Battle Royale Returns

[Mountainous Cleavage]

This is great, man. I'm looking forward to your next update. Your a great writer in this style, but damn you for leaving me hanging with the desert eagle disapperence.

[Guest Rich F]

Maff and Homicide should be ... interesting, however you deal with it.

Plus the pro-wrestling headhunter Cro Crop. Too obvious to win, but sure to get a decent headcount.

You seem to have Zan's writing style down pat, important for the start, but please don't be afraid to make it your own as it develops.

[NobBe Nobbs]

Whoa, this be some funky stuff right here. This will be my official OOC remark colour and boldage choice.

Before I post the next hour, I'd like to thank you all for your kind remarks. I had expected people to rip me a new one for messing up Battle Royale a la the dude who did the Battle for Jarrett's Soul, but you didn't.

Now, onto individual stuff!

Bushmeister - I admit, I forgot about some of the more obvious choices when putting together the list, and in hindsight, Necro Butcher would have been a great choice.

GZ - Think of it like BR's your daughter, OK? Now, being her father, I understand that you find it hard to let her go, but in the end, you have to trust her decision.

That is one freaking strange analogy.

TheMystikFool - If I don't leave you hanging on the cliff, you get a free Big Mac, guaranteed! (Y)

Rich F - I think I 'lucked out', somewhat, as my own style of writing is similar to Zan's in the first place. But I have big plans for the Maff/Homicide saga, mark my words.

And now, here comes the pain. (The first person to mention the words Brock or Lesnar gets a slap...with a throwing star!

I really like that smiley too much)

0100-0200

Hour 2, Day 1

Mike Quackenbush was sweating. As soon as he’d left the building, he’d broken into a run and tried to get as far away from the buildings as possible, not even stopping to take his weapon out. He had stopped by a basketball court, breathing heavily, but foolishly, he thought he was safe.

He rummaged around in his bag. It was light, so whatever he’d drawn wasn’t likely to be useful in combat. He touched something hard, then another; some sort of cylinders. He pulled them out, and despite only having ever seen them in films, recognised them immediately; he had sticks of dynamite for his weapons.

Silently, another man crept up behind him. He held a large fire axe down by his side, and his footsteps were muffled by the sound of Mike cursing under his breath.

---

Back inside the building, Super Dragon approached Supreme

‘What do you want?’ growled Supreme

‘I want you to help me, Supreme. If what they say is true, and I have no reason to believe otherwise, then you will not be able to survive on your own. And if you help me, I can help you in return.’

Supreme laughed. ‘Why would I place my trust in you? I don’t know you, nor do I want to. And if I encounter you, then I’ll make damn sure that I kill you.’

Dragon stared into Supreme’s eyes. ‘Very well. But think about this, Supreme. What happens if it’s me who encounters you? And what happens if I have a gun?’

With that parting riposte, Dragon turned away.

‘Then I’ll still kick your fucking teeth down your throat!’ bellowed Supreme.

---

Roderick Strong’s jaw still ached from where the guard had hit him on the bus, but the pain was somewhat compensated for by the sledgehammer he held in his hands. Bone may be harder than concrete, but they both break easily when hit in the right place, and Strong had already picked his spots – go for the neck or spine and snap their spinal cord, go for the head and knock them out, or go for the leg to break it so they can’t run.

At the moment, he was standing in a pool of shadow at the side of another apartment block. From here, he had a good view of a basketball court, Mike Quackenbush and someone completely different, holding a fire axe. Quackenbush apparently couldn’t hear anyone sneaking up behind him, as he was too engrossed with his bag.

However, the new man was taking his time killing Quackenbush. Either he was hesitant, or he just wasn’t going to be able to do it. The man pulled Quackenbush around, and Mike looked shocked. Roderick didn’t know who the new man was, but it was presumably a friend of Mike’s. Mike held up a couple of cylinders, then stashed them back in his bag.

---

‘How do I know I can trust you?’ asked Mike.

Claudio Castagnoli smiled. ‘Because we’re friends. And if you can’t trust your friends, then you can’t trust anyone.’ He looked around briefly. ‘Let’s get out of the open. I have a funny feeling about this place.’

‘Claudio, I need to know something. When the guy in the suit talked about the danger zones, did he say that it was just the building that was a danger zone or not?’

‘I can’t remember. I think it was just the building, but I wouldn’t risk it.’

Mike had a pensive look on his face.

‘I need another weapon.’

---

Mirko Cro Cop had left the building hurriedly, grabbing his bag and leaving. He didn’t care which weapon he got, because his initial plans didn’t require weapons to work.

Who leaves next? Mirko thought. Nova – perfect.

Mirko pressed himself up against the wall of the building. If he guessed right, then Nova would be the next man out, and he wouldn’t have his weapon out yet. The seconds ticked by slowly, and Mirko closed his eyes briefly. That was a danger far greater than posed by any of the individual men on the island – sleep.

The sound of the metal door opening roused him. Just as he’d thought, Nova walked out, weaponless and not looking any but forward. Mirko struck, covering Nova’s mouth with one hand and choking him with the other. He dragged the resisting Nova further into the darkness, then when the resistance had all but stopped, snapped his neck. Nova died instantly.

Mirko tried to feel something, but he simply couldn’t. Killing a man seemed to come naturally to him. He emptied out Nova’s kitbag, stuffing the food and water into his own. Underneath the map, however, he struck gold. Nova had drawn the Colt Python and now it was his.

He opened up his own bag, and started to rummage through the contents. There, at the bottom, lay his weapon – a tracking device. Mirko thanked his good luck – with a gun and now this, he could be almost unstoppable.

Inside the building, the odds of Mirko Cro Cop winning plummeted.

---

Unlike anyone else in the game at this point, Dan Maff had one objective that had nothing to do with survival. From the moment he saw Homicide in the room, he knew exactly what he was going to do. All thoughts of whether he could kill another man were swept away by the memories of what Homicide did to him before; taking away his livelihood, making him an outcast. He'd cheated death before, but now the rules had changed.

Lazily, he twirled the taser in the palm of his hand. For surviving, it wasn't the greatest of weapons, but it caused pain so easily; just a flick of a switch. Maff had seen it being used once or twice and it was a nasty motherfucker; your skin turned blue from the current, you convulsed and you lost control of your bodily functions. Best of all, it came with six spare batteries - more than enough to turn Homicide into a pile of melting skin and bones.

---

Chris Hero was most pleased. By a lucky chance, he'd passed the alleyway where Chris Harris was busy beating up Chavo Guerrero, and no-one had noticed him. By an even luckier chance, one of them had dropped their weapon while they were fighting; there was no way Hero was about to leave a Desert Eagle lying on the ground for anyone to pick up. He almost felt bad for leaving someone weaponless, but quashed it instantly. Having a conscience here was lethal.

It wasn't all sunshine and roses for Hero just yet, though. The clip held nine bullets, enough to potentiall kill nine others, but that was all. Whoever had drawn the Desert Eagle must have been given more ammunition in their kitbag. Hero cursed; he was by no means a good shot with a gun, and trying to get the jump on someone would be damn near impossible. Then again, no-one said that you had be close to kill someone - when the sun rose, people would start to die.

---

Roderick watched as Mike and the other man walked away quickly. He thought about following them for a moment, before his attention was quickly diverted. He was in an alleyway between two apartment blocks, standing behind a stone column that jutted out of one of the buildings, which meant that when the beam of light flashed past him, he could see the perfect opportunity.

Quietly, he held the sledgehammer in front of him with both hands, breathing as little as possible. He pressed himself right up against the wall as Abyss walked past him. In one hand, he held the torch – in the other was a Colt .45 pistol. Strong eyed the weapon; Abyss’ chances were good, because if Strong couldn’t disable him first-time, Abyss would have enough time to shoot and possibly kill him.

Abyss made to turn left, and Strong seized his chance. He swung the hammer with all his might, but in that one split-second, Abyss stepped and instead of breaking his neck, the blow landed on his shoulder. Abyss’ entire right arm spasmed, and he dropped the pistol.

Thanking his luck, Strong swung again; this time hitting Abyss in the chest. More than one of his ribs cracked, and Abyss felt the bone puncture his skin. He screamed out in sheer pain, and Strong recoiled. He struck again, and this time his blow hit the right spot; Abyss’ spine cracked audibly and Abyss fell silent.

Strong looked down on the broken body of the man he had just killed. What was the title he’d been given as a wrestler?

I am the Messiah of the Backbreaker.

40 Wrestlers Remaining

[Chris the Human]

Fucking eh! Go Hero, you good thing. Strong is the shit, and Mirko is a sadistic son of a bitch.

I'm taking bets now on Homicide fucking Danny Maff up.

[Sir Alan LCSugar]

Damn i was about to say Abyss for the win, before reading that last post. I'm going for the Meanie to win. I can't see Haas lasting much longer though. Great start ZeMapper I'll definatly be reading this until the end.

[LygerMark]

I'll back up the statement about Nova being gay. Before I became a worker, I was doing ring crew for a show he was on. He came into the locker room and introduced himself as follows. "Hey guys. I'm Nova and I love the cock."

[Hajjhowe]

This is off to a very good start, and your style seems to fit in well with Battle Royal.

I like the work so far, and you have the nice cliff hanger endings. You obviouly seem to be at least a little bit well prepared, and I look forward to see where this goes.

As for my pick? I will go with Chris Masters, because YOU CAN'T BREAK THE MASTERLOCK.

[Michael Thomas]

Oh shit this stuff is awesome. The tension is unbelieveable. Everything is great about this diary. I read the end of post one and became addicted instantly, so I just read the whole thing through. I'd love to read some of the other Battle Royales...

Keep this awesome stuff up dude.

[NobBe Nobbs]

0200-0300

Hour 3, Day 1

Johnny Kashmere leant against a wall. As soon as he'd left the building, he'd started running in order to get as far away from it as he could - thinking that most of the others would have stayed around that area. He was exhausted, and with his spool of barbed wire, he was nothing more than a target. He stood back up, shaking his head to clear it, and turned around.

There, standing behind him, was a man with a shovel in his hands. Johnny froze, then as the man reached out his hand, started running.

'Johnny, wait!'

Johnny paused. 'Bill?'

'Yeah, it's me.' The Messiah stepped out of the shadow.

'Fuck, you just scared the shit out of me.'

'Yeah, sorry.'

'You didn't do so badly with the weapon, did you?'

The Messiah laughed. 'It could have been worse. What did you get?'

Johnny held up his reel of barbed wire.

'Ouch. That's harsh. Gives me an idea.'

The Messiah took the wire, and started to wrap it around the blade of the shovel. Johnny laughed out loud.

'Nice going.'

The Messiah swung his new, improved weapon about experimentally. 'Hey, did you see Rob Black in there?' asked Johnny.

'Yeah. Man, he's in some real trouble. I know Supreme got fucked by him a couple of times, I did. You?'

'No, I never worked with him. Guy's a worthless fuck anyway, and he's going to die in short order. And if I find it, it's not going to be quick.'

'So what are you planning to do?'

'I don't know. I guess that it's going to be kill or be killed. Last man standing rules, and all that.'

'I know how you feel. I don't want to have kill, but in the end I think I'll have to.'

'Come on, let's get out of here.'

A gunshot rang out. Holding the barbed-wire shovel up, the Messiah quickly walked away. Johnny looked around, then followed him.

---

Jimmy Jacobs wasn't a great believe in fate; in particular the thought that he wasn't in control of his own life. But today was making him question his beliefs. Was it really just a freak of chance that somehow, he'd been given potentially the most lethal weapon in all the game. Was it good luck that had chosen him to receive the Uzi sub-machine gun? He didn't think so. Maybe somebody in the organisation really liked him, maybe the planets were aligned in just the right way. Who knew?

Unlike most of the others who'd been lucky enough to be given a gun, Jacobs had used guns before. It was never in cold blood, being on rifle and pistol ranges, but it was enough to give him the edge over pretty much everyone in the competition. He fired a shot at a nearby window, and the glass shattered. It made a noise, but he didn't care too much. If anybody wanted to fuck with him, he would be ready and waiting with Mr. SMG.

---

Doug Williams got up to his knees. When he heard the gunshots, he'd dived to the floor and stayed there, even as the glass showered over his back. He looked around the room he was in, somewhat surprised that whoever had fired the shots hadn't noticed him before. There was only the one exit; back out onto the street, where the gunman waited for him.

Or maybe not...Doug looked down at his crowbar, then at the unbroken window opposite. He culd get out if he broke the window, but whoever was outside would hear it and come running. He had one chance to get it right.

---

During his time as a wrestler, there were many stories about Homicide that floated around. He had apparently threatened to kill Low-Ki at one point, he'd driven Dan Maff out of the business entirely; it was clear that Homicide was a vicious bastard, and naturally, he had plenty of enemies. Hell, at one point he was under investigation from the NYPD, and it didn't faze him one bit.

But now he was trapped here, a place that would give shitpiles a bad name, he felt something completely foreign - he felt scared. Dan Maff was gunning for him and he couldn't depend on anyone else not to kill him in a heartbeat.

Nervously, he swung his sickle. It was a nice weapon, sharp and deadly, but if Maff had a gun it would be next to useless.

No. There are bigger things here than hunting down that fucker, he thought. If he wants to fuck with me, then fine. But I'm not going to go after him.

Homicide caught a flash of something in the corner of his eye, and turned around. There, in one of the houses, someone was shining their torch about. Homicide almost laughed.

Is he looking to die or something? Either way, I'll oblige.

---

Abdullah the Butcher fingered his tyre iron lovingly. It wasn't quite as nice as the array of knives and forks he usually kept with him, but for doing some serious damage, it'd work perfectly. Even at the age of seventy, his body still had plenty left in it. His mind, on the other hand, was much less stable. What the suit had said about Mick was eating away at him. Mick was his friend, and he looked up to Abdullah. He was a man of strong principles, but there was surely no way he could be a killer...even if it was to save his own life.

Or could he? Mick didn't seem to be a killer, but he had a natural aptitude for violence, even if it was in a wrestling ring. He thought back to the infamous Japanese deathmatches Mick had against Terry Funk, another hardcore wizard. He thought of the match they had with the C4 involved. Foley was no killer, but he could deliver the blood and the violence when it was needed, and there was no questioning that it was needed now.

A noise came from somewhere nearby, and Abdullah turned towards it. He was exposed; torch on, in the middle of the street. He switched the light off and pressed himself up against the nearby wall. Hopefully, he could surprise whoever was around and possibly take their weapon.

Then a torch beam flicked on, shining straight into his eyes. Abdullah swung wildly with the tyre iron, but it missed completely. He didn't get a second chance, as he felt a crashing blow to the back of his head, then nothing.

The Blue Meanie laid his torch on the ground and focused it's beam on the unconscious Butcher's face. He really needed more light for this, but the torch would have to do for now. A thought struck him, and he picked up the discarded tyre iron as well. Pensively, Meanie weighed both weapons in his hands. Both the bat and the tyre iron did similar amounts of damage, but the bat would probably last longer. Dropping the iron with a clang, Meanie raised the bat over his head.

He hesitated for a moment. Is it really right to kill him now?

Yeah, of course it is.

He brought the bat crashing down on the Butcher's head, over and over again.

---

Sabu had already thrown his ‘weapon’ away. The ‘Homicidal, Genocidal, Suicidal Maniac’ had been given a bright pink hairbrush – if it weren’t random, Sabu would have considered this an insult. As it was, he couldn’t do anything. If he came across someone armed, he would have to rely on his luck to see him through.

Up ahead was a sound; the sound of someone hitting something over and over. A normal person would have employed a degree of caution, but Sabu either didn’t know or didn’t care. Before he could get there, the noise had stopped. Presumably whoever had caused it had left. Sabu looked around briefly before he stepped on something. He looked down.

There, on the ground before him, was the headless corpse of Abdullah the Butcher. Whoever had just left had decapitated the Butcher – no, not decapitated him. The remains of the Butcher’s head had been turned into a pulp by a blunt weapon of some sort. Lying on the ground by the body was a tyre iron; it was clean, so it hadn’t yet been used, and Sabu took it. He hadn’t known Abdullah the Butcher well before, but even so, he vowed to locate his killer and finish him.

---

Leaving a faint trail of blood, Frankie Kazarian was in the worst possible situation. Already, he was feeling light-headed from the blood loss, and even though his wound was starting to clot over, the bullet lodged in his leg caused pain every time he put his weight on it. And his weapon was next to useless in his condition.

I always knew I'd die, sooner or later. It just turns out to be sooner.

Frankie stumbled through the streets, past caring about being quiet or stealthy.

‘COME ON!’ he screamed. ‘FINISH ME! GET IT OVER WITH!’

---

He’d been described as nothing more than a thug in the past, and Kenta Kobashi wasn’t doing anything to dispel that view. His weapon was a standard, thick metal monkey wrench; capable of delivering a fatal blow if he hit the victim hard enough. As yet though, he’d encountered no-one. When he left the building, he’d gone east and evidently missed almost everyone. At the moment, he was a park that, by some miracle, was still green and flourishing.

He thought he was alone. The sound of a pistol being cocked said otherwise.

39 Wrestlers Remaining

[williamweasel]

The Messiah swung his new, improved weapon about experimentally. 'Hey, did you see Rob Black in there?' asked Johnny.

'Yeah. Man, he's in some real trouble. I know Supreme got fucked by him a couple of times, I did. You?'

'No, I never worked with him. Guy's a worthless fuck anyway, and he's going to die in short order. And if I find it, it's not going to be quick.'

Edited September 27, 2005 by williamweasel

[NobBe Nobbs]

The Messiah swung his new, improved weapon about experimentally. 'Hey, did you see Rob Black in there?' asked Johnny.

'Yeah. Man, he's in some real trouble. I know Supreme got fucked by him a couple of times, I did. You?'

'No, I never worked with him. Guy's a worthless fuck anyway, and he's going to die in short order. And if I find it, it's not going to be quick.'

If I'm not mistaken, didn't Rob Black send people to cut off Messiahs thumb? That be a revenge story and a half.

[Chris the Human]

Man, you're sick, killing an old man like that. I tell you, the British are worse than the French

I love it

[NobBe Nobbs]

Man, you're sick, killing an old man like that. I tell you, the British are worse than the French

I love it

[Chris the Human]

Er, no. The British win wars, you see.

[williamweasel]

The Messiah swung his new, improved weapon about experimentally. 'Hey, did you see Rob Black in there?' asked Johnny.

'Yeah. Man, he's in some real trouble. I know Supreme got fucked by him a couple of times, I did. You?'

'No, I never worked with him. Guy's a worthless fuck anyway, and he's going to die in short order. And if I find it, it's not going to be quick.'

If I'm not mistaken, didn't Rob Black send people to cut off Messiahs thumb? That be a revenge story and a half.

[Bushmeister]

Seeing Abby killed off this early was like seeing New Jack go so early in the first Battle Royale, but at least New Jack got to kill someone. Boo for Blue Meanie.

The writing is otherwise excellent, and I am personally liking the higher amount of indy/Japan workers on this BR. I think that a bit more of a variety to the personalities of the characters would be good... And Sabu's reaction to Abby's body was just flat. Just... flat.

[darrdor]

I was a reader of the original GZ Battle Royale on EWB III and this is just as good! Great writing skills man and you know how to leave us at a cliffhanger!

[RebornInFlames]

Great going ZeMapper. Writing is superb and the cliffhangers are structured well. One critisism is the pink hairbrush. Sabu seems to be more of a tan man.

Edited September 30, 2005 by RebornInFlames

[darrdor]

[NobBe Nobbs]

0300-0400

Hour 4, Day 1

‘Good morning, my friends!’

All over the city, hidden loudspeakers blared into action.

‘Yes, it’s me. New Skyros’ Public Enemy Number One, I’d guess. Ah well, can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs now, can we?

At four o’clock exactly, the following areas on your maps will become danger zones – and if you remember, get caught in a danger zone and your collar will detonate. These areas are as follows - G2, B6, F2 and D8.

Now, onto the death list – something I’m sure you’ll all want to hear. As well as Akio, who you all saw die, three others have perished in the past three hours. And that’s pretty good going; it usually takes people longer than that to start playing the game.

First up is the man formerly known as Nova. I’m not going to tell you who killed him, but they took him out about forty minutes in.

Second was quite a surprise actually – it was Abyss. Abyss actually had a gun to begin with, so we can only guess that his killer took him by surprise.

Finally, Abdullah the Butcher went out early. Considering he was a famous proprietor of violence, he didn’t do too well. Still, at about a hundred and forty, he couldn’t have been expected to last long.

Enjoy yourselves.’

---

Rob Van Dam stopped right in the middle of the street, shocked to his core. He knew that there would kills, and that people would die. But hearing Nova’s name announced by that evil bastard rammed the point home. He didn’t know who had killed Nova, nor was it likely that he’d find out, but he’d be damned if he’d give up trying. Even if he had to hurt, to injure, to kill a man – he’d learn.

Rob swung his machete in frustration. It was an excellent weapon; the blade was razor-sharp, and with the ease it cut through wood, he was sure enough that it could cut through skin and muscle just as easily.

Dammit, Mike. What happened?

---

Sshhk…

The switchblade made a delightful noise as it slid into place. The whole appeal of a switchblade laid in it’s secrecy – at barely six inches long when retracted, it could be concealed just about anywhere; in sleeves, pockets, trouser legs.

Sshhk…

---

Despite his early good fortune, Eddie Guerrero was feeling increasingly nervous. He was the proud owner of a sawn-off Remington shotgun, and he knew that if he could get close enough, anybody would die. It might be quick or it might be painful, but die they would. Nevertheless, he couldnt help but feel twitchy - the shotgun was a good enough weapon, but what if he got sneak-attacked? He could die and wouldn't even know anything about it.

And the gun...the gun just made him look like the perfect target. True, it was good, but anyone was dangerous with a gun in their hands. Eddie spun around, firing a blast of shot at the shadows. His hands were trembling now, the barrels of the gun shaking wildly, his eyes flitting from place to place. He was hyper-ventilating, a nervous wreck.

'Eddie?' came a voice from behind him

Eddie cried out, and fired a second blast in that direction.

'EDDIE, I'M NOT GOING TO HURT YOU!'

A figure stepped out of the shadows, his arms raised in surrender. It was Scott Steiner, and he held a coil of rope in one hand; obviously his weapon. Eddie slowly lowered the shotgun, and Steiner came closer.

'Jesus, Eddie, you're in a bad way.'

Eddie could barely speak. 'I'm...I'm a target...'

'Calm down. You've got a fucking shotgun; no-one's going to attack you.'

Steiner looked around worriedly.

'Can I borrow your shotgun?'

Eddie also looked around; his breathing had begun to slow, but he was still far from calm, or even psychologically back to normal. He handed the gun over gradually - it seemed that part of him didn't want to let it go; it didn't quite trust Steiner yet. Steiner looked into the barrel, noting the lack of ammunition. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Steiner started walking.

'Come on. Let's go.'

In the darkness, Eddie didn't catch Steiner's grin.

---

In complete contrast, Shane Helms felt confident, even cocky about his chances of surviving. Earlier on, he thought he'd heard people talking in hushed voices somewhere, and fired off a shot in their direction. There was silence, so either he'd hit someone or there actually wasn't anyone there in the first place.

No worries. I’ve got ammo to spare, right?

Up ahead, something stirred. Helms levelled the pistol

'Who's there?'

'It's Chris.'

Chris Masters walked towards Helms, his palms out to show he had no weapon. Nevertheless, Helms kept the gun pointed at his heart.

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to form an alliance with you, Shane.’

Shane laughed. ‘An alliance? What do you think this is – Risk?’

‘Fine, not an alliance. I want to help.’

‘Bullshit. Now get out of here.’ Shane pulled back the hammer to emphasise his point. Masters smiled nastily, and someone stole up behind Shane. Shane spun around, but not quickly enough, as Bubba Ray Dudley brought his night-stick down on the back of Shane’s head.

Shane collapsed, unconscious; the Beretta spilled across the ground as he fell, stopping at Masters’ feet. Masters picked it up.

‘That was perfect,’ said Bubba. ‘Didn’t expect anything.’

‘And now I’m packing heat,’ replied Masters, laughing. He began to root through Helms’ kitbag for the clips.

---

Kenta Kobashi looked around slowly, the barrel of the gun pressing gently against the back of his head. It was clearly a Desert Eagle, and with a sick certainty, he knew that, if he got shot, that was it. Game over.

‘Walk forward, and put the wrench on the ground.’

Kenta knew that once he was defenceless, the gunman would shoot him anyway. And there was no way that he was going to go out without a fight. His wrench-holding arm tensed, as he took a half-step forward. Chris Hero was caught unawares as the heavy wrench crashed into the side of his neck, but as he fell, he fired off three shots wildly. One missed completely – one buried itself in Kenta’s free arm and the other crashed through his stomach wall.

Hero was nearly unconscious, but he desperately tried to clear his head. He could hear Kenta still moving, and that meant he was still a threat. Scrabbling on the ground, he touched something metal; not the gun but Kenta's wrench. Still, it would do. Hero grasped the wrench with both hands, and stalked towards the floored Kenta.

---

Sickle in hand, Homicide crept towards the door. Whoever was using the torch was making no effort to keep quiet, banging doors and talking to himself. He reached out for the door handle, and opened it.

Half a second later, a shotgun fired.

---

Jimmy Jacobs mentally castigated himself. Leaning against a chain-link fence, still with his Uzi sub-machine gun, he'd made the fatal mistake of closing his eyes for a moment, and then he'd dozed off.

Imagine if someone had come along and seen you. You'd be dead.

Only the sound of glass breaking had woken him back up, but he had reacted quickly. Someone had evidently been in the house he'd shot at before, and they must have broken a window to escape. Cocking the Uzi, he ran to the house, bursting through the door with such force that the chair propped against it shattered into pieces.

The window!

Both windows were broken, and whoever was in here had made a clean getaway, leaving a scrap of cloth on a broken piece of glass. Jacobs turned to leave, but something struck him.

'If someone had climbed out through the window,' he said, voicing his thoughts, 'they'd have cut themselves. Where's the blood?'

---

Val Venis opened his eyes. He felt groggy, like he’d just woken up from a deep sleep. He tried to rub his eyes, but his arms wouldn’t respond. He looked down, and he was fully awake.

He was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Looking around frantically, he took in his surrounding; he was in some sort of shack, a set of empty shelves leaning against the wall and an old table jammed up against the door.

Hold on…how did the table get there?

The sound of footsteps took his attention away; sheer terror took over. He strained his neck trying to look around, and a man stepped into view. He wore a hood, and his face was hidden from view. Of much more importance was the rifle in his hand.

‘What am I doing here?’ asked Val, with notes of both confusion and fear in his voice. The man stood over him silently, then dropped his rifle to the floor. He lifted his hood up, and even in the dimming light, Val recognised the man standing in front of him.

---

'Where's the blood?'

Right here.

Doug Williams stabbed out with his crowbar. He knew perfectly well that any attempt to escape through the door would have been suicidal, and breaking the window meant Jacobs would have come running - just like he did. Doug broke the window, making as much noise as he could, then hidden under the counter.

The sharp point of the crowbar tore into the back of Jacobs' left knee, and from a combination of pain and shock, Jacobs' legs buckled. Pressing his advantage, Doug swung the crowbar at Jacobs' head, but he had the presence of mind to duck. In that instant, Doug knew that he'd gotten it wrong. As if in slow motion, Jacobs brought the Uzi up and pulled the trigger. The spray of lead ripped through Doug's stomach and vital organs, tearing his midsection open, and painting blood across the wall.

Doug Williams fell backwards, his heart giving out before he hit the ground.

38 Wrestlers Remaining

Edited September 29, 2005 by ZeMapper