[00] The Teleporter

[DA 2009]

This is where people post their saga exits, should they choose to do so. Each player will receive a special send-off when they are eliminated. Thank you for playing.

[DA 2009]

John Doe awoke in a dimly lit room with a killer headache. Surprisingly, he found himself in a very warm, comfortable bed. He kicked off the sheets, finding that he was still fully dressed, and in the exact same condition as before he entered the gas chamber. He sat up straight, looking around. The room looked like a hospital room, save for a large teleportation device up against the far wall. Where did all of the snow go? The last thing he remembered was trying to fight that red-haired kid, and then his collar started beeping, and then he woke up here. He slid his feet over the side of the bed, perching himself on the edge as he pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit the white cylinder, despite the obvious “No Smoking” sign next to the door. Doe noticed a small mobile tray next to the bed. On it sat a white envelope with his name—his real name—scrawled along the surface in fancy ink.

Shrugging, John gritted the cigarette between his lips, picked up the envelope, and pulled out a letter. It read:

“Dear John,

You gave us quite the deception, a field in which I am not easily bested. Syntex, however, has more resources than you could imagine. I hope you had fun while it lasted, John. You did well for the time you spent on Dante; it’s sad to see you go. Perhaps in the future, you can have even more fun at another event. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. As a small consolation, I have left a care package by the entrance. I wish you all the best.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

John scoffed. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and touched the glowing embers to the corner of the letter. With that, he tossed the burning paper of his shoulder to smolder where it may. The man with the sunglasses walked over towards the teleporter, glancing down to see the “care package” that had been promised to him. It was a simple metal suitcase, and he kneeled down to open it. He clipped open the latches and pulled the top up. Encased in foam was a box of his favorite cigarette brand and two polished, silver-plated pistols.

John just chuckled.

[DA 2009]

REM-13 awoke. It felt a bit like the first time he was switched on, only this time, he could remember what happened. He remained perfectly motionless for a moment, unsure of what reaction was appropriate for the situation. Thus, for the first few minutes of consciousness, he stared at the blankness of the ceiling. Finally, he remembered his purpose, and sat up. He quickly took in the surrounding environment, realizing that it was not the mountainous region he had previously occupied. Two words floated into REM’s consciousness.

“Win…kill…”

He recalled them as the words Zero had spoken to him. REM looked for his sword, knowing that he needed it if he were to fulfill Zero’s wishes. It rested against a machine that looked like the one REM-13 had used in order to get to Dante’s Abyss. Around it, a piece of string was tied to the hilt, and poked through a hole in an envelope that dangled next to the blade. REM untied the string, opened the envelope, and pulled out its contents: it was a letter, addressed to him. The information on the piece of paper processed through him almost instantly. It read:

“Dear REM-13,

It is my regret to inform you that as you are reading this letter, you have already been eliminated from Dante’s Abyss. Having witnessed your skills in the tournament on Frost that won you your ticket, I can say with utmost confidence that you would have performed quite formidably had you entered a bunker within the designated timeframe. Perhaps it is fortunate that you do not quite understand emotions and feelings; you are spared from the reaction most would have in your circumstance. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. Enclosed within this envelope is a check addressed to Zero. With this check comes responsibility, the responsibility of freedom, because you have a choice: you may choose to give this check to Zero, give him what he wants, or you may choose to tear it up, and walk your own path. I pray that you find peace, and someday remember who you truly are.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

REM-13 opened the envelope further, and pulled out an even smaller slip of paper. It was exactly as the letter foretold: the slip of paper was a check, addressed to Zero, in the exact amount that had been expended for REM’s excavation. Since it was addressed to Zero, REM-13 could not cash it, rendering it completely useless to the android.

REM stared at the two pieces of paper, contemplating his decision.

[DA 2009]

Frozen gasped, awakening with a small jolt. It felt so good to breathe again. His eyes wildly searched around, finding no trace of the forest in which he lay before consciousness was stolen from him. Where was that blue-haired girl? In a flash, his hand reached up to touch its chest, and found it completely unscathed, with no icicles protruding anywhere. He bolted to a seated position, realizing he was in some sort of a hospital room. Oddly, the door was completely barricaded shut. The changeling sighed, realizing he was alive and well. He looked down, and his eyes widened: his left arm was still gone. He passed his right hand through the empty space, confirming its missing status. The stump was bandaged, and tucked neatly within the bandage was a folded piece of paper, addressed to him. The changeling plucked the piece of paper from the wraps, and opened it one-handedly to reveal a letter. It read:

“Dear Frozen Dragon,

Alas, you are the first to succumb to the brutality of combat. It was most unfortunate that you were paired with someone whose skills in the art of elemental ice surpassed your own. Though the rest of your body is healed, I took the liberty of having the medical team amputate your left arm after your elimination from the Abyss. I know that it will serve as a grim reminder in your quest to defeat your father; may you reflect upon this loss and learn to grow stronger whenever you look upon your left side. Do not give up. If there is anything I have learned in this business, it’s that you gain more wisdom from your defeats than from your victories. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. As a small consolation, I have left a care package by the entrance. I wish you all the best.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Frozen looked over and saw a metallic suitcase by a teleporter machine. He got up from the bed, his tail swishing behind him, and approached the case. The clasps were already undone, knowing that he might have had difficulty on his own. The icer opened the case, and encased within foam were three glimmering bottles of expensive, high-end tequila.

He smirked, remembering the clear discomfort of his earlier hangover.

[DA 2009]

Shou awoke with a start in the hospital bed. His first thought was, “What the hell? I went to the goddamn bunker!” Then, he looked around, wondering if maybe he was in a bunker, and he’d somehow been knocked out. Had Vad gotten him from behind? No, that wasn’t possible; he’d have felt it, or at least heard it. Looking around for a clue as to his predicament, Shou found an envelope addressed to him on a tray. He ripped open the envelope, nearly destroying the letter in the process, but pulled the slip of paper out. It read:

“Dear Shou,

Most unfortunate, but you are a victim of misunderstanding the rules of the game. Yes, you did enter a bunker, but quite sadly, the temperamental nature of the trigger renders the collar unable to receive the same signal twice in a row from any bunker. In order to survive, you would have had to visit one of the other three sectors. I applaud your physical prowess, and your willing determination to save the life of the man whose identity you attempted to steal. Your typical nature belies these qualities. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I believe this is a welcome advantage in your escape from Mercy-sei. As a small consolation, I have left a care package by the entrance; I believe it will be useful in your future endeavors. Remember: always watch your back.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Shou looked over to the teleporter, and it was indeed as Damon’s letter had described. He found a case next to it, and he opened it up to see what it contained for him. It looked a bit like…a wallet? Upon closer inspection, Shou realized it wasn’t a wallet at all. He opened the flap of the billfold, and out came tumbling a stack of fake ID’s, complete with passport, photo identification, false electronics cards…everything he needed to quietly disappear and assume any persona he needed.

[DA 2009]

Xenia’s eyes slowly opened to a world of white. No, not a world: a ceiling. Forests didn’t have ceilings, last time she checked. She groggily sat up, having only remembered the intensity of realizing that she had failed to secure a bunker visit within the designated deadline. She looked around. Whilst others before her had seen a hospital, this room was worthy of a princess: marble, gold, silver, and the finest decorations comprised the space in which she found herself. Bits of jade were visible here and there, almost reminiscent of that found in Lord Vine’s palace. The décor rang clear of Vegeta-sei craftsmanship.

The hybrid girl could only let out a small, hollow laugh, knowing that Orion had slipped through her grasp once again. But, no matter—she would exact her vengeance on him soon enough. There was no escaping a saiyan’s wrath. She coolly shrugged off the elimination. As she attempted to rise, she found an oak-carved table to the side of the extravagant bed. Sitting plainly upon the polished surface was a letter, addressed to her. The heiress already surmised the sender, but she picked it up anyway and perused its contents. It read:

“To Her Royal Highness, Princess Xenia,

Alas, I am unable to grant you your innermost desire that motivated you to join this competition. It may please you to know that the one you seek has suffered the same fate. He is gone now, gone to the afterlife, where he will continue to get stronger and faster. I implore you: if retribution for past transgressions is what you seek, that you train on an equal level of intensity. Do not underestimate the power of the pureblooded. Pride is a dangerous thing, Highness; be careful, lest it consume you as it has consumed your ancestors. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. For the Heiress who has everything, there is nothing within my power to provide that you could not procure for yourself. Thus, I bequeath to you the rifle with which you fought your first and final opponent in the Abyss. May your aim one day be true, and your memory washed of the blood of yesterday. Your sister, unfortunately, will not be so lucky. My deepest respects, Highness.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

She looked towards the teleporter, and indeed found a completely identical AK-47 resting next to the entrance. Setting the letter aside, she picked it up. Surprisingly, it fit within her grip perfectly, and the weight was completely balanced, as if it had been custom made just for her. Near the handle, the crest of the Vegeta-sei royal family was engraved. Xenia pulled out the clip, inspecting the rounds, and each one was silver plated, stamped in the same engraving of the crest.

She tested the aim on it, wondering what kind of damage it could do.

[DA 2009]

Orion didn’t get to experience the sensation of waking up, at least in a conventional sense. It was a bit like blacking out: one moment he was receiving Hollywood’s sneaker to the face, and the next, he was standing in an empty room. From ceiling to floor, all six walls of the area lay completely white and bare, save for a small wooden cabinet placed directly in front of him. Also in front of him, sadly, was a blue-skinned ogre in office attire. Orion glanced up, as if suddenly remembering his halo, and then he stared the oni straight in the face, knowing exactly why he was there.

“Over already?” Orion scoffed.

The oni nodded. “I’m here to take you back. You were only allowed one precious day back in the mortal world. I’m sorry.”

Orion just nodded in grim acceptance. Back to Heaven he would go—or Hell, as he preferred to call it with Anitan’s incessant yapping.

“There is one more thing you’re allowed to do before we leave,” the oni said, pointing to a letter on the cabinet.

Taking the hint, the pureblooded saiyan picked up the piece of parchment and let his good eye rove over each and every word. It read:

“Dear Orion,

I am most regretful of your early departure in this competition. Were it within my power, I would grant you the breath in your lungs, a body to house your soul, so that you may permanently return to this plane of existence. Sadly, it is not, and I pray that merely this brief interlude amongst mortals will suffice. I have no doubt that you will only grow stronger from this experience, strong enough to eliminate any who stand in your path. I would be honored to have you in any competition. For your exit, the oni will escort you back to the heavenly plane, and return you to the supervision of your godly custodians. There is little I can give you that would be of use in your spiritual state, and I can no longer sate your appetite for combat, but before you leave, I grant you one last gift of mortality. Open the cabinet, and take as much time as you’d like. May you find success in any endeavor you undertake.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Orion crumpled up the letter in his fist and knelt down, opening the cabinet doors. Inside lay two racks of imported saiyan-style beer of various strengths and flavors. He couldn’t take it with him, but perhaps he could savor the state of being alive for just a little while longer.

[DA 2009]

Piper groaned, feeling a dull pain throbbing in her head. A fuzzy cloud hovered over her consciousness, like she’d received some kind of drug for the pain. What exactly it was, she couldn’t tell, but she just hoped it didn’t mess with her hormone balance; that was the last thing she needed. She sat up in the hospital bed, waiting for the sensation to subside. The medic couldn’t tell—which was somewhat unusual—if she had absorbed anything from Sophia or not. Or maybe it had just been a freak accident. Either way, she needed to get up and get moving; it likely wasn’t a good idea to stay here for very long, she figured.

Next to the bed was a metal tray, and laying on it was a familiar-looking military-style dossier. Could her comrades have left it? She untied the string binding the seal, and pulled out a hand-written letter. It read:

“Dearest Piper Juunanagou,

Mission completed, soldier. Although I don’t believe you accomplished the objectives your superiors set out for you to do, you performed admirably, even if it required a little prodding. Although you could not save Sophia in Friend or Foe 3, I hope that you can rest a little easier with the knowledge that you saved her here, now, in Dante’s Abyss. Had it not been for your quick thinking and clever ingenuity, she may have been killed again in your place. I do not believe the sacrifice was intentional, but it was one made nonetheless, and for that, may it grant you peace on your conscience. I see great potential in you, Piper, even if you do not see it in yourself. I would not have invited you otherwise. I do not know what path you walk, or the path from whence you came, but I know that you’ll find the light at the end of the tunnel. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. As a parting gift, I have drafted a mission report detailing complete and total success, so that the Sentinels might give you a bit of credit upon your return. You will find two wrapped packages by the teleporter as well. Farewell, and better times be upon you.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Piper opened the flap on the dossier a little further, and inside were the promised contents of mission report, as well as a signed commendation by Damon Dukes for her—albeit short-lived—combat skills and excellent moral scruples. Next to the teleporter were the packages as promised. With cautious fingers, Piper carefully peeled back the brown paper. In the first package was a book titled: “Stage Combat For Advanced Learners.” The second package also contained a book, which was titled: “How To Perfect Your Technique: A Guide For Hand-to-Hand Combat.”

Piper didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted.

[DA 2009]

Tempo sighed peacefully, turning over in the nice, comfy bed as he gently drifted from a nice slumber. He clutched the pillow a little tighter, adjusting his head. Wait a minute…this didn’t feel right, did it? His eyes snapped open, and he looked around. How in the world did he get here? He lifted his head to get a better view of his surroundings, almost in complete disbelief. The boy supposed he should have been used to it by now. Somehow, he’d managed to go from a city to a hospital, not that big of a stretch, but it was to him, considering the last memory he had was Sophia draining his energy. Then…then he’d gone to sleep. It was pretty painless, now that he looked back on it. Not fun…but definitely painless.

He sat up, somewhat curiously, and rubbed his eyes. The fifteen-year-old saw a machine that looked a little like the teleporter that took him to Dante’s Abyss, and a tray next to his bed with an envelope addressed to him. Curiously, he picked up the scrap and ripped open the flap, pulling out a hand-written letter. It read:

Dear Tempo,

It was both a gift and a curse drawing Sophia as your last fight, but your run in this tournament has come to an end. I am sorry that you had to suffer so from your inner demons, whatever they may be, but perhaps now you see a bit of the strength you have that allows you to fight them. Your Sensei would be proud of you, I’m certain of it. I have also taken the liberty of throwing your pursuers off your trail; you’ll be safe for the time being, but my efforts will not protect you forever. They will find you eventually. You must be prepared to meet them as courageously as you met your fate in the Abyss. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. This should help keep them in the dark for a while longer. Before you enter the teleporter, take care to receive the gift I have left for you as thanks for your participation. Use it if you wish; I believe it will be helpful in the battle within.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Tempo got up as he tossed the warm, toasty blankets from his body, and headed directly for the promised package. He opened it, and pulled out another small box. The boy had to gnaw at the cellophane wrap and the stickers binding the cardboard, but eventually slid free a device from a Styrofoam casing. It was a brand new MP3 player, with a little note attached. It read: ‘Courtesy of Capsule Corporation, Mr. Tempo Uriel is to be given free and unlimited MP3 downloads for life. The memory is housed within a special, separate databank, allowing for an infinite number of songs to be stored within the player itself.’

Tempo unplugged his headphones from his current music device, and hooked it up to the new one. He pressed play, surprised that the battery was fully charged. The song that strung into his ears was “Anthem of the Angels.”

[DA 2009]

Vad bolted awake, thrusting a palm forward and shooting a bolt of ki into the ceiling. Even after death, he was still in combat mode, fighting until the last breath. The hospital surrounding, however, seemed to have some kind of energy barrier, and it absorbed his blast like water through a straw until it dissipated into nothing. His first thoughts?

Where did that little bastard go?

It took him a moment to realize his settings, and he quickly inspected his body, finding it completely healed. He jumped to a standing position atop the bed, quickly surveying his surroundings and looking for the little punk that he had just fought. Noticing that the room was completely empty except for him, he leapt from the bed onto the floor. In a rage, he slammed the side of a fist into a heart monitor, smashing the machine to bits.

“FUCK!” he cursed loudly. That was two…two losses in a row. He flipped a tray next to the bed over, wanting to destroy something. After a moment, he regained his composure, knowing that he had to take the defeat like a warrior, and with pride. He moved towards what he figured was a teleporter, since there was no other way out of here. His boot crunched against a crumpled envelope, and he stooped low to pick it up. It had his name on it, so he figured he might as well give it a once-over. He ripped open the envelope, accidentally tearing the letter in half as he did so. Vad carefully put it back together, studying the hand-written words to make sure they aligned correctly. It read:

“Dear Vad,

No doubt that this defeat comes as a strong blow to the ego; you are a true saiyan indeed. With battle, comes loss, and thus you simply must grow stronger from it and move on. I feel a great pity for the next fighter to cross your path, for he will have to deal with a very, very angry warrior. Perhaps you can return to the Abyss, and exact your vengeance during the next tournament. Certainly, though, you must feel something, something you have not felt in the last day or so? A certain presence within your mind that was cut off? For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I trust you will pick up exactly where you left off, and I do not envy those caught in the crossfire. Alas, there is nothing of importance that I can give you that will surpass, or even equal for that matter, the greatest desire you already possess. Go to her. She’s waiting for you.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Vad could indeed feel something—rather, someone—he’d been missing, and he didn’t need a letter to tell him what to do next.

[DA 2009]

Vincent awoke, not in a hospital, but inside his containment unit within the player chamber. He could feel the steady flow of oxygen streaming from the mask attached to his face, and he suddenly became aware of every needle and tube penetrating his skin. He struggled against it uncomfortably until a member of the medical team noticed he was awake. The white-clothed leader punched in a sequence on his unit’s panel until the hatch door opened.

“Get me outta this thing,” Vincent grunted.

“Hold on,” the medic instructed. “If we don’t do this properly then you’ll end up with complications.”

Vincent then waited patiently for everything to be disconnected. The needles in his brain receded, which was an unpleasant sensation unto itself, and he was totally and completely unhooked from the machines. They wrapped bandages around his arms and cranium to staunch the flow of blood, and gave him a bottle of mild painkillers for the headache that he was likely going to have later due to the cranial needles. The other contestants at least had the advantage of letting their bodies adjust before they woke up, but Vincent, being on the payroll, was given no such treatment.

“Oh, by the way, this was left for you,” the Syntex personnel mentioned, and he produced an envelope.

Vincent took it and tore it open, revealing a hand-written letter. It read:

“Dear Vincent,

Although your career with Syntex was short, I am most pleased with the service you have provided us. You were direct, confrontational, and your timing was absolutely impeccable. I do apologize for my interference during the game, and hope that it didn’t put too much of a damper on your designated task. Should this event be run again next year, I would greatly enjoy your presence as a formal competitor from the very outset of the tournament, and see just how you perform under the same conditions as the others. For your exit, one of my attendants will guide you to a teleporter; simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. While I typically have given gifts to the competitors, since you were on the payroll, I will simply add to your compensation. Our accountants will be sure to cut you a check. Pleasure doing business with you, my good sir.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Before Vincent could do anything more, a pair of Syntex security guards ushered him out the door.

[DA 2009]

Mal Nova’s eyes snapped open, and a low, feral growl escaped his throat. He felt as though the adrenaline should have still been surging through his veins from combat, but it wasn’t. He felt oddly…calm. Despite the lack of motivation, his guard was still up. He immediately stealthed himself, disappearing in the blink of an eye, and he surveyed his surroundings. It seemed like an ordinary hospital room to him, and he couldn’t see anyone else around. The imperfect namek allowed his camouflage to fade away until his figure rematerialized to the visible world.

With sudden realization, he figured that the girl must have killed him. Why else would he be here? Maybe he was more like his father after all…both had only ever made it so far. In even further realization, it dawned on him that Tamsin was now alone, and he felt himself racked anew with guilt. He was the one who convinced her to follow, and sadly, he’d left her there without his protection. The irony that she was the one of the two of them to survive was thick enough to choke on.

“You can make it,” he prayed softly.

At that point, he finally noticed a letter on the tray next to the bed, and out of curiosity, picked it up and began to skim its contents. It read:

“Dear Maleficus Nova,

Truly, this loss must come at a great disappointment in yourself. While the scoreboard reads nothing but a losing streak, I’m sure naught can compare to the slow and sure eradication of your confidence. Son of Retane…no, Maleficus Nova…you are your own man. You needn’t obscure yourself in your father’s shadow. You may his spawn, but you are not him. You share the darkness of his bloodline, but you have one thing that he does not, and that is the power to fight it. You are a better man than he will ever be, and the day you realize that, is the day you become free of his grip on your mind. Don’t let his failures become yours. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. As a parting gift, I have left a package for you next to the teleporter. I implore you to use it when you have the desire to feel whole again. My research and development team designed it especially for you. Go in peace.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Mal went over to the teleporter as he was bid, and picked up the small box that he had failed to notice in his prior inspection. The namek opened the tiny box, which was similar to that used for rings and proposals, and found a tiny, circular-shaped device. A tiny piece of paper was tucked into the box, and balancing the three, he read the instructions on the note: ‘Attach this device anywhere on your mechanical arm, and it will automatically activate.’

Out of sheer inquisitiveness, Mal began to place the tiny little thing on his arm, and before he could even place it upon the cold metal himself, it attached of its own accord, like a magnet drawn to iron. Instantly, the image of a complete and perfect organic arm materialized over his steel; it was as if he’d been born the way he should have been. Completely taken aback, he reached out to touch it, and his fingertips passed through the illusion, feeling the metal beneath. They found the device, and he removed it, and his arm reverted to its previous state.

He didn’t know what to think.

[DA 2009]

Kaden awoke, with a smile on his face, the kind you have after somebody tells a joke so bad you can’t help it. As he felt consciousness return, he was flooded with a mixture of emotions: anger, disappointment, guilt, disbelief, and strangely…relief. It was a bit like waking up from a nightmare. He couldn’t help but pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but he already knew what had transpired, and sure enough, true to the words of Sage, his bullet wound was completely gone, and his face no longer sore. He sat up in the hospital bed, noting that the sheets, pillows, and blankets were ridiculously comfortable, and a welcome change from the frigid atmosphere of the Arctic Sector. The courier examined the room for a bit, noticing the teleporter on the far side of the wall. Part of him doubted it would be that easy; it could very well have been just another game set up by the sadistic Dukes.

He swung his legs over the side, and noticed a tray next to the bed. On it was a folded newspaper, creased in such a manner that the front page could not be seen. At first thought, he was going to ignore it. What use did he have for a paper? It was such a common object, an oversight, really. Then, second thought hit him, and he figured it must have been placed there so ostensibly as for him to find it. The courier picked up the newspaper, and a loose sheet fell out of the crack. He bent over and picked it up; it was a letter, addressed to him. It read:

“Dear Kaden,

It’s a shame that things had to turn out this way; it would have been…interesting…to see how things would have unfolded. I’m not going to try to change your mind about any of it, because I know it’s pointless to try. In the end, it’s just business. Your part in this tournament is over, and you are free to move on with your life. I should caution you, however, that if you find me distasteful, that you would be wise to not become it. We are separated by many differences, but you are more like me than you may realize. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I may be many things, but I am also a man of my word. A deal’s a deal. Taped to the front of the newspaper is an electronic voucher for an all-expenses paid vacation you were promised, to any planet of your choosing. Enjoy.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Kaden read the letter again just to make sure he’d seen correctly. He opened up the newspaper, and indeed, taped to the very front was a Syntex cash card in his name, that was engraved with specific instructions, and read: ‘To be redeemed at any officially licensed resort within the known galaxy. Not valid for exchanges, refunds, or cash back.’ The courier plucked it off, and was completely surprised by what the cash card had been deliberately obscuring: his picture. His eyes rolled over the large, bold title splashed all over the front page: “Local Hero Saves Central City.” The courier became engrossed in the article itself, which meticulously documented his heroic efforts to dispatch a terrorist threat and a giant monster. Underneath the giant news article was a much smaller article, titled: “Judge Norman Attkerson Removed From Court: Emergency Elections to be Held Shortly.”

[DA 2009]

Belle Hibiki woke with a yawn and stretch, followed by an indiscreet scratching session. He opened his eyes and curiously looked around; this wasn’t the Coliseum. The last thing he remembered was being peppered with a bunch of rubble chunks, and then he had said…something…to Trafford, and then…nothing. His casual observation turned to alertness as he searched appraisingly along every crack, every corner of the hospital room. After all, you never knew when Mentsu Ration would be lurking about, seeking to capitalize on his state of vulnerability. His carefully scrutinizing eyes passed over the teleporter and a large television screen with marked disinterest, until they lay upon a gilded cage, and within that cage sat a bird, completely identical to Birdie. Belle got up, his vigilance against Mentsu Ration nearly forgotten as he approached the cage. He felt a pang of heartbreak in his chest, and he opened the cage door and held his hand out. It couldn’t have been Birdie, but it looked like him so. The boy carefully held out a palm, trying to coax it out, and the tiny winged creature hopped onto his awaiting hand as if by command.

The youth pulled the bird up close to his face, tentatively reaching out with his other set of fingers to stroke the soft down upon its head. He marveled at his own self-control as the bird lovingly chirped at his gentle motions. Belle decided to free it; birds didn’t belong in a cage, and certainly not one that had flown so freely in the coliseum before. It probably missed its family, the adventurer figured.

Just then, the television flicked on, filled with the image of the guy he’d met at the very beginning of the tournament. The host smiled, and began to speak in a pleasant and friendly tone.

“Hello, Belle,” Damon Dukes greeted.

Belle’s eyes widened in awe: the box was talking to him.

“I didn’t believe that a letter would be appropriate this time, given your willful illiteracy. However, I am more than happy to use this as an alternative, and I am quite sure that it is an acceptable one. I would like to praise you on your skills and contributions to this tournament. Whatever reason motivated you to be here, whatever reason motivated you to stay, I thank you for it. And I see you’ve found the bird.”

Belle’s gaze flicked to the little avian still perched upon his hand.

“It is the very same bird you tried to save in the Coliseum. Just like you, he’s perfectly fine, as you can see. No permanent harm done. But, I think he’s a little lonely. He needs a friend, and I think no one would be as good of a friend as you. You have a profound respect and consideration that he needs. Maybe you can finally learn to control that amazing strength of yours.” It was a lie; the bird in the program had been fake. But Belle didn’t need to know that. “Since your role in this tournament is complete, it is time for you to get back to your own family. I’m sure Sayana and Cog are waiting for you. For your exit, simply speak the location of your choice into the voicebox of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I have also left something for you in a box by the teleporter. I could think of nothing else of greater importance to you, but alas, I only had time to procure one. Hopefully it will suffice. I wish you the best of luck in your journey, and I have full confidence that one day you will find the control you seek. Farewell.”

The television then clicked off of its own accord. Belle gingerly raised his hand to his shoulder, and Birdie jumped atop it, leaving the boy’s hands completely free. He located the box left for him, and removed the book on top of it. Could he read, he might have figured out that the title said: “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus.” He carefully opened the package. Inside rested a shiny, gleaming, golden dragon ball.

[DA 2009]

Tamsin’s first thoughts as she woke up were not surprisingly of Maleficus Nova. Even after her own death, even after fighting for her life, as her master told her she would, the maid could not even consider her own well being.

“Mas…Mal?” she called out uncertainly.

The Servus maid sat up, looking around for only one thing—one person—and not finding him. Anything else in the room didn’t matter. She sighed, feeling alone, and worried for her master. She adjusted her silver hair, smoothing it out as she pulled it free from where it bunched around her neck. If what had happened to her also happened to Mal, then that meant he was already out…and alone. After what the imperfect namekian had said, Tamsin had resolved that he needed her now more than ever. She was his lifeline, the only thing that kept his nightmares away. In some ways, the maid was stronger than him, and that strength proved an asset to their pairing. Even more, she’d discovered a different kind of strength, one on par with the combat skills she’d encountered—and suffered—in the tournament. Tamsin experienced as much personal growth as anything, bolstering her confidence in her own capabilities.

Her next move needed to be to find a way out of this room. The door was bolted shut, but she recognized a teleporter similar to the one that led the duo to this debacle in the first place. She pushed herself out of bed, knowing laziness wouldn’t get her anywhere. The girl immediately reached her hands out towards the teleporter console, not wasting any time. Her fingertips grazed along an envelope taped over the coordinate buttons, addressed to her. Tamsin pulled it free and opened envelope and pulled out a letter, unable to afford missing any important information possibly contained within. It read:

“Dear Tamsin,

No doubt the realization sunk in during the tournament that you outlasted your own master. Yes, he was killed, as you were. It somewhat amazes me your level of dedication to Maleficus, though it is indeed your profession as an employee of Servus. There was another who joined in earnest devotion to a master, and I offer you the same piece of advice that I gave him: you have freedom, the freedom of choice. Commitment to another is admirable, but commitment to yourself is necessary. If you still choose a life of servitude, as I suspect you might, then at the very least you must cultivate your own being. Without a strong sense of identity, you cannot hope to be of any assistance to anyone. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I also have a little gift for you, one that you’ve already overlooked, but I implore you to take it. Follow another, but find your own path.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

Tamsin shook her head. She couldn’t quite understand the last sentence: ‘follow another, but find your own path.’ It was contradictory in nature. Shrugging it off for the moment, she turned looked about for a box, which had lain between the bed and the teleporter. The letter was correct; she’d completely overlooked it. The maid opened the box, and pulled out an outfit, one that was orange and black in color. Upon further inspection, she noticed it looked exactly like the one Maleficus Nova wore, complete with padding, except it was custom designed to fit her figure and a tad more feminized.

At the very bottom of the box, there were two pendants. They were elaborately carved with runes and bejeweled with many different stones, hung upon an unbreakable chain of katchin. A note sat neatly beneath the pendants, which read: ‘These are two very rare artifacts, procured from an archaeological dig on Arlia. They are connected, you see: when the pendants are apart, they seek each other out. When they are close together, they glow with blinding radiance. When they are farther away, the glow begins to fade. Wear one, and give the other to something you cannot bear to lose.’

[DA 2009]

Ashe snuggled up further against the warm blankets. At first glance, it would appear as thought there was simply a lump of linen bunched along a hospital bed, but upon closer inspection, one would find a tiny teenager hiding beneath the pile. An annoying alarm blared through the comfortable quiet, and Ashe instinctively—and very grumpily—reached out to silence the infernal device that dared interrupt her beauty sleep. Her slender fingers wrapped around the familiar shape of her cell phone, and muscle memory allowed her to process the correct key in order to banish the alarm setting to ‘Snooze.’

“Five more minutes, Grandpa,” she mumbled sleepily as she rolled over. She sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs with air. Her chest froze before exhaling as realization hit her like a thunderbolt. Panicked, she thrashed through the tangled heap of blankets as she bolted upright, her hair practically sticking on end from the way her head impressed upon the pillow. Becoming conscious of the fact that she had been neglecting to breathe, she let out the pent up oxygen in a sighing groan and then resignedly flopped back on the bed. Ashe had been right all along, though: she was alive and feeling great, if only a little tired.

She reached for her cell phone, and curiously realized that the cracked screen had somehow magically been fixed. The student scrolled through the options; everything was as she left it, so it definitely was her phone. Ashe sat up once more, noticing that the cell phone had been covering a slip of paper. She picked it up, and deduced it to be a hand-written letter. It read:

Dear Ashe,

I must admit: you made it a lot farther than I expected you to, and such a shame that your tournament had to end by Kristanna’s gun. Going into this Abyss, you had absolutely no control over your powers, and you emerge with a small grasp upon it. You needn’t depend on others so; confidence comes from within. Take the lessons you have learned here and apply them until you are satisfied and have fully absorbed their wisdom. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I do believe that I indeed promised something that you have not yet received. If you notice, there is a curtain that separates a section of the room. You’ll find what it is you seek behind it. Bon appetite.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

P.S. I think u r kewl. Signed, Audric

She couldn’t help but laugh. Who the heck was Audric? The girl whisked herself out of bed, nearly stumbling over her book bag that had been placed at the edge of the furniture, and could barely contain her excitement as she pulled back the curtain. Behind it sat a large refrigerator, a collapsible table with a microwave, and a cafeteria-style bench with place settings for one. She jerked open the fridge door, and to her glorious delight, it was filled with rows upon rows of many flavored pies and cakes, and set in the racks on the door were jugs of several different brands of punch. It most certainly wasn’t the prize she wanted, the ability to help Sage find Sol, but nonetheless, Ashe let out an excited squeal and reached into the fridge to grab her first of many slices.

[DA 2009]

It’s time to go back…

Sophia found herself alone, in the dark, hearing the voice all around her.

“No…” she sobbed. “I’m not ready to go back.”

It’s time, Sophia. You have to go back…

“NO!” She slammed her hands over her ears, grinding her palms against her head to drown out the noise, and the priestess dropped to her knees. A scream tore from deep within her throat, echoing all around in the emptiness.

You have to go back…

-----

Sophia awoke with a start.

“Hey, we thought you’d never wake up.”

There was a voice she shouldn’t have heard. The priestess looked up, and through foggy vision, saw a figure with pink-and-blonde hair.

“A-ashe?” Sophia mumbled, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The girl came into focus, and the healer’s guess proved indeed to be correct: she looked straight into the face of Ashe Branford. “Are you dead? Am I dead? Are we in Heaven?”

Ashe laughed. “No, you’re not. We’re alive.”

“We?” Sophia repeated dumbly.

The priestess realized she was lying in a comfortable bed, and Ashe sat upon the edge. The healer sat up, and looked around. The bed was pushed up against the wall, but the room was decorated in swanky fashion: balloons, crepe paper, glittery signs, party favors, and confetti—all of the trappings of a good old-fashioned get-together. Sophia’s eyes fell upon another girl, whose hair happened to be blue, and who was sitting quietly in a chair.

“Sage!” Sophia cried happily. “Is…is this a party?”

“Yeah, for you,” Ashe beamed. She suddenly had the look of remembrance, and grabbed something from a nearby table, handing it to Sophia. “By the way, this is for you.”

“W-we didn’t open it,” Sage added.

Sophia’s brow furrowed in confusion as an envelope was pressed into her hands. She tore it open, and pulled out a letter. It read:

“Dear Sophia,

Words cannot express the cruelty of losing a life. To die quickly, that is a gift. To die slowly, that is a curse. Allow me to make it up to you, for you have given me exactly what I required of you. By now, you have noticed that you are still alive. I cannot prolong your borrowed time forever, so you will eventually return to Heaven, but I can give you what I promised in your invitation. I have gathered your closest friends for a party, in your honor, to celebrate your return to this world. As an added gift, I have made a deal with an Earth witch, and any time you so choose, you may revive yourself, and return to the mortal plane permanently. I hope that you sharpen your fighting skills, because they are matched only by your compassion. Farewell.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

She folded up the letter, and smiled. “My closest friends.”

Sophia slipped out of bed and looked around, seeing only Ashe and Sage. Somebody was missing. “But then, where’s…?”

Kaden stepped out, having been crouched behind a jukebox trying to figure out how to plug it in to an outlet.

“Hi,” he said simply with a grin, giving a little wave.

He let out a grunt as Sophia glomped him in a huge bear hug before he had a chance to react. Ashe, seeing the jukebox turned on, selected a song, and it began to play. A steady beat of techno-dance music filled the room.

“They actually have some pretty good stuff on here,” Ashe commented, flipping through the song list.

“I like metal myself,” Sage commented quietly.

Everybody turned and stared at her, and she shrank in her chair, her cheeks flushing red.

“Uh, do you want some punch?” Kaden suggested, and Sophia nodded, the two of them proceeding to the snack table with every known party food to man.

Ashe went to retrieve her bag and pulled out a sleek-looking camera. The bubblegum blond rushed over and snapped a picture of Sage, who was not paying attention and made a funny face of surprise at Ashe rushing her. Ashe looked at the camera screen and laughed. Kaden finished off a handful of chips and leaned over Ashe’s shoulder to take a look.

“That’s a keeper,” he laughed.

“Very funny,” Sage pouted. She seemed a bit uncomfortable, as though she was still trying to get used to the idea that her friends were alive and well.

“I was told that they would develop our photos for us, and send us all copies. They gave me the camera and like a zillion memory cards,” Ashe explained. She turned and pointed the lens at Kaden, who flashed a cheesy smile.

Sophia, of course, was simply bursting with happiness. She posed for the camera as Ashe came and took a picture. “You guys, I’m so glad you’re here!” she gushed, walking around and giving hugs to everyone. “We should take a group photo! Group photo!”

The healer clapped her hands together and herded Kaden to a specific location with the perfect background, and then grabbed Sage by the wrist and led her over, positioning her just right. Ashe stepped back to snap the shot, adjusting the camera according to the best lighting.

“You should be in the picture, Ashe. It’s a group photo,” Kaden insisted.

“Yeah, come on!” Sophia encouraged, waving her over.

“Umm…okay, let me figure out the timer,” Ashe agreed. She fiddled with the settings for a second before setting it on top of a large stereo speaker.

The four of them stood, wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders, and the camera flashed.

In the picture, from left to right, they stood happily. Sage was beaming her first genuine smile in a long time; Sophia glowed radiantly; Kaden grinned while giving Ashe bunny ears; and Ashe was approximating something of a parodied MySpace pose.

For them, the tournament was long over.

[DA 2009]

Alexander Trafford awoke for the first time in a long time without the feeling of pain racking his body. The gentle bliss of the morphine had long since dissipated from his veins, but he felt like a brand new man anyway. He sat up, patting his pockets for a cigarette despite the ‘No Smoking’ sign on the far wall near the door. The street entertainer found a pack of trusty Marlboros right where he always left them, pulled out a thin cancer stick, put it to his lips, and lit it with a wink. He took a deep drag, instantly reveling in the nicotine dose as it leveled him out and calmed his nerves. Some scars were no visible to the eye. The wounds he still carried ran a deep river through his shredded soul, his heavy heart. He sat for a long time, contemplating life, and the horrors he’d just endured. A part of him realized that he had failed, that there was nothing left for him. Trafford remained consumed by the same emptiness that plagued him before the start, only now, the boy’s hands stained with blood.

He glanced around the room, realizing that sooner or later he’d have to get up, and the boy was tempted to use something stronger than a cigarette to ease his pain. He noticed a small metal table next to his hospital bed with a conveniently placed marble ashtray. The cigarette was moved over the tray, and Trafford flicked the end to send bits of burnt tar and tobacco leaves into the awaiting receptacle. Beneath the ashtray lay a white envelope that starkly contrasted against the bright, polished metal surface of the table. Having nothing else to do, Alex pulled the envelope out and tore through the sealed flap with a bony thumb. He slipped the letter out of the paper container and perused its contents. It read:

“Dear Alexander,

Truly, you are exactly what I looked for in a competitor for this tournament: your drive, your skills, your sheer propensity for the grandiose. You burned through your competition with a ruthless efficiency. Sadly, I am sure that it took its toll, for the only thing you lack is the vacuum within which to seal the moral qualms of a distempered soul. I can sympathize with someone thrust into a situation of circumstances far beyond their control, and yet they rise to the challenge with a determined spirit, no matter the cost. It was merely a shame that you were matched with someone whose drive exceeded your own. In this sense, you have lost, and I cannot change what is done.

What I can do, however, is grant you the thing you seek the most, the absolution that you crave with hopeless abandon. I see in you something I have seen in no one else in this entire competition. You may have lost, Alexander Trafford, but I will give to you what you would have received if you had won. I have no gift to give of mere materialistic value. I cannot give you guns, or bullets, or drugs, or cigarettes, or any other silly trinket that may appease anyone else. I attempt to give you something far greater. I know you want to see her again, and I can make that possible, if only for a short time. I can grant you a few hours with the one you want to see the most. Perhaps then you will find your closure. I admire you, Alexander Trafford, far too much to see you succumb to the darkness. Enclosed in this envelope are instructions on how to bring her soul back to the mortal plane. It won’t last forever, an hour, maybe two, at most. You may choose to do this, and find your closure, or you may choose to discard these instructions and cultivate the strength yourself. I only hope that this decision of mine does not bring you pain.

For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. I should also inform you, if it may lift any burden of guilt that weights upon your shoulders, that the people you killed in this tournament are alive and well. Their souls are not on your conscience.

Vir vultus suus fatum, Alexander Trafford.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

As Alex concluded reading the letter, he had realized that the cigarette had fallen out of his mouth, and was now burning a hole through the blanket.