Convict's Tale 2-The Champ and The CHallenger

[__________Nal Kenley]

Waste Detail. One of the most hated work rotations an inmate in Hell could be assigned to. The disgusting and hazardous work environment wasn't so bad. Those wern't that much worse than being in The Pit at all. It was the hours. "Waste D." was currently being run by an ex-drill sergent who'd been forgotten, just as the war he had been a hero of now was. You can take the man out of the training camp, but you can't take the drill instructor out of the man.

That man was now called Boss Blackburn. Whatever assignment rotation he had, he always made it a mission to work the inmates assigned to him well past bed check. Sleep, to him, was a privlidge. And to this sadistic lunatic, who now had no leash, no superior commander worried about the well being of troops, sleep was a non-necessity. The garbage here didn't deserve such luxiories. Some of them, quite frankly he felt, deserved to be beaten down by him and his fellow gaurds. It was especially easy down in the sewers. There all you had to do was beat an inmate to death, find a pipe to shove him in, and forget anything ever happened. Not that anyone would ask anyway.

Grey "Kingblade" Creed, prisoner CG060920 as he was refered to in The Palace, was one of the unfortunate to get Waste D. this time. Not to mention he had to defend his title tomorrow. But despite his title, Kingblade was, like everyone here, just a slave to the powers that seemed to forever beat a human being down. Always kicking and punching and strangling in some way or another until death became a welcome end.

No, he had no choise about fighting tomorrow. He would have to be in that ring no matter what. Worse yet, he had to fight the Butcher of Arden

To say The Butcher, Robert Franklin, prisoner FR803572, was criminally insane was a tragic understatement. The deformed wall of solid muscle was quite simply a psycopathic freak with the urge to kill any living thing he saw. He was once a heavy grav wieght lifting champion. After his youth had passed and dulled his competative edge, he moved to Arden 12, a small colony out in the middle of nowhere. He still lifted, experimenting with illegalized performance enhancers that were deemed unsafe for the solitus body. Amoung these was the growth horemone taken from the hammerhead bull, a bovine genetic creation now indigiounous to Rubi-Ka. The drugs not only succeeded in giving him unnatural, monsterous muscle mass, but it also had other side effects.

His testosterone level shot through the roof, causing uncontrolable mood swings. Anyone that was once aquainted with him, now withdrew any contact they once had. Months would pass before Franklin would be seen in town, each time alot larger than he was, and alot less human. You see, possibly the worst side effect was the changes taking place with his very skeletal system. It seems his frame had to "malform" to adjust to the stresses so much muscle was exerting on him on the inside. Towards the end, it became almost impossible to imagine the thing that was once Franklin was ever human at all.

The bones of his face, and especially the jaw became thicker and now protuded past where a normal solitus' would, and disalighned his jaw several inches to the left. His hair fell out, showing of the widening and unevening of the cranium. The muscles of his neck now pulled his head forward and down at an unnatural angle. The dense pectoral muscles squeezed his shoulders noticably forward and up, causing him to slouch permenantly forward. The abdominals were now further drawing his upper boody downward, giving an un natural curve to the spine. The hamstrings,quads, and calves were now so large as to force him to walk in a "side to side shuffle".

After several increasingly psycotic episodes and numerous attempts by the local authorities to arrest Franklin, he apperently went completely insane.

From what investigators can best piece together, he brutally slaughtered the 138 men, woman and children that resided there. Some in their sleep, some completely aware of what was about to happen to them. The only motive apperendi clearly apperent in all the murders is that every one of them were brutally slain by Franklin's monstorous bare hands.

Franklin was considered to dangerous to be kept in general population. Completely for the sake of the Bosses, not at all for the prisoners there. It is said they even threw The Butcher an occasional inmate or two to be torn apart for entertainment's sake when they needed some distraction from day to day life in The Place.

Probably the worst such story is of one Adele Sanders,prisoner SA395824 the wife of some crimelord that got sent to Del-fi along with her husband when he got a little too greedy. Said husband died in his first match in the Games. Hell was a bad place to have enemies.

The widow was a very attractive woman. The warden at Del-Fi kept her safe in his office as his "assistant". It wasn't easy for her, but the alternatives were far worse.

One night, Boss Meyers, drunken and under the influence of some substance brewed in The Pit, paid Sanders a visit. A struggle ensued. After fighting back and reportedly biting his arm deep enough to draw blood, Meyers must have snapped. He grabbed the woman up and drug her down the corridors yelling and pleading all the way to the reinforced cage that housed The Butcher. Meyers then pysically forced her inside till she cold no longer hold on to the door way. What happened next was somewhat unknown as none of the hardened convicts in line of sight could bare to watch once it began. Needless to say, Boss Meyers was the next one to pay a visit to The Butcher the following night.

After such a reputation had been built up, The Lord of The Pit, the ruling crimeboss of the mines, took notice. Word went up to the warden that Franklin would now be included in the workforce sent to the mines. The Butcher was going to be the next star of the Con Games.

As suspected, his career as a gladiator was highly sucessful. 15 matches. 15 inmates horribly and shcokingly dismembered, eviserated, or beheaded. Each match caught on stunningly vivid holo-disks for the enjoyment of the macabre masses.

So....what better challanger to dethrown the King? The Butcher would sell holo-vids. The Con Games were a business, and business's had to turn the best profit they could. And, unknown to Creed, he was going to go down in his next match. Even if he had to be helped down....

[Evalissa]

woah

./scared