1/10/2024 0 Comments Grim dawn descent into tormentI was the victor, and the only survivor, but the Producer refused to hand over the money until I defeated his henchmen. It was down to me and Player Nine, but Player Nine died two seconds before the end of the final challenge. Player Two was killed by the audience, Player Five was killed by the Producer for bad language, assaulting another Player, and cheating, under the three strikes system, and Players Six, Seven, and Eight were killed by the challenges themselves. Player Three had been mauled by dogs and shot dead in a mercy killing while trying to escape, and Player Four committed suicide to avoid a tortuous death in an early challenge. There were fifteen rounds and each round lasted anywhere from five seconds to one minute. The amount of money per round started at $1 and steadily increased until the final round. The show was created by a being known as the Producer. I appeared on the show alongside eight other players, Players Two through Nine. The grand prize was exactly enough to save my brother. I saw an advertisement on television for the game show I Dare You, which was located in the coliseum. I received a phone call from the yakuza, who told me that they had my brother and would grant his safe passage in exchange for $1 billion. I made my home in Outpost #12 CDB, which was well known for the coliseum in the center, where my life forever changed. All but six of the villagers perished and the rest mysteriously disappeared within two months of the rebellion. The nuclear weapons were dropped as an act of revenge for his assassination by the hands of the mobs. The insubordination was fueled by their hatred and abhorrence for King Zephyr, who was a ruthless and sadistic dictator. The rest of the settlements still had radiation emanating throughout from the bombs that had been dropped to exterminate the defiant ones during the Fourth Rebellion in 2055. There were fifty or sixty outposts and villages dispersed throughout the land, but only ten or twelve were habitable. It was a daunting and desolate place with grains of sand blowing through the hot and aching wind. Its shape resembled that of a perfect cube with no unwanted patches or edges. Sector 477 was home to two or three hundred people who could breathe the barren and desert air lacking oxygen without need for masks or other such trinkets. Humans had figured out a way to live four or five thousand years before dying, but our home was severely underpopulated. The story began in the distant future, on Sector 477 of the solar plane, in the Chrono-Forsythe Nebula, in the year 2199. It was a hell of a ride, and it all began fourteen years ago with a single phone call on that one fateful day. There is scarcely any foul language or profanity, but there is no need for obscenities when there are several brutal murders, massacres, executions, slayings and slaughters scattered throughout the story written on this bloodstained, filthy length of toilet paper attached to my carcass. Even if my body is reduced to a state of nothingness, permanently in oblivion, the idea will always have existed since the moment it came to light, blooming like a flower in the sun. Even if the point in time and space being occupied by a single memory is less than a grain of sand, it will forever be a part of my core. Every event and encounter, every sound, every motion, every word-nay-every syllable of dialogue is permanently ingrained in my mind and memory, and eternally embedded in my soul. Even if the last three words of the second sentence of this scroll are erroneous, I will never forget a single moment, even if I live to be a thousand years. I will never forget the perils I have overcome. I have experienced the cruelty and depravity of the human race firsthand in ways only the devil himself could dream of. I want to warn you right now that my gut-wrenching tale of sadness, sorrow, tragedy, terror, horror and despair will be savage, brutal and barbaric. My name is Darran Amadi, aka Player One, aka Prisoner Sec-Deg-Mur-Seventy-One-Male.
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