Banished/Arrival
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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. | + | 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. |
Revision as of 19:53, 20 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.
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.
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 saergent steps forward.
"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."
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 shift nervously. You really don't want to do this, but you have no choice.
