COURAGE AND MADMEN — TERGAU’S GAMEMAKERS

Instructions

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The constant beat of the clock. The conversing of tributes. The pacing, tapping, muttering, /everything,/ it all reached his ears. Tergau hated it, /despised/ sharing a room with loudmouthed imbeciles whose chatters were caught in his hearing. To the average feline, it was a bustling room, of expected volume for a space occupied by 94 nervous children. His supreme hearing only amplified the suffering. The one solace he had was that he was of the second district, and this purgatory would end much sooner than the poor fellows in district twelve. Poor indeed, those impoverished cats. Were they even literate? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an announcement. "Tergau Utell." Well, if there was a way to miff the tribute in two words, that was one. The announcer had forgotten his nobiliary particle, the "von," in which he distinguished himself as the inheritor of a lineage of fame. He could not let his frustration show, though, much less to those who will judge his performance. Tergau adopted an even expression and walked towards the automatic doors. - - - Click click. Click. Click. The room. Rather, rooms. Plural, should he remark properly. No wait, hallway. Hallways. A maze of corridors in the most literal definition possible. Tergau’s echolocation possessed an exactness from the reflective interior. His unique talent worked quite well in such an enclosed, geometric setting— what luck it was, then, that what seemed to be the entirety of the event's environment was so perfect for his senses! To his right was the clattering of spoons, forks and chopsticks. Chattering too. Ah… the gamemakers. How unprofessional. he curled his lips in plain displeasure. What else? He also supposed their characteristic indifference was exacerbated in the presence of a blind tribute. Nonetheless, he pressed on, ever careful to click often and then listen, smell, feel anything at all. As he would soon discover, it was easy to navigate the otherwise unfamiliar chambers without requiring much concentration. The excellent conditions allowed him a precise geometry of the immediate bounds of the labyrinthine structure. Click. Click. The first fork in the labyrinth. It was easy enough what was awaiting him beyond each bend; the right was peaceful, while a hum emanated from the opposite direction. Without hesitation, the large tribute dashed towards the left, though slowing when he heard a heavy metallic clang following the hologram wherever it went. Tergau guessed correctly when he swung unsheathed claws at the direction of his adversary, his digits hitting its hitbox with a crackle. It was small, or smaller than himself, at least. The hologram struggled with its weapon, swinging at him in a slow, clumsy manner that he could easily predict and dodge. While it recovered from its strenuous offensive, the larger feline struck again, stronger this time, square in the stomach. The crumpling hologram was finished off by a gruesome vice grip on the throat. The weapon clattered onto the floor, which Tergau took as an opportunity. A favored longsword; perfect for him. Another approached from much more afar. Perhaps it was not melee entirely. In a split second decision— as he perceived the sound of three knives cutting through the air— he swung his longsword in what was more guesswork than calculated precision and found that he’d parried both projectiles. With the hologram’s weaponry disposed of, he ran up and swung the sword at the hologram. “Introductory combat. Child’s play,” the career scoffed, deliberate arrogance dripping from his voice. Still yet he walked along. There was nothing. Each turn was marked in his head so that he may find his way back. Left. Right. Forwards. Right. Right. Forwards. He alway noted his location; his reliance on memory alone to navigate due to his blindness translated to relative ease of navigation in the labyrinth. Across rooms that acted as shortcuts for the larger conjoined corridors. Mounds of weapons and items he did not care very much about. Several times he heard humming, weaponless holograms so much frailer than of the initial battle he did not even consider taking them on in combat. It’d be cheap— dishonorable, even— if he were to provoke them. “What ‘battles’ or ‘enemies’ are these!?” The imposing tribute snarled, yelling into what he believed was thin air. “I would like greater glory than whatever I have so happened to come across thus far.” [[ From the gamemakers… a sinister grin. ]] A soft, insidious hum. Another hum. And yet another. Left, forwards, and into another room. And he followed. A long, narrow corridor awaited him. Its materials that made up its walls were made of a different kind now, presumably some sort of foam. It was not as reflective for his clicks, creating an uncanny nearsightedness. [CONT. IN N+C]