Slag Heap

An Unreal Tournament: Game of the Year Fan Fiction

Disclaimer: Unreal is the property of Epic, I own nothing.

Disclaimer: Artwork for Slag Heap cover is copyright kien-biu and is used with permission. Artist's sites may contain mature content.

Prologue

In 2291, in an attempt to control violence among deep-space miners, the New Earth Government legalized no-holds-barred fighting. Liandri Mining Corporation, working with the NEG, established a series of leagues and bloody public exhibitions. The fight's popularity grew with their brutality. Soon, Liandri discovered that the public matches were their most profitable enterprise.

The professional league was formed. A cabal of the most violent and skilled warriors in known space, selected to fight in a Grand Tournament.

Now it is 2306, twenty-five years have passed since the founding of deathmatch. Profits from the tournament number in the hundreds of billions. You have been selected to fight in the Professional League by the Liandri Rules Board. Your strength and skill are legendary. The time has come to prove you are the best.

"You can't be serious…"

"I'm very serious, Agreos." Slain returned firmly, a frown marring his features as he looked at the young man sitting before him. "The Raw Steel uphold the virtues of strength and power over all others… but it's always been human muscle honed to perfection. You however, are not fully human, as your biometric assessment clearly shows. Now I don't rightly care who hybridized you with what or what gene-boosts they added, but I'd say that one of the Hybrid teams, perhaps even the Juggernaut teams, would be a better fit for you."

"But I passed all the other initiation tests, heck, I even almost matched Manwell in strength and he uses biochem enhancements! You know that he wouldn't be nearly as strong if he weren't stimmed up all the time!"

"You don't say." The leader of Raw Steel returned flatly, doing his best to convey to the former recruit that the topic was not up for discussion or debate. After all, if the Tournament did not care, why should he? Even if Jarred's genetic modifications and gene-boosts were not against Tournament rules, they certainly went contrary to the ideals Slain wanted his team to adhere to. "Even if that were true, Manwell's strength is still human strength and the stims he might use would still be human drugs, not something augmented or designed by some other species. In any case, it doesn't matter, how he chooses to develop his power is his business as long as it doesn't conflict with the ideals of the team's philosophy."

"How can you say his strength's 'human' when it comes from a bottle?"

Apparently the 'kid' did not get that the matter had already been decided, but he would get one last chance. "This isn't up for debate; ideologically you don't fit in here. If I were simply looking for the strongest and most powerful beings out there, I wouldn't have bothered to seek out the most physically mighty humans around and then train them to ever greater heights: we're a human team and always will be. You're not, your strength – maybe even the rate at which you can grow more powerful – is augmented by genetic engineering."

"Are you guys upset that I'm the bigger man here or are you just nervous 'cause I'm-"

"Enough, you can keep your gear, but get out." Slain interjected bluntly, not willing to be taunted into any form of serious competition against the former trainee, particularly if said contest evolved into a challenge for leadership of the team… Especially since there was an established precedent for such things: in the eighteen months he had known him, the punk had always shown a propensity towards challenging others for dominance when pushed. Thankfully, it was not his problem any longer.

"Alright." The cast-off finally said with a sigh, his tense frame relaxing as he shrugged nonchalantly. Without further comment, he stood and loped out of the room, heading straight for the team lockers.