Banished/Arrival

From Create Your Own Story

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New Athens--your home, where you've spent your entite life--is nowhere to be seen; it was expectd obviously, but you've never been outside and you shudder.
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You and seven other people stand in a line, condemned criminals just like you. The gendarmes who brought you here are loitering around the parked APC, stretcing their legs, lighting cigarettes, exchanging some light-hearted banter and you hear one taking a leak behind the vehicle; they wear black uniforms, barretts, combat vests are heavily armed. They're cheerfull. You and your fellow convicts however are not, and even though you don't know each other, you and your brothers and sisters in misery exchange worried glances. One of them is middle aged, with grey hair and glasses. He looks like a family man. Another is his opposite, clean shaven and scarred with a predatory look about him and tatoos. The third one is a severly overweight woman in her thirtees, with tears rolling down her eyes. The forth one is a guy, twentysomething, who's trying to put on a tough face. The fifth one is a middle aged man with a tired, resigned look in his eyes; you know him, he's a known drunk. The sixth one is a pretty woman in her late twenties. The seventh is a untidy guy with a lazy eye and teeth to big.
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You stand together with six other people, condemned criminals just like you. The gendarmes who brought you here--wearing black uniforms, barretts and combat vestsare--are loitering around the parked APC, stretcing their legs, joking, lighting cigarettes, you hear one taking a leak behind their vehicle. They're cheerfull. You and your fellow convicts however are not, and you exchange worried glances. One of them is middle aged, with grey hair and glasses. He looks like a family man. Another is his opposite, clean shaven and scarred with a predatory look about him and tatoos. The third one is a severly overweight woman in her thirtees, with tears rolling down her eyes. The forth one is a guy, twentysomething, who's trying to put on a tough face. The fifth one is a middle aged man with a tired, resigned look in his eyes; you know him, he's a known drunk. The sixth one is a pretty woman in her late twenties. The seventh is a untidy guy with a lazy eye and teeth to big.
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The saergent steps forward. A cigarette is dangling from his mouth, and you see your reflection in his sun glasses.
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The saergent steps forward.
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"We've got som presents for you." They grab a couple of backpacks from the APC, one for each convict, and throws them in a pile. "But before we let you scuttle off to enjoy your new home, we're going to have a little competition."
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"We've got som presents for you." They grab a couple of backpacks from the APC, one for each convict, and throws them in a pile on the ground. "But before we let you scuttle off to enjoy your new home, we're going to have a little competition."
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"One of you is going to be the ''gimp''; he won't get a backpack, and we'll leave the hand cuffs on..."
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"One of you is going to be the ''gimp''. He won't get a backpack, and we'll leave the hand cuffs on..."

Revision as of 20:08, 28 November 2015

You find yourself on a old free way, cutting straight through a dry, bleak landscape. The ground is cracked. A hundred old car wrecks line the roadroad.


You and seven other people stand in a line, condemned criminals just like you. The gendarmes who brought you here are loitering around the parked APC, stretcing their legs, lighting cigarettes, exchanging some light-hearted banter and you hear one taking a leak behind the vehicle; they wear black uniforms, barretts, combat vests are heavily armed. They're cheerfull. You and your fellow convicts however are not, and even though you don't know each other, you and your brothers and sisters in misery exchange worried glances. One of them is middle aged, with grey hair and glasses. He looks like a family man. Another is his opposite, clean shaven and scarred with a predatory look about him and tatoos. The third one is a severly overweight woman in her thirtees, with tears rolling down her eyes. The forth one is a guy, twentysomething, who's trying to put on a tough face. The fifth one is a middle aged man with a tired, resigned look in his eyes; you know him, he's a known drunk. The sixth one is a pretty woman in her late twenties. The seventh is a untidy guy with a lazy eye and teeth to big.


The saergent steps forward. A cigarette is dangling from his mouth, and you see your reflection in his sun glasses.


"We've got som presents for you." They grab a couple of backpacks from the APC, one for each convict, and throws them in a pile. "But before we let you scuttle off to enjoy your new home, we're going to have a little competition."


He smiles.


"One of you is going to be the gimp. He won't get a backpack, and we'll leave the hand cuffs on..."


Four stones is placed on the ground, forming a square, and you start to get a feeling for whats going on. It's a makeshift fighting ring.


"You're going to step in the ring and slug it out, it's going to be a tournament, and then we'll decide who's lost. The winner will get the extra backpack. The loser won't get shit."


You nod a few time and stares at your fellow convicts with a wicked smile; this is a great idea, and you'll be happy to smash a few faces.

You shift nervously. You really don't want to do this, but you have no choice.

You take a step back and stares straight at the saergent. "I'm not taking part in your twisted game. I refuse to fight."

There's nothing to be gained from fighting, but perhaps you can use your feminine charms to satisfy them instead

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