[open] Stars are never sleeping

[samson]

Who| Brock Samson and OPEN
What| Xenomorphs and general exploration
Where| Arena 12: Abandoned zones
When| Week 2 throughout
Warnings/Notes| Haruto's thread has some gore and death in it :'C

After fucking around with the puzzles in the labs and coming up with absolute jackshit, Brock's decided to abandon that particular strategy. After all, there is the saying that insanity is when you do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. And Brock must have done every puzzle in the entire spaceport by this point. He is pretty sure.

So, since going up meant probably asphyxiating in the void of space -- which is something Brock would like to avoid -- his only remaining option was to go down.

This part of the spaceport is, in a word, creepy: it's dark and even through this jumpsuity thing, he can feel the inexplicable dampness. How would a spaceport, which is theoretically hermetically sealed, get enough moisture for this kind of gross humid feeling? It makes Brock nervous and makes him think about spores and what is probably crazy space bacteria, mutated by space rays, and he wishes he'd kept his helmet from the Cornucopia.

But there's no use crying over spilt milk. Survival was still the most important thing now. He's got his taser in hand just in case somebody decides to use the creepiness factor down here as a way to get the drop on people, which is something else Brock would like to avoid. He's still careful as he rounds the corners, listening for footsteps. More often than not, he hears a weird rattling in the distance.

There might be something down here other than Tributes and space spores.

Comments

[tookthewheel]

Bucky knows there's more down here than Tributes and spores. He's met more than a few of the creatures that nest in this part of the arena and if not for the gun he'd seized from a turret he might not have survived until now against them. Since the discovery he'd put every inch of stealth experience he had under his belt into moving silently to escape notice of the mutt's while he scouted the area for useful supplies.

Or targets.

Targets like the large blond man he see's moving through the dark depths. Bucky's eyesight is aided by the serum in his veins, helping him to spot the target before he himself can be seen. His white jumpsuit is stained and dirty by this point but could still stand out if he doesn't act quickly enough.

Swinging the gun up to his shoulder Bucky hugs the walls and squeezes the trigger, sending a bolt of red energy right at the mans head.

[samson]

Ever since crawling down here, Brock's been on high alert. Between the low visibility and the weird scrabbling noises he keeps hearing just around the corner, he is ready for anything. Being a decidedly normal human being, Brock doesn't have the luxury of super reflexes, but the things a decidedly normal human being can do when they're pumped full of adrenaline are sometimes surprising.

The adrenaline feeds his already healthy tendency toward paranoia, and he moves before he even has a chance to process it; the telltale sound of a laser -- lasers! Why didn't he think of that? -- and the glimpse of something white are enough clues for Brock to react on instinct. He throws himself to the side, landing hard against the wall.

But staying still is a bad idea, and charging this dude would be even worse, so instead he whirls around and ducks around a corner.

[tookthewheel]

Bucky hisses at the miss, too low to be heard. Annoyance spikes up and is quickly suppressed as an emotion that will only hinder him if he allows it to flourish. The target is now aware of his presence but that doesn't mean the hunt is over, it just changes the rules.

He moves forwards cautiously, awaiting an attempt at a counterattack from his target. A couple weeks in the arena has done a lot to roughen his appearance, the white suit dirtied with blood and oil, with the left sleeve long since torn off as a hindrance to his metal arm.

Without a sound he moves to where he saw the target move and brings up the laser gun to fire again, keeping his ears and eyes primed in case of any unexpected surprises.

[samson]

Brock has picked up a few things from the xenomorphs down here, between avoiding their acid blood and ducking down hallways to avoid them. They like to hang from the ceiling. It's not a bad strategy, and once he's around the corner, Brock grabs onto piping and scrambles up there to brace himself against the walls, knees and elbows locked. When in Rome, after all.

He's thankful that this jumpsuit isn't his, because he doesn't really want to think about how much work it would take to get the rust and grime stains out of it. The humidity down here is annoying as all hell, and it's only by the grace of god that he doesn't slip from his perch via condensation.

Brock waits until the laser guy is beneath him, and then he drops down with intent to just punch his head down into his spine. He's done it before.

[tookthewheel]

If Brock's opponent was a normal human that probably would have worked. As it is he's facing someone on a similar skill-level to himself, enhanced to be a deadly weapon more than he is a man. There's the smallest sound as the target drops from the piping and Bucky's senses don't miss that slight creak from above.

It's enough that he moves, fast, whipping to side out of the path of Brock's descent and swinging his metal arm, uncovered, red star and all, into the space he just escaped and the blonde man now occupies. He's not pulling the punch either and in this arena, with all abilities unleashed, that's a lot of force behind the blow.

The Winter Soldier never had cause to pull punches.

[worldsaway]

Thor walks like a man who isn't particularly afraid of being heard. This isn't anything new for him because he'd never really gotten the hang of sneaking even without his powers, that doesn't mean there isn't a little more swagger in his elephant march right now.

Xenomorphs don't bother him too much. Hell, he still has every intention of killing one and dragging it back to Carlos so he can determine whether it's edible. He feels quite content with his powers back, but he's still on guard and listening intently for other tributes sneaking around.

He feels as if he hears something, so he tenses and glances around his shoulders. A brow quirks curiously and he begins to trot as loudly as ever around a corner in the hopes that he might encounter the source of the noise.

[samson]

The xenomorphs are terrible. Brock made a decision about that some time ago. Still, they're enough of a deterrent to other Tributes where it's not a bad idea sticking around down here for at least a little while longer, he thinks. And at least the xenomorphs have some good ideas: chiefly, hiding on the ceiling like weird, carapaced ninjas.

Brock does not have a carapace (or acid blood, for that matter), but he is still hiding on the ceiling, his hands and feet braced against some crumbling metal piping. He scrambled up there when he heard someone clomping around like Herman Munster, and waits until this guy is past him to drop silently to the ground behind him. Lowering his center of gravity, Brock follows quietly, ready to reach out and snap this guy's neck.

Then the piping he was holding onto before collapses to the ground behind him in a really impressively loud way. Brock just stops, because what the fuck else can he do now.

"Of course."

[worldsaway]

By now, Thor has begun to catch wise of a few xenomorph tricks. The ceiling trap is one he has encountered before, but not.. quite like this. When it all comes crashing down, Thor takes a jump backward and braces into a fighting stance. He has piping he's ripped off the wall and he brandishes it momentarily before the fact that he's not facing an alien dawns on him.

That's when Brock speaks, and he glances upward with a dour look that acknowledges the fact that Brock had every intention of killing him. Then he laughs. Loud. Probably a little too loud for a place infested with aliens, but he can't bring himself to stop and he needs to brace a hand on his knee before he winds down.

"That was not as you intended, was it, my friend?" He steps back from him, keeping his piping close.

[samson]

Brock's expression slowly melts from exasperation at his own bad luck to sort of an unamused, flat look, unsure if he's being laughed at or just the situation. Because if it's not the situation, well, then, there's going to be a problem.

He glances around quickly, then uses his foot to scoop up some piping that fell to the ground, kicking it up into the air so he can hold it like a club, too. It's super rusty on one end. You don't want tetanus, Thor, come on.

"That's the story of my life," he answers in a way that is probably too casual for how he's starting to circle Thor, center of gravity low.

[worldsaway]

You're definitely being laughed at, Brock. So there's definitely a problem here. His amusement fades as Brock begins to circle, because like hell he doesn't know the implications of a stance like that.

"A self-fulfilling prophecy, no doubt." A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and he braces himself, straightening up to his full height and tensing his hand on the pipe. Brock is the one challenging him, so he'll turn with him but wait for him to make the first move here.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus has had enough of sitting around waiting for these damn eggs to hatch some hell-creature. They might as well be glowing neon with a sign that says 'bad news'. Sooner or later, they're going to hatch something awful, and she's going to have to handle people running around screaming.

So she's down there in the dark, humidity making her hair coil around her like water snakes, using her lasers to melt the eggs into goo. It's ugly, harsh, smelly work, and the odors that the eggs release are enough that she has to take a few steps back after each one and try not to gag. The bulbs steam and crackle as she destroys them, spitting up strange noises and solid pieces as she fries them. It's too dark for her to see if they have any color, but she's fairly certain it's not a cheery scrambled-egg yellow.

A bead of sweat runs down her nose and dangles at the tip of it before running into her mouth and the groove between her front teeth. She tastes salt. Her hands flash as she destroys another egg and she takes a step back, feeling disorientation attack her at all corners with its woozy auras.

She pushes her locs back and rubs a band of sweat off her forehead, exhaling deep before tilting her head at a sound down the tunnel. "Is someone there?"

[samson]

Brock's had a few tangles down here. Tangles with xenomorphs and tangles with Tributes, and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, it's getting harder. He's getting tired, which is unusual for him, and so he blames it on the humidity down here. Though the creepiness of the lower zones and the thread of xenomorphs affords him some kind of safety from getting shanked in the face, it's not worth it anymore. He's backtracking, trying to find a way back up to the main level.

The problem is that he forgot to sprinkle breadcrumbs. He doesn't know if he's backtracking or just heading further in: it's impossible to visually landmark anything with how dark and samey it is down here. But he hasn't encountered a nest before, he thinks, as he passes by what appear to be clutches of melted eggs. So this is... new. Damn it. He's going the wrong way.

Brock is about to turn around and go back when he hears someone speak. It's a woman, so she's safe from him, but that doesn't mean he's safe from her. Grunting quietly, he jumps back and presses himself against the wall. "Depends," he calls out.

[celebrityskinned]

"Unless you got the last name Klim, Cocktease or Cassidy, you're safe from me right now." Venus strains her eyes in the dark before using a morsel of her power to light up her hand. It glows like a five-fingered ember in the damp darkness.

"That Brock Samson I hear? The guy from the pillow fort?" That she stole, along with his idea for an adults-only Arena. She uses her foot to smush some of the melted eggs around, killing for sure anything she hasn't already boiled to death in its own embryonic fluid. Gross. So gross. "What are you doing down here with the hair frizz and the things that go bump in the night?"

[samson]

Of course. More people with glowy shit at their disposal. Brock really wishes they'd have given the Tributes some kind of heads-up about this -- or some powers for the regular folks to even the playing field a little. Then again, asking fairness from the Capitol of all places seems like wishful thinking.

Oh well.

He squints a little at the mention of Molotov's last name, but doesn't say anything about it. He doesn't even want to guess at how many people she's pissed off; it's kind of a wonder that he hasn't seen her name lit up in lights yet along with the other dead people.

"That'd be me," he says, cautiously moving away from the wall, careful not to step in egg goo. He only met Venus when she was drunk, and she is a mercenary -- so he doesn't know how safe he is with her. Not really. "Mostly I just got bored upstairs. Figured I'd come down here, and uh..."

[celebrityskinned]

"Help me make some omelets, maybe? I mean, the world's most horrible, smelly omelets..." She trusts him more than he trusts her, and that's not saying much, but she suspects she probably said something while shitfaced drunk that she only sort of remembers to give him an accurate impression of her lethal capabilities. He's not exactly rushing in to give her a hug.

Smart man. She wouldn't be either.

"Don't worry, I ain't going to shoot for you or anything. I mean, I know you have zero reason to believe me about that, but I do remember you being a bit of a gentleman when I was a hundred percent white-girl-wasted back there." She spreads her hand over her current oozing workplace. "I figure these eggs must be holding some Capitol sideshow, so I was banking on beating them to the punch and getting rid of them before they have a chance to gestate."

It's a futile thing, she knows - if the Capitol doesn't kill them with this then maybe it's just going to be fists and knives, but either way she's not saving anyone. But she has to feel useful. She has to be doing something.

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou's not really in a good place right now with Haruto gone. This is leading him to make not good decisions.

Like now, because that weird rattling in the distance that Brock's hearing is now going to be accompanied by a weird dude jumping out in front of him and loudly announcing himself: "It's lunchtime!"

...so Nitou's normal pre-battle catchphrase, which is usually a thing when he is about to eat whatever monsters he's fighting, doesn't really apply here, but Nitou doesn't care at the moment. He has charged at his target and announced himself. Just one step in a series of reckless decisions he's likely to make today.

[samson]

Brock's response to that is probably just the most confused expression ever seen on a human being's face, because what the fuck. But he doesn't have much time to react (or to laugh? He really wants to laugh, because seriously. What the fuck), so instead he just relies on instinct.

His instinct tells him it's a good idea to coil his muscles and just charge right at this guy, so that's what he does.

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou is not quite sure what sort of response he was expecting. Possibly some sort of return catchphrase and posing before the battle began in earnest. So now he's stuck dodging this charge while wondering if he's willing to expend enough mana in order to transform into Beast.

...those are some pretty big muscles on this other guy. He should probably really be considering that.

[samson]

Posing! No, never. Welcome to the real world, jackass. In which giant men charge at you like freight trains after you jump out at them spouting crazy shit.

People usually just kind of stand there in terror when Brock runs at them, so it's not like he was exactly expecting the dodge. He skids to a halt a few feet away, then whirls back around, fists balled.

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou bounds back and decides that yes, yes, he's going to have to pull a transformation for this. Hopefully the light show surrounding that magic belt that's just appeared around his waist is enough of a distraction to buy him the time he needs. "Hen...shin!"

The magic belt starts to make a bit of noise as there's a flashy gold circle of energy appearing next to Nitou: "SET...OPEN! L-I-O-N! LI-ON!" And he will try to jump through that magical circle of energy before the larger man is able to hit him with those very large fists. Crossing through that circle's where Nitou's magical armor comes from, after all.

And then there's THIS guy...

[wizardplease]

Haruto had fought The Hulk and.... won? All these broken ribs and the pain in his head didn't feel like a win. He had fought that thing and lived, yeah, that was a better way to put it... And as bad as his current state was, he was determined to live a little longer. There had to more that he could do. More ways that he could make himself useful.

"Haruto! HARUTO!"

But then he heard Koyomi calling for him. The girl he protected and kept alive all that time. The other surviving victim of Fueki's magic. The person who gave him a purpose when he woke up on that cold shore, confused and alone. And now she was in this hellish place here with him, and in trouble, and she needed him.

Had he been less concussed, less feverish, less starved and low on mana, he'd have thought about what he was doing. He'd have acted with some care. But in the heat of the moment he simply acted, forcing himself to run towards the source of the voice. He'd save her. He'd find the strength within himself to do it. He'd done it before and he'd do it again.

"Haruto, save me!"

It was not Koyomi waiting for him in the adjoining science lab. It was an enormous robot, with pincer claws and no mercy. And when he reflexively moved a hand over his driver to activate it, it spat out "Error!" rather than a magical transformation. So it was no contest. The robot got the first move, tossed him around like a rag doll, snapped his spine, and threw him into a corner to let him die.

It would be easy to overlook the mostly-dead man in the corner there, if not for the fact that he has yet to realize that he is beaten. For his hand with his sparkly silver-white transformation ring is atop the Driver at his waist, and he is trying vainly to make it work. "Error!" There has to be some more mana in him somewhere. "Error!" He can't have used it all. "Error!" This can't possibly be it.

ha ha OH BOY here we go

[samson]

Brock has gotten very good at figuring out the puzzles to unlock the science labs. So much so that they don't even really give him trouble anymore. Press the button, release the cube, throw it across the room to hit the other button. Simple. Sometimes there are more switches involves or acid moats beneath the floor, but for the most part, it's pretty simple.

All things considered, the puzzles are the simplest part of the Arena. Brock is fairly certain that shouldn't be so. They're puzzles. They're probably meant to be a little more difficult.

Still, spending his time figuring them out means he spends less time working out the moral ramifications of participating in all this. Not that Brock has a strict problem with murder on principle, but doing it for the entertainment of people sitting at home munching scifi potato chips (or whatever) just sticks in his craw. He hates it. He tries to avoid it when he can.

So, puzzles. He works on puzzles. The door to the next lab whooshes open, and Brock is immediately on edge -- usually, it's dead silent except for the quiet hum of electricity as the next puzzle powers up. But this time, there's a voice calling error over and over, and Brock balls his fists, center of gravity low as he enters the room. A robot? A malfunctioning robot, maybe...

Then he spots the slumped figure in the corner. (Or the slumped cyborg... it's possible.) He heads over cautiously, because it could be a trap. You never know. "Hey..."

[wizardplease]

If it's a cyborg, it's a very realistic looking one. One that's very good at bleeding, both from his nose and from a gut wound. But he's one that's still able to pay some attention to what's going on around him, because his head jerks and his eyes roll. Only the left one is able to focus properly, though. The other one's bloodied red and not cooperating.

Who is this? Should he know them? Are they safe? Haruto's mouth works, but he can't find the words. There's a curl of his fingers over the driver at his waist, and another "Error!" but then he's trying and failing to sit. The bit of motion makes his hand drop away. Now he can't even keep trying to make it work anymore. "I..."

'You've failed, Haruto Soma.'

"...Dragon?" To anyone else, he's talking to himself. Maybe hallucinating? But the phantom in him gets chatty in times of great distress and strain, and hell if this isn't one of those moments.

'Did you save Koyomi? No. You didn't.'

"She... she wasn't real!"

'And if she were real?'

He chokes on whatever he was about to say next. And then a spiderweb of glowing purple cracks erupts across his face. There is weird shit happening here, Brock. This is probably kind of awkward.

[samson]

Yeah, no, this is super awkward. Thank you, fate or god or whoever. Thank you so much.

Brock makes a bit of a face at this situation, once he's certain enough that this is in fact not a trap, but a dude who is very clearly in a bad way. And completely delirious, from the sound of it.

He starts to crouch down, hands outstretched. They're in the middle of a ridiculous Road Rules murder orgy, but Brock's instinct to protect has always been just as strong as his instinct to kill. If not stronger. If he can get a better look, maybe he can see how bad this is... there's got to be somebody with a med kit someplace, and... then he starts glowing and oh hell no, that's not a thing that happens to normal people.

Brock stands up so quickly that he almost loses his balance. "Whoa, kid -- are you okay? Hey, can you hear me?"

[wizardplease]

Haruto can hear him, and it proves to be a distraction from the voice in his head urging him to give up and let himself despair, already. That whole hands outstretched thing is alarming enough to make him jolt... or at least twitch slightly, given his current level of mobility. He's convinced that this guy is coming in to try and kill him. "No!" The crack on his face grows larger, and there's an audible crackling. "I can't die! I can't!"

'But you're dying, Haruto Soma.'

He had promised all those years ago to live, no matter what, for his parent's sake. He had survived Dragon's first attempts to burst free from him, and lived on. He had bullshitted his way through all sorts of situations that should have otherwise killed him. He's a Wizard. He can't be made helpless like this.

'In the end, you're just a human. Humans break. Humans fail.'

Don't focus on Dragon. Focus on the guy in front of him. "...get away. Run. It's... I'm trying to hold it in!" But not doing a very good job of it. His face twists into a grimace as his right hand bursts open, transforming into a glowing purple claw. Whatever's happening, it's speeding up.