July Event: The Truman Show

[fiction]

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STRICKLY NON-CANNON
Imagine the havoc if it were Cannon though...XD

POINTS CURRICULUM:

[/b] 800 for 80 points (25+ for every 200 words you exceed)
#Creativity: Depending on how creative I find your post, 0-100 points
#Emotional Response: Whether you make me bawl my eyes out or just make me even the littlest bit happy, I may give out 0-100 points.
[/ul]

STORY:

Based off of 1998's 'The Truman Show', your character wakes up one day somewhere completely unknown, only to be told their whole life has been a lie,as well as broadcast live every waking moment of your being, and everyone they've ever known has been in on it. The only reason it's all stopped now is because of a massive lawsuit against the Company that adopted you out from the moment you were born. Your probably the most well known face on the planet. What's their reaction? What would they ask? What would they do next? And what would they say to the people who were supposed to be closest to them?

NOTE: You ARE allowed to play other characters who dwell within the SoV universe if you want, WITH PERMISSION FROM THE ROLEPLAYER (Say, if you wanted your OC, Fred, to run into the character who was supposed to be his best friend, Frank, you'd have to ask the owner of Frank if you could use him in your reply here), if you wish not to, then that is fine.

EVENT ENDS JULY 31st SOMETIME

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[cirrus]

The Truth

Life.

What a fantastic miracle. To exist is to defy all expectation, to beat the odds. To exist is an expression; a defiant symbol that you are the winner of the race to birth - you are the one out of the many that could have been. You are above the almost people. To breath, to walk, to talk as we do every day is to take that miracle for granted. Life is a dream, which we walk through blindly; ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes. Actions are performed with such nonchalance that the phrase everyday becomes fitting.

This is an insult.

Life is a miracle that we all abuse. Its beauty is belittled and goes unacknowledged by many. As Shakespeare said; "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Life is fleeting. We all believe that we'll wake up tomorrow, and everything will be just as we left it. Nothing will change. No dramas will have upset the delicate balance of the world we've made for ourselves.

But who is to say this is so?

What if someone decided that winning the race to birth meant nothing? What if someone decided that you out of the many others that made it weren't good enough? What if someone decided that your incompetence was suitable for somekind of show?

What if someone took away your life?

- - -

James awoke with a groan. He had not had much sleep, which was odd, considering he always slept like a log in his cashmere duvet and goose down pillow. He rolled out of bed and realised he had a pounding headache. He opened his eyes and would, in hindsight, realise that his room had changed wallpaper. The demon weapon stumbled into the bathroom, looking for an asprin. He fought with the cabinet doors for around two seconds before giving up entirely and just smashing the glass in with his fist. James grabbed the jar, and, without even attempting to deal with it in a civilised manner, just partially transformed and sliced the neck of it clean off.

Most of the tablets spilled to the floor, producing a painful cacophony. James grabbed and pulled at his ears, as if such a futile action could dampen the noise and thus his anguish. With a sigh he bent down and picked up one of the pink asprin tablets and swallowed it dry. It tasted like crap; matching the quality of his day so far.

The demon weapon derobed and entered the shower. He turned the hot water tap. A cascade of freezing water enveloped him. James yelled in shock and anger, bursting through the door and running across the innumerable shards of glass on the equally as cold tiled floor. He cut up his feet in the process, but this was not really high on his list of concerns at the moment. James dived back into the covers and cursed his house. For all his years living in grandeur, surely he'd be able to afford a decently working water tank?

He sighed and tended to his feet. Plucking out the visible glass shards and staunching any blood with tissue towels was not his idea of tending to himself, but it would have to do for now. James decided not to try again with his tempermental shower and got dressed. Perhaps the company of others would give this cloud a silver lining.

The demon weapon strolled down the street forcefully; bulldozing through everything in his path. There was an unusual silence around Death City today, which James was consciously aware of. Or at least, he would have been if not for his headache, which had not been lessened by the asprin he had fought so hard to obtain.

"Checking visuals. Uh..steer subject two metres left."

James' head snapped up, which caused him a moderate amount of pain. He cursed under his breath, and then looked around. He didn't slow down, however. This would prove not to be beneficial, however, because two men carrying a large pane of glass suddenly came out of an alley way and impeded the demon weapon's path. Not breaking his stride James turned left, avoiding the workers.

He wondered what those voices were.

James moved on, not actually too sure where he was going. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, the demon weapon turned into a random corner and caught a glimpse of a yellow cap and some wires snaking away.

The hell?

He questioned inwardly. Deciding to investigate for no other reason than to use up his time, James followed the cap.

"Subject is approaching HQ! Diversion required ASAP! This finale must go unhindered!""

Again. Those voices cried out again.

Two thugs came out of nowhere, grinning maliciously as they came closer to the demon weapon. James had no doubt they were out to do some damage, and as such activated his partial transformation. A bright yellow light enveloped his forearm as the Trishula prong grew out of his wrist. The thugs baulked at this, but continued on anyway. One pulled out a gun. Instantly James fell back into his training mindset; he was a soldier once more.

"Disable the subject!"

The voices came back. He pushed them out of his mind, however. Moving with alacrity towards the armed thug, James stabbed the thug in the forearm before punching him in the face. Stamping on the thug's elbow ensured that the gun came free from his hand, and the demon weapon kicked it aside. The second thug rushed him, but James was able to dive and roll to the side before a lariat with freight train-like speed from a third thug slammed into his stomach.

He took the hit and crashed into a wall, flying straight through the painted cardboard and clattering into computers. Some people that looked like staff fled the scene. James was confused. That wall had been nothing but thin cardboard. This was Death City, home of the prosperous Shibusen and valliant meisters and demon weapons. No one had a wall made from cardboard. His time to think was interrupted as a punch connected with his jaw. The demon weapon saw stars before landing next to the gun. Acting on instinct James picked up the pistol and shot the three thugs in the knees. Two went down in anguish, while the third shot missed completely. The pistol felt familiar in his hands as he aimed again. James' expression was a dim one; he felt no pleasure in this.

"GET OUT OF THERE!"

James ignored the voices. He lined up the barrel with the head of the third thug.

There was no warning.

The gunshot resounded throughout the empty streets of Death City. The corpse fell to the floor, a hole in his head. Hundreds of people rushed out, bursting through more cardboard walls. This was unbelieveable! THERE WERE NO CARDBOARD WALLS IN DEATH CITY! James found he couldn't speak for all the oxygen had suddenly been taken away by a million beating hearts in the vicinity. He was surrounded by people, overwhelmed and scared. He had to get out of there.

James turned up his luminosity to maximum, blinding those around him. Using the distraction he ran as hard as he could, crashing through wall after wall. Bursting into another room, the demon weapon saw three people that looked like members of a TV production team running away. Two gunshots and two were grounded. The third continued running. James walked slowly over to the two people on the ground.

They were crying.

His eyes asked all that needed to be asked.

"I-I-I can't tell you...the show must go-" The first was silenced by a gunshot. James gave the other man a stony look. The other grounded man was whispering desperately into a headset. They were coming for him. The demon weapon ran on, bursting through another wall.

"END THIS MADNESS! TAKE HIM OUT!"

The voice screamed in his ear, causing him further pain. James looked around and realised that he was in some kind of armoury. He put the pistol in his pocket and scanned the walls. There was nothing major: tranquilizer darts, tear gas, tasers; things for crowd control really. The demon Trishula picked up the tear gas canisters; there were seven in total. He threw one behind him and burst threw into the next room.

However, it seemed that he had ran out of rooms, for he was back out onto the street in the Shopping District. On a large big screen was himself. James stared at it for a moment, before realising that he must have been on some kind of TV show, for a little icon was in the top corner that read...

"The Madrox Show: Live!"

The Madrox Show?

James turned around and realised that on all the roofs were men armed with rifles. He figured that they were filled with tranquilizer darts; there had only been five or so in the armoury. The demon weapon threw a few tear gas canisters up there, but they were shot down in the air; bursting the canisters and causing an ominous cloud of tear gas to descend. However, James was already crying.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?" He yelled.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MADROX SHOW? AM I YOUR FUCKING TOY?! ARE YOU WATCHING ME RIGHT NOW?! THE HELL!? WHY THE FUCK ARE ALL THE DAMN WALLS IN DEATH CITY MADE FROM SHITTY CARDBOARD? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE?" A torrent of questions was all he had to offer as a defence.

A plump man dressed in a snappy suit walked casually over to the lad. He clapped sarcastically.

"My name is Steven Bergspiel, and you, James, are the star of the Madrox Show. Your life has been chronicled since birth. Look at the fame you've brought yourself!" Steven motioned, and a couple of people popped up out of hiding adorned in the Madrox Show merchandise. Steven left no time for James to interject.

"This has gotten a little out of hand. Some legal things mean that the Madrox Show has one more season before cancellation. It pains me to have to break the fourth wall, but everyone must make sacrifices. Of course, you must have questions, but for now you need some slee-"

"No...I don't need any sleep. I don't even need answers. Who the fuck do you think you are...telling me that my life is a lie? You didn't raise me since birth..my parents did. I am James Madrox, Demon Weapon of Shibusen! This is bullshit! I will get out of here and call the po-"

"-lice? Pfft. I own the police. Besides, no one said anything about you leaving. You're going to stay here for a very long time, even after the season ends James. Before you say anything, you need to know that we resume air in thirty seconds. Say your piece, and then I'll leave. In fact, we air in...ten seconds."

James just stared at the man in front of him. Who was he to say what was and wasn't fiction? But he said it with such a casual confidence that made it hard to believe he was lying. The demon weapon grew angry and bitter at the world; it was simply inhumane for anyone to let him live like this!

"Rolling in three..."

James pulled out his pistol and shot Mr. Bergspiel.

"Two..."

Before anyone could react he looked right into where he assumed the camera to be.

"One.."

He put the gun to his head.

"Action!"

And pulled.

Word Count: 1898

[fiction]

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[/b][/color]
WORD COUNT[/i]
1898 = 205 points
CREATIVITY
+ 50 Points
EMOTIONAL
+ 50 points
TOTAL[/I][/color]
305 points[/ul]
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