[TCP] MAZE TRIALS 2.0

[skinstealer]

[image description: a cover image for the first issue of maze trials 2.0, named "the food chain." a rusty colored abstract type TCP wrestles with a smaller golden TCP, the latter wearing a light gold hat and a dark blue trenchoat. both are wearing trialgoer jumpsuits, have distinct kill marks, and are entangled in strange white wires. red and blue splatters serve as a backdrop piece.]

...It's the same as ever.


The only sound Corrosion hears is the sound of her footsteps- and her own mind racing. She'd overheard a conversation before striking in the last trial- two TCPs frantically updating each other on their recent experiences. Nothing new- and it gave her the perfect opportunity to get impressions.

Turns out, panicked people get a lot more sloppy when they're ambushed. Shit reaction speed. More scrambly.

Easy pickings.

And yet...





The rumors are stupid. I got no business listening to these idiots at this point. No reason at all.

"It's getting worse!" As if it hasn't been like this forever. Give me a fucking break.

Must be newbies who don't know shit about what they're talking about.

...I would'a heard about it. I've been here longer than fucking anyone I've met, and I don't know what the hell they're on about.

"Overseers gone rogue." Dream on.


And yet it sticks in the back of her mind.

They had talked about the voice on the intercom...changing. Sounding less mechanical, rigid. As if it was a person.


That's how they fucking get you. If that was real, it'd just be a trick anyway. Something to make you like them- or hate them, whatever's fucking easier. Idiots.


TCPs coming into a room, only to find fresh fluid splatters with no sign of those little...dusty things left when someone died- but way too much to be a normal injury. Horrible feelings of dread as they walk around the mess...


...and no way to tell what did it. Like nothing anybody's seen before.

But- it's bullshit! Stupid bullshit! Fucking- fairy tales!

Try and focus more on living and you won't get jumped by people like me.

...or don't. Makes my life easier.

'Least they stopped giving me puzzle chambers.


She preferred these a lot more.

At the end of the hallway, there's a raised platform and a dead end. It's the same too- she'd gotten a bunch of these in a row. By now, she had settled into a relatively comfortable routine. Nothing she can't handle.

The possession type TCP steps on to the platform, cracking her neck as it starts to rise.

 

[image description: corrosion, the rusty colored possession type TCP, stands on a trial platform. she looks on edge but stiffly posed, a knife holster on her leg.]

As the makeshift elevator goes up, a pool of dread forms in her belly.

Stupid, stupid! Get a fucking grip!

You really gonna let those morons get to you?

Do your job!

The arena comes into view, bit by bit, Corro reaching for the knife in her leg holster. She can still remember every fluid stain she'd spilled, even with the trial chamber cleared. It's a simple square room, no different than the average...but she knows what it is.

She's the overseers' gladiator, and she had to give them a show.

On the other side of the arena, another platform rises- her opponent.

...what the fuck?

 

[image description: an over the shoulder shot of corrosion seeing her new opponent. he's across the room, a golden TCP with a lighter colored hat- and wearing a dark blue trenchcoat. his features are obscured.]

 

He's scrawny. A little TCP in a stupid hat, wearing a long coat and shoving his hands in his pockets. If it wasn't for the...one, two, three, four- eight no-regret kill marks on his face, she would have thought this was a fucking joke. Garbage day or something, and he was the trash.

He doesn't move as both of their platforms reach ground level of the arena, cocking his head in a sly expression.

 

[image description: the golden TCP stands with his hands in his pockets, looking casual. 4 no-regret kill marks are distinctly visible on his face, with more partially obscured.]

????: My new opponent.
????: What's your name?

 

Who does h-

CORROSION: My name?
CORROSION: Why the fuck do you need to know that?!
????: Only right for me to get the names of the people I kill.
????: Courtesy, right?
????: My name's Garland.
????: What's yours?

 

Corro wants to hit him so hard that the smugness in his voice gets knocked right out of him.

Prick...

CORROSION: You're actin' real noble for someone with marks like that.
CORROSION: Think you're some kind of saint? Like this is justice, or something?
GARLAND: You're playing tough for someone with two less kill marks-

 

He makes a soft chuckle.

GARLAND: And two of them regretted.

 

The possession type takes a step forward, absolutely seething.

CORROSION: Are you here to talk, or FIGHT?!
CORROSION: Get over here and stop playing games!
GARLAND: But it's all games, right?
GARLAND: And they've gotten worse.
GARLAND: You're in the same boat as me, I'm guessing.
GARLAND: Haven't you noticed?
GARLAND: Or are you just terrible at paying attention.
 

Shut up shut up shut up shut UP

CORROSION: Even-
CORROSION: Even if that were true-
CORROSION: And it's NOT
CORROSION: What's the point in saying it? In running your goddamn mouth?!
GARLAND: Because they're not satisfied with maiming anymore.
GARLAND: Two of these kills?

 

He tilts his head in the other direction, making sure she can see the marks clearer.

GARLAND: In the past five trials alone.

 

Corro starts counting in her mind, despite every last instinct in her telling her not to let him get to her.


...
....
He's right.
No! No, that's-
That's bullshit!


He makes another soft chuckle, enjoying watching her sweat.

GARLAND: Do you like being a puppet for them?
GARLAND: Never questioning anything-
CORROSION: That's enough out of you.
GARLAND: Why? I think you'd make a great one.
GARLAND: They love to watch an abstract type dance.
CORROSION: That's ENOUGH!

 

With an exasperated scream, she charges, knife held and ready to go for the first thing she can reach.