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thearena2013-07-25 11:03 pm
amplifying) wrote in thearena2013-07-25 11:03 pm
the cyrus-beck algorithm ◎ open!
Who_ Beck and you!
What_ An unwelcome visitor somehow makes his way into the Candyland Arena...or has he?
Where_ Candyland arena!
When_ Now
Warnings/Notes_ None that I know, will be updated! I figure I'll make a second post or scenario or something when the second part of the plot comes out, so if you want to wait until then, please do so!
There was the good sides to living this long through the Arena. Beck would most certainly admit that.
He wasn't dead yet. There was a small part of him that believed that he wouldn't run into a pack of flesh-hungry zombies, or find himself stuck in some User ride that would crack his disc. Judging from the canons that went off every day, a very, very small part of him actually grew hopeful. Maybe he could make it through here. Maybe by some miracle, the other tribute would somehow manage to find peace somehow, and he would be the victor.
Beck didn't want to kill anyone.
...But he didn't want to die, either.
Then there was the bad sides.
It felt like the patch on the back of his head where he was hit was healed, but his leg was still bothering him pretty badly. It hurt and it ached when he was lying still, and the pain grew even worse when he was walking. It came to the point where he had a very noticeable limp when he walked, and it made traveling hard. As did hiding. And climbing. Staying hidden had been easy when the days turned into nights (although it had been so hard; he was still exhausted). But now that the nights were nights again, his suit glowed as brightly as it did in Argon. Beck sometimes felt like he was a walking beacon.
It was his lack of sleep and the amount of pain he was in that made Beck notice the figure shifting nearby. A shadow in the distance made him start, his User heart beating away in his chest. He carefully scanned over the distance, a careful hand on his weapon. He waited......and waited.....
But nothing showed up.
Beck reluctantly composed himself, and continued through the bright green grass. Just as his nerves were starting to settle, he heard it. A soft, yet eerie chuckle that echoed all around him.
He stopped again, and this time he drew the little sword, holding it tightly in his hand. All of his senses were alert now, like they were on fire. Beck limped forward, circling once, twice. He could recognize the source of that laugh, and honestly? That was one of the last things he wanted to hear.
Cyrus. The first Renegade. The one Program who thought the only way to free the Grid was to destroy it, to really make people free. The Program who gave him the scars on his old computer self, and was sketched on his skin to this very day. Beck knew that Cyrus wasn't derezzed, even though he would feel better if he was. But he wasn't supposed to be here.
Nobody was...but especially Cyrus. Because if he was here-
There was another echo, a laugh that drew closer from behind him. Beck spun around, unable to hold back a hiss of pain as the movement tweaked his knee the wrong way. "Come out!" His grip tightened on the handle of his sword, until it hurt. "I'm done playing games!"
What_ An unwelcome visitor somehow makes his way into the Candyland Arena...or has he?
Where_ Candyland arena!
When_ Now
Warnings/Notes_ None that I know, will be updated! I figure I'll make a second post or scenario or something when the second part of the plot comes out, so if you want to wait until then, please do so!
There was the good sides to living this long through the Arena. Beck would most certainly admit that.
He wasn't dead yet. There was a small part of him that believed that he wouldn't run into a pack of flesh-hungry zombies, or find himself stuck in some User ride that would crack his disc. Judging from the canons that went off every day, a very, very small part of him actually grew hopeful. Maybe he could make it through here. Maybe by some miracle, the other tribute would somehow manage to find peace somehow, and he would be the victor.
Beck didn't want to kill anyone.
...But he didn't want to die, either.
Then there was the bad sides.
It felt like the patch on the back of his head where he was hit was healed, but his leg was still bothering him pretty badly. It hurt and it ached when he was lying still, and the pain grew even worse when he was walking. It came to the point where he had a very noticeable limp when he walked, and it made traveling hard. As did hiding. And climbing. Staying hidden had been easy when the days turned into nights (although it had been so hard; he was still exhausted). But now that the nights were nights again, his suit glowed as brightly as it did in Argon. Beck sometimes felt like he was a walking beacon.
It was his lack of sleep and the amount of pain he was in that made Beck notice the figure shifting nearby. A shadow in the distance made him start, his User heart beating away in his chest. He carefully scanned over the distance, a careful hand on his weapon. He waited......and waited.....
But nothing showed up.
Beck reluctantly composed himself, and continued through the bright green grass. Just as his nerves were starting to settle, he heard it. A soft, yet eerie chuckle that echoed all around him.
He stopped again, and this time he drew the little sword, holding it tightly in his hand. All of his senses were alert now, like they were on fire. Beck limped forward, circling once, twice. He could recognize the source of that laugh, and honestly? That was one of the last things he wanted to hear.
Cyrus. The first Renegade. The one Program who thought the only way to free the Grid was to destroy it, to really make people free. The Program who gave him the scars on his old computer self, and was sketched on his skin to this very day. Beck knew that Cyrus wasn't derezzed, even though he would feel better if he was. But he wasn't supposed to be here.
Nobody was...but especially Cyrus. Because if he was here-
There was another echo, a laugh that drew closer from behind him. Beck spun around, unable to hold back a hiss of pain as the movement tweaked his knee the wrong way. "Come out!" His grip tightened on the handle of his sword, until it hurt. "I'm done playing games!"
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Real great. Good. So there went his food...and his weapons. And his sleeping bag.
He really, really wanted to run after her and get what he needed to get, but how could he? His head was killing him, he could barely walk on his knee, and the sun was almost set. Running after her would basically be suicide.
Pride be damned. Beck muttered a little something under his breath, watching the User run as quickly as she could.