He sat in the back of his 8 x 10 cell fully dressed in his teams uniform. It was a half hour until go-time, and all he could do was remember…
They say that he was a traitor to the wizarding world… that he was a murderer… a backstabber… but in reality, it was the wizarding world who were the traitors… for they betrayed him…
He, Harry James Potter, now known as Harry 'The Enforcer' Potter, was charged with first degree murder and use of the Unforgivable Avada Kedavra on his best friend, Ronald Weasley. He was found guilty and sentenced to life in Azkaban, but he didn't get that. No, he got much worse indeed…
He was sentenced to Alkatraz, the American equivalent of Azkaban and located in the far regions of the Rocky Mountains. It was rumored to be just as nasty and cold as Azkaban if not more so, only to a degree more: it houses prisoners who participate in the Tournament. The Unreal Tournament.
He was sentenced to fight to the death in that tournament, until he either died, or wound up winning the tournament. In that case, he would be pardoned from all charges and set free, but would be banned from the Wizarding World.
As he thought back, he could still remember the faces of all those he once loved… Sirius with his look of disgust… Hermione with nothing but anger and hatred… Snape without emotion… however, the one that his the nail on the head was the look of disappointment on the face of Albus Dumbledore.
They believed that he had actually gone and murdered his best friend. No… they were supposed to know better than that… but they still believed it, and for that, he could never forgive them… not until they proved themselves…
That day… he was supposed to graduate that day… his whole life was ahead of him, then they stole it…
Here, in Alkatraz, he had found madness, and embraced it. He found hatred, and he fueled it. Here, he was the Enforcer, a lethal weapon capable of mass destruction given the proper tools. Anything he touched, from a Rocket Launcher to a Redeemer to an Impact Hammer, it didn't matter. He was an assassin, a warrior of the shadows… a fallen angel…
He heard the clinging of the keys and the footsteps of the guards. It was time, for the final challenge of his tournament, a new addition to the normal Unreal rules: Team Deathmatch, which was the same as normal Deathmatch except with teams and with more frags… much more frags…
Harry smiled a sadistic and insane smile as he heard his lock unlock with an audible click. The door to his solitary cell opened and the guard stepped in, wand out, but not pointed at anything in particular.
"It's time Potter. Lets go."
Harry got up and started to follow the guard to the transport area. On the way, he spoke up.
"Jerry."
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For everything man. You're the only guard around here with some decency… I'm gonna miss you," he said. You could barely tell that Harry was an Englishman. His voice clearly had an American accent.
"Hey, we all know you're an innocent man. I'm just glad you're finally getting out of this hell hole. You're sure are a lucky bastard. I have to stay here."
"Sucks to be you," said Harry.
"Fuck off man, you know you'd love to be me any day of the week."
"No fuckin' way man!"
This dispute kept on going until they reached the fireplace. Harry turned to Jerry and gave him a bear hug.
"Look me up sometime. We'll have some of that whiskey you like."
"Or some of your famous brandy?"
Harry chuckled. "We'll see man. We'll see."
"Yeah, well, you take care of yourself. I don't want to see you in here ever again. Unless it's a social call, of course."
Harry gave him a lopsided grin. "Later."
He then grabbed some floo powder from the side of the fireplace and stepped into the fire. He then spoke clearly "Unreal Tournament Locker Room – The Fallen!" and proceeded to disappear to his destination.
The air in the locker room of Team Fallen was so thick that you could cut through it with a butter knife. This was the first thing that he noticed when he arrived into the room. He found two of his three comrades, second-in-command and stealth specialist Reiki Basara, and his ops specialist Stacy Lawler. He looked around, and finally found the source of the air – the flowers around the third members locker.
"I take it Max didn't survive his last Deathmatch," said Harry with a heavy heart.
Max 'Maximus' Connor was the teams demolition specialist, and didn't hesitate to take you out even if it meant taking himself out.
"The bastard blew himself up with his stupid ass Rocket Launcher. What he didn't know was that his genatron was malfunctioning," said Stacy. (The genatron is what lets Unreal participants regenerate after being fragged)
"Which means that we're a player short. This is a serious blow to our chances at winning this thing have gone down dramatically," finished Reiki.
"Shit. This sure sets us back," muttered Harry. "Oh well, there'll be time to grieve for him later. Right now, we have to concentrate on our match today. Remember, all we need to do is win this one and we win our freedom! I'm sure it's what Max would want us to do."
"Yeah, I'm sure. But our chances are slim. We can't find a replacement demolition specialist in less than a five minutes," said Stacy.
"I know, but we have to make due. Remember our motto," said Harry. The team lined up, already knowing what he meant, already equipped with their Enforcers and Impact Hammers.
Together, they jogged down, chanting their teams motto.
"We are the Fallen! We are the night!
We are the shiver going down your spine!
We dim the day and shadow the light!
We are the Fallen, silent warriors of the night!"
They chanted their motto, prepping up for the upcoming battle, until they finally stood at the transport chamber. The went in as the doors closed on their own. They waited for a while before the room flashed green and an old boot stood out. They all grabbed onto it, and a few seconds later found themselves being dragged off to the arena. It was the moment of truth. It was time, for the Tournament.