Projeckt Wasteland Part 1 - The Royale
It happens every 3 years. The arena was open, they were all here now, it just had to begin. The wide desert arena, about 20 miles long and wide, right smack in the middle of the carnage that had taken place 50 years before was alive and ready for The Royale. The engineers were put in the surveytion booth, a room in the middle of the arena 65 feet in the sky and only unlockable by all of the last Royale’s top 8 faction leader’s fingerprints. The engineers were the overseers and the prize.
There’s no audience here, just the lovely announcer and 65 feet high scrap metal walls.
Finally, an automated voice boomed through the speakers around the wall’s perimeter and a sketchy hologram of a bunny girl projected across the arena. “Welcome factions, may we ever be so delighted to present yet another gorgeous year of The Royale!” The hologram bounced in the air in her robotic manner. Her tight suit was patched from old logos no one could remember anymore and one of her bunny ears was bitten on the left side.
The large, rusty walls kept the yells and screams of excitement from the factions waiting outside at bay, at least from the inside of the arena. “Let’s line em up!” The robotic voice echoed.
From around the whole perimeter of the East side of the arena, doors had opened revealing the first 50 factions. 20 miles away, the West side had done the same, letting the other half trickle in. Trucks, Cars, motorcycles, tanks, and all slowly filed into the desert just enough to show themselves within it. The whoops and hollers of the participants shook the tall metal walls and added to the festivity. Then the large metal doors closed again and the projectors reflected against them as the voice announced, “Let us remember last year’s winners! Starting in the West in no particular order: Projeckt S!”
On the East side a pink and blue neon monster truck sounded along with about 9 people all painted with the same neon stripes scattered across their bodies. The projectors shone the image of the faction for everyone in the arena to see. The back of the truck spouted flames as the engine reved causing some to bark up again in excitement and others to roll their eyes at the flamboyant sight. Their leader, Syla, cried the loudest as she banged the top of the truck’s roof, her fists protected by fingerless leather gloves full of the same neon paint.
Syla jumped to her feet, her brown and blonde undercut revealed as her hair whipped up, showing the “JKT S” and heart that was shaved into the back of it. Only about mid-twenties, everyone knew about Syla and her… antics. She looked to her right, about 20 feet, to Kusanagi, faction 53’s leader and pulled at the end of her mouth with one hand and waved with the other, shaking the several hoops that dawned her ears and face. Kusanagi didn’t even bother to look at her. About 35 years Syla’s elder, Kusanagi couldn’t stand Projeckt S.
The hologram sounded again, “Aaaand next: Faction 53! Delightful name as always Kusanagi”, the bunny girl jeered as she talked behind her glitching hand.
Faction 53 was always intimidating and they always brought the most people, about 22 in total. Half on motorcycles and the other half manning the large black tank, adorned with golden words from all languages new and dead. Kusanagi was perched in a velvet chair welded on top of the tank. She leaned her cheek against her fist; the large sniper rifle in her left hand rested against her as she looked onward, mouth twitching slightly in anticipation. Of course, she’ll win her engineer again, but this year, this is the year Syla will finally die.
Faction 53 always dressed in all black; her people adorned black straps attached to various weapons and commodities and all wore masks from the eyes down with jarring gold painted faces. They made no noise as they sat looking onward into the desert.
“Aww come on! Make some noise will ya! Do something! This is The Royale!” The projectors focused on a large man from the faction over from Kusanagi dressed in a feathery coat, open to proudly his physique. He bounced off his chopper and started towards Faction 53, cracking his neck and slyly flexing his huge muscles as he walked. His large mustache shook up and down as he yelled, “You always do this, you make no fun ’ere!” He took out a modified crossbow from inside his jacket and pointed towards Kusanagi, “I think I should do us all a favor and take ya out for the next one-” Chhhh Skt
In a moment, where the giant man had been standing, there was nothing more than a red, feathery smear. The rail gun from the bottom of the surveytion room smoked as it faced the East side.
“Awww bummer! Looks like last year’s winner TinkerTown is disqualified as Ol’Garrow is out sick! Sorry Faction 28!” The announcer said as she crossed her arms in an animated manner, one finger against her face as she tilted her head.
The rail gun adjusted towards the shirtless men of TinkerTown and the arena turned red. “You know what to do!” the hologram said. A large countdown shadowed every wall “10! 9! 8!” The men rushed out the already opened wall door, leaving behind their choppers and cars. “1!”
The rail gun fired again, destroying any remains of Faction 28. Kusanagi let out a small breath of annoyance as she heard Syla and her gang cackle and bang against the truck once again.
The announcer went through 4 others, all eliciting some type of brouhaha.The last one, Chups, elicited a particular stir after flipping from the top of his semi onto the back of the flat bed. Once he landed he let smoke fly out of his mouth and nose as he swung his mace around his head. He had painted white bones, stark against his dark skin. Chups snarled to show his one sharpened tooth as his faction banged on drums attached to their ATVs. His mace had opened to show a bright red diamond, his crown jewel which he then placed back into the center of the silver skull in front of his 3-wheeled motorbike. Chups was always one for showing off.
“Wonderful!,” the hologram started, “Last but of course not least, we have TeeeeemTwooo!” she yelled with her hands around her mouth and bending over. The cameras panned over to the East showing the twins, Jessie and Kris. Kris lay on their back across the front of their car, fingering the thick chain that attached from Kri’s door to Jessie’s passenger side. Jessie leaned against their hood, playing with a toothpick in their mouth. They looked over to Kris and with matching smiles, put up 3 fingers eliciting a roar from their faction. There were about 12 total, 2 rows, 6 each on motorcycles behind each car, each person adjourned with several chains around their wrists that they slammed against one another.
Kris took a long draw from the rolled up cigarette in their other hand before jumping up and putting their rusty goggles on and climbing into the driver’s seat. Their patched, studded vest swayed to the side to show their scars and several tattoos. Jessie did the same, shaking their bright pink side cut before placing their gas mask back on and getting into the adjoining car.
“Fabulous!” the hologram announced as she bounced again, “Who’s ready!? You know how this works everyone, we count down, you rev up.” She glitched and then appeared with a cow tagger in her holographic hands, “Tag the other faction’s leader with a BB-note and they’reee outta here!” The tagger disappeared and a list popped up next to her, “Rules! Number one, the last 8 leaders left without a tag will be able to choose from the lovely 16 engineers in our surveytion room! Number two, if you leave the arena before the last 8 are left… well we all saw Ol’Garrow! Number three, no taggin’, killin’, mutilatin’, or any atin’ until you reach checkpoint one for each of your factions.” She threw two peace signs up and continued, “Finally, have fun!” she threw her hands up, the list disappearing and her demeanor becoming stern, “Please turn on your fun buttons now.”
Everyone in the stadium turned the tiny smiley face buttons that were pinned onto them on, making sure the green glow was present before looking back up to the announcer. “Awesome!” she rang, back in her joyous demeanor before cutting out. Then the numbers flashed on the projectors, “10,9,8,7..” the stadium was dead quiet save for the booming engines, the games were about to begin.