You are Marnie, of no last name, and you want nothing more than to escape your artificial life. For the last several weeks, you’ve been training alongside your Digimon Partner, Phascomon, and have recently bonded enough to unlock the secret of Digivolution.
With the combined strength of you and your allies, you seek to ascend The Tower and defeat its mighty guardian, so you can leave City 87-O and live your life as a human should; out there in the real world.
But first, you have to survive the many threats coming your way, whether they take the form of hostile Digital Lifeforms, or the iron claw of the City’s enforcement units.
Where last your story left off, you entered a network subsystem in search of your missing friend— enigmatic Code Cracker Doc Cracker. With the help of a City-employed pair of Digimon that you threatened into cooperation, you managed to locate him, as well as the old enemy of yours that abducted him.
An uneasy feeling creeps over you as you spent long hours sitting at Barbeau’s bedside, slowly settling in until it becomes inescapable. It takes you a while to realise just what the feeling is. Looking at Barbeau’s face – haggard and worn, brought to the edge of destruction by what he experienced here – feels somehow like a premonition, a glimpse at your own future. Still, you endure the grim feeling for the sake of learning what Barbeau knows, what he’s able to tell you in his rare moments of lucidity.
Time passes, hours turning into days, but you pay little attention as it creeps by – until, that is, your patience finally hits its limit.
Walking on stiff, aching limbs, you skulk back to the company dormitory and all but slam the door behind you. A few eyes turn your way, disinterested employees glancing up at the sudden sound. Ignoring them, you march towards one of the bedrooms at the rear. As you walk, your foot clips against a footlocker carelessly left jutting out into the open. It doesn’t hurt at all, considering your heavy hiking boots, but it’s enough for your temper to flare. With a snarl, you kick the container across the room with a loud bang, scattering the meagre contents across the dorm.
“Isambard!” Alex scolds, looking up from his book. He sees something in your face, then, and the sharpness fades from his eyes. Quickly rising from his chair, he grabs your arm and pulls you away from the staring eyes. Ushering you into one of the bedrooms and firmly shutting the door behind him, he looks you up and down. “What’s wrong?” he asks, before sighing, “Isambard… when was the last time you ate anything? Or slept?”
“I’ve slept enough,” you lie, waving away his concerns.
“What is it, then?” Alex continues, concern darkening his face, “Did Adrian say something?”
“Adrian didn’t say a damn thing!” you spit, “He doesn’t know anything about the Stryx, about anything. This whole trip was a waste of time.”
“Oh come on, lad! Adrian and his wife are alive because of us,” he retorts with a frown, “Two lives saved. I’d hardly call that a waste of time.”
“Two lives saved, but how many people died because of us? Because of me?” you hiss, lowering your voice to a whisper. Ossian’s words surface in the dark waters of your mind as Alex falls silent. For all their sins, the real trouble only started when you arrived. “Madness and death follow wherever I go, Alex,” you continue, “Will I be swallowed up by it too, one day? Will any of you?”
A strangled gasp desperately claws at air, forcing oxygen into needy lungs that have not felt its embrace in long months. The ragged, animalistic inhale enunciates to the world that you still live. The cold air you greedily suck in burns your throat like swallowing shards of razor glass. Your world is pain, but pain is good, pain means there is still life in your body, and you have survived this forced resuscitation. As soon as you’ve flooded your body with much-needed oxygen, your chest spasms violently, wracking your frame as wet coughs replace the gasp.
Locked in a cycle that oscillates between deep, hungry inhales and violent coughing fits, your eyes open and see nothing. The darkness is complete and total. You spy no source of light in the void that wrestles against the inevitability of night. Your mind is dull and numb. It still lagging from your awakening, struggling to do anything more than its base functions. Cold enshrouds you, wrapping you within its horrid embrace. Goose pimples cover your naked flesh as the chilled air caresses you, sucking out all your natural warmth. Teeth chatter within your mouth, and you crawl up into an even tighter foetal position; your body is trying and failing to beat back the cold that has infected your soul.
As the icy numbness recedes, the pain returns, coating every inch of your body like a cruel reminder of your suffering. You spasm wildly as pain intermittently shoots through different parts of your body, mimicking lightning never hitting the same spot with the agony-inducing stab, at least never hitting the same place twice in a row. Each involuntary twitch is confined, restricted, and imprisoned; the movements are halted from completion by an unyielding force.
Still blind, you register the constraints that bind you, with the realisation you fight against them like a rabid Sullus-Tiger. Pushing upwards in an attempt to get to your feet, you shove your face into metal wire that does not give. Your hands blindly claw at the cage that keeps you pinned to the ground, fingers fruitlessly fight the durasteel. They fail to find a weakness or to scythe through the metal. Now you notice you are not even able to lie straight, your cage has you trapped in this foetal position with only a few inches of space on any side. Kicking at the prison, you are as successful as a child stomping in protest against their parent. The woven metal that holds you captive will not break under your hopeless, infantile assault.
Inside the underground city of Bauk, the air is sparse, the food small ration tablets that taste like nothing while the water tastes like iron, everything is dusty and cold and the only light is from precious filament lamps that flicker while moths fly to their deaths in it's warmth, a luxury you could never have. Humanity is buried, kilometers of tunnels and bunkers above your head, and the light of the sun is only a myth, told by the elders from a distant age before the surface was nuked and iradiated from endless centuries of war. As just a youngling, at the tender age of 13, you once dreamed of seeing the surface, the warm light of the sun, fresh air that fills your lungs and clear water that chills you to the core, the scenery of trees, mountains, lakes, but those have since faded away into the harsh reality of scrapping by what little rations you have to live to the next day. But there's still hope for luxury, for a life that's not dusty and dry and cold, of clean clothes and a good bed after a warm bath, of real food and good-tasting water. You want to be a [ red ]mercenary[ /red ].
Amon G. Sus, an Unovan homeless teen is on an all expenses paid vacation to Alola. He is exploring, exploring the town, exploring the girls, and exploring his skills as a trainer. But what will happen next?
>Previously Amon and "Kiryu", the delinquent Alola League Champion in disguise are using the Battle Carnival to train Amon in tactics. They are in a heated double battle against a Kadabra and a Stunfisk against Amon's Croagunk and Kiryu's rental Comfey.
Foongus: Timid and cowardly, you met him at age 7 when foraging for food. You thought he was a Pokeball due to hunger and he ended up crying due to being afraid. You gave him a last morsel of food to calm him down and he followed you into the city. Now your bros for life. He's more brave during battles as long as its not TOO rough. Ability: Effect Spore Mega Drain Stun Spore Sweet Scent And Clear Smog
Castform: Was met a few months after Foongus. Some faggot with green hair saw you looking for shelter in the rain and offered you Castform to turn the days sunny after "hearing the voice of your Foongus...you meet weirdos amongst the homeless. It worked too! He gave you your original 6 Pokeballs too as means of apology for not being able to do more. You never saw him again. Castform is chipper and sunny! Which is odd given how much he feels like a bag full of water. He always tries to cheer you up! He is pretty bad at battles compared to the rest of your team. He lacks the "killer instincts" but he's loyal! Ability: Forecast Weather Ball Sunny Day Rain Dance
Croagunk: A spacey chill Pokemon you met him during training Castform and Foongus. You tried to battle him but he kind of just...laid on his back. You tried catching him and it worked. Then when a wild Purrlion tried to steal the berries you scrounged up he Low Kicked the fuck out of it and sent it running for the hills. He seems...odd. Very much at his own tempo and logic. You haven't exactly figured it out yet but he's still a loyal companion. Ability: Poison Touch Poison Sting Drain Punch Astonish Mud Slap
Sigilyph: Flew into town after a particularly bad storm hit through the desert region. Which happens from time to time. You rescued him from being stuck in a tree and he joined you in gratitude. He's the most protective and on guard of your Pokemon. His Whirlwind attack has kept wild pokemon at bay and Hypnosis has kept would be scroungers from taking your shit. Ability: Wonder Skin Hypnosis Whirlwind Air Cutter Confusion
You are USA President Donald J Trump. You've made america great again, fixed the economic inflation, solved peace in the middle east, and it's not even time for dinner yet. There's not much you can't do if you put your mind to it.
You have a few free minutes, what are you going to do?
>Read a military report >Read a civilian report >Watch old episodes of fear factor eating challenges >Ask NSA for help spying on Melania
The sorcerer is broken, his body shattered and weapon split apart. You have no use for his conniving ways or frail magics. You answer his plea with an invisible blast from your pistol. You leave his limp corpse to smoulder as you turn your attention to the space port. You have already surveyed within its walls a system ship sufficient to speed you to Ger V and the warband there. It is a safe guess to assume the sorcerer intended to send aid to his compatriots by the vessel, and it undoubtedly is still ready for departure.
Your decision now is to head off to face the unknown warband alone, or to drag the remaining cultists in Tiller’s Landing into your assault.
>Take the ship and move towards Ger V >Intimidate the cultists into joining you >Write-in
You're an alien. You're a Grey, which also happens to be your name. You crash landed on Earth and unfortunately all of your fellow Greys are dead. But, "luckily" a friendly South American tribe that lives along the Amazon river has found you and is willing to help out! You think, you can't actually understand them. They've brought you before their tribal chieftain and shaman. The Shaman being a man of the world wears a Baseball cap from a time some UN delegation visited him and dropped off a bunch of stupid tat while doing an exploitative photo shoot for a charity drive none of them ever saw a dollar from. You of course don't know this, nor give a shit. Not going to mince any words about your situation. You're well and truly fucked. Think fast and be smart, Otherwise, it's game over. You decide to...
>Say hi
>Scream threateningly at them
>Vaporize somebody with your glowing stick o' pain
>Make a universal gesture of peace and love. You stick your finger into the air and pretentiously draw a circle in the air. Much wow, very deep.
>Flip one of them off with the universal sign of displeasure. This is a much less flattering gesture. Combining this with vaporization might be a good combo, I dunno.
>Do something else. Your ship and all other gear from it is gone, so it's pretty much you and your primary stick o' death and pain. Don't worry, only you can use it and it never runs out of pain juice. However, you can also apply it for non homicidal or sociopath actions. Like for example, performing clean (but simple) surgery. Sort of cutting wood (burning through it). And, making fires.
