment. "And this is why I hate show-business."

Armory

They were lead once more, at gunpoint, farther down the hall and to a set of heavily armored doors, which hissed and slid apart as they approached. They were deposited into a dark room with only a single lamp overhead, which illuminated a large table full of their weapons and equipment. Farther back, in the shadows, were the monstrous doors that no doubt hid the arena on the other side.

Flynn quickly donned his bandoleer, and began sliding rounds into the cylinder of his revolver.

"If anyone has some previously-unknown missile-reprogramming ability, now would be a great time to discover it." announced the pilot to the others in the room. "Otherwise, get ready to fight like hell."

He didn't let it show, but the daunting realization of the task ahead was beginning to creep through his blood, and he silently prayed that somehow, Chuck and his ship would make it away safely.
 
Armory

"At least they remembered to give us our weapons. I wonder if they learned the hard way, there's not much sport in watching all their prisoners get shot while they're too busy with figuring how to load and fire." Eisley took back her revolver, but looked on helplessly at everything else on display. "...Is that a bow and arrows?"

The Nekovalkyria left with the group bowed, casually. "Hai, that's my yumi. I'll use it now since we're all going to die, anyway." In response to incredulous looks from most of those gathered, aside from the Lorath, she explained, "These arrows shoot a jet liquid metal through whatever they hit, at supersonic speeds. Duh. What do you take me for?" She held up one of the silver-white arrows and spun it on one finger, and added wistfully, with a vicious smile, "I haven't used one of these in years..."

Sarena stared at the missiles she'd been left to carry, then looked back at the table with dismay. "I know what I need to do, but I don't know how to do it. And I only have training weapons. They're useless..." Anyone who didn't expect her to get depressed and solve nothing in this situation didn't know her very well.

The Lorath explained, "The missile is programmed to activate on launch. One must either program it to activate when thrown, or fool it to think it's been launched when it's thrown. There are both software and hardware solutions, but it is delicate technology, and we lack the control interface." She seemed content to hang back and ponder the situation, rather than rush to examine the options available. Te only Lorath weapons supplied appeared to be a gatling gun, a beam sword, and a pair of sidearms.

The Neko quickly grew frustrated with Sarena. "Here, use my repeating plasma rifle. It's boring, but so are you." She picked it up in one hand as if the ten kilo weapon, longer than she was tall, as if it were a light baton, flung it at her crew mate, then flashed over and pried at Sarena's fingers until her hands were gripping it properly. This one didn't seem shy about showing off her abilities... and, evidently, she wasn't a newer model, either.
 
Armory

Promise had to be physically dragged into the armory, not even responding to a gun at their back. Their hand was grasping that circular medallion the entire time, which they continued to whisper sweet nothings to. Chains of prayers that probably wouldn't have made sense in Trade, never mind the broken pig-Elysian that her cult had evidently bestowed upon her.

When they finally looked up and reached for their gun upon the table, it was a slow and subtle movement, as if to accept a task that might be the death of them. Perhaps, the fact that this place was further underground than she had ever been, made it a very real approximation of hell to her.

"We... We will do this justly..." Rustly, broken old gun held in both hands, looking down upon it in the gloom. "Please bestow this simple tool with the embodiment of my requital, oh lords of stars and black... I will take this soul as thine ammunition and deploy it... justly..."
 
Armory --> Arena

A few minutes of preparation later, the large doors began to slide open with an ominous rumble.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event," the announcer from earlier boomed. "Let's hear it for tonight's contestants!"

Spotlights began sweeping the stadium, as well as obnoxiously loud rock music. Inside the room, a voice over the intercom informed them that they had twenty seconds to enter the arena, or the doors would reseal and they would be gassed. Flynn gritted his teeth and complied, twirling his revolver out of nervous habit. He looked over to Promise, winced with guilt. She'd gotten much more than she'd bargained for.

"Don't worry," whispered the smuggler, moving beside her. "Just shoot straight, and we'll get out of this."

Not the best motivational speech, but it would have to do. Flynn raised his voice to address the other mercenaries. He was sure they knew how to survive the game, but it made him feel better to voice his own strategy.

"Remember, guys, try and lead your shots. They have speed on their side, but we have numbers. Also, try and remain spread out, but not too far from the group. We can't get driven into the middle, but we can't get singled out."

Flynn stood in the dirt, watching the doors on the other end of the massive arena, which was a good two hundred meters squared. The floor was dirt, and thus he reasoned that visibility would go down once the airbikes were released.

"Hold on to your seats, folks! Here come the competition!"

Once more, the lights went nuts as the doors on the far end of the arena opened. A loud roar filled the air as several bikes raced out. The riders were dressed in all black, carrying katana-like blades that would no doubt bisect an opponent as they passed. Their faces were obscured with ballistic masks decorated like skulls, wickedly smiling at them with empty, black eye-sockets. Flynn narrowed his eyes and pulled back the hammer on his revolver. His heart was pounding, but not because he really feared these clowns. He was pissed. He had just gotten his life turned around. He was not going to die here!

The bikes began racing around the edges of the arena in a wide circle.

"Let the Blood Sport begin!"

Then, four of the seven bikes turned inwards and began racing for the group. The riders raised their blades high.
 
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