Aero walked past the grouping of females, slinging his head behind him at every piece of tail that looked reasonably good. Damn shame these chicks want to waste their time on some guy named Bardock, he thought as he turned his head back around to look at the path he walked along. A damn shame.
Another hallway outstretched before him, and at the end of it were two metal slabs that met together—and elevator. He approached it and pressed in the button labeled with a downward arrow. Ting! The button flashed and the doors parted. Aero walked into the elevator and stared at the side panel.
The panel, instead of numbers, was marked with the names of the locations he could choose to go to—the barracks, the bar, the library, Living Quarters. He thought the options over in his head, reaching a hand up to rub his indistinguishable facial hair. The bar is always fun, he said to himself, almost pressing the button with his free hand. But then again, there might be more people in the barracks. He pressed the button to the barracks.
“Name and number,” the attendant remarked, using one of his robust arms to block the door (a wonderfully crafted tattoo rested on his forearm).
Aero took a look at the attendant. He was a brawny middle-aged man—a symbol of Karl Jak’s power . . . and homosexuality. Why else would there be such an imposing figure guarding a meaningless door? Hopefully it wasn’t meant to intimidate the contenders. Aero wasn’t intimidated.
“The name’s Aero, Joe,” he replied, tempted to reach out and swat the man’s arm away. He didn’t give a hell about those muscles. To him they only displayed overcompensation and the effectiveness of human growth hormone.
“The number?” the attendant inquired, taking out what seemed to be a palm pilot, and searching for the contestant’s name. “I’m going to need that number.”
“Look, I was never given a one,” Aero retort ed. “So how about you just step aside and let me threw. Make both our lives a little easier, ya dig?”
The attendant’s facial expression shifted to something much more exasperated than the blank look it had before. He glanced back down at the pilot and finally found the information he was seeking. “Aero Cowabunga, contestant number eight,” he remarked. “Inside, under the cot labeled with your number, you should find a bag; it will contain all of the supplies you’ll need for the competition. Thank you for your patience.”
“Yeah, that’s right, better of found my name,” Aero replied arrogantly. “For a moment I thought I was going to have to get disqualified for touching Karl’s precious toy.” He laughed, swatting that arm out of his way and entering the barracks.
The attendant thought about retaliating, but simply let him pass.
The barracks resembled something similar to a military facility used for the sole purpose of housing soldiers. On both sides of the room were cots columned from front to back, each with a number mounted above them—one to forty-four. Aero observed the barracks from the comfort of the doorway (still a few feet away from the attendant that that he insulted). There were a few people circled around cot number two—two males, three females. Three females. Three was more than two. Three minus two was one. One leftover woman. One perfectly fine leftover woman.
He was going to seize one of the fine ladies for his own selfish reasons. Aero was never the brightest bulb in the package, but one thing that he was cunning at was seducing women. He was a professional at it, a regular Tucker Max at it. In school he failed almost every test that was placed in front of him, but if those tests would have been questionnaires one women—anything about women, minus their emotional bipolar tendencies—he could have soared with Mavrick grades. His encounter with the groupie, after his journey through the “Wall of Champions”, left a sour taste in his mouth. He had failed, regardless if it was to a celebrity. This was a fresh opportunity to redeem himself. It was time to do just that.
“Hey fellas,” he said as he walked passed—it was the only thing he could conjure up in the moment.
A blonde man looked over at him. He had the scent of alcohol on his clothes and the bewildering expression of intoxication written all over his face. The jade-shaded female next to him followed his eyes over to him and stared at him blankly. “Hi,” she replied.
Her words caught the attention of the rest of the party and they greeted him with their eyes as well. Great, I’m on stage now, he thought. Can’t back down now.
“New here?” the other male amongst them asked. His eyes seemed different from the rest of theirs somehow.
“Yeah,” Aero responded, taking a seat next to the lady that was kind enough to say hi to him, on bed labeled number one. “What about ya’ll?”
“This is Kirano’s uno,” the blond drunkenly answered, pointing at himself as his body swayed from side to side. Aero wondered when he was going to tip over.
“Don’t mind him,” the jade lady remarked. She looked at Aero, but still watched Kirano from the corner of her eye. “I’m Zangya. This is my second DA appearance. What’s your name?”
“Damn, almost forgot bout that one. I’m Aero. First time in this competition and hopefully the only time needed in this competition!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist.
“Cocky are we?” the other man said as he glanced over at him, his black hair hiding some of his facial features. “I’m Seventeen. Like the number. And to answer your question: I’ve been here a few times. Lost count. Never kept count, for it doesn’t matter.”
Aero could detect the blandness in his voice and concluded that he was probably being honest—he didn’t keep count.
Standing in front of Seventeen was another female. She had short hair and an athletic build (they all had an athletic build; they were expected to for such a draining contest). “I’m Celipa,” she answered before he had the chance to ask. “This is my second time too. The person next to me is Violet.” Aero shot a glance around Zangya to catch the face of the woman Celipa was mentioning. Attractive, just like the other two. “Second time.”
“Well, it’s good to see that there are some attractive females competing,” Aero said with a subtle smile on his face—he tried desperately to keep it from manifesting into a perverted grin. “Maybe I can even tag along with one of you once the competition starts, ya know. Or even one of you two fellas.”
“You’ll soon discover the nature of Dante’s Abyss, Aero,” Seventeen muttered with a subsequent sigh. “It’s not a very captivating nature either.”
Aero had always suffered from his Attention Deficit Disorder. It was a handicap that had always rendered him incapable of listening very well, and even if he was able to listen, unable to retain it. This one was different, however. He spoke with such a bland voice, but his words demanding Aero’s attention. It was like an aura incased his body. An aura generated from years of experience in Dante’s Abyss.
Another hallway outstretched before him, and at the end of it were two metal slabs that met together—and elevator. He approached it and pressed in the button labeled with a downward arrow. Ting! The button flashed and the doors parted. Aero walked into the elevator and stared at the side panel.
The panel, instead of numbers, was marked with the names of the locations he could choose to go to—the barracks, the bar, the library, Living Quarters. He thought the options over in his head, reaching a hand up to rub his indistinguishable facial hair. The bar is always fun, he said to himself, almost pressing the button with his free hand. But then again, there might be more people in the barracks. He pressed the button to the barracks.
***
“Name and number,” the attendant remarked, using one of his robust arms to block the door (a wonderfully crafted tattoo rested on his forearm).
Aero took a look at the attendant. He was a brawny middle-aged man—a symbol of Karl Jak’s power . . . and homosexuality. Why else would there be such an imposing figure guarding a meaningless door? Hopefully it wasn’t meant to intimidate the contenders. Aero wasn’t intimidated.
“The name’s Aero, Joe,” he replied, tempted to reach out and swat the man’s arm away. He didn’t give a hell about those muscles. To him they only displayed overcompensation and the effectiveness of human growth hormone.
“The number?” the attendant inquired, taking out what seemed to be a palm pilot, and searching for the contestant’s name. “I’m going to need that number.”
“Look, I was never given a one,” Aero retort ed. “So how about you just step aside and let me threw. Make both our lives a little easier, ya dig?”
The attendant’s facial expression shifted to something much more exasperated than the blank look it had before. He glanced back down at the pilot and finally found the information he was seeking. “Aero Cowabunga, contestant number eight,” he remarked. “Inside, under the cot labeled with your number, you should find a bag; it will contain all of the supplies you’ll need for the competition. Thank you for your patience.”
“Yeah, that’s right, better of found my name,” Aero replied arrogantly. “For a moment I thought I was going to have to get disqualified for touching Karl’s precious toy.” He laughed, swatting that arm out of his way and entering the barracks.
The attendant thought about retaliating, but simply let him pass.
The barracks resembled something similar to a military facility used for the sole purpose of housing soldiers. On both sides of the room were cots columned from front to back, each with a number mounted above them—one to forty-four. Aero observed the barracks from the comfort of the doorway (still a few feet away from the attendant that that he insulted). There were a few people circled around cot number two—two males, three females. Three females. Three was more than two. Three minus two was one. One leftover woman. One perfectly fine leftover woman.
He was going to seize one of the fine ladies for his own selfish reasons. Aero was never the brightest bulb in the package, but one thing that he was cunning at was seducing women. He was a professional at it, a regular Tucker Max at it. In school he failed almost every test that was placed in front of him, but if those tests would have been questionnaires one women—anything about women, minus their emotional bipolar tendencies—he could have soared with Mavrick grades. His encounter with the groupie, after his journey through the “Wall of Champions”, left a sour taste in his mouth. He had failed, regardless if it was to a celebrity. This was a fresh opportunity to redeem himself. It was time to do just that.
“Hey fellas,” he said as he walked passed—it was the only thing he could conjure up in the moment.
A blonde man looked over at him. He had the scent of alcohol on his clothes and the bewildering expression of intoxication written all over his face. The jade-shaded female next to him followed his eyes over to him and stared at him blankly. “Hi,” she replied.
Her words caught the attention of the rest of the party and they greeted him with their eyes as well. Great, I’m on stage now, he thought. Can’t back down now.
“New here?” the other male amongst them asked. His eyes seemed different from the rest of theirs somehow.
“Yeah,” Aero responded, taking a seat next to the lady that was kind enough to say hi to him, on bed labeled number one. “What about ya’ll?”
“This is Kirano’s uno,” the blond drunkenly answered, pointing at himself as his body swayed from side to side. Aero wondered when he was going to tip over.
“Don’t mind him,” the jade lady remarked. She looked at Aero, but still watched Kirano from the corner of her eye. “I’m Zangya. This is my second DA appearance. What’s your name?”
“Damn, almost forgot bout that one. I’m Aero. First time in this competition and hopefully the only time needed in this competition!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist.
“Cocky are we?” the other man said as he glanced over at him, his black hair hiding some of his facial features. “I’m Seventeen. Like the number. And to answer your question: I’ve been here a few times. Lost count. Never kept count, for it doesn’t matter.”
Aero could detect the blandness in his voice and concluded that he was probably being honest—he didn’t keep count.
Standing in front of Seventeen was another female. She had short hair and an athletic build (they all had an athletic build; they were expected to for such a draining contest). “I’m Celipa,” she answered before he had the chance to ask. “This is my second time too. The person next to me is Violet.” Aero shot a glance around Zangya to catch the face of the woman Celipa was mentioning. Attractive, just like the other two. “Second time.”
“Well, it’s good to see that there are some attractive females competing,” Aero said with a subtle smile on his face—he tried desperately to keep it from manifesting into a perverted grin. “Maybe I can even tag along with one of you once the competition starts, ya know. Or even one of you two fellas.”
“You’ll soon discover the nature of Dante’s Abyss, Aero,” Seventeen muttered with a subsequent sigh. “It’s not a very captivating nature either.”
Aero had always suffered from his Attention Deficit Disorder. It was a handicap that had always rendered him incapable of listening very well, and even if he was able to listen, unable to retain it. This one was different, however. He spoke with such a bland voice, but his words demanding Aero’s attention. It was like an aura incased his body. An aura generated from years of experience in Dante’s Abyss.
![[Image: 1stAerosig.png]](http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q218/Aerogfx/sigs/1stAerosig.png)
Placed 3rd in Dante's Abyss 08