Adama opened his eyes and sat up, instantly regretting it because his head exploded. He crashed back onto his bed with a barely audiable moan of dismay. No no no, why is someone playing drums in my head? He lay still for several moments until the pain eased off slightly and then gradually moved into a sitting possition. The drums faded, only to be replaced by a feeling akin to being poked in the eyes with needles, from the inside of his head. He took in his surroundings and realised with relief that he was in his own cell. He also noticed the prostrate form of Granite lying on the floor. He got up, swayed dangerously, and just managed to keep his feet. Staggering over to the info console by the door he brought up the display, he needed to know what time it was. 6:00 o'clock in the morning he read. But how is that possible? We were drinking all night, we cant have stopped any earlier than 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning, i needed more sleep than that. Then a feeling of dread took hold of him and he checked the date. Oh Shitsticks, its tomorrow, I mean its today but today is tomorrow. The Cup starts in four hours! He had slept right through the day and most of the night following the drinking session. "Granite!" He bellowed, "Granite wake up you bloody nonce." The shouting made his head throb madly but he did not have time for that now. "GRANITE, WAKE UP!" The big man opened his eyes, they were bloodshot and unfocused but he quickly recovered and took in his surroundings.

"Haha, how did we get back here Ad?"

"Gran' the Cup starts today, we slept through all of yesterday." Granite was instantly attentant.

"Where did we leave my team, can you remember?"

"I think that second in command of yours mentioned something about all sleeping in his room," muttered Adama whilst rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Hopefully they're still there, its 6:00am so we have a couple of hours before the first matches. Its the sim-deathmatches to begin with I think." Granite climbed to his feet and seemed unsteady for a moment but then settled, he was obviously more used to hangovers than Adama.

"Right, i'm gonna go wake my lazy excuse for a team. I'll see you at the first flag match." With that he opened the door and walked out. Adama watched as the door slid shut behind him. He wanted nothing more than to slip back into sleep but he knew if he did he would not wake up in time for the first matches. Something in the back of his mind was trying to make itself known, something about the dream he had had, but his head still hurt and he pushed all thoughts, bar the upcoming fights, from his mind.

It took Adama just under three hours to make himself feel battle-worthy. In that time he ate a large breakfast in the company of many other players, the food hall was full to bursting with competitors who had gotten up early to prepare for the day's festivities, spent some time thinking about strategy and chose what armour he would be fighting in. Although everything in the match would be simulated, the armour you wore was still important because the Tournament created an exact image of you in the match, down to the very clothes you were wearing and whatever protection they could offer. He arrived at the player's hall and went through a large door leading to a room known as the Anex, he got there about an hour before the first battle was due to begin. The Anex was essentially a large waiting room that split off into the Tournament's sim chambers and the holographic arenas where the blood matches were fought. He had remembered correctly, it was the sim-deathmatches first. Four battles with ten fighters in each would make up the first round, with the top half in each match going through to two matches in the second round. The top five in both of those matches would make up the players in the final. Adama walked over to the listings and checked which group he was in. Group B, hmm a couple of noteables in my first round. Holy shit i'm glad i'm not in D thats gonna be a blood bath. He saw that he was going to be fighting aboard the Starchaser, a battleship that had won some renown in a war several decades ago, enough for it to be immortalised in the Tournament. It was quite spacious, with winding coridors and a large central chamber where it was always harazdous to remain for long due to the many entry points, you could never cover them all. Adama remembered that the first ever battle aboard the Starchaser had been between its old crew, a fight that drew quite a large audience. He pushed all thought of it from his mind and sat down, waiting for the call from the announcer.

Adama did not have to wait too long. Soon all fourty players had assembled and they were allowed into their various rooms. The sim chamber was similar to the training rooms Adama had used recently. They were devoid of furnishing apart from the reclining chairs that were spaced evenly around the room, each had a visor suspended above that would lower onto the players once they were seated. There were also sensors built into the chair that scanned the body once it was reclining. These were partly to gather the information needed to create the projection and partly used to monitor the life signs of the players. The visors created a catatonic state in the competitiors who were then able to concentrate fully on the images fed to them. It was as if they were in the virtual world that the computers created, no distractions, just fighting. Once Adama and the nine other players in group B were seated an official entered from a side door and addressed them about accidents. "In the unlikely event that you should suffer any harm during this coming battle, physical or mental, the Tournament and its sponsors can not be held responsible. You should know that the chances of something going wrong are very slim. However, if anyone wishes to leave, now is the time." No-one moved. Without anything further the official left and the visors began to descend.