⏵ APHAIA ⏴
At the request of those inhabiting Etraya, Aurora has adjusted the mission schedule a little in order to send everyone into a world that is actively dying. Which means that, on the morning of March 14th, everyone will be directed to a glowing, purple portal situated just outside the hospital. Aurora will recommend that those with pets leave them behind; given the mission parameters of survive, she anticipates that it will not be a place for companion animals to accompany their owners to. She will not, however, force this: people are welcome to bring their companions if they'd like!
Once they have stepped through the portal, it will become clear that survival will not come easily. The sky overhead is fractured into a kaleidoscope of neon colors, artificial stars blinking in and out of existence among shards. Towering structures resembling stadiums and coliseums stretch endlessly into the horizon, their surfaces plastered with massive holographic advertisements displaying the face of past "champions" - many of whom appear to be long-since deceased.
From the moment they step through the portal, cameras whir to life around them, zooming in on their expressions while loudly announcing their names, their specialties, and what they are capable of. Applause echoes through unseen speakers when talents worth the excitement are announced: those with fighting capabilities, unique extraordinary powers, or odd talents seem to get the loudest reaction.
And once introductions are complete, a loud, booming voice cuts through the noise:
WELCOME, CONTESTANTS! ARE YOU PREPARED TO SEE WHO AMONG YOU IS THE SMARTEST, THE HOTTEST, THE STRONGEST, AND THE SHINIEST? ONLY THOSE AMONG YOU WHO ARE WORTHY WILL SURVIVE. KALI TYCHI!!
There is no introduction to the voice. No explanation.
Welcome to Aphaia.
⏵ SURVIVAL SPOTLIGHT ⏴
Aphaia is a dying world. Once vibrant, now it is little more than a stage - an arena where survival meets spectacle and death is a form of entertainment. Cameras are everywhere, their mechanical eyes dissecting every action, hesitation, every moment of weakness. To the residents of Aphaia, it's all a game. After all, they know they are living on borrowed time - why not make it fun?
Towering holograms flicker with advertisements for upcoming challenges, massive leaderboards shift constantly, tracking the contestants' popularity in real time. Every move is judged, and every breath is measured.
Participation is not mandatory, but refusal comes with some hefty consequences. Those who refuse to play fade into the background, their scores slowly dropping closer and closer to zero.
And when it does bottom out? They disappear. No body, no remains, just - erased entirely from existence.
Now, survival is not just about brute force (although there is some of that too!), but about entertainment. Contestants are not simply fighters, but performers earning the favor of other contestants.
Each contestant has a score, visible using the HUD of their earpiece. Scores range from 1-100, with 80+ reserved for crowd favorites. The moment scores hit zero, they disappear, presumed (and are) dead.
New contestants start with a randomized score, assigned the moment they step onto Aphaia's surface. From there, their survival depends on strategy, skill, and showmanship.
Nanotechnology laces the very air they breathe, embedding itself into their bodies. It monitors oxygen, tracks food intake, measures every potential need for everyone, including alien species whose needs differ. Supplies are scarce - meaning only those who keep their scores up receive rations, shelter, and medical aid. The lower one's score? The less they get.
And there are no second chances.
⏵ DISTRICTS ⏴
Aphaia is separated into four districts.
The Colosseum is where blood is currency. A high-tech battle arena where combatants are pitted against each other for entertainment, the Colosseum is always prepared for any battle one may wish to take part of. The floors shift, and the environment changes at the whim of the audience. It's built to support any challenge that requires physicality: the floors will break into massive labyrinths meant to confuse individuals, or the walls will raise to create rooms that are difficult to escape to test one's intellect. Within the Colosseum, contestants are invited to battle one another and others for glory. Are you a warrior? Built for combat? Do you have capabilities that shine through with physical action, rather than mental stimulation? This is the place for you.
A place of luxury, the Symposium is where alliances are forged - and broken. Here, the highest-rated contestants (those who rank Luminary or higher) are invited to partake in fine dining and lavish parties. Violence is not permitted within the walls of the Symposium; while this may provide the false illusion of safety, it is anything but. Whispered betrayals are passed between contestants within the walls of the Symposium, with deals struck to ensure that those who rank high enough to enjoy all the benefits it offers continue to be able to visit.
In the heart of Aphaia is the Agora. Pulsing with flashing billboards featuring the faces of many past and current contestants and live polls of the current scores of those who are still alive, the Agora is where contestants are invited to engage with the public to shape their own narrative.
In the streets, many contestants can be found putting on quirky performances, participating in challenges, or conducting interviews with other contestants. Charisma can be just as valuable as brute strength, and this is the place for those who rely on their ability to sweet-talk others to make sure their points remain high. This is where the facilities for the non-physical challenges resides, such as Echoes of the Past and Tychaios.
The Agora contains the housing district in which contestants reside. There are a few massive apartment towers stacked to the sky. The high-ranking live in luxury, enjoying rooms up to two bedrooms with plenty of space - the lower ranking individuals reside in smaller apartments, with significantly less amenities.
On the edges of Aphaia are the Backalleys, where rules are meant to be broken. A maze of shadowed corridors and hidden tunnels, there are multiple "convenient" corners where camera blind spots can be found. Here is where people come to converse between one another outside the eyes of the audience or to find temporary sanctuary from their lives being consistently narrated. However, it is also well-known that while they may be able to find areas where the cameras cannot reach, the Gamerunner is also aware of these blind spots.
⏵ RATED & REVIEWED ⏴
While the highest rated contestants get to go to The Symposium, those middling or in danger of falling off get invited to only the finest of trashy talk shows.
Anyone can see how this daily, midday TV show plays out. Stand in front of a television long enough and you’ll see reruns of bruised competitors hashing it out in front of an audience over failed plans, ruined alliances, and broken friendships. If you want to see the worst in others Kathiki Pidón is the show to watch.
Though one might wonder why anyone would ever go on this thing, it is a nearly universal guilty pleasure. There is a chance to raise one’s own rating without risking one’s life. But say the wrong things, and you may become more unpopular than ever. It is a desperate place to go- but they do always give a hot meal to anyone who agrees to come on. It might be your only chance to recuperate.
This is also a great opportunity to try to lower someone else’s ranking by airing out private grievances very publicly. Was the only reason you lost because you were tricked or betrayed? Is there a secret alliance you want people to know about? Or perhaps you need a platform to earn a little sympathy.
Kathiki will be more than happy to host you, donning his usual black and gold suit and holding his slim microphone for you to speak into.
For those who are a little shier, Kathiki has a private booth in the back of the studio where you can pour your heart out in front of a camera. This can have the same benefits, but it may be edited in very unfortunate ways before the public sees it.
⏵ NOTES ⏴
Please use our NPC Threads toplevel on this post for any NPC interactions you'd like! This includes Kathiki.
For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.
⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴
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etrayamods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrayalogs2025-03-14 11:19 am
wildcard fam things.
( The mission's about a week and a half in now and he's already tired.
With the number of forced team-ups he's found himself in, he's a little surprised that one of them happens to be with Damian, given the bulk have been with those he doesn't know or just barely. Purposefully done, he thinks, what with his penchant for going it all alone back in his Gotham and there being little need for much of the way of team-ups where Batman is concerned on Etraya. Here? Entirely different story. Seems for the battle royale type challenge they've been thrown into, it's Batman and Robin — father and son — the crowd wants to see and so, it's Batman and Robin the crowd gets.
The arena they find themselves in feels like Gotham almost in how dark and gritty the atmosphere is. Various walls create alleyways for one to get lost or boxed in, while others mimic tall buildings one can climb or jump from if they have the means to. Bruce is currently on a level created bridge that runs between two of the buildings with a handful of opponents he's more or less punching his way through.
His movements are hard and heavy yet his footwork is quick and slick, slipping past and moving around those he ends up knocking off the bridge, only to do it all over again. He gets knocked back a few times — struck with a heavy baton of sorts that he blocks with his arm or a quick twist to shoulder the blow, but he doesn't stop. No matter how tired he feels. He keeps barreling through, intending to get through this battle royale where he and Damian are the ones left standing. )
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and with batman kept preoccupied on the bridge, robin is working to keep more opponents from getting on the bridge. he's back on the building just behind batman, bo staff extended but dropped onto the ground after he'd thrown it at some idiot's back who'd managed to slip passed him. where batman's movements are heavy-handed, robin's focus more on using his opponents strengths against them: using their momentum to throw them forward and off the rooftop, slamming them into one another, in between carefully placed hits meant to knock them out with potentially a mild concussion but not anything too bad. he's avoiding reaching for weapons more likely to cause open wounds - or was
up until someone manages to grab onto his upper arm as he reels it back for another hit, yanking damian off balance enough that when he spots the arrow aimed straight for him out of the corner of his eye, he doesn't have enough time to dodge it. )
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He’s occupied — distracted by the onslaught of opponents with him on the bridge, pushing through them as quickly as he can manage without landing any fatalities. He’s tired. Muscles burn with every hit he takes and gives. Even if the suit absorbs the bulk of those hits, bruises will still be there. He can feel it and he keeps going. Dragged down at some point from behind by his cape and dragged across the bridge, only to swiftly detangle himself from arms and cape and knock them down and off the side.
It feels never ending. Wave after wave coming for him there on the bridge. He’s not used to having to go for this long with so many. It’s different in Gotham. He has the means to duck into the shadows and surprise them when they’re angrily firing rounds of ammo at him, lighting up the darkness with every bullet that leaves their guns. This is like the Iceberg Lounge, just more.
He chances a glance to where Damian— to where Robin is on the rooftop, an unexpected knock from behind dropping him down to his knees. He’s kicked in the face, rolls over onto his side and put into a chokehold he squirms to break free from while fending off a knife pressing for his jugular. That’s when he sees Robin grabbed — when he sees the arrow fly for him and that fear he thought to have mastered grips him in a way where he can barely breathe, blue eyes wide with panic. He’s not there. He’s here. Like with Alfred. Like with Selina. He’s not there to protect him. The adrenaline that comes with that fear gives a momentary spike in his strength — pushing back at the knife so close to him and yet, it’s not enough. He needs more.
Bringing a leg up, he violently kicks at the kneecap of the one there in front on him — kicks him again in the center of his chest the moment he buckles down and thrashes about to free himself from the chokehold. But it’s also given him the space needed to reach into his utility belt, pull out a pocket-sized needle glowing with green liquid at the top, and stab it into the space between his armour, injecting the liquid into him instantly. It’s in that moment his heart beats with both an instant shot of adrenaline and an overwhelming anger that consumes him, the sound that leaves him a resounding boom of rage.
The crowd loves it and goes wild.
He breaks himself free from the chokehold. Violently slams the opponent’s face into the bridge and fires off his grapple gun towards the building Robin is atop, pulling himself over. The moment he lands, he barrels into the first opponent he sees there — slams him angrily into the ground and moves for the next, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him down to the ground, cracking a few teeth in the process. He goes after them. Relentless. Violent. Knocking them down and throwing them over the roof onto the bridge and the crowd cheers with every opponent he brutally knocks down. )
no subject
it's as he tries to move to safer grounds that he realizes how unideal this is. he can't roll to the left to avoid a hit without moving straight into yet another arrow, so he takes a fist to the face. and while he's trying to find a way to take down that man, yet another approaches him from behind and grabs onto the arrow, shoving it in deeper.
damian doesn't yell. he bites down onto the inside of his lip, disorientated from his head getting knocked around, from the shooting pain in his arm that signals he should be concerned with whatever damage that has managed to do, and he's nowhere close to down but it's thrown him off enough that he needs - several moments to recover. eyes close, removing that sense to help limit the amount of stimuli he needs to focus on, and after shoving a leg straight into one of the men's crotch, he reaches for the arrow to break off the end. recognizes the odd way his body's muscles begin loosening and associates it with central nervous system depressants - he's been drugged. )
Fuck.
( there's yelling and bodies hitting the floor around him, but damian's momentarily distracted by the arrow. he had been intending to leave alone to avoid damaging blood vessels further for now, but instead grips what's left of the wood to start trying to yank it out before he drops. there's another opponent who swings a wide right hook towards him while damian stumbles back a step to avoid it, useful hand busy with the arrow, and other lamely by his side. he's got a bit of time, he just needs to - )
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Vengeance! Vengeance! Vengeance!
He fires his grapple gun — shoots it through the sleeve of a man's coat and drags him back from behind, kicking his face in before he's stalking after the one there advancing on Robin. His baton is pulled out — smacked across the arms and faces of those who get in his way, teeth bared and eyes filled with a rage that makes his heart beat frantically.
That's when he catches the man approaching Damian from behind. )
Get away from my son.
( It's nothing more than a harsh growl from him as he presses the palm of his gloved hand to the center of the man's throat and sparks flicker in their own anger as he tazes him before he's tossed over his shoulder with an angry grunt and throws him into the other coming up from behind. )
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so he takes a breath instead. counts down from three in his head, then yanks the arrow out of his shoulder. there's not too many thugs rushing for him now, he realizes, which is good. one starts forward, but their eyes are focused - off behind damian. good. it gives damian the opening to take his bloodied arrow and shove and take two steps forward, ducking down when they seem to remember damian's there, too, so he can raise his arm and jam the arrow into the space just below their ribcage. there's another arrow, but it looks like it's being aimed at someone else, so damian ignores it's trajectory.
drops down onto a knee. )
'm compromised. ( his voice is quiet, barely audible and slurred. ) ...ry, Father.
( damian tips over, dropping face-first towards the rooftop. )
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He shouldn't. Not so soon after taking one shot already. He knows it's dangerous — knows the risks it could have on his heart.
But Damian slurs his words — drops face down and all he can do is stare at the sight of losing someone he cares about and how, like before, he couldn't get there in time.
A first slams hard into the chest of the man closest to him — drives him back towards the edge of the rooftop and holds him there by the collar of his shirt. He growls— snarls at him in a way that's all rage and vengeance, and that's when he catches sight of the last of them coming up... and he makes the decision he knows he shouldn't.
Kneeing the guy, he throws him aside — drops down to a knee and grabs the other shot he has. He's quick. Pops open the tab on his suit and stabs himself with the needle. It hurts — fills his bloodstream with the glowing green drug and he feels his muscles go taut and his vision blur around the edges before it becomes sharper. Before he becomes angrier. Then he's twisting on his heel, baton in hand, and beating the life out of the remaining opponents there now.
Everything is a blur to him. The sounds of bones cracking from every hit with the baton, the cheers the crowd scream for him as blood flies from the end of his baton. He takes them all. One by one. Seeing nothing but red. Seeing nothing but the unknown face of the one who killed his parents. Taking that anger out on them all. Taking the anger he feels for Damian being hurt out on them all. Over and over and over again. Until, finally, they're all down. Bloodied and beaten and The Batman stands there, breath heavy and fingers gripping tight to the baton, a victory claimed for him and Robin.
It takes him a second — body trembling before he forces himself to secure the baton behind him and he stalks over to Damian there, dropping down to scoop him up. As a team, they've won this round, and so they're free to go and he plans to take Damian out of here. )
I've got you.
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but he goes too far.
it's difficult to tell the extent of his injuries when he's allayed like this, but he knows it's too much from batman. he can hear the crack of bone against the baton, hears the yelling, the cheers from the crowd and he can do nothing from his place on the ground. he feels the blood pooling under his arm, knows it's not falling fast enough to be of major concern, but also knows an injury like this means he'll be significantly less useful in the future.
more caution could have prevented this; it was his lack of foresight that led to missing the arrow's trajectory, and damian is cursing himself for it now. unfortunately, he also recognizes there's nothing he can do from his current position: the drug will need to run it's course, which means finishing this up and getting them out of here is up to batman.
he's silent as bruce approaches him, mind fuzzy and body too heavy to move which makes picking him both easier and harder: damian is dead weight, but he isn't struggling or pitching a fit. lips press together after bruce has picked him up, as damian tries to pull himself together to form a sentence. his words are still slurred, a little slower and less pronounced, but audible enough: )
I'm alright. It's a - . . . sedative. Depressant. Most likely.
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I’m getting you out of here.
( It’s all he says as he makes his way from the rooftop with Damian cradled against him, heart pounding like a drum in his chest to the point where he swears it’s all he can feel and hear.
The drop down is one he makes without so much as a second thought — invincible in his mind, boots hitting the bridge in his hunched position with a resounding thud. The crowd still cheers for them, chants for The Batman, but all he can hear is the sound of his heartbeat — the sound of his blood pulsing in his veins. Or maybe that’s the adrenaline. It’s difficult to tell at the moment when he feels so alert. So… on edge.
He relinquishes his hold on Damian when he’s at the Batmobile. Tucks him in the passenger seat, makes sure he’s secure, then rounds the vehicle for the drivers side. The way he grips the steering wheel is with vigor — eyes fixed ahead with pupils blown and eyes practically bulging beneath the smeared makeup. All his focus is on the road ahead, part of him wanting to tear the steering wheel off with this feeling like it’s taking much longer than it should to get back to the apartments, not realizing how fast he’s actually going — how he almost hits the nitro tank for an added boost thinking that Damian is more injured than he actually is. All he can see is the way Damian had been hit and the faceless opponents being knocked down one after another after another. But before he can, he sees the apartments, unaware of how long they’d been driving or if Damian had even said anything, the sound of his heart the only thing he can seem to hear and focus on.
The moment they arrive, he swerves into the shadows and tucks the Batmobile away, rounding the car to grab Damian out, eyes still blown, and take him up into the apartment he has for himself here, intending to set him down on the bed, at least patch his shoulder up and… wait this out. For the both of them. )
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damian doesn't know when they got in the car, but he recognizes the passenger seat for what it is once he's gotten settled into it. remembers his arm hurts only after he tries to move and irritates the injury further. closes his eyes again and when he opens them, finds himself inside. he must have been more tired than originally anticipated, if all it took was a depressant to knock him out a few times. )
I'm fine.
( he offers it unprompted, shoving his elbow down against the mattress and tensing muscle to force it to pull him partially upright. he's still dazed, that will take some time to work it's way through him, but he's conscious. mostly. rather than hope he manages to draw in another breath to finish his sentence before it becomes noticeable he's concentrating on breathing, damian cuts his sentence down to one word - )
Venom?
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I don't care what happens to me... I'm not afraid to die...
Things he'd told Alfred... things he still tells himself.
When Damian begins to stir, he's nearby. Fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose while he shoulders himself against the wall and tries to let himself come down from a double dose, hoping his heart won't explode in the process. It's slowing down — isn't as erratic as it had been back in the Batmobile. But all that is ignored when he hears Damian and he crosses the room towards him, grabbing a small flashlight from his utility belt.
Reaching out, he pulls Damian's mask off and shines the light in his eyes, staring to him as he does. )
Look at me.
( He doesn't say anything in regards to the venom inquiry given the fact that he figures Damian is still very much out of it and not making much sense. )
no subject
so he looks straight at bruce, pupils blown wide but they're at least the same size. sedated still, but it's unlikely he has a concussion from hitting his face. being a wayne means being hardheaded, in more ways than one. )
I'm fine. ( he repeats, a little louder, a little less slurred, and keeping his eyes on his father. damian's still careful not to move his right arm; there's no point in making it worse, and he's not in any position to assess the damage there. but his head? ) Just need a few hours.
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Get some rest. I'll be here.
( Keeping an eye on him and... dealing with everything that comes with coming down off a high like that. )
no subject
( he's still exhausted, but it's fine. damian has been through worse. much worse. the wound to his shoulder is - enough that arm is going to have to be taken out of play until it can heal, but not enough to hinder him much further. and one less arm is nothing.
all he needs is the left one, which he moves out from under him so it knocks him back down onto the bed, but it's more important for him to reach his hand up, yanking on bruce enough to try and press his fingers against his father's pulse just below his jawline. )