Most Dangerous Game: Welcome to the Jungle

[x-cannonball.livejournal.com]

Sam gets dropped off in Mojo's Sekrit Carribean Getaway, and the nature of what he's been shanghai-ed for is explained to him. By a smiley face in a television.



Sam sprawled on his hands and knees and dry heaved several times as he tried to get his bearings. The last thing he remembered was the blonde woman jumping out the window of the high-rise office building. He'd dived out himself to try and catch her, and just as he'd grabbed her around the waist and prepared to ignite his blast field to fly them to safety, the woman had turned around in his arms with a cold smirk, and he'd felt the sudden jerk behind his navel that he always associated with teleportation. The woman had dumped him here...wherever "here" was. He managed to look up at his surroundings and saw equatorial jungle as far as he could see. The heat was already starting to go to work on him, and he ran a finger under the collar of his jacket. Levering himself to his feet, he scanned around. First order of business was to try and figure out where he was so that he could somehow get find his way home.

"Yoo hoo? Rockety guy? Yo, down here."

Half-buried in the ground near Sam's feet, an old-style television flickered to life. Coming into focus on its screen was a large yellow cartoonish smiley-face, with the eyes bugged inhumanly wide and the grin showing far too many teeth. The face winked at Sam, and a small 'thumbs-up' icon flashed on the screen.

"Good job, you're alert already. Spiral's method of recruitment can occasionally be a little rough on the talent. And talent you are, my boy. Not only talented, but marketable, oh yes. My little web monkeys already have the banner ads going - 'The Human Rocket', whaddya think? Catchy? I think it's catchy."

The talking smiley face was even more disconcerting than the change in location, and Sam took a moment to wonder if he had fallen into a coma dream like the students had experienced a few weeks before. "Marketable?" he asked with a sinking feeling. "An' 'Th' Human Rocket' is the best y'all could come up with? Th' name is -Cannonball-."

"Cannonball?" The cartoonish voice squeaked in shock. "Oh my God, someone read too many comic books when he was a child. Besides, a rocket propels itself, a cannonball is merely thrown, doesn't make any sense. But that's beside the point!" The smiley face shook in simulated excitement. "My boy, you are going to be a star for me. Perhaps a short-lived one, but a star nonetheless. You see, you're our next contestant on the..." a short pause for a drumroll. "Most! Dangerous! Game!"

After a few seconds passed without any response from Sam, the face changed to reflect a furrowed brow. "You... you have heard of the Most Dangerous Game, of course. Largest internet pay-per-view program of the past year? Underground hit? Visceral carnage, thrills, adrenalin? You... you haven't heard of us."

Flashing red, the smiley face changed to an expression of outrage. "SPIRAL! You've recruited me a square!"

The office building had been a setup. A lure. And he'd taken the bait like a bass, and now he was flopping at the end of the line trying to break free. "Ah've heard of it," Sam admitted grimly. "Ah think it's disgustin'. Ah'm not interested in playin' ya sick game, Ah wanna see it shut down."

A long pause came from the television before the sounds of repressed laughter. "Mister 'Cannonball', better than you have tried. Your FCC? International communications groups? You can't shut us down, we're a success. This is what the people want, and we give it to them. Rome had the Colosseum, the modern era has me. Mojo, the man behind the curtain, accept no substitutes."

An ominous series of organ chords played behind Mojo's words as the smiley face took up the entirety of the screen. "I give them what they want, and what they want, Mister Cannonball, is excitement. So what they get is you, for twenty-four hours on my island. All you have to do is survive. Not only do you have the terrors of the jungle to contend with, but you might be aware of our reigning champion, the Most Dangerous Game's most dangerous man!"

The screen flashed briefly with a series of stock photographs of jungle scenes before doing a pre-recorded rapid-zoom shot of a swarthy, tattooed man, his hair buzzed close to the scalp and his white teeth bared in a grin that would have been amicable, if he hadn't been holding a wickedly barbed spear and what appeared to be a bloody scalp in his other hand.

"Kraven, the Hunter," Mojo said with pride. "He should be arriving on the island in the next fifteen minutes, and his only purpose is to hunt you down in the most entertaining and exciting manner possible. Your purpose, my boy, is to survive. Or don't. But make it worth watching."

Sam shrugged diffidently. "Maybe y'all are hard of hearin'," he retorted. "Ah said Ah ain't playin' ya game." He'd much rather take his chances flying high enough or far enough to get his bearings than cater to a psychopath who hid behind a cartoony smiley face while broadcasting footage of grisly murders in the name of "entertainment" and making money.

"Oh, you could try and fly off my island," Mojo said, the cartoon face looking even more wide-eyed than normal, "but think of the Arenques Rojos."

Before Sam could raise a question, the television flashed to a scene of a small village, populated by dark-skinned natives going about their daily business amidst their small bamboo-and-straw huts. A small icon indicating "LIVE BROADCAST" was flashing in the bottom corner.

"The Arenques Rojos are a simple people living on this island," Mojo explained, "as such, their village on the eastern end of the island is out of bounds. They're kind people, wouldn't hurt a fly. Their village is also sitting on a small low-yield nuclear device that I will have no qualms about detonating should you at any time fly higher than fifty feet above the ground, Mister Cannonball. Please, won't you think of the children?"

The only sign of Sam's reaction to the threat was a slight widening of the eyes, and then a slight narrowing. He wasn't about to give this sicko a reaction to broadcast, as he was likely being filmed even now. He didn't even bother attempting to key his comm, as he suspected he would be either out of range or somehow jammed. "All right," he said in a grudging tone. "Ah'll play. What happens if I survive f'r twenty-four hours?" he asked. He could do that. And he imagined the X-Men would figure out how to find him long before that deadline.

The smiling face returned, locked in a rictus grin. "Then you win!" Mojo explained in a high-pitched voice, as if explaining the rules to a child. "Of course, if you want, you can leave the show. But trust me, no champion has ever wanted to leave. As much as the viewers are addicted, the champion's even more hooked on the thrill of the hunt. And just think of it - the hunted becoming the hunter, it's a can't-lose pitch!"

The image panned back slightly, showing the animated smiley face sitting atop a small tuxedo-wearing body. "But you, Mister Cannonball, can lose. And you'd better get moving."

The scene changed to show a small kayak on the beach, the surf flowing around it and a set of footprints leading up the beach towards the treeline.

"Because Kraven the Hunter has landed, and we're live in five."

The only response was the rustle of branches as Sam disappeared into the jungle.

The television screen flickered for a moment, before showing an old-style countdown, the circular sweep of the hand ticking down 5... 4... 3... 2...

The smiley face in the center of the screen gave one last grin before the screen blanked out.

"Showtime."