"So, how do I look?"

Harrick stretched out for a moment in his outfit. Simple, grey, highly durable armor of the sort that would protect him from penetrating and burning attacks... but likely leave him crushed and broken inside if he were hit hard enough. Which was fine; he could recover quickly enough. The only thing marring the dull grey surface was dried reddish-brown stains in the vague outline of a skull.

Roland studied him for a moment. "Hmm. When we go through the pool, they like flashy characters. You'll need a callsign." He tapped himself. He looked like some sort of all-black space marine with a quasi-medieval aesthetic not too different from the Green Knight armor he wore in his real job; though there were hundreds of heroes and villains with a similar aesthetic. "I'm Black Knight. Of course, there are twelve guys using that name, but I'm the first in the arena, so it's good. I'm gonna fake being unable to fly, but my durability and strength should still be enough to get me a good placing."

"So... I would recommend a splash of color. Some sort of name is a minimum requirement. And some signature weapons. High-performing competitors often get offers for deals from companies that make weapons, armor, even tools. Nike sponsored last year's winner, though they ended up dropping it, last-minute. What weapons are you good with?"

Harrick looked over the 'Black Knight' outfit, shaking his head. "Ehh. When I was a cop, I used a shotgun, a nightstick, and a revolver. Nowadays, I use a semi-auto and, well. Ever since Eyeball hit us, I've kept a few grenades."

"You want stylish. All you've got is regen, right?"

"Well. I'm stronger than any normal my size could be, I heal crazy fast, and I've got about fifty years of experience in police and security work, so I know how to handle myself in a fight."

Roland stared at him for a few moments before looking away. "Fifty years. You look mid-thirties, maybe late twenties. How the fuck old are you!?"

"You'll find most of us regenerating guys are like that. Anyways, I actually did go for something a bit flashy." He held up a gauntleted fist. "High-tech version of a powder hammer. When I punch you, it embeds a spike in you with enough force to pierce a tungsten plate."

He reached down, and lifted his handguns, one with each hand. "And, of course, custom handguns. Caseless 15-mm ammo, twenty shots each."

Roland chuckled. "I suppose that can work. I'm just going sword and shield. You pick a name?"

"Executioner. I'll paint a bit more of the blood on each time I take someone down. Hopefully give a good intimidation factor. Will it just be the two of us?"

"Maybe. We've never fought here, so we have to go into the pool."

***

The arena was crowded with a wide variety of figures; men and women in tights, in body-armor. With normal appearances, or with grotesque, distorted ones. The condemned prisoners were a full third of the crowd, sectioned off from the rest; aside from the Metas among them, there was no question of their sorting.

Harrick followed Roland down the stairs, looking out over the crowd... and at the enormous bulletproof glass dome. "Jesus. Lots of folks want to die, it seems. How does this pool bullshit work?"

"You and your buddies walk in. Say what you want about your powers. Demonstrate if you like. They rank you, and either let you go in solo, or give you some other randos, allies if you need more power. If you've got friends? They let you stick together. They do require a little proof; unless you're a known quantity a bit of sparring or the like. They actually show videos of tons of fights from this part."

Harrick nodded. "Alright. So... why don't people just lie about their powers and pull their punches in this part? Try to seem weak, to get a stronger team?"

"Some folks do. Every team gets the same payout, no matter how big it is. So if you've got a ten-man team, and win five hundred grand? Fifty a head. If it's only a two-man team though? Much bigger. Some folks pretend to be stronger than they really are to go alone, or with a small team, make more money. Some pretend to be weak, to get a better team, better odds of winning... and less cash."

"Nice. So it sorta corrects itself."

Roland walked slowly, as the crowd sorted itself off into lines. Clusters of two or three people were common. Large team-ups were more rare, but present; most of them checking out the competition, looking over who they went along with. Roland studied a weirdo in dark green, scaly armor, with fake fangs at the front of his helmet, arguing with a woman in white tights, both of them with digitized, fake voices; shaking his head. "Takes all kinds. Anyways. First team to all submit, die, or get knocked out, loses. You can't keep fighting after the other guy is out, and you can't break the glass or hurt the audience. There's ten rounds... but they skew things on purpose. If you keep all of your opponents alive, just wounded? You can skip two or three of those. Nobody's ever won that killed all of his opponents."

Harrick shrugged. "Don't really care too much, so long as we make the semi-finals, but I'll remember that. Kill as few people as possible. Check."

"Exactly. We don't care about money. So we pretend not to be as good as we really are. Get some allies that are worth a damn. And, hopefully, make it all the way. If we don't... well. I have other plans, just with worse odds."

"And no involvement from me. This is the absolute worst odds I'll tolerate; and even so, I'm only here as a favor to Doctor Wayson."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

***

"The Viper? What the fuck are you doing, cosplaying as your girlfriend?"

Eyeball.. or, rather, 'The Viper; glared at her. "Seriously, Penny? You're badmouthing me for wearing something with scales on it while you're running around in white tights. If the mask were a bit loose-fitting I could call you the Klanswoman."

She nodded. "True enough. But still. Not as stupid as your -actual- callsign. Maybe you should keep The Viper. Might help your brand."

He stared at her for a moment. "...Honestly, you're right. It's cooler. Really though, I wanted to focus a bit more on blades. And the last guy with the name Viper got shot by the feds a few months back, so its currently free." He patted his back. "These two cool sickle sword things were actually being made for him! Got em cheap as dirt." He pulled one free, showing her the snake-themed handle and the dark green blade.

"..Its called a Khopesh. I honestly thought you were working some Egyptian theme maybe, but you don't even know what the swords are called?"

"Some of us prefer guns. And I thought Egypt had cobras?"

"They have vipers, too. Speaking of guns?"

"Oh. One is just a single-shot 40mm with an AP round. Just in case. The other is a dart gun. Shoots a knockout neurotoxin. The outside case on em looks the same. Call em my Fangs, in this outfit."

"Shouldn't the big swords be the fangs?"

"They can all be fangs if I feel like it."

The duo joined the crowd after a few minutes, looking around at the random 'Villains' and 'Heroes' surrounding them. There were at least six full teams of armed, armored rednecks; a few joined every tournament, and amusingly enough usually made it pretty far; the sort of ridiculous, improvised things they brought in to fight with actually did a good job sometimes.

"Alright, 'Ghost'. Here's where we split. Pick a team if you want, or go it alone. Whoever kills the least wins, right?"

"Sure, sure. AND whoever gets further without being discovered."

Viper started to interject... but she was gone. He shook his head, stepping in line. A man wearing a labcoat, with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, glanced at him.

"Nice outfit; I heard you got the swords cheap, I actually knew the last Viper. He killed two other villains who took the name. Nutjob."

Viper glanced at him. "Oh, thats amusing. I don't think I'm gonna kill anyone who uses the name. If they try me, though, they'll regret it. Who are you? No mask or anything?"

The lab-coated man laughs. "Oh, I'm a bit of a joke. The Kidney Remover. They call me Mister Kidney, Captain Kidney... all sorts."

"...What? Why?"

He raised up his hand... his fingers started glowing. "I generate a sort of field around my fingers.. lets me just slide them right through clothes, skin, and flesh. My signature move is to just grab someone's kidney and yank it right out. They usually go into shock on the spot, and die of internal bleeding after a while."

Viper laughed. "That's... both incredibly deadly and just ridiculous. Why don't you grab the heart, or the brain?"

"Some folks have a ribcage thats super-durable, keeps me from reaching the heart. Never met anyone, no matter how tough, with a stomach that tough. So... kidneys."

"...That's terrible. Absolutely ridiculous. Hell, want to join up?"

"Maybe? What can you do?"

Eyeball reached over, grabbing Kidney by the front of his labcoat, and lifted him up off the ground with an ease that... actually surprised him. He knew he was right at the 'flip over cars' stage now, and hoped to get better with training. "I'm strong. Tough. Excellent aim with any weapon. Decent enough with a blade... and of course, I get super reflexes for a few seconds at a time. Just enough that I can kill a speedster with one of these Khopesh."

He set him down, gently. The lab-coated villain nodded thoughtfully. "Sure! I've got another buddy I was gonna team up with, but we still needed a couple more."

"Oh? Who's the friend?"

"The Human Shield! This masochistic nutjob who basically just takes the punishment for me so I can get close enough to gut people!"

Viper thought for a moment. "That... sounds a bit familiar. I thought he was a low-grade hero, in the military?"

"He's addicted to pain. Something short-circuited up in there when he got his powers... some whacked-out, really grisly sort of fast healing... and he got kicked out of the military after the war in Afghanistan ended. Kept shooting and stabbing himself now there weren't any bad guys to do it for him."

"...Alright. I can see how he might be useful, if awkward to be around. Fuck it, why not."

"Hell yes! You look kinda badass, so I think you'll help our image."

The two spoke for a few minutes as they moved through the line; the Human Shield eventually stepping up to join them; looking Viper over appraisingly. The man was massive; well over six feet tall, and at least four hundred pounds; a fine blend of fat and muscle that was somewhere between Sumo and Dad-bod, and wearing a bloody tank-top and ripped jeans... with a barbed-wire covered baseball bat and a shotgun strapped to his back.

"Huh. So Kidney picked you out, huh? Look cool. Can you fight?"

"My enemies would probably say so, if they were still alive."

The massive figure shrugged. "Eh. It's alright. I'm just in it to get hit and help Kidney out."

When the group reached the front of the line, Viper saw a familiar face; Tommy, one of Nicky's enforcers. He was wearing a nice suit, had a tablet in hand, standing in front of an entrance hall that led into the arena proper. An array of sensors was on all four walls; checking primarily for biological and nuclear weapons. Everything else was allowed; Viper had helped install these sensors himself. They'd instantly identify him. Penelope had already gone through; proudly declaring herself a speedster, and a solo act.

Tommy glanced at the tree as they approached. He blinked as he checked the readings, looking at Viper again. "I see... a biological agent. Care to explain?"

"Knock-out neurotoxin. Injection only. I've got a lethal version for field-work, but for the arena, knockout seems best."

He nodded.. shaking his head with amusement at the two accompanying him. "Alright, you three can go ahead. You want to stick with just you three or try for more? We've got good info on all of you, so nobody needs to try out, and you can have up to ten... or as few as one, if you're capable enough."

He looked at Viper meaningfully. Viper shrugged. "I guess we could use one more. Might as well, makes it less risky, right?"

"Alright. We'll get one more guy for you after the tryouts. You can step on in and watch, or show off, or whatever. There's a bunch of trials, exhibition matches... the prisoners who we don't want to give a chance to win.. mostly the pedophiles... get armed up and used as meat for this one, alongside some Pale Ones."

Viper nodded. Without Ascension controlling them... or one of the remotes that was being built for them back at Eyetech... Pale Ones were just mindless zombies that would attack anything but other Pale Ones. Or, at least, thats what most people thought.

Viper was fully aware that, probably, Ascension was still puppeting them all along, and the people using them as cannon fodder for training were giving themselves substantial possible problems should the machine launch another invasion.

He glanced at his two new team-mates; however temporary they might be; and clapped each of them on the shoulder. "Alright, boys! Lets go ahead, see what kind of nutjobs they have on offer today! Aside from us, of course!"