All future writings from me are going on this post! Edit: Cmooon people more feedback for the Sammy! You've all wanted to do this: A heavily exaggerated fanfic Tank rubbed his titanium beard, brow furrowed in thought as he gazed for a second at his upgrades as he was fresh into the match. He made the obligatory upgrade to his product grenade, then gazed at the armor upgrade. After a second of contemplation he decided to upgrade it and save his clutch for the next one. Stalling for a few more seconds in the blissful air conditioning, he plodded out into LazeRazor Arena's blistering heat, before Pit girl's frustrated voice buzzed in the team's ear: "Hotshots your moneyball's got its shields down now!" Turning his eyes quickly to the Moneyball he found it being bombarded by bots. Narrowing his eyes he thought back to his initial headcount of his team: three Assassins, and the other two slots blank for the time being. Leaping down, he spun around and emptied the current fuel tank on his jet gun, enjoying the crowd's cheers at his Death Blossom as a group of Slims went up in flames. He fired his Product Grenade and reloaded, then spun again, trying in vain to stem the tide of bots. So many bots...how could this be? Jump Jets flaring up he decided to go see what the rest of the team was up to; ocular implants guiding him to the Assassins... Tank's armored hand met his face, gauntlet becoming slick with the manly sweat that rabid fans would pay thousands to put in a vial, and thousands more to have him sign them. The Assassins were all chasing after an Assault who was keeping to the air, and seemed to be on the retreat. Tank rose his brow and moved forward, pulling out his Rail Gun, flaring up his jump jets to move faster. That's when he heard it: the annoying, telltale beeping. "DOOON'T!" He yelled, his voice easily drowning out everything in the Arena; yet the Assassins seemingly did not hear him. All three of them lunged at once right into the bomb; and the vapors of singed flesh wafted through the air after a lound BANG!. He took a deep whiff of it; burnt Assassin, even if it was his own team; was one of his favorite smells. In fact, it was his Steel Peel scent! After enjoying that guilty pleasure, his thoughts quickly turned to annoyance. He quickly charged forward while switching to his Jet Gun and burned down the Assault in a few seconds. "Kinda smells like fried chicken..." He muttered before turning his mind to his incompetent Assassin teammates. He'd seen some good Assassins in the past, those who lived up to the old reputation they held as the ghost, the enigma of the Arena, the whisper in the wind, the reason you look over your shoulder. . .but nowadays they were just widely regarded as cannon fodder. A true pity. . . "This here moneyball's down to TWENTY FIVE PERCENT! It looks like she caught on fire and had to put it out with a BRICK!" This snapped Tank out of his train of thought. He charged, using the momentum to leap back towards his base, wincing as he watched the trio fall victim to another explosive while ignoring the sea of bots: this time they were killed by an airstrike. "And the Support gets three women at once! Too bad it only lasted a few seconds, though! HI-HOOOOOOOOH!" Mickey Cantor chimed over the loudspeaker. That did it. He slipped into the spawn and waited, arms outstretched. Sure enough, he grabbed hold of two of the assassins. "When these fists talk..." He seethed through gritted teeth, before slamming them together, grim satisfaction filling his being as he felt their bones snap from the impact. "No one's deaf!" The third one tilted her head, bewildered at what just happened. He whirled around, grabbing hold of her and charging, slamming her into the wall. Then, he stomped out of the base with the dazed Assassin. "Whoa whoa whoa there Tank; you don't wanna go down that route, I'm speaking from experience that it's not worth it!" Mickey Cantor snarked, not missing a beat. Standing at the edge he threw her down and followed her while the Moneyball exploded back up in the Arena. He regretted he didn't have more time to make them pay for their incompetence...but then he realized he'd have plenty of time to do so in hell.
You're not the only thing silent and deadly... Clear your mind. Still your heart. The assassin sat cross-legged in the spawn, chest slowly rising and falling, eyes shut behind her mask--though the others would not be able to tell. She took one deep calming breath after the other to prepare herself for the tasks ahead. Push left, as usual...no...right. Right this time. They'd be expecting her to push left. "Game's almost started Icemen! Get yourselves in gear now!" The assassin twitched as she heard Pit Girl's voice. She was -NOT- uglier than a tree full of possums! She gave an agitated growl, causing the rest of the team to give her a wary glance. Another deep breath...and she was calm again. Okay...push right, smoke bomb the turret...buy the sword...ball goes down, Juice and shurikens...a three minute game, tops. The countdown timer to the game's start began beeping. It was time. She quickly jumped to her feet, and sauntered up to the laser-wall currently blocking her exit. 3...2...1...the airhorn sounded and the lasers permitted entry and exit. An outfit upgrade and off she went, lunging out into the right lane and cutting her way through the bots, enjoying the slight jarring of her arm as her kunai met the mettalic hulls before they gave way. Lunge...another wave. All was going according to plan. Her eyes locked on to the turret and she gave a grin beneath her mask. She prepared herself for a lunge...little did she know something different was in the Arena today. It was easy enough for the crowd to spot...
Thirty Seconds to Live (Buzzer) So here's a question for you! If you had only thirty seconds to live; how would you spend it? Would you, say, race with all your heart towards the nearest Sniper and gleefully explode in his face? If not, I don't know what you're ingesting! Wheeeeeeee! When we take the field, EVERYONE KNOWS IT, it's like someone's playing a vuvuzella except THERE'S ACTUALLY A HIVE OF BEES THAT WANTS YOUR FACE! Now, I'll admit, we do have our nemisi. Think I'm talking about Turrets? How they auto-aim and cut your half minute of glory short? WRONG! We can destroy those. No, I'm talking about WALLS. I'll be thinking about how best to attack when I get caught on one! And I'm already set to home in on that Sniper so I can't sidestep unless he comes around the wall to let me! WALLS, MAN! I HATE THEM SO MUCH THEY CAN ALL DIE AND GO TO HELL FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU*BOOOM* oops...
It's-a-ME! (Support) So yeah, da people dey all a say I am a no skill cheapo. I a guess it may be true, Iunno cuz the airstrikes, sometimes they be a hard to aim little rascals, ya know? And then the Tank oooh the tank thinks he's a so spicy charging out of my bombs, it a really burns my biscuits when he does that. And the assassins the people say I don't have to aim at them and Iiiieeeh guess a that's true ya know, they they come up to me and try to give me a haircut and then I pull out the shotgun and two seconds later it's between my legs you know? And people say I'm a overcompensating when I do that but eeeehhhh....there's a only one person who can really tell you that. I a probably shouldn't go into detail you know? A gentlemen does not a kiss and tell. People wonder, "Support, why you a so fat?" Well it's a like a this a I take the firebase to the Olive Garden ya know, order for two but then ya know the Firebase can't a really eat so I eat for two and yeah then I a get to be a fatso. I can't a help it, really, I love me some spicy Italian meatballs with a some Grenade III and a the red wine, tasty stuff ya know? My job is a sometimes thankless, ya know I go around givin da spaghetti to everyone spaghetti to spare but only inside the arena cuz ya know outside da arena I eat all the spaghetti, none left over sorry. But anyway ya think they could at least go "Oh Support a you're a spicy and you're good at what you do!" But my team a they don't thank me, well they do when I finish givin the spaghetti but yeah after that it's like I don't exist, ya, it's all about the Assault, oh a look at me I'm black and I don't a take my jetpack out to da Olive Garden well lemme let you in on a secret, I see the Assault he be takin his rifle to Outback, eatin' steaks for two but he take the Metabolightning ya know so he don't get a fat, Metabolightning with a every meal, ya wonder how he don't drop dead from it all well guess what you're a lookin' at the reason; he don't drop dead he overdose on the Gobinumb and the Juice and the Metabolightning and I'm just there spoon-feedin him da spaghetti in the arena and making sure he no fall apart, ya? Put the organs a back in workin order cuz lemme tell ya his liver it ain't a lookin good from all dat Sprintz ya know? They all like a da spaghetti it makes them have the overheal, no? Except for the Jackbot, he's all a "I don't like a your spaghetti it taste a horrible go choke on a Slimbot!" And then I throw da airstrike cuz ya know dat makes me a steaming madness. So a yeah. Spaghetti in the arena, spaghetti outside a the arena, spaghetti for a midnight snack ya know? Hey, does anyone else hear that humming?
...... (Assassin) You know, what IS she thinking? According to Tank "That manly beard. I can't resist it. Every time I'm around Tank I can't resist wrapping my legs around his face just to feel that beard. Of course I stab him for the crowd. Sometimes I want variety and slap him in the face, just to feel it brush against my fingertips, so rough and coarse... And even though I only annoy him, and he just burns me down, I die knowing he's seared my heart. I mean, why else would she keep face-grappling me after the first one fails? She's gotta be after my beard!" According to Assault " 'In my silence, in my cloak, I am the unseen benefactor. I soften the lines to let him take the fame. . . let him think it's all about him. And then the moment he lands, I give him a friendly reminder that I pull my weight.' That's gotta be what she's thinking when she stabs me, right? I mean cmon, the Icemen are always jealous! According to Gunner " 'I'm out to make the Gunner mad. I can't get him and he knows it. So I viciously backstab every one of his teammates, and get away cackling in my mind. Kick his leash to the floor and put a katana in his face... fill the Tank beside him with shurikens then lunge out of sight. I can't kill him, but I can play him just as well as he plays the ukulele.' Well I guess I'm exaggerating a bit. Honestly, I can't say what she's thinking, but bruddah, that's my two cents, take it or leave it." According to Sniper "What? Why are you wasting my time with this? As long as she stays out of my way and lets me do my job, I don't give a crap." According to Support "Gunner nothing, she's a out to boil a MY blood! 'I love a knowing that when I do my job and wreck da base, there'll be an angry support throwing his Heal Gun to da ground!' She's a vicious! I a turn around for the two seconds for a Gunner on fire, ya know keep him from burning to death, and when I look back around My a firebase is a smoldering wreck, and my shaveice and rock-its are all a charred nubs and den she be standin' on a high ledge, spinnin her little knife to mock me! And a then she pull out her sword to let me know my a day get even worse and lunge away like little sissy! I won't a pretend to know what exactly goes through her head but a lot of it, a lot of it has to involve ruining a my thirty seconds of life in the Arena. 'I exist a to make Support mad.' That a has to be close, no?" According to Mickey Cantor "I don't know! I have too many women to keep track of to begin with! But it's not what goes on inside a woman's head that's important to me anyways. HI-HOOOOOOOOOH!"
The Adventures of the Unfortunate: A Walk Down the Street Jacob wandered down the street, the roar of the crowd filling his ears from afar. He glanced up at the Arena, and gave a shrug. Lance, his friend, walked beside him. "Jacob, you seem down." "Well....the average lifespan of the lower class is 20 years. I mean, I turned 20 last week. I could die at any moment for any reason. For example, what if I'm drawn in the lottery?" "Population lottery? Volunteer to dress up as Bullseye." They stopped to gaze up at the Arena they were passing under. "If a Bot decides I'm a no-good meatsack and tries to kill me?" "If a Blackjack malfunctions and corners you, well, go down fighting, at least it'll make an amusing video." "If--" "Look, you could die at any moment for any reason. I could too. I've learned to accept that, and live in the moment instead of choosing to worry about it. Lighten up, Jacob." "...thanks Lance. I feel tons better now. I'm gonna live my life without a care! I'm a whole new--" *SPLAT!* A dead Gunner tossed out of the Arena by a Tank slammed into Jacob, crushing him beyond repair. Lance sighed and knelt as the Gunner disintegrated. "So that's what Tiki Style is!" He quipped, closing his friend's eyes. Then his eyes notices the goodies on the ground. "Ah sweet, Juice!"
An Assassin goes into (and out of) a Bar... This was it. A large group of bots was marching up on the right lane. The rest of her team was dead; and the Icemen tank was dizzy and coming down from a Juice. How she'd managed to slip past that azure twister of flame and destruction; she'd ponder later. Now she lined her sights up on the bots, sword in one hand, smoke bomb in the other. Taking a deep breath, she sprung forward, ready to blind the group and destroy them before-- A spiked club hit her in the stomach. Her eyes went wide behind her mask, a note of despair rising in her heart. No, no, no no NO! So close... Next thing she knew, the arena was rapidly disappearing from sight... everything began to tunnel now. She hated this part. A light....rapidly approaching....and, back in the vat as a new Assassin body awoke. She felt herself being warped into the re-spawn lounge as another body was rapidly cloned, and she rushed out, but by then it was too late. The huge wave of bots all leaped at once onto the ball and exploded. "Ya know, that reminds me of a party I had last year!" Mickey Cantor absentmindedly blurted over the loudspeaker. Down came the ball, and the rest of the Icemen all Juiced at once, the Tank charging in from the machines, tron-lines pulsing in the violet-tinted air. "WAAAAAAAAAAIT!!" He yelled. The icemen stopped tearing into the ball, then he Juiced, set himself aflame. And flexed. "When these fists talk..." The ball was then utterly destroyed while the still of the Tank taunting on fire was broadcasted all over the world. --later-- The memory still burning fresh in her mind, the Assassin gave a heavy, agitated sigh, causing the onlookers to edge off a little. She cloaked, lifted her mask and picked up her drink, quickly chugging it. One of the crowd stepped forward, and lunged, fist flying as he attempted to disrupt her cloak; if only to get a glimpse at her face. He was very drunk, and like the ones before him underestimated the Assassin.. He found himself flying over the bar, into a shelf of bottles, which all collapsed onto him, several breaking. He groaned, too drunk to feel most of the burning pain that tried to flare as alcohol seeped into his glass-induced wounds. The bartender groaned, hand finding his face as the Blackjack next to him made a sweeping motion with its fist, spikes catching the drunk's shirt. "Alright, smart guy. You're payin' for all of those." "Eh? I dun have that kinda cash!" "Then your next-of-kin will pay." The Blackjack aimed its laser, and the smell of burning flesh soon permeated the bar. He was then thrown from the bar, and the Jani-Bot rolled out to begin sweeping up all the glass. Meanwhile, giving a sinister chuckle, the Assassin decloaked two stools away, empty glass being set down. "That's the fifth one tonight, and the fourth one who wasn't able to pay for the damage!" The Assassin turned her gaze on the bartender, the three red lights glowing emotionlessly on her mask. He couldn't tell if he was being looked at, glared at or what, but his mind quickly decided it was a glare of rage. "...never mind..." He muttered, pouring her another and giving a hefty sigh as Jani-Bot began mopping up the mixture of booze and blood on the floor. Suddenly she was gone, a half-emptied drink on the bar, and a pile of MNC coins next to it. The bartender took the glass aside, intending to sell it to her fans. --Even later-- The Assassin swayed left and right as she walked down the street. She was drunk, and she knew it, yet all those missed lunges, those failed jumps, those Juice runs cut short by an ice trap, and that last, critical moment... her hatred for the world and the game she was made for flared up, the latter momentary, always there when she suffered a humiliating loss like that. She couldn't change the world...but maybe...beneath her mask she gave a sinister grin, and began dashing. A smoke-bomb jump onto one of the buildings, then lunge to the next...after awhile she came upon a heavily guarded building. Cloaking, she slipped inside....then slipped back out to kill the Jackbots standing on either side of the door. It wasn't necessary, but she found it fun to slice them apart. NOW she went inside, gazing around. The Icemen victory party. There were two Pit Girls pole-dancing for the team on either side of the room; and in the middle was a table loaded with GobiNumb syringes, Survivitol pills, cans of Spunky Cola, and more Smedley Bars than a man could eat in a month, and of course a plate loaded to the top with sizzling Bacon. The Assassin lunged towards the Support DJing for the party, and drove her sword into the sound system, the beat giving a low hum as it shut down and exploded. Keeping her grip on the sword she pushed down as she flipped towards him, feet slamming into his face and sending him stumbling back. Mid-flip she pulled the sword free and slashed him once, then the familiar move came to her. Slash up, slash down, slash up, hard slash down. The Support reached for his shotgun only for another slash to put him down. The rest of the Icemen looked up, confused. "What in tarnation!?" A Pit Girl exclaimed. The Assassin had her Shurigun out, and was firing wildly, inebriation hindering her accuracy. Shurikens bounced everywhere, cutting the Assault and the Sniper in the face. She lunged around the room, a trail of bullets slamming into the wall as the Assault and the Sniper unloaded their rifle and SMG at her. The Icemen Assassin facepalmed from the back of the room, shaking her head as her orange twin flitted about. She lunged at the Assault, and followed up with another grapple. Three down, four to go. She smoke-bombed up to the ceiling and crouched on the rafters. The Gunner and Tank had picked up on this threat: they'd retreated into the emergency locker room next to the bathrooms to suit up. She didn't have much time before their return...she crept above the rafters as the Sniper gazed through his rifle now, on the lookout for the telltale shimmer. She lunged down behind him and kicked him to the ground, driving her sword into his face. The Icemen Assassin meanwhile was poking the Support's mouth with an unwrapped Smedley Bar. She knew he was probably dead, but it didn't hurt to try... The Gunner and Tank burst into the room in their respective armors. "Alright, bruddah...er, sistah...this rampage stops here." Revving up his double miniguns, he glared around, looking for the jealous Hotshot. The Tank meanwhile was scarfing Bacon while washing it down with Spunky Cola. The Assassin fired off a round of Shurikens, now starting to sober up some. All of them slammed into the Gunner's face. "NOT COOL!" He exclaimed, letting a spray of minigun fire loose at where they came from. The Assassin lunged again, landing on the table this time, Smedley Bars breaking under her feet, GobiNumb going every which way, Spunky cans toppling to the floor and rolling about. Another lunge, and the Gunner turned to meet her so that the dreaded back-grapple would not happen. Another series of slashes, and she jumped, the Gunner's Slam sending empty Spunky cans flying, but not the Assassin. She was now on his shoulders, slashing downwards over and over. Gunner Down. She turned to the Tank--five empty needles of GobiNumb and now he was licking his fingers after a Smedley bar. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" He said, taking two Survivitols and chugging the half-empty Spunky can that had been sitting next to him. The Assassin fired off a round of shurikens into his egg-plate armor from behind the Bacon Plate. The Tank made to charge, but didn't want to put all that Bacon to waste! Frowning, he tried to get around to her. The Assassin kept backing away. If she couldn't kill him, at least she could give him a ton of Shurikens to pick out of his armor... The Tank finally sighed and Juiced, charging through the table and spinning around, his Death Blossom lighting the interior of the building. The flames quickly spread, and the Assassin lunged to safety through them, the Tank following. The Icemen assassin slowly followed, watching from a distance. . . It was lunge after lunge away from the Tank. The Hotshots assassin chuckled sadly, knowing her doom was probably near--when suddenly a high-pitched scream rang out. A random fan ran up to the Tank and began to rub his beard. "I'm never washing this hand again!!" She exclaimed, gleefully bouncing up and down. One after another after another and there was a crowd of fans around the Tank. He contemplated a Death Blossom--but he was all doped up on Gobinumb and Spunky; he didn't feel like going after the assassin. The two Assassins met on the roof of a skyscraper. They circled around, the Icemen Assassin leaning her neck forward a bit and giving a disapproving glare. The Hotshots Assassin tilted her head to the right somewhat, giving a half-hearted apologetic shrug. One drew her blade, the other following suit, and they both took stance, ponytails fluttering in the sudden gust of a jet black chopper. Both vanished; and all the people watching at home squinted their eyes to follow the shimmering duo. Suddenly, over the loudspeaker. "MICKEY CANTOR HERE BRINGING ALL OF YOU LIVE COVERAGE OF HOT GIRL ON GIRL ACTION! The Hotshots weren't very pleased with their game last night, but damn, the Assassin seems to have taken it the hardest as just twenty minutes ago she went on a rampage and crashed the Icemen's victory party! But it looks like--OOOH! The duel has begun!" Both Assassins lunged at once, metal grinding on metal, sparks flying through the air as their blades locked. The Hotshots Assassin aimed a quick kick at the Iceman's torso, sending her staggering back before she went in for a stab. The Icemen ducked and did a sweep kick, which was avoided by a quick jump backwards. "It looks like the carnage is on hold as they warm up! No need to be shy, ladies! We've all seen it before! HIYOOOOO!" The Hotshot lunged at the Iceman once more, blade missing by an inch-but the grapple connected. The Iceman smoke-jumped high into the air, Mickey Cantor's cronies flawlessly following her with their cameras. By the time she landed she was good to go again and lunged towards her opponent. Now she let the Hotshot have it, giving a flurry of slashes. Despite her efforts to guard, she quickly found herself faltering, and was in danger of being slashed to ribbons. "Man oh man, what would I pay to see this happen again--if I had a positive balance! Ohohohohoho!" Desperately, the Hotshot threw her sword up into the air. The Iceman laughed, and gave one final grapple-just as the pilot got a sword through the head and the chopper spun down into the duo, exploding violently as it crashed onto the top of the skyscraper. This in turn caused several floors to collapse in on themselves, destroying the unfortunate Jani-bots working the graveyard shift within. "Ooooh! What an explosive ending to such a sexy dance! And oops! That was one of my last helicopters! They keep crashing for some reason. I think I should have better pilots cloned! Oh well! Back to solitary! HIYOOOOO! Mickey Cantor out!" Next Game "Geez! I thought you weren't the type to do that, brah!" The Gunner shook his head with a hefty sigh. "Man, why didn't you bring me along? I coulda had so much fun.." The Assault lamented. "Would you guys shut up!? I'm trying to review my game plan here! We don't want a repeat of -LAST- time, do we!?" The Sniper lashed out at the team. "Momma mia, why didn't you a bring ME? I coulda given that-a refreshment table a few airstrikes to go wit da Spunky..." "Ha! And waste all the Bacon? Just the thought of it makes my mouth water...I hope Bullseye throws some out." The Tank said, stomach giving a growl. The Assassin stood up from her usual pre-game meditation, and drew her kunai out. The rest of the team fell silent, and the horn sounded... (And finished. Yay edit button!)
................ (Assassin, again) The dark, vacant arena spun around slowly to the Assassin as she sat upon the only source of light at the moment, one of two, anyways, the Moneyball. A gremlin, uncloaked, sat in her lap, and her fingers slowly ran across its head, idly stroking it. It's...complicated, my existence. Born to kill, born to die...is that not what humans come into this world to do? But the world has become a machine. Doing the same rudimentary tasks over and over, nothing ever changes, novelty has died and given rise to an eternal, predictable loop...it sickens me, but what can I do? I'm part of it. As a cog of the machine, I don't have much wiggle-room. Sure, I act out sometimes during games, little things like...building lazer blazers everywhere and stabbing the tank in the face. It's hilarious how they get so mad when I do something wrong...I can't help baiting that anger sometimes. (The Tank's beard -does- feel good...) While the game is a sick distraction from a sick world, it is fun, I suppose. And so I find myself going down a hypocritical spiral--I play to distract myself from the misery around me; doing the very same thing essentially as the sheep in the audience. I try not to brood on it too much... what else can I do but live in the moment? People wonder why I don't do anything drastic. Well, if I step out of line too far, the scientists are all "oh that bitch" and change my genes around so I'm more obedient. The only thing I really did that was considered out of line was assassinating Mickey Cantor... now THAT was fun. Too bad they brought him back. That damn Pit Girl? She's next. By the time I'm done with her, 'uglier than a tree full of possums' will take on a whole new meaning...who says that, anyways? . . . A sigh left her; and she let the gremlin down, watching it cloak and run off towards the other side of the Arena. All in all, yeah...complicated. I should hate what I do. But I can't help but enjoy it. . . it IS an eternal prison of death and rebirth. But damn, is it a fun one... perhaps my conundrum is a reflection of human nature itself - that our base desires are inherently monstrous, and we cannot do much but give in and become monsters--all the while preaching against it. Pretty much why I don't open my mouth. In any case-- By this time the Gremlin had reached the enemy base. "SHIELDS ARE DOWN ON THAT--what in tarnation? Who's messing with the moneyballs!? Wake me up for nothin'..." Pit Girl muttered across the com unit. POOF! The Assassin was gone, a vapor of mist into the night . . .
