Story Mode

It is here that you will be see the plot for this year's Tournament unfold, in regularly updated 'segments'.

Certain events may or may not unfold, depending on player actions, and ongoing tournament results, so stay tuned and pay attention!

Note: This thread is for staff use only.

4 weeks ago

"You want me to what?"

He really didn't believe what he had just heard. A rarity in of itself, since he prided himself with having an excruciatingly vivid memory. Perfect for his line of work, of course.

"Look, Mike, I know this isn't exactly the greatest bit in the world, but I want my best man on this. I want this busted wide open, and I want every damned Gaian with the Gothic in their hands as being the one to do it." Marlow leaned back in his creaking, supposedly, therapeutic office chair as he sent up several rings of smoke from his cigar.

The desk in front of Marlow was practically avalanched with papers, files, and other crap, as Mike Glawoski, placed both hands upon it very carefully, having leaned in now to his boss, the Editor in chief of the Durem Gothic newspaper.

"You know how I feel about that whole scene, Chief. Get Byrans of Josepth to cover it. I am not going to stick my neck out for a piece that has bad news written all over it!" Mike articulated himself with a slight rise in his voice, even as Marlow waved a meaty hand to the side.

"Is this really happening? Are you honestly telling me you can't cut the crap, and just do what you do so well?" Marlow jabbed a finger down on the desk, reaffirming his authority now. "I need someone with corporate investigative experience, someone with enough balls and frankly, someone I can trust on this, Mike.

Bryans is too green, and Josepth couldn't track a story down out of a paper bag if his life depended on it."

"This is Noah we're talking about, Chief. You might as well be asking me to look for taint in a goddamned Saint!"

"Look, I'm going to level with you, Mike." Marlow rose up from his seat, breathing deeply as brought all his bulk to bear towards the nearby window sill.

"A week ago, I received....information from an old friend of mine. This is someone I haven't seen...in at least a decade, Mike. He was scared shitless, and the things he told me..." Marlow shook his head briefly.

"There was a tape...documents. He was supposed to meet me at the Cathedral, wanted me to run an expose on what he called 'ArK'. Said it was a project being funded by a certain non profit organization. One we know of today as The Foundation." Marlow stared at Mike, watching as the other man sat back in his chair.

"Alright...so you believed this lead...coming from someone you hadn't even seen in 10 years?"

"Gut feeling."

"Christ."

"Look... ever since the existence of that company went public, every news outlet in the country has been dying to get their hands on anything dirty. You know how it is in this business, and you know what makes headlines and sells the papers."

"Yea-- and I also know that not so much as a parking ticket has ever been found with the Ceo let alone any one employee. I couldn't expect god's a** to be any cleaner."

"Well, I think you'd be surprised by how much everyone's s**t smells the same." Marlow waved a hand towards his laptop, inviting Mark to come around the desk and see.

"Well, you said something about...an Arc?" He got up, moving to see.

"Ark." Marlow corrected, even as he turned his back to him. "It involves the Foundation... and its apparent sponsorship of what we know as 'Heaven or Hell'."

Mark sat down, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing before him.

Black and white still digital photos scrolled past the screen, each one just making the reporter fight back the urge to gag right then and there.

"These...these are..."

"People. Actual...people. What's left of them anyway."

It was a macabre slide show, revealing photos that slowly painted a picture within one's mind.

Labs, tables with what could only be described as corpses and other cadavers.

Scientists and banks of equipment, even shots of live subjects being worked on.

And the very horrifying realization as one shot in particular focused on the half seen feature of a--- "Judge."

"Enforcers of the tournament, and all-around private security force for the Foundation.

I don't know what this all means, Mark, but I'm not some dumb s**t." Marlow breathed out a ring of smoke. "I can tell that half the things going on are illegal...the mess with Gambino pretty much guaranteed that. The other half...well...does that look like the sort of stuff, a non profit organization would be dipping its hands into?"

Mark sat back, aghast, and quite unsure of what to say.

"This...this is big."

"Yes."

"Who can we---"

"I don't know. There's no telling how far this honestly goes. We might as well be on our own. But we have to run with it. No matter what.

Which is why I need you on this, Mike."

"Yea....yea, Chief." He placed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "You know me. I'll do it... I won't like it...but, I will."

|| Post Eliminations ||

When she had left the office building in Durem, a car and driver had been waiting to take Nikki to Latent.

She had spent the drive in the back of the black Mercedes Benz, familiarizing herself with the first package. The delivery she received, had proven to actually be three smaller packages all boxed up as one. They were numbered in the sequence that they should be opened.

The first contained a new cell phone, the directory already programmed. And a note detailing how to dispose of her old phone for security purposes. It also contained a folder filled with files on new associates and what she could expect from her new colleagues. According to the briefing, she would be working in tandem with a research panel.

'But I'm not a scientist... what could they possibly need me for?'

The question swirled around in her head as she sifted through mugshots, memorizing names. Pulling in a back entrance and clearing security, the car sped along a fenced lane and pulled into an underground parking garage. The engine died and the driver got out, coming around to open the door for her.

"Here we are Ms. Nikki"

"Thank you George."

She replied with a smile as she accepted his hand and stepped out of the Mercedes, letting her eyes adjust to the dim neon lights of the parking garage. It was dark, and musty, but there was enough light to see by.

"My number is in that new phone of yours, if you need to go anywhere, just give me a ring. Master Noah has instructed me to personally see to any travel needs you might have."

Her eyes flicked to the cell at her hip, giving it an appraising sort of look. There were numbers in it's directory that she didn't recognize. Names she didn't know, but that Eliah said she would need. On the flip side, the names of many of the staff she'd come to know over the past three years were not listed. All but a few of her usual contacts erased.

Since she'd left her office that morning, she hadn't looked back.

If her job required her to leave everyone she knew behind, then she would do it. After all, if they couldn't aide her in getting what she wanted, they were little more than useless as she pursued the path she'd chosen. Dead weight, better to cut it loose than let herself be dragged down with them.

Nichole Goldschmidt didn't associate with losers.

• tpp tpp tpp tpp tpp -

Hurried footsteps brought a young woman into sight, a white lab coat fluttering behind her. Her blond hair was pulled back into a no nonsense tail at the nape of her neck, and the rectangular frames of her classes, perched on high cheekbones, framed blue eyes. She doubled her pace as she caught sight of George and Nikki standing in the dark.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. I hope I haven't kept you waiting long? I'm--"

"Sarah Dimsby."

Nikki answered before the young woman could, and held up a mugshot of Sarah taken from the briefing folder.

"It says heeere, you're my new personal assistant?"

Sarah adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat.

"Yes, well. If you'll follow me Ms. Goldschmidt, I'll show you where you'll be working and get you settled into your quarters. I imagine you have a lot of questions, I'll do my best to answer what I can, but I imagine Mr. Noah will want to tell you himself."

George nodded his head,

"You're in good hands Ms. Nikki, I'll leave you to your tour."

"Take care, George."

Nikki waved him off and followed Sarah, who, for being the one who was late, seemed awfully impatient. They crossed the parking lot, up a ramp and to a platform. The door they came to looked more like a wall of steel, but Sarah pressed her palm to a screen and stood still for a moment as the security feature did a print and retinal scan. Metal groaned against metal and a smaller door for personnel opened.

Stepping inside, the door closed behind them. Squinting, Nikki tried to let her eyes adjust from the harsh contrast of dim and bright as they boarded an elevator and with a smirk, Sarah punched 'B7'. The doors closed and gears and cables went into motion as the elevator descended 7 levels below ground.

SOMETIME BEFORE THE FIRST ROUND.

"I'm here to see Mr. Noah."

An early-morning meeting wasn't really Lazenca's style, but the man running Heaven or Hell was busy. Laz conjectured that Noah had things to do all day, so early morning meetings were probably something he were used to. It's not like Lazenca was really bothered; he didn't mind getting up before most people deemed a normal time. It's just that it reminded him of his time as a head of Blazestar, and his habit of not scheduling a meeting before 10:00.

So here he was, standing before Elia Noah's private suite at 6:44, reciting the same thing he'd already said four times. Security checkpoints for the important man... made sense. With a hotel of fighters able to summon fire with their flatulence, one needed to protect themselves.

The Deity trooper nodded understanding, and wordlessly opened the door for the visitor. There was no need to check for weapons-- again, such a thing might be useless, given the nature of many fighters. Besides, Lazenca's Fang, that knife he carried with him for many purposes, wasn't worn. In fact, the fact that Lazenca wasn't even wearing his tail armor said much for how he didn't want to alarm anyone. It wasn't like he could retract his large claws, kept clean and pristine despite their constant use.

The host was drinking his morning coffee, already dressed and accessing the internet through his laptop, since the newspapers might not've been delivered at such an early hour. A pair of navy blue pants and a cream shirt was the current fare for Mr. Noah, matching blazer on the back of the chair he was sitting. The two men were separated by a glass-top table, which has upon it a few magazines and manila folders, along with a saucer-rested cup beside a wood-coasted pot of coffee. Of course, there were more chairs.

Lazenca's eyes wandered to the other surroundings, only enough to see exits and who else was in the room-- here, Nikki managed to look up from the desk in the corner, her face telling that she didn't want to be up this early. He could see that she was dressed professionally enough, though past the fact that she wore a skirt suit, Nikki was largely dismissed... he'd remember she was there, but she was simply a voyeur. In addition to the other people around (a Deity guard that played escort for Laz; the others were outside at the door), Lazenca scanned for places where some others may be hiding. The rest of the room seemed unimpressive past being a lovely place to sleep that reminded Laz of the penthouse he still had with Blazestar, so he was satisfied with his safety and the security. The appraisal finished, he settled cool, crystal blues on Elia.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. (LUH-zeen-ca)." A hand was indicated to the chair set opposite him, where the extra cup was. After a moment, he added, "Did I say your name correctly?"

"(Lah-ZEN-cah)," he corrected while taking the proffered seat. The pronunciation had high and open vowels, soft palette raised. Taking the same moment that his host had, he inquired likewise.

"(Ael-ia?)"

Noah chuckled. "You have a very interesting accent... through all your fights I've never heard it, for how seldom you speak. So that would be the Esterian language's touch..."

"Mhm."

"I've not had the chance to visit your homeland, as far away as it is, but I know already that it has an interesting governmental setup, as well as other, more practical, exotic notables." He must've glanced Lazenca's slight brow raise, for he gave a slight nod in understanding of it, and continued. "Yourself, President Aire of Blazestar, and more at the heart of this, your ailment."

Lazenca did his best to look simply curious and not much of anything else, but it was hard when he wondered how many people actually knew he was legally insane. Such thinking made Lazenca wonder how much Noah knew about Alpha Shift itself.

Apparently, much more than Lazenca.

"There have been articles in journals published from your land that speak of it. If I remember correctly-- and do correct me if I fuddle the facts-- yours is an ailment much like... dissociative personalities. It's rare, but not as rare as one would think. It's also not genetic."

According to what Lazenca himself knew, Noah was correct enough. Alpha Shift manifested itself in such a way that when one was completely of one emotion, the subject would seem to be a completely different person. However, its lack of mention made Lazenca wonder if Noah knew exactly what emotions were heightened. Surely, he couldn't know about the internal field. The other parts deserved questioning.

"Not genetic? Last I read, it's a certain gene or chromosome. That's why it only comes up once a blue moon, because of the specific order of DNA, or whatever it is, that's required. Something along the lines of autism or any other handicap from birth." Lazenca shook his head. "I don't know the specifics, and what I do know doesn't make sense."

"That... is because your knowledge is outdated, and unsurprisingly incorrect."

Noah spent a second letting that sink in, allowing Lazenca the chance to protest (a chance not taken, much to Nikki's disappointment), before standing and moving a few feet to the left, where a magazine Lazenca didn't recognize rested. It was already bookmarked.

"I'll give this to you once you leave. But in short, it clarifies, synthesizes, and dismisses previous theories all at once."

Previous theories? You know of them, then...?

How much do you know, Elia?

He is a hunter, setting the trap in plain daylight, knowing the prey will still stupidly fall in.

And yet I continue to sit.

"It fails to say why, but the doctors speculate that all of your race... species, I should say... have a predisposition towards the illness. There have been tremendous other cases, but it's reported as such a rarity because those with your illness, or any like it, are stillborn. There are pictures of such in the journal... quite gruesome and unfortunate."

There was short shake of the head that affected pity, before he continued.

"You, however, are different in that you have your illness and still live. The rarity comes in your survival rate, and you share the honor with only one other person who I'm sure you're familiar with."

Lazenca found himself mentally recalling all of the man's titles, though he only stated the most relevant. "Emperor... John 'Project: Alpha on One' Maurice Danvari Talbain. Alpha of Honor of the Spirit."

"Also a wolf, also an ice-aligned warrior. This, too, you know."

The excited child speaks too quickly, too much.

He also devours the food in a single gulp, before giving the mind time to register the poisoned meat.

Oh, but how he starves...!

Lazenca took a deep breath, aware of the color changing in his hair. Black-blue was giving way to pitch for reasons Lazenca wouldn't admit to himself.

"Why are you saying all of this, what you know and what I know? What's the point of my being here, to rehash what's in this magazine?"

"Indeed, Mr. Miranda." Sitting back comfortably, he crossed the right leg over the left. "One of the many things I treasure is knowledge. There is something intriguing about you and your species-- how well you've managed to remain your trading, yet keep your solitude. As I've mentioned, your government intrigues me... but not for its style, but its leading members. Your species has incredible longevity and, if I understand the bar-speak correctly, origins. I first heard of Tel'Rune when reading your profile, and something told me that there was a lot to be learned from you. So I sought to know, as any self-respecting man would do.

"You wish to know yourself. I too, with to know you. While you haven't been tracked (I wouldn't deign to disrespect you like that), you're not exactly nondescript, and it takes but a question to know what book you were reading, which direction you're traveling to see what wise person or fight what person that promises your ultimate answer.

"My offer is something of the sort. I don't offer the end to your wandering or illness, but my help. I will continue my own reading and information gathering, as you do your own. As I am made aware of developments, I'll let you know. If you need something... within reason, it's yours."