Day One: Afternoon

[Jinpo]

?Shit. I thought this Dante?s Abyss or whatever it?s called would be action packed, yet I haven?t seen, heard, or smelled yet. What in the hell is going on?? Cargo said, exasperated. He was tired of waiting. Raindrops continued to plunk against the thatched roof of the home, as the Namekian grew more and more impatient with the lack of opponents coming through this place. You would think that the buildings would draw the warriors towards it, but so far, Cargo?s ?wait it out? strategy was taking way too long to come to fruition. The teenager couldn?t stand pacing around the cramped inside of the vacant home or staring at a map any longer. He veered off of his linear path and headed for the door. Cargo carefully peeked out before stepping outside into the downpour. Droplets collided with the top of the jade-toned fighter?s skull as he tread in what appeared to be a ragged footpath. The ground squished under each step Cargo took, mud sloshing beneath him.
?This isn?t what I signed up for.? the youngling muttered. His thoughts drifted from the terrible conditions to that of his prior partner in training, Metal Koola. He helped Cargo enter this competition and he had entered himself, but what had become of him.

?STOP IT!? Cargo?s compassionate side found a chink in the fa?ade he had put on to cover it up and wormed its way out once again. He just cared for people too much. He might be capable of great power, but if he is killed in this game of death, he would never get the chance to unlock it. He could allow for no mistakes. No compassion. No emotions whatsoever. Those sensations cloud judgment and could hinder the Namekian?s performance in a time of need.

?Love: Useless.?

?Compassion: Who needs it??

Hatred . . .

What did the child think of this? He contemplated as he entered another building and began to search it for anything valuable. While ruminating on the concept of venomous hate, an image popped into Cargo?s head. It was himself, with one subtle difference. His presence was completely different. He was much stronger. Veins bulged out of every muscle and his eyes were bloodshot. 43 bodies littered the ground around his feet, blood flowing freely from their corpses. The adolescent stood tall, ready to kill anyone else who came his way. Cargo finished his investigation of the home and left as quickly as he came in.

?What the . . .?

The rain had stopped.

?Is it a sign?? Cargo made no judgment on the most dangerous of the emotions and refocused on the competition. He would soon find out whether his naivety blinded him once again or whether the daydream could come true.