Flassche:Player Unknown’s Battlegrounds (open)

Started by DarkEnigma, January 13, 2018, 02:56:52 PM

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DarkEnigma






Please refrain from replying directly to this thread, Pm me if you are interested.

Title:Player Unknown’s Battlegrounds

Excerpt:
How much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice in order to stay alive?
Ask yourself these questions.. constantly. For with each cycle you will find yourself less the person you were and more the creature that knows how to survive at any cost.

The story would revolve around a ‘game like’ setting. Think PUBG meets Gantz, meets Elliquiy.
The setting can be as dark as we want it to be, dabbling in any sort of kink that you might enough, as well as any plot element you wish to write. 
It can simply be a survival tale, or one so dark that it would scar any character you might put to paper.
Content:
-Human/human
-Human/other
-Dominance
-Fighting
-Survival


Setting:
Modern/Realistic/Apocalyptic

My Character(s):
I would be taking on the role of game master, guiding the story in such a way that we have enough action and development to keep things fresh. If you want to share the burden, feel free to hit me up.
Beyond the GM role I will be playing several of the survivors, as well as focus on a main individual that has survived a few cycles already.
If there was ever a man you needed to help you survive your first cycle in this … world, this man was you pick. The downside is that his morals are more faded than your average hipster jeans.

Your Character(s):
Either a few main characters to keep the longevity of the story intact, or a cast of expendable individuals.
Feel free to choose either male of female for your character(s). Race, gender, religion, background, everything is up for you to decide.
Open for suggestions/alterations if you have a good idea.

Inspiration for the scene:
The game: Player Unknown’s Battlegrounds/Gantz

DarkEnigma

#1





Drop 17, Day 1: falling hope

He awoke like he always did; body aching, ears ringing and sunlight blinding him from the small window slits on the side. His vision was slowly returning to him, yet he was already wishing that it wasn’t so quick to want to restore itself. From what he could see he was once again entombed in steel and wires. A small metal casket to guide him towards his end, if falling at neck braking speed could be considered ‘guiding’.

Gazing through the window slits on the side he could see the metal drop pod shearing through a cloud, removing his line of sight before suddenly basking him in sunlight again. He caught glimpses of other metal drop pods trailing down towards the ground, although it looked more like angry balls of fire that wouldn’t care about the lives of those that they carried inside. 

He closed his eyes again, placing his body in the most comfortable way he could and tried to steady his breathing. It never got any easier, dropping from the sky in this death-trap, yet he had learned to steel himself in the process and afterwards. Seventeen times he had already been dropped like this.
One second you were on the ground, fighting for your life, the next moment you were in the sky again, falling towards the ground only to start the cycle anew.


How many would there be now? 25? 50? 200? Each cycle was different from the previous one. Both in contestants and events.
He clicked his tongue in irritation, wondering just at what point he had started to see this all as a game of sort. Or at least subconsciously. He still remembered the first time he got dropped.




He woke up in confusion, stepped into a uncomfortable seat and experiencing the feeling of constantly falling. No matter how hard he screamed, kicked at metal plating or bashed against the windows, he simply continued to fall, watching as the ground rushed closer to embrace him.

He had blacked out in the process, waking up minutes or hours later to find himself on the ground, body slick with sweat and mouth still tasting of vomit, mud and blood.
He had had been laying on the ground, next to a metal contraption that had opened up like some kind of metal fruit. He was dirty, clothes tattered -clothes that he didn't even remember putting on.
The searching of the metal contraption proved useless, seeing as it held nothing to help him figure out just where and when that he was or.. who he was for that matter.

He didn’t know where he was, who he was before all of this and what the point was. He had a faint idea of the type of person he was, as if there were remnant memories somewhere in the back of his head that he could feel, yet not clearly recall. The only thing he clearly remembered where useful skills and what they meant. That and his name.

Inspecting his body he had found himself mostly intact, save for the occasional bruise and scratch, yet also sporting a metal circular object at the back of his neck. Her barely had enough time to realise it was a sort of implant before he felt the graze on his shoulder. He felt the sharp pang of pain that accompanied the grazing sensation before another bullet whistled past his ear.
Jolting in surprise, he quickly started to run as fast as he could, not paying the faintest attention to the glimmer of the scope to the left, or the stones flying everywhere where new bullets started to imbed themselves.

His new life in this place had started in a baptise in fire, blood and lead.




Several cycles or drops later, whatever you wanted to call it, and it was all starting to feel more like a routine to him. He had figured out the ‘rules’ early on, after having found shelter. The implant was a monitoring and tracking device. god only knew what people might be watching these things… if they were even human. The device could be activated by voice or fingerprint. Through it one could get an update as to how many where still alive. How long the cycle would last and your current credits.

Credits were awarded through certain actions like clearing objectives, killing people or by simply staying alive until the cycle ended.
One could spend their credits at certain places, or when the cycle was through. The credits could be spend in patching yourself up fully (no matter how gruesome the injuries where), revive a friend you lost, no matter how many cycles ago, start off with better equipment, get augmentations, etc.

It was all…. Unreal.

Still, the man had found himself surprisingly good at the game, either through experience or through some sort of innate drive that he had.
One thing he knew for certain was that the cycles would never end and that he would be dammed to go down without a fight. Each cycle was chipping something away from his morality. Where once he had been hesitant to even fire a gun, now he was simply frustrated when a round did not hit its intended target. Hell, he had even started dabbling into less…. Kind actions, such as keeping people alive long enough for him to enjoy, or recruit them long enough for them to be useful.

He had learned on quick enough that groups or parties were more of a liability than a benefit. Killing a teammate might earn you a credit that you otherwise could use to heal yourself or augment yourself.

Still, parties had their uses and fresh meat were usually gullible to fall for it. There were usually very few survivors from previous grounds and more than enough first timers to sate anyone’s craving, both in credits and in other wanting’s.

So, when the pod finally landed he had prepared himself for the harsh landing, gave himself enough time to recover and then set out to scout where ever he had landed, finding clothes, weapons and otherwise begin tracking people.

DarkEnigma






Change log

24-01-2018 – Added the plot.
30-06-2020 – Bump