THE GREATEST SHOW UNEARTHED

[whocouldwinarabbit]

WHO: The HABIT whocouldwinarabbit and his eighteen lucky Rabbits.
WHERE: Yankee Stadium.
WHEN: Tuesday, November 13 afternoon onward.
WARNINGS: Not for the children. Graphic murder expected.
SUMMARY: THUNDERDOME.
FORMAT: Whatever our contestants would like.

"Rise and fucking shine, campers!" blasts the loudspeaker.

Eighteen bodies. Not a bad turnout. He's hauled them into the locker rooms to wake up together, tied balloon strings to their wrists, the balloons Skittles colors. Angora, some say in sharpie, Flemish Giant. And all have a smile drawn on, bunny ears on top.

"You're probably wondering what the hell you're doing here, right? Wonder no more! Welcome to the Trials, rabbits. Time to feed the HABIT."

The crowd roars in response, their fists in the air. They're not nearly enough to fill the stands, not hardly, the count's barely crawling up to a hundred -- but it's the impassive eyes of the cameras set up around the stadium that matter. These idiots are just for the noise of it.

"Now, see, the rules to this game are real simple. All you gotta do is kill everybody else. That's it! What could be easier, right? Knife in the brain. Sword in the guts. I don't care how you do it, just do it, meat. Look at it this way: the Porter'll bring you back good as new. So... what's keeping you? Besides, hey... the winner gets a prize."

HABIT laughs tinnily through the sound system, over the sound of the crowd. "If one of you makes a break for it -- go ahead! I encourage it, make your move -- but you will notice that there's no escape. Can't have you spoiling my fun, now can we? The good people up there in the stands paid twenty-nine ninety-nine for a show, and by fucking golly, they're gonna get it."

"Now... if you'll look at the balloons for your group assignments. Flemish Giants, why don't you come on out here? No, no, hey, don't be shy. Being first is a big ol' honor. So show us some blood!"

He hits the music, and opens the doors.

Comments

[guardiandevil]

[The sound is horrific, and if that weren't enough to make Matt's stomach turn, the blood and brain matter that explode from Xanatos's head make contact with his face, leaving a terrible, warm feeling of wetness on his forehead and cheeks. His breath is held, blind eyes wide in anguish as he hears the very last beat of the man's heart.

And that's it. Xanatos is dead, and Matt and Bradbury are left before the roaring crowd.]

Jesus Christ, have mercy on us both.

[He feels like he's going to be sick. It's not because he can't take murder or hearing a man die. It's not because he can't stand the way blood feels on his skin. It's because suddenly he's realized there is absolutely no way out and no going back. And his face absolutely reflects that.]

[waiting]

[ Though he manages, somehow, to shut his eyes at the moment of impact, nothing can prevent Bradbury from hearing the wet, sickening crack, or feeling blood and brain hit his skin. As close as he is, a good deal of it goes over his chest and clothes as well, and he staggers back, halberd dropping from nerveless fingers. With the force its buried itself into Xanatos' head, it's going to take effort to pull it back out, and right now he can't summon the strength for it.

But he forces himself, chest heaving with effort of not gagging, to look at what exactly he's done, the lifeless body collapsed on the grass. He did that, and while it's not the first body he's seen, or the most grotesque, everything about the situation makes him feel disgusted. He wants to apologize, scream at the crowd, a hundred things all at once - none of them will change what's happened. You'll burn in hell, he remembers telling someone else, what feels like a lifetime ago. He almost wants to tell Matt not to bother; mercy isn't getting him out of this one.

It was self-defense, but even to himself, the words ring hollow. He lifts his head with an effort, glad Matt can't see him right now, and his voice is dull but tightly-controlled when he speaks. ]

So what now?

[guardiandevil]

[What could they do? Where could they go from here that didn't end in tragedy for one or both of them? It was all a trap, all a cruel, bloody game, and there wasn't going to be some magical way out of it. This nightmare was as real as a nightmare could be, and unless one of them made a move, the two of them were going to fight to the death while the heathen spectators screamed for more.

The solution comes to him then, dawns on him in a way that makes him almost believe it had been planted in his head for forever. Slowly, he takes a breath. It's ragged, hard, through his mouth so he doesn't have to inhale the heavy metallic scent of Xanatos's blood.]

You have to get out of here. You have to survive and you have to find whoever it is that's behind this insanity.

[And with that, he tosses his weapon aside.]

[waiting]

[ The mace hits the ground roughly at the same time Bradbury's heart does, or that's what it feels like, anyway. He doesn't like this fucking situation, but at the same time, what Matt's saying makes a horrible kind of sense.

Or maybe that's just his own selfish survival instinct talking, jumping at the chance to walk out of here alive. ]

I will. [ His voice is low, and it sounds like as much of a promise as he can make it. Slowly, Bradbury takes one step towards Matt, then another, reaching a hand out - like he's offering it to shake. ]

I can knock you out, before I - [ He swallows, hard. ] --so you don't feel it.

[guardiandevil]

[Matt nods, then drops to his knees. The sooner they get this over with, the sooner all of this will stop and the sooner the mastermind of this plot could be apprehended.

He takes off his glasses and sets them on the ground beside the mace, and with open eyes he begins to pray.]

Heart of Jesus, once in agony, have mercy on the dying.

[waiting]

[ Hearing the start of the prayer almost makes Bradbury want to laugh, in a sick kind of way. He recognizes the words, and murmurs them along with Matt, stepping up behind him and resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. ]

Amen.

[ His hand turns to rest against the side of Matt's neck, fingertips on skin and Bradbury shuts his eyes, trying to remember how to do this - the only thing he had to offer, a quick and painless death. All it takes is a push from his mind to knock Matt unconscious. Before he can crumple, Bradbury's leaning forward quickly to wrap a forearm around Matt's neck, the other hand coming to the back of his head and shoving it forward sharply. His muscles bunch tight as he brings to bear all the force he can manage.

By the time he lets Matt go, the other man isn't breathing, and his head lolls at an inhuman angle. Bradbury slowly gets to his feet and straightens, staring at the crowd, then turning his head towards the cameras.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. ]