[01] Arctic Sector

[DA 2009]

ARCTIC SECTOR

Time Of Day: Noon

Bunker: Active

Starting Players: John Doe, Alexander Trafford, Belle Hibiki, Tempo

[Tempo]

The sheltered life that Tempo lived really made him unfit for city life. He sluggishly walked back to the hotel after a long day of exploring the orange haired youth walked past the front desk and headed toward his beaten up hotel room. The incredibly large man behind the check in counter caught the small boy in the corner of his eye. metropolis. A cheerful melody played from the bell chime right above the hotel door as he walked inside. The

“Hey kid!” Much to his chagrin Tempo continued to walk. A furiously fast techno beat was pumping from his large headphones directly into his ear drums. The man tried once more.

“HEY KID!”

Tempo halted dead in his tracks. He reached his skinny right hand into his pocket and slightly lowered the volume on his MP3 player.

“Yes s-sir?” He asked meekly.

“I got some mail for ya.”

The man grabbed a handful of napkins off the counter and wiped some greasy substance from his sausage like fingers. He reached under the desk and pulled out a small white envelope. A bunch of mixed emotions flooded the young man’s system. For starters nobody was supposed to know where he was, but what if Sensei Uriel tracked him down and was trying to contact him? Tempo quickly snatched the letter from the hotel employees hand and continued toward his room. The teenager tore through the adhesive seal and pulled out a small piece of parchment.

It read: You are cordially invited to the 2009 tournament of Dante’s Abyss. You have been selected out of thousands of potentials to participate in this reputable annual event, sponsored by the Syntex Corporation. This challenging yet exciting opportunity will afford you a chance at honor, glory, and wealth. Enclosed within this envelop is a special chip, which when taken to any nearby Capsule Corporation, will grant you free passage in a teleportation device to our planet of Dante. The finest amenities and provisions will be provided prior to the start of the event. We truly hope to have you as our most honored guest for this momentous occasion.

As he peered up from the invitation he noticed a large congregation of people right outside his hotel room door. A group of men in black suits surrounded the maid that Tempo had briefly talked to earlier in the day. The young man’s eyes widened when he realized one of the men was showing her a small photograph of himself. These were the men that tore down his village, these were the men that caused him to leave the only family member he ever had. Tempo could feel the fear and anger start to boil up inside of him. His breathing was heavier and he felt faint. Using the volume tuner in his pocket he raised the techno track to full blast. He remembered seeing a Capsule Corp. building right around the corner from the hotel. He sprinted down the hall and never looked back.

Present

Tempo’s eyes suddenly shot open and gust of cold air blitzed down his lungs. He sat up from the cold ground underneath him and surveyed his surroundings. There was nothing, but white all around him. A blanket of smoke poured if the speed metal in his ears was as loud as it could go. from his agape expression. It had snowed only once back in the village of Treble, but it was never cold like this. Tempo rapidly slid his beat red hands up and down his exposed legs trying to create as much heat as he could. He bounced up off the snow covered ground and starting running in place. Getting the blood flowing through his body was warming him up, but not nearly as much as he would like.

He took a small step backwards and tripped over a rod like object sticking from the ground. Tempo reached down and pulled what appeared to be a gun from the icy terrain. He brushed the powdery white from the barrel of the rifle and examined it. He lifted the gun in his hands and pointed it out towards the unknown. Tempo had never held a gun before, but that moment felt right. He was almost disgusted with how good he felt. He raised the weapon into the air and fired. The ki bullet sailed high into the noon sky before exploding in a blinding light. A slight smirk formed over the smooth face of the young student. He tossed the gun to the ground and shook his head.

A black aura slowly coated the boy. It was so warm that it began to melt the snow underneath him. Tempo took a large gasp of the frigid artic air and quickly changed the speed metal to a more soothing alternative title. He plopped down into the snow.

It was cold once more.

[John Doe]

“Woo! I slept fucking gooood!” John Doe yelled as he raised both outstretched arms above his head. Without missing a beat, Doe pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. Then, with a snap of fingers, the man lit it and stole a quick puff. Exhaling triumphantly from his successful sleep, he finally became aware of his surroundings.

Doe saw that he was in a flat, frozen desert, completely devoid of anything that lived except himself. Doe looked to the right of him, and saw the same image, and the left of him told the same story. Frowning with a puzzled expression, Doe stared up. He saw a sun, directly above him, along with the tip of his burning cigarette. He used his tongue to twirl the cigarette around the sun before finally looking back down at his feet that was stuck in-between cracks of ice. Doe lifted his foot and tapped his toe on the ice. Having finished surveying the land, Doe thought aloud, “How the fuck did I get here?”

He lifted his right arm up and, with his palm, smacked his temple twice in order to jog his memory.

-Earlier-

John Doe was seated in a luxurious armchair inside a penthouse suite. A half grin and a cigarette was on his face as he looked around the place and nodded. He then noticed a large, full-sized mirror in front of him. He adjusted his shades and stared at his reflection.

“Damn, ya look good Doe.” He said as he stared at his reflection. Then, shifting his body slightly, he replied “No, you look good!” He shifted back to his original position. “You’re right, I DO look good.” Then he paused, took a puff from his cigarette, and sighed. “What the fuck am I doing? Shit, I’m bored as hell.”

John jumped up and walked over to the former owner of the penthouse, who was lying in a pool of his own blood. “Well, this is a nice place and all, but I have to be leaving now!” He took out his cigarette from his mouth and flicked it onto the lifeless body. Then Doe noticed that the body was holding something in its hand. Curious, Doe bent down and wrestled the item from the stiff grip the former owner possessed. Although covered in blood, Doe could still see that it was a letter of some kind. Even more curious, John ripped it open and read it carefully to himself.

“Well well well! It seems that I’ve found something to do with my time!”

-Later-

The man had wondered through the teleportation device and entered into the large plaza. Things looked normal, up until a voice came on the intercom. “Attention honored guests. I repeat, attention honored guests.” Doe would have listened to the rest, but he suddenly felt that it was a good time to yawn. After the woman had finished speaking, two large guards came up to Doe, slightly surprised that he was even there. One guard looked at him, the asked in a deep voice, “What’s yer name?”

Doe thought for a moment, then replied, “Uh…Bill Gates?” Both guards looked at each other, then shrugged. They escorted ‘Bill Gates’ to the designated room. One made a remark that if he had showed a second later, he wouldn’t have been able to participate. John Doe smirked, then was thrown into the room with everyone else. After some conversations that he paid little to no attention to, the room was filled with gas and he quickly feel asleep.

-Now-

“Oh yeah!” Doe said, softly slamming his fist downwards into his palm. “Well, I guess I have to go find people to fight.” He adjusted his shades and looked around the tundra, ice and all. Then, as if struck by a lightning bolt, he shivered and wrapped his arms around himself.

“HOLY SHIT, IT’S FUCKING COLD OUT HERE!”

[Alexander Trafford]

“Well, this is some fucking bullshit,” Trafford thought to himself. Even if he had dared to speak aloud, Alexander did not think he had the physical capacity to form words; his teeth were too busy chattering against each other much too violently for speech. Had he been warned about the conditions of this competition, Trafford would have most definitely packed some more suitable attire. The golden haired youth was still adorned in his customary silver Armani suit, which, while being extremely fashionable in his normal environment, did not provide him with much warmth here, in the frozen, miserable tundra.

Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, Alex removed a single cigarette from the Marlboro box he kept close to his chest at all times, his Zippo lighter, and a silver flask that had been recently filled with fresh whiskey. It was far too cold outside to inject himself with his favorite recreational drug, or, as he liked to call it, his “little escape from reality.” These little pleasures, which he referred to as his “old faithful,” would have to do.

Trafford took a long swig of the cheap liquor before tucking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth formed by the convergence of his upper and lower lip. After ducking his head and creating a barrier around the top of his lighter with his free hand, he managed to shield the Zippo from the ferocious and freezing winds for a brief moment, which was all he needed to light the tip of his Marlboro Red smoke. He pursed his lips tightly around the thin cylinder of tobacco and white paper and inhaled deeply as he tucked the flask and the lighter back into his suit pocket. With whiskey in his stomach and a constant flow of cancerous smoke in his lungs, Alexander found enough warmth, however false it was in reality, to brave the frozen tundra. And, still shivering violently despite the newfound warmth in his torso, he made his first step into uncharted territory. His normal swagger faded and was replaced by a slow, drudging, determined march in response to the bone-chilling cold he now faced.

As he trudged along in no particular direction, letting his feet take him where they desired to go, Trafford could not help wondering how he had gotten here. Sure, he had accepted the invitation and agreed to partake in the competition without hesitation, but why? He had always been a simple man. His average day back home, in West City, generally consisted of waking up sometime in the early afternoon and immediately partaking in his alcoholic tendencies, then earning some money in the underground, smoking marijuana with Moe, picking up a prostitute and going back to his flat in the slums. But lately he had fought in a world martial arts tournament, fled to Mercy-Sei on some crapshoot job offer, and had now entered himself into some bizarre competition.

The answer was simple, although he could not bring himself to admit it. He was running. Alice’s death had cut him more deeply than he liked to concede. After all, not many people could mentally recover from watching a loved one die; and not just die, Trafford had watched the woman he adored take a slug from a Desert Eagle in the back of the skull; he had watched her beautiful face became a mangled, bloodied mass of smoking flesh and bone, and he had watched her limp, dead corpse fall helplessly onto that crimson-stained velvet carpet.

Part of him wanted to keep running, and part of him wanted to face the tragedy head on and realize that everyone had a burden to carry, and burying it inside would not help, only exacerbate the pain he felt. Alexander was not just running from reality, though, he was sprinting headlong away from the pain as well – seeking comfort in more intense drugs and pleasure in dirtier hookers. His life was on a downwards spiral, and he knew it, he understood it, and he just needed to act on it. Perhaps here, in this frozen tundra, he could find peace of mind, but maybe not, it was possible that misery was in his destiny.

”Only time will tell,” Trafford mentally reassured himself. Through chattering teeth, Alexander exhaled a plume of bluish grey smoke. He slowed his shivering march in order to watch the warm, distinguishably colored smoke dance chaotically with the colorless, howling wind that carried it away from him. And then he continued his trudge which, he hoped, would lead him to shelter, or, at the very least, a thick coat and a nice pair of snow pants.

[Belle Hibiki]

Belle liked to think that he was a pretty well-traveled sort of guy. Sure, most of his time lately had been spent aboard the Maiden's Dream, but until then, most of his life had been spent wandering the world. His father either couldn't afford a home or hadn't wanted one, and over the years Belle had learned how to survive in all the exotic lands he had found himself in.

But at least those lands had had trees. Or grass. Or at least other living things. Standing ankle deep in the snow on a low hillside, Belle peered straight into the heart of the approaching snowstorm and quietly doubed whether either of those things existed here.

"Great, just what I needed," Belle gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering together. He'd built up a significant resistance to the elements, but that didn't mean that he was immune. Too long out there and he would succumb to sickness - or worse.

Someone had mentioned something in the rules about everyone needing to go to a bunker from time to time. Deciding that there was no time like the present, Belle steeled himself against he chill and trudged forward.

It was far worse than he had expected. Instead of finding traction, his feet simply slid into the snow. The storms must have just started recently, he realized. If the snow had been there for some time already, it should have been harder packed than that. Did it have something to do with the Dante people? Were they responsible? He guessed it was possible, though how anyone could create a premature winter was totally beyond him.

His foot was beginning to get numb. Yanking himself out of the hole with a wet shlorp, Belle took another step and watched in irritation as his foot sank even deeper than before. "Oh, come on...!"

It was going to take him days to get anywhere at this rate. Luckily, he didn't have to settle for taking steps one at a time. Steadying himself, Belle relaxed his muscles, focused, and leapt.

There was another soft slurping sound as his feet came free, but he could barely hear it this time through the whistling of wind in his ears. He soared above the snow in a wide arc, came down lightly, then jumped again before he could sink. The biting cold wind pricked at his face as he sailed through the air. He hoped the bunkers weren't too small; he'd have a job spotting one them in this storm.

He landed, jumped again. But as he came down this time, the snow under his feet abruptly shifted from the impact. Belle skidded a yard down the gentle slope on one foot before the slushy water slipped away from him completely and he landed on his back. Instead of stopping, Belle kept on going as his momentum shot him down the hill like a runaway bobsled.

"Br-r-r-r-r!" Belle chattered, reaching out with a hand to try and stop his descent. His fingers carved deep lines through the fluffy snow, but didn't slow him down one bit. Each sharp bump sliced like an icy knife into his back, until at last it seemed like he was starting to slow down. The obscuring storm parted ahead of him, and revealed -

"WAHHHH?!"

Rushing towards him was not the bottom of a hill, but the opaline blue of an arctic sky. Instead of taking him to the top of a snowy knoll, the runners of the tournament had transported him to the edge of a cliff!

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Belle swung around to dig both sets of fingers hard into the snow. It helped, but it didn't look like it was going to be enough. He felt his feet swing out over open air, then his chest. And then, miraculously, his shoulders wrenched as he yanked to a dead stop.

Belle trembled. Suspended only by his fingers, he looked down over the edge to the steep mountainside far below. "Whew. Man," he breathed. "Close call."

As if on queue, the storm rushed around him, howling like an angry banshee. Icy wind blasted at his sides, tossing him like a ragdoll and dashing him agaisnt the cliff face. He felt the snow and rock shift underneath his fingers, and yanked his head around just in time to see them break away in his hands.

Belle let out a sharp yelp as he spiraled through the storm. He reached out to grab the cliff-face, seeking another handhold, but his fingers found nothing but smoothly worn rock. He stretched out again, but the wind pulled him away.

Darkness. Then... WHAM! Belle's numbed side throbbed with pain as he slammed into another blanket of snow, tumbled, then flopped at least another twenty yards down the slope, end over end, before he finally managed to stop himself.

Squinting his eyes open, Belle groggily cursed God or Buddha or whoever it was that ran the universe in a way that he hadn't done in a long time. Cog would have certainly stopped him from saying some of the profane things he was uttering, but not here. Not now. Shaking slightly, he pushed himself onto his feet, staggered, and then bent down to rest his hands on his knees. His side seemed fine aside from a dull ache. The adrenaline was still pumping furiously through his veins. He'd pay for that hit later, but at least he knew what to expect -

Chuff.

- now?

Belle tilted his head. There was a new sound now, just audible over the sound of the storm's moaning howls. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The sound was new. If he had to guess, it was something like the sound of large waves crashing on a distant shore, but it wasn't quite like that.

He looke dup slowly. If possible, he stiffened even more as a tide of white rushed down the mountain towards him at unthinkable speed. "Oh... Uh...

"Shit!" He turned around and started jumping down the mountain, not even caring about the danger now. "Avalanche!"

[Belle Hibiki]

The ice cream shop was decently crowded for a mid-afternoon rush. Edward threw a casual look around at the various humans, aliens, and anthromorphs that were scattered around the many tables spaced out around the cafe.All of them were chattering away, and from what Edward caught in the snatches of conversation that floated over to his table, it was all about one thing: Dante's Abyss.

He glanced across the table at the young girl seated opposite him. More thoughts of the competition weren't exactly what he had had in mind when he had suggested that they go get a bite to eat.

Taking up his spoon, Edward scooped out another mouthfull of his hot fudge sundae. With as good as the food was, he wasn't surprised at all that the shop was so crowded on a weekday. "What's the matter, Little Yana? If you don't take a bite of your sundae it's going to melt."

"Mm," Sayana replied absently, fiddling with the cell phone in her lap and not looking up at him.

Edward tilted his head. "What you got, there?"

"Nothing," Sayana said, and closed the phone. "I was just wondering if, like, they were talking about it on the news. It's supposed to be starting now, right?"

"Oh?" Edward blinked. "You can get the news on that little thing?"

"Of course," Sayana actually giggled, "if you have wi-fi." She tilted her head. "You didn't know that, Mister Cog?"

Edward cleared his throat gruffly. "I've got better things to do than follow all those new-fangled contraptions. They make a new one every month. It's too hard to follow."

Sayana laughed again, then quieted. She slipped her phone back into the handbag slung over her shoulder and stared off into space.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Edward reassured her.

"I know," she said. "I just... I have a bad feeling."

"A feeling?"

"Uh huh." Sayana tucked a lock of her long hair behind an ear, frowning slightly. She seemed to be glaring so hard at her sundae that Edward thought it would shatter. Then, slowly, she shook her head and forced a smile. "But you're right. It's just a tournament, right?"

Sayana leaned over. Digging out a spoonful of her sundae, she brought it to her lips as a thick, melted stream of cream flowed down the icy slope. "Hibiki-kun can take care of himself."

~+~+~+~+~

"AVALAAANCHE!"

The snow under Belle's feet was trembling as he quickly spun around. Almost too quick, as it turned out; he nearly slipped and lost his footing before he could steady himself. Leaping was dangerous, but being afraid of something that might happen when he was for sure going to be buried underneath ten feet of snow unless he did something didn't seem to make a whole lot of sense, even for him.

Jumping, Belle floated over twenty feet in the air before arcing back down towards the blanketed mountainside, the rushing flurry of falling snow hot on his heels. The distance between them widened as he jumped, but then closed almost instantly when he lande.

Gritting his teeth, Belle pushed on, bending and launching himself through the air. Every time he jumped, he could feel the snow slip even more under his feet. Not good, he thought; even if it was saving him for now, it was only a matter of time before his jumping slipped up and he ended up flat on his face with the avalanche bearing down on him. He wouldn't have time to react, much less leap out of the way.

Belle's heart beat a shuddering tatoo against his breast. He looked around, gritting his teeth against the stinging cold that jabbed at his eyes as he tried to ignore the rushing sound that was drowning out everything else. There were a couple uncovered rocks dotted around the slope, though they were widely spaced apart. Making his decision in the blink of an eye, Belle leapt up to the top of the nearest one and then immediately flung himself into the air.

His aim was right on target. Coming down on the next rock, Belle twisted and leapt again, zig-zagging across the path of the roaring avalanche. He had to cover more distance than when he was just going straight, but without having to worry about his footing, he was able to take much longer jumps, which more than made up for it. He was finally starting to gain some ground. If he could just get a little more...

"There!" he shouted, landing and jumping again just as the first blots of snow smacked against his ankles, flying away at an angle that would take him clear of the danger. Belle folded his arms and legs, dropped, and rolled across the snow as he came down. Using his momentum, he flipped onto his front and then pushed himself upright, hoping that he'd been right.

He had. The edge of the avalanche was some distance above and away, and it would follow the slope of the mountain out of sight. He sighed with relief and dropped to his ass on the snow. "Phew... That was too close," he breathed. Then, all of a sudden, he laughed. "Haha! Not good enough, Mother Nature! Haha... Ha... Huh?"

Belle watched, dumbstruck as the falling wave of snow angled away from its proper path, tearing down the path of most resistance.

Straight for him.

"OH SHIT!" Belle yelped, turning around and sprinting. The snow was harder, but only just. He was fresh out of rocks, and he didn't dare trying to land a jump in this situation. Without the cushion of loose snow, the impact of landing was sure to make him slip. "I didn't mean it, Nature! Honest!" He looked over his shoulder. The snow was still following him... No... Aiming for him!

He tripped and fell, carving a four meter trench through the snow with his face. Coming up, sputtering in incoherent rage, he finally snapped.

That tears it!

Staggering to his feet, he faced the oncoming oblivion. "I came to fight strong guys, not some stupid snow hazard!"

The air around Belle shuddered as he reached deep into himself, attempting against his better judgment to summon his power. He was limited by the collar, he could feel that much, but not nearly as much as he had thought he would be. The strength he needed flowed into his body, through his veins, and concentrating into his hand. "Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Belle's voice built rapidly in volume as the space around him began to tweak and twist before suddenly erupting into a clear, flame-like aura.

With the avalanche almost on top of him, Belle thrust his hand forward, palm out. "HA!"

There was a sound like a bomb going off as the force of his strike ripped through his hand and slammed outward. The tide of approaching snow recoiled and then split straight down the middle, flowing to either side and leaving him untouched. The kinetic force gouged a wide trough through the snow, shoving the obscuring icy mist away.

That was when he saw it. A glint of metal. The flash of a lens. The whirling of many bladed arms. For half a heartbeat, Belle was sure he saw something lurking in the center of the avalanche. But then, almost before he could register that it was there, it disappeared in an enormous ball of fire. The flames hissed against the snow, sending a sudden blast of steam bursting in every direction.

Belle covered his face with his arm, waiting for the heat to fade. When it did he dropped his hands and paused to look.

It was, more or less, what he had expected. A large crater had been burned straight into the snow, slushed water pooling at the bottom of the basin. But there was nothing metal, or even anything at all, except snow. Which meant that either Belle had a lot more strength than he realized and could vaporize things with a simple little ki ai, or the damn thing - whatever it was - was still around. He had no doubts in his mind that it had been behind the avalanche's unusual behavior.

It looked like someone was trying to end the competition before it began. He frowned slightly, thinking. "He'd only been at the game for a few minutes, so a player doing it seemed pretty unlikely. It could be someone in charge of the competition, but that didn't make much sense to him, either. What good was bringing a bunch of fighters to a tournament if you were going to try to kill them off before their could even fight?

No; what was more likely was that it was someone else.

Deciding to think about it, later, Belle turned and headed down the slope of the mountain. The storm had been left far above him, and with his vision finally clear, he could see the small, squat shape of a building in the far distance.

It looked like this competition was about to get a lot more interesting.

~+~+~+~+~

"You think he suspects something?" Damon asked absently.

Audric shook his head. "Belle might think something is wrong, but don't worry. He went completely the wrong way with it," the programmer assured him. "The program I ran manifested as a robot. At worst, he thinks someone else is trying to kill him or ruin his chances of winning."

"I suppose a little of both is true," Damon admitted, flexing his fingers against the arm of his chair. "A completely peaceful day wouldn't be very fun for the 'audience', would it?"

"No sir," Audric said, lips twitching in a barely restrained smile. "Not at all."

Belle Hibiki enters the Arctic sector bunker.

[Tempo]

Sunshine, fire, burning stuff, ummmm fire. Its really cold. No not cold, its warm. Snow. No don’t think of snow.

Using his thought process to help him get warm wasn’t really working out. The chattering of the young boy’s molars were even blocking the tunes pouring from his headphones. He huddled his arms together across his chest and kept his head down, preventing the frigid gusts from hitting his face. Tiny white snowflakes littered the boy’s once vividly orange hair. He lifted his head up for a brief moment to check the path before him. There seemed to be no signs of life around him for miles, nothing but white on all sides. Never had Tempo questioned his fashion sense, but the whole sleeveless shirt and shorts combo really didn’t help him this time.

Tempo expected his first snowy day to include a sled, an awesome snowball fight with Sensei, snowmen building, and maybe even a batch of warm, just out of the over chocolate chip cookies. Instead the headphone clad teen was stuck in the middle of a blizzard with no one to talk to and even if he found someone to talk to they would most likely try to kill him.

Suddenly a surge of wind hit the unsuspecting child from the left side causing him to lose his footing and fall backwards into the icy powder. Tempo let out a shaky groan as he lifted himself up from the frozen surface. He scrambled to brush all the frozen vapor from his exposed skin. His legs were now a throbbing red and his arms matched. The young man peered down at where he fell and smiled. A snow angel lay beautifully across the pure white canvas. It was perfect. Tempo reached into his now snow filled pocket and pulled out his icicle-like music device. He slowly slid his thumb in a circular motion across the device till he found what he was looking for. The uplifting intro to “Let it Snow” chimed into his ears. For the first time in a very long time Tempo was laughing.

Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Tempo dropped down onto his knees and began shaping the powder. A small sphere quickly became a decent sized snowball which then became a boulder of ice. The numbness in his finger tips didn’t put a damper on the boy’s fun. He patted down the edges of the base making sure it was completely round. The youngster piled atop the smaller ball atop the larger one.

It doesn't show signs of stopping,
And I've bought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

The sound of crunching snow behind him broke the boy’s concentration. It was a footstep. He sat there unable to move as if the blizzard had turned him into a human popsicle. Tempo knew it was just a game, he knew that when push came to shove he would have to react. He wouldn’t really be killing people, it’s a game. Nothing he did no matter how savage and bloodthirsty would contradict his morals and values. But he didn’t mean to join the game and he couldn’t bare the thought of having to kill anyone. Tempo could feel the warmth creeping up through his veins and he reacted on instinct. He swiftly jerked his body in a 180 degree motion. His hand waved through the air in a pistol like gesture. One thin beam of energy flew from his index finger and impaled his target.

When we finally kiss goodnight,
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight,
All the way home I'll be warm.

A pool of crimson blood stained the once fair surface. The hind leg of the snow hare continued to twitch despite suffering a fatal wound the abdomen. Tempo grimaced at the sight of the once lively rabbit reduced to nothing more than artic road kill. He hunched forward and dipped his middle and index finger in the puddle of vital fluid. It was warm. He cautiously lifted his stained fingers to his face and smeared them under his eyes.

The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we're still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,

Nestled just ahead of the carcass was a small cottage like structure. Finally lifting his eyes from the deceased creature, he paced forward hoping that a change of clothes waited for him inside.

Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Tempo has entered the Artic Sector bunker.

[Alexander Trafford]

“What the hell is that?” Trafford whispered to himself. He cautiously peered out from behind the jagged, snow covered rock he had dove behind only moments ago. It was a low, rumbling noise that he could hear in the distance that frightened him. When he first noticed the disturbance it was faint and could barely be heard over the howling winds that were constantly encircling him; the ferocious storm had no particular direction, but rather blasted to and fro, this way and that way, in an illogical and chaotic pattern. As the minutes passed, with Alexander keeping a haphazard lookout from behind his white-topped stone cover, the sound’s intensity increased – the rumbling became eerily similar to a large stampede romping through the snow.

The cold was beginning to frustrate him once more. After squatting behind the cover of a rock for an extended period of time, without any real motion whatsoever, his feet and his legs had begun to numb, and he was quite sure that his toes had long since fallen off. After lighting another cigarette, Trafford decided to take one last look in the direction of the disturbance before continuing his depressing trudge across this arctic tundra.

“Holy shit!” Alexander exclaimed. Cresting over a far away hill was a giant wave of snow and debris. The front of the massive flood of aggregated powder was continuously rolling over itself, much like a steamroller, and was rushing down the side of the mountain. It was a mother fucking avalanche. His cigarette slipped from his awestruck mouth and dropped uselessly to the fair canvas.

Trafford maintained a safe distance from the avalanche, making sure that he did not become endangered. It was odd, he noted, that the avalanche was continuously changing directions in a manner that did not make much sense to him. He had been an intelligent student back home, and even graduated his private, highly esteemed high school with highest honors, but he could not understand the snow flood’s movement – it was constantly changing directions against the path of least resistance. That was unnatural.

Alexander took a few steps back, maintaining a low, stealthy crouch for some unknown reason. It wasn’t like anyone was watching him in this god forsaken shithole. He ran his long, bony fingers through his hair and swept the orange locks away from his eyes. His eyes were squinted, peering relentlessly through the gusting snow in order to keep track of the avalanche’s path as he slowly and carefully backed away from this section of arctic wasteland.

Suddenly, the sound of a detonating bomb ripped through the area. The volume rose above that of the avalanche, and made the sound of the storm irrelevant in his ears. Trafford dove headlong into the snow out of instinct, covering his head and waiting for the smoke and the flames to devour his body. But they never came. After a minute of lying like this, face down in the freezing snow with his Armani suit leaking water like a sieve, Alexander lifted his head and peered out across the snowy desert. In the distance the avalanche no longer existed, but instead was replaced by two separated mounds of snow that had once been the combined sum of the solidified flood. Smoke rose from the center, the aftermath of whatever explosion had caused the split and the halt of the rushing wave of snow, ice and debris. Near the origin of the detonation, a figure was walking away from the scene. He was too far off to identify, Trafford couldn’t even tell if the being was human, but it was certainly alive. And he was marching towards something, appearing determined.

“Might as well see where that fellow is off too,” Trafford whispered through chattering teeth as he lifted himself from the ground and dusted himself off. Shrugging his shoulders, he temporarily unbuttoned his suit and removed one of his two Desert Eagle handguns from its respective holster residing against his left ribcage. “Just to be safe . . .”

~~~*~~~

Having followed the creature into the stout, well fortified building, one he assumed was an old bunker, he assumed he would have made some sort of contact with said biped. He had been a good distance behind the being, and it was possible that he, she or it had already exited, he had not seen the fellow leave, and he had not yet found an alternative exit.

“Oh well,” Trafford spoke rather loudly, before lowering his voice into a whisper midsentence, nearly forgetting the possibility that he was mere yards away from a hostile organism with the ability to halt and separate titanic avalanches. Thinking his absentminded mistake may cost him his life he leveled the heavy handgun in front of his torso and crept slowly along the cold, concrete wall that lined the entrance to the bunker.

As he made his way through the small fortress, he passed a kitchen, what appeared to be a lounge room, and a few bunks, but there was no sign of his abstruse avalanche annihilator, or ‘Triple A,’ as he referred to him. He thought this was hysterical because, back home, AAA was the name of the company he called when he needed on sight help with his car.

When he reached the end of the long hallway, and after he looked both ways with his gun leveled, Trafford slipped into what appeared to be a supply room. He entered this area of the bunker expecting some food, maybe some clothes, but what he found was a fully stocked armory.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Trafford spoke through his traditional, widespread grin. He grabbed, examined and discarded weaponry like it was candy. Every so often he pulled one against his shoulder and pretended he was gunning down the enemy, like a child playing cops and robbers, or some other foolish game.

Reaching for the shoulder strap of an assault rifle that was mounted high upon the eastern wall of the armory, Alexander immediately found the gun that fit him. Tucking his Desert Eagle back into its holster, he threw the strap over his shoulder so that the large piece of weaponry hung diagonally across his back. He made sure the barrel was pointing downwards, resting almost on his hip, so that if need be he could quickly slide the weapon across his side and tuck it under his arm.

On his way out of the room, Ace flipped up the old, wooden cover of a chest that was resting cleverly behind the open door. As the cover opened a collection of dust flew up from the disturbed storage facility. Nearly coughing, Trafford waved his hands furiously in front of his face, squeezing his eyes closed and spitting repeatedly to avoid any dust intake.

“Jesus . . .” Alex sputtered out the last bit of dust from his lips and wiped his eyes clean. Examining the contents of the chest, however, immediately returned the nefarious grin of mischievous triumph to his visage.

Inside he found a thick coat, the interior of which was lined with some sort of animal fur, an equally thick winter hat, made in the old soviet style, which he immediately pulled snug over his ears, an old satchel and a bunch of energy cartridges for his newly acquired weapon. It was almost as if he were meant to find this hidden stash of items.

After stowing his cigarettes, flask, lighter, and little bag of drug related paraphernalia, along with the newly acquired cartridges in the satchel, and sliding his arms into the slightly-too-large jacket, and readjusting his energy assault rifle, Trafford headed for the exit of the bunker.

Before he left the room, however, he slapped closed the chest cover. The old wooden top was heavier than he expected, and it came crashing down hard on the remainder of the frame. The noise echoed loudly throughout the entire complex.

Alex froze, his back becoming erect and his eyes becoming wide with fear. From the other side of the bunker he could hear a distinct rustling sound, following by the shuffling of a pair of feet. Was it his mysterious man? Was it the Triple A? Or was this some far more dangerous creature?

Leveling his rifle, Trafford inched into the hallway . . .

Alexander Trafford has entered the Arctic Sector Bunker