ARENA
ImpulsiveJake_29 stood stripped all of his items and armor bound to a glass cell where he outstretched both his arms and legs forever frozen in time. Everything was numb. Everything stiffened. And his brain was barely functioning.
It was too cold. Below zero. Absolute zero, perhaps. He was encased in ice, the outline and the faint details of his Abraham Lincoln skin slightly perceivable and discernible, and his eyes were wide open, with a sense of fear if you looked closer. But the People didn't care. They only cared about what happens next and who will survive the clashing ordeal. Maybe the strongest, they thought. Or the players that looked foolish but had tremendous skills on hiding and surviving dangerous things. As they observed who will likely win, definitively, the placeholders were not going to win. Rather, they were going to die senselessly by absolutely idiotic things like drowning at the first seconds, getting their head decapitated by a blade of any kind, especially in the situations where you can run away either scot-free or be chased, not knowing how to jump, not knowing how to effectively escape pursuers, be AFK. They were positive. A placeholder never won in the history of the tumultuous game. Never. And it will most likely never happen.
"Here is the last player ma'am. ImpulsiveJake_29. This man is a placeholder, and he has only spent six days in Minecraft. He lives in a dirt-block house. Axiomatically, he is a lower-level player," Brad sternly guided, as if he was touring a museum.
The tussling red-haired woman beside him chuckled deeply, directed at the frozen player. Brad, the brown haired and the satin gray eye man managed to stifle an urge to grunt or roll his eyes. For a woman with a stark stature and an entertaining aura, she had the most excruciating humor in the server. Hell, even the world. "Good luck," she sarcastically sighed, trying to be comedic, despite every failing attempt.
"What time is it?" She asked, unusually transitioning into a stern voice, probably of the tour guide not in tune laughing with her 'jokes.'
"Close to 4:00 UTC. 3:50."
She grinned.
"The game must start. Prepare the chests. The players."
"Yes, ma'am!" Brad saluted gallantly.
She sauntered away, off to a self-opening door, presumably back to her office.
Brad walked to the lever and flipped it. By a compact redstone contraption, an entire panel of buttons appeared beside it, each corresponding to a code. By some magic and superfluous memorization, Brad punched the buttons in a long code in alacritous speed. Suddenly, the sound of dispensers and fire charges raged, slowly melting the ice. That was step one. Accordingly correct to plan. Then, the potions came in, levitating the players in complete synchronization. As they all arise, the pistons sealed the hole by a quartz block, the players soon to be brought down because of the levitation potion wearing out.
Eight minutes left.
Underneath all the chests scattered throughout the giant invisible dome, the continuous line of hoppers transmitted the items, down from a factory, specially making the items for the game for years, by making descriptions and customized names when the cursor hovers the items on the hotbar and some enchantments designed for the upper-levels. It was another three-minute procedure until step three of initiation.
Four minutes left.
By hoppers yet again, the traps were slowly set up, TNT, potions and other deadly hell-bringers were delivered and sent, trip wires were now ready to be rigged. It was another three-minute process until-
The deafening sound of a horn radiated from millions of blocks away, a signal for the server that the Game has begun.
/
ImpulsiveJake_29 was awake. And suddenly, he panicked, desperately wanting to go back to his unruly shelter. That's where home was. But definitely not here.